Arthur Daigle's Blog, page 13

Goblins Stories XXI

Habbly sat under a tree and watched water pour down a waterfall, happy that no one was trying to kill him, rob him or even kick him in the shin. It was a welcome change and likely caused by the fact that there was no one around for miles. That was surprising since the waterfall was so beautiful, divided into many small streams and forming pools up and down the cliff. Flowers bloomed, bees buzzed and birds chirped. This place was gorgeous and should be drawing sightseers, but somehow he was the only one to enjoy its beauty…well, him and his sword.

“This reminds me of the Treter River,” Sworn Doom said. The short sword sat in the lush grass besides Habbly. Gems studded the sword’s hilt and its glowing blade was decorated with dragons. Habbly didn’t understand how the sword could see when it had no eyes, but it did. “Pity you weren’t around to see it back then. The elves redirected the river to flood one of their cities back during the civil war. Ruined the falls and the city.”

That got Habbly’s attention. He sat up in the grass near the bottom of the falls. “They flooded their own city?”

“The city was going to fall to a rival elf faction, so the owners dug a channel to the river and diverted water to flood it. Their thinking was if they couldn’t have their city then no one should. It wasn’t the elves’ finest hour. Still, the taller towers ended up above the waterline, and I hear humans live in them and get around by boat.”

“The elf civil war was long ago. Why didn’t they put the river back the way it was and drain the city?”

Sworn Doom chuckled. “Ten elven families claim the entire city for themselves. As long as it’s underwater that’s not an issue since none of them can have it, but if it became available again blood would flow freely. It’s safer for all concerned to leave the city beneath the waves.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re preaching to the choir.”

Habbly shrugged, something he’d done a lot since getting Sworn Doom. The little goblin had a mop of dirty brown hair that covered his eyes, and a long braid that started at the back of his head and went to the ground. His clothes were dirty and torn, and his skin tanned both from the sun and dirt smeared on it (bathing not being a popular goblin activity). He wore a red shirt under his coat, nearly hidden since red shirts were widely considered unlucky, and a leather strap he wrapped around Sword Doom whenever it was necessary to hide the sword.

Two years ago Habbly escaped from Battle Island, a wretched den of violence and depravity unequaled anywhere on Other Place. He’d grown up there and spent seven years hiding from the worst the world could throw at him. He’d stolen Sworn Doom from the tyrant who ruled Battle Island and together they’d fled for better lands. That was the plan, anyway. The tyrant had offered a reward for the sword, and countless people had come after them. Worse, elves had come in record number to claim Sworn Doom, for the sword was once one of their empire’s greatest treasures, a weapon trusted only to elves that personally served their emperors.

Average days for Habbly and Sword Doom involved avoiding bounty hunters, adventurers, thieves, wizards and countless elves. Bad days (which happened often), involved being spotted by these people and running for their lives. Odd days, which were happening more often as of late, involved sitting back and watching as the bounty hunters, adventurers, thieves, wizards and countless elves fought one another for the right to mug Habbly. Back on Battle Island such brutal contests drew large audiences.

Recently the pair had found refuge in the Land of the Nine Dukes, a land of poverty and near constant war as the dukes continued their centuries long feud. Bad as it was, in the last few months a host of new players had appeared. There was the Overlord Joshua who had seized a lot of land with his army of outlaws. The Fallen King was on the move with ten thousands brigands. The Barrel Wrights were trying to organize a peasant rebellion, rarely successful but often attempted. Lastly there were small players like the wizard Oliman, dangerous men operating on the fringes of civilization.

The Land of the Nine Dukes was dangerous, but it was possible to hide in such a sea of conflict. Local knights and soldiers were too busy fighting to hunt for Habbly and Sworn Doom. People looking for the sword had to contend with the armies that haunted the land. It was easy to lose people in such chaos. Habbly kept moving all the same, staying in the wilderness where roads were few and seldom traveled.

“How long were you planning on being here?” Sworn Doom asked.

“Just a few more hours. I hear the coastline is pretty bare these days. We should be able to hide for a while, maybe sleep in deserted towns.”

“There might be pirates or scoundrels to smite.” The sword sounded cheerful at the prospect. It didn’t want Habbly to get hurt, but it had an overblown opinion of his fighting skill. Habbly had survived a lot of battles by running away (which it called strategic retreats), dirty tricks (which it called being resourceful) and occasionally fighting (which it called fun). Sworn Doom was no bully, but if the chance came to give someone a beating it thought was deserved, the sword was all for it.

Habbly stood and picked up Sworn Doom before leaving the peaceful waterfall. It was tempting to stay, but he’d learned the hard way to keep moving. He kept the sword out since there was no need to hide it in the wilderness. “I hear there are ruined castles on the coastline.”

“They’re likely occupied by thieves or monsters,” Sworn Doom said. “In the waning days of the elf civil war there was a push to tear down old forts and damaged castles since so many of them were infested with monsters and rogue lawyers.”

“Why not fix them up and use them?”

“Not enough men to do the work, not enough soldiers to garrison the forts, not enough time and not enough money.”

“I’ve never understood this ‘money’ thing,” Habbly said as he headed south. He followed the river since the way was pretty clear and a source of water. “It’s just shiny rocks! I’m all for collecting things. I knew a goblin who collected left shoes after eating the right ones, but that was just a thing with him. Why all this fuss over gold?”

“It’s a matter of rarity,” the sword explained. “Shoes are common so they aren’t greatly valued. Gold is hard to find so it’s more valuable.”

“Skull root and witch weed are rare, but nobody wants them,” Habbly countered.

“Rarity is only part of the reason. An item also has to be useful for people to want it. Gold is beautiful, easy to shape and doesn’t rust, even if it doesn’t take enchantments well. But you’re right, people do the stupidest and cruelest things imaginable for gold. Me, I’ve always been a big believer of land as a reliable source of wealth. Get yourself a vineyard or fruit orchard and you were set for life, assuming no one floods it.”

Habbly looked at Sworn Doom, painfully aware that gold wasn’t the only thing people would kill for. He liked the sword and the feeling was reciprocated, but as long as they were together he’d have no peace. Too many people wanted the sword and would chase him to the ends of the world to get it.

What was he to do? He’d be safe if he gave the sword away, but criminals and elves would chase the new owner. The poor slob would be as miserable as Habbly was now, and likely come to a bad end. Turning over the sword to the elves would be wrong since Sworn Doom didn’t want to work with them, and because they wanted him for bad reasons like reviving their empire. Hiding the sword would be just as bad since someone would find it sooner or later. Worse, Sworn Doom had spent years alone in a treasury on Battle Island, a lonely time, and abandoning it would be as bad.

“Have I even told you about Emperor Opinos? He was the last emperor worth the title. No new palaces during his reign, no planet wide celebrations, no, he just tried to make things work. I saved his life early on. I think he forgave me eventually.”

Puzzled, Habbly asked, “Shouldn’t he have thanked you?”

“After I saved him he spent thirty years trying to keep the empire from ripping itself to pieces. It didn’t help that his own followers wanted him dead so they could have the throne. I don’t think a day went by that someone didn’t try to kill him. He eventually retired and took up stamp collecting, which cut down on the assassination attempts a bit. Seriously, poisoned stamps, who’d have thought it?”

Habbly went under a fallen tree. “How could you have an empire like that?”

“It wasn’t all bad, or all the time. It built up over the years like rot spreading through a house. The big problem was that later generations took everything for granted. They inherited their wealth and authority, and they assumed that was the way it should be rather than something they had to earn. Habbly…”

“I know. Two of them up ahead and to the left.” Habbly watched shadowy forms slip through the woods ahead of him. The two figures were on top of a hill that ran on the east side of the river, about fifty yards away and behind lush growth. Spotting them was no trouble. You don’t last seven years on Battle Island unless you’re observant. He wasn’t too worried about them since they were staying still. Then one of them tripped and fell down the slope into the river.

“This has got to be the most incompetent attack on you ever.”

“Roy!” the other person called out. The one who’d fallen tried to get up and slipped. Now that he was out of cover, Habbly could see it was a younger man wearing shabby clothes (Habbly’s were better, and that said something). The second man still on the hillside tried to go down to help, but slipped on the way down and slid into the first man.

Habbly watched the astounding incompetence. “I don’t have words for this.”

“I do, but they all have four letters. Let’s just leave.”

“Walking away,” Habbly said, but he couldn’t help but watch the display of stupidity and awkwardness as he left. The two men struggled to get up, but the riverbed consisted of flat, loose stones covered in slippery algae. It took them half a minute to get out of the water, flailing all the time like they were suffering seizures. “The sad part is I bet they’re getting paid for this.”

One of the men ran out in front of Habbly and shouted, “Uh, halt!”

“Roy, where’s your spear?” the other man asked.

“What?” The man spun around with panic on his face. “Oh God, it’s still in the river. It’s going downstream!”

Sworn Doom sighed. “I would have never guessed the quality of hired goons had dropped this far.”

The second man stared at Sworn Doom and his jaw dropped. “Did that sword just talk?”

“That sword just showed utter contempt for you idiots! Stand up straight and close your mouth before a bird flies in it!”

Both men jumped to attention before the first one, Roy, ran off to retrieve his spear. Habby saw that both men had daggers sheathed in their belts, but otherwise the spear was their only weapon. Roy eventually caught up with his spear when it got caught in fallen branches in the water. He ran back, nearly dropping the spear twice as he slipped, and rejoined his friend. Pointing the spear at Habbly, he announced, “State your name and home city.”

Habbly was by nature a gentle soul. He’d seen enough bloodshed in his short life that he’d lost any appetite for violence. Still, it bothered him when people pointed sharp bits of metal his way. Shoom! One sweep of Sworn Doom hacked off the point of Roy’s spear and sent it into the water.

The two men looked at the end of their spear, which was now more of a walking stick. Roy looked a bit puzzled before saying, “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

Habbly scowled. “It’s not polite to point.”

Roy bent down to retrieve the spear point from the river and said, “We don’t have many weapons. Do you know how hard it is to raise an army? Most of us are using pitchforks and hammers. I was luck to get a spear. I wasn’t joking about the name and home city. Mister Craton says we’re supposed to keep an eye out for strangers and find out who they are.”

“I’m Habbly, and I don’t have a home.”

“Craton?” Sworn Doom asked.

“Julius Craton,” Roy told them. “He came to save us from the Fallen King. He brought friends of his from the Guild of Heroes, but it’s going to be us doing most of the fighting. He says he’ll train us so we’ll be okay.”

Roy didn’t sound too confident, and he had reason to be worried. Habbly hadn’t met the Fallen King’s men and hoped to keep it that way. Many towns had fallen to them, and their army swelled by the month as wicked men came for a chance for loot. They had a reputation for brutality and made up for their poor quality with overwhelming numbers. Low quality troops get better with practice, so in time this huge army would become even more dangerous.

“I’ve heard of the man,” Sworn Doom said. He sounded thoughtful. “It speaks well of him that he’d help you.”

Roy found the spear point and handed it to his friend. “He’s a great man. I don’t know where we’d be without him. We, uh, we need you to come over and talk to him. He’ll want to know where you’ve been and what you’ve seen.”

“Usually you make demands when you have the upper hand, or at least a weapon,” Habbly told them.

Roy cringed when he looked at his ruined spear. “Please?”

“Habbly, if I could ask a favor. I’d like to meet this man.” Sworn Doom had never asked Habbly for anything before. What little Habbly knew of Julius Craton was that he was a good man in a world with very few good men. They’d be in no danger.

Habbly gestured to the two men. “Lead the way.”

It took three hours of walking to reach Julius Craton and his followers. He’d taken refuge in a town of about four thousand people, a number rising fast as more peasants came to fight for their homes. The men were strong, but Habbly had a good eye for fighters from his youth, and these ones weren’t ready for combat. It would take months to get them into shape, and the way Habbly heard it the Fallen King would be here in weeks.

The town had no wall but was circled with piled up dirt and rocks with sharpened stakes sticking out. Inside the crude wall the town was filled with wagons, animals and people. They’d piled up supplies to last for months and had likely stripped the countryside bare of food to do so. There were a few well armed men, but they were outnumbered a hundred to one by untrained peasants.

At the edge of town was an inn that Julius had taken for a headquarters. Roy stopped outside while Julius dealt with other matters. Habbly peered in to see the man and was impressed. Julius was heavily strong, wearing chain armor with a steel breastplate and armed with a long sword. He carried himself like a man who’d been in many fights. The gamblers on Battle Island would have given him good odds in the arena.

A male elf in leather armor leaned on a table next to Julius and set down a map. “The Fallen King has divided his army into five parts. My guess is he’s having trouble feeding them and spilt his army to spread their depredations over a wider area. Only one is coming our way, a small blessing.”

Julius looked at the elf and frowned. “We can hold off that one, but the one headed for Cronsword worries me. I’ve been there. The city is incredibly rich and swarming with thieves and gangsters. It’s going to be a tough nut to crack, but if the Fallen King pulls it off he could recruit another ten thousand men from the gangs. We’d never be able to stop a force that large even with help.”

“Speaking of help, we’re not getting it,” the elf said. “I sent messengers to the Nine Dukes asking them to come together and drive off the Fallen King. Dukes Kramer, Edgely and Thader all refused to help on the grounds that you’re an illegitimate peasant and they’ll never take orders from you.”

“They’d be working with us, not under us! And we’re saving their land!”

The elf rolled his eyes. “Julius, your common sense is showing again. Four more dukes didn’t reply at all. Duke Thornwood said he’d publicly kill you and feed your body to crows. Exactly what did you do to the man?”

Julius held up his hands. “I’ve never even met him.”

“The only one who’s going to help is Duke Warwick, who in his infinite generosity is sending two hundred heavy infantry. He says he can’t send more without leaving himself open to attack by the other dukes. This is one of those times I feel superior to humans.”

Julius raised an eyebrow before asking, “And what do you think would happen if we asked nine elven leaders to work together?”

“There’d be a bloodbath and all of them would be dead before they even met the enemy. I said I feel superior, I didn’t say anything about my people. They’re certifiably insane.”

To Habbly’s surprise, a blue skinned goblin wearing swim trunks came to the table. “It’s not all bad news. A tribe of ogres volunteered to join you. Um, actually, they’re demanding to come fight. They said they heard you were organizing a war, and they want in regardless of what it’s about. I have a letter addressed to ‘The Craton, slayer of great beasts’, and thirty ogres signed it vowing loyalty.”

Julius took the letter and smiled. “I recognize the clan name. One of their sons joined the Guild of Heroes and earned quite a reputation. Looks like the rest of them want a chance for glory.”

“That strange and glorious thing that is good news,” the elf said melodramatically. “I thought I’d never see it again. I’m going to ask if the guild can spare a few more members, or barring that food and money. I’ll get back as soon as I can.”

“Habbly,” Sworn Doom began, its voice soft and solemn, “I need to ask something difficult of you.”

Habbly tensed, worried he was about to be dragged into a war. “What is it?”

Sworn Doom hesitated before he spoke again. “You freed me from Battle Island, my owner foul in every sense of the word. I owe you so much. But I was made to fight in worthy causes. This man is good. I can sense the righteousness radiating from him. I know you want nothing to do with this war, and I can’t fault you for that. You are a capable warrior and show proper reluctance to use force, as one who understands the consequences of violence. I respect that.

“I want to help this man. Drawing you into it against your will would be wrong, but all of my being urges me to take action. Habbly, it hurts to ask this, for you are a friend like none I’ve had in a hundred years, but would you be willing to relinquish me to Julius Craton? If you say no I understand and will bear no ill will. I hope you don’t think less of me.”

“You’re sure about this?” Habbly asked.

“I am.”

Habbly nodded in reply. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

The elf marched out and looked at Habbly. The goblin hid the sword behind his back, and the elf thankfully didn’t notice. The elf looked at him laughed. “A red shirt! You live dangerously!”

Habbly went into the inn while the elf walked off. Julius smiled at Habbly and said, “Hello, there.”

Roy began to speak, but Habbly walked up to Julius and handed him Sworn Doom. “You’re going to need help. Here, take this.”

“What?” Julius accepted the sword but looked confused.

“Julius Craton, I am Sworn Doom, and I swear myself to your cause. Your enemies shall fall before us.”

“Wait, this is a relic of the Elf Empire. You’re just handing it to me?”

Habbly ran out the door before anyone could grab him. “Pretty much.”

Habbly ran into an alley before he started dancing. “I’m free! No more bounty hunters, no more elves, free! The sword is safe with Julius because no one’s stupid enough to fight him. Oh happy day!”

“Invaders!” a man screamed. Armed men swarmed through an opening in the crude wall around the city. They screamed and laughed as people fled before them. A few peasants tried to hold them back, but they were chased off. Habbly gulped when he saw the bleeding crown on their flag. This was a small group, likely scouts, but the Fallen King’s men had already arrived.

“No! I was so close to getting away!” Habbly ran for cover, painfully aware that he was unarmed as of a minute ago. The scout party grabbing draft animals and tried to lead them away. It looked like they’d be successful when Julius stormed over and kicked one of them to the ground. The others let go of the animals and pointed their weapons at Julius. Julius stood his ground, a long sword in his right hand and Sworn Doom in his left.

“My name is Julius Craton,” he announced. The men edged away and exchanged worried glances. Standing his ground, Julius said, “I don’t like killing people, but I’m very good at it. I know who you serve and what you’ve done. That ends now. Any man who surrenders will face justice under the law but won’t lose his life. Any man who refuses will receive a proper burial. You know I can do this.”

The blue skinned goblin ran over and grabbed Habbly by the shoulders. “Everyone else ran away! We have the help him!”

Habbly studied the men facing Julius. He had a depressing amount of experience judging people in a fight, and it took him seconds to realize how this would end. But leaving would be wrong. He’d armed Julius, and he was responsible for what came next.

