This is the third post in Fiction Week here at The Gamer Dome (see Excerpt One and Excerpt Two), so read on and enjoy, and then come back each day this week to read a new excerpt from a different story. On Friday, let your voice be heard as you vote for your favorite story, which I’ll continue to write, hopefully substantially, over the Christmas holidays.

Thanks!

Propagandroid

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I hope you’re enjoying these excerpts so far, and today I decided to lighten the mood with a little comedy. The following story began as an idea I had to co-write something with a friend. We would each write a section and then bounce it to the other, who would then write the next section. It was low stress, no deadlines, but it never got past my first section there. So, I picked it back up myself and added a second character to follow.

Please enjoy this long excerpt from a story I call “Hench.”

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Ever since his father had sent him to Henchman Academy, Borb had mistaken disappointment for pride.

The look on his father’s face as the wagon pulled away with young Borb in the rear was seared into his mind. And why not? He had seen that look many times since…from his instructors, from his coworkers, from his fellow henchlets, and even from the priest that tended their minds, bodies, and souls.

At the moment, however, that look was not present on the face of the Head Hench. No, Head Hench was overjoyed as he handed an embroidered torch strap—the symbol of graduation—to Borb, who looked as cluelessly happy as ever.

Borb was the oldest member of the graduating class by some four years. It wasn’t that Borb had come late to the school; he had come at the right age. It simply took him longer to grasp the rudimentary skills needed to wear the Hastrap and be a certified henchmen. Ironically, it had been torchbearing that had taken the young man the longest to master, only just having passed the exam last fall at the age of twenty-one.

Torchbearing! Carry a torch. Don’t drop it, or douse it, or use it to scratch your arse. Borb learned this last lesson well after being forced to wear the scorched and tattered pants for a week. The list of things not to do with a torch had grown twice as long thanks to Borb, possibly his greatest contribution to the Academy.

So it was that Head Hench smiled at Borb as he walked toward him, flanked by wooden benches that were filled with faculty and non-graduating henchlets. When Borb made it to him (miraculously without incident, Head Hench thought), he addressed him personally. “Well Borb, we…err, you made it through,” was the best he could muster as a tribute.

He then turned his face toward the assembled throng. “Let it be known that on this day, I, the Head Hench, do send forth Borb to provide aid and succor to those brave adventurers and heroes who bring glory to our kingdom.” He once again looked down at Borb as his assistant placed a Hastrap in his hand. “Borb, carry this Hastrap into the darkest of dungeons with honor, skill, and an everburning desire to serve. You, Borb, are a Henchman!”

Such was Borb’s bliss that he didn’t register the giggles and jeers that were his applause. He beamed up at the Head Hench, who gave him a hasty “shoo” gesture.

That’s odd, thought Head Hench as Borb turned and walked off toward the other celebrating graduates. Why does he look so disappointed?

* * * * * * *

“Everyone knows you tell bossman the good news first, because he might blow you up after hears the bad news.” Snit assumed an air of importance and wisdom, at least what he imagined was the air of someone who exhibited those traits as a matter of course. “That’s why you don’t go to him alone, either. He only kills one at a time when he’s mad.”

A young goblin looked at Snit as he dispensed his advice. His brow was furrowed and his eyes bulged even more than goblin eyes normally bulge. Little did he know that Snit was telling him the honest truth, for goblins aren’t known for their honesty when dealing with one another.

Goblin society had been built up over millennia around two central principles: serving evil masters, and being the last one to die. The first principle was simple: there was never a shortage of evil masters, or people willing to take advantage of the goblin credo. (It’s not as if the goblins can sense evil, either, they just assume it when circumstances warrant. This has led to some rather embarrassing misunderstandings between zealous goblin followers and non-evil masters, but those are tales for another time.)

The second principle is a lot trickier. Goblins tend to lack common sense, physical acuity, and organizational skills. In a cruel twist of fate, they are blessed with perhaps the greatest memories of any of the races, but their penchant for violent death and hyperactive attention disorder really puts a damper on that talent. In addition, because of their fecundity and desire to serve, their evil masters are not afraid to throw them carelessly at a problem until it is solved or he runs out of goblins.

None of this was revealed in Snit’s lesson, however, as goblins are completely unaware that they have a racial history, much less that it includes these two principles that, unseen and unknown, guide their actions. The young goblin took in every word that came out of Snit’s mouth, and even scooped up a glob of spit that had splattered nearby while Snit was ranting about their current evil master. One never knows what’s part of the lesson and what isn’t.

“Well, are you coming?” Snit asked impatiently.

The young goblin was contemplating the mucous on his fingers rather than listening to Snit’s final warning (it probably wasn’t important anyway). Nevertheless, he stood up and wiped his hand in his pocket. “Sure,” he croaked, unsurely.

The two goblins squeezed their way out of the warren that honeycombed the walls of the castle’s dungeon and plopped out onto the hard, wet stone floor. A miserable looking human sat behind a table across the room. His sand-pale skin shone like a lantern from behind the tattered black leather smock hanging loosely from his shoulders. He looked up wearily and shivered in a way that made Snit think he was about to fall apart like an old skeleton. He opened his mouth as if to make some remark, but all he managed was a cough that belched forth an icy cloud of vapor…or it might have just been dust.

