(Book One Complete!) Friendly Neighbourhood Goblin (Mercenary Company LitRPG)

36 - The Iron Fleece



Stump's bones shook as the low hum of the parting city gates rolled across the bridge.

He and Denna had been inching forward for the last hour, caught behind a cart smelling of fermented skybloom and glowcap resin, and in front of a grummox saddled with clanking pottery. The guards—members of the Auber Watch, a gold company—patrolled back and forth, barking orders that were drowned out by the rush of the Brightwater.

They're almost all tall men, Stump realized, looking up and down the line of merchants, craftsmen and farmers. Many of them glared back with narrowed eyes, but he was quick to break their gaze. He shuffled closer to Denna.

"Are there any goblins in the city?" he asked.

She smiled down at him. "Today there's one."

It was meant as a comfort, but Stump couldn't help but feel the way he had during that first visit to the Knight Inn, swallowed by a world he'd only heard tales of and populated by people he'd been told his whole life were enemies.

The guards ushered the line forward, sizing up carts and marking down their wares in a huge tome on a pedestal outside the Mud Gate. Denna, being the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in the city and a member of the Iron Fleece, was led through without resistance.

"Keep an eye on your goblin," was the only warning she was given.

Stump craned his neck as they passed beneath the portcullis, and felt an excited unease settle in his chest. He'd wanted to see the city since he first spotted its shadowy walls from outside the Downs.

A wide square opened up before them. Carts. Animals. Beggars. Sellers. It was a chaotic brew not unlike the tumult of Penny Square, but this was twice the size and centred by a tall shining statue of someone Stump imagined to have been important long ago.

The whole place looked like it had been carved out of a mountain. Fitted stones beneath their feet baked in the orange light, stone buildings rose like spires above the crowd, and paved streets curled off the square, winding through valleys flanked by even more buildings, each one as tall or taller than the Cantankerous Tankard.

"Even the roads are made of stone?" Stump said, but his voice was lost in the clamour. He grabbed Denna's hand as she shouldered through the Mud Gate chaos and broke off down a narrow, quieter alley.

"That's always been my least favourite gate," Denna said once they were away from the noise. "If we have time after our meeting I can take you to Breakpoint Terrace where my family's estate is. It's really quite beautiful."

Stump nodded along, but his attention was snared by the sights around them. A wooden overhang jutted above the double-door entryway to a three storey building. It was draped in vines and leaves and fastened with glass jars flickering with fireflies. A large metal sign hung above the entrance read "LUMINARY TOMES" in a beautiful curvy font that glowed purple and gold.

Farther down the street the smell of cinnamon wafted through the foggy panes of a bakery, its lettering also flaring with the preserved mycolight of fungal pigments. Chairs and tables of a tavern spilled into the street, where patrons clanked their glasses beneath multicoloured lights, similar to the lanterns in the Downs, but instead of beds of glowcaps in thin paper, floating balls of light were encased in glass.

Lumens, he realized. But who's controlling them?

The road fed into a larger thoroughfare cutting along the edge of a wide plaza, at the opposite end of which stood trees that normally only thrived outside the Shadowlands. Lumens winked between them like low-lying constellations.

"A whole forest?" he breathed, straining to catch a glimpse through the amorphous crowd. "Inside the city?"

"A garden," Denna said absentmindedly. She glanced back and forth down the street and urged Stump forward after a group of horses trotted by. "Tended by the Amber Bastion."

They flowed with the current of people as the road turned and curved and forked into smaller arteries. Brightly lit cobblers and tailors stood between apothecaries and haberdasheries, each one's signage more ornate and colourful than the last. Retaining a glowcap's light after turning it into paint was a rare occurrence in the Downs, but in Aubany it was a banality.

And along every street stood lampposts housing lumens, each one strikingly similar in colour.

"Why are they all yellow?" said Stump.

"They coordinate the work day. Right now we're halfway through briskwatch, the busiest hour of the morning. The Amber Bastion controls them too."

They must be a powerful company, he thought, awestruck.

