There was no end to the corners.

Turn after turn just led to more turns after turns. Holsley simply could not understand how they had managed to get this lost. Surely, they must be going in circles. Still, it seemed the further they walked, the less likely it became that they would find an exit — even retracing their steps led them to new dead ends and frustration.

How was this place so big?

‘This is getting awfully suspicious,’ Merhim announced as they turned yet another corner and were again forced to double back on themselves. ‘You two must be thinking the same thing, eh? The goblins can’t have dug this far. It’s like a blooming underground city!’

‘Goblins are furious burrowers, my friend,’ Trodden Hat retorted through wheezes — he still looked like a man wiping his feet on death’s doormat. ‘A den of this size may not be unheard of. I am more suspicious of the fact that we have not encountered any more of the goblins.’

That was a good point, and it made Holsley curious. The next time they faced a dead end, the young bard decided to step up to it instead of turning back. The others watched as he came within an inch of the wall and felt it with his hand.

It was incredibly flat despite appearing like dug-out mud in the dark.

Then, with an audacity encouraged by his curiosity, Holsley pressed an ear to the flat wall. There was chittering on the other side. Like the sounds of a conversation being had in a language he couldn’t understand. That meant the wall was incredibly thin, which got his mind turning even faster.

‘That bat tried to tell us.’ Holsley took a step back and laughed. ‘It’s a fake wall. They keep changing the layout of these tunnels with fake walls.’

The wizard and the gnome exchanged a look that was caught somewhere between outrage and awe. The seconds after the reveal, it all began to make sense. Yes, of course, the goblin den was never this big. They’d been tricked. The goblins had properly stitched them up with a mixture of fake scenery, lengthy corridors with multiple turns, and darkness to mask what they were doing.

‘What do we do now?’ Holsley returned to the other two, keeping his voice down so the goblins couldn’t hear him. ‘We don’t have any weapons. I’m out of spells, and to be quite frank, there’s no telling how many goblins are behind that plywood wall.’

‘Don’t forget that Stabby Toe is coming too, eh,’ said Merhim.

Trodden Hat idly curled his whiskers. ‘I see no talking to them either. Not with that leader of theirs at the helm of their progression. A shame, as any creature that could do this surely must be intelligent enough to see reason.’

Every piece of literature that Holsley had absorbed about goblins had been wrong. They weren’t dumb, barely conscious animals with an insatiable hunger and bloodlust. They were intelligent, wily, and intuitive creatures with an insatiable hunger, bloodlust, and a talent for crude ingenuity. Yet, Holsley had still managed to trick them.

What would Marlin Mandrovi do?

He approached the fake wall with confident strides. The goblins were more intelligent than they had been given credit for, but from what he had seen, they were still childlike and gullible. It brought to mind a story he had once heard about Marlin Mandrovi, who had once talked his way out of being eaten by cannibals by turning them against one another.

‘Ahem.’ Holsley knocked on the plywood. It seemed so obviously fake now the more he looked at it, and he felt even more foolish for being misled by it. ‘Uh, excuse me. I know there’s goblins on the other side of…well, we’ll call it a wall. I’d love to have a word, uh, if you have a moment?’

‘There ain’t no goblins on the side of the wall,’ came the quick reply. ‘Head back!’

‘I’ve got to say, this wall is really impressive.’ Holsley tapped it again and lay his hand flat against the wooden surface. ‘Does Stabby Toe appreciate the work?’

There was no answer. Perfect.

‘Why do you follow Stabby Toe exactly? Like, what are you getting out of that relationship?’

‘What are you doing!?’ Merhim hissed from behind him, but when Holsley glanced back, he saw the gnome held back by the pale wizard. Trodden Hat gave him a nod, which he took as approval.

‘What you mean?’ The voice behind the wall was louder now. ‘We follows Stabby Toe because he says so.’

‘Well, with the way he treats you, it must all be worth it,’ said Holsley coyly. ‘I’m sure you get a nice share of the things you steal?’

‘No,’ came the reply. A single, solid answer that Holsley had wholly expected. Judging by just how much stuff had been in the guv’nor’s treasure room, he had suspected as much.

‘What?’ he said, aghast. ‘What about other benefits? Like, is your visit to a cleric covered?’

