The Wandering Inn_Volume 1

by Pirateaba

  Upwards, then, traversing stone steps and an open bridge where bat droppings had made footing treacherous. Goblins carrying wood – both firewood and quality pieces cut for the purposes of crafting passed them by, heads bowed, moving fast. There was a rhythm to this place, and a structure.

  Then they passed by the huge furnaces which expelled black smoke upwards and felt warmer. The Goblins and Rags saw how the embers in this place never died, being fed coal and wood almost constantly to warm the cavern. And from the fire all things came. Meat was cooked and food made with embers taken from that massive blaze, and metal hammered or the crudest of reforgings done by Goblin [Blacksmiths], whom Rags had never seen before.

  And then they reached the heart of the city, and Rags gazed in wonder at the buildings. For after centuries of neglect and habitation by Goblins, the former city of stone still showed traces of what it had been.

  Perhaps it was Dwarves who carved into this place, building grand monuments and smoothing the stone. But it was Goblins who broke down windows and walls and strung bridges and rope everywhere that they might travel more easily. As Rags watched, a Goblin climbed higher, headed towards a ledge higher up that led into another passage. The Goblin’s grip slipped as he or she reached for the next part of the rope. They tried to stabilize themselves, failed.

  The small body fell, and was soon dragged away.

  “This is the hall of the Great Chieftain of the North.”

  That was all Garen Redfang said as Rags walked with him. She stood with him and all the Chieftains of the allied tribes at the head of their army. Most of the other Goblins had stayed behind—going somewhere else—but hundreds still followed the Chieftains, warriors and other Hobs, going to the heart of this place.

  Where else could it be but the throne room? Here Rags saw the places meant for statues, smashed and turned instead into more places for Goblins to move about freely. But there was still a majesty to the double doors that stood wide, and as she entered the huge hall, she saw the Chieftain of this place.

  It was just a glimpse. Rags saw him past the tables and detritus of the room, sitting on a throne of cloth and dirty pillows. A fat, huge Goblin twice as large as any Hob. But her eye was drawn to the long tables, the seats made out of stone that had been dragged up here. This was no throne room after all, but a banquet hall.

  And there were Goblins in it, enough for a feast. But Rags didn’t think there was going to be any party, unless it was the bloody kind.

  These Goblins were ready for war. They stood next to the dais and the huge Goblin Chieftain, armed warriors, equal in number or perhaps a little more than the Goblins that had entered with Rags and Garen at their head.

  Rags immediately noticed the quality of these Goblin’s arms. Steel, again, or iron. Some wore complete sets of plate armor, scavenged from some adventurer’s corpse. Others held swords which glowed—they had magical weapons!

  And Hobs. There were a lot of them. Rags blinked as she saw tall Goblins, standing next to their smaller bretheren. So many! She counted over thirty before she stopped, and there were far more in the room. Far more.

  By that standard alone these Goblins were superior to the trespassers. And it clearly was a message: we are better than you. We are stronger. For all that, Rags felt that Garen’s Redfang warriors were no less powerful than the best of the warriors who stood assembled here. And of course none of the Goblins could match the legendary Garen Redfang, not the mightiest Hob warrior among them.

  Except perhaps their leader. Rags fixed on him as she walked slowly forwards with Garen. The massive Goblin had not bothered to stand; she wondered if he could, fat as he was. But his huge head as was intent as he stared at her . Rags shuddered as she saw his crimson eyes looking towards her, and she sensed his authority. But then the Chieftain’s eyes fixed on Garen.

  Garen stopped two thirds of the way into the room, and the Goblins stopped behind him. Rags walked past Garen, which made him frown in annoyance. She ignored that; she was the Chieftain, after all.

  The huge Chieftain’s eyes flicked to Rags for a second, and his lips moved upwards in amusement. But he looked back at Garen. While Rags was wondering what to say, his huge mouth opened and he spoke.

  “Garen Redfang. It has been long since you trespassed in my lands.”

  Rags jumped in surprise. He was speaking in the common language! And fluently! Even Garen didn’t speak like that!

