by Pirateaba
She’s competent, quiet, well-spoken and…my first pick if it comes to it. But enough about that. I’ll get to know them more over the next few days. I steeple my fingers together as if I’m at a board meeting and lean over the table.
“Goblins. I know they’re attacking villages all over the place. Is that normal? It seems like these villages are prey to any kind of monsters that come along. How could anyone survive like this?”
Wiskeria and Odveig exchange a glance. It’s Wiskeria who speaks for the both of them. I can sense that she wears some kind of glasses—spectacles I think these ones are called. She adjusts the frame as she speaks.
“Goblin attacks are common in most places of the world as I’m sure you know, sire. However, around Invrisil, they’re known to be well-coordinated and particularly nasty. Not that they’re particularly common or this vicious—mostly, Goblins will raid a farm and steal what animals they can, make away with a [Farmer]’s stores—sometimes kill, but usually they just want food. These ones are different.”
“It’s this new Great Goblin Chieftain. There was word a while back—a group of women were found outside the gates of Merendia not two weeks back. Apparently a Goblin tribe of all things left them there.”
“A Goblin tribe? But wait—these women—were they—?”
The silence from both Wiskeria and Odveig confirms my darkest suspicions. Odveig clears her throat.
“It’s just rumor and hearsay, but I heard that this Goblin tribe actually rescued them. Apparently, there’s a huge Goblin tribe living in a nearby mountain—Dwarfhalls Rest it’s called. We had no notion it was occupied, but there’s a Great Goblin Chieftain living there, or so the women claim.”
“A Great Chieftain?”
“I’d never heard of it myself, your majesty. It’s caused panic all over the nearest cities once they heard of it, especially with this Goblin Lord to the south.”
“Right. Goblin Lord south, Great Chieftain around here.”
It’s hard keeping track of this Goblin news Durene and the others seem so well-versed in. I’ve never met a Goblin. They sound like horrible monsters, though. Very Tolkein-esque. And a Great Chieftain is apparently bad news. City-ending bad news, which is a horrible thought.
“It seems this other Goblin tribe splintered from the mountain. The woman claimed there was fighting and they were helped to escape. Well, the upshot of that is that the Goblins that still remain in the mountain are hopping mad. Probably lost a lot of food or whatever they were hoarding, so they’re hitting villages and towns with massive raiding parties. Not just a few Goblin stragglers with knives and rocks—Hobgoblins and lots of smaller Goblins with real weapons.”
That sounds like exactly the sort of thing I didn’t want to hear. I must look worried, because Wiskeria hastens to assure me.
“You paid for both our group and the Windfrozen Riders, sire. We’re capable of fighting off any lone raiding party aimed at a village. However, it might be best to take precautions.”
“Indeed. Thank you for telling me. If you don’t mind, I’d like to discuss exactly what you had in mind. These Goblins…say they came to this village. How would you prefer to fight them off?”
That’s the first part of my day. After talking with both adventurers, I immediately head into the village and find Prost.
He’s busy supervising a bunch of young men and women who are busy cutting down and then cutting up trees. I’m no carpenter, so the flurry of movement is all a mystery to me. But this is the first step on getting those new houses done.
“Mister Prost.”
“Your majesty! What can I do for you?”
“A lot, unfortunately. I’ve just talked with Wiskeria and Odveig—they’re concerned about Goblin attacks and so am I.”
My voice is loud enough that the other villagers working on the trees glance up. Prost sounds concerned.
“Yes, your majesty. We’ve heard the same. It’s customary for a few of the older folk with levels to organize a militia of sorts, but that’s only if we think there’s a handful of Goblins hiding out. If there’s a lot, we can only trust to adventurers.”
“True. But that doesn’t mean we have to sit idly knowing there are Goblins around. I was thinking we could add a palisade to the list of things we’re building.”
“A palisade, sir?”