The wall came away in a strangely perplexing motion that hurt Holsley’s eyes. It seemed to fold out of view and suddenly revealed the three goblins behind it. It was none other than Pot Gut, Wiggy, and Kevin who looked up at Holsley with suspicious eyes.

Pot Gut stepped forward, pulling up the pots that covered his lower half. ‘What you meaning, hooman?’

‘Listen.’ Holsley leaned down and prayed they didn’t get him with a dagger in the throat. He had to act confident now and especially friendly. Otherwise, this wasn’t going to work. ‘It’s pretty clear to me that you guys shouldn’t be taking this from Stabby Toe. You do all the work, and he just sits in a fancy chair with all his boxes.’ Then he remembered there was a magic wand in his satchel. ‘Also, he used to have a magic wand, but now he doesn’t.’

‘What you suggesting?’ Wiggy sidled up next to his shorter friend. ‘We kills Stabby Toe?’

‘No, no, no,’ said Holsley with a wry grin. ‘I think you guys should unionise.’

The three looked at one another in disbelief, and in a similar fashion, so did Trodden Hat and Merhim. He glanced back at them and winked.

This is what Marlin had done in his story. The cunning bard had turned his attackers against their cannibal leader. In that version, he had argued that everyone should get a share of his organs as he was spinning on a spit. In this version, Holsley convinced the goblins to strike and turn against their master. Hopefully.

‘What’s a unionise?’

Holsley felt like he was talking to children and even affected that pandering tone you used when you were.

‘If you goblins all band together,’ he started, ‘you can make demands, and if Stabby Toe doesn’t do them, you don’t work. You only work when he gives you everything you want. We hoomans do it all the time and it always works out.’

That was a lie, and Holsley knew it — imperfection was practically a human invention.

‘Stabby doesn’t have the wand anymore,’ Kevin mused. ‘He’s still bigger, though. And stronger. And smarter. And meaner.’

‘Yeah, but there’s only one of him.’ Holsley reminded them. ‘There’s a bunch of you.’

It was working. Their minds were teetering on change, and when that happened, Holsley would send them off to spread the new mindset to all the other impressionable goblins. Pretty soon, every creature in the den would be refusing to work and holding up picket signs that expressed their displeasure.

Or, at least, that’s what might have happened if Stabby Toe himself hadn’t shown up right at that moment.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

‘There you are!’ his booming voice cut through their conversation. He looked a little worse for wear. Although he stood firm, half of his body had been burnt and singed by the unexpected fire, and he was now forced to walk with a limp in his right leg. A retinue of goblin followers were walking in his wake.

‘I wonder how many goblins there are behind this wall?’ Trodden Hat mused at the sudden appearance of another dead end that had snuck up to within a foot of their backs. They were well and truly trapped now.

Holsley gathered his lute by the neck and held it like a bat. Merhim took out his dagger, and Trodden Hat, simply following suit, raised his fists.

‘Take them!’ Stabby Toe commanded. ‘Bring them all to me so I can bash their brains in!’

What would Marlin Mandrovi do now? Holsley hadn’t the foggiest. He’d find a way out, but as he had mentioned, they had no weapons or magic. They were stuck with no hope of escape. He rattled off the things he could do in his mind but quickly found that he was useless.

The goblins behind Stabby Toe stepped forward, and Holsley forced himself not to close his eyes. At least he could go down fighting. They’d probably eat him. It was a daunting thought, but strangely, it made him feel worse that he wouldn’t even be cooked or seasoned first.

Then, a curious thing happened.

Pot Gut, Wiggy, and Kevin held up their hands and stopped the other goblins from marching closer. They seemed uneasy initially, but Pot Gut soon grew more confident with each clattered step he took towards his brethren.

‘No,’ he rumbled towards Stabby Toe. ‘You needs to treat us better. There’s more of us than there is of you, and you ain’t got magic no more, so we wants—’

A foot carrying the power of a charging bull delivered a kick with such conviction to Pot Gut’s chest that the goblin disappeared for a moment and reappeared at a wall behind Holsley. Pots rattled, all bent out of shape, as the goblin fell broken to the floor alongside bits of the wall he had been catapulted into.

Shock and silence fell across the crowd.

