The Fiend and the Forge

by Henry H. Neff

  Max shrugged. “Actually, they need to carry the things because I need to speak with you. Your delivery’s incomplete.”

  “What’s he talking about, Hrunta?” hissed one of the goblins to the driver.

  “We brought the usual,” Hrunta grumbled, “and I don’t like your tone.”

  “My tone is the very least of your worries.”

  At this insolence, Hrunta raised the whip and cracked it down at Max like a thunderbolt. But the goblin was far too slow. Sidestepping the blow, Max caught the whip, wrapping it twice around his hand and promptly wrenching Hrunta from the driver’s seat. The goblin landed with a crumpling thump on the road, his legs kicking in the air like an upturned beetle. His companions merely gaped, stunned.

  At Rowan, every student receives a book, a compendium detailing the habits and behaviors of known enemies. Even a First Year knew that goblins hate to be turned upside down—it could induce a panic so severe that they abandoned all resistance. It was the only way to handle them humanely. Quick as a flash, Max tied the whip around Hrunta’s ankle and threw the loose end over a stout sycamore branch. A second later, Max hoisted up the puffing, protesting goblin so that he dangled upside down like an enormous, leather-clad pear.

  “Kill him!” barked the outraged goblin, flailing his stubby arms at his fear-stricken comrades.

  Max turned as one of the goblins lobbed a dagger. In his haste, however, the young goblin had neglected to remove the sheath, and it thudded weakly against Max’s shoulder.

  “What’s your name?” said Max, casually addressing the guilty party, whose spindly arm remained frozen in the act.

  “Eh … Skeedle, my lord.”

  “Do you think that was wise, Skeedle?”

  “No.” The mortified creature blinked. “No, I don’t.”

  “Come here,” said Max, beckoning the goblin forward.

  “Do I have to?” moaned Skeedle, showing five sharp teeth in a grimace that displayed his revulsion.

  “Yes,” said Max, measuring out a length of rope. “I’m afraid so.”

  A minute later the juvenile goblin dangled upside down alongside his commander, who cursed and swatted at him in vain. As Max secured the rope’s hitch, he heard the clink-clink-clink of iron-soled shoes as the remaining goblins fled the scene.

  Max was acquainted with goblins, having encountered some in Germany the previous year. But those had been wilder, and not so quick to flee at the first sign of real trouble. The present company was of a more genteel variety—similarly cruel but more articulate and uncommonly fat and soft from feasting. Max almost pitied the fleeing trio as he ran them down and bound them to one another in a wriggling bunch that was soon hoisted up into the tree.

  “Now,” said Max, pacing before the suspended, sputtering creatures. “I’d hate for this to take any longer than necessary. After all, I’ve seen wolves prowling about the valley.…”

  The goblins made a whining noise in their throats and glanced at one another in an escalating panic. Goblins lived in mortal fear of wolves, which were known to hunt them with a savage enthusiasm.

  “What do you want?” pleaded Hrunta.

  “I’m going to ask questions,” said Max calmly. “And I want the truth. When I ask the question, you’ll all respond together. If one of you fails to answer, he stays up in the tree. If you’re the last to answer, you stay up in the tree. If one of you provides a different answer than the others, he stays up in the tree. See how this works? The answers must be quick and truthful or I will know.…”

  The goblins cursed and thrashed about feebly before finally agreeing to Max’s proposal. For the next hour, Max peppered them with questions about their clan, their home, and the valley. He learned that they were of the Broadbrim clan, that their chieftain was the venerable Plümpka, and that the Broadbrims had driven off all the other goblins within the region. The exiled goblin clans—the Sourbogs, Blackbacks, and Greenteeth—had all taken refuge over the mountain. As Max guessed, there were no dryads nearby. But there were lutins, satyrs, and fauns in the southern glades and even a vicious troll in the northern passes where the goblins refused to hunt. The goblins knew of vyes that lived at the base of the mountains, but if an honest-to-goodness demon had claimed title over the region, it had yet to bother with the Broadbrims.

