Goblinopolis, The Tol Chronicles, Book 1

by Robert G. Ferrell

“Where is he at this very moment?”

  “On leave, Captain.”

  “Recall him immediately and have him report to my office. Highest priority.”

  “I...I don’t think he’s reachable, Captain.”

  “What do you mean, he’s not reachable?”

  “I mean he’s off in...the wilderness, sir.”

  “The wilderness? Why would a hard-boiled city gob like Tol head off into the smekking wilderness?

  “He...uh...just wanted to get away for a while, Cap.”

  The captain glared at him from under furrowed eye ridges. “Get. Away. For. A while?”

  The sergeant looked down at his suddenly fascinating feet. The novelty finally wore off and he looked up again.

  “Fine, he’s chasing down a lead.”

  “Why would he need to take leave for that?”

  “Because the lead is at Mt. Astflanar and we don’t have TDY money for that kind of travel. Smek, I can barely afford to give the lads overtime when they’re on a hot case.”

  “Who or what has Tol taken it on himself to pursue to the middle of the Espwe mountains?”

  “Our old pal Pyfox.”

  “Tol chased Pyfox to Mt. Astflanar for what...a speeding violation?”

  “He just said he had a lead on something big Pyfox was involved in. As it was his personal leave he was taking, I didn’t pry any further.”

  “Are you aware that officer Tol-u-ol is the brother of our new King?”

  Sarge felt around on the floor to retrieve the jaw he’d just dropped.

  “Tol? The King’s brother? Smek me. I guess it don’t run in the family.”

  “What doesn’t?”

  “Computers. Tol has no use for computers. Hates ‘em. Files all his reports by hand or Dictaphone.”

  “Can’t say I blame him for that. Whatever the case, I have a problem, which means that you have a problem. His Majesty contacted me personally a few minutes ago and said he wants Tol at the Palace toot sweet. Your job, therefore, is to go find him. Grab a couple of lads and get them on it. I’ll authorize whatever it takes.”

  “Are...are you sure, Captain? This could get expensive.”

  “The smekking King wants Tol, sergeant. Do you understand what I’m saying? The King. Aspet the First. The goblin who controls our budget, not to mention our careers. This will happen, and it will happen in the minimum possible time. Get out of here now or you’ll be spit-polishing patrol boots in the Precinct quartermaster depot until you retire.”

  “Squad deployed, Captain!”

  • * • * • * •

  “The first four seismic pulses have been triggered, Your Eminence. The engineers report a thirty-two percent energy transference efficiency. Your Hurrarcane worked perfectly, incidentally: the Seismic Coordination Center and Early Warning Network in Tillimil were completely disrupted.”

  The spectral holographic figure in the visiosphere nodded.

  “Thirty-two percent is not as efficient as I would like, but it should suffice so long as the root disturbance is energetic enough. What method are your sappers employing?”

  “We are using five kilotonne point charges combined with eleventh-level ‘Dig’ and ‘Disrupt’ spells, Your Eminence. There aren’t enough mages with twelfth-level skill who were um, recruitable.”

  “I have just received word that all four of the initial specula were rendered inert. Congratulations, Pyfox. We are well on the road to victory.”

  “I have reports of over a thousand casualties as well, Your Eminence.”

  “Ah, well, collateral damage is unavoidable. What happens on the physical plane is of little concern to me.”

  “Understand, Your Eminence, but it does matter to me.”

  “So long as mages and Magineers remain to pay you for access to The Slice, what matters the number of civilian casualties?”

  “They are people, Your Eminence.”

  “People are expendable, Pyfox, and easily replaced. They breed prolifically. You must learn to focus on the mission and set petty sentimentality aside.”

  “Yes, Your Eminence.”

  “Now, the next set of seismic events is to occur when?”

  “In ten minutes, Your Eminence.”

  “And the number will be eight?”

  “Correct, Your Eminence. That will make twelve. Adding the speculum already destroyed in the proof of concept mission, we will have taken out over half of the access portals.”

  “Excellent. By your close of day we will have complete control. I’m already seeing manna beginning to pool near the ruined specula. It flows into me like a great river meeting the sea.”

