Goblin Nation

DRAATH AND SALLOR

The following morning newcomers appeared on the opposite bank between the small pines and the river, a line of goblins that stretched as far as Direfang could see-more than three hundred certainly. More than four hundred, he decided after a moment. Maybe as many as five hundred, he guessed, when he spotted more emerging from the trees.

“Thought that clan would be here yesterday, Direfang, or the day before yesterday,” Mudwort said. She puffed out her chest in pride and poked at the hobgoblin’s leg. “More are coming too. The stones in the earth say so.” The red-skinned goblin grinned at Direfang. “And probably more goblins after that. More and more.”

“Too many more.” Direfang glanced down at her; she came up only to his waist. Dirt was caked around her fingers, as she’d been using her magic to see through the ground, searching for goblins and calling them there. He’d spotted her, Thya, and Grallik shortly after dawn, hunched on the top of the rise and no doubt working some sort of combined spell. He cursed himself for not having investigated what they were doing.

What did he want with five hundred more goblins?

“No more calling goblins, Mudwort. No more! There are more than enough here in this city already. Too many.” More softly, he added, “Too many hungry, hungry mouths to feed.”

“City? Huh! Not much of a city, this,” she said with a shake of her head. “Wood and dirt and grass and animal skins. Hardly a city, Direfang.”

“It will be someday, Mudwort.”

It sounded like insects were swarming around them, but the sound was all the goblins chattering. Direfang’s army was cutting trees nearby, some of them heading north to cut more trees that Orvago had scouted. Others were eating or setting out to hunt and forage-all assigned tasks by Direfang, Sully, and Rustymane. Still more goblins were gathering on the bluff to ogle the newcomers across the river, pointing and talking. “How all them eat?” he heard more than one say. Everywhere the talk seemed to be of food. His own stomach grumbled, though he knew food would not settle it.

“There is hardly enough food for the goblins already here, Mudwort. How can more be fed?” Direfang felt his stomach start to churn.

“Cities feed the people. Palanthas, Neraka, Steel Town. Cities always feed the people living there. So build your city.”

“Only if you find the food to feed this city,” Direfang said. “Look through the earth, Mudwort. Find herds and fruit trees.”

“Roots too.” She thrust her dirty hands in the pockets of her tunic and turned away, seeing Thya and heading toward her.

The line of goblins on the other side looked up and seemed, as one, to catch the eye of Direfang before plunging into the river.

“Swimming!” Rockhide said. “No fear.”

“No fear …” The words buzzed through the goblins assembled around Direfang. The chopping faded as more curious goblins swarmed onto the bluff to see the fearless newcomers.

“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.