by Ben Walsh
Chapter Thirteen
Stan could hear a gentle knocking but ignored it. Eventually they’d go away, they had to. He kept his eyes closed, and in the background heard somebody opening the door. Stan could make out gentle voices, several, but kept his eyes firmly closed. Until, that was, he got a nudge in the face with a smelly, damp foot.
By the time they had finally finished practising, the three had been exhausted, and had spent the evening relaxing by a small fire in Maximus’ cluttered living room, chatting about meaningless things, anything but their quest, until they eventually drifted into sleep. It was the first full night’s sleep they had received since leaving Oadford and they were exhausted, which was why they were all still fast asleep and lying head to toe in a small living room, with Stan looking up at a smelly, damp foot.
He saw now that the foot belonged to a man he just about recognised, but he was unable to place a name. The man was tall, and had a black, bushy beard. His right hand held a large spear, and in the other he carried a small, round shield, which was wooden and slightly rotted. Behind him stood a small posse of men, and in the middle of them all, looking like he would rather be anywhere other than in the crowded hut, was the Mayor.
Stan tried to push the foot away, but the man rubbed it all over his face, leaving slimy drips all over it. Stan sprung up angrily, but tripped over the somehow still asleep Marvin, who awoke with an “ow!” when Stan fell on him. The men laughed at their new companions, until the Mayor finally shouted for order.
The three got themselves up, and introductions were swiftly made. There was Worgan and Loose, the muscular brothers from the butchers, and there was Ponch, who was small and greasy, with jet black hair and a hooked nose. Stan recognised him, and gasped in horror when he realised that it was the notorious thief, who had been locked away for the past five years.
“Oh, you’ll have use for someone like him if you’re to be a success, I’m sure of it,” The Mayor had warned Stan when he questioned his presence.
Finally there was the man with whom Stan had already been introduced to the foot of, Vlad, who was not from the kingdom and had a heavy, thick accent that was near impossible to follow. He had come to the kingdom for work, and had wound up in Oadford, where he had spent some time fishing. He had impeccable black stubble, with a handsome yet scarred face. The four of them, along with Maximus, his brother Ernest, and the friend either side of Stan, made up the party that they hoped would bring freedom to their land.
Stan was disappointed that his father had not been invited, and Marvin detected this from his glum expression.
“You know it’s for the best,” he had said. “People would have talked, and they’d have known something was going on.”
Stan knew he was right, but was still brooding over his father’s omission when they had left at sunrise, heading into the woods and up the winding path, leading deeper into the forest, that Stan had flown down just days before hoping to find help in time to save his brother.
They had decided to ascend from the opposite side of the mountain to that which Stan, Edgar and Marvin had done, so as to best avoid Gordon the Gruesome, which everyone agreed was desirable. Consequently, they found themselves walking down a narrow path, which caused the travellers to have to walk no more than two abreast, with a dense treeline either side of them. Maximus led the convoy, muttering directions to himself as he went. Stan spent the morning getting to know his companions, exchanging tales of the town with Worgan and Loose, who shared jokes at each other’s expense for the entire morning’s walk.
“Phwoar, let me tell you about this girl Worgan kissed at our cousin’s wedding, Marvin!” Loose said at one point. “She was tasty!”
“Yeah,” Worgan added, smarming and puffing his chest out, “I get all the tasty ones me!”
“Yes you do,” Loose replied, a mischievous grin on his face, “If by tasty you mean they looked like a juicy pig on a hog roast anyway!” causing Stan, Marvin and Roxie to roar with laughter.
At one point, Stan overheard Marvin bragging about chasing off a pack of goblins to Ernest, who turned out to be lovely, and entirely apologetic for his violent actions against Stan. Roxie and Stan caught each other’s eye when they overheard Marvin and allowed themselves a laugh, but let him carry on.
The only two members of the pack Stan did not get to know where Ponch and Vlad, who kept to themselves at the back of the line, hanging back some distance from everyone else. At one point, they stopped to drink from a natural spring, but the two still maintained their distance from the others, quietly mumbling to each other. It was here, at around midday, that the pack heard a loud crunch in the forest to their left.
All of the members were startled, and Stan heard Worgan mutter to Marvin something about being ready to kill goblins again. Stan shot him a glaring look and Worgan quickly turned away, embarrassed. Stan was having similar thoughts himself, and the last thing he wanted was for his friend to become petrified.
Roxie had drawn her bow and arrow, and Maximus held his staff out in front of him threateningly. Stan’s hand edged towards his sword, hesitant to unsheathe it for fear of antagonising whatever was out there.
“Reveal yourself!” Maximus roared.
The group remained in position, ready to defend itself, for several moments, before a small child, completely naked, tottered out from behind a tree. The group relaxed, and laughed at each other, but the atmosphere was tense and they proceeded with more caution, all weapons now drawn.