“You’re right,” he told the other goblin. “You get two buckets of water and I’ll find some soap. We’ll clean off his armor when he’s done.”

One of the raiders raised his sword. “Come on, we’ve got him outnumbered!”

Habbly thought back to the fights he’d seen in Battle Island’s arena, and he shuddered. “I hate it when they say that.”

The Fallen King’s men charged in a disorganized clump, screaming and swinging their weapons as Julius waited for them. The first one reached him, his sword raised high for an overhead swing that—

The blue skinned goblin opened his mouth in horror. “Oh my God!”

The other nineteen didn’t do any better.

Goblin Stories XX

“This is a strange way to start a Tuesday,” Ibwibble the Terrifying said as he watched a girl riding a washtub down the nearby river. He had no objections to her method of transportation, but humans had all kinds of silly laws (like no dumping baked beans on the mayor), and he was sure this was against the rules. Humans this young seldom traveled alone in the wilderness, either. The event was even stranger because he hadn’t seen a human in days.

Bang! The washtub hit rocks hidden in the shallow water. The girl’s transport was made of metal and already had plenty of dents in it. This one must have been the last straw, for she abandoned ship and scrambled onto the flat rocks edging the river.

“Hello!” she called. Ibwibble assumed she was trying to attract the attention of other humans, but she pointed straight at him and waved again. “Can you hear me?”

Ibwibble got up from his crude camp in the tall grass growing near the river. He had green skin and black hair, and he wore clothes covered in bulging pockets. He also carried a rucksack filled with tools and useful bits, a new addition to his outfit. It was kind of surprising the girl saw him, as he’d done a good job hiding.

“I’m looking for a—” the girl shrieked as she nearly lost her footing on the slippery rocks. It didn’t help that her boots were three sizes too big and stuffed with handkerchiefs to make them fit. Once she regained her balance, she said, “I’m looking for a place to buy food.”

Ibwibble looked around the forest glen. There were no houses about and no roads, which was ideal for people trying to stay out of sight and not at all helpful if you were looking for a hot meal. That plus who she was asking for help made him laugh.

“You’re asking a goblin for directions?”

“I’d ask someone else if there was someone else, but you’re it,” the girl countered. “My ride’s leaking like a sieve, I’ve run out of bread and I’m miles from home, thank God, so I’m desperate enough to ask anyone.”

“I am not a tour guide or a chef,” he declared. Striking a fist against his chest, he said, “I am Ibwibble the Terrifying! Run in fear if you like, or scream. It won’t help, but it might make you feel better.”

The girl giggled. “I don’t scream when I see a goblins. That’s something children do. I’m fifteen.”

“Fifteen what?” he asked. Ibwibble studied the girl and decided she wasn’t a threat. She was slender with long brown hair and brown eyes. Besides the oversized boots, she wore a deerskin leather blouse and skirt, both with blue beads sewn in elaborate patterns. The girl carried a backpack and walking stick, but no weapons.

“Fifteen years, silly,” she said. The girl curtsied and added, “Ann Marie Questor.”

“That’s a big name for a little girl.”

That got her scowling. “I’m not a little girl, which is kind of the problem. I’m running away from home and an arranged marriage. Do you know what it’s like to have your parents run your life like you’re a slave?”

Ibwibble gathered his things and scuffed up his campsite so know one would know he’d been there. “What answer would end this conversation?”

“It’s terrible!” Ann Marie shouted. When Ibwibble walked away she followed him and continued her lament. “I could deal with most of it. I did my chores, I did my lessons at school and I even looked after my little brothers and sisters. I couldn’t have a minute to myself without someone pestering me for help.”

Running in front of Ibwibble, she looked him in the eye and announced, “But then they decided I had to get married. At fifteen! I ran away in the middle of the night and stole a washtub to ride downriver and get away. I even had to borrow a pair of boots since I only had slippers.”

“Can’t say I understand the problem,” Ibwibble told her. He marched away from her, but the girl kept after him. He final set down his rucksack and said, “Following me is a bad idea. I’m a known troublemaker with a bounty on my head. It’s not big enough by half, or even three quarters, but dangerous men are after me all the same, so you’d best be on your way.”

“What did you do to get a price on your head?”

If there was one thing Ibwibble liked talking about, it was himself, and Ann Marie just gave him the perfect opening. He struck a pose and said, “I’ve led a long and colorful career, which the brain damaged idiots living here forgot, but in the last month I reminded them to fear the name Ibwibble when I took up hunting tax collectors.”

“Tax collectors?”

“I’ve bagged three of them,” he told her. “I track them, kick them in the shins, chase off their horses and paint them whatever color of paint is handy. They’re fierce beasts and hard to find, but it only takes one tax collector to ruin an entire village.”

Ann Marie nodded. “That fits my experience.”

Ibwibble pointed at her and said, “There’s room in this land for one source of chaos, and that’s me. Since these tax collectors don’t understand that I’m running them off one at a time, and when I’m done there won’t be a person here who doesn’t know the name Ibwibble the Terrifying.”

“Do you do evil suitors?” Ann Marie asked.

“Is he terrifying?”

“I’ll say! He’s thirty years older than me and three hundred pounds heavier!”

Ibwibble looked at Ann Marie and made some calculations. “So you’re about a hundred pounds…”

Anna Marie put her hands on her hips. “Ninety!”

“Right, ninety, so he’s got to be about…wow! I’m trying to picture how that would work.”

“That’s why I left,” Ann Marie said. She sighed and looked down. “I like boys, but ones my own age. I get that mom and dad are scared and wanted protection for the family, but why did they have to make a pact with the richest man in town when they knew his only son was as big as a whale? That’s how deals are sealed, you know, with marriages between two families no matter how harebrained and mismatched those marriages are.”

Ibwibble picked up his rucksack and headed out again. “It’s a shame, no two ways about it. I suppose I could take out the tax collector coming after your family, but I’m already on the trail of another one of the buggers headed due east. He just hit a town and is headed for another one.”

“They’re not doing this because of a tax collector,” she told Ibwibble. “Didn’t you hear about the army?”

Ibwibble stopped. “Army?”

“The big, scary army rampaging across the countryside, burning towns, eating every bite of food, stealing everything they can lay their hands on, that army. There are ten thousand of them and they’re following someone called the Fallen King. My family is so scared of them that they arranged a pact and marriage with the most powerful family in our town for protection. How can you not have heard about this? It’s been going on for months.”

“Burning towns?” Ibwibble tried to grasp the situation and failed miserably. “This ‘army’, it’s more dangerous than tax collectors?”

“It’s like a whole horde of tax collectors.”

Throwing down his rucksack, Ibwibble shouted, “Well this is a fine howdy do! Here I am trying to make a name for myself, and this ‘army’ decides to show up and ruin everything! This is my territory! Mine! I spent decades sowing confusion and spending way too much time on a marketing campaign to get my name out there, and I did not do it so this ‘army’ could show up and ruin everything!”

Ibwibble proceeded to throw a tantrum, stomping the grass flat and kicking innocent squirrels (well, relatively innocent). He screamed and shouted, swearing in troll, gnome and elven, before falling flat on his back.

Ann Marie walked over and looked down at him. “Are you okay?”

“I just found out my life’s work is being erased by an army eating everything in sight. It is not a good day.”

“I know you have problems, but I’m kind of out of food.”

Ibwibble got up and picked up his rucksack. A few things had fallen out and he needed a minute to stuff them back in. “There’s a village not far from here. The tax collector is headed there next, so there might not be much left and they might not be in the mood to share.”

Smiling, Ann Marie held up a purse and jingled it. “I brought money.”


The trip through the woods was uneventful. Ann Marie’s boots tried to come off several times and she had to stuff more handkerchiefs in them so they’d fit. She filled the time telling Ibwibble about her hometown, including her friends, enemies and neighbors. She shared detailed information about them all, specifically who was dating who and whether she thought the relationships would last.

Ibwibble didn’t care about any of this, and any other time he would have made insults and sarcastic remarks. This time he didn’t. He was a beaten goblin, his life rendered meaningless. It was hard enough to get noticed when you’re small and weak (not to mention smelly), even more so when you’re a goblin. Others might have shrugged it off, most goblins could, but not Ibwibble. He wanted to be known and respected. He’d spent twenty years pulling off the most outrageous stunts to get noticed.

But it was for nothing. No one would remember him or respect him with tax collectors and this Fallen King hogging the limelight. What was a Fallen King, anyway? Did the man trip or something? The guy couldn’t walk without falling over, and somehow he still got the respect Ibwibble hungered for just because he had an army.

“I told Jessica that Tony wasn’t good for her, but she wouldn’t listen until she saw him flirting with that tramp Ellen,” Ann Marie told him. “The jerk didn’t get that he’d done something wrong even after Jessica slapped him. I say he got off easy. I’d have kneed him between the legs.”

Ibwibble grabbed her hand and pulled down hard. Ann Marie squeaked in surprise before Ibwibble could put a hand over her mouth.

“I smell smoke.” Ibwibble took a deep breath and frowned. “It’s too strong for a cooking fire. Wait here.”

Ibwibble scurried through the dense undergrowth between the trees. He was careful to avoid brushing into a plant that might move and betray his location, and he was as quiet as a mouse. He reached the edge of the woods and stopped, his eyes wide in horror.

Ann Marie scurried up behind him. “What is it?”

“The tax collector got here first.”

The village was gone, a flat plain of ash where it once was. Ibwibble had been through here a few weeks ago and found a small but happy community of two hundred humans with cows, goats, sheep and donkeys. The humans were gone and so were their animals. Where the houses had been were only ashes and scattered stones that had once been chimneys. The bare fields in the distance were the only sign people once lived here.

Ann Marie peeked around him. “Tax collectors don’t usual do this.”

Ibwibble got up and went to inspect the damage. “I’d heard they were fierce, but this is horrible. There were cows here, Ann Marie. No cows, no cheese.” Studying the ground, he added, “There are tracks, but not enough for this army with ten thousand men.”

Ann Marie followed him and dug through the ashes with the tip of her boot. She snapped her fingers and smiled. “Wait, wait, I know what happened! The town was destroyed on purpose.”

Looking at her with a mix of confusion and disbelief, Ibwibble said, “What?”

Ann Marie ran her fingers through the ashes and said, “The ashes were raked through. See the lines? Farmers burn down their houses when they’re too beaten up to use or if they have to move. Then they rake the ashes to get out the nails.”

“Why?”

“Wood grows on trees, but nails cost money,” she said with a smile.

Ibwibble shook his head. “One guy burning down his house to start over makes sense, especially if insurance was involved. But two hundred people burning their houses down, and not one of them rebuilding?”

“Ooh, new idea,” she said. “The people ran away from the tax collector or Fallen King, maybe both. They couldn’t take their houses with them and needed the nails to rebuild, so they burned them down to get the nails.”

Walking through the ruins was eerie, like entering a graveyard. There was the sense of something missing, or worse, something lost. It left Ibwibble feeling cold. He knew there were more villages and towns near here. How many of them had been abandoned and burned out?

There was a rumbling in the distance. Ibwibble grabbed Ann Marie by the hand and dragged her away. “We’re leaving. Come on.”

“Okay, okay! What’s gotten into you?”

“I heard something to the west. If these people ran off because they thought an army was coming, maybe an army is coming!”

“Running faster!”

They reached the edge of the woods as the approaching sound grew louder. Taking cover behind some trees, they waited as hundreds of people came down the road. It was hard to see who they were with the dust and ash they kicked up. Ibwibble strained his eyes and picked out figures in the dust cloud. They heard the sound of men moving and speaking alongside the braying of donkeys.

“Keep moving,” a voice in the dust called out. “It’s just a few more miles to base camp and food. You’ll be okay, but we need to keep moving.”

A strong wind kicked up and blew away the dust to reveal refugees fleeing with their livestock and possessions. Donkeys and oxen pulled carts loaded with clothes, tools, children and elderly. Armed men escorted the refugees, and while they were few those men looked dangerous.

“Three villages lost,” an armored man hissed. “We keep losing ground to these cretins.”

“It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” a man in blue leather armor replied. “The Fallen King is pushing us and the dukes hard, and he has the men to do it. I don’t see a way out that doesn’t involve running.”

“We can starve them out if we keep sacrificing villages and farmland, but it also leaves us weaker,” the hissing man said. “Rebuilding will cost us dearly in lost food and farm goods. We could win the war, only to rule nothing but ash and ruin.”

“Who are these people?” Ann Marie whispered to Ibwibble.

“They’re with the Evil Overlord Joshua,” a voice whispered from behind them. “Stand up nice and slow, and goblin, you keep those daggers in your pockets.”

Ibwibble and Ann Marie got up slowly and raised their hands. Most of the refugees continued on while the hissing man and his friend came over to investigate.

“Good work, Kretchner,” the man in the blue leather armor said to the dangerous looking man behind Ibwibble and An Marie. The man in blue smiled like there were things going wrong with his brain. Ibwibble decided then and there that he liked him. “We’ve run into a fair number of the Fallen King’s scouts, but you two don’t look like you’d qualify for the job.”

Ann Marie curtsied and said, “We’re running for our lives, sir.”

“Smart girl,” the hissing man said.

“She’s saving herself from an arranged marriage, and possibly cracked ribs if the guy is as heavy as she says,” Ibwibble told them. “Me, I’m trying to figure out how my home territory got overrun with tax collectors and kings who keep falling over.”

“What was that last one?” the hissing man asked.

Thumping his chest with both fists, he declared, “I’m Ibwibble the Terrifying, and I am sick to death of yahoos showing up and causing mayhem and chaos. That’s my job! I don’t know who you’re with or what you want, but this territory is taken, so clear out and make a name for yourself somewhere else.”

The smiling man leaned in close. “I’m twice as tall as you and ten times as dangerous.”

If that was supposed to intimidate Ibwibble, it didn’t. He clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes, saying, “Bring it on.”

The hissing man took the smiling man by the shoulder and pulled him back. “Wait, I’ve heard of him.”

“Finally, someone knows about me! Did you find out from my business cards or my publicist?”

“Neither,” the hissing man replied, which proved to Ibwibble that both the time and money spent in those efforts was wasted. “Ibwibble has been plaguing this region for decades, causing considerable annoyance and property damage. As of late he’s been attacking tax collectors working for the Nine Dukes.”

“So I’m only eight times as dangerous?” the smiling man asked.

“Try six.” Turning to Ibwibble and Ann Marie, he said, “The Fallen King is your foe, little one, not us. We’re fleeing his forces and heading for rough ground where he can’t easily dislodge us. We’ve emptied and burned the towns we rule in his army’s path so he can’t feed his men by looting them, but it’s not enough. His army will be here by nightfall. Come with us and fight him, or flee before he arrives. The choice is yours.”

“I’m coming!” Ann Marie said.

“Do we want her?” the smiling man asked.

“I can read, write, and I’m good at math,” she told them.

The hissing man paused to study her carefully. “Can you do bookkeeping or accounts receivable?”

“I can fake it.”

“Good enough. And you, goblin?”

Ibwibble looked back at the wreckage that used to be a village. In Ibwibble’s tiny little mind this place had been his, his to annoy, his to steal cheese from, his to proclaim his importance, and it was gone. More villages might be lost soon, also his, all because of the Fallen King, a man who couldn’t even stand up right. Ibwibble was losing his place in history to an idiot.

This wouldn’t do. He opened his rucksack and took out a folding shovel. Locking the two halves in place, he said, “I’ll catch up to you.”

Alarmed, Ann Marie said, “Wait, you can’t—”

“No,” he said firmly. He marched to the middle of the devastated town and started digging. “I’ve been in a foul mood all day, and that man is the reason why. He thinks he can push Ibwibble the Terrifying around, and it’s high time he learned nobody does that. I’m going to throw a tantrum of epic proportions. We are talking snares, pit traps, falling logs, dung lobbers, and everything else I can dream up and throw together in time.”

“Dung lobbers?” the smiling man asked.

“Don’t asked,” the hissing man replied.

Ibwibble stopped digging just long enough to shake his shovel at the sky and declare, “I didn’t start this fight, for a change, but by golly I’m ending it!”


It was nearly dark when the lead elements of the Fallen King’s army arrived. They’d been running to get to this village before it could be evacuated and burned, and even under the light of their guttering torches one look showed they were too late. Hungry, tired and dispirited, the men’s shoulders drooped at the prospect of another night spent under the stars with little to eat.

One man pointed his sword at a goblin standing in the middle of the burned village. “Hey, what’s he doing here?”

The men approached with swords drawn. They’d heard the Evil Overlord Joshua employed a few goblins, so this might be a messenger from him. Given that it was a goblin it was far more likely this was a trap. The little pest didn’t run away, instead watching with a disgruntled expression as they drew closer. When a man with the Fallen King’s flag approached, the goblin pointed at it.

“You’re with the Fallen King? The guy who fell and can’t get up?”

“Watch it, goblin!” a swordsman shouted. “I’m in the mood to hurt somebody, and you’ll do just fine.”

Another swordsman said, “We’re with the Fallen King. What’s it to you?”

The goblin reached down and picked up the ends of several long ropes made of vines twisted together. When he lifted them, the men could see that the ropes stretched out across the destroyed village, some coming very close to them.

“Just making sure,” Ibwibble said. He pulled hard on a rope, triggering the first of many traps and sending men screaming into a pit. From there things just got worse.

Goblin Stories XIX

“Finny, you’re making me doubt your sanity, and there wasn’t much respect there to begin with,” Stubs told his friend. “I stood by you when we were almost eaten by a bear, when you mouthed off to that knight and made him chase us fifty miles, and that rumor you started about a giant fire breathing squid on the rampage, in a desert city no less, but this is really making me question our friendship.”

