‘Ouch.’

Holsley rubbed his forehead. For a moment there, he’d forgotten that he was trapped inside what amounted to a wooden casket. The cart had jolted, waking him suddenly and forcing him to smack his head into the ceiling. Hard. He groaned with the pain and took the next few seconds to recall what kind of predicament he was now in.

Holsley didn’t even get halfway through that thought. The cart rocked again, this time more violently, and he quickly realised that it wasn’t due to an uneven road. Unless he was mistaken, he was sure the cart had come to a dead stop. The wheels no longer creaked, and he couldn’t hear the scattered gravel of the path below him.

There was a battle raging outside of his little box. People were yelling. Actually, there was a lot of yelling, which was accompanied every now and again by an explosion. BOOM. It would rock the cart and send him tumbling around inside of the chest like a hand shaking a palm full of dice.

That’s just great, he thought. I’m going to die trapped inside a cramped chest.

That wasn’t the end he had seen for himself, and by the Gods, that wasn’t the end he would allow either. Spurred on by the growing claustrophobia and a sudden, desperate need not to die in his makeshift coffer, he threw his hands against the lid. Holsley banged, pushed, screamed, and punched. Anything and everything in an attempt to get himself free.

It was one thing to lie in wait for the cart to arrive in Tressa, but it was entirely another thing to be trapped in what sounded like a very heated battle. Any moment, one of those explosions could find him and blow him to little bits, but over the din of the repeated explosions and the yelling, Holsley didn’t think anyone could hear his hysteric thumping.

‘Come on!’ Holsley yelled. ‘Please! Someone! Anyone! There’s a bard trapped in the boot!’

‘I need the crossbow!’ It hadn’t been said to him, but Holsley had heard it all the same. That was Hanson’s voice. Footsteps along the gravel quickly followed, shrinking the distance between the bard and the guard in a few heavy steps. A key entered the lock, turned, and the lid was thrown open.

It was night. That was a surprise. Holsley had fallen asleep, but assumed it had only been for an hour or so. By the glow of the moons, he reckoned he must have been dozing for at least six hours. Maybe more. The young bard squinted at the man hovering above him until his eyes adjusted.

‘What the…!?’ Hanson, slack-jawed, stared down at Holsley. ‘Where did you come from?’

‘Uh, hey there.’ Holsley greeted him with a bashful wave. ‘Uh, I think I must’ve got turned around somewhere.’

Another explosion rocked the cart. This time, Holsley saw a jet of fire shoot up into the air, followed closely by an upward explosion of gravel and dust. Dull thuds of which rebounded off the cart’s wooden exterior.

Hanson pulled him out and threw him into the road. ‘Where’s the crossbow?!’ He desperately searched the chest, haphazardly throwing out Holsley’s lute. ‘What have you done with it?’

Holsley didn’t have the heart to tell him it was back in Petty’s Nest. By now, some drunkard was probably using it as a bit of improvised entertainment. He imagined a woodcutter and a few close friends aiming at half-drunk tankards lined carefully atop a picket fence.

Instead of saying anything then, he opted to say nothing at all.

‘You little—’ Hanson reached for Holsley as if to choke him, but suddenly recoiled in pain.

When he turned, Holsley saw that an arrow — one made from blackened wood — was sticking out the back of his left shoulder. He winced as Hanson groaned and swung himself around the cart to safety. Holsley grabbed his lute and scrambled after him, also not wanting to feel the keen sting of a sudden arrow.

It was a good job too, for the moment he had moved from his spot, an arrow struck it. That was almost instant death. It had been fired by something hidden in the treeline that edged along the road, but in his haste to find safety, he hadn’t caught a glimpse of what. It was too dark.

‘You!’ Merhim pointed a finger towards Holsley as he backed into safety. ‘What’re you doing here, kid?’

‘I’m not a kid!’ Holsley retorted. ‘I, uh, hitched a ride in your chest.’

THUNK. An arrow sunk into the wood just above them. That arrow was quickly followed by about ten more. It was raining sharp, pointy sticks, and Holsley imagined the other side of the cart was beginning to take on the appearance of a hedgehog.

