Evena, staring at the smoking ruins around her, seemed unconvinced. “Does Verne own this town?” she asked the goblin.
“Own it?” the goblin said, confused.
“He seemed quite concerned with following the appropriate formalities regarding the acquisition of our island,” Wyngalf explained.
“You have an island?” the goblin asked.
“We did,” said Evena. “For about five minutes. We traded it for passage to Dis.”
“Ah,” said the goblin, with a nod. “Yes, that’s the saurian modus operandi. A dragon will set up a complex system of rules and then attempt to impress you with how well he is following them. Of course, the rules are completely arbitrary and fashioned with the sole purpose of making certain the dragon gets what he wants. If you ever happen to catch a dragon violating his own rules, he’ll claim some obscure loophole, and if you back him into a corner, he’ll just modify the rules to accommodate his behavior. In your case, that wasn’t necessary. He simply traded an island he didn’t want for a trip he was going to make anyway, in order to distract you from what he actually wanted, which was information about your homeland.”
“You’re not making any sense,” said Wyngalf. “You’re saying that this incredibly clever dragon somehow never figured out there are entire cities just across the sea, ripe for extortion?”
“It does seem paradoxical,” the goblin admitted with a nod. “But that is the nature of dragons. Simultaneously very clever about certain subjects and very dimwitted on others. They are particularly gullible when it comes to gold and other forms of treasure. It may be helpful to think of them as analogous to young human males, whose reasoning is easily compromised by the presence of an attractive female of the species.”
“That may well be,” said Wyngalf, anxious to change the subject, “but Verne’s behavior hardly excuses looting and pillaging. The residents of this town have lost enough without goblins rooting through their few extant belongings looking for baubles and trinkets.” His eyes fell to the bag, which the goblin had set down next to him.
“It is fortunate, then,” said the goblin, indicating the sack, “that I have collected only a variety of vegetables, dried meats, and other foodstuffs.”
Saliva shot into Wyngalf’s mouth at the mention of food. It had been so long since he’d eaten that he’d almost managed to put the concept of food out of his mind, but now it suddenly slammed into his consciousness with such force that it made him dizzy. It was only light-headedness that prevented him from rushing at the goblin with his sword and taking the sack. The goblin regarded him with a curious expression. If Wyngalf didn’t know that goblins were vile, selfish creatures that thought only of satisfying their own base urges, he might have thought he saw pity on the monster’s face.
“I hesitate to make this offer,” said the goblin, “as I understand from your comments that you have a strong ethical compunction against theft, even in cases of dire need and where the ostensible victims have no use for the items being appropriated, but if you can overcome your qualms, I’d be more than happy to share a portion of what I’ve—”
“We’ll take it!” cried Evena, clearly as frantic as Wyngalf was at the idea of eating.
“Please,” Wyngalf croaked. “That is, I think we can set aside our ethical concerns for the moment, given the circumstances.” Wyngalf seemed to be setting his scruples aside a lot frequently.
The goblin nodded and picked up the sack. “Follow me, if you would be so kind,” it said. It turned and trudged away. Wyngalf and Evena followed unquestioningly. Soon they found themselves surrounded by the remains of a small stone cottage. The rubble seemed to have been cleared away from the center of the dirt floor, and a small campfire was burning there.
“I hope you can forgive the crude accommodations,” said the goblin. “I only arrived here myself a few hours ago, and it’s the best I was able to arrange under the circumstances. Please, have a seat.”
The three of them sat around the fire and the goblin handed the sack to Evena while it tended to the fire. True to the goblin’s word, the sack contained a variety of mostly nonperishable foods that it had apparently scrounged from the rubble of the town. A large jug of water sat nearby. Wyngalf helped himself to the water and then tore at some dried beef while Evena chomped into a bruised but juicy apple. Wyngalf had set the sword down in the dirt next to him, having come to the conclusion that the goblin was largely harmless—and that in any case, he and Evena were in more danger from hunger than attack by the diminutive creature.
“Not that you asked,” said the goblin, while they ate, “but my name is Tobalt.”
