The return trip to Brightwater went without incident; the peaceful passage through the valleys was only contrasted by the inner turmoil going on in Arniths thoughts.

The three of them walked in a short column, with Tokki leading the way. Hopper was in the middle, the bone chimes in his hair making a small clatter as he walked and Arnith bringing up the rear. He was not going to let the shaman out of his sights, before some answers.

The doll of the fat goblin was still in the hands of the shaman and from time to time he would lift it and whisper to it. Each time the action would raise Arniths anxieties.

Arnith wondered if Hopper had a doll with features similar to him, squirreled away somewhere in the shaman's cave. Could He be killed just as easily, or taken control over in some necromantic ritual?

There was no reason to suspect that Hopper would turn on him, he reminded himself, The shaman had been nothing but helpful and cooperative, even betraying his tribe to ruin, so he could help. Then again weren’t such actions an indication that he could not be trusted to stay loyal if given an incentive to turn traitor?

The motivations of the shaman had been vague at best, Arnith remembered that they had something to do with the link between the goblin and the spirit of his grandfather, a trade of service for knowledge it had been.

There would be answers when they returned, Arnith thought as he kept his eyes on the back of the shaman.

***

The three of them made it back to their cave.

Walking past the curtain of water and entering the bluish light of the cavern Arnith felt like returning home. It was not the first time he had the experience, for the last few outings now he had felt it and he was glad that the immediate threat of the Red Mark tribe or the Black Rats tracking them down to Brightwater had probably been averted.

“Tokki, get the fire going,” Arnith said as he unslung the pack he was wearing.

“Yes, Master.” The diminutive goblin answered and went to his task.

Hopper put his packs down also and began to move toward his quarters.

“Hopper, would you stay for a moment, we need to talk.”

There had been several scenarios that Arnith had considered about how to conduct the conversation he wanted to have with the shaman. Initially, he had been emotional enough about what he had witnessed at the battle, that he had thought that tying up the lunatic and burning all of his dolls and other pieces of suspected magical nature would be a good move, before interrogating him. The walk back to their home had been long enough that he had cooled somewhat and he had come to the conclusion that he needed the shaman and mistreating him would probably lead to some measure of vengeance down the road.

What made Arnith, deviate from some of the more drastic measures to ensure his safety was also the fact that no matter how unnatural the methods, Hopper's actions had served his cause in addition to producing results that could not be argued with. Arnith could be harsh toward his minions, he did consider them to be lesser to him just by the nature of their race, but he did have an ingrained sense of justice which had gnawed at his minds whenever he had thought of pre-emptive measures with which to deal with the shaman.

Hopper turned to Arnith and cocked his head “Yes Master?”

Arnith considered how to approach the subject and was finding it difficult.

Tokki had success in lighting the fire again a few paces away and it cast the cave into a warmer light.

It might have been the shift in the lighting that brought Arnith back to himself. Why was he wasting energy in trying to choose the most optimal way of communicating with the goblin? His nature would ever be alien to him even not because Hopper was not all there even by goblin standards, so the best route would be a direct one.

“Simple is best.” His arms teacher had said, every session they had.

“Do you have one of those, made of me?” The elf said and pointed to the doll that Hopper was still holding.

The goblin hesitated.

“It’s alright Hopper, you need not worry, I will not be mad.”

After a moment more the goblin answered. “Yes, there is one for you.”

Arnith felt his anxiety peak but with an effort, he made no show of it.

“Alright Hopper, I need you to go and get it, in fact, go and get all of them and bring them here,” Arnith said in an encouraging voice, he even forced a slight smile onto his face as he did so.

The shaman did as told and went to the shadows at the back of the cave.

Losing sight of the goblin made Arnith think of moving some of the crystals from the cave mouth further in, so the cavern would be evenly lit.

Meanwhile, Tokki had opened one of the bags up that they had brought with them and was filling his mouth with the mushroom meat they had harvested. Arnith admired the mental fortitude of the goblin, he had no appetite himself and it would probably not return before he felt secure. Then again Tokki was a simple creature and probably too oblivious about the situation, to connect the dots.

Hopper returned a little while later. There were many more of the magical dolls he was carrying that he had when they initially came to Brightwater, he was having a hard time holding onto all of them at the same time.

Returning to the fireside, he laid them down in a neat half circle. There were twenty-three of them Arnith counted.

