Arthur Daigle's Blog, page 14

Goblin Stories XI

Finny looked doubtfully at the vast, weedy, stinking field before him, which was a perfect description of both his life and Congress. “I don’t recall seeing this on the travel brochure.”

“It’s not a brochure,” Stubs explained. Stubs the goblin had red skin and wore beaten up clothes with a short red cape. His prized possession was a decorated scabbard that he’d stolen from an evil knight. “It’s just a map.”

“No, there’s a skull and crossbones on this spot,” Finny said. The dirty goblin carried a lantern and few small tools in his pockets. His skin was in theory pink or peach colored, but years without bathing left it brown as if he had a tan. Finny took out the map and stabbed a finger at the marked region. “You only have those when there’s something cool like ruined cities and ancient battlefields.”

Stubs studied their surroundings for anything interesting. He was sorely disappointed. The weedy ground had plenty of rocks and low hills. Plant life was limited to tough weeds, while a few beetles and flies represented the animal kingdom. What caught his attention most was the smell. Stubs was no stranger to foul odors, but he couldn’t see anything that might generate the stink in the air, and on a day this sunny and land this flat he could see a long way.

“This might be one of those cultural misunderstandings,” Stubs told his friend. “The map had all kinds of places listed as exciting travel destinations, not one of them the least bit interesting.”

“Castles,” Finny spat. “Universities. Music halls. Honestly, like we’d be able to set foot in any of them. Of course that night visit to Tadderly Art Museum was nice.”

“Yeah, you donated that painting of dogs playing poker to them,” Stubs said. “It was much better than those naked lady pictures they had up. Why would they put those up?”

“I think we both know the answer to that,” Finny told him.

The two walked across the weedy hills in search of the elusive reason for the skull and crossbones. The plants gave off more foul odors when they stepped on them, but it was hardly noticeable over the background smell. They looked for houses or mines, but found nothing. The ground was too rocky to find tracks or footprints, assuming anything lived here big enough to leave them.

Finny studied the map again. They’d copied it off a map in a book, even adding the interesting bits like ‘Danger! Stay away’ and ‘Here there be lawyers’, and there were lots of skulls and crossbones. Once they’d copied it they headed for the nearest one just outside the Land of the Nine Dukes. It was proving to be a disappointing experience.

“Should we try the next one?” Stubs asked.

Finny scowled. “We walked for two weeks to get here. There’s no telling if the next one is any better. This is my vacation, and I’m staying here until I get to annoy someone or steal something.”

“Maybe it’s dangerous because of the smell?” Stubs asked. “Humans have funny ideas of what makes a place no good.”

“You visited the tanners in Cattle City the same as me.” Folding his arms across his chest, Finny said, “If humans can tolerate the smell from boiling cattle hides in vats of pee then they can handle this.”

Stubs dug through the thin soil and hit rock in just three inches. “I don’t think you could raise crops here.” Squeezing a weed and getting a spray of noxious gas from it, he added, “Doubt cattle and sheep would eat this.”

Finny kicked rocks and weeds. “Well this is a fine mess! We earned a nice vacation after nearly getting killed by that thing with the claws and all the eyes living in the Cattle City garbage dump, and tricking it unto falling into the canal. The humans weren’t going to give awards for that, and they should have! This was supposed to be a nice, pleasant trip to an evil empire or haunted ruins, and what do we get but—”

A hole opened up next to Finny and Stubs, and goblins poured out of it and piled onto them. The two were pulled down and dragged into an underground chamber twenty feet across. Their captures shouted triumphantly and then took a look at them.

“Hi,” Stubs said.

A goblin with purple skin rolled his eyes. “Oh for the love of wombats, guys, you said there were elves up there!”

Finny looked at Stubs. “Well, his ears are kind of pointed.”

A thin goblin asked the one with purple skin, “You’re sure they’re not?”

“We’ve been over this,” the purple skinned goblin said. He wore black pants, a red shirt and a ridiculously long cape, all in surprisingly good condition for a goblin. He was armed with a wood cane that had a brass duck head on the top end. “Elves are much taller than us and have pointed ears.”

“You’re sure you’re not making up this whole ‘elf’ thing?” the thin goblin asked.

“You see what I’m working with here?” the purple goblin asked Finny.

Finny shrugged. “Meh, I’ve seen worse.”

The other goblins let them go, and the purple skinned goblin shook their hands. “The name’s Dram. Sorry about that. We’ve been after those elves for a week, and when we heard the noise we thought we’d finally caught one. Unfortunately mister dumbbell here can’t tell an elf from a goblin, a man, a troll or a horsehead bookend.”

“I can’t, either,” a short goblin admitted. Several more goblins nodded to show their complete and total lack of comprehension.

“What would you want an elf for?” Stubs asked. “For that matter what would an elf be doing here? They like it nice and clean, with big trees and pretty flowers. This place can’t get farther from that without things being on fire.”

Dram tapped his cane on the chamber floor. “I thought so too, but the pointy eared critters proved me wrong. A bunch of them set up camp in the wastes. They don’t like it here and neither do the humans and gnomes with them, but they’re sticking around.”

“You trying to drive them off?” Finny asked.

“Lord no,” Dram told them. “We want them to stay even longer! Have you heard of Royal Cheese?”

Finny and Stubs looked to one another and then scooted closer to Dram. Stubs asked, “No, and I’d like to.”

The other goblins gathered around as Dram shared the secret. “Royal Cheese is a special cheese recipe only elves know how to make. It’s got wine in it and spices, and they age it twenty years before eating it. It’s so dark red it’s almost black.”

“Twenty years?” Finny asked. “I can’t imagine letting cheese sit for twenty seconds!”

“Proof that elves are nuts,” Finny said.

“I’ve had it,” Dram said reverently. “It was years ago when I first tasted it, and I’ve been on the hunt for more ever since. When the elves moved in I got my hopes up. Not all elves have Royal Cheese, but this bunch is rich. You can tell with all the fancy armor and weapons they have. And sure enough, when one wasn’t looking I went through his backpack and he had a wedge. Oh, it was heaven, better than cheddar.”

Finny staggered back. He pointed his scabbard at Dram and shouted, “You take that back!”

“It’s true, every word! Me and the boys were hoping the elves would come out again and we could grab one, but it’s been days and none have left camp.”

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Finny asked Stubs.

“Of course, but would the queen marry again at her age?”

Finny grabbed him. “No! It means our vacation isn’t ruined. We deserve this. Nay, we need it. Dram, you said the elves haven’t left camp for days. Then we have to go to them and steal that cheese. I’m angry and stupid enough to do this. Are you?”

The other goblins cheered.


Dram led the goblins through a network of tunnels running under the wastes. The tunnels went in every direction and were big enough for the goblins to walk upright. Stubs used his lantern to provide light, but there were other goblins with candles and torches. Dram explained, “You can thank the dwarfs for these tunnels. They mined here for years to get silver and then left it to us.”

“That was nice of them,” Finny said.

“Of course the land is wrecked for men and livestock, but we’re right at home here. As a bonus, nobody bothers us.”

Stubs raised a hand and asked, “Elves have real good noses. I once had one sniff me out when I was hiding in the rafters of his house. Can’t they smell you?”

Dram chuckled. “Take a deep breath. You smell that?”

The short goblin looked down guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

“Not that,” Dram said. “The stink in the air is from corpse weed. It’s one of the few plants that can grow here after what the dwarfs did. We don’t mind, but the elves can’t stop complaining about it. They say they can’t smell anything, and that they’ll have to burn their uniforms after they leave.”

Finny stopped in his tracks. “Uniforms? They’re soldiers?”

“Mmm hmm,” Drama said. “Twenty elves, ten gnomes and ten humans, all armed. One elf is a wizard who keeps fooling around with a glowing crystal and little trees. It’s dangerous, but the cheese!”

“Armed men and armed elves working together?” Stubs asked. “That doesn’t sound right. Elves don’t get along with anyone.”

Dram shrugged. “They said they worked for something called the Versile Consortium, and they’re worried about other elves attacking.”

The goblins stopped in a large chamber with tunnels leading up to the surface. More goblins came until they numbered over a hundred. The goblins came armed with daggers, clubs, lassos and shields, not a force that would impress a general but it was good for goblins. Dram led the way up one of the tunnels to the surface.

They blew out their lights and slowly opened the door leading outside. Light came down and so did the sound of many people talking and moving around. The goblins waited patiently in case their arrival was noticed, but when no one sounded an alarm they crept outside.

The elf camp wasn’t impressive. It was only fifty feet across with piles of loose rocks heaped up four feet high around the edges. The elves and men watched for enemies, but their gaze was directed at the sky and the distant horizon, not the tunnel entrance fifteen feet from their camp. There was a pile of baggage on the north edge of the camp, and hopefully their prize was hidden in those sacks and backpacks.

Stubs and Finny took one look at the elves and came to the same conclusion: they’d come ready for a fight. They wore chain armor and had swords, spears, shields, and two had bows. It was all high quality, nearly new by the look of it. The men were equally well armed, and even the short gnomes, no bigger than goblins, wore armor and had sharp knives. Regardless of race, they all wore blue vests over their armor.

A man in chain armor approached the elf wizard. The wizard wore blue flowing robes and held a wood staff with green leaves on it. He stood chanting over a small oak tree that was blackened and withered. The man watched him, clearly uneasy.

“That’s the fifth tree you’ve killed,” the man said. Other elves in the camp winced at his pronouncement. “How many more are going to need?”

The elf wizard stopped chanting. Looking miserable, he stroked the tree. Leaves fell at his touch. “I find this equally distressing, I assure you.”

The man pointed at the pile of baggage and said, “It’s not the trees I’m worried about. We only have two more. If we leave to resupply we risk drawing attention. I’m good with a sword, we all are, but if the Elf King figures out we’re here he’ll send warriors and griffin riders after us.”

Finny crawled across the ground, careful not to make a sound. Stubs followed him while Dram and his goblins crawled for a small depression that would help hide them. The mounded rocks around the elf camp actually worked to their advantage since it helped hide things low to the ground. Finny decided to thank them for being so thoughtful after he raided their supplies.

The elf wizard reached down and plucked a glowing crystal from the dead tree. It was as large as a hen’s egg and faceted. Finny didn’t know much about gems or crystals, but he didn’t like them. People got weird around shiny things like that and didn’t think twice about killing for them.

“Your caution is warranted, but our gamble has paid off,” the elf wizard said. “The crystal is fully charged.”

The other elves and gnomes hurried over while the rest of the humans kept watch. Their faces fairly shined as they gazed upon the glowing crystal. The wizard smiled and announced, “My spells were able to draw out the corrupting magic used by the dwarfs when they mined this land. I regret having to focus the spell through these innocent trees, but it was necessary. We have not merely cleansed this land of dwarf taint but harnessed the energy in a useable form.”

“How much magic is in there?” a gnome asked.

“Five hundred fifty magems,” the wizard told them. “It’s enough power to make a magic item as great as those used by the Elf Empire. And this is but the beginning! I drew out the toxic magic from a mere tenth of this wasted land. We can fill eight or even nine more crystals from this site alone, and I know of nine sites like this one.”

The human frowned as he studied their surroundings. “I don’t see an improvement.”

“Patience, friend, the healing will take time,” the wizard said. He opened an ornately carved wood box and set the crystal inside. Closing the lid, he said, “The taint is gone, but fresh seeds have not arrived, and the soil is still thin and poor in nutrients. In time it will recover to full health.”

“Curse the dwarfs,” the gnome said. “This would have never happened if they’d used proper magic wards and shielding in their ore processors. They let the power leak out and infuse the land with a taint only weeds and goblins can survive.”

The elf chuckled and put the box into a backpack. “Ah, but such wards are expensive to create and must be renewed monthly. I’ve never known a dwarf to place the wellbeing of anyone or anything before profits.”

Finny and Stubs reached the piled up rubble. They began taking stones off the wall one at a time and gently setting them down so as not to make a sound. It would take a minute or two to make a hole in the wall. As a bonus, the very supplies they’d come to raid were blocking the elves’ line of sight with them. They might be able to get in and out unseen.

“If we have the crystal charged we should head back now,” the human warrior said. “We can come back later with a properly armed expedition to draw out the rest of the power, or go to one of the other sites closer to our home territory.”

“Agreed,” the elf said. “Now that we know the process works we can return and report success. When we’re done, the Versile Consortium will have magic weapons equal in number and power to that of the so called Elf King. No longer will we live in fear of his attacks. We shall take the throne for ourselves, outcasts no more, and lead this world back to the glories of the Elf Empire lost so long ago.”

“The faster we’re home the better,” the gnome said.

Suddenly the wizard looked worried. “Speed is not advisable.”

“What?” the human asked. “We’re five hundred miles from home or help of any kind. We need to get back with this without delay.”

“Normally I would agree, but I don’t want to risk jostling the crystal when it’s full,” the wizard said.

The gnome frowned. “And why is that?” When the wizard didn’t answer, the gnome said, “As quartermaster for this mission I must be kept fully appraised of danger. Is this dangerous?”

The human folded his arms across his chest. “I’d like to know the answer to that myself. No one said the crystal was unstable.”

“No, not unstable,” the wizard said hastily. “It’s perfectly safe to handle so long as it’s not struck.”

The human and gnome glanced at one another. Neither looked convinced. The gnome asked, “And if it were to be struck, how bad would that be?”

The other members of the camp backed away from the wizard and crystal. The wizard held up his hands and tried to sooth them. “Five hundred fifty magems is a lot of power, and I’ve done what I can to render it inert for the journey. But it does pose a small risk. For safety’s sake I’ll carry it myself to prevent accidents.”

The gnome put a hand over his face. “How big of an explosion are we talking about?”

“Very big,” the wizard admitted. “It’s a risk, I’ll grant you that, but if the Versile Consortium is ever going to reach its full potential we have to take these risks. How long have we suffered attacks by rival elves? How long have we had to hide our bases and send our agents in disguise? If we’re ever to take our rightful place then we need to take chances, even dangerous ones.”

Sighing, the gnome said, “Very well. Let’s go home and put the crystal to use.”

The human smiled. “We might even get rich doing this.”

“How?” the gnome asked.

“Easy.” The man waved at their devastated surroundings. “You could charge kings to purify their land. They’d pay to have their old dwarf mines made into farmland. Don’t even tell them about the crystals.”

“That could work,” the elf said approvingly.

Finny and Stubs finished making their hole in the rubble barrier. It was only two feet across, but that was plenty of room for a goblin. They slipped into the camp and hid behind a pile of backpacks. Stubs took out a knife and cut open a backpack from the back. He fished around inside and took out a knife, rope, spare clothes, iron spikes and other things of minor value.

Dram came in through the hole with a few more goblins. He crept up to Stubs and cut open a leather sack. The goblins took out the contents, pocketing a few useful items before returning the rest. Another bag turned up coins and water bottles, but no cheese. Where was it?

“Griffins!”

The cry went up from the south edge of the camp and sent the elves and their allies into action. They drew swords and manned the rubble barrier while the wizard drove his staff into the ground. Finny saw ten griffins flying in, each one carrying two armored riders. The griffins came in low and hit the barrier with their hind legs, smashing through it and sending Versile Consortium elves and men flying. Landing on the opposite side of the camp, the griffin riders dismounted and drew their swords. They were all elves.

“In the name of the Elf King, we order you to surrender and accept his authority,” a the griffin riders commanded.

“Never!” the wizard shouted back. He cast a spell and his staff sprouted thick vines. They grew so fast they seemed to fly through the air before binding three griffins.

Finny and Stubs fled the camp, with Dram and his goblins a step behind. The battle behind them was a chaotic mess. Elves and griffins fought elves, men and gnomes in a confusing melee. The goblins regrouped well outside of the fight. There were a hundred goblins, but they lacked the weapons, magic and monsters of the other two sides. They watched on in horror as the two groups fought.

“What do we do?” Dram asked.

Finny pointed at the battle and said, “That funny glowing rock is dangerous. They said it could blow up if someone hits it by accident, and it would take everything here with it. Well I’m not going to let that happen! Save the cheese!”

And with that dubious battle cry the goblins charged into the fight. They kicked elves in their shins, tripped them, even bit them as they worked their way into the camp. A griffin tried to attack Stubs, but he ripped up a handful of corpse weed and jammed it into the griffin’s mouth. The poor animal’s eyes bugged out and it threw up. They reached the baggage and grabbed as much as they could.

