Jelnar said that magic was best learnt in the most secluded of areas, where no one was able to hear or see you. So here they were, at the edge of the jungle, earthly wind washing over their bodies. Despite the man’s eccentric views, Klik happened to agree with him. Even with the thrill of the town, the bustle, the novelty of it all, the jungle was still where he felt at peace.

He placed his hand on Jelnar’s back, trying to feel the mana coursing through his body. He took a deep breath.

“Transfer!”

“Wrong.”

“Transfer!”

“Again.”

“Transfer…” Klik slumped down, defeated. Magic, he painfully learnt. was hard. Jelnar spoke of it in esoteric phrases, of mana resonating within you, gushing out like a wave. That it should feel natural, like a native part of your body that you’ve long forgotten. Maybe he never forgot it. Maybe it was never within him in the first place.

Was it impossible for a goblin to perform magic?

“This won’t do,” Jelnar said, sighing. He turned around and stood up. “The Language works through intent and understanding. It is a linguistic form of magic and consequently, should be intuitive. But just like language however, compared to other spellforms, it is unfathomably deep.”

He’d heard this before. Jelnar already explained it, what the ‘Language’ was, how it was used to cast spells. Through meaning and intent, you could control the world around you. To Jelnar, magic was as easy as speaking. To Klik, however, magic was like speaking—speaking to the abyss. No matter how hard he called for it, it never answered.

“To cast magic is to bend the world to your will,” Jelnar said. “You use your authority to command reality to do your bidding. Grab it by force, dominate it, let it become a vessel of your desires.”

“But how? How do I command the world? How do I gain authority?”

“You don’t gain authority,” he said. “It’s already within you. Magic is intention. You have desires, wants, needs that can manifest into the outer world. The Language is merely obfuscating that, hiding it from you. You’re unsure of your intentions, Klik.”

“How am I unsure?” he asked. He did have an intention though. He wanted to cast the spell, wanted to cast magic. So why wasn’t it working?

“You perform magic not for greater purpose, but for the sake of it. Magic is nothing but a tool, and a tool without intent is nothing.”

He pushed his hand outward. “You have the sword.” An ethereal blade manifested out of thin air, rippling with mana. “But nothing to cut it with.” And it disappeared, ashed away. “Why do you need magic, Klik?”

Klik was silent. The answer seemed obvious to him previously. Why wouldn’t he want to learn magic? To create fire out of thin air, to control the sea, to prop up impenetrable, magic barriers. But now he was unsure. What was he learning magic for?

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, then,” Jelnar said. “Let’s move onto something more concrete and actionable.

“Words can have multiple interpretations, multiple meanings. The beauty of linguistic magic is that it borrows the power that language itself holds. Magic, ultimately, is a communication between you and the world, so why not use the method most intuitive to us?

“In Siganan culture, the word fire,” he said, a flame roaring from his palm. “Is a symbol of destruction, of ruin. We are a kingdom still warring with dragons, and thus, we see fire as nothing but a bringer of death.” He closed his hand, extinguishing the flame.

“But the Kilfarian fire—” Another flame formed in his hands, this time, lighter, weaker. “Send.”

The fire flew from Jelnar’s hands towards Klik. He tried scrambling away, clumsily running from it, but it was useless. It hit him, but… instead of feeling pain, he felt relief. A soothing warmth washed over him, relaxing him.

“—is a cleansing flame. In the Silfarian theocracy, the Land of Lasting Warmth, fire is an object of worship. It is a symbol of cleansing, used to replenish nature, burning away at impurities and corruption. It is a necessary part of their life. Do you see now? How language affects magic? How the same word can both be destructive and healing? This is both the strength and detriment of the Language. What does the word ‘transfer’ mean to you?”

Jelnar sat back down, facing away from him. “Try again.”

What did the word mean to him? To transfer something was to move on thing to another location, to reposition it. It could be a transfer of something physical, offering an item to another person. Or something emotional, mental, like communicating something of mental weight—a transfer of emotions. What did he want to give to Jelnar? What was his intent?

He remembered the time Onko lost his cudgel, came screaming at him to find it. He was crying, like he usually did back then, all panicked and despairing—he thought the world was going to end. So he spent hours with him trying to find it, interrogating his brother on places he’d previously been in, areas where he might’ve lost it. It was no use though, so secretly, when Onko wasn’t looking, he placed his cudgel somewhere nearby, acted like he found it in some stroke of luck, and pretended that it was his brother’s. The joy, the relief, the gratitude he witnessed on his face back then was something he couldn’t properly describe in words. But the emotion was there, lingered, stayed within him. How could he transfer that same emotion to Jelnar? That feeling of gratitude, for teaching him magic.