  And he had addressed Garen. Rags glared. She had to reply back, teach his arrogant Chieftian who the real leader was.

  But then Garen spoke. As if he didn’t realize what he was doing, he smiled and replied back, claiming Rags’ authority in front of the other Goblins.

  “It has been long. But I am here for war.”

  At that the other Goblins standing next to the Chieftain stirred. Rags froze, and she put her hand on the crossbow which she always kept slung to her back. A second and she could have it out and firing. But the Chieftain sitting on his throne only laughed.

  “War? Against us? If you wanted that, you would have brought three times the numbers with you, and no children and females.”

  To Rags’ outrage the big Goblin pointed at her as she said that. She heard a murmur from the Goblins behind her, but dared not turn to see if it was in support or agreement with the Chieftain. Garen only smiled.

  “I have brought many tribes. Strong ones. Smart ones. The one standing here is known as Rags. She is unique.”

  He had named her, as if she was lesser! Rags nearly exploded, but the Chieftain laughed hugely. He peered at Rags, rising a bit from his bed of softness. She didn’t flinch as she met his eyes.

  “Hah. Yes. She is small and young, a child still. Do you bed her, Garen Redfang? Or is it because she is your child that you give her power?”

  That was it. Rags felt something snap. As she heard the Goblins standing around the Chieftain on the dais laughing, she raised her hand to her back.

  The black crossbow was heavy, but Rags could lift it with one hand for a few moments. She pulled it out, cocked the crossbow with one pull that took all her strength, and had a heavy quarrel on the string before the laughter had stopped.

  Rags swung the black crossbow up and pointed the bolt straight at the fat Goblin’s massive stomach. The entire room went still.

  I am Chieftain here. Not Garen Redfang. I have come with my tribes here. I am Chieftain! Show respect!

  She said it loudly, letting her voice ring out through the room. Rags stared up at the huge Goblin sitting on his throne fearlessly. The warriors around them had their hands on their weapons, but she only had eyes for him.

  Two crimson eyes blazed in anger. Slowly, ignoring the crossbow trained on him, the Goblin Chieftain stood up. And when he did, Rags realized how huge he was. He was a giant, tall as a Minotaur and bigger still! His voice boomed as he pointed down at Rags, filled with anger.

  “I am the Great Chieftain of the North, Tremborag! I fought with the Goblin King ten years ago. When he called, I answered and I rode with his armies! I have seen his face. I know his name. Velan the Kind, last King of our people. You dare to come into my domain and challenge me? Know your place. Kneel!”

  His last word thundered in the cavernous room, and the pressure that hit Rags and the other Goblins had to have been from a Skill. Garen gritted his teeth and grinned fiercely as Goblins around him dropped to one knee or cowered.

  Rags felt her legs buckle, but she did not kneel. She looked around and saw most of the other Chieftains kneeling as well. Only three—a tall, female Hob and a normal-sized Goblin, both with the second most powerful tribes after Garen’s, refused to kneel. And, surprisingly, the Gold Rock Chieftain. He stood steadily on his feet, blinking and scratching at a layer of fat as he stared at Tremborag.

  The crossbow was heavy in her hands. Rags lowered it, but kept the point trained on Tremborag’s feet.

  I am Chieftain too. You offer disrespect! Know your place.

  Dead silence followed her wo
rds. Then Rags heard a voice. Garen, standing behind her, laughed. He laughed loudly, and then spoke to the Great Chieftain.

  “See? She is fearless! And she is a Chieftain! My Chieftain.”

  That made all the Goblins standing with Tremborag go still with shock. Rags felt countless eyes on her, but stood proudly. She was Chieftain. That could not be taken away from her.

  But Tremborag managed to do it with a dismissive glance. He looked at Garen.

  “You? Gave way to her? Why?”

  The Hob warrior grinned.

  “She can lead armies. She is smart.”

  As if she wasn’t here! And he—Tremborag had the gall to suggest Garen had let Rags defeat him on purpose! The worst part was that he was right. Rags ground her teeth, but the conversation went on and she couldn’t break into it.

