Malcolm sat up, groaning as his vision spun. A pair of heavy hands gently pushed him back down.

“Did the beast die?” Malcolm muttered, reaching out towards the hands. He blinked a few times, and the surroundings slowly come into focus. His left arm throbbed with pain and he could feel tight wrappings holding it to his chest.

Oswald stood over him, lips cracked in a faint smile. “It would seem so!” The medic said, grinning. “Although I was rather surprised when I heard the news. You didn’t seem like someone who would…” he trailed off, trying to find the right word.

“Stand on top of a wall and yell at a giant worm?” Malcolm muttered. He looked at his left arm. It was covered in thick layers of cloth bandages and bound tight to his chest. “What happened to my arm?”

“You dislocated your elbow in the fall,” Oswald replied, grabbing a glass of water from a table. He offered it to Malcolm, who gratefully drank it in a single gulp. “Quite lucky if I might add. That was a dangerous stunt you pulled.”

“It was the least I could do.” Malcolm said, sitting up. He tried to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, but couldn’t. Pulling the blankets aside, he saw a thin rope wrapped around his legs, tying them to the cot. “Why are my legs tied?” he asked, trying to pull them free.

Oswald’s face grew grave, his thick mustache bunching around his nose. “Prince’s orders.” He paused for a second. “Until he can determine your role in this mess, you and the…child are to be considered prisoners of the crown.”

“I told you last night!” Malcolm objected. “I just happened to find him in the street and I have no idea what that worm was!” He smiled faintly, hoping to convince Oswald. The plump man just stared at him skeptically.

“Half of the army heard what you said on that wall,” he said. “You seemed might sure that infernal beast was chasing you!” He paused for second, taking deep breaths. “That child you found is some kind of… imp! Creatures like that aren’t just wandering the streets of a town!”

“How is… the child?” Malcolm asked, doing his best to seem disinterested. “His leg wound looked pretty bad.”

“He’s still asleep, but should make a full recovery in the next few weeks.” Oswald said, turning away. “Although, it might be faster if we knew what he was.” He began grinding pinches of herbs and spices into a paste, mixing in small amounts of water when needed.

Malcolm bit his tongue, resisting the urge to tell Oswald about Sven. I shouldn’t, he thought. The less they know the better. “What are you making?” he asked.

“Sleep concoction. The King arrives in the morning and you need to rest before your questioning.” He poured the paste onto a long spoon and held it out towards Malcolm. The soothing scents of lavender and chamomile filled the air.

“The King is coming here?” Malcolm asked, surprised. He tenderly took the spoon from Oswald, trying not to spill any of the paste. “Doesn’t he have more… important things to do?”

Oswald scoffed. “Surely you must be jesting!? The tribes are headed right towards us, an unknown creature just decimated the army, and the only leads are an unconscious imp and a human who refuses to talk!” He stared at Malcolm judgingly. “What could be more important?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Malcolm muttered. With a swift motion, he downed the paste, gagging as it caught in his throat. It tasted sharply of ginger, stinging his tongue. “Delicious,” Malcolm joked, handing the spoon back to Oswald.

“I really should be going,” Oswald said, packing up his bag. “Yell if you need anything!” With a slight bow, he exited the tent. As the flaps of opened, Malcolm could barely make out the seemingly endless tent rows of the army camp. Men milled around in the distance, hauling logs. They must be replacing the wall, he realized.

Lounging back on the cot, Malcolm closed his eyes. He could feel the effects of the paste already. Slowly he sank into a deep calm, and before long, sleep.

Bellowing horns awoke him the next morning. The noise echoed across the camp, bouncing off the walls of the town. With jolt, Malcolm sat up, rubbing his eyes in the dim light. While he slept, a fresh shirt and full breakfast had been placed next to the bed. His legs had been untied sometime in the night and the ropes now lay loosely on the cot.

Diving into the meal, Malcolm relished the warm food. Thin strips of warm bacon lay atop a heaping pile of potatoes and eggs. After days of plain meat and Sven’s wafers, a well-cooked meal was almost magical.

Next to the plate was note from Oswald:

I am certain you will enjoy your meal and shirt. Whenever you are ready, notify the guard outside your tent, and he will take you to the King.

Respectfully,

Oswald Treverson.

P.S: The child awoke last night. He is well, but also refuses to talk. It appears you two have something in common.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Setting the note down, Malcolm peered at the flaps of the tent. The rough outline of a guard was barely visible through the cloth. The man swayed back and forth, leaning on a long spear.

After his meal, Malcolm changed into the shirt laid out for him. Made of thick pure-white linen, it clung to his skin, scraping loose the dirt and grime. He struggled to get his bandaged arm through the sleeve, wincing as it caught on the cloth

Poking his head out of the tent, he stared at the guard. “I’m ready now,” he said. The man snapped to attention, his armor jingling. Pulling a long loop of rope from his belt, he held it out towards Malcolm.

“Your hands must be bound,” he said. Malcolm held out his arms, allowing the guard to bind them tight. Malcolm did his best to straighten his left arm, but the bandages held it tight. Once he was done, the guard pushed Malcolm ahead of him, keeping hold of the rope. “If you try to run, I will stab you. If you disobey me, I will stab you. Walk forward, and turn only when I say.”

Malcolm nodded, setting off at a low speed. The guard kept the rope tight, tugging on it every time Malcolm got ahead. Gradually they made their way through the camp. The soldiers paid Malcolm little attention, their efforts focused on rebuilding the town.

