Goblin Slayer - Volume 1 - Chapter 6

Chapter 6 – Traveling Companions

Three days passed in the blink of an eye. 

Beneath the stars and the two moons, in a field that seemed to go on forever, five adventurers sat in a circle. A long, thin trail of smoke drifted into the air from their campfire. Far behind them, the forest where the elves lived rose up in the darkness. 

“Come to think of it, why did all of you become adventurers?” 

“For the fine dining, obviously! What about you, long-ears?” 

“Of course you wanted food. Me…I wanted to learn about the outside world.” 

“As for myself, I seek to raise my status by rooting out heresy, that I may become a naga.” 

“Say what?” 

“I seek to raise my status by rooting out heresy, that I may become a naga.” 

“Uh… Sure. I can understand that, I guess. I’m religious, too.” 

“I wanted to slay…” 

“Yeah, somehow I think I’ve got you figured out, thanks.” 

“Don’t interrupt the man, long-ears!” The dwarf gave a cluck as he wove blades of dry grass together. 

The fire did not burn very high. The elves hated fire and set wards to keep what burns at bay. Even as far from the forest as they were, the effects were still noticeable. 

Priestess and the lizardman had prepared this, the last dinner they would eat before they reached the nest. 

“Mmm, that is delicious! What is this?” The well-marbled meat had been finished with spices as soon as it began to roast. The dwarf, delighted by the fragrant, crunchy result, took two or three skewers. 

“I am pleased you find it satisfying.” The lizardman replied to the dwarf’s praises with a gratified smile, which for him meant baring his long teeth. “It is the dried flesh of a swamp creature. The spices include ingredients not found in this place, hence why your palate may find them remarkable.” 

“This is why no one likes dwarves. They’re gluttons and carnivores to boot,” the elf scoffed. 

“Bah! How could a would-be rabbit like you appreciate the virtues of a meal like this? Hand me another!” 

“Ick…” 

The dwarf licked the fat from his fingers and took another large mouthful of meat as if to underscore his point. The elf groaned from watching him consume so vigorously something she couldn’t even contemplate eating. 

“Um, maybe you would like some soup? It’s not much, with only a campfire to cook over, but…” 

“Yes, please!” 

Priestess made a soup of dried beans with a practiced hand. The elf hadn’t had any of the meat, so the suggestion of something she could eat was enough to make her ears bounce for joy. 

The brimming bowlful of soup Priestess passed her had a mild flavor that was undeniably delicious. 

“Hmm. I’ve got to give you something for this…” The elf took small, thin wafers of bread wrapped in leaves from her pack and broke off a piece. The smell of it was faintly sweet, but it had no fruit or sugar in it. 

“This…isn’t dried bread, is it? And it’s not a biscuit…” 

“It’s a preserved food the elves make. Actually, we almost never share it with anyone else. But today is an exception.” 

“This is delicious!” No sooner had she taken a bite than the striking taste brought words of appreciation from Priestess’s lips. 

A little surprise was hidden in the food. The crispy outside gave way to a soft, moist center. 

“Oh? That’s good.” The elf affected disinterest, but the way she closed her eyes slightly made her look quite pleased. 

“Hrm! Well, now that the elf is showing off, I can hardly let the dwarves go unrepresented, can I?” Thus Dwarf Shaman produced a large, tightly sealed clay jar. There was a sound of liquid sloshing within. When he pulled out the stopper and poured some into a cup, the pungent scent of alcohol drifted around the camp. 

“Heh-heh. Say hello to our specialty, made deep in our cellars—fire wine!” 

“Fire…wine?” The elf looked with interest into the cup the dwarf held out. 

“Nothing less! Tell me this isn’t your first tipple, long-ears.” 

“O-of course not, cave dweller!” So saying, she snatched the cup out of his hand. 

She cast a doubtful look into the seemingly ordinary cup. “It’s clear. Isn’t wine made from grapes? I’ve had it before, you know. I’m not that young.” She threw back her head and drank the entire cup. 

There followed a fit of uncontrollable coughing, brought on by the drink’s stinging dryness. 

“A-are you all right? H-here, have some w-water!” Priestess hurriedly offered a canteen to the gasping elf, whose eyes were bulging. 

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Maybe it’s a bit too much for a delicate lass like yourself!” 

