Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Elven Princess (4 page)

“Then how did they manage to prevent Prince
Jared from becoming the King of Aerithraine? Did they catch him
asleep and murder him?”

“One might have supposed that under ordinary
circumstances.” I continued my story. “These times were not
ordinary. Goblins are not only small and stupid and smelly; they
are disorganized. But every once and so often, there comes along a
goblin who is big enough and just smart enough to unite the goblin
tribes and lead them on the warpath against the civilized lands of
humans.”

“I had always heard that none of the human
lands were truly civilized,” said he.

“What an odd and unorphanish thing to
say.”

“Um… oh. I’m just discombobulated from the
incident with the goblins.”

“Even so,” I agreed. “Well, at the time my
story takes place, there was one such goblin king, who came to
power by killing and eating his many rivals. And as happens when
the goblins become unified in such a way, they experienced a
population explosion. The mountains of the Goblineld were teaming
with the little blighters. When the mountains could no longer
contain them, they swept out across the southern third of the
Kingdom of Aerithraine, destroying everything in their path.”

“Frightening,” said the orphan.

“Quite frightening.”

“Still…”

“Still what?”

“Humans are so large and goblins are so
small. You vanquished three pairs of goblins, and did it quite
handily too.”

“Thank you.”

“And you don’t seem particularly skilled or
particularly bright.”

“What?”

“I just wonder that an entire human kingdom
could not put together an army to destroy even a large horde of
goblins,” said the orphan. “I would imagine that even a
well-trained militia could do the job. I once heard the story of
the Calille Lowain who held off five thousand goblins at Greer
Drift.”

“I don’t know that story,” said I.

“Perhaps I will tell it to you sometime,”
said he. “But what about it? Couldn’t the humans defeat the
goblins?”

“There were tens of thousands of them.
Hundreds of thousands. Thousands of thousands. But you are right.
In other times, such hordes were sent packing, back to their mines
and tunnels in the Goblineld. This time though, the goblins had a
hidden ally. Far to the east, the Witch King of Thulla-Zor, who is
always looking for ways to cause destruction and chaos, saw this as
an opportunity. He supplied the goblin king with magic and weapons,
and sent trolls and ogres to strengthen his ranks. None of these
facts were known to King Justin when he rode forth with the Dragon
Knights to meet them.

“King Justin, his three younger sons, and
all of the Dragon Knights were slaughtered-- to a man. Prince
Jared, who had been in the north fighting sea raiders, hurried his
forces south, only to meet a similar fate. The goblins were waiting
for him. The entire southern third of the kingdom fell-- and
remained in the goblins’ filthy little hands for almost twenty
years. And the Goblin King feasted on the spoils of war, sitting on
his throne far below the surface of the mountains, drinking his
disgusting goblin wine from a cup made from the skull of King
Justin.”

“How horrible,” murmured the orphan.

“Yes indeed,” I continued. “And I think the
worse part of the story is what happened to Queen Beatrix.”

“What happened to her?”

“She died. She died of a broken heart. And
her unborn child almost died with her.

“Unborn child? It didn’t die?”

“No, the court physician cut the child from
the Queen’s belly. It was a tiny baby girl.”

“Queen Elleena!” snapped the orphan.

“She should have been,” said I.

“What do you mean?”

“She should have been Queen the moment she
was birthed, but that wasn’t to be. There were too many competing
interests at court. Too many nobles wanted the throne for
themselves. And in the chaos that followed the fall of the south
lands, they might have done it, had it not been for the church.
Little Princess Elleena Postuma was whisked off to the temple in
Fall City, where she stayed for the next fourteen years, and Pope
Bartholomew I became the regent of the kingdom.”

“Did they keep Elleena prisoner in the
temple?” wondered the orphan.

“Of course they didn’t,” said I. “Though I
will wager she sometimes felt that she was in a prison. She could
go anywhere she wanted to as long as she stayed in Fall City and
under constant protective guard. In the meantime she was given all
the training and education that was necessary for one who would one
day rule.”