Wyngalf was momentarily embarrassed of his slight; it hadn’t occurred to him that goblins had names. “I’m Simply Wyngalf,” he said around a mouthful of jerky. “This is Evena.”
Tobalt stood and bowed, then sat again, waiting patiently for the sack of food to be handed back to him. “If it isn’t presumptuous to ask, what brings you to Dis?”
Wyngalf wavered between an overly literal response (“a dragon”) and a more thorough answer. Either one was likely to prompt questions from Tobalt that Wyngalf was in no mood to answer. He could tell a harmless lie, but that would require Evena’s cooperation, and he doubted she’d be amenable to playing along at this point. He figured his best bet was just to tell an abbreviated version of the truth and hope that the goblin’s tiny, cretinous brain wouldn’t prompt it to ask questions the answers to which it had no hope of understanding. “I’m on a divine mission to bring the one true faith of Noninitarianism to the Land of Dis,” he said.
“Ah, Noninitarianism!” cried the goblin, nodding excitedly.
Wyngalf peered at Tobalt curiously. “You’ve heard of it?”
“Oh, no,” said the goblin. “But unless I’m mistaken, the etymology indicates that it’s a belief in a single God manifesting him- or herself in Nine Distinct Persons.”
Evena, sitting between them and chomping away at her apple, was glancing back and forth between Wyngalf and Tobalt, an amused expression on her face.
“Yes,” said Wyngalf uncertainly. “That’s… correct.”
“I assume you’re familiar,” said Tobalt, “with the Quadrinitarian beliefs of the Cult of Varnoth?”
“I’m… aware,” said Wyngalf. He’d studied a wide variety of religions as part of his education at the Stronghold, although much of this education consisted of learning the ways in which the various religions of the world fell short of the sublime truth of Noninitarianism. “I didn’t realize the Cult of Varnoth had made many inroads into Dis,” he said.
“It hasn’t,” said Tobalt, with an apologetic shrug. “The only religion with a large following in this region is Ovaltarianism. But I’m a bit of an aficionado of obscure sects. I find the syncretism between the monotheistic religions and the polytheistic schemas they’ve supplanted particularly interesting. For example, the idea of a single god, Varnoth, existing in four distinct persons seems to be a concession to the entrenched belief in the four pagan deities that predominated in the region.”
“Well,” said Wyngalf. “I don’t know about that.” He wasn’t sure he liked where this conversation was going. This goblin, although he was clearly unable to comprehend the finer nuances of theological matters, seemed to have memorized passages from some heathen study of religions, and his careless comments were in danger of corrupting young Evena. Wyngalf had thus far made only halting attempts at explaining the Fourteen Points to her, and she simply wasn’t prepared for this onslaught of nihilistic paganism. It puzzled him that a goblin would possess such an unnatural interest in religious matters. It was well-known, even to those who hadn’t accepted the One True Faith, that goblins were devoid of souls and therefore incapable of appreciating matters of eternal significance. As for Ovaltarianism, which the goblin claimed was the predominant faith in the area, Wyngalf had never heard of it, and he suspected the goblin was misremembering the name of some other sect. Why was it that the only people who show
ed an interest in matters of faith were monsters and children, who could not possibly benefit from the sublime truths of Noninitarianism?
“Ah, I’ve offended you,” said Tobalt, with what seemed to be genuine remorse. “Tis my lot, I’m afraid. It was my penchant for engaging in abstruse discussions on topics of philosophical interest that precipitated my ostracization from my clan. For as you so helpfully pointed out, Simply Wyngalf, my kind tends more toward bellicose and rapacious pursuits, and has little tolerance for abstract intellectual concerns. As I am regrettably ill-suited to tasks of a belligerent nature, as well as given to embarking on ill-timed musings on abstract and recondite matters, I was largely a burden on my clan. They tolerated me as best they could, but ultimately there was no denying that I was a liability, and it was agreed that it would be best for everyone involved if I were allowed to pursue my intellectual interests free of the constraints of a primitive and violent tribal society.”
