RUSTY

“Oh,” Chul said, blinking. “Hi Slink. What are you doing here?”

His reaction was less severe than Rusty’s, who was on all fours, his back arched dangerously like a cat’s. He hissed, and Beki fled under the bed frame. They hadn’t seen Slink since she dropped her dagger in front of them to acknowledge their victory in the melee. She had disappeared shortly afterward, and Chul had kept the dagger as a souvenir. He had it strapped onto his leg under his loose pants. While Slink had never been openly hostile to the gang, and indeed, she had saved them at least twice, her sudden appearance had every kind of alarm bell ringing in Rusty’s head.

“There’s someone you need to meet,” Slink repeated, “and he won’t wait long. Please, this is important for the Great Goblin.”

“Sure Slink,” Chul stood up, then looked from the door to the window. “Should we, uh, follow you?”

“It’s better that no one knows about this,” Slink said, her voice still unnaturally harsh. “Be discrete.”

She dropped from the window, and Rusty didn’t hear her land.

“This is a bad idea,” he said. “If no one knows where we went, anything could happen to us.”

Chul patted his nose reassuringly. “S’okay, buddy. It’s not like before. I’m a big gobbo now, and you’re big too. Besides, it’s just Slink. She’s always been good to us, and never asked nothing from me before.”

While there was nothing untrue in his statement, Rusty couldn’t help but feel that Chul was missing the point. They were being asked to put themselves at risk for reasons that hadn’t been explained. His friend, however, seemed utterly at ease, following Slink through the open window without another word. Rusty went after them, pausing a moment on the sill to gauge the drop. Though they were on the second story of the manor, given that this was a manor built to goblin scale, it was only about ten feet to the ground. The pair was waiting for him below, so he jumped, his wings flaring out instinctively, slowing his descent only slightly. With his increased [Agility], the landing was as clean, if not as silent as theirs had been.

As soon as he was on the ground, Slink set off at a quick pace, proceeding at an angle away from the Heavyarm family home. They took a winding path away from the warmth and relative safety of the manor. The normal night noises of the junkyard; hooting owls, the scuttling of small animals, and the shifting of shell mounds as they settled took on a sinister tone for Rusty.

“Where are we headed?” Chul asked casually, as if this were no different from the exploratory walks he took every day on his own.

“Not far,” Slink said, still facing ahead, her steps never slowing. “The man we are going to meet is especially important. You have to listen to him, Chul, for your own sake, and that of your family.”

Not long after, they arrived in a secluded dip in the junkyard, a deposit of a bare space like a valley within a ring of garbage mountains. The air was redolent with rust and decay and rot, even more so than usual, which suggested that some of these deposits were fresh. Rusty’s material sense now extended out to almost fifty feet in every direction. He was trying not to be distracted by the impressions he was getting, but since the last increase in the skill, he’d found that it had another use. People tended to carry around objects that mattered to them, and some of those objects qualified as “trash” in the rarefied definition that his [System] used to designate what he could add to his hoard and what he could not.

Slink was a blank space for him. Nothing she wore or carried was a treasure to her, whereas Chul’s location was always obvious, even apart from their [Spiritual Link], because he was never without his spoon.

He sensed the man well before he saw him, though Rusty’s impressions of whatever treasures he was carrying were too vague to give him specific information about their nature. The stranger was standing in a pool of shadow, completely invisible to Rusty’s eyes, but revealed by his [Material Mastery].

As they came to a stop, Rusty tensed, deliberately letting his gaze slide past where he knew the man was, as if he was merely surveying the rest of the valley.

“Wait here,” Slink said. “He will be with you soon. Be respectful, and pay attention to what he has to say, Chul. This is the most critical conversations you have ever had.” Her voice had softened, though Rusty still had the feeling that she was attempting to disguise it. Whoever Slink really was, she was paranoid even by goblin standards. A moment later, she vanished, stepping into a deeper pool of darkness, and disappearing without a sound or a trace of her presence left behind.

“Okay,” Chul said, “nice seeing you.”