The dirty little digger goblin smiled in response and held up the ornate wood box he’d carried for the last week. “Oh ye of little faith. Stubs, old boy, I have a plan. It may well be the greatest plan ever concocted, one that will make us the envy of goblins everywhere.”

Stubs eyed the box nervously and tugged on his collar. “Would you mind keeping that closer to the ground? You know how dangerous it is, and if it falls a few inches less that might make the difference. Breathing is a habit I don’t want to quit.”

Stubs and Finny were the not so proud owners of a magic gem secured inside a wood box. They’d been part of a goblin raid on an elf camp when another goblin had grabbed the box and crystal. The elves had both prized and feared the crystal, for the magic energy stored in it was unstable. One mistake could set it off and send its owners to meet their maker (along with heaven only knew how many bystanders). Goblins have a very simple way to evaluate risk, namely if something can kill you it’s a good time to run. To Stubs’ amazement, Finny had volunteered to dispose of the gem, an offer the other goblins were only too happy to accept.

“It’s real simple,” Finny explained. The dirty goblin held the box with one hand and his lantern with the other. Smiling, he nodded at the box and said, “You remember when we found that magic sword?”

Stubs looked down at the scabbard he held that once contained the magic sword Finny was referring to. “The one that moaned and dripped black stuff, yeah. We threw it out, and good riddance.”

“The sword wasn’t worth keeping, but this is,” Finny explained. “The elf wizard we stole it from really wanted it. That tells me other wizards would want it, too.”

“And might kill us to get it,” Stubs cautioned. This wasn’t cowardice. Goblins were so small and weak that larger races could easily defeat them. Their only chance of winning a fight was having overwhelming numbers on their side, but if a wizard was involved even hordes of goblins weren’t safe.

“I know, but like I said, I have a plan. Not all wizards are dirt bags. We just need to find one we can trust and make a deal.”

Stubs went through his pockets until he came up with a map of the region. He pointed at it and said, “There’s a little problem, namely we are smack dab in the middle of the Land of the Nine Dukes. Finding a nice person around here, much less a nice wizard, is like panning for gold in a mop bucket.”

“We’re not going to be here long,” Finny told him. He could see the problem with his plan. Finding a wizard without first being robbed was going to be hard since the dukes and their followers had no problem with robbing both locals and visitors. Their reasoning went, ‘I have a sword, and after I stick it in you I’ll get all your stuff’, a sad and tragically common point of view.

Finny had done his best to avoid the risks involved. They stayed on isolated roads in rural areas, where there were fewer people and fewer reasons for soldiers and knights to be around. The pair traveled at night and spent their days sleeping in woods far from humans. So far the plan was working, but Stubs was getting worried.

“We should have dumped the gem somewhere like we did the sword,” Stubs said bitterly.

“That would be littering.”

“I don’t care!” Stubs stopped walking and pointed at the box. “Finny, you’ve seen elves, men and dwarfs fight for gold. They fight even harder for gems or magic. Well that thing is a magic gem. They’ll do anything to get their hands on it.”

Smiling, Finny said, “Like give us a lifetime supply of cheese.”

Stubs froze. “Lifetime supply?”

“That’s the plan. There’s this group called the Grand Conclave of Wizards, guys and gals with power oozing out of their ears. But, and this is the important part, they’re not jerks. We find one and offer a trade, one shiny rock full of magic in return for all the cheese we can eat for the rest of our lives, and I, sir, can eat a lot of cheese.”

“Years and years of cheese,” Stubs said reverently.

Finny put down his lantern and the box so he could put both hands on Stubs’ shoulders. “This is risky, I get that, but the reward is worth it. We couldn’t do this with the magic sword we stole from Golomak the False Knight, what with it being screwed up and evil, but the gem isn’t like that. People will want it. How often have goblins gotten their hands on something this cool?”

“Lots of times, but then we get mugged.” Goblin history was filled with unfortunate goblins coming across valuables. These events never ended well. Inevitably humans, elves, dwarfs, ogres and sometimes gnomes would show up to seize the riches for themselves. Ironically enough, humans, elves, dwarfs, ogres and sometimes gnomes then showed up and attacked the new owners. Such treasures would change hands dozens of times inside of a week, but they never ended up as goblin property. After that happened a few hundred times goblins came to the conclusion that they couldn’t have nice things.

“And that is the beauty of the plan,” Finny said. “We only have to keep the gem for a little while. Once the wizard has it in his hot little hands we’re in the clear. He can keep it safe and we eat like kings.”

Stubs clutched his empty scabbard more tightly. “I’ll give it a chance, but if it comes down to losing the gem or our heads then the gem gets the heave ho.”

“Obviously.” Finny picked up his lantern and the box and continued down the country road with Finny at his side. “The nearest big city is a cesspool called Cronsword. The map shows it having half a million people, and it’s decorated with skulls and crossbones. I doubt we’ll find a friendly wizard, but maybe someone there can tell us where to go.”

Stubs held the map up to the lantern light. “Cronsword is on the coast. Bad goes to worse, we can dump the gem into the ocean.”

“That’s the spirit! Life’s full of choices if you look hard enough. Why I…hey, what’s that?”

Stubs peered into the darkness. “What’s what?”

Finny pointed the box at a pile of what looked like branches heaped up along the road. The problem was that some of the branches curved oddly, and a nauseating stench came off them. Both goblins went over to investigate.

“Cattle bones,” Stubs declared. “Someone had a barbecue and left the bits they didn’t want.”

“Generous of them.” Finny set down the box and crammed a rib in his mouth. Stubs did the same and grabbed more bones for tomorrow’s breakfast. Finny was going to comment on their good fortune when he saw more bones dumped around a fire pit. “Someone’s been eating a lot of beef.”

“It would take a hundred people to eat so much,” Stubs said. He poked through the second bone pile and frowned. “Farmers don’t take lightly to losing cows, what with all the milk they make. One dying is a bad thing. Two is a disaster.”

Finny backed away. “Then what would eight be?”

“Eight?” Stubs looked over at what had caught Finny’s attention. The field to the left of the road was dark, but he could pick out piles of cattle bones littering the landscape. He also saw a stone foundation with ashes and charred wood over it.

“This place is a total write off,” Finny said. There were pieces of the house left around the corners, but even they were blackened and offered little in the way of shelter. “I don’t think insurance is going to cover this.”

“Monsters aren’t responsible,” Stubs said. “They eat cows, but they wouldn’t use fire pits to cook the meat. Someone did this, and there’s a lot of them.”

“Sun’s coming up,” Finny warned. There wasn’t much cover available, so for lack of better options they hid in the burned out farmhouse. They tore up the blacked timbers and piled them up in a corner to form a crude hut and went to sleep.


“Finny, wake up, we’re in trouble,” Stubs whispered.

“I didn’t do it this time,” Finny mumbled. Stubs shook his shoulder until his friend was fully awake. “I was having the most wonderful dream, with knights covered in custard and princesses splattered in cow poo.”

“Keep it down,” Stubs warned him. He crouched down low in their makeshift home and whispered, “I found out who ate those cows.”

Curious, Finny asked, “Who?”

Stubs pointed out an opening between two charred boards. “Them.”

The crowd coming down the road was immense, a veritable sea of men on the move. They were an odd bunch, some in army uniforms, some in peasant clothes, some in rags and a few wore armor. To a man they were armed but with a surprising array of weapons. Swords, spears, clubs, maces and axes were common, but a few men had bows and many carried sickles and pitchforks. Few of them carried bags or backpacks, and none rode horses or wagons.

Finny scratched his head. “Refugees, you think?”

Stubs shook his head. “We’d see women and children if these men abandoned their homes. It looks like a Rent-A-Thug convention.

Rolling his eyes, Finny said, “You know they went out of business last year. Stupid recession.”

Squinting and shading his eyes with his left hand, Stubs said, “Hold on, I see a flag in the back.”

Nervous, Finny said, “Flags mean armies. I don’t like armies, Stubs. When armies come through there’s never anything left when they leave. No houses, no farms, no cheese.”

This wasn’t a lie. Large armies needed tons of food and drink each day. Skilled kings sent food by boat or wagon, which was expensive but possible. More often than not an army on the march got little to no food supplied. Instead they lived off the land, devastating it like a swarm of locusts as they stripped the countryside bare of anything edible, leaving locals with the choice of fleeing or starving.

“They don’t have a sense of humor, either,” Stubs said. “I’ve yet to meet a soldier who could appreciate seeing their uniforms on a pig.”

Finny pointed at him and said, “See, I liked that one.”

The sea of men continued down the road, grumbling with each step. They smelled awful from not bathing, a blend of rancid grease and body odor, with just a hint of smoke and ash. A few stopped and collected the leg bones of the dead cattle. They tossed most of them aside since they’d already been cracked open and the marrow scooped out.

“Not a bite since yesterday,” a swordsman in a tattered gray uniform complained. “We spent a full day walking down a road that ended in a forest, no towns, no farms, no food! Now we have to walk over land we’ve already cleaned out.”

“Pipe down,” a man with a club said.

The swordsman kicked a pile of bones and sent them airborne. “I’ll speak my mind when I want! I left Duke Thornwood’s army to get away from rich boys with no brains giving me orders. You want to follow someone and let him do the thinking, that’s on you, but I want answers when things go bad.”

“I mean it, keep it to yourself,” the other man said. “The last guy who mouthed off is in a shallow grave.”

“He is at that,” a commanding voice boomed. Every man in earshot came to a halt as the speaker approached. He was a tall man, his clothes fine at some point but now worn and stained with mud. His blond hair, beard and mustache were trimmed down, but what caught the goblins’ attention was his weaponry. The man carried a long sword that they knew too well, the same cursed sword once held by Golomak the False Knight that Stubs had thrown off a cliff.

“It’s not possible.” Stubs spoke barely above a whisper, but soft as it was, it was impossible to ignore the horror in his voice.

The new owner of that wretched sword walked close to the ruined house. Thirty men followed him closely, one carrying a flag showing a crown dripping blood. The man gestured to the complaining swordsman and said, “But it’s a half truth, like most of what people tell you. The dearly departed didn’t like how I run things in this army and thought he could do better.”

The swordsman spit and pointed the way the army had come from. “And he was right. You led us down a road going nowhere. Are you going to do better when we’re in a fight? That’s what I’m betting my life on, we all are, and you don’t even know where we’re going.”

The army’s commander shrugged. “I didn’t know where the road went. If you did you should have said something. Every man here has gone hungry in his life. You feasted yesterday on beef and today you have nothing. That’s life, and more importantly it’s good reason to keep moving. We need fresh farms and towns to plunder if we expect to eat.”

The swordsman wasn’t satisfied. “No. You don’t get to ignore your mistakes just because you’re a king’s son.”

Men gathered around to watch. Their leader chuckled and said, “I should be ruler of Oceanview Kingdom, except I was cast aside for my brother, Baldos. But now I am the Fallen King, all the greater for my loss. Ignore my mistake? I’m fixing it, raising an army to bring down my brother, the nobles and all the people who despise me. That’s why everyone’s here. You all want to get even with the men who refused you what you deserved.

“It’s not going to be easy, fast or safe,” the Fallen King continued. He walked in front of the gathering men and announced, “Make no mistake, you’ll go days without eating in my service. You’ll fight and kill, and some of you will die. But when we’re done the Land of the Nine Dukes will be in flames, the ones who hurt you dead before we move on to Oceanview and there’s even a chance for me to take my revenge. It will be months or even years before we reach my homeland and destroy my family. I’m putting your needs above my own.”

“That doesn’t fill our bellies,” the swordsman snapped.

“Make a ring,” the Fallen King told the men around him. They formed a wide circle with two openings. The circle included the ruined house Finny and Stubs were hiding in, and the two crouched down low and fell silent. The Fallen King stepped inside the ring and gestured for the swordsman to do the same.

“I don’t lead the army because I’m a king’s son. I rule because I won the right by combat, defeating all contenders to leadership. You don’t like the way things are done here, then come and fight me. Kill me and the army is yours to lead. But know this, once you enter this ring only one man will be allowed out.”

Looking nervous, the swordsman said, “You’ve got a magic sword.”

“Why so I do,” the Fallen King said mockingly. Onlookers laughed as the swordsman edged away. The Fallen King rested the edge of the cursed sword on an intact piece of the house. The black goo dripping off it sizzled as it ate through the wood. Finny watched the blade cut though a board over his head and descend closer.

“That ain’t fair!” the swordsman yelled.

The blade came ever closer to Finny. He flattened himself against the floor, wanting to run away. There wasn’t room to move in their crude hideaway, and fleeing into this horrible army was certain death.

“Fair?” the Fallen King demanded. “Was it fair my simpering brother got the throne that should be mine? Was it fair when you were denied pay you’d earned? Was it fair when you were treated like mongrel dogs even though you fought and bled for your leaders? I gave up on fair years ago. If you want something you take it, because no one is going to give you what you deserve.”

The magic sword continued melting through the crude hut, coming closer to Finny. He trembled as it came down an inch, then another.

The Fallen King whipped the sword out and pointed it at the swordsman. “You can follow orders and take the good with the bad, or you can take your chances in the ring. I don’t care which one you choose, but I won’t waste another minute waiting for you to make a decision. Which is it?”

The swordsman looked around for support and found none. A few of his fellows were even making bets on how long he’d last. He backed away and looked down. “You’re in charge.”

The Fallen King left the circle and pointed his sword down the road. “There’s a fork in the road we didn’t take. That’s fresh territory to plunder. We’ll take that route and then send out scouts to find more towns. And bring back prisoners who know the region so this kind of mistake doesn’t happen again.”

With the show over the army moved on. They grumbled less after seeing one of their own humbled, no doubt worried that they’d be called out and killed if they drew attention to themselves. There were so many of them it took hours until the last man had left.

“This is my fault,” Stubs said.

Shocked, Finny could only say, “What?’

“I took the sword from Golomak. The Fallen King wouldn’t have it except for me.”

“You threw the sword off a cliff,” Finny reminded him.

Stubs stared out their crude hut, watching the last of the Fallen King’s men disappear in the distance. “I thought it would break when it landed, or nobody would find it. But someone did find it, a bad man who’s doing bad things with it. He’s going to do more bad things and hurt lots of people. I should have buried the sword or broke it. Maybe I could have given it to someone else to break. I didn’t do that, either.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Finny told him. “You didn’t make all those bad men follow him.”

“He’s using the sword to stay in charge! That’s on me.” Stubs’ voice trailed off and tears ran down his face. “I did this. How can I make it right?”

Finny wanted to comfort his friend, but what could he say? The Fallen King commanded thousands of men, a force even kings and wizards would be hard pressed to stop. What could goblins do when it took ten goblins to stop even one man?

“The gem,” Finny said. He grabbed the box and opened it. Their crude shelter lit up as light poured off the magic gem inside the box. The gem was unstable, but in the hands of a wizard could do amazing things. Visions of a lifetime of cheese filled delights evaporated before Finny’s eyes, but it had to be this way.

Closing the box, Finny said, “The Fallen King has power, and so do we. We can’t use it ourselves, we don’t know how, but we can find people who do. Come on, Stubs, let’s go stop a monster.”

Goblin Stories XVIII

“The key to a good stew is slow cooking, a low fire and as many rats as you can catch,” Dumple told his fellow cooks. “Some goblins think you can overdo rats in a stew. They’re wrong. You can skimp on wood chips, clam shells, shoe leather and even old bones, but leave out the rats and they’ll never let you live it down.”

“We may have a problem there,” Mask told him. Dumple’s fellow cook held up an old pewter tray and said, “There are only five rats on hand, cause of death unknown. Personally I suspect it was malnutrition.”

Dumple looked over the meager offering and frowned. “Two hours foraging and that’s all you could find?”

The third and final cook looked up from chopping up an old boot. It was hard to read his expression with his gas mask on, but somehow Fumes always sounded disapproving. “We’re miles from a city and you expect quality rats?”

Dumple folded his arms across his ample belly. The goblin cook was plump from eating well for many years, and his apron was stained with unbelievable foulness. He’d sewn a biohazard symbol onto his apron (fair warnings and all that) and owned the cast iron pot they were currently cooking in.

His fellow cooks weren’t much better off. Mask’s apron was so stained with offensive substances that it might spontaneously combust. The red skinned goblin was the newest of the trio and the most experimental in his cooking. He wore a cloth mask over his eyes, and at Dumple’s suggestion last week he’d cut eyeholes in it. Fumes had a plastic radiation symbol on his apron and gas mask over his face, both items accidentally warped in by other goblins. Fumes swore the gas mask was for his allergies and not for holding out the unbearable stench of goblin cooking.

Goblins ate almost anything, and in a pinch could eat dirt. But even among such slovenly hordes there was a need for fine dining. Goblin cooks filled that void by making goblin stew, a hideous concoction of random bits of trash boiled into a thick sludge. Connoisseurs could tell exactly what went into a given stew, where it came from and how long ago it had died. Goblins considered this the height of their culinary skill. The rest of the civilized races on Other Place called it a crime against nature. Both sides were right.

“Here now, this won’t do,” Dimple told the other cooks. He pointed a wood spoon into the growing darkness to the west and said, “We’re mere days from reaching High Ridge and need all the practice we can get. A thousand hungry goblins live there, and they’ll want out best effort. They won’t accept us into their happy homes if we only offer stale recipes and stale rats. We have to maintain standards!”

“We can work around this,” Mask promised. He grabbed a bag and pulled out a handful of mushrooms. “The rat supply is pretty low, but mushrooms are in season. I’ve got red ones, blue ones, and green ones that glow in the dark. A couple of them had eyes and ran away when I came close, so I let those be.”

“You showed restraint?” Fumes asked. “Will wonders never cease?”

“No bickering,” Dumple told them. He looked over the mushrooms and picked out the ten best. “This will stretch out the rats and boot leather, and no one will notice if we cook it long enough. We have enough time to try a second batch if the taste is off or it explodes like last night.”