Finny grabbed the ornate wood box and checked inside. He saw the crystal but nothing of interest to him. He was going to set it down when the wizard saw him.

“Put that down!” the wizard screamed.

If the wizard wanted it, Finny wondered if he’d trade for it. “Throw me the cheese and I throw you the crystal.”

“Don’t throw it!” a dozen elves screamed.

Finny looked down at the box. “Throw me the cheese and I’ll put down the box gently.”

That might have led to a trade, but an elf warrior tackled the wizard before they could complete the transaction. Finny set down the box anyway and grabbed a backpack before fleeing underground. The crystal was of no interest to him and he had to escape before someone grabbed him. He gave the elves one last look and saw the elf wizard use his magic to make a beetle as big as a horse and send it after his enemies. Clearly it was time to leave.


Finny and Stubs spent the next few hours in a happy daze. While they hadn’t found cheese in the bags they’d stolen, the thin goblin was wildly successful. Dram had if anything undersold the flavor of Royal Cheese. The full wheel of cheese hadn’t gone far with so many goblins wanting a taste, but even a little went a long way. They stayed underground in case the fight was still going on. With any luck whichever group won would decide it wasn’t worth the effort to hunt them down.

“That was amazing,” Finny said. He and the other goblins were slumped over in a large cave with the remains of their raid on the elf camp. There was a lot of stuff, some of it even useful.

“A good vacation then?” Stubs asked.

“Oh yeah.”

Dram dug through the elves’ bags and found some coins. Tossing them on the floor, he said, “We’ll have to get rid of those, but I bet there’s stuff here we can use.”

Finny smiled and grabbed a backpack. “I saw some rope in one of these. You can always use rope.”

“Do you think there’s any more cheese?” Stubs asked.

“Nah, we went through everything,” Finny said.

“We didn’t check that funny box,” Dram said.

Stubs froze. “What funny box?”

“That one over there,” Dram said.

The box was half buried under a pile of empty leather sacks, but there was no mistaking the ornate design. Another goblin must have grabbed it without realizing the danger. Terrified, Finny pulled off the leather sacks and opened the box. The glowing crystal lit up the cave. Goblins gathered around it with fear in their eyes.

Finny gulped. “Uh oh.”

Goblin Stories X

High in a mountain cave, where intruders were few and real estate was surprisingly affordable, the wizard Olimon prepared to make his eighth gargoyle. Five few candles lit the cave and were the last he had (magic didn’t pay as well as you’d think). Making gargoyles was proving easier than he’d thought. Once you had an earth elemental bound to the granite block it was simply a matter of removing everything that wasn’t a gargoyle.

Olimon weaved mystic symbols into the air and chanted. The granite block was six feet high, three feet wide and three feet deep. He’d carved the block from the mountainside and inspected it for hidden flaws that might cripple the new gargoyle. Finding willing earth elementals had taken some work, but the mountains here were lousy with them. It had only been a matter of time until he found ones interested in becoming gargoyles rather than lumps of rock that moved at night.

If people did see Olimon, they’d mistake him for an accountant. His hair was still black and he was both tall and strong. His simple cotton clothes lacked the arcane markings often found among wizards. Those would be an obvious clue as to his profession, and he wanted that to stay a secret. The only way a person might guess what his did for a living was Olimon’s staff, six feet tall with faceted garnets set into the wood.

Crack! A thin piece of granite flaked off and fell to the cave floor. The floor was covered in similar flakes from his earlier creations, and it made for poor footing. The gargoyles simply refused to do anything as tedious as housekeeping. Olimon wanted to get a maid to clean the place, but he needed secrecy for his work and a follower could betray him to the authorities. That and the rate for maids was way too high.

Olimon continued chanting. More granite flaked off, the hard stone breaking like crackers. But the part that would be a gargoyle remained strong and surprisingly flexible. He could already see the monster’s horns. More stone flaked away to reveal a grinning head filled with teeth.

The other seven gargoyles came over to greet their new brother. The grinning gargoyles had curved horns on their heads and powerful bat wings sprouting from their shoulders. Their arms and legs were strong and their fingers ended in sharp stone claws. The new gargoyle gave his brothers a toothy smile even though he was only a head sticking out of the block.

“Will you please get out of the way,” he scolded them. “Honestly, sometimes you lot act like toddlers!”

The gargoyles did as ordered. They were moderately obedient and made for good followers, provided you didn’t live in a nice house. Their clawed feet were murder on carpeting. Olimon returned to chanting and more granite came off the block. He could see the gargoyle’s chest and shoulders. In another twenty minutes he’d be done and a step closer to his revenge.

“When does he get his butt?” a squeaky voice asked.

Olimon stopped chanting and grabbed his staff. He spun around and aimed the staff at the source of the noise. That was enough for him to lose his footing on the rubble strewn floor, and he fell over. Cursing loudly, he got up and shouted, “We have been found! Find the intruder and take him alive!”

The seven completed gargoyles spread out across the wide cave and searched among the stalagmites and Olimon’s few belongings. The half completed gargoyle strained to follow the others, so much so that he tipped the granite block over. Bang! Voices laughed in the darkness.

“There!” Olimon shouted. He pointed his staff at small figures running between stalagmites. “They’re heading for the exit! And they’ve got my spare underwear! Stop them!”

Gargoyles took to the air, flying like birds regardless of their great weight. They swooped through the cave, going between stalactites hanging off the high ceiling before they dropped down on the intruders. Voices cried out in dismay as the gargoyles grabbed their enemies and dragged them back to Olimon.

“Goblins?” he demanded. The three intruders were goblins, two smaller ones with hammers and chisels and one larger, hairier one. Of course large was a relative term, and the hairy one was only four feet tall. Olimon snatched back his underwear from them and put it back in his backpack. “I won’t ask what you wanted these for.”

The hairy goblin answered anyway. “We knew it would tick you off.”

“You succeeded.” Olimon pointed his staff at the gargoyles. “Three of you hold them. The other four right your brother.”

As the four gargoyles got the block of granite and their half finished brother upright, Olimon studied the intruders. As a rule goblins weren’t dangerous. The risk was they might have told someone he was here. Olimon was nearly ready to have his vengeance, but nearly ready was another way of saying doomed. He had the gargoyles almost done and he’d mastered most of the lessons from his books of magic. A few weeks more and his studies would be finished. Until then he had to remain in hiding.

“In the time I’ve been here many things have gone missing from my backpack,” Olimon said. “I thought it was carelessness, that I used the supplies up or didn’t bring enough. But if you’re here there’s another cause. Hand it over.”

The goblins emptied their pockets, producing two pairs of socks, a blank notebook, five pieces of chalk and a dead weasel. Olimon handed back the weasel and took the rest. He held out his hand for more, but the hairy goblin said, “There were some candles, but we ate them.”

“Typical,” he said. “How long have you known I was here?”

The hairy goblin shrugged. He wore blue pants and had long hair, even longer growing off his back, but had no weapons or tools. “I don’t know. One days is pretty much like another. Hey, guys, when was the last time we where here?”

One of the other goblins said, “We’ve used this cave lots of times. Last time was when the Nine Dukes decided we went too far with our Pit Trap of the Month sale. The knights showed up before we even took orders for the sewage pits series.”

The hairy goblin nodded. “This cave isn’t exactly private. We’ve found old camp fires and junk from other people whenever we stay here.”

“Curse my luck!” Olimon shouted. He kicked loose granite flakes across the cave. “I thought I was alone, and instead I set up camp in the goblin equivalent of an inn.”

The hairy goblin looked at his feet, covered in loose stone. “You’ve really let the place go. All it takes is one person to slip and break a toe, and bang, you’re looking at lawsuits.” He nodded his head at the unfinished gargoyle. “Can you give that one crab claws, big whooping ones?”

Olimon looked up. “What?”

“He could do a lot of damage with crab claws. Or bigger teeth.”

The other gargoyles perked up. They smiled and pointed at the hairy goblin. Angry, Olimon snapped, “Gargoyles do not have crab claws.”

“But they could. It would be cool! Other people’s gargoyles have nails, but yours would have huge crab claws. You’d be the talk of the town, maybe get free drinks.”

“They already have human hands,” Olimon said. “I can’t rebuild the granite block and start from scratch! It doesn’t work that way.”

“What about tails with knives on the end?” the hairy goblin pressed. The half finished gargoyle clasped his hands together, pleading.

Olimon frowned. “Maybe.”

One of the other goblins asked, “What happens when those guys fly over and they have to go? Pigeons make a real mess, and these guys are a lot bigger.”

“Gargoyles don’t do that!” Olimon shouted. “They can’t even eat.”

A gargoyle opened its mouth in front of the goblins. The hairy goblin said, “Wow, they have a mouth and teeth, but no throat. I was wondering why they weren’t talking.”

“Hold on, hold on, you mean they can’t eat?” another goblin asked. “That’s got to suck. They can’t have cheese!”

A gargoyle shrugged in response. Olimon continued chanting, desperate to finish his last gargoyle. He had to get it done and flee, tonight if possible, in the morning at the latest. There was no telling how long he had before the authorities came for him.

“Hey, looking good!” the hairy goblin said once the gargoyle was done. This one had a stone tail ending in a sharp blade. The gargoyle swept its tail back and forth, grinning, and the other gargoyles gave it thumbs up.

Olimon looked outside the cave. It was nearly dark, and once night fell completely he would make his escape.

“What’s the matter?” the hairy goblin asked. “Aren’t you going to celebrate getting your pet rock done? I know an inn where you can get good beer.”

“Celebrate,” Olimon said bitterly. “There is no reason to celebrate, not yet. The Nine Dukes outlawed the creation of magic items or beings except by wizards licensed by the dukes. If they knew what I’ve done they’d kill me and them.”

“But these things are cool!” the hairy goblin protested. “Everyone will want one. I bet you’ll have people coming from all over to ask you to make one for them…with crab claws.”

Olimon stared outside the cave, silent for a moment. “No one will thank me. They will resent me like they always have. Do you know what the third son of a baron is called?”

The gargoyles rolled their eyes and looked away. They’d heard this story a lot. The goblins looked confused.

“Nothing,” Olimon said. “A third son is nothing, a waste. The firstborn is the heir who will receive the land, wealth and authority of his father. The second son? He’s insurance if anything happens to the firstborn. But the third son, he’s nothing. There’s no way he will inherit. He is a waste of their time and their money, a drain on resources no matter what he does.”

Olimon kicked bits of granite so hard some of them went out of the cave. “I’m not a waste! I’m not nothing!”

The hairy goblin looked at the gargoyle holding him. “This happen often?” The gargoyle nodded.

Olimon leaned on his staff. “I tried. I tried so hard to prove myself to them, but no matter how well I did at my studies, no matter how well I did in the arts, there was no reward. They said to ‘remember my place’, and ‘stop wasting your brother’s inheritance’. He’s an idiot! He’s a drunken, lecherous, pompous twit. He’s the one who’s going to be baron and I’ll be nothing!”

His voice cracked and he tried to hold back tears. “I found spell books in our library. I taught myself. Do you know how hard it is to learn magic without a teacher?”

The goblins looked to one another and shrugged. They asked in a chorus, “How hard is it to learn magic without a teacher?”

“Nearly impossible! But I did it. I practiced in secret and mastered the basics of earth magic. Once I was confident in my skills I went to my parents. I showed them what I could do for the family, for the barony, how much I had to offer.”

Olimon bent down and picked up a handful of granite off the floor. “I’d planned that day for months, the day I’d finally see the love in my parent’s eyes, to have their approval for the first time ever.” Letting the granite bits slip between his fingers, he said, “They saw a threat. They saw disloyalty, a son who wouldn’t stay small and meaningless, who wanted his brother’s place. I saw hate and fear in their eyes, and no words I could say kept them from casting me out.

“They were afraid of me…now they have a reason to be afraid. I’m stronger now, so much stronger, and so very soon I’m going to go home. They would not accept me as a son who wanted nothing more than their love. They will have no choice but to accept me when I return to take my place. I will be the new baron, a nothing no longer.”

“He’s got issues,” the hairy goblin whispered to the other two.

“I heard that!” Olimon shouted. “I’ve spent years being judged and found wanting. I won’t let you judge me too!”

The hairy goblin looked confused. “Why would we? I understand what you’re talking about.”

“Understand?” Olimon shouted. “How could you possibly understand? You…you…oh.”

Olimon walked over and told the gargoyles, “Let them go. Yes, I imagine you would understand. Goblins are looked down upon and despised. People judge you before you can say a word, never giving you the chance to prove you’re more than what they think.”

The hairy goblin said, “Kind of wordy, but yeah. The guys who look down on you? Ignore them. Laugh at them. If they’re not going to play with you, find someone else to play with. You just got to let it go.”

“There are things you can’t let go,” Olimon said softly. “Go, little ones. I will be gone by morning and we will never meet again. I wish you well, and apologize if the mess makes it harder for you to camp here. Honestly, I tried to get the gargoyles to clean up and they just won’t do it. Apparently they don’t do pools or windows, either.”

“Uh, hello?” a wavering voice called out from the mouth of the cave. Olimon spun around, nearly falling over again, to find an older man dressed in leather clothes looking at him. The man took off his cap and asked, “Is this a bad time?”

Olimon pulled at his hair and screamed, “This is insufferable! I made my lair in a cave fifty miles from the nearest soul, and somehow people keep finding me! How can I keep screwing up like this? Are their signs showing the way here?”

“An innkeeper told me you lived here,” the man said hesitantly.

“I haven’t stayed at an inn in years! There’s no way an innkeeper or anyone else could know I was staying here. Wait.” Olimon looked at the hairy goblin. “How many people did you tell about me?”

The hairy goblin mumbled, “Let’s see, add eight, carry the five, divide my pi…too many!”

“Doomed!” Olimon shouted. “I’m weeks from completing my quest for vengeance and I’m doomed by goblins that can’t keep their mouths shut! What higher power have I offended that I must suffer?”

The hairy goblin looked at the newcomer and said, “He’s a bit high strung. Tough childhood.”

“I can relate,” the man said. “Should I kneel or bow? You, ah, you’re the first wizard I’ve met.”

Red faced, Olimon said, “You can leave and be quick about it.”

Looking down, the newcomer said, “I can’t.”

Olimon pointed his staff at the man and said, “As you’ve not met a wizard before, I should tell you that we are a needlessly violent lot, quick to anger and capable of carrying our own weigh in grudges. Refusing a wizard is an act surely followed by epic levels of destruction.”

“Which is why I’m here and I can’t leave,” the man said. “My name is Theodor Trent, mayor of the town of Castaway.”

The hairy goblin raised a hand and asked, “You named a town Castaway?”

The mayor’s face turned red. “Long ago a lot of people got thrown off a ship, mainly because they were stowaways, and they settled the land they were left on. But that’s not important.”

Olimon packed his bags. “And yet you told me anyway.”

The mayor hurried over, slipping on the messy floor. “Mighty wizard, my people need you. I’ve traveled far to reach you, facing many dangers and paying truly outrageous tolls. A silver piece to cross one bridge?”

“His town is never going to reimburse him for that,” the hairy goblin said.

“Mighty wizard?” Olimon asked. He stopped packing.

“Have you heard of the Fallen King?” the mayor asked.

The hairy goblin said, “Spoiled rich boy leading an army of psychos?”

“An accurate description,” the mayor said. “His army swells with each passing month. Pirates, bandits, thieves and army deserters flock to his banner. Two weeks ago the Fallen King sent emissaries demanding we pay him tribute. He wants gold, livestock,” the mayor’s face paled as he finished, “women.”

The news stunned the goblins, so much so that the hairy goblin fell over and landed on his butt. “That, that’s awful!”

Olimon scowled. “Continue.”

“The emissaries said they would return in a month. After that, their exact words were pay up or burn down.” The mayor fell to his knees. “Sir, Castaway is not a rich town. If we pay the Fallen King’s tribute we’ll starve. If we fight we will surely be defeated. No matter what we do, we’ll end up with nothing.”

“Nothing,” Olimon repeated. His hands trembled in rage. His mouth twitched. “No, you are not nothing. This is a travesty. A leader would crush these vermin underfoot. A baron would stop them.”