Palisades. Fences made of sharpened wood stakes. Prost is certainly familiar with the idea, but Riverfarm never had any walls of any sort. Nevertheless, when I give him the idea he agrees it’s possible. Only…
“Only, it’s difficult, sire. I have this lot hewing the wood and then planing it for construction with hand-tools, but that’s a far cry from a sawmill, which is what I’d prefer. It’ll be slow going without more hands…”
“We’ll get those soon enough. However, I’m not suggesting we put up walls all the way around the village. A few to block off the most undefended routes would be good to start with. I was thinking around the barn, using the back as a wall, you see?”
“Oh! Right!”
Prost and I do a short tour of the village and go over how many trees he’d need for that, and the time it would take. When he goes off to shout that he needs more hands for trees, I wander back over to Gamel. I heard his voice and sensed he was among the workers there.
“Gamel, how’s work going?”
The young man pauses with some sort of long iron bar in his hands. He’s using it to keep the log steady while others hack at it with axes. It looks complex, and I’m sorry to have stopped him, but he and the others immediately jump to their feet.
“Your majesty!”
“I don’t want to disrupt you. I just thought I’d ask how you’re doing.”
“Well, sire. I’m happy to be helping and be back in the village. I uh, this is Tessia and Erhart. Tessia’s a childhood friend. She and I, uh—”
Gamel stammers and introduces me to two people, one of whom is a young woman he’s clearly biased towards. They introduce themselves, bowing and curtseying awkwardly—although both are wearing trousers and thick clothing because it’s cold.
“Your majesty, I’m honored.”
The young woman known as Tessia has a quiet voice as she introduces herself. Erhart seems tongue-tied at meeting me.
I smile at Tessia, and then remember a young woman with a shard of wood sticking out of her leg as the digging team pulls her out of the snow. She remembers too, and bows low over my hand as I offer it.
“I—I wanted to say…thank you. I can’t ever say what it means—I thought when I was down there—”
Her voice breaks. I grip her hands as Gamel reaches for Tessia’s shaking shoulders.
“I know. I’m glad I could help.”
That’s all. I leave the two to the tree and step away. I’ve had similar conversations with almost all of Riverfarm’s people at one point or another. It’s not embarrassing so much as painful when I speak to them.
I wish I could have saved them all. But I know what was impossible.
Something else attracts my attention as I talk about how many trees need to be cut for the new defenses. I sense a large number of bodies entering the outskirts of the village and hear shouts coming from that direction.
“Prost. I think the people from Windrest are here.”
Prost and I hurry over to where the commotion is happening. In my sense of the village I can tell a huge crowd has entered, accompanied by a few donkeys pulling wagons, overloaded carts with valuable possessions—
It’s a nightmare. I didn’t expect an entire village’s worth of people! No—I did expect it, but seeing the population of Riverfarm double in a moment blows me away. If I didn’t have my inner view of the village, the noise alone would render my sense of hearing useless.
“There he is!”
I hear a voice. Helm is shouting and waving towards me and Prost as we stride towards the crowd. I hear the majority of voices cut off, and then every eye is on me. A few people begin whispering incredulously
in the crowd.
“Is that him? Is that—”
“An [Emperor]? In Izril?”
“Why’s he got his eyes closed? You can’t mean he’s truly blind? Not—”
“Attention!”
Prost’s voice shouts across the entire village. I can sense the man standing tall beside me. He waves a hand and the villagers fall still. Oh, well if Prost’s got it—I relax a bit. Too soon!
“Kneel before Emperor Laken, the Protector of Riverfarm! In his mercy, he has allowed you to—”
I elbow Prost in the side and cut him off before he can say anything more. Okay, not what I hoped he would say. I clear my throat, and take a few steps forwards. Every eye is on me. I speak, calmly, reassuringly.
“I am Laken Godart. An [Emperor].”
Voices. Murmuring. I wait for silence, and go on.
“I welcome you to Riverfarm, people of Windrest. Please know that you will be safe here. However, while you stay in my domain, you must obey me as your ruler.”