To transfer something was to reposition it. To transfer something was to give something to someone else. He placed his hands on Jelnar’s back again, but now, with purpose. He needed to give something to him. The sound of the birds chirping, the whistle of the wind, the rustle of leaves as they were carried lightly by gusts—it all exited his mind. All that was left in the world was him, and his purpose.

He took a deep breath. Gratitude, relief, determination, promise.

“Transfer.”

He felt something in the world shift. A small part of his being left him, exited his body into somewhere else. Something within him, with the world, with his connection to everything, had changed. He exhaled.

Silence.

“Did it work, Jelnar? Did you feel anything?”

Jelnar flinched. He paused for a moment, in deep thought. “No… it didn’t work.”

“What? But I swear I felt—”

“I think this is where we end our lesson, Klik.” Jelnar stood up and smiled. “It was a good effort, though. I think you’re almost there. If you keep practicing, you’ll be able to cast a spell in no time. I’ll see you next week.”

And he strode off before Klik could ask him any other questions.

—— – -

Jelnar was many things, and a liar was definitely one of them. He did feel something, and the spell did work. It worked better than he could have imagined. What he didn’t lie about, was that the boy had decent magic potential. In fact, he learnt that it was much more than decent.

Learning to cast a single spell was no easy feat. If anyone could learn how to perform magic in just two weeks, the world would be a vastly different place. That’s why it scared him that, this boy, having only been taught for two weeks, was able to cast his first spell, just like that. It shouldn’t be possible.

The boy was a goblin, after all.

He walked through the forest, feet cracking the fallen leaves, mind dizzy. Klik had transferred to him more than he intended to. Transfer was a dangerous spell. Not dangerous to the recipient—not usually, at least—but dangerous for the caster. It was a spell only learnt by the most advanced of mages, purely because of its exploitability. A mage without proper control of intent and mastery over mana manipulation should never cast it. To teach it to a fledgling mage as a first spell? A teacher would never do that.

But Jelnar wasn’t a teacher—he was a hunter.

—— – -

“You are playing with Tishana. To mingle with your enemy is to skirt on the brink of the Abyss’s Depths. You are befriending those who see you as lesser. Your relationship is built on a mountain of lies.”

Endhi crouched down, sweep kicked him off his feet, left him lying on the ground, bruised and battered. Klik coughed. “I know… But, she understands me. Treats me with care. Shares stories with me. Even if it’ll all end… At least I’ve had a taste of what it feels like to be human.”

—— – -

Hekit Endhi, head hunter, master combatant…

—— – -

“Why are there so many goblins gathered in our tribe, dad?” Klik asked.

Around them were swaths of goblins from a myriad of tribes. People of different affiliations and cultures all gathered around, mingling peacefully. Hekit Garin had said something like this was impossible, that never in the history of goblin existence have they managed to coexist peacefully like this. It was both scary and exhilarating.

—— – -

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“An alliance between the remaining Velhana goblin tribes.”

—— – -

A goblin alliance… Five, six or so tribes, all grouped up in one area, ready and prepared….

—— – -

“…party and I were on a quest. There was a noble house being hunted down by the whole kingdom, and we had to take and protect them… to a whole nother’ continent. You see, this was a feud between one house and the rest of the nation—they were the most wanted enemy of the entire kingdom. Their dark secret was revealed to the country, and to survive, they had to migrate their entire main family to some place far, far away.”

A house being hunted down by the whole nation? What secret did they hold? Was running away the only…

—— – -

No, useless…

—— – -

…human girl with two different coloured eyes: one brown and one green. She was somehow able to cast magic naturally, using…

—— – -

A human child raised by goblins, yet still being able to cast magic? It shouldn’t be possible, and yet it was. Interesting, but not the information he needed. No matter how much information he parsed through, no single appearance or mention of the Eye of Zokurath.

“Jelnar.”

He spun around, raising his hand, preparing to cast a spell. He recognised the voice however, and soon came to recognise the face as well.

“Grandmother,” he said, lowering his hand. “What are you doing here?”