Olimon slung his backpack over his shoulder and marched to the cave entrance. He waved to the gargoyles and ordered, “With me. Mayor Trent, the town of Castaway will not fall to these monsters. You will have my aid so much as it may be worth.”

The mayor shook Olimon’s hands. Weeping, he said, “Thank you! Oh thank you! You are a man of greatness to help my town. I only hope we can reach Castaway in time. There’s but ten days until the Fallen King’s emissaries return.”

“That won’t be a problem.” Olimon snapped his fingers, and the gargoyles took to the sky. One grabbed the wizard and another took hold of the mayor. Mayor Trent cried out in surprise as he and Olimon were carried off into the night sky.

The hairy goblin got back up and walked over to the mouth of the cave. He watched the wizard and mayor fly off with the gargoyles. The other two goblins joined him and smiled.

“We did it,” one of the short goblins said. “We stopped the wizard before he went bad. Got to hand it to you, Molo, that was one heck of a plan.”

Molo the hairy goblin smiled. “Yeah, it took some work, but the payoff! Weeks of listening in on the wizard were worth it, and watching him work was pretty cool. I’m just glad the mayor heard those rumors we planted and found the place.”

“Making sure the wizard stayed long enough was hard,” the third goblin. “Fun, but hard.”

The second goblin said, “But the wizard might still want revenge on his family when he gets done with the Fallen King.”

Molo smiled at the other two goblins. “No sweat! When he’s done there, I know a lot of people who need a wizard, and that guy needs to be needed.”

goblin stories IX

Thipins crawled through the narrow sewers, up to his armpits in filth, and said, “Typical Wednesday.”

“I’d go so far as to say boring,” Campots added. “Pedestrian, even. You’d think if someone went to all the trouble of building a castle they’d defend it better. Did you see those guards? They didn’t even have dogs!”

“And we went to all the trouble of finding a store that sold anise seeds, stealing some, crushing it into a powder and sealing it in a glass jar. All that work to distract guard dogs they don’t even have. Disgraceful.”

Campots stopped and said, “One of the cooks back at camp asked if he could have any leftover anise seed. We could give it to him so it’s not a total loss.”

Thipins looked back and said, “I was thinking about leaving a note when we’re done with suggestions how to improve their defenses. At least that way every Tom, Dick and Harry can’t break in here and we’d get to use the anise seed powder next time.”

“Ooh, I like that. Something to make the job more challenging.”

Thipins and Campots the goblins hadn’t needed much time or effort to break into Castle Iron Helm. Partly this was because the castle had been built two hundred years ago and not received any maintenance since its construction. It was deep inside the territory of Duke Edgely and hadn’t been attacked in three generations. The duke didn’t fear for his safety and spent his gold on castles that faced regular attack.

Duke Edgely wasn’t entirely to blame for this intrusion. Goblins excelled at breaking and entering, and even the strongest castles had trouble keeping them out. Normally this wasn’t an issue, for castles seldom held anything of interest to your average goblins. Weapons, armor, gold and jewels meant nothing to them.

But Castle Iron Helm interested these goblins.

Thipins stopped when he reached another iron grate sealing the sewer. This was the third one they’re come across, and the rusty bars didn’t stop them any more than the other had. Thipins’ biggest problem was actually the spikes on his shoulders. The sewer was narrow enough that the spikes sometimes rubbed against the sewer walls. That slowed them by a few seconds. His long hair was also getting dirty, and his tanned skin and raggedy clothes were covered in filth.

Campots was doing a bit better. Normally the bald, turquoise skinned goblin carried copious amounts of rope coiled around his body, but he’d left it behind so it wouldn’t get dirty. His clothes were as messy as Thipins’, but that didn’t bother him.

“Sewer monsters,” Campots said as Thipins finished prying off the rusty iron bars with a crowbar. “This would be harder if Duke Edgely had bought a couple sewer monsters and dumped them down here.”

“They stopped doing that a while ago,” Thipins told him as the pair continued through the sewer. “They wander off if you don’t feed them every day, but they’re not aggressive if they’re fed. Plus there was that one time a sewer monster climbed up a septic chute into a castle bathroom. I know it only happened once, but word got around.”

“Can you blame the poor bugger?”

The two goblins continued on in silence. There were chutes above their heads that brought filth into the sewer from several bathrooms in the castle. Most castles had only one chute, but as the personal home of Duke Edgely, Castle Iron Helm was so large it needed more. Thipins counted chutes as he went through the filth.

“Magic wards would help, too,” Campots suggested.

“I heard Duke Edgely doesn’t have a wizard on staff,” Thipins replied. “I know wizards are rare, expensive, temperamental and sometimes blow things up, but is that a reason not to have one?”

Campots nodded. “You can’t be too healthy or too safe.”

Thipins stopped at a chute. “Here, this is the one we want. For the record, I don’t think this duke guy is even trying to keep us out.”

“Why not post signs saying ‘burglars welcome’?”

The goblins took short, thick daggers from their belts and used them to climb up the chute, driving the daggers between bricks to get a good grip. It took them only minutes to reach yet another iron grate, this one blocking the way to the room above.

“Not even trying,” Thipins said as he levered the grate off.

Thipins climbed out of the chute and helped Campots up. One look was enough to prove they’d reached their goal, the maximum security prison of Duke Edgely. The floors were caked in dirt and slime, and the only light was from guttering torches set in the walls. The residents of the cells stared at them through the black iron bars of their cells. One cell in the back of the prison was reinforced oak with no way to see who was inside.

“I don’t believe it,” a man said from inside one of the cells.

“Hello,” Thipins said. He wrung out his hair and put his tools away. “My name is Thipins the goblin and this is my friend Campots. We’re on a recruiting drive for the Overlord Joshua.”

“Who?” an adolescent troll asked from another cell.

“Joshua,” Campots said. He wiped his hands off on his equally dirty pants. “It’s no surprise you haven’t heard of him. He’s new in the business, but he’s got big plans and a place in his organization for dangerous people. Have we got any dangerous people here?”

The man said, “We’d still be free if we were dangerous.”

“Moderately dangerous?” Campots asked. “We’re willing to settle.”

A well dressed man in another cell said, “I’m sorry, but the Overlord Joshua simply doesn’t work. You need a name like Krutham the Dark Soul, or Ithicaz the Terror, names that inspire fear. Joshua just conjures images of a barber.”

“Or maybe a cook,” the troll said. He had blue scales and wore cotton trousers. He was also as tall as a man and much stronger.

Thipins rolled his eyes. “You don’t get to complain about our secret organization bent on world domination until after you’ve joined. The other guys said we need more members, the more dangerous the better. They also said we need people who have issues with the Nine Dukes. So Campots and me figured who better to ask than men jailed by the dukes?”

Three men in one cell waved for the goblins to come closer. One of them said, “I don’t care what this is about as long as you can get us out. Duke Edgely promised to kill us in three days, well, technically five days since the execution is going to be exceedingly long and painful.”

One of his cellmates pointed to a door leading out of the prison. “We saw the jailor go through there with the keys. If you can get them—”

Thipins and Campots broke out laughing. Thipins managed to say, “He thinks we need keys!”

Campots wiped tears of joy from his eyes. “They’re so cute!”

“It’s not funny!” the man shouted.

“Yes,” Campots said as he took lock picking tools from inside his shirt, “it is.”

Campots went to work on the cell’s lock while Thipins took one of the torches off the wall and held it close to provide light. Campots asked, “So, what are you guys in for?”

“We’re with the Barrel Wrights,” one of them said.

“Never heard of you,” Thipins said.

Standing tall and proud, the man said, “Our organization stands for the oppressed peasantry. We seek to give the common man a say in government, so that—”

“Noise,” Campots said. Click. The door opened and he moved on to the next one.

The three men came out of the cell, and one said, “We represent a serious threat to the nobility. Our cause is just and—”

“More noise,” Campots said. He looked at Thipins and said, “I’m not sure this is the kind of people Joshua needs.”

“We work with what we’ve got. Hey, troll, what’s your story?”

The troll spit on the floor and grimaced. “It’s a crime that I’m here. I was playing a game of poker and I won fair and square. Suddenly the other guys start bawling, ‘give us our money back’, and I’m like, ‘it’s not your money anymore’. The next thing I know they’re pulling out swords.”

Campots got to work on his cell lock. “I thought in the Land of the Nine Dukes it was illegal for anyone but knights and soldiers to have swords.”

“Wait, you got into a fight with soldiers?” Thipins asked.

“I’d have won except the eighth guy hit me from behind.”

Click. The troll’s cell door opened. Campots smiled at Thipins and said, “I think we got a winner with this one.”

The troll didn’t come out of his cell right away. “What if we don’t want to work for this Joshua guy?”

The well dressed man sighed and asked, “Couldn’t you ask that question after they freed me?”

Campots went to the well dressed man’s cell. “Everyone’s getting out today. If you want to join us we’re happy to have you. If you say no, no hard feelings and we move on.”

“Really?” one of the Barrel Wrights asked.

Thipins held the torch close to the last cell and explained, “The Overlord Joshua is in a fight with the Nine Dukes. If you join us we stand a better chance of winning. But let’s say you say no.”

The troll ambled out of his cell. “Yeah, let’s say that.”

“If you walk away, we still win,” Thipins said. “Duke Edgely loses a bunch of prisoners, and that makes him look weak, stupid and incontinent.”

“Incompetent,” Campots corrected him. “The lock’s rusted.”

“You can still open it, right?” the well dressed man asked.

“Maybe,” Campots said. “What got you thrown in here?”

The man stood up and bowed. Up close they could see his expensive clothes were made of silk and that the blond haired man was surprisingly young, still in his teens. “Sebastian Thane, fire wizard at your service. Like my fellow inmate the troll, I was unjustly imprisoned.”

“If you’re a wizard, why don’t you magic your way out?” Thipins asked.

Sebastian sighed and said, “I’m a recent graduate of the Vastan Institute of Magic and Technology, not strong enough to free myself.” He held up his hands, both encased in heavy iron gauntlets locked in place. “Even if I were, I can’t make magic gestures with my hands trapped like this. As for my arrest, I came here in search of work. I’d heard Duke Edgely doesn’t have a wizard and I’d hope to secure a job.”

“He doesn’t have a wizard and he should,” Campots said. “Thipins, hand me the crowbar. We’re going to have to do this the hard way.”

“Need a hand?” the troll asked Campots.

“No, we’re good.”

Sebastian looked down. “I met the duke and showed him what I’m capable of. It’s not much, I’ll admit, but it’s better than having no wizard at all. After the presentation I was speaking with his daughter, and suddenly he accused me of trying to seduce her. I did nothing of the sort.”

“He didn’t have time,” the troll snickered.

“It wasn’t like that! Before I could say a word in my defense, I was tackled, shackled and thrown down here.”

“Tragic,” Campots said. He worked the crowbar around the edge of the lock. Crack! The cell door swung open. “Let me take a look at those mittens of yours.”

“Back to your Joshua,” the troll said. “I like him already for busting us out, and I pay my debts. But I want to hear about this guy before I sign up.”

“You’re going to love him,” Thipins said. “The organization is coming along nicely, with lots of talented people already signed up. There’s Irithmug the Vandal, Vasellia the Swordswoman, the Croner Twins and more. We’d like to get Dagger Jack on board if we can get in contact with him.”

The troll shook his head. “Nah, a guy that tough can pick and choose. But I like that you’ve got Vasellia. I played cards with her once and she’s good. Not bad with a sword, either.”

A Barrel Wright said, “Um, we’re already part of a secret organization.”

Thipins slapped him on the back, leaving a splotch of slime on the man’s shirt. “Great! We’ll have your people talk to our people and work out an alliance. But for the rest of you, there’s a place in Overlord Joshua’s ranks for the asking. And he takes care of his people. We’re talking pensions, profit sharing and health care with dental.”

Sebastian’s jaw dropped. “Dental? Nobody give dental anymore.”

“We don’t get dental,” one of the Barrel Wrights said.

Clank. Campots got one of the gauntlets off Sebastian. “There’s also guaranteed nap times.”

“Wait, what?” a Barrel Wright asked.

Sebastian raised his free hand and asked, “Excuse me, but why are you called Barrel Wrights? I thought a maker of barrels was called a cooper.”

The Barrel Wrights looked exasperated. “We’re trying to overthrown the reign of kings and that’s the question everybody asks.”

“I was just wondering,” the wizard asked. Clank. Campots got the other gauntlet off. Sebastian rubbed his fingers, stiff from being inside the heavy gauntlets for so long. “Does your Overlord Joshua have a wizard yet?”

“No,” Thipins began, but before he could say more he was interrupted by a banging from the sealed cell at the end of the prison. He and Campots went over to investigate, but the released prisoners didn’t follow them.

Campots stopped short of the cell and pointed at oddly shaped wood and steel devices lined up again the wall. “Hey, what are those?”

Sebastian joined him. Still rubbing his fingers, he said, “The closest one is called a rack. You tie a person to it and pull their arms by turning that wheel, causing great pain.”

“Why?” Thipins asked.

“For the purpose of causing pain,” the wizard said. He saw the shocked looks on the goblins’ faces and said, “I’m explaining the machines, not endorsing their use. The next one is an iron maiden. You, ah, put a person inside and close the doors.”

The iron maiden looked like a steel casket with spikes sticking out on the inside. Campots pointed at the spikes and jabbed his index finger at his chest. “But the spiky bits…”

“Needlessly brutal, I know,” Sebastian said. “The spikes are too short to inflict mortal wounds, further extending the victim’s suffering. I think Duke Edgely keeps them within sight of his prisoners as an added form of torture. They know what to expect and can see other prisoners suffering.”

Thipins stared at the two instruments of torture. “When we get back to camp, we’re telling the guys that they’re fighting on the side of the angels.”

“Some of them might not like that,” Campots told him.

“They’ll have to deal with it.”

There was more banging from the sealed cell. When the goblins went over to unlock it, the troll said, “Yeah, you might want to skip that one. There’s a werewolf in there, nasty customer.”

“How’d they catch him?” Campots asked.

A Barrel Wright said, “They brought him in when it was daytime and he was human. He still put up quite a fight. Um, I’m going to have support the troll on this one. Let’s just leave without him.”

Thipins pointed at the iron maiden. “Nobody deserves that.”

The other prisoners backed away as Campots and Thipins picked the cell’s lock. They jumped back as the cell door swung open and the werewolf came out. He was a sight to make men wet themselves, with black fur, yellow eyes, bulging muscles and a long snout filled with sharp teeth. He wore nothing except leather trousers and had a musky scent noticeable even through the prison’s foul odor. With the cell door open they could see that the werewolf had cut deep grooves into the door with his long, sharp nails.

The werewolf crouched, ready to pounce, his eyes shifting left to right until he saw the goblins standing in front of him. The pair looked back at him, showing no fear.

“Hi,” Thipins said. “We’re the guys who let you out.”

For a moment the werewolf stared at them with bloodshot eyes. He gradually stood straight and relaxed. “Okay then. Who are the rest?”

“More prisoners,” Campots explained. “We’re staging a breakout. We’re all leaving and you’re welcome to come with.”

“Do we get to hurt anyone on the way out?” the werewolf asked.

“Ideally no,” Campots told him.

The troll scowled. “Figures. Hey, shorty, I’m too big to go through the sewer like you, and so is everyone else here. How are we getting out?”

Campots smiled and walked to the prison exit. He started picking the lock and said, “We thought of that. We plotted out the guard schedules and saw how they react to threats. In just a few minutes our friends Vasellia and the Croner Twins are going to create a nice big ruckus outside. We’ll slip away while the guards are busy dealing with that. No fuss, no muss, no needless violence.”

Click. Campots opened the prison door and looked outside. He shut it quickly and spun around to face the others. “Or maybe not.”

“What’s the matter?” Thipins asked.

“I think we made a bit too much noise, because there are a lot of men with swords coming down the hallway. They look peeved.”

The troll grinned. “This day just keeps getting better!”

With that the troll attacked the rack and ripped it apart. He selected the straightest and longest boards and passed them around to the Barrel Wrights. “It’ll do until we can get real weapons. Hey, merlin, furry, you want some?”

The werewolf showed off his terrifying teeth. “I can handle myself.”

Sebastian Thane cast a spell and formed double helixes of fire around both his arms, reaching from his elbows to fingertips. Thipins and Campots could feel the heat from the fires, but somehow they didn’t burn the wizard. It took them a moment to notice that the streams of fire were actually writhing, flaming serpents.

