Cezzum turned to face him and keenly asked, “How did you end up here, and as a prisoner of phagens? These woods seem certainly an odd and fey place for a dwarf to lurk about in, especially considering that it is off any road and many leagues away from a dwarven city.”
Palodar guffawed faintly. “A long tale that is, my liberator, a long tale indeed.”
Cezzum looked at the roasting hare. “I do believe we have time, master; the hard heads of phagens works in opposition as well!”
The dwarf’s eyes glared at Cezzum, his mouth set in a smile. “On one condition Cezzum: stop calling me your infernal master! You rescued me, do not forget that little fact. And I prefer Palodar, dwarf, gold-fiend or even lover-of-all-that-has-value - crass, I know, but I have a proud heritage! But please, dear goblin, no master.”
Cezzum’s cheeks went a darker shade of green again, but he nodded, quite emphatically.
“Good!” started the dwarf, as his eyes kept changing focus between his meal and Cezzum’s face; “Time to regale you in a tale of mystery! Of suspense! Of heroic trades the likes of which even the most brazen of thieves would but dream about!”
Cezzum instantly became enraptured.
“Well you see it all started many, many moons ago, when my mother, the lovingly stout and doughty dwarf she is, kicked me out of our home. Let me tell you, Cezzum, being kicked out of your home is the grandest time ever, especially when your uncle is the proprietor of the finest jewellery shop in Darantur. But as it turned out, however, his sister, my mother, got hold of him and I was kicked out of there too. Now not being disheartened at all, for my mother was a very hard-loving person, I decided to express my love and appreciation towards her for showing me how to begin my life.” Palodar ran his fingers through his beard, pulling out the dead remains of some insect, and flicked the corpse into the fire.
“And pray tell how did you do that?” asked Cezzum enthusiastically as he rotated the hare upon the spit.
“I went back to Palu’don and stole all her fineries of course, as any son filled with maternal love would do. I decided then that it might be best to let my mother bring her love under control once more, so I left Palu’don. I decided I wanted to see the world, escape dwarven society in its entirety. I had always wanted to travel, to behold the wonders of this world: the Wyvern Mountain, the Westop Knolls, Vintner’s Bay and the likes, but I had no time for that, for you see I became very busy. There I stood, on the fringe of Palu’don, a sack filled with the finest dwarven jewellery, debating my choices: travel or business. Gold won, as it rightly always should, for how is any dwarf meant to travel when a coin purse has no weight other than its own leather? But then I quite quickly thought that I should not conduct my trade near other dwarves, as they would surely have cadged me of all my hard-earned wealth, or try to barter with me for a price well below what I bought my goods for!”
Cezzum could not help but chortle out loudly.
“You see, Cezzum,” continued Palodar, “it might all be in jest now, but barter with a dwarf long enough and you will eventually end up crying naked in the streets! I thus decided to go to the Kyn-Lor province; I heard the lorans had quite the eye for sparkling goods, must be all those fancy tattoos of shiny armour they wear if you ask me. Then a few weeks later, and many miles far away from my most beloved home, I found myself in the loran capital. Cezzum, my dear goblin, what a sight that was, let me tell you! Pillars of pearl and white that almost touched the heavens above! It was as if the very place was wrought by those fairy-tale weavers, it was so magnificent. But I quickly ignored that, I had a mission! I spent several days haggling, bartering and bantering with many loranic merchants and proprietors; none of them even coming to the furthest brink of my lowest prices. Lorans, Cezzum, you need to be weary of; they are almost as cunning as a dwarf when it comes to business.”
Nimbly using his rangy fingers to good effect, Cezzum cut off two wedges of flesh that were crisp and had been perfectly cooked by the flames; he handed one to Palodar. The dwarf tossed about the piece of meat between his hands, trying to cool it through the air. “You must have fingers of magma goblin!”
Cezzum’s neck bulged as the piece of flesh ran down his gullet. “We do have a penchant for fiery things,” replied Cezzum, with a touch of sibilance in his voice.
