by Grace Quon
From Goblins & Galaxies #1 Autumn 2025
With the last of his strength, the dwarven smith Andrathath laid the helmet in front of the elven queen. The silver dragon on the crest, wings spread, glimmered in the torchlight. “Its name is Everbright—a faithful companion to the Talaedra family for evermore,” he whispered. “Its wearer shall have the strength of mountains, the speed of lightning, … and the counsel of a true friend.”
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Oh, I was full of piss and vinegar right out of the forge. Hadn’t the greatest weaponsmith of the ages sacrificed himself in my creation? And the ceremony where the queen presented me to her son in front of our troops—well, that was stir-the-blood-and-soul stuff. The banners of the Houses snapping in the wind, the armour so bright you couldn’t look at us without squinting. It didn’t matter if you were the lad whose spear looked like a hastily-repurposed hoe or the one-eyed sergeant who looked like he’d had a few too many pints at breakfast. By the time the trumpets sounded to send us on our way, every soldier standing could imagine being the hero who would single handedly take Uksirrno’s head off his shoulders.
The dark lord threw his minions and creatures at us as we marched, but he might as well have tossed pebbles in the water to halt the tide. The Young Prince was unstoppable in combat with me on his head, and our troops fought all the harder for it. He was everywhere on the battlefield; neither armour nor dragonhide could withstand his sword. And I watched over him, whispering counsel and warnings in his ear.
Soon enough we massed outside Uksirrno’s black walls. Before our final assault, the Young Prince tucked me under his arm and galloped his stallion back and forth in front of the lines. His long blond hair streamed behind him as he saluted the troops. He was bloody magnificent: the only child of the Queen, the star of the Talaedra dynasty.
Although he was getting too close to the ramparts. “Highness, you’re—” Then I remembered my maker’s words. The magic in me was for my wearer—not my carrier. I couldn’t warn the prince. I couldn’t speed him away. I couldn’t even stand between his skull and the arrow fired by a sharp-eyed archer on the wall.
Two armies watched in stunned silence as the prince crumpled. When his body hit the ground, jeers exploded from the battlements. But at least his general had the presence of mind to race out for me. When he jammed me on his head, I swore we would make them all pay.
Except nothing happened. There was no connection between us. When Andrathath said I would be a companion to the royal family, apparently he meant only the royal family: he’d woven a ward through me to ensure that. Maybe he was a pessimist who meant it as a safeguard; maybe he was just a literal-minded bastard.
Either way, everything went to shit after that.
Once Uksirrno’s army had finished wiping the battlefield with us, I became a prized piece of plunder. I was too small for an Orc head, but the abominations thought it a great laugh to use me as a bowl. At first, I bristled at the indignity, plotted and schemed at revenge. But without a royal elf head under me, I couldn’t even be heard. I was no better than the lowliest grunt’s helmet. When I heard of the Queen’s death, what was left of my pride fled like the coward that it was.
The only mercy was that as my luster dulled and dents accumulated, the Orcs lost interest, and I became just another bowl amongst others in the baggage wagons. An eternity of silence and meaninglessness stretched out ahead of me. All I could hope was that someday someone might melt and unmake me. In the meantime, being forgotten was the best I could ask for.
Just my bloody luck then that an enterprising goblin sellsword spotted me at supper one night and snagged me to replace his leather helmet. When he plunked me down on his greasy hair, I developed a sudden gratitude for Andrathath’s ward, although the stench of unwashed goblin would have turned my stomach if I had one.
I should have known no matter how bad things were, life could always laugh and lovingly give you another punch in the face. Instead of only hearing about Uksirrno’s triumphs, I was now forced to participate in them. The goblin’s company hunted the last remnants of opposition and terrorized the villages that harboured rebels or failed to pay their ever-increasing taxes. And I watched him do it. Protected his loathsome head while he murdered and tortured his way through our once free lands.
But the arsehole’s success turned into my eventual deliverance. He grew rich enough to retire, although instead of stowing me in a storage chest like I hoped, he put me on display in his great hall. Gods damn it, it was even more humiliating than being an Orc bowl.
When his old lieutenant dropped by on his way through to his next slaughter, they stood in front of me, reminiscing. “Got me through the wars, it did.” The goblin patted me. “I—”
His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. Because of the throwing axe that was now embedded in his forehead or the arrow in his friend’s throat, I assumed. He should have learned from the Prince: when push comes to shove, a helmet on the head is worth two hundred in the bush.
One of the intruders, a dwarf, picked me up. “Bit old, but well-crafted,” he said to their leader.
“Good, we need all the arms we can get.” She took off her own helmet, and recognition flared through me. The Young Prince’s and the queen’s features were re-drawn on the woman’s face. On second glance, however, the resemblance wasn’t as strong, and it didn’t take long to realize why. She was half-human. For a moment, I wondered how this could be, but then I remembered what was most important: a twig of the Talaedra family tree had survived. A faint hope sparked in me, almost too painful to acknowledge.
But she had already turned away to consult with the archer who was extricating his arrow from the lieutenant. I searched for something, anything, that could bring her attention back. I could not fail my kingdom again. I screamed a silent scream, unheard by all. Why the hell had my maker bound me to the royal family? A thought struck. Andrathath, you glorious bastard. I found the link he’d forged between me and the Talaedras. And whispering a prayer to all the gods, I pulled.
The woman paused, confusion crossing her face. “Did you say something?” she asked the dwarf.
“Not me,” he grunted. He was ransacking the goblin’s desk, tossing things onto the floor.
She spun in a slow half-circle, looking around. Then her gaze fell on me, and her forehead creased.
It had worked. If I had legs, I could have danced a jig on the spot. Of course, if I had legs, I could have done a lot of other things differently over the years.
She picked me up and rubbed the stump where the dragon once stood. “It seems familiar.”
This was it. I poured everything I had left into that fragile connection, willing her to put me on. Please.
As if in a trance, she lifted me onto her head, and we were joined. Her shock vibrated in me. “Everbright? We thought you were lost to us.”
“I thought the same. But we’ve found each other.” Gods, was I getting sentimental? “Although you could’ve been quicker about it.”
She choked out a laugh, as if she’d forgotten how to do it. “My apologies. But I hope you’ll forgive me? I need all the help I can get.”
I felt remade. Reforged. “Aye, let’s show Uksirrno what a half-Talaedra and an Orc bowl can do.”
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Grace Quon grew up loving books and libraries. After a detour through a math degree and a career in high-tech, she’s once again exploring the world of story writing. She has also slowly started to accept that she will never finish her to-read, to-watch, to-listen, or to-learn lists. She lives in Canada with her wonderfully patient family who keep encouraging her to write for some reason.
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