Arthur Daigle's Blog, page 10

New GoblinStories 15

Ballup’s Hole was a terrible name for a community for any number of reasons. It was, sadly, an accurate description. The seaside town was built along a river that flooded often and had recently begun to silt up. Homeowners were busy shoveling mud out of their homes and dumping it on the streets. Humidity was so high that moisture dripped off every structure and tree. A dense fog was rolling in and blotted out what little daylight remained. And the town smelled like manure, salt water and rotting fish.

Brody the goblin stared at the revolting town. “This looks shockingly like a goblin settlement.”

“It has seen better days,” Julius Craton admitted. Julius was the most famous member of the Guild of Heroes, and also their longest serving. Word was that gamblers were taking bets on how much longer the poor man would last. Tall, handsome, well armed with a magic short sword called Sworn Doom, and wearing chain armor and a steel breastplate, he was a sight to intimidate or inspire. “There’s too much moisture. Wood structures decay, are rebuilt, and decay again.”

“How long ago were these better days?” Brody asked. The short goblin had blue skin and darker blue hair. His features were boyish, so much so that some people refused to believe he was a goblin. He had two blue antenna-like growths growing from his forehead and four longer ones sprouting from his back. They served no purpose he’d been able to figure out. Brody wore blue swimming shorts and carried paddles to strap to his feet and hands when swimming, but nothing else. He’d learned the hard way that an armed goblin was a threat to too many people.

“Fifteen years ago.” Julius walked down a rotting wood staircase set into the hillside as he descended to the town. “My first assignment with the guild was in this kingdom. Brigands were raiding settlements in the middle of winter to steal their food, and Ballup’s Hole was the next target. The town was physically better then, but I wouldn’t call those good times.”

“You think we can hire a ship here?”

“It’s the closest town with a harbor. Whether or not the fishermen are willing to take paying passengers is questionable. I’m hoping my history with these people might open doors for us.”

They met a man going up the stairs, and Julius stepped aside to let him pass. This meant stepping in sodding mud with weedy grasses growing out of it. The man tipped his cap, but instead of moving on he stopped and stared. “My word. It’s Julius Craton! Saints and angels, I thought I’d never see you again!”

Julius smiled. “My friend and I are passing through, and—”

“Hey!” The man waved his arms and shouted to men and women in the streets below. “Hey! Julius Craton is back!”

A cheer went up among the citizens of the slovenly town. Humans ran up to greet him and thankfully overlooked Brody. They laughed and smiled, shook his hand, patted him on the back and offered him food and drink. It took the fast growing crowd ten minutes to calm down enough for him to speak.

“It’s a pleasure to have such a warm welcome. I’m glad to see your town is prosperous,” he said without apparent irony. Julius put a hand on Brody’s shoulder and said, “My friend and I are on our way to Oceanview Kingdom. I was hoping that one of your fishermen would be willing to provide us transportation there in return for fair pay.”

“Surely you can stay a few days,” a man asked.

A woman glared balefully at Brody. “Why is he with a goblin?”

“I’m afraid the people of Oceanview need my help as you once did,” he told the crowd. “As much as I would like to spend time with you, I can’t without leaving others in dangers. I hope you’ll forgive my poor manners in refusing your generous offer.”

A man in muddy leather clothes pointed at the approaching fog. “Much as we’d love to help, no boats are leaving harbor until the fog clears. Sir, our town still exists because of you and your brother warriors in the guild. Allow us to open our doors to you at least until the weather improves.”

Julius frowned at being delayed. “I suppose a day lost won’t affect my mission. Is the Wind’s Whim Inn still in business?”

A portly man in the crowd laughed and waved for him to come further. “We’re open and happy to have you!”

Brody and Julius were escorted through the sloppy settlement. Up close it was even more depressing, with garbage thrown out windows onto the street, rats scampering in the alleys and loose dogs yapping at children. Brody saw signs of goblins, including graffiti like ‘Goblin Builders! Watch it rot while we build it!’ He also spotted a few goblins slinking through the shadows.

They were brought to a two story tall building with mushrooms sprouting out of the walls. The portly man opened the doors to show the interior a bit better off, with dry floors, sturdy tables and chairs, and a staircase leading to a second floor. That floor was more like a large balcony overlooking the first floor, and had a bar and five tables with plenty of stools. Some enterprising goblin had scratched, ‘An apple a day only keeps the doctor away if your aim is good.’ on a wall. There were large windows facing the ocean that showed the approaching fog. Brody saw three patrons, but fifteen men and women from the crowd joined them inside. To their credit, only five of them looked like they would like to kill the goblin.

“Please, take a seat at the bar and I’ll get you a drink,” the portly man said. He climbed the stairs ahead of Julius and said, “You probably don’t remember me after so many years. I’m Iggy Wilvet. Back when the brigands attacked, you handed me a spear and we held the main barricade with the menfolk. Someone go fetch the sheriff. He’ll want to meet you, what with you saving his father’s life back then.”

Most of the crowd peeled off. Some begged forgiveness for doing so and swore they had work they couldn’t avoid. Others promised to return and bring friends with them. A middle-aged woman vowed to bring her son, who she’d named after Julius. This left them with a smaller crowd of admirers determined to stay.

“I’m glad to see you well,” Julius told him. “Has it been peaceful?”

“No real trouble,” Iggy told him. He got behind the bar and poured Julius a drink. “There’s the occasional thief, and we had a strange beast come up from the sea and attack the fish market. Lost a lot of the catch before we drove it off. Goblins cause trouble now and again. Your, ah goblin, he’s tame?”

Julius respected Brody for reasons the goblin never understood, and as always came to his defense. “I know Brody and saw him risk his life for the good of others. He has my respect and he deserves yours.”

“A tame goblin, that’s a first,” a boorish woman said. Julius frowned at her, and the woman had the decency to look ashamed.

Brody was used to that kind of talk. Goblins were the lowest of the low, and it was partially earned given their reputation for setting traps and causing chaos. Everyone he met (except Julius) assumed Brody was seconds away from doing something stupid. From time to time he was tempted to live up to their expectations, but there was something about Julius that changed you. The more time a person spent around him, the more you wanted to be like him, to make him like you. Brody had never acted much like a goblin, and after months with Julius he was considered civilized by those who met him.

A younger woman smiled and ran her fingers through Brody’s hair. “I think he’s cute. If all goblins were this nice they’d be welcome more places.”

“If we were welcome more places we’d be nicer,” Brody replied. He walked up to the bar and climbed onto a stool. “Aren’t most bars on the ground floor?”

“Most bars don’t have to worry about flooding,” Iggy countered. “I keep the casks up here or they’d mold. Tarnation, the town wasn’t this wet in my daddy’s day.”

Iggy handed Julius a leather cup of ale. “If you vouch for the goblin then he’s welcome. Say, I’d heard you haven’t married yet.”

The drink stopped before it reached Julius’ lips. “No, I haven’t. My job leaves no time for family.”

Iggy waved for a serving boy. “Don’t just stand there, get him a plate. It’s a pity, sir, truly a pity. A man shouldn’t be alone. My oldest, Helga, she’s marrying age, you know.” Julius nearly choked on his drink, which Iggy didn’t notice. Instead he continued his sales pitch, saying, “She’s learned good manners and is handy with a needle and thread, and you couldn’t ask for a better cook.”

One of the men punched Iggy in the arm. “Can you stop trying to palm off your daughter to every passerby?”

“What? She’d be a good match for him.”

Julius regained his breath and set down the cup. “I’m flattered you think so highly of me that you’d have me as a son-in-law. I’m sorry to say that wouldn’t be a good move. Life in the guild is dangerous and I’d hate to leave her a widow. You should know that some of my enemies have threated to kill the people I love. Your daughter would be in danger as my wife.”

Brody stifled a laugh and asked Julius, “Is that the fourth or fifth proposal this year?”

“Eighth,” Julius said under his breath. “You weren’t around for the more private ones.”

It was a certainty that Julius received offers of marriage, some of them rather indecent, at every town or city he visited. His reputation for valor, honesty and success in battle drew a steady stream of admirers. Many left when they learned he was nearly broke (saving kingdoms not being a well paying job when those kingdoms were broke), but some women weren’t deterred by his relative poverty.

Julius honestly didn’t know how to react to such offers. Brody had seen time and again that Julius was calm and decisive on the battlefield, almost supernaturally so. Put him in a social situation, however, and he floundered. He couldn’t relate to people outside of a conflict, and at parties would inevitably retreat to a quiet corner until the confusion was over.

“What sort of problems is Oceanview having that they’d need you?” a young man asked. “I’d heard they were happy as could be over there.”

“Their king is organizing a raid against pirates,” Julius lied. “He believes they’re survivors of the old Pirate Lords trying to make a comeback after their masters were defeated.”

The townspeople flinched at the news. One managed to say, “Mercy, I thought that scourge was long gone.”

Hunting pirates was the cover story for Julius’ trip to Oceanview. Their king was really interested in wiping out a criminal gang hundreds strong that had taken root in his capital, Sunset City, and he hoped to make the attack a surprise. Heroes like Julius Craton, Hammerhand Loudlungs the ogre and the nameless elf were heading for Oceanview from different locations, and together with the king’s men would rout the gang. It promised to be difficult, bloody and not that profitable given Oceanview was deep in debt. Nonetheless, the Guild of Heroes had promised help because they knew such problems grew if left unchecked.

Iggy slapped Julius on the back. “Ah, what’s a man like you got to worry about some pirates, eh? I heard how you showed that loser the Fallen King what for, and after that a snake cult.”

“It was a secret society, not a cult,” Julius corrected him. A serving boy brought Julius a plate of broiled fish and toasted bread. “Thank you. You can’t underestimate your enemies. I’ve seen too many surprises to take a foe for granted.”

“I’m glad you’re here if there’s pirates about,” Iggy told him. “Mercy, it seems every time you turn your back there’s another problem. Monsters, bandits, wars, pirates, lawyer infestations, it never ends. You ever hear of the philosopher Loopy Joe?”

Julius dug into his meal and passed the fish bones to Brody, who gobbled them up. “I don’t believe I’ve met him.”

“He doesn’t live far from here.” Iggy whistled. “Poor man used to be a university professor with all kinds of awards. His king had Joe fired for criticizing him and then confiscated his house. Joe went to live in the wilderness outside Kenton, and ended up smack dab in the path of the Eternal Army. He lost another house to those immortal loonies. Now he’s holed up in a cave by the seaside. We offered to let him live with us, but Joe said he’s safer where he’s at.”

The younger woman next to Brody looked sad. “The poor man did everything right and lost it all again and again. It makes you wonder how safe any of us really are.”

A man to Julius’ right tugged on his arm. “Hey, there’s this elf who comes by all the time trying to get us to buy tree seeds. He calls them living houses, and says they’ll grow fast and have hollowed out rooms we could live in. It sounded like bull plop to us, but after replacing my roof three times in ten years, I’m wondering if there’s something to it. Have you heard about these trees?”

Julius looked up from his meal. “It’s funny you should mention that. I’ve heard the same story in four other towns, but never seen these house trees. I assume it’s some sort of magic…”

Bop! Brody got hit in the head with an acorn. He looked around and saw a goblin climbing into the inn from a window. The other goblin had long black hair, green skin, a short tail and wore rags. No one else had seen him, and the new goblin waved for Brody to join him. Brody slipped away while Julius was talking to the humans and went to see the newcomer.

“Hi there.” Brody tossed him the acorn. Hitting someone in the head to get their attention was considered acceptable among goblins, provided you threw light objects.

“You have to go. There are crazy men about.”

Brody pointed at Julius. “He’s a bit off in the head, but he’s okay once you get to know him.”

“Not him. Crazy men are coming in with the fog. They’ve got weapons and are heading for the inn. Follow me and I’ll get you to safety.”

The other goblin tried to take Brody by the arm, but he took off like a shot and ran over to Julius. He tugged on the hero’s leg and said, “We’ve got armed men coming this way.”

“Fool goblin, you heard me call for the sheriff,” Iggy scoffed.

Julius stood up and pushed his plate away. “Why would he come armed to meet me, and with backup?”

The crowd’s jubilant mood died, and they turned toward the inn’s entrance. Men wearing dark cloaks and black clothes knocked the door open and poured into the first floor. They were armed, some with swords and the rest with a mix of axes, spears, and one man had a bow. They spread out and one of them pointed a sword at Julius.

“It’s Julius Craton all right,” the stranger snarled. “Kill him.”

Black clad men charged up the stairs with two spearmen in front. Townspeople screamed and tried to flee. Their panic doubled once they realized the only exit was blocked. The goblin with the tail climbed out a window and shouted, “Come on, let’s go!”

“I’m very sorry about the mess I’m going to make,” Julius told Iggy. He ran to the staircase, and on the way he grabbed a table by the leg. He was still running when he threw it at the spearmen. The table hit a man in the chest and bowled him over, then knocked over two more men behind him.

The enemy archer notched an arrow and fired. Julius lifted another table and the arrow struck it. The enemies on the stairs recovered and pushed on while Julius blocked a second arrow. He lifted the table over his head and hurled it onto the men below, striking the archer and knocking him to the floor.

Two spearmen reached the second floor and went after Julius. Brody grabbed a bar stool and went after the one on the right. He slid the stool on its side and placed it in front of the man. The spearman was so focused on Julius that he didn’t notice the obstacle until his foot came down between the seat and crossbars. Brody then shoved the stool as hard as he could, toppling the spearman.

The second spearman lunged at Julius. Julius stepped aside and grabbed the spear with his right hand and the spearman’s arm with his left. Instead of pushing him back, Julius pulled the man forward, sending him into and then through a window. The spearman screamed as he fell to the muddy ground below.

Brody saw the spearman he’d trip scowl and climb to his hands and knees. He got no farther as Julius ran over and kicked him with enough force to lift the man in the air and spin him onto his back. The man was already howling in pain when Julius swung his fists like hammers and struck at the base of the man’s ribs, driving the air from his lungs. Wounded and gasping for breath, he was a threat to no one.

Three more men reached the second floor while Julius and Brody dealt with the first two. Two men attacked Julius from the front while the third tried to get behind him. Like the spearmen, they ignored Brody, and they paid for it. The little goblin grabbed a tankard of ale off a still standing table and threw it in the face of a swordsman. Julius grabbed the temporarily blinded man and shoved him into a second one, toppling both.

Brody saw the third man veer off to attack him, and the little goblin scooted under a table. Thunk! The man’s sword lopped off a table leg and the table tipped over. He raised his sword for another swing when Julius grabbed him from behind, spun him around and shoved him off the second floor.

Below them, the archer looked up in time to see the swordsman falling onto him, and had just enough time to scream, “Not again!”

The rest of the gang was trying to get up the stairs to join the fight when Brody saw Iggy roll a twenty-gallon barrel across the floor. The barrel sloshed as he pushed it to the stairs, and rolled down them with a series of bangs as it hit each step. The foes on the stairs ran back down or dove off to avoid the awkward weapon. The barrel went on rolling and actually went out he front door. Bizarre as the scene was, it bought Julius and Brody precious seconds.

The remaining swordsmen facing Julius scrambled to their feet and found the hero charging them. He was on top of them before they could attack, so close they couldn’t use their swords effectively. He drove his fist into one man’s gut and doubled him over, leaving Brody to clobber the man over the head with a stool. The second man backed up, careful to stay away from the stairs and edge of the second floor. His caution spared him only for a moment.

Julius pulled the sword off his belt, taking it scabbard and all. The last of the three swordsmen tried an overhead swing, which Julius blocked. This left him open as the swordsman drew a dagger from his belt and tried to stab Julius in the gut. The blade hit his chest plate and skidded off it. Julius stepped forward and jammed the butt of his sword into the man’s gut. The swordsman gasped and was pushed back, where Brody waited with the stool he’d grabbed. He struck the man in the back of the knees, knocking him over backwards. Julius kicked him off the second floor to the growing pile of men below.

“They really need railings in this place,” Brody said.

Iggy ran up to them with a pitcher full of ale. “We used to have them. Termites, they’re devils on six legs.”

The rest of the gang forced their way up the stairs. Brody couldn’t figure out why they were so determined. So far they’d lost six men with nothing to show for it. It should have been enough to make them flee. Regardless of their losses, four axmen joined the battle, followed by their leader with a sword.

“The town sheriff is on his way,” Julius said as they advanced. “Townspeople will rally to him and overwhelm you. You can only find death here. I give my word that if you surrender you’ll face justice but not execution.”

“Your word means nothing!” the enemy leader yelled. “Your ways are slavery, your honor a lie and your name is poison! Your death is freedom to the people! Kill him!”

The axmen formed a line and charged. Iggy splashed ale in their faces, but they’d expected this and all but one turned away in time. The enemies chopped apart or knocked over furniture in their way. Julius kept his sword sheathed but held it tight. He gripped the handle hard and prepared to draw his blade.

That was when the inn’s patrons ran screaming into the enemy’s rear, armed with bottles, stools, kitchen knives and their fists. Seeing Julius face these foes and win had replaced their fear with courage and then rage. The axmen cried out in shock as eighteen men and women swarmed over them, grappling them, striking them, even biting them. Numbers and surprise was enough to bring the four men to their knees and then the floor.

An older man put an axman in a headlock and punched him in the face. “We stood strong once, and we’ll do it a thousand times more!”

“You fools, we’re doing this for you!” the axman screamed. That earned him another punch to the face.

Alone and facing a man better armed, better armored and battle hardened, the enemy leader should have run for his life. Instead he ran screaming into the fight and went straight for Julius. He slashed at Julius’ exposed face, and Julius barely raised his sword in time to block the swings. The man kept screaming, droplets of spit spraying from his mouth, sweat pouring off him as he attacked.

Brody jumped onto the pile of outraged citizens and defeated axmen. He ran across the struggling men and women before jumping onto the enemy leader’s back and wrapped both arms around his face. The man swung wildly with his sword while he grabbed Brody with his free hand and pulled. Brody grunted under the strain but held on. Julius batted aside the enemy leader’s sword and punched him hard. The blow staggered the leader and was followed by four more punches. The leader screamed in outrage and pain before two more hits brought him to his knees. One last punch to the gut dropped him alongside his men.

The fight was over less than five minutes after it started. There was no cheering the victory or toasting, just exhausted men and women glad to be alive. Their enemies were so battered that few could stand and none could offer battle.

Julius helped Brody up. “Are you hurt?”

“I’ll heal.” Brody pointed at the man at Julius’ feet. “This seemed personal. Do you know him?”

Julius took the man by the shoulders and set him against a wall. He took off his hood to reveal a young man barely old enough to shave. “No. He hasn’t got scars or tattoos. Iggy, have you seen him before?”

Iggy left his patrons holding the last four men prisoners and headed over. He stopped in front of the leader and frowned. “Not in my whole life.”

Battered and broken, the youth spat at Julius. “You killed my father!”

Julius stared at the youth. “I’ve fought for fifteen years. I imaging that I’ve killed quite a few men’s fathers.”

“You don’t even remember him!” the youth screamed. “I was a child when my father joined the rebellion against the king. I was four when I heard you’d killed him and all the others. Our movement died, our hope died, our chance for a future died at your hands! You called us brigands when we were trying to save these people!”

“Save us?” Iggy spat. “You robbed others and would have done the same to us, leaving whole families to starve. Help like that we don’t need!”

“We needed food for the revolution! We could have overthrown the king and recast the kingdom. Taxes would be lower, punishments lighter.”

Brody picked through the belongings of the defeated men. There was some nifty loot here. “And the few who survived would have appreciated it.”

One of the axmen stared in horror at Julius. “We trained for month. You, you beat us and didn’t even draw your sword.”

Julius unsheathed his short sword and held it up. The magic blade glowed like a lantern, lighting up the entire inn. He swung it at an enemy’s sword on the floor and hacked through it as if it were made of balsa wood. “I wanted to question you after the fight. Sworn Doom tends to leave enemies in pieces.”

“It’s one of my strong points,” the sword said. People gasped and Julius sheathed his blade.

Armed men raced into the inn, led by a black and gold clad man with a shield and saber. Iggy pointed to the man in black and gold and said, “Sheriff, the inn was attacked. These vermin were after Mr. Craton.”

The sheriff nodded to Julius. “You’re a blessing wherever you go, sir. We’ll put these dogs in chains and turn them over to the king’s men the first chance we get.”

Men with the sheriff took change of the defeated revolutionaries and dragged them away. Their leader had to be carried out after the injuries he’d taken. He stared balefully at Julius, screaming, “My men and I are lost, but hundreds more stand ready to strike. You can’t resist the future!”

Brody watched the men until they were gone and then glanced at Julius. “You think he’s bluffing?”

“No. Those men were determined and already inside the town. Their weapons were in good condition and worth over a hundred guilders. This has the hallmarks of an organized and well-financed movement. We’re going to have to deal with this before we move onto Oceanview.”

Iggy neared Julius. “Sir, ah, what you said to the fool boy about his father…”

Julius looked down. “Villains have family the same as the good. I’ve tried to fight for honorable causes, but there’s no denying that I’ve left wives widowed and children orphaned. Iggy, I appreciated your help and that of the others here, but you should have left me to handle this. I’m the only one here with armor! You could have been killed.”

The older man in the crowd spat. “I fought beside you once, and I’ll be a goblin’s uncle before I let you stand alone. No offense.”

“No offense taken,” Brody told him.

Iggy pointed his empty pitcher at Brody. “If he can help then so should we, and it looks like you’re going to need us again sooner rather than later.”

Sore and tired, Brody sat down in a corner. Hundreds of armed men? Mercy! Things were about to get crazy in Ballop’s Hollow. He saw the green goblin climbed back into the inn and give him a pitying look.

“I tried to get you out in time,” the other goblin said. “Why wouldn’t you come?”

It was a good question, one which Brody had trouble answering. In the end he pointed at Julius, who was already speaking with the townspeople about how many weapons they had and which towns were close enough to turn to for help. Julius had been in fights as bad or worse than this since he was fifteen. Chances were good he’d die in battle long before he got white hair.

“Julius saves people,” Brody finally said, and went to help his friend. “Someone’s got to save him.”

Not Quite a Hero

Dana Illwind waited at the forest crossroads north of her town, not happy with her current situation. That was unfortunate given she was responsible for ninety percent of what was happening to her. Maybe eighty-five percent responsible.

It was getting dark and cold, and she pulled her cloak tight over her shoulders. She’d worn her extra thick dress and fur lined boots, and a fur cap over her brown hair. It was still early in the year where winter’s cold and spring’s warmth traded places nearly every day. Dana had brought a backpack loaded with two days of food, a lamp and extra oil, a knife (never leave home without one) and a purse with her life savings. Granted fourteen copper pieces and three silver coins didn’t go far, but her father was fond of pointing out most people didn’t have two coins to rub together and got by on barter. Barter was also harder for the king to tax.

The thick growth of pine trees would make it hard to see her guest when he arrived. He’d said he’d come today, but they were rapidly running out of today. Maybe he was delayed and wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow. That would be bad. She’d used every excuse she had to get out of today’s chores. Her parents wouldn’t tolerate her missing another day.

An owl hooted to the north. Maybe he wouldn’t come at all. But then why bother writing to say he would? Paper cost money, and the scruffy-looking man who delivered his letter must have been paid. If he had no intention of coming then he could have saved time and money by ignoring her request.

“Ms. Illwind, I presume?”

Dana screamed and leaped off the road, landing on a thick carpet of dead pine needles. She scrambled behind a tree and drew her knife. It took her half a minute to stop hyperventilating, and another ten seconds to get angry with the smirking man standing off to the side of the road.

“That was not nice!”

“I’m not a nice person.”

Dana sheathed her knife and returned to the road. The man who’d scared the daylights out of her (and nearly several other things) was in his thirties. His long blond hair was a mess, even if it was clean. His clothes were, well, odd. He favored black with silver highlights, and she’d never seen the style before. The cape flowed like there was a wind, his black gloves ended in silver tips, his boots came up to his knees and his belt was segmented black metal that reminded her of a centipede.

He was attractive and doubtlessly drew attention wherever he went. Part of that was how confident he looked, like victory was assured by nothing more than his presence. Maybe there was magic at work here? It wouldn’t surprise her. He carried no weapon, a rare move when traveling in the wilderness, and more so for a man of his fierce reputation. Then again, if he was half as powerful as the stories claimed, he wouldn’t need a sword or bow.

“Um, Sorcerer Lord Jayden?”

“A pleasure, Ms. Illwind.” Jayden walked onto the road. She curtsied, and to her surprise Jayden circled her. “I must admit I thought you’d be a tad older. I also expected the town mayor to come in person rather than send his daughter unescorted. It speaks poorly of him.”

Dana put her hands on her hips. “I’m fifteen, a grown woman. I’m sorry my father couldn’t come. He’s a very busy man, sir.”

“Busy?” Jayden reached into a pocket and pulled out a letter. “He wasn’t too busy to send a letter begging for my help. He gushed his admiration in flowery language, yet after I came a great distance he decides not to meet me? Instead he sends a slip of a girl. I take offense at that.”

Oh dear. Dana waved her hands in front of her. “No, no, it’s not like that! He, uh, he wanted to come, but he’s sick! He’s drunk! The horse kicked him! The sheriff bit him! I mean the dog bit him!”

Jayden tilted his head to one side. “You’re sure the horse didn’t bite him?”

“Very sure! Definitely the dog.”

The Sorcerer Lord stared at her a few moments before turning his attention to the letter he’d taken out. “I can’t help but notice a level of flattery seldom employed by men. Most are too proud to ask for help, and the more authority they wield the less willing they are to admit weakness. It makes me wonder.”

