Goblin War

by Pete Prown

  * * *

  Some hours passed as Dorro nodded in and out of slumber.

  He awoke as the dim winter sun was setting and ate some bits of bread and dried meat Saoirse had left in his basket.

  He had many questions, too.

  “How many giants are headed to battle, if I may ask? I assume the goblins have amassed a considerable force.”

  The giantess thought for a moment. “As of this moment, we are but a hundred strong, but the Elders sent couriers throughout the Grey Mountains asking for help. By dawn, we should treble that figure and within two days, perhaps a thousand or two.”

  Dorro tried to do the arithmetic in his head. “Will that be enough? The orkus and trolls may number ten thousand—or even more!”

  “As the Elder said, we are marching to our Doom and that is something we must accept. The battle will be as it will be; either will we live or not. It’s more important that we fight well. Each giant can destroy one hundred orkus, but the trolls worry me. As I said, despite their limited mental ability, they are dangerous and cunning.”

  “Are giants and trolls related?”

  Dorro instantly regretted the question, but it only made Saoirse smirk.

  “You compare us to great, misshapen beasts with small brains? That amuses me, Halfling.”

  “That’s not what I meant! I was referring to your size—both giants and trolls are leviathans compared to us wee creatures.”

  Dorro was pink with embarrassment, while the lady grunted again.

  “As I was taught from my earlier days, we are from the same stock, born in the early days of the Wide Green Open. But some of us chose to live in bright, airy caves under mountain skies, while others drove deep into the earth and hid in caverns miles underneath.”

  “Those, of course, were the trolls, who never loved living things, other than fish and lizards in the deepest grottos. They have no desire for fresh air, cold winds, or bright sun—trolls crave the dark and seek to crush anything that thrives on the surface. Goblins are much the same way. They rule the underworld and now seek to destroy everything under the sun.”

  “Why? There is no reason.”

  “Because they hate us—hatred is a part of life, sadly enough.”

  “We have plenty of it in my village, my lady. It is the reason I’m here, but I’m just as guilty as they are. I hate injustice and bullying, and the way the wealthy abuse the poor.”

  “You may be small, Dorro, but you are brave and valiant like my husband Gruftang.” She sighed. “Let us speak of happier things. Tell about our home and your nephew who you seem so devoted, too. But first, I have a question for once.”

  “Certainly, my lady, anything.”

  “What—?” She paused. “What is a nephew?”

  Now it was Dorro’s turn to giggle. Clapping his hands together and began to regale Saoirse with stories of Thimble Down and rich life he once led.

  Soon the long miles and lonely hours disappeared and the two friends spent an afternoon happily lost in comradeship.

  Tiberius’ Idea

  This was something new. This was something unexpected. This was something daring.

  “I am not pleased by your actions, Barrister Thrashrack,” fumed the Mayor, sitting behind a table and wearing his magistrate’s robes.

  “You have a half hour to prove this assembly has some merit or so help me, I will cite you for contempt. You too, Grumbleoaf! Don’t play coy with me, sir—I know you’re up to your chubby neck in this.”

  Unlike the previous hearings at the Hanging Stoat, this one was held at the library and had been called by Darwinna Thrashrack rather than the magistrate. Thus the Mayor had been called away from a leisurely afternoon at home and forced to don his robes and preside over this surprise event. He was more annoyed that over a hundred villagers had packed the building, hoping for more free entertainment.

  Darwinna and Tiberius Grumbleoaf were having a tense conversation, while the Mayor banged his gavel for the proceedings to begin and the rabble to quiet down.

  Rap! Rap!

  “I don’t have all day, Miss Thrashrack. Am I to understand that you are not ready to proceed?”

  Darwinna looked at Grumbleoaf tensely, as he held up his hands and shrugged. “Your honor, we are here today to further examine the deaccessioning of Mr. Dorro’s estate.”

  “We have dealt with this issue enough—the matter is closed!” snapped the magistrate.

  “Actually, my lord, I don’t think that’s technically correct.”

  “Excuse me, Barrister Thrashrack—you dare challenge me in my own court of law? I think it’s time to levy a charge of contempt.”

  Darwinna spun and shot Grumbleoaf another pained look. He looked helpless for a moment, but then brightened. Into the hearing space shot Wyll Underfoot and Cheeryup Tunbridge, the girl holding a scroll she had just retrieved from the gallery above.

  “If you any give me three minutes, your lordship, I will explain everything.”

  “The nerve!” shrieked the Mayor, but he waved a hand in agreement anyway and reached for his tankard of ale. He saw Darwinna and Grumbleoaf poring over the scroll and talking heatedly—he didn’t like this, not one bit. The Mayor shot Osgood Thrip and Hamment Shugfoot another unhappy look and they too looked annoyed and worried. This matter was supposed to be over by now.

  “Your honor!” carped Darwinna, turning her attention back to the magistrate. “I believe we have something novel to offer in this matter.”

  The magistrate rubbed his long muttonchops and scrunched his eyebrows together.