  Behind the stalagmites, Tol’s mind raced furiously. He wasn’t sure what Pyfox meant by “seismic events,” but the talk about casualties needed no translation. It sounded as though the action was taking place far from here, though. Maybe he could sabotage it somehow. But how? He could probably take Pyfox out, but would that do any good? Questions were easy to come by; answers were not.

  The visiosphere swirled into life once more. Namni’s ghostly form appeared. “Success! Eight more specula have imploded.”

  “Great news, Your Eminence. Five more are scheduled in ten minutes. That will leave us with six remaining portals: the five Dubers and our conduit here in Astflanar.”

  “We will bring the Dubers down at the same moment. It will be easier to overcome their defenses that way, as they will be unable to aid one another in the heat of the attack.”

  One of the other hobs approached Pyfox. “We got visitors, boss. Somebody woke the watcher.”

  Pyfox twisted around to face him. “Take care of them, fool,” he hissed, “use the stasis runes.”

  “We’re on it, boss.”

  Another hobgoblin ran up to them, slightly out of breath. “Just got a report in: the third wave has crested,” he huffed.

  Pyfox laughed and rubbed his hands together, then spoke into the sphere.

  “Your Eminence, we’ve received word that the third set of quakes has been triggered.”

  “Yes,” came the ethereal reply, “Yes, the specula have collapsed inwardly. They are disabled and their portals are shut. We are one step away from absolute victory. Is it not glorious?”

  “Yes, Your Eminence. Glorious.”

  Although not visible to Pyfox through the nebulous veil of the visiosphere, the air around Namni began to swirl and suddenly tendrils of it solidified and wrapped around him tightly as he sat on his carved seat. He struggled, surprised, and a voice boomed out of a nearby spire.

  “What mischief have you wrought, fallen one?”

  Namni’s eyes slitted. He shrugged and the tendrils flew off as though propelled by suddenly released springs.

  “I am pursuing the path to glory you and your pathetic brethren had neither the foresight nor fortitude to follow, Oloi. Not only am I pursuing it, in but a few moments I will have achieved victory and that glory will forever be mine alone.”

  “The Noils are charged with maintaining balance and harmony between The Slice and the physical plane, fallen one. You know that I cannot allow your plan to succeed.”

  Namni pulled back a fold of his robe and extracted a statue of himself, half a meter long and seemingly carved from purest onyx. He held it up for Oloi to see.

  “I have a replicast. It took me a hundred years to shape and enchant it. Even if you defeat me, I will retreat into it and escape you.”

  Before he’d quite finished his speech, Oloi spread out his hands and the replicast flew from Namni’s grasp and was flung out into space. Namni leapt to his feet and a beam of light erupted from his hand, intercepting the statue and lowering it gently to the ground about ten meters away. He spun and with the other hand pushed a solid wave of bluish electrical fury directly at Oloi. The Emissary leapt over it and landed on a platform that formed itself out of the fractal fabric beneath him. He spread his arms wide and then brought his palms together in front. Two enormous spires, one on either side of Namni, crumble
d and collapsed on top of him.

  The pillar debris stopped just short of Namni and was propelled outward in a furious explosion. Rather than falling to the ground in a circle some distance away, however, it began to rotate en masse and draw closer together until it formed a tight eddy of fractal detritus that headed straight for Oloi, who flung his hands apart in response. Just before it swept him into its whirling maw the rotating debris split and spinning tails passed to either side. One of the vortices bent and flailed at near right angles as it passed, catching Oloi across the back and flinging him forward into a pile of rubble. Namni took advantage of this to leap for the replicast.

  Oloi levitated up and away from the debris field. A ball of orange fire erupted from his hand and shot toward Namni, who dodged at the last second, losing his grip on the replicast as he did. It clattered to the ground and bounced into the scree. Namni executed a complete somersault and raised his arms to launch another barrage at Oloi when he suddenly lost sight of his target. He heard a noise behind him and spun around to confront a spectral likeness of Oloi that moved as though to strike him. Namni instinctively threw up his hands to block the blow. The ethereal golem’s arms passed straight through him. As soon as Namni realized he’d been duped, he crouched and was scanning for the real Oloi when suddenly a cage made of glowing blue lines dropped out of nowhere and entrapped him. He tried to free himself, but contact with the bars affected him strangely and he drew back.

