Rashid recounts a childhood memory of when he first met a Golem, near
Frostgrave. The encounter sparked a lifelong interest in golems.
The Story
When my family moved to Malkith, the supply town outside of Frostgrave, I was very young and don't remember much about Arendish at all. I have a vague recollection of a palm tree in the sand. My first real memory is of playing inside our house with my little golem horse on the floor in front of a fire while a snowstorm howled outside. The horse had been a gift from my father. He had gotten it, he told me later, from a mercenary who had found it somewhere on the outskirts of Frostgrave. The man had needed to pay for some heavy winter boots, and that was all he had. The horse is an extremely simple toy. When it is placed on the ground it will start walking forward. It will stop if something is placed directly in front of it, and it can be steered simply by poking it with a finger to face one way or the other. I have no idea how many hours I played with the horse, and I still have it in my pack to this very day.
My father had come to Malkith to be the manager of a depot, a place where wizards exploring the vast ruins of Frostgrave would come to get supplies before they went out on their expeditions. Some wizards, the older and more experienced ones at least, would build up a kind of base camp for themselves closer to the ruins in a long forgotten tower, or old warehouse. Malkith kind of grew up on the coast to the southeast of Frostgrave, until the gnomes came in and organized things. The explorers would come to Malkith, load up on everything from food to wagons to weapons, hire some mercenaries, and then light out for the haunted ruins. Of every dozen new wizards that went out, only about seven or eight returned.
In the springtime (meaning the storms came only a little less frequently) when I was twelve years old, a wizard I had seen before in the town came to the waystation. Being twelve meant that I was expected to fetch and carry orders for customers, and I was trusted to handle the money, and even wheel and deal a little. Anything over 30 gold pieces I had to consult with my father, but otherwise I had a great deal of responsibility. This particular day, my father had gone out to talk to some of his suppliers to see if he could get some better deals on merchandise coming in, now that the harbor was starting to clear of ice. It was only snowing a few flakes, but the wind was high, and the wizard banged open the door to the waystation. He was dressed in thick red robes to protect him from the cold, but he wore no hat, and his thin, brown hair rippled in the wind. I had seen this man only a few times before, mostly when I had been much younger. This would be the first time I would have to speak to him directly.
“Good day to you, sir.”, I said, and I was about to ask how I could help him, but he interrupted before I could ask the question.
“I need good lumber. A dozen stout oak beams. Do you have any?”
He had an irritating voice, trying to sound deep and resonant, but only achieving a sort of sullen mutter.
“I’m sure we can provide for whatever you need.” This was one of my father’s stock phrases, and he used it often. And for the most part, he lived up to the promise.
“I also need a quantity of stout rope, canvas, food and supplies for a dozen men for six weeks. Can you supply all of that?”
I had already taken out my chalk board and was scribbling down his order when the wizard sighed loudly and stuck a piece of paper in my face with the entire order already written out.
“Oh,” I said, taking the list and reading over it. “Yes, I think we can handle all of this. Do you need any tools or blacksmithing supplies?” It wasn’t hard to figure out that what he intended was to shore up some sagging walls or roof in the building he was using for a base station, and that meant iron nails or wedges, perhaps cutting tools for the wood, and thus blacksmithing supplies. We had many customers needing that sort of thing. The gnomes who ran the waystations in and around Frostgrave didn’t approve of such building activity, but more often than not they would turn a blind eye, as long as it didn’t get out of hand.
“Pay attention, boy! Look at the paper. Does it say ‘tools’ there, hmm? No, It clearly lists everything I need from your little shop. Oh, ye gods, don’t tell me you can’t read.”
“No!” I replied too quickly. “Or rather, yes. Yes, I can read.” Wizards who risk their lives for a bit of knowledge are not always the most polite of people, being rather preoccupied with their own thoughts. This was something that I was just coming to realize about this community. That didn’t mean I was used to it yet, and his “little shop” comment had piqued me a bit. We were the second largest depot in Malkith, taking up two entire blocks on the street. Little shop, indeed, I thought.
“Well, read the list, then.” he said brusquely. “Can you fill the order?”
