Goblins. Surly, revolting creatures, all clad in hairy knots and scum. They were of human, in feature, except for their overly-defined brows, flat snouts, and sharkish teeth. Stretching past their humped shoulders, their elongated heads were always poised low, as if set to spring; which they often did when a nice snack came lumbering by. They hunted in packs, too. Hence no animal, no matter how formidable, would stand a chance when facing full numbers.
Goblins generally scoured on foot, as any of us would do. And yet, if they ever needed to move at speed, they’d simply plunge to all fours and dash along as fast as wild wolves. Another useful trick was their ability to scale like flies. That way the Goblins could keep an eye on things from above, without being discovered; slithering about in the heights of darkness.
.
They had no use for weaponry. It was mostly their brute strength and strangling tails that came into action. But they did have a defence mechanism, should they require it. The Goblin males came equipped with deadly barbs. When needed, they’d shake their backs like dogs in the rain, spraying out thousands of urticating hairs. These stiff strands would fly like toxic darts, on all sides, thereby killing any nearby target. Vile vermin, the Goblins of the east; who uttered in just growls and slavers, an ill-omened form of animal tongue.
Hordes of these disgusting villains were there within, all snaking ‘round and up to no good. Some slept. Others lazily wandered, mooching in nooks and shadows. Some sat in hollows, gnawing on old bones, and others fought amongst themselves for no particular reason. This lair was named so by the runaways of Lythiann during the dark ages. The term ‘Keep’ even made the creatures sound somewhat civilized; summoning to mind a castle or perhaps even a palace. But I can assure you, they were not civilized. Not by a mighty mile. The only reason it was branded The Goblin’s Keep was because that was where they came to slumber and feed during the sandstorms, nothing more. The original miners, and forgers, of those caves would have turned in their graves had they only seen what had become of them. Sadly, ever since their lives had been shortened by the powers that be, it was kept as home by the more dangerous creatures of the realm, and there was nothing they could do to stop it.
Stell’s worst nightmare had come true when he spied their presence. In a dither, he flung his back to the wall, panting fast, with his forehead glittering with freezing sweat.
“I-I-I-I…” he babbled, not knowing what to do with himself, or what to say.
“Stell…” William muttered, but the Elf was too wound up to say anything.
“Stell!” the boy said again, this time louder, but not loud enough to disclose their position.
Cutting the lines from his mind-numbing terrors, Stell glared at him and asked, as if after being lured from a frightful reality, “W-William? How may I be of service, dear chap?”
The boy continued, “Not to worry you any more than you already are…but…this beam…it looks fairly weak. I’d doubt it was built to support the likes of us. They’re more of a wall support, I’d say. Either way, we’re going to have to cross it one at a time, and take our time doing it, too. What we’ll do is this: I’ll go first, to test it. Then, if it’s safe, I’ll signal, and you follow, and so on. Don’t worry, we’ll be on the other side in no time! Where there won’t be sight nor sound of another stinking Goblin.”
“Not for a while, anyways.” Icrick blurted out, not thinking.
There was no point in beating around the bush, so William shrugged, “Well, yeah…for a while…probably. So what? What do you care? You’re Ewval’s son, remember. Besides, by the time we see another Goblin—if we see another Goblin—we’ll already have Redmun back, and they won’t stand a chance. So, what do you say? Give it a try?”
“No, William.” Stell refused, bringing them all down.
William asked what he meant; asking in a confused, albeit timid air, when Stell replied, “I shall go first! I insist! I-I have to get past this. I have to try.”
A courageous bid indeed, but Stell was still petrified. That much was obvious. William, mindful of this, urged him to reconsider, but it only made Stell insist further, so he left him to it.
The Elf took a deep breath, and slid one foot out to test the dusty girder. Everyone went so still, such that all that filled the silence were Stell’s trembling gasps and the gruntings from beneath.
“STELL!” Khrum shrieked, almost giving the Elf a coronary seizure. Luckily, the Goblins did not hear, as it was covered by an unholy grunt from two fighting fiends below.
Outright flustered, he bounded back behind cover again.
“What?” he sneered, and good gracious, was he livid.