When she was gone, the man stepped forward. He was of moderate height, which meant that he would tower over most goblins, and his deep olive skin contrasted with the alabaster white of his slicked back hair. Dressed in dark leather, with a long black cloak, the most striking thing about his appearance was his hands. His fingertips were stained as if he had dipped them in ink, and whenever they moved, a faint purplish aura trailed behind.

“I have come to congratulate you on your election, Great Goblin,” he said, his voice silk smooth, but with a hint of steel beneath.

Chul fell into a crouch, the sight of a human in the junkyard putting him instantly on edge. “Don’t come any closer,” he warned. “I’ve got a spoon.”

“You have a…” the man shook his head, “please, there is no need for alarm. I have not come to do violence. This is a peace offering, of sorts.”

“Who are you?” Rusty asked, his legs bunching, prepared to lunge.

“My name is Thorne.” The man said. “You may consider me a liaison with the wider world, though I am not here for your convenience. Being new to your position, you may not have yet realized that it comes with certain understandings.”

“I don’t understand.” Chul’s stance relaxed a fraction, but his anxiety remained high.

Thorne took a step closer. “You have additional responsibilities, both to yourself and to your tribe. It is possible for you to live a long and prosperous life, both of you,” he glanced at Rusty, apparently unconcerned by the presence of a young dragon accompanying a goblin, “but in order to do so, you must observe the rules that I will set out before you.”

He held up an ink-stained finger. “One, neither you nor your kin can ever organize an attack on Harborfell or its people.”

Rusty went cold. It was less than half an hour since he had been engaged in trying to convince Chul to do just that.

“I cannot emphasize the seriousness of this enough. Leaders before you have made the mistake of thinking they were clever or skilled enough to evade capture, to strike a blow against the lands of men. All such adventures ended in tragedy. The moment a goblin steps foot into Harborfell, their life is forfeited. They may survive the night, but they will not survive long after.”

Jiho and Jiwoo had survived, though. Whoever this man was, he was not all powerful. While the warning could not be taken lightly, Rusty had to wonder where this was coming from. Did all Great Goblins get a lecture at the start of their reign, or was there something different about Chul? Thorne knew there was a dragon in Midden, so this warning had to be for him as much as for his friend.

"Second," Thorne continued, his expression morphing into a twisted smile, "neither of you should try to stop the heroes from completing their training exercises. Should you engage with them, you may defend yourselves, but you are not to use your full strength, and direct conflict must be avoided whenever possible. You may send your followers and champions against them and are expected to do so. The training is meant to be challenging, but not impossible. Lead your people to the best of your ability, set traps, secure the escape of non-combatants, but do not kill the heroes. That is not your place.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Chul growled. “You want me to let them kill goblins?”

“Of course,” the man said in a pleasant tone, “the only reason goblins are allowed to exist in Midden is for the purpose of blooding new heroes. It’s good practice, relatively controlled, and it gives them the opportunity to earn experience before being faced with more difficult challenges on the other islands. If it was our desire, every goblin of the dumps could be exterminated in a matter of days. My guild alone could do it with little trouble.”

“I won’t do it,” Chul said. “I won’t let them.”

Thorne shrugged. “You would not be the first goblin leader to make that mistake. Your predecessor lost sight of what was important, the survival of your people as a whole, not individuals. That is what you have to consider. You don’t have a choice about whether goblins die, only whether some goblins die, or all of them do.”

Rusty felt Chul snap through their link. The young goblin rushed forward, his sharpened spoon poised to take the man in the throat, but he couldn’t touch him. Thorne didn’t move, but Chul stopped short as if he had run into a wall. There was nothing physical between them, but the shadows along the ground had wrapped around Chul’s ankles like the tentacles of a sea beast, and they were rising to bind him whole.

“Let him go!” Rusty shouted, leaping forward, only to be caught in the same trap. The darkness came alive around him, writhing and grasping, hampering his movement. But he was stronger than Chul, and he continued to drag himself forward, his claws scraping the detritus beneath him. He was only a few steps away from Thorne, who backed away to keep the distance between them.