  Max turned his questions toward other humans. To his disappointment, the goblins universally denied that there were any free humans living in the vicinity. Max recalled Isabella’s mention of two people named Nix and Valya, but he decided to keep those names to himself.

  “No free humans,” Max clarified. “How many humans have the Broadbrims enslaved?”

  “None!” protested Skeedle. “They’re already slaves when we get them. The traders bring them from the great city! We just deliver them here according to the contract.”

  “Contract with whom?” asked Max.

  “We don’t know,” replied Hrunta. “That’s Plümpka’s business.”

  “Well, then,” said Max. “Where’s the ‘great city’?”

  “South,” they squealed. “A fortnight’s journey south!”

  “Is that where you get all your trade goods?”

  “No,” they answered, and Max soon learned there were other markets and settlements. According to Skeedle (who was the most forthcoming), there was a trading post two days to the north and a fairly sizable village of various creatures due east over the mountains.

  Max listened carefully to these and other details regarding who and what lived in the vicinity. When a wolf howled from down by the lake, the goblins broke into a chattering sweat.

  “Now,” said Max, stooping to shine the goblins’ lantern in Hrunta’s eye. “That wolf sounds hungry and I want to wrap this up. Where’s the entrance to the Broadbrim caverns?”

  Silence.

  “Oh dear,” said Max, pausing to let the goblins hear the answering howls throughout the valley. “I think they know you’re here.… I’ll ask one more time. Where’s the main entrance to your home?”

  “Between the red stones of the highest peak!” shrieked Skeedle, despite Hrunta’s glaring admonition. “It’s true! It’s true!”

  “And the password?” asked Max. “I know there will be a password to move the guardstones.…”

  “We can’t tell you that,” Hrunta insisted. “Plümpka’d eat us whole!”

  “He doesn’t have to know.” Max shrugged. “And it’s that or the wolves, so let’s have it on the count of three. One … two …”

  “Bitka-lübka-boo!”

  The goblins spat the password out in unison just as several pairs of eyes loped into view. The mules snorted and stamped the ground, their flanks shivering as three gray timber wolves set their tongues a-wagging and began to growl.

  “Back!” Max yelled, hurling a bolt of bright blue witch-fire that sent the wolves retreating into the dark forest. He turned to the goblins, which were now gibbering and pleading with Max to release them. One by one, Max untied the goblins and lowered them gently to the ground. They rolled to their feet, eyeing the nearby trees for any sign of the wolves.

  “Now,” said Max, shepherding them back to their cart. “Just so we understand each other. I know where you live. I know the password. I know your leader’s name and the clans you’ve displaced. If you try to get sneaky or betray me, I can promise you that the Broadbrims will be visited by the Sourbogs, Blackbacks, Greenteeth, and maybe even that troll in the northern passes.…”

  “Not the troll!” exclaimed Skeedle. “It’s the wildest thing in the valley!”

  “No, Skeedle,” said Max, lifting the little goblin up into the cart. “I am.”

  ~18~

  NIX AND VALYA

  It was late May, and Max was whistling one afternoon as he trudged up the steep path that led from the lake to the farmhouse. Porcellino tried to accompany him, but his efforts resulted in little more than a breezy hooting.

  Claudia stopped and turned to him. “You’re spitting on them,” sh
e growled. “You’re spitting all over my fish!”

  “Put them in the basket,” replied Porcellino, unconcerned. “You only have them out to brag.”

  “I like to see their colors in the sun,” declared Claudia, appraising the four shimmering trout. “You’re only jealous because you didn’t catch any.”

  “I caught lots of fish,” the boy maintained, crouching to tie his shoe. “But I’m not greedy like you, so I just put them back. I caught a huge one just before we left.”

  “Then why is there still bait on your hook?” demanded Claudia.

  “I like to be ready for next time.”

  Claudia scoffed loudly and Max told her to stop. She should focus on her magnificent catch, Porcellino should practice his whistling, and Max should enjoy a respite from their incessant bickering.