“Wonder what, sir?”

“I wonder if I were to track down your father the mayor, would he know anything about this letter? It has his seal of office on it. That normally proves a letter’s authenticity, except such a seal can be borrowed, especially by someone living in his house.”

Dana blushed and looked at her feet. Jayden walked up to her and put a finger under her chin. He pressed up gently until she was looking him in the eyes.

Terrified, she managed to say, “My father…doesn’t know you’re here. He doesn’t know about the monster, either. I couldn’t tell him.”

“Pray tell, why not?”

“Because he’s mayor.” She took a deep breath and tried to keep from shaking. “If a town is in danger the mayor has to lead its defense. He’s an old man, and these monsters have killed before. If we still had the town militia we’d stand a chance, but they were called up for military service by the king. That leaves the men still left in town, none of whom know how to fight, and my father leading them.

“They’d be killed! But, but my father knows his duty, and he’d go anyway. Maybe he’d win. His father killed one of these monsters, but others tried and never came back. So when I saw one of the fiends in the woods I didn’t tell him. I wrote the letter asking for help, and I hired a traveling peddler to deliver it. He said he knew where to find you. I’d heard you saved another town from a manticore. I have money. It, ah, should cover your expenses.”

Dana closed her eyes and braced for the fallout of her lies. She trembled, wondering if he’d burn her alive, cut her to pieces or maybe turn her into a newt. Getting Jayden here had been a long shot, but she’d been desperate, and now was willing to admit, overconfident. But lives were at stake, every one a person she loved. She had to do something even if it was risky! It was, at most, eighty percent her fault.

Jayden threw his head back and laughed. “You have got to be the most conniving, devious, manipulative woman in the entire kingdom! I’m glad we met.”

She opened one eye. “You’re not going to rip my liver out and feed it to ravens?”

“That would limit your usefulness. After all, you’re the only one who’s seen this monster and can lead me to it.”

“Wait, what?” Both her eyes were open and her jaw dropped. “I, uh, you can’t find it with your magic?”

“No.” Jayden reread the letter she’d sent him. “Your letter describes the beast as a spider made of dead branches and animal bones, big as a wagon with holes in it wide enough you could reach a hand inside. It’s called an estate guard, brutes I’m familiar with and have killed twice before. Your accurate description made me believe this was a legitimate call for help and not a trap or hoax.”

“It was very scary, and I really would rather not meet it again.”

Looking up from the letter, he asked, “What was it doing?”

“It was pulling a dead tree deeper into the forest. There’s a place in the woods we’re not supposed to go. That’s where the monsters live. They come out once a generation, maybe twice, and our people have to kill them. Some of our men said the monsters come from ruins the old Sorcerer Lords made.”

Jayden folded up the letter. “With due respect to your menfolk, there’s only one monster, a blessing indeed. May I borrow your lantern for a moment?”

Dana handed it over. “You know about them?”

“Yes. I was being quite literal when I said there was only one. The others your ancestors killed over the years? It was the same monster. You destroyed its body and nothing more.”

“How is that possible? Hey, what are you doing?”

Jayden opened her lantern and put her letter to him inside. He watched it burn before returning the lantern. “Your father’s name and seal are on that letter. He would be in considerable trouble if someone should find it. The king and queen wouldn’t understand, especially after I poached their deer, robbed two of their storehouses and looted a caravan bringing them wine.”

Dana backed up until she hit a tree. “You did what?”

He smiled at her. “I told you I’m not a nice man. Without going into excessive details, I don’t like them and they don’t like me. Be honest, do they stir feelings of love and loyalty in your heart, or do their names churn up fear?”

“Fear.” Dana was ashamed to say it. Her father had warned her to watch what she said, but there seemed little risk of saying the truth with no witnesses. “Taxes are still high to pay for the civil war twenty years ago. We’re struggling to get by, and the king’s calling up men to start a new war. So many people have been exiled. My brother Owen, he, um, they took him and said he has to stay in the capital.”

“As a hostage, insurance that your father does as he’s told. All mayors were required to surrender their eldest sons last year. It’s barbaric behavior that the queen takes a fair share of the blame for. Trust me, I’ve met her and she leaves much to be desired. But that is neither here nor there, and we have a monster to kill. So, if you’ll take me to where you saw it last we can finish this business, and make sure no member of your fair town need face this threat again.”

* * * * *

It was totally dark as they walked through the forest, Dana’s lantern their only source of light. There was no undergrowth beneath the trees. She saw patches of snow where the trees shaded the ground so completely that the sun never touched it. Dana saw several fresh stumps where lumberjacks had taken trees last winter, but there were no houses or farms. The earth was too sour to support crops except blueberries, and even goblins weren’t foolish enough to live here.

“You said there’s only one monster, but we’ve killed many,” she said.

“Destroyed, yes. Killed, no. The monster of bones and branches you saw was a temporary body the estate guard built. It can lose that to rot, fire or damage in battle.”

“Then how do you kill it?”

Jayden climbed over a fallen tree lying across the road and stopped to help her over. “Estate guards are actually gold talismans three inches long and shaped like a scarab beetle. It had to be attached somewhere on the body you saw. You need to find that and smash it. Stop at burning or crushing the body and the talisman will crawl off to make another.”

They’d reached the spot where Dana had seen the monster weeks ago. Several pines had died, leaving an opening to the sky above. That provided enough light to support blueberry bushes that were leafing out. Not far from the clearing was a narrow trench six inches deep and running hundreds of feet, and to either side of it were potholes a foot across and just as deep.

“That’s where it was,” Dana told Jayden. “I was checking rabbit snares when I saw the monster grab a dead tree and pull it away. I hid in that hollow over there until it left.”

She shivered at the horror of that night. She’d been having a good day when the stuff of nightmares had come within feet of her. She’d hidden as best she could, held her breath and prayed that the beast would pass. The sound it had made, a rasping, scratching sound, would stay with her until she died.

Jayden bent down to study the tracks. “Most estate guards were destroyed long ago along with the original Sorcerer Lords. No loss there. The Sorcerer Lords were greedy, vicious and thoroughly detestable. Most of them died when they turned on one another, and the rest fell in battle with the ancient Elf Empire.”

“Are you one of their descendants?”

That made him laugh. “Heavens no, and a fact I’m proud of. I simply took their name and as much of their magic as I could find. Quite a few others have done so over the years.”

Dana perked up. “I’d never heard that. Where are they?”

“Dead,” he explained.

“Dead?”

He nodded. “Extremely dead.”

“I didn’t know there were degrees of being dead.”

“Oh yes.” He spoke casually on the grisly subject, as if it was no different than discussing the weather. “Most people end up extremely dead. Some end up sort of dead. Vampires, ghouls, ghosts, barrow weights, it’s surprisingly common. Nearly all of them wish they were extremely dead. I’ve met a few vampires and none were happy.”

“Oh. Uh, why was the monster taking a tree?”

“That’s something we have to worry about. Estate guards need to make bodies for themselves. If they come across dead material, fallen trees and dry bones, they can pull them together and become a threat to others. But stumbling across enough materials by chance is harder than it sounds, especially bones. Those normally decompose or are eaten by predators and scavengers.”

Dana peered over Jayden’s shoulder at the tracks. “It was gathering parts for a body?”

“Clever girl! That’s exactly what it was doing. Most estate guards aren’t too bright, but this one has been active for centuries, long enough to learn. It’s had bodies destroyed before, so it’s collecting what it needs to make a new body if it loses this one.”

Worried, she asked, “How many bodies does it have?”

He shrugged. “There’s no way to tell. If the estate guard hasn’t been seen in a generation then it’s had plenty of time to prepare. There could be enough branches and bones hidden for it to jump from one body to the next a dozen times.”

Dana looked down. “The stories said people fought these monsters for days. That’s why, isn’t it? They’d kill it but not the talisman, and it made a new body to attack again. Why does it come after us?”

Jayden got up and followed the tracks deeper into the woods. “Estate guards protected the property of the old Sorcerer Lords. I’d guess this one is doing just that. A Sorcerer Lord once claimed this land and this estate guard survived its maker. As far as it’s concerned, your townspeople are trespassers.”

“But we’ve lived here for three hundred years!”

“And the old Sorcerer Lords died out eighteen hundred years ago. Common sense and good manners demand it accepts the situation. Unfortunately estate guards were built to obey, and while they can think and learn, they can’t change their orders. This state of affairs will go on until it’s killed.”

Dana ran ahead of him and smiled. “You’re a Sorcerer Lord, not like the old ones. Can you make it stop being a jerk?”

“I’ve mastered some of the old Sorcerer Lords’ magic, but not enough to make an estate guard or seize control of one. Regretfully this must end in violence.”

“Um, exactly how much magic can you do?”

Jayden bared his teeth. “There are three things you never ask: a woman’s age, a miser’s wealth or a wizard’s power.”

“Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry—”

“You’re sorry, yes, we established that,” he interrupted. “Apology accepted. Now if you don’t mind, we…we have a problem.”

The tracks ended abruptly, for the estate guard had dragged the fallen tree across stony ground. Jayden marched over to where the tracks ended. He muttered strange words Dana didn’t understand, and a glowing orb appeared in his hands. The orb floated high into the sky before winking out, long enough to illuminate the forest for half a mile in all directions. Jayden scowled at what he saw. The rocky ground went on beyond the light of his orb.

“I’d hoped to send you home and finish this alone, but I’ve little chance to find the monster’s lair with the trail gone.”

Worried, she asked, “What do you mean?”

“You spoke of ruins the monster uses as its lair. Do you know where to find them?”

Dana frowned. Where was he going with this? “Sort of. I mean, I heard the same stories as everyone else in town.”

“That will have to do. Take me there or as close as you can.”

Worry quickly turned to panic. “Wait a minute, I can’t go there! You’re a Sorcerer Lord, a new one, anyway. You can fight scary things like this. I can’t!”

“I don’t need you to fight, only guide me to it. You can leave once I’m there.”

“Can’t someone else in the village do that?”

“That would require them to meet me. You don’t want your father to know I’m here, difficult enough when only you know of my presence. Do you want a friend or neighbor to know your secret? Can they keep it?” He kept speaking as he walked back to her, his words remorseless. “Will you place them in danger you’d avoid? I thought you braver than that.”

“But, but—”

“You summoned me here. You want the estate guard dead and your town forever free from its menace. I’m placing my life at risk for your neighbors, your friends, your family. If you respect nothing else about me, respect that and reciprocate.”

Dana gulped. Sweat poured off her regardless of the cold. Bringing Jayden here had been the most terrifying thing she’d done, hoping and praying he’d come and that no one would learn about it. She’d done as much as anyone could expect. This wasn’t fair!

Fair or not, dangerous or not, Jayden was right. He had to find the monster’s hideout. Without help he could spend weeks searching for it, every day risking discovery. People who saw him might inform the authorities. Or Jayden might leave if she didn’t help. Her town would be in the same mess it had been in for hundreds of years. How many more people would the monster kill? If even one person died and Dana could prevent it, the loss would be on her head.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled her nerves and pointed west. “It’s supposed to be at the base of the largest mountain.”

* * * * *

Dana had never intended to stay out this late. She’d originally hoped to meet Jayden in the early morning and point him in the right direction, then return home. Her parents would be furious. Her sisters would be scared. Her little brother would be digging through her belongings like a deranged raccoon, looking for and probably finding her hidden bag of chocolates. Those goodies had cost her two copper pieces! This was now officially only seventy percent her fault.

The land grew progressively more mountainous. There were still pine trees growing where rock gave way to soil, and they were giants over a hundred feet tall. Lumberjacks would drool at the sight of such beautiful trees, or weep knowing they couldn’t harvest them without being attacked.

“What’s that up ahead?” Jayden asked.

Before them was a clearing with three destroyed houses. Their doors had long ago rotted away, but the damage to the brick walls wasn’t caused by the ravages of time. One had the front wall caved in, a second was missing two walls and the third was little more than a pile of bricks. A pine tree fifty feet tall grew from the rubble of the second house, proof of how long ago the damage was done.

“This is from the first time the monster attacked my people,” Dana explained. “Our baron’s great, great grandfather built this as a hunting lodge. His workers had just finished it when the monster attacked. You can see what it did. The baron escaped in his underwear but lost all his hounds. His family, ah, they don’t come here anymore.”

“Even to fight monsters that humiliated their ancestor?” Jayden asked sarcastically.

“Especially to fight monsters. The last time the monster attacked, my grandfather asked for their help. We were told the baron was indisposed and so were all his men.”

“Hunting’s less fun when the quarry fights back.” Jayden studied the ruined buildings and surroundings. “I see a footprint between those stones that could only have come from our foe. There don’t seem to be more. It came this way, but I can’t tell its direction from one footprint. How far are we from the beast’s lair?”

Dana stopped and took a flask of oil from her backpack. She topped off her lantern’s reserve and put the flask away. “It’s supposed to be a few miles from here. We’ll reach it by midnight.”

“An inauspicious hour, but it will have the benefit of being dramatic.” He smiled when Dana gave him a confused look. “I’m told I have a tendency for being overly theatrical. Allow me my weaknesses.”

She hesitated before going further. “You’re positive there’s only one monster?”

“If there were two, your town would be little more than a memory.”

Dana led him on, her lantern their only light. Jayden made no move to summon another of his light spheres, but it had burned out so fast there was little reason to bother. That was the only spell she’d seen Jayden cast. It worried her. Were all his spells so weak, so limited? He certainly seemed confident, smug even, so maybe he had better magic he was saving for the battle.

“Um, I have a question,” she began. “Why did you come alone? This would be easier if you’d brought your men.”

Jayden laughed. “That implies I have men. I don’t.”

Dana stopped and stared at him. “No one follows you? But you’re famous, or infamous, maybe both. People should be knocking each other over to work for you.”

“Followers are expensive. You have to feed them, arm them, house them, and don’t get me started on pensions and medical care. If they have families, I’m expected to support them as well! Studying magic costs an appalling amount of gold, and I have precious little. My choice was learn magic or hire incompetent, smelly, barely educated and possibly disloyal followers.”

“That’s kind of harsh.”

He smiled at her. “If you only knew.”

Jayden’s reasonable (albeit rude) response gave her the courage to ask a question that had been bothering her. “You don’t like the old Sorcerer Lords much, but you call yourself one. Why?”

Jayden walked on in silence for so long Dana thought he was ignoring her, or worse, angry with her again.

“It’s a fair question. The old Sorcerer Lords performed incredible deeds rivaling that of the ancient Elf Empire. I recognize their achievements but curse their name for how they accomplished them. No deed was too foul if the act advanced their power and position in society. They went down in history as monsters, and deservedly so.

“But, and this may seem strange, their name has great allure. If I called myself a hero, a revolutionary, a scholar or a wizard, few would notice me. Calling myself a Sorcerer Lord draws men’s attention. They recall the glory of those days and not the blood. My claim is fair to a point, given all my spells were learned from ruins of the old Sorcerer Lords. I use their tools if not their methods, so I feel using their title is justified.”

Struggling to make a point without making an enemy of him, Dana said, “But you get the bad part of their reputation along with the good. If they did bad things, people will think you might, too. They’ll be afraid of you.”

“There are people I want to be afraid of me. I want them to tremble at my name and the passing of my shadow. I want them to be afraid because they live off fear, they use it as a tool, and it’s high time they felt what it was like.”

Without thinking, Dana said, “Someone hurt you badly, didn’t they?”

She instantly regretted her words and flinched from whatever magic Jayden was sure to throw at her for speaking to him that way. To her amazement Jayden didn’t even look at her. The confidence seemed to drain out of him, just for a moment, and he said, “It’s not a tale for children to hear.”

People in her town liked Dana, and that had little to do with being the mayor’s daughter. She helped those in need, nursed those who were sick and fed those who were hungry. Following her father’s example, she also knew when to ignore minor crimes done from desperation or ignorance. They loved her and she wanted it to be that way.

What sort of person wanted to be feared? It boggled the mind. Jayden’s personality seemed to shift as often as a clock’s pendulum, kindness changing to anger. Dana wondered what had led him to this point. Whatever it was, it had left him scarred in ways that were hard to heal. Was there anything that could lead him away from giving in to his anger?

It didn’t help that Jayden was alone most of the time with no followers or friends. People get weird when they were alone too long. She’d seen it in Anton Carothers, who lived outside town and swore gnomes were after him. Admittedly they might be, given how foul tempered most gnomes were, but that was beside the point. Loneliness could eat away at a man until he was left bitter.

They stopped where the forest gave way to mountains that towered high above them, wreathed in clouds and capped with snow. Technically this was still part of the kingdom, but no one came here. You couldn’t grow crops, raise livestock or even gather wood, and these mountains held no metals or gemstones. It was worthless to all, a property abandoned to the monster because there was nothing here worth fighting for.

“I’m told The Kingdom of the Goblins is nearly this desolate,” Jayden said. “Mind you, I think that’s just bad press. And unless my eyes deceive me, our goal is at hand.”

The ruins at the base of the mountains were in terrible shape. There were five buildings made to massive proportions, three or even four stories high. Two were little more than outer walls with the ceilings and interior gone. Another was an architectural wonder on one side and a rubble pile on the other. The last two had holes in the walls big enough to ride a wagon through them. There were seven piles of rubble so large they must have been buildings at one point. Moss grew across the ground to form a thick carpet that muffled their footsteps.

Jayden walked fearlessly to the edge of the ruins. “This was certainly built by the old Sorcerer Lords. I’ve visited ruins like this often enough in the far north to recognize their style. I believe it was the private residence of one of their wealthier members, and by the look of things he went down fighting.”

“A Sorcerer Lord lived here?”

He nodded and pointed to the buildings one after another. “Oh yes. That was his mansion, that was a storehouse, the third one was a workshop, that was the slave pen, and—”

“Slave pen?” Dana’s hand reflexively went to her knife.

“Few people know this, but the Sorcerer Lords made up less than one percent of the population in lands they ruled. The rest of the people were property, owned from the day they were born until they breathed their last breath. Men, elves, ogres, minotaurs, gnomes, they’d put anyone in chains except goblins, who were too hard to control and could do too little work to bother breaking their will.”

Pointing at the ruins, he added, “And somewhere in that mess is our enemy, guarding rubble for a master long since dead. I’d feel sorry for it living such a pointless existence, save for the fact it will kill for a cause lost long ago and never worth fighting for.”

“It could be hiding in a dozen places waiting in ambush. How are we going to find it?”

Jayden stretched his arms over his head. “We aren’t going to do anything of the sort. Your job was to get me here and you succeeded, a deed to be proud of. The rest is up to me. Find a safe place to wait and let me dispose of the estate guard.”

Worried, she asked, “You’re just going to walk in there?”

He let his arms fall to his side and smirked. “Hardly. The estate guard is bound by ancient commands to defend this slovenly hole in the ground. I need only cause some property damage and it will come to save its home. Once it’s in the open the fight will be short and exceptionally loud.”

“Sounds like throwing rocks at a hornet net.” Dana was glad to let Jayden do the hard part. This was so dangerous it was at best fifty percent her responsibility. But she hesitated before looking for cover. “Um, Jayden, the first time I met the monster was miles away.”

“And?”

She waved her hands at the distant forest. “How do we know it’s here? It could be in the woods looking for parts to make more bodies, or patrolling for invaders.”

A rasping, scraping sound came from behind them, the sound of dry branches rubbing against each other. Dana and Jayden turned to find the estate guard cresting a hill not thirty feet from where they stood. Its front legs carried a load of deer antlers that must have been shed by their owners a few weeks ago.

The monster was as terrifying as the last time she’d seen it. It was a mishmash of pine branches and animals bones woven together to form a hideous spider. The body and legs weren’t solid, instead having holes where the parts didn’t fully come together. Scattered across that horrible body were skulls of deer and elk, bears and wolves, their empty eye sockets staring out in all directions. The spider’s abdomen was mostly empty space, a net of curving branches and ribs that reminded Dana of a cage.

Surprise froze all three as still as statues. The estate guard acted first and threw down the pile of antlers. It raised its front legs high in the air and howled as it charged them.

“Go left!” Jayden shouted. He went right and spoke strange words she’d never heard before. Dana ran left towards the largest wrecked building. To her horror she heard the howls and rasping growing closer. It was coming after her!

Dana screamed and ran. She nearly slipped on the mossy ground, recovering just fast enough to keep from tripping. She looked behind her to see the estate guard closing the distance between them while Jayden finished his spell. With a final unpronounceable word he formed a purplish lash in his hands. He drew back his arm and swung it, the lash stretching farther and farther until it wrapped around the monster. It burned like acid where it touched, but the estate guard raced after Dana regardless of the injury. It ran so fast the lash couldn’t stretch quickly enough, and Jayden was pulled off his feet.

Dana kept screaming, the monster kept howling, and Jayden cried out in surprise as he was dragged behind it. Every breath Dana took stank of wood smoke and smoldering bones as the magic lash continued burning through the monster. Dana heard the monster only feet behind her. She planted a foot on a large rock jutting up from the ground and pushed left. That was enough to throw her to the left, and she rolled as she hit the ground. The monster tried to follow her, but it was so large it couldn’t stop in time and skidded to a halt twenty feet away.

Facing the very real possibility of dying, she was sure this was at most ten percent her responsibility.

Dana scrambled to her feet and saw the monster wheel about to face her. Jayden came to a halt as well, but he’d never let go of his magic lash. He braced himself against the same rock Dana had jumped off. Pushing back hard, he pulled the lash and it tightened across the monster. The lash had already eaten through much of the beast, but now it looped around it, pinning legs together until the beast fell as helpless as a roped calf.

The monster rocked back and forth in a vain attempt to escape. The lash kept burning through it, taking off one leg and then another. The abdomen was cut in half. One leg got loose only to be hacked off at the base. In seconds the entire monster fell apart into a pile of smoking branches and cut bones.

“That was, I, oh God,” Dana gasped.

“Find the talisman!” Jayden ordered. He kicked through the debris as the lash dissolved. “Don’t let it escape!”

Dana ran to the monster’s body. She held her lantern high with her left hand and dug through the remains with her right. The remains smelled horrible and were hot to the touch, but nothing looked like the gold bug Jayden had described. Suddenly something glinted off the light of her lantern. It tried to scurry under loose branches, but she dug through them until she saw it.

The talisman managed to be both pretty and revolting at the same time. It was only three inches across and looked like a beetle. Whoever had made it had put a lot of effort into the job, and it looked gorgeous. But then the eye on its abdomen blinked, an eye so very much like a person’s eye, and it was watching her.

“There!” she shouted. She tried to grab it, but the talisman scuttled away as fast as a racehorse. Jayden cast another spell and formed a magic sword pure black and edged with white. He swung at it and missed, the blade burning through the mossy ground and rocks beneath it. The talisman went right then left, dodging both Jayden and Dana, and ran for the nearest ruined building. It made a mad dash and climbed into a crack in the wall.

“Run before it assembles another body,” Jayden ordered. He headed for the nearest hole in the building large enough for him to fit through. Dana looked for a place to hide before the monster returned. Going into the forest was a bad bet when the monster ran faster than she did. The other buildings were close and intact enough for her to hide in. She ran to the one Jayden claimed was a slave pen.

She’d nearly reached it when the estate guard marched out with a new body. This time it was an enormous hound, just as large as the spider but with terrifying jaws big enough to fit a grown man inside. It came out the main entrance with Jayden following a step behind. The hound raced away before Jayden could stab it, and was so quick soon it was a hundred feet from him.

Dana ducked into the slave pen, a foul structure that looked like a brick barn three hundred feet long and fifty feet wide. There were rusted gates across wide stalls, some open and others crushed shut. It disgusted Dana to even be here, to see how people had once been treated. She turned away and stayed by the entrance.

Outside, the fight was back on. The estate guard in its new body turned and charged Jayden, and he ran right for it. The hound leaped at him, and Jayden slid onto his back and raised his magic blade. The hound went over him and the blade split it in half down the middle. He got up and dug through the bones and branches. Dana didn’t see the talisman from this distance, but Jayden must have because he ran after something on the ground. It escaped into the old mansion. Jayden gave chase and the sounds of battle came from inside the crumbling structure.

Dana saw a wall bulge on the mansion until the bricks crumbled away. Jayden came out with the estate guard after him. This time it had the shape of a man ten feet tall but without a head. It had bear skulls on its shoulders and hands ending in long claws that tried to impale Jayden. He dodged the monster’s swing and hacked off one of its arms.

“This is insane,” Dana said. Jayden was taking the monster apart again and again, but his victories were as hollow as the ones her people had won against it so long ago. It kept fleeing and returning as good as new. Jayden would tire sooner or later. Could he run out of spells? That would be just as bad.

The estate guard lost another body when Jayden impaled it with his magic sword. He pulled left and the sword sliced through it until the upper part tumbled to the ground. Again he scrambled after the escaping talisman, and again it found enough materials to rebuilt itself, this time as a huge lizard. Battle was joined again, and it knocked him down with a swing of its tail. He recovered fast and lopped off the tail.

Dana backed away from the entrance. She’d brought Jayden here and he was going to get killed. She should have gotten more people so they could catch the talisman between battles and break the stupid thing! Wait. The estate guard had hidden branches and bones for new bodies in the other buildings. Had it left more here?

Dana hurried back inside the slave pens. Some of the pens were open, and sure enough one had a heaping pile of pine branches and animal bones. She checked the rest of the building and found one, two, three, four pens loaded with wood and bones. Dead pine needles from those branches were thick on the floor. Each pile looked like it was big enough to make a new body.

She went through her possessions for something that could destroy these spare bodies before the estate guard could use them. Her knife couldn’t cut through the thick branches fast enough. She dug through her backpack. Food? No. Money? No. Oil?

