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.”