  “A Chieftain to lead warriors while you fight in the front! I see! Clever! I would expect nothing less from Garen Redfang!”

  Tremborag laughed hugely as he settled back down on his throne. Garen grinned too, but there was a spark in the air between the two Goblins. They were fighting for dominance, and everyone in the room felt it. The trouble was…well, that it wasn’t Rags doing the fighting. And she sensed like all the Goblins that both Garen and Tremborag were matched in their way.

  “So. You have a leader and many tribes. Why have you come here, then, Garen Redfang? Did you not swear never to join the Goblin Lord? Did you not fight them, or were you too afraid and fled here?”

  From behind Rags she heard Goblins shouting angrily at this—probably Garen’s warriors. But the Hob was calm, and replied coolly.

  “We did fight. We fought an army. Goblin Lord’s army. Thousands strong. We slew them all. But it was warband.”

  Silence. All Goblins could understand what this meant. Tremborag lost his grin and nodded. His face grew serious. He looked past Garen, and his voice deepened further, if that were possible.

  “When the Goblin King lived, his raiding parties were tens of thousands strong. So I have heard. A Goblin Lord stands second-highest to a King. He is strong.”

  “Strong. But he is no true Goblin.”

  That came from Garen, and it was damning as it was shocking to hear, even though Rags knew his opinion. Tremborag gazed down at Garen silently, and nodded.

  “He is not. But I ask again. Why do you come here, Garen Redfang?”

  Everyone knew the answer, but Garen had to say it. He bared his teeth.

  “To fight against the Goblin Lord. Together.”

  Rags held her breath, forgetting for a moment that it was she who should have made the offer. Tremborag nodded closing his eyes briefly. But when he looked at Garen it was with another one of his smiles, as if he was playing some huge trick on the Hobgoblin.

  “You say to ally. But here I sit in my kingdom in the mountain. My Goblins are strong. Why should I ally with you, you who has abandoned his home?”

  Now Rags could answer. She opened her mouth, but to her outrage Garen stepped past her and spoke in her place. He gestured at her and the Goblins behind him. Rags had her hand on her sword, itching to stab him.

  “I am strong. My tribe and other tribes—under Rags—is strong. And she is smart. She can lead armies to battle.”

  At least he said that. Tremborag’s eyes focused on Rags briefly again, assessing, discarding.

  “So? I have armies and strong and smart warriors of my own.”

  Garen nodded. He touched something else, something hidden behind his armor. Rags stared at it, knowing what it had to be. A little key.

  “I have something else. A prize. You know what it is.”

  Tremborag stared at Garen’s hand. He nodded. Spoke quietly.

  “Yes. I know what you have. And that false Goblin to the south shall not have it.”

  The two stared at each other for a long minute. Then Tremborag nodded. He rose, and laughed. Then he spread his arms wide.

  “So be it! Garen Redfang, we will fight together! This Goblin Lord will not rule us. And he will break his teeth upon this mountain if he should come for battle.”

  A moment’s breath as Goblins understood this, and then thunder rang out as hundreds, thousands of voice shouted out. Rags realized the throne room, the banquet room, wasn’t just filled with warriors. Goblins, ones who were lesser warriors or not fighters at all, filled the upper balconies dug out of the rock or stood clustered around the entrance to the throne room.

  Garen strode forwards, and he and Tremborag met. They didn’t hug or shake hands, but they stood together and so it was done. Rags knew it. And she also knew something else.

  She’d lost her power here. Garen had taken it without a fight and without saying so, but he had taken it from her.

  She just didn’t understand how.

  —-

  She confronted him as the banquet room was filling with thousands of Goblins. Tremborag was as good as his word, and he had declared a feast to celebrate. Huge baskets full of food, cooked meat and raw, and many other foods, vats of bubbling soup, were being taken out to feed the hungry mass of Goblins.

  Rags wasn’t eating just yet. She stopped Garen as he finished peeing in a corner where other Goblins had done the same by the smell of it. He looked at her and grinned.

  “Little Chieftain.”

  That was it. Rags aimed a kick at the thing dangling between his legs. Garen frowned and blocked the blow.

