Malcolm shuffled his shoes in the grass, picking at them for the thousandth time. The thick leather of his new boots hugged his feet too tight. A few stray blades of grass poked under the hem of his pants and tickled his ankles.

On her podium, Queen Estrellia droned on, reading the seemingly endless names and accomplishments of each nobleman and noblewoman who had contributed in some way to the war effort. Behind her, the empty rolling hills stretched out, disappearing over the horizon.

Sven solemnly strocked his empty scabbard, running his fingers along the sewn leather edges. Small tearstains streaked the leather, leaving long dark stripes. Malcolm could feel the Goblin’s pain. In weeks since the battle, Sven had returned several times to the Tribes’ camp, spending hours combing through the ashes for his beloved blade. Not a trace of it or the remains of Armedious had survived.

Noticing Malcolm’s gaze, Sven straightened up in his chair. Ahead of him, the rows of courtiers shuffled quietly, occasionally clapping as Estrellia read off a particularly enormous contribution.

“How much longer must I be sittin’ here?” Sven groaned. “I don’t be carin’ about these humans!”

Malcolm hushed the Toe Goblin, nodding an apology to the row in front of them. “Not much longer,” he whispered back. “She just started the U’s.” Sven rolled his eyes, picking at a wad of grass.

“There be too many humans here,” he stated. “When we be leavin’, I don’t be wantin’ to be seein’ another nasty human.” He chucked the grass behind him, narrowly missing a minor noble.

Malcolm stifled a chuckle. “How about we go East? Maybe we can check out the islands off the coast?”

“Do there be humans?” Sven asked. “And will they be takin’ my knife?” He sniffled, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

Malcolm shrugged. “Not many people live there. Mostly just loners, or small fishing villagers. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

Sven grinned. He opened his mouth to respond, but a wave of applause cut him off. Estrellia had finished her list. She straightened her gold and purple gown, fluffing out the hem. The crown atop her head shone, reflecting points of light around the field.

Estrellia cleared her throat, scanning the audience. “Before we can fully begin tonight’s festivities, we must acknowledge the contributions of two individuals. Not only did they succeeded in eliminating our traitorous former prince, they also crippled his forces in the process. It is through their incredible planning and great personal sacrifices that we have persevered.” Another round of applause rose from the crowd, slowly swelling.

Malcolm tried to shrink into his seat, avoiding the gaze of those around him. Beside him, Sven glared at Estrellia angrily. He shoved the sheath back into a pouch, almost popping a stitch.

The Queen cleared her throat. “It is with great honor that I introduce… Malcolm Worm-Slayer and Sven of the Toe Goblins!” She gestured for them to take the podium beside her.

Reluctantly, Malcolm hauled Sven out of his seat, pushing the Toe Goblin along ahead of him. The crowd stared at the small creature apprehensively, many clutching their decorated ornamental daggers. Sven leered at the nobles, revealing a row of crooked teeth. He reached into a pouch to retrieve out a severed toe, but Malcolm slapped his hand away. “Do not anger them!” He whispered. Sven sighed, closing his lips.

After an agonizing walk, they reached the podium. Estrellia smiled at Sven kindly, wrapping the Goblin up in a hug. He squirmed in her grasp, reaching for his empty sheath. After a few seconds, he managed to pull away, running to take shelter beside Malcolm. He quietly snarled at the Queen.

Estrellia turned back to the crowd. “It is my honor to present these individuals with several mere tokens of our endless appreciation!” A smattering of applause rose from the crowd as Estrellia opened a compartment in the podium.

She handed Sven a large bundle. It clinked in the Goblin’s arms as he unwrapped the cloth. A few dozen small knives, of every conceivable shape, size, and style glinted in the mid morning light. “Our smiths caught wind of your loss,” Estrellia explained. “And they each forged a blade for you.”

Sven grinned, letting a single tear of joy roll down his cheek. “They be sharp,” he muttered, rubbing a finger along their edges. “Perfect for stabbin’ humans who be huggin’ me.” Estrellia took a step back, reaching for a hidden dagger. “Do not be worryin’ your majesticness,” Sven added. “These knives be payin’ for your huggin’.”

Estrellia let out a faint sigh of relief. She reached into the compartment again, pulling out a rolled parchment. She handed it to Malcolm. “Show this scroll to a groom at the stable. You shall each have a steed of your choice. Malcolm, if you so choose, there are also instructions for our quartermaster. There is a suit of our finest armor ready at your whim, as well as any other items you may require.”

“You are too…” Malcolm began, clutching the scroll tight. The Queen cut him off with a wave. From within a fold of her robes, she pulled out a jingling coin purse.

“This should contain enough gold for a few years. If you require more, my treasury is open.” She pressed the purse into Malcolm’s hand, making sure he tucked it away securely.

“You really don’t need to do all of this,” Malcolm said, bowing slightly. “Sven and I should be repaying you. After the damage the Toe-Worm caused and all the lies we told…”

Estrellia scoffed, letting out a gentle chuckle. “While I may not be entirely pleased with the information you withheld, I cannot deny what you have accomplished. This is the least I can do.”