Palodar chewed on the meat and with a full mouth declared, “Wonderfully done! Most tender!” Palodar looked at Cezzum perplexingly. “What were we doing again? I cannot- Oh yes! My tale! Hmmm, where were we?”
The goblin smirked at the dwarf, who began to warm his feet near the flames. “I believe you were saying lorans were as cunning as dwarves?”
Palodar snapped his fingers. “Ah aye! Well not quite Cezzum! Almost as cunning, but not quite. You see dwarves are closer to the ground then those six-foot giants, and when you are closer the ground, Cezzum, you can see the true value of things. Now as I was saying, after days of searching, I eventually found a willing buyer for my goods, which I sold to him for a handsome profit I might add, far exceeding the price I paid for my wares. I decided a grand celebration was in order! I found myself a lovely little inn and had a good night’s sleep. But when I awoke late the following day, I found the merchant I had sold my goods to eagerly awaiting my arousal. As it turns out, my dwarven jewellery resold faster than a sheep being chased by ten farmers! The merchant then bought me breakfast, a fine breakfast too I might add: lots of bacon, eggs, even these interestingly peculiar pieces of bread, which looked far more akin to little bits of red masonry, but were very tasty indeed. We then, over much oddly flavoured tea, made a business contract: I would supply him with the finest of dwarven jewellery, for his eclectic-loving patrons – aye goblin, do not look at me with such eyes, I know the word, my ænglix is that of king – and he, in turn, would supply me with all the gold I could dream of. Now, Cezzum, I have had dreams about lots of gold, and if his gold could make those dreams true, who was I to say no? It was as if my very gilded desires had come to life.”
Palodar graciously accepted another sliver of food and a rusty, metal goblet filled with water. “My thanks! Where in Palu’don’s name did you find water?”
Cezzum indicated an untouched waterskin behind the log. The four-foot dwarf quickly drained the goblet. “That would make sense would it not? Water being contained in a waterskin, quite novel that.”
Cezzum ate the last of the hare, a few bones crunched under the power of his unyielding goblin jaw. “But if things were as grand as they sounded, what happened? Surely you must have started a magnificent caravan between the loran lands and your own cities?”
Palodar stared at the ground longingly, absently digging his big toe into the soil. “Well you see, I thought it best if I kept my overheads and employees down to a minimum, and thus all that there was, was me. Now things went very well. I managed to set up a lovely buying business with my uncle, the jeweller; turns out that coin is by far more tempting than the scorn of one’s sister. I would then ferry the goods personally between Palu’don and my loran trading partner. All went well for the longest of times! I positively swam in gold and wealth and mead! To think of it, I should still be swimming in it, but I cannot remember where I hid it all – cursed phagens hampering my memory! You must realise Cezzum that even this new concept of banking that my kind have invented is not to be trusted. Bankers are just dishonest dwarves as well, which was why of course I resolved to care for my own finances in the tried and true method of concealment, but I digress. As it is wisely said ‘a golden dwarf is never forever’ and I soon found myself in the slightest of messes. Alas it so happened that my greedy uncle stole the business right out from under me. He somehow had discovered who my trading partner was and began to send his own caravans to him! That would not have been intolerable, as my loran partner was quite true to his agreement and said he would always buy my goods. The problem then was my uncle; he refused to sell to me. ‘Gold is always thicker than blood’ said he, as he informed me of his usurpation.
&nb
sp; “Now I knew there were many other jewellery vendors in dwarven cities, but none of them would sell me any items that were at anything less than an absolutely ludicrous price! My feet were rather sore from all the walking anyway, so I decided a change of pace was needed. I sold my last batch of wares to my most loyal and stalwart loran friend, deciding it was about time to see the world! I remember hiding the rest of my gold with my stash, but for the beard of me I cannot remember where. It was a few hours after that, while trudging through these woods, gazing upon the magnificent scalp of the Wyvern, that I was clobbered over the head. Next thing I know I am here, then after an eternity, you arrived. Then I was most glad indeed!”
Cezzum’s jaw was agape as he refilled the dwarf’s goblet. “That is quite the tale Palodar! I would scarcely have thought such a trade-filled adventure possible!”
