by Jean Rabe
“No drowning either. Just swimming,” Rockhide continued. The old goblin looked bewildered. “Sour minds to swim, Direfang. Sour, sour minds.”
The newcomers took steady strokes, the bulk of them cutting across the narrowest part. Some had trouble keeping their heads above water, as they carried packs and bags strapped to their backs. Others tugged sacks with one hand while using the other to help pull them through the muddy water. Not one had hesitated to enter the river.
Direfang started down the bluff to meet them, Rockhide and Skakee following. The hobgoblin Rustymane urged the others to stay back.
The wind was strong that morning, bringing Direfang the pleasant scents of the river and the pines but also the pungent smell of wet goblins exiting on his side. Skakee jabbered to Rockhide about the newcomers’ odd appearance.
They were goblins, clearly, but their skin coloration was indeed different than Direfang had seen before. Their hides were a mix of gray and brown, not one of them a single shade, but many of them were predominantly the color of the river. They ranged in height from two feet to three, all of them thin and with muscular arms. Several had filed their teeth into points.
Two padded up to Direfang, extending their hands in fists then opening and spreading their fingers. They looked so similar, he guessed the first two to be brothers.
It was a greeting he was unfamiliar with, so he simply nodded in acknowledgment of their spread fingers.
“Direfang?” one asked. The speaker had a ruff of gray hair tipped with white on the center of his head. Direfang decided that was how he would tell the two apart. “The stones called and the clan answered. The stones say Direfang is building a great city for goblins. You, Direfang?”
He gave them another nod. “Yes,” the hobgoblin said.
“Draath,” the one with the ruff said, thumping his chest with his thumb. “Sallor.” He pointed to the other. “Difficult to find this place,” he continued. “Using magic did not work. Could not look through the earth to see this place. Searched and searched. Had to find the river by sight and smell.”
Around them newcomer goblins swarmed on the bank and started up the bluff.
“This clan joins Direfang’s,” Draath announced proudly.
“The clan of the Skinweavers joins this nation,” Sallor added. He repeated the gesture of holding out his fist then opening his fingers. “More clans will answer the call through the earth. This will be a great, great nation.”
Direfang glanced up the bluff but could not see Mudwort. He growled softly in his throat. “Welcome, Skinweavers,” he said grudgingly.
The last of the clan exited the river and looked up the bluff, waiting for their chance to climb. It was obvious to Direfang they carried all their worldly possessions with them.
Less than half of them wore clothes, and those garments consisted mainly of skins that draped their bodies like tabards and shawls, and worn and frayed tunics that by their large sizes must have belonged to humans or elves. Several flaunted jewelry, perhaps taken in raids-necklaces that were dainty and feminine; thick, gold chains with charms; and rings that hung from twine. Most of them wore belts, and all manner of things hung from their bodies-soup ladles, daggers, hatchets, pheasant feathers, and bulging pouches. A goblin with an eye patch had a rusty hammer hanging from his belt and a short, curvy-bladed sword strapped to his back. Another had a polished silver tankard affixed to a leather thong. Two struggled with a rolled-up piece of tarp Direfang guessed was a tent. Another carried a paddle from a small boat. Dozens had shriveled pieces of fruit hanging at their hips.
Direfang swallowed hard. No, it wasn’t fruit. He stared closely, a part of him disbelieving what he saw-heads the size of a hobgoblin’s fist. The skin of the heads was blackened and shiny in places, and the eyes and lips were stitched shut with twine. The pale, long hair was pulled up and used to tie the heads to the goblins’ belts. The ears were pointed.
“Elves,” Rockhide whispered. “Heads of elves.”
“Elves?” Skakee asked. She waggled her finger at the old goblin. “Can’t be. Elves are bigger than that.”
The two goblins were following Direfang down the bluff.
“Tiny elf heads, Direfang. Smaller than baby heads.” Rockhide scratched at his chin. “Where do such tiny, black elves live?”
Direfang continued to stare.
“Ask those goblins-the Skinweaver clan-where such tiny elves can be found.” Rockhide poked at the hobgoblin to get his attention then snaked a hand forward and touched one of the heads hanging from Draath’s belt.