“I liked that one,” Fumes said. “No aftertaste, and a well defined blast radius.”

Dumple dumped in the mushrooms and stirred the pot. The truth was he was worried. Large communities of goblins generally had their own cooks. If Dumple and his friends were going to be accepted either their stew had to be the best or the goblins of High Ridge had to be short of cooks. That could happen if the community grew fast, or if their cooks were chased into the wilderness because their stew exploded before it could be eaten.

For that reason Dumple had delayed their arrival at High Ridge. They would walk for half a day and spend the rest of their time foraging for ingredients and cooking. This slowed them down and caused some property damage, goblin stew being highly unstable, but their weeks in the wilderness was necessary. They’d ironed out most of their problems and were nearly ready to introduce themselves.

Mask looked out into the growing darkness. They’d made camp just off a rural road with trees and fields around them. He stuck a finger in his mouth and held it up. “Wind’s coming from the west. We might get goblins coming over to sample the stew again if they can smell it.”

“Smell what?” Fumes asked.

Dumple stirred the pot and watched the mushrooms dissolve into the unwholesome goo. He tasted in and scrunched up his face. “It’s not working. Add the boot leather and pine cones.”

The stew gurgled as more ingredients went in. It changed color several times and gave off a smell that could strip paint off a wall. Dumple added the few rats they had and tasted it again. “We’ll give it an hour and see how it works. I want to make it clear that this is not our best work. A shortage of ingredients is going to be our biggest challenge, followed by that whole detonating thing.”

“The local humans chase us off when we gather supplies in their settlements,” Mask said.

“Philistines,” Fumes scoffed. “I’d think they’d appreciate a change in diet. Salt pork, oatmeal, boiled eggs, wild greens and peas, they have the most boring diet imaginable. It says something terrible about humans that they smother everything they eat in salt.”

Mask frowned. “It can’t do their blood pressure any good.”

“Criminal,” Dumple said. “Cooking is a sacred duty. When I was young I once went hungry, the worst four hours of my life. Oh how I longed for a full stomach that day! That convinced me to dedicate my life to preparing food. Give people good food with second helpings guaranteed, and you’ll do more to help the world than any king.”

Looking nervous, Mask said, “I once met a balding human with a mustache, as mad as they come. He said food isn’t love.”

Fumes jumped up and struck a fist against his chest. “Blasphemy!”

“Monstrous!” Dimple thundered. “If you love someone you make sure they’re fed. You scrounge and forage until you have enough for them. You make sure that when they come back from a long day they have a hot meal waiting for them, no exceptions.”

“It shows how messed up humans are,” Mask said. “It’s not their fault, but there’s no reasoning with them.”

Dumple took out a pair of heavy leather gloves and adjusted the pot’s position on the low fire. “What do you expect? Do you know how they decide who is in charge? The man who kills the most people gets the job, and it passes to his sons and grandsons. I would think that would be grounds for disqualifying candidates.”

“Sometimes the guy with the most shiny rocks is in charge,” Fumes said. He scratched his head and added, “Assuming somebody doesn’t knock him over the head and steal his stuff. I hear that happens a lot.”

Dumple stirred the pot and tried to taste the stew. Unfortunately the pot’s vile contents ate through his wood spoon before even a drop reached his lips. He took another spoon from his apron to replace it. “I’ll never understand them. You’re right, Mask, it’s not their fault, and we shouldn’t hold it against them. Humans get hungry the same as we do. I wonder if that’s why they’re always in such a bad mood.”

Mask went through his belongings and came up with a slender, leather bound book. “I almost forgot, I found a human cookbook in the last town we visited.”

“Well done, old boy!” Dumple patted Mask on the back and gestured to the pot. “Toss it in and we’ll save this meal yet.”

The book dissolved just like the wood spoon had, which had the odd effect of both turning the stew red and giving it a smoky flavor like charred road kill. Dumple nodded in approval and gave his fellow cooks a taste. “Almost done.”

“This could win contests,” Fumes said, “or eat through rust.”

Mask rubbed his chin and asked, “Is it just me or is it trying to get out of the pot?”

“That’s how you know you did the job right,” Dumple told him. “We’ll get a good meal from this and have leftovers for the morning if it stays stable. Oh, look, it’s changing color again. Purple, that’s a new one!”

Fumes grabbed Dumple by the arm and pointed west. “I hear voices. I think we’ve got volunteer diners coming.”

“But that’s upwind of here,” Mask told him. “They shouldn’t be able to smell our cooking.”

Dumple smiled from ear to ear at the news. “The whys don’t matter when people are hungry. They must be famished if they’re out foraging so late. You two make sure it doesn’t burn and I’ll see who it is.”

It took a few minutes, but Dumple found the source of the noise. To his surprise it was coming from a human farmhouse. He hadn’t known they were close to one, and this house was busy even so late at night. There were twenty people outside, all human men and rather scruffy looking ones at that. They carried lit torches and drawn swords, and one man had a flag with a crown dripping something red, possibly beet juice or meat drippings. Two of the men were pounding on the farmhouse door with their fists while a few more tried to pry open a window.

“Please, leave us alone!” a muffled voice called from inside the house. “We’ve done no wrong!”

“Open this door right now!” the man with the flag shouted. He scowled and asked, “Can’t you knuckleheads get it open?”

A man raised his sword in reply. “Hey, this door is oak. You got an ax or a hammer, I can break in, but swords are only good for cutting up people. Somebody get a thick log and we’ll batter it down.”

“We could set the building on fire,” one of them suggested.

“Yeah, and burn everything inside,” the man with the flag said sarcastically. “We keep getting to these places after the rest of the army has picked them clean. I want something better than what those gluttons turned down.”

“Two days of marching with nothing to eat,” a swordsman grumbled. “I want that door open and their pantry emptied out!”

“Two days without food,” Dumple whispered in horror. It was unthinkable! Crazy or not, humans deserved better than that. He hurried back to his fellow cooks and grabbed the pot with his leather gloves. Straining his arms and legs, he lifted the full pot and headed back to those poor, hungry men.

“What are you doing?” Fumes demanded.

“Come, we’re needed,” Dumple told him. He struggled under the pot’s weight as he headed for the farmhouse. “There are desperately hungry humans.”

Fumes looked up and shook his head in dismay. “Then invite them back to our camp. There’s no need to bring the food to them.”

It was a valid suggestion, but Dumple was panicking. He’d devoted his life to preparing food for the hungry. Their distress was his distress, and painful memories from his youth overwhelmed him. To have so many people in need was more than he could bear. He had to help them, and now.

Fumes and Mask followed him into the darkness. Dumple couldn’t move fast carrying so much weight. It took a while to reach the farmhouse, but to his delight the hungry men were still there. They’d gotten a fallen tree from the woods and were lifting it in front of the door.

“We swing it in on three,” a swordsman said. “One, two, th—”

“I’m here!” Dumple shouted, a smile on his face. The men were so surprised that they dropped the log and it landed on two men’s feet. They yelped and jumped about while the rest of the men grabbed their swords. The log rolled away and hit Dumple, knocking him to the ground and sending his pot flying into the air, where it dumped its contents onto the men.

Their reviews were brutal.

“Ah! It’s eating into my boots!”

“The smell! The smell!”

“Get it off!”

Fumes and Mask helped Dumple up. The poor goblin was beside himself. These men had needed help and he’d failed them. Not only hadn’t they gotten so much as a mouthful, but all twenty of them were rolling around on the ground in a vain effort to wipe the stew off. Many of them added to the mess and foul stench by becoming violently ill. Desperate to make amends, Dumple shouted, “Wait, I can make more!”

The men looked at him, their faced united in expressions of horror. They ran off into the night, pushing down anyone in their way and slipping on the remaining stew. Dumbfounded, Dumple watched them flee, many leaving so fast that they left their weapons behind.

“Hello?” a voice called out from inside the farmhouse. “What happened?”

The door opened a fraction of an inch and the owner peeked out. He opened his mouth to say something when the stench of the spilled stew hit him. He slammed the door closed, screaming, “Dear God!”

Dumple stood as still as a statue. He eventually turned to his friends and said, “It needed more rats.”

Goblin Stories XVII

“You’re getting paid to do this,” Duncan Stormeye said through gritted teeth. This job had been a pain in the neck since day one. He hadn’t met a single person worth asking to join his adventuring group, and his standards were low! The Brotherhood priest they were escorting insisted on bringing a cow with him, which slowed them down. He’d had no luck whatsoever romancing his fellow adventurer Tandy Darksky, who was more interested in listening to the priest’s lectures. He could deal with all this, but the last straw had come a week ago when that wretched goblin decided to tag along with them, a miserable, smelly creature that could only say—

“Thurp!” the goblin shouted. He said that word, if it was a word, morning, noon and night in response to every situation. The wretch wore dirty rags and carried a club and wood shield, and it had pointed ears on its wide face.

“Is it absolutely necessary to keep that thing around?” Duncan asked the priest.

Father Amago patted the goblin on the back and smiled. “Thurp asks little of us and has done no harm. Surely you can afford to show him some small kindness, the same you would ask another person to show you.”

Duncan looked to his two fellow adventurers for support and got none. Tandy wasn’t going to say a word against the priest no matter how annoying the goblin was. She wore leather armor that showed off her curves, and her long brown hair flowed behind her. Fools and drunks often mistook her good nature for weakness, a mistake she was too willing to correct with her sword. Sternhammer showed the same stoic acceptance that he did to all other problems as he trudged along in his plate armor.

“It’s just for a little while longer,” Tandy told him.

Sternhammer shifted his ax from his right hand to his left. “The pay is the same whether he follows us or not.”

Pay. It always came down to money. The Stormeye family had been refugees for a long time, driven off their old land by war and drought. Duncan had become an adventurer in the hopes that he could bring in the money his family needed to buy land and settle down again. He’d stolen his sword from a drunken mercenary, which was totally justified after what the guy said about his mother, and gotten his leather armor on loan from an uncle.

But Duncan had a long list of ‘successful’ missions that had generated little income. He, Tandy and Sternhammer had worked as bodyguards, bounty hunters, night watchmen and once they even hunted wolves. A few employers hadn’t wanted to pay up, but they’d convinced the holdouts, sometimes at knifepoint. An entire year of traveling and fighting for whoever could pay had netted them a grant total of 98 guilders after expenses. You could make more selling insurance. The lack of money is what left them here on a deserted road in the Land of the Nine Dukes escorting a Brotherhood priest to a new settlement.

Speaking of whom, Father Amago decided this was a good time for another lecture. “Mercy to others is the fifth step toward purity. Showing mercy is easy when the other party is deserving, but when they are flawed, as we all are, mercy can be harder to show. Taking that step, to help those who seem unworthy in our eyes, can be difficult.”

“I worry sometimes that people go easy on me because I’m a woman,” Tandy replied. “I don’t want to get treated better than someone else. Let me do my fair share.”

“Thurp!”

“This is the most annoying job we’ve taken,” Duncan said to Sternhammer. Father Amago and Tandy were so deep in a discussion on religion that they didn’t notice the comment.

The dwarf shook his head. “Rounding up those drunker aldermen was worse. It took days to wash off the mess they made on my boots. The goblin hasn’t pulled pranks on us or set traps. I’ll stay my hand against him so long as that lasts.”

“How can you put up with this?”

Sternhammer’s stoic expression, or lack of expression, didn’t change. “I survived my divorce when neither the judge nor my wife’s lawyer were at all merciful. If I can endure three hundred years of alimony payments, I can deal with this.”

Duncan kept his eyes on the road so he wouldn’t have to look at the goblin. They were in Duke Kramer’s territory, and while he wasn’t as bloodthirsty as the other dukes it was best if they didn’t run into any soldiers. The dukes demanded strength, blind obedience and a willingness to accept criminally low pay from their men. Normally Duncan would have some sympathy for the soldiers, except that such low pay encouraged them to extort money from, well, everyone. Duncan had 98 guilders, and he had no intention of letting that number drop. To that end he kept his tiny band to the back roads where they’d likely avoid notice.

“I would like to say how much I appreciate your help in this matter,” Father Amago said. The young priest wore brown robes and no armor, and he was unarmed. That was acceptable in civilized lands, but out here it was asking for trouble. “The Brotherhood of the Righteous insisted I have company for this journey, and you have exceeded all my expectations. I shall make sure to tell my superiors of your devotion and hard work.”

“You’re too kind,” Tandy said.

“Not at all. Your reference from the Gilcas Trading House spoke highly of you, and how the caravan you guarded for them didn’t lose a guilder’s worth of cargo.”

Looking nervous, Tandy said, “Um, that’s probably because no one attacked us.”

Duncan nudged Tandy and whispered, “Don’t say things like that in front of a client.”

“I’m not going to lie to a priest.” She was whispering, too, but managed to make her reply sound hot.

“It’s not a lie. It’s an omission.”

“What’s the difference?”

Duncan glanced at the priest and whispered, “My way we might get another job.”

The goblin ran between them and yelled, “Thurp!”

“I’m especially grateful how well the three of you have handled a trip of this duration,” Father Amago continued. “Four weeks of walking has been taxing, but we’ll reach High Ridge soon.”

“I’ve never heard of that settlement,” Sternhammer said. The forested road they were traveling on was deserted, with no houses of any kind. Wherever High Ridge was, it was a long way from here.

“It’s quite new, and I am eager to meet them,” Father Amago replied. That fit with what Duncan knew of the Brotherhood of the Righteous. They sent priests to every town they could find to win over the locals. Rulers like the Nine Dukes didn’t like the Brotherhood showing up, as they had a bad habit of insisting that rulers follow their own rules. If the Brotherhood was strong enough in a kingdom they could make the rulers behave, something no king or nobleman appreciated.

Sternhammer grunted and said, “I imagine so. I have good maps of the Land of the Nine Dukes, and there’s no mention of a High Ridge. How did you hear of it?”

Looking up at the sky, Father Amago said, “I received a vision.”

“Really?” Tandy asked excitedly.

Not sounding at all excited, Duncan asked, “Really?”

“I heard His voice telling me to seek the town of High Ridge,” the priest said solemnly. “He said there were souls there in need of guidance, and that I should bring a cow.”

“Unusually specific,” Sternhammer replied.

“Uh oh,” Duncan said under his breath. The priest hadn’t mentioned this before. As far as Duncan was concerned anyone who was hearing voices qualified as unreliable, right up there with merchants who say ‘it’s a bargain’ and lawyers who say ‘trust me’. He started to wonder if there even was a town of High Ridge. Wouldn’t that be great, they might be looking for a town that didn’t exist!

“Thurp.” The goblin ran ahead of them, offering Duncan some minor relief. The goblin went up the road to the top of a hill and began jumping around. The pest was pointing and shouting at something, but with the goblin’s limited vocabulary (Thurp!), there was no way to tell if a good thing or a bad thing had his attention.

Duncan waved the others back and headed up the hill. When he got to the top he grabbed the goblin and dragged him back down. He told the others, “There’s a river ahead with a toll bridge over it. The river’s pretty narrow so I figure we can find a shallow spot and wade across. That way Duke Kramer’s men won’t see us and we won’t have to pay.”

“Thurp!” The goblin waved his club toward the bridge.

“As long as the riverbank isn’t too steep. I wouldn’t want Bessie to hurt herself.” Father Amago stroked his cow’s back. The goblin grabbed Father Amago by the arm and pulled hard. The priest seemed confused but went along.

Duncan ran after them. “We don’t want to go up there.”

“He seems to think we do,” Father Amago said. Duncan rolled his eyes as the goblin and priest went up the hill. He followed them to make sure they stayed out of sight. When they got to the top, Duncan did his best to make sure the other two stayed in cover. Father Amago nodded and said, “I believe I see the problem.”

Duncan studied the bridge. Everything seemed boring enough. There weren’t any people waiting to cross, but on an isolated road like this that wasn’t surprising. “What do you see?”

“I see a toll booth and no one manning it,” Father Amago said. “My understanding of local events is sadly lacking, but road tolls are a reliable source of revenue for any government. Why doesn’t Duke Kramer have men here?”

Tandy and Sternhammer followed with the cow. Sternhammer shrugged, his response to most of life’s problems, and said, “We can continue without wasting coins or time.”

Duncan led the group on slowly. The priest was right that this was strange. Duncan had ducked quite a few tolls in his days, and every time there had been armed men to make sure people paid. They reached the stone bridge and found the toll booth ruined, smashed open and burned. There were cuts in the wood booth like it had been attacked with an ax. Sternhammer checked for valuables and came up empty handed.

“It’s been cleared out,” the dwarf announced. “There’s no money nor signs of coins melting in the fire. Judging by the damage and missing coins, this was a robbery.”

Tandy waved her sword at the wreckage. “That’s insane. If I was going to rob a toll booth I wouldn’t chop it up and burn it down. Just break down the door and grab the money. This is way more work than you’d have to do.”

“Thurp.”

“See, he agrees with me,” she said.

Father Amago made a holy gesture in the air and declared, “Evil times are upon this land.”

Duncan had little interest in how Duke Kramer collected money as long as it wasn’t his, but if someone was attacking government property then things were bad. Maybe one of the other dukes was invading Kramer. The Nine Dukes went to war so often it was almost seasonal, like robins coming back in spring. But Tandy was right, the damage was excessive…almost animalistic.

Drawing his sword, Duncan said, “We move fast and quiet until we find out who or what did this.”

Father Amago studied the ruins. “I hope the people of High Ridge are safe.”

“I hope there are a people of High Ridge,” Duncan muttered.

They spent the next few hours moving as fast as they could. The cow slowed them down and made far more noise than Duncan liked, but they still made good progress. The forests thinned out and were replaced with cropland. More worrying, the damage they’d seen on the bridge was evident elsewhere. They came across two farmhouses burned down to the foundation stones. Thankfully there were no bodies, but there were an awful lot of footprints for such a lonely place.

