by Pirateaba
The Hob was still laughing as Rags looked at the table. It was rather high up, so she placed one hand on it. Then she swung herself upwards and stood on the table. Ignoring the dishes, Rags walked across the table, kicking plates out of the way and scattering mugs to the displeasure of their owners. The Hob sitting next to Tremborag blinked at her—
And she kicked him in the face.
It was a good kick. Solid. Rags put her entire body into it. It snapped the Hob’s head backwards, and he tipped backwards in his chair. It struck the ground with a thump, spilling him out of it.
And the noise—
Stopped.
Fighting wasn’t unusual at any mealtime. Any number of brawls or petty squabbles could break out and Goblins would ignore it or get clear or join in without raising an eyebrow. But this was different.
The entire hall went silent. The Hob surged to his feet, angry.
“You. Weak Goblin female! You challenge me?”
Did they all speak the common tongue? Rags stood with both feet planted, ignoring Tremborag’s grin and Garen’s eyes on her. She stared at the Hob and spoke loud enough for all to hear.
I am Chieftain. This is my seat. Will you fight me?
Silence. The Hob stared at her incredulously. Then he snarled.
“I will beat you and take you for myself. You are weak!”
That was it. The hall, which had already been quiet, went still. He had challenged her, a Chieftain. Normally Tremborag would have stopped him, or supported the Hob, but he wasn’t about to do so, Rags knew.
And in that case, her tribe would defend Rags as their Chieftain. She waited. But heard only silence. Goblin culture demanded her Hobs and elite warriors would rise to her defense. But no one moved. Rags felt her heart freeze over. If they did not follow her—
A chair moved back. The Gold Stone Chieftain, sitting far down the table, stood up lazily, as if he was getting up to stretch his legs or pee. And as Goblins saw him stand, Rags saw the Still Grass Tribe’s Chieftain stand, full of nervous energy.
Three other Hobs stood as well, two females and a male. Three, out of the many she commanded. And the Fire Bite Chieftain remained sitting. But it was enough. Rags stared at the Hob, ready to fight. She would claim her authority right here and now, in blood and death if she had to.
The Hob snarled. He raised a fist and moved towards her. Rags called magic into her hand, ready to burn his face. She wouldn’t use her crossbow here; he was too close. Her sword. She had to prove—
“Rags is my Chieftain.”
Garen Redfang pushed back his chair suddenly. The Hob turned, suddenly wary. Garen smiled, his teeth glinting as he raised his voice.
“My Chieftain. You disrespect her.”
Rags stared with narrowed eyes at Garen. He’d stood up late. He wasn’t supporting her, not in the right way. But it was good for Garen. Now the Hob had to take him on; he couldn’t back down. The warrior hesitated, but then he came at Garen, fist swinging fast at the other Goblin’s head.
Too slow for Garen, though. The other Hob waited until the fist close to his face before he lashed out. He leaned back and kicked the other Goblin in the chest.
Garen hit him so hard Rags could hear the Goblin warrior’s bones crack. The Hob stumbled back, sat down. Then he lay down and didn’t get back up.
“Here. Chieftain.”
Politely, Garen pulled back the chair. Rags stared at him in silence. Then, ignoring the fallen Hob who a few smaller Goblins ran over to drag away, she hopped off the table and took a seat.
“Well. You have claimed your seat, and your faithful warrior has protected you. Good!”
Tremborag said the words loudly, and noise resumed as if he had commanded it. He grinned down at Rags, and she saw how he could easily bite her head off with one chomp of his jaws. But she just stared up at him without flinching.
“She is brave. I told you she would not sit there.”
Garen sat back down, grinning as he tore into a bloody piece of meat. Tremborag laughed.
“Yes. You did. Well, we shall talk, little Rags and Garen Redfang. Talk, but only about small things. For now we eat!”
And as he spoke a plate was put in front of Rags. She stared down at it, askance; who used plates? The crude, clay plate sat in front of her, insultingly stupid. The table was fine—but she took it anyways and took as much food as she could reach, standing on the table much to Tremborag’s amusement.