Direfang bent and whispered: “Rockhide, go find Grallik. Tell the wizard to stay close to Mudwort and stay away from the newcomers. Find Qel too, and have her keep Orvago close. Do it now, Rockhide.”
The goblin grinned happily, being assigned something important to do. He scampered up the bluff as fast as his old legs would take him, threading his way among the newcomers, and disappearing over the top. Skinweaver clansmen continued to swarm up the high bank, their voices joining with the other goblins.
The hobgoblin turned back to Sallor and Draath, pointing to one of the heads that dangled from the latter’s belt.
“I hear all the questions. These are spirit vessels,” Draath said, grinning. “We discovered a village of elves to the south, and so some of the vessels are fresh.”
“Maybe the elves are returning to try and claim this forest,” Sallor added. “Hope so. The Skinweavers can gather more spirit vessels that way.”
“Elves …” Direfang tried to shake off his disbelief.
“Horrid elves. But these elves will never claim the forest,” Draath said, a grin tugging at his lips. He brought a small head out of a pouch at his side. “This one’s real fresh.”
Sallor smiled too, revealing pointed teeth. “The spirits of these elves are trapped forever here.” He stroked the forehead of one of the tiny heads. “The spirits provide the clan strength.”
“So small,” Direfang said. “How is that possible? Elves are not so small.” The words cracked when they came out, his mouth and tongue feeling dry.
“A difficult process,” Sallor admitted. “But boiling and time helps, and then more boiling. It makes the heads shrink.”
“Then charcoal,” Draath added, “to make the skin dark and pretty.”
“Difficult, but worth the trouble, yes?” Sallor said.
“But the skulls. Bones don’t shrink.” Direfang had trouble comprehending the unsettling process.
“Don’t boil the skulls,” Sallor scolded. “Cut the skin off, careful with the face. Throw the skulls to the animals to gnaw on. Just boil the skins. Scrape the skins, boil the skins, blacken the skins, and sew the eyes and the mouths shut so the elf spirits are trapped inside.”
“Forever trapped,” Draath supplied enthusiastically. “Hate the elves.”
“Me hate the Dark Knights,” Skakee chimed in. “Maybe Grallik’s head-”
Direfang thumped her on the shoulder. “Welcome to our city, Draath, Sallor. There is much work to be done.” He hissed at Skakee, “Forget Grallik for now.” He looked away from the shrunken heads and worked up some saliva. “There are trees to be cut.” He turned and started up the bluff, shaking his head, trying to rid it of unpleasant thoughts.
LESSONS AND LOSS
Skakee took a wide swing at Rockhide, her fist connecting against the side of the old goblin’s face. He staggered from the blow, and she jumped on him before he could regain his balance, legs wrapping around his waist and hands slapping at his shoulders. She opened her mouth wide and bit him on the cheek.
He roared as they tumbled to the ground outside a leaning building, other goblins gathering around and rooting one or the other on.
Sully plunged through the growing crowd in a dozen steps, trying to grab Skakee off Rockhide and ending up getting tangled in their flailing limbs. The hobgoblin went down as the onlookers cheered.
Graytoes pulled away from the mass, shaking her head and cradling Umay c
lose. “Do not watch such silliness,” she told the baby. “Umay should grow up not to fight.”
Several members of the Skinweaver clan brushed by Graytoes, nearly knocking her down.
“Someone hurt?” Sallor paused to ask her.
“Probably,” she answered. “Certainly by now.” Graytoes hurried along as more goblins rushed in to see what the excitement was.
The sounds of construction stopped, and the air was filled with the chattering of goblins and hobgoblins and the occasional sound a fist makes when striking something. The fight had escalated into a brawl beyond Skakee and Rockhide.
Toward the center of the big fight, Sully found himself buried by five members of the Flamegrass clan. They were pummeling and kicking him, and one snarled and bit his leg.
“Sully is wrong!” one of them hollered.
“Sully did it!” another shouted.
“Did what?”
“Where is Sully?”
“At the bottom!” That came in unison from Cari and Keth, who overlooked the fight from their perch high in an oak.