“These tracks are fresh,” Duncan said. He looked at Sternhammer and said, “Check your maps and find us another road.”

Sternhammer took out a vellum map and unrolled it. “The next town on the map is Fire Light. We can reach it in five hours of hard marching or take another road going southeast. That one comes dangerously close to a branch office of the law firm of Billin Bye d’Hour. I should add that during my divorce their lawyers are the ones who took my house, workshop, pension, gold, company stocks and pet gerbil.”

“Thurp,” The goblin said sympathetically. He made a caressing motion with his hands, as if he were petting the lost gerbil.

“Right, we’ll be safer in the town,” Duncan said. He wasn’t crazy enough to enter a nest of lawyer no matter how dangerous it was out here.

“A warm tavern bed to sleep in sounds wonderful,” Tandy said. She saw Duncan’s disapproving look and frowned. “We can afford it!”

“I can’t,” Sternahmmer told her. “This month’s alimony payment is due soon.”

Just then a flock of birds burst from the trees a hundred feet further down the road and shot into the sky. There were over a hundred of them and no visible cause for them to flee. Duncan backed away. “I hear voices. Into the trees, now.”

The adventurers, goblin and cow did their best to hide in the woods, but the trees were too far away to reach in time. The raucous crowd coming down the road numbered about a hundred men, dirty, shabbily dressed and armed.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” one of them shouted. The rest of the crowded laughed and encircled Duncan and his friends.

“Travelers,” Duncan said. He kept his sword up and got his back against a lone tree. “We’re headed for the town of High Ridge, or barring that Fire Light. Whatever quarrel you have that makes you travel armed doesn’t involve us.”

A large man with a dull sword and wood shield swaggered up to Duncan. “We decide what involves us or not. You’re headed nowhere, stripling. There’s no town in a hundred miles of here called High Ridge. As for Fire Light, there’s no town by that name anymore.”

The men laughed, a callous, hateful braying that made it clear who was responsible for the destruction of Fire Light. They edged closer, fingering their weapons and grinning. Duncan couldn’t see a way out of this with his life, much less his money, but he’d no intention of going quietly. The Stormeye family was a lot of things, but never cowards.

“Stop!” Father Amago stepped in front of Duncan. The priest raised his hands not in surrender but to point at the ragged horde facing them.

The crowd looked surprised, and many glanced back and forth. Father Amago walked up to the crowd’s leader. “You two men wear army uniforms. You’ve deserted the Nine Dukes. Those men there wear the red jackets of the Coral Ring Merchant House. I see scars from shackles on the wrists of many here, proof you were once jailed. You were all good men once, but you’ve fallen from the light of His presence.”

“His?” the enemy leader asked.

Another man leaned over and said, “Capital h His.” Waving his hand up at the sky, he added, “You know, Him.”

“People still believe that?” the leader said. He raised his sword and shouted, “I believe in steel! I believe in gold! I believe in whiskey and the Fallen King and my own right arm! I don’t need anything else!”

The crowd cheered, but Father Amago shouted over them. “Fools! I cannot count how many fell to the same lies! You dull yourselves with drink and violence, living only for your next minute. The world has seen millions of men no different from you, and few live longer than a year.”

Father Amago pressed forward, and to Duncan’s surprise the mob of human vermin fell back. “What promises did this Fallen King make you? Freedom? Revenge? Wealth? Lies, one and all. His freedom is the freedom of the grave, where no one may ask or demand anything of you. The revenge he offers is to kill and maim those who should be your brothers. The wealth he promises you won’t last, for you destroy the towns that create that wealth.”

With that he pulled out a holy text from his robes and held it up. “The path you walk upon can only lead to your deaths. But even after what you have done there is hope, for He is forgiving. He is just. He is righteous. You may kill us, but if you survive this battle it will only be to lose the next one or the next after that. Your false king offers you nothing save lies and betrayal. Come, and be redeemed.”

There was a short pause as the crowd stared back before their leader said, “That has got to be the finest last words I’ve ever heard. Kill them, and save the woman.”

Tandy raised her sword. “The woman doesn’t need saving.”

The crowd was about to charge in when Thurp when mad. Granted, he was a goblin, but this was mad even for his kind. The little goblins screamed his one word vocabulary and ran between the Fallen King’s forces. He swung his club at rocks and trees, bashing it into the ground, basically hitting everything except the people who were trying to kill him. The Fallen King’s forces stopped and laughed. Thurp kept hammering away at inanimate objects like tree stumps. The entire time he shouted, “Thurp, thurp, thurp!”

Pop! A door opened on a hillside where Thurp had struck it. Creak! The ground split open as more hidden doors opened. Every place he’s struck was the door to a hidden house filled with goblins. Goblins poured out by the hundreds until there was a thousand of them, armed with hammers, clubs, spears and rocks. The Fallen King’s men were so shocked they staggered back as the goblins emerged.

“Right, what’s this about?” a goblin with webbed fingers asked.

“Thurp,” Thurp said, and pointed at Duncan and his friends. Thurp then pointed at the Fallen King’s rabble, and his voice dropped to a low, deadly, “Thurp.”

“That clears that up,” the other goblin said. “Right, let’s take out the trash.”

Duncan had no idea what was going on, but he wasn’t going to question good luck. He charged alongside the goblins, with Tandy and Sternhammer at his side. Sternhammer was a living fortress, weapons bouncing off his heavy armor as he struck anyone fool enough to approach him. Tandy and Duncan were fast enough to support the goblins whenever the Fallen King’s men threatened to overwhelm them. They ran across the battlefield dealing with threats while Sternhammer moved relentlessly forward.

Father Amago headed straight for the enemy leader. The priest shouted praise to his God, ending with the words, “God grant me strength!”

A pale blue light poured from his open hand, which he clenched into a fist. The verminous leader raised his wood shield, and the priest drove his fist through it. Wood splintered and the shield was cracked in half. His next punch went into the leader’s gut, and the blow sent him sailing into the air where he crashed into a tree.

Duncan saw the enemy leader land next to him, and he spared the priest a quick look. Red faced, Father Amago explained, “I have issues with anger. I’m working on it.”

The rabble was barely organized, and with their leader down they panicked. Many threw down their weapons as they fled. Many didn’t escape as the goblins pulled them down and tied them up. One man tried to escape with the group’s flag, a foul thing showing a crown dripping blood. Duncan kicked him to the ground and chopped the flag to pieces.

It was, Duncan reflected, the most one sided battle he’d been in.


It was hard to judge how much they’d gotten from the battle. Most of the Fallen King’s men were broke, and their weapons were so poorly cared for they wouldn’t be worth much. In spite of that they still walked away with 27 guilders in cash and another 38 in salvaged gear. The rest went to the goblins, who weren’t too picky about their weapons’ quality.

“What’s that thing?” a goblin asked and pointed at the cow. The poor animal was tied to a tree, still frightened from the battle.

“It’s a cow, stupid,” another goblin said.

“Really?” The first goblin came over and smiled. He was quickly joined my more curious goblins who touched and petted the cow. “I’ve heard of these things. Where does the cheese come out?”

“I’m grateful for the help,” Duncan told the goblins.

“We had to do it,” the goblin with webbed fingers told him. “These guys are running all over the place. They’re torching everything they can get their hands on, human or goblin built. Even the dukes aren’t this destructive. It’s come down to fight or lose everything.”

“Thurp.” Thurp walked up to the goblin with webbed fingers and pointed at Father Amago.

“You don’t say,” the webbed fingered goblin said.

“It’s all he does say,” Duncan said. “Maybe you can help us with a problem. Have you ever heard of a town called High Ridge?”

The webbed fingered goblin blinked. “That would be us.”

Goblin Stories XVI

Brody wondered how he’d become a sword magnet. For years he’d gone to great lengths to avoid people, and now he was face to face with his second armed man in less than a month. This sort of thing was supposed to happen to knights, heroes and wizards, people who don’t seem to mind getting beaten up and nearly killed.

“Uh, hi there,” Brody said. He backed away from the stranger and looked for an escape route. The forest road they’d met on was far from the nearest settlement, so the weeds and trees grew thick. That plus the poor lighting so late at night should be enough for him to get away.

“Hello,” the man said. He didn’t sound angry, which was rare for people meeting with goblins. Instead he sounded tired, like he’d been walking forever. That was good. Tired people give up easier. The man looked around and asked, “Is there an inn nearby, or a farmhouse? A stable would work in a pinch.”

That stopped Brody from running. It was standard goblin tactics to run like crazy from armed men, but running didn’t seem called for. True, the man looked strong and healthy, and he was wearing chain armor with a steel breastplate and shield. There were plenty of scratches and nicks on his armor, but no signs of wounds. He had an air about him of an experienced warrior who’d fought often and won.

But it was the look on his face that made Brody pause. The man wasn’t just tired. He looked beaten down, defeated without even a scratch on him. His long sword and dagger were sheathed and his footman’s mace hung off his belt, and he made no effort to grab them. Brody had occasionally seen goblins look this discouraged, and he’d felt that same way sometimes, but the man looked like he and failure were old friends.

“An abandoned house would be all right,” the man continued.

Brody needed a moment to collect his thoughts. He pointed back the way he’d come and said, “Uh, there aren’t any houses or ruins back that way. I think there are some badger dens, but they’d be kind of cramped and smelly.”

“It’s no better where I came from,” the man said. He looked behind him and then back at Brody. “I suppose it’s for the best. I wouldn’t want to get others involved in my problems again.”

Curious, Brody asked, “What’s the matter?”

“It’s a long story, but the short of it is there are knights after me. You seemed to be headed where I’m coming from, which might put you in harm’s way. I’m sorry to say the men after me aren’t particular about who they kill.”

Brody scratched his head. Trying to be tactful, a hard thing for a goblin, he said, “I’d think anyone attacking you should’ve reserve a spot in a cemetery beforehand. You have a sort of ‘catastrophically dangerous when annoyed’ feel to you.”

The man gave Brody a strange look. “I’ve been called a fool, a liar, a beggar, a disaster and a failure. Your description is a first.”

“I can’t imagine anyone calling you those things,” Brody said. His experience with armed men was they were likely to draw their weapons when insulted. If someone used such language with this man then they were either very stupid or felt very secure. Either one would likely come to a swift and brutal end.

“Happens more often than you’d think,” the man said. He continued down the road and walked by Brody. “I doubt I’ll be good company, but you’re free to join me. It should be safer than the alternative.”

Shocked, Brody asked, “You don’t mind being around goblins?”

“The goblins I’ve met have been refreshingly honest, and not one of them has tried to kill me in my sleep.”

“Honest?” Brody asked. No one had ever accused goblins of honesty. They were renowned liars and tricksters, and to hear someone contradict this fact was startling.

The man shrugged. “They fib sometimes, but that doesn’t bother me. Other races tell worse lies and can do it for years. Royalty are better than commoners, foreigners are enemies, I deserve everything and you don’t deserve my table scraps…I’ve heard them all. Sometimes they even trick themselves into believing their own lies.”

Brody looked down the road where the strange man had come from. There was no sign of the knights the man spoke of, but why would he lie? There was no advantage to it. Brody was allergic to swords and had no desire to find out firsthand if there was danger ahead, and the way back wasn’t too bad. Eager to learn more about this strange person, he turned around and followed the man.

The man studied Brody under the dying light. He pointed at the long blue antenna like growths coming from Brody’s back and head. “Do you smell with those?”

“No. They don’t move or do anything. They’re just kind of there.” Brody was used to questions like that. He was odd looking, with boyish features but blue skin and hair, and those antennas. He wore only swimming trunks and carried short wood paddles he could strap onto his hands and feet when swimming. Some people he’d met openly wondered if he was a goblin at all.

The man shook his head. “Sorry, rude question. I’m afraid the last few days have left me a worse man. I should have introduced myself when we first met. I’m Julius Craton.”

Brody’s jaw dropped and he stopped in his tracks. “The Julius Craton?”

“I pray there’s no one else with that name. It’s a lot of trouble.”

Running in front of Julius, Brody said, “The hero Julius Craton, from the Guild of Heroes. That Julius Craton?”

“Yes.”

Brody struggled for what to do, wondering if he should bow or salute. Goblins as a rule don’t really respect people, even other goblins, but this was Julius Craton! He’d saved kingdoms from terrible threats, and he showed widows the same respect as kings. He was the very definition of hero, a person loved across Other Place. “You’ve killed wyverns, griffins, bandits, necromancers and smallish armies. What are you doing running from anyone?”

“I’ve killed a wyvern flock, two griffins, a necromancer, three golems, five hags, a monkey snake infestation, more bandits than I can count and some other threats. The army was a joint effort. All that killing proved to me that there’s a point where killing doesn’t help. I could kill the men coming after me, but it would only make things worse. More would come to avenge their deaths, and more after that. Better to lose them in the wilderness.”

“But, but who in his right mind would attack you? You’re the man people call in to deal with the biggest problems there are!”

Julius continued walking. “I’m not sure how it happened this time. Yesterday I was turning in a wanted criminal named Golomak the False Knight. I’d tracked him down to a cave and found him nursing new wounds and missing a magic sword I’d been warned about. Truth be told it wasn’t much of a fight and I took him alive. I brought him to the castle of King Baldos and turned him over to the resident knights.” Sounding confused, Julius went on. “I was waiting for the bounty money when a servant said a Princess Ella wanted to see me.”

“Ella?” Brody asked nervously.

“Yes. I think she wanted to ask for help dealing with a local threat.”

Brody had heard of Princess Ella, and he figured the princess wanted Julius for an entirely different reason. The fair princess demanded her suitors prove themself in battle, and Julius had a hundred times over.

“I was going to meet her when King Baldos’ knights attacked me! They kept shouting something about me stealing her or her heart, whatever that meant. I had to fight my way out of the castle. I didn’t kill anyone, but I had to hurt two knights badly to escape.”

“Oh,” Brody said.

“I really needed that money. The Guild of Heroes is deep in debt. People don’t realize how expensive it is to save a kingdom.”

“Those are the people who called you a fool?”

Julius shook his head. “That happened years earlier. I was called in to save the city of Vashnarelk from Coslot the Conqueror. I knew it would be a hard fight and one made worse by how many people in the city were heavily in debt. Any one of them could potentially betray the city to Coslot to escape their debts.”

Brody didn’t understand why other races hungered for money. It was shiny, but so heavy! Nothing about gold of silver could justify the way people fought over it. “What did you do?”

“I took a lesson from a history book and insisted all debts be forgiven before the fighting started. The city leaders agreed and the people celebrated. The citizens of Vashnarelk fought like bears and together we drove off Coslot, a first in those terrible wars.” They walked on in silence for a few seconds before Julius said, “The assassination attempts started ten hours after our victory.”

“Coslot’s men?”

“The city leaders,” Julius corrected him. “They were the ones who had lent the money, and they weren’t going to lose it. I spent the next week fighting some of the same men I’d fought alongside until the citizens rebelled and their leaders fled. Bad times.”

Outraged, Brody yelled, “But that’s insane! I’m a goblin and even I think that’s stupid. You saved them. What good would that money do if everyone who borrowed or lent it was dead? Why couldn’t they let it go?”

There was a fallen tree across the road not far ahead of them. Julius climbed over it and said, “That should slow down the knights coming after me. I find it as baffling as you do, and I keep running into the same problems.”

Julius picked up Brody and lifted him over the tree. Setting him down, he said, “There have been times when I said a thousand words and people only hear the ten words they already agreed with. Other times I said ten words and somehow people heard a thousand that never passed my lips. I’ve had men swear loyalty and friendship, only to declare me traitor the next day. I can’t explain it.”

Brody stared up into Julius’ eyes. “Then why do you do it? Why do you keep putting yourself in danger if the people you’re helping get mad at you, hurt you, leave you broke?”

“I do it because I have to,” Julius said as he continued down the road. “If I don’t step in then men like Coslot and Golomak the False Knight will do terrible things. My victories always seem to go awry, but if I lose it would be a thousand times worse.” He laughed and said, “I must sound crazy to you.”

Brody hurried to keep up. “No, you sound like the only person I’ve met who makes sense.”

This was a terrible situation. Brody preferred to be alone and swim in quiet lakes. He rarely gave other people much thought, but this was undeniably bad and it was happening to a good person. No one should live like this.

That’s when Brody remembered a conversation he’d had with a holy man years ago. The holy man had lectured him about good deeds, which at the time seemed confusing, but now Brody understood. Julius was hurting, and without help he would go on hurting, fighting endless battles. One day he’d meet a foe he couldn’t beat or be so tired he would drop his guard for that critical second. It had to stop.

Brody decided then and there to do a good deed for Julius, and he knew exactly what he had to do.

“I can help,” Brody told Julius. “You’ve got nasty people coming after you. You don’t want to hurt them or them to hurt you. But knights have horses and you don’t, so they can catch up to you.”

“It’s possible,” Julius conceded. “I’m good at what I do, so they’ll likely they’ll never find me.”

He grabbed Julius by the hand. “Why not make it a sure thing? I know the perfect place you can hide. It’s quiet and peaceful, and you can stay there as long as you want.”

“I’ve traveled these roads before. There’s no place in twenty miles where I could take shelter for more than a day without the knights catching up to me. That’s why I have to keep moving.”

Smiling, Brody said, “You’ve walked the roads, but I’ve walked every inch of every valley, hill and hollow. I know things no one else does. I know where Sanctuary is.”

Julius looked puzzled. “What’s that?”

“It’s a place made years ago by a wizard. He took an island a hundred miles across and made it into its own little world. No one can get in or out except through a magic doorway, and only then with a key. The wizard’s long gone, but people still come looking for Sanctuary so they can hide from their enemies. You can hide there too, just for a few weeks until the knights give up. It’ll be like a vacation!”

