Goblin Idaho fixed his brother with a withering glance, clearly displeased at the revelation of such long-buried history. "What is the meaning of this?" Ricard demanded of Grand Pip, who was hastily dabbing ale from his sodden beard. "Are you suggesting the Wall of Cynthia was not constructed by human hands?!"

  Grand Pip lowered his cup and spread his hands in bewilderment. "This is entirely new information to me as well, old friend." His expression mirrored Ricard's confusion. "Though the tales I've heard say that when the Argonians—our ancestors—came to Cynthia, the wall already stood."

  "His account is accurate," Patrick Fort confirmed. "These fortifications predated Argonian migration. According to ancient texts, Cynthia was once the dominion of the Titan Gods."

  "Those whelps of mange-ridden bitches!" Halleck continued with reckless abandon. "Not one stone of this magnificent bulwark was placed by their hands! We goblins, alongside the dwarves and halflings, labored for generations with carefully divided responsibilities—our kind below ground, theirs above—to create this masterpiece! While those accursed Titans did nothing but enslave and oppress! May they rot in the lowest hells!"

  Only then did he register his brother Idaho's expression—a complex mixture of resignation and barely contained fury. "Keep that loose tongue of yours," he hissed, "and you'll have us talking from the Dark Era to the Rebellion Era, and on to the Era of Greed... We can talk on and on, let time slip by, and let the whole world know everything our people have ever done." Goblin Halleck's jaws snapped shut with remarkable alacrity.

  "How unfortunate," Grand Pip muttered wistfully. "I would greatly value hearing more about the age before humanity's emergence." Idaho responded pointedly, "If we do not turn to the matter at hand, Cynthia itself will soon be history." Grand Pip's vocal contributions ceased instantaneously.

  "What specific assistance do you require from us?"

  "Open your gates and deposit us beyond the walls, Your Grace."

  Ricard Pafaheim sank into immediate contemplation. "That hardly seems problematic," Grand Pip suggested. "The mechanical operation is straightforward enough, but I'm concerned about subsequent vulnerability. Though the Godman forces remain temporarily stalled, they continue their inexorable approach toward our gates."

  "Surely the process is manageable—open the gates, allow the goblins passage, then secure them again. The entire operation should require minimal time."

  "What you perhaps fail to appreciate," the elderly duke leaned forward confidentially, "is that these damned iron gates take a quarter-hour to open or close. I understand now. They were built for Titans to pass, not for the likes of us."

  "We could easily slip through a narrow aperture," Halleck's mouth resumed its animated activity. "Precisely as we entered." "Consider this option carefully, Ricard," Grand Pip advised. "Among our limited alternatives, this approach offers significant merit."

  Ricard Pafaheim massaged his temples with evident tension. "To clarify—your requirement is merely exterior positioning beyond the gate?" he sought confirmation. "Precisely. We shall manage all subsequent operations independently."

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  "Perhaps you'd welcome the opportunity for physical engagement?" the duke unexpectedly inquired of the earl, who immediately comprehended his meaning. "You're authorizing military reinforcement?" Upon receiving Ricard's affirmation, Grand Pip's face illuminated with undisguised enthusiasm. "I've awaited this opportunity with such prolonged impatience I've nearly developed bedsores. My son and I shall ride forth and drive the Godman forces back to Wafflo's furthest boundary."

  "No—you shall accompany my son, Helmos." He noted Grand Pip's momentary disappointment and responded with a knowing smile. "I understand, I do. The desire to fight beside your own son, and that... fervent need to wash away your father's sins. But we must always leave a path for retreat, Pip. You have only one son left." This pointed observation pierced Grand Pip's composure. "As do you, Ricard," he responded quietly.

  "Were circumstances different, I would gladly join the campaign personally—but I believe that until the most desperate hour arrives, my position remains here." Ricard Pafaheim elaborated, "Therefore, you and Helmos shall lead our counterstrike. This arrangement optimizes our strategy. Neither of us need gamble our family's entire future, nor shoulder the burdens of historical rectification independently. Let us distribute responsibility collectively, united in our identity as Cynthians."

  The largely overlooked Patrick Fort suppressed a subtle emotional response, experiencing unexpected pride in his Cynthian citizenship. Idaho and Halleck maintained their positions nearby; the former standing with hands positioned defiantly on his hips, the latter absently manipulating the contents of his traveling pack. "Halleck," Idaho inquired softly, "have we ever experienced a moment where we felt... pride in our Cynthian association?"

  "...My recollection fails me." Halleck's attention shifted from his equipment. "I cannot determine whether such sentiment has ever touched my consciousness, nor whether our progenitors experienced similar feelings. Much has faded from memory. However, one certainty remains," he addressed his sibling directly, "what matters here is not whether we call ourselves Cynthians, but whether the humans of Cynthia count us as their own. Our true home is and always will be the caves under the Bitlisle Mine—the motherland of all goblins." Idaho offered no verbal response.

  "I represent the anomaly in this discussion," Ricard Pafaheim interjected. "Among nobility blessed with abundant progeny, I stand among the few possessing only a solitary successor. Your circumstances differ fundamentally, Pip. You have already endured the loss of Paid upon treacherous Kulen Mountain. You cannot risk your remaining offspring."

  Grand Pip's eyes acquired a reddish hue as painful recollections of the ghouls of Kulen Mountain and his firstborn son Paid Berlid resurfaced in his consciousness. He indicated acceptance of Ricard's strategy with a solemn nod. "Let us commence preparations immediately," the duke announced, rising to his feet.

  Goblin Halleck unceremoniously emptied his satchel's contents onto the table, gesturing for Patrick to deposit the golden powder within the emptied container. "I require absolute certainty that our sole responsibility involves subterranean powder distribution, without additional complications?" he addressed the young mage, his oversized eyes blinking with marked frequency. "I would profoundly regret any operational failure, Headmaster."

  "Correct—your task involves only the dispersal of golden powder throughout the tunnel network. However, one critical detail warrants emphasis: the powder must form an uninterrupted continuum, or the resultant magical barrier might develop vulnerable discontinuities." Both goblins acknowledged this stipulation with deliberate head movements. "Regarding your own capabilities, gentlemen," Patrick Fort inquired, "what specific magical discipline enables your extraordinary subterranean mobility? My extensive academic research has yielded no documentation of such abilities."

  Idaho and Halleck exchanged meaningful glances. "Evidently some arcane secrets resist casual disclosure." The boy smiled with understanding. "No matter—my inquiry stemmed merely from scholarly curiosity."