Oil! Dana smiled. She had extra oil for her lantern, but there wasn’t much left. The estate guard had stashed the wood here so it wouldn’t get rained on and rot before it could be used. That made sense, but it also meant the branches were dry, and dry pine burned fast.

Dana poured the flask of oil onto the piles of branches. She had so little she could only lightly lace each pile. Once she was out, she used her lantern to ignite each pile in turn. Whoosh! Flames raced across the piles and the dead needles on the floor. Dana ran outside when the building started to fill with smoke.

She returned to see Jayden dispatch the huge lizard by decapitating it. The rest of it fell apart and the talisman fled. Jayden’s sword flickered and went out, and he made a lash to replace it. He swung at the talisman, but the thing was incredibly fast. It went one way and then another, skittering under bricks and into cracks whenever he got close.

The talisman reached the slave pen Dana had just left. It ducked inside then hurried back out to find her waiting for it. She grabbed at it, but it scuttled back inside.

Jayden caught up with her and saw smoke billowing from the slave pen. “What did you do?”

“I torched four spare bodies,” she explained. He looked shocked, and she added, “I got bored.”

To Dana’s amazement the estate guard left the slave pen with a new body. It resembled a giant stag beetle with huge jaws as long as its body and human skulls for eyes. But this body was built from burning pine, a walking bonfire that lit up the ruins. It lunged forward and tried to catch them in its jaws. Jayden and Dana ran for their lives as the animated inferno chased them. Dana’s neck and back felt hot as embers fell around her.

Two of the beetle’s legs burned through, and it struggled along on the other four. It hobbled along a few more paces until another leg gave out and the beetle crashed to the ground. The talisman was forced to abandon the body as it burned away, but this time Jayden and Dana were right on top of it. It circled around the burning pine, trying to use it as a shield, but Dana caught up with it when it made a run for the mansion. She grabbed a loose brick off the ground and swung it like a hammer.

Crack! She smashed off three gold legs from the talisman. It kept running, but slower than before. Jayden swung his magic lash and struck it. Snap! The talisman broke in half under the blow. Its remaining legs curled up and the eye on its back twitched and closed.

Jayden stared hard at the broken talisman. “That was incredibly satisfying.”

* * * * *

Dana woke up the next morning in what had once been a mansion. It was spacious, but the place felt wrong. The angles of the walls were odd and the doorframes tilted to one side. It was jarring to look at, and she didn’t see how anyone could feel comfortable living here.

Her brief stay was unpleasant but necessary. She’d been too exhausted to go home after the fight. She’d also used all her oil, and it had been so dark she’d have hurt herself stumbling about at night. Chances were the whole town would be looking for her by now, and she could only imagine the punishment waiting for her.

Jayden joined her from another part of the mansion. He carried an armful of loot and smiled like the cat who’d caught the canary. “Good morning, and a glorious morning at that.”

“What did you find?”

“This, madam, is a prize beyond all others.” He held up a black granite tablet a foot across and two feet long, with markings in white marble on one side. The markings looked like letters, but not in any language she could read.

Dana needed only seconds to guess what it was.

“That was written by the old Sorcerer Lords, wasn’t it? It’s a spell!”

Jayden smiled. “You are clever. The old Sorcerer Lords wrote their spells on granite tablets. It’s not very portable, but they last far longer than spell books written on paper or velum. I don’t recognize this incantation. It looks promising, and I’m sure it will be a good addition to my repertoire once I’ve translated it.”

Her heart sank at the sight of it. “Is that why you came? I mean, is that what you were after?”

He shrugged. “It was part of the reason. I told you I recognized what you described in your letter as an estate guard. If it was here then at some point there had been treasure worth guarding. Any riches might have been carried off or destroyed long ago, so there was no guarantee of a reward for my efforts, but thankfully I won’t leave empty handed. There’s also a bit of gold I’m happy to share. You went beyond expectations yesterday, and a reward is owed.”

Jayden saw her crestfallen expression and frowned. He sat down next to her and set aside his treasures. “Don’t be like that. Saving your people is important. Lord knows the king wouldn’t lift a finger for you. But good deeds don’t pay the rent, and I’ve spent all the gold I got for those stolen horses.”

Dana put her hands on her hips. “You didn’t mention that when you listed your crimes yesterday.”

“Please, I’d need a day and a night to tell you everything I’d done against the king. I’m sure those knights won’t mind going to war on foot. If I’m successful they won’t go to war at all, but we’re a long way from that day.”

With that he bent over and kissed her on the forehead. Dana blushed, in large part because her father did the same thing. “Cut that out! I’m not a little girl!”

Jayden smiled and stood up before helping her to her feet. “Now we need to come up with a story for you, young lady, one that leaves me out. When you get home, tell your parents you were attacked by the monster. That’s true enough. You ran from it when a stranger appeared and defeated the beast. It was too dark to see the stranger’s features clearly, but you’re sure he’s dashingly handsome.”

Dana folded her arms across her chest. “Oh, am I?”

“You’re positive of it!” Jayden held out the broken pieces of the estate guard and pressed them into her hand. “He gave you this and swore the monster is gone, never to return. Your people may enter these woods without fear.”

“You’re not taking the credit?”

“The king and queen don’t think highly of me. If they learn I helped your town they’d punish your family, at the very least exiling you and more likely executing you. Better for all concerned if someone else gets blamed for this.”

Jayden left the mansion and Dana followed. It was hard to say whether he was a good man or not. He had done good things and others that were questionable. Her father often said flawed men could work wonders if someone gave them a chance. What would Jayden do next? What would he become if left alone with no one to help him should he go off course?

She ran in front of him and stood in his way. “I can help you.”

Jayden raised an eyebrow. “You, child, are going home.”

“You want more magic. I know a place where you might find it. There’s a castle by the sea, abandoned before the kingdom was founded. It might date to the old Sorcerer Lords. There could be treasure in it or even those tablets. No one ever looted it because they say there’s a monster there called The Walking Graveyard.”

“I’m sure it’s done much to earn that charming nickname.” Jayden studied his fingers as if he’d never noticed them before. “I’ve spent very little time in that part of the kingdom and know little of it. I don’t relish wandering across a desolate coastline for weeks in search of this castle.”

Dana took a deep breath. When you made a choice you have to take responsibility, all of it. “That’s why you need a guide.”

In Plain Sight

The Great Zamphini, master entertainer, friend to all children and beloved citizen of Lambsport was trying very hard not to be noticed. This was an unreasonable expectation given that he weighed three hundred pounds, dressed in bright red robes, carried a walking stick six feet long and was standing on a street corner in broad daylight. Nevertheless he was making a good effort by being very quiet and staying off the main roads with their bustling markets.

Zamphini stroked his bushy black beard as he waited, hoping no one would see him. He glanced down at the cobblestone street and the sewer grate he’d pried open an hour earlier. A slender rope ran from a lamppost down to the sewers below, and he had a bucket of soapy water for the trusted agent he’d sent into that mess.

“Zamphini?” Zamphini winced when he heard his name called. Putting on his best showman’s smile, he turned and saw Watch Officer Wasler marching toward him. Wasler’s tan uniform looked a bit worse for wear, as did the man himself, but he was still younger, stronger and handsomer than the famed entertainer. “What are you doing?”

“Ah, Officer Wasler, a pleasure to see you as always! You look well. And how is your darling wife?”

“She’s fine.” The officer walked up and rested his hand on his sheathed sword. “Why are you so far from home? There are no parties here, and no one here could afford you if there were.”

“Scandalous, isn’t it? I’ve lowered my rates twice and still get only half the business of last year. I blame the war with Duke Thornwood, and the criminally high taxes that came with it. Since when is laughter a luxury?”

Wasler frowned and rubbed his eyes. “Look, it’s been a horrible week with three men beaten to within an inch of their lives in my district. I don’t have the time or patience to play ‘what’s Zamphini doing?’ today, so spit it out.”

“Three? I’d only heard of two.”

“The baker’s son was attacked on his way home last night. Four men came at him in the dark and broke both his arms, so you’ll forgive me if I have better things to do than—” Wasler’s voice trailed off when he saw the rope going into the sewers. “What’s that?”

Zamphini stepped between Wasler and the open sewer. “This? Oh, a minor problem. I was taking Sassy for a walk when she fell down there. I can’t fit, and I wouldn’t dream of asking someone to go down for me, so I lowered a rope for her to climb up.”

“A rope you just happened to be carrying with you, and a bucket of water? And since when do you take your dolls for walks?”

The rope went taut as Sassy climbed out of the sewers. Zamphini snatched up the doll and dunked her in the bucket of water. He cleaned off the filth smeared on the doll until she looked presentable. “I got the bucket and rope after she fell in. There we go, Sassy, good as new.”

Sassy got out of the bucket and curtsied to Wasler. The doll looked like a toddler girl two feet tall with white porcelain skin and black hair, wearing black shoes and a blue dress. Wasler frowned at the doll, then noticed a new addition to Sassy’s outfit, a small backpack bulging with coins. He glared at Zamphini, who looked down ashamed.

“It’s the war. So few people have parties, so many hold funerals. I’m hired once a month if I’m lucky. This month, nothing. I haven’t been invited to a single banquet this year!” Zamphini patted his amble belly. “I’m wasting away!”

Wasler chuckled, but there was truth to what Zamphini said. He’d lost forty pounds this year, and not an ounce of it willingly. His red clothes were in good condition but hung loosely on him.

Zamphini picked up Sassy and the coins. “It costs money to keep Sassy and her sisters and brothers going. I looked down the sewer grate and saw coins lost in the sewers, so I lowered Sassy down to get them. It’s no crime, and I’m sure if you look deep into your heart, you won’t want people to know The Great Zamphini has come to this.”

“You found that much in a sewer?”

“Fallen coins get flushed into the sewers when it rains hard,” Zamphini said. “No one goes after them, and it adds up as the years go by.”

Wasler said nothing. It took Zamphini a moment to notice that Wasler’s attention was focused on the money Sassy had brought up. There was perhaps thirty copper coins and two silver ones, an impressive sum in such hard times. With so much money going for the war there was precious little for even essentials, like the salaries of the city watch.

“You, ah, haven’t been paid in a while, have you?” Zamphini asked. When Wasler didn’t answer, Zamphini took a silver coin and passed it to him. “Your wife’s expecting again, isn’t she? I’m sure she’d love it if you bought her a nice dress.”

“I’ve been two months with no pay, only promises.” Wasler’s face showed how much he hated himself for taking the money. “I’m going to spend it on food and you know it. Go home, Zamphini. You’re a good man, and I’ve seen too many good men hurt.”

Wasler turned to leave when he heard a scratching noise from the roofs above. The brick buildings were two stories tall, and the glare of the setting sun made it impossible to see what was making the sound. “What was that?”

“Cats,” Zamphini told him. “They have to be careful these days. Some people are so poor they don’t care where their meat comes from.”

Once the officer had left, Zamphini held Sassy up to his face. “You did good. Tell me, did you see any ghoul tracks?” Sassy shook her head, and Zamphini smiled. “That’s three months and no sign of them. I think we got them all. Before we go, I need to make sure water didn’t get inside you.”

Sassy tipped her head as Zamphini took a brass key from one of his deep pockets. He inserted it into the doll’s neck and turned it, opening a panel on her back. Sassy’s body contained spinning brass gears, thin brass cables and etched obsidian spheres. Glass tubes carrying bright green liquid ran through the doll. Zamphini peered into Sassy and smiled when he found nothing had seeped in. Satisfied that his star performer was in good condition, he closed the panel and locked it shut.

With that done, Zamphini set Sassy on his shoulder and headed out. He had a few more places to visit before nightfall. He went onto the main roads and their stalls selling, well, not much of anything. The war cost Lambsport a fortune in gold each month, and feeding the army in the field sucked up all but the most basic foods. Hawkers shouted out what they were selling and for how much.

“Firewood, one copper piece a cord!”

“Chickens! Live chickens! Five copper pieces for a live chicken!”

“Fresh fish, caught today! You can probably afford it!”

“Shameful what they’re asking,” Zamphini told Sassy. She shrugged in reply. “You’re lucky I brew up your fuel myself, or you’d be as hungry as I am.”

The overpriced goods still drew a crowd. Most were humans, but a handful of broad shouldered dwarfs sold knives. Five elves representing the Yelinid Banking Cartel had set up a stall and were offering loans. Goblins stayed in the alleys and street edges, careful not to get stepped on by the bigger races as they snatched up garbage. A single ogre wearing a kilt stood under an arch. The hairy brute gripped an ax and looked intimidating as he waited for clients. In the past Zamphini had seen men desperate enough to hire the ogre as a bodyguard or troubleshooter, yet another sign of Lambsport’s hard times.

Lambsport was a city of contrasts. Every home and shop of the seaside city was made of brick, an expensive move for such poor people, but an unavoidable one. The city had burned down so many times over the centuries that the residents had finally accepted the cost and difficulty of building with stone. Lambsport had fifty thousand residents and half as many visitors, yet drew little attention from their ruler Duke Edgely. Edgely was more interested in fighting rival dukes than sniggling, insignificant things like trade, fishing, manufacturing or learning. The port city and its inhabitants were left alone as long as they paid taxes and lots of them. This gave the people of Lampsport a degree of freedom and was the reason The Great Zamphini called it home.

Zamphini was a minor celebrity in Lambsport, and his arrival in the market drew friendly greetings. An older man said, “Hey, Zamphini, I’m practicing to be a fortune teller. I can tell you which block the city watch will stake out to catch those hooligans.”

“Really? Which one?”

“The wrong one, same as every night.” The old man laughed at his own wit, not noticing he was the only one to do so.

“Be nice,” Zamphini said. “They’re good men, and they’d get those villains if Duke Edgely hadn’t conscripted half the watchmen.”

“Ha!” The old man spat on the ground, then pointed at Sassy. “You be careful, friend. The way things are going they’ll put a uniform on your doll and send her to war. She’d be better than most. Hey, Sassy, I bet they’ll promote you to officer!”

Sassy stood up straight on Zamphini’s shoulders and saluted. People laughed as she marched in place. Zamphini laughed too, but it wasn’t so funny. He’d received discreet inquiries from Duke Edgely’s officials wondering if his dolls could fight. He’d explained they were too small for battle, but new requests came monthly.

A young man watched Zamphini walk by and followed him. The youth was trying to look casual and failing miserably. Zamphini stopped to inspect a stall offering pastries. The youth came closer, careful to stay behind his intended victim. He took his hands out of his pockets and raised them.

“Sassy bites,” Zamphini said without turning around. The youth hesitated and lowered his hands. “You have ten fingers, a fact that will change if you act foolishly.”

Sassy turned around and smiled at the young man, a twinkle in her eye as she snapped her mouth closed. Happily, the youth put his hands back in his pockets and left. Zamphini chuckled and left for another stall, his walking stick making a steady tap as he walked. There was also a scratching noise on the rooftops, but that was lost in the tumult of the market.

“As I live and breathe, The Great Zamphini!” a shrill voice called out. It took a lot of effort for Zamphini to force a smile as he turned around. The thin, immaculately dressed woman took his hands in hers and smiled.

“Aliana Treter!” Zamphini said with a laugh. “It’s been too long.”

“Years, I know, but my son still talks about the show you put on for his birthday, and that was ages ago! All the best women wanted to hire you after that.”

“At massive discounts,” Zamphini added. What was it about the rich that you had to claw the money out of their hands? It had taken five months to get this crone to pay him, and her friends were just as bad.

Ignoring what he’d said, Aliana’s face lit up when she saw Sassy. “Well hello, Molly!”

“Ah, no, this is Sassy. Molly and the other dolls are at home with my wife.”

“Oh yes, I’d heard about her. Poor girl came down with red eyes plague. I had that myself when I was younger. Took me a month to get over it. Most people need five months, but I’ve always had a strong constitution. How are your children?”

Zamphini rolled his eyes. “They don’t visit, they don’t write, they don’t send money. They could send money!”

Aliana laughed. “I know, I know! It’s the curse of parents everywhere that children don’t care or listen. My oldest, the one whose party you did, he went and joined the army.”

“Really?” Zamphini didn’t try to disguise his shock. The war between Duke Edgely and Duke Thornwood was as brutal as it was long. Few men became soldiers if they could help it.

“I told him I had more than enough money to pay off Duke Edgely’s men if they showed up at the door, but he was sold on glory in battle and becoming a great man. I told him you don’t have to be a hero to be important in Lambsport. Take you for instance. Everyone knows you here, and all you do is entertain at parties.”

In an epic act of cluelessness, Aliana totally ignored the disbelieving look on Zamphini’s face. Instead she went on prattling. “I mean, your little toys are treated like they’re something special. Why just last month a fool man went and claimed you were a mad scientist, and Molly here was something called a clockwork.”

Sassy scowled and folded her arms across her chest. Feeling a tad worried, Zamphini asked, “And what became of this man?”

Sounding annoyed that she’d been interrupted, Aliana said, “The fool went to Duke Edgely and tried to make an issue of it. He expected a reward for informing on you, the cad. Our duke wouldn’t hear of it. He had the man flogged and gave him three months’ hard labor.”

“I’m glad our duke is so understanding,” Zamphini said. “Accusations like that can ruin a man’s reputation.”

Aliana waved her hand like she was shooing away a fly. “The man’s an idiot, and there’s no shortage of those. Can you believe he’d say such a thing about a harmless old man like you? Scandalous, absolutely scandalous.”

Zamphini took a step back and tried to come up with an excuse to leave (he had several, but none were polite), when Aliana took his hands again. “You’ve heard about those poor men being attacked? Of course you have. There have been eighteen since the start of the year. The odd thing is they weren’t robbed. Beaten bloody, but not a coin taken. You be careful. If these mongrels would attack fit young men, why, they’d go after an old man like you in a heartbeat. Watch yourself, darling!”

With that Aliana disappeared into the crowd to dispense her unique brand of ‘help’ to some other unfortunate soul. Zamphini breathed a sigh of relief and was about to leave when he saw movement to his right.

There was a pile of dead rats in the mouth of an alley. It was hard to tell how many there were, but Zamphini estimated they numbered thirty or more. The rats had died not long ago, likely when he was talking with Aliana.

Zamphini looked around and stepped into the alley once he was sure no one was watching. Something crouched in the shadows and tossed another dead rat onto the pile.

“I know this must be boring for you, but I believe my instructions were fairly clear,” Zamphini told it. The thing whimpered and jumped to the rooftops. “That’s better.”

With that cleared up, Zamphini left the alley and continued on his way. Near the edge of the market was a small store selling fruit. Zamphini smiled and rubbed his hands together when he reached it. “Peaches! Ah, it’s been so long since I had any. Dried peaches, they’re good if you can’t find better, but nothing matches fruit fresh off the tree.”

A middle aged woman manning the store smiled when she saw him. “I was hoping I’d see you today. How are you?”

“Crystal, you devilish beauty, you don’t look a day over twenty.” Zamphini stepped into the store and kissed her hand. “You look well. Is business good? Are your children well?”

“I am, it’s not and they are.” Crystal looked a good deal younger than she was. Her clothes were simple but well tailored by her able hands, and a warm smile was rarely absent from her face. “How are you, flatterer?”

“Seeing you smile again takes a weight off my heart.” He saw Crystal’s oldest daughter Gwen sweeping the back of the store. Like most girls, Gwen had matured earlier than boys her age, but much faster than normal. The girl was fourteen going on twenty, a beauty as great as her mother. Baggy clothes hid her curves so few men noticed her. “Gwen, you look radiant.”

“Mister Zamphini!” Gwen’s face lit up and she ran over. “Sassy!”

Sassy jumped off Zamphini’s shoulder and landed in Gwen’s arms. The girl shrieked with laughter and spun around in a full circle with the doll. Zamphini laughed and patted her on the back.

“You two play and I’ll fill my belly,” he said. Still smiling, he went back to admiring the fresh peaches. He took a straw bag from his deep pockets and loaded it with fruit. “She seems happy.”

Crystal followed him, her voice soft as she spoke. “That drunken lout Yal Bridger hasn’t bothered us all week. Zamphini, please tell me you didn’t hurt him.”

“No, and that was a hard promise to keep after I’d met him.” Zamphini finished filling the bag and brought out another. “Your description of his character left out a laundry list of flaws besides bothering a girl half his age. We spoke and I explained that his behavior was unacceptable. He’s left Lambsport, headed where I can’t say.”

Crystal raised her eyebrows. “He left the city? Good God, what did you say to him?”

“My words were few but well chosen. Ooh, plums!”

Crystal’s earlier joy was replaced with sadness. “I’m sorry I had to ask for help. I should have handled this, but with my husband conscripted I wasn’t sure what to do. The city watch wouldn’t help, and I’m shocked to say my relatives said Gwen is old enough to marry.”

“Say no more to me of the hardships of families. It’s a problem I know too well. My father could have helped me a thousand times, yet he never raised a hand in my defense. He’s the most greedy, suspicious, ungrateful, black-hearted man you’ll ever meet!”

“How is he?” Crystal asked.

“Still mayor.”

Their conversation was interrupted when the ogre walked by them in the company of a farmer. Lambsport had a strong odor from so many people living together, but the ogre’s musky scent was noticeable from ten feet away. Zamphini saw scars crisscrossing the ogre’s chest and arms, the healed wounds as thick as lines on a street map. The farmer looked nervous as he passed a pouch of coins to the burly ogre. “The beast’s come up from the sea twice this week, and last time it tried to force its way into my barn. Please, I just want this to stop.”

The ogre’s deep, rumbling reply was hard to understand. “I’ll make it go away for good. Meet me at the city gate in an hour.”

“There was a time the army or city watch would have handled such problems,” Zamphini said once the ogre and farmer had left. “These days, they’re too busy with the war to save their own people. If the fighting ends tomorrow it still wouldn’t be soon enough.”

Crystal frowned and pointed at the ogre. “There’s been something on my mind. No one would be foolish enough to try and conscript someone that dangerous, but why hasn’t Duke Edgely hired him for the war?”

“Ogres don’t obey anyone blindly. They follow those they respect, and it’s a rare man who can earn that. He’s more valuable to them here handling problems they can’t be bothered with than ignoring their orders on the battlefield.”

More softly, she asked, “Those men who were attacked at night, do you think he’s responsible?”

Zamphini shook his head and turned his attention back to the fruit. “No, and for two reasons. The men who were beaten all said they couldn’t identify their attackers in the dark. If the ogre did it, who could mistake him for another when he’s that big, and with that smell?”

She smiled at him. “I suppose not. What’s the other reason?”

“With muscles like that, if he hit those men they’d be dead.” Zamphini finished his selection and tried to hand a copper coin to Crystal. She made no move to take it.

“You earned that a thousand times over.”

Zamphini opened her hand and pressed the coin into her palm. “Dealing with Bridger was a public service. This is for the fruit.”

Crystal looked likely to argue, but the sound of running feet and wicker baskets falling to the ground caught their attention. It was the youth who’d followed Zamphini not half an hour ago, this time with a package clenched to his chest. Two watchmen chased him down the street toward Zamphini and Crystal. The youth shoved a woman out of his way as a watchman shouted, “Halt, thief!”

“Sassy, would you mind?” Zamphini asked. Sassy jumped out of Gwen’s arms and ran into the street. The youth ran in front of the fruit store, not noticing the doll until she grabbed him by the ankle and pulled hard to the left. He cried out as he fell and dropped the package. The watchmen grabbed him and pulled him up before they forced him up against a brick wall.

“That was stupid,” a watchman said as he bound the youth’s hands. “You’re looking at three months’ hard labor unless you can pay off Magistrate Heckler. I’m betting you can’t.”

The youth’s face twisted in rage as he glared at Zamphini and Sassy. “I’ll get even with you!”

Confused people looked at Zamphini, who shrugged in reply. “I didn’t touch the man.”

“Your stupid puppet tripped me!”

Sassy scooted behind Zamphini and held onto his legs. Zamphini smiled and asked, “Forgive me, but are you saying you were beaten up by a doll?”

The street erupted into laughter. Men and elves pointed at the youth and jeered. Dwarfs shook their heads, and the lone ogre laughed so hard he had to sit down. Goblins came out of the shadows to pelt the youth with horse dung, and Zamphini had to admit they had impressive aim. The youth’s face turned red, and he looked down in shame as the watchmen dragged him away.

Zamphini turned away from the spectacle and back to Crystal. “Good woman, as much as it pains me to say this, the hour grows late and our meeting must end.” He kissed her hand again and smiled. “Don’t hesitate to call upon me if you should be in trouble.”

“You’re a good man,” she told him.

“I am a great man! It says so in my name.”

Gwen stepped out of the store long enough to hug him. “Mister Zamphini, I know I’m asking a lot, but my little brother’s birthday is coming up. Could you come to his party? I saved up some money to pay you.”

“Gwen,” Crystal began, her tone a warning.

“I’d be delighted!” Zamphini interrupted her. “I need to stay in practice, and this is the perfect opportunity. I’ll bring all dozen of my dolls, and they will dance and juggle and tumble for you. You thought there were only eleven of them? I just finished building a brother for Sassy, who wanted another sister, but she’s coming around.”

Sassy stuck out her tongue at her maker, and Gwen laughed. Zamphini clapped a hand over his heart in mock shame. “Sassy, how could you, and in front of friends? But, Gwen, and this is important, you must invite the neighbor children as well. If The Great Zamphini is to work, he must have a proper audience.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Gwen hugged Zamphini so hard the older man gasped as she squeezed the air out of him. It took some effort to disentangle himself and leave.

