by Pirateaba
“Someday, many Hobs like us. Many.”
They wanted to become Hobs. Rags understood that. Being a Hob was power in itself, and if they had many in their faction they would be respected. But until then, they would live on scraps and fight the hardest battles. Rags shook her head.
Interestingly, she saw that the old Goblin was part of this band of female warriors. Rather, it was more like they tolerated him and gave him their protection. He actually fought, with a rusty greatsword that looked like it was more rust than sword. Rags wondered if he could keep up with the younger warriors.
But he had a lot of fighting prowess to make up for being older. Rags had seen him step on a Human’s foot, shove him down, and then kick the Human unconscious without lifting his weapon. She supposed with age came experience. He grinned at her a few times as they returned to the mountain. She just stared at him and wondered what she was doing wrong.
She had to gain influence. Power. Rags became obsessed with it. On the night of the fourth day she paced back and forth in her room, wondering how to get a lead on all the other Goblins. Because, obviously she could do it.
She was smart, cunning, and Rags knew she was twice as competent as any of the other Hobs with their own faction. In a few weeks—a month perhaps—she would be able to amass as much power as the rest. And then…
It was all about finding the right allies. Rags had already decided who to approach first. So she summoned the Gold Stone Chieftain to her room after they had eaten dinner.
“Redfang Hob. One with mace.”
He nodded as Rags spoke to him in the privacy of her room. That was one of the most influential Hobs in Garen’s tribe, by far the strongest. The Gold Stone Chieftain stared at Rags impassively. She looked at him and remembered he visited the Human women. Often.
“Go. Be…nice to him. Gain trust.”
She would gain his trust and then take Garen’s tribe from him. Then she would attack more villages, gain more victories using only their force. With that influence she could—
“No, Chieftain.”
Rags halted, mid-thought. She turned and stared at the Gold Stone Chieftain.
“What?”
“No, Chieftain.”
“Why?”
She demanded it of him. The Gold Stone Chieftain pondered and then replied, looking at the ceiling.
“Not Goblin.”
That was an insult, one of the worst among Goblin kind. Rags recoiled and then became outraged.
“Obey! I am Chieftain!”
“Not if this is order.”
The Gold Stone Chieftain stared back at Rags, quietly defiant. It was too much. She could not lose him, her one supporter. Rags grabbed for her crossbow in fury.
“If you challenge—”
He moved fast. Rags had only been meaning to threaten, but the Gold Stone Chieftain moved towards her before she could raise the crossbow. She pulled the trigger and the crossbow bolt loosed—and missed. It shattered, against the stone next to his feet. The Gold Stone Chieftain grabbed the crossbow and tore it away from Rags, hurling it onto her bed.
Her sword. Rags had it but then it too was pulled away. The Gold Stone Chieftain hurled it aside and Rags stumbled back, suddenly afraid.
He loomed over her, huge. Rags suddenly realized how fragile she was, how weak. Without her weapons she was practically helpless. Her [Firefly] spell would only enrage him.
He visited Human women often.
But the Gold Stone Chieftain did not reach for her. Instead, he took one look at Rags and sat back down on the floor. He popped some rat jerky into his mouth and began to eat.
Stunned, Rags stared at him. The Gold Stone Chieftain spoke slowly to her.
“It is not Goblin. What you ask. Staying here is bad. If you stay, I will go. I will become Chieftain and leave. With my tribe.”
It was the most she’d ever heard him say. Rags stared at the Gold Stone Chieftain, stunned, and then absorbed what he’d said.
“Leave?”
He wanted her to leave? But this was the one place safe from the Goblin Lord! The Gold Stone Chieftain nodded, though.
“Bad place. Not Goblin. You said.”
He hurled the words back at Rags and she couldn’t respond to that. She could only come up with feeble excuses.
“Not strong enough. Need support. If wait…gain power. Influence—”
The words sounded hollow to her, weak. They didn’t sound like what a Goblin should say. She wasn’t speaking in Goblin. Rags met the Gold Stone Chieftain’s eyes and looked away, ashamed.
