The Malaise Falchion

by Paul Barrett

  “Now then,” Liz said, “You can each take that coin and enjoy an evening on me and let us continue our business undisturbed, or you can each die. Your choice.”

  They were disciplined goblins. They hesitated for a full ten seconds before they turned and fled the hall, leaving their captain behind. With no tavern in town, I had no idea where they planned to spend the gold. It didn’t matter. It still stung to watch those beautiful coins leave.

  When the door had closed behind the goblins, I said, “Liz, watch this thing, please.”

  Liz turned on the boggart. I walked over to the captain, who seemed to have recovered after his men deserted him. His ears flattened as I came close.

  My wand still aimed at him, I reached down and picked his wand up. My eyes met his small, soulless orbs. “This didn’t have to get ugly, and it doesn’t have to get uglier. I’m going to hold on to this. It will be here tomorrow when we go. If any of your men try to enter this hall, I’ll unload on them with your wand, then my wand, and then my friend’s arrows. I guarantee before you take us down, you’ll have at least twenty dead goblins. If that’s the way you want to go, we’ll be here with bells on. Play it smart, and we’ll be gone before the sunrise.”

  I watched the rage seething in his black eyes as he considered my offer. You don’t become a captain among goblins by being stupid or weak, so he soon came to the only possible conclusion. He nodded, spit a wad of green at my feet, glared at Liz, and then left, blood dripping from his wrist.

  That left the boggart sitting on the floor and whimpering over his protruding leg bone. I walked toward him. He looked up at me and tried to scrabble backward using his hands.

  I raised my wand. “Stop, or I’ll put a bolt through your other leg.” He was so small and skinny the charge would blow his leg clean off. He stopped.

  “Who sent you?” I asked.

  “Nobody.”

  “That’s the first lie. You get three, and then I start blasting things. Who sent you?”

  “Nobody.”

  “That’s two.” I walked up and put the tip of my wand against his uninjured kneecap. “Last chance. Who sent you?”

  “The hobgoblins.”

  I looked over at Archer and raised my bushy eyebrows. She shrugged. “Score one for you.”

  I turned my attention back to the boggart. “Why are they so interested in my backpack?”

  “They think it has something they want.”

  “Obviously. What is it?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  I pushed my wand against his knee. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  “Won’t,” the boggart said. Then he snarled, his face twisting into a more hideous shape. “I won’t tell a prick like you anything. You’ll get yours. You’ll rue the day you ever crossed paths with Goblet.” He bit down on his back teeth; I heard a crunch.

  “Step back,” I said as I followed my own advice, fearing his breathing poisonous gas.

  His large eyes rolled back. He gagged. White foam poured from his mouth. Ten seconds of convulsions and he fell over so hard I heard his nose break as his face hit the floor.

  None of us moved for several seconds.

  A wide-eyed Criz asked in a squeaky voice, “What happened?”

  “Poison,” Liz said. “He killed himself rather than give anything up.”

  “Sounds like some dates I’ve been on,” I said as I stuffed my wand back into my belt. I wasn’t going to make the mistake of leaving it in my backpack again.

  “What is Goblet?” Liz asked.

  “Search me.”

  “A baby goblin?” Criz offered.

  “Shut up, Criz. Whatever it is, the hobs that followed us are involved, and they think I’ve got something they want. Which is ridiculous, since I don’t have anything other than my normal crap.”

  “What about your new jewelry?” Liz pointed at the gold necklace.

  “It’s a protection amulet. It’s a nice trinket, but I can’t see it being worth the trouble they’re going through. There’s more to it.”

  Liz shrugged. “It’s nothing we’re going to solve right now.” She looked at the twisted body with foam still dripping from the mouth. “Whoever or whatever it is, it inspires an amazing amount of loyalty. What should we do with that?”

  “Leave it, unless you want a snack.”

  She gave me a pointy-toothed sneer.

  “He’s no use to us now,” I continued. “Let the gobs deal with it. You paid them enough to take care of it. How long until daylight?”