“Which of them is mine?”

Hopper picked one of them up and handed it to him.

It was a weird-looking thing. Objectively it looked like something a psychotic child would make, it was a humanoid figure stitched together out of pieces of rat skin, there were minuscule lines painted on it with different colors, the face didn’t have eyes, instead, all of it was pained with a spiral of the glowing paint the shaman had developed. There should not be anything that would connect it to him, but there was no missing the familiarity of it, the doll was a magical representation of him and his mind interpreted it as such.

Holding the doll in his hands relaxed Arnith somewhat, but it was not done yet.

“If I burn it, will it hurt me?” The elf asked, still keeping his cool.

“Not hurt, just burn.”

Arnith thought about casting the thing into the fire immediately, but caution made him drag a lump of coal out of the fire using his knife and then he put the left hand of the doll to it.

He tried to sense if there was an effect on his body, there was smoke coming out of the doll's hand and for a moment he thought he felt his hand heat up, but then realized he was just imagining it.

Satisfied, he threw the thing into the fire and once it lit up without affecting him, he felt an enormous wave of relief. The thing had been a conduit of power over him, a tool with which he could have been controlled or killed and the existence of it could not be tolerated.

Arnith looked at it burn in the fire, for a moment lost in his thoughts, he was brought out of it as another one was thrown in. He looked to his right, from where it had come from and saw Tokki there, the diminutive goblin was locked in a stare with the shaman and he heard a small growl come from him before he went back to where he had been munching on the mushrooms. Not so oblivious then, Arnith thought.

Arnith took a step toward the shaman and Hopper moved between him and the dolls, protective of them.

“Hey now, no reason to be upset Hopper,” Arnith said and raised his palms. “I won’t burn more of them, but there must be rules about this magic, you cannot make them for me or Tokki, if you do, we will interpret it as an attack. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Hopper understands.”

“That is not enough; you must swear to not make them again.”

“Hopper swears, will not make soul-trap of Arnith or Tokki.”

The elf took a good long look at the goblin, before letting it be.

Then he thought of what the Hopper had called the things.

“Why do you call them soul-traps?” Arnith asked.

With the threat to his creations over the shaman became animated again and turned to his collection and picked one of them out, it was the one he had used to attack the pot-bellied goblin with.

“That is their purpose, bind in hair or blood or best to have bone, bone is what spirit stick to.”Hopper brought the thing close to Arniths face as if doing so he would see the mechanics of the thing. “When goblin dies, soul spirit flies away, to the other place, but not if bound to soul trap, then Hopper snatches the spirit, then I have the power to use, more than any goblin shaman.”

Hopper became more and more animated as he explained the things, beginning to dance in a small circle, the bones clattering in his hair. Arnith did not stop the shaman, if he was divulging information willingly, he would not stop him, but maybe guide him to stay on topic. “But how could you use it to kill the fat one?”

“Haha, Hopper did not have the power, have the secrets before, only to hurt a little, only make bad dreams, not catch slippery spirits, but now have more secrets, more power.” The shaman stood still than looking up. “The great one made trade, secrets for service.” He whispered the last.

Arnith was reminded of the painting in the shaman’s chamber, the link between the goblin and what he thought was the spirit of his grandfather.

“Is the great one here, can you talk to him again, I thought he used up his power when we escaped the tribe the first time?”

“In the dreams, he comes, he whispers secrets”

“Can you summon him, so I can talk to him?” Arnith asked.

Hopper stood still, looking to the side, as if listening to something, then turned to look at the dolls on the ground. “Hhmmm, humm” he mused out loud, tapping one of his feet in a rhythm. “Yes, can make spirit come now, many, sacrifice soul for power, two for good luck, HAH, YES!” He cried the last.

Hopper ran off towards his chamber. Arnith was startled by the suddenness of the goblin's actions and considered following him, but as Hopper had left his hoard of soul-traps behind he reasoned that he would return.

He was not disappointed, as it took almost no time for the shaman to return, with a bag of glow paint and some brushes. He laid them down and cleared an area next to the fire of things, meticulously brushing away any stray pieces of moss and dirt until only a clear space of rock was left. “Many goblins died in the fight with Red Marks, most soul traps are full of nice and screaming spirits.” Hopper’s monologue continued as he worked enthusiastically. “Some survived, now far away, taken by them to be slaves, others hiding nearer, can feel the fear, new soul-traps good, many purposes.” Hopper looked up to Arnith. “Elf master happy yes, Hopper makes good soul-traps?” he asked, looking for approval.