Eventually the crowds thinned, and after many minutes walking largely uphill the buildings changed shape. They were larger, more spaced apart, and despite the constant gloom, they were surrounded by carefully trimmed greenery.

The bright honey yellow lanterns had shifted to a slightly whiter tone, like sunbaked ivory, announcing the end of briskwatch and the start of highflare.

"Here we are," said Denna, stopping in front of one of the largest buildings Stump had ever seen. Heavy wooden doors were wedged between marble columns and blocked by a pair of guards draped in blue and green. Massive windows ejected beams of warm light onto stone terraces on the higher floors, and a variety of colourful banners rippled gently in the wind.

"Here?" Stump wondered, gazing in awe. "This is a guildhall?" He imagined if the Knight Inn were erected next door its two floors and basement wouldn't reach the second storey.

Denna, sensing his apprehension, chuckled. "It's a bit overdone, I know. It's what all the gold company halls are like."

Before the doors could shut behind them, a servant scuttled over and offered to hold onto Stump's cloak while inside the hall. He politely refused, and the well dressed greeter turned his nose up and glared at the tattered state of his attire.

"Very well," trilled the servant. "Master Torrig has been expecting you. Right this way." He made an exaggerated gesture to a second set of doors at the other end of the foyer, between two staircases curving to a mezzanine.

This is a real company hall, thought Stump. All the minor upgrades and furnishings he imagined for the Knight Inn—another chair, more glowcap lighting, a wider table to accommodate his map—fell away as he craned his neck to gaze on the tapestries coloured across the thirty foot high ceiling.

As they moved through the interior he realized the street facing facade was comparably modest. Rooms led to rooms led to rooms led to rooms. They turned left, then right, then left again. There were doors every which way. One led to a small library, another to a lounging area, and another still led outside to a training ground alive with the clamour of sparring knights. The servant guided them through a courtyard with a gently humming pool, where Stump figured they'd reached the other end of the hall, only for them to enter another doorway leading back inside.

Finally they came to a windowless chamber with an oak table long enough to have once been an entire tree. An array of grizzled figures hunched over it glanced up at Stump's entrance.

"Ah, Denna," said the dwarf in the middle, who was the only one sitting. He stood and smiled. "I see you've brought your friend. Please, leave us," he added, turning to the assembled group. Most of them were armoured, and the underdressed ones wore overcoats brandishing the colours of their company. They scurried like mice out of a variety of doorways, leaving just the three of them.

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"Torrig," Denna said from across the table. She dipped her head slightly. Stump did the same. "This is Stump, of the Nobodies."

"Please, please, come a little closer so we don't have to shout," said Torrig, waving them over. Stump strained to peek at the table as they crossed the room and saw an enormous colourful map with dozens of pins staked into points of interest.

"Stump." Torrig said the name like it was an amusement. "I've heard of the charming names goblins give each other, only I wasn't sure if it was rumour or not." He sighed into a chair and rested an arm on the table.

At a closer glance, Torrig was old. He was bald, and had a well-groomed white beard from ear to ear. Despite his age, his arms were thick and his chest wide, but his deliberate movements suggested he was fighting his body every step of the way.

Stump couldn't help but gawk. He wanted to speak, to say something, but what? He'd never met a mercenary of such high rank before. "Yes," he managed. "It's true, I mean. My name is Stump."

Idiot. Is that the best you can do?

Torrig nodded politely. "Have a seat, please." After Stump climbed into a chair, the leader of the Iron Fleece went on. "I owe you my thanks. Without you we may have been down another member." He gestured to Denna.

Stump nearly blushed. "Oh, it was nothing," he said. "I had some help."

"Still, I heard you rid Seabrace of their ghost problem? Quite a way to start your career. Keep up that sort of thing and you'll hit copper before the month is out."

Stump nodded, but the words caught in his throat. It was overwhelming enough being in the hall of a company so far beyond his own, but to be complemented by its leader left him dumbstruck. "Uh… thank you. I hope things continue the way they have been."

Torrig drummed his fingers on the table. "Now," he said, quickly switching topics. "I don't want to keep you all day. I'm sure you've got your company to manage. What's this Denna's told me of the badge you found?"