And so Rags ate her fill, which was unusual for a Goblin. It usually meant everything was well, but as she found her tribe after the banquet and learned they had been assigned their own part of the stone city, and her Goblins had already been assigned tasks to fulfill, she knew all was not well.
Garen Redfang and Tremborag. Goblin legend, former Gold-rank adventurer and Chieftain. And a Chieftain who ruled over an actual place, who claimed to be Great Chieftain among Goblins and spoke and acted like a Human.
Rags knew that she could not trust them.
Either of them.
—-
It was dark when Rags was finished familiarizing herself with the new role her tribe was filling in Tremborag’s domain. She didn’t like that her people were being split up, given new roles and places to sleep, as if they weren’t her tribe anymore. She didn’t like it, but she knew she couldn’t do anything about it right now.
She wanted to get out and explore this place, this massive city that spoke to her of past glories before the Goblins had claimed it. She wanted to learn more about Tremborag and join in on whatever he and Garen were planning. She wanted to think about her tribe and what she was losing or had already lost.
But two figures stopped her at the entrance to her quarters. Rags had her hand on her shortsword, but she stopped when she saw one of them.
The Gold Stone Chieftain stood lazily next to the door, chewing on something. A bone. He was munching it down, marrow and bone and all. Were his teeth made of iron?
Chieftain.
He nodded to her. Rags nodded back, and stared at the other Goblin. He was a Hob, one of hers. Why was he here? Why was the Gold Stone Chieftain here?
I am going.
She wanted to be alone. But the Gold Stone Chieftain just shook his head at her. He tapped his chest slowly, and spoke after a brief pause with a deep frown on his face.
“Should go with. Dangerous…alone.”
He had to use another language, because what he was saying was so foreign to Goblins. Rags couldn’t believe the implications. She might be attacked? Her? A Chieftain welcomed into another tribe’s hold?
She stared at the other Hob and then at the Gold Stone Chieftain. Two Hobs? She needed…?
Slowly, a dark feeling began to steal over Rags. She remembered the Hob’s comments, the one she’d kicked, and Tremborag’s. She wondered what the Gold Stone Chieftain had seen that made him come here. But she knew one thing.
He was loyal. Rags looked up at the Hob, who’d resumed crunching on his bone. She looked at him, and spoke the words that were in her heart.
This place…is not Goblin. Not Goblin.
She felt it already. The other Hob stirred, but the Gold Stone Chieftain just nodded silently. Rags nodded as well.
They are not Goblin. But I am.
It was a declaration that meant a thousand things, and it was one which meant war if anyone else were to hear. But they were alone. The Hob warrior looked nervous, but he stood with Rags. And the Gold Stone Chieftain just tossed the last bit of bone aside. He didn’t say much, but he knew exactly what to say.
“Yes, Chieftain.”
3.27 M
When she woke up, it was like any ordinary day. But Mrsha knew it was special because she could smell the crepes.
She liked crepes. They were hot and chewy, and sometimes burned when Lyonette made them. Other time they were still runny, but they were always good because they came with honey.
The small Gnoll with white fur sat up in Lyonette’s empty bed; wriggling out of the co
vers she’d stolen again last night. Her short, bushy tail beat the ground hard, and in a few moments she raced downstairs.
Food! It wasn’t at all like the bloody meat she used to eat in her tribe’s camp, or the hot and filling stews. Those were spiced and tasted good, but they were made for everyone and sometimes there wasn’t enough. But here, in this inn that smelled of new wood and strange bug-men, Mrsha could always eat as much as she wanted.
And she could eat honey! The Gnoll drooled as she ran downstairs on all fours. She slipped near the bottom on one of the steps, though. Mrsha made a small sound of alarm, tried to catch her balance, failed, and tumbled down the stairs.
“Mrsha!”
It was the first word of the day, and it was hers. Mrsha uncurled from the protective ball she’d made and looked up. Hurrying across the big, empty room was a familiar face. The Human girl known as Lyonette rushed over to the Gnoll, already fretting out loud.
