by SJB Gilmour
Mel swore to herself again. These two weren’t going to be sent away so easily. Fuming, she gulped down the last of her sandwich and marched to the door. This time, she waited there as quietly as she could while she watched the approaching goblins through the closed door. She could see them quite clearly, but since they couldn’t see through walls the way she could, they couldn’t see her.
Even so, Jerrit obviously knew exactly where she was. He simply stopped at the door and spoke in a clear, though not incredibly loud voice.
‘Your Majesty,’ he said quite formally.
Mel opened the door and he and Jax saluted the new ruler.
‘Hail Queen Melanie Hazelwood!’ they declared in unison. ‘Hail The Nightsmith, Empress of Jilde!’
Mel blinked at Jerrit. ‘Wait, I’m a queen and an empress?’
Jerrit nodded. ‘Queen of Jildere and its lands, Empress of all the nations of Jilde.’
Mel said nothing but continued to blink as this sank in.
Jerrit nodded understandingly. ‘Welcome to my old world, Your Majesty. They’ll never leave you alone from now on. Your coronation is being scheduled as we speak.’
Mel muttered more profanities. Then she thought about the title she had acquired. The name Hazelwood stabbed at her like a knife. ‘Forget the Hazelwood bit,’ she told them sourly. ‘I’m sure as hell more like mum’s side of the family and I really am the Last Daughter of Troy.’ She glanced upwards for a moment. ‘Stick to calling me Troy from now on.’
Jerrit bowed. ‘As you wish, Your Majesty.’ He saluted again. ‘Hail Queen, Melanie Troy, Nightsmith, Empress of Jilde!’
Mel groaned and rubbed her hand over her face. ‘Oh man,’ she moaned. ‘James is never gonna let me live this down.’
After Jax and Jerrit left, Mel sat down on the side of her bed and cradled her head in her hands. Her mother was dead. Her father was dead and so was her brother whom she’d never even met. Yes, she and Sarah had supplied them with new deific bodies like Apollo’s, but she could hardly believe it had happened.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she muttered bitterly to herself.
‘Believe it, Mel dear,’ her mother said, suddenly appearing beside her bed.
Mel gaped at Jilde’s newest goddess in awe.
Susan smiled and put Alexander down on the bed to rest. Then She embraced Mel warmly and all Mel’s pain and grief washed away. After a while the two broke free.
‘What am I supposed to call You now?’ Mel asked Her.
‘What’s wrong with just Mum and Dad?’ David asked as He too appeared out of nowhere. He grinned at Mel and reached out and tousled her hair. ‘We’re proud of you, kiddo!’
Mel smiled and hugged her father. ‘What are You going to do now?’ she asked Him.
David shrugged. ‘I dunno,’ He confessed. ‘I guess we’ll sort of make it up as we go along.’
‘I’ve always thought being a goddess of fertility would be kind of nice,’ Susan mused. ‘We’ve visited the priest of this world. There will be no more confusion about just whom they’re supposed to be worshipping.’
‘They’re praying to you already?’
Susan nodded. ‘And blessing you too. You’re a living saint. Your moon is still small, Mel. It would do you well to visit it and summon more silver occasionally. The planet would benefit, and its people will show their gratitude by staying loyal to you.’
David smiled. ‘We could do it, but there’s little more we can gain by doing so. You’ll score more points.’ He grinned mischievously. ‘You could even make it a regular thing. You know, a monthly—’
‘Monthly!’ Mel protested.
Her father shrugged. ‘Okay, annually. The goblins will have a reason to celebrate you, and you get the glory while the moon gets bigger and Jilde loses some of its silver pollution.’
Mel made a face. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she replied reluctantly. She nodded at her little brother. ‘What about Him?’
David shrugged again. ‘This little bloke? Who knows?’
Susan picked up the baby and smiled. ‘It’s a start,’ she admitted and leaned forward and kissed Mel on the forehead. ‘Take care, Mel,’ She told her. ‘We’ll be in touch.’ And then She, Alexander and David disappeared, leaving Mel alone in her bedroom.