“It is like prison,” said the orphan.

“Neither you nor I will ever really know the
truth of that.”

At that moment, I spied a light in the
distance. The story, or at least this chapter of the story over,
conversation ceased. I urged Hysteria forward, which is to say I
encouraged her onward toward the distant light, which turned out to
be a small cabin on the side of the road. Yellow light spilled from
its tiny windows onto the snow.

Not having had the best of luck so far that
night with regard to welcomes, which is to say that I had been
attacked three times already that night, two times of which I have
already described for you here, I dismounted and crept around to
the side of the cabin to the window and peered inside. Lying on the
floor in a pool of blood was a man in common work clothes. The
single room of the little cabin had been ransacked. And dancing
around, or sitting and singing, or drinking; were more of the
little, round-headed blighters, which is to say goblins.

“Do you think they are the same goblins that
we saw earlier?” asked the orphan, at my shoulder, peering into the
window.

I could only shrug, for in truth one goblin
looks much the same as another to me. Though I had relatively close
contact with three of the creatures earlier that evening, which is
to say having kicked two and poked one in the head with my knife, I
can’t say that I had become familiar enough with any of the three
to distinguish them from any other of their race. That being said,
I was relatively sure that the one I had poked in the head with my
knife was not among those now in the little cabin. These goblins
were singing or drinking or dancing or doing some combination of
the afore-mentioned, all of which are extremely difficult if not
impossible to do when one is dead.

“What are you going to do?” wondered the
orphan.

“Why do you suppose I should do anything?” I
wondered.

“Shouldn’t you avenge the poor man lying on
the floor? After all, he is a human being killed by foul goblins,
and you are a… I mean we are human beings too.”

“Aye, it is true that we are human
beings.”

“And he was killed by goblins.”

“I do hate goblins.”

Hysteria knickered. She hated goblins too,
probably because they stand so low to the ground and as I have
pointed out before, she dislikes anything too near her feet.

“And I am frozen,” the orphan continued. “I
would love to spend the night inside of doors and near a warm
fire.”

“Now you make a compelling argument,” said
I.

“So what are you going to do?”

“Have you ever heard of Brementown?”

“Uh…no. Why?”

“There is a story told there of a group of
musician animals.”

The orphan rolled his eyes. I explained my
plan, devised on a variation of the Brementown story. Turning
Hysteria so that her rear end was pointed toward the wall of the
cabin, I left her with the orphan while I went back to the front
and took a position by the door. Pulling out my knife, I placed my
fingers in my mouth and whistled, which was the prearranged signal
for both my noble steed and the orphan.

At the signal, Hysteria began kicking the
wall of the cabin with both hind feet and the orphan commenced to
making all manner of strange noises. I was so surprised by the
cacophony of sounds, which is to say noises that came out of the
youngster’s mouth that I almost forgot my own part of the plan. I
am aware that boys are well-versed in the creation of creative
noises as well as all kinds of mimicry, having been a boy myself
once. But this orphan was a true artist. He belted out the yowls of
a wildcat, the braying of a donkey, the barking of a dog, the
screech of harpy, and the gurgling growl of a frog-bear. Not to be
outdone, Hysteria let loose with the squeal of an angry equine,
which is to say a horse.

It was scant seconds before the door burst
open and the goblins began pouring out into the snow, their shrieks
clearly indicating that they were frightened out of their tiny
little minds. The first two who came out were quickly dispatched
with my knife. After that I decided that it was too strenuous to
keep bending down to kill them, as they are so low to the ground
and I had been riding all night long, which under the best of
conditions can give one a sore back. Thereafter, I reverted to my
now well-practiced maneuver of using their heads as makeshift kick
balls, which is to say I kicked them on their kick ball-shaped
heads.