Without hesitation Stump reached into his pocket and retrieved it. He held it like it was an artefact, a jewel taken from a dragon's hoard. Torrig plucked it out of his hand like it was a soaked dish rag.

"He was part of a group of six or seven, escorting a young man in a wagon, when my tribe—my old tribe attacked them," Stump began. Torrig took his eyes off the badge and watched him carefully. "But it wasn't my—the tribe that killed him. It was the man. I think. He had a magical book and cast a spell or… or something. There was an explosion, and they all died."

Torrig considered the tale with a studied frown. "All except you," he observed.

"Well—" Stump choked on his sudden urge to swallow. "It's a long story, but… I wasn't very good at raids. At being a goblin. In my—in the tribe. The matrons recommended me—matrons are the female leaders of a tribe, you see, and—"

"It's alright," Torrig cut him off, his expression softening. "If I'd thought you were an enemy to my people we'd be having this conversation in a very different manner," he said, and chuckled.

The joke landed more barbed than Torrig likely intended. Stump awkwardly laughed it off. "I just wanted to return it. You could say that badge is what inspired me to become a mercenary."

"Ah. Did you find the other badges?"

"The other… no, there wasn't much left after the explosion. Garron, your knight, he was lucky not to die right away, I think."

Torrig's eyes flashed briefly at Denna. "Shame," he said. "But we know who they were, at least." He reached behind him and dropped a small pouch on the table, its opening tied shut with string. It had the bulge characteristic of coins. "It's not a large sum, I'm afraid, but knowing the challenges of the penny companies, five silver should be a fine reward for your help here today."

Stump had to stop himself from reaching hungrily for it. "I didn't expect… I… thank you. It means more than you know."

"We'll need more details of where this ambush took place," Torrig went on, rising to his feet. He moseyed around the table, scanning the map. "I imagine it must not be far east, I presume, beyond the Bright Queen's shroud. But we've heard recent reports of raids reaching further than we're used to. Could you mark it down here?"

Stump had to stand on the chair for a better view, but it didn't make much of a difference. He'd barely even begun to parse his own much smaller map. "Right," he said, clearing his throat. "I think… somewhere here."

He circled a vague area east of Aubany and through the forest his kind called The Shadowlands.

"Here?" Torrig asked, holding a pin over a road that meandered to a city called Nevae.

Stump nodded hesitantly. "Or around there. It's hard to know, goblins don't use maps."

That drew a laugh out of the leader of the Iron Fleece. "Of course not," he said. "Here I was imagining a table much like this, presided over by a council of goblins in a cave, eh?" He set the pin aside and turned to Denna. "Looks like we'll have to venture out and find this spot ourselves."

"I could find it fairly easily, though," Stump added before Denna could reply. "I know it's through the Shadowlands—uh… the woods, I mean. Our cave wasn't far beyond it. And from there I could find the road. The exact spot."

Torrig paused. He chuckled dryly and looked at Denna for instruction. When she gave none, and her own confused glance mirrored Stump's, Torrig went on. "I think not," he said hesitantly. "Again, I cannot begin to thank you enough for your help today."

An awkward pause simmered. Denna was the first to break it. "Master Torrig? I only thought… wouldn't it make sense to bring him along?" she said.

"I can show you where it is," Stump repeated. "I might even be taking on a quest out there, at Peaktree Manor. Maybe we could help each other?"

The leader's eyes moved from Stump to Denna and then back again. He rested his hands on the map, and when he smiled, his eyes did not. "I apologize, but there seems to have been an error of communication," he said carefully. "Your insight has proven invaluable, but the Iron Fleece will handle it from here."

"I don't understand," said Stump. He exchanged a wordless look with Denna. "I can help you."

"Look," Torrig said a little more harshly. "You're one of the good ones, you've shown that clearly. But it wouldn't be…" he looked to the ceiling as if the words he needed would be dangling from the chandelier. "It wouldn't be proper."

One of the good ones?

"Proper?" Denna blurted. "Respectfully sir, but we wouldn't have found out about Garron at all if it wasn't for Stump."

