by Chris Fox
Pine needles carpeted everything, and made it difficult for Boberton to spot roots unless he walked very slowly. So slowly that Bert might be able to go faster on his own. He wouldn’t, of course. There was no point in adventuring without a buddy, and Boberton would be scared if Bert left him behind.
Bert would be scared for him.
Boberton’s pace increased to a walk, and the dog guided them through the forest, into a small meadow. They hadn’t encountered anyone, though Bert hadn’t really expected to.
The high elves were supposed to be legendary and aloof. Kit had been an elf, so they probably looked a great deal like her when she wasn’t foxing around.
A few of the adventuring parties that Bert had shadowed had mentioned the forest, but he couldn’t remember much of what they’d said. They didn’t seem to fear the high elves, and in fact were always more interested in some sort of treasure the elves possessed.
Bert couldn’t remember the name, but supposed that if he met any high elves he could ask them. They were supposed to be noble creatures, whatever that meant.
The day slowly crawled by as Boberton picked a path through the forest, the pine trees swaying above them.
Bert had nearly begun to nod off when Boberton abruptly stopped, and both Righty and Lefty began a baying sort of howl. Then the dog took off as fast as he could sprint, and the wagon bumped and jounced, and sent Bert tumbling all over the place.
It was wonderful! Bert loved it, bouncing and rolling as his dog took off into the forest. He knew it would probably end with another root, but it was so fun that Bert didn’t care.
Eventually Boberton’s mad dash slowed, and the dog rumbled to a halt beneath an enormous redwood tree. It towered high over the forest, and Bert could hear singing coming from within. What’s more, he could smell cookies. Wonderful, glorious, chocolate-chip cookies. No wonder Boberton had run so swiftly, and no wonder people loved high elves. This must be the treasure people were after!
Bert rose to his feet, and swayed back and forth for many moments before the world stopped spinning. Once he was certain he could move without falling he tossed the rope ladder over the side of the wagon, and began climbing down.
By the time he’d reached the forest floor Boberton had sat down at attention and eyed Bert with a pitiful whine.
“Okay, boy.” Bert walked to the base of the tree. “Bert will see if the elves will share cookies, and bring some back for Boberton.” He did hope the elves were willing to share.
As Bert approached the tree he realized a series of steps had been cleverly set into the side of it, and used them to scale the bole of the mighty tree. This must be one of the very trees he’d glimpsed from his window, and the elves must live inside.
He quickened his step, both because he’d love to try the cookies, and because Boberton was waiting for dinner. Bert quickly ran out of breath, but kept pumping his legs as he marched up step after step. Step. Step.
Then Bert froze. He was a powerful wizard. Or he knew some magic anyway. All he had to do was say what he wanted, right? Hmm. “Bert fly!”
Something stirred within Bert, and the awareness his trope provided told him that he’d just spent three points of magic to cast a fly spell. Bert rose into the air, and zoomed around the tree.
If he’d thought bouncing in the wagon had been fun he had been wrong. This was the real deal. Bert zoomed more quickly, whipping around the thick red bark as he approached a set of windows carved into the tree above.
The scent of cookies emanated from within, and the steps stopped outside of a door, with a little porch and a pair of rocking chairs. Bert hesitated as he crossed the final few feet. Another scent came from inside the house, a heavy musky aroma, like the incense mum sometimes burned.
A few whiffs made him light headed, and he felt really, really good. And really, really hungry. Bert landed on the porch, and politely rapped on the door. Elves were supposed to have excellent hearing, because they had big pointy ears. Everyone knew it.
“It’s open, man.” The words came from a woman inside.
Since Bert had permission he floated up to the door handle, and opened the door. All sorts of wonderful things were happening within. A pair of elves with tall pointy ears, beatific smiles, and bloodshot eyes stood churning a giant wooden spoon in a cauldron of wonderfully gooey chocolate fudge.
The female elf who’d spoken sat at a table next to an empty tray. Piles of crumbs dotted the table, and her lap, he noted. A strange tubular device with a ball at the base sat on the table next to her.