Mel was not prepared to become a queen. She didn’t like all the fuss and bother and it really annoyed her that all her helpful goblin retainers kept trying to dress her in regal clothing. Having more power than before was nice of course, but she’d been feeling her own power grow, so having the strength of a titan didn’t surprise her. What did surprise her was the sudden change in the way people treated her.
Jerrit had stepped aside to allow her to be queen almost too easily, she suspected. Somehow, she just knew there had to be a catch to being a queen. What it was, she wasn’t sure, but she was beginning to suspect it had something to do with the complete lack of anything remotely resembling privacy. Fortunately, Mel wasn’t the kind of girl who would tolerate being pushed about by anyone and would have no hesitation telling them so. Why Jerrit had allowed himself to be bothered by these fops, she had no idea.
One of the first things she did was move her official residence. Jerrit’s old quarters at the very top of the palace weren’t just useless to her because she couldn’t see a thing during the day, they were also oddly uncomfortable. She felt exposed and vulnerable up so high when she couldn’t see.
So, she commanded that Jeff’s old cavern be cleaned out and the Imperial Throne-room and royal apartments be moved as far underground as possible. Her old rooms were given another use. She had a platoon of goblin builders, carpenters and glaziers remove the roof and turn the top of the palace into an enormous observatory.
During the day, the same as everywhere else on Jilde, she couldn’t visit it without being blinded by the blazing light of Jilde’s sun. At night however, she could see just fine. She could see right out to the stars and her moon.
It was spinning happily away in its orbit around Jilde, gleaming and slowly growing. Every particle of awakened silver its light touched travelled back up that light to join it. The coffers The Moon Cult erected throughout the city of Jildere sent streams of silver up to the moon every night. Even though it was thousands of kilometres above her, Mel could feel that moon as if it was part of her. In fact, it was part of her just as much as she was part of it.
As Sarah knew every centimetre of Wolfenvald because she and the planet were part of each other, Mel knew every part of Jilde. Wherever her moon shone its light, she could see in her mind. She could see all her subjects and all her lands. She could see the life being restored to the rocks and waters of the goblin planet and she could feel the planet’s own rotation beginning to speed up once more.
All this was well and good, however Mel still felt isolated. Alone. She wasn’t a goblin. She wasn’t human any more either. What she was had no clear definition, other than the rather loose term of “monster”, which she didn’t much like. Sure, she had friends and family, but they were all far away from her, dealing with the aftermath of the war into which she and Sarah had dragged them.
So many had died. So many lives and families destroyed by what had happened. True, there were benefits. The universe was safe for the moment. Jilde had a new moon and new gods. But Mel found it very hard to feel positive. The silver within her was a cold-hearted metal that saw things very much in black and white. Lust for power had caused Conundrum Gate to exist. Stupidity and negligence on behalf of Jilde’s former gods had allowed the same. Then humans had sought to control it, and one had forged a deal with the ultimate evil in his quest for power.
Alone, she brooded. A cold resolution began to form in Melanie. Where others had failed, she would not. Where others had been soft, she would be hard. Where others had been forgiving, she would not be. There was only one answer for stupidity and negligence that allowed evil to flourish, as well as evil itself, and that was death. As cold as silver was, so would she be.
> Ronald Trustworthy Mason, General, adventurer, returned to Gnumphlatia to a hero’s welcome. The last time he’d returned to his home planet, he’d been arrested and thrown in jail, only to be released, in secret, by His Majesty, King Roger Heraldstone the Nineteenth. To the general public, his status of hero had only been announced after the Battle of Conundrum.
Gnomish tabloid newspapers were filled with all kinds of exaggerated stories about Ronny. Many stopped just short of being outright lies. Other, more dignified publications came close, however not one of them was entirely accurate. In fact, Ronny had spent the latter part of the battle quite unconscious after being buried under a rockfall caused by a crashing elevator.
