The Goblin Detour

“I think it likes me,” Ignis said, eyes a little watery from the surprise.

“Everything likes you, provided you’re not edible,” I replied, brushing pollen from his brow. The real trouble, of course, was the path itself—a sort of mountain’s practical joke. It zigged when you expected a zag, and always seemed to point either straight up or steeply down, as though the mountain’s architect despised flatness and the idea of well-behaved travelers.

Ignis gamely led the way, tail swishing with nervous energy. That is, until he tripped over a root cleverly disguised as a small snake. He froze; the root, being a root, declined to comment.

“I wish the path were clearer, Timmy. Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

“With the utmost certainty,” I announced, consulting my map, which stubbornly insisted on folding itself inside out. “Or at least, a way.”

Half an hour and three arguments with the map later, the path narrowed to a thin ledge chipped out of the rock, the valley yawning below. Ignis clung close to the mountain, wings pressed tight against his sides, while I stepped lightly, imagining myself one of those mountain goats who never seemed to worry about gravity.

“Do you think goblins live up here?” Ignis whispered, not for the first time.

“I sincerely hope not. Goblins tend to prefer locations with more mud and fewer opportunities for self-improvement.”

We rounded a bend and, as if summoned by cue, a clattering sound echoed through the pass, followed by a distinctly goblinish giggle.

Ignis stiffened. “That’s not the wind, is it?”

“Only if the wind has developed a fondness for noisy theft.”

Before I could suggest a strategic retreat, the ledge beneath us gave an approving wobble. With a sudden snap, the ground gave way—not entirely, just enough to drop us both into a shallow pit padded with what appeared to be discarded socks and one suspiciously large mushroom.

Ignis landed with a bumpy thud, sending a few socks flying. “Ow! What happened?”

“A goblin greeting,” I said, dusting my coat. “Classic hospitality: trap first, ask questions later.”

A shadow loomed above as Griznak’s grinning face poked over the ledge. “Dragonet and fancy friend, caught in my snare! Heh heh! What luck, what luck!”

Ignis scrambled to his feet, his voice trembling. “We’re not here for trouble, Griznak. We’re just passing through.”

“Through my territory, through my trap, through my patience!” Griznak cackled, tossing a rope ladder down—if you could call it a rope ladder. It was more sock than rope, and half the rungs threatened to become footwarmers at a moment’s notice.

Timmy—myself, of course—regarding Griznak as one might regard an overzealous ferret, brushed off my sleeves. “If you intend to rob us, do get on with it. We have places to be, magical caves to visit, mothers to cure. The usual.”

Griznak’s beady eyes went wide. “Crystal Caves, eh? Oh-ho! Shiny stones, magic cures… perhaps I keep dragonet, make him fetch the crystals for Griznak!”

Ignis’s jaw worked soundlessly, unsure whether to protest or plot escape. I considered my options. The usual goblin weaknesses—sunlight, soap, responsibility—were all in short supply up here.

“Hurry along, down there!” Griznak said, already fussing over a pile of objects behind him. “Boss Miseries will want to see you now!”

Ignis and I exchanged a look. Miseries. The name hung in the air, heavier than a thundercloud. I had never met her, but everyone in the mountains whispered stories: a figure cold as frost, shrouded in secrets, fiercely protective of her domain and fiercely intolerant of trespassers.

“Come along, then,” I said, mustering my best ‘unworried’ face. “Let’s not keep her waiting. She’s terribly punctual.”

We climbed the sock ladder—the only time in my life I have envied the barefooted. On top, Griznak herded us along a narrow tunnel that stank of mushrooms and wet wool. Goblin dwellings are not known for their charm. The walls dripped, faint echoes of laughter chasing us.

All the while, Ignis was quiet, eyes darting from shadow to shadow. I nudged him as we shuffled through a curtain of old rags. “Head up, Ignis. Goblins thrive on worry. Look unflappable.”

He tried, bless him. His scales puffed up, making him look more like a startled hedgehog than a dragon. Griznak didn’t seem to notice; he was too busy gloating.

At last, we stepped into an open chamber. Goblins clustered on sagging shelves, strung from the rafters or simply dangling upside down. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact that several fell off in surprise at our arrival.

In the center, on a throne made of broken teapots and one baffled-looking garden gnome, lounged Miseries. Or rather, the silhouette of Miseries—her dark cloak seemed stitched from smoke and midnight, her eyes cold and calculating. She flicked a single talon against her throne, the sound echoing like icicles cracking.

“So,” she rasped, her voice like gravel sliding over frozen pond. “You cross my mountain, freeze my bridge… and fall for my goblin’s simplest trap. What am I to do with travelers so clumsy?”

Ignis gulped. “We—we didn’t mean to intrude. I just need a crystal from the caves to help my mother.”

Miseries’s eyes narrowed. Her lips twitched, not quite a smile. “You seek the heartstone, little dragonet? Brave, or foolish. The caves do not give up their secrets to just anyone.”