“They shunned you,” said Evena, a note of pity in her voice.
“It was a mutual decision,” said Tobalt, staring into the fire. “One night, nearly three weeks ago, I was assigned to guard duty at the entrance to the cave several miles south of here in which my clan makes its home. I was frequently selected for this task, as it generally involves little more than staying awake and banging a drum if one witnesses anything suspicious, and it was deemed by the clan leadership—after witnessing my unremarkable but effective drum banging technique—that I was capable of such activities. As it happened, on this particular night I happened upon a particularly vexing philosophical problem, which I have somewhat immodestly taken to referring to as Tobalt’s Paradox.” The goblin paused. “Before continuing, might I ask your level of familiarity with naïve set theory?”
Wyngalf and Evena stared at the goblin, unsure how to respond.
“I can see I need to back up a bit,” said Tobalt. “I beg your indulgence while I provide some background. You see, according to naïve set theory, any definable collection is a set. Now let’s suppose that T is the set of all sets that are not members of themselves. It follows that if T is not a member of itself, then its definition dictates that it must contain itself. But it occurred to me that evening that if it contains itself, then it contradicts its own definition as the set of all sets that are not members of themselves. You see the problem.”
“You were preoccupied,” said Wyngalf.
“No!” cried Tobalt, shaking his head vigorously. “Well, yes. But what I meant is that the definition of T is self-contradictory. I mean, so much for the idea of a logically consistent theory of definable collections!” He looked expectantly at them.
“Perhaps,” Evena ventured, “it isn’t necessary for us to understand the exact nature of the conundrum to see its relevance to your situation.”
Tobalt thought for a moment, nodding slowly. “Yes,” he said at last, clearly disappointed in their lack of interest in the finer points of the discussion. “Of course. I suppose the key point here is that while I was preoccupied with this paradox, a party of adventurers slipped past me into the cave entrance and slaughtered sixteen members of my clan. It would have been far worse, but the party took a wrong turn and happened upon a pack of giant rats which they were unprepared to face, and were forced to flee. I was unaware that anything was amiss until I was knocked over by a hefty gentleman in heavy plate armor fleeing the cave. It was decided in the wake of the massacre that perhaps I should pursue my philosophical interests elsewhere. Since then, I have survived principally by scavenging in the wake of Verne’s attacks. Needless to say, I am often hungry and cold, not to mention deeply troubled by the intrinsic incoherence of naïve set theory.” The goblin continued to stare glumly into the fire.
“Well,” said Evena, “we are quite grateful for your company. Were it not for your resourcefulness and generosity, we certainly would have starved.” She elbowed Wyngalf in the ribs.
“Ah,” said Wyngalf, who was lost in reverie as he ruminated on a very dry hunk of bread. “Yes. We’re quite beholden to you.” With some effort, he managed to smile at the goblin. As pleased as he was to have some food in his stomach, Wyngalf was getting a little tired of being forced to depend on the whims of random monsters for his survival. He understood that the Noninity worked through the actions of all creatures to bring about its divine will, but ever since he arrived in Skuldred, Wyngalf had felt like he was being tossed about by capricious forces he could neither influence nor comprehend. What was the point of being on a divine mission if none of the actions he undertook of his own volition ever amounted to anything? Faith was admirable of course, but at some point, he needed to seize control of his own destiny.
“We’re happy to pay you,” Evena said, “I lost most of what I was carrying, but I’ve got a pouch with some coins in it sewed inside my trousers.”
“I thank you for your kind offer,” said Tobalt, “but it is unnecessary. I consider your indulgence of my feeble attempts at philosophical discourse to be more than adequate compensation for these meagre foodstuffs.”
Tobalt was so pathetically earnest that Wyngalf found it difficult to sustain whatever animosity he had toward the goblin by virtue of his membership in a vile and accursed race. Tobalt would never be able to rid himself of his essentially base nature, of course, and his pseudo-metaphysical jabbering amounted to nothing more than an amusing quirk, but he seemed to be harmless. Wyngalf was so certain of this that when he found himself nodding off in front of the fire, he didn’t fight it. His faith had gotten him this far, and if the Noninity had fated him to be slain in his sleep by a runt of a goblin with philosophical pretensions, he wouldn’t resist. His last thought, before falling asleep, was to hope that the goblin could manage to cut his throat quickly.