“Are you hurt? Are you okay? I told you not to run down the stairs! Oh, let me check—”
Mrsha turned her face up so Lyonette could see she was well. It was an odd thing the Human girl did, the Gnoll had found. She had to inspect Mrsha all over to see she was well. A Gnoll would have just sniffed to make sure there was no blood—Mrsha had fallen many times over the course of her young life and learned quickly not to cry over small things.
But Lyonette cared. She cared so much that it made Mrsha feel fuzzy inside sometimes. Already the Gnoll knew she’d get extra honey on her crepes—more than she usually got, which was already a lot. Because Lyon was a nice person. She took care of Mrsha. She took care of the inn while Ryoka and Erin were away.
That was what Mrsha understood. This was Ryoka’s home, and the home of the girl who made delicious things. Erin. But it was also Lyonette’s home, and she took care of it while they were gone.
It wasn’t Mrsha’s home. It wasn’t. But it was a good place, and it made Mrsha feel happy most of the time. And Lyonette always fed her here, although some of the things she made tasted bad.
She wasn’t a good cook. And she fussed about things like the cold and bugs and washing. And she couldn’t smell, at least, not like Mrsha could.
But she was kind. She fed Mrsha every day and she always asked Mrsha how she was feeling. She hugged Mrsha often and sometimes cried, but never when she knew Mrsha was around. She smelled of guilt and her hands had blisters from scrubbing and working now.
She was almost as good as a mother. But Mrsha’s mother was dead. And her father. And her tribe was dead too, every last one.
She was alone.
The black thoughts broke through Mrsha’s happiness suddenly. She sat at one of the tables as Lyonette fussed over her, suddenly filled with emptiness. She remembered.
Perhaps Lyonette noticed Mrsha’s suddenly drooping tail and ears, and the way she stared at her white fur. Maybe she didn’t. But in the next moment she had—
Crepes!
Mrsha forgot about what she’d been thinking on purpose. Her stomach rumbled and she wagged her tail and panted as the crepes came on a big plate next to a bowl filled with sweet honey. She reached for the first steaming one, but Lyonette grabbed her paw.
“Ah, ah! You know what to do first, Mrsha.”
The Gnoll child hesitated, and then saw another empty plate. She pulled it towards her, and Lyonette nodded encouragingly.
“And the silverware?”
Mrsha found a fork and knife as well. She put it next to her plate. Then she looked at Lyonette pleadingly. The girl smiled and nodded.
Instantly, the Gnoll grabbed a crepe off the plate. Ignoring the silverware and her own plate, she bit into it happily. Then she took the bowl of honey and poured some over her plate. She wiped some of the honey onto her crepe, took another bite. Sweetness and the electric rush of energy made her practically vibrate on her seat.
Sitting next to her, Lyonette laughed and tried to make Mrsha eat ‘civilized’, which was to say, slower, and with a knife and fork. But Mrsha was too hungry and why should she use a fork? Paws were faster.
That was breakfast, on a day like any other. But it was a good breakfast, and special because she wasn’t in the city. It had been nearly a week since Mrsha had left the Drake who made all the rules, Selys. She had come here, to a better place. She might have called it a home, but how could it be?
After she was done, Mrsha sat on her chair, snuffling at Lyonette’s plate, wondering if she had room to lick up crumbs or whether Lyonette would let her lick the plate clean. What would happen next?
It was a mystery. Some days Lyonette was busy and she’d go around cleaning up dust or cooking more food. But other days she’d play with Mrsha, or bathe her, or groom her hair. Mrsha had toys now. They were hers; the bossy Drake had given it to her. She wanted to play with the ball outside if Lyonette would throw it. Or maybe she could look at the wriggling thing? It was still sitting in the bowl; Mrsha could smell it. Maybe Lyonette wanted to play in the snow?
But then Mrsha smelled something different. Her head turned towards the stairs, and she went still in sudden fright.
It wasn’t a normal day after all. Because coming down the stairs, yawning, was a Drake. Not the bossy Drake, or the one who played chess.
Someone else.
Instantly, Mrsha was out of her chair and hiding behind Lyonette. But the girl only stroked her head and smiled at the strange Drake.