‘Where’s the crossbow!?’ Hanson grabbed Holsley by the shirt with his good arm and shook him.

‘Uh, there wasn’t a crossbow in there,’ Holsley replied quickly. ‘It was empty when I climbed in. Honest.’

‘Empty?’ Hanson didn’t believe it. Holsley could see it in his wide eyes.

‘Wait! What do you mean empty?’ Merhim straightened. ‘There wasn’t anything else in there? No paintings?’

‘No. None. Nothing.’ Holsley gulped. ‘Uh, but I’m sure if there were, I imagine they were very tastefully done.’

‘It must be goblins.’ Hanson dared a look over the lip of the cart. ‘They’re definitely wielding bows and arrows, but I can’t explain—’

Another roar of fire followed by a spray of dust and road pebbles interrupted him. Something had hit the path. Something powerful. Holsley had never seen anything like it before. It was like a blast of fire. Maybe magic? That was his first thought. Offensive magic? Not something he was well versed in.

‘That,’ Hanson continued. ‘What kind of weapons are they using to produce that?’

‘It’s magic,’ replied Merhim, confirming Holsley’s suspicions. ‘Couldn’t be anything else. I recognise a fire spell when I see one, eh.’

‘Goblins…’ Hanson swilled the word around in his mouth, ‘…with magic.’

The gnome gave him a sharp nod.

‘Well, in any case, they’ve got us pinned down. I’m afraid there’s nothing for it but to abandon the cart. If I had my crossbow, I might’ve—’

‘I’m not ready to abandon my ale that quickly, eh!’

‘Can’t we just get in the cart and make a run for it?’ Holsley asked. The moment the question had left his lips, he realised there was probably an excellent reason for not opting for such a simple solution.

‘The wheel on the other side is broken, kid,’ Merhim replied. ‘I’m beginning to think these blighters had something to do with it.’

‘Couldn’t we just all get on the horse?’ Holsley continued his trail of thoughts, remembering the old plough horse.

‘Old Millie isn’t fast enough,’ Merhim snorted. ‘Besides, I got her free and let her run off into the woods. I was rather hoping she’d distract our attackers.’

‘That’s what we should do,’ said Hanson. ‘Make a break for it. We can return on the hour if these goblins are after the cart. If not, they’ll have more cover to contend with in getting an arrow on us.’

‘On three then,’ Merhim replied reluctantly. ‘They’d better leave the ale alone, eh.’

Danger isn’t an uncommon thing in the world. If you took to travelling outside of the safety of towns and other such settlements, chances are you’re going to run into something scary eventually. Holsley very rarely dealt with danger, however. Sure, sometimes a big bully wanted to perform improvisational dental surgery on his teeth, but they were nothing compared to what lay in wait in the wilderness of Everfall.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

He thought about the stories he’d read as a child. Marlin Mandrovi had faced dangers every day, but the magnificent minstrel had always found a way out of it, usually through sheer cunning or devilish trickery. Those were his favourite stories. Holsley didn’t have a lot of cunning or trickery, though. When the word was given, he would have to hope for the best.

‘Now!’ Hanson screamed, and they took off together in a sprint.

Arrows flew from behind. Some struck the trees or the ground nearby, but not one grazed Holsley’s skin. He stumbled into the treeline, thankful for the extra protection offered by the trunks, and didn’t slow. Holsley quickly lost track of the other two as he sped over the crunchy autumn leaves.

The goblins had followed them in.

Holsley could hear the patter of their footsteps. They were shouting something in a strange, guttural language. Although he didn’t know the words, he could tell that what they were saying didn’t bode well for him. He doubted they were yelling things like, spare the bard, or maybe we should just give up because we’re out of arrows.

So, Holsley kept running, lurching awkwardly through the bare trees at top speed.

Holsley only slowed when the thunk of the arrows against the trunks dwindled. It was dark, and he could barely see an inch before him. He could be making a big circle back towards the cart for all he knew. Breathless, he crouched behind a tree and rested there for a moment. Surely he’d be hidden here, he thought.

Could goblins see in the dark? If so, then he was in a great deal of trouble. By the moonlight, he could just make out the silhouettes of the surrounding forest, but all sense of where he had been and where he might be going was long gone from his mind.

