Goblin Slayer - Volume 4 - Chapter 9

Chapter 9 – Of The Three Of Them, Some Months Ago

The word tavern could mean many things. Not all such places were attached to Adventurers Guilds. 

Wander around town and you’d find several, with bulletin boards and lights shining. 

They typically had inns attached, and sometimes adventurers just wanted a change of scenery. These were places where adventurers could easily show up, eat and drink as much as they liked, and then set back off into town. 

In one such tavern, a minstrel gave a warbling strum of his instrument and began to sing. 

How many times do we meet and part? 

What matters, proclaimed you, is what’s in the heart 

With no one to fancy, they come and they go 

Till you saw that sweet thing one day—oh-ho! 

Be you a lord or be you a spy, 

You don’t know her name, but you cherish her eyes 

You ply your sweet talk, yet past tavern door 

You realize too late: she’s not there anymore 

How many times do we meet and part? 

One meeting, one parting, and one broken heart… 

“A’right, then. Guess we’ve got ourselves a party, hey, Scaly?” 

“Ha-ha-ha. Though I could wish for a warrior and a scout.” 

Sitting well inside the cozy tavern, two adventurers talked affably and laughed. 

One was a dwarf, stroking his white beard, pounding his rotund belly, and helping himself to wine and food. And across from him was a lizardman, eating with his bare hands, his great, scaly body seated on a wine barrel. They drank the wine that was brought to them like water, in a manner that went beyond hearty and was practically celebratory. 

“A blocker, a ranger, a warrior-priest, a cleric, a wizard. I would say we have a pretty good combination.” 

“Well, true.” 

Lizard Priest took a bite of the boar leg he held with both hands, while Dwarf Shaman lapped at a bit of wine that had spilled on the end of his beard. He poured wine from the bottle into his cup with a glug, glug , then slurped from the overflowing vessel. He downed it in a single gulp and let out a burp. 

“Not enough in the front row, not enough in the back row, not enough connections to get equipment and items. Complain about everything, and you’ll have everything to complain about.” 

“Just so, just so,” Lizard Priest said, slapping the floor with his tail. “A party with three magic users is surely blessed.” 

“Got to admit, it is a little surprising.” 

“Your meaning…?” 

“You.” The red-faced dwarf thrust his empty cup in the direction of Lizard Priest. “At first…I thought you might not be interested in partying up with another cleric.” 

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Oh, master spell caster. I never know what you will say next.” Lizard Priest laughed easily. Finished with the meat, he gnawed on the leg bone, making a ferocious show of his teeth. “All of us alike have come from the dust of the sea, so there is no cause for me to be upset that a descendent of the rats leads us.” Perhaps the alcohol was wearing off, for Dwarf Shaman looked weary as Lizard Priest rolled his eyes triumphantly. “I jest, I jest.” 

“Afraid I can’t find it very funny,” Dwarf Shaman said, waving away the lizard’s nonchalance. 

“Well, everyone has their own beliefs. If one chose to argue every time there was a difference, there would be no end.” 

“But heretics and Chaos followers are different, I suppose…?” 

“That is no mere argument. They must be killed until there are none left.” 

Lizard Priest’s head bobbed with utmost gravity; it was hard to tell how serious he was being. 

Dwarf Shaman pushed back his empty plate, catching hold of a server to order some meat, and rested his chin in his hands. 

“Just out of curiosity—you hear rumors about lizardmen. They’re all left-handed, or their hearts are on the right. Is any of it true?” 

“Hmm. I cannot speak to the location of my heart, but as for my hands, I would say I am ambidextrous.” The idea that all lizardmen were left-handed because a god’s left hand had created them was, apparently, nonsense. 

Lizard Priest pointedly opened both of his clawed hands. Then he flicked his tongue as if he’d just thought of something. 

“I hear dwarves can even float, from time to time.” 

“If we’ve got wine, there’s nothing we can’t do. Wine, and good food!” 

Dwarf Shaman said the same thing from several months before and grinned. 

§ 

“If you’ve got wine, there’s nothing you can’t do. Wine, and good food!” 

Just like many adventurers’ parties, theirs had been created at the tavern. At first, however, it had been just three people, and before that, only one. 

The wind blew along the canal, making the air refreshingly cool as it came in through the door. It was twilight, and the water town tavern was alive with the sounds of voices giving toasts. 

“But, m’ honored uncle! Don’t yeh think it’s a bit much to ask, even from your nephew?” 

Dwarf Shaman sounded most displeased. He crossed his arms firmly and turned his back. 

Across from him was a dwarf with more muscles, more beard, and more wrinkles than him, sipping an ale with a fixed expression. At his seat was a well-used war hammer, along with a grasping hook. He was a shield breaker. The dwarf veteran’s grim face, mug floating in front of it, eloquently bespoke the seriousness of the situation. 