The sun was setting as Zamphini left Crystal and her daughter. He didn’t go home, instead searching among the stalls. The marketplace emptied quickly as sellers closed their stores and customers hurried home. A few boys ran through the streets and set tallow candles into the lamps hanging from lampposts. Goblins fled to hidden places, a rare move since they were comfortable in the dark. It was a sorry state of affairs that they feared the night as much as men did.

One woman saw Zamphini and hesitated before sealing her home for the night. “I’ve a spare bed you can stay in until dawn.”

“Good woman, there’s no need for such a generous offer.”

“There is! It will be dark soon. Two men on this block suffered savage beatings after nightfall, and three more say they escaped the same fate by the skin of their teeth.”

Zamphini smiled, his expression unforced. “It warms my heart to meet someone so kind in these troubled days. Fear not, for The Great Zamphini is not far from home, and he never travels alone.”

“You’re sure?” the woman asked.

He bowed to her. “Have no fear for my safety.”

The woman looked doubtful, but she closed her door, and there was a thud as she barred it. Zamphini walked down the street and watched it empty. Soon only he and the ogre were left. The ogre showed no fear and walked up to Zamphini.

“Can I help you?” Zamphini asked.

“I heard you went to the village of Rotwood last month.”

“Yes, I did a performance for the mayor. His daughter turned thirteen and he wanted to make it an occasion for the entire village.”

“Rotwood had a problem with devil rats attacking their livestock before your performance. They didn’t after you left.” When Zamphini didn’t respond, the ogre added, “There was supposed to be a whole swarm of them, each one forty pounds of muscle, bone and hate. No one’s seen them for weeks or found a single body. Very tidy of you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The ogre smirked. “You’ve been here far too long for a man shopping or visiting friends. I need the money, but it’s a pity I was hired and have to leave before your next performance. I was looking forward to watching you in action.”

“I’m very sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The ogre laughed and gave Zamphini a pat on the back as he left. With the ogre gone Zamphini was alone on the street. He retreated to the mouth of an alley and sat down, resting his staff across his legs and setting his purchases on the ground. Sassy sat across from him and stared at her creator.

Zamphini dug through his pockets until he turned up a glass sphere three inches across and rimmed with brass. He put it back and took out a brass flask. Uncorking it, he beckoned for Sassy to come closer.

“You know, this isn’t such a bad place,” he told her. Sassy took the flask and drank bright green fluid from it. “It could be better. I was thinking that flowerpots are just what Lambsport needs, big ones two feet across and two feet deep. Put them on the second floor of the houses and plant trailing vines in them like nymph tears or dragon blood. They’d be perfect since they’re ever blooming, just pinch off fading flowers and more grow in. Imagine, living displays of color draped over the city.”

Sassy handed back the flask and Zamphini placed it in the alley. “Statues would work, too. Last year I met a family of gnomes who carved stone so beautifully that you’d think the animals and people they made were alive. And they worked cheap! Well, reasonably cheap. The duke could buy a few dozen of those and place them where everyone could see. It would cheer the whole city.”

There was a gulping, sloshing noise in the dark alley. Zamphini reached back and took the now empty flask. He slipped it into one of his pockets and shook his head.

“It would be so easy to make things beautiful. So many people waste their time and money on things that bring others down. Hurtful words, cruel deeds, it doesn’t have to be that way. It shouldn’t be that way. Beauty, laughter, joy, these are what men should bring to the world. You and I do, Sassy. You, me, your brothers and sisters, we make things better. I believe that. I hope you do.”

Sassy walked over and stroked her creator’s arm. He smiled and picked her up. Before he placed her on his shoulder, he said, “You have fuel enough to see you through the night. Come on, Sassy, let’s go.”

Zamphini took up his staff and purchases and walked down the rapidly darkening streets. There were shortcuts, but he picked a leisurely route home that went through some of the worst hit neighborhoods. The half moon provided enough light for him to see where he was going but not enough to notice fine details. He’d gone only half a mile when he heard giggling to his left. It wasn’t far away. There was a tapping sound of steel on stone to his right.

More giggling came from behind him. The tapping came closer. He heard a bang in front of him that sounded like someone dropped a brick off a house. Zamphini continued his slow walk as if he didn’t notice the offending sounds. Darkness grew and shadows spread across the street. At first Zamphini thought the sun had fully set, but he saw a lamp go out, then a second. Whoever was making those noises was snuffing out every source of light.

Zamphini kneeled and set down his purchases, and heard the whoosh of a club as it went over his head. He backed up and dodged another swing, this time from his left. He counted one, two, three, yes, all four of them were here. The gang laughed and screamed obscenities at him. Two swung clubs while the other two tried to grab him. Zamphini ducked and dodged until his back was against a wall. One of his attackers grabbed him, but Zamphini slapped aside his enemy’s hands with a blow from his walking stick.

Zamphini took the glass sphere from his pocket and held it up before pressing a button. Flash! The street lit up bright as day, and the four men fell back covering their eyes. Zamphini had closed his eyes before pressing the button, and wasn’t blinded by the sudden light. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw who he was facing.

“Ah, Jonas Heckler, eldest son of our honorable magistrate, how good to see you again. My how you’re grown. You were but a boy when I performed at your birthday.”

The young men staggered back as if they’d been struck. They tried to cover their faces, but it was too late. Their clothes were expertly tailored cotton and linen, expensive garments indeed, and they wore gold rings. “That must be Elant and Ulum Firefrost with you. This is an odd time for sons of a rich merchant to be out. I must confess I don’t recognize your last friend, but judging by his appearance he’s as wealthy as you are.

“Sloppy,” he scoffed. “I’ve met men and monsters who were feared by kings and commoners both. Terror came off them in waves. This is amateur work, poorly done from the beginning. You sought to herd me away from escape routes and the nearest watch station with silly noises.” Zamphini rolled his eyes. “No style, no respect for the audience, it’s shameful.”

“I told you we’d get caught!” the fourth one shouted.

“Shut up!” Heckler bellowed. His eyes were adjusting to the light, and he dropped his hands from his face.

“It’s a pity you outgrew my dolls,” Zamphini said. “I see your taste in entertainment has grown dark. This is how you amuse yourself these days, attacking strangers on the street at night? Does it make you feel powerful to have a helpless person at your mercy?”

Heckler fully recovered and grinned like a maniac. “Think I’m going to feel bad, old man?”

“One can but hope.”

The fourth member grabbed Heckler by the arm. “My dad will kill me when he finds out.”

Heckler didn’t look bothered. “He’s not going to find out. You’re right, old man, it’s been a blast. We’ve been wolves among sheep, showing them who’s boss, watching them terrified even when it’s daytime. You’ll never know what it’s like to hear grown men beg and cry. We haven’t caught any women yet. It’ll be fun when we do.”

“Idiocy,” Zamphini said. “I wondered why attack a man if not to kill him or rob him of what little he had? But men, or should I say boys, of your position have no need of money. A few copper coins are beneath your notice as are the people living here. And as son of the city’s magistrate you’d know where the city watch would be stationed and could avoid them easily. You shirk real fights and attack the helpless. Does that make you feel strong?”

“We are strong,” Heckler growled. His smile returned, and he looked to his three friends. “The old man plays with dolls, and he thinks he’s better than us. You think we’re scared of being found out? Old man, I’ve been waiting for this.”

“What?” one of his friends shouted.

“Come on, lads, this time we don’t hold back,” Heckler told them. “Kill him and he won’t tell anyone.”

The other three hesitated. Heckler screamed, “You want to get caught? You want your fathers to learn what we’ve done? Forget your fathers, what do you think Duke Edgely will do to us? When has he forgiven anyone? We’ll be conscripted and sent to the front lines! Now man up and put him down like the worm he is!”

That did it. Whatever thin connection they still had to morality melted away. The four had death in their eyes as they closed in on Zamphini.

“Four against one,” Zamphini said. “Not very fair.”

Heckler sneered. “Life’s not fair, fat man. I’m going to smash open your stupid doll and then your head.”

One of the men asked, “What doll? He hasn’t got it with him.”

Another spun around, his eyes darting around the street. “It was here a second ago.”

The light coming off Zamphini’s sphere caught a creature leaping off a shop on the other side of the street. Heckler and his friends screamed as it skidded across the cobblestones, coming to a halt only when its claws caught onto a lamppost. Once it stopped moving they could see it was an enormous cat, but one that had been built rather than born. The monstrosity was six feet long and made of brass, with strangely etched obsidian plates jutting from its armored body. Bright green light poured from its joints and its open jaws, with their terrifying sharp teeth. The creature growled and crouched to jump again.

Bizarre as this was, terrifying as it was, their mouths dropped when they saw Sassy walk out of the shadows and pat the monstrous cat. It purred and rubbed its head against her, proving whose side it was on.

Heckler scrambled back. “What is that?”

“Come now, why so surprised?” Zamphini demanded. “I make dolls that dance and juggle and tumble. Did you think I couldn’t make something bigger, something stronger, something for dealing with monsters?”

“Oh God,” one of them whimpered.

“You parted company with Him long ago,” Zamphini said. He turned off the glowing sphere before putting it away, then pressed a hidden button on his walking stick. There was a hiss as a blade ten inches long slid out of the top, transforming the simple tool into a spear. Lightning crackled over the blade and threw flickering shadows across the street. He spun the weapon over his head and pointed it at Heckler. “Now you deal with me.”

The huge cat growled and raced down the street after its prey. Its claws drew sparks off the cobblestones as it closed the distance. One of the men tried to run while the other three faced Zamphini, now drastically better armed than they were and not looking merciful.

“Wait, we’ve got money!” Heckler shouted. “We can pay you! We can—”

* * * * *

The ogre returned to Lambsport late the following morning, tired but satisfied. He’d finished last night’s job to his client’s satisfaction. That earned enough money to keep him fed for only two weeks, for food prices were high and ogres were famous for their appetites. More importantly he’d proven his strength and courage in battle. Such victories would bring more clients.

He found the market much as he’d left it. Humans shopped and gossiped. Elves tried to tempt men into mortgaging their farms. Dwarfs did brisk business selling steel goods. Goblins made an endless nuisance of themselves yet always managed to escape punishment. Small and weak as they were, the ogre admired their ability to survive.

As always the humans talked constantly, an annoying trait, but one the ogre could endure. It seemed there had been shouting the night before. That generally meant a farmer or storekeeper had suffered a savage beating, but the morning brought no one in need of a healer’s aid, nor a lucky soul who’d escaped his foes unharmed.

The ogre had long ago staked a claim to his spot under an arch where he was out of the sun for most of the day. Before he took his place and waited for clients to bring him their problems, he studied the market and surrounding streets in great detail. There was no damage to houses or stores. He found no suspicious debris such as bits of clothing or drops of dried blood. In fact, the only sign anything had happened last night were scratches on some cobblestones and a lamppost.

The ogre smiled, showing off his thick, yellow teeth. “Tidy as always, Zamphini

Scrap Man

The rusting hulk loomed like a monster under the moonlight. At one time it had been a bus, but those days were long gone. The front was torn apart and resembled nothing more than the jagged teeth of a predator. The headlights were missing and looked like empty eye sockets. The outer surface of the bus was rusted through and had a pebbly surface like the scales of a lizard. The decaying wreck fit in perfectly with the junkyard it had sat in for the last thirty years.

Detective Owens hated it. He hated the junkyard, the cold humid night, he hated his job, and he hated the fact he had to come here tonight. If there was any justice in this world Owens would he resting his six-foot lanky frame and receding brown hair under a hot shower to work the aches out of his muscles. But Owens knew that justice was at best temporary and at worst nonexistent.

Owens carefully picked his way through the junkyard and headed toward the bus. There was a light on inside, proof that the man he needed to see was there. He worked his way through piles of loose car parts and around stacks of totaled cars, trying not to think about what happened to the people driving them when they crashed. The rest of the junkyard had a sinister look under the pale light of the moon, with jagged bits of steel jutting out like claws or fangs. Owens had a flashlight but didn’t use it. He knew his way around here well enough to avoid tripping, and people lived nearby who might see the light. He didn’t want witnesses for what was going to happen.

Making the place even creepier (yes, that was possible) were the noises. Whenever Owens stopped moving he could hear a multitude of things scuttling around the junkyard, crawling over and through the twisted metal shells that used to be cars. They would move then stop, their feet or hands making scratching noises against the rusted metal. Owens knew damn well that nothing should live in the junkyard since there was nothing an animal could eat, but they were here.

Owens stopped next to the bus’ door. It was open, and painfully bright light shined out of it. From inside he could hear muttering and the clanging of tools against steel.

“The door is open, my good man,” said a soothing voice inside the bus. Owens reluctantly stepped inside. The bus’ seats were gone, and in their place was a makeshift workbench, piles of spare parts, tools hanging off the walls and an almost infinite pile of junk around the inside of the bus. The back of the bus was closed off by a curtain, which almost blocked the light and noise of something clunking away. The roof of the bus was intact enough that rainwater couldn’t get in.

The owner was an old wrinkled man, almost bald, wearing dirty clothes and a smile. “Good heavens, a policeman has come to visit.”

“Evening, Kale,” Owens said. Kale was an old resident of both the town and junkyard. Nobody quite knew when he’d showed up, but they couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t here. He’d managed the junkyard for decades, always old and never seeming to grow older. People who liked him called him Butterfly Man. Those that didn’t like him started out calling him the Garbage Man and eventually call him sir.

“Two visitors in one days, this is surprising,” Kale said. He sat down on an old folding chair and bent over his workbench. “Janet Forth came by earlier today and asked for a butterfly for her daughter’s birthday. It’s a simple thing and I had the parts, so I agreed to provide one for the young lady.”

Owens peered over the old man’s shoulder and looked at the devise. It was six inches long and had orange and black wings that looked exactly like a viceroy butterfly. There was a windup motor in the abdomen that allowed the machine to fly for thirty seconds. Children’s pictures were taped over the workbench, made by the proud owners of Kale’s windup butterflies as their only means of repaying the old man.

Owens frowned and said, “A stainless steel toy for a little girl?”

“It’s stainless steel because she’s so young,” Kale explained. “Children are precious, but they can forget to be gentle with delicate things. I make my toys strong enough they can’t break. I’m guessing you aren’t here for a butterfly.”

Owens snorted. “I came on business. I’m here about what happened to Gavial Staback.”

Kale kept working on the toy. “Hmm, his name does ring a bell.”

“Don’t play smart with me,” Owens said. It was a cliché and not in the least bit appropriate in Kale’s case. Nobody knew where or if Kale got an education, but the old man could fix anything on two, four, or eighteen wheels. He also had a knack for repairing air conditioners, home appliances, and remote control cars. He didn’t do so often and not for just anyone, but if Kale liked you he could work magic with machines.

“He’s dead,” Owens said, “and so is his entire gang.”

“Shocking,” Kale replied. “I suppose it’s a hazard of his occupation.”

Gavial's occupation was producing and dealing crystal meth. What that stuff does to a body disgusted even a veteran cop like Owens. How could anything make a man age twenty years in just four, or make him into such a monster? Meth was spreading across the US, mostly because it could be brewed up in a kitchen instead of being grown in another country and smuggled in. The chemicals used to make it could be explosive if not mixed properly, and no tears were wasted on those who died making such filth.

“It’s how he died that’s upsetting people,” Owens said. “He—”

Something ran across the floor between Owens’s legs. It ducked between two empty oxygen tanks before he could react.

“Oh don’t mind them,” Kale said. “They’re just curious about you. It’s not often visitors come so late.”

“You wouldn’t want me coming early,” Owens said. “Gavial’s death wasn’t accidental.”

Kale looked up from his butterfly. “You don’t say?”

“His crew died when their drug lab blew up,” Owens said. He wanted to pace but their wasn’t room inside the bus with the piles of machine parts, parts that at first glance looked almost like the guts of a car or a microwave. Almost. He also wanted to smoke, but he knew better than to do that here. “Meth labs blow up all the time. Like you said, it’s an occupational hazard. This one blew up with eight of Gavial’s men inside. Killed them all.”

“What a pity,” Kale said in a deadpan voice.

“Damn it, this isn’t a joke!” Owens shouted. “There’s an investigation into how Gavial died.”

Kale looked thoughtfully at Owens. “You mean to tell me that our fine state is spending taxpayer money to investigate the death of that monster?”

“Surprised? You shouldn’t be. They found the cut break line in Gavial’s car. The investigating officer thinks he had an enemy, a rival dealer who wanted him dead. They’re trying to find the guy because they think he’ll try to take over Gavial’s territory and start this nightmare up again.”

Owens heard things scuttling around outside the bus. There were more things moving around inside it, too. He lowered his voice and spoke again.

“I’m still on the case. I was investigating Gavial before he died, so they’re asking for my help finding the killer.”

“I see,” Kale said. The scuttling noise died away. “What have you learned?”

Owens shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Gavial and his gang were working out of an old factory. He may have been a damn drug dealer, but he was smart enough to put his lab in an out of the way place. There were some complaints about the smell, but nobody took notice since it was next to lots of factories. Two days ago the place blew up. Eight of Gavial’s men were inside at the time, almost the whole gang. It was a nice piece of work. The investigators still think it was an accident.”

There was more scuttling noises as feet and claws scratched their way across the junkyard. Owens was sure they were watching him.

“Do go on, it was getting interesting,” Kale said. “This factory was where a certain police detective tried to get a warrant to enter and search the building, correct?”

“Yeah, that’s the place,” Kale said. Tired, he added, “Wasn’t enough evidence. Nobody’s much worried about that part of the case. The thing is, one of Gavial’s men disappeared before the explosion. Nobody’s found him yet.”

“Nor are they likely to, at least in any condition they might recognize him,” Kale said.

Owens tried not to show how much that bothered him. “Then there’s Gavial himself. Our good friend Mr. Gavial heard about the explosion on the news. He tried to run for it. Witnesses saw him drive away and said his car was working fine. Then all of a sudden he couldn’t stop and crashed into a tree.”

At the back of the bus, a timer rang behind the curtain. Kale got up and pulled the curtain aside. Owens saw what looked like a still, but stills make liquor, not the bright green stuff flowing through a confusing mess of coiled glass tubes. The liquid dripped into a small flask. If you looked closely at the flask you could see something moving inside it. Kale turned a knob on the still, picked up the flask, and sat back down.

“His breaks failed,” Kale said.

“They were cut while he was driving,” Owens said.

Kale shrugged. “If they were cut before he started, he would have noticed while still at a low speed. A crash at twenty miles an hour would do little to hurt him.”

“Then his gas tank exploded,” Owens said. “Our mechanics don’t know how that happened. I was the first officer on the scene, Kale. I knew he’d run so I went after him the second I heard about the explosion. That’s how I found this.”

Owens reached into his coat pocket and took out a small, charred hunk of metal. It was partially melted, but the thing’s legs and head were identifiable. The six inch long machine looked like a rat, but a rat with stainless steel skin, inch long claws and jaws made from pruning shears. Owens held up the broken machine and placed it on the workbench.

“Oh,” Kale said.

The scurrying noise intensified. There were dozens of things moving around outside the bus and at least ten more inside. Some of them got close enough for Owens to see. They were based off animals, mammals mostly. There were hordes of stainless steel rats, raccoons, opossums, ferrets and skunks. Mechanical spiders, stag beetles and lobsters joined the crowd. A larger machine that looked like a pit bull rounded out the collection. They were constantly moving, watching Owens as they ran about. Three of the things climbed up onto the workbench and studied their dead companion.

Kale used a knife to pry open a panel on the dead machine’s back. He took out a small vial, broken and scorched. “I thought this might have happened when I lost contact with him. The vita formula is gone. Boiled away, I suppose. The parts I could fix, but my pets die without the formula. Thank you for bringing him back. I can at least give him a proper burial.”

Owens watched Kale handle the dead machine. Softly, the police detective said, “I grabbed it before anyone else saw it. That was a big risk.”

Kale reached up and took one of the children’s drawings off the wall. It had a stick figure drawn in crayon, surrounded by purple butterflies and the words ‘Thank you Butterfly Man’ scrawled on it. Kale looked at the picture for a few moments before speaking.

“He survived the crash. I had to do something. Allowing him to go on ruining lives was not an option. Owens, when you can create life, even temporarily, you realize how rare and precious it really is. Life is something to be protected at all costs and from all enemies. I believe you understand this.”

“I do,” Owens said. He reached into his coat pocket. The horde of machines braced themselves, ready to lash out. Owens pulled an envelope from his coat and dropped it on the workbench. The machines relaxed.

“Five thousand dollars, same as always,” Owens said.

“Your business is appreciated,” Kale replied. He poured the green liquid into tiny vials, then plug them into the waiting machines. His creations gathered around to receive the fuel that would keep them alive for a few more days.

Owens left the bus and called back, “Next time, Kale, nothing so obvious.”

Grief

Callista the nymph had a hundred good reasons not to attend Duke Gallows’ party. Topping that list was the fact the duke had likely invited her solely as a sign of his power. After all, who but a mighty man could bring a magical being to his private estate? Then there was the equally insulting possibility he’d invited her to be gawked at by his rich and powerful friends. But his invitation mentioned that he’d requested an old friend of hers come, and there was a chance, be it ever so small, he wanted her presence for a legitimate reason. It was risky, but she’d decided to attend. In a few more minutes she’d learn whether or not that was a mistake.

The road to Duke Gallows’ private mansion was lined with the rich, the influential, and the dangerous. They were exiting carriages or dismounting horses now that they had arrived at the party (Callista lived only a few miles away and had walked). Mostly there were humans dressed in fashionable clothes and expensive jewelry. A few elves had come from the Yelinid Banking Cartel, and they were staying far away from a pair of stout dwarfs representing Industrial Magic Corporation.

Those were the intended guests, while their bodyguards made for a more diverse crowd. Most of the guards were humans wearing the wildest collection of armors and clothes, while their weapons were equally varied. Callista also counted three minotaurs, two ogres, four adolescent trolls, a stone golem and a darkling, its shadowy form constantly shifting. Guard animals were also common, with hounds, a griffin, a mimic, and some fool had brought a unicorn that was already straining at its reins to attack.

“Ah, Lady Callista,” an elf banker said as he approached. He had blond hair and wore the yellow and white robes common to his cartel. “I was unaware that such an august personality would be in attendance.”

Callista faked a smile and shook his hand. “You’re generous with your praise, but I claim no title of Lady. Just call me Callista.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” The elf’s eyes roamed across her body, although thankfully his hands did not. “Our host was vague as to the reason for this event, but I can tell from our companions on the road that there must be something great in the works.”

“I’m sure it will be quite an evening.” She’d brought a sword in case it was too much of an evening. That had happened too often in her three hundred years, and there had been four parties she’d had to fight her way out of.

The dwarfs walked over, and one of them stepped on the elf’s foot. The banker howled and jumped up and down as the smirking dwarfs left. “There’s a line for a reason, you stunted freaks, and you were at the end of it!”

“The duke asked to see us personally,” a dwarf said. He glanced at Callista and nodded to her. “I’ll do what I can to get you in early as well. Leaving you with this lout is a form of torture.”

“The line is moving fast enough for me,” she told them. The sun was only starting to set as guests entered the mansion, and they’d all be inside soon. That was a pity. She’d been enjoying the landscaping. Duke Gallows had planted flowering trees along the road, and beyond that lay expertly manicured gardens and ponds teeming with brightly colored fish.

Someone yelled, “Look out!”

Callista rolled her eyes as the unicorn broke free and tried to impale the nearest guest. Those animals had a well-deserved reputation for being psychotically aggressive, yet men with more money than brains kept thinking they could tame them. The stone golem tackled it and dragged it to the ground, earning a smattering of applause.

The line kept moving until Callista was near the mansion’s entrance. She found human guards armed with swords and two attack dogs waiting for her. Smiling, she handed them her invitation.

“Hello Miss…ah,” he began, and the man’s jaw dropped.

It was a typical reaction. Callista possessed the otherworldly beauty found only among nymphs, and she moved with superhuman grace. Her figure was stunning. Her hair was gleaming silver, as if purest silver coins had been melted down and spun into thread. Her eyes were green. Elves said they were the color of finest jade. Men said they were like the deepest of forests. The last goblin that looked into her eyes had said, “If you’re going to throw up, aim for someone else.” It had made her laugh, a memory she drew upon in hard times.

Callista’s clothes were less impressive than her figure. She wore a white dress that covered everything except her face and fingers, a garment she saved for the rare times she went to social events. Her tailor had assured her that the dress allowed for a free range of motion, which had proven true in three fights. Her shoes were white with silver thread. She wore only one piece of jewelry, a fine silver chain necklace with two gold rings strung over it.

“Callista,” she prompted the guard.

“Yes, um, ma’am. You honor us with your presence.”

Callista looked at the dogs and smiled. “Aren’t they beautiful!”

“Ma’am, those aren’t lap dogs. They’re guard dogs trained to—”

The dogs lunged into her waiting arms and she hugged them. Their ears perked up, and their tails wagged so hard that the animals might take off and fly away. Both dogs rolled over to let her rub their stomachs.

The guard sighed. “Trained to sniff out goblins and keep them out of the party.”

“That is so cute,” Callista told him. She’d once spent a year living among goblins to avoid a king who considered kidnapping an acceptable form of courtship. That time gave her a good appreciation of what goblins could do, and it amused her that the guards thought dogs could keep them out.

The guard glanced at the sword strapped to her back. “Uh, ma’am, we’re under orders to collect weapons from the guests. We’ll look after it and return it when you leave.”

That made Callista pause. She didn’t like going unarmed. It encouraged bad behavior by worse people. Still, it was unlikely that someone would be so offensive that she’d need to cripple him when there were so many witnesses at hand. She reluctantly unstrapped the sword and scabbard and handed them over.