‘Help!’

That was Merhim! Perhaps he’d been cornered? Holsley needed to do something. It was hard to act when faced with the idea of goblins bearing down on him with nasty-looking arrows. It was all his fault, though. If Holsley hadn’t thrown away the crossbow, Hanson might’ve fended the creatures off.

If the gnome died because of him, his conscience would never shut up about it.

That thought alone was enough to bring him out of his mossy seat. He was off again on already aching legs without a second to reflect. Merhim repeated himself, this time much closer, and Holsley followed his voice. He followed the gnome’s reaching pleas, but who he found first wasn’t Merhim. It was Hanson. The hired guard was running in the exact opposite direction to the desperate cries.

‘I’d keep running if I were you,’ he said as he passed.

Holsley went to say something, but he was already gone. The last the young bard saw of Hanson was his back retreating into the distance, the arrow still sticking out of his shoulder blade. It was disheartening. Not because he was abandoning his duty, although that was bad enough, but because the saving of the gnome had been left solely to Holsley.

He found Merhim seconds later. The gnome was in a right state. He had fallen to the ground and received a rather nasty-looking bump on the head. Evidently, in his rush, he had tripped, but that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that he was not alone.

Merhim had backed himself up against a tree and was at the mercy of a short, green-skinned creature wielding a rusty kitchen knife.

Holsley had never met a goblin, but he’d definitely heard of them. This one matched the description perfectly. Three feet tall. Mouth full of needle-thin teeth. Elongated, membranous ears that had grown into points. Some stories had described them as cute or cuddly, like a puppy or something, but Holsley could not see that in this thing.

It looked vicious and bloodthirsty.

As was typical with goblins, the diminutive creature had also augmented itself. That is to say, it had replaced some of its limbs with crude prosthetics it had found in the forest. Its eye had been replaced with a black billiard ball, and instead of a left hand, it now wore a spatula sticking out of a bloody stub wrapped with tight bandages.

‘A gnome,’ the creature croaked towards Merhim. ‘I hates gnomes.’

The goblin hadn’t heard Holsley’s approach. So, while it had a knife, Holsley had the element of surprise.

He checked the circles on his fingers. They were both black. That rest he’d managed to get in the chest hadn’t been for nothing, then. Holsley had two spells to make use of, and he only needed one to save the gnome. Supposing that he cast it right, of course.

Just as he had done at the bandstand, Holsley plucked the strings of his lute and stepped into view. The goblin turned, hissed, but at the pull of the third note went dopey. Its one eye drifted ever so slightly off-centre, and its vicious grin became a pleasant smile. Holsley awkwardly wove the notes and teased the strings until he was ready to accompany his playing with words.

‘Now listen to me, my sweet little goblin.

You’re making a fuss. You ought to be, uh, hobbling?’

This was further than he’d managed to get with the half-orc.

You had to be clever with a spell of charming, for while the tune remains the same each time, you had to change the lyrics to pacify the creature. It didn’t give him control over the goblin, but it would regard him as a friend instead. So long as the words made sense to it in the moment.

That’s why the song was made to be so genteel and pleasant; it was to entice your target and sort of hypnotise them into liking you. This was harder to cast on smarter beings, like humans or half-orcs, but a skilled enough bard could enchant anyone if their playing was perfect and their lyrics golden.

Goblins appeared to be pretty easy to confound with magic and half-rhymes.

‘We do not need to fight, cause fighting is pointless,

instead, let’s be friends and stop with this whole mess.’

The goblin blinked in confusion.

Holsley watched it carefully as his short song came to an end. Then, quite sweetly, it hopped up to Holsley and held out its spatula arm. The young bard shook it, thankful that he had managed to beguile this creature, and tried to ignore the rusty knife in its other hand.

‘Friend!’ it sparked.

Holsley breathed a sigh of relief.

He stole a glance at Merhim, who seemed to have been caught by surprise. The young bard knelt down to the goblin’s level so he could look it in its eye. ‘Listen, uh, what’s your name?’

‘Boblin.’