Julius stopped walking. “You’ve been there?”

“Many times.”

Julius gave him a skeptical look. “If it’s so nice, why didn’t you stay?”

“I didn’t have a reason to,” Brody countered. “Sanctuary is where you go when your life has fallen apart. My life has been a bit buggy, but never so bad I needed to hide.”

Brody watched Julius’ face. He could see the man turning the idea over in his head. Julius was a hero and running away from it all wasn’t his style, but he was also a man so worn down that rest was as alluring as a siren’s song. He wanted it, he needed it, but he didn’t want to admit it.

“Maybe for a little while,” Julius said. “A week at most. I have responsibilities I can’t put off longer than that.”

“Sure, just a week,” Brody told him. He took Julius by the hand and led him off the road. It was getting dark, but they weren’t too far from Sanctuary. Two hours march would be enough time to get them there, and it wouldn’t take long for Brody to find the key to the doorway that he’d discovered and hidden.

And once Julius went through the doorway, Brody would lock him inside and break the key.

It was the only way to save him. Julius would spend the rest of his life in a place with no conflicts of any kind. Crazy people couldn’t drag him into their wars and then betray him. He’d be mad at Brody for a while, but in time he’d understand it was for his own good. And the crazy people with their wars, why, they could fight for themselves.

Julius stopped to light a torch so they could continue. “Who else is in Sanctuary?”

“Not as many people as you’d think,” Brody told him. “When I was there I saw a couple hundred tops. There was a nice lady there, Lady Kelsa, who was hiding from a brother who took her land and wanted to hurt her.”

“And no one helped her?” Julius demanded.

Brody could have kicked himself! Julius would run into danger to right an injustice (except the one happening to him). If he met Lady Kelsa he’d try to save her. But Brody realized that for Julius to do so he had to meet her, and that meant him going through the doorway.

“No one,” Brody said quickly, “and that’s a shame. I’m sure she’d love to meet you, and you two can talk all about it.”

“Yes, I should do that.” They walked on in silence for a while before Julius asked, “What’s she like?”

That was a hard question for Brody to answer. Most men who described Lady Kelsa started with her chest measurements. They usually smiled afterwards, which didn’t make any sense to Brody. He was pretty sure he shouldn’t follow their example. “She’s perky. You’ll like her.”

“Do they are orchards in Sanctuary?” Julius asked. Brody gave him a curious look, and the hero said, “I worked in an orchard when I was growing up. It’s something I know how to do besides fight, and I should earn my keep while I’m there.”

Brody lead Julius around a low hill covered in thick young trees. “People were growing apple, peach, pear and mango trees the last time I was there.”

“What’s a mango?”

Smiling, Brody said, “See for yourself.”

There it was, the doorway to Sanctuary. It was set into the side of a hill, like it led into an underground house. The door was made of black iron and the knocker was shaped like a hand. The doorframe was red marble with carvings of doves, olive wreaths and palm branches. Tracks led to the door, but few led away. Brody ran over to a pile of stones sunk into the ground next to the door. He flipped over the biggest rock and took out a gold key that glittered in the light of Julius’ torch.

“A week off,” Julius said. He smiled and told Brody, “It’s been a long time since I had that much time to myself. I hope I won’t inconvenience the locals by showing up. That happens sometimes.”

Brody pushed the key into the door’s lock. “Don’t worry, you’ll fit right in.”

“Julius Craton!” a voice called out in the darkness.

Julius had his sword out so fast that Brody didn’t even see him draw it. One moment it was sheathed and the next the hero was holding a razor sharp blade. Brody struggled to open the door. It must be those blasted knights! He had at best seconds to get Julius to safety before they were close enough to attack.

A man ran close enough for them to see him in the light of Julius’ torch. Sweaty, exhausted and wearing ragged clothes, the young man dropped to his knees in front of Julius. Gasping for breath, he gasped, “Sir, please, I beg you, save us!”

“Please don’t kneel,” Julius said. “It’s embarrassing.”

Still gasping, the young man said, “I’d stand if I could. Three, three days I’ve searched for you, running the whole time.”

Brody rolled his eyes and unlocked the door. Click! “This is why people own horses. I wasn’t counting on company, but there’s room for two.”

Julius sheathed his sword and put an arm around the young man’s shoulders. Helping him up, he asked, “You said save us. Who is in danger, and from what?”

“No, wait!” Brody shouted.

“The Land of the Nine Dukes is being invaded by the army of the Fallen King. The dukes are too busy fighting each other or the Overlord Joshua to resist. The dukes are falling back to their castles, leaving the towns and villages helpless. My mayor sent me to get help. Please, we’re doomed without you!”

“He can’t stop an army alone!” Brody shouted.

“No, but I can help.” Julius told the young man, “I will do everything I can to save your people, but it will take help from you and from others. Are you and your people willing to fight alongside me and the friends I can summon?”

The youth looked down. “We’re farmers and herdsmen. None of us has ever held a sword before.” He gulped and looked Julius in the eyes. “But if you lead us, we will follow.”

Panicking, Brody struggled to open the door. It was heavy and he only managed to open it a few inches, but that was enough for sparkling light to pour out. The sweet smell of apple blossoms filled the air. Brody pointed inside and said, “You’re so close, just a few more steps. You’ve earned a rest after all you’ve done. There will always be another war. You can’t fight them all.”

Julius looked at the door. For a second Brody thought he’d gotten through to him, but Julius gave the goblin a wistful smile. “I can’t fight all the wars. I can’t save everyone. But I can fight this war and save this man. It’s enough. Sanctuary will have to wait.”

With that Julius left, following the young man and headed into danger yet again. Would he survive this war? It was hard to say, but he’d lasted a long time against terrible odds.

Brody sighed and closed the door, then locked it and hid the key again. He’d lost this chance to save Julius, but there would be others. He just had to be patient. Brody gave the door one last look before leaving.

“Who would think paradise would be so hard to sell?”

Goblin Stories XV

“I just want to go on the record saying I don’t know who these people are or why they want us dead, and that kind of annoys me,” Campots said. He ducked behind a tall, leafy tree on the top of a hill with Thipins following him into cover. Arrows hit the tree and the powdery dirt on the hilltop. Campots looked at his fellow goblin and said, “I hope I don’t sound petty.”

“Not at all,” Thipins reassured his friend. “It’s been on my mind, too. Usually we get more warning before a group this big comes after us. Sometimes there’s even some kind of justification for the whole thing. But this time, poof, crazies coming out of the woodworks, no warning, no reason.”

“It’s a thing with me,” Campots continued. “Somebody tries to kill me and I want to know why.”

Thipins patted him on the shoulder. “We all have our little quirks.”

The two goblins were in trouble, but for a change they weren’t alone. Four other members of Overlord Joshua’s forces were trying to hold the high ground overlooking the Not at All Magnificent Teal River. The name said it all. The river was so shallow that the attacking humans were wading across it. Once they got to the other side they’d have to climb a steep, grassy hill defended by the two goblins and their compatriots. That would be a daunting challenge, but what these screaming humans lacked in organization, heavy weapons and basic hygiene, they more than made up for in numbers.

Campots took a coil of rope off his shoulder and tossed it over a low hanging tree branch. “There’s got to be two hundred of them. Don’t these people have jobs?”

“I’m thinking no,” Thipins replied. He caught the rope and pulled it down, then pulled it tight and tied it to a second nearby tree. The rope got caught on the short spikes growing from his shoulders, but he pulled it off without much damage. With that done he stopped to study the approaching horde of men. “I see a couple army uniforms in the crowd, but they’re thread bare. I figure those guys are army deserters. The rest of them? No idea.”

“And the weekend started so nice,” Campots said as he set a trip line. The turquois blue skinned goblin wiped sweat off his brow and frowned. “We got to play with Joshua before his nap, our side was doing good for food and money, and then these guys had to show up.”

“It’s just one of those days,” Thipins told him.

Life in Overlord Joshua’s army had been going surprisingly well. Joshua’s army had grown to include a hundred dangerous men, women and miscellaneous things devoted to the cause of world domination. They’d picked up five hundred lesser but still competent warriors. Local peasants fully supported them, not surprising given how dysfunctional The Land of the Nine Dukes was. They’d seized plenty of territory and fought off the armies of Duke Edgely, Duke Thornwood and Duke Kramer. In all honesty that was less of an accomplishment than it sounded, since Duke Kramer and Duke Thornwood had been more interested in fighting each other than Joshua’s army. Once they were done beating on each other it hadn’t been hard to drive them off.

But holding so much land against so many foes required building fortifications to guard it. They didn’t have the time, money or materials to do so, which meant they had to patrol the territory to detect and destroy incoming enemies. It was Thipins’ and Campots’ bad luck that they were part of the patrol that ran straight into an invading army, identity unknown. The two hundred men were armed with swords, shields and a few bows, with most wearing regular clothes or leather armor, too dangerous to attack. The goblins and their allies had pulled back to defendable ground and tried to stay hidden while some of their members went for help. Unfortunately the enemy had seen them and was coming fast.

Twenty feet to the goblins’ left stood Sebastian Thane, the sole wizard serving the Overlord Joshua. His silk clothes were a bit worse for wear and his blond hair whipped in the wind, which together with a scowl made the youth look a bit less boyish. Today he was proving his worth by casting a dizzying array of fire spells at the oncoming horde. Illustrating that point, he cast a spell that created fire serpents wrapped around both his arms.

“Where do you need them?” Sebastian asked.

Vasellia the swordswoman pointed to a group of men nearing their side of the river. She was the best armed and armored person on either side, with chain armor and a steel helmet, and carried a long sword wood shield. “Let that group through and we’ll deal with them. Force back the men coming in behind them so they can’t support the first bunch.”

“I never argue with a lady,” Sebastian said. The fire serpents flew through the air and struck the second closest group of advancing men. The men cursed and backed away as the serpents came down on their heads. The nearest group didn’t try to help them, instead pushing on and climbing out of the river.

Their remaining two friends were Smile and the werewolf Kretchner. Smile was not quite right in the head even by goblin standards, but the grinning man in blue never backed down from a fight no matter the odds. Kretchner was currently human since it was broad daylight (and nowhere near a full moon even if it had been night), but the dark haired man was equal to five men even with just street clothes and a sword.

“Good bunch,” Thipins said.

Campots looked behind them. “I like them, too, but I’d kind of like the rest of the people on our side to show up. When’s that going to happen?”

“Soon,” Vasellia promised. “We just have to hold them back until reinforcements come.”

The lead group of enemies began to climb the steep hill. That didn’t go well. The tall dry grass hid many obstacles both natural and artificial. One man grabbed a branch sticking out of the ground, only to find out the hard way that it was the trigger for a deadfall trap. Fifty pounds of rocks and dirt poured down on him, and he went tumbling back down into the river.

“That was a bit of good luck,” Sebastian said.

Thipins looked at the wizard and folded his arms across his chest. “Luck had nothing to do with it.”

Sebastian smiled. “Ah, some of your work then. Nicely handled.”

“You haven’t seen nothing yet.”

The lead group set off three traps in rapid succession that brought them to a grinding halt less than halfway up the hill. The few men still standing fell back to the river and took cover behind a large rock. They set off another trap there that knocked two of them into the water.

“You idiots!” Vasellia screamed. “I wanted to take them out, not drive them back. Now they’ll regroup with the next enemy squad and come after us together.”

“Yeah, that will work,” Campots said sarcastically. “Me and Thipins were doing stuff while you were busy sending runners to alert Joshua. The first fifty guys coming up that hill are going to regret it.”

“And what about the other hundred fifty?” she snapped.

Thipins shrugged. “Ideally they’ll figure out coming after us isn’t smart. “If not, we fight them off if help arrives and run if it doesn’t.”

“Oh pish tosh, Vasellia, let the boys have some fun,” Smile said. Grinning like a maniac, he pointed his spiked gauntlets at the approaching men. “It’s been a slow couple of weeks. The Nine Dukes haven’t even tried to push us back lately. It’s boring! This is just the kind of exercise we need.”

“Am I the only one taking this seriously?” Vasellia asked.

“I am,” Sebastian said.

Kretchner kept his eyes on the enemy. “Flirt with her another time, lover boy.”

“I’m not flirting!”

Thipins nudged Campots. “He is so flirting with her.”

Campots smiled and pointed at the swordswoman. “Hey, I think Vasellia is blushing under her helmet!”

“Cut it out!” Vasellia pointed her sword at the oncoming horde and said. “We are going to die if we don’t work together. No more backbiting, no more insults, no more surprises.”

Thipins rolled his eyes and sighed. “Totally unreasonable. Fine, little miss rulebook, there are twenty more traps on the hill. Most of them just knock people back to the river, but a few are kind of nasty. Blame Campots for those one. He’s in a bit of a mood lately.”

Ashamed, Campots admitted, “Nearly getting killed does that to me. I can’t help myself.”

Sebastian raised a hand and asked, “Excuse me, but I’m a bit unclear on who we’re fighting. They don’t wear the colors of any of the Nine Dukes. Are they mercenaries?”

“I was wondering that myself,” Campots said. “My theory is they started out as a barbershop quartet and things went horribly wrong.”

Thipins clucked his tongue. “Oh isn’t that always the way it happens.”

“I see a flag,” Kretchner said. He pointed to the rear of the enemy horde, where a man swung a flagpole instead of a weapon. “It’s a red crown dripping blood on a white background. Anyone see that before?”

“That’s a new one,” Smile said. “Disturbing imagery.”

The horde stopped by the river as the first group fell back to join them. The men seemed confused by the threat they faced. It was a small group opposing them, but one well armed and determined. Someone in the back of the group shouted orders and the horde pressed on in a dense cluster with their shields raised.

“Sebastian, focus on the left flank,” Vasellia ordered. “Slow them down so the right flank comes in ahead of them. Kretchner, Smile, you’re with me at the front. Stay in cover until the enemies are right on us or their archers will pick you off.”

“Yes, mother,” Smile said.

“What about us?” Thipins asked her.

“Stay out of the way.”

The enemy horde crossed the river and began up the hill. They got ten feet before they began setting off traps, and their dense formation made it worse. Men were knocked back into the unlucky fools standing behind them until enemies went down like dominos.

“Stay out of the way?” Campots asked. “Hey there, missy, you’re looking at the first name on the signup sheet for Joshua’s legion of doom.”

“He has a point,” Smile said.

“Fire in the hole!” Sebastian shouted. He cast another spell and sent more fire serpents into the oncoming horde. The men couldn’t fight well on the steep slope, and the serpents did a lot of damage before they were cut to pieces.

Thipins tugged on Campots’ sleeve. Pointing at the oncoming horde, he asked, “About how tall would you say those men are?”

“Mmm, five seven, five eight tops.” The two goblins adjusted the ropes they’d set at the top of the hill. The horde came closer, but it was looking thin with so many men knocked back. They’d lost a third of their forces already. Most of those men weren’t hurt badly and would eventually rejoin the others. Instead of waiting for them, the enemy horde pushed on regardless of the huge gaps in their lines.

Vasellia ran over to attack the first enemies to reach the top of the hill, which was close to Thipins and Campots. She’d nearly reached the foul smelling men when Thipins tripped her. She fell flat on her face and twisted around to give the goblin with a murderous stare. Twenty enemy troops reached the top. One raised a sword and shouted, “For the Fallen King!”

Then he took a step forward and hit a trip line. A heavy log swung between the two trees, missing Vasellia on the ground. It hit the man in the chest with such force that it threw him in the air, and the log went on to hit the next three men behind him. All four went flying into men coming up behind them, creating a chain reaction that sent thirty enemies rolling down the hill.

“You could have just told me,” Vasellia told Thipins as she got up.

“I could have,” Thipins agreed.

The few men who reached the top of the hill ran into Kretchner, Smile, and Vasellia. Kretchner howled and waded into them, striking with a ferocity that shocked his enemies. Smile broke out laughing as he fought, and the crazed look in his eyes made more than a few men fall back without even trying to attack. Vasellia held off three men at a time and kicked one in the stomach hard enough that he doubled over and rolled off the hill.

The horde fell back to the bottom of the hill in disorder. Many of them lost their footing and rolled down, but few were hurt badly enough to keep them down. Officers shouted commands and kicked men too slow to get up off the ground. It took a few minutes, but the horde prepared to advance again.

“Stubborn bunch,” Kretchner said.

Thipins watched in amazement as they came up again. “Geez, these guys just don’t learn. What do we have to do knock some sense into them?”

“For the Fallen King!” an enemy officer shouted. “No retreat! No surrender! No mercy!”

“I’m pretty sure someone already has a copyright on that slogan,” Campots said. He drew a knife and cut the ropes suspending the log between the two trees. Once it was down, he and Thipins rolled it down the hill. That was enough to send the horde fleeing, but once the log rolled passed them they went back up.

“Fallen King?” Smile asked. “I think I’ve heard of that idiot. I thought he and his army of losers were a hundred miles west of here.”

Vasellia cursed under her breath. “I met the man before joining up with Joshua’s army. He’s a playboy with a vicious streak, the kind of man who laughs when people get hurt and bets on dogfights. His army’s been growing fast if his reach has extended this far.”

“We don’t have long before they’re here,” Kretchner said. “Run or fight. Make a decision now or it’s fight by default.”

Thipins watched the enemy horde trample the dry grass. They’d flattened it pretty well the first time they’d come up, forming a dense mat of…dead, dry grass.

“Sebastian, set fire to the hill!” Thipins shouted. Sebastian looked back at him, not understanding the request. Thipins pointed at the short grass they stood on and the taller grass down the hill. “Set the grass on fire. If you burn it all at once you’ll get them for sure.”