“Please be temperate. A drunken ranger will avail us little.” 

“I know that, Scaly! I won’t let her have too much.” 

The dwarf laughed merrily at the women while the lizardman hissed reprovingly. 

“Ho there, Beard-cutter! Fancy a sip?” 

Goblin Slayer said nothing but took the proffered cup and drank it with alacrity. 

He had not spoken a word all through dinner, merely lifting food into his visor. Soon after, he became absorbed in his own work. He polished his sword, shield, and dagger; checked the sharpness of the blades; and returned them to their sheaths. He oiled his leather and mail armor. 

“Hrm…” The elf made a dissatisfied noise at the sight of Goblin Slayer at his tasks. Her face was as red as a boiled tomato. 

“…What?” 

“…You don’t even take that helmet off when you’re eating. What’s with you?” 

“If I were to be struck in the head by a surprise attack, I might lose consciousness.” 

“…And y’ jus ead, ead, eat. Why dun you cook sumtheng for us arready?” 

The elf delivered this non sequitur with a heavy tongue, slurring her words. She pointed accusingly at the large rock next to Goblin Slayer. 

He did not respond, even when the drunken elf glared at him and issued another “Hrrmm?” 

“Ooh,” the dwarf whispered. “Her eyes are glazing…” 

Watching the scene, Priestess sucked in her cheeks slightly. 

He’s thinking. She still couldn’t see his face, but she knew that much. 

After a time, Goblin Slayer sought out his pack with a hint of exasperation. He rolled out a dry, hard round of cheese. 

“Will this do?” 

Oh-ho. The lizardman licked the tip of his nose with his tongue. He craned his neck toward the cheese as though he had never seen it before. 

“What manner of thing is this?” 

“It’s cheese. It’s made by churning the milk of a cow or a sheep.” 

“You’ve got to be joking, Scaly,” the dwarf said. “Never seen cheese before?” 

“I am most earnest. This is quite new to me.” 

“Do lizardmen not raise livestock?” Priestess asked. He nodded. 

“In our society, animals are for hunting. Not for nurturing.” 

“Give it ’ere. I’ll cut it.” The elf swiped the cheese from Goblin Slayer and, almost faster than the eye could see, sliced it into five pieces with a knife she had sharpened on a rock. 

“I bet a little grilling would do wonders here. Now, where’s a good stick?” 

At the dwarf’s suggestion, Priestess said, “I have skewers if you like.” She took several long metal rods from her bag. 

“Ah, lass, you know how to pack for a trip! Unlike some people I know.” 

“If you’ve got someone in mind, come out and say it.” Anger seemed to put the clarity back in the elf’s voice. 

“Why don’t you ask your heart?” The dwarf chuckled, stroking his beard. “Your anvil-shaped heart.” Then he said, “Anyhow, let me handle this. Fire is the purview of my people!” And he stuck the cheese on the skewers and put them over the fire. He roasted them with quick, sure movements like a wizard casting a spell. A sweet scent mixed with the rising smoke. 

Before they knew it, the cheese began to melt and run. The dwarf passed the skewers to his fellow adventurers, and they each brought it to their mouths. 

“It is sweet, like nectar!” 

Lizard Priest gave an ecstatic shout and thumped his tail on the ground. “Like nectar, it is!” 

“Glad the first cheese of your life didn’t disappoint,” the dwarf said, taking a big bite of his own slice and washing it down with a gulp of fire wine. “Ahh, fire wine and cheese, there’s a fine pairing!” 

He dabbed at the wine that he dribbled into his beard and gave a contented sigh. The elf frowned. Seeming quite back to her normal, haughty self, she took dainty bites of her cheese. 

“Hmm. It’s kind of sour but…sweet,” she said. “Sort of like a banana.” Her long ears made a wide motion up and down. Then her eyes narrowed like a cat’s when coughing up a hairball. 

“Is this from that farm?” Priestess asked with a bright smile, halfway through her own piece of cheese. 

“It is.” 

“It’s delicious!” 

“Is it?” 

Goblin Slayer nodded quietly and calmly put a piece of cheese into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, took a mouthful of fire wine, and then pulled his bag closer. The next day they would enter the goblins’ nest. He had to double-check his gear. 