  Liz looked toward the ceiling and flicked her tongue out several times. Then her jaw moved as if she were swishing wine around to get its bouquet. “About three hours. You can go back to sleep if you want. I’ll stay up and watch.”

  I shook my head. “I’m good, thanks. I hope maybe the hobs will wonder what happened to their friend and come looking for him. I’d love to have a little chat with them.”

  8

  The hobs never showed, to my disappointment. We stepped out of the building at first light only to discover our horse and carriage had been stolen. Served us right for not setting a watch. Considering what could have happened, I didn’t count it as much of a loss. Of course, I wasn’t the one who had put the deposit down on the rental.

  Liz sighed when she saw the missing transportation. “This may be our most expensive outing yet,” she said. “But at least it’s been loads of fun so far.”

  “You have a fucked-up sense of what’s fun,” Criz said.

  An irritated, sarcastic chizard and a sauro who didn’t get sarcasm. It was shaping up to be a great day.

  At Liz’s insistence, we went to the one stable owner in town to try and buy some horses. One look at us and he refused to sell any of his flea-bitten mounts. I resisted the temptation to steal them at wandpoint. We didn’t need any more trouble, and I wasn’t sure the emaciated animals would move any faster than us. The sooner we left, the better. We would just have to hoof it to reach Stinkhole and hope we found Silas One-Eye before Quinitas did.

  We headed south down a narrow, rough road that would have played hell with the wagon. Having it stolen may have been a blessing.

  The road wandered around brown slag heaps, dipped into valleys of scrub and stunted trees, and crossed streams of brackish water. The sun rose, burning down on us. It made me sweat and chafe. Liz and Criz loved it.

  “Only good thing about being down here,” Criz said. “The warmth.”

  We made good time. I’m used to mountain travel despite not having been home in over a decade. The warmth gave my companions the energy to move at a stout pace.

  A goblin riding a wagon surrounded by guards and a six-strong patrol were all we encountered on the road. They watched us with sharp, suspicious expressions, but didn’t engage with us. Either Crizlyk’s lemon-colored outfit scared them, or they figured we must be violently insane to come this deep into the South willingly.

  As we drew closer to Stinkhole, I noticed my companions growing quieter. The start of the journey had seen us sharing road stories and Criz telling bad jokes, since he doesn’t know any other kind. The further we went into the day, the more reticent they seemed to speak. They both had grim expressions on their face as if they had eaten a bad rat.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Did I make you both mad?” Entirely in the realm of possibility.

  “Can’t you smell it?” Liz barely opened her mouth. I sniffed. It smelled of solid rock and baked earth, like it had our entire time here.

  Then the wind shifted, and I caught something else. Faint, beneath everything, drifted a smell like the body wind created by lousy beer and tasty sausage. Not pleasant, mildly nauseating.

  My companion’s silence now made sense. They had a far finer tuned sense of smell than I did. And they smelled with their tongues. So every time they talked, they got a whiff of noxious farts.

  As we walked, the odor grew more prevalent. Soon I didn’t even need to sniff. Merely breathing pulled it into me. It rap
idly grew worse and became the odor of twenty flatulent orcs trapped in an antechamber. I envied my friends. All they had to do was not talk. I didn’t have the option of not breathing.

  With the noonday sun blazing overhead and the smell thick enough to almost be visible, we crested a hill. Below us in a gigantic crater, like a canker sore growing on a tumor, stood the mining town of Stinkhole.

  I’ve toiled in the mines. A dwarf’s first words are “pickax” and “gold.” We work the veins almost as soon as we can walk. Hauling out cast-off rocks as toddlers, we grow up to pull the coal, gems, and precious metals out with mattock and muscle. My Clan specializes in gemstones. I still have an eye for fine emeralds, rubies, and other glittering stones. Putrosium is a mineral found only south of the Divide. Stinkhole was my first Putrosium mine. If I never saw one again, I would die a better dwarf.