The wonderful smoke he’d smelled emanated from there, and he supposed it must be some sort of incense burner. A pool of water sat in the bottom, like you’d use when watering a plant. It wasn’t clear to Bert what the water might be used for, but it didn’t seem safe for drinking as it resembled his moat.
“Whoah.” The female elf blinked down at him. Her shirt had wonderful rainbow patterns, and she wore a pair of sunglasses that had blue lenses. “It’s a goblin. Hey, little goblin man. What brings you into the forest?”
“Hi!” Bert waved eagerly. They seemed friendly! This was going splendidly. “Bert is dark lord. Of castle past Moist Mountains. Elves heard of it?”
All three elves eyed him blankly. One of them jammed a finger into the cauldron, then shoved a ball of fudge into his mouth. Bert had never felt so at home.
“No idea, man.” The woman shrugged. She plucked another cookie from the tray and jammed it into her mouth. “Munchies got ahold of us something fierce. We don’t pay attention to much else.”
“Can, ah, Bert have cookie for Boberton? Bert’s dog outside.” Bert shifted nervously from foot to foot. Was it rude to show up unannounced and just ask for food? It seemed rude. But the chocolate smelled so yummy, and the cookies looked so crumbly.
Bert’s mouth watered.
“Course, man.” The blond elf leapt to her feet, and snatched a full tray from the counter. She rushed to the door, and leaned outside, glancing below her. “He the big red demo dog? The one with two heads?”
“That him!” Bert leapt up and down.
“Yeah, no.” The woman came back in and her smile had vanished. She had serious face on now, the kind Bert often had to use with servants now. “This is going to be an all night job. Those pups can really put it away. I’ll pack the next bowl. You two lower that cauldron so the poor dog can snack.” The elf turned back to Bert. “Don’t you worry, man. It’s gluten free, and it’s got a lot of THC. Our whole operation avoids cross contamination. We sterilize surfaces nightly, and we never use wheat, soy, or any other common allergens. Our cookies are safe.”
Bert had no idea what any of that meant, but they were giving him cookies, and they were feeding Boberton too. He moved to the table, and clambered up onto one of the chairs. Climbing seemed harder than usual, and his nose and toes felt funny by the time he reached the top.
Bert forgot all about it when his gaze fell on the cookies. He snatched one up, and jammed half of it into his mouth. He’d have jammed more, but there was a definite problem in the cookie to mouth ratio.
The next few minutes passed in glorious silence as the elves, Bert, and Boberton far below all gorged themselves on fudge.
Bert supposed he could discuss their problems later. For now he resolved to focus on solving the cookie problem.
11
Icosahedron
Bert awoke to discover his cheek pressed against cool metal. His eyes fluttered open, and he glanced down to discover a cookie still lodged in his mouth.
Bert began to chew, and finished the cookie as he rose to his feet and examined his surroundings. Bert didn’t think he had ever slept so comfortably before, which was strange as the metal tray the cookies had been baked on didn’t seem particularly comfortable.
The elves had a mirror mounted on the wall, and Bert glanced over to discover that the pattern from the tray had been pressed into his cheek. He rather liked it. Waffle face.
Two of the elves
were quietly snoring, but the woman sat next to a large oven, humming to herself. The wonderful aroma of baking cookies filled the kitchen.
Bert quietly crept down to the chair, and then from the chair to the floor. He scuttled over to the leg of the chair where the elf sat, and tugged on the woman’s billowing rainbow pants.
“Pardon me. Nice elf lady?” Bert smiled up with his best smile.
The elf peered down at him with the same glassy eyes she’d had before, but she also wore a smile. “Hmm? Hey there, goblin man. We sent down a whole bunch of cookies for your dog.”
“Thank you. Bert not expect so much kindness.” He hugged the elf’s leg fiercely. “You nice to Bert, and to Boberton. Bert will not forget it. Can elf lady help Bert? Came to forest to find big flaming rock that fall from sky. Elf lady see?”