Sven grinned, looking up from his knives. His eyes sparkled with a childish joy. “You be the most majestic of the Queens.”

Blushing, Estrellia turned back to the crowd. “Thank you all for attending today’s ceremonies!” The crowd clapped. “You are all much too kind!” she called, silencing the crowd. “Please, go enjoy the festivities, I implore you!” Immediately, the spectators stood up, forming a neat line as they streamed back to Bullhaven. On the edge of town, large festival tents and merchant booths covered the fields. Crowds of townsfolk streamed from tent to tent, carefully judging the wares and games. The faint clank of steel and a roar of shouts drifted across the fields as the jousting tournament began.

“I really am sorry about Armedious,” Malcolm said, watching the spectators leave. “I can’t imagine how hard this all was for you.

Estrellia tried to smile weakly, but a single tear ran down her cheek. “Let us not dwell on such topics. The festival has begun!” Seeing the hesitation in Malcolm and Sven, she shooed them toward the town. “As your Queen, I order you to attend. It is about time you had some fun.”

Sven cackled as he chucked another of his new knives. The blade hit dead center of the wooden target with a thump, breaking off several splinters.

“Yer cheatin!” the merchant cried, sliding the knife back across the table, along with three gold coins. “Take off that mask and hood! I need to be seein’ yer face!”

Sven chuckled, rippling the white leather of his mask. He tossed a coin back as payment for the next round. In quick succession, three of his knives hit the target, squeezing into the small bull’s eye. “Best be handin’ over the coins!” He cried, waving another dagger. The man reluctantly slid the payment over. Sven reached to pay for another round, but Malcolm stopped him.

“Come on,” he muttered, flashing a smile at the merchant. “You’re drawing a crowd.” Townsfolk glanced at Sven apprehensively, keeping their children close. The Goblin’s white mask shone in the dim torchlight, making the painted-on grin visible. Sven hastily tucked his bundle of knives into his belt, and deposited the gold into his purse.

Malcolm guided Sven through the crowd, keeping a firm hand on the Goblin’s shoulder. “How much did you win?” he asked. Sven grinned, pulling out a handful of coins.

“All that nasty man was havin’!”

Malcolm laughed. He checked his pocket for what felt like the thousandth time, reaching for the scroll. He breathed a sigh of relief as his hands closed around the parchment. As they passed a crowded booth, Sven whipped his head around, staring at the wares.

“Be right back. Don’t be waitin’ for me!” He shouted, pulling loose from Malcolm’s grasp. He darted away into the crowd.

“Sven!” Malcolm shouted, jumping to see over the heads of the festival-goers. The Goblin’s white mask flashed for a second in the crowd before disappearing behind the sea of legs.

Sighing, Malcolm wandered to a random booth, looking over the wares. A small merchant, his fingers scarred and callused, was busy folding leather sheets. Behind him, a curtain cut off the back of the stall. He glanced up as Malcolm approached, eyeing him carefully. Countless painted leather patches lined the shop front, tacked to every possible surface. Royal banners, swords, animals, and exotic creatures glinted in the light, swaying with each gust of light breeze.

Malcolm thought for a second, counting out a few coins from his purse. The merchant grinned, reaching out expectantly. “Two please, sir.”

“The names Letto, and welcome to Letto’s Leathers! Which of my fine wares has caught your eye today?” the merchant said, counting the coins. “Would you like something you see here, or do you need something fresh? New and unique? Never done before?”

Malcolm smirked. “Yes, actually. Can you do toes?”

The merchant blinked a few times, processing the request. “Of course! That should only take a moment!” Deep in thought, he disappeared behind the curtain. For the next several minutes, the sound of snipping and painting drifted through the cloth. At last, the man emerged, blowing on two small leather patches to dry the paint.

“Truly an unusual request,” he commented, passing Malcolm the wares. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure of hearing that one before.”

Nodding his thanks, Malcolm looked over the patches. About the size of his palm, they were simply, toes. Better than I expected, he thought. The lines were nice and crisp, and few stray bits of leather hung to the edges of the pieces. The merchant had used a white paint for the nails, and left the rest of the leather its natural color.

“What you be havin’ there?” Sven asked, appearing from behind Malcolm’s legs.

“Where did you go?!” Malcolm cried, pulling his hands away. The Goblin stared at him sheepishly, hiding something under his cloak.

“I was seein’ this at a booth and was thinkin’ you might be likin’ it.” He pulled out a long tube of rough tan cloth, tightly stuffed with goose feathers.

“Is that a stuffed Toe-Worm?” Malcolm asked, taking the tube. It was about as long as one of his arms. On one end, rings of stitching created the illusion of teeth. Alternating rings of different fabrics gave the Toe-Worm a ribbed look.

Under his mask, Sven grinned, poking the stuffed worm. “Do you be likin’ it? I was namin’ it Worm.”