  “That is a cage woven of manna-sponge,” Oloi explained, hovering above him. “It cannot be broken by magical means, and if you touch it your manna will be absorbed.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Namni growled.

  “You took the oath and accepted the mantle of a Noil, Archmage. When you concocted and carried out your plot against the specula arcanis majoris, thereby endangering the manna ecosystem of The Slice, you blatantly broke that oath. The Arcanum Magisterum has charged me with bringing you into their presence for justice. Without your assistance Pyfox and his rogue mages will be unable to complete the final ritual to seal off the Dubers.”

  He gently set down on the ground, then lifted his hand, palm up, and the cage floated free of the fractal landscape, following along as he walked away. Namni protested vocally, his language getting more crude and incoherent with time. Oloi paid him no attention. Their path happened to take them very near the replicast, lodged on top of a large heap of debris. Oloi realized that Namni had suddenly become very quiet. He turned to see that the prisoner’s body had deformed into a long thin eel-like shape and was slipping between the bars. He rushed around to that side of the cage to stop Namni’s escape only to see the last of his essence disappear into the replicast above them. He scrambled awkwardly up the debris pile, but just as he reached the statue it shimmered and vanished.

  Oloi concentrated on the magical vapor trail left by the teleportation and saw that it led to Tragacanth on the physical plane. There was no time for him to construct a visitation ritual, so it was going to be up to whoever was present in Pyfox’s lair to stop him. Oloi sat on a stone and eased himself into tenth-level meditation. He projected his astral self to scan the auras of Pyfox’s companions and stopped with a jolt. He came out of the meditative state and smiled broadly. He had detected the presence of both Tol-u-ol and Ballop’ril. Namni was, in a word, doomed.

  • * • * • * •

  Pyfox was greatly concerned by Namni’s sudden departure from the visiosphere. He knew that the final assault on the Dubers could not succeed without the augmented energy pulse Namni would provide to the remaining quake-triggering mages. The intruder threat had been neutralized by the deployment of stasis runes at the entrance to his chamber. They erected a powerful barrier that prevented both physical and magical trespassing. A motley crew had assembled on the other side, including the previously semi-mythical Ballop’ril, but Pyfox paid them no mind now that the barrier was up. Not even Ballop’ril could hope to weaken it before the final assault was completed. Presuming, of course, that Namni reappeared before the effect dissipated. He was beginning to get seriously worried when a brilliant flash lit the room and a small black statue appeared suddenly on the floor near the visiosphere. At the same moment the sphere flickered into life.

  “When I am strong enough I will signal you and the operation can continue. Until then protect the replicast with your life.” The voice was very thin and wavering, but unmistakably Namni’s. Pyfox picked up the pitch black figurine. It was warm to the touch and softly thrumming. Little arcs of electricity leapt from it at irregular intervals, making a distinct crackling noise as they dissipated.

  Just beyond the barrier, Ballop’ril was watching the proceedings closely. “It looks like a replicast,” he narrated to the group, “Namni must have run afoul of someone extremely powerful to force him to retreat into that. Someone he anticipated, though, because it takes a very long time to enchant such a thing.”

  Pyfox heard his explanation and strolled over, replicast in hand. “Yes, it belongs to Namni, traitor. In a very short time he will be using it as the platform from which to launch the final assault on the Dubers. That will leave only my portal here in Astflanar for access to The Slice, access that will cost the mages and Magineers dearly. I will have a monopoly on magical sourcing for the entire planet.”

  “Careful you don’t drop it, Pyfox,” Ballop’ril said, “Or your boss will be so much latent magical energy spread across the cavern floor.”

  “Shows how much you really know, oh mighty archmage Perspice,” Pyfox replied with a sneer, “this replicast has an inviolability spell cast on it. It cannot be damaged by any means.”

  “See those sparks coming out? That means the inviolability enchantment is not yet fully activated. Until they stop, you’re just holding a porcelain figurine full of hate with an internal heating element.”