  “Oh really? Because let me be clear—if what you offer today doesn’t amuse me, I will not only cite you and your porcine friend, but have you both thrown in gaol for a week or two. Am I getting through to you?”

  “Yes, indeed, m’lord.” Darwinna looked nervous and unsure of herself, despite her ravishing blue-and-cream ensemble, a smart skirt with matching shirt and jacket, and a silk scarf about her delicate neck.

  “Now, as to the Estate of the Mr. Dorro Fox Winderiver and the confiscation of his home—the Perch—and the library, wherein we stand right now.”

  “Get on with it!” snapped the Mayor, getting impatient.

  “It was decreed that a new ruling in the law books of Thimble Down prevented criminals from owning property, which made Dorro’s property transferable to ownership by the village.”

  “Quite right, quite right! Wouldn’t you agree, Shugfoot?”

  The solicitor of the village of Thimble Down stood and addressed the magistrate. “Yes indeed, your lordship. The rule was perfectly legal.”

  “There, Miss Thrashrack! Now what have you to say?”

  “I have this to say, m’lord,” said Darwinna tentatively. “Your new law is completely—illegal.”

  The library exploded with a furor, Halflings leaping from their seats and howling with joy at this unexpected bit of controversy. Most of them despised the Mayor and loved to see him squirm.

  “That’s it—contempt of court!” raged the Mayor.

  This time, however, Hamment Shugfoot stood and approached the magistrate’s table. He leaned and spoke in the Mayor’s ear, something that made the latter turn red with anger. He banged his gavel again.

  “Fine! Apparently, Barrister Thrashrack’s comment—while rude and annoying—is not worthy of a charge of contempt, thought I wish it was! Continue, counselor ….”

  The magistrate was seething.

  “As I was saying, the new rule is illegal, according to none other than the Codex Borgonian.”

  There were gasps in the room. Darwinna kept going before she lost her nerve. “My esteemed colleague Tiberius Grumbleoaf has been researching your ruling and made a critical discovery. I’d like to call on Barrister Grumbleoaf to explain further, if I may.”

  The magistrate waved his hand with annoyance. Tiberius closed his enormous leather book and stood solemnly.

  “Your lordship and good Halflings of Thimble Down. I was taking notes
in my book the other day, as is my custom, and a thought occurred to me. I examined an entry I had made perhaps nine months ago, an abstract rumination on the Codex Borgonian, which as you know, is the book that contains the original laws and decrees of King Borgo, created seventeen-hundred years ago. It is the basis for all Halfling law and has prudently guided our legal actions ever since.”

  There were gentle murmurs of approval from the crowd, as the figure of King Borgo was revered by all Halflings, the boy-hero who defeated the villainous Men-folk and became the first ruler of their kind.

  “Hurry up, man!” barked the magistrate. “We don’t have all day, Grumble-Toad!”

  Ignoring the jibe, Tiberius carried on.

  “What stuck in my mind about my earlier scribbling on the nature of St. Borgo’s Third Law, the so-called ‘Rights of the Accused’ passage. So I asked my young friends Wyll and Cheeryup—both so well acquainted with the contents of this fine library—to find a copy of it in the archives. And happily, they did.”

  Grumbleoaf held up the scroll as evidence.

  “Do you have actually have a point, Grumble-Bumble, or are you merely wasting the court’s precious time?”

  The Mayor, really, would have preferred to be in his burrow taking a nap.

  “Indeed I do, sir!” Grumbleoaf pushed his reading glasses up onto his squat nose and coughed loudly. “The Third Law of St. Borgo is quite clear on the matter of those accused of crimes.”

  “If I might paraphrase the complex legal writing, it states, No property can be confiscated by village or government—even that owned by a criminal—without proof of death. Furthermore, any change to this law by a municipality or village would require a public vote. I need to say that again, your lordship. Your new law would require a public vote by the villagers of Thimble Down to become valid and binding.”

  The Thimble Downers again jumped up and began hooting at the Mayor, including less-than-pleasant words like “swindler!” and “liar!” and the always popular “big nose!”

  By now, the Mayor had gone from beet-red to a hue akin to a rotten pumpkin. “This is treason, Grumbleoaf! How dare you question my authority?”

  Once again, Hamment Shugfoot stood; this time, he coughed awkwardly.

  “Your Honor, may I examine the legal document my colleague Grumbleoaf has produced?”

  Tiberius handed over the aged vellum and let the fancy solicitor read its contents, while the remaining villagers chatted anxiously. A few minutes later, Shugfoot returned the document and addressed the court, visibly paler than usual

  “Your lordship, as much as I regret saying this, the challenge is perfectly legal and genuine. The Laws of St. Borgo are well-known to us solicitors and ingrained from our earliest days of training. To contest this would be, I’m afraid, quite ill-advised and, as the solicitor representing the village, I must advise you to reverse our recent rule change. We must allow the estate of Mr. Dorro—with Darwinna Thrashrack as its executor—to remain in control of its own and his estate. Barring, of course, any news of his death.”

  “I am the law in Thimble Down, counselor!” barked the Mayor. “How dare you infer otherwise?”