“Hello, girls,” he told the fire snakes. “Did you miss me? I missed you.”

“I want first shot at these goons,” the werewolf said. “They had me in there two days ands gave me nothing but pig slop and fetid water.”

The troll smiled and stepped aside to let the werewolf go ahead of him. “Leave some for the rest of us.”

Thipins watched the men, werewolf and troll head for the door. “You know, I think this bunch is just who we were looking for.”

Campots smiled at him. “They’ll fit in just fine.”

The werewolf swung open the prison door, and they saw a platoon of swordsmen marching down the hallway toward them. Their enemies had their shields raised and swords drawn as they approached. The platoon leader shouted, “Halt in the name of the…oh bugger.”

Goblin Stories VIII

Boss Jesseck leaned against a stone lamppost on Cheese Street and watched the crowd for thieves and lawyers (who were like thieves but far more successful). It was a slow day with no cutpurses or footpads to deal with. It had been a while since he’d had to tackle a thief, shave him bald and paint him blue. He could see all the way to the port, with the hilly road a picture of tranquility. That’s the way Boss Jesseck liked life, nice and quiet. You don’t get many days like that in Cronsword.

Cronsword was a city of thieves and liars. The city openly admitted it and passed out brochures warning visitors to watch their wallets and that all sales are final. People accepted the fact and moved on with their lives, careful not to be taken in by frauds and traveled armed in case of muggers.

Normally this level of crime and dishonesty would ruin a city, but Cronsword was a major trading hub second only to Nolod in wealth and importance. A million guilders went through the city every month in the form of coins, jewels, precious metals, livestock, monsters, trade goods, magic and weapons. People tolerated a lot to get even a taste of that much money money, honestly or not, and honesty was a relative term here. The running joke was that the only difference between the merchants and thieves was their profit margin, and politicians came with receipts.

Most days Boss Jesseck wouldn’t be out in the open like this. Goblins were barely tolerated in most parts of the city, and that was true even of the Boss of every goblin in the city. Even on Cheese Street they drew unwelcome attention. But disquieting words had reached Boss Jesseck, and he’d come out of the shadows. Trouble was coming, and he’d need to be on hand to deal with it when it arrived.

Boss Jesseck looked odd even by goblin standards. He stood four feet tall and had dark green wrinkly skin. His hair was black and he kept it trimmed and combed. His outfit was a mismatch of sailor and merchant clothes, with a captain’s hat, leather boots, dark blue pants, a black vest over a light blue shirt and a pinstriped coat over them both. Boss Jesseck always traveled armed with a club, but today carried an extra dagger in his belt.

More importantly, Boss Jesseck was bright. Not casting magic spells bright or winning chess tournaments bright, but he had a sort of street smarts. He understood how Cronsword worked and what it took to thrive here. He knew how to get the other goblins to follow him. Just as important, he had the courage to try. He didn’t used to be so brave, but a year ago he’d been inspired.

Two human men walked down the cobblestone streets and stopped when they saw him. Boss Jesseck tipped his hat to them and said in a gravely voice, “Afternoon.”

“Goblins walk the street here in broad daylight?” one asked. He sounded disgusted.

A merchant hurried over and greeted the men. “Gentlemen, welcome! Please come in and I’m sure we can meet your needs.” When one of the men gestured at Boss Jesseck, the merchant quickly said, “It’s an unusual situation, but one that works for us. Have you tried our drunken cheddar?”

The merchant led the men away before Boss Jesseck had to make an example of them. He’d rather not do that, as it would hurt business and give Cheese Street a bad reputation. Of course if they’d kept talking like that then one or both would get their shins kicked.

Cronsword was a divided city. Gang controlled every street and block, running all the rackets on their turf. There was stiff competition for profitable streets, with Bankers’ Row changing hands every year. It was an ugly system that had gone on for centuries with gangs gaining or losing territory almost monthly.

Now Boss Jesseck, he ruled Cheese Street. He could have taken Cobbler Way and Butcher Road with all the goblins he had. He didn’t want them. The cheese factories that gave Cheese Street its name kept his goblins happy. Taking more territory would only set him up for needless conflicts with no reward. The other gangs accepted the situation, bright lads that they were. As long as he and his goblins stayed put no one bothered them, and the few who did…well, bad things happen to troublemakers on Cheese Street.

A warrior goblin hurried down the street, slipping between crowds of shoppers. He stopped in front of Boss Jesseck and reported, “They’re coming, five of them.”

“About time,” Boss Jesseck groused. “How are they armed?”

“Swords and daggers,” the warrior reported. “No magic, no armor.”

“Kind of insulting when you think about it. They think they can take Cheese Street with five men!” He clapped a hand over his chest. “It hurts my feelings. How soon until they reach us?”

“Ten minutes, maybe less.” The warrior goblin looked back the way he’d come. “We could ambush them before they get here.”

Boss Jesseck shook his head. “Tempting, but no. Bringing our boys onto another gang’s territory is an invasion no matter the reason. The other gangs are in as much danger as we are, and if we’re lucky one of them will do the job for us. No point in us doing their work for them.”

The warrior smiled. “Laziness as a strategy. Who’d a thought of that?”

“That’s why I’m Boss.” Bossy Jesseck nodded to more goblins hiding in the alleys, and they scurried off at his signal. He turned to the warrior goblin and said, “Clear the street. I don’t want this spilling over.”

The warrior saluted and ran off to warn other goblins. Goblins could hide like few others, and although it looked like Boss Jesseck was the only goblin on the street he was part of a crowd. There were goblins hiding on the rooftops, more in the sewers and still more concealed inside barrels and wagons. It would only take one word or a whistle to bring them out, once a regular occurrence but now fairly rare.

The street emptied as goblins went to work. They warned the merchants, who invited customers inside with offers of sales and free samples. Once they had them in their stores and cheese factories, the merchants shut the doors and barred them. Windows shut and shutters were pulled closed. The brick buildings had originally been built to keep out goblins, which meant they could keep out nearly anything. In three minutes Boss Jesseck was the only person standing on Cheese Street.

The warrior goblin’s warning proved true. Five humans showed up where Cheese Street met Tanner Avenue. They were an ugly looking bunch, strong and armed with swords and daggers. They wore no armor and their clothes were dirty with questionable stains on them. Boss Jesseck shook his head at the sight of the men. The low standard that street thugs had fallen to was simply shameful. The men walked up the steep hill on Cheese Street with the port to their backs.

“You boys looking for something?” Boss Jesseck called out. He could smell them from here, a sort of rancid grease odor. “Baths, maybe?”

The men stopped in mid step, shocked by the insult. The biggest and dirties of them stepped forward and rested his hand on his sword hilt without drawing it. Boss Jesseck supposed it was meant as a threat.

“You’re one to talk,” the man called back. Swaggering over, he stopped ten feet in front of the goblin. “We’d heard Cronsword was so weak even goblins could carve out territory here.”

Boss Jesseck reached in his coat and took out a match nine inches long. “We’ve territory here, but I’d think a man foolish to call this city weak. There’s half a million souls living here. Men, elves, dwarfs, ogres, trolls, us goblins, even a few minotaurs, and every one of them a threat. The brewers’ guild slaps alligators just for looking at them wrong, and they’re considered well adjusted. Armies would have a hard time cracking this city, so I’m not impressed when five idiots show up.”

“Five men with five thousand behind us.” The man held out his right hand, palm facing Boss Jesseck. There was a red mark on his palm that looked like two broken swords crossing one another. “You smart enough to know what this means?”

“It means you need a tattoo artist and not a hot iron to mark your members,” Boss Jesseck replied. “That’s stupid and painful. What are you, cattle?”

The man snarled. “We understand pain. We understand strength. We understand fear. We serve The Fallen King, and we are legion! Armies are weaker than us! Kingdoms are weaker than us!”

Boss Jesseck struck the match on the nearest building and stuck the wood end in his mouth. “If that bit of shouting was supposed to impress me, it didn’t. I know your sign. I’d heard you’ve been flashing it around for the last week, telling gangs they can join you, pay you off or die. A dozen new gangs show up in Cronsword every year. You’re just the latest.”

The man sneered. “Your gangs mean nothing to us. They’re a pack of weak, squabbling fools fighting over scraps. We gave them a chance to join us and—”

“And they laughed at you,” Boss Jesseck interrupted. The gang leaders’ reaction didn’t surprise him. He’d heard about The Fallen King. Some idiot prince thought he was going to inherit his father’s throne when the old man bought the farm. He spent his youth drinking, carousing and generally making a public spectacle of himself. One incident involved the prince, two barmaids and a horse, resulting in the prince being cover in dung, the barmaids filing lawsuits and the horse detonating.

Goblins wouldn’t mind that and might even applaud the show, but humans are a picky lot. The king passed away and the prince expected to take over, except nobody was too keen on making him king. They liked his brother better. The prince ran off swearing vengeance, eventually finding a bunch of pathologically violent idiots to follow him. Again, not a problem for goblins in general or Boss Jesseck in particular, except the fool got it in his head that he wanted Cronsword.

“So what’s this then, my chance to toe the line?” Boss Jesseck asked. “Did you think I’d follow you idiots when no one else here would?”

The man spat on the street. “Taking over this city isn’t worth The Fallen King’s time. He’ll let you keep your pathetic patch of dirt for a hundred guilders a month. You pay or we burn the place to the ground.”

Boss Jesseck tapped the nearest building with his boot. “You’re going to burn stone buildings?”

“He kind of has a point,” one of the other men said. The leader glared at him, and the man looked down.

“You know what I mean!” the group’s leader shouted. “We can run off your customers, stop supply deliveries, kill the owners and shut this place down for good.”

“Twelve hundred guilders a year is twice what these people make,” Boss Jesseck told them. “Paying you will close them all down before winter, and after that no money for you and no cheese for me. For crying out loud, I’m a goblin and even I can figure this out!”

The same man who'd questioned his leader said, “It’s basic economics.”

The leader turned red in the face. “I won’t take lip from a raw recruit, and I’m sure not taking it from vermin! You’ll pay or you’ll burn!”

The match had burned almost to Boss Jesseck’s mouth. He spit it on the street and snuffed it out with his boot. He drew another from his coat and struck it. “Vermin? We’ve been called that for a long time. We’ll take it no longer.”

“Listen, goblin, I—”

“It’s Boss Jesseck to the likes of you!” he shouted. The men stepped back. They weren’t used to goblins being this assertive, especially a lone goblin. Boss Jesseck put the unlit end of the match in his mouth and said, “We were called that for a long time. Trash eaters, garbage pickers, freaks, monsters, vermin, we’ve heard it all. It went on so long we got used to it. But we’ve a real king now, William Bradshaw the War Winner. I’ve heard of your leader. You heard of mine?”

The human leader nodded slowly. The others behind him looked nervous. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were dangerous men with a reputation for needless violence and brutality. People were supposed to fear them.

Boss Jesseck saw goblins scurry out behind the men carrying a thick oak beam almost as wide as the road. The goblins moved silently, a skill they’d honed from years living in the shadows.

“We’ve a king now, a man from another world, ” Boss Jesseck said. He saw the goblins lift the beam to knee height on the humans and wait for his signal. “He looked at us and he didn’t see weakness. He didn’t see freaks. He didn’t see vermin. He saw an army waiting for a leader worth following. He rallied us, got us to stand up, got us to stop taking abuse from the likes of you and your fool king.”

The man drew his sword. “No one insults The Fallen King!”

Boss Jesseck shrugged. “Then I’m happy to be the first. The locals pay us in cheese to keep the street clean of trash. That means you! Plenty others have tried to muscle us out and we’re still here. But it’s a Friday and I’m not in the mood to make an example of you. Burying humans is hard work, and the paperwork takes forever. Grave registration forms are eight pages long, and I’d need five of them! So in the spirit of generosity I’ll let you go. You won’t get a hundred guilders this month or any other, but you’ll still be walking. You’ve got until this match burns out to leave.”

The other four men drew their swords. Their leader scowled and announced, “The Fallen King told us to give you weaklings a chance, and you had it. The other gang leaders will take us seriously when we give them your head.”

Boss Jesseck smiled, the signal for the goblins with the beam to charge. “I guess you hadn’t heard. Bad things happen to troublemakers on Cheese Street. To be fair, we happen to troublemakers on Cheese Street.”

The goblins ran into the humans and hit them in the back of their knees with the beam. It hit the men with such force that all five were knocked over backwards. Scores of goblins surged out of the alleys and swarmed over the fallen men, pinning them to the ground and stealing their weapons. More goblins tied the men up, and still more came out with old wine barrels. The goblins stuffed their enemies inside the barrels and sealed them shut.

“The Fallen King will hear of this!” the men’s leader shouted from inside a barrel.

“He might, but it won’t be from you!” Boss Jesseck shouted back. He looked down the hilly road to the distant port filled with merchant ships. “The road’s clear, lads! Think you can get them in the drink on the first try?”

“Yes, Boss!” they chorused. The goblins lined up the barrels on the street and pushed them down the hill. They heard screams from the men trapped inside as they rocketed down the hill. Some of the barrels bumped into each other or bounced when they hit stones on the road. Just before they reached the port a few goblins scurried out and set down a wide wood ramp in their path. The barrels went up the ramp and flew through the air before landing in the water. Fishermen and sailors saw the spectacle and felt no need to get involved. They weren’t even surprised by what happened.

After all, these things happen on Cheese Street.

Goblin Stories VII

Brody ran, ducking to avoid the low hanging pine branches and fervently wishing he had life insurance. He didn’t know who was chasing him or why. He’d worked hard to avoid people’s attention and stayed away from nearby villages, sticking instead to lakes and rivers. Few men had seen him for weeks. But that had ended at dusk today with a human chasing him like a greyhound.

Who was this guy? Brody hadn’t gotten a good look at him, but he’d seen the gleam of steel and heard clanks from pieces of armor banging together. Maybe he was a knight, maybe a soldier or mercenary. Any of those would be bad.

The man went around the pine trees Brody was going under. That would buy the little goblin time. He wondered if he should hide under the branches, but this patch of trees was small and the human could force his way through and flush him out. Brody kept going. The human was going around the trees on the left, so Brody made a hard right. That had the added benefit of bringing him closer to the nearest lake. Brody was a good swimmer, and men in armor weren’t.

“Can we talk about this?” Brody called behind him. He heard the human crash through the pines, and the sharp sound of branches breaking. That meant his foe was strong and determined. Worse, he didn’t answer back.

This called for desperate measures. Brody had a small pouch made of woven straw, packed with loose coins and more straw to keep them from jingling. It was a bad idea for goblins to carry money. If people saw one goblin with money they’d get the idea that all goblins carried the stuff. That would encourage them to attack goblins for cash they didn’t have. But this looked bad, and Brody was running low on options.

Brody ran over a stretch of rocky ground with a light coating of moss. He tore open the pouch and scattered the coins over the ground. The coins clinked when they landed, and the setting sun make the copper coins flash like fishing lures.

But the man didn’t stop to pick them up. He ran by them, stepping on a few, paying them no attention at all. This was bad. The man must have seen the money and he didn’t want it. All humans wanted money! If the man after him wasn’t interested in coins then he wanted blood.

The lake was a half mile away, too far to run. Brody only wore his swimming trunks and carried wood paddles he strapped on his hands and feet before swimming, while the human was weighed down by heavy armor. But Brody’s legs were short and the man coming after him was tall and strong.

Desperate, Brody headed for the deepest patch of woods he could see. The trees were old with rough bark, easy to climb. Brody could scale a tree pretty fast and hide on the end of a narrow branch high above ground. The human weighted too much to follow, and the goblin would be safe.

Just another hundred feet. Ninety, eighty, seventy, si—

“Got you!” The human grabbed Brody and threw him to the ground. Brody rolled across the soft, mossy ground wile his wood paddles went flying. He came to a stop mostly unharmed and got to his knees, only for the human to put a foot on his chest. The man pressed down and Brody was forced down onto his back. He looked up and saw a sword inches from his throat.

The man stared at Brody. He was young with brown hair and a thin mustache, still breathing hard from running. He had a steel breastplate and chain armor on his arms and legs. All things considered, Brody thought the man didn’t look like a sociopathic killer, which just goes to show you.