“Oh! Mister Shivertail. You’re up early.”
Shivertail? Mrsha’s ears perked up at the words. She looked at the Drake, and remembered that he was the one who’d come last night!
Zel? Mrsha remembered it because she’d never heard of anyone with a ‘z’ in their name before. Cautiously, she padded around the table and circled Zel Shivertail warily.
“Mrsha! Don’t be rude to a guest!”
Lyonette tried to chase Mrsha away, but she was slow. The Drake only laughed though, as he took a seat.
“I don’t mind, Mistress. Gnoll cubs are far easier to deal with than Drake hatchlings. Do I smell breakfast?”
“Oh! Let me get you a plate. I’ve made crepes—unless you’d like something else? I can do eggs and bacon…”
Mrsha perked up at the words, although she still felt full.
“Crepes will be fine.”
Lyonette hurried into the kitchen. When she came back with crepes and a glass she hovered around Zel while he ate, making contented sounds and Mrsha padded under the tables and chairs nearby, still watching the Drake and sniffing at him with keen interest.
She remembered something about him, didn’t she? He smelled like the sheets of the inn of course, and she could tell he’d travelled for a while because the odor of dried sweat emanated from his clothes. But there was something else, something familiar…
“I’m sorry, we don’t have anything to drink but milk and water. Um. Are Drake children really so hard to manage?”
“Water is fine—milk would be quite nice if you have it.”
Zel waited until Lyonette came back with a cooled pitcher of milk. Sneaking up on the Drake from behind, Mrsha listened to him talk to Lyonette with one ear as she kept sniffing.
“Children? They’re awful. I’ve never had any, but Drakes at a young age are temperamental and they bite. Of course, I hear Gnolls do to, but I’ve never had one of them bite my tail.”
Mrsha stared at Zel’s tail. It was curled around a chair leg. She wondered what it would taste like…
“Oh, well I wouldn’t know. I’m new here. I mean…”
“It’s quite unusual to see any Humans here. I’m sorry, but I didn’t get the full story last night. You said this inn is run by a Human [Innkeeper] who settled here, didn’t you? But how did you come to be here? Did you move from one of the Human cities?”
Mrsha could hear Lyon hesitate as she crept closer one step at a time. Slowly, stealthily—like she was hunting butterflies. She crept along, towards the Drake’s back so he wouldn’t see her, still smelling something so fa
miliar it hurt…
“It’s a long story.”
“If you have time, I’d like to hear it.”
“You’re not busy?”
“I don’t have anything I have to do right away. My…companion is probably still hungover from last night. I heard him say he’d be drinking the cold away and I’m not that keen on meeting him in any case. These crepes are quite good with this honey! Are there beehives around Liscor that have popped up in the last few years? I didn’t hear of that.”
“Oh, well, the bees are…um…it’s part of the long story, you see…”
Mrsha rolled her eyes silently; she didn’t want to hear a story she already knew! She wanted to hear Ryoka’s stories. But it meant both adults weren’t paying attention to her. Finally, Mrsha could crawl right behind the Drake’s chair.
There it was. The smell. She sniffed very quietly at the Drake’s claws. Something was lurking past the ordinary smells of unwashed scale, dirt, sweat, and so on.
Then she smelled the blood, faint and old on his claws and the deeper scents of oil and steel. And she remembered.
He runs out of the swirling snow, armor battered, unarmed. But he runs like a giant, and the Goblins attacking Ryoka and the Gnolls hesitate when they see him. And at his back, an army of Drakes appears as if by magic, howling and shouting with fury as they race towards the Goblins.
The Drake slashes out with his claws and tears through a Goblin wearing black armor as if the Goblin had worn nothing at all. He cuts down another Goblin—a Hob with a battleaxe—and charges onwards. At his side, a Drake with a sword that shines with magic cuts down two Goblins with one slash.
They run past Mrsha, and for a moment her heart leaps in her chest. But the Goblins are everywhere, and then a group of Hobs charges towards them. And she hides in the snow, cowering, wishing everything would go away. She is afraid, paralyzed by terror. Afraid, afraid—