I had been thinking this whole time. There were some stout old beams back in a corner of the warehouse, and I wouldn’t even need to move much to get to them. But I would need to get a team of horses to run the block and tackle we used to move heavy objects. This would be no easy order.
“I believe so,” I replied. “If you require fresh vegetables or meat, we can get those from the greengrocer on the next block over.” I kicked myself mentally as I said this last. How many times had my father told me not to tell the customers where we got our goods from? A stingy customer was likely to go out searching on their own, and deprive us of a small profit. But it was too late. The words were already out of my mouth.
“Bah,” he said. “These are mercenaries I’m hiring, not the Queen’s daughters I’m trying to impress. If they don’t like iron rations, they can go out hunting for themselves.”
“Very well, sir,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t hear the relief in my voice. “When will you be needing your supplies?” I was hoping he would say something like a day or two, or even a week in the future. It was already late, and I was looking forward to closing down for the day.
“This very afternoon, boy, within the hour, in fact. I intend to be ready to leave before the sun rises tomorrow.”
I sighed inwardly, but painted a brave smile on my face. “Of course, sir. We’re happy to help.”
“Good,” he grunted. “You’re obviously too small to load all of this into my wagon, especially those wooden beams. I’ll send my golem to load everything. It’ll be here soon. Be ready. I have many things to do before I leave and I don’t intend to be held up waiting for you to get things arranged.” He turned and started for the door.
“And how will you be paying?” I asked. I had already noted that he never asked how much it would cost to fill his order. In cases like this, my father had stressed that even if the wizard seemed wealthy and didn’t ask for a final reckoning, I was always to charge the same price that we would for anyone else, and I was not to make an issue of it. Some wizards are odd that way, not seeming to care about the money, seeing it only as a means to an end. “An honest merchant will never be scorned for greed,” my father was fond of saying. My father never became wealthy, but he was always respected by his peers, so I guess that’s something.
“My golem will have the money,” the wizard said over his shoulder as he reached to open the door. A thought seemed to occur to him, and he stopped and half turned back to me. “You need to address the golem by the name ‘Guard’ Do you understand? Have you worked with golems before?”
“Of course, sir. One must speak the golem’s name before each command. Commands must be simple and direct. Once it is done loading your wagon, I will tell it to return to you. I assume you will instruct it to follow my orders for a limited time, and with the usual restrictions?”
He grunted in what I could only assume to be an affirmative. “It’ll be here in front of your store shortly. Mind you, my order had better be ready and loaded within an hour if I’m to leave on time,” and he closed the door on my face, not even waiting for my polite “Yes, sir”. I said it to the closed door, anyway.
I called Derek, the boy who was helping me that day. When I gave him the list, I told him that I would go out to the warehouse to move things around so that we could get a wagon close to the lumber.
Knowing that the wizard had a golem to load the lumber was actually a great relief, as I wouldn’t be required to fuss around with the horses. The golem, I assumed, would be one built for this type of labor. Golems can come in many different designs, but they are usually designed for one or two types of tasks. Even though the wizard had called his golem Guard, I guessed that it was really built for heavy lifting, since a golem built for lifting heavy loads would be completely different from a golem made for, say, working a water pump. I supposed that a golem made for lifting could also hold a shield, and maybe that was why it was called Guard.
When I got back into the main store, Derek had already gathered the rest of the order and was putting the items into a crate. “Derek, thank you for your hard work on this one. Rush orders are never fun, but you got the job done. Thanks.”
Derek said, “Rashid, did anyone ever tell you that you’re too polite for your own good?” But he said it with a grin on his face, and punched me lightly on the arm. Derek was almost a year younger than I, but four inches taller, and much broader in the shoulders. Anyone looking at him could tell that he would grow up to be a big lad, where I would always be rather small and thin. But he was new to the job, where the depot was all I had ever known, and as I said, I was trusted to do most of the work.
“Go on, I’ve gotta go make sure the golem this guy’s sending over here doesn’t end up making all of the lumber into matchsticks.”