“Even so—listen. Right now, you are the only one I can call upon.” 

“But even for you, dear uncle—there’s simply nothing to be done about it.” Dwarf Shaman gulped down his ale and fixed his uncle with a lidded stare. 

The dwarf’s face had even more wrinkles than before, and he was starting to go bald. He was well and truly aging. It was understandable: one of the young people in his tribe had set off to pursue magic and was now acting the ruffian. 

But even so…this! 

“Go on an adventure with an elf?” Dwarf Shaman said. “One presumably chosen by their leader or their king or whoever?” 

“Presumably.” 

“Tall, carved features, all too noble—practically shimmering with beauty—and oh so fragile.” 

“Most likely.” 

“Ever an elegant speaker, a first-rate poet, and the gods’ gift to archery?” 

“Well, I’ve not met them…” 

“Gaaah!” Absolutely no way, no how! Dwarf Shaman waved his rough hands emphatically. He was not kidding. “I couldn’t breathe around someone like that. I’d die of suffocation!” 

“Listen, you selfish…” 

“You say the world’s in danger? I’m more than willing to help—but not with an elf!” 

Then it happened. A cup came spinning through the air, trailing wine, and smacked Dwarf Shaman’s uncle in the back of the head. 

“Hey! You say that again!” 

From behind his uncle, who was now facedown on the table and rubbing his head, there came a bracing, clear voice. Dwarf Shaman looked up and saw a sharp-eyed elf girl, her hands on her hips in an imposing stance. She was indeed delicate, willowy and modest-looking—and she wore close-fitting hunter’s garb, her long ears flapping energetically. One would not have guessed it from her tone of voice, but her ears, longer than those of other elves, were proof that she was descended from the old high elves. 

Expecting a fight, Dwarf Shaman grabbed his ax, more than happy to take part, but a dog-faced padfoot said, “I’ll say it as many times as you want!” 

The padfoot’s furry skin made it hard to tell, but to judge by the expansive chest, it was probably a woman. And her rough but high-pitched voice made it seem likely that she was, in human terms, just a young adult. Probably not an adventurer. She was in good physical shape, her movements precise—signs of proper training. A soldier, most likely. She wiped off the wine that dribbled from her head and gave a snort. 

“Elves just stay shut up in their forests, ignoring everything and everyone—and they’re misers, to boot!” 

“I’ll show you the truth about elves!” 

High Elf Archer hissed like a cat and threw herself at the dog-faced soldier. The table fell over with a crash, wine cups went flying, dishes were overturned. The drunks who had gathered in the tavern gave way at the familiar scene and started taking bets. 

“My money’s on the elf.” “No, the padfoot.” “But elves are so fragile.” “Yeah, but padfoots are so stupid…” 

“…What a troublemaker.” Oof, that hurt. Dwarf Shaman shrugged at his uncle, who was rubbing his head and groaning. 

“Rather unusual, for an elf.” 

“…Would you mind if your companion was someone like her?” 

“Hrm, well. I don’t suppose the high muckety-mucks of elfdom would pick someone so rash…” 

As he muttered, Dwarf Shaman reached out for a plate. He grabbed a handful of dried beans, notwithstanding the wine splashed on them, popped them into his mouth, and crunched noisily. 

Beside him, his uncle heaved a sigh. “They’ve already made their choice,” he said. “And they picked her.” 

“Say what?” 

“Look at the personal description.” 

His uncle pulled a rumpled piece of paper from his bag and passed it over. Dwarf Shaman opened it with fingers both thick and nimble, then held it up and looked through it at the fight. 

“Ahh… That anvil…?” 

If the haughty elves had chosen her, there was no reason to doubt her skills. 

The elves resented the dwarves, but at the same time, they hated more than anything that the dwarves resented them. 

But that’s a little girl, or I’m a pebble. 

She was shouting insults at the dog-muzzled soldier, the two of them pulling each other’s hair and fur. The elves didn’t exactly consider age unimportant, but he wondered if she was even a hundred years old. 

“Still…” Give or take ten years—or a hundred—this was the elf who was to be his traveling companion. “…I think we’d break something trying to pull her out of that fight.” 

As he stroked his beard and considered what to do, Dwarf Shaman’s eyes were drawn to the tavern door. 

A huge shadow loomed there. 

It was tremendous. Big as a boulder. Its broad movements were large, as were its jaws. 

Now, where were those clothes from? Ah, yes. The heavily forested south. 

The lizardman took one look at the brouhaha and rolled his eyes in his head. He entered the tavern with a shuffling gait and headed to the counter, oblivious to the looks of those around him. He did not try to sit in a chair, perhaps because of his huge size, or perhaps because of the tail that dragged on the floor. 