  The town consisted of seven main buildings and four large canvas tents that sat on the floor of the crater. Three holes about thirty feet up from the bottom led into the side of the crater. A dozen smaller buildings lay scattered twenty feet below each hole. A square landing had been carved so the buildings had a level place to sit. A lift ran from each hole down to the landing, a metal cable with cracked iron buckets at equal intervals. Goblins crawled from the pits and loaded chunks of the gray rock into the buckets. When a bucket was full, four boggarts turned a crank until the next bucket stopped at the landing. Once a bucket reached the bottom, it was dumped into a bin, and more goblins carried the rocks from there into one of the small buildings. Which building they chose seemed random, though I suspected they had a grading system in place.

  All the buildings had been constructed of wood. That surprised me, since I had no idea where they could have found so much. It must have been imported in at considerable expense. The rulers of Stinkhole could afford it. Putrosium brought a healthy sum from the wizards and alchemists who used it. The Great Wizard Gosley forbade it in Mage City, both because of its foul odor and its toxic properties. So, of course, there was a brisk black-market trade for it

  This close to the mine the stench had become its own entity. “Let’s get down there,” I said while keeping my breathing to the minimum I needed to live. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can leave.”

  One thing I didn’t see as we walked down the steep path into the crater was a Ziploon of any kind. We had beaten Quinitas here. With any luck, we would get in and out before the elf and his goons arrived. I’d need to convince the gnome to spill to me and no one else. Not sure how that was going to happen. I shrugged. Time enough to burn that bridge when I got to it.

  We reached the crater floor and gazed down the town’s single street. Canvas tents on our left, wood buildings on either side further down. A few goblins moved from building to building. The smell had grown worse, something I didn’t think possible. My companions had their jaws clamped so tight I was afraid they might snap. No horses or animals of any kind graced Stinkhole’s bleak streets. Just as well we hadn’t ridden in on the wagon. I had forgotten about the magic mineral’s deadly effects on most creatures.

  The elf’s informants had said the gnome could be found at the Armored Scorpion. A stupid name. Scorpions are armored naturally. We walked deeper into town. A trio of goblin children saw us, offered some rude gestures, and fled toward the tents.

  “Charming,” Liz said, unable to help herself. She regretted it. Her green face went three shades lighter. She slammed her mouth shut as her eyes watered.

  The sounds of the mine pushed my memory back for a moment. The smell and goblins aside, I could have been home, heading for an ale after a day’s work. I had friends then. People I worked and drank with. I had dwarf women who liked me. I had a Clan. I had pride. Pride enough that I left the mine to defend my home against the Demon Twins. My parents had pride too. Pride in their son’s courage. It was short-lived. The war and the debacle at Pastrik Forest had seen to that.

  I pushed it all down. The memories. The bitterness. Shoved it back into its dark corner and beat it until it stopped squealing. When we got to the tavern, I would order a drink, and then we could find the gnome.

  We located the tavern near the center of town, a two-story building on our left. A wooden sign hung above the open door. Damn if it wasn’t a decent painting of a scorpion raised on its back legs and wearing a suit of plate mail. Talk about redundant.

  We walked inside the windowless room. The smell subsided marginally, overlaid with the cloying incense of scrub pine and cloves. Smoke drifted through the large room. Oil lanterns dispelled some of the gloom. There were few patrons, since everyone was at work. An orc with a missing leg and an obvious hangover sat at one table. A couple of adolescent gobs, a male and female, sat at another, so close they appeared fused at the hip. I half expected to see my hobgoblin friends waiting for me.

  An older goblin sat behind the bar. Scars covered his gray-green skin, one ear ragged, the other drooping. His chin rested against the shapeless gray smock that covered his chest. We walked up to the bar. Without raising his head or opening his eyes, the goblin said, “We’re closed.”

  “No, you’re not,” I pulled myself on to a rickety wooden stool so I could be at the goblin’s level. “You’re saying that because you don’t want to serve my friends and me. That’s okay; I wouldn’t drink any of your piss water.” One glance at the dirty bottles and dirtier glasses reminded me of the type of alcohol gobs preferred. Low as my drinking standards were, I still had them. I wouldn’t use the stuff from this tavern to poison an enemy. “I need information, and you’re going to give it to me.”