There was no mistaking which wagon and golem belonged to the wizard. Golems were an infrequent sight, and this one stood out. Most of the golems I’d seen up until then were pretty crudely made. I had no idea what wizards had to do to actually make one, but most were not skilled in either metal craft or wood working, and it showed in their creations. If a golem approximated the shape of a humanoid body, or even if it only had four limbs and could move around, it was good enough. I’d seen more than one that was based on a wine cask with logs for legs and little better than rough planks for arms. Usually with the bark still on. Some didn’t even have heads.
But this one was different. It was still mostly made of wood, but all the parts had all been crafted to shape. The legs weren’t just logs, but pillars with large round plates for feet. Arms that looked like thick water pipes, each ending in a rather dexterous looking three fingered hand. Its torso was broad and robust, supporting a neck and head that looked sculpted. The face (it actually had a face) wasn’t like that of a humanoid, but only two deep-set blue glass eyes and a plate that suggested a broad nose. It had no mouth. And not one single wrought iron piece anywhere on it. This golem was bound in brass. Its hands, its feet, around all of its limbs and its head and face, all bound up with rivets and strips and plates of brass. But for all of that, it still looked rather sad. Every part of it was battered and dented and belied any concept of newness. There were nicks and cuts on the arms and legs, and some dents in places on its torso. The brass had not been shined in years, maybe decades, but I could see in my mind's eye how it must once have looked, gleaming and noble. And here it stood, battered and dirty, holding the tongue of a wagon, like a knight in armor made to clean out a stable.
I walked across the street and stood in front of the mighty construct. “Guard?” I asked.
The golem then did something I had never seen before. Most times when a person addressed a golem, it would acknowledge its name by bowing or giving a simple salute, in the case of the better constructed ones. Some golems I’d seen could only acknowledge by stamping their foot, and even that put them off balance. But not this one. It actually turned and moved its head as if to look at me. It didn’t give any of the usual signs of acknowledgment, but appeared to cock its head slightly as if to get a better look at me through its glass eyes. “Guard?” I asked again. I was actually getting a little uneasy, as I’d never seen this kind of behavior before. This time, the golem slowly nodded at me. Twice. I was shocked. This golem wasn’t acting the way I’d seen any other golem act at all. It was peering at me so intently, I could almost imagine that it was really thinking.
“Guard, follow me into the warehouse with the wagon,” I said. My mind was swirling with possibilities. Where did this thing come from? Why was it so different? Who had made it? And for what purpose?
Inside the warehouse, I showed the golem where to park the wagon, and which of the wooden beams it was to load up. I stood there, watching the golem carry out the task quickly and efficiently. All golems are strong, except for the smallest ones, like my tiny golem toy horse. But this one also seemed to be graceful. It was more like watching an immensely strong person who was also a skilled dancer. It picked up a beam, and without a single wasted movement, swung it around and placed it perfectly in the wagon. And again. And again. It kept working until the wagon was full. When it was done, it turned and looked at me. I walked up to it, and without thinking I said “You’re more than a guard, aren’t you?” It looked right at me again, and nodded. It didn’t talk, of course, not having any mouth. But I got the impression that if it could have, it would have smiled at me.
“But why do they call you that? Why do they call you Guard?”
The golem reached up, and with one finger touched a small brass plaque on its chest that I hadn’t really noticed before. I leaned forward to get a better look at it. It was tarnished and grimy, and the right side looked like it had been hacked off with the blade of an axe. I could clearly see the dent in the wood beneath it. The plaque read: GARDE.
“Garde? But that’s not even spelled right. What does that mean?”
The golem nodded again, beckoned me over to a dusty corner, and knelt down. With one finger it drew in the dirt: G… A… R… D… E…
I looked up into its face, but it held up a finger, and directed my gaze back down to the floor, and continued writing: N… E… R… 3.
It took me a moment. “Gardener 3? You’re… a gardener?” The golem nodded once more. “But I don’t understand. You’re huge. And you’re different from just about every other golem I’ve ever seen. Why would someone need a gardener golem?” He just continued to look at me.
“Okay, I know you can’t talk, but I want to know why. And where did you come from?”
