by Rex Jameson
***
The admissions area of the Arnessa palace was crowded, and Sariel’s eyes darted around the room. It was surreal to see so many goblins moving about the capital. The last time he had been here, women were being raped in the street without resisting. Men were watching their families butchered without batting an eye. Apathy and melancholy seemed everywhere after King Veldin’s death, and the goblins simply stopped fighting back.
You never do that kind of thing around demons. They start thinking you like it.
The Council believed they had killed the Goblin Primal—the very essence of these immortals and the universe it projected. And it wasn’t by accident. Eranos had lobbied for the royal assassination because the Council knew that Veldin had been grafted into the primal pattern. For the longest time, Sariel had thought the goblins really were dead. To see them running around, carrying papers, and in most cases not even acknowledging that two well-dressed demon butchers were sitting amongst them was a bit unnerving.
“Mr. Kadingir,” a woman with gray hair pulled up into a bun called from the front desk. “A representative will see you in the main stateroom. Please, follow me.”
Sariel guessed she was more than thirty million years old, but she carried herself well. She grabbed the ornate metal handles of a set of double doors and pulled them apart. Inside was an oval room with elaborate furnishings of brown, gold, green, and blue. Polished woods and intricately patterned cushions and rugs lay beside hand-sculpted marble and granite statesmen. Sariel and Elandril had staged mock duels in this room long ago. The goblins had completely restored it.
“Thank you,” Sariel bowed to her.
“No, thank you,” she said. “I was under the embassy, and you saved me from being brutally assaulted by your drunken demons.”
Sariel bit his lip. “I … Words just can’t express …”
“Then don’t try to,” she said. “The representative will be with you shortly. Good luck.”
She closed the doors behind her and left. Sariel finally let out his breath.
“What do you think?” Lucifer asked.
“The goblins love mind games,” Sariel said. “Stay on your toes.”
They sat down on opposite couches and crossed their legs. Sariel gazed at a plushy couch that sat in front of the lit fireplace. The flames danced above the upholstery, and he found himself lost in thought.
He pictured Elandril in his mind. The blond hair, blue eyes, and smirk. The longer he stared at the couch, the more solid the image became in his mind. And then, it didn’t seem to be just an image anymore. It seemed real.
Elandril sat in front of him, levitating a ball of swirling chaos in one hand. He rolled it around his fingers, tossed it into his other hand and massaged it. This couldn’t have been real. The concentrated energy should have torn him apart. Then the goblin image swallowed the ball of chaos. Sariel looked away from the mirage.
“I’ll be damned,” Lucifer said. “You scared the hell out of me!”
Sariel looked up to see the doppelganger still sitting on the couch, smiling.
“You see it too?” Sariel asked.
“It? That’s Elandril!”
Elandril stood up and summoned two zinanbar blades that were identical to his own. They had ordered both sets together. They had done everything together. Elandril spun them about his hands and then rolled one of them down his biceps and forearms.
“Brother,” the goblin said, “have they taught you how to fight yet?”
“Oh, you sonuvabitch!” Sariel said as he jumped off of the couch and summoned his daggers. “You’re so dead!”
Elandril laughed and lunged at Sariel’s heart. Sariel batted the stab away and pushed him over the couch, but his opponent reappeared right in front of him.
“Apparating?” Sariel complained. “Totally unfair!”
“Poor thing,” Elandril mocked.
Sariel apparated beside him, but Elandril blinked away. He continued to pursue his old friend around the room, under tables, behind cabinets, and even into the fireplace.
“You two leave me the hell out of this,” Lucifer said. “I want nothing to do with destroying the royal furniture.”
“Well, I guess things have changed then,” Elandril said as he appeared right in front of Lucifer, daggers locked with Sariel. “You’ll have to forgive my manners, Lucy. I forgot to introduce your partner, Ganymede.”
Sariel’s eyebrows raised as the seven-foot-tall, red-bearded goblin appeared behind his brother, and that might have been what saved Lucifer’s life. The massive broadsword swung down and missed Lucifer by inches as he rolled clear. The blade slid through the couch cushions and wood frame like they were butter. Sparks launched into some of the cushions and stone chips flew into Sariel’s hair and mouth.
By the time Lucifer was done rolling, he had summoned his own two swords and appeared ready to take on his opponent.
“Lucifer,” Elandril said, still locked with Sariel, “this is Ganymede, son of Gendril—the man you killed at Falkirk.”
Sariel laughed. He couldn’t help it. Goblins and their mind games. Lucifer had offered a duel with Gendril instead of a pitched battle. Probably saved hundreds of thousands of lives. Lucifer’s face clearly showed his panic.
Ganymede bowed and smiled. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“I’m … sorry?”
“Apology accepted,” Ganymede said as he lunged at Lucifer. The goblin was at least a foot taller than his brother, and all muscle. Lucifer would have his hands full.
“Are you done with your introductions?” Sariel asked.
“Quite.”
“Good.”
He kicked his opponent in the chest, and Elandril disappeared again. He reappeared long enough to push Lucifer in the back, which almost cost him a hand.
“Hey, you stay your happy butt over there,” Lucifer shouted.
Elandril made a face at Sariel and mocked Lucifer’s parrying.
“Sariel? Some help here?” Lucifer asked.
Sariel had been too busy laughing to respond. His opponent apparated behind him and kicked him in the back.
Grumbling, Sariel turned around and threw one of his daggers, barely missing Elandril’s head.
“Hey, no throws!”
“Wait, there are rules?”
“Of course.”
“And it’s your house so …”
“House rules, yeah,” Elandril smiled as he picked up the dagger and threw it back to Sariel.
Lucifer and Ganymede lumbered between them with the demon pushing the assault this time. For a big ol’ brute, Ganymede was sure quick on his feet.
Lucifer cut through an antique lamp and table and Ganymede deflected a slash into a painting. Sariel and Elandril locked blades once more and pushed each other over a couch and onto the floor. They punched each other repeatedly in the stomach with their dagger handles until they heard a loud, dry voice from the doorway.
“Ahem,” the man said simply.
Sariel helped Elandril to his feet and laughed at the expressions of the dozen finely dressed men and women. Some of them wore monocles and all of them wore fine suits, each of which was of much better quality than Sariel’s ripped one. Their mouths were agape, and some of the women were tittering to each other, loudly and obnoxiously scoffing at them.
“Your two o’clock, Galto?” Elandril asked with a sober face.
“This is the trade delegation from Uldram, sir. Very important meeting.”
“I’m sure,” Elandril nodded. “Well, I think we’re quite done with the stateroom at this point.”
The rest of the fighters agreed as one half of a painting fell to the floor, and servants entered the room with buckets of water to put out fires on the cushions and drapes.
“Shall we adjourn for a cocktail?” Elandril asked.
“Very well, old chap!” Sariel agreed. He pierced what was left of his hanging breast pocket with a dagger to make a show of putting his blade away and ma
rched out of the room, followed by Elandril, Ganymede, and Lucifer. Just past the trade delegation were two dozen color-coordinated servants. The blue ones edged themselves into position behind Elandril as he took over lead of the procession, and the green ones nudged Sariel and his brother aside to follow Ganymede.