“Oh for king and country, you’re just a goblins!” the man shouted. “I thought you were a demon.”

“Not a common mistake,” Brody replied. He was odd looking even for a goblin. Brody’s skin was bright blue and his hair dark blue. He had four short, thick antennas sticking out of his hair and four longer ones coming from his back. None of them were good for anything. His face and features were boyish, and a young human woman once even called him cute. Until today he’d never been mistaken for something fiendish.

The man spit and ran his free hand through his hair. “This is insufferable. I can’t bring your head back.”

“I’d much prefer you didn’t. I’m rather fond of it where it is.”

The man waved his sword in Brody’s face. “Don’t sass me! I wouldn’t take such talk from a man, much less a pest like you.”

The two of them remained as they were, the man fuming and Brody watching the sword that was far too close to his neck. It was all rather awkward and Brody would have just as soon left. He considered trying a few conversation starters he’d learned from a drunken dwarf, but this really didn’t seem the best time for them. The strange stalemate continued far too long.

Finally the man asked, “Do you live here?”

“Unfortunately yes. I can relocate if that’s an issue.”

“How long have you lived here? Long enough to know the land well?”

Brody tried to shrug, which proved hard. “I’ve been in these parts a little over a year. I know the people living within ten miles. There aren’t many of them and not much of anything else.”

The man stepped off Brody and grabbed him by an antenna coming from his back. Roughly pulling him off the ground, the man set Brody down but kept his grip on him. “What monsters live here?”

Brody was momentarily at a loss for words. “You do know we’re at the edge of farm country, right?”

“That’s why I came here.”

That didn’t make sense. Trying to reason with this strange person, Brody said, “You don’t typically find monsters near farmland. Either the farmers drive off the monsters or the monsters drive off the farmers.”

“Don’t give me that. There have to be foul beasts lurking here, looking to attack travelers and slaughter livestock. Where is the nearest monster?”

Brody was tempted to answer ‘two feet in front of me’, but that likely wouldn’t go over well. An honest answer would be just as bad. Brody was what humans like to call a coward and what goblins like to call still alive. Getting close to monsters was a good way to end up dead, so goblins stayed away from them. Monsters didn’t think goblins were worth attacking, what with them being small, bad tasting and poor for those monsters that like money. It made for a happy situation where most monsters ignored goblins and all goblins avoided monsters. Brody saw no reason to upset the status quo.

The man shook Brody. “Come on, out with it!”

This situation could get bad right away or bad when Brody gave in to his captor’s demands. Stalling for time, he asked, “Why do you want to find one? All the people I know run from monsters.”

The man stood up straighter. “Ah, but are they knights?”

“It’s never come up in conversation. I take it you’re a knight. What does a knight want with a monster?”

“To slay it,” the knight said with exaggerated patience. “I’ve traveled weeks through farmland and villages, questioning all I met as to where I could find a beast to slay. No one could direct me, so I came to the wilderness.”

Brody and the knight were mere miles from the nearest farm. If the knight was looking for adventure he hadn’t traveled nearly far enough. Trying to make that clear hadn’t worked once and probably wouldn’t if tried a second time. Still stalling, Brody asked, “What kind of monster are you looking for?”

“A worthy challenge,” the knight declared. “Not some pipsqueak goblin, a proper monster. Have you any chimera here?”

“I’d have left if there was. So would the farmers.”

“What of the walking dead?” the knight pressed. “Are there any of them here?”

“No, and we’re happy for that. I’m sorry to break this to you, but this is a very quiet place. That’s why I moved here. I don’t like noise and violence and bad things happening. I like to swim, and there are very nice swimming holes here.”

“With sea serpents?”

Brody briefly wondered if the man was suicidal. “No. Is this some kind of trophy hunt?”

“Hardly.” The knight studied their surroundings as if he expected a horde of blood-crazed maniacs to burst out of the sparse tree cover. “I wouldn’t expect a sniveling thing like you to understand, but I am in love.”

“That doesn’t really fit with fighting monsters. They tear people apart, which is just the sort of thing to end a relationship.”

“Bah, why do I even bother?” The knight sighed and leaned against a pine tree. “Princess Ella is a beauty many seek and none have earned. I went to her and professed my undying love. She said that only a worthy man may wed her, no matter how high his birth. She bade me to prove my valor and defeat a mighty monster, then bring back proof of the deed.”

Two things occurred to Brody, the first that Princess Ella was a sadist and the second was she wanted to get this guy killed so she wouldn’t have to listen to him. Saying this out loud likely would end with Brody’s head and body being permanently separated, so he kept quiet. Instead he pointed to the knight’s sword and asked, “Would you terribly mind putting that away? It makes me nervous.”

That didn’t go over well. The knight pushed Brody into a tree. “You don’t give me orders! That you live is a mercy, and one that can be revoked!”

“Clear, sir,” Brody said. He stayed quiet. When humans were in these situations they often called for the authorities. That was a bit of an issue when the knight was the authority, a situation made infinitely worse by the fact that human law didn’t protect goblins.

“What about ogres?” the knight demanded.

“There’s a family of ogres living in the town of Killrith.”

“Ah ha!” The knight thrust his sword into the air, but his elation was short lived. “Wait, they live in the town?”

“They’re brewers,” Brody explained. “I’ve never sampled their beer, but I’m told it’s quite good. I think the king would frown on you attacking taxpayers, and the people of Killrith would tear you apart for trying.”

The knight stomped his foot. “This is infuriating! Every day spent on this quest is a day where another knight could defeat a monster and prove himself worthy of Princess Ella’s love. There has to be something here I can kill!

Brody found himself wishing he did have a monster handy to send the knight at. As far as he was concerned it would be a fitting end if either of them were killed. He was also developing serious issues with Princess Ella. If she’d marry anyone who brought her something bloody then she really shouldn’t be marrying at all. Normally Brody avoided the pranks and tricks other goblins enjoyed so much, but he was getting an urge to visit Princess Ella and fill her slippers with horse manure.

“Please try to understand, sir.” Brody added the last word when the knight gave him a menacing glare. “This place is dull, astonishingly dull. The way I understand it, the last time there was a problem that needed a knight’s help was five years ago, and the hero Julius Craton handled it.”

The knight spat again. “Hero. He has no right to the title! By king and country, he was a foundling left at a beggar woman’s door, a babe with no parents who’d acknowledge him. My family tree goes back twenty generations. Twenty, and knights all of them!”

What the knight said was true. Julius Craton had been left at a widow’s doorstep when he was just a baby. Even Brody had heard the story. Casually he said, “It doesn’t seem to have stopped him from killing necromancers, rogue golems, monkey snake infestations, wyverns, bandits and a smallish army.”

The knight roared in outrage and threw Brody as hard as he could. The goblin tried to roll when he landed and got behind a tree before the knight could swing his sword. But it bought him mere seconds before the knight followed him and grabbed him by a back antenna.

“You would call him my better?” the knight bellowed. “You would call that worthless, illegitimate dog worthy of Princess Ella’s love?”

Too late Brody realized his mistake. If Ella liked men with bloody histories then Julius Craton and his record number of victories would be just the man she’d want. The knight wouldn’t stand for the idea that anyone might win her hand, much less a man of common background.

Sword raised, the knight screamed, “I should—wait, what did you say?”

“Something that clearly upset you and I won’t repeat!”

“No, no, the victories of that foundling.” Pulling Brody close, the knight demanded, “You mentioned rogue golems, necromancers and what else?”

Brody tried to stop shaking, but he couldn’t. “Bandits, monkey snake infestations, wyverns and a smallish army. I am very sorry to report that we’ve none of them about, either. There was a wyvern a few months ago, but the tentacled horror killed it.”

“That’s it! That’s what I’ve been looking for!”

Puzzled, Brody asked, “What, a dead wyvern? There are some identifiable bits left. I guess you could bring them back and say you killed it.”

“Cur!” the knight shouted, and Brody crouched under what was sure to be a lethal blow. But the knight relented. “Knights don’t claim the victories of another. No, you dishonorable wretch, I mean the tentacled horror.”

Brody looked up, too surprised to be scared. “What, Phil? He’s not a monster. He doesn’t bother anyone. He doesn’t even eat meat.”

The knight warmed up to the idea. “Yes, it works. A tentacled horror is a worthy foe, a threat to all if it could kill a wyvern. Slaying such a beast would surely win Princess Ella’s attention, and none could surpass the deed. It would go down in my family’s history, a feat none of my ancestors ever accomplished and none of my descendants could match.”

“That implies you’d have descendants after fighting Phil.”

“That’s a fool name for a monster! It’s decided. Take me to the lair of the tentacled horror this very night so I may slay it. Do this and I will let you live.”

Brody tried to come up with words that might get through to this fool, but anything resembling common sense made the knight angry. Brody had a healthy fear of swords, what with them being made to stick into places they don’t belong like kidneys and livers, and the knight had a firm grip on him. He couldn’t escape. He looked down and said, “Yes sir.”

Knight and goblin traveled deeper into the wilderness as the sun set and darkness fell. No one saw them travel through the patchwork of pines and rocky outcroppings. It wasn’t good land for farming, after all, and the few people who came here to harvest timber did so rarely and always went home the same day. They went higher and higher up a steep hill with few trees and only a little grass.

The walk gave Brody time to think. He’d bet on Phil winning this fight, what with him being a tentacled horror, but there was always a chance things could go the other way. The knight had promised to spare Brody’s life and knights were supposed to keep their word. But human laws didn’t protect goblins, and the knight’s word might also be exempt. He might kill Brody out of anger, or maybe to keep him from tarnishing the victory. After all, the princess might not like a suitor who’d received help from a goblin.

Brody stopped near a sheer stone wall worn smooth. The knight prodded him with the butt of his sword.

“Keep moving.”

Brody pointed at a cluster of bushes near the wall. The bushes were dead and not rooted. “Phil’s home is in a cave on the other side of those bushes. He tore them up and blocks the cave entrance to keep animals out when he’s sleeping.”

The knight stroked his chin. “So the beast is here, and asleep. Good, good, I can strike while it rests and kill it in one blow.”

“Not very heroic.”

The knight shoved him aside. “I’ve no interest in your opinions. Stay here and remain silent. If so much as a word passes your lips it will be your last.”

Brody did as ordered, even staying on the ground where he’d fallen. The knight carefully removed the brush, not making the slightest sound. He moved so slowly his armor didn’t even rattle as he worked. Brody was impressed despite his dislike of his captor. The knight wasn’t making a noise louder than a whisper. Phil had good hearing and was a light sleeper, but he wouldn’t hear the intrusion.

The knight cleared the way into the cave and went inside, his head bowed to avoid the stalactites hanging from the cave roof. He didn’t make a light, either, which surprised Brody. Maybe the knight had some sort of magic to see at night. But one look up showed this wasn’t needed. The moon was full and came at just the right angle to shine into the cave. The knight could go in some twenty feet under moonlight. Brody wasn’t sure how deep the cave was, so that might be enough to run into Phil…or at least part of him.

The knight had ordered Brody to not say a word. Goblins as a rule weren’t keen on following orders. It made it hard to have fun. But Brody was feeling a tad vindictive, and something about skirting an order appealed to him. He plucked a tuft of grass from the thin soil and tickled his nose. “Ahchoo!”

A terrible noise came from the cave, a burbling and a rustling sound like something big was moving in a confined space, something that did not at all like unexpected guests. The next sound was screaming and the shrieking of armor bending and tearing. The knight was thrown out of the cave and landed twenty feet in front of Brody. The knight looked up, and Brody smiled and waved.

Phil wasn’t done. A tentacle forty feet long and as thick as a man’s head stretched out of the cave. It grabbed the knight by the heels and lifted him into the air before swinging him back down. Crash. It did it again, crash, and again, crash! Broken armor flew off. The knight’s sword snapped in half. The tentacled horror lifted the knight up one last time before throwing him a far as it could, and it could throw very far indeed. There was another crash as he landed and then rolled down the hill.

Brody calmly got up and walked down the hill. He saw Phil reach out with more tentacles to sweep out bits of broken armor and rearrange the dead bushes around the cave entrance. Brody eventually found the knight where he’d rolled up against a tree. The man was still alive, somehow, but wouldn’t be a threat for some time to come. The odds of there being wedding bells in his future were rather bleak.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Brody began, “that didn’t work when the wyvern tried it, either.”

Goblin Stories VI

“This is proof that Monday wants me dead,” Thradly said as he and his fellow goblins snuck through the woods. “Wednesday wouldn’t do this to me. It’s laid back. Friday actually likes me! But Monday is a bitter, backstabbing treacherous day.”

“Keep it down,” Drivel warned him. The two were surrounded by ten digger goblins armed with picks and hammers. Thradly, Drivel and their digger bodyguards watched the woods for any sign of life. A noise to their left made the entire group drop to the ground and lay silent. When they saw it was just a deer, they continued on.

“Three times,” Thradly continued. He wore a beaten up leather jacket, green pants, boots and gloves. His skin was pale and he had two horns on his head, one half the length of the other. Some people thought it had broken off in an accident, but the horns had been mismatched since Thradly was born.

“Might end up being four,” Drivel replied. His fellow goblin wore blue clothes, boots and a welder’s mask that had appeared months ago when the goblins accidentally warped space. There had been some debate at the time as to who would get it, but Drivel won the prize on the merits of how dangerous his job was. Drivel also held a steel case, normally empty but today carrying a Horrible Bad.

Thradly nodded to Drivel. “It might end up being four, or five.”

“We said we were sorry,” a digger said. “It’s not like we wanted to find it.”

“It happens,” Drivel told the digger.

“It’s happening a lot,” Thradly said. “We’ve been living here for fifty years, maybe longer. We should have found every Horrible Bad and gotten rid of them years ago, but they keep turning up.”

A digger raised his hand and asked, “Could someone be bringing them in?”

That stopped Thradly and Drivel in their tracks. The idea actually made sense, a first for goblins! Thradly asked, “You think someone found a Horrible Bad and buried it on our land for safekeeping?”

The digger goblin nodded. “Maybe.”

Drivel shrugged, his expression hidden behind his mask. “We can do more patrols of our territory to catch people if they’re dumping their problems on us, but that’s tomorrow’s job. Right now we have to get this out of here before we’re seen. This Horrible Bad could get everyone killed if it’s found on us.”

The diggers shuddered, and with good cause. Goblins had been dealing with Horrible Bads for generations. They were an indirect threat, not attacking the goblins but instead drawing in trouble like magnets drew iron. They’d seen goblin villages burned down and their owners scattered when even one Horrible Bad appeared. It was nearly as bad for the other races. Thradly once saw an entire human city destroyed because of the Horrible Bads hidden there, with not one stone left on another. He’d heard of elf and dwarf settlements suffering just as much. The fighting would only end when the Horrible Bad was gone or there was no one left alive. Even worse, the more Horrible Bads there were the worse the danger. Get too many of them together and kingdoms could be destroyed.

A Horrible Bad was a threat to everyone, and someone had to get rid of it. That someone was Thradly and Drivel. They’d volunteered for the job years ago in a most unusual act for a goblin. Goblins knew that being brave was often a prelude to being dead, so they ran from danger or hid until it passed. But a Horrible Bad was something you couldn’t run from, and the threat never went away. You had to get rid of it, and the longer you had it the more danger everyone was in.

Drivel headed for a trail in the woods, moving away from their destination. Thradly grabbed his arm and said, “Wrong way.”

Drivel pointed at the sun, still hours away from setting. “It’s still too light out. We need a distraction in case we’re seen. I know a performer goblin who can help.”

They followed Drivel through the woods until they found a small mud hut. A goblin wearing bright clothes was inside practicing on a horn. He saw the group coming and smiled. “Hey there, fellas, how’s it going?”

Drivel dropped his steel box, and it landed with a thud! The diggers looked down in shame. Drivel patted one of them on the back. “It happened again. The guys were digging a house into the side of a hill when they found it. We’re going to get rid of it and we need your help.”

The performer’s good cheer was unchanged by the dire news. “Of course you do.”

Thradly and Drivel set out again with the diggers and performer goblin. They slunk through the woods, careful to avoid trails made by goblins or other races. It was equally important to avoid houses, even abandoned ones. They’d learned the hard way that deserted buildings could house thieves, bandits, peddlers and rogue lawyers, all threats when a Horrible Bad was involved. If even one person saw it, hundreds or thousands of killers would come swarming into goblin lands.