In the space of twenty seconds, I managed to
get rid of all the goblins, which turned out to be seven. I can’t
swear that all of the goblins were dead, as five had been sent in
long arcs through the air into the darkness of the woods. They were
gone though. Scant moments later, the orphan, Hysteria, and I were
inside the cabin. I put Hysteria in the corner furthest from the
fireplace and directed the boy to stoke the fire, while I pulled
the body of the unfortunate former owner out into the snow next to
two of his apparent murderers. Thereafter, I went back inside and
bolted the door.

“That was a wonderful plan,” said the
orphan.

“Indeed it was.”

“I’m surprised you thought of it.”

“Just one of the benefits of a classical
education,” said I. “If I did not know the story of the Musicians
of Brementown, I would not have known what to do. And as I recall,
you looked noticeably unimpressed when I mentioned my knowledge of
this particular bit of culture.”

“I do admit I thought it a waist of time,
um… at the time,” admitted he. “I offer you my apologies.”

“I suppose I will have to accept them,” said
I. “What with you being a poor, ignorant orphan.”

“Your magnanimity is wonderful to behold,”
said he. “In any case, I think I would like to hear the story of
the Musicians of Brementown.”

“Oh no!” cried I. “You still owe me a shiny
penny for the story of Queen Elleena of Aerithraine.”

“But you didn’t finish it.”

“Of course I did.”

“No. You didn’t. When you stopped, she
wasn’t even Queen yet. She was stuck in the temple in Fall
City.”

“When she turned fourteen, she returned to
the capital in Illustria and was crowned Queen by the Pope, after
which she took control and banishing him back to Fall City.”

“How did she do that?”

“No one knows.”

“Gah!” he cried. “You are the worst
story-teller ever!”

“What would a poor, ignorant orphan know
about it?”

“I know you’re not getting my penny!”

“Go to sleep,” I ordered him. “You sleep on
the rug by the fire. I will take the bed, after I give Hysteria a
good rub-down.”

I never did find out what the man who owned
that cabin did for a living. I didn’t examine his body closely
enough to see if he was old enough to have retired from somewhere
else to settle in the country. I didn’t see if he had any
outbuildings where he could have carried on a trade. I don’t know
if he was a good man or a bad one. And to tell the truth, I didn’t
notice much about him physically. I do know this… he had a very
fine bed. It had been nearly three weeks since I had slept in a bed
and this one was at least as good as that one had been. Before you
ask, the other one was in the second floor of an in an inn called
the Lonesome Hedgehog, where incidentally a nice, plump serving
wench with the top two buttons of her blouse undone had brought me
a very nice mutton stew. No pie though.

What with all the adventures that had come
upon me of late, and what with not having slept on a bed in a
fortnight and a half, as you can imagine, it didn’t take me long to
fall asleep. I had brushed down my noble steed, which is to say
Hysteria. Then I had taken off my boots and wiggled my toes. Then I
put my knife under my pillow. When my head touched lightly on the
pillow, I was dreaming. I don’t remember exactly what I dreamed
about. Only that it had something to do with my cousin Gervil, and
that for some reason he was chopping onions. I never found out why
he was chopping onions because I was awakened by the sound of the
cabin door opening.

I didn’t stir. I kept my eyes squinted so
that they looked shut to someone looking at me, but I could still
see. At the same time I slid my hand under my pillow to take hold
of my knife. I needn’t have worried though, as it was the orphan
returning from outside and bolting the door after him. I suppose
that he had stepped out to answer nature’s call. I started to
return to slumber when something about the orphan stopped me.

I continued to watch him as there was
something different about him. It took me several moments to
realize what it was, but then it hit me. I was seeing my companion
for the first time without his cap. Where before his head had been
covered by a ratty wool creation, it was now covered by long,
golden locks, held down with braided strands around the temples.
And on either side of his head was a long slender pointed ear,
pierced three or four times by thick silver rings. He was a girl!
He was a girl and he was an elf! This was quite a strange
development and I didn’t know what to do about it, so I did
nothing. I simply went back to sleep.