He stared down at her, disapprovingly. It didn’t look much different from his normal blank expression. But Rags realized—it was on purpose.
And slowly, sitting in that room, unable to meet the gaze of one of her subordinates, Rags understood. She put together the old Goblin, the Gold Stone Chieftain’s knowledge of this place, and everything else together in a sudden conclusion.
“You. Lived here, in past?”
She stared at him. The Gold Stone Chieftain nodded. Sighed.
“Once. Long ago.”
That was why he could speak the common language! But why had he left? And why did he want to leave now?
Rags could understand. She could understand the way this place made you do un-Goblin things and fight amongst yourselves, and how it took away tribes and the meaning of loyalty to the Chieftain. But was that enough to risk death fighting the Goblin Lord?
“Why?”
It was all he asked. And the Gold Stone Chieftain stared at Rags, weighing, judging. And then he stood up.
Follow.
—-
It was a dark place where the Goblins held the Human women. A dark place, a former building in the Dwarven city. Dark.
And made darker by the crying. Rags thought there would be screams, but too many were broken by this place. She looked into rooms—for some reason the Goblins gave the Humans rooms, as if privacy mattered. She could hear well enough.
There were over two hundred women there. A large number. But for thousands, tens of thousands of Goblins—
Too many. And part of Rags stared at what went on here, at Goblins biting, grabbing, forcing—part of her tried to forget as she saw.
But she focused on one thing. She focused on the Gold Stone Chieftain. Because he visited the Human women often. He took one into a closed room with him, she flinching, afraid. Him impassive as always.
And so. This is what Rags saw. She saw the Gold Stone Chieftain let go of the Human woman. He walked over to one wall and sat down. And he pulled a carrot out and began to eat it.
He sat with his back to one wall. Just sat. The Gold Stone Chieftain chewed slowly as the Human woman stared at him. She stood far across the room, shaking. Then—slowly—she realized he was not going to do anything. While he sat here, she was safe.
Standing at the door, Rags saw how the woman lost her fear. She screamed at the Goblin, let out the rage and hurt. Then she retreated to a corner, wept. He sat and ate.
Visited often. He had fought for the privilege to be here, Rags had heard. Smashed another Hob into a wall. He had known this place existed because he had been here once.
And he had left.
Sitting with the Human woman weeping in the background, the Gold Stone Chieftain looked up at Rags.
“Too weak, Chieftain. Too weak. Too small. Still too small.”
He nodded to her once. Rags stared at him, and then the woman.
Then she went outside. Rags stared around. Her ears were keen and she heard every sound that went on in this place. Heard the begging, the cries—
And she wondered what she would have done if one of the captured women or girls was Erin. What if it was her?
And once that thought was had, Rags couldn’t unthink it. She stared at a girl who stumbled back into her cell and saw Erin’s face on hers. Rags turned away.
She covered her ears. She tried not to imagine how many women would have come here over the years, how lon
g they would have lived. Rags told herself Humans did it to each other. She told herself that Goblins did it to survive, that it wasn’t different than killing Humans.
But they all looked like Erin to her. The young, the old—they all had the girl’s face. They were all—
She ran.
—-
Factions. Infighting. Power struggles and politics, all hidden in the depths of this mountain. A place where Goblins were safe from all but each other. That was what Rags had found here.
But it was not her place. This was not a world meant for her. It was wrong. And she feared she was losing herself the longer she stayed here.
So Rags sat in her room and thought. She was a genius. She knew it, in the same way she knew the sun was hot and the snow was cold. There were things only she could do, only she could think of and dare to achieve.
So Rags thought about what she could do if she could not stay here. She thought, and the answer seemed so obvious. How had she missed it before? She had been trapped, that was why. If not physically, then in her mind. It had taken the Gold Stone Chieftain, taken memory and guilt and seeing this place for what it was to break its hold on her.