“You’ve got a fine weapon,” the first guard said. The sword wasn’t magical, but had been engraved with images of dragons and set with rubies and pearls.

“It dates to the Ancient Elf Empire and is a gift from my first husband,” she explained. Callista then pressed a finger against the guard’s chest. “I will be very upset if something should happen to it.”

“Uh, uh,” the man stammered.

“Your table is by the fountain,” a second guard said.

She smiled at them, causing the first guard to pass out (his fellow guard barely caught him in time), and then headed for her table. The mansion’s great hall could comfortably sit three hundred and was nearly full. She walked between tables seating men to be reckoned with, and every head turned to follow her. She saw a woman with a baby pressed against her shoulder. Callista smiled and stroked the baby’s cheek as she went by, making the little one laugh and wiggle.

Callista had to give Duke Gallows credit for the decorations. There were huge marble urns planted with gorgeous flowers. Tasteful paintings hung from the walls, and the statues of athletic men and women standing next to every column were masterfully carved. Musicians were placed across the room and filled the air with pleasant melodies. Maybe this night wouldn’t be a disaster.

Ahead of her was a young human couple that gave her pause. They stood side by side, the man’s arm around his wife’s waist as she held onto his hand. They laughed and exchanged loving glances. It stopped Callista in her tracks, but only for a moment. She continued on, whispering, “Be happy for them.”

She spotted a large fountain and a round table big enough to seat ten people. That had to be the one the guard had referred to. To her surprise, there was only one person sitting there, a girl of about fifteen with brown hair and wearing a red dress.

Smiling, Callista took her seat. “Hello there, I’m Callista.”

“Hi.” The girl’s shoulders slumped and she stared at her empty plate.

“Do I have to guess your name?”

“Oh, sorry. I’m Gail Heartstone.”

Waiters walked between the tables and set down platters of food. Callista smiled and thanked them when they brought roast pheasant garnished with potatoes, onions and shallots. “Well, Gail, it seems we have this feast to ourselves for the moment, so let me serve you. Breast or thigh?”

Gail didn’t answer right away. Callista sliced off a generous portion for herself and kept smiling. “You’re young to come to a party on your own.”

“I’m not alone, sort of not alone. My dad is with the duke. He’s trying to impress him with how important our family is so the duke will order one of his sons to marry me. Thigh meat.”

“That’s depressing. Here you go, one leg of pheasant. And your mother?”

“Mother went to…oh God, not again.” Callista followed Gail’s gaze, where a woman strongly resembling Gail sat at a bar. Gail blushed and put her face into her hands. “She promised she wouldn’t drink tonight!”

“And I thought I was going to have a rough time.” Callista sat down next to Gail and put an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry. It will get better in time.”

“How? My father is bartering my life like I’m a poker chip. My mother is going to get drunk, again, and embarrass the whole family. There’s nothing I do to stop either of them. Nobody else can, either. It’s been like this for two years.”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Callista took Gail by the chin and made her look up. “Your father isn’t going to marry you into the duke’s family tonight or ever. I’ve heard of the Heartstones. You’re prosperous and well thought of. You are not, however, in the same league as the duke. His sons are destined for arranged marriages with rich, well-connected women. You’re safe for now.”

Gail’s face practically lit up. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. This is one of those times where not being good enough is a good thing. As for your mother, this isn’t the first time I’ve been to an event where someone overindulged. You and I will see half the people here staggering like toddlers in an hour, and many are going to be too drunk to stand. It’s a sad problem, but not a rare one.”

“It’s something.” Gail cut up her food and started eating. “I’ve heard of you, too. Where’s the lucky guy who came with you?”

Waiters brought more platters, this time heaped with beef roasts garnished with carrots and tomatoes. To their credit, they didn’t stare at her too long. Callista took a small portion and handed the platter to Gail. “I came alone, and before you ask, I plan on leaving alone.”

“I wasn’t going there,” Gail promised. Curious, she asked, “Seriously, you couldn’t get a date? There’s got to be a thousand men who’d give anything to be seen with you.”

“The number is a good deal higher than that.” Callista saw a waiter walk by with bowls of fresh peaches. That was a favorite of hers. She was going to ask if he could leave it at her table when a young man hurried over and brought her the bowl.

“Miss Callista, uh, ma’am, here, let me get that for you.” He placed it on the table to her left and took a step back.

“Why Max, look how you’ve grown,” Callista said cheerfully. “Gail, this is Max Dalstay. He’s the son of a friend of mine. Max, this is Gail Heartstone.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Max said. At sixteen, Max was handsome but still growing into manhood. He had a slender build and black hair, and dressed in dark clothes. Quickly turning his attention back to Callista, he said, “I’d have come sooner, but my family is seated across the room and I only just saw you. Can I get you anything?”

Gail stifled a laugh as Callista replied. “That’s sweet of you, Max. Gail and I are doing just fine. Is your father about? Oh, silly question, he’s behind you. Bernard, hello!”

Bernard Dalstay put a hand on his son’s shoulder, and the youth yelped in surprise. The family resemblance was striking, although Bernard was more muscular than his son. The raven haired man had an animal magnetism that bordered on magic, and he drew admiring looks from nearby women (including Gail).

“Dad, I was just saying hi to Miss Callista.”

“That’s kind of you,” his father said. He had a deep voice that commanded respect, and he gently turned his son around. “Our dinner is fast turning into a negotiation with the duke, and he’ll expect to see you with us. Come.”

“But we haven’t seen her in years! It’s rude not to say hello!”

“The night’s young, boy, and you’ll have time to reacquaint yourself later. Now join your mother.”

Bernard’s tone made it clear the matter was closed, and Max reluctantly left. Bernard was about to go as well when Callista said, “He’s the splitting image of you, in every way.”

“What was that about?” Gail asked once they were gone.

“History repeating itself. I first met Bernard at Imperial University when he was eighteen. He came to me several times asking questions, most of which had nothing to do with his studies. Two days later he asked me to marry him.”

Gail burst out laughing. “No!”

“And he repeated the request at every opportunity for the next year and a half.” Callista waved for a waiter to come over.

Gail watched Bernard work his way across the room “He moves like a tiger. You said no to that?”

“It wasn’t easy. It’s never easy. Waiter, could you please bring my friend and I something to drink with our meal?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Once the waiter had left, Gail asked, “So what happened?”

“Bernard wasn’t giving up without a fight, metaphorically speaking. It took some time, but I managed to introduce him to a young lady from a good family, who is today Mrs. Dalstay and mother to his children. I’ve kept in contact with her over the years, and according to her letters life is very good. You have simply got to admire the woman’s stamina.”

Gail’s expression was blank. “I don’t get it.”

“You will when you’re older, dear. I met Max three years ago. As you can see, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

“He’s trying to flirt with you when he’s so much younger than you are.”

The waiter came back with a decanter of wine and two glasses. Callista accepted them and said, “I’m three hundred years old. Everyone’s younger than I am.”

Callista felt something brush against her leg. Casually as possible, she picked up a bone from the pheasant and slipped it under the table. An unseen hand took it from her, and she heard a soft munching. She smiled. Goblin sniffing dogs indeed!

Gail watched Bernard and Max from across the room. “If he’d been older when you first met, would you have said yes? I’m sorry to pry like this, but marriage has been coming up a lot around the dinner table at home, and I’m curious.”

“It’s a fair question, and since we don’t have an audience I don’t mind answering it. Bernard is a good man, hard working, fair to the men under him and kind to his children. If he’d been older when we first met, though, I would have still said no.”

“Why?”

Callista was tempted not to answer, but she could tell that Gail was scared for her future. The nymph had been scared many times before and wished it on no one, so she reluctantly replied while she poured drinks for them both.

“Gail, how much do you know about me?”

“Not much. People say you’re pretty, that you’ll never grow old, that animals love you even if they’re wild, and that you’re nice, but not much more than that.”

“The nice part might not be correct.” Callista took a sip of wine and swirled it in her mouth. “I have been married twice. The first time was to a captain of a warship. Martin Starlit. You, you would have liked him, Gail. He was a commoner who worked his way up through the ranks. He never lost his connection to the people, not the way some men do when they gain power.”

She stopped to look at Gail. “He was the one who taught me how to speak the human language. I learned so much from him about the sea and ships, and about fighting. You’ll never guess how many hours he spent showing me how to defend myself. We were so happy together no matter how many men tried to come between us.”

This was difficult for Callista to talk about. She went through her memories until she found a time when Martin had comforted her so long ago. “This is hard. I know. It was hard for me when I went through it. But I know you and I know what you’re capable of. You can get through this.” There, that stemmed the flow of tears.

“What happened?”

“Time happened, Gail. We were married for thirty-one years. Three thousand years together wouldn’t have satisfied me. He grew old and I didn’t. One day he died. It wasn’t in battle or from his ship sinking. Those would have never killed him. He just passed away in his sleep.”

Callista felt something brush against her leg, but this time it was different. Tiny hands grasped onto her. Looking down, she saw a small boy of perhaps eighteen months holding her leg. He wore simple white clothes and had an unruly mop of brown hair, brown eyes, and an infectious smile.

“Why Gail, we’ve got a visitor! Hello there, little man!”

Callista scooped up the child and sat him down on the table. Gail grinned and reached over to stroke his hair. The boy laughed and grabbed her fingers. “Hi there! What’s your name?”

The boy didn’t answer. Instead he smiled and steadied himself by grabbing Callista’s wrists.

“He’s too young to talk yet,” Callista said. She felt a sudden impish urge, and tucked a napkin into the back of the boy’s shirt. “There you go. You’ve got a cape. Important men like you should always wear a cape.”

“Ooh, let’s give him a spoon,” Gail said. Once she’d armed him, the boy eagerly whacked the spoon against the table. Bang, bang, bang.

“Do you have brothers, Gail?”

Gail handed the boy another spoon, and he banged both against the table before throwing them away. “Two of them, and a sister. They’re in almost as much trouble as me. Father has plans for us that don’t involve letting us choose who we’re being married to. I’m just the first one to get auctioned off to the highest bidder.”

“Dear, don’t joke about that.”

“Sorry. It just feels that way sometimes. Let me hold him!”

Callista tried to pass the boy off, but he was having none of it. He grabbed onto the nymph again and pulled himself into her lap. She gave up trying to move him and instead cuddled the child. Memories flooded back of times she’d held her own children, fed them, consoled them, taught them.

“Children are so uncomplicated,” the nymph said. “They want love and their basic needs met, nothing more. If you gave this boy a gold necklace he’d try to eat it, and throw it away when he realized he couldn’t.”

A woman in a blue dress marched up to them and scowled. Callista stood up and faked a smile. “Is this young man with you?”

“Yes, he is,” she said tartly.

“Sorry,” Gail said sheepishly. “We would have returned him, but we didn’t know who to give him back to.”

The woman took her son. “I can’t turn my back for a second without Hank running off. He doesn’t much care which woman is holding him.” Her tone was pure acid when she added, “Rather like his father that way.”

They waited until the woman was a safe distance away before Gail said, “See, that’s why I worry about being married off.”

“I can’t help if you’re looking for advice on dealing with bad marriages. Both of mine worked out.”

“About your other marriage. I mean, I hope I’m not pushing.”

Waiters came with more platters of food. This time they brought steaks with sharp knives to cut them, meat pies, loaves of bread drizzled with honey, and vegetable soup. There wasn’t room left on the table for anything but their plates and the plates of their still missing fellow diners.

“There’s enough food here for twenty people,” Gail said. “How much do they expect us to eat?”

“It’s considered good manners to overfeed guests at these kinds of parties,” Callista explained. “You give them so much that they can pick and choose. Leftovers go to the staff, and the bones and fruit peelings are eaten by goblins.”

Gail laughed. “You won’t find a goblin within ten miles of this place! The guards and dogs will keep them out.”

“Guards, dogs, magic wards, goblin confounding talismans, and I think I saw someone pouring piles of kitchen scraps outside to distract them. It didn’t work.”

“Didn’t? What do you mean didn’t?”

A voice under the table said, “Pass the mayo.”

Callista took a small dish of mayonnaise off the table and placed it on the floor, where a pale blue grubby hand pulled it under the table. She also dropped a handful of bones, which the goblin also took. Gail opened her mouth to scream, but Callista pressed two fingers against the girl’s lips.

“The other guests are having such a good time. Let’s not ruin it.”

Callista decided to continue answering Gail’s original question to distract the girl from causing a scene. “My second husband was Anthony Bester. He grew the best grapes and mixed the finest wines, and it took a lawsuit to get the elves to stop claiming otherwise. I met him when I was still dealing with the loss of my first husband. Specifically, he took the glass of wine I was drinking and poured it down a sewer.”

“He did what?”

“You had to have been there to understand.”

Memories flowed over her of the moment when Anthony had said, “Good God, woman, if you’re going to get falling down drunk again, at least drink decent wine. Here, try this.”

“Antony was a widower, so he knew what I was going through,” Callista continued. “He taught me a lot about wine and grapes, and about dealing with loss. We were married twelve years when he passed away. There were thousands of men that plague could have taken and left the world a better place, and it had to take Anthony.”

Gail looked to be on the verge of tears. “You lost both your husbands?”

“I’m ageless, Gail, ever young, ever beautiful, and ever losing those who matter to me. I outlived my husbands, and the children we had together. They didn’t inherit my agelessness, and I watched them age and die, and then saw the same thing happen to our grandchildren. That’s the reason I haven’t taken another husband. It’s not because there’s no one worthy. When Bernard Dalstay proposed to me he was young, strong, handsome, and more importantly I knew he was a good man. I turned him down because I couldn’t go through that again. I couldn’t watch him weaken and die like Martin and Anthony. It’s too much.

“I have perfect memory. I remember everything that happened during my marriages. Every minute we spent together, every word we said, every touch is stored in my mind as if it happened yesterday. If I could forget it somehow maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, but I can’t, and there are days it hurts so much.”

Callista looked at her meal. Magnificent as it was, she found herself with no appetite. “It’s made having friends hard, too. I’ve had so many over the years and outlived them as well. There were years I attended one funeral after another. These days I try to stay as professional as I can with others and maintain my distance. I’ve found a few beings that enjoy long lives, like gnomes and dwarfs, and one dragon, and we spend time together. I don’t want to shut myself away from the world. I know Martin and Anthony wouldn’t want that, but sometimes it’s so hard when I know that all I see is going to pass away and I won’t.”

It was strange. The room was filling to capacity with revelers, many of them drunk and getting loud. The musicians played louder to be heard over the clatter of silverware and people talking. Somehow, in spite of all that noise, there was a profound quiet at Callista and Gail’s table.

“I’m sorry,” Callista said softly. “It wasn’t fair of me to burden you with that. I keep thinking I’ve dealt with these feelings, and then something comes up and dredges them back to the surface.”

“It’s okay,” Gail told her. “Um, what do you do when men are…interested in you, and you’re not interested in them?”

“That’s become a specialty of mine. The nice ones take no for an answer. I redirect the persistent ones, like I did with Bernard. It’s not easy, but I can do it. I’m not gentle with the ones who aren’t nice. I can give as well as I get, and I’ve got more experience dishing out abuse than nearly everyone on this world. As for the really obnoxious ones, I’ve maimed more than a few.”

Gail dropped her silverware. “What?”

“Martin taught me how to fight like my life depends on it. I’ve taken lessons from others on combat over the centuries, always the best in their fields. There aren’t many who can fight me and win. It helps that the magistrates in my home city have been understanding when I have to send someone to a healer.”

There was a savage satisfaction when she replayed a memory in her mind of the last time that had happened. “This is the fifth time as magistrate that I’ve had to discipline a man for trying to force his attention on Callista the nymph. Admittedly this is the first time the defendant wasn’t able to stand, speak, or maintain bladder control after the beating she inflicted. I’ll take that into consideration during your sentencing.”

“That’s got to make parties like this hard for you,” Gail replied. “All the people drinking too much and acting dumber the more they drink.”

“You have no idea. It used to be fun when I went to parties with Martin and Anthony. Martin never liked celebrations and ended up spending his time with the staff. He’d get them singing and laughing so much that they had a better time than the guests. As for Anthony, if he was here he’d be complaining about the wine, and he wouldn’t be shy about it.”

“Really?”

Callista took a sip of wine and frowned. “Oh yes.”

Memories of Anthony came back and made her smile again. “This wine isn’t supposed to be served with roast pork. It should have been served to the pig.”

There was a sudden crash from across the room where the bar was. Gail slid down in her chair in a desperate bid to hide. “That was my mother, wasn’t it?”

Callista stroked Gail’s hair. “She’s okay. Someone’s helping her up.”

With the conversation paused by Gail’s humiliation, Callista took a moment to study the room. Many of the tables were only partly occupied since so many guests were milling about in large groups and gossiping. The largest group was centered around Duke Gallows and included at least fifty people vying for his attention. But to her surprise and delight, a white haired gnome in a tuxedo walked around the crowds to join her.

“Fiddler Plast, you rogue!” Callista called out as she rose to greet him. “It’s been ages. You look wonderful.”

Plast bowed at the waist and climbed into a chair next to her. The duke’s servants had thoughtfully provided a footstool for the gnome, and he reached his place without difficulty. “I’d say the same to you, but it would be redundant. You look as you always do, Callista, the personification of beauty. Ah, our host was kind enough to provide adequate sustenance for the evening. If you could be so kind as to pass the rest of the pheasant?”

Gail did so, and watched in awe as Plast devoured every last scrap of meat on the bird. He proceeded to crack open the bones and scoop out the marrow, then drained the decanter of wine to wash it down. The gnome reached for the nearest full platter and said, “I’m pleased you could make it. I have developed a mathematical formula that I hope will explain the movements of the constellation Erving the Marmoset. As I doubt the duke will have anything of relevance to say tonight, I hope we can spend a few hours discussing the matter.”

“I’d love to, but Gail and I—”

“Are finished,” Gail said. “You answered all my questions and more, and if this makes you happy then I don’t want to keep you from it. I didn’t even know you were interested in the stars.”

Plast laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. Gail’s face shifted from embarrassment to anger and back again before she asked, “What’s so funny?””

“I’m a professor of astronomy at Imperial University,” Callista explained.

Gail’s jaw dropped. “You’re an astronomer?”

“A girl’s got to do something to earn a living.”

Putting two and two together, Gail said, “So when you said you met Bernard Dalstay at Imperial University, he was in one of your classes.”

“My lectures are always well attended, sometimes by people actually interested in Astronomy. Fiddler Plast is a fellow astronomer who built the largest telescope in the kingdom, and kindly lets me use it.” Callista was about to tell Gail about her job when a most unwelcome face appeared in the crowd. “Dear God, it’s Lord Bryce.”

“What’s that idiot doing here?” Plast demanded as he continued serving himself.

A voice called out from under the table, “Quick, pretend you’re dead.”

Lord Bryce was a lesser nobleman but possessed wealth that few could rival. Between his riches and high birth he was an absolute bore on a good day, and a pompous, lecherous malcontent the rest of the time. He had good looks and dressed in fashionable clothes with a touch of jewelry. Such a fine appearance fooled people meeting him for the first time.

Lord Bryce’s passing drew notice from the other guests, but not their approval. No one invited him to join them or engaged him in conversation. Most looked away when he neared them, a sign of unofficial disapproval among the rich. It didn’t bother Lord Bryce in the slightest. He noticed their snub, but instead of anger or embarrassment, he showed only smug certainly.

“Callista, how good to see you again,” Lord Bryce began as he approached their table. He could be charming for short periods of time, but it never lasted. “The time since our last meeting has been far too long, and I hungered for the chance to see you again.”

“The last time we met, you were ejected from university grounds and then banned from them entirely,” Callista replied. She had learned thousands of insults over the last three hundred years and was sorely tempted to use them. Instead she kept her voice calm and tried to end the conversation without stirring up trouble.

“You do have the most odious men running that establishment. They have no sense of humor or knowledge of their rightful place.” Lord Bryce put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a predatory smile. “Thankfully this time we can spend time together without interruption by lesser minds.”

Keep calm, she repeated to herself. She’d dealt with many men like Lord Bryce. Keep calm. “Duke Gallows invited us both for a reason I’m sure he intends to share, and that allows no opportunity for private affairs.”

“Gallows is busy and will remain so for hours,” Lord Bryce replied with a smirk. “That leaves time enough for us and an estate large enough to spend it alone.”

Keeping calm, very calm. She could smell alcohol on his breath, and he would be even less reasonable drunk than normal. “I fear I must remind you that while these are private grounds rather than public, the behavior that cost you your place at Imperial University would be no more appreciated here than it was there. Your hand, remove it.”

Fiddler Plast didn’t look up from his plate, now filled with food. “You’re not among commoners this time, Bryce. Make a fool of yourself among your peers and the consequences are going to be massive.”

“It’s Lord Bryce,” he corrected the gnome through clenched teeth, “and my words aren’t directed to someone beneath me in every possible way.”

Plast chuckled. “Racial slurs. I didn’t see that coming. Oh, wait, yes I did, because you talk like that to everyone all the time.”

Callista took Lord Bryce’s hand resting on her shoulder. For a second he smiled, but that disappeared when she slid his hand back to his side. “There are limits to my patience, and you reached them. Kindly return to your table and I’ll make no mention of this to our host.”

Lord Bryce’s face turned red. “I will not be talked to this way. I will not be treated like a servant. You may no more dismiss me than you can stop the tide!”

Nearby guests turned in surprise as Lord Bryce grew louder. Gail sunk into her chair, trying to avoid notice. Plast stopped eating and gripped his fork and knife like weapons. The goblin under the table ran, but only far enough to retrieve two more goblins hiding beneath another table.

Lord Bryce grabbed Callista by the shoulders and turned her around so she had to look at him. “You conniving vixen! The others here may be fooled into thinking you are a lady of class, a woman of distinction, but I know your history! You gave yourself to a penniless bilge rat pretending to be a captain, and then a drunk while your first husband’s body was still warm! You let wretched men of no breeding have you and turn down your betters? The nerve!”

Memories of her husbands crashed into Callista like an avalanche. She remembered how they’d fought for her, defended her from monsters like Lord Bryce, protected her in court when she’d had to defend herself. She remembered their deaths, the agony of it fresh like a knife wound, the pain of knowing she’d go on living, not for decades but for centuries or even millennia, every day of it without them.

The pain mixed with her loathing of Lord Bryce and hundreds of men like him she’d met over the centuries. This, this dog! This drunken, inbred, idiotic blight on humanity! Martin and Anthony were a hundred times the man Lord Bryce was, and to have this cretin smear their good names in front of everyone!

“How dare you!” Callista screamed. She slapped him. Hard. Then she kneed him in the crotch. Lord Bryce staggered back, which saved him from the worst of the kick she aimed at his head. The blow could have broken his jaw but instead only split his lip.

The three goblins attacked him, kicking him in the shins and stomping on his feet. At three feet tall the dirty little creatures couldn’t reach much higher and hadn’t come armed for a fight. Lord Bryce howled in outrage and knocked them aside before balling his hands into fists and charging Callista. Plast jumped from his chair and moved to help her. Poor dear Plast, he didn’t realize who really needed protection.

The guards at the mansion’s entrance may have confiscated Callista’s sword, but her first husband had taught her to improvise. The steak knives at the table were five inches long and looked freshly sharpened. That would do nicely. She snatched the nearest knife and threw it at Lord Bryce’s throat.

Time seemed to freeze. The knife sailed through the air. Lord Bryce didn’t see it coming and so didn’t try to dodge. It would have killed him except a blur of black slammed into him. It was Max Dalstay, lighter than his enemy but running so fast he knocked them both to the floor. Max rolled off as Lord Bryce screamed and staggered to his feet.

Men ran in and got between Lord Bryce and Callista. Two guards grabbed him and shoved him against a wall. Bernard Dalstay ran over only seconds behind his son, just in time to see Lord Bryce burst free and come after Callista again.

“Get out of my way!” Lord Bryce’s voice was hateful, animalistic.

Bernard Dalstay stood his ground, with Callista and his son behind him. His voice was soft yet still commanded respect when he answered. “Walk away while you still can.”

The guard came back with reinforcements and seized Lord Bryce. They held him while a crowd gathered and Duke Gallows came. The Duke was an older man in formal wear, and the look on his face would have terrified a lion.

“Bryce, you idiot! I knew your reputation for womanizing and placed you as far from Professor Callista as humanly possible. I thought you’d have the common sense to not make a fool of yourself yet again.”

“How can you place the blame on me when Dalstay’s brat struck me?” Lord Bryce demanded.

“He was saving your miserable life.” Duke Gallows marched over to the wall behind Lord Bryce and pulled out the knife embedded in it. Marching back to Lord Bryce, the duke tossed the knife to the floor at the man’s feet. “Had he been a second slower you’d be dead.”

No one in the room believed the story, and they politely agreed that was exactly what had happened. It was a convenient lie that let Max Dalstay avoid the repercussions of attacking a man his equal and the potential blood feud that would entail. But that didn’t end the matter. All eyes remained on the duke, for he was their host and the highest-ranking man in the room. Enough of them had seen and heard Lord Bryce that his actions couldn’t be easily swept under the rug or explained away.

“Callista, may I offer my most profound apologies,” Duke Gallows said. “Your attendance was a gift, and your generosity in coming was poorly repaid. I understand if you wish to leave after such an incident, but I would consider it a personal favor if you would remain. As for you, Bryce, guards, take him outside. I’ll deal with this myself.”

“You can’t do this!” Lord Bryce yelled as he was dragged off. Clearly the duke could, especially in his own home. It was actually a kindness since they’d be able to settle things without witnesses.