That question at least he could answer, in a way. He stood up and pointed unerringly to the northwest, directly toward Frostgrave.
“Alright, I suppose I could have worked that one out, eventually. But I wish I could know more about you.” Another thought occurred to me.
“The wizard. He still calls you guard, even though that’s not right. Why haven’t you told him what your name is? Why did you tell me?”
With the most delicate movements, he first touched my face, and then pointed at his eyes, tapped his head, and then waved behind him.
“I don’t get it. You see me?” He nodded his head. “You… think about me?” Small shake. “You thought about me?” Nod. “Behind you.” Shake. I pondered a moment. “No, not behind. In the past? You thought about me… in the past? No, wait! I get it. I remind you of someone in the past, is that it?” One very slow nod. And then he tapped his chest once.
“Someone you cared about? But how is that even possible? You’re…” I was going to say something stupid like you’re just a construct, you can’t feel, but I managed to catch my tongue just in time. All the evidence I was seeing in front of me was impossible to ignore.
I sat for a moment, trying to imagine this huge person in front of me working at trimming trees or planting flowers in some long ago garden, gone now and buried under yards of ice and snow in the city of Frostgrave. Was the owner of that garden some wealthy merchant or scholar? Or had Gardener worked for the city, tending the parks and boulevards? I had heard many stories about Frostgrave, that it was an immense city, maybe the largest city in the world at the time. Most of the stories the explorers told were of vast cemeteries where the unquiet dead roamed, and creatures like snow leopards and white apes were as much of a danger to explorers as the crumbling buildings were. But not once had I thought that when Frostgrave had been in its prime, it had been a place of great beauty as well as a repository of knowledge. And beautiful things don’t just spring from nothing. They must be crafted and tended. That would be no easy task, and to do it correctly, the tender must have an appreciation for beauty. It had to have… a soul.
At that moment, the town clock chimed. Gardener looked up and then at me. He pointed at the list I held in my hand. “Yeah,” I said. “We need to get the rest of this loaded up. It’s all in a crate inside. It will fit well on top of the lumber.”
Gardener followed me into the store, and without effort, picked up the large crate, and carried it out to the wagon. I followed him slowly, knowing he didn’t actually need to be supervised with his task, but knowing if Derek saw a golem acting on its own, he might think that the golem had gone rogue. I felt a sudden urge to help Gardener protect his secret, and also to find out more. Who was the person that I reminded Gardener of? What had he done for Gardener? And how could I help this sentient golem now? I thought the best thing I could do would be to act as if nothing were different about him.
Gardener lashed the crate onto the load, then reached into the front of the wagon and drew out a small casket. I looked at the list, and my scribbled calculations on the side, and told him the total. Gardener handed me the box, and I counted out some gems and gold pieces. I noted that I hadn’t taken more than a third of what was in the casket. The wizard may have been a rude and uncaring person, but he was rich. Thinking that, I realized that I’d much rather spend a day with Gardener, than have to spend ten minutes with that wizard.
I lifted the casket back to Gardener’s hands. He seemed to weigh it momentarily, and nodded once. Again, I got the impression that if he could have smiled, he would be doing so now.
“Gardener, if you get the chance, come back and talk to me again. I know it won’t be easy. You have to follow your master’s commands. But if you do get the chance, I really do want to know more about you.”
Gardener glanced around briefly, making sure no one was looking in our direction. He looked at me and nodded slowly. Then he touched his chest, and then gently touched mine. “You and I are connected, and someday we will talk again.” he seemed to be saying. Then he picked up the tongue of the wagon, and trudged out into the town.
I later heard from another explorer that the wizard had been trapped in a tower by a giant worm. The explorer didn’t mention seeing a golem, and I didn’t dare ask. The man said that the tower had collapsed, and the wizard wasn’t seen in Malkith again. But as I’ve said before, Frostgrave is a dangerous place, and that wasn’t unusual.
I don’t know what happened to Gardener. My best guess is that he’s in that tower somewhere. I’ve learned a lot since I met him. I know I’m not strong enough to face the icy city yet. But someday, I will be. I will go back. I’m going to find him.
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