“Many pardons, but I wish to wait for someone. As I do not know when they will arrive, I could be waiting for some time.” 

His voice was craggy as a stone. It was impressive that the long tongue within his jaws could maneuver around the common language so readily. 

“Uh, sure,” the tavern owner said with an awkward nod. 

The lizard replied, “Splendid,” with a nod of his own. “I await a dwarf and an elf. If any of your adventurers here fit that description, perhaps you could alert me.” 

Overhearing this, Dwarf Shaman glanced at his uncle, who said calmly, “I did hear a lizardman would be lending us his strength.” It sounded as if he himself couldn’t quite believe it. 

“How now, dear uncle? Don’t know his face?” 

“Even if they gave me a description, I couldn’t tell one lizardman from another.” 

“I suppose not.” 

The lizardmen, who proclaimed themselves descended from the fearsome nagas who had crawled out of the sea, were the most powerful warriors to be found in all the world. 

They were opponents to make the blood run cold. They killed their enemies, massacred them, ate their hearts. Some disdained them as barbarians, and there were in fact—so it was said—some who had allied themselves with the forces of Chaos. 

Regardless, this one was presumably on the side of Order. 

But even so… 

“Ahh, and a meal, if you would be so kind.” The lizard priest held up a scaly finger. He remained standing at the counter; perhaps his tail got in the way when he tried to sit down. When his eyes spun and his jaws opened, his comment seemed lighthearted. “Regrettably, I carry no money, so I would repay you through labor—washing dishes or chopping firewood. You do not mind?” 

Dwarf Shaman suddenly laughed. He took a drink of wine, pounded his belly, and gave a great, thick laugh. He laughed until the lizard priest turned his long neck to look in a most uncanny manner, and then the dwarf took a gulp of wine. 

“Hey, Scaly!” he called to Lizard Priest. He let out a cough, then wiped the wine from his beard with one hand. “You see that long-eared girl fighting over there? Get her by the scruff of her neck and bring her over here, would you?” 

Dwarf Shaman laughed easily, pointing to the elf, who was flailing atop the padfoot, oblivious to the goings-on around her. Presently, the padfoot had her by the hair and was rolling her into a new position. Hands and feet and nails were everywhere. Her elven dignity was gone. She was just a child in a fight. 

“You do that, and I’ll treat you to all the wine and meat you like.” 

“Oh-ho!” Lizard Priest’s tail gave the ground a powerful slap. The owner frowned; so did Dwarf Shaman’s uncle. “Very well, so I shall. Consider me grateful. Ah, virtue does beget virtue.” 

Immediately Lizard Priest, tail and all, jumped into the fray with a speed that belied his size. Beside Dwarf Shaman, grinning widely at the anarchy in the tavern, his uncle groaned. He seemed to have a stomachache. Even a mouthful of wine didn’t appear to do him any good. 

At length, the man who had been a shield breaker in the dwarven army for more than ten years said, “…If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be getting back to my unit.” He left a handful of gold coins on the table and jumped unsteadily down from a chair built for human height. 

He could not decide whether it was wise to leave the fate of his race in the hands of this party—including his nephew. 

Oh, the commands of the gods… 

As he tottered away from the tavern, the old shield breaker’s head was filled with the sound of rolling dice. 

§ 

“…Whaddayawant?” 

Her hair was everywhere, her clothes were dirty, her cheeks were a bit swollen, and she had her back turned to him with an expression of disgust. Dwarf Shaman allowed himself a gleeful smile at this first sound out of the high elf’s mouth. 

“Who, me? I thought we might talk about work.” He smirked and rubbed his thick hands together, fsh-fsh-fsh . 

If she would at least sit facing me like an adult, I would feel like she was listening to me. 

Fights must have been as common as bread and butter at this tavern, because the atmosphere had already relaxed again, the chatter and banter returning to life. 

The badly bruised padfoot was in a corner seat, looking unhappy and tearing into a chunk of meat. With the fight having burned itself out, the erstwhile gamblers soon settled back down. 

“Hm. In that case, there is something of considerable importance which I must first ask you.” 

The restored order of the tavern was partly thanks to the swift intervention of the lizardman, who now used a cask of wine in place of a chair. It had been quite a sight to see him take the elf and the padfoot each by the scruff of the neck and wrench them apart, but it was also an outcome no one had placed a bet on. So only the bookmaker made any profit, and the rhea went around the bar cheerfully waving his wine. 

“And what’s that, Scaly?” 

Lizard Priest gave an “Mmm” and an immensely somber nod. “Could we perhaps consider our spending on food to be separate from the reward for this quest?” 