Snit motioned the other goblin forward and past the old man, finally coming to the stairwell that led up to the ground floor.  The stairs were cut for a human, which meant that a goblin could neither step up nor climb them very easily—a sort of loping scramble was the best they could manage.

The two goblins found themselves in one of the castle’s largest corridors. People were coming and going quickly, heads bent in silence so as to avoid drawing too much attention. All were wearing heavy clothing to ward off the winter chill, something the goblins couldn’t feel through their thick hide.

“You there, watch out!” came a voice from directly above them. An armored human nearly bowled Snit and his apprentice over, and as they dodged him they found themselves confronted with an entire formation of marching soldiers. Snit, who was used to the humans paying no mind to goblins, flattened himself against the wall and waited until they passed. The sound of their boots on the cold stone faded as they turned a corner and were gone.

Snit looked around for his protégé, but he was nowhere to be seen. Determined not to deliver his news alone, he ran up and down the hallway searching this way and that. “Where’s have you got off to now?”

“Sniiiiiit!” came a wailing cry from down one of the corridors.

Snit’s first instinct was to run as far away from the noise as possible, as being implicated in whatever trouble was happening was not on today’s menu. But he knew that if he did that, he’d have to face his evil master alone, so he skulked from shadow to shadow and made his way toward the wailing.

One of the armored humans that had passed them by was in the middle of the corridor kicking his leg back and forth. “Damn goblins, should stay down in the dungeons where you belong.”

There, hanging onto the leg for dear life, was Snit’s protégé, frozen in terror and unable to do anything but wail.

Snit was mortified. How could this have happened? All they had to do was deliver the news and then get back to the warrens without dying, but now it looked like they were going to fail at the latter before even attempting the news! He watched the guard kicking for a few seconds and then timed a leap. If he had hoped to extract his young minion easily, he was quickly disabused of the notion as he landed on the human’s other leg, clutching it in a similar fashion.

“What the…?” was all the guard could manage before the added weight of the second goblin caused him to lose his balance and fall to the floor with a clatter. The two goblins rolled across the hall, and Snit got them both up and running before the guard had finished his first string of curses.

The two hurtled down the hall at top speed, literally bouncing off the walls in order to turn corners without slowing down. Snit looked over his shoulder a couple of times, expecting to see humans chasing them, but none ever appeared. Satisfied that they were safe for the moment, he hurled himself at his partner, fists flying.

“Snit, wait!” Smack. “I didn’t mean to…” Thud. Whap. The younger goblin could do nothing but defend himself until Snit ran out of energy. After his punches lost strength, Snit swung his knee into his victim’s stomach a couple of times for good measure. Then he rolled off onto his back, breathing hard.

“Are you trying…to get us killed?” Snit asked between sucking breaths. “I told you…to get out of the way…when those types were coming!”

His young protégé looked at him silently.

“Stop, drop, and roll!” said Snit, sitting up and looking like he was ready to have another go.

“Sorry Snit, I do better, just give me a chance!” The young goblin looked frightened, but Snit didn’t budge. “I make it up to you, bring you dinner tonight! Anything you want!”

This seemed to Snit to be a fair recompense for almost getting them killed. Rustling up food took up so much of a goblin’s free time he had little time for anything else. “Alright,” he said, “but when we see the evil master, you better just stand there and not get us in any more trouble!”

As it happened, they had tumbled right in front of the evil master’s door, and he had overheard their conversation after being awoken from his nap by the racket. “What exactly,” he said, lingering on those words menacingly, “is it you have to tell me that would get you into trouble?”

“Oh evil master, nothing to make you mad,” Snit groveled from his knees. “I have such very good news for you, and then he has some minor bad news for you after that.” He pointed to his young protégé, who was so enraptured by the evil master’s presence that all he could manage was to reach in his pocket and offer up the gooey spit he’d saved from the lesson.

Snit smacked the younger goblin’s hand, wiped off the resulting mess, and started his report. “I am very pleased to report that the Grand Orb has been found. The goblins had it in their hands just three days ago.”

“Had it in their hands?” said the increasingly peeved evil master. His face was turning red, not from boiling blood, but from the fire magic building toward an explosion.

“Master, master wait!” Snit screamed. “That’s the good news!” He kicked his young protégé, indicating that now was the time for him to chime in with the bad news. The evil master’s rage seemed to be on hold as his attention turned toward the little green monster.

What happened next seemed to take only about a second and a half in Snit’s mind. His protégé blurted out, “but-then-we-lost-it-to-those-adventurers-from-last-month-that-are-always-ruining-your-plans.” The evil master’s face skipped red, blue, and all the other colors, going straight to white, and a gout of flame erupted from the floor beneath the young goblin, splattering him on the ceiling and raining guts down everywhere.

“Get out!” yelled the evil master, “get out and do not ever let me see you again!”

These were the greatest words Snit had ever heard; never seeing him again meant never worrying about dying in a gruesome manner. Now his only worry would be dinner, which the young goblin was no longer there to provide. Or could he? Snit scooped up a handful of the guts that covered his shoulder and sniffed them tentatively.

Ah, yes, fresh and tender…it was a good day to be a goblin.