In a voice so respectful that Jig didn’t recognize it, Barius said, “We seek the Rod of Creation.”

CHAPTER 3 - History and Harmony

CHAPTER 3

History and Harmony

“The Rod of Creation,” Jig repeated. Every goblin knew of it, but no goblin knew anything about it. Or rather, they all knew the same three things. First, the rod was ancient, powerful magic. Second, it had been hidden in this mountain ages ago to keep it safe. Finally, trying to steal the rod was an elaborate but foolproof way to commit suicide.

“Surely you’ve heard the song,” Darnak said. He had been attempting to sketch the ceiling’s design onto his map. Setting quill and parchment aside, he coughed to clear his throat, took a drink from his wineskin, and began to sing in a low, rumbling voice.

There was a mage named Ellnorein
Who lived in times long past.
A merrier man was rarely seen,
For he made magic last.

One day he met a lonely queen,
A lass as pure as gold.
His eye for beauty was quite keen,
So he said in this bold:

A wizard am I, whom many dread,
With power like a God.
So come with me to yonder bed
And see my mighty rod.

“Darnak, please,” shouted Barius, drowning out the dwarf’s song. “What is this dwarven nonsense of which you sing?”

“It demeans the very memory of the wizard Ellnorein,” added Ryslind.

Jig blinked. Truth be told, he had been looking forward to the next verse. Maybe he could convince Darnak to sing the rest of the song later, when the humans weren’t listening. Goblins would like this kind of song. Assuming he ever made it home to share it with them.

“Allow me,” Barius said. His voice was pure and perfect, a silver bell to Darnak’s hunting horn.

Ages past, the high gods clashed,
The skies turned black and lightning flashed.
We men were naught but pawns who fought
And oh the terror that was wrought
As war swept o’er this world so vast.

The gods chose nine from all mankind
To be wizards of the blackest kind.
They pooled their might, from darkest night
They summoned dragons to roam and fight,
And in their wake the widows pined.

The gods’ war ended, their quarrel they mended,
And mankind their victims tended.
But wizards’ greed had fed their need,
For power greater than dragon steeds.
And so another war portended.

But in that age of the bloody mage,
There came an old and tired sage,
Who raised his eyes toward blackened skies,
And spoke a spell to terrorize
Those butchers born of gods’ own rage.

The dragons fled, the nine fell dead,
The power from their broken bodies bled
Into a wand, which he had planned
To bury deep in a faraway land,
That it would stay safe once he lay dead.