  “I’m merely trying to follow the rule of law which has been set in stone for the past seventeen-hundred years. You could try to overrule it, except for ….”

  “Except for what?”

  “Except for the St. Borgo’s Fourth Law, which states that attempts to overrule existing laws by a magistrate makes him liable for removal from office—and exile.”

  Hamment knew that his chances of living in the Perch had just disappeared, but there was no going around the Codex.

  “But I’m the magistrate!” bellowed the Mayor. “How can anyone put me in gaol?”

  “According to the law, it only takes a simple hand vote from villagers present. Fifty would do it.”

  The Mayor stared out at the room full of Halflings, many of them buzzing with excitement. “I dare you! Who has the nerve to vote me into gaol? I’d like to see any of you try!”

  There was dead silence for a moment, but then gasps as one hand slowly ascended.

  “Who is that? Who dares suggest I go to prison?”

  “Me, that’s who!”

  Mr. Mungo, the tavern keeper, stood up and addressed the court. “And anyone else who wants to see Mr. Dorro keep his rightful property can join me. If the bigwigs who run this village can steal his property, they can steal anyone’s!”

  Suddenly, hands shot up all over the room, as folks were tired of the Mayor and his nefariously sneaky ways. Darwinna was busily counting hands, “... 46 … 47 … 48 … there are forty-nine hands, your lordship!”

  “A-ha! Just as I expected,” snorted the odious Halfling, but a commotion interrupted him. In the throng stepped Bedminster Shoe, who had been in the loo and had no idea why everyone had their hands in the air. Not wanting to make a scene, the scribe lifted his hand as he took his seat, hoping no one would notice.

  “Fifty!” screamed more than a few Thimble Downers, several of whom began to dance merry jigs around the library. “Put the Mayor in gaol!

  The Mayor banged his gavel heavily on the table and shouted for everyone to clam up. Fuming with anger, he summoned Darwinna, Hamment, Tiberius and Osgood to the bench for a sidebar discussion.

  “So, that’s the way it is, eh, Darwinna? Pretty crafty, I must admit,” he sneered. “And Hamment, you’re going along with circus, too?”

  The slick solicitor eyed Darwinna and Grumbleoaf furtively before speaking. “Your lordship, I have no choice—the law is the law. Even if it comes at my own loss.”

  The Mayor shot a glance at his ally Osgood Thrip and back again.

  “So be it, Shugfoot. You’re own your own now—the Perch and the Library remain in the Winderiver estate, unless Dorro does the decent thing and dies in Fog Vale.”

  He banged his gavel one last time and spoke to the rest of the Halflings. “The recent ruling by the village of Thimble Down is officially overturned and the Winderiver estate shall remain as it was. Case closed!”

  In a heartbeat, he rose and departed with a glowering Thrip on his heels, while the rest of the Thimble Downers cheered again and followed them onto the cold, snowy lanes, dancing, laughing and singing.

  Bedminster Shoe, Sheriff Forgo and Mr. Timmo ran up and hugged Darwinna Thrashrack, while the children jumped about in wild glee.

  Grumbleoaf, for his part, merely snorted and shut his giant leather book, a look of quiet satisfaction on his jowly face.

  “Darwinna?” Hamment Shugfoot came up behind her. “May I have a word? Please?”

  She glanced at her compatriots and then stepped aside with Hamment.

  “Dearest Darwinna, I know I haven’t behaved honorably in recent weeks, but it was my duty to serve the village as best I could. I didn’t have a choice.”

  “What will you do now, Hamment? You’ve lost the Perch.”

  “Oh fiddle-faddle, darling—it’s just a burrow. I still meant what I asked you the other day. Will you marry me? I will give you a life of glamour and excitement, I promise.”

  Darwinna looked at Shugfoot’s striking good looks and, with his wealth combined with her own, knew he would give her a life many in Thimble Down would envy. She reached out and took his hands in hers.

  “That would make me happy,” she cooed. “But only for a few weeks.”

  “What? We would be perfect together.”

  “I’m sorry, Hamment, but when I marry, it will be for love and to a Halfling who stands up for justice and champions the disempowered. I, for one, would not take money from the Mayor to blindly uphold the law.”

  The solicitor bowed his head, knowing he was defeated.

  “You’re entirely correct, Darwinna. I will try to be a better Halfling and someday, perhaps, you will change your mind about me. In the interim, we have our firm and our work. I will do better.”

  Darwinna Thrashrack threw back her head and laughed at last.

  �
��Oh Hamment, you are such a wonderful actor. You missed your calling! Sadly, our days as colleagues are also ending.”

  Shugfoot froze on the spot. “You’re jesting, Darwinna!”

  “Sorry, dear. I’m leaving Shugfoot, Thrashrack & Grumbleoaf, and I fear our friend Tiberius is as well. We’ve discussed the matter and have decided to launch our own partnership, one devoted entirely to defending the weak against the rich and big-headed. Goodbye, darling.”

  Darwinna gave the solicitor a quick peck on the cheek and trotted out the building, followed by her friends and co-conspirators.

  Behind her, Hamment Shugfoot found himself standing in the library, very much alone.