  Pollen drifted on the warm breeze, and the forest was abuzz with chirping birds and squirrels that chased one another from tree to tree. As they walked, Max thought of Julie and his friends at Rowan. Final exams would be coming soon. The libraries would be full, the coffeehouses and cafes of Rowan Township bustling with students frantic over runic symbols or elemental conjurations.… He thought of the kitchens and Bob cooking without the company of Mr. McDaniels or the hags. But this made him sad, so Max instead tried to picture Nick and Circe, aged YaYa, and even Sir Olaf ordering poor Frigga and Helga about. Rowan seemed a lifetime ago.

  Max’s life at the farm was relatively quiet and insular. Ever since they’d met Max, the goblins now made two deliveries each month, and five more children had come to live at the farmhouse. Their prosperity and growing numbers had Max considering expansion. The main house boasted eight bedrooms, but even these were getting crowded now that there were so many children, along with Max, Isabella, and little Gianna, who was teething and often testy.

  Nearing the farmhouse, they heard a myriad of familiar sounds. There were the sheep, of course, but since the goblins’ last visit these had been joined by three milk cows and a surly bull. The latter was lowing from the pasture, its amorous call joining a pair of hammers that rapped away on the farmhouse roof—no doubt Mario and Paolo repairing the leaky tiles above the northwest bedroom. But then Max heard a sound he did not expect.

  It was a man’s laughter.

  Hurrying over the crest, Max looked across the road and saw a wagon parked alongside the new fencing that protected the grapevines. Two black mares were tied to the fence eating oats from Mina’s hand. She waved to Max as he emerged from the woods with Porcellino and Claudia in tow.

  Max heard the laughter again; it came from the other side of the farmhouse. He laid his fishing rod by the watering trough and walked around to the porch, where he found Isabella conversing with two strangers, a man and a woman.

  “Ai!” exclaimed the woman as Gianna snatched her hair and tried to eat it. The woman laughed and tucked white braids back beneath her kerchief, leaving the baby to chew on her own pink fist.

  “Rub some olive oil on her gums,” suggested a robust, rangy man who appeared to be in his seventies. “She won’t be so grumpy.” His eyes flashed to Max, who had stopped short to observe them. “You must be Max!” he exclaimed.

  “Hello,” said Max, nodding politely to the pair.

  “What a pleasure,” said the woman, returning Gianna to her mother. “Isabella’s told us all about you.”

  “Has she?” Max replied, his smile fixed.

  “Says you’re a blessing,” chuckled the man. “And looking around, I’d say she was right. Never thought we’d see this place looking so good.”

  The old man radiated good health and vitality as he extended a strong, calloused hand.

  “I’m Nix,” he said, winking a cheerful blue eye from beneath a heavy gray brow. “And this is my wife, Valya.”

  The roly-poly woman offered a hearty grin and shook Max’s hand with the same warm assertiveness as her husband.

  “We live across the valley,” he explained. “We’re overdue for a visit but had to tend to Pietro and Ana when they showed up at our door.”

  Valya made a face.

  “How are they?” asked Max.

  “Couldn’t say,” said Nix, easing back into his chair. “They moved on a few months ago. They didn’t want to stay after the troll lumbered by our cottage one night.”

  “You live by the troll?” Max asked, his interest piqued.

  Valya nodded. “Right within its shadow. It’s never bothered us before, but lately it’s been coming down from its mountain. When the passes melted, Pietro and Ana continued east.”

  “Their choice, of course,” said Nix. “But we weren’t too sorry to see the back of them, were we? Never approved of what went on here,” he said, reaching for one of the olives that Isabella had set out on a wooden tray.

  “If you didn’t approve,” said Max stiffly, “then you might have done something.”

  “We tried,” said Valya, coating her finger with olive oil and swabbing it around Gianna’s gums. “But we’re no match for such a monster. We encouraged Pietro to leave … brought the little ones treats when we could.”

  “Brought some more today,” chuckled Nix, gesturing at a stack of crates, “but they seem a little paltry compared to what you’ve been squeezing out of the Broadbrims. Just look at this place … fresh paint and cows, new tools, and even chocolate—chocolate, for all love!”