“Heeey, take it easy!” Khrum sulked defensively, attempting to ease the Elf down with his hands. “If you’re goin’ ta carry on shnappin’ like that, ya can forget I said anythin’! Shtill…ya might want ta keep a close eye on those other lads over there. But I’m sure ye’ve already spotted them; considerin’ how on-top o’ things ya already are.”
It turns out that there was a long window beneath a ridge across the way, to their right. Its lamp-lit insides gave life to a very deep room. An armoury; wherein four Ahueé guards were labouring hard.
Aside from the fact that the Hobgoblins (or Ahueé, as they are known) appeared less of beast and more of human, they remained closely related to the regular Goblins. Cousins, incidentally. Unless of a higher status, whereby they were able to speak and command, their utterance was otherwise uneducated, and more grisly than sensible. Yet, dissimilar to the Goblins, they remained far more intellectual; possessing extensive knowledge of both blacksmithing and trap-making. They had an especial fondness for making snared out of rusty parts. If you’ve ever cut yourself on something rusty, you’ll understand why. All contaminated and downright sore.
Not known for galloping like their kin, these mutilated fiends, instead, staggered from place to place, looking very crooked as they did so, being the inbred filth that they were. Their bumpy skin was powdery and thin, but not often beheld beneath their long, slack robes, as black as starless night; and pelts with thick slates of leather armour.
A devastating weapon, so complex and huge that it made them cower and tremble, was fixed upon the window’s ledge, in the precise centre. A giant crossbow, loaded with a cylinder of two dozen arrows or more. On either side of it, two cranks were affixed. One to pivot and aim the weapon itself—a slow process, yet treacherous in the end. Then the other to trigger multiple shots with fleeting succession. Two more preloaded cylinders were standing upright next to the contraption, ready and waiting. A merciless piece of equipment, indeed. Likely constructed in that very ironworks, it was now guarding this keep from any intruders. Orders from a higher source, I’d expect. A High Lord Ahueé, I would imagine. Orders to protect those foul vermin, so in return, they could protect their Overlord during the eclipse. Not that Briggun needed it, being the all-powerful Pooka. They were just overly protective. It made them appear more loyal, and often foes fought for his notice. But Briggun cared for no one but himself.
Stell backed nervously away from the opening to request a huddle.
“There are four Ahueé in that armoury,” he said, shaking. “I can thank Khrum for his eyes on that one. Be advised, we need to stay sharp. No foolish decisions here! So…William…when you lead us out there, be sure to move fast yet quietly, as I will be right behind you, and I wish to get out of here as quickly as possible!”
Slightly confused, the lad asked, “So…now I’m going first?”
Stell smiled a silent plea, which said enough. William, who was glad to take the burden off his hands, crept out onto the girder.
The first step felt stable enough. He edged out a little further. Stell was close behind him; then Wren; Icrick; Khrum; and last of all, the Poppum, who was at the rear. Being a rather long haul to the other side, they treaded cautiously, making not a peep. But how often have things gone smoothly for our heroes, really?
William approached a section in the girder where the base was a
t its weakest. And as he shifted his weight along, it cracked, just barely, but enough to send a light sprinkling of dust down upon the nose of an elderly Goblin who was sleeping far beneath. Exhibiting reflexes impeccable for his age, he shot up, looking all about him and gnashing his teeth at Goblins close by, who yelped, then bolted, leaving this grumpy old Goblin to his rest.
He perused the cave one last time, suspiciously, then went back to resting on his warm stone.
Relief surmounted them; until the fault shifted another notch, thus dusting that very same Goblin a second time. In a convulsion of rage, he peered up and spotted them. Their eyes locked and the Goblin displayed his intent with a most stabbing fix. He howled ferociously, alerting the Ahueé guards who then homed in on their position in a flash. Whereas every other Goblin was so rabid with hunger that they were snarling, barking, and taking to the walls to hunt.
One of the Ahueé sprung into the seat of the siege-bow to turn the crank in their direction. Meanwhile, the remaining three had primed their bows and began firing. They weren’t very accurate, being Hobgoblins. However, with the amount of arrows being flown, it wouldn’t have been very long before one of them had managed to squeeze out one lucky shot.