“No.” The elf gave a sad shake of her head. “We’re pretty out of it most of the time. Dave runs the volume pretty high, and we play a lot of League of Myths.”
“Oh.” Bert’s shoulder’s slumped, but he mustered his resolve. He wasn’t giving up that easily. “Other elves in forest know?”
“Maybe!” Elf lady perked up. “Hey, why don’t you head into the center of the forest? If you go to the capital you can find a bunch of elves. Someone is bound to have seen something.”
“Yay!” Bert jumped up and down. He loved clues. “What name of capital? Can lady draw map?”
“It’s pretty easy to find.” She straightened her glasses, and peered up at the oven, then back down at Bert. “I have to get back to baking. Your dog can find the way. Follow the stream outside the tree. It will lead you deeper into the forest. You’re heading for the emerald triangle, man. The capital is called Humboldt County. It will smell just like the inside of our tree.”
Bert perked up at that. Anything that smelled like gooey fudge was a place he wanted to visit. “Thank you! Elf lady very nice. What name? Bert want to remember.”
“Mary. Mary Jane.” Mary rose and plucked a pair of oven mitts from her belt. “You stop by any time. Take care of that dog of yours.”
“Bert will!” Bert headed to the doorway, and peered down. A loooonnnng way down. Far enough that Boberton’s slumbering form might have been a puppy. Bert closed his eyes to stop the stomach flutters, and tried to remember the fly spell he’d used. Oh, yes. “Bert fly!”
And Bert flew. He zoomed down to the forest floor, the cool wind whooshing over his cheeks as he descended down toward his sleeping friend.
A pile of boxes had been stacked in the rear of the wagon, each with pictures of scrumptious cookies on the outside. Bert could scarcely believe it. The elves had given them enough food to last the whole trip! Maybe even longer.
“Wake up, boy!” Bert landed on the wagon, which had been left open to the night. Dew covered everything, but it would dry out as they traveled. Not even wet pillows could dampen his mood.
Boberton twitched. Righty’s right eye fluttered open, then closed again. The dog’s paw rose, and took an experimental step, and then the dog surged to his feet. All four eyes fluttered open, and the dog’s tail began to wag.
“Okay, boy. Take Bert into forest!” Bert pointed deeper into the forest, in the direction the nice elf lady had indicated.
Boberton’s tail wagged more fiercely, and he picked up the harness with his mouth, and dropped it over his shoulder. The dog trotted up the forest floor, which evened out as they approached the stream passing by the elves’ mighty redwood.
Bert reached for a box of cookies, but hesitated. He glanced down at his tummy, which was rounder and larger than usual. He didn’t feel particularly hungry, and had the impression that he might have eaten a great number of cookies.
Now that he thought about it Boberton hadn’t asked for breakfast either. Maybe they were special cookies.
The day passed rather pleasantly, with Boberton keeping an easy pace along the shore of the stream. Again they passed no one, but as the shadows grew longer, and the sun surrendered to the night Bert began to hear cries in the distance.
Cries of anger, and pain. Bert had heard enough combat to know when people were fighting, and clutched his hands to his breast as Boberton brought them closer. He might have to defend them both, and quite soon from the sound of it.
Bert could do that. He could stop bad people. He could even kill them, if he had to, but the responsibility was really quite scary, and he didn’t like it at all.
Boberton slowed as the dog became more conscious of the cries, and Lefty gave Bert a questioning look.
“It’s okay, boy.” Bert patted the wagon, since he couldn’t reach his dog. “Bert will protect you.”
Boberton’s tail began to wag, and he surged back into motion. They rumbled along the shore, until the stream joined a mighty lake. All along the shore of that lake lay high elf trees, and colorful high elf tents, and a banner that proclaimed something about a summer of love.
The shouts came from the village of tents ahead, where madness had seized hold of dozens of elves. Most wore colorful clothing like the nice elf lady, but their behavior couldn’t have been more different.
They screamed and yelled at each other, and was…was that woman punching another woman? Bert craned his neck as Boberton brought them closer, and realized, to his horror, that many of the high elves were not getting up.