She looked mad. An expression familiar to him. “I could say the same to you. Why are you teaching Klik magic?”

“Why would that be of any concern to you, Zelena? You announced long ago that what House Lariel does is none of your concern any longer.”

“Don’t play around with me, boy. This isn’t official House business, but one of your little games that you like to play. Have you grown so bored to the point of taking in apprentices? I never took you as the charitable sort.”

He laughed. “That’s where you’re wrong, grandmother. The whereabouts of the Eye of Zokurath is very much a concern of House Lariel. As such, so is the relationship between the relic and the goblins which hold it. Teaching one of them, and in turn, taking information from one is only apart of the mission.”

A shocked silence. “What? You—”

“You’re right though, Zelena. I’m not the charitable sort at all,” he said, smiling. “The spell I taught him was transfer.”

Realisation dawned on her face. “You wouldn’t.”

“The spell has many applications, but as you know, it’s easily manipulated. With just a bit of twisting, I altered his spell to suit my needs, set a few parameters which allowed me to scrawl through his mind. I know of every goblin that needs to be taken care of. Every threat, every obstacle, every weapon they have at their disposal. It’s too bad, really, that I couldn’t find the Eye, but alas, I’ll just have to kill each and every one of them and the relic will come next.”

“You haven’t changed one bit,” Zelena spat. She looked ready to kill him. It was a pitiable sight.

“I couldn’t say the same to you, grandmother. You’ve fallen from power. They used to call you the Spellbreaker. One of the greatest Archmages of Sigana. Now, you’re nothing but a myth, a tale of the past. Was this what you wanted, Zelena?”

She was silent.

“When you told us you would be ridding yourself of your power with the Seal of Hikethi, we all thought you had gone insane. I was devastated. Now looking at you, so full of rage, of anguish, without any power to do anything? I feel nothing but disgust. I’ll tell father that nothing has changed. That you’re still powerless. That you’re nothing.”

He turned away, not even deigning to look at her.

“Recall.”

And disappeared.

—— – -

“Transfer.”

Klik felt that shift again. It was small, like a slight repositioning of the world somehow. Like reality moving one breath to the right. He swore that the spell worked.

“Did it work?”

“Yup,” Sheiha said. They were sitting on the ground, Klik’s hand placed on her back. She turned around. “Why’d you learn this spell first, though? It’s boring.”

“What? No it’s not, it’s—never mind.” Klik was ruminating on Jelnar’s lesson yesterday. He could’ve sworn that the spell worked. It felt exactly the same, that shift of reality. There was a weight to his words absent from his regular words. But Jelnar said otherwise. Why would he lie?

“It’s ‘what’? Why don’t you learn how to cast a fireball? That’s a lot cooler,” she said, floating around now.

“A fireball? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the first spell I learnt, of course it’d be basic and weak,” he said. He rubbed his eyebrows, trying to placate himself. “Why don’t you learn how to cast a fireball?”

“Okay.”

She closed her eyes and dropped to the ground. She sat in a meditative position, deeply focused. Was she really trying to cast it? How was she even learning it without being taught by anyone? Just by thinking? Klik was angry, curious, jealous, and skeptical.

“What are you doing?” he asked. Really, what was she doing?

“Doing what you asked: Learning how to cast a fireball,” she said. “Stop talking.”

Okay then. He did as he was told and just watched her. A bright, green eye that contradicted the rest of her appearance. Plain, brown hair, a simple tunic, tan skin. The more he knew her, the more he understood how much of a contradiction she was. A human raised by goblins. A self-taught mage. A single, green eye.

He tried copying her sitting position: legs crossed, palms on knees, back straight. He closed his eyes, tried scrunching his nose like she did, focusing deeply. What was she thinking about? What thoughts would even lead her to learning a spell from scratch? Was it even possible? He tried repeating the spell in his head, hoping that he’d arrive at some magical revelation.

Fireball, fireball, fireball, fireball…

But no revelation came. So then he tried thinking of spell names. Like those fancy commands that mages formulated for their spells.

Burn, ball… fire, sphere… gather, fire, send…

None of them really resonated with him. He doubted that yelling them out would have any effect.

“I’m done.”

Klik opened his eyes. “What? You’re done? What does that mean?”

She smiled at him. “Watch.”

She stood up and positioned her arm upward, palm facing the sky. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Without a word, without a single exhale, fire started to form above her hand, swirling in a great heap of heat. As it accumulated, build up slowly into a ball, he could feel the power thrumming from it, the heat washing over his body. She was casting a spell without the Language.