“But of course,” Dwarf Shaman said with a tug of his beard and a smile. “We’ll send my honored uncle the tab.” 

“Most appreciated,” Lizard Priest said, then opened his jaws wide and sunk them into a hunk of bone-in meat on the table. 

High Elf Archer watched them, still puffing out her cheeks a bit. “So,” she muttered, “what’s this work? Not that I haven’t heard the basics.” 

“Ah, yes, about that.” Dwarf Shaman nodded, picked up a cup, and drained it. Then he used the empty vessel to shove aside some plates and make a space for himself. “You know about the battle that’s going on over at the Capital with the Demon Lord or whoever it is?” 

It was a rhetorical question. He drew a scroll from his bag and opened it on the table. It had been drawn with dyes on bark. The abstract yet precise picture marked it as an elven map. It depicted an ancient-looking building, smack in the middle of a wasteland. 

“A council of war was about to be called, but then they found out there was a bunch of goblins living just behind them.” 

“A goblin nest, isn’t that what it’s called?” 

“Yes, and a plenty big one, too.” 

Here. High Elf Archer looked where Dwarf Shaman was pointing and blinked. She peered at the symbol on the ancient building in the middle of the wasteland, then at the huge forest not far from it. 

“Hey—that’s my home!” 

“Mm. That would explain why you’re here…” 

Lizard Priest nibbled more meat off his bone, chewed several times, and swallowed before speaking further. 

“…Is this what you call politics?” 

“Indeed.” Dwarf Shaman nodded firmly. Well, this was a fine mess. One of their members was here to satisfy someone’s honor. He smelled trouble ahead. “My uncle may think it’s unreasonable, but we can’t let the humans sit by while our armies are the only ones to mobilize.” 

“And no rheas or padfoots?” 

High Elf Archer’s ears twitched at the mention of the beast folk. The dog-faced soldier she had been fighting with had been brought to heel by a superior officer who had come rushing in. While the officer was tugging on the long face of the soldier, she had wondered whether such treatment was an everyday occurrence, or if dog people simply, by their nature, found it difficult to go against their superiors. 

In any event, the water town was a beautiful city, but they did not feel threatened. 

“I don’t think we can expect more than some volunteers from them.” 

There were individual rheas of great bravery, but this did not extend to their clans or their administrators. At bottom, they adored peace and quiet, and they had little interest in anything that did not concern their homeland directly. 

The padfoots were padfoots; they were so diverse that it was hard to quickly unite all of them behind any one cause. When they gathered, depending on which tribe seized leadership, things could go very well or very poorly. This was true even regarding the Demon Lord’s awakening and subsequent war against all who had words on the continent. Granted, if the danger grew near enough, they would unite and rise up on their own… 

“Our other problem is, we have to get a human to join us.” 

“Ah! I know a good one.” High Elf Archer glanced up from the map. She held up her long, slim pointer finger, drawing a circle in the air. “He’s called Orcbolg. A warrior who slays goblins on the frontier.” 

“What, you mean Beard-cutter?” 

“Right. You dwarves might not know it, but right now, there’s a very popular song about him going around.” 

She didn’t actually know if the song was popular or not, but she needed a chance to look smart. 

The Goblin King has lost his head to a Critical Hit most dire! 

Blue blazing, Goblin Slayer’s steel shimmers in the fire. 

Thus, the King’s repugnant plan comes to its fitting end, and lovely princess reaches out to her rescuer, her friend. 

But he is Goblin Slayer! In no place does he abide, but sworn to wander, shall not have another by his side. 

’Tis only air within her grasp the grateful maiden finds—the hero has departed, aye, with never a look behind. 

As she finished humming the tune, she made a proud sound and stuck out her little chest. 

“You don’t know it because you’ve literally been living under a rock. That’s dwarves for you.” 

“A fine thing for someone who stays shut up in her forest to say.” 

Dwarf Shaman gave her a dour look as she waved her ears in self-satisfaction. 

I assume that song’s only half the truth. It was always the best opinion to have about a bard’s melodies. 

“But, ahh, ahem.” 

This long-eared elf girl must be a ranger or a scout. The lizardman was a priest…a kind of warrior-monk, most likely. He himself knew magic, of course, and he also understood how to handle a weapon. But they did not have enough fighters. 

He couldn’t say for sure until he saw the man, but this was someone who’d had a song written about him. It was reasonable to assume he had a fair amount of skill. 

“…That’s good enough.” 

“The reward will be divided equally, then. Are we also agreed that we shall assume milord Goblin Slayer will join our company?” 

Lizard Priest took in the party with a roll of his eyes. Dwarf Shaman and High Elf Archer both nodded. 

At that, the lizardman said, “Then let us plan,” and touched the tip of his nose with his tongue. 