There was only one course. Only one thing to do. So when the Gold Stone Chieftain had finished sitting and eating, she summoned him back to her room.
It was late. In a few hours it would be dawn. Perhaps now was not the time—but Rags knew it had to be now. She told the Gold Stone Chieftain what she wanted and saw him smile. Just once, but she knew she was right.
“Can you—”
Rags paused. That was not what a Chieftain should say. She looked at the Gold Stone Chieftain and thought of the risks. That was her job. So when she looked him in the eye, Rags was certain.
“Do it.”
He nodded and smiled again, briefly. Rags let him go to find all the Hobs he knew that would listen to him, and walked out into the mountain.
She kicked awake Goblins she knew, and had some of them find the Goblin with no ears. Then she found the female Goblin and her band and kicked them too. Some she sent to find the Gold Stone Chieftain. The others she told to go eat with the Redfang Warriors who were having what was lunch for them in a smaller mess hall.
When she was done, she found the Gold Stone Chieftain again. She looked at him as he pulled out an onion and bit into it. The smell made her eyes water, but she was surprised when he broke some off and offered it to her.
“Ready?”
She asked him quietly as she chewed. He nodded. Grunted.
“Four Hobs. Not many.”
“And the other?”
“More Goblins. But all busy. Very easy. I can do myself.”
If he said so, she believed him. There was nothing more to do before the moment, then. Rags stared at him and asked a question that she’d always wanted to know.
“Why name tribe Gold Stone?”
He shrugged, still chewing.
“I like gold. Gold that is not gold. I like it too.”
Rags knew what he was talking about. There were pretty stones that looked like gold you could find in caves with other minerals. It was valuable to Goblins, not just because it sparkled, but because it was a good alternative to flint and steel.
She looked at him, a silent giant. A Hobgoblin, a Chieftain who said little and sometimes did little, or so it seemed. But one with depth. One with a heart, who looked at what was and decided that it was wrong. Someone who wanted to be stronger but could do nothing.
“Why not you? Why not you…Chieftain?”
He looked at her, calmly.
“Not smart. Strong, but not smart. A good Chieftain is smart. Strong is easier, but not all are strong. Smart knows that. I am not smart.”
“You are.”
“Not enough. And cannot be Lord. Do not want to be. Like Tremborag. Too small.”
With that, he answered all of her questions and went back to eating. Rags stood beside him and then turned with a sudden impulse.
“Pyrite. I name you Pyrite.”
He stopped chewing and looked at her. Rags stared back. Pyrite was the name of such stones. It was a Human name.
“Not Shaman.”
“Do you care?”
She challenged him. The Hobgoblin thought about that for a second. And then he laughed. Pyrite smiled at Rags and nodded to her.
“See you later, Chieftain. Do not die.”
“I will meet you outside. You do not die. Chieftain’s orders.”
She left him behind. Rags made one trip to her room. She slung the black crossbow on her back, took her sword and shield, the buckler badly dented, but still hers. She had been given it by Erin. A Human.
And when Rags left her room, she was smiling. Because at last, she knew exactly what to do.
—-
The Redfang warriors were disgruntled by the sudden influx of Goblins during their lunch shift. But they grumbled only a bit; they were more sullen than anything else. And they recognized a good deal of the Goblins who’d entered. They were part of the Flooded Water tribe and some of the other tribes the Redfang warriors had journeyed north with, so they were allies in a sense.
Still, the Redfang warriors were angry. Some of the Hobs in here were Tremborag’s warriors and they longed to pick a fight with them. But they couldn’t. They felt muzzled here, like the Carn Wolves who they had to tether in pens in the city and not allow to roam free. Their mounts howled in distress and the Redfang warriors were angry.
And then the double doors leading in to the mess hall opened and a Goblin strode in, wearing leather armor. The Redfang tribe recognized her at once. She was Rags, and she…had…been their Chieftain. Not anymore, somehow.