  “Okay,” the goblin said.

  That threw me off. I expected him to put up a gruff front, requiring me to get tough. Having him agree so readily fired my suspicions.

  He must have sensed it even though he still hadn’t opened his eyes or moved. “I don’t like your kind, but I’m old and don’t want any trouble. So ask your damn questions and then get the hell out of here.”

  “Only one question,” I said. “Where can I find Silas One-Eye?”

  “Don’t know him.”

  So he wasn’t going to give in too easily. “Of course you do. He owns this shithole.”

  That made him open his eyes. They glittered like oil coated coal as he stared at me. “The gnome? You don’t want to mess with him.”

  “Sure I do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have asked about him.”

  “But he’s—”

  A squeaky voice interrupted the bartender. “Are you bothering Gord?”

  I turned. The gob who had been melted against the girl stood by his table. She sat behind him, looking perplexed.

  “The adults are talking,” I said. “Go back to tongue humping your girl. It looked like you were having fun.”

  “How about I kick your ass instead?” the kid puffed up. He was stout, as most goblins are. In a fair fight, he might have stood a chance against me. I avoided fair fights whenever possible. The girl’s eyes sparkled with admiration. She clutched her hands to her chest. So he was doing this to impress her, and it was working.

  “Look, kid—”

  “I’m not a kid.” He took a step toward me. Neither Liz nor Criz moved. Liz looked amused. Criz looked terrified. The girl’s eyes widened, and she licked her lips with her rough black tongue. She was enjoying this way too much.

  I didn’t want the trouble, especially where we were so severely outnumbered. This brat probably knew that. If I touched him and his girl ran for help, we suddenly had a whole town of rough goblin miners ready to roast and eat us for supper.

  “You’re right,” I said. “My apologies. Obviously, you are a wise and intelligent adult. I wasn’t bothering Gord.” I looked at the bartender. “Was I?”

  “A little,” Gord offered a wicked smile.

  I glared at him. “Then I apologize to you, too. Tell me where I can find Silas, and I’ll leave you in peace.”

  Gord didn’t speak for several seconds. The pup spoiled for a fight. The gi
rl looked ready to screw his brains out as soon as he won. Things could quickly get nasty. I moved my hand toward my wand. Liz no longer looked amused. Her eyes had narrowed; her hands clenched into fists. Criz quivered like a sunflower in a stout breeze. The orc at the table moaned, his head in his hands.

  Finally, Gord shrugged. “It’s your cairn. Last building on the right. Arrogant little shit.” I didn’t know if he referred to me, the gnome, or the goblin.

  “That wasn’t so tough, was it?” I said as I pushed myself off the stool.

  The boy glared at me when I walked past.

  “You’ve got her where you want her,” I whispered to him. “Have fun.” I winked at him, which caught him off guard. He looked at the girl. She might well tear his clothes off right there.

  “You showed him,” I heard her say in a husky voice. “I want you.”

  I was pleased the bar hadn’t been more occupied. Things would have gone so much worse.

  We stepped back into the miasma and baking sun and walked toward the last building on the right. As we drew near, I thought I caught furtive movement on the opposite side of the street. Figures in dark clothing moved behind one of the smaller buildings. Though I couldn’t identify what they were, they looked taller than goblins. “Did you see that?” I asked Liz.

  She nodded, still unwilling to speak. The dark figures could have nothing to do with us. Recent events told me that probably wasn’t the case, though. Gord’s cryptic comment about the potential deadliness of visiting the gnome didn’t help.

  Time tugged at me. I resisted the desire to investigate this new mystery. It was past noon. I expected any minute to have the shadow of a giant Ziploon fly over. We needed to get the information and leave.

  We approached the building Gord had indicated. The threshold jutted out from the main structure like a rectangular wooden pimple. It created a reverse alcove. The sun’s position gave us a nice shadowy corner on either side of the door. I pointed to the corner. “Criz, hide there. If you see anything remotely suspicious, scream like a spider ran up your leg.”