Malcolm hugged the gift tight. “Its… wonderful.” He suddenly remembered the patches in his hand. “I actually have something for you!” He handed Sven one of the leather pieces. “I thought these could be like our emblem.”

Wordlessly, Sven pulled a small pin from a pouch and stuck the patch to his cloak. “It be beautiful,” he muttered, straightening the leather. Grabbing Malcolm’s patch, he pinned it to the human’s tunic, right above the heart. “Now we be matchin’!” He exclaimed proudly.

Malcolm tightened the last strap on his saddlebags. He gave the whole apparatus a shake. His new armor clinked in its wrappings, and the bow and three full quivers rattled. The sack of salted pork thumped softly. Beside the saddle, a scabbard slapped against the side of the chestnut mare, making the horse flinch.

“It’s ok…” Malcolm muttered, patting his steed. The horse flicked its ears forwards, nuzzling his hand. “Are you done yet?” Malcolm called, listening behind him.

Sven grunted under his mask, struggling with one foot in the stirrup. “This beast don’t be doin’ what I be wantin’!” His black pony snorted, its eyes twinkling mischievously. It flicked its tail at Sven, hitting the Goblin in the back of the head.

Reaching over, Malcolm gave Sven’s leg a boost, helping him into the saddle. Sven shifted around, getting comfortable. He had lashed his bundle of knives to the pommel of the saddle, where they clinked softly against his legs.

“Ready.” Sven said, giving the pony a pat. It flicked him again, stamping a hoof.

Malcolm swung his leg over, gathering the reins in his hands. Giving the horses flank a tap with his heels to begin a walk, he carefully navigated through the narrow opening of the stables and out into the Bullhaven streets. The cobblestones clacked under his horses hooves, echoing around the empty street. Beside him, Sven fumbled along, mumbling at his pony. “Walk horse!” he shouted, gently pressing with his feet. The horse huffed, speeding up slightly.

“Have you named it yet?” Malcolm asked. He scratched his own chestnut mount. “She’s Bronzy.”

Sven thought for a second, pulling alongside Malcolm. “I was thinkin’ about Toe-Pony,” The horse gave her head a shake, jingling the halter. Sven grinned, giving Toe-Pony a pat. “She be likin’ it!”

The pair rode on, letting the horses guide themselves through the narrow streets. The majority of the soldiers had pulled out of the town, leaving a strange quiet. The doors of the pubs and inns swung open, revealing the nearly empty dining rooms. The remains of makeshift camps littered the edges of the streets. Broken armor, weapons, and old gear lay in piles. Children picked through the heaps, fighting over the best pieces.

Malcolm slowed as he neared the town gate, glancing back to make sure Sven did the same. Streams of merchants and townsfolk poured in and out, carting their goods and wares to the morning market. Keeping a close eye on Sven, Malcolm joined the crowd, inching forwards. At the gate, a few guards looked over incoming supply wagons, half-heartedly checking the contents.

Malcolm waved a greeting to the guards as he passed. Behind him, Sven pulled his hood lower, obscuring his mask. The guards gave them no notice, their attention focused on a cart full of barrels.

Outside the gate, piles of disassembled tents lined the edges of the road. In the distance, a group of workers loaded the bundles into wagons for transport to the next camp.

Malcolm took a deep breath, taking in the fresh meadow air. Beneath Bronzy’s hoofs, the paving stones slowly transitioned to packed dirt. Wagon wheel ruts covered the road, along with the occasional discarded vegetable. Gradually, the line of those headed to and from the town ceased, until Malcolm and Sven were the only travelers as far as they could see. Only the jingles and thumps of their packs broke the silence. After a few minutes of clear road, Sven removed his hood and mask, placing them in one of his belt pouches.

“It be feelin’ good to be leavin’ that place.” Sven commented, cracking his lips in a grin. “Too many humans.” Pulling alongside Malcolm, he leaned over and rummaged through a saddlebag, retrieving Worm. He placed the stuffed Toe-Worm on his lap, partially wrapping it around the pommel. “Worm was gettin’ lonely in the bag.” He explained.

Malcolm leaned over, jokingly giving Worm a scratch. “I’m sure he is grateful to be in such caring hands.”

As they rounded the crest of a particularly large hill, Malcolm took a long look behind him. The roofs of the tallest building poked over the top of the wooden fortifications, and thin tendrils of smoke rose into the sky. From a distance, the town seemed to be at peace, sitting alone in the rolling fields. I will miss Bullhaven, he thought. Perhaps I can convince Sven to return sometime.

Malcolm flicked his reins, sending Bronzy into a trot. Tearing himself away from the town, he turned his attention to the route before them. “Do you still want to go East?” he asked.

Sven nodded, pulling out a map. He inspected the coast, running his finger along the page. Chains of small islands dotted the coast, forming long archipelagoes that reached far into the sea. “The islands do be lookin’ nice.” He tossed the map to Malcolm, who looked it over, tracing the route.

Malcolm gave the map a glance before spurring Bronzy into a canter. “East it is.”

The End