"And he has been duly compensated for that information," Torrig said. His cheeks flared red.

"But it's not reasonable, it's short-sighted," Denna went on, standing. "What if we went out there and—"

"Denna you will mind your tongue," Torrig spat. "Question where you would be if it wasn't for the name of your family before you part with the words in your throat."

The leader of the Iron Fleece stepped back and breathed deep with closed eyes, then addressed Stump directly. "I mean this as no personal insult to you, nor does it reflect my own views. But it would not be looked on kindly if we were to march our own alongside the company of a goblin. Perhaps an exception could be made if yours was the rank of silver, or maybe bronze. But penny?"

All respect Stump had held for the master of the Iron Fleece whisked out of the room in an instant. He was a goblin, and nothing would ever change that, but Torrig was an asshole, and that was a choice. It was proof of the leader's weakness that he hadn't already changed it.

Tenet of Lumensa Fulfilled - Virtue +1 (6/9).

"I see," was all Stump could muster.

Torrig nodded, the crimson draining from his face. "I'm glad you understand. Again, I thank you—"

"From thread to thread we defend," Stump said sharply.

Torrig's eyebrows met above his nose. "Sorry?"

Stump's heart was pounding. Embrace it. "Your words. The ones on the badge in your hand, the ones on your coat, the ones hung from every banner in your hall. Those words."

The leader stared blankly, his lips forming around a reply he couldn't quite shape. "What about them?" he finally said.

Garron would be rolling in his armour, Stump thought. Or maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he'd approve of all of this. He shuffled off his seat and made to cross the room.

"You're forgetting something," Torrig called after him. Stump turned back to see the pouch of silver still on the table. "I want to ensure there's no bad blood between us."

Stump looked at the pouch for a long time. He wanted to push it away, throw it at Torrig's chest the way he'd tossed the silver at Sylas. He wanted to stand on his own, tell himself he didn't need it, didn't want it from someone who couldn't respect him. He'd storm out with his head held high.

Instead Stump snatched the pouch, and without a word of thanks he headed for the door.

"One more thing," Torrig said.

Stump stopped, but he didn't turn.

"That quest you mentioned. Peaktree Manor. How much does it pay?" the leader asked.

Stump hesitated, cradling the silver against his chest. "Why?"

"I'll pay you another five silver for it."

His ears perked. "Why?" he asked again, more curiously.

"Call it a referral fee. Five silver if you send the quest giver our way. And you won't have to spare your members or lift a finger to earn it."

Stump already felt grimy for accepting the glimmer. Another five and he'd be positively filthy. Five silver, though. He'd be up ten in one day without taking on a single quest. He could put that glimmer towards so many things it was hard to know where to begin.

"It's a good offer," said Torrig.

"I…" Stump began, refusing to disarm his acid tone.

"This is our hill, as the Iron Fleece. Our sort of quest. I'm not sure what your company stands for, but with the coin I offer you can buy a hill of your own. You can build it, raise it from the earth and stake your banner, and look on down as your company rises above the rest."

It was a relief to cross the Brightwater again.

The gates groaned shut as he left the shadow of the walls and Denna behind. He made his way into the Downs once more, with its unpaved streets and dilapidated holdings, and its many monstrous races milling about without so much as a suspicious glance in his direction.

A comfort rushed over him, carried on a salty breeze. It was warm. Like Reema. Like the Knight Inn. And as he arrived and swaggered down the basement steps, Morg was there to greet him.

Whatever words were forming on the dwarf's tongue faltered at the clink of glimmer. He looked down at the pouch Stump had tossed onto the desk, its string pulled open, silver sparkling within.

"Them Iron Fleeces must be fond o' ye," The dwarf said, reaching for it.

"We're taking that quest," Stump said, matter-of-factly. He stood just outside the edge of fungal light.

Morg fished the silver into his hand coin by coin with a hungry smile. "Quest?" he said, looking up.

Stump stepped into the glow. "Peaktree Manor. I don't care if it's just you and me. Mark it in the book. We're taking it."


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