Those ink-stained fingers twitched, and the shadows redoubled, wrapping around his torso and neck. Rusty continued to struggle, and he felt the grip loosen. One of the tendrils of darkness grasping at his hind leg tore, shredding into nothingness, and Thorne’s eyes widened as he continued to press forward.

“Even so young, remarkable.” He walked around Rusty to stand beside Chul, who was now completely ensnared. A short, thick-bladed knife appeared in his hand, and he pressed it against the goblin’s green throat. “Now, if you would only be reasonable, we can continue our conversation.”

Rusty stopped fighting. Even if he could break free of the shadows, and he thought he could, there was no way he could save his friend. The darkness softened around him, but he remained still, and Thorne nodded in apparent satisfaction, still keeping the blade against Chul’s skin.

“Better.” he said warmly. “You are both still very young, and I appreciate your objections. This is, however, the way of the world. Are you ready to hear the last rule?”

“Fubblenubber!” Chul shouted. “Dibblesnout!”

Thorne wasn’t paying any attention to him. His eyes, nearly as black as his fingertips, had locked onto Rusty’s.

“I’ll listen,” Rusty said, sitting back on his haunches to signal that he was done fighting. It was painfully obvious that despite their recent advancement, this man was an entirely different league. The best they could hope for was that he said his piece and left without hurting Chul.

“Excellent,” Thorne continued to smile. “This is in keeping with the previous two rules. Put simply, you are both to remain in Midden for the near future. This dump is the home of all the goblins of Elswyre, and you would find no safe havens beyond its border. You seem to have formed an attachment to these creatures, little dragon, and I, at least, am comfortable seeing you do so. If you want to protect them, then convince your companion to do as he is told, and the goblins will remain safe from extermination for generations to come. In the same vein, I would advise you against interfering with the Junkmaster or his hound. They are a fixture of Midden, and you will only bring more trouble to yourself if you do so. The less he knows about a dragon in his junkyard, the better.”

“But you did know about me,” Rusty said. “And you know I’m going to get bigger. What happens then? Am I a part of your training exercises too?”

“No,” Thorne said firmly. “You are something else entirely. You are free to remain here, claim Midden as your territory if you like, as long as you observe the rules as I have set them forth. I give you my word that heroes will not be sent here with the intent of slaying you. Though, of course, if they come across you on your own, some will certainly try.”

“Is that all you have to tell me?” Rusty wanted to know if Thorne was involved with how he had come to be in Midden in the first place, but if the man didn’t know any more than he did about it, there was no reason to reveal his own ignorance.

“It is,” Thorne nodded. “We may chat again in the future, but for now, I imagine this is as much as the new Great Goblin can absorb.” He stepped away from Chul, watching Rusty carefully. “You can both have long lives ahead of you, exceedingly long, in your case, if you behave. Congratulations again, to both of you, for your achievements.”

With a flourish of his cloak, the shadows swirled up around him, and when they faded, he appeared to be gone. Though he seemed to have teleported, it was actually a concealment skill. Rusty could still sense his presence. The man was just walking away.

Chul collapsed, no longer bound by living darkness. He punched the ground.

“Stupid! Stupid!” He shouted. “I hate him! I hate him!”

Rusty felt sorrow for his friend, for all the goblins, but his resolve had only strengthened. Clearly, there were forces in Harborfell that were well beyond their ability to contend with, but that didn’t change what they had to do.

“Let’s go back,” he said. “We need to talk to the others.”

Chul got up, his face flushed with anger. “Where’s Slink? She’s working with him. I can’t believe it. She’s not nice at all.”

“Slink’s gone,” Rusty said, though the [Sneakstabber] could have been anywhere. “Forget about her. There are probably a lot of goblins working with humans to preserve their own lives. It just means we have to be careful about who we trust.”

“Do you really think so?” Chul asked, his anger replaced with uncertainty, as if he saw the fabric of his world was unraveling around him. “You think they would work for them?”