Shock—I wish I could see their expressions, with my eyes. I sense people shifting around me. But I don’t move. I am that I am. Calm. This is how it is.
“I own these lands. If you cannot accept that, I am afraid there is no place for you. But know this: while you are here, I will do everything in my power to protect you. You have my word on it.”
Silence. Then I hear someone clapping. Prost. This time it’s what’s needed. The people of Riverfarm begin cheering my name, and then I hear the people of Windrest take up the feeling. They shout my name and cluster around me.
Do they believe I’m an [Emperor]? I don’t know, but Durene tells me I have a look about me that makes me different. And whatever they believe, I’ve promised them safety. So they shout my name and a man fights his way to me.
“Your majesty, it’s me! Helm, sire!”
I find my hand being shaken rapidly by huge, callused hands that nearly break mine. I extricate myself from Helm’s grip as he shouts at me.
“We’re ready to work, sire! I know there’s houses needing to be dug out and more built—us Windrest folk have brought our tools and there’s some good [Carpenters] and [Builders] among us! Just say the word and we’ll do what needs doing, milord! I’m a [Blacksmith]! I have my anvil—I’d sorely love to ply my trade here, if your lordship’s willing?”
Didn’t I hear that Izril has a lot of [Lords] and [Ladies]? It seems like I’m being treated like a more outstanding version of one. I nod at Helm, raising my voice so the people around me can hear.
“We’ll have work for you soon, Mister Helm. If you’ve an anvil, all the better. We could use nails, repairs to tools that were damaged in the avalanche, more nails…there’s always work for a [Blacksmith], as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“Yessir! And the rest of my kin—I’ve a cousin and two daughters, what will they—”
Helm’s voice is anxious. I place a hand on his shoulder—amazing the people around me since I’m talking and moving with my eyes closed—and reassure the man.
“Everyone will work, don’t you worry, Mister Helm. So long as people work, they’ll have a roof over their heads and a hot belly and a place to sleep. We might have to build the roofs first, but…if you have any concerns, Prost, my [Steward], will handle them.”
When I mention Prost’s class I hear gasps, none more loudly than Helm’s own. As if my words have summoned him, Prost strides into the crowd and takes the attention of the group off of me.
“The [Emperor]’s not a man who has the time to deal with you louts himself! Line up—divide yourselves by classes, the lot of you! I’ll put families together once we’ve sleeping places sorted out—leave your tools and such over there! We’ll organize it later I said! And we’ll share what we have—no hoarding! Helm, who’s the [Village Head] around here?”
I walk away from the group and watch Prost get to work. He’s efficient. The people of Windrest know what to do, and when he tells them where to put their belongings and what needs doing, experienced workers like the [Carpenters] immediately peel off and get to work on the felled trees, while other [Woodcutters] grab axes and head towards people cutting.
More people go to the barn to help unload the carts, quite a number of women and a few men stay to manage the children, and in the midst of it all, an old man with a limp, bad posture, and a desperate note in his voice grabs me.
“Your majesty, I beg a word.”
“Certainly, uh—”
“Jelov, your majesty! I’m afraid that your man Prost might not have a job for me! I—I’m old and might not be worth the effort of keeping, but I beg your mercy! Please!”
He looks desperate, and no wonder. He’s the oldest person I’ve seen in this world, and his hands are as contorted as his back. I calm him down and take him a few feet away from the crowd around Prost.
“I’m sure there’s work for you Jelov. What’s your class?”
“Woodworking sire!”
“Oh? Well, if you’re a [Carpenter]—”
The man’s voice contorts with equal measures agony and indignation.
“I’m no [Carpenter], your eminence. I’m a [Carver]—damned class though it is! I carve toys of wood, hilts, handles—my hands can’t hold an axe in my old age, much less lift all that weight! There’s not a call for it at the moment, not now with folks building and whatnot. No need for toys when there’s not enough places to sleep, but it’s all I can do!”
He looks pleadingly at me.