“First, this town,” Dwarf Shaman said, casting his eye over the map. “Which town did you say he was in?” 

“Well, uhh, I asked the bard, and…” High Elf Archer’s pale finger searched across the elven map. Finally it found the frontier town, and she tapped the spot with a well-manicured nail. “Maybe around here?” 

“That is not far distant. However… Even so.” Lizard Priest seemed immensely serious as he looked over the map. “We seek to foil our enemy’s plans. I believe we can assume this will provoke a reprisal.” 

“Hm? We may be attacked in the middle of an adventure, you mean?” 

“Let us settle this now to avoid that possibility. Before they have a chance to consolidate their forces.” 

“Just leave it to us!” Bop. High Elf Archer made a fist and pounded her small chest with fervor. “The fate of the world hanging in the balance? That’s when adventurers do their best work!” 

“Hey, now,” Dwarf Shaman said, goggling. “You know this isn’t a game, right?” 

“Sure I do. I don’t know about you dwarves, but the elves have always used their bows to keep the world safe.” 

“Oh-ho. You don’t say.” The spell caster’s eyes widened just a little; he gave a tug on his beard and sighed. “So that anvil of a chest of yours, it’s so nothing interferes with drawing your bow?” 

“Anvil?” 

“It’s hard…and flat.” 

“Why, you—!” 

Embarrassment and anger sent blood rushing to the archer’s cheeks. There was a clatter as she stood up from her chair and planted her hands on the table as she leaned out across it. 

“That’s some nerve! This when you dwarves—uhh, um…” She hung there, her mouth working open and closed. Her ears fluttered up and down, and her fingertip traced an aimless path in the air. “R-right! Those bellies! Your stomachs would make a drum look slim!” 

“I’ll have you know we call it being solidly built! A dwarf prefers this kind of body…” Dwarf Shaman pointedly cut himself off, then glanced at the elf out of the corner of his eye. “…Whatever you elves might like.” 

High Elf Archer could hardly fail to notice his gaze on her own chest. She crossed her arms with a deliberate snort, making her displeasure clear. 

“I always knew dwarves had a warped sense of beauty!” 

“Who is it that comes to buy our metalwork? Oh, right. Elves.” 

“So what?!” 

And they were fighting. Other people in the tavern watched this age-old rivalry between the races play out in front of their eyes. But the atmosphere soon changed. Fights and arguments were a dime a dozen. 

“Five silvers on the dwarf!” “A gold coin on the elf!” “Do it, girl!” “Spank her good, old man!” 

Lizard Priest shook his head and heaved a sigh. Then he let out a great hiss. At the overpowering sense of a reptile on the hunt, the two adventurers shut their mouths. Lizard Priest nodded. 

“Mm.” 

Good. 

§ 

The carriage left the gate, cloaked by night. At this hour, anyone but adventurers would have found it safer to travel with a caravan or the like. But the three of them did not have the time, and their hand had been forced in more ways than one. 

The vehicle they were in was not a very good one, just a slightly modified cargo hauler. And the horse was just average…well, maybe a bit below average. Dwarf Shaman and Lizard Priest had the reins. High Elf Archer was watching the sky, her bow at the ready. 

Traveling by carriage meant going faster than a person could walk, but slower than a horse could run. Dwarf Shaman was not pleased with this situation. He had wanted to get the best possible ride and horse, to say nothing of the driver. But the funds he had gotten from his uncle were limited, as was their time. He had had to compromise. 

“And to top it all off, we have to go slowly. What a lot of trouble.” 

“Bear in mind that we do not have the luxury of changing horses at one of the intermediate stations.” Seated beside him on the driver’s platform, Lizard Priest replied to Dwarf Shaman’s cautious comment to himself. “And if you consider the trouble we would have if we were to rush and thereby attract unwelcome attention, this way is in fact faster.” 

“Unwelcome attention?” High Elf Archer tilted her head, flicking the tips of her ears in the direction of the coachman’s seat. 

“Bandits or brigands, I suppose.” 

“Right…” 

Her face scrunched at the reply, as if she found it very unpleasant. Dwarf Shaman caught the plain display of emotion in his peripheral vision and made a sound of annoyance. 

“We managed somehow in town, by the auspices of that lovely lady, but now we’re out in the open fields.” 

“Once away from the sanctuary of the Supreme God, it may be only a matter of time until some ill spirit sets upon us,” said Lizard Priest. 

“Are you talking about what they call god’s blessing? Our god of smithing and steel is only good for courage in battle…” Nonetheless, Dwarf Shaman muttered a prayer to the great god Krome. He shrugged and shook his head, saying without malice, “Got to at least pray that our elf girl doesn’t lose her nerve when it counts.” 