Ducking, weaving, and skidding, our courageous friends upped and tore across the beam like their lives depended on it…which in this case, did. I wish I could say that their troubles did not worsen, only I cannot. For the hub of that girder near its wilted point, crumbled, and before they could fathom the goings on, it was already collapsing under their heels. Enormous clumps of stone smashed onto the ground below (fortunately crushing some Goblins in the process) whilst our heroes ran with terror staying their faces.
The crevice on other side wasn’t all that far away, yet it wasn’t nearly close enough. Khrum, bearing the littlest legs of all, was struggling to follow last. While he kept his focus on that nearing fissure, he nonetheless felt the girder melting away under his little black shoes like parched sand. Soon enough, he felt as if he wasn’t running on anything at all, and for a second or two, he wasn’t. It was his momentum and sheer panic that kept him up. But Icrick was there to help, and he swept the leprechaun up in just enough time to dive for the sanctum of that fissure. William yelled at them to jump, and all at once, they made one fervid bound for the shelf.
What happened next, you ask? Well, they almost made it.
In what could only be deemed an exercise in resilience, William was there, dangling from the ledge by the very tips of his sweaty fingers. ‘That doesn’t sound too bad,’ you may well say. It will, however, when I tell you that, wrapped tightly around his waist…was the Elf. After that, Wren was hugging onto Stell’s left leg. Then Icrick was hanging off Wren’s waist. Last, but not least, Khrum was dangling from Icrick’s toe, with the Symphogram clinging to the buckle of his right shoe. It must’ve slipped right off Icrick’s back during the escape. Those straps were a tad flimsy. On top of that, I’ll ask you to add a few dozen pounds of extra luggage into the equation. Now what do you think? ‘Poor William,’ you say? I couldn’t agree more.
“Careful!” the leprechaun panicked, afraid to blink, lest William’s dear fate should crash into a hundred pieces on the ground below. “The blashted Symphogram is hangin’ off me brogue! No sudden movements.”
If they could’ve bided their time, they would have. But not only did William’s arms feel like they were going to pop from their sockets like a couple of well-roasted drumsticks, but an endless storm of arrows were clattering against the walls around them. Startling more so, was that confounded siege-bow, and how it had almost locked onto them.
“Khrum!” Icrick sobbed. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but we’re kind of under attack here! Just lift up your foot and take the Symphogram in your hands. It’s not all that heavy.”
Khrum answered caustically, “Hmmm, take it in my hands, ya say? Good plan, Icrick. Good plan indeed! But…pray tell…what the hell am I supposed ta hold onta when I’m busy holdin’ onta the friggin’ Symphogram? Tell me that! Ha?”
“Oh.” gulped Icrick.
“Yeah…Oh!”
“Um, maybe you could use one hand then, Khrum? Hmmm?” William suggested politely, clearly in terrible pain.
The leprechaun then remarked in a way which none could believe.
“But it’s massive. It’ll hurt my wee arms!” moped he.
Of all the things to say, when William was hanging on for all of them.
“Khrum!” the lad barked, clenching his teeth, yet relaxing his manner enough to coolly say, “I sympathize with your arms. Honestly! I can’t even begin to imagine how painful it must sound to you. But…please…just grip on tightly with one hand. Then take the Symphogram in the other, and throw it up to Icrick. After that…climb up. It’s that simple! You follow behind him, Icrick. Then the rest o’ you climb up when he reaches the top. Because, I’ll tell ye now….there’s no way in a month o’ Sundays I can pull everyone up all on my own, much less hold on here for another five minutes while we go on bloody chatting about it!”
“Graaand!” Khrum sighed, almost put out by it.
It turns out the Symphogram wasn’t as heavy as he’d imagined it to be, so he handed it up to Icrick and clambered up. The others weren’t far behind. About time, too, as, with ruthless velocity, that siege-bow commenced in catapulting spear-sized arrows straight at them. Those releases were so prevailing that some of them even drove into the precipice around them, as of darts near a bull’s-eye.
Not out of danger yet, William was the last to ascend. Utilizing some of those lodged arrows as opportune footholds, and with some help from his friends, he found the top. Many arrows came close to hitting him then. So close, in fact, that he felt their draught whizzing by his ears. Yet no hit was prosperous, for which William was thankful.
