Jean Rabe: Goblin Nation

He’d started another book about Solamnia, though he hadn’t got very far with it. He remembered that one of the provinces, Elkholm, was in the central part of the country, at the bottom of the Vingaard Mountains, and that it consisted of scattered settlements dotting grasslands. The capital was Egaard, if he recalled, a place that he suspected bore the name of a once-important person. Caergoth, much larger-though Direfang forgot the population figure-sat on the coast and was noted as a great grain exchange. The houses there were stone, square, and wholly sturdy. Neighborhoods were sectioned off by thick, high walls; and Castle Caergoth, where the Knights of Solamnia held sway, was perched on a bluff that overlooked the harbor.

Yes, a city should have grand buildings, Direfang decided, whether the city was inhabited by men or goblins or dwarves or elves, for protection and for a sense of ownership and pride. It was one more thing to make their nation stronger. Maybe someday the goblin city would be as well known as the goblin nation of Sikk’et Hul in Northern Ergoth. And maybe someone would write a book about its buildings, as people had written about Palanthas’s cities.

“As great as Caergoth, this city,” he mused.

Their goblin city might someday have walls, but a more urgent need would be farms to help supply food. Direfang yawned. And it would need order-without the trappings of a human government. It would need scouts and guards. It would need a lot of things.

It was all too much to ponder at the moment. His stomach was sore, not just from lack of food. All his worries had settled in the pit of his belly and were churning. Bile rose in his throat and an acrid taste filled his mouth. He spit and coughed as he listened to the creaking groan of another oak tree falling.

Direfang slept badly, his dreams filled with starving goblins, some of them drowning in the river, all of them calling his name and saying he was to blame for their deaths. Images of the gnoll intruded; he stood on the bluff next to Direfang’s spire, lecturing the survivors about how to properly cut down trees. Qel was behind him, fingers outstretched and sending her chilling healing waves into Direfang’s pain-filled body. And there were some dreams, just as unnerving, he could never quite remember.

When Direfang rose he elected not to take a walk, but instead to visit briefly with a few of the clans, most members of which were rubbing each others’ shoulders and arms and grumbling about the previous day’s work. There was little posturing, though there were arguments over leftover scraps of the bear. The hobgoblin did not decline when offered a hunk of the charred meat. Members of the Flamegrass clan had claimed the skin and were scraping it while Rockhide and Sully supervised, the latter making suggestions no one paid attention to.

The bear meat didn’t give him much pleasure. The arguments and chattering were ceaseless. Direfang’s head pounded, the annoying pain competing with his still-churning gut. The road he’d started down-leading the goblins to their new homeland and establishing a nation-was filled with ruts and was not an easy one to tread.

“One house just for Graytoes and Umay.” Direfang hadn’t spotted the yellow-skinned goblin as she approached. “Graytoes and Umay should not have to share a house with other goblins. Graytoes and Umay are a family, Direfang.” She poked out her bottom lip and waggled a finger for emphasis. “And maybe Jando-Jando can share this house too. Later.”

Jando-Jando was a goblin who had joined the exodus in the Nerakan mountains, having come from a wandering tribe that had heard Mudwort’s call. He was slightly smaller than Graytoes, but he was wiry and had broad shoulders with tufts of coarse hair sticking up like clumps of weeds. His orange-tinged skin could have marked him for a Flamegrass clan member, but he claimed no affiliation. Direfang noticed him watching the exchange at a distance.

“Does Graytoes intend to build this house?” Direfang stared down at the goblin. She was clutching Umay to her chest with one arm. The baby cooed happily. He hadn’t intended for the look on his face to be a cross one, but Graytoes took a wary step back.

“B-b-build it?”

“If Graytoes does not want to share-”

“Jando-Jando will build it for this family, Direfang, and-”

“Good for Jando-Jando.” Direfang turned brusquely away and lumbered toward another oak Orvago had marked. He paused to tell a group of Boarhunters to busy themselves with getting food rather than cutting trees. He’d earlier sent a hobgoblin trio away with Grallik to find something large to kill. Other hunting parties were also out and searching. Most of the clans were taking care of feeding their own, but the hunting parties were necessary because there were plenty of clanless goblins.

Direfang thought that maybe if he busied himself with chopping down a tree, the nervous churning in his stomach would stop. When he chose a tree, he made note of the direction in which he wanted the tree to fall. The gnoll had been right about that, he told himself. The gnoll was useful.

“Want some help, Direfang?” Knobnose flourished an axe with a bent handle. “Chopping is fun.”

Direfang shook his head. “Help Skakee and Rustymane. Please,” he added.

Knobnose skittered away, swinging the axe above his head and whooping.

The air was filled with chopping sounds, scattered conversations, the snap of branches, and an argument between two goblins and a hobgoblin. Direfang glanced their way every three swings, intending to step in if the argument escalated.

Orvago was teaching a dozen goblins how best to split the trunk of felled trees so the wood could be turned into pieces for building. Qel was ministering to a hobgoblin with an injured shoulder. Mudwort was near the spire, fingers thrust in the ground. Direfang wondered what she was up to but knew better than to press her. She’d told him that she was going to magically search for animals and other edibles.

He set his swings in time with others, the communal noise becoming a drumbeat in his mind, helping him to forget his worries. He focused on the noise but instead found himself thinking about Hargoth, a Solamnic city he’d once heard two Dark Knights discussing. Capital of the Coastlund province, it was a small city with a major port and trade center. Hargoth had been governed by the same important family for several generations, and some of the past rulers were noted for their heavy-handedness. The largest building was said to be the sailors’ guildhouse, not a keep for the Hargoth family or a manor for a wealthy merchant. It was known for its ornate, peaked roof that rose higher than the other structures.

Would any of the buildings in this goblin city be as grand? he wondered. Not at first, certainly. Initially they would be only serviceable.

Other places in Solamnia had notable buildings too, Direfang reflected. He tried to recall illustrations from books he’d thumbed through. There was one, he recalled, a tall-

A scream cut through the din of chopping. It was the voice of Graytoes, and it was followed by the creak and groan of a tree, and the crash it made when it struck the ground. He dropped his axe and ran toward where the scream had issued.

Graytoes held Umay, Jando-Jando at her side. Beyond them, where goblins were gathering, stretched a fallen oak. Beneath it was the crushed, lifeless body of a young goblin.

“Nature is unpredictable,” Direfang recalled Orvago saying. He looked around at the others and pronounced sadly, “Knobnose is remembered.”

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.