“I’m sure of it,” Rusty said. “Let’s get out of here.”

He’d meant get out of the secluded valley, but Chul seemed to take a deeper meaning from his words. The young goblin picked up his hat, which had fallen off during his rush to attack Thorne.

“What you said before, I want it too.”

They made their way back to Heavyarm’s manor; the silence hanging heavily between them. Slink may have been following them, but Rusty had no way to know if she was. They would have to be careful about how they did the planning going forward, when the [Sneakstabber] could be spying on them at any time.

“Who does this Thorne guy think he is?” Chul complained. “Ordering us around like that?”

Now that they were out of danger, the name sounded familiar to Rusty. He rolled it over in his mind, trying to think of where he might have heard it before. The second-story window was low enough that Rusty could reach it with a jump, his claws latching onto the sill surely enough for him to drag himself back into their shared room. Once he was inside, he hung his tail out for Chul to grab hold of and clamber back in behind him.

“I need to get Jiho,” Chul said. “He’ll know what to do.”

“Wait,” Rusty said, summoning his status screen. “I want to check something first.”

After a few minutes of scrolling through his Chat logs, he found what he was looking for. A chill washed over him as he read the half-remembered words, a mere aside, a seeming irrelevant historical reference. He maneuvered the screen so that Rusty could read it as well.

<<<>>>

Yes, dragon hatchlings have a tendency to imprint on their mothers, or the first being they see upon hatching, forming a deep bond. A remarkable deviation from this norm occurred in the tale of Skyrion, the legendary [Shadow Dragon] who imprinted on the human leader, Wulfric [Denier], instead of its dragon parent. Skyrion and Wulfric fought together, leading an epoch-defining invasion of Baetlroc, and ultimately resulting in the founding of the human enclave there, where Skyrion remained until she was slain by Guildmaster Thorne Blackhand.

<<<>>>

“Baetlroc?” Chul said, “That’s the orc island.”

“Finish the sentence,” Rusty said, now well accustomed to Chul’s abysmal reading pace.

“Enclave? That’s a funny word. Is that like a city?”

“You’re almost there.”

Chul gaped. “Guidemister Thorne? You think Thorne is a Guidemister?”

“Guildmaster,” Rusty corrected. “And yes. Did you see his fingers? Blackhand is a very appropriate title for the man we just met.”

“A Guildmaster,” Chul whistled, “no wonder he was so strong.”

“Do you know about human guilds?” Rusty asked. “Does that mean he’s the master of Harborfell, or are there a lot of Guildmasters?

“Um, I don’t think there are a lot.” Chul tugged on his hat. “You should ask Jiho. He knows all about the humans.”

Jiho did know a lot, which made Rusty wonder whether he had known about the rules of being a Great Goblin. It seemed impossible that he wouldn’t have known, considering Jiwoo had once held the role. He’d made comments about rules before, but neither of them had given any hint that a human Guildmaster would be paying Chul a visit.

“I’ll ask him,” Rusty said, “and Jiwoo. We need to talk to both of them, but not here. After your betrothal tomorrow, we’ll go back to the tribe and shut ourselves in the den. You shouldn’t say anything about this until then. We don’t know who is listening.”

“Betrothal?” Chul said, then covered his face with his hands. “Oh no!”

It was as if the events of the night, Thorne’s terrible warning, had been overwritten by the more immediate threat of Chul’s impending matrimony. Rusty was actually relieved. Chul’s scatterbrained approach to life, and his fluctuating moods, could be a hindrance, but he was glad that his friend had something to think about other than the fate of goblinkind. Rusty could think the hard thoughts, make the hard decisions, and find a way out of this for all of them. There was no more rest for him that night, but Chul once again displayed a remarkable ability to sleep, regardless of circumstances.

The following day, the gang joined Heavyarm’s family for a lengthy ceremony binding Chul and Bokhee, and she accompanied them on their return journey to the Midden Tribe, leaving Seok behind to begin his apprenticeship. Mudroot, to everyone’s surprise, declared that she was coming with them.