Stabby Toe went down a second later. His leg didn’t look right. It was bent at an unnatural angle. The mighty creature had kicked Pot Gut so hard that he’d broken his leg and was now on his back, trying desperately to right himself.

Holsley couldn’t speak.

The goblins seemed rattled. They looked at each other with an uneasiness that told the young bard they were judging the situation and were trying to make some critical decisions about their next action.

There was a nudge at his shoulder. When he turned, two wise eyes looked down at him. Trodden Hat nodded as if knowing what he should do next, and it took the young bard a few moments to catch up. Then, he knew exactly what to do.

As Stabby Toe turned to the rest of his goblin gang, failing to find his feet, Holsley whistled a short tune. A magical tune. He placed his fingers on his neck and spoke in a perfect imitation of Pot Gut’s voice. ‘Kill Stabby Toe! He’s weak!’

The next moment was hazy, ill-remembered even in the second it occurred. Holsley would reflect on it later, trying to remember the specific details, but it always came up short. It was the second after that he would never forget, though.

The goblins only needed a simple command to get started. They swarmed upon Stabby Toe like a nest of teased wasps. Rusted weapons, prosthetics, and kitchen cutlery were jabbed into every inch of the large goblin’s body.

Stabby Toe fought them off valiantly — roaring and throwing them against the walls, but with a broken leg, he was no match for the army of pointy-eared goblins.

‘Time to leave, kid.’

They rushed away from the scene, sparing no glances back.

Holsley had never run so fast in his life — adrenaline was more potent than any spell. He sped up the corridors, which appeared shorter and less confusing with the absence of the goblin’s trickery and barrelled ahead. Stabby Toe’s profanities chased them but never caught up. Freedom was on the horizon, and it looked like they would make it.

An exposed root sent Holsley flying.

There was a crack, followed by a depressive twang. When Holsley picked himself up from where he had fallen, he took a moment to bring up his lute. It had broken under his weight. Split, quite literally, into two pieces. The neck and the drum were now separated, and the lute was in no condition to be played.

Holsley could only stare at it. This was the fifth time he had broken it in such a way.

Trodden Hat, breathless, managed to catch up to him, followed by Merhim with the chest still clutched tight.

‘We have to keep going,’ said Merhim. ‘No time to dwell, eh.’

***

They gulped the fresh air like it could make them forget their trials. Without any goblins around, they had quickly risen the scaffolding in the big hole and made it back to the cave entrance.

From there, the horse and cart had been an easy way to get into the woods and they wasted no time in getting as much distance between them and the goblins as they could. By the time an hour had passed, they had reached the road and found a friendly shoulder to bring the cart to rest.

A camp was made before night fell again, and they shared what was left in Merhim’s pack alongside what they could scavenge from the woods. They hadn’t been able to get Merhim’s ale back, but he seemed content with the chest he had stolen. Hours later, he was still trying to fiddle the lock.

‘I am grateful to be out in the fresh air again.’ Trodden Hat sat beside Holsley on the dry ground, bundling his dirtied robes like a blanket. ‘I owe you a great thanks, young bard.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ replied Holsley, then he turned a curious eyebrow on the wizard. ‘How did you ever get caught, though?’

The question had bugged him ever since they had legged it out of Stabby Toe’s ignoble throne room.

‘Caught me while I was sleeping,’ Trodden Hat half-laughed at the answer as he leaned back on his hands. ‘I come to the Longwalk Woods once a year to gather a special mushroom that grows after the summer. It’s good for potions. It was a nice day, so I took a nap under a tree, and they found me snoozing.’

‘You fell asleep?’ Holsley questioned.

‘That’s what happens when you reach my age, friend,’ he said sweetly. ‘They took me, forced me to try and teach them magic, but I refused. Can’t anyway, there are rules. So, they just kept me there. It’s a good job you found me, as I’m not sure how much longer I could have gone on.’

‘Again, it’s no trouble,’ Holsley said. ‘We were there for all the wrong reasons anyway.’

‘I’m sorry about your lute.’

‘Yeah,’ Holsley sighed as he stared down at the pieces in his lap. It would take more than a few bandages and a spot of glue to fix it this time. There was a shop in Tressa that could fix it — if he had any money.