Callista sank back into her chair, physically and emotionally exhausted. Why did social events keep turning into battlefields? The other guests drifted off and learned that scores of goblins who’d snuck into the party had taken the opportunity to rifle through their purses, coats, wallets and anything else they’d left at their tables when they ran to watch the commotion. Plast patted Callista on the arm and then sat down himself.

Not far away, Bernard Dalstay told his son, “You could have been killed just now.”

Looking miserable, Max asked, “What else could I do?”

“Nothing, son, nothing. Go back and tell your mother that you’re okay.”

Bernard Dalstay was about to leave when Callista said, “He’s your son, all right.”

Bernard smiled and his chest puffed out in fatherly pride. “That he is.”

Watching them leave, it occurred to Callista just how much trouble she was in. Not for hitting and nearly killing Lord Bryce. That idiot was reaching the limits of how much trouble his money and family connections could buy him out of. His peers had not ignored his behavior up to this point, but they’d been quiet in their disapproval. Causing such a scene publicly made that impossible, and Lord Bryce would soon find himself a pariah.

The problem was going to be Max Dalstay. He’d been seated at the other end of the room and still came running to the rescue, even if he hadn’t saved the person he’d intended to. She’d hoped his interest in her was a passing thing, but what he’d done tonight bordered on the heroic. Clearly he wasn’t going to just let his infatuation go. It could take years to dissuade the boy, and he might never give up on her. What was she to do?

“Did you see that?” Gail asked. She was looking at Max as he left. “He took on a man twice as big as himself.”

Callista was about to correct Gail on the difference in size (Max being more like two thirds Lord Bryce’s weight) when she smiled instead. Maybe this time it wouldn’t be hard to redirect a man’s attention, and do Gail a good turn at the same time.

“Wasn’t that brave of him?” Callista asked. “You’ll never guess what his family does for a living.”

New Goblin Stories 14

It was a dark and windy night, and goblins laughed and danced around a fire of burning modern art. Normally goblins don’t help people, but earlier that day they’d seen a town’s mayor try to convince his people to buy these monstrosities for an obscene price. In a move rare among goblins, they’d stolen the paintings and took them a safe distance from the unfortunate humans before destroying them.

“There goes the last one,” a shaggy goblin said as he fed a painting into the flames. It showed what was a cat, or possibly an iceberg, floating over a landscape of pink something or others. Goblins were stupid and a bit crazy, so they weren’t driven mad by this nonsense, but others weren’t so lucky. They’d seen three men lose bladder control just from looking at this painting, and an entire crowd ran in terror when the artist tried to explain his work.

“Missed one,” a short goblin said as he handed over another painting.

The shaggy goblin frowned. “Wait, that’s a painting? Of what?”

“I don’t know!” the short goblin shot back. He studied the misshapen images and frowned. “I think the red thing and the yellow thing are having a fight with the blue thing, and the blue thing is having stomach trouble. Look, just forget what it’s supposed to be and torch it before Stotle sees it.”

“Before I see what?”

The other goblins winced. They’d done their part to save humanity, but before beginning the trip they’d left behind one of their members. Poor old Stotle wasn’t ready for such horrors. The pale skinned goblin with wide eyes wore a molding rug for robes, normal enough for a goblin, but his mind was hopelessly twisted after reading a book on philosophy. There was no telling what those paintings could have done to such a fragile mind, and they had no intention of finding out.

“Nothing, Stotle,” the shaggy goblin said. He tossed the painting into the fire and watched the blurry images turn to ash.

Stotle stood at the door of their ramshackle house at the edge of the Jeweled Forest. He’d been asleep, but light from the fire had woken him. He peered through the darkness and saw the inexcusably foul artwork being destroyed. “Is that Jubal’s masterpiece, Society’s Folly in the fire?”

The shaggy goblin scratched his head. “That might have been the name on it.”

“Did you burn the rest of his work?” Stotle asked. The goblins hemmed and hawed as Stotle approached and studied the crackling fire where some paintings were only partially destroyed. “Yes, it looks like you got all of them. There’s Bartender’s Delight, that’s Horsehead Bookends of Doom, and I do believe that one was I Can’t Believe I’m Being Paid for This, the painting that got him thrown out of art school and nearly lynched.”

Turning back to his friends, Stotle said, “But since they’re destroyed, is Jubal really an artists? You can’t be an artist if you have no art, assuming that was art and not an assault on the senses.”

Panicking, the shaggy goblin shouted, “Stop him, he’s getting philosophical!”

The goblins grabbed Stotle and eased him to the ground. The short goblin grabbed a stick off the ground and jammed it into Stotle’s mouth. “Bite down. It’ll keep you from talking.”

Stotle did as instructed, but even with a stick in his mouth he kept trying to analyze the lack of Jubal’s career, talent and possibly lack of the man’s mind. He could go on like this for hours. The only cure the goblins had found was gagging Stotle until he’d gotten it out of his system.

“I don’t get it,” the shaggy goblin confessed. “We can bounce back from almost anything. Bruises, bumps, cuts, scraps, frostbite, fire, none of that hurts us for long. He should have healed from whatever that book did to him.”

Stotle chewed through the stick in his mouth and ate it. “As I was saying…”

“Hello?” The goblins turned to see two humans approaching them. That was odd, as few humans traveled when it was dark. These humans were youngish, a man and a woman dressed in worn clothes and coming out of the forest. The man stepped in front of the woman and asked, “Forgive the intrusion, but may we warm ourselves by your fire?”

Shocked, the short goblin blurted out, “You’re asking goblins for permission?”

“It’s your fire, so we must ask and leave if denied,” the man replied.

“That has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve heard tonight,” the short goblin said. He glanced at the fire and the rapidly disappearing paintings. “Not the stupidest thing I’ve seen, though.”

Stotle got up and dusted himself off. “The fire is free for any to share, as is our home.”

“You are kind, although I doubt your, ah, house, could fit us and you,” the man said. He led the woman closer and they sat by the fire.

Stotle nudged the house. “I doubt that will be a problem.”

The house began assembling another room from dead branches, loose rocks and even dirt. It did so quietly enough that the young couple didn’t notice it growing larger in the darkness.

“This is a first,” the shaggy goblin said. “I’ve never seen tall folks come near us without swearing and throwing things, and they’re even asking for help.”

“A year ago I don’t think I would have come, but harsh times and true friends have helped me see that goodness isn’t the property of any one race,” the man said. “My name is Tristan Fireheart, and this is my wife Isa and our daughter, Mira.”

The baby gurgled in her mother’s arms and waved her arms. The goblins swiftly gathered around Isa and her daughter, their faces showing awe. If they were expecting a show they were sorely disappointed, because young Mira yawned and promptly went to sleep.

“She’s no fun,” the shaggy goblin said. “Not here a minute and she went to bed.”

“It’s been a troubling time for us,” Isa said. “She needs her sleep.”

“Aw that’s no fair,” the short goblin complained. “You can’t get tired out being carried around. She should have plenty of vim when all she does is eat and piddle.”

“Now be fair, piddling can be hard work,” the shaggy goblin countered. “Why I remember the first time I tried coffee. Woo boy, I was on the toilet for a long time!”

Tristan blushed and Isa stifled a laugh at the goblins’ conversation. Tristan cleared his throat and said, “My wife speaks the truth. We sold our horses this week to cover our expenses and truly abominable road taxes.”

“What drives you so hard that you travel at night and with so little?” Stotle asked.

“We seek a new start in life,” Tristan explained. “We fled my father’s rule and look to settle in Ocean view Kingdom, which I’m told is not far from here.”

“A few days travel will find you at your destination,” Stotle replied.

“Our maps don’t show this area in detail,” Tristan said. “You’ve already been kind enough to let us rest here. Could you be persuaded to show us the way to Oceanview?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” Stotle told him. “I don’t exist.”

Tristan stared at him. “What?”

The shaggy goblin shook his head. “It’s not his fault. The poor fool went and read a philosophy book. It drove him totally bonkers.”

“It’s true, I don’t exist,” Stotle protested. “My life has been so absurdly silly that it can’t possibly be real. I’ve escaped death many times, seen things no one should see, and somehow come out of it not only alive but with both my sanity and credit rating intact. There’s no way that could happen. Therefore, I can safely conclude that I don’t exist.”

Tristan and Isa stared at Stotle. The short goblin sighed and patted Tristan on the back. “Get used to it, because he does that four times an hour, more if he’s bored. We can show you the right trails to take to get you where you’re going and stay away from road tolls, but you’ll have to put up with a few days of that nonsense.”

“Why do you want goblin help?” Stotle asked. “We have a well deserved reputation for untrustworthiness going back thousands of years. Logically you should seek aid from anyone else before turning to us.”

“A goblin gave us accurate directions a month ago,” Isa said. “I think he did it to help our daughter more than us, but regardless of his reasoning, it was kind.”

“Goblins has been no worse to us than our own people,” Tristan continued. There was pain in his voice as he stared into the fire. “My father has tried to kill us, and I fear he hunts us even now. Other men have taken advantage of our suffering, charging us unfair prices for food, lodging and transit through their lands. I took a hundred gold imperials at the beginning of this journey and spent them all.”

“Tragic,” Stotle replied. He looked back at the house, now double its original size. “The morning may bring new insights, and if nothing else bring you closer to your goal. I hope it will prove equal to your dreams. Let us put out the fire and retire for the night.”

“If you wouldn’t mind leaving us the fire, we’ll stay here while you…wait.” Tristan stared at the enlarged house. “That building has grown! What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” Stotle said. “You were just looking at it from the wrong side to see how big it is. Allow me to open the door, and let’s see, yes! There’s a crib inside, a bit simple, but large enough for your daughter. How thoughtful.”

“But I was looking at it from this side,” Tristan protested. He stared at the house and frowned. “Did something just move above the door?”

“Stop smiling,” Stotle whispered to the house. Louder, he said, “It’s dark and you’re tired. A night’s sleep will make everything better.”

There was a harsh noise from the forest, a gnashing, growling sound. The goblins backed closer together while Tristan and Isa stood up.

“What was that?” the shaggy goblin asked.

Stotle searched the dark forest, trying to find the source of the strange sound. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

“I have,” Tristan said. “Earlier this night, Isa and I heard it in the forest. It was farther away then. I approached your fire to avoid whatever that is, for it sounds dangerous.”

“Leave the fire burning and get in the house,” Stotle ordered. He rarely showed such determination and authority. The goblins obeyed, but they made sure Tristan and Isa went ahead of them.

There was a rustling noise in the forest, the only warning they had of the attack. The shaggy goblin was knocked over and two more goblins were driven to their knees. Something tried to grab Tristan, but he ducked and punched his attacker. A second attacker grabbed Stotle as it got between them and the open door, and in the light of the fire they saw what they faced.

Isa screamed. Goblins cried out in panic. The two vampires roared in delight at so much terrified prey. White skinned and wrinkled, the vampires wore tattered rags and had long, sharp fingernails. Their ears were long and wide, like a bat’s ears, and their red eyes matched the color of their gaping, toothy maws.

The roars stopped as the vampires got a good look at their victims. “Oh for the love of all that’s foul, it’s a bunch of goblins!”

The second vampire holding Stotle by the throat threw him aside. “Filthy vermin! Your blood’s a stew of toxins. We’d get sick even sipping from your veins, you gutter worms.”

“Being undesirable works in our favor for a change,” the shaggy goblin said.

“I smelled man blood!” bellowed the first vampire. Its eyes narrowed as it saw Tristan and Isa silhouetted by the fire. “Ah, there is a meal here.”

“Leave now and we won’t have a fight,” the short goblin said.

The vampires laughed. “You would threaten us? We are lords of the night, the stuff of nightmares made flesh, the ultimate predators! We take what we want, when we want! If you feel like dying, we can oblige you without feeding on your tainted blood, goblin filth.”

Stotle grabbed a burning log off the fire by an unlit end and swung it at the first vampire. He hit it on the foot, and the vampire bent down as he screamed. Stotle swung again and hit the vampire between the legs. As the vampire doubled over, the goblin struck him over the head. The second vampire charged into battle, but Stotle tripped him and set his clothes on fire.

“You see?” Stotle said. “This proves I don’t exist. There’s no way I should have gotten away with that.”

“Inside!” Tristan yelled. The humans and goblins ran into the rattletrap building while the vampires recovered. They’d taken blows that would leave a man moaning in agony, but their wounds healed in seconds. In moments they ran at the door so fast they might as well have been flying, but they were a split second too late. Bang! Tristan slammed the door shut and slid a bar over it.

“Vermin!” the first vampire yelled. “You think this hovel can hold us out?”

“Frankly, yes,” Stotle replied. He peered out a window too narrow for the vampires to reach through. “Vampires can’t enter a building without the owner’s permission.”

The vampires fumed as Tristan added, “None here are fool enough to grant you entry.”

The shaggy goblin grabbed a stick of firewood and broke it to form two pieces with sharp ends. “I’m not dumb enough, but I might be angry enough.”

“That same proscription against uninvited entry prevents you from forcing your way in regardless of how strong you are,” Stotle continued. “The situation is a stalemate. You have no choice but to leave.”

“Rodents don’t dictate terms to lions!” a vampire yelled.

The second vampire put a hand on the first’s shoulder. “Wait. Hear us, prey. Our dread lord Vacast, Lord of Vampires, sent us forth with a task. He seeks the Dawn Lantern, a great treasure not seen for many years. We have searched high and low, in places none but our kind can tread and live.”

“No luck, then?” the shaggy goblin asked.

“Would we be here wasting our time with you sub humans filth if we had succeeded?” the first one yelled. “Do you really expect goblins to know anything? They’re too dumb to know the color of the sky!”

The second vampire rolled its eyes. “Anger management classes just didn’t work with you. My point is, many seek this wonder and have failed. But men and elves can only go where their kind can survive. Goblins live where others can’t. You may have heard of our prize, maybe seen it. We can’t return to our master empty handed. Tell us where it is and we’ll leave you alive. Speak truthfully, for we can hear lies.”

“With those ears I bet you can hear winning lottery numbers on the other side of the planet,” the short goblin quipped.

“I doubt either of them know what color the sky is when they can’t stand the light of day,” Stotle added.

The vampires growled and bared their sharp, glistening fangs. “Speak or die.”

The shaggy goblin held up his hands to get the other’s attention. “Okay, everyone empty out your pockets and see if you got this doohickey.”

“That’s not what I meant!” the second vampire yelled as the occupants of the house duly turned out their pockets. This produced a mound of lint (which Stotle ate), a set of skeleton keys, a pewter spoon and a yak horn, but no Dawn Lantern.

“Has anyone heard of this whatchamacallit?” the short goblin asked.

All eyes turned to Stotle, who shrugged. “I know a ridiculous number of things, but nothing regarding magic lanterns.”

“I do,” Tristan answered. The vampires’ jaws dropped at the news. “It’s one of the fifty most powerful magic items on Other Place, a lantern made of obsidian and lapis, with a diamond at its core.”

The vampires pressed up against the bared door. “Where is it?”

Tristan shrugged. “As you said, it’s been lost for years, so long that all have forgotten who made it or what it can do. The last man to hold it died so long ago his name is forgotten. I only know of the Dawn Lantern from reading books on ancient history.”

“That’s useless!” the first vampire spat.

“What did you expect?” Tristan replied. “If I knew where to find it, I would had recovered it and been a man both rich and feared.”

Scowling, the second vampire pressed him, “Were there hints in your books? Did the authors give clues where it had been last seen?”

Tristan looked worried when he answered. “They listed a dozen kingdoms where he might have lived or passed through, and a hundred cities he visited.”

“If the Dawn Lantern was in any of those places, someone would have been found long ago,” Stotle pointed out.

“Then your books are useless, as are you,” the second vampire said.

Stotle stared them down. “Your prize is not here, and the door will not open before dawn. Leave and seek your lantern elsewhere.”

“We still hunger,” the first vampire growled. It smiled at them, a toothy grin, before saying, “We can’t force the door open, but I’m sure you’ll open it once we set your hovel on fire.”

“That is ethically and morally inexcusable,” Stotle said. “You’ve had our aid so far as we could give it, in spite of the fact that you attacked us. No system of beliefs supports your behavior. You do not have to do this. Regardless of your hunger, you are thinking beings capable of making choices.”

The vampires grinned at him. “Then we choose to see you die.”

Stotle frowned. “Model Zero Constructor, take the form of a man and embrace the vampires.”

The house shuddered as it folded forward over the vampires. Rocks, dirt and logs peeled away as Tristan and Isa screamed. The vampires screamed as well, for the front wall formed into two powerful arms that wrapped around them. In seconds the house was gone and the Model Zero Constructor stood, a golem made of bricks, lumber and iron standing ten feet tall and holding the vampires tightly. They tried to squirm free of its grip, and failed utterly.

“My God,” Isa said.

“Model Zero Constructor, form a house without doors or windows over the vampires,” Stotle ordered.

Timbers that made up the golem separated and scooped up the logs and rocks it had just discarded. The vampires struck the golem and tried to break free, but it was far too strong for them to hurt. It transformed the debris into a small building just big enough to contain the struggling vampires, imprisoning them both.

* * * * *

The goblins spent the night with Tristan, Isa and Mira around the fire. Morning came and the goblins tried to entertain Mira when she woke up. The baby was a good sport about their crude antics, even swatting them with her teddy bear. Tristan foraged for food, and turned up wild greens and a pair of trout. Noon came soon enough, and the goblins gathered around Model Zero.

“Our unwelcome guests made a poor choice last night,” Stotle began. “We must make a choice of our own.”

Tristan frowned. “Indeed. I doubt you intend to leave your golem here to hold them forever.”

“He is our friend, and goes where we go,” Stotle said. “We can’t hold the vampires until nightfall, for releasing them would put us in harm’s way again.”

A muffled voice called out from inside the stout building. “Set us free this night and we swear to leave you in peace.”

“Even if they keep that vow, letting them go means they would go on to feed on others,” Tristan pointed out.

“And we would be responsible for any harm they do,” Stotle added.

“Gold!” a vampire yelled. “We can bring you gold!”

“I’m not that desperate,” Tristan said.

Stotle shrugged. “I don’t want it in the first place. We cannot leave them here, nor can we take them with us and turn them over to the authorities. There is too great a chance they could free themselves if Model Zero tried walking such a great distance while holding them.”

Tristan was silent for a while as he studied the house. “A vampire lives in the city where I was born. He is a piteous thing, forever lamenting his lost humanity, feeding only on blood the butchers bring him, trying so desperately to still be a part of the world he once knew. I spoke with him and sensed a kinship, a person of kindness struggling daily against the curse he lives under.”

“Whereas these two embrace their new form and consider themselves superior to all,” Stotle commented. “It’s possible they might learn from this experience and become better for it, but taking such a risk means others could be put in great danger.”

“I fear we don’t have much of a choice,” Tristan said to Stotle.

“None at all.” Stotle looked up at the sun in the clear blue sky. “Model Zero Constructor, take the form of a man.”

Model Zero reassembled his component parts to become a towering golem again. As the roof of the house peeled off, the two lords of the night, the stuff of nightmares made flesh and ultimate predators screamed in terror.

new goblin stories 13

Most goblins were a little mad, a touch off in the head, but Yips was in a category all his own. The red skinned goblin let his orange hair grow long and wild, and wore nothing except damaged trousers. People who met him could see in his eyes that the goblin had a screw loose with that maniacal grin and the way he stared.

The town of Radcliff had long ago (and reluctantly) accepted Yips’ shortcomings. They’d tried evicting him many times, and on several occasions men had attacked him. Both ended badly, and afterwards town leaders had offered a truce of sorts. Yips would stay at the outskirts of town and no one would bother him. On good days Yips remembered his end of the deal.

Today was not a good day.

“Tortoise races,” Yips muttered as he scampered through the alleys of Radcliff. “I could arrange tortoise races and take bets. Everyone would get bored and wander off before the races ended, and I could keep the wagers. It’s brilliant! I need to find which bars tortoises hang out in and hire them.”

Radcliff was a logging town that sent timber down the Not At All Magnificent Rolling River to Sunset City, and was totally without tortoises. It also lacked dragons, llamas, cheetahs and cantaloupes. This was a problem because most of Yips’ plans involved one or more of these things. As a result most of his plans failed utterly, although there was some excitement when he’d invited the dragon Scald to settle in Radcliff. That had been three years ago, and not only had town leaders been unable to get rid of the dragon in that time, but Scald was also way behind in her rent.

Yips dug through a pile of garbage in search of valuables. His hypothetical tortoise helpers would no doubt demand pay upfront. He came up with a moldy apple and chicken bones, which he ate. He was halfway through his revolting meal when a rare glimpse of common sense got through Yips’ mind.

“Wait, I haven’t seen a single tortoise in Radcliff, and I’d need two to have a race. No, no, I need someone else to help me. Hmm, who could help?”

He snapped is fingers and smiled. “Aardvarks! That’s perfect!”

Yips ran off into the night, babbling to himself as he went. “Aardvarks would be much better. They dig tunnels, and once they were underground there’d be no way for people to tell whether they’re even going in the right direction, or going anywhere at all. I could still keep the bets, and I’m sure aardvarks work cheaper than tortoises.”

It was looking very much like tonight would go like most of Yips’ nights. He would run himself ragged looking for animals, plants, things or people who were nowhere near the dingy city, assuming they existed at all. By morning he’d forget whatever had driven him and find a new obsession, and then another after that. The people of Radcliff had decided Yips was mostly harmless, and most of the time they were right.

This night was different. Yips heard men whispering not far from him. That was odd, as it was so late that few men were out besides criminals. Yips smiled and followed the sound to its source. Maybe they knew where he could find aardvarks.

He found the men and was instantly disappointed. There were four of them dressed in black and armed with short swords, clubs or daggers. Yips nearly wrote them off as thieves when he saw they all wore gold amulets around their necks. The amulets showed a pair of open blue eyes, with lapis for the coloring. That was unusual. Even stranger, one man carried a bundle of papers and wood bucket.

“The town watch won’t come through here again for an hour,” one of them said.

A second man shook his head. “That’s not enough time. They’ll see the flier and tear it down before the people can read it. We’ll have to put it up at the edge of the alleys so he won’t see them right away. Morning’s light will make them easily seen.”

“What about your magic inscriptions?” asked the first. “The guards can’t tear them down.”

“But they can paint over them. I haven’t found a way around that yet.”

“It takes a lot out of him to do that,” added a third man. “He’ll be useless for days if he puts up too many magic versions of the papers.”

Annoyed, the second man snapped, “I’m doing the best I can.”

Yips snuck in closer as the men took out a brush and slathered paste from the bucket onto a section of wall. They pressed a sheet of paper onto the paste and smoothed it out, then stepped back to study their work. The flier was covered in flowery writing in blue ink, and started with the words ‘no secrets’.

“It’s not enough,” the first one complained. “We’re only reaching a few towns this way, and only those people who can read. What good is it to reveal the truth to the masses when they don’t hear it?”

The second man pressed a finger against the chest of the first. “We are not doing public speeches. The risk is too great and our movement is too small to take losses. If the authorities took one of us alive they could force him to talk. This isn’t perfect by a long shot, but we have to be careful or our message won’t be the only thing to die.”

Yips was as silent as an owl as he slipped in close to the flier. It was astounding that someone with such a poor grip on reality could read, but Yips was a walking contradiction. There was just enough light for him to read it. The flier had a good start by proclaiming leaders were keeping the truth from their people, but from there it went downhill fast. The Coral Ring merchant guild was trying to import sweet bark trees? Some rinky-dink king wanted to hire ogre mercenaries? That was boring!

“The message will spread!” the second man insisted. “Men will read it and tell others.”

The fourth man spoke for the first time. “If you keep making so much noise you’ll bring the town watch down on us.”

The others looked down, one offering a weak, “Sorry.”

“Bloody idiots,” the fourth man muttered. “Wait, where’s the flier? It’s gone.”

The men panicked when they saw he was right. The flier they’d just posted on the wall had been stolen while they were standing right next to it. They hadn’t seen it disappear, not surprising since they’d been arguing. It took them a few seconds to see Yips sitting a short distance away studying the flier. He turned it sideways and then upside down until he gave up and ate it.

“That was for your own good,” Yips told them. He pointed an accusing finger at them and scolded, “You should be ashamed. That was so boring I thought I’d fall asleep before finishing it.”

The fourth man sighed in relief. “Praise all above, it’s just a goblin.”

“Who ate our flier!” the second shouted. “You’re suppressing the truth!”

“No one was going to read that!” Yips yelled back. “There’s no entertainment value in that hog slop. You need aardvarks and tortoises and cheetahs. Say the Coral Ring is run by aardvarks and importing cheetahs. Then people will read it.”

The first man stomped his foot. “That’s not the truth!”

“Be quiet,” the fourth man said. He tried to grab the first one by the shoulders, but the angry man shook him off.

“It’s an abomination is what it is,” Yips said. He stood up and marched over to the furious man. Pointing at the remaining fliers, he told them, “That is dull and tiresome and not at all what graffiti is supposed to be. You should be ashamed! Good penmanship, though, but no aardvarks.”

“Enough,” the first man said. “We’re wasting time. Spread out and post the fliers before dawn. We can get the other towns here before the week’s over.”

The fourth man finally lost his composure. “What exactly is wrong with you? You just detailed our plans in front of a witness. This is supposed to be a secret society, secret as in don’t talk about it!”

“He said it in front of a goblin,” the third man said. “I don’t think the little pest is going to even remember this in the morning, and no one will believe him if he talks.”

“Aardvarks!” Yips yelled. He slipped between the bickering men and grabbed the remaining fliers, then ran off, screaming, “You’re not getting these back until there are aardvarks in them!”