They claimed the protection of that long-awaited crevice inside the sunken rim of a concave. Any such arrow which flew at them in the meantime simply bounded off its exterior and plummeted down to terra firma. They were finally out of danger’s wake.
“Jolly good work, my friends.” said Stell, who was now able to breathe again. “It shan’t take those Goblins long to figure out our path, though, so let’s get a good head start while we can!”
The Elf was about to bolt, when, making a search by his feet, William suddenly stated, “Hang on! Where’s Pew?”
He was nowhere to be seen. They feared the worst. Fearing that he must’ve fallen to his doom along with that old beam.
“Look! Back the way!” Khrum then yelled, putting their hearts across them.
He was pointing to the far side of the cave, and at the top of the stairway, trembling behind a boulder, was the shivering crown of Pew’s little head. But the walkway had been demolished, leaving them with no way back; unless they fancied a leisurely stroll through a festering pit of ravenous Goblins.
“He must have gotten frightened when the bridge fell away, so he scuttled back to safety.” Wren said, biting her nails with dread. “Oh, the poor little thing! What are we to do now? We can’t just leave him.”
A traumatic pickle it was, and they didn’t need to be told so. Then in place of evoking anything productive, a needless argument erupted, with them quarrelling over one another…demanding that something be done…who was to do it….and whose fault it was in the first place.
I need hardly note that the Goblins were quick on the move, scaling skywards on both sides with great power, as well as creeping up the stairway to Pew.
“Stell!” the Grogoch pleaded. “You’re always good for a plan. You won’t let us down, will you? What should we do?”
Beg as he might, no good would come of it. The Elf was so frightened of those Goblins that he was incapable of any worthy deliberation.
All hot and bothered, he bleated, “I don’t know, Icrick. I can’t think. I don’t know what to do! There are too many Goblins down there. Too many, I tell you! And what can I do against Goblins? Me? If only my brothers were here. They’d know
what to do.”
So infuriated by not only another bout of his negativity, but an untimely one at that, Wren snarled, “Shut up! Just spare us your self-pity! We’ve heard it all before.”
Something of a harsh approach, they felt. Particularly when he’d been so nice to her back in the tomb. And this was no time to argue.
Stell was about to craft more excuses, but Wren wasn’t having it.
“No!” she stated, confronting him with a solicitous rage. “I don’t want to hear it. Instead, I put this to you. Who saved us from Erfor, Stell? Who?”
Putting his hand up shyly, Icrick said, “Um…Wren…I don’ believe this is the best time for…” when she closed his trap for him with a ‘Quiet you!’ sort of stare.
“Well? Who was it, Stell?” she yelled again.
Somewhat frustrated for being reprimanded, when he couldn’t help his upset, the Elf shouted back, “Your dragon! It was your dragon who saved us.”
“Wrong!” she snapped, bullying him back. “He may have destroyed Erfor, but who saved Jimzin? Who risked his own hide for him?”
Nearly afraid to confess it, Stell answered, “M…Me.”
“Correct! And who cast those two arrows into Sidell, one of the most feared beings on this land? Who did that, eh?”
“M…Me…again.”
“And who’s stuck by us of his own accord, all this time, through thick and thin, when all we’d asked him for was his opinion? Who, Stell?”
“Me.” he answered again, quieting further.
“Yes! You! You, Stell!” she claimed, yearning for him to see just how valiant he truly was. “Fine, your brothers may have been magnificent warriors in their day, but they are not here now. You are. God knows where they are right now. Off getting inebriated in a ditch someplace. And whether you realise it or not, Stell, you actually have your father’s courage, too. And I would rather have one Stell Crimpleton here with us now, than a hundred other famed Elven warriors. Ewval included!”
Then, lightening her tone, she smiled. “We just want you, Stell. That’s all. And it’s okay to be scared sometimes. Because, if you’re not scared, then you’re not afraid of loss. You’re not afraid of loss, then that means you never had anything to begin with. But you have us. Me, Icrick, William, the leprechaun…and the Poppum, too. So don’t give up on us. Please?”
The Other of One: Book Two Page 47