Eight
Wyngalf awoke stiff and groggy, but alive—and pleased to find that he had evidently been right about Tobalt’s harmlessness. Sunlight streamed through the nonexistent ceiling of the cottage, alighting on Evena’s fair hair as she slept, curled up next to the remnants of the fire. The sword lay on the ground where Wyngalf had left it, and Tobalt was nowhere to be found. Wyngalf suspected—correctly as it turned out, for Tobalt reappeared with his sack full not long after—that the goblin had gotten up early to get a head start on his scavenging. Tobalt had found an old coat that would fit Wyngalf and a cape that Evena could wrap around her shoulders. As the fire had died and the morning air was cold, they accepted these with almost as much enthusiasm as they had shown for the food the night before. When they were a bit more comfortable, Tobalt revealed the other contents of his sack: moldy bread, salted pork and some very dry prunes.
After breaking fast and exchanging a few morning pleasantries, the conversation turned to what they were going to do next. Having successfully made landfall in Dis and sated his hunger, Wyngalf was feeling much more optimistic about his prospects. It was clear to him now that he had failed to save any souls along the Jagged Coast not because of any deficiency in his method, but because his destiny lay in the virgin territory of the land of Dis. He had no doubt that in Dis he would find thousands of people ripe for the good news of Noninitarianism, rather than the jaded merchants and dimwitted laborers he had encountered so far. He’d begin making converts as soon as he reached a good-sized city, and within a few weeks the congregation would begin construction on the first Noninitarian church in Dis. The troubles he had encountered so far were minor obstacles on his path toward canonization as the greatest missionary Noninitarianism had ever known.
Evena, meanwhile, insisted that they make for the nearest seaport, where she could charter a ship to take her back to Skuldred so that she could make sure her town was still standing. Wyngalf pointed out that even if she could convince a ship’s captain that her father would pay the cost of the voyage upon her arrival in Skuldred, it was still very unlikely that any captain would agree to undertake such an expedition. Undoubtedly the legend of the Hafgufa was widespread on this side of the Sea of Dis as well; it was onl
y the unusual circumstances of Wyngalf’s arrival, the insanity of Captain Savikkar and the intervention of Verne the dragon that made their eastward journey possible. No amount of money would convince a sane man to undertake the return voyage. Wyngalf had heard of ships crossing the sea from ports to the north of Svalbraakrat, so perhaps by traveling many miles out of her way she could avoid the Hafgufa, but she was unequipped for a long journey overland. And even if she made it to one of the northern ports, she would still have to convince a captain to take her across the sea and then south along the coast to return her to Skuldred in order for him to receive payment from her father. Another option would be traveling overland to the south, but that would take her through hundreds of miles of desolate wastelands, much of it populated by trolls and other dangerous monsters.
Tobalt eventually broke the impasse. He recommended—in his halting, ingratiating way—that they head north toward Skaal City, which was a large, bustling port, and a hub of the Dissian Shipping Guild. According to Tobalt, the Shipping Guild boasted members all along the coast of Dis, and he suggested that Evena might be able to negotiate with them to arrange for her to take a series of voyages that would ultimately bring her back home. Wyngalf wondered how it was possible for a shipping guild to exist in a place where captains were afraid to cross the sea, but evidently a healthy amount of trade was conducted up and down the coast of Dis. Members of the Shipping Guild often entered into cooperative arrangements to ship goods long distances, with the Guild acting as a sort of bank and impartial arbiter. Tobalt suggested that Evena’s father would, upon her safe return, pay the captain of the ship that brought her home. The captain would keep his share and hand over the rest to a branch of the Shipping Guild at his earliest opportunity. The Shipping Guild would then make sure the other ship owners were paid for their part in transporting her.
Distopia (Land of Dis) Page 8