The four men chased after him, the second one screaming, “Get back here with those fliers! They’re expensive!”

Yips ran through the town, the fliers clutched to his chest. In theory the chase should have been short and ended badly for the goblin, but he knew these streets and the men didn’t. That meant he knew where every pothole was, every slippery patch, every narrow alley, and he steered the men into every one of them. The men cursed as they tripped, fell and banged into one another. They were so intent on catching Yips (and the lighting was so poor) that they didn’t realize that Yips was leading them in a circle back to where they’d met. The chase ended when the first man accidentally kicked over the bucket of paste they’d left behind and splattered it over the other three.

“You idiot!” the fourth man bellowed. He tried to scram off the paste on the corner of a building.

“My shirt’s ruined!” yelled the second man.

“Forget about ruined, it’s marked!” the fourth yelled at him. The other three stared at him, not understanding the risk. “Secret organization, you fools, means you don’t draw attention to yourselves. Clothes covered in paste stand out. Men are going to notice us and ask questions, and none of us have spare clothes to change into.”

Desperate, the second man said, “The fliers. We don’t have enough gold to print up more. We have to get them back.”

The first pointed at the mouth of the alley. “There’s the goblin! And…there’s the town watch.”

Radcliff had trouble with drunken loggers, along with bandits, thieves and the occasional monster, and town leaders hired watchmen with the skills to deal with these problems. The strong, heavily armed and battle hardened men could end a fight fast and had done so often. When the ten watchmen saw four armed men in an alley, paste or no, they assumed the worst and drew their swords and raised their shields.

“What’s this shouting about at such a late hour?” a watchman demanded. “Who are you?”

Still holding the fliers, Yips pointed at the four men and said, “They were putting up bad posters.”

“Bad?” the watchman asked. Yip handed him one, and the watchman scowled as he read it.

“It’s an affront to all that is good and noble about graffiti, with a total lack of aardvarks,” Yips declared.

Watchmen cared little for goblins and nothing about aardvarks, but they scowled at the sight of the flier and its blue ink. Their leader said, “We were warned that someone’s been putting up this trash in neighboring towns. Drop your weapons and kneel!”

The four men made a break for it with the watch in hot pursuit. The second man raised his right hand and drew it back like he was going to throw something, except his hand was empty. He uttered arcane words and an icy dagger formed in his hand. He threw it, but a watchman blocked it with his shield. A crust of ice inches thick spread across the shield, and it grew so heavy the watchman threw it down.

“Anton, cast another spell!” the first man shouted. It was the first time one of them had openly addressed another by name, and their fourth member scowled at such an obvious blunder.

“That’s the only combat spell I know!” Cried out Anton the second man. “Scatter!”

Watchmen broke into teams and followed the fleeing suspects. It was a long chase, and unfortunately a fruitless one as their enemy escaped in the darkness. By dawn they returned to where they’d first seen the men.

“They got away,” a watchman said to another.

The other watchman grunted. “This time. Check for more of those fliers and rip down and you find.”

“That goblin had a lot of them,” another watchman pointed out. “Where’d he go?”

* * * * *

Dozens of fliers showed up across Radcliff over the next ten days, no two of them alike. They included countless typos, massive plot holes and seemingly endless references to aardvarks. Yip was in chicken coop with a feather quill and pot of black ink, ‘correcting’ the last few fliers when the door opened. He looked up from his work, as did the hens, to find an older man dressed in blue and white robes. The older man carried a wood staff with a glowing tip, and when he pointed it t Yips’ fliers it glowed brighter.

“Hello,” the man said. He smiled and approached Yips. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

“It’s an advertisement for aardvark races,” Yips said proudly. “It used to be boring stuff, but I fixed it.”

“So I see.” The older man spotted a flier that Yips hadn’t altered. He pointed his staff at the flier and asked, “May I see that one?”

“But it’s boring!”

“I’m an Archivist,” the man explained. Yips’ confused look prompted him to add, “We study ancient history and try to recover lost secrets. We like boring things.”

Yips looked at an unaltered flier and frowned. His mind was trying to work, a task it was unaccustomed to. “This isn’t ancient. Why would you want it?”

“But it is a secret,” the Archivist countered. Yips handed over the flier, and the Archivist read it. “Oh dear.”

Yips took it back and went to work changing it. “See, totally boring.”

“Not to the right people,” the Archivist replied. To Yips’ amazement, the man looked profoundly worried by the flier. “Making public the king’s efforts to hire mercenaries could do terrible damage. It shows his weakness and could encourage others to take advantage of him before he gets the help he needs to defend his lands. Oh Anton, what have you done?”

The Archivist looked terrible. His skin paled and his lips trembled every so slightly. Yips was shocked by the sudden change and put down his work. The goblin may have been half mad, or even three quarters mad, but at heart he was a good person, and took the Archivist’s hand in an effort to comfort him.

“You don’t look so good. I’ll get you an aardvark.”

new goblin stories 12

Boss Jesseck watched the street for signs of ambush or traps, certain that the letter he’d received with teddy bears on it was an invitation to disaster. In any city but Cronsword that would be a sign of paranoia or just being silly, but this slovenly metropolis was run by thieves. You couldn’t trust your own mother in a place like this. Fortunately that wasn’t an issue for Boss Jesseck since he he’d been born when a giant mushroom opened and dropped him out, and thus didn’t have a mother (although he’d heard good things about them).

Minutes dragged on into a full hour with no sign of threat. It was a warm, sunny day, and the cobblestone streets were choked with merchants, laborers, artisans and tradesmen. There was also a smattering of tourists, better known to the residents of Cronsword as victims. But try as he might, Boss Jesseck couldn’t find assassins laying in wait or mercenaries on the hunt. It was actually kind of disappointing to learn that this wasn’t a trap, because that meant he’d have to actually attend this stupid meeting.

“You sure about this, boss?” a lanky goblin asked. Boss Jesseck and fifty of his most trusted goblins crouched in an alley a block from their destination.

“No,” Boss Jesseck admitted. He checked the invitation again and frowned. “But the other gang bosses are going to attend, and that means I have to be here to make sure they don’t plot against us. Stay here, and if you see anything dicey, come in after me.”

Boss Jesseck took a deep breath and left the alley. He was four feet tall, big for a goblin, and had green skin and black hair. His clothes were a mishmash of merchant and sailor attire, including a captain’s hat, blue pants, pinstriped coat and leather shoes. His appearance drew attention from the packed streets, for goblins, even influential ones like him, were seldom seen in the light of day.

This was dangerous. Cronsword was a city divided, each street claimed by a gang who ruled it, taxed it and ran the rackets. The gangs defended their territories jealously from all comes, and it was common for a street to be taken over by rival gangs. Boss Jesseck and his goblins controlled Cheese Street, which provided them a regular ration of cheese. Leaving his haven to come here meant entering a rival gang’s territory and risking capture or assassination.

A well-dressed merchant frowned when Boss Jesseck neared. “Why don’t you goblin filth stayed off the streets?”

That earned him a kick to the shin. The man jumped up and down, yelping the whole time before he recovered and drew a dagger. Boss Jesseck drew out a club from inside his coat and held his ground.

“It’s been awhile since I sent a tall one like you to the healers. Put that toothpick away or you’ll leave on a stretcher.”

“You dare!” The man waved to others in the crowd. “Come on, let’s show this runt that we don’t take guff from his kind!” No one moved to help him. “What’s wrong with you people? Are you going to let a goblin strike a man?”

“Seems to me you started this, and you can finish it on your own,” a shopkeeper replied. “Speaking of which, watch your right side.”

Astonished, the man could only say, “What?”

Wham! Boss Jesseck struck the man’s right foot. The man howled as Boss Jesseck followed up with a blow to the knee and then to the stomach. The well-dressed man fell to the ground in agony, and Boss Jesseck moved on without another word.

“He tends to go for the right foot first,” the shopkeeper told the well-dressed man.

“Let’s get his wallet!” another man shouted, and the crowd descended on the merchant. He cried out in surprise as the men who’d walked beside him moments ago turned on him.

“I want his boots!” yelled a third man.

Boss Jesseck rolled his eyes as he walked off. “Only in Cronsword.”

Boss Jesseck reached his destination, a towering building in the center of Bankers Row. Most streets in Cronsword offered a single trade or business so customers could better find them. Bankers Row was named after the moneylenders who kept Cronsword running with their loans. The buildings here were built to impress with soaring towers, decorative columns and pretty trees, but they were also as heavily defended as castles. The walls were thick, the foundations deep, the windows were narrow and the guards brutish and armed to the teeth.

One guard nodded to Jesseck and opened the door to the largest bank. “You’re expected, sir.”

That caught Boss Jesseck by surprise. “A man calls a goblin sir? That’s a first.”

“Boss Hatchwich’s orders were to show due respect to all the bosses coming for today’s conference,” the guard said. “And after what your goblins did to the Fallen King last year, respect is owed in spades.”

Boss Jesseck entered the bank to find the interior set for the event. The spacious main room included a large rectangular table and chairs, including one that had a short set of wooden stairs. That was a thoughtful gesture given Boss Jesseck was so short he had trouble using large furniture built by humans. The table was set with plates, glasses, decanters of wine and generous helpings of of food.

Two gang leaders were already seated. The first was Boss Crassok. The one-eyed gang boss wore a patch over his ruined eye and favored red clothes. Boss Minter was a slender man decked out in fine silks. This left only seven seats left once Boss Jesseck sat at the table.

“Jesseck,” Crassok said. “I wasn’t sure if you were invited, or if you would come.”

“You’re showing a lot of backbone these days, goblin,” Minter added.

Boss Jesseck grabbed all the cheese off the table and piled it on his plate, including two pieces off Crassok’s plate. “I’m here for the same reason you are, Minter. We drove off the Fallen King, but a lot of gangs went under during that fight. Cronsword’s been unsettled ever since. Some streets are unclaimed by any gang and others change hands every month. That’s not good for business.”

“And then there’s our host,” Crassok said dryly.

The fight against the Fallen King’s men had been brutal. Boss Jesseck ruled every goblin in Cronsword, and had led them in defense of the city. They’d done well, but other gangs had been defeated. The battle could have easily been lost except a mad scientist named Umber Hatchwich had marched his monstrous clockwork man Forewarned into the Fallen King’s forces. Hatchwich had saved the day, and in the aftermath of the fighting had gained so much respect that men had flocked to him. He’d taken prosperous streets for his territory and held them against all comers. Today he was a gang boss equal to any in the city, and maybe greater.

“Gentlemen!” Boss Hatchwich entered the bank flanked by two heavily armed men. Umber Hatchwich had been the deciding factor in defeating the Fallen King’s attack, pretty ironic since the man had intended on conquering the city with his clockwork. These days Hatchwich wore black and yellow clothes of fine silk, his white hair trimmed short, and he had a brass gauntlet on his left hand. There was no telling what it could do, but Boss Jesseck was willing to bet that the gang boss/mad scientist had weapons built into it.

“Hatchwich,” Boss Jesseck mumbled. It was hard to talk with so much cheese in his mouth. “Not sure what you’re planning by calling this meeting. There’s never been one like it in Cronsword, and it’s got people scared. You mind filling us in on what this is about?”

“Of course, but there’s no sense in repeating myself. I’ll gladly explain my intentions once the others arrive. Speaking of which, I believe I see a few of our fellow bosses on their way. Allow me to greet them, and help yourself to…ah. I’ll have the servants bring more cheese.”

“Put it next to the goblin,” Boss Minter said. “He’ll get it all, anyway, and bite the hand of anyone else reaching for it.”

Hatchwich left the bank, leaving his two bodyguards behind. They were dangerous looking men even before Hatchwich had armed them. One had a gauntlet that included a saw blade, while the second had a brass sword with steel teeth. Boss Jesseck stared at them for a moment before he recognized them.

“You two used to work for Boss Usema.”

“Yeah, before we kicked him out for being an idiot,” the one with the sword said. He sounded excited as he explained, “We got lucky when Hatchwich said he’d be our boss. We thought he’d keep all those crazy inventions to himself, but then he went and gave us some!”

“Pretty trusting of him when you could run off with it,” Boss Minter said.

The man with the gauntlet turned it to show a brass cap on the edge. “These things need fuel to work, and only Boss Hatchwich knows how to make it. They’d be useless in a week if stole them.”

“Why would we want to leave?” the man with the sword asked. He sounded confused and a bit hurt by the suggestion. “Boss Hatchwich has been good to us. It’s not just the weapons. He hired a pretty lady to teach us how to write. Look at this!”

Proud as could be, the man took a scrap of paper from his pocket and showed it to the gang bosses. It read, ‘I am Eric.’ in large and not very neat letters. “Teacher says I’m reading at a third grade level. Used to be that nobody on my whole block could read, but now I can, and teacher says I’ll get even better at it!”

“Hatchwich is teaching his men to read?” Boss Crassok asked. He sounded awed. Most people in Cronsword were illiterate, and chances were Crassok couldn’t read, either.

“All of us,” the man said proudly. “Not everybody learns fast, but we’re trying. He said that if we do real good on our lessons then he’ll take us as apprentices. A year ago all I could think about was my next trip to the bars, and now I’m making something of myself.”

Boss Hatchwich returned with the remaining gang bosses. They were a deadly bunch of men and one elf, each one representing hundreds of experienced fighters. They eyed one another warily as they took their seats. There was always a chance they’d turn on a rival, making this meeting dangerous even if Boss Hatchwich was willing to play nice. Illustrating that point, one made the mistake of reaching for the cheese piled on Boss Jesseck’s plate. A low growl from the goblin made him rethink the move.

Never before had all the gang leaders of Cronsword met like this. Together they commanded thousands of armed and battle hardened men. Their personal fortunes were staggering, and their territories were worth millions of guilders. Impressive as the sight would have been, there was an inescapable truth that made them grim.

“Ten bosses sit at this table,” Boss Hatchwich said as he sat down. “The gang bosses numbered twenty before the Fallen King’s invasion. Fourteen gangs fell that day, and while four have been replaced, it is still a sorry state of affairs. There was an uneasy peace when twenty ruled, if only because none dared openly attack the others for fear he’d be attacked in turn.” Pointing his gauntleted hand at the bosses, Hatchwich asked, “Where does that leave us? Fighting each other. Constantly.”

“It’s a temporary situation,” Boss Minter said. “More men come to Cronsword every day. Our ranks are refilling with refugees who fled the Fallen King. Everyone here will be back to full strength by year’s end.”

“To what end?” Boss Hatchwich asked. “I took control of a leaderless gang after the fighting was over, and talking with my men revealed a terrible truth. The conflicts between the gangs have been going on for generations. In that time this city hasn’t grown or improved, while rival cities have. Worse yet, this fighting could destroy us again. We risk being conquered by the next enemy to come to our gates, not because we are weak, but because we are divided.”

“I see where this is headed,” Boss Jesseck said. He fished through his coat until he found a long handled match. Taking it out, he placed the wood tip in the corner of his mouth. “You want one gang ruling this city, but instead of defeating the other gangs, you want us to sign up with you.”

“Close, but no.” Boss Hatchwich handed out maps of the city that showed which gangs ran which streets. “I believe we’re best served by forming a council of equals. Together we can run Cronsword without the threat of violence we’ve lived under for so long. We can also improve the city and extend our reach beyond its borders to include neighboring communities.”

Boss Jesseck chuckled. “I wonder how equal I’ll be in this council of equals compared to the others here, or to you. I got to think a man with brass monsters and clockwork weapons is going to have more of a say than a goblin.”

“Yeah, what happens if we have plans you don’t like?” Boss Minter asked. “Are we supposed to believe that if this new council votes against you that you’re going to take it?”

Boss Hatchwich smiled. “Except you’re not going to do that, because my plan makes you wealthy beyond your imagination, and without the risks you’ve been taking for years. We’re squabbling over scraps when we could be feasting.”

“Speaking of feasting, somebody mind passing the food?” the elf gang boss asked.

“Sure, but don’t expect any cheese,” Boss Minter said.

“It’s what you get for showing up late,” Boss Jesseck snapped. “And I’m not sold on this idea by a long shot.”

“Pass the steaks,” Boss Minter asked.

Boss Jesseck grumbled but passed over a platter of hot beefsteaks. “You talk about us reaching out and taking more territory. I don’t want more than I’ve got, and for good reasons. If we try to conquer territory outside Cronsword then we’ll be fighting whoever rules that land. It’s the same dance, just changing partners, nothing more.”

“He’s got a point,” Boss Crassok. “Where did that roast chicken go?”

“It’s by Minter,” Boss Jesseck said. “If we go on the warpath we risk drawing attention from kings who don’t want us expanding near them. My boys are good, and I’ve got even more of them than I did last year, but I don’t want them fighting another war. It’s risky and the rewards are slim.”

Hatchwich wasn’t giving up. “The closest territory we could expand into was hit hard by the Fallen King’s army before it reached us. The few people still living there could offer little opposition. Once we annex it, it would be child’s play to repair the economy and let the money pour in. Jesseck, pass the bowl of cherries.”

“Your arms are longer than mine! Get it yourself!”

Boss Minter took a sip of wine and frowned. “You’ve got guts, Hatchwich, and you learned quick how to rule a gang. Credit’s due there. But you’re asking a lot from us, and I have a feeling you’re going to ask for more. Taking land means forming an army, and we’d have to contribute men to it. But an army has to have one leader to be effective. Someone, and I think you’re nominating yourself, would have to lead that army. That makes you boss of our men. I don’t like that.”

Boss Jesseck pointed a half eaten slab of cheese at Boss Hatchwich. “Working that land would take men. Where are they coming from? Sure, we’re got refugees coming by the boatload, but we’d need thousands of men to do the job.”

The elf gang boss cleared his throat. “If the goblin can find flaws in your plan, then it’s a bad plan.”

“I’m not picking fights, long ears,” Boss Jesseck growled. “Not asking too much for you to show the same courtesy.”

“Gentlemen, please,” Boss Hatchwich said. “My dear mother once told me that men working together can do anything they put their minds to. We can work out a fair distribution of leadership positions, responsibilities and rewards. Fallow land doesn’t say empty for long. If we don’t take it then someone else will, making them a potential threat on our border.”

Standing up, Boss Hatchwich took off his brass gauntlet and set it on the table. “I see that a sign of good faith is needed. I am willing to—”

“Did anyone see what happened to the meat pie?” Crassok asked.

“Minter had it last I saw,” Boss Jesseck told him. “Heaven above, how can a man that thin eat so much?”

“I’ve got a fast metabolism!” Boss Minter shouted back.

“I was saying,” Boss Hatchwich said in an annoyed tone, “that I am willing to provide you with proof of my good intentions. Taking and holding land would be difficult without proper arms. That is no longer a concern.”

Without further adieu, Boss Hatchwich handed the gauntlet to Boss Crassok. “I have been busy these last few months making clockwork men, but also a fair number of clockwork weapons. Each of you will receive an equal share of these weapons, including ones built to a goblin’s proportions. I believe you’ll find them most impressive.”

“You’re sharing your weapons with us?” Boss Crassok asked in amazement.

“You sharing how to make the fuel to power them?” Boss Jesseck asked skeptically.

“Boss!” Every head turned to see a goblin run into the meeting. Armed guards with Boss Hatchwich’s clockwork weapons were chasing him, but the little goblin ran under the table and came up next to his boss.

“My invitation was for gang bosses and no one else,” Hatchwich said.

“I’ll handle my own boys,” Boss Jesseck told him. He turned to the goblin and asked, “What’s this about?”

The goblin handed him a sheet of paper covered in writing. Whoever had made this had used blue ink, unusual to say the least, and the writing was flowery. “These papers showed up all over the city, and the countryside and even towns miles from here. I can’t read much, but I recognize the words Cronsword and danger, so I brought you a copy.”

Boss Jesseck waved for Boss Hatchwich’s guard with the toothed sword. “You, Eric, make yourself useful and read this out loud.”

The guard preened like a peacock at the chance to show off his new skill. The gang bosses looked on expectantly as Eric began, “No Secrets: Your leaders are keeping the truth from you! The mad scientist Umber Hatchwich has seized control of a gang in the city of Cronsword. He is forging the other gangs into an army with his devilish clockwork monsters.”

“There is nothing wrong with my clockwork, and certainly nothing devilish!” Boss Hatchwick yelled. He reluctantly conceded, “Maybe their good looks.”

Eric continued reading. “The fiend seeks to conquer lands near the fetid, thief infested city of Cronsword. With his horrid clockworks that pretend to be men and foul criminals, he is a danger to all right thinking peoples. Indeed, he will be satisfied with nothing less than world domination!”

“World domination?” Boss Jesseck asked. “You want to take over the world?”

Boss Hatchwich blushed. “Well, I don’t like to boast.”

“How much did you pay to have these ads written up?” Boss Minter asked.

“I didn’t ask anyone to do this.” Boss Hatchwich took the paper from his guard and studied it.

Boss Jesseck rolled his eyes. “You know what’s going to happen, don’t you? Whoever did this is going to show up after the fact and try to charge you for it.”

“Definitely,” the elf gang boss agreed.

Boss Crassok leaned back in his chair. “Don’t you hate when that happens?”

Boss Hatchwich looked stunned. “No one knew what I was planning to discuss for this meeting except me. How did any learn of my plans? Who would spread warning of my intentions? How far has this news traveled?”

“You’ve got problems, Hatchwich,” Boss Jesseck said.

Two armed guards entered the bank and saluted Boss Hatchwich. “Sir, there’s a problem outside. A man…what we think is a man, is asking to see you.”

That news was odd enough to bring all the gang bosses to the door. They found a crowd outside gathered around a single figure. He, if it was a man, wore glossy black plate armor festooned with spikes and sharp angles. He carried a pair of short swords that ended in wicked barbs. Dark vapors drifted from his mouth.

“Umber Hatchwich, I am Casteel of the Encroaching Darkness,” the strange figure said in an echoing voice. He held up a paper identical to the one Boss Jesseck’s goblin had brought into the meeting. “News of your deeds, both completed and planned, has reached me. You seek to place all of Other Place under your grip.”

Suddenly sounding bashful, the nightmarish figure said, “So, um, I was wondering if you were hiring. I brought a resume.”

New Goblin Stories 11

It was a blissful summer day, bright, warm, cheerful, and most definitely not the time to flee for your life. Other goblins would hide under these conditions, waiting for the right time to escape unnoticed, but not Little Old Dude.

“One of the great ironies of staying hidden is knowing when to let the other side see you,” Little Old Dude explained. He leaned back in the flimsy canoe and pointed his walking stick at the two goblins with him. “It’s always better for an enemy to never know you’re there, but that’s not always possible. In such situations choose what they see and when.”

“So, you’re not going to stop talking long enough to help out with the oars?” Cackler asked.

Little Old Dude didn’t try to hide his annoyance at the question. “How long have you studied under me?”

“Too long,” Blunder grunted as he paddled the canoe.

Canoeing down a wide river was normally a peaceful, even pleasurable experience. Dragonflies darted through the air, flowers bloomed on the overgrown riverbanks, birds sang and puffy clouds drifted high overhead. Truly it was a beautiful day. The goblins were even alone, for there was no other vessel on the river or people of any race within eyesight.

But life for goblins was never peaceful. Most of the time the problem was other goblins causing trouble. In this case there was danger from men, a threat that could kill all three goblins on their rickety vessel. They kept close watch for soldiers or knights while drifting downstream at a leisurely rate.

The canoe was poorly built from scrap lumber, typical of goblin manufacture. Some boards were rotting and others sprouted green shoots. One of the oars was larger than the other, and the smaller one had split down the middle and was held together with string. Unusual for goblins, there was a large clay pot they were using as a live well, and the water stirred inside. There was also a wood tube in the bottom of the canoe. No water came up through it, and the goblins were careful not to step on the tube.

“I’m not helping with the oars for very good reasons,” Little Old Dude said. The gray skinned goblin was balding in the front and compensated by growing a beard and outrageously long eyebrows. He wore only leather pants and carried a trick cane equipped with various blades.

“Do tell,” Cackler said. The little goblin wore a blue trench coat and hat that nearly covered his purple skin. Normally he carried a weapon, but for this mission was unarmed.

Little Old Dude rolled his eyes. “For one, we are trying to be conspicuous without being suspicious. Three goblins traveling on a river is going to draw attention. Three goblins hurrying down a river look like they’re fleeing, probably avoiding reprisal for a crime.”

“Which we are,” Cackler said.

Ignoring him, Little Old Dude continued his lecture. “Authorities are going to be on the lookout for threats, especially in the Land of the Nine Dukes with all their silly wars. Goblins are normally not considered dangerous, and goblins leaving your territory even less so. We stand the best chance at leaving Duke Thornwood’s territory without incident by being relaxed, calm, and slow.”

“What’s the other reason you’re not rowing?” Blunder asked. Blunder was Little Old Dude’s newest student, and weighing in at a hundred pounds was big by goblin standards. Admittedly much of that was fat, and the bulky, tan skinned goblin in raggedy clothes was hard to miss. Most people made the mistake of considering him harmless.

“There are two oars and three goblins,” Little Old Dude replied, “and lately my back’s been giving me trouble.”

The two goblins grumbled but kept rowing. Few goblins aspired to greatness, and those who did went to Little Old Dude. He was a living legend, the goblin who’d stopped Coslot the Conqueror, the goblin who’d fought the Fallen King and his hag. For decades he’d confounded the powerful and wealthy, all the while evading responsibility for his actions. Some humans respected Little Old Dude and far more feared him.