Groups of men carted wagonloads of wood and stone through the reconstructed gate, dumping the materials at the building sites. Others carried loads of twisted wood and pulverized stone out of Bullhaven, piling the waste at the edge of the camp. Already a long wall of scrap encircled most of the tents.

At last, Malcolm and the guard arrived at the King’s tent. Made of bright blue and gold fabric, it towered above its surroundings. Rows of flags lined the entrance, along with countless guards. The men glared at Malcolm, eyes tracking his every move.

At the entrance, a guard stopped Malcolm. Ducking his head inside, Malcolm heard him announce, “The prisoner has arrived!” Turning back to Malcolm, he pushed the tent flaps aside.

Ducking through the opening, Malcolm entered into a large room. An immense throne occupied the center of the tent, ornately carved and inlayed with gold. Six guards flanked the throne, hands on the hilts of their swords.

From his seat, King Edvard gazed at Malcolm from beneath bushy white eyebrows. A neck-length gray beard covered his chin. Atop the King’s head was a large golden crown, inlayed with every color of gem. It sparkled in the light, reflecting spots of color onto the walls of the tent.

Malcolm knelt before the King. “Your Majesty,” he said reverently. After a few seconds, he hesitantly stood up, making sure to keep his bound hands in view of the guards. Malcolm could feel their steely gazes boring into him, tracking his every move.

“It a pleasure to meet you,” the King said, bowing his head in greeting. Turning to the guard beside him, he whispered something. The guards grumbled, then unbound Malcolm’s hands. “I do not believe that you mean us any harm,” the King said. “Is my assumption correct?”

Malcolm nodded. “Yes your Majesty,” he paused for second. “Forgive me for asking, but will the… child be here? I would like to see him again.”

King Edvard nodded. “He shall be arriving soon,” he stared at Malcolm’s bandaged arm. “How is your arm? Oswald told me it was healing well.”

“It hurts a bit, but not too bad,” Malcolm said. “Oswald does good work.”

The King chuckled. “That is why I keep him around. I have never met a more skillful healer in my life.” As he finished, a guard ran up to the throne, whispering something in the King’s ear. The monarch whispered something back and then turned to Malcolm. “The child has arrived.”

As he spoke, the flaps of the tent whisked open, revealing a bound, blindfolded, and gagged Sven. The Goblin was strapped to a cot, which was carried by two soldiers. They set him down in front of the throne, bowing as they stepped aside.

Malcolm stared in horror at Sven. The Goblin squirmed underneath his binding and Malcolm could faintly hear him speaking through the gag. Forcing himself to look away, Malcolm took a deep breath.

“Unbind the creature!” The King ordered, gesturing at Sven. “I will not have such brutality in my court.” Three guards rushed forwards, untying the straps. “Who ordered such an act?” the King asked accusingly. One of the guards looked up from his work.

“Prince Armedious, your Majesty.”

The King grumbled, picking at his beard. “Bring him to me later. We must discuss his methods. Again.”

As the bindings loosened, Sven wiggled out, balancing on his good foot. The guards drew their swords, but the King waved them aside. Ripping off his gag and blindfold, Sven coughed, leaving a blob of spit on the ground. Chucking the binding aside, he glared at the King.

“Guards, leave the tent,” the King ordered. The guards looked shocked.

“But your majesty…” one of them sputtered.

“They mean me no harm,” the monarch explained. “We have matters of secrecy to discuss.”

The guards exited the tent, glancing back at the King as they left. Malcolm could see them take up positions around the walls, almost completely encircling the structure.

“I apologize for your treatment today.” The King said. “I assure you, it was not by my order.”

Sven grumbled. Malcolm could just barely hear the words “Useless… foolish…humans…”

“Now that we have the both of you here,” the King began, “I believe it is time for an explanation.” He stared at Malcolm and Sven expectantly.

Malcolm gulped, glancing at Sven. “I’m not sure what you mean…” he began.

The King cut him off with a wave of a hand. “Of course. I assume you were sent by the Almighty Toe?” Malcolm and Sven stared at him in shock. “Although, I can admit I’m a bit surprised to see a human and a Toe Goblin traveling together.”

“Of course your majesticness,” Sven said, bowing slightly. “We was sent by the Almighty Toe to… assist with your current situation.” He nudged Malcolm to join in.

“As my companion said, the Almightly Toe sent us to help. He knew you could use all the support you could get.”

“Excellent!” the King exclaimed, clapping his hands. “I was beginning to suspect help wouldn’t arrive. Now tell me, what assistance can you provide?”

“My human and I be great strategists among the Goblins,” Sven said, gesturing to Malcolm. “It would be a huge honor to be advisin’ you at this time.”

“It is my honor to host you.” the King replied. “I apologize again for your treatment. Knowledge of the Toe Goblins is a closely guarded secret; known only to myself and a select few advisors.” He paused for moment, thinking. “I would like to invite you to dine with my family tonight. If you are to aid me, it’s imperative you meet my most trusted advisors.”

“Of course, your Majesty,” Malcolm said, bowing. “We would be honored to attend.”

“Excellent!” the King said. “I shall send someone to fetch you tonight. The meal shall begin shortly after sundown. We shall discuss your new roles further, as well as your… interesting arrival.”

“We apologize for any damage we may have caused.” Malcolm said. “We did our best to…”

“You can tell us all about it tonight!” the King interrupted. “Stories are best told with a hearty meal.”