Paldodar smiled warmly. “I do like it as well, yes as a matter of fact if I have little dwarves of my own one day, I shall recount it to them. I wonder if my mother, bless her loving soul, would be proud.”
Cezzum shook his head in mirth and replied, “Unquestionably.”
The dwarf stretched all his limbs as hard as he could, chasing away days’ worth of muscle disuse. “Oh, Cezzum, my good one-foot-shorter friend, what is your story? How did you chance upon my most unfortunate predicament here, at a most fortunate time?”
Cezzum slouched visibly; although resolute on his new path the pang of his home still nettled at him. He disliked times when the mind was left to thought, for it was then that the brain dealt with issues concealed from him. Palodar, picking up on the slight wince, placed his hand on Cezzum’s shoulder. “Do not dismay friend, for whatever might have sent you here led you to rescue me, and that is something most grand – yes, most grand indeed. We all have burdens thrust upon us at times, some shirk, some bear them well; in the end who is better? None can ever answer that, but those that stay a path, well they, my friend, they might end up a better soul for that.” Palodar beamed a reassuring grin towards the goblin. Cezzum’s mouth became set in a smile and he nodded. He began to recount his tale.
“By Tritchin!” exclaimed Palodar, invoking the name of the god of mischief and ill-luck. “What a tale! I should think I would tell that story as well to my prospective bairns one day.” Cezzum watched the dying fire and glanced at the coming day. Light was beginning to filter through the trees. The sun still hid from view, but soft hints of yellow and orange crept through the forest. Trappings of a faint blue could be seen sidling across the sky, growing more azure every moment.
Palodar gasped in surprise as the phagen next to him shifted and stirred. He quickly jumped onto his feet and with a great swing brought his metal goblet down upon the phagen’s skull. The cook ceased moving, his chest still indicating that he lived, but soundly unconscious again. Cezzum came to stand beside the dwarf. “I entirely forgot mast- I mean, Palodar, they uttered that their captain might return by morn. We should not linger here any longer, it was a reckless oversight! Come, let us leave before his companion in the woods returns, if he yet lives.”
Palodar nodded. “Agreed, one clobbering and imprisonment is enough for a lifetime, maybe even two. This way!” Both the goblin and the dwarf trotted away to the north.
A short while later they came to a halt. “I forgot to say, because I indeed failed to recall at the time I wanted to mention it, but I thought it quite brave and noble of you to take that – Foilben’s? Fobin’s? Filburn’s? – that most utterly insane man’s task as your own,” said Palodar, driving large quantities of air into his chest.
Cezzum patted his sable hair, and with his slight, native goblin hiss bantered, “I did not have ample choice in the matter; it was this, or my very life.”
Palodar laughed. “Aye, but I think you chose well regardless!”
Cezzum grinned. “Where will you travel to now, Palodar?”
“I do not rightly know!” replied the dwarf, scratching his enflamed nose. “I had not quite thought of it. When you have a sack over your head, you tend not to think on the future too much.” Palodar looked at Cezzum with a knowing smirk and asked, “How about I go with you?”
“With me?” queried the goblin in sheer disbelief. “But the quest was given unto me; I cannot ask this of thee.”
“Grand!” cried Palodar; “For you have not asked me; I, indeed, have asked you!”
Cezzum became pensive. He had acquired an undeniable liking for the verbose dwarf, but realised that it would be morally injurious if any harm should come to him while on a journey not of his own. Yet the company, he thought, would be most welcome. The goblin gazed deeply at the face of the grinning dwarf – he had never had a companion or a friend before; he could think of none better. “Well,” said Cezzum, eventually, “I would most love the company, but-,”
“Wonderful! Wonderful!” interrupted Palodar; “We shall see the wonders of this world together! I believe you said you needed to deliver that missive to the Barrow of Arcun’son?”
Cezzum nodded, beaming from ear to ear, unable to subdue his joy at having a fellow traveller on his journey.
“Perfect!” replied the dwarf. “I have always wanted to gaze upon the tomb of the Lord of the Cevrain, I have heard it to be astonishingly majestic. And most peaceful as well I am told, quite the dead place it is.”