  “Isabella showed me the spinning wheel,” whispered Valya, leaning forward with an eager, conspiratorial air. “The enchanted one that works all by itself … where does a girl lay her hands on one of those? My poor hands get so cramped.”

  “Hmmm,” said Max, glaring at Isabella. “Sounds like someone’s been sharing all our little secrets. Maybe we should keep one or two.”

  “Oh, nothing to quarrel over,” chuckled Valya, rubbing her eyes as the breeze brought more pollen. “We’re all friends here. Isabella said you were a brave boy, but she didn’t mention how handsome you were!”

  “For heaven’s sake, Valya, don’t embarrass him,” said Nix. “Besides, I’m sitting right here.”

  “Oh, be still!” she snipped. “I’m exercising the privilege of my age. Old ladies can comment on whatever they like in perfect safety. And if I want to say that this young man is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen, then I will. You think I’ve forgotten about that tramp Sophia?”

  “She was an actress!” Nix moaned, rubbing his temples. “I never even met her! I only saw her in a film fifty years ago, for the love of God.…”

  “It’s the same thing!” insisted Valya, pursing her lips.

  “You remember movies?” asked Max with interest.

  But Nix merely blinked and smiled at Max as though he did not hear the question. Max repeated it, but the couple simply continued bickering until the conversation drifted back to pleasant small talk.

  “So,” said Valya, patting Isabella’s knee, “the goblins have been bringing you food and tools, but what about toys, eh? I bet the little ones could use some toys.”

  “I suppose so,” said Isabella. “But you’ve already been so kind.”

  “Nonsense!” said Nix, slapping his knee. “Giving gifts is what we like to do. Now, I think we could maybe trade for some toys out at the Crossroads. They might be made for other folk—little fauns or satyrs—but the kids will like them all the same.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” Max said, “how … er … how do you move about so easily? You don’t seem to be afraid of the goblins.”

  “What do nasty goblins or an old troll want with us?” chuckled Valya. “We leave them alone and they do likewise. Live and let live.”

  “Now, Max,” said Nix, peering at him with a shrewd eye. “I hope I don’t insult you when I say you don’t speak our language like a native. Isabella said you arrived one day from across the great sea. Can such a thing be true?”

  Max was taken aback by the question and did not reply.

  “You talk too much,” Valya hissed, frowning at her hu
sband.

  “No,” said Max, crossing the porch. “Isabella does. Please excuse me.”

  Walking inside, he cursed Isabella’s foolishness. He knew she meant no harm, but it was clear that Nix and Valya traveled all over the valley and interacted with other people or even creatures. The last thing Max needed was for word to get out that the farmhouse was prospering under the protection of a mysterious human from across the sea. That could raise questions and attract curious parties—perhaps even a brayma—to make inquiries. Max kicked a stool, which clattered across the floor. He glanced about the great room. The magic spinning wheel was at work in the corner, transforming carded wool to fine thread. Fresh paint covered the walls, and the pantries were filled with salted pork, fruit preserves, even honey that the Broadbrims had sealed in glazed earthen jars. Outside, there was the frame of a new barn, stacks of fresh lumber, and a pasture filled with livestock. The household’s newfound wealth was rather conspicuous.

  Perhaps Max had been the fool.

  Climbing the stairs, Max walked down the long hall toward his bedroom. It was the smallest of the eight, a nook tucked just beneath the rafters, with one narrow window that looked upon the green hills and the road that stretched south.

  He laid his possessions upon the small sleeping mat: his battered pack, the walking stick, the gladius, and his personal effects, which included his father’s razor and the ivory brooch from Scathach. Within the pack were the shards of the gae bolga wrapped in white linen. Beneath the linen bundle, Max retrieved the battered pages of his journal.

  There was a knock. Isabella stood in the doorway, looking anxious.

  “I know I have done something wrong,” she said. “I am sorry—please don’t be angry with me.”

  “Where are they?” asked Max.

  “Valya is holding Gianna, and Nix is kicking the ball with the children.”

  “You must trust them,” Max observed.

  “I do,” she said. “They are very good people. They are sorry if they caused offense.”