Having anything fall on one’s head while inside a burrow was really quite a shameful thing to happen to a gnome. Being born miners and burrowers, gnomes instinctively know when something’s about to fall on them, and usually have the wits or speed to get out of the way — if, that is, the falling rock is coming down as a result of normal mining practices. The thunderous impact of an elevator landing in the maze above, and of course all of those elsewhere, made this impossible. One minute, Ronny was about to skewer a hideous-looking squid-headed demon with his pike. The next, he was buried under several cubic metres of rubble. Fortunately, Ronny’s military fellows flexed enough official muscle to make sure none of that part of his involvement in the battle came to print.
King Roger and his Generals Quarry and Kilnmacher, along with the newly promoted General Quartz, joined in the welcoming ceremony that greeted Ronny as he limped gingerly through The Royal Burrow to the throne. The crowd of gnomes, who had finally been allowed back into the palace, were all suitably impressed and responded with cheers and applause.
Roger was grinning to himself as he got up from his throne and marched to stand at the top of the stairs to greet Ronny. His short period of complete military dictatorship had become quite a habit and now Roger had very little time for excessive pomp and ceremony. He drew his sword, which until The Battle of Conundrum had only been used for ceremonial purposes, and held it high in the air. The crowd was not expecting this and shushed perhaps a bit more than they would normally have done if they were not closely guarded by an entire platoon of gnomish infantry.
‘Shut up!’ Roger yelled at the crowd. This was even more unexpected but the assembled gnomish dignitaries and nobles did as they were told. Roger regarded Ronny for a long moment. ‘Kneel,’ he ordered.
Ronny obeyed. Having very short legs to begin with, kneeling didn’t bring him much closer to the ground than before, so the effect was not as great as if a human had done so. Every gnome in the Royal Burrow thought they knew what was about to happen. Gnomes love to gamble and several bookmakers had been taking bets on what sort of award Ronny was to receive.
One of King Roger’s wives stepped forward and draped a gold medal on a blue sash about Ronny’s neck. She smiled at him, showing dimples she normally reserved for her royal husband, and then returned to her post beside the throne.
Roger stomped forward and tapped Ronny on each shoulder and then once on the head with his sword. Ronny winced. His battered noggin was still very sore, but he endured the contact with the sword as stoically as he could.
‘Rise, General Mason!’ Roger ordered him. ‘Recipient of The Heraldstone Cross for outstanding bravery and loyalty to Gnumphlatia!’
Ronny rose and saluted his king. The crowd was stunned for a moment. They’d expected him to be rewarded with some form of title, perhaps even knighted, but The Heraldstone Cross was the nation’s highest honour. Most of the crowd cheered and applauded and no amount of shushing would stop them.
The bookmakers, who had to a gnome offered incredibly long odds against Ronny being awarded The Heraldstone, moaned and wrung their gnarled hands. Any profits they might have made from the regular bets were vastly outweighed by the incredible losses they’d take having to pay the few gnomes, (most of them King Roger’s closest confidants) who had placed large and seemingly foolish bets that Ronny would take out Gnumphlatia’s top honour.
For most of his life, which was a very long time indeed, Wallop the hobgoblin had not been very nice. To be truthful, not many hobgoblins are nice, but Wallop had been especially unpleasant. He had been rude, self-centred and mean-spirited. That all changed the day he was given a special task. The caretakers of Castlerigg, the mystical stone circle near Kewsick in northern Britain, had called him Wallop the Watcher.
So, now he actually had a job to do — when most hobgoblins don’t do much at all except plot against one another in the chance of somehow making themselves appear more important — Wallop was actually nice to be around, if you could cope with his smell. Fortunately, most hobgoblins smell just as bad as he does, so the issue of personal hygiene — of which Wallop had none whatsoever — rarely, if ever, came up.
Wallop didn’t lord it over his fellows. Nor did he try to preach to them about how they ought to behave. He probably would have, but he was just too busy. The forest near Castlerigg was smaller than it once was, but it was his home and it required watching, so watch he did. The problem Wallop had was that he wasn’t exactly certain what he should be watching, if he was supposed to be watching anything in particular, or if that was not the case, what he should be watching for. He didn’t even know what he should do should he see anything while he was watching, other than to just watch it, of course.