Sebastian looked between the hill and Thipins. He shrugged and said, “What have I got to lose?”

With that he spoke arcane words and clapped his hand together. He spread his hands again and a cloud of burning butterflies poured out from between his palms. There were hundreds of them, each one eight inches across. The fiery butterflies spread out, flapping their wings and flitting about high in the sky.

“They’re beautiful,” Vasellia said reverently.

“Totally flirting,” Campots said.

“I hear wedding bells,” Thipins added.

The enemy horde stopped when they saw the cloud of fiery butterflies approach. The butterflies spread out even further before they came plummeting down. Each one exploded in a shower of sparks when it crashed. The sparks didn’t hurt anyone, but it was enough ignited to the dry grass.

The entire hillside went up in flames as men screamed in terror and ran down the hill. Most of them lost their footing and rolled into the river, often times knocking over their more surefooted companions. The flames went out in a few minutes when the grass burned away, but the damage was done. The men of the Fallen King had been driven off so many times and many of them were so battered and bruised that they weren’t going to try again. An officer shouted at them to stop retreating, but they ignored him and fell back beyond the river.

“We did it!” Thipins shouted. He and his friends jumped for joy. Smile broke out laughing and slapped his sides. Kretchner sheathed his sword and smirked, as much of a celebration as he would allow himself. Sebastian hugged Vasellia, which the others let go without comment just this once.

“Win one of the good guys!” Campots cheered. He stopped and tugged on Thipins’ arm. “We are good guys, right?”

“Better than most,” Thipins told him. He watched the enemy horde retreat farther and farther, near to the horizon where he saw it.

“We lost,” he said.

“What?” Vasellia asked. The others stared at Thipins in confusion until he pointed at the horizon. The horde was not retreating in disorder, but was falling back to a much larger force barely visible on the horizon. This new force darkened the land with their overwhelming numbers, and it was heading straight for them.

“I thought that was a raiding party,” Vasellia said. “It wasn’t. That was the forward guard to their army. God save us, there has to be ten thousand of them.”

“Ah crud,” Campots said. “We can’t stop that many even if everyone on our side showed up.”

Vasellia sheathed her sword. “We’re pulling back. Leave anything that would slow you down. Sebastian, torch the place. Make sure they get nothing but ashes from this victory.”

Sebastian looked nervous. “I hate to disappoint you, but that last spell was everything I had. I’ll need days to recover from using so much magic.”

Vasellia growled something under her breath and led the others away. They headed into a light forest toward their own forces. It would take hours to reach the nearest friendly camp of Joshua’s men and days more to gather their forces. What they would do after that was open to debate.

“There’s something I don’t understand,” Campots said to Thipins as they fled. “How come their secret organization got together thousands of guys and ours only got hundreds?”

Thipins looked over at his fellow goblin and said, “Because we have standards.”

A second later Thipins ran straight into a tree and knocked himself out cold. Running in a forest without looking where you’re going will do that to you. Campots and the rest of their team stopped around Thipins.

Vasellia looked at the little goblin and pointed at Smile. “I’m not carrying him.”

Goblin Stories XIV

Teddy Breaker woke up and rubbed his eyes, not sure why he’d woken up so early. It was still dark and his parents were fast asleep, as were his two little sisters (Pest 1 and Pest 2). He tried to go back to sleep, but then he heard voices outside. That must have been what woke him. He got up and went to investigate, a brave move for an eight year old, but Teddy didn’t know the meaning of fear, mistake, asparagus and many other words.

He wrapped himself in his small blanket and left the rickety wood house where his family lived. The rest of the village was equally rickety due to a lack of good lumber. Few trees grew in this rugged land, so few that many people burned manure or peat to stay warm at night. The Land of the Nine Dukes was poor, and Duke Bentley’s holdings were the poorest of the nine. People here made due with what they could.

“Two knights went after me and I got them both hopelessly bogged down in a swamp,” a voice said. Teddy came closer. He didn’t recognize the voice, and there were other sounds, like something wet splattering on the ground.

“And there was that mercenary, the one with the crossbow,” a voice said outside. “He thought he was so tough! Ha! I tricked the darned fool into crouching down on top of an anthill. He should have been a dancer with the way he jumped around that day.”

At first Teddy thought there were two people outside, but they sounded too much alike. It took him a moment to realize there was just one person and he was talking to himself. That didn’t strike Teddy as odd. People here raised sheep for a living, a boring and lonely job out on the grassy hills. Quite a few of them talked to themselves, many calling it thinking out loud.

Teddy opened the door and stepped outside to greet the visitor. Basic manners demanded you invited in strangers, especially at night, and as poor as Teddy’s family was they weren’t so desperate to leave a man out in the cold. The full moon offered plenty of light when he looked around and spotted the guest pasting a poster onto the side of their house. It was a goblin.

This wasn’t odd, either. Goblins were common in these parts and were frequently driven off. Men would throw rocks at them to make them leave, but they never actually chased one. It was a well known fact that goblins wanted people to chase them to lure them into traps. Sensible villagers knew this, but every so often a visiting merchant or soldier would make the mistake of going after one and end up covered in sheep dung.

Goblins were an unusual bunch, and this one was very unusual. He had green skin and black hair, and his eyes were bright blue. His clothes were covered in bugling pockets and he wore a backpack loaded with all kinds of strange things. The goblin also had a bucket of paste, a brush and a stack of posters.

“Hello,” Teddy said. “Would you like to come in?”

The goblin stopped what he was doing and stared at Teddy. Putting one hand on his hip and pointing his brush at Teddy, the goblin declared, “You don’t invite the most feared person in the Land of the Nine Dukes inside! You run from him.”

Teddy looked around for this feared person. The village streets were empty except for the two of them. Confused, he asked, “Who is this scary person?”

“Why me, of course. I’m Ibwibble the Terrifying, the most feared goblin in a hundred miles. Knights and soldiers have faced me and lost. If you wrote my accomplishments down you’d need a book to hold them all, and a second volume for the things I’m going to do.”

Teddy rubbed his eyes and looked at the goblin again. “I don’t think you’re scary.”

The goblin staggered back. “Not scary? Me? I’ll have you know that I have a history going back twenty years of mischief and mayhem. You’d be wise to run away this very second. Lots of other people didn’t and they lived to regret it.”

“You don’t look very scary,” Teddy told Ibwibble. “Are you sure you’re not mistaking yourself for someone else?”

“Quite sure.”

Teddy looked at the poster Ibwibble had pasted to his family’s house. Teddy could read a bit, but his father had warned him not to let people know. Duke Bentley didn’t like peasants reading and punished them when they did. But Teddy didn’t think the goblin would tell on him or that the duke would listen if he did.

Pointing at the poster, Teddy asked, “Why did you put this up?”

“This is a wanted poster,” Ibwibble said proudly. “You put the picture of a wanted criminal on it and write down what they’ve done. If you’re offering a reward for catching them you write that down too. I made this batch all on my own.”

“But it’s your name and your picture.”

“Exactly! I’ve done things no goblin has even considered and been chased halfway across the continent for them. But these days nobody chases me. They don’t even know who I am. I will not be ignored! So I’m putting up wanted posters to get the attention I deserve.”

That didn’t make much sense to Teddy. He tried hard not to draw attention to himself, and his parents did the same. The Land of the Nine Dukes wasn’t a nice place to live, and it only got worse when soldiers, knights and sheriffs noticed you. A person could get arrested, beaten, imprisoned or fined if that happened. Fines were worse than the rest, and there were families that needed years or even generations to pay them off.

Not sure what to say, Teddy changed the subject. “Do you have any candy?”

Ibwibble looked surprised. “You don’t take candy from strangers.”

“You’re not a stranger. You’re Ibwibble the Terrifying.”

Igwibble frowned and scratched his head. This was a form of tortured logic that only children and goblins understood, and he had no defense against it. He eventually shrugged and said, “You got me there. Let me see what I’ve got.”

The goblin put the brush in the bucket of paste and set down his wanted posters, then went digging through his many pockets. He took out piles of stuff, including a file, fishing lure, ball of twine and a set of keys. Ibwibble eventually turned up a piece of taffy wrapped in wax paper and handed it over.

Teddy ate the candy and handed back the wax paper. Ibwibble asked, “You’re sure you haven’t heard of me? I’m very famous and terrifying.”

“No,” Teddy admitted. “People here don’t like goblins much, but they’re not scared of them. They’re scared of the tax collector.”

That got Ibwibble’s attention. “What’s that?”

“I don’t know. They say the tax collector will come tomorrow and take away most of our wool and food. Dad and the neighbors are going to try to hide our sheep in the hills before the tax man comes so we don’t lose them, too.”

“A fierce beast, this tax collector,” Ibwibble said. “It must be a huge monster with big nasty teeth to eat so many sheep. No sheep means no milk, and no milk means no cheese.” Ibwibble shuddered. “No cheese.”

“Dad said if the tax collector didn’t used to be so bad, but with the wars going on it’s getting worse.”

“It’s no wonder people aren’t chasing me anymore with a scary monster like that around,” Ibwibble declared. “That just figures. I spend twenty years building a reputation for mayhem, and what happens but some slimy monster with tentacles and bat wings shows up. How am I suppose to compete with a giant, fire breathing monsters with twenty eyes that eats everyone’s sheep? It’s unfair, totally unfair.”

“Do you have any more candy?” Teddy asked.

Ibwibble leaned against the house. “No, I’m out. This wouldn’t happen in Charlock. They wouldn’t stand for some horrible, drooling monster wandering around terrorizing villages. Forsothia wouldn’t put up with it. Even Mad King Ludwig wouldn’t put up with this. Ket Kingdom might, what with their king being dumb as a bag of hammers. What am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” Teddy said. His father was scared of the tax collector. The village was poor, but when wars were going on the tax collector didn’t care. His parents thought they could lose half their flock if they didn’t get them to safety in time.

Ibwibble kicked his stack of wanted posters and sent them flying. “Well I am not putting up with this. There’s only room for one source of mayhem around here, and that’s me. If this tax collector thinks he can just march in here and start eating people and burning down houses, he’s got another thing coming!”

With that Ibwibble grabbed his brush and bucket of paste and marched out of the village. He raised his brush like a sword and shouted, “This tax collector won’t know what hit him! And when I’m done with him I’m going to make sure people remember me, with business cards and a marketing plan! You haven’t heard the last of Ibwibble the Terrifying!”

The goblin was nearly gone when Teddy’s dad came outside. “What was that shouting about?”

“Don’t know,” Teddy said, and went back to bed.


The tax collector didn’t come the following day, or the day after that. This gave the men plenty of time to hide their livestock up in the hills. Four more days went by without the tax collector appearing. A few hopeful villagers wondered if maybe they’d been forgotten about.

But the tax collector did come, ten days late and accompanied by fifteen soldiers armed to the teeth. For a while it looked like the soldiers were here to seize all their property, but to their surprise the soldiers had no interest in that. Instead they guarded the tax collector and posted their own wanted posters for Ibwibble.

The tax collector wasn’t nearly as scary as Teddy thought he would be. The man was young but he limped and walked with a cane. He had a black eye and cotton wrapped around both his shins. His clothes looked like someone had tried to clean dung off them and not done a very good job. He and his men also came on foot, which was very surprising for an important man.

Addressing the gathered villagers, the tax collector said, “Before we begin, I am formally posting a bounty on the goblin Ibwibble, the so called Terrifying. His crimes include assaulting a duly appointed agent of Duke Bentley, assaulting soldiers working for Duke Bentley, stampeding horses owned by Duke Bentley, burning my private carriage and other lesser but still odious crimes. The man who brings in Ibwibble, dead or alive, will receive a reward of one hundred silver coins.”

Villagers went to the tax collector and began making this season’s payments. Teddy walked over and studied the official wanted poster, posted not far from the ones Ibwibble had put up himself.

“A hundred silver coins,” Teddy said. “He’ll be mad it’s not gold.”

Goblin Stories XIII

Cackler rolled under a volley of blunt spears, wondering for the hundredth time why he’d volunteered for this. The snares had been easy to avoid, and he’d gotten around the mangy dogs and swinging logs easy enough, but mechanical traps firing wood spears was taking things too far. He’d survived twenty years on the streets of Nolod, breaking into warehouses, mansions and a cheese factory without half this much trouble.

The way ahead seemed clear, reason enough to be worried. Cackler had to watch his step ever since he’d set foot in this twisted, trap infested maze of streets, and there were traps here more bizarre than any he’d seen. The tall wood houses might be built in the style of elven nobility, but these traps were the stuff of nightmare. It didn’t help that night was falling, making it that much harder to spot danger before running into it.

He scurried down the street in a zigzag pattern. He was oddly dressed for a goblin, with a blue trench coat, hat and scarf nearly covering his purple skin. His gloves, pants and boots were in good repair and he was armed with a whip and unlit torch. His backpack had more emergency gear, including rope, iron spikes, caltrops and pieces of chalk. There had been more, but he’d used it up getting this far.

There was a click, and Cackler ran before fifty pounds of dirt fell off a rooftop and landed when he’d been. He hadn’t even seen a trigger for that trap. Not good.

“Get to the end and you get the cheese, he said,” Cackler muttered and he went down the street. He stayed well clear of the lit torches and lanterns that would betray his presence. “Go first and get it over with, he said.”

The elegant road had mock shops and houses built in the style of elves, but a good eye could tell no elf called this street home. There were patches of bare wood not covered by paint, and places where the boards didn’t fit together well enough. Elves wouldn’t tolerate that. The last road he’d gone down had been built in the dwarf tradition of concrete cubes, and the next road looked human made with fences and walls around the buildings.

“Release the hounds!” a voice called out behind him. Cackler heard the mangy dogs he’d avoided barking as they ran after him, and they weren’t alone. He heard goblins babbling and hooting along with the dogs. One goblin actually shouted, “Bark! Bark!”

“Great, I’m on a time limit,” Cackler said. He hurried along, watching for enemies or traps. There was a pit trap in the middle of the road, one so obvious it was clearly meant to draw attention away from the cunningly hidden dart thrower next to it. Cackler avoided them both and next trap that was baited with cheese (which was a brutally unfair thing to expect a goblin to do).

“I bet a small green frog he doesn’t make it to the corner,” a voice said in the distance.

“No takers on that,” another voice replied.

Coming to the end of the street, Cackler froze when he saw a dozen men huddled together in an alley. He nearly ran before he saw that none of them were moving. They were wood decoys dressed in clothes, meant to scare him off. He sighed in relief and continued on. Cackler got another five feet before goblins hidden among the decoys ran out and tackled him. He tried to fight them off, but they dragged him to the ground.

A bell sounded in the distance, and the goblins let him up. They dusted him off and one shook his hand. More goblins came out until there was a crowd of fifty eager goblins and ten more who looked self assured, a rare trait among goblins. Then one final goblin came out, the master of this trap filled town…Little Old Dude.

“Well done,” Little Old Dude said. He was an odd goblin with gray skin and white hair. He was balding in the front and compensated by having a short beard and long mustache. His eyebrows stuck out on both sides and reached down to his shoulders. Little Old Dude wore brown pants with sandals, and he had a wicker basket over one shoulder and a walking stick in his other hand.

“I got caught,” Cackler said.

Little Old Dude laughed. “I’ve taught young goblins like yourself for fifteen years, and not one made it to the end on the first try. This trap was bad because it’s rare. Usually decoys are that and nothing more, but outnumbered enemies can build decoys so their forces look stronger and more numerous. Remember, just because you see one decoy doesn’t mean they’re all decoys. You made it farther than most, and that gives me hope you can be one of the greats.”

Cackler’s jaw dropped. Praise was rare among goblins, and respect even more rare. But Little Old Dude was exceptional among goblins, and his words carried great weight. His deeds were legendary. Among goblins he had earned the title The Great Annoyer. Other races called him That (insert obscenity here) Goblin, proof of how mighty he was.

No other goblin had achieved what he had. In his many years he had humiliated kings, broken into treasure vaults to fill them with counterfeit currency, and he’d even turned back an army. Little Old Dude had held off Coslot the Conqueror and his rampaging horde for three days by convincing them the town they planned on attacking was suffering from plague. Coslot and his men were brave, in addition to being cruel, greedy and kind of smelly, but no one sets foot into a town suffering from the withering death. By the time Coslot realized that he’d been fooled, the townspeople had fled with their possessions.

The rest of the hopeful goblins gathered around Cackler and Little Old Dude. The gray skinned goblin cleared his throat and said, “Every time I start a new class I have my students run this course, a sample of the traps that I’ve come across in my many years. Some are ones I’ve faces and others ones I’ve used. You needed to experience it so you would know firsthand how dangerous the world can be.”

Little Old Dude tapped a wall with his walking stick, triggering a trap that made the wall swing open and release a hundred pound pile of horse manure onto the street. Cackler’s mouth dropped, for he’d walked right by that trap without seeing it.

“When I retired to the countryside, I thought I would enjoy the quiet life and avoid a few king’s I’d annoyed,” Little Old Dude explained to his students. He stroked his mustache and said, “Kings are a vindictive lot with no sense of humor. But to my amazement goblins came to me. They wanted to learn my ways. I taught them and most went on their way, except for a few hangers on who don’t know when their welcome has ended.”

“We do a lot of work here,” one of Little Old Dude’s helpers said. There was a permanent staff of ten goblins who’d graduated his class, plus fifty builder goblins and ten diggers. “This place didn’t build itself, you know.”

Little Old Dude leaned in close to one of his new students. “They make a big deal out of it, but this town was abandoned when we first came here. It hadn’t rain for a year and the humans left for greener pastures. The rains came back but the humans didn’t. Most of what we needed was already here. It just needed a few finishing touches.