A battle had been fought here. Was still being fought. Every elf seemed angry at all the other elves, with no clear side, or reason behind the fighting. As he watched, a baker clubbed another elf over the head with a rolling pin, while another dumped a vat of boiling chocolate onto a fleeting elf running beneath the tree where the assassin had been waiting.
And then Bert saw it.
Beyond the elves, on the far side of their village, just within the tree line of the mighty forest, lay the flaming rock. Only the flames had gone out. Now the rock had glowing numbers on the sides, which had been cleverly shaped.
The dark lord trope supplied the name. An icosahedron. A twenty sided polyhedron, which made sense since one of the numbers was twenty, and none of the other numbers were higher than that.
The elves were all battling each other to reach the strange rock, though most were cut down before they got there. Finally, as Bert watched, a rather plump elf darted up the grassy field, and dodged a thrown stick of frozen butter honed to a deadly point.
Bert found himself rooting for the elf, and cheered when the little man dove for the strange rock. His entire body slammed into one of the sides, the one that had the number 12 emblazoned on it, and his body vanished in a flash.
Bert’s jaw fell open as he tried to understand what he was seeing. Another elf made it, and it too disappeared. Eventually a third elf made it, then a fourth. Every one met the same fate.
The awareness from his trope told him that the object was reclaiming the elves somehow. That meant it had created them in the first place, didn’t it?
Whatever the meaning it left Bert, a very small goblin, with a very large problem. How was he going to get the rock away from here? It had clearly driven the elves mad with greed.
Bert had to do something.
12
White's Wight Factory
Kit hadn’t bothered unpacking her adventurer’s gear, though she did enjoy the four-poster featherbed in the quarters she’d procured for herself. There were still bloodstains from where they’d murdered Brakestuff a few weeks ago, but she’d been too tired to summon the effort for a clean spell.
Upon rising from the soiled mattress she faced a dilemma. Should she simply leave, or go and see what White had gotten up to? There was no question it would be nefarius, and that it would involve subjugation, murder, and possibly worse.
In the end Kit left her pack next to the bed, and headed for the throne room. She’d poke her head in and get some sense of what White was up to. That way she’d be able to tell Bert if she was actually able to locate him.
She didn’t have much to go on as they’d turned Bumbledork into goo
before he could do much more than tell them that Bert had gone to search for a “sky rock”. But that was quite all right. One of the advantages of being a sorceress was that she possessed a variety of situationally useful spells.
The Ghostly Trail spell would follow Bert, or more likely Boberton, provided they could pick that trail up once they left town. That would be the difficult part. She had no idea which direction he’d gone, as there were forests in all directions if you went far enough.
Kit adjusted her azure robes as she approached the throne room, paused outside to gather her courage, and then stepped in to see what madness White had gotten up to.
She knew the moment she spied him at the window that something terrible had happened. She knew before the screams, which echoed up faintly from the town below.
“What have you done?” Kit forced calm into her voice as she moved to stand next to White.
The dark elf wore a maniacal grin as he stared down at his handiwork in the town of Bobertown. Kit’s hand shot to her mouth, and she very nearly lost her lunch when she surveyed the grisly carnage.
Crushstuff was surrounded by two dozen spectral figures. As she watched, the ogre brought his axe down on a fleeing archer. The weapon split the unfortunate elf from head to groin, and she winced sympathetically.
The body parts fell to the ground, but several zombies shambled forward to gather the pieces and drop them into a cart. A ghostly spirit rose from the body of the fallen elf, and it turned hungry eyes on the living still fleeing from Crushstuff.
Yet it didn’t bother the ogre. Wait…she took a moment to really see the ogre. His greenish skin had faded to a sallow white-grey. The pallor of death.
“White…what did you do to Crushstuff?” She backed a step away from the window, and prepared to run.
“Nothing you need fear.” White waved a hand absently as he continued to observe his grisly work. “Crushstuff requested improvements, so I gave him the undead template. He’s immune to most normal damage types now, though he is vulnerable to silver.”
