Jean Rabe: Goblin Nation

Direfang shook off the memory. Most of his scars had been caused by the Dark Knights, and those times brought far worse memories than the day with Nkunda … he’d only just then recalled the maddened goblin’s name. He’d actually forgiven Nkunda for the wild transgression and did not report the incident to the knights. That day he’d watched the anger melt from Nkunda’s eyes, along with any spark of spirit. When a knight asked Direfang about his wounds, he said merely there had been an accident in the deep tunnel, that he’d tripped and fell on something sharp. Nkunda was with his mass of followers; Direfang spotted him working with the Fishgatherer clan to fashion nets from vines. He’d not spoken to Direfang since the incident three years past. Direfang wondered if Nkunda spoke to anyone.

“Magic, certainly, this rock is.” Mudwort had been saying something else, but Direfang had been too preoccupied to catch her words. “But maybe foul magic, this rock. Hear? Maybe Direfang should not have planted this spire here. Maybe it will bring bad fortune to Rock Town. Worse than the bloodragers.”

He kept his back to her. None had been able to decipher the writing on the stone-Orvago, Qel, and Grallik had spent hours studying it when the army stopped to rest. It was not of a language any of them knew, or so they claimed. None of the goblins and hobgoblins could read, though, save Direfang, who had mastered that skill by studying over the shoulders of Dark Knights during his years as a slave. There was a big crate of books higher on the bluff, among the supplies the goblins had transported on the ships with them. Perhaps one of the books might hold a key to the spire. Such research would have to wait. The rock was not important anyway, Direfang thought. It was just something he wanted to bring along and plant there; he couldn’t say why.

“It is not foul magic, Mudwort,” Direfang said finally. “Grallik would have wanted it left behind if it was foul.”

She scowled, her disapproval lost on him. “Grallik is not so powerful a wizard that-”

“Not so powerful as Mudwort?”

Without waiting for her reply, Direfang walked parallel to the bluff’s edge away from Mudwort and toward the youngling who had scrambled loose from the hyacinths.

The Boarhunters chopped down trees oddly, Direfang thought. He stood with his back to the river, watching eight of them attack an oak. The Boarhunters were marked by their coloration, a hazy gray that was black in places, the shade of wood left behind after a fire just died. Their voices were edged with a coarseness the hobgoblin had noticed in some of the men in Steel Town-the ones who often smoked pipes and frequented the lone tavern. The Boarhunters had joined his army shortly after Direfang had come ashore in the forest. They were among the many who had answered Mudwort’s call.

Their leader went by the name of Cari, though Direfang had heard a few clansmen call her Evania, which Grallik said was an Elvish word meaning young warrior. She was young, Direfang could tell that by her features, and though many in her clan were easily twice her age, they clearly respected her and followed her lead. She intrigued him.

She was more than forty feet off the ground near the top of the tree, her mate, a burly goblin named Keth, calling up to her from a lower branch. Two other goblins were also in the tree, the other four ringing the trunk. Each bore an axe or a heavy-bladed knife that was sharp on only one side and looked unwieldy.

As Direfang watched, Cari looped a rope around her waist and tied it to the trunk. Keth did the same, but the other two goblins were not so high up and were apparently unconcerned they might fall.

As Cari chopped at the uppermost branch, Direfang wondered what she had done to win dominance in the clan. Inheritance rights were uncommon among goblins, though one ailing leader might name a successor who had been particularly loyal. Usually leadership was tied to some great feat; Direfang was the army’s leader because he had led them from Steel Town and won their freedom from the Dark Knights. Thya led her clan because she was a shaman, the rest of her fellows in awe of her abilities and wisdom. Darkeyes was the new leader of the Flamegrass clan because he saved a youngling from drowning in the surf shortly after they’d arrived at the forest’s edge. The previous Flamegrass clan leader died of the plague that had threatened all of them.

Cari sawed at the uppermost branches on the opposite side of the trunk where Keth worked. As the branches fell to the ground, the quartet at the bottom pulled them away. A distance from the tree, younglings stripped the twigs and leaves off. Sully carted the branches off to a growing pile.

Direfang noted that as Cari and Keth moved lower on the trunk, they skittered out on thicker branches, cutting them off in pieces. Only once did Cari have to grab the rope when she slipped. Otherwise, she had appeared agile as a squirrel. Direfang decided he would ask how she gained the leadership of her clan during a rest period.

Keth was more daring, reaching out farther and chopping with an erratic motion that threatened to cut off one of his own limbs. Direfang silently cursed himself when he caught himself wishing that Keth would fall; after all, he’d caught the long-armed goblin urinating on his spire shortly before it had been planted on the bluff.

The two goblins below Cari and Keth were not as fast, but they were cutting at thicker limbs that had created a latticework that had to be pulled apart.

The Boarhunters made the work look easy; they obviously had cut down many, many trees before. There was a cadence to their chopping that the other workers hadn’t yet mastered, and there was little talk between them. But Direfang knew it was hard work; the veins were bulging on Keth’s arms, the sweat beading up on all of them, the ragged breathing of the two on the lowest limbs attesting to their exertions.

The task of building a city was an onerous one, and it would take no small amount of days. Could he keep them all focused on the goal ahead?

“Silly all of this.” Knobnose poked at Direfang’s arm. “Cutting down good trees. Killing good trees. Silly business.” The potbellied goblin crossed his arms and glowered at the Boarhunters. His breathing came quickly, and Direfang knew he had been working hard too. “Chop. Chop. Chop. At this all afternoon and night, eh? And then tomorrow and tomorrow. Direfang will have all the clans chop. Chop. Chop. Chop.” He made a sputtering noise that caused his lips to wiggle.

“Knobnose does not have to be part of this city,” Direfang returned.

The goblin kicked at a clump of dirt and spun, heading toward Sully and grumbling that he would rather be gathering food than doing such silly chopping. A moment later he could be spotted helping the hobgoblin pull small branches into a pile.

Direfang studied Cari and Keth a few moments more then tromped over to an oak Orvago had marked. No one worked there, so Direfang set to chopping himself, relishing the relative solitude while letting the others see his good example. The hobgoblin had made it clear even in Steel Town that he would not ask any of the others to do something he would not do himself.

It was a thick tree. He knew it would take some time to cut it down. He made his first chop about a foot above the ground; shards of the bark flew. After a half dozen more chops, he had company.

The gnoll cleared his throat to attract Direfang’s attention. Direfang took another chop at the tree before turning to face Orvago. They were near the same height, but the gnoll’s hyena-shaped head was larger. He smelled of things Direfang could not name and found vaguely unpleasant.

“Dependable and strong you are, Foreman Direfang. You are determined to help your people, and for that I admire you.” The gnoll cocked his head. The breeze stirred the reddish ruff that ran down his neck. “But you do not know how to correctly cut down trees.”