The group stopped in sight of a dirt road in the woods. It was made by humans and linked a town of two thousand people to a mining camp not far away. Most of the mines were played out and had been abandoned to the goblins, but there were still enough producing copper that there were plenty of people in the area. The goblins had to cross the road to get rid of the Horrible Bad. This was where they’d be in the most danger of being seen.

Thradly pointed both directions down the road. “Two guys go up, two go down. Make a bird call if you see anyone coming.”

“What kind of birdcall?” a digger asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Thradly answered.

The digger asked, “Can I do a scarlet tanager?”

“They’re not indigenous to this part of the world,” said another digger. “Do a duck call.”

Shocked, the first digger said, “People eat ducks. I don’t want to get eaten!”

Thradly grabbed two goblins and pushed them down the road, then grabbed two more and sent them the other way. “We wait five minutes and then move. You see anything, you warn us! Do this right or every goblin in a hundred miles is in danger!”

That ended the argument. Four diggers went out to scout for danger while the others waited in the woods. There was no warning, so they made a dash for the other side of the road. They’d gotten to the other side when they heard a chickadee call.

“Hide,” Drivel ordered. The goblins dove into the woods, slipping under fallen trees or burying themselves in dry leaves. Goblins could hide like few others, and soon the entire band was gone.

They weren’t a second too soon. A platoon of elf mercenaries marched down the road for the distant town. The goblins had seen them before. The local human king hired them to drive out bandits and kill monsters. But the elves also tried to evict goblins. They were a tough bunch, wearing chain armor and armed with spears and shields. They looked like they’d seen action recently, with fresh scratches on their shields. The elves spoke in their own language as they approached. The goblins spoke the local human language and Thradly knew a smattering of dwarf (mostly swear words), so they had no idea what the elves were saying.

Thradly was hiding in a shallow depression under a fallen log, watching the elves as best he could without being seen. The platoon came closer, and Thradly’s heart beat so hard he thought it was going to come out of his chest. The elves came closer still, almost near enough to touch, when their leader called them to a halt.

No, Thradly thought. Keep going! But the elves held their position. Their leader sniffed the air before checking the ground. He said something in elven, then announced, “I know you’re here. There are fresh tracks and a stink that can only come from goblins, or maybe humans. Come out quietly and you’ll be escorted out of the kingdom.”

Thradly looked around. He couldn’t see the other goblins and he dared not make a sound, so there was no way to organize an escape. He’d have to do this on his own. Drivel was carrying the Horrible Bad, and that meant he had to be protected at all costs. Thadly got ready to run out and draw off the elves. He gulped nervously and pulled a dagger from his belt.

“Woom! Woom woom!”

The elves spun around and found the performer goblin blowing his horn. He’d never crossed the road, and bless his tiny little mind, he was trying to get the elves to chase him. Four elves snarled and marched toward the performer, but they stopped when their leader held up his hand. The performer kept blowing his horn, and the elf leader tapped his fingers on his shield in time with the music.

“That’s Alia’s Ultimatum from The Crystal Rose of Infinite Beauty,” the elf leader declared. He noticed his warriors’ confused expressions and said, “You know, where Alia tells her lover that either he marries her or she’ll run him through with a pitchfork.”

“Oh, right,” an elf said. “I saw the Royal Opera Company present that one a few years ago. Beautiful performance.”

“Wasn’t your sister in the lead role?” the leader asked.

The other elf shook his head. “No, someone stole her role by locking her into a steamer trunk and mailing it to another kingdom before the show began. It’s a pity, but the show must go on.”

The performer goblin stopped playing and stared at the elves. “What are you talking about? That’s not opera! I was inspired to write that piece after spending a night in a barn with farting cows.”

The elf leader nodded. “It’s a fair description of Alia’s Ultimatum.”

The performer scowled and marched over to the elven leader. “Look here, you! I’m not going to let you ruin my reputation by comparing my work to opera! You take that back right this minute or I’ll spit on your shoes!”

Thradly felt a tug on his arm. It was Drivel, no longer carrying his steel box. “Come on. I got the box out of here and the others are already gone.”

Thradly and Drivel crawled away while the elf mercenaries discussed opera and the performer goblin shouted threats at them. When an elf asked him if he knew any songs from Of Love and Wombats, the poor performer screamed and swung his horn at the elf’s shins.

“We got away, but the elves are going to throw your friend out of the kingdom,” Thradly said.

Drivel waved his hand dismissively. “He’s been run off or exiled more times than I can count. He comes back every time. Weird thing is that’s not the first time he got a good review. The poor fella has even been invited to perform at inns, if you can believe that.”

They found the digger goblins hiding in a clearing deep in the woods. They had the steel box with the Horrible Bad in it, each goblin staring at it in fear. Drivel looked at Thradly and asked, “Can you carry it for a while? My arms are getting sore.”

“I got it,” Thradly said. He picked up the steel box, a credible accomplishment in and of itself. The Horrible Bad wasn’t large, but it was heavier than anything that size should be. Each step carrying it was hard work, almost as if the Horrible Bad was trying to slow him down and make sure he was caught.

The goblins continued on as night fell. They were getting tired, but this was the safest time to move. The local humans would be asleep and no threat, and the elf mercenaries had taken care of most of the monsters. It got colder, and the new moon offered little light. Thradly struggled under the weight of the Horrible Bad, a situation made worse by the poor lighting.

“Good news,” Drivel told him.

“I could use some of that,” Thradly said.

“It’s midnight,” Drivel told him. “Monday’s over.”

Thradly smiled. “We made it! Tuesday’s a quiet day, kind of hung over. It won’t kick you around.”

They spent the entire night and a good part of the morning scurrying through the woods until they reached their destination. The woods parted to reveal a farmer’s field well away from the nearest goblin house, hut or hovel. The farmer was harnessing two oxen to a plow and headed out to till his fields. The goblins waited until he was far away from his house and barn before they approached.

They were so close, but a mistake even now would be disastrous. They checked for dogs that might bark at them, chickens that might squawk, geese that might honk. No animal betrayed their presence and no one saw them, and they finally reached a well on the farmer’s property.

Thradly put down the steel box next to the well. Drivel took out a key and unlocked the box. Thradly took a deep breath and opened it while the diggers backed away. With the lid open they could see the Horrible Bad inside. It was a sight to terrify any goblin. The threat to all life was made of solid gold and weighed fifty pounds. It was formed into a bar with a stamp of a stag on the top.

Thradly struggled to pick it up. “Awful, isn’t it? I’ve seen humans, elves, dwarfs, gnomes and ogres fight for gold. The sight of it makes them turn on each other. They’ll kill for even a handful of coins. If they thought we had gold on our land they’d run us off, maybe kill us, then fight each other to get it.”

“It’s got to be worth at least a thousand gold coins, maybe more,” Drivel said. He grabbed an end and helped Thradly lift it to the edge of the well. “This is the third one we’ve dumped here. I can’t help but think we’re putting the farmer’s life in danger leaving it on his land. People would kill him in a heartbeat to get it.”

“If we do this right no one will ever know it's here, including him,” Thradly said. He and Drivel dropped the gold bar into the well. There was a splash as the gold disappeared, and the goblins threw in rocks to cover the bar in case someone looked in and saw it glitter. The bar was gone, hidden along with ten thousand gold coins worth of treasure the goblins had dumped there over the years.

Thradly nodded to the others and shook their hands. “We’re safe now.”

Goblin stories V

“I was sure they’d give up by now!” Thipins shouted as he and Campots ran out of town. The mob behind them was fifty strong, an improvement over the two hundred men and women who’d started the chase. But those fifty were a determined lot, and nothing would shake them off the goblins’ trail.

“These people can’t take a joke!” Campots shouted back. “They’re not too big on taking the truth, either. I thought everyone knew the mayor had a mistress. We figured it out in less than a day!”

“And needed half that long to prove it,” Thipins gasped.

Thipins and Campots left the human town and ran into a patch of woods, the trees young and growing close together. For the goblins it was a minor issue to slip between them. The humans had a much harder time of it as they forced their way through the young trees, snapping some of them in half as they pushed forward. But the farther they went the harder it got, for the branches of the broken trees caught on branches of ones still standing to form a formidable barrier. They finally gave up the chase and fell back, leaving Thipins and Campots to make good their escape in the growing darkness.

“The tourism board is going to have a lot of explaining to do,” Thipins said.

“So is the mayor. He was old enough to be that girl’s granddad, and a whole lot heavier than she was. I understand it’s the same way with elephant seals.”

Thipins rested against a thick tree deep in the woods. The builder goblin had long brown hair and spikes jutting out of his shoulders. Otherwise he was a typical goblin, dirty, stupid and possibly insane. “Do you think we misjudged the situation?”

“I don’t see how,” Campots told him. Campots was a builder goblin and a rope hoarder, with fifty feet wrapped around his arms, chest and even his head. It was hard to see his turquois blue skin under the rope, and would have been even harder had he kept the extra hundred feet he’d brought for this trip.

“Well, live and learn,” Thipins said. He and Campots continued on, the day’s disaster already out of his mind. “That’s what I love about traveling. You go to a new place, you learn new things.”

“Like not to tell a man’s wife about his mistress while they’re together,” Campots said. “That’s one I’m going to have to remember.”

“Remember what?” Thipins asked.

Campots scratched his head and shrugged. “I forgot. So, what’s the next town on this road?”

Thipins took a map from his pocket and unfolded it. The setting sun offered just enough light to read it. “Says here there’s a town named Last Light a few miles from here. We should make it before dawn.”

“We’ll have to talk to their mayor when we get there. I don’t want any more misunderstandings.”

Night fell fast so late in the year. The pair had been traveling ever since Thipins lost his troll friend. It had to happen, for trolls lose their impatience and anger as they age, making them poor targets for goblin pie traps. Thipins had taken it poorly and left troll lands, and Campots had come along to keep him company.

“I’d just like to say how unfair it is that the mayor didn’t get chased out of town,” Campots said.

“That we know of,” Thipins countered. “His wife looked pretty steamed.”

Campots nodded. “That was a mighty big frying pan she was swinging at him.”

With the sun down the air quickly cooled. Campots shivered, for the ropes and rags he wore couldn’t keep out the cold. “You mind if we find somewhere to spend the night? Nothing fancy so long as it’s out of the wind.”

The pair came out of the woods onto farm fields. The crops had been harvested weeks ago, leaving little more than stubble and dirt. But where there was fields there were farmers, and farmers meant barns and attics to hide in.

“Jackpot,” Thipins said as he saw a small house in the middle of the field. It was wood with a thatched roof and attached barn. “It should be warm enough in there, especially if they have sheep or cows. They make a lot of heat.”

Both goblins hurried across the field and stopped outside the house. There was a light on inside, and a human couple wearing simple cotton clothes was cleaning up after supper. The husband and wife looked grim as they scrubbed out their wood bowls and plates.

“The war’s already cost us half our harvest,” the wife said. “How much more can they take?”

“All of it,” her husband said. “They’ll take every grain of wheat to feed the army. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to poach game to keep fed. It’s you and Joshua I worry about. I don’t know if I can catch enough for the three of us.”

The woman looked down. Tears brimmed around her eyes as she said, “The duke has loss many men, and mercenaries cost too much. What if they conscript you? I’ve seen it done! They grab every man well enough to walk and hand them spears, as if that makes a man a soldier.”

The husband embraced his wife. “I’ll not leave you and the baby. Come what may, our son will have a father. Rest now. Worry won’t solve our problems, and tomorrow will have work enough for us both.”

The couple went to bed, and Thipins and Campots snuck in once they were asleep. The cooking fire was out, but the embers were still warm, and the goblins settled down by the ashes.

“Bummer about these folks getting pushed around,” Thipins said.

“Happens a lot. We’re in the Land of the Nine Dukes, which is eight dukes too many if you ask me.”

Curious, Thipins asked, “How’s that?”

Campots waved his hand at the window. “See, there are nine dukes ruling here. No king. The dukes all want to be king, and the best way they can think of doing that is to get rid of the other dukes. The way I hear it, they’ve been fighting on and off for eight centuries. They take off a decade here and there, but the wars keep starting up again.”

“That’s really stupid,” Thipins said.

“I know. You’d think they could play chess for the crown, or make whoever’s tallest king. Humans, huh? They’re not so good at thinking.”

Thipins frowned. “The guy said he had a son.”

“Yeah, Joshua.” Campots got up and looked around the farmhouse. He smiled when he saw a cradle next to the sleeping couple. “There he is.”

Thipins and Campots snuck over to the cradle. Inside was a tiny baby boy wearing white. The boy had a hint of brown hair on his head, and to the goblins’ surprise his brown eyes were open.

“Hey there little fella,” Thipins said. The baby kicked his leg, not in response to Thipins' greeting but just because he felt like doing it.

“Don’t wake his parents,” Campots whispered. The tiny baby looked at them, showing neither fear nor interest. “Cute kid. He’s going to be in a real bind if the dukes take away his food and his dad.”

“They really need new rulers around here,” Thipins said. “Maybe we could hold a raffle to see who’s going to be the next duke. I think everyone would agree that’s for the best.”

“I like the idea, but people with swords have funny ideas on who should be in charge,” Campots told him. He made a disgusted face and added, “They have some pretty nasty idea on what to do with anyone who disagrees with them, too.”

Thipins smiled at the baby. “It’s funny. Humans don’t do much when they’re this little, just sit around and wait to be fed, maybe wiggle a bit. But there’s something about them that makes you want to hold them and feed them and beat the snot out of anyone who makes them cry.”

“Yes,” Campots said as he stared at the child. “The effect…it’s almost hypnotic.”

“Yeah,” Thipins said lovingly. “So small, so pretty. You’d never guess he was plotting world domination.”

Campots smiled. “Really?”

“You can tell just by looking at him.” Thipins pointed at the baby and said, “He’s not bothered by us at all, and we’re strangers in his house. That’s proof of a keen, unflappable mind. He hasn’t said a word, either. Keeps his own counsel. And what stamina he’s got. He’s still up when his parents are both out cold.”

Thipins’ observations were both true and irrelevant. Joshua was two months old, too young to do much of anything. His vision was poor as well, like most infants, and it would be months more until he could see farther than three feet. Between his weak eyes and the dark room, Joshua had no idea who or what was standing next to his cradle, and it would be a long time before he spoke to anyone. Joshua’s being awake had nothing to do with stamina, for he’d slept fifteen hours that day already.

Campots snorted. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

Thipins nodded. “Yep. He’s just biding his time until he’s attracted an army of fanatically loyal allies. Mark my words, the next time we hear about this one is when he’s overthrowing all the nations and kingdoms of the world.”

“Frankly I won’t miss them,” Campots said. “He’ll be a big improvement over the nine dukes. He’d have a hard time being worse. Let’s help him get started.”

“You’re right,” Thipins said. He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and a short pencil. “It’s our duty to promote the next generation of would-be despots and conquerors, especially the cute ones. I’ll start a signup sheet for his legion of doom and we’ll pass it around. You mind if I put my name first?”

Campots patted him on the shoulder. “Not at all.”


A week later the farmer and his wife saw Duke Edgely’s soldiers come. There were five of them led by a sheriff. For a moment the farmer thought that they’d learned of his poaching game birds two years ago after Edgely had confiscated his entire harvest. But one look showed that these men were bored. They weren’t here to kill him.

“Kalen Samstack?” the sheriff asked.

“That’s me,” he said warily.

The sheriff unrolled a parchment and read aloud, “Kalen Samstack, you are hereby ordered and obliged to provide military service to your duke, for a period of no less than one year and no longer than five. You will be provided a spear, a shield, a uniform, a backpack and one pair of boots. You will also be provided two meals a day and a change of boots after six months.”

The farmer’s wife wept as he tried to reason with the sheriff. “Please, I’ve no relatives to take my place in the fields. If you take me there’s no way we’ll pay the grain tax. I beg of you, my wife just had a son.”

“Then you’ve an heir to carry on your lineage if something happens to you,” the sheriff replied. “The duke’s calling up one man in ten. It’s poor luck, Samstack, but there’s nothing to be done about it.”

The farmer backed away as the soldiers approached him. “I’ve never fought a man in my life!”

“There’s a first time for everything,” the sheriff said dryly. “We can take you to the front in chains if we have to. For everyone’s sake, be reasonable.”