“Hrk…!” The elf’s ears could hardly miss this nasty little comment. “Just you watch! You’ll bow down to thank me when this is over!” 

“Ahh, sure. Can’t say I’ve got my hopes up.” He waved an open palm. High Elf Archer gave a furious snort and rolled onto her back. Dwarf Shaman took his cue from her, looking up at the sky. It was full of stars, and the two moons. The stars sparkled as if someone had scattered precious jewels over black velvet. The moons shone like a pair of eyes, green and cold. 

Perhaps it was the approaching summer that gave the air its unusual dampness and made it seem hard to breathe. 

“I could do with just a breeze…” High Elf Archer muttered. Dwarf Shaman felt the same, though he said nothing. 

Their party arrived at an abandoned plot of earth that seemed once to have been a village. The gloomy skeletons of houses in the moonlight cast obscene shadows on the road. This corpse of the village had gone wild, left to the overgrowth; it would have seemed desolate even in daylight. Now, at night, it would not have been surprising to find ghosts or ghouls there… 

“Hr-ah?” 

High Elf Archer made a strange sound. She looked over her shoulder, her nose tickling. 

“What is it now? Stopping to sniff the flowers or something? Hm?” 

“Oh, stop. There’s a weird smell…” She waved her hand in front of her nose, casting a glance around the area with an expression of deep suspicion. “It’s…kind of thick, and kind of prickly… And I can smell it even though there’s no wind.” 

“…Sulfur, most likely.” 

“This is sulfur?” 

“Some kind of vapor mixed with sulfur, to be more precise.” 

What that meant was not lost on any of them. They went silent and gave a collective gulp. The elf looked up, an anxious expression on her face. 

“Above us!” 

It appeared less like a living thing and more like a machine, flesh in the shape of a man-made bug. Its body was red, its head spiked as if it were wearing a hat. A red cap. 

It flapped its batlike wings, and cruel, curved claws were visible on its hands. 

A lesser demon. And there were two of them. This was a random encounter. 

“Are they coming?!” shouted Dwarf Shaman, giving a crack of the reins and urging the horse on. The animal whinnied, having sensed things not of this world. The clacking carriage wheels began spinning in earnest as the horse set off at full tilt. 

“Make him go faster…! No, give me the reins. You prepare your spells!” 

“All yours!” 

Nearly flinging the reins at Lizard Priest, Dwarf Shaman spun around in his seat. He was careful, of course, to hold tight to the shoulder strap of his bag of catalysts, lest it go flying away. 

“Can’t we get away?” High Elf Archer said, licking her lips as her bow sang out with arrow after arrow. 

“Don’t know about that, but—” Dwarf Shaman said. 

“We cannot risk information getting out,” Lizard Priest said with a deep nod, as calmly as if he were getting ready to eat dinner. “We must kill them here.” 

The demons appeared to have the same idea. With a rush of air, one of them dove at the carriage. As someone shouted out that initiative had been taken, there was a crash, and splinters of wood went flying. 

The demon had swiped at the carriage from behind, its claws as deadly as any weapon. 

“Ergh! Pfah!” Dwarf Shaman brushed bits of carriage out of his beard and bellowed, “If you ruin this thing, we’ll be the ones who take the blame!” 

“I shall see to the safety of the horse, so if you would be so kind…” Lizard Shaman replied. 

The next attack came from the sky as they chatted. 

A rushing dive, wings folded. High Elf Archer glowered; the creature had a moon at its back. Her ears jumped, reading the wind, her drawn bowstring creaking. 

“You stupid, stinking…!” 

“AAARREMMEERRRR?!?!” 

An otherworldly scream ensued. High Elf Archer had not missed her chance to fire. The demon, its hand nailed to the carriage by the arrow, writhed about, tearing up the wood with its claws. 

“That’ll show you!” 

The last thing the demon ever saw was an elf drawing her bow directly in front of it, the arrow tipped with a bud. 

The bowstring made a sound that would have suited a high-quality musical instrument; it launched the arrow through the demon’s eyeball and into its brain. The creature’s neck snapped backward under the force of the blow. The corpse hung limply, scraping along the ground. High Elf Archer gave a smile of appreciation for her handiwork. “That’s one down!” 

“Fine work! But as he is something of a burden, perhaps you could see him off our carriage?” 

“Yeah, sure…guh, what?!” 

In the space of an instant, several strands of High Elf Archer’s hair were caught by a claw and went dancing through the air. The monster that had come racing down had taken a swipe at her neck. High Elf Archer fell on her behind, trembling, still holding the shaft of the arrow she had pulled out. At the same moment, the dead demon slid to the ground, bouncing with a dull thump. 

“Bit of a fright, there?” 