“Yes, Hopper you do good work.” Arnith agreed, to placate the goblin, thinking of the information he had just received, something to use later perhaps.

Hopper turned back to his work. “Magic-crystal paint to guide the ritual, very good for this, better than blood, but blood has other uses, yes, yes.” The image that the goblin drew on the ground was incomprehensible to Arnith, he had never been taught the deeper knowledge of magecraft, but he had seen his share of runic scripture used in ritual magic. What the goblin was making was similar to that in the way that fish are to birds, similar on a base level, but different in almost every way. Instead of lines of runes, closed in by a geometric structure, what Hopper drew were five spirals of different sizes, connected by wavy lines, what it reminded him of was a river of water with whirlpools in it that were intrinsically connecting to each other. The image made his sight un-focus as it became more complex and he looked away, looking in only from time to time.

Soon Hopper finished with the drawing and he put two of the soul-traps onto two of the spirals, on each side of the center one which was larger than all of them. “Sacrifice the souls to power the ritual, but blood must be given for the path, my blood can work, but your blood is better, same blood as the great one.”

What Hopper said confirmed his suspicion that the spirit he was communicating with was that of his grandfather and so he did not hesitate as he drew his knife.

“Where?” Arnith asked.

Hopper pointed to the central spiral, without saying any words, even his usual shifting and the clatter of his bone chimes ceased.

Arnith drew a small cut on his arms, making sure to do it in a place without any larger blood vessels. The blood began to slowly flow out and down his arm, culminating in the tip of his index finger.

The tension was palpable.

The red liquid gathered on the end of his finger, almost reluctantly a drop formed and fell to the ground.

Nothing happened.

Another drop made a splat on the ground.

The third drop, plaid the price.

The inscription began to react. The spiral on the center drew the blood into it and began to glow, even more than the paint did by itself, and with a reddish glow. It began slowly to unwind from the center of the spiral moving out as if searching for something. Reaching the spirals onto which the soul-traps had been placed the dolls burst aflame in a magical fire and Arnith felt that instead of giving off heat they were drawing it out of the air. Power ran out of them as they disintegrated, released back into the inscription, powering it fully.

Hopper began to cackle and Arnith was not sure how he felt about it.

A cold wind blew into the cave.

Tokki ran away screaming.

The fire, which had been burning merrily, was almost blown out, but then the color of it changed from warmth to cold blue and it grew to a size many times it had been before.

The blue flame spiraled up to be taller than Arnith and formed a spectral shape of an elf.

“I HAVE BEEN SUMMONED.” The specter of Aethir the loremaster announced.

“Grandfather, it is you!” Arnith cried out, the war in him between the horror of the un-nature that he witnessed and the love for the ancient elf was over and the love had won.

The spectral figure peered out as if it was hard for it to see and then found Arnith.

“It is I blood of mine…” Aethir made a pause as if speaking a few words cost a lungful of air, before continuing. “It is good you have called me.”

Arnith had been suspecting that his grandfather’s spirit that had been aiding him through Hopper and so he asked what had been troubling his mind.

“Why have you not passed on and gone to the peaceful lands grandfather, why stay here, you deserve your rest most of all that I know.”

Aethir looked upon his progeny and seemed to consider his words and the ethereal light of him seemed to dim. When he began his reply the flame had all but gone out.

“How can I, When you are damned to live as you are…” The fire grew back in strength.

“How can I, When my DAUGHTER has been imprisoned to WASTE AWAY…” the figure had returned its initial light and more.

“HOW CAN I, WHEN THE INJUSTICE IS LET TO STAND!” The magical flame now roared, reaching to the ceiling of the cave and flowing along with it.

Arnith knew well of what injustice the specter was talking about, he had sworn to his grandfather to return and take back what rightfully belonged to him and bring vengeance and justice to those, who deserved it. He had not for a moment considered taking that vow seriously; he had given it as a gift to his grandfather, so he could initiate his last stand with a smile on his lips and nothing more. As far as he was concerned his uncle could have the throne and the snake pit that came with it, but it seems that the spirit of his grandfather was determined to see it through, even after death.

Arnith did not like it, and he was about to say his mind to the specter when he remembered the second reason it had given for remaining in the mortal realm.

