Goblinopolis, The Tol Chronicles, Book 1 (33 page)

“That’s not going to happen, not in Tragacanth, at least.”

“That will be largely up to you Tol-u-ol.”

“Why do you keep saying that? You make it sound like I’m some kind of savior or something. I’m just a simple city cop looking to bring down a lowlife.”

“You misunderstand. This is not about you or your accomplishments or your intrinsic virtue. You have been chosen by forces outside anyone’s control, for reasons that no one can comprehend. You may only choose to participate or not. Even if you consciously choose not, you will still play some part.”

“How about I ignore the ‘chosen’ thing altogether and just do my job?”

“That is probably why you were chosen. Best of fortune to you, Tol-u-ol.”

“Hey wait, I gotta question for you, oh Archmage. What exactly is an alfar, and why would one be following me around?”

“Alfars are creatures of pure magic, native to The Slice and in service to the magical essence that constitutes it. One of them has been assigned, if you will, to be your protector where magical forces are concerned. This is another example of the significance of your role in this attack on The Slice.”

“Assigned? Assigned by who?”

“To paraphrase a great sage from my own planet, there are more things in the universe, Tol-u-ol, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the alfar works for a boss beyond your, or even my, ability to comprehend fully.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that. What is this attack on The Slice I keep hearing about?”

“Namni, through Pyfox, is attempting to sever all connection between The Slice and the physical plane except through a portal controlled by him alone. This will effectively give him total dominion over the use of magic on N’plork. It will also grant him almost unlimited magical essence—manna—with which to carry out his evil schemes of domination.”

“That would put a major bump in the road, all right. I’m still not convinced there’s much I can do to stop a racket of that magnitude, but I’ll give it my best shot.”

“No one can ask more of you. Farewell, for now.”

The carriage pulled into Cartlug station a few minutes later and a couple hours after that Tol parked his rented off-road pram next to an impressive darshu tree with a canopy that seemed to cover enough area for a sporting arena. He shouldered his pack, adjusted his weapon holster, and started off along the rock-strewn trail that wound its meandering way up and around the tallest peak in Tragacanth.

Mount Astflanar was a long-extinct volcano embedded in a tremendous limestone upwelling in the Espwe mountain range that ran from the Gulf of Wollu in the extreme southeast all the way to the arid region of Asga Teslu. It was the tallest peak on the continent of Esmia, upon which Tragacanth was the largest nation of five. The lower elevations were covered in lush vegetation and a popular destination for hikers, sportsmen, and nature-lovers. Above 3,000 meters or so, though, the going got decidedly tougher and the summertime crowds thinned out to only the occasional hardy soul: mostly antisocial outcasts or troubled loners trying to prove something to themselves.

Tol wanted no part of that scene. He paralleled the trail whenever possible, avoiding contact with other hikers. He was a city goblin, true, but a few years in the Backcountry Scouts as an adolescent had provided him with at least rudimentary wilderness survival skills. Well, he could duck behind a bush when he detected someone approaching, anyway.

This is precisely what he did when he heard a heavy thudding footstep coming down the darshu needle-strewn path toward him. It was a troll, albeit a fairly cheerful-looking one. As he passed near Tol’s bush, he recognized the hiker as Fen, Pyfox’s errand boy. He was definitely on the right path. Fen had a couple of hobs trailing him. They were about as noisy as creatures their size could get: stomping, snuffling, wheezing...Tol could track them during a nighttime thunderstorm with his eyes closed.

He waited until Fen and his noise boys had disappeared down the path and then moved cautiously along the trail, alert for any stragglers or even a second wave of Pyfox toadies. The air was getting thinner and more crisp as he negotiated the seemingly endless series of steep switchbacks. Finally, out of breath and lightheaded (which for goblins entails a faint actual illumination), Tol reached the trailhead and found himself facing an unnaturally smooth stone wall. There were numerous tracks of different sizes and shapes that led right up to and away from the wall; it was obviously a portal of some sort. Tol just had to find the triggering mechanism. He felt around for any imperfections or slots chiseled into the rock, but came up empty-handed. He started examining the nearby landscape for odd or out of place-looking structures that might serve as trips. No obvious candidates. He pulled on branches, moved rocks, stuck twigs in knotholes...nothing worked. He realized there was probably some magical mumbo-jumbo involved, and the only way he was going to get in was to camp out nearby and wait for someone else to open the door for him.

By the time that finally happened, Tol was snoring gently in a pile of darshu needles about ten meters away in a dense stand of trees and brush. The scraping noise as the ponderous stone door swung slowly open awakened him with a start. He leapt to his feet and hid behind a particularly massive trunk as he watched for his chance to slip in unnoticed.

There didn’t seem to be anyone there. Tol watched in growing confusion as the door stood wide open with no one in evidence on either side of it. Finally he shrugged and made his way to the closest bit of cover, about three or four meters from the yawning doorframe. Since there still was no sign of movement, he darted into the darkened maw and dove for cover behind a large glistening boulder near the entrance.

No one ever appeared, so after ten minutes Tol decided to push on. He’d taken about seven or eight steps down the stone pathway when the huge door suddenly shut behind him with a powerful ‘whoosh.’ The rush of air and suspended particulates was so forceful it almost knocked him off his feet. “Shuts a smekkin’ lot faster than it opens,” he muttered, knocking the new layer of dust off his clothes. There was no direction to go now but further in.