“Hit Jando-Jando!” someone called. “Hit him hard!”
“Bite Nkunda!”
The first whoosh of fire was barely heard above the din. But the second was louder. It was followed by the roar of a furious hobgoblin waving an axe in a circle above his head, the blade catching the breeze and whistling.
“This … will … stop … now!” Direfang dropped the axe to his shoulder, stepping into the midst of the fray.
“Stop it!”
Despite his orders, the fists continued to fly. Flamegrass clan members were fighting each other, as were a few Boarhunters.
Direfang roared again and gestured to Grallik, who complied with another column of fire, so close that it singed the hairs of some of the goblins.
Still, clusters continued to punch and scratch. Direfang passed his axe to Rustymane and grabbed Gnasher by the shoulder. The two hobgoblins waded into the fray and began plucking the combatants apart. Direfang was struck more than once in the process, and Gnasher was kicked so hard in the shin that he reacted violently, hurling the offending goblin over his shoulder and into the nearby leaning home. The wall teetered before falling over, taking the rest of the small structure with it.
“No!” Skakee bellowed. She was hoisted by Direfang off the unconscious Rockhide. From her high vantage point, she saw the remains of the home she and a few clansmen had been building. “No! No! No!”
Direfang shook her hard and brought her down in front of his face. “Stop now!”
“Skakee started it,” Jando-Jando offered over Direfang’s shoulder. “Got mad at Rockhide.”
Several in the crowd agreed Skakee was the instigator. Direfang thrust her under his arm as he moved among the others, continuing to pull apart the rest of the brawlers. Spittle flew from his lips as he shouted at them. “Stop! Now!”
He muttered as he approached two Flamegrass clansmen pulling at each other’s hair. “S’dards, the lot! Time wasted fighting! S’dards!” They stopped as he loomed over them.
Gradually everyone quieted. Some of the goblins returned to their home-building work, and others who had been in the brawl wandered away to avoid Direfang’s ire. Four were so battered, they had to be carried off by their clansmen. But a large crowd still remained clustered around the hobgoblin leader.
His chest rose and fell rapidly, as if he’d just run a great distance. Red lines showed in the whites of his eyes, and his brow knitted in consternation.
“Wizard!” The hobgoblin gestured with his head, and Grallik edged through the mass. Direfang’s hands were full-two goblins clutched by the scruff of their necks in his right hand, and a young Boarhunter held in his left. Skakee struggled under his arm, but he squeezed her hard and she stopped.
“I’ve no spell to make them get along,” Grallik told the hobgoblin. Then more softly, he added, “However, I can burn whichever ones you decide to kill.”
Direfang remembered his time at the Dark Knight mining camp when the priests would use their divine magic to stop fights in the slave pens, coerce the goblins into working harder and longer, and quiet pockets of rebellion.
“Horace …” Direfang said, his voice a low growl.
“Yes, he could have managed to bend their wills,” Grallik finished. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have let him go on Schallsea Island.”
Direfang released the Boarhunter clansman, who scampered away, kicking dust up in his wake. After another moment, he released the pair he’d been holding in his right hand. They stood at his feet, looking up at him repentantly. When he raised the edge of his lip in a snarl, they bolted, nearly knocking Grallik over in the process. Direfang jostled Skakee around, putting his hands under her armpits and lifting her up to stare into her wide, leathery face. She showed no fear. Instead, she looked angry.
“Rockhide will be fine.” That came from Rustymane, behind Direfang, who pointed to the old goblin sitting dazedly nearby. Rockhide seemed only half awake. “That pale healer woman …”
“Qel,” Grallik provided.
“Qel will mend Rockhide.” Rustymane scooped him up and lumbered off toward where goblins had been building the healer and the gnoll a small house.
“Qel should not have to mend Rockhide,” Direfang complained after Rustymane and his charge were well out of earshot. “Rockhide is old, Skakee. What is the matter with you? What could the old one have done to prompt this fight?”
The lines on her forehead grew more pronounced, her stubbornness deepening. “Should have hurt Rockhide worse,” she spit. “Should have …” She raised a little fist and shook it in the old goblin’s direction.