“Anyway, my first batch of students were already among the best goblins of their time. Cunning, patient, resourceful, their deeds were worthy of respect. But they wanted to be better because they knew the same truth I did.” Stepping away, Little Old Dude solemnly said, “Being good isn’t good enough. Graveyards are filled with people who were good. To succeed, to survive, you must be the best.”

One of the new students raised his hand and said, “But there can only be one person who’s the best. It’s kind of the definition of the word.”

“You need to be the best in your specific geographical region,” Little Old Dude replied. Before the student could question him further, he said, “My previous students have gone on to lives on infamy and chaos that brings pride to goblins everywhere. No doubt you’ve heard of Heckler Harrison and his unbroken record of irritating kings during inaugural balls, and Mr. Niff who gives such excellent service to William Bradshaw, the current King of the Goblins.”

Taking a brochure from his basket and unfolding it, Little Old Dude said, “My record speaks for itself, and for just five easy payments I can teach you the lessons that made my life of mayhem possible. You’ll learn how to build all new kinds of traps using the most basic materials. You’ll learn how to deal with magic wards, cursed items and monsters. You’ll learn the best ways to annoy, aggravate and irritate while staying far enough away to avoid the fallout.”

Leaning in close to Cackler, Little Old Dude said, “You’ve all hidden from enemies before and snuck into heavily guarded buildings and settlements. But I can teach you how to be even sneakier by learning the art of not being seen. I’m a master at it. Why I’ve gone months without being seen.”

“That’s because you were in the bathroom,” one of the helpers said.

“Once, yes, but other times I did it on purpose,” Little Old Dude clarified.

“Exactly how much is this going to cost?” a new student asked.

Little Old Dude smiled. “A lot. Students are expected to help maintain my training ground and bring in tools and building materials. I also want cheese, a pound per student minimum. And none of that hogwash about your dog eating it!”

“We’re getting some of that cheese, right?” one of the helpers asked. “Because we didn’t last time.”

“No gratitude whatsoever,” Little Old Dude muttered. He led his followers and the new students out of the street to a wood tower in the center of the training ground. He brought them to the top floor where they could see for miles. The training ground wasn’t large, covering only twenty acres, but the web of streets, alleys and buildings looked like they had been scooped up from cities across Other Place.

“I based my class off years of travel,” Little Old Dude announced. “Studying under me, you will learn how different races build and protect their settlements. You will learn how they react to threats and how to use that to your advantage. You will also join me on frequent fieldtrips to neighboring human, dwarf and elf lands for firsthand experience with their security measures.”

Little Old Dude squinted at lights in the distance. Someone was coming, and judging by the number of torches there were a lot of them. He gestured to one of his followers and said, “Look into that. If it’s another group of pilgrims, send them away.”

As the follower left, a new student asked, “Why leave them alone if they’re pilgrims?”

“That’s something else you’ll learn,” Little Old Dude said. “Setting a trap and catching some random person is a sure way to get caught or at least chased off. If you catch good people with your traps you’ll get everyone coming after you. You need to find the right victim for your pranks, people no one likes and for good reason. Thieves, assassins, mercenaries, lawyers, no one is going to stop you going after them. You might even be applauded and rewarded.”

“Mayhem sanctioned by society?” a new student asked. The goblin sounded awed. “What a concept!”

“Does any of this cost extra?” Cackler asked.

“I’m glad you asked, because I’ve got an exciting assortment of tools and weapons you can buy for very reasonable prices. These come from talented local craftsmen I saved from the tax collector last year. They owe me big, and in return they make trick items like telescoping poles, shoes with hollow heels, and my personal favorite, trick canes.”

Little Old Dude twisted his wood cane to extend a short blade from the end. Another twist brought out a hook at the top. A third twist near the middle separated the cane into two parts connected by a length of chain. The new students oohed at the site of the cane. One tried to grab it, but Little Old Dude slapped his hand away.

“Hundreds of goblins have come to me,” Little Old Dude told them as he returned his cane to normal. “Most ran off when they saw how much work was involved, but the few who finished their training came out the most dangerous goblins in the world. You chose to come, and you will have to choose whether to stay. My question to you is do you have what it takes?”

“And can they pay,” one of his helpers added.

“That too,” Little Old Dude said.

The follower Little Old Dude had sent away came running back and fell down. “Those lights aren’t from pilgrims! There’s got to be fifty men with swords and axes coming this way.”

The new students gasped in horror. The old adage was that one man was worth ten goblins, meaning there weren’t nearly enough of them to fight off these humans. Some goblins backed away and looked for places to hide or run. Little Old Dude struck his cane against a wall to get their attention, which accidentally triggered the blade to pop out.

“Come,” he said with great authority. He had to keep the goblins calm and focused on him or they’d panic. If they ran off he’d never get paid. “Let’s see what this is about.”

Little Old Dude marched off with his followers. The students looked worried, but they went along. The group stopped at the edge of the training ground not far from the oncoming humans.

The men were an ugly lot. Their expressions were cruel and all bore scares. Their clothes were dirty and their weapons nicked and scratched. But their expressions were what scared the goblins the most, for they had sneering, hate filled faces, and their voices were cruel.

“What’s this pigsty called?” one human asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” said another. “The Fallen King says we hit all the towns here and bring back their food and livestock. Whatever they call themselves, they’ll be poor or dead when we’re done.”

The first human stopped and pointed at a crossroads where a dwarf style street met an elf street. “What’s going on here?”

“This looks like wizard’s work,” one man said. A few men backed away and looked worried.

The group’s leader didn’t turn around, simply announcing, “Any of you that runs or holds back is a dead man. The Fallen King doesn’t put up with cowards. You joined his army, you ate his food, you take his orders or you die. You think I’m bluffing? I’ll willing to kill half this company if that’s what it takes to make soldiers of the other half.”

Pointing his sword at the strange collection of buildings, the leader said, “It doesn’t matter who lives in this crazy town. This is simple. We break down a few doors, burn down a few houses and the survivors fall in line.”

Goblins gasped in horror. Even Little Old Dude’s helpers, goblins who’d passed his tests and learned his secrets, were scared of these men. Little Old Dude wasn’t.

“Coslot the Conqueror spoke words little different from those,” Little Old Dude said. “So many towns burned, the people captured or put to flight. So much lost.”

Little Old Dude turned to face his followers and new students. The goblins gasped again, but this time at the look on their master’s face. There was a terrible wrath in his eyes, the look of a living legend roused to battle. He was The Great Annoyer, the goblin who’d stopped an army for three days, and he was not putting up with this.

“Reset the traps,” Little Old Dude ordered his followers. As they ran to obey his command, he looked to his new students and said, “Let me show you how it’s done.”

Five minutes later the followers of the Fallen King entered the mishmash town of elf, dwarf and human architecture. Five minutes after that the screaming started.

Goblin Stories XII

Monday mornings were never good for Alan Thedwich, coffee supplier to the masses, and having a goblin run in the bar’s front door was proof this one was going to be a nightmare.

“Hey, outside!” he shouted from behind the bar. He was barely breaking even as it was, and having a goblin in his business could only make things worse. The last goblin that got in tied the customers’ feet to their stools and shoved live frogs down their trousers. Alan had to get rid of him before he drove off the customers.

The goblin didn’t leave. Instead it ran to the bar, going straight for Alan. “Is there a back way out of here?”

“You can go out the way you came in,” Alan told the goblin. The customers looked up from their coffee to see what was going on. The coffee bar was poorly lit (candles were expensive) and had a low ceiling (good property was really expensive), with wide tables and short stools. Steaming pots of coffee were on each table with tin mugs. These men were desperate for an eye opener before work started, but no one wanted coffee badly enough to take whatever abuse this goblin had dreamed up.

“I can pay!” the goblin pleaded. He wasn’t much to look at, with bandages wrapped around his feet instead of shoes and ragged clothing that had probably belonged to a toddler at some point. The goblin’s mass of brown hair reached down to cover his brow and eyes, with a single braid reaching to the floor. His skin was tanned like he’d been outside a long time.

“Hey, Alan, I don’t ask for much, but keep the vermin out,” a customer said.

“I’m working on it.” Alan made a grab for the goblin, but he backed away and reached into his pockets. The goblin came up with a silver coin tarnished so badly it was black. That was good money, as much as a customer would pay for a week’s coffee, but Alan wasn’t fool enough to take a goblin’s money. “I don’t take stolen coins. Beat it.”

“Please, I’m begging,” the goblin implored. “There’s a maniac after me. I got away from him for a bit, but he’s sure to find me. Just show me the back door and you’ll never see me again.”

Alan gestured for his sole employee, a street brat named Charlie, to come over. “Charlie, do something about this.”

Charlie went between the tables but stopped well short of the goblin. “Boss, he’s got a sword on his back.”

Nearby customers backed away when they saw the sword strapped to the goblin’s back. It was a short sword, maybe eighteen inches long, but that was all they could tell about it with the handle and scabbard both wrapped in leather. Goblins didn’t typically carry such large weapons, preferring daggers and short clubs that were both smaller and cheaper. Short swords cost at least twenty guilders, so the goblin must have stolen it.

“Finally,” a smug voice said.

The terrified look on the goblin’s face showed that he hadn’t been lying. The stranger at the door had to be who he was fleeing. It wasn’t cowardice, either. Alan would have run from the elf in a heartbeat. Dark blue cloak, black trousers and shirt, twin long swords sheathed on his belt and a look like he’d kill a man for breathing too loud, he was a real piece of work. Alan had seen some terrible men since opening his coffee bar in Cronsword, a city known for its filth and violence as much as for its riches, but this elf made the others pale in comparison.

This couldn’t end well. At the very least this would scare off Alan’s customers. If it got really bad they might never come back. He was barely paying off his suppliers and the gang boss who ran this street. Any delay in business would cost him dearly.

Desperate to keep the situation under control, Alan came out from behind the bar and told Charlie, “Get help.” As the boy ran off, he told the elf, “Whatever this is about, it doesn’t concern us. You and the goblin can take it outside. If he’s wronged you, take it up with Boss Crassok.”

“Your pathetic gang bosses don’t interest me in the slightest,” the elf said as he walked in. He rested his hands on the handles of his swords and eyed the goblin. “Habbly, you have someone who belongs to me.”

“Wait, what?” Alan asked. “I won’t have slaving in here!”

“It’s not like that,” Habbly the goblin told Alan. He pulled the sword off his back but kept it sheathed and wrapped in leather. Addressing the elf, he said, “I can’t give him to you. It doesn’t work like that.”

“What the devil is going on here?” Alan demanded. “Why are you talking about a sword like it’s a person? Why are you yahoos even in here?”

Habbly pointed at the elf and explained, “Yesterday he said he can smell me, so I thought a strong smell like coffee would be too much for him to sniff me out.”

The elf wrinkled his nose. “A valid strategy except I saw you enter this pigsty.”

“Pigsty!” Alan yelled as customers fled to the outer edges of the coffee bar. “I run a clean place, and mister, you’re not welcome in it. I sent for help the moment you came in and it will be here soon. So you can both get out and settle this on the street or Boss Crassok’s boys can drag you out by your heels.”

“A week ago I would have been satisfied if you’d relinquished the sword, Habbly, but that was before you ran,” the elf said. “I’ve followed you across two kingdoms and suffered countless indignities. That demands blood.”

“He’s ignoring me, isn’t he?” Alan asked Habbly.

“He’s not big on social skills,” Habbly explained. Looking ashamed, he unwrapped the sword and drew it.

The crowd of customers gasped. Alan didn’t blame them. The sword might qualify as jewelry with all those gems on it. The black handle was set with pearls and the base of the blade had rubies in it. There was a dragon carved on the shimmering blade, a shimmering that turned into a light as bright as a lantern.

The elf ran in and snatched the sword from Habbly, with the goblin offering no resistance. Falling back with his prize, the elf kneeled and held the sword flat in both hands. He spoke in elven, and while Alan didn’t understand the words they sounded reverent.

“Master blade, work of an emperor’s hands, I beseech you oh Sworn Doom, speak,” Habbly translated.

Alan couldn’t hide his disbelief and asked, “You know elven?”

“Only through the sword,” Habbly said. The light from the sword grew brighter still, and to Alan’s amazement the sword spoke.

“Zzz, hmm, huh, is it morning already?” the sword asked. The elf spoke more to it, but the sword interrupted him, saying, “Don’t say words others can’t understand. Speak in human, boy.”

The elf looked up, a shocked expression on his face, but he recovered quickly. “Sworn Doom, treasure of the Elf Empire, long have I sought you. You return now to worthy hands of the race that forged you from a fallen star, and with your aid we can—”

“We?” the sword demanded. “We aren’t doing anything, chucko. I already have an owner, one you’ve been pestering!”

“This cretin?” the elf sputtered.

“Watch it! Habbly is my owner, and you’d better remember that. He saved me from that psycho warlord on Battle Island when he stole me from the fat slob’s treasury. I owe him big for that, and I won’t have a punk like you bad mouthing him. Keep a respectful tongue in your mouth or someone’s going to take it out.”

“Okay, this is weird,” Alan said.

“Great one, he is unworthy of you,” the elf protested. “I am a respected member of an influential household. I graduated from the finest fighting schools under the greatest warriors of our day. I have fought and won ten tournaments. Many enemies bear my scars. I am worthy to hold you, not a goblin! He has no honor.”

“Tournaments? Is that all you’ve got to be proud of? Listen up, bucko, Habbly grew up on Battle Island. Gladiators there have careers and lifespans measured in weeks. He lived there seven years without any of your fancy training.”

“I did that by hiding,” Habbly said.

“Whatever works,” the sword said. “He freed me from the bloodthirsty idiot running that place and we’re touring the world. He’s proven himself even more since then. Golomak the False Knight attacked him. The fool lost a magic sword and wanted me to replace it. Habbly gave the jerk a couple new scars to remind him for the rest of his life of what an idiot he is. There have been plenty more idiots and jerks he’s beaten. Now you show up out of the blue and say you ought to hold me? What for? You didn’t do anything for me.”

“I am an elf!” the elf shouted. “You were made to protect the Elf Empire.”

“You want to know how that worked out? My owners and I spent decades dealing with one problem after another, every one caused by elves! I saw decadence, waste and corruption the likes of which you wouldn’t believe. I saw the empire rip itself to pieces over who got to be on the throne, and not one claimant worthy of the job. So if you’re going to try shaming me into working with you, it’s not going to work.”

The elf looked stunned as Sworn Doom went on. “You say Habbly has no honor? You’re attacking him, not because he hurt you or another. You’re doing it because he has something you want, and you’re willing to kill for it. You didn’t even try to convince him to hand me over or offer to buy me, as vulgar as that would have been. You act like a thief. If you have any honor, you hide it well.”

Rolling his eyes, Habbly asked, “Why do you keep saying these things?”

“Because they’re true!”

The elf snarled at Habbly. “What have you done to him?”

Habbly looked miserable. “He was like this the first time we met. If you walked out of here with him, he’d fly back to me before you got twenty steps. He says he likes me and he wants to stay with me. I can’t give him away or sell him or even throw him away. He won’t work for someone he doesn’t like, so even if you kill me you’ll never use him.”

A customer asked Alan, “Should we be rooting for the elf or the goblin?”

“You got me,” Alan said. “People, please, I’m just trying to run an honest business in a city of thieves. Whatever’s going on here is way over my pay grade. You two, or three, I guess, are just going to have to work out your differences, preferably somewhere else.”

“There’s nothing to work out. Hand me back to Habbly.”

“No,” the elf said softly. He gripped the short sword with both hands. “I am worthy!”

Sworn Doom wrenched itself left then right, up then down as the elf struggled to hold on. The sword finally pulled free, cutting a deep gash in the low ceiling in the process, then flew to Habby. Resting in the goblin’s hands, the sword told the elf, “If I ever find a person more worthy of what I have to offer, I will politely ask Habbly to relinquish me. If he says no I will accept his decision. Now walk away while you still can.”

The elf drew both his long swords and screamed in outrage. His swords were three feet long, giving him a much longer reach than Habbly. He swung the blades in an elegant and deadly display that looked like a storm of flashing steel.

Habbly watched the elf coming for just a second before he ran between two empty tables. The elf’s elegant display ended, for the space was so narrow that his swinging swords would have hit a table. He screamed in elven before coming at Habbly with both swords low and straight like spears. The blades were still far enough apart that Habbly couldn’t block them both. Whichever one he stopped, the other one would hit him.

That was when Habbly jumped up onto the nearest table. He stabbed his short sword into the table and left it there before grabbing a pot of coffee. Running down the table, he swung the pot wide and sent piping hot coffee spraying into the elf’s face.

If the elf had a shield he could have blocked the coffee. If there was more room or a higher ceiling he could have dodged. But he had neither shield nor room, and his twin swords were no defense at all as the hot coffee splashed into his face.

The elf screamed and dropped both his swords. He backed away and doubled over, covering his face with both hands. Habbly jumped down off the table and grabbed a stool. He swung it like a club at the elf’s knees, striking hard enough that the elf fell to the floor. More blows followed as Habbly hit the elf in the legs again and again. And just like that the fight was over. Habbly put the stool down and walked away. He wiped sweat off his brow and went to retrieve his sword.

Sworn Doom couldn’t be happier. “Did you see that? He didn’t even need me! How did you like that, you inbred twit?”

Alan pointed at the elf and asked Habbly, “You’re not going to kill him?”

Habbly put his sword back in his sheath. He sounded so very sad when he said, “I grew up on Battle Island. I’ve seen enough blood.”

With that Habbly left the coffee bar. His departure drew no attention, but Alan heard men running in from another direction. Boss Crassok’s men were coming through the crowded streets, too late to be useful, but that was pretty much what Alan expected of them. They’d be here in half a minute tops.

A customer asked, “What do we do about the elf?”

Alan looked down at the person who’d ruined his day and cost him sales. “I don’t know about you boys, but I’m taking his wallet.”