But she was dressed for war. And it made all the Goblins who saw her sit up. Was something wrong?
Rags strode into the center of the room. Slowly, the eating around her stopped. She gazed around the room and saw Tremborag’s Goblins, some of them. The ones she thought might respect her. She saw the Redfang tribe, sullen, angry, but wondering. She saw the Goblin with no ears sitting next to a group of Goblins who glowed with bits of magic. And the female unit of Goblins and the grinning old Goblin still eating happily in the silence.
The small Chieftain of the Flooded Water Tribe took a deep breath and then shouted. Not in the common language, but in the tongue that was hers. Goblin.
I am Rags! Chieftain!
Every Goblin paused when they heard this. They stared at Rags, thousands of eyes watching her. She stood proud. She stood taller than she ever had walking this place. As if she was ten feet tall. So she looked down at the other Goblins as she spoke.
I am Goblin. This place is not. If you are Goblin, follow me!
It was a declaration of war. Rags heard the susurration go through the assembled Goblins as the damning accusation left her tongue. It could not be unsaid. Even now she knew the Gold Stone Chieftain was attacking, cutting down Goblins of Tremborag’s tribe with the others she had sent him.
It was war.
“Traitor!”
A Goblin, one of Tremborag’s, shouted that. He leapt to his feet, drawing his sword. But a bolt of lightning caught the Hob as he leapt for Rags. He fell, and Noears grinned as the Goblins seated around him drew their weapons.
And then the hall erupted into violence. Rags lifted her sword and fought. If she died here, she would die as she had lived.
A true Goblin.
3.29 G
The mountain was silent when Garen found Tremborag. The Hobgoblin had to pass by numerous patrols of warriors who moved in grim silence, weapons drawn and ready for a fight. But their attentiveness was in vain.
The battle was long over. It had been over before Garen had been awoken, and what he was seeing now was the aftermath.
Surprisingly few Goblin bodies lay in his path. Garen noted a few cut down here and there, usually in clumps—the losers of the rapid pitched battles in the night—but not many. True, some were being hauled away to be used as food even now, but it
had been bloodless for what had occurred.
Rebellion. Or perhaps it was a choice, paid for in blood. When Garen saw Tremborag’s face, he knew what the Great Goblin of the North would have called it.
Tremborag stood in front of two double doors, staring into a room Garen recognized. The armory. Approaching carefully, Garen saw the four Hobs at the doors were all dead. Two had been felled by blows with amazing strength. He suspected an axe. The other two were cut to death, probably from multiple blades all at once.
“They took everything of value.”
That was what Tremborag said when Garen joined him. The Hobgoblin stared into the empty armory and nodded.
It was empty.
Oh, a few of the racks still held arms in them, but they weren’t magical, only steel. Everything else had been looted, stripped away by the Goblins who’d fled the mountain.
Rags’ tribe. And not just her tribe—
“How many?”
Tremborag shrugged, face blank as he stared into the armory. He kept looking at the empty racks, and Garen wondered how powerful some of the enchanted blades had been. Probably very.
“Two thousand. Four thousand? Six thousand? I did not count the non-warriors. But her tribe followed her, and much of yours, Redfang. And she took several hundred of my warriors and some of my Hobs with her.”
“Mm. Bad.”
Garen was no linguist, even though he spoke the common language. He saw Tremborag turn towards him.
“Is that all you have to say?”
The Hob nodded towards the armory.
“Took weapons. Anything else?”
“Food. Supplies. Most of your wolves—the ones who belonged to the warriors who left—and the women.”
That made Garen smile. Tremborag stared at him.
“You think it is funny? They are all gone, Redfang. One of the Hobs—one of the ones you brought here—killed all the Goblins there and let the women free.”
Garen Redfang just shrugged.
“Human females are not important. Less important than the arms.”
“Oh, but they’ve taken arms! And killed my Goblins! They have rebelled against me, Garen Redfang! For that they will die.”