“What did Rockhide do?” Direfang repeated.
The crowd of goblins had been quiet, but a giggle erupted from a Flamegrass clansman near the front. Direfang shot him a fierce look, and he instantly quieted.
“Skakee, what did …”
She gestured toward what was left of the home that she and a few of her fellows had been building. “Rockhide did that.” She stared at the collapsed walls.
“That fell during the fight, Skakee. Rockhide had nothing to do with-”
One of the goblins in the front made a feigned coughing sound to get Direfang’s attention. “Uh, Rockhide leaned against Skakee’s home,” he said.
“The wall leaned a little with Rockhide,” another interjected.
Direfang felt his stomach start to churn.
“Should have hit Rockhide much, much harder.” Skakee balled her fists and shook them in the direction of Qel’s home site. “Hope Qel cannot help Rockhide. Hope Rockhide-”
Direfang sat her down. “Rockhide did nothing bad on purpose, Skakee.”
“Made the wall lean. And that made the house fall in. Rockhide’s fault. Should have hit Rockhide-”
“Leave, Skakee.”
She swallowed hard and stared at him. “Leave? Leave what? Leave what is left of this house? Nothing is left of this house. All the work and-”
“No! Leave this city, Skakee.”
From deeper in the crowd came a few gasps of surprise. Even Grallik raised an eyebrow. All eyes were on Direfang, and the sensation felt uncomfortable, like insects wandering aimlessly across his scarred hide. A part of him regretted his ruling already, wishing he’d not said anything so harsh and instead had simply scolded her. A part of him was secretly glad.
Direfang squared his shoulders and stared down at Skakee. One of the smaller goblins, she didn’t even come up to his waist. “It is time for Skakee to leave this city. There is no place for such a goblin that fights with old ones over an accident. If the house had been built better, the wall would not have leaned. The fault is not with Rockhide. The fault is with Skakee for starting a fight. The wall could have been repaired.”
She sucked in her lower lip and shook her head, disbelief etching her features. “Sorry, Direfang. Should have thought. Should not have hit Rockhide. Should apologize and-”
“Should leave no
w,” he said, each word hard and distinct.
“But-”
He growled from deep in his throat, and a line of drool edged over his lip and spilled onto his chest. He bent over and stabbed a finger into her chest, toppling her.
“Now, while Skakee still breathes.” The words left a bitter taste in his mouth.
She sucked in a great gulp of air at the threat to her life and scrambled backward, kicking up dust and bumping into the legs of her fellows. She got to her feet and shook her head again.
“So sorry,” she tried. “So very, very-”
Direfang took a step closer and closed his right hand into a fist, the skin paling around his knuckles.
She broke into a sob and whirled, pushing through the goblins behind her, little feet thudding against the dry ground and sending up puffs of dirt.
Goblins started arguing, some pointing at Skakee, others at Direfang.
“There could be another fight, Foreman,” Grallik said, padding up to the hobgoblin’s shoulder.
“What did the wizard say?” That came from Rustymane, who understood very few words of the common tongue.
“Quiet!” Direfang bellowed.
The arguing grew louder, and Direfang gestured to Grallik. The wizard nodded, sending a stroke of fire down behind the assembly. The scent of burned earth filled their nostrils.
“Skakee did wrong,” Direfang said loudly. His throat ached from the effort; he felt weary. He heard a rustle in the branches overhead and looked up. A few dozen goblins were hanging on thick limbs, listening and watching from a safe distance. “Skakee was punished. Simple.”
“Direfang had no right,” one of her clansmen risked speaking up. “Direfang cannot-”
“Cannot keep order?” the hobgoblin asked. He took a step toward the bold goblin and bent low to stare him in the face. “Someone must keep order, Grimstone, or chaos will rule this city.”
Several goblins agreed with Direfang, nodding vigorously and whispering that Skakee was indeed wrong to hurt such an old, clumsy goblin.
One of the Skinweavers pointed to a shrunken head dangling at his side. “Better to fight elves than goblins,” he said loudly for all to hear. “Better to collect elf heads.”