How was that possible? Every mage, everyone who performed magic, required to speak their intentions to the world to change it. How was she able to communicate with reality without a single word? How was she able to perform magic like this?

He started to realise, with every little bit of magic she performed, from the floating, to the invisibility, to all these other quirks, that she never uttered a single word to cast them. She just… did. It was another contradiction of her’s.

Wordlessly, she launched it above her, released it into the sky. He watched as it shot up in the air, orange light painting their surroundings. He watched as it exploded, felt the sharp heat lick his skin despite the distance. He watched Sheiha do the impossible.

“How are you able to cast magic without using the Language?”

“What’s the Language?” she asked.

What? He remembered that she was self-taught. Of course she wouldn’t know what the Language was.

“The Language. It’s how mages cast their spells. They speak their intentions to the world and the world responds accordingly. You didn’t use it—you never uttered a single world. And yet the world responded. How?”

“Oh, so that’s why you said ‘transfer’ when you were doing your weird spell? I thought you just did it for show.”

“What? Of course not.”

“Well, when I want something to happen, I just think it. Like when I wanted to cast the ‘fireball’, I envisioned it in my head. I had to imagine exactly what I wanted, how I wanted the fire to form, how it would send itself up into the air. And then, well, I just thought ‘I want to form this thing, and then I want to launch it up real high’. And it happened.”

“What? But—”

A shrill shriek cut through the air, loud and deafening. It reverberated through the air, through his body, through his skull. He tried clamping his ears shut. He felt numb. He fell down, collapsing onto the ground with shaky legs. It hurt.

He looked towards Sheiha. She was like him, collapsed on the ground.

What is happening?

A hand firmly picked him up.

“Wha—”

“You’re safe,” said a deep voice. Talis Kekta hoisted Klik over his shoulder. He did the same with Sheiha. “We need to get you two out of here.”

—— – -

He knew that the Eye was located here. It was faint, but the medallion was thrumming slightly. That could only mean one thing: One of these tribes held the relic. It was fortunate that they had all gathered in one place for him.

He watched them from afar. Goblins going about their day, meandering around. He’d never seen so many all congregated together, in unity. Peaceful. It was a shame that this was all fleeting, temporary.

“What do you think, Horus? Think this might be a challenge?”

“The greatest challenge of all is waiting around here, doing nothing. I’m ready to get this over with,” he said.

“So am I,” Jelnar said. He stepped forward and took a breath. He felt the mana within him stir, course through his body in anticipation.

“Summon, Zikzikrel.”

The wind around them roared, swept the trees violently. Leaves cycles around him. The world began to undulate, the mana going out of flux, reality slightly breaking under pressure. And it did break. Above them, reality began to tear, ripping apart like brittle fabric. From the rift, a giant centipede flew out, entering their plane of existence. It was covered with a red carapace, dull and impenetrable. It looked hideous. Not many chances did demons have to enter the mortal realm. Not many chances did they have to wreak havoc with abandon.

From the rift, dozens of smaller centipedes released themselves. They followed the larger centipede, all flying around wildly. This wave of weaker demons would help them massacre the goblins.

Zikzikrel released a piercing shriek, numbing Jelnar’s senses. He had to cover his ears. His legs shook weakly. He had to regain control.

Zikzikrel, I am your summoner. Speak to me.

The demon flew towards him. It circled around him, scrutinising him.

Ah, little Lariel. I remember your father calling upon me recently. He, as well as you now, needed to pay a price. So what is it, Jelnar? What will you give me in return for my subservience?

Recently? His father had summoned him twenty years ago. Their senses of time seemed to be vastly different. Apparently immortality warped your perception of reality.

I want you to help me kill all these goblins. In return, House Lariel will be indebted to you. You may call upon us for any favour in the future.

It was a risky deal to make with a demon, but with the Eye of Zokurath in his possession afterwards, no favour the demon could ask for would possibly outweigh the potential gain.

Very well. I accept.

Jelnar felt a shift in his body. A spiritual obligation was now ingrained within his soul. The demon’s mark marred his being.

He nodded towards Horus. The man twisted his greatsword out of the strap on his back.

He set his sights on the goblin tribes and readied himself.

Unleash yourself, Zikzikrel.

The three of them charged forward.