“I’m not scared, I’m angry!” 

She bristled at the tease from Dwarf Shaman, whose hand had been ready with his bag of catalysts the entire time, then glared up at the sky. With one fewer demon corpse on board, their speed was picking up again—but it was no match for a creature with wings. 

“You, dwarf!” High Elf Archer shouted without taking her eyes off the air. “Can’t you use a spell to knock him out of the sky or something?” 

“I guess I could, in so many words…” He closed one eye and peered up, judging the speed and distance between him and the enemy. The curtain of night was powerless before the light of the moons and stars, and dwarves could see easily through darkness anyway. “It’s just that if I brought him down with a spell, he’d only get back up again.” 

“What?! Some spell caster! Stupid, stupid dwarf!” 

“Aw, quit your whinin’,” Dwarf Shaman said coldly, frowning. “They don’t move by the same laws we do. Steel and iron are the ways to deal with them.” 

“Physically, you mean. Well spoken!” Holding the reins, Lizard Priest twisted his huge jaws into a smile that reminded them of nothing so much as a shark. He seemed to do some quick calculations, then nodded in satisfaction. “Master spell caster, you say you can bring it down?” 

“I should think,” Dwarf Shaman nodded. “Not for very long, though.” 

“Then master ranger, kindly pretend you are going to take a high shot…” 

“Can do!” 

Without waiting to hear the rest of the plan, High Elf Archer loosed an arrow into the night. It was potent as magic, an arrow as only an elf could fire one, but the demon nimbly zigged out of the way. 

“Aw, damn!” High Elf Archer clicked her tongue and nocked a new arrow into her bow, drawing the string. 

“Now, then,” Lizard Priest said, tugging on the reins to slow the horse to a crawl. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to pierce him with an arrow tied to a rope?” 

“An arrow tied to a rope…?!” High Elf Archer took the rope that had been tossed onto the cargo platform, her mouth a flat line as she gazed up at the enemy. The red-skinned monster continued to beat its wings, looking for its opportunity to come at them. “Fine, I’ll do it!” 

No sooner had she spoken than she began to tie the rope to the arrow. The elf’s agile fingers had no trouble, even atop a rocking carriage. She kept her eyes and ears on the opponent, her hands moving as if someone else were controlling them. Her mouth relaxed. “You’re like a general or something,” she said. 

“You are too kind.” Lizard Priest gave a broad shake of his head. “If you must compare me to something, I am like the feather on a shaft. I only set the direction, I do not…” Before continuing, his tongue flicked out and touched the tip of his nose. “Mm,” he said at length. “To have a functioning unit, one must gather an arrow head, a shaft, a feather, a bow, and an archer.” 

Ahh. High Elf Archer smiled faintly. That was a metaphor she could understand. “I wonder if that would make me the tip. Come on, dwarf, make sure that spell’s on target!” 

“Hmph! That’s quite enough out of you!” 

As Dwarf Shaman shot back at High Elf Archer and got the enemy in his field of view, he noticed something: a single red light in the sky. It was burning in the wide, open mouth of the demon… 

“Firebolt incoming!” 

“Ahh, now !” Lizard Priest said with heartfelt joy, giving the reins a tremendous shake. The horse made an awful neigh of confusion and fear, and the carriage careened in a new direction, creaking all the while. 

Just seconds later, a beam of flame lanced down at where the carriage would have been, embers flying into the sky. The glowing light illuminated Lizard Priest’s terrible visage. 

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-haaaa! Now things have become interesting!” 

“I think you’ve mistaken our carriage for a chariot, Scaly!” 

“Indeed,” the lizard replied, provoking a “Nutter…” from Dwarf Shaman as he looked at the sky. 

The red demon appeared to be readying for another dive, now that they had evaded its trademark firebolt. 

Think it’s going to be that easy, do you? 

Dwarf Shaman bellowed at the shadow as it grew steadily larger. 

“Pixies, pixies, hurry, quickly! No sweets for you—I just need tricksies!” 

Words full of the true power to bend reality poured out, and the magic circle caught the demon cleanly. 

Normally, the creature should never have been able to escape the chains of gravity, no matter how hard it flapped its wings. Lesser demons were still demons; these monsters lived to twist the natural order. 

“ARREMERRRERRRR!!” 

The demon, which had fallen to earth, howled and flapped its wings mightily, shattering the magical bonds that held it. It would have its revenge on that dwarf, and that lizardman, and that elf. The mere thought of the blood of an ancient high elf, the smell of her liver, was enough to stoke the greed of the base creature. 

“Take this!” 

It was an arrow from that very elf that put an agonizing end to that greed. She had leaned out, bracing herself against the edge of the carriage, and ruthlessly fired a single bud-tipped bolt into the monster. 