“Mother is alive?” Arnith asked and took a step toward the specter, all fears were forgotten.

“Yes, she is on the mortal realm, I can feel her being… She is behind the barrier wall, in the valley of the forgotten.” Aethir said.

The valley of the forgotten, also known as the valley of mist and many other names, was the unspoken of prison and asylum for those of the high elves that would better be forgotten about, a solution for problems for the crown which a normal prison could not accommodate. Arnith had not even considered that his mother could have been sent there, but it made sense if she was alive and in custody anywhere else, word of it would have reached them surely, but the valley of mist did not let any rumors out of its inmates. It would have been better for his uncle to kill her than send her there; by all accounts, it was a realm of insanity and suffering. Arnith cursed his uncle for the thousandth time.

“Do not worry grandfather, I will release her, this I swear.” The oath that Arnith now spoke ran through his whole being, he would be damned if he let his mother spend the millennia still left of her life in the prison.

“GOOD, good, I will aid, I will watch…” Aerthir said, his light fading away. “I will…” The fire went out and the cavern was returned to its natural light.

Arnith was left with a host of feelings that craved for release, unfortunately, the objects of his anger were not at hand and he saw no reason to vent it out on those who were there.

Hopper was dancing and twirling in a state of lunacy, obviously happy that the ritual had worked. Arnith let him be, he deserved his peace.

The elf stood still for a time, his anger at his uncle faded away, he considered brooding over the injustices that enemies brought to be a small feeling and had for that reason never really been motivated to seek vengeance. What his mind drifted to instead were the memories of his mother.

The court of the Skythrone had never been a place where the intimacy of a family could flourish in the way that of a common family could, the aperture of a government that spanned continents required from its rulers' sacrifices which left little, but his mother had made sure that every moment they had was used to the fullest, she was a being full of love and care, at least where her son was concerned, indeed she but more far more time into their relationship that noble ladies of lower stations normally did.

Arnith loved his mother.

Saving her was a purpose which filled him as nothing had for a long while, fighting to stay alive had lost its novelty some time ago, indeed here in the dark world beneath the earth, where the sun never shined, there had been moments when he had continued, only because he was without the strength of character to end his misery. To fight for those who one loved resonated with his being and so his thoughts went towards those purposes.

Things need to change, Arnith thought. His goal had been abstract for a while now. Find a home, which he had. Make it safe, still a work in progress, but slowly getting there. He had thought that he would need to gather a following of goblins to make secure his being in Brightwater and then wait a century or two, before it was safe to return to the surface as a nameless traveler and then blend into the masses of the elven nations and live a life of secrets maybe, but also potentially of some measure of happiness.

The path he had somewhat visioned before was discarded, and looking at it now in comparison it seemed weak and therefore doomed to fail.

To save his mother from the prison of the forgotten ones he would need an army, the valley of mist was surrounded by a magical force wall, with only one entrance, which was guarded by the wardens. The wardens were a regiment of the royal army made out of veterans deemed to have served on the frontlines for too long to be healthy for their minds, a rear posting to serve in a peaceful garrison.

Ironically the original purpose of the prison was for soldiers of the chaos wars, a millennium and a half ago, pushed beyond the limits of what their minds could experience, they were deemed too dangerous to be let loose in society, so a place they could remain without endangering the normal citizenry was created.

The Army would have to be made out of the denizens of the underground, there was no way he could convince any of the regional rulers to support him in a foolish quest to assault the prison, nor did he feel that any of the few rebel factions would do anything other than hang him from a tree considering his bloodline. And then he would need to retreat into the underground, none would follow him here if they had other alternatives.

The other obstacle was that the mountain ridge where he had entered the underground, under which he believed he still was, was a half of a continent away from the prison, at least he was thankful that the prison was on the same landmass that the capital had been on, he was sure that the underground network did not go beneath oceans.

Thinking of what he needed to do to accomplish his new goal made Arnith exhausted. The elf noticed that Hopper had gone during his reverie.

Tokki had not returned from wherever he had run to, so Arnith had only himself to make the fire up again.

He gathered some dried moss from a pile some distance off and brought it to the ash mound. Turning the ash around to find some coals, his stomach brought his mind to food and he considered the mushrooms they had harvested seemingly a lifetime ago.

Maybe some mushroom soup with strips of meat?