I stepped forward, ignoring Griznak’s hopeful attempt to search my pockets. “If you intend to frighten us off, I must warn you: he’s more stubborn than he looks, and I am famously difficult to intimidate. Except by spiders, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“Enough!” Miseries’s voice cracked like thunder. The goblins shrank back, including Griznak, who promptly vanished behind a potted fern. “You wish to pass. Prove yourselves worthy. Or turn back and forget you ever saw this place.”

Ignis’s eyes met mine—wide, fearful, yet lit with a strange spark. “How do we prove ourselves?”

Miseries rose, cloak sweeping the floor. “There is a puzzle, below. Ice and shadow. Solve it, or remain my guests… forever.”

The goblins cheered—not helpfully. Timmy, I, simply sighed. “I suppose it was too much to hope for a warm welcome and a map.”

We were herded, none too gently, down another tunnel—narrower this time, and sloping sharply. Ignis’s claws scraped stone; he trembled, but kept going.

The chamber at the end was frigid, a vault of slick black ice spiked with shards that flashed blue in the torchlight. In the center, a pedestal held a single, glittering key encased in a cube of solid ice. Around us, goblin faces pressed to the glass, eager for a show.

Miseries’s voice echoed from above. “Simple. Free the key, but melt nothing. If even a drop touches the floor…the door seals, and you will not leave.”

Ignis stared at the key. “How…?”

I nudged him. “Your ice breath. Remember, it’s not just cold—it’s clever. Try to shape the frost, not shatter it.”

He considered the ice, then took a careful breath. Frost shimmered at his lips. Slowly, he exhaled, tracing a delicate spiral through the ice block. At first, nothing happened. The goblins started to snicker—until, with a tiny crack, a seam appeared in the cube.

Ignis gently puffed again. The spiral deepened, curling around the key without touching it, forming a shell of even colder frost. The inner ice contracted, the outer shell expanding just enough to wedge the key loose. With a little clink, it tumbled out—caught expertly by Timmy (myself, with the reflexes of a seasoned guide and professional pocket-snatcher).

The goblins howled in outrage. Miseries’s silence was more chilling than the ice.

Ignoring the goblin chorus, I handed the key to Ignis, who clutched it, awe-struck. “I did it?”

“You did,” I said, feeling a twinge of pride I hoped no one noticed. “Quite elegantly, too.”

The tunnel shuddered—ominously theatrical, but effective. Miseries reappeared, face nearly unreadable. “Perhaps you have some skill… But the mountain still stands between you and your prize.”

Griznak, undeterred, sidled closer. “Give shiny key to Griznak. He’ll keep it safe. Maybe trade for… mushrooms?”

Ignis tucked the key behind his wing. “No, thank you. I think I need it.”

“Suit yourself!” Griznak huffed, sulking into his socks.

Miseries swept her gaze over us. “I’ll let you go this once, dragonet. But remember—my patience thaws quickly.” She turned, her cloak swirling. “Go. And beware the next fork in the path. Some choices can’t be unfrozen.”

The goblins grudgingly led us back to daylight, tossing a handful of mushroom caps at our heels. The sun, once blinding, now seemed a kindly friend.

Ignis let out a long, shaky breath. “Do you think she’ll follow us?”

“Worse,” I said. “She’ll anticipate us. Miseries knows this mountain better than we know our own knees.”

He frowned, puzzling over that. “Do dragons have knees?”

“Yours do, and at the moment, they’re shaking.”

He grinned a little, then looked down. “I was scared, Timmy. What if I can’t do it next time? What if I let Mother down?”

I considered this, the honest fear behind his bright eyes. “You didn’t let anyone down. Fear’s just proof you care enough to try. And you’ll have me—reluctantly, but reliably—at your side.”

We followed the winding path up, Ignis clutching the precious key, hope and worry weighing equally on his shoulders. Just as the trail widened, something glinted among the rocks: a black feather, sharp and cold as glass, with a scrap of parchment tied to it.

Ignis nudged it open. The message read:

‘The heart betrays the hopeful. Beware what you wish to cure.’

He frowned. “What does it mean?”

I plucked the feather, turning it over in my hand. “It means Miseries knows more than she lets on. And that our next step will require more than clever claws and frosty breath.”

He straightened, new determination in his gaze. “Whatever the mountain wants to throw at us—we’ll face it together.”

I allowed myself a small smile. For the first time since we’d started, I almost believed it. Ahead, the path forked—left winding through wind-scoured rocks, right plunging into forest gloom. No signs but the feather and our own uncertain hearts.

Ignis squared his shoulders. “We pick the way?”

“We do,” I said. “And Fortune has a soft spot for optimists. Or so I’m told.”

He laughed, the sound floating up into the mountain air. We set out again, choice ahead, secrets behind, and the shadow of Miseries all around.

But the mountain’s true test, it seemed, was just beginning.