“AREEERM?!” 

Thrashing with torment, the demon was just a bit too slow in noticing the rope tied to the arrow. And that was all the time the carriage needed to pick up speed and pull the rope taut. 

A hideous roar of despair, enough to make the blood run cold, echoed across the plain. 

The demon could not have imagined that it would be dragged across the ground behind the carriage. There was a certain pitifulness to it as it bounced along, restrained by the party as it scrabbled at the dirt and tried desperately to fly. 

Lesser demons were still strong. If the trio couldn’t control its position, it would soon have its claws in the earth, and if it could stand, it would be only a moment until was in the air. And once aloft, it would be dangerous. 

“What next?!” High Elf Archer shrieked, pulling another arrow out of her quiver. 

Lizard Priest stood easily. “We strike the finishing blow, of course.” He held one of his catalysts, a fang, pressed between his palms. “O sickle wings of velociraptor, rip and tear, fly and hunt!” A large Swordclaw grew and then sharpened in his hands. 

“What about the horse?!” But when High Elf Archer glanced back, she saw a Dragontooth Warrior with a firm grip on the reins. 

“Wait a second, Scaly,” Dwarf Shaman said, his eyes going wide. “What’s this business about the finishing blow? Y-you’re not going to—” 

“Jump? Do not be silly.” Lizard Priest shook his head with a considered motion that must have come naturally to him as a monk. “That would be ridiculous.” 

In the next instant, the carriage groaned as Lizard Priest leaped at the lesser demon. 

“O fearsome nagas! See my deeds, my great forebears!” 

“AREEERMEER?!?!” 

Claw, claw, fang, tail. He struck and slashed and tore at the demon as it struggled to resist him. The creature opened its jaws to let loose a firebolt, but Lizard Priest howled—“Grrrryaaahhh!”—and aimed a kick directly at its throat, crushing its windpipe. And then his Swordclaw found the demon’s head, lopping it off effortlessly. 

The head went rolling across the ground and disappeared into the grass. The rest of the body, still attached to the carriage, trailed a spray of bluish-purple blood. Lizard Priest, standing atop the corpse, was quite calm despite the growing amount of blood covering him; he lifted his head happily. 

“Ahh, I have earned merit this day.” 

The sun had begun to peek over the horizon, and its rays cloaked Lizard Priest with an indescribable atmosphere. 

§ 

“Look at this. Didn’t we secretly agree that we weren’t going to go against him?” 

“Ah, but betimes my blood boils.” After Lizard Priest’s straightforward answer, he gleefully raised a block of cheese in both hands. He opened his mouth and tore into it, each bite accompanied by a cry of “Sweet nectar!” and a slap of his tail on the floor. “For I am a warm-blooded creature, you see.” 

“Your jokes never make any sense to me,” Dwarf Shaman grumbled. He threw up his hands in resignation, but also to signal to the waitress that he wanted more ale. When drinking with friends, Dwarf Shaman felt it was only polite to fill his barrel of a belly as full as he could. 

“So are we all together?” 

“I don’t take your meaning.” 

“Your arrow. Arrow and bow.” 

“Ahh.” Lizard Priest swallowed the well-masticated lump of cheese with a great gulp and licked the crumbs from his lips. “The arrowhead is our ranger, the shaft that holds us together is you, master spell caster, and I am the feather…” 

“…The bow is that girl, and Beard-cutter would be the archer—is that right?” 

“Just so, just so.” 

Dwarf Shaman took the ale the waitress brought him, watching Lizard Priest nod out of the corner of his eye. He brought the brimming cup to his mouth and took a sip, then downed it in a single gulp. 

“However renowned an archer, if he shoots only at the sky he will come to harm one day.” 

“Then again, if we hunt nothing but goblins, is that good or bad?” Dwarf Shaman, red-faced, let out a burp and ran a hand through his beard to wipe off some droplets. 

“Whatever the case…” Lizard Priest began. 

“Indeed, in any case,” Dwarf Shaman concurred. 

“It is a fine party.” 

“No complaints here.” 

Lizard Priest smiled with his great jaws, and Dwarf Shaman let out a rumbling belly laugh. The two of them took the fresh cups that had been brought to them, and smacked them together. 

“To good friends.” 

“To good companions in battle.” 

“To good adventures!” 

Hear, hear! By the time the cups had been raised three times, they were empty. 

How many times do we meet, and part? 

Some vanish, to ash, as we must 

With the hope of reunion does each journey start 

Like flipping a page that is turning to dust 

Remember the legend who trained many years? 

What was his name? Now I cannot recall 

You realize too late, now he’s no longer here 

And though we have partings and meetings withal 

Each such encounter is once, and that’s all. 

So night deepened for the adventurers.