Age had slowed Little Old Dude, but his mind was sharp, and years ago he’d accepting paying students to make ends meet (and to avoid doing as much work as possible). Many infamous goblins had studied under Little Old Dude, learning his secrets in return for cheese and general labor. He wasn’t picky about students, and there were always openings for the aspiring troublemaker.

“The river’s shallow on the left side,” Little Old Dude told his students. They dutifully paddled to the right. “Test the depth.”

Bumbler shoved his paddle straight down. “More than six feet.”

“That should be enough.”

“I’d feel better about this if we had daggers,” Cackler said.

“Soldiers consider armed goblins a threat, so we use concealed weapons or none at all” Little Old Dude told him. The boat rocked and there was a thud from below their feet. Little Old Dude rapped the canoe with his walking stick. “That’ll be enough of that.”

The rocking died away as the canoe rounded a bend in the river. Little Old Dude watched the shoreline for threats. The land of the Nine Dukes had few monsters, but it had psychotically aggressive dukes. They made war on each other at the drop of the hat, and could be counted on to start at least three major armed conflicts per year.

The Nine Dukes had taken a beating from the Fallen King, a sociopath who’d gathered an army of criminals to ravage the land. Most of the dukes had avoided fighting to preserve their armies. It made sense in a deranged sort of way, as if any of them had fought back it would have left them so weak that a neighboring duke could have swept in afterwards and finished them off. So they’d stayed in their castles while the countryside burned.

The damage was still evident a year later. Blackened husks of houses littered the landscape and fields were thick with weeds. Wandering vagabonds were common, some searching for honest work and others looking for loot. A few enterprising monsters were even sniffing around the nearly empty landscape. The Nine Dukes would recover in time, but not soon.

“How worried should we be about Duke Thornwood?” Cackler asked.

“Very,” Bumbler told him. “He’s a mean one. I saw his men torch their own villages to keep other dukes from taking them.”

“Thornwood is good example of what’s wrong with nobility,” Little Old Dude said. “He inherited his job instead of earning it, has no respect for his men or anyone else’s and has no self control. He’s needlessly brutal, vindictive, hateful and bigoted, and those are his good qualities. And he’s addicted to gold.”

“Addicted?” Cackler asked.

“Can’t get enough of the stuff. He wants more land to get more gold, so he can conquer more land and get more gold. It’s a vicious circle.”

“He needs therapy,” Bumbler added.

They floated by several inhabited houses. Farmers tried to reclaim abandoned fields in time to plant, and were thus far too busy to waste time on goblins. Little Old Dude waved to one man who saw them. The man watched them long enough to see that the canoe wasn’t stopping, and then went back to his work.

“How soon until we reach the town?” Cackler asked.

“In about two hours,” Little Old Dude answered. “That’s going to be the real test of our mission, with thousands of humans, some of them armed and paranoid. I’ve positioned my other students in the area if we need help, but if all goes well we’ll sail right through.”

Worried, Cackler asked, “And if it doesn’t?”

“We’ll be hacked to pieces,” Little Old Dude said cheerfully. “It’s a good incentive to do things right the first time, so remember your lines, and let me do the talking if anyone asks questions.”

They journeyed on for the next hour in silence. A copper colored dragonfly settled on Little Old Dude’s walking stick, and he spent ten minutes studying it. They passed more settled land, either reclaimed or rare spots that had survived the Fallen King’s rampage intact. More people saw them and some stared, but none moved to stop them.

“Why did you agree to take this job?” Cackler asked Little Old Dude. “I know we’re getting paid in cheese, but since when do goblins hire themselves out? And why the devil did you make us come?”

“I sort of get why we’re doing this,” Bumbler said. “It’s a fieldtrip, and we get to use what you taught us. I’m just saying there has to be safer ways of getting experience.”

“Safer?” Annoyed, Little Old Dude sat up in the canoe. Careful to not cover the tube in the canoe’s bottom, he demanded, “Since when did either of you want safety? You came to me because you want danger, daring, the big reward, and that does not come by being safe. It comes by taking needlessly stupid risks, just like this!

“And I brought you two because you’re doing terrible in my classes.” He pointed at Cackler and said, “You bombed your last test and fell asleep during my lecture on trapping outhouses.” Pointing at Bumbler, he said, “And you skipped out on the group discussion on weaknesses in elf architecture. Lastly, you both smell, and I mean bad. This is an opportunity to air you out.”

Settling back down in the canoe, he added, “And we’re doing this because I hate Duke Thornwood. Passionately. The man’s a twit like most nobles, but he goes that extra mile to be scummier. He reminds me of Coslot the Conqueror, with the way he hates, the way he uses people and leaves them broken. This isn’t the first time I struck at him. I hit him hard years before you two signed up. Thornwood had planned on kidnapping farmers from neighboring dukes and selling them to slavers.”

Bumbler stopped rowing. “He what?”

Little Old Dude pressed a button on his walking stick, and a blade popped out from the tip. “The slavers were unexpectedly delayed when their crew suffered food poisoning, their ship caught fire and the Guild of Heroes learned of their location.”

Pressing another button, the blade retracted. Little Old Dude looked at his students with grim satisfaction. “That was one of my better days. I’ve done other things to stop Thornwood, but those were minor accomplishments. When the chance came to strike another blow I took it. Now if you two want to get an A then keep paddling, because we’ve got miles to go and risks to take.”

The goblins continued on their journey. Settlements were sporadic in this section of Duke Thornwood’s territory. A few men took offense at goblins traveling through their land and threw rocks at the canoe. Most missed, but one nearly hit Bumbler. He snatched it out of the air to the gasps of angry men. Bumbler looked tempted to throw it back, but he dropped it into the river and paddled on.

“Well played,” Little Old Dude said approvingly. “The next part will be difficult for you, but essential for our plan to succeed.”

“I know,” Bumbler grumbled. “It’s just, I came to you because I was tired of being looked down on! And now I have to invite it?”

“It’s easier to live up to people’s stereotypes than fight them.” Little Old Dude looked in the distance and saw a crude town ahead of them. “Behold the town of Sell Sword, so named because it was founded by mercenaries who got tired of fighting and settled down. Smart men. There are thousands of humans and hundreds of soldiers there, battle tested men that Duke Thornwood uses as his first line of defense in case of invasion. We stand no chance against them in battle.”

Sell Sword was built next to a narrow portion of the river. Travelers by boat had to pass a small stone fort, soldiers in chain armor and armed with spears, and a tower with catapults loaded and ready for battle. There were other boats moored to a short wood dock, and armed men boarded any vessel nearing the town.

“What’s that smell?” Cackler asked Little Old Dude.

“Five thousand humans and no sewers.” Little Old Dude waved to the soldiers searching boats and tapped the tube in the canoe. “Not one word.”

“Now I’ve seen everything,” a bored soldier said as the canoe approached. “Goblins on a boat.”

A second soldier pointed his spear at the canoe. “I’m not boarding that. I’ll get fleas, assuming that floating woodpile doesn’t sink if I go on it.”

“Hey!” Little Old Dude shouted. “Hey, human! You got nails?”

The soldiers stared at the goblins. One asked, “What?”

The canoe came up to the dock, just as every other boat did. Little Old Dude stood up and smiled. “Nails! You human have nails? Boat no good. Boat sank twice this month. Three times last month! Me needie nails to make new boat.”

“Go beg somewhere else, goblin filth,” a soldier spat.

Little Old Dude kept smiling as he reached into the live well in the canoe. He pulled up a string of five live trout with a leather thong running through their mouths and gills. Now that they were out of the water, the fish swung their tails in a vain attempt to escape. “No beg, trade! You like fishies? Yummy fishies! Trade fishies for twenty nails. Good deal! You no get better!”

Cackler smiled. “We good goblins. Friendly goblins.”

“Yup, yup,” Bumbler added.

“I didn’t know goblins fished,” a soldier said.

Another soldier shrugged. “Bet they stole them.”

An officer with a plumed helmet studied the goblins. “Let’s see the fish.”

Little Old Dude handed the string of fish to a soldier, who handed it to the officer. “See, see! Good fishies, all as long as my arm. Worth twenty nails.”

For a moment the officer looked concerned. Goblins stole what little they needed from men, so an offer to trade was unusual. Little Old Dude saw goblins sneaking around the edge of the town. These were more of his students, ready to make a racket if their illustrious teacher needed a distraction to escape. It would be safer for both them and Little Old Dude if the students did nothing, since a distraction risked drawing an attack from the men. But the moment passed and the officer relaxed.

“It’s better than the salted pork we keep getting stuck with,” the officer said. He handed it off to one of his men. “Fry them up for lunch.”

With that the officer walked away from the dock with his men. Indigent, Little Old Dude said, “No nails. I give you fishies you give me nails! We had deal!”

“We’re taking the fish as toll for traveling the river,” a soldier said. “Go away, you wrecked creature.”

“You no fair!” Little Old Dude shouted as Cackler and Bumbler rowed away. “Me no trade with you again! This last time goblins come here!”

“We should be so lucky!” the soldier shouted back. His fellows laughed and insulted the goblins as they left. Men in other boats didn’t laugh, but shook their heads in dismay at how foolish the goblins had been to expect a fair deal from Thornwood’s soldiers. The goblins at the edge of town slunk off into the shadows, while Cackler and Bumbler rowed hard until the town was far in the distance and no humans were in sight.

“And that was the stupid goblin routine,” Little Old Dude said proudly. “Make the other side think they’re taking advantage of you, and they won’t look too closely at what else you’ve got. It’s saved my life more times than I can count.”

Bumbler frowned. “It’s humiliating. I’d just like to say I’ve got a pouch full of dried Runny Joe flowers. I could have fed a pinch to the fish, and after dinner those men would have spent tonight and most of tomorrow with explosive diarrhea.”

“I’ve done that myself,” Little Old Dude said. “It’s a fun trick at parties. The soldiers would have definitely remembered us and reported us to the authorities if we’d poisoned them. We don’t want to draw attention in a stealthy mission like this.”

“Can I come out now?” a voice asked from beneath them.

“Not until I say so,” Little Old Dude replied. “Maybe not for a few hours after that.”

“It’s not that I’m ungrateful, but it’s kind of cramped down here, and the air tube isn’t very large.”

Night fell soon as the canoe reached the edge of Duke Thornwood’s territory. This didn’t mean they were safe. Thornwood had a bad habit of sending raiding parties out at night to loot neighboring farms, and border territory was often home to thieves and bandits. A lantern briefly lit up in the darkness, then went out and lit up again.

“On time and in position. This is why I like working with the Brotherhood of the Righteous,” Little Old Dude said with a smile. The goblins rowed to a bend in the river where tall cottonwood trees grew. They didn’t beach their canoe, in large part because that was impossible.

An older man in white robes emerged from the cluster of trees. He was followed by two men in plate armor armed with axes, and behind them came a hulking ogre. The furry ogre also wore plate armor and was armed with an iron club. The armed men and ogre had circles painted on their chest plates, each circle divided into three equal segments.

“Father Fountain,” Little Old Dude said. “Any problems?”

“By His grace we went unnoticed by the wicked duke and his minions,” the white robed priest said. “I see you were equally blessed.”

“About that,” the voice said from below the canoe.

“Complain, complain, complain,” Cackler said. He and Bumbler picked up the live well and threw it overboard, revealing a small hatch in the bottom of the canoe. They unlatched it and a tall man in workman’s clothes climbed out. The canoe was only the top part of the vessel and had a large section underwater. Once the man came out the crude vessel was unbalanced, and the goblins and their passenger had to jump off before it capsized.

Little Old Dude took his passenger’s hand and pressed it into the priest’s. “Father Fountain, allow me to introduce master stone wright Lumino Foxtrot, formerly employed by Duke Thornwood.”

“Employed?” Lumino shouted. “He had me dragged out of bed in the middle of the night and taken to his new castle, then kept me under guard every minute! I haven’t seen my family in weeks!” The man reached into his pockets and took out handfuls of leather tokens. “You see these? Thornwood said he’d pay me for my work, as if that made up for being kidnapped, and then he gives me tokens. Said I could redeem them for gold once he had the coins, as if that would ever happen! Real work for phony money.”

The ogre stepped forward and placed a hand on Lumino’s shoulder. “Have no fear, good servant of the Most High. Your family has been evacuated to safe lands far from here, and you shall soon join them.”

Father Fountain handed Little Old Dude a wheel of cheese. Goblins were addicted to cheese, and it was one of the few forms of payment they’d accept. “Was their difficulty in rescuing him?”

Little Old Dude shrugged. “Locked doors, guards, attack dogs, nothing we couldn’t handle. We made it look like Lumino stole a horse and rode off in the night. Thornwood will be looking in the wrong direction for days or even weeks, and no one is going to link Lumino’s disappearance with us.”

Turning to the ogre, Little Old Dude said, “Speaking of the canoe, Thornwood’s men are going to catch on if we use the same trick twice. You mind destroy the evidence?”

The ogre swung his club at the canoe and smashed it apart in one blow, reducing it to splinters floating on the water.

“We’re headed back home,” Little Old Dude told the priest. “If you need help with Thornwood again, just say it. I’ve got students behind in their homework who need the extra credit.”

“You have done a great deed, my friends,” Father Fountain told the goblins. “Saving Lumino will set back Duke Thornwood’s efforts to strengthen his hold on the land. With this and the deeds of others righteous souls, we shall prevent him from bringing war and injustice to the peoples of this land. You have my gratitude, and the gratitude of the Brotherhood of the Righteous. Come, my paladins, we must leave before dawn. Farewell.”

“Wait,” the ogre said. He kneeled down in front of Little Old Dude, which didn’t bring them eye to eye, but was a good start, and placed a hand on the goblin’s shoulder. “You have done His work and brought His love to those in need. May His blessings be upon you, for truly you are a loyal servant of the Lord.”

The men and ogre fled into the night, leaving the goblins alone. Little Old Dude started to lead his students away when Cackler asked him, “He thinks you’re holy?”

Little Old Dude shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

As they headed back home, Bumbler stared at the cheese wheel in Little Old Dude’s hands. “We’re getting some of that, right? I saw that guilty look! You’re not eating the whole wheel!”

New Goblin Stories 10

Grump the goblin was always in a foul mood, but was now in the foulest mood of his life, having spent the last week kicking squirrels, smashing pixies and dumping trash on passing mimes. His generally poor disposition was known for miles, but matters had recently come to a new low. This prompted mayors of neighboring communities to post bounties on the little goblin. Three bounty hunters had made the mistake of accepting the offer. Two of them returned empty-handed and with liquid manure dripping from their clothes. The third had been found gibbering in the woods by a wandering priest and was currently convalescing in a nearby monastery.

For now the reign of terror was on hold as Grump fumed in a forest glen. The red skinned goblin scowled and sat on the ground, rocking back and forth. His cheap leather clothes were stained and his shoes were long gone, sacrificed to convince a bounty hunter that he’d been hiding in an outhouse. His greasy gray hair stuck out in all directions. Grump cupped his hands together, cradling the only thing that had ever mattered to him.

“And another thing, I don’t like your attitude!” he yelled at a tree. “The silent treatment got old a while ago. And don’t go thinking you’re better than me! You are, but I don’t want you thinking it.”

The tree, unsurprisingly, didn’t answer. Grump was willing to put up with that until he found someone who would respond to his abuse. That was proving to be a difficult task. It was getting so that people ran at the sight of him. He couldn’t even get an angry mob to attack him after what he did to the last one. He’d made camp here because there was a crossroads not far from the glen. In theory that meant people/victims would come to him, but no one had showed up for days. It annoyed him that he didn’t have anyone to bother.

Wind blew the tree’s leaves. Grump pointed at it and said, “It is not me fault! You’d be mad, too!” The goblin got up and marched up to the tree. He kicked it, stubbing his toes in the process and jumping up and down. “You did that on purpose!”

Grump would have done something truly regrettable that likely would have hurt him worse than the tree, but he heard horses coming. Horses were useful sources of manure to throw or trap teapots with. He rubbed his foot with one hand, holding the other close to his chest. Maybe he could convince the horses to make a donation.

The visitors were a man and woman riding two horses. The man was so young he probably still had trouble with acne, a blond haired punk dressed in fancy black linen. On closer inspection the outfit was beginning to fray near the cuffs. The lady’s dress was nice but also looking worn. The horses were study animals, but clearly tired from overuse.

Wind rustled the tree’s branches again, and Grump snorted. “No, they had money. Rich folks turned beggars. I wonder what happened that they’re broke and on the run. Not sure whether to laugh or cry.”

That was when he heard a gurgling noise from the woman. She had a bundle clenched to her chest. A baby! That was too much! He didn’t know what sort of trouble they were in, but you don’t bring babies into dark forests. Indignant, he marched out to confront them on their lack of parenting skills.

The man stopped his horse when he reached the fork in the road. “This doesn’t appear on the map I bought. Three paths, but which one to take?”

“Is there no one living here we could get directions from?” the woman asked.

“I see no houses, Isa, nor fresh tracks on the road. I think this trail’s not been used in weeks or even longer.”

Grump emerged from the dense underbrush along the trail and headed for the man. “Right, pal, let’s see your fatherhood license.”

The man stared at Grump. “My what?”

“Your paperwork.” Grump tapped his foot on the ground and frowned. “Someone should have made you pass a test before getting a kid. Question one on that test was ‘do you bring babies into God forsaken wildernesses’, and the answer was no. So I’m revoking your license and impounding your brain until we can get it working again.”

“Tristan, what’s going on?” Isa asked.

“I have no idea. Goblin, there’s no test for fathering a child.”

Grump rubbed his free hand over his face. “Let me get this straight. You’re lost, you not only don’t have your paperwork but you never even took the test, and is that scabbard empty? It is! You’ve got a baby to protect and you’re unarmed! That does it, let me take a look at those fontal lobes of yours.”

“My sword broke!” Tristan yelled back. “I don’t even have the hilt anymore after I sold the gems on it to buy food and lodging at the last city.”

The man dismounted and walked over to Grump. “You are right that I need to get my wife and daughter to safety, a task easier done if I knew the roads and trails here. If you want to help, tell me which one of these leads to Oceanview Kingdom?”

“You can’t even tell which kingdom you’re in?” Grump ran up and scuffed up the man’s boots with his feet. “Did I do any damage? I can’t tell with the sorry state your shoes are in.”

“Stop that!” Tristan went for his sword, his hand stopping halfway to the missing weapon. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Goblin, my journey has been long and hard, and my responsibilities are great with both wife and daughter to care for. I can’t offer payment for your aid, but if you know the answer to my question it would help us greatly.”

“Do I look like a tour guide? Do I look like I care?” Grump marched up to the woman and said, “Lady, dump this loser and take the kid anywhere but here.”

“That is most unkind,” she replied. The baby in her arms smiled and made a gurgling, laughing noise.

“Oh sure, you say that now, but just you wait,” Grump told the baby. “In three years you’ll be swearing like a one eyed, nine fingered carpenter with gout.”

“I—” Tristan began.

“No!” Grump yelled. He poked the man in the chest with his free hand. “I do not have to take this from some down on his luck pretty boy. You have problems? We all have problems, and yours are not my fault! So pack up that sob story of yours and find someone to dump it on other than me! And I’m going to kick you in the shin for getting a baby involved in this.”

“Ow! Cut that out!” Tristan bent down and rubbed his shin where Grump had kicked him.

That should have been enough to send them both back the way they came, but to Grump’s surprise, Isa dismounted her horse. She had some difficulty getting down. Grump figured the woman wasn’t used to riding. She rested the baby against her shoulder and approached Grump slowly. “You’re very upset. What’s the matter?”

Grump’s lip quivered. “None of your business!”

She came closer. “I’d like to help. I think you’re someone who needs help. That’s not a bad thing. Everyone needs help from time to time.”

Grump looked down at his closed hand clutched against his chest. He only did so for a fraction of a second, but Isa saw it.

“What do you have there?”

“Isa, don’t get close to that brute!”

Grump’s eyes teared up. He held his composure for three seconds before he burst out crying and dropped to his knees. Isa put an arm around Grump and kneeled down alongside him. “Shh, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay! My best friend died!” Grump opened his hand to show the shriveled up brown lump he’d held for the last week.

Tristan stood up and came over. “What is that?”

“My friend, Zippy,” Grump explained. “I found him crawling around eating leaves. He was so cool! He had six pairs of legs, and there were big red eyes on his butt. I’d never met someone with eyes on their butt before. We spent weeks together. I’d talk and he’d shovel food down his throat every waking moment. It was bliss, the only time I’ve ever been happy!”

Wiping tears from his eyes, Grump said, “Nothing went right before I met Zippy. I was burned out of three houses. The Pirate Lords torched my first one and everyone else’s in Castle City to send a message to the king in those parts. Then the Fallen King burned down my home in First Light, because he was burning down everything, and hey, why not torch my house, too? And Char the dragon got hiccups and incinerated my third home! All right, he apologized, so that sort of makes it better, but I still lost a house and my entire collection of royal fingernail clippings.”

The goblin looked at Isa through eyes blurred by tears. “I thought everything would be better here with a friend and new home. But one morning Zippy got sick. I tried to make him feel better. Nothing worked. His legs came off and he stopped moving. Now he’s gone and I don’t have anyone to talk to except that tree, and he’s a mean drunk.”

“What?” Tristan asked. “Dearest, I don’t think we can help.”

“I can,” Isa told her husband. “Goblin, your friend is going to be okay.”

“He’s got no legs!”

“Not yet, but he will. I’ve seen the animal you’re talking about. Your friend, uh, Zippy, is a dragonfire butterfly. You met him when he was still a caterpillar. I saw them often when I was a girl.”

Grump stared at her. “There are more like him?”

“Thousands upon thousands,” she promised. “Your friend is growing up in his chrysalis. In a few weeks he’ll be done and fly off. Be patient and you’ll see him again. Show me where you met him.”

Grump took her hand and led her and Tristan to a forest glade a mile away. Isa spotted a vine twined around a tree and pointed at it. “You found him here, right?”

“How’d you know?”

“That’s blood vine, named for the red sap that flows from its wounds.” Isa ran her hands over the vine until she stopped and smiled. “There you are. Your friend wasn’t an only child. Look.”

Grump marveled at the sight. There were four more caterpillars just like Zippy! Each one was chowing down on leaves, red sap running down their chins. He ran ahead and found more vines with more caterpillars on them. “Zippy has a family!”

A butterfly swooped by, and Isa reached out and let it land on her hand. Grump studied the red and purple butterfly, as gorgeous an animal as any he’d seen, a living work of art.

Isa watched the butterfly leave before taking the hard brown chrysalis from Grump. She took a stray thread from her dress and tied the chrysalis to the nearest blood vine. “There we go. Zippy can wait here until he’s ready to come out. Until then you can talk to his brothers and sisters.”

Grump stared at the caterpillars in wonder. He sat down, mesmerized by the tiny insects gorging on leaves. “There are so many of them. They’re beautiful.”

Tristan edged forward and took his wife’s hands. He kneeled down next to Grump and asked, “Can you tell me which of those roads we met you by leads to Oceanview Kingdom?”

“Huh? None of them do. The first goes to a mine that closed down years ago when they ran out of copper. You got all sorts of critters living in it now. The second goes to a village abandoned when they found barrow wights nesting nearby. The last road circles around in the forest for thirty miles and ends in the woods without ever going anywhere.”

“But my map shows a road leading to Oceanview.”

Grump pointed back the way they’d come. “That’s an hour’s walk up the road. It goes east first and then south after a while, and will take you to Oceanview in a week, faster with your horses.”

Tristan rubbed his bruised shin. “Thank you. We should be going. Isa, how did you know about those butterflies?”

She smiled and cuddled their daughter. “They’re all over the woods in our homeland. Surely you saw them yourself when you were growing up?”

Looking down, Tristan said, “Father rarely let me leave his house except on business. Such beauty was mere walking distance from my door, and for years I never saw it.”

Before they left, Grump turned to Isa and asked, “Will the same thing happen to me?” Her confused look showed she didn’t understand the question, so he pointed at the caterpillars and asked, “Will I get to be beautiful one day, like Zippy?”

Isa smiled and pressed two fingers against Grump’s chest. “Silly goblin, in here you already are beautiful.”

Too stunned to even open his mouth, Grump stared at Isa as she left with Tristan and their daughter. They were long gone when he finally recovered enough to say, “That woman is stark raving mad.” Smiling, he added, “I like her.”

Returning his attention to the caterpillars, he said, “You need names. You’ll be Zippy #2, and you can be Zippy #3…”
* * * * *

Grump laid on back watching Zippy and his kin fly overhead. He could tell they were happy, and that made him happy. He was content again, a strange feeling, but a welcome one. He’d found more blood vines in the forest. They didn’t have caterpillars on them, but now he knew where to look in the future.

An older man stomped down the dirt road and drew Grump’s attention. His clothes looked a lot like the ones that idiot Tristan had worn when they’d met a week ago, and there was some resemblance in the face, too. But where Tristan had shown concern for his loved ones, this stranger scowled and snarled under his breath. That might be because his right arm was in a sling.

“Wretch!” the man bellowed when he saw Grump. Grump got up and frowned. He was having a good day and had no intention of letting this moron ruin it. “A man and woman came this way. Three men swore to the fact. Where are they? Which way did they go? Speak, or I’ll beat the truth out of you!”

There had been an ever so slight chance that Grump wouldn’t act like, well, Grump. He’d been doing better since meeting Zippy’s family. But the thought of letting that evil old man within a mile of a baby (who already had enough problems with one parent mad and the other unlicensed) closed that door in a hurry.

“Yeah, they were here.” Grump waved a hand at the nearby crossroads. “They took one of those three trails. I don’t know which one.”

Grump smiled at the snarling man. “I guess you’ll have to check them all.”