“I wouldn’t dare ask normally, but I’ve a granddaughter and if I can’t work—”
“Of course you can work! If carving’s what you do, we’ll let you carve, Jelov. Toys? Why wouldn’t we need them? Children have to play after a disaster, and I’d consider it a blessing to have things to occupy them.”
The old man’s eyes widen as I interrupt him. He looks so relieved he might faint. I can see why—if a village is in dire straits, the elderly might be the first to be deemed expendable.
“Why thank you sire, I’d do whatever needs doing—I could fletch too, although I’m a slow hand if it’s not with a carving knife—”
“No, no. Carving’s just the thing. You could help me with a project I need doing.”
Is it coincidence Jelov found me? I recall one of the things—a piece of advice I’d been given. Intrigued, Jelov cocks his head to one side, his beard blowing in the wind.
“You’d like something carved, [Emperor] Laken, sire? I can do detailed woodwork. A piece for your mantle?”
“More like a pole in the ground. I’m thinking of a large wooden pole, Jelov, the kind of thing you could plant in the ground and leave for years. Like a signpost, only…etched.”
“Etched? Ah, you mean illustrated with letters and so on, sire? I could do that! Is there a name for this piece you’d want?”
“Less of a piece, and more of a marker. Let’s call it a, uh, totem pole of sorts.”
The old man starts looking worried again, and just when I’d calmed him down.
“Totem, sire? What kind of wood is totem? We’ve naught but cedar trees around here mainly, although I know a good birch—”
“Uh, not that. It’s a kind of carving. Which I’d greatly desire. Do you think you could take a large block of wood, around this wide—”
I measure a square about a hand-and-a-half wide in each direction and eight feet high for Jelov and tell him what I’m thinking. Soon the old man’s stroking at his beard and chattering to me, spraying me and the nearby surroundings with a bit of spit as he does. His earlier timidness is gone as his love of the craft—and pride—takes over.
“A pole like that? Pshaw—oops, sorry ‘bout that, your majesty. Carving a few fancy shapes into this much wood? Naught a problem. See, the issue’s in varnishing and I know a few young lads who’d do it right quick if you let me have them—and I’ve the oils and resins I bought from an [Alchemist]. Served me well these last few years—no, I could have it carved up in a day or two. The processing’s the
thing, see? And design of course.”
“So quickly?”
I edge away from Jelov, but he just crabs over to me, talking excitedly. Aw, well, who needs a dry face anyways? Isn’t spit good for the skin?
“I’m not this old for nothing, sire! I’ve many a Skill—reckon I could get a good start, just so long as I know what you’re wanting. Got anything in particular you want on it, or just some fancy etchings? I can do fancy—folk think I’ve written mage symbols when they’re nothing but scribbling on the bark.”
“I have an idea, thank you. I’d like the top to have a symbol. This would be a, uh, marker of sorts, so I want it to show that.”
“Right, right. What kind of symbol?”
“How about…an eye?”
I really hadn’t though this part through too much. I need a symbol of my domain, so an eye naturally pops into my mind. I sketch an Egyptian-style eye into the ground and Jelov nods appreciatively.
“Not hard at all. You want two of them?”
“One’s fine. It would go here at the top, and then maybe carve a line to separate it…can you put the eye in a, ah, triangle? A pyramid? It would look like this.”
“Ooh, now that’s occult, sire. Feels like it’s staring at me, so it does. And them little lines—are they bricks?”
“Yes. Yes, that’s a pyramid. An ancient structure. And below it, some ground—”
“Ah! A floating eye in a pyramid-thingy! Very good. I can carve that no problem sire.”
Jelov’s making encouraging noises, probably taken with the symbol I’m designing for him. Myself, I feel a bit…embarrassed. It’s not as if I’m coming up with the design, obviously.
It’s just a silly thought. But the Eye of Providence—a part of the U.S. bill and often associated with the Illuminati—is a cool symbol. It makes for as good an inscription as any, and I have a sense that this totem pole, this marker, needs to have this kind of symbol.
Because it will represent my people, my village. Me. And I can always change it later.