  “Painful. Don’t do that.”

  I am Chieftain!

  She shouted it at him. Garen just pulled his pants up and shrugged. He looked at her as if he’d done very little wrong; an inconsequential thing she was getting worked up over.

  “You are Chieftain. But I am Garen Redfang. And I am strong. So I am Chieftain too, in a way.”

  “That is not…how…it works!”

  Rags hissed at him, practically stumbling over the words. Garen just shook his head.

  “You need me. I, Tremborag respects. Not you.”

  It was true, but it didn’t stop Rags from trying to kick him in the same place. Garen just laughed and moved out of the way.

  “It is time to eat. Eat, and then we shall talk, Chieftain.”

  She watched him go, despairing inside. Well, Garen had said it. He wasn’t under her command. He just pretended to be because it was convenient. Now she knew. And she…

  She had to do something about it. Instantly, Rags stopped thinking of the Redfang tribe as being hers. It was not. Her tribe was smaller now, and weaker. And it was in a place where one tribe reigned supreme.

  But she was still Chieftain. Filled with that knowledge, Rags returned to the banquet room. Countless Goblins were tearing at food, eating in groups of alone – as alone as you could get in such a crowded room anyways – but the place of choice seemed to be reserved for the Goblins sitting at the massive table in front of the dais.

  In truth, it didn’t make sense to Rags. Goblins didn’t use tables! Not unless they had a lot of food and the ground was really dirty, at any rate. And they didn’t do…formality. But these Goblins, Tremborag’s tribe, had clearly adopted the other species’ way of doing things.

  It was just another thing that didn’t make sense to Rags, but food was food. She walked towards the table. The seats were almost exclusively filled by Hobs. Some elite Goblin warriors of regular size were there too, but it was clearly based on hierarchy. She saw her fellow Chieftains sitting at the table already, halfway up, and Garen at the far end.

  But where did she sit? Rags saw a Goblin hurrying to intercept her. They had Goblins waiting on the table? True, Goblins always brought her food if she wanted it, but this—

  Rags frowned as the meek Goblin pointed to a place on the table. Far down the table, near the end. It was where some of her warriors sat, including the Still Grass Chieftain. And it was not where she belonged.

  Even if Garen and his tribe were not hers, Rags knew she belonged near the head of the table. She looked towards the throne and saw Tremborag, huge and inescapable,
sitting there with Garen and a few of his warriors. The Great Chieftain was watching her. He was eating what looked like the entire bloody leg of a cow, and laughing at something Garen had said. But he was staring at her.

  He’d put her here. Rags stared at the empty seat waiting for her. It was a deliberate insult, Rags knew. She stared up at the head of the table, where Garen sat next to Tremborag. Rags didn’t blush; she didn’t feel embarrassed in the slightest. No, the only thing in her heart was anger.

  Rags didn’t take the seat. She turned from the meek Goblin and strode towards the head of the table, ignoring the looks she got from the other Goblins eating. They were watching her too. Of course they were. Probably most of the room was watching her, seeing what she did. That was Goblins for you. They watched everything. But Rags had never known a day where her actions mattered as much as now.

  She stopped at the head of the table and looked around. Garen was sitting next to Tremborag, who was seated at the head of the wide table. And across from him…

  “What is wrong, little Goblin? Are you lost? Your seat is over there!”

  A Hob, battle-scarred and confident, sat in the chair across from Garen. He was holding some kind of crude mead in his heads—no doubt made in this very mountain—and laughing at her.

  Rags just stared at him. She walked over and pointed to his seat.

  My seat. Move.

  He blinked at her for a second, and then roared with mirth. The Goblins who’d heard Rags laughed as well, as did Tremborag. Garen was smiling and just watching Rags.

  She calmly watched the Hob instead. He was laughing at her. So were the other Goblins, Hobs and normal ones alike. They didn’t respect her.

  Was Rags angry? No. She’d gone far beyond that, into a realm where the words furious, incandescent, and wrathful were the soft option. The pure quill of rage was burning in Rags’ chest, which is why she did what she did next without thought for the consequences.