Both of them laughed at that. “But first,” said Palodar, his voice floating through the balmy morning air, “We must lift a rock near the Wyvern’s head; it is on the way I believe, so it should be no trouble indeed.”
Cezzum confusingly looked at his friend. “A rock?”
“A rock,” affirmed Palodar.
“A rock?” repeated Cezzum.
“A rock, they look similar to very large stones.”
Cezzum chuckled. “I know what a rock is, but why do we want to acquire one?”
“Acquire a rock? Why in all the hair of the world would we want a rock?” replied Palodar solemnly.
“But you just said we have to go and lift a rock.”
“No, no, no. It is not the rock I want; it is what is under the rock that I crave.”
“You have recalled where you concealed your gold?” asked Cezzum excitedly.
Palodar laughed loudly and pointed at Cezzum. “And they say dwarves are the most gilded creatures that exist. Nay, not coin, I still cannot remember, recall or fathom where my gold is, but it is the next best thing – clothes! Do not look at me like that goblin! Clothes are the most valuable thing in this world, without them you are completely naked.”
Cezzum gave a wry smile. “Well goblins almost always prefer to be naked, except when we raid, then we use lots of armour, but always keep our hands and feet bare for good climbing.”
“It is a good thing you are quite different from your kin then; we shall both wear clothes! Ah aye! I quite forgot this as well, but your blade’s hilt is of elven-loran fashion, expertly and intricately woven I might add. I would even dare to say it was imbued with magic; there are not many smiths, dwarven, telopian or elven that could have wrought such a hilt and scabbard. I would know, I spent many an hour fiddling with them, the plain and ordinary ones that is, in my partner’s store – until I cut myself, then I stopped fiddling with them, but waving them around is still good fun! The weapons and blades there were all wrought by the other races, you see, because lorans themselves do not smith weapons or use them, but do, on the odd occasion, enchant them. As I was saying, one day, while I was tallying some of my wealth, students from the magical academy came in and began to practise the enchanting of weapons. Both the weapons and the spells were not very good or well constructed – them being students of course, but the transformations that those axes, blades and other curved bringers of death took were nothing less than spectacular!” Leaving the retold reverie to filter through the morn, Palodar started to stride through the woods. “But enough! The ground awaits our feet!”
Cezzum shook his head in good humour as he hurried off behind him. He wondered at what Palo
dar had said, for a human to have a loranic blade would truly be a scarce affair. Lorans, as noble and kind a race as they were, had an inclination to weave magical weapons of a fey sort, of which they would rarely bestow to another or to a person less than a legend in renown. As the pleasant warming sun of the morning shone down on him, through the forest canopy, the goblin wondered at this.
It had taken the companions a full day, with only brief respites to nourish themselves by feeding on the occasional birchnum tree, to arrive at the Wyvern’s head. Palodar threw down the hardened remains of the fruit and ran to join Cezzum, who was a short distance ahead staring at something. The trees became sparser as the woods gave way to a short stretch of low grass that bridged the mountain’s skirting and the forest’s eaves. Cezzum stood just on the southern fringe of the woods gazing upwards. The mountain towered above him, rising hundreds if not thousands of feet into the air. The sky was paled with grey clouds that had developed over the course of the morning – a last sputtering storm before the throes of Autumn, and her drying ways, took hold of the land. The storm had not yet rallied and congregated its full might; breaks in the clouds and small slices of the firmament often passed overhead, sunlight bursting through the ashen veil whenever it could. Cezzum stood amazed as light bounced off the highest peaks of the mountain range, reflecting a sheer myriad overwhelming colours and hues – from the purest of whites to the most golden of yellows. The scalp, as it was titled, of the Wyvern was the highest point of the mountain and rested between two magnificently imposing peaks on either side, forming the Wyvern’s ears. Ribbons of illumination rushed over the summit, allowing Light and Shadow to dance with each other in joy. Every accent and nuance of the mountain seemed to come alive, as if the very Wyvern, the namesake of the range, was infused into the mountain.
The Good Goblin Page 4