‘Where is your current road taking you, if I might ask, young bard?’

‘To Tressa,’ Holsley replied. ‘A friend of mine is being hanged, and, well, I’m hoping I can do something about that.’

‘Oh dear,’ replied Trodden Hat, looking away. ‘Not a very easy fate to avoid in Tressa, I’m afraid. These days, the city certainly loves its hangings. It has done ever since the war. I’m very sorry for your friend.’

‘He’s my closest and, well, really my only friend,’ said Holsley. ‘It’s been three years since I saw him last, though.’

‘I wonder if he’s still the same person you knew.’ Trodden Hat stood up, shaking his robe to recover his legs. ‘People can change a lot in three years, especially ones about your age. Be careful, Holsley. Your friend might not be the one you’re expecting.’

Before Holsley could answer, Merhim interrupted him with a whoop and a cheer. ‘I’ve got it open!’ he shouted. ‘I’ve got it open, eh!’

They rushed over to witness the opening of the chest and, without a doubt, were not disappointed.

Merhim creaked the lid open and gasped. The small chest was filled with coins — gold crowns, silver nobles, and copper peasants — hundreds of coins in each denomination. Merhim dug his hands into them and threw them up like a shower of wealth.

‘Guess all that danger wasn’t for nothing after all!’ he laughed. ‘Glad I grabbed something! Split three ways, that’s—’

‘Oh, I don’t need anything,’ Trodden Hat insisted. ‘A worthy prize for the two that saved my life. Keep my share and spend it in good health, my friends. Besides, I must take my leave before I overstay my welcome.’

Merhim waved the wizard off indifferently. ‘If you say so, eh!’

Holsley followed the tawny man to the edge of the light from the roaring fire. He held out his hand and shook the wizard’s surprisingly callused palms. Without letting go, Trodden Hat brought him in closer. ‘In accordance with wizard courtesy, I owe you one favour. The favour of a wizard, which is not easily forgotten and always returned, young bard.’

‘Could you help me—’

Trodden Hat shook his head. ‘No, I cannot help your friend evade the noose. Even though I am a wizard, with a sufficient number of spells once well rested and reunited with my books, I am not eager enough to take on Tressa. Wizards, well, all spellcasters really, are not welcome there, and we do best to stay away.’

‘Oh,’ Holsley didn’t disguise his disappointment.

‘No, the favour I owe you is scholarly in nature.’

Holsley raised an eyebrow. ‘Scholarly?’ It sounded a little useless. The bard didn’t need a scholar. He needed a wizard.

‘Indeed. At a time that you decide, please visit me at my cottage, which sits on the outskirts of Tiptoe Talk along the Crossing. I know a great deal about the mysteries of this world, and anything I don’t know, I may easily be able to find. You are welcome anytime, and I promise to be there when you arrive.’

The young bard didn’t really know what he meant. It all sounded rather clandestine. There was something in it, though, that made his heart aflutter. His first wizard had not been a disappointment. Trodden Hat was everything he thought they were. Wise and humble, just like the ones in his stories.

With that, Trodden Hat marched off into the forest, and Holsley watched him until he was out of sight.

The young bard had an odd feeling that if he were to go and look for him, he wouldn’t be able to find the wizard again now. Even though he couldn’t have gone far. That, in the simplest of terms, the wizard had simply vanished.

A small leather pouch was thrust roughly into his idling hand. Holsley looked down at the gnome, who gave him a sharp nod to his quizzical look. ‘Just about three hundred crowns,’ said Merhim. ‘That’s one hundred. Your share.’

‘One hundred!?’ Holsley’s voice squeaked. ‘Why not—’

‘I’m taking more for all the trauma you put me through!’ Merhim snarled. ‘Dressing me up as a goblin, not watching the camp in the first place, and putting me in all sorts of danger. Honestly, you’re lucky to get that, kid!’

Merhim huffed his way back to the campfire pot and got to work on dinner. They were sitting around the fire in no time, warming their feet and eating wild stew.

Holsley honestly didn’t mind the money. In truth, it was more than all the money he had held since leaving Donathal. No, what did bother him was what Trodden Hat had said before his parting.

Was it possible that Roland Darrow wasn’t the friend he once knew from childhood?