  Without warning a burly goblin wearing a trench overjack and helmet with the Goblinopolis Edict Enforcement departmental badge enameled on it popped up from behind a stalagmite and jerked the pulsing replicast out of Pyfox’s surprised grasp. “Thanks for the scoop, your mageness. I hate to be an art critic, but this thing has got a date with a rock.” He raised the statuette above his head. “No!” screamed Pyfox; he and two other hobs leapt toward Tol, but he body-slammed the first one into a stalagmite, dodged the others, and hurled the statue into space. The replicast inscribed a soaring arc over their heads and shattered against a large column of stone dripping with water seeping in from the ceiling. “Take cover!” shouted Ballop’ril. Tol ducked down behind the stalagmite again.

  A pulse of pure white energy exploded from the fragmented replicast; the shock wave took layers of material off the surrounding stone facades and propelled Pyfox and his cronies against the walls of the cavern like rag dolls. The magical barrier bulged outward as the leading edge contacted it, and then punctured like a balloon shot with an arrow. An instant later the pulse had expended itself and all was quiet except for the moans and groans emanating from Pyfox. He had barely survived the explosion; one of his hobs was not so lucky.

  Tol gave Pyfox first aid, and then pulled him to his feet. “You’re under arrest for a whole buncha stuff that I’ll sort out back in Sebacea.” Pyfox grimaced at him. “I think we’re out of your jurisdiction, smekhead.”

  “But not out of mine.”

  They looked up to see two more Goblinopolis EE officers accompanied by a third goblin in a brown and green uniform. His breast patch was the twin mountain peak & lightning bolt emblem of the Southron Rangers.

  “Glad to see you gobs,” said Tol, “how in the smek did you ever track us down in here?”

  “Some weird smooth-skinned creature who called himself ‘Plåk’ not only told us exactly where to find you, he gave us a teleport right to the entrance.”

  “Good ol’ Plåk. Makin’ up for past indiscretions.”

  “What’s that, now?”

  “Long story. I’ll tell you at the pub some night.”

  “Yeah,
all of your stories are long when there’s ale involved.”

  “I don’t get it, Pyfox. How did your larcenous little brain ever come up with a scheme of this magnitude?”

  “He ain’t stupid,” the surviving minion spoke up, “Namni said he would get rich and live forever if he helped.”

  “Shut up, you idiot,” Pyfox snapped, “He’s raving. Must be the pain.”

  “I ain’t in that much pain, boss. I just don’t want ‘em to sell you short.”

  The air off to their right abruptly took on a slight opacity and then Plåk himself shimmered into view.

  “Yes, immortality would have been yours, Pyfox. But through what was no doubt an unintentional oversight the dearly departed Namni left out a rather crucial bit of information. Each time you were reincarnated into your cloned shell, your memories of anything that happened after the cloning would be eradicated. Further, and more to the point, Namni had modified the mental encoding of the clone such that you would be completely, unquestionably obedient to his every whim: incapable even of conceiving of questioning him, in fact. Forever a slave in word and deed.”

  Pyfox still appeared defiant, but a hint of doubt was creeping in.

  “Oh, and one last tidbit. I was snooping about in Namni’s lair while he was distracted by your little enterprise here and his rather entertaining battle with Oloi and discovered this.”

  He held up a glowing crystal cube with a red protrusion. “This, my immortal Pyfox, is a kill switch. It is magically linked to both your physical and cloned brains. Eventually Namni would tire of you and when that happened he would simply press this button. Poof! No more living Pyfox, no more clone.”

  “But...he swore to me that he would honor our agreement forever.”

  “Namni is for all intents and purposes a demigod. The gods, or at any rate those in the same neighborhood of the ethical spectrum as Namni, are not bound by pacts taken with mortal creatures.”

  Selpla stepped forward, her reporter’s curiosity no longer containable. “So, Namni is dead, then?”

  “Not truly dead, no. His energies have been dispersed over an ever-widening area. It is theoretically possible that he could nudge them back together eventually and reform, but that will take at least an Age or two. Nothing to worry about for a few millennia, at any rate.”