The bag was packed with a variety of bottles, ropes, chains, and unidentifiable items. The elf, whose stupor had been cleared away by the sharp, sweet cheese, looked at the collection with interest. 

Goblin Slayer was examining a scroll that was tied shut in a peculiar way. The elf reached out just as, seemingly satisfied with the knots, Goblin Slayer was putting the scroll back into his bag. 

“Don’t touch that,” he said flatly. The elf drew her hand back hastily. “It’s dangerous.” 

“I-I wasn’t going to touch it. I was just looking.” 

“Don’t look at it. It’s dangerous.” 

The elf gave a little sneer in his direction. Goblin Slayer was unperturbed. 

Unwilling to take no for an answer, the elf glanced at the scroll out of the corner of her eye. “Isn’t that a magic scroll?” she asked. “I’ve never seen one before.” 

At her words, not just Priestess but the dwarf and the lizardman leaned in for a look. 

A magic scroll. An item sometimes found in ancient ruins, albeit very rarely. Unroll it, and even an infant could cast the spell written there. The knowledge of how to make them was long lost, even to the oldest of the high elves. Magical items were rare enough, but such scrolls were among the rarest of all. 

But for all that, they were surprisingly inconvenient items for adventurers. Any of an infinite variety of spells might be written on them, from the most useful to the most mundane, and they could be used only once, anyway. Many adventurers simply sold them—for a tidy sum—to researchers or collectors of curio. A wizard in the party was magic enough for them. They needed money more than scrolls. 

Goblin Slayer was one of the few who had kept his scroll. Even Priestess hadn’t known he had it. 

“All right, all right. I won’t touch, I won’t even look, but will you at least tell us what spell is written on it?” 

“No.” He didn’t so much as look at her. “If you were captured and told the goblins, then what? You’ll know what it is when I use it.” 

“…You don’t like me, do you?” 

“I’m not particular.” 

“Isn’t that just a way of saying you don’t care?” 

“I mean no more than I said.” 

The elf gritted her teeth, and her ears flapped angrily. 

“Give it up, long-ears. He’s stubborner than I am.” The dwarf laughed happily. “He’s Beard-cutter, after all.” 

“You mean Orcbolg.” 

“I am Goblin Slayer,” he muttered. 

The elf frowned at this, and the dwarf stroked his beard in amusement. 

“Um, excuse me,” Priestess broke in, “but what does Orcbolg mean, exactly?” 

“It’s the name of a sword that appears in our legends,” the elf said. She held up a finger proudly like a teacher instructing her pupils. “It was a goblin-slaying blade that would glow blue when an orc—a goblin—was near.” 

“Let it be said, though, that it was we dwarves who forged it,” Dwarf Shaman interjected. 

The elf snorted. “And called it ‘Beard-cutter.’ What an awful name. Dwarves might have good heads for crafting, but not for anything else.” 

“So, long-ears, you admit that your people aren’t the skilled craftsmen mine are!” He heaved a huge belly laugh. The elf puffed out her cheeks. 

The lizardman gave a great roll of his eyes, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and exchanged a look with Priestess. She was beginning to understand that this was his way of making a joke. 

She had come to appreciate the friendly arguments, too. It was just how elves and dwarves were. Priestess, faced for the first time with people of other races, knew she could never trust her party members if she didn’t get to know them. So she went out of her way to talk with them, and in no time at all, they had become fast friends. 

The lizardman’s ancestral faith did not clash with the teachings of the all-compassionate Earth Mother. And there was another girl in the party who was Priestess’s age—or who at least looked it. It put her very much at ease. 

Goblin Slayer, for his part, didn’t seem to especially embrace or reject any of them. But this seemed somehow quite to the dwarf’s liking. Whatever Goblin Slayer did that annoyed the elf, he seemed to enjoy imitating it. 

This strange little party had met most unexpectedly, and yet, somehow, there was a sense they belonged together. 

Priestess felt an unusual warmth spreading through her. 

“Hey, wanna go adventuring with us?” 

Which wasn’t to say there was nothing that pricked at her heart… 

“Oh yes, there is a thing I have been wondering,” the lizardman said, his tail sounding, opening his jaw. The fire danced. Before he asked his question, he made the strange, palms-together gesture. He claimed it was an expression of gratitude for the meal. 