This alone was the reason that, later that afternoon, with the sun beating down, an arrow thudded into Vlad’s rotting shield, as opposed to his chest. The group stopped dead in their tracks, darting their eyes all over in search of the attacker. It was Worgan who spotted the pack of goblins first, and he bolted towards them with a loud roar. He was quickly followed into the treeline by his brother, and before Stan and the others could take in what had happened, the noise of clinking weaponry was echoing throughout the air. Roxie scarpered up a tree to gain a better vantage point from which to fire, and Stan’s heart was in his mouth as he saw her trying to clutch at branches. He scanned the treeline for goblins to protect Roxie from the archer, and his heart stopped when he saw the filthy creature loading another arrow, and looking directly at Roxie. Without thinking, he sprinted towards him and flung himself over a large protruding tree root to rugby tackle the goblin around the chest. The tackle took the goblin by surprise, and the momentum carried the two a long distance in the air, before they tumbled down onto the ground with Stan on top of him. They landed on a slope however, and before Stan could jam his sword into the goblin’s face, the jolt of the landing dislodged the sword from his hand, and the pair began to roll down the hill, away from the sound of death. The goblin withdrew a short knife and tried to jab it towards Stan, and it took all of the boy’s strength to keep it at arm’s length away from him. The goblin’s face was twisted and contorted, and he slobbered all over Stan as they rolled over each other. The stench of slime coming from his foe combined with the lengthy tumble and the fear that filled Stan’s stomach made him feel nauseous. Momentarily, he feared he would be killed whilst throwing up, but Stan forced the thought from his head, and concentrated solely on keeping the goblin’s jagged blade away from him.
Eventually, they hit a large tree with a thud, and stopped rolling. Stan reached for his sword, forgetting that he had lost it in the fall. As he tried to rise, he realised he was trapped beneath a thick tree root which he had slipped under. The goblin was groggily getting up to his feet but appeared to be heavily dazed, having borne the brunt of the impact with the tree. Stan started to panic, and willed his body to get up, but found himself frozen to the spot in fear. The goblin was now on his feet, and was slowly edging towards him, teeth gnashing and arms swinging, like an ape. Stan suddenly remembered the dagger his father had made for him, and desperately scrambled to reach it in his back pocket. He tried to wriggle his arms free, and eventually managed to pull one loose. He looked
up and saw the goblin edging closer. And closer. And closer. He frantically tried to reach his pocket, stretching as far as he possibly could, to the point where he felt like his shoulder was going to be torn from its socket.
Still the goblin edged closer. And closer.
Eventually, Stan managed to roll over slightly and reach round far enough to find the pocket. He scrambled for the knife, and as soon as he felt the roughened handle, whipped it out and thrust it in the direction of the goblin. The goblin was just inches away from Stan by now, so close that he could smell his repugnant breath. He let out a sickening screech of pain, as the dagger burst into his eyeball. As Stan twisted the dagger, the goblin slumped to the floor, lifeless.
Stan breathed a huge sigh of relief and lay under the tree root, panting heavily. He slowly withdrew his dagger, and wiped the gunky remnants of the goblin on the grass. He squeezed out of the trap, and began to trudge back up the hill. He was halfway up when he heard a group running down towards him. Stan couldn’t see who it was that was coming, but his instincts were screaming at him to hide. He shuttled sideways, away from the sound, and into the deep overgrowth, burying himself as deep within as he possibly could.
Just seconds later, his decision was proven to be a good one, as four goblins stomped through the fallen autumn leaves, down the hill he had been in the process of coming up. They were headed right towards him, and Stan didn’t dare breathe, lowering himself as closely to the ground as he possibly could. Three of the goblins were just like all of the others he had seen; skinny, dirty, ragged and feral looking. The other, however, looked so different it was hard to believe he was a goblin. He was huge, with a large, puffed out chest, and he towered over the other three by an enormous margin. He had blood smeared all over his body, and his teeth shone brightly with what looked worryingly like blood. Stan said a silent prayer for his friends, but held his breath, too terrified to make a sound, as the goblins stopped walking down the hill just metres away from him.
“Grimey, why are we running? We have them on the ropes!” One of the smaller goblins snarled.
The larger, even more terrifying goblin turned to face the other, and exhaled loudly over him.
“We have lost many warriors, that girl was good with her bow,” he replied, “and I have yet to meet a goblin who can climb a tree, have you?” He maliciously added.
“So we’re running?” The original goblin added. “Are you losing it you filthy animal?” He asked, conjuring up as much venom as he possibly could.
The goblin Stan had taken to be Grimey laughed, loudly, a long, hollow laugh that was clearly false. The other goblins looked around at each other uncomfortably, unsure of what to do.
The first goblin looked furious and humiliated, and his face contorted in anger, as he spat, “Stop laughing you filth. Answer me!”
Instantly, Grimey stopped laughing and stepped right up to the goblin, looming over him.
“I am not running, you despicable creature. I am showing that I not only still have it, but I am better than ever. If we stay, we might destroy them, we might not. But if we don’t, this posse will continue towards the Mountain and Gustavo will have no idea. We must retreat, and warn him.” His loud voice boomed throughout the whole area, and it made Stan shiver with fear, so much so that he accidently trod on a leaf, creating a gentle, soft crunching sound. Stan froze in fear, and his stomach plummeted when he saw Grimey dart a look in his direction and sniff at the air. Several long seconds passed, but thankfully the enormous creature turned back to his unknowing victim.
Stan turned away and breathed a sigh of relief, but looked back when he heard a spine tingling scream. What he saw sickened him, and he quietly threw up moments later, once the three goblins had retreated further down the hill, leaving their deceased comrade on the floor, headless.
