Jean Rabe - Goblin Nation

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.

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 close. “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.