The corridor was apparently well-traveled; the stone floor was worn smooth in the center by what must have been centuries of plodding feet. Tol wondered why he’d never heard of this place; a moment later he realized it was because he’d seldom left Sebacea, let alone Goblinopolis. There was no good reason for him to have more than a vague knowledge of the basic topography of the Southern Reaches, much less intimate details about secret passageways far up in the Espwe Mountains. He hated not being an insider, as it were: this made effective edict enforcement much more difficult. He had to keep reminding himself to relax because he was way, way out of his jurisdiction here, anyway—only a tourist.

There were myriad twists and turns, as well as a great many intersections, but Tol concentrated on the well-worn stone path and followed it scrupulously. It led at last and rather abruptly to a magnificent carved chamber that seemingly could host the entire population of the capitol city. Tol stood in the entrance and gaped in awe until his mouth got dry. He moved reverently among the shimmering stone columns and crystalline curtains, interspersed with carved monuments to unknown gods and heroes. The path led him past so many previously undreamt-of wonders that he ceased to be able to take it all in. Tol went numb.

The numbness disappeared when he heard talking in the distance. He shoved himself between a rock drapery and a large stump of stalagmite and waited. He saw a couple of hobs he didn’t recognize and then a familiar voice drifted out over the tinkle of water dripping into unseen pools: Pyfox.

“When Fen returns, we will begin the final phase of the plan,” Pyfox was telling the hobs, who seemed to be taking notes. He had dropped the hob speech affectation in favor of clarity.

“Where did he go?”

“He has one last message to exchange with our operatives in Qoplebarq.”

“And then what?”

“Then Namni will appear and The Slice will be ours to control. Forever.”

“What about the Magineers and mages?”

“They will have to pay me to gain access to their precious magic. I will be the richest person in Tragacanth, and eventually on N’plork. And I will live forever!”

“How you gonna swing that, boss?”

“Namni will make it possible for me to be reincarnated via The Slice each time my mortal body dies.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because I will make it possible for
him
to rule The Slice itself.”

“What is there to rule?”

“Fool. The Slice is an entire realm that spans the firmament. It has its own cities and nations, all populated by beings created entirely from magic. Namni will be emperor over them all once we control the portals from the physical plane to The Slice.”

“How will that make any difference?”

“Magical essence—what some call manna—is constantly bled off from The Slice onto the physical plane. This prevents any buildup of pools of magical force. With the portals shut down, the pools will form at each sealed node and spread into vast reservoirs. An entity skilled enough to do so may tap them to greatly amplify his own power.”

At that point a strange resonant chiming filled the cavern. Pyfox looked up, excited. “Namni calls!” He hurried away, followed closely by the hobs. Tol tagged along as best he could in stealth mode. Something about Pyfox’s story didn’t sit right with him; he wondered if Namni had told him the entire truth. Evil mages are not traditionally very good at full disclosure.

Chapter Nineteen:
Lost and Found

“I
don’t think we’re going to catch up,” Hnuppa puffed, “it’s moving away faster than we’re walking.”

“Then we’ll need to walk faster, smekkers. Hoof it!”

Hnuppa shot Kurg the most withering glance he could manage under the circumstances, which actually more closely resembled a wince tending toward a grimace. He readjusted his pack and the tripod slung over his shoulder and redoubled the pace. Slud said nothing, but didn’t seem to be laboring too hard, despite his age. Of course, he wasn’t carrying any cargo.

After another few hundred meters, they caught a break. The mountain, which had been moving almost directly away from them, took a gradual turn to the right until it was traveling at right angles to its previous path. Kurg saw what was happening and urged them into a dead run. They reached the lower flank and leapt on the nearest moving boulders. All three lay there panting, unable to speak for a couple of minutes.

Finally a significant jolt convinced them to struggle to a sitting position in order to prevent being catapulted off their hard-won perch. Hnuppa scrambled madly to corral all his camera gear, while Kurg sat and chuckled at him. Slud didn’t seem to notice either of them.

“You could help me, you know,” Hnuppa snapped at Kurg, “this is station-owned equipment.”

“For which you are financially responsible, seeing as how you signed it out. Don’t worry—I’m sure management would give you a discount, under the circumstances. Shouldn’t take you more than four or five years of wage garnishment to pay it off.”

“Wonder how long it will take to pay off a busted boss?”

“You and what goblin commando battalion, cupcake?”

“Looks like a cave,” interrupted Slud.

Kurg and Hnuppa stopped glaring at each other and looked where he was pointing. There was indeed a cave there. Hnuppa was pretty sure it hadn’t been there a minute earlier. Kurg stomped over to it and peered inside. There was a strange bubbling noise issuing from somewhere in its musty depths.

“Looks safe enough. Let’s go.”

“Since when are you any kind of expert on ‘safe?’ Oh, I forgot—your platoon leader experience. Squad! Wait for it...present shovels!”

If Kurg made a reply to this, the other two didn’t hear it. He had already disappeared into the gurgling stone cavity. They shrugged and plunged in after him.

The first ten meters were pitch-dark. Hnuppa and Slud could hear Kurg’s somewhat labored breathing ahead of them and followed it without speaking. Gradually the lights began to come up, although in a half-hearted way, as though they were too tired to give it much of a go. The narrow corridor they were following—really not much more than a gap between rocks—twisted and turned this way and that for at least a kilometer. Finally a light shone from up ahead. It got brighter as they approached, and suddenly they were back out on the mountainside. Kurg and Hnuppa stood blinking in the sunlight while Slud surveyed the area.

“Been here before,” he said, pointing at the ground. They stared at the spot he was indicating; it contained footprints. Three sets of footprints. Familiar footprints.
Their
footprints.

“How in the smek could we possibly have ended up back where we started?” Kurg groused. “I have a smekkin’
great
sense of direction and we should have gone straight through that pile of dirt and come out on the other side.”