“Wherefrom do the goblins spring? My grandfather once told me of a kingdom under the earth…” 

“I”—the dwarf burped—“heard that they were fallen rheas or elves.” 

“What prejudice!” High Elf Archer glared at Dwarf Shaman. “I was taught goblins are what become of dwarves who grow obsessed with gold.” 

“Prejudice, indeed!” The dwarf looked triumphantly at the elf, who shook her head slightly. 

“Now, now, didn’t our priest say they came from under the earth? And isn’t that where dwarves come from?” 

“Grrr…!” The dwarf could only grit his teeth at this. The elf gave a satisfied chuckle. The lizardman, of course, licked his nose with his tongue. 

“Under the earth I said, but of elves or dwarves naught. What stories do humans tell, Priestess?” 

“Oh, um…” Priestess had been in the midst of gathering everyone’s dinnerware and wiping it clean. She set the work aside and straightened, putting her hands on her knees. “We have a saying that when someone fails at something, a goblin appears.” 

“What?!” The elf giggled. 

Priestess nodded with a smile. “It’s just a way of teaching manners. If you don’t do such and such, a goblin will come for you!” 

“That seems grim news indeed, girl!” the dwarf said. “Why, long-ears alone would account for an entire goblin army!” 

“Hey!” The elf’s ears pointed straight back. “How rude. Just wait till tomorrow. You’ll see if any of my arrows fail to hit their target.” 

“Oh, they’ll hit something, all right—I’m afraid they’ll hit me, right in the back!” 

“Fine. Little dwarves are welcome to hide behind me.” 

“Damn right I will! You’re a ranger, aren’t you? A little scouting would help us all out,” the dwarf said, patting his beard with a smirk. 

The elf raised her arm and seemed about to reply, when a single, muttered word dropped between them. “I…” 

Naturally, the group’s attention turned toward the source. 

“I heard they come from the moon,” Goblin Slayer said. 

“By ‘the moon,’ do you refer to one of the two in our sky?” the lizardman asked. 

“Yes.” Goblin Slayer nodded. “The green one. Green rocks, green monsters.” 

“Well, never thought they might’ve come from over my head,” the dwarf said with a long, thoughtful sigh. 

With great interest, the elf asked, “So, shooting stars are goblins coming down here?” 

“Don’t know. But there is no grass, or trees, or water on the moon. Only rocks. It’s a lonely place,” he said soberly. “They don’t like it there. They want somewhere better. They’re envious of us, jealous, so they come down here.” 

“Here?” 

“Yes.” He nodded. “So when you get jealous, you become like a goblin.” 

“I get it,” the elf said with a disappointed breath. “Another little story to teach kids manners.” 

“Um, who told you that story?” Priestess asked, leaning forward slightly. He was always so realistic and rational. This kind of tale seemed unlike him. 

“My older sister.” 

“Oh, you have an older sister?” 

He nodded. “Had.” 

Priestess giggled softly. The thought of this hardened adventurer being scolded by his sister was somehow heartening. 

“So,” the elf pressed, “you really believe goblins come from the moon?” 

Goblin Slayer nodded slightly. 

“All I know,” he said, staring up at the twin orbs in the sky, “is that my sister was never wrong. About anything.” 

With that, he fell silent. The bonfire crackled. With her long ears, the elf detected the hint of a sigh. 

She quietly moved her face closer to Goblin Slayer’s helmet. She still couldn’t make out his expression. A mischievous grin spread across her face. “Pfft. He fell asleep!” 

“Oh-ho, fire wine finally got to him, did it?” The dwarf was just shaking the last drop from the bottle. 

“Come to think of it, he’s had his fair share of that stuff, hasn’t he?” 

Priestess took a blanket from their gear and carefully placed it over him. Ever so gently, she touched the leather armor on his chest. She was tired, too, but he needed to rest. 

“Let us, too, take our repose,” the lizardman said solemnly. “And let us determine the watch. A good night’s sleep will itself be a weapon in our arsenal.” 

Priestess, the elf, and the dwarf each volunteered for a shift. 

As she snuggled down under her blanket, the elf stole a glance at Goblin Slayer. “Hmm,” she murmured to herself. “They say a wild animal never sleeps in front of those it doesn’t trust…” 

To her own annoyance, she found this inspired in her a faint glow of happiness.