Some of the time, his watching, time consuming as it was, was quite boring. Not much happens in a forest. He saw humans come and go. Not many of them were interested in the forest at all. Most were only concerned with visiting the ancient stone circle up on the hill from the wood.
Regular forest animals did their regular forest animal things. The rodents, like hares, rabbits, voles and so on, skipped and scampered about, ever wary of wolves, foxes and various birds of prey. Those larger animals of course simply did as their nature had them do, which was hunt those below them in the grand scheme of things.
The seasons changed as they inexorably did. Leaves turned from green to brown and then fell. Snow came, frosting the wood with ice. Then it melted and green and warmth returned, just as it always had.
All lovely, but really quite boring. At least, these, (what humans call “natural”) events were boring. The supernatural were not boring. Pixies, sprites and fairies, not to mention other hobgoblins were wary of him at first. But, after a while, they seemed to forget he was watching and went on with their lives as if he wasn’t there. This included getting up to all sorts of behaviour most folk would only do in complete privacy.
This, Wallop found more interesting, but he knew it probably wasn’t what he was really supposed to be watching for. The only times he had noticed anything particularly noteworthy had been several months ago when he had seen the Golden Mane and her wretched group of other werewolves and sorcerers, and that disgusting gnome. Then he had also seen a horrid goblin and his tame lycanthrope.
The beast had been about to kill him, but the spirits of Castlerigg had intervened and charged him with his task of watching. The only other time he’d seen anything of any particular interest was when he had seen Thrag — one of the nastiest-looking trolls he’d ever laid eyes on — come looking for the Golden Mane.
All that had been months ago, and nothing had happened since. Then, one evening as the last rays of daylight faded away and night took over, he rose from his cot in the hole in his tree from where he watched the forest, peered out and got the fright of his life.
There, lying prone on the ground in the small clearing below his tree, was the very lycanthrope who had attacked him. She was in her human form, and as humans went, he assumed, quite pretty, even if she was filthy and bloody as if she’d been brawling in the mud. There was no sign of her goblin master.
Wallop wasn’t quite sure what to do. He knew he ought to tell someone, but he had no idea who. The Golden Mane would probably want to know, given everything he’d heard the lycanthrope discuss with her master last
time he’d seen them. He shrugged, guessing any werewolf would do if he were to tell them about the lycanthrope. He knew all werewolves saw it as their duty to take such creatures to Wolfenvald where they would either be cured or killed.
Should he tell Thrag? The troll had come looking for The Golden Mane. The real problem was that no matter who he decided to inform of this unconscious monster lying in his forest, he had no way of reaching them. He looked out and up the hill to where the bare stones of Castlerigg stood as they’d done for thousands of years.
An idea came to him. If anyone would know how to reach the right person to receive this news, it would be the spirits of Castlerigg. And so, feeling much braver, and really quite important (finally!), Wallop the hobgoblin climbed out of his tree.
He carefully approached the comatose lycanthrope. She didn’t move. He crept close enough to sniff her. No movement. She was breathing, just. He nudged her with his foot. She didn’t respond. Satisfied it was safe, Wallop summoned several of his fellows and together they hauled the girl to the base of a tree and sat her up against it. There they bound her with enchanted rope spun from mistletoe vines and onion weed. Even if she were to awaken with powers ten times her normal strength, there was no way she was getting out of those bonds.
Wallop dusted his hands off, even though he had done very little of the actual work, and marched bravely up the circle of ancient monoliths. When he got there, he wasn’t quite sure what to do next. He’d never summoned the spirits before. He’d seen necromancers do it many times, but he wasn’t a necromancer and hadn’t the foggiest idea of what spells to use. In the end, he went to one of the stones and gave it a kick.
‘Hey!’ he bawled. ‘Anyone home? You told me to watch and I’ve been watching. Now I’ve seen something!’ He kicked the stone again and stood back, his stubby little hands resting on his hips.