‘That’s a, uh, pretty name.’ Holsley winced. ‘Listen, Boblin, I need your help. Your goblin buddies are trying to kill me and my friend here.’ The goblin angrily stamped his feet at this. Holsley calmed him with a reassuring hand on the shoulder. ‘Hey, hey, it’s okay, I have a plan. I’d be very much appreciative if you could, oh, I don’t know, lead them away from us and in the wrong direction. Could you do that for me, Boblin?’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ The goblin nodded its head vigorously, very eager to please. ‘I’d do anything for you! I’d die for you.’

‘I mean, uh, don’t do that, but yeah, sounds good.’

Boblin the goblin hurried into the woods. Less than a second after that, Holsley heard him yelling in the guttural language of his kind. Holsley listened eagerly, expecting the worst, but every time he heard the goblin shout, the creature was further away from them. Eventually, its voice became a whisper.

With that done, he rushed to Merhim and helped the gnome back to his feet.

‘So, that’s why you needed your lute, eh.’ Merhim dusted the dirt off his clothes, his bangles rattling as he did so — that was probably how the goblin had caught him out. ‘So, you do know magic. I thought I’d seen those circles on your fingers back in the cell.’

‘Uh, yeah,’ replied Holsley sheepishly. ‘Just a little bit. I’m not much of a spellcaster.’

‘Fooled me,’ replied Merhim. ‘I thought I was about to meet Sarwolia back there before you came in.’

Holsley smiled and decided not to mention his guilt at throwing away the crossbow. They waited a few minutes until they were sure the goblins had all been led off by Boblin. It soon became apparent that the threat was gone, and they could relax a little. There were no more guttural shouts, nor arrows, nor the pacing of tiny feet through the trees.

‘Right, we’ve got to find Hanson.’ Merhim slapped his hands together. ‘Then we retrieve Old Millie, get back to the cart, and get out of here before there’s more trouble.’

‘Yeah, about Hanson.’ Holsley tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. ‘He’s gone. I saw him run off into the woods, and I don’t think he’s coming back.’

‘Then I need some other security,’ the gnome sighed. ‘What were you doing in my chest, lad?’

‘I need a ride to Tressa.’ Holsley nervously rubbed his arm. ‘I, uh, don’t know the way.’

‘It’s a done deal then.’ Merhim held out his hand. ‘I’ll take you to Tressa, and you use your magic to keep me safe. Agreed?’

Holsley shook the gnome’s hand but omitted to tell him that he was a bit out of practice with magic, and that, if pushed to do that again, it likely wouldn’t work. He’d gotten lucky. Right now, his record for successful spellcasting was about one in every ten attempts. If trouble reared its head, it was probably better not to rely on him or his lute to save the day.

They worked their way back through the trees. ‘What about the wheel?’ Holsley asked along their journey. ‘Isn’t it broken?’

‘It’s an easy fix without the threat of arrows.’ Merhim waved away his question. ‘I’m more concerned with how those little cretins were casting fire spells at us. Goblins aren’t exactly known for magic.’

‘How can you be sure it was magic?’ Holsley ducked beneath a low branch.

‘I’m a gnome,’ he replied. ‘We know our magic.’

They found the cart intact with all its booze shortly after finding the plough horse. The sweet creature had found a nice spot of grass to munch on, and didn’t seem any the wiser that its life had been threatened a mere half an hour ago.

‘What’s your name again?’ Merhim asked the bard when they reached the cart. ‘Sorry, I’m terrible with names.’

‘Holsley,’ he replied. ‘That’s what they call me anyway.’

‘Hmmm.’ Merhim hopped over to the other side of the cart. It was, as predicted, covered in a tremendous number of arrows.

Beyond the ranged ammunition, Holsley could see how the wheel had broken. From the scorch marks, it must have been hit by a blast of fire, the effect of which had severed the wheel at the joint. However, Merhim didn’t seem very troubled about it, and even let out a little chuckle. Then, he withdrew a small leather bag filled with tools dedicated to the repair of the cart.

‘Not the first time I’ve had to repair a dodgy wheel.’

‘Will it take long?’

‘About as long as it takes, eh.’

‘Oh.’

‘Right then,’ Merhim said eagerly. ‘I’ll mend this while you look out for goblins.’