“Reasonable?” a hissing voice said behind them. The soldiers spun around to find a threatening man walking up the road. His plate armor covered him head to toe, an ebony nightmare of spikes and armor plates. The man, if it was a man, carried a steel bar six feet long, with brass spikes on top two feet. “Reasonable isn’t my strong suit.”

He wasn’t alone. A smiling man in leather armor dyed bright blue joined him. This one was armed with spiked gauntlets that came up to his elbows, a strange choice of weapon but one that seemed to suit him.

“Ah, hello there,” the grinning man said. “Gentlemen, you’re leaving, and you’re doing it without this fine fellow. I know that’s not what you were told to do, but I think we’ll all be a lot happier if you make the smart choice and walk away.”

The sheriff drew a sword, and his men did likewise. “Now look here—”

“No one ever makes the smart choice,” the grinning man told his companion.

“It makes life interesting.”

It took the hissing man and his grinning companion ten seconds to send the soldiers to the ground. None of them were dead, a minor miracle, but they’d be sore for a long time. The sheriff backed away. “You’ll hang for this, you—”

The grinning man pounced on him, taking the sword from his grip and then grabbing him by the hair. “If you have something to say, tell it to the wall.”

Wham! The grinning man shoved the sheriff face first into the farmhouse’s wood wall. The sheriff fell unconscious, prompting the grinning man to quip, “Short conversation.”

“What’s going on?’ the farmer asked.

The grinning man took a sheet of grubby paper covering in names from his pocket and said, “Sorry about the fuss. We wouldn’t bother you, but we need a touch of help and your sheriff wasn’t going to give it to us with our reputations. Now then, on behalf of myself, Ironfang here and the rest of our associates on their way, I’d like to ask for you assistance in a small matter.”

Looking serious for once, the grinning man said, “I’m looking for a Joshua.”

Goblin Stories IV

It was a warm, windy day as Thipins the goblin finished work on his catapult, dubbed The Ultimate Revenge Machine (patent pending). Thipins was big for a goblin, with long tangled hair and tanned skin. His clothes were worn and tattered, which didn’t bother him. Thipins also had sharp spikes growing out of his shoulders. While these could potentially be used as weapons in a fight, the thought had never occurred to him or any of the goblins he lived with.

“Hand me the rope,” Thipins told Campots, another builder goblin. Campots gave him twenty feet of rope, and Thipins lashed two large timbers together.

“Are you sure about this?” Campots asked. He was spear bald and had turquoise blue skin. Campots was a big believer in rope and never went anywhere without fifty feet of it wrapped around his waist, shoulders, head and arms. There was another thousand feet of rope in his home, and he wanted to get another thousand before autumn.

Thipins turned around to look at his friends. There was a small horde gathered to help out and watch him fire the catapult, but they all looked doubtful.

“Sure I’m sure,” he told them. Thipins patted the catapult, and something went twang. “What you see here is the perfect tool for bringing that high and mighty troll to his senses.”

The catapult was quite frankly a piece of garbage. It was half as big as a human made catapult and nowhere near as powerful, but the faults didn’t stop there. It was made of low quality timber, with many of the boards cracked or sprouting leaves. Half the thing was held together with fraying rope, while the other half was built with rusty nails. Odds were it would fall apart on the first use, like most goblin catapults, but that one shot was all Thipins needed.

“It took us three days to build the first catapult, and five days to build the second one when the first one tore itself apart,” Thipins said. “And there were some issues with the second one, but everyone recovered. Now the third one—”

“We agreed not to talk about that one,” Campots reminded him.

Thipins nodded. “Fair enough. We learned a lot of ways not to do it, so this one has to work!”

Campots looked down. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s going to work!” Thipins shouted. He grabbed Campots by the shoulders and said, “Everything else failed. I’ve tried pit traps and snares. I got an order of stink bombs from the lab rat goblins in The Kingdom of the Goblins, for all the good those did. And my pie trap? One meat pie straight to the chest, and what did he do? He scraped it off and ate it!”

Thipins walked away from his fellow goblins, stopping when he reached the dirt wall. The goblins lived underground, as was normal for their kind, but where they lived was unusual. They were unofficial residents of Troll City #118, a city of five thousand trolls. The goblins had dug out their home underneath one of the giant stone domes the trolls used.

It was a good place to live. There were no serious threats from outsiders. No one was fool enough to bother this many trolls, and the goblins lived under their protection. And the trolls generated enough garbage that the goblins always had enough to eat. The trolls themselves were fairly tolerant of their goblin neighbors, which in this case was the problem.

Campots and another goblin went over to comfort Thipins. “It’s not your fault. You know how trolls get once they grow up.”

“I will not be ignored!” Thipins declared. “Look, I’ve seen Lambeth throw a goblin fifty feet for switching his salt with sugar.”

“That was before he grew up and got a teaching job at Bridger University,” Campots reminded him. “Now that he’s bigger, he’s calmed down a lot.”

Thipins raised a finger and said, “We know he still throws people around. Last month he threw that guy from the Peck Merchant House out of the city and set the guy’s cargo on fire.”

Campots shrugged. “Not sure what else you’d do with black market wyvern eggs. Can you imagine what would have happened if they’d hatched? But that doesn’t mean he’ll pay attention to you.”

Thipins frowned. He’d been friends with the troll for years. Thipins would set traps for Lambeth, and Lambeth would inevitably set them off. He’d get angry and chase the goblin. Sometimes the troll caught him and threw him in the nearest pond or river. That’s the way the game was played.

But then everything changed. Lambeth began asking strange questions about ethics and morality. He spent lots of time in the libraries even as he bulked up from 300 pounds to a whopping half ton of muscle and bone. The troll began to anticipate Thipins’ traps and disarm them, and even when he set one off, he didn’t chase the goblin or even shout at him. Then Lambeth got a job teaching philosophy at the university and hung around with boring, dull as dry toast academics. It was infuriating!

“We’ll get him back,” Thipins promised the others. “We’re going to remind him that he’s a raging, tough as nails, in your face, take no prisoners, not paying the bar tab kind of troll! Are you with me?”

There were no cheers from the goblins, but they did grab hold of the catapult. Thipins opened the door leading outside and led them on.

Outside their concealed home was a cluster of massive stone domes. Some of them were two hundred feet high and twice as wide. Paved roads ran between the domes, and there were trees and bushes along the road. The nearest troll was a mile away and busy planting new trees.

The goblins pushed their catapult down the street as fast as they could. Bits were already falling off and a wheel was wobbling, a bad sign, but Thipins was certain he’d get his one shot before it broke. They stopped at the west end of a large dome that housed the extension campus of Bridger University.

Troll domes had windows to let in light and fresh air, but they could be closed from the inside during bad weather. The one window Thipins needed open was a hundred feet off the ground and closed. A goblin used a lantern to flash a light, and another goblin inside the dome opened the window. That goblin also lowered a rope for Thipins to climb up. Thipins went up the rope as fast as he could, stopping on the edge of the window with the other goblin.

Thipins looked into the inside of the dome, where Lambeth the troll was teaching an ethics course. The room was large enough to house the fifteen trolls in the class, with stone benches and a chalkboard on a wall. The troll students were scaly brutes, each as big as Lambeth and with the fish fin ears, serious underbites and bulging muscles common to the species.

And there was Lambeth, his brilliant green scales making him stand out like a faceted emerald. Thipins’ old friend wore nothing but cotton trousers and was standing next to the chalkboard, droning on as he wrote.

“A common fallacy is to assume strength equates worth, and that those with more strength are superior to those without,” Lambeth told his students. “But power unwisely used is wasted, and strength is relative. Dragons are stronger than trolls, after all, as are giants, adult tentacled horrors and the giant mollusks off the Lele Island chain. Should we assume ourselves superior to some beings because of our strength, or that we are inferior to others on the same basis? Doing so reduces a sentient being’s worth to how much they can lift, clearly a flawed system.”

There was more, but Thipins didn’t need to hear it. Lambeth was next to the chalkboard, not moving a step in either direction. Reassured that he didn’t have to deal with a moving target, Thipins climbed back down to the catapult and his fellow goblins. They adjusted the catapult’s position, which was enough to shake off a dog collar they’d nailed to the siege engine. Two more goblins ran up with buckets full of musk ox manure. They poured it into the basket on the catapult arm and backed away.

Thipins stuck a finger in his mouth and held it up to judge the wind speed. He shifted the catapult an inch back and grabbed the lever.

“Good luck,” Campots said.

Whap! The catapult fired its disgusting cargo up and through the window, and the goblins cheered. But even better things were to come. They heard shouts of, “I say!” and, “What’s all this!” coming from inside the dome. Capping the day’s achievements, the catapult didn’t fall apart or accidentally throw anyone.

“You did it!” Campots shouted.

“Maybe,” Thipins said. He climbed back up the rope in record time and rejoined the goblin at the window. The shot had been perfect, and Lambeth was covered in dung. Other trolls hurried over to help clean him off. Thipins watched Lambeth, waiting for the explosive shout of outrage he knew was coming.

“It came right through the window,” a troll said to Lambeth.

Lambeth finished cleaning off, and a thoughtful expression crossed his face. “An impressive shot. It would be interesting to do the math on that.”

At once the trolls cleaned off the chalkboard and began working out how hard it would be to hit their teacher with manure. One troll left and dragged in the catapult (minus the wobbling wheel), and the trolls studied it to determine how much force it could generate. The chalkboard soon filled with diagrams and numbers.

Thipins watched in dismay as a prank he’d worked on for weeks was reduced to a physics equation.

Silently he climbed down the rope with the other goblin. He met the horde below, and the look on his face told them he’d failed. Lambeth wasn’t going to chase him and shout death threats. He wasn’t going to do anything to them at all.

Campots patted Thipins on the back. “Tough break, pal.”

The other goblins left, for there wasn’t going to be any chaos or confusion to enjoy. Only Thipins stayed. He waited until Lambeth finished with his class and came out. The troll looked at him, displaying no emotion. Thipins looked him in the eye and said, “You’re no fun anymore,” then marched off.

“An A for effort, little one, but I know the only way to beat a prankster is to ignore him,” Lambeth chuckled. He looked at his classroom’s window. It was a long way up and not a large window, which made hitting it a credible accomplishment. The catapult had done the job even though it was made of scrap lumber the trolls had judged useless and abandoned. Catapults were also notorious inaccurate, hitting only in the general area of where they were aimed. Add in a wind from the north west at twenty miles an hour and Thipins had done surprisingly well…far better than a goblin should have been capable of. Now that Lambeth thought about it, the shot should have been impossible.

“Goblins are supposed to be foolish, so how could he do that?” Lambeth mused. He broke into a run, shouting, “Thipins, wait!”

Goblin Stories III

“Now let me get this straight,” Finny began. “No one here is going to try to kill me, chase me, sue me or kick me in the shin. For the first time my life, I can walk the street without getting in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Stubs told him. “People put up with a lot in Nolod, but it’s best not to push your luck.”

Finny and Stubs the goblins stood at the edge of the upper class district of Nolod. Finny was short and had pale skin so covered in dirt that it looked brown. His clothes had once belonged to a merchant before the goblin stole them and trimmed them to fit. Finny also had a lantern, but the city was lit so bright he didn’t bother using it.

Stubs was no taller and had red skin. His clothes were a bit better than Finny’s, with a red cape and fewer holes in his pants, but that wasn’t saying much. He also had a scabbard he’d recently stolen. It was empty after he wisely threw away the cursed blade it once carried.

The pair had arrived at the city state of Nolod only that day, and a few hours of sneaking brought them to the best part of town. Of course the words ‘best part’ didn’t really describe anywhere in Nolod. The vast metropolis was an overbuilt, filthy, foul smelling place. People could make vast amounts of money in Nolod’s markets and port, but the city was so disgusting that it qualified as both reward and punishment for any who lived there.

“We’re sort of tolerated in Nolod,” Stubs explained. “They don’t like us, at all, but the locals will ignore us if we stay off the main roads and don’t make much noise. And the food! You would not believe how much these people throw away. You and I are going to fill our bellies inside of five minutes.”

Finny didn’t look convinced. “If it’s so great, why did you leave?”

Stubs waved his hand. “Oh, that. It was a simple misunderstanding with the city watch. I borrowed a few tools, a shovel and a couple live minks, but it was worth it when I tricked the Prime Minister into dropping his pants.”

“No!”

“Yes! It wasn’t like the minks were going to bite him. Well, maybe they would have. But that was years ago. I’m sure everyone’s forgotten about it by now.”

Stubs waved for Finny to join him in an alley that ran behind some of the finest restaurants in the world. These establishments served exquisite meals with choice cuts of meat and rare spices, prepared so lovingly that men, elves and dwarfs would pay handsomely for even a taste. Stubs and Finny were after their garbage.

“Good lord almighty,” Finny said. His eyes opened wide at the sight of the huge trash cans outside the restaurants’ back doors. Each can brimmed with scraps of food, plus all the parts trimmed off before the meals reached the tables. “You weren’t kidding.”

“And it’s like this every night!” Stubs told him.

Finny walked up to a can and took out a handful of garbage. “It’s a goblin paradise!”

“We just got to eat fast before somebody else comes,” Stubs said. “This much food brings in hundreds of goblins. There are other people who show up for a free meal, too. You can get harpies, were-beasts, sewer monsters, even young dragons.”

“Do they fight over it?” Finny asked.

Stubs gulped down a mouthful of garbage.
“Sometimes. That’s why it’s best to eat and run.”

A door opened next to the goblins, and an elven busboy stepped out with a bag of garbage. He saw the pair, and made a face like he’d bitten a lemon.

“Evening,” Stubs said cheerfully. The busboy dumped the garbage and went inside, locking the door behind him.

“They bring us food?” Finny asked.

“All we can eat,” Stubs said. “They don’t want it and they don’t want to carry it off. So if we get rid of it for them, they’re happy, sort of.”

The goblins ate heartily and filled bags with refuse for breakfast. They left the alley as more goblins arrived for their turn. There was a flapping noise and screeching voices overhead, proof that harpies had come for a share of the feast.

“It’s amazing,” Finny said. “All this food for the taking, and nobody cares. You could feed an army with this much chow. I mean, sure, the city smells like a hog farm exploded, but I can live with that.”

“We’re living the good life,” Stubs agreed as they ducked into another alley. This one was behind workshops, and the trashcans were loaded with building debris. Just then they heard a mewing sound from inside a can.

“Silly cat,” Finny said. He pointed back the way they’d come. “The food is over there.”

Stubs’ face went blank. “That’s not a cat.”

“Of course it is,” Finny said. Stubs handed Finny his scabbard and then climbed into the trashcan, moving carefully as if there was something valuable inside. Worried, Finny called out, “Stubs?”

“Shh, it’s okay, don’t cry.” Stubs climbed out of the trashcan carrying something wrapped in rags. It took Finny a moment to realize what it was.

“No,” Finny said. He hurried over and looked at Stubs. “This, there’s some kind of mistake.”

Stubs set the bundle down and opened it. He took out the tiny human baby and cradled her in his arms. “It’s okay, see? It’s all right. Shh.”

“Stubs, what’s going on?” Finny demanded.

“She’s a foundling,” Stubs told him. He rocked back and forth to sooth the baby. “Someone threw the little one out.”

“In the trash?” Finny shouted.

“Keep it down. You want her to cry?” Stubs looked around. “Sometimes little ones wander off and get lost, but this one’s too small to move on her own. Her skin’s red.”

“So’s yours,” Finny said.

“Yeah, well, when humans have red skin it means they’re really young, like days old. Someone had her not long ago and threw her out.”

Finny stared at the baby. “That, that’s monstrous.”

“You see me arguing?” Stubs patted the baby’s back. “I hate when this happens.”

Finny grabbed Stubs by the arm. “Happens? Happens means this has happened before.”

“This is my third foundling,” Stubs said. “I know guys here who’ve found even more.”

Finny reached over and pressed a finger into the baby’s hand. She grabbed on tight, and it took some effort to get free. “She’s healthy. Why would someone do that?”

Stubs shrugged. “You got me. Humans do all sorts of dumb stuff. I once saw a human with a knife run straight at a guy holding a glowing sword.”

“How did that end?” Finny asked.

“Pretty much the way you’d figure it would. We’ve got to move fast. If she was a little older we could give her rice porridge or yogurt, maybe mushed up fruit, but this small she’s on the all milk diet. If we can’t feed her, we can’t keep her.”

Finny looked at the surrounding buildings. They were all closed for the night, with no lights on or people about. “Where do we find her family?”

Stubs shrugged. “Nolod has a million people. Any of them could be her parents. Even if we find them, they might throw her out again if we give her back. We don’t have time to look for them when she’ll be hungry soon.”

Panicking, Finny asked, “What do we do?”

Stubs slid the baby inside his shirt. “There you go. It’s a lot warmer in there. Don’t worry, Finny, I’ve done this before. If we’re quick we can find her a new family before dawn.”

The two goblins scurried off into the night. Stubs led them through the city’s alley’s and back ways, careful to avoid attentions. That was harder than it sounded, for the streets were filled with people even at this late hour. Many streets were brightly lit with lanterns and torches so the residents could keep doing business. Humans, dwarfs, elves, minotaurs, ogres, there were even a few adolescent trolls. Thankfully few people noticed the pair, and those who did ignored them.

“Where are we going?” Finny asked.

“There’s a place outside Nolod where we can drop her off,” Stubs said. “It’s a small shrine built by the Brotherhood of the Righteous. Humans stop there every day.”

Finny hurried along carrying his lantern and Stubs’ scabbard. “But will they want her?”

“Oh yeah. Women with no kiddies come to pray for a baby. We noticed it one day and started leaving foundlings for them. They’re happy, the baby’s happy and nobody knows we’re involved.”

“You!” Two powerful hands grabbed Stubs by the collar and lifted him off the ground. The human wasn’t very tall, but his bare arms showed off impressive muscles. “I knew I’d catch up with you one of these days! You’re going to pay for what you did to me!”

“That’s the Prime Minister?” Finny asked.

“Huh? No, it’s Tehsil, a bartender who works in the Drunken Lemur Bar,” Stubs explained. He hunched over to conceal the baby. “What are you babbling about?”

Tehsil scowled and bared his teeth, or at least the few he had left. “Babbling? You painted my cat!”

Stubs sighed. “I’m sure it’s shed its fur by now, or is it you don’t like cubism?”

More humans came out of the nearby buildings. Most of them looked drunk, and you could have lit the alcohol fumes coming from their mouths. They grinned and pointed, clearly not about to intervene. Worse, they filled the street enough to keep the goblins from passing even if Stubs was free.

“I’m going to give you the beating of a lifetime, you stunted freak!” Tehsil said. He pulled back a fist for a punch, but it never landed. Finny set down his lantern and the scabbard, and jumped Tehsil. The bartender roared and let go of Stubs before throwing Finny aside. “You want a beating too?”

Finny got up off the street and held up his right hand. It had a billfold in it. Tehsil stared at it in confusion. He’d likely been sampling his own booze, for it took him seconds to shout, “That’s my wallet!”

“Drinks are on the house!” Finny yelled. He tore open the wallet and scattered the coins across the street. The crowd hadn’t been interested in saving the goblins, but they clearly had no love for the bartender, for as one they went for the money. Tehsil dove to the street and grabbed what he could, but there was no way he’d get even a fraction of his money back.

“Let’s go!” Stubs shouted. He ran down the street, dodging between men on all fours grabbing for coins. Finny stopped only long enough to grab the lantern and scabbard before following him. A few men started fighting over the money, and the goblins escaped just before a major brawl broke out.

The pair stopped running after a block and fell gasping to the street. Stubs gave Finny a smile and said,

“Thanks.”

“Oh that’s nothing. I once stole a knight’s helmet and buried it in a dung heap. Ah, good times. The little one slept through that?”

Stubs looked at the baby. “Yeah, she’s out cold. That’s a good thing. If someone saw us carrying her they’d think we took her. There’d be no end of trouble from that.”

Finny looked behind them. “The fight is still going on, so we’re in the clear. How much farther is it to your shrine?”

“We’ll make it by late morning. There’s a place we need to stop on the way to keep the little one happy. Come on, I’ll show you the way.”

The pair continued through the streets of Nolod for another three hours. They left the wealthy part of the city and entered the slums. Most buildings were wood here, and so decrepit that even goblins would think twice about living in them. The later it got the clearer the streets became until only goblins traveled the roads.

“Hey, Stubs!” a goblin called out. “Good to see you buddy! I was just saying to Merv that…oh. Sorry, pal, you don’t have time to talk. How many is it for you?”

“Three,” Stubs told the other goblin. “Me and Finny are heading for the shrine. Finny, this is Honest Al.”

Finny gasped. “The cursed goblin!”

“Yeah, I cannot tell a lie, no matter how much I want to,” Honest Al said. “You need a hand?”

“We’re good,” Stubs said. Still walking, he asked,

“Have there been many foundlings lately?”

“Lots,” Honest Al told him. ‘I’ve see eight this month. Most are older than yours and we took them in. A human I know said something about a recession. I think that’s what’s making it worse than normal.”

“You wouldn’t guess things are bad looking at the expensive restaurants,” Stubs said. “Everybody there is dripping in jewelry.”

Honest Al shrugged. “Some people always have money. Listen, if you don’t need me there are some inflammatory truths I want to spread. You sure you’re good?”

“Nothing’s wrong that more goblins can fix,” Stubs told him.

Honest Al smiled and waved at the baby before running off into the night. Finny watched him go and said, “Wow, just when you think you’ve got it bad, you meet someone worse off. Imagine never being able to lie. It would take all the fun out of life.”

“He manages,” Stubs said.

Stubs and Finny finally reached the edge of Nolod. Beyond the city were farms and large plantations. A few farms had dogs trained to sniff out goblins, but the dogs were satisfied with barking at them from behind wood fences. The stink that hung over Nolod was gone, but so were the city’s ever-present lights.

“Hold on,” Finny said. He lit his lantern and the two continued on.

“Thanks for bringing my scabbard when we were getting away from Tehsil,” Stubs said.

“You thought I’d leave it for that jerk?” Finny asked. “How’s the girl?”

Stubs stopped to check her. “Sleepy, but that won’t last much longer. Humans this small drink like a fish. She’ll want milk soon, and she’ll cry until she gets it.”

“Can we get her to the shrine before then?” Finny asked.

“No, but there’s a way around that. I know of a widow living on this road. She keeps goats. The baby will be happy with that.”

The houses and farms thinned out as they went farther from Nolod. This was partly due to the increasingly swampy ground. Stubs said it would get drier in a few miles, and the change was for the best. Fewer farms meant fewer potential witnesses. But the sun would be up soon and bring farmers with it. They had to hurry.

“There she is,” Stubs said, and nodded to a small house and barn next to the road. The buildings were built well, but from poor materials. The roof was thatch instead of tile or wood shingles, and the fence posts were untrimmed logs. To their surprise, there was a light on in a window. Finny peered in and saw a woman wearing a simple cotton dress start a fire in the fireplace.

Whispering, Finny said, “That’s no widow. Her hair isn’t white, and she hasn’t got any wrinkles.”

“I’d put her at twenty, twenty-five tops,” Stubs whispered back. “But she says she’s a widow. I asked her once how that can be true when she’s young. She got all teary eyed and ran off.”

The baby squirmed inside Stubs’ shirt and made a discontented sound. “No time left. We have to feed her now.”

Stubs and Finny went to the barn and found it locked. This stopped them for all of two minutes while Finny picked the lock. They went inside and closed the door behind them. Inside they found five goats in simple pens. Stubs took the baby out from inside his shirt and let her feed from a nanny goat. The goat looked up and bleated.

Finny nodded to the goat. “We appreciate your cooperation, ma’am.”

The baby fed for five minutes. Stubs patted her back until she burped, then checked the rags she was wearing. “No mess yet. That’s more good luck. Come on, Finny. We’ll reach the shrine by dawn and be back in Nolod for lunch.”

The goblins left the barn, careful to open and close the door so slowly that it didn’t make a squeak. That made it all the more surprising when Finny got hit with a broom.

“Take that! And that! And three more!” the woman shouted. Her long brown hair flew up and down with each swing of her broom. Finny went down and Stubs ran behind the barn.

“Cut that out, you crazy broad!” Finny shouted.

“You were doing mischief in my barn!” the woman shouted. She stopped swinging her broom and pointed it at Finny. “Bad enough I have the revenuers after me, but now I have goblins causing trouble. I’ve a hard enough life without you lot making it worse!”

“We didn’t do nothing, honest!” Finny protested.

The woman raised an eyebrow. “A goblin, honest?”

Finny shrugged. “It’s rare, but it happens.”

Stubs came back from behind the barn. “It’s true. We didn’t do any harm. We just needed some milk. We’ll be on our way and you’ll never see us again.”

The explanation didn’t satisfy her. “And what would a goblin need milk for? I’ve seen your kind drink bilge water.”

“We didn’t need it, it was for her,” Finny said. He pointed at the baby in Stubs’ arms.

The woman stared hard at them. “Of all the thieving, awful, no good things you could do!”

“We didn’t steal her!” Stubs said. “We, we found her in a garbage can last night.”

“I don’t believe you!” the widow shouted.

The baby whimpered and then burst out crying. Subs patted her back, saying, “There, there, the crazy lady didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Crazy?”

“It fits,” Finny told her.

The baby gradually calmed down. The woman walked up to Stubs and looked at the baby.

“We’re not lying,” Stubs told her. “Someone in Nolod threw her out with the trash.”

“Filthy place, and filthy people,” the woman said. Her expression softened as she looked at the baby. “You swear by all that’s holy that this is the truth?”

“We do.” Stubs smiled and edged closer to her. “Say, maybe you can help us. We can keep the little one warm and dry. Safe is easy to do, too. Nobody hides like goblins. But we can’t feed her. She’s too little for solid food.”

Stubs came closer. He shifted his grip so he was carrying the baby with both hands from the bottom. He spoke in a calm, soothing voice.

“But you can help us. You’ve got those goats, and little babies like goat milk. How about it, huh? We stop by a couple times a day so she can drink a bit of milk. She won’t take much, not when she’s so small. And it would only be until she can eat solid food, a year tops.”

The woman bent down. Tears formed around her eyes as she reached down and stoked the baby’s cheek.
Stubs came closer. His face looked somber, almost pleading as he said, “That’s not too much to ask, right? Food for a hungry baby?”

Tears poured down the woman’s face as she snatched the baby from Stubs and ran to her house. Stubs called, “Hey, wait!”

The woman raced into her house and slammed the door shut. Bang! They heard a thud as the door was barred from the inside. Finny handed Stubs back his scabbard, and together the two goblins went up to the window. They saw the woman sitting on her bed, cradling the baby in her arms.

“You’re good,” Finny told Stubs.

Stubs smiled. “I’m very good.”

Goblin Heroes III

A hero’s life is exciting, dangerous and often short. It is also rare for heroes to receive just compensation for the risks they take. Kings often don’t have the money to cover their own bills, much less pay someone for saving them, and the few who are rich enough seldom want to part with their gold. This makes heroes rare among any race, more so among goblins. But every so often some poor goblin gets labeled a hero, and to his eternal shame it sticks.

Honest Al

Honesty is not a common trait among goblins. Their best bet when in danger is to lie like a cheap rug when caught and hope someone believes them. But Al was a champion liar even among goblins. The small builder goblin could spin lies so believable that men would rush off in search of imaginary gold or to flee enemies that never existed. Al loved a good lie and knew hundreds of stories guaranteed to fool the greedy and gullible.

But Al’s lies caught up with him one day when he came upon an old gypsy woman riding a wagon. They met at a crossroad, one way leading to a city and the other into a swamp. The gypsy asked which way led to the city. Predictably, Al directed her to the swamp instead. He got a good laugh out of that, and was surprised when the gypsy caught up with him a week later. She’d gotten her wagon stuck and needed a day to get it out. Angry, she cursed Al that he had to tell the truth.

Al assumed she was bluffing, but he learned otherwise later that day. He met some prospectors he’d lied to a few weeks earlier, and to his amazement he admitted to them there was no gold within fifty miles of where he’d sent them. Al barely escaped the enraged prospectors and fled to the company of his fellow goblins. He didn’t want to tell them what happened, but again he found himself unable to lie. Worse, he was actually compelled to tell the truth at all times, even volunteering information.

This was a disaster! The other goblins did what they could to console Al, but to no avail. Al saw his future where he would literally not be able to lie even to save his own life, much less to annoy people. He despaired of ever having fun again. Even worse, if he had to tell the truth then all his old lies would come back to haunt him, and he’d told a lot of lies! There was the ‘fun with tar’ game he’d promoted, the ‘dig for gold in your bathroom’ trend he started, and who could forget the ‘ragweed as an aphrodisiac’ ad he’d placed in newspapers. Inconsolable, Al wandered off into a human settlement.

The humans were in an uproar over tax increases ordered by their mayor. The mayor said that their king was levying the taxes, so there was nothing to do but pay. Al heard this and told the crowd of humans it was a lie. The neighboring towns weren’t paying this tax, and it was far more likely that the money was to cover the mayor’s loans to a banker. The townspeople didn’t believe Al. He was a goblin, after all, a race known for lying. But a few men visited the neighboring towns where they leaned the truth. This resulted in the mayor’s swift removal from office, and subsequent tarring and feathering (which was pretty mild compared to what the bankers did to him).

Al was stunned. He’d done a lot of damage simply by telling the truth. No goblin had ever done that before. Excited and hopeful once more, he went back to his fellow goblins and told them what happened. He proposed they could really annoy people by being honest instead of lying, an idea so radical few goblins would accept it. But Al did recruit a handful of goblins, and together they went forth to spread mayhem by being honest.

The plan was simple. Al and his fellow goblins would move into a town and spend a few weeks observing it from the shadows. They would learn all the townspeople’s secrets, and once they had collected evidence they would print up fliers detailing the wrongdoers in town. They would then paste the fliers to every flat surface they could find.

It worked like a charm. They told people who’d been lying to them, cheating them, even betraying them. The goblins got people arrested, evicted, chased out of town, and a city alderman got a severe wedgie. Inevitably the locals would find out that the goblins were responsible and drive them off, mostly because they were afraid their own secrets would be revealed. This didn’t bother the goblins. They simply moved on to the next town and started from scratch.

Then one day Al and his fellow goblins came to a frontier town plagued by the Ravager Bandits. The gang was known for their ferocity and for stealing everything that wasn’t nailed down (word was they were looking for crowbars to correct this oversight). The townspeople were worried, but there was a glimmer of hope. The Guild of Heroes had teamed up with the Brotherhood of the Righteous to deal with the problem. The two organizations had sent a hundred of their best warriors, paladins, wizards and holy men to stop the bandits. Their plan was to go out into the wilderness pretending to be a merchant caravan and then surprise the Ravagers.

When Al learned this, he was in a quandary. The Ravagers were an evil so great none could ignore it. But the Guild of Heroes and the Brotherhood of the Righteous were going to lie. The gypsy curse meant that Al had to tell the truth, even when doing to would cause harm. What was he to do? If he told the truth the bandits would avoid the trap. Almost as bad, the Ravagers might not even know about the phony caravan and miss it by accident. Either way, they’d go on to hurt others.

Just then a fellow goblin asked Al if they were going to post their fliers the next day. Al said no, but then realized he’d found his answer. He had been honest when he said they weren’t putting up the fliers the next day, but he hadn’t said when they were going to do it. It was a slight omission that worked around the curse he was under.

Excited all over again, Al went to observed the assembled heroes and paladins. He watched the men, looking for a way he could shade the truth to fulfill the curses’ demands. The Guild and Brotherhood came loaded for bear, and every man was equipped with the best weapons money could buy. Many of them had magic weapons. Al had been in enough cities to know that weapons and armor were expensive, and magic ones doubly so.

Al saw his opening. He hurried back to his goblins followers and told them to prepare their fliers. The message was that people were going to leave town soon with a fortune in goods, easily worth 30,000 gold coins. The gypsy curse did not stop Al from sending out this message, for it was true. The weapons, armor and magic the heroes were using was worth what he said, maybe more. Al then ordered his followers to post the fliers far from town. Sure enough, the Ravager bandits found a few fliers and took them to their base. When the phony caravan headed out the next day, the Ravagers were ready for it and attacked with their entire force. It was a rout of epic proportions, and the Ravagers were no longer a threat.