by Jean Rabe
“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.”
Direfang opened his mouth to dispute that assertion and put the gnoll in his place, but Orvago continued stoically.
“Respect nature and respect its power, Foreman Direfang. I showed your kinsmen three days past how to approach this task, but you were not paying attention then. I showed more of them this afternoon, but you were elsewhere.”
Direfang turned back to the tree and gave it another vigorous chop, stronger in his ire, more wood chips splintering.
“Do not be stubborn. Let me teach you, Foreman Direfang.”
Another chop then another and another, each more vehement.
“Let me teach you before you kill some of your kinsmen or yourself with your ignorance.”
LESSONS AND LOSS
Direfang stopped in midswing, a soft growl rumbling in his throat. The gnoll druid had gone too far. “Ignorant? How dare-”
“If this tree fell the wrong way, Foreman Direfang, it could easily smash you.” The gnoll padded to the trunk, touching the bark almost reverently. He closed his eyes and whispered in a language Direfang had not heard before. “This oak is powerful,” he said in the common tongue. “More powerful than you or I.”
Grallik had explained to Direfang what a druid was: a priest who worshiped nature above Krynn’s gods. Grallik thought druids were typically humans or elves, and so figured there was a story behind Orvago’s calling. Too, he said he was surprised Orvago did not protest cutting down trees to build goblin homes.
“Druids regard trees as sacred,” the wizard had explained.
Direfang simply considered trees useful, but sometimes it was useful to cut them down, time-consuming and tiring too.
“These trees that I’ve marked for destruction,” Orvago said, his fingers fairly dancing over the bark, “will by their absence make this part of the woods healthier. Trees grow poorly if there are too many on a stretch of ground, as there is here. There is too much competition for the water that soaks into the earth and all the nutrients held there. The remaining stands will be stronger and more resistant to fire sparked by lightning. Across the river, the woods were devastated a while ago.”
Direfang gritted his teeth; he’d deduced that much when he saw the small pines on the other side of the river.
“But if you do not cut them down properly, there will be-”
The hobgoblin snarled, ending that part of the lecture. He gestured with his axe. “What is there to teach? An axe and a strong arm-”
“Is not enough.” The gnoll almost reluctantly backed away from the tree. “You must determine how fast the tree will fall, Foreman Direfang. And the path it will take to the ground. If this tree falls here”-the gnoll pointed north-“you will see there is a clear path for the trunk in this direction. No other trees will be injured when this falls, and wood from this oak will not be terribly damaged. Nor are there goblins there to be squashed by its plummeting weight.”
Direfang heard the groan of wood and spun to see the oak the Boarhunters had been chopping fall to the ground. It did not touch a single other tree on its way down. He raised an eyebrow: it was good that the clans were paying attention to the gnoll.
“Respect the tree,” the gnoll repeated. “Observe how it leans. Safer and easier for everyone if a tree is allowed to fall the way it leans. It is one of the reasons why I marked this one.”
“Because it leans to the north,” Direfang finished. “Where it is best for it to fall.”
He nodded. “Make your cuts in a wedge shape,” the gnoll continued. He spoke slower than usual, as if instructing a child. Direfang would have taken umbrage at the tone had he not decided the druid gnoll made some sense. “Make your wedge the shape of a slice of pink summer melon, Foreman Direfang.”
The hobgoblin shook his head, not understanding.
The gnoll indicated the shape with his hairy hands. “The missing wedge will sap the strength in the trunk. Cut a smaller wedge on the opposite side-the direction you do not want it to fall. The trunk will be so weakened that it will fall of its own accord and weight. Less work for you. Less pain for the tree.” He paused. “And never turn your back on a falling tree. Sometimes nature cannot be predicted.”
The gnoll left then, not looking back. With a shrug, the hobgoblin returned to his task, chopping more carefully on the side where he wanted the tree to fall. He was strong from carrying sacks of ore from the mines down to Steel Town. Chopping into the wood was much like hammering a pick against ore-soaked walls.
Yet he soon felt his arms burn from the exertion, the sensation reaching across his shoulders and halfway down his back. It was a feeling he didn’t mind, though. Because he heeded Orvago’s instructions and was precise in his cuts, the work kept his mind focused and off his other worries. Though there was considerable noise with other goblins chopping and chattering, he listened carefully and heard only the thuck of his own axe.
Many minutes later he was rewarded with a sustained creaking and cracking. He backed away, keeping his eyes on the trunk. Bark snapped and the creaking grew louder; then the tree fell slowly, the branches from others nearby seemingly stretching out to ease its passage to the forest floor.
It was dark by the time he’d cut the branches off it and pulled them over to a pile where younglings and older goblins worked to strip off the leaves and twigs. Nothing was going to waste in their enterprise; the twigs were fueling a fire over which roasted a small bear a group of hunters had killed. The thing would not be cooked thoroughly for hours.
Smaller animal carcasses were spitted too-there and elsewhere. Direfang watched as goblins braved the flames to pull off pieces of meat and swallow them whole. Other goblins ate rabbits and moles raw, shoveled insects into their mouths, and scraped the scales from blue-green pan fish that had been netted in the river. Despite all the feasting, he knew many goblins were going hungry. Not enough food had been caught, and even goblins within a clan were squabbling for more. One fight broke out over a rabbit, but Direfang ended it with a glare.
He padded away from the largest concentration of goblins and hobgoblins, returning to the bluff where his spire remained perched. Three goblins who had been eating around the spire scampered away to give him space.
Direfang’s arms ached, and he still felt the burn in the muscles in his back. Some goblins still worked; he could hear their axes. Most of the goblins seemed as determined as he was to build the city, though he wondered if that determination would fade as the days and weeks of constant, grueling work continued.
And food was hard to scrounge.
His stomach rumbled at the thought. Food was turning out to be more of a problem than he’d anticipated. On their march there, the goblins had foraged well enough. But they weren’t moving anymore. More than five thousand goblins in one spot would swiftly diminish the river’s fish population. Would he have to turn them all into farmers? It wasn’t a bad notion; some of the clans already had the skills. But he didn’t want a nation of farmers. Humans were farmers, not goblins and hobgoblins. No, he’d intended for them to build houses and cities like the men who had lived at Steel Town.
Or was that too many years in the Dark Knights’ company talking? Too many years of listening to their stories of home and of places they’d visited … Palanthas and Solace, Haven, Gateway, and North Keep. He’d seen illustrations of Haant, Jachim, Jotan, Ohme, Willik, Unger, and Rangaar. And on the sea journey to the forest, he’d read a book filled with small histories of Flotsam, Seahall, Endhere, and Ventshire.
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. T
he 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.”
DRAATH AND SALLOR
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.
“Thought that clan would be here yesterday, Direfang, or the day before yesterday,” Mudwort said. She puffed out her chest in pride and poked at the hobgoblin’s leg. “More are coming too. The stones in the earth say so.” The red-skinned goblin grinned at Direfang. “And probably more goblins after that. More and more.”
“Too many more.” Direfang glanced down at her; she came up only to his waist. Dirt was caked around her fingers, as she’d been using her magic to see through the ground, searching for goblins and calling them there. He’d spotted her, Thya, and Grallik shortly after dawn, hunched on the top of the rise and no doubt working some sort of combined spell. H
e cursed himself for not having investigated what they were doing.
What did he want with five hundred more goblins?
“No more calling goblins, Mudwort. No more! There are more than enough here in this city already. Too many.” More softly, he added, “Too many hungry, hungry mouths to feed.”
“City? Huh! Not much of a city, this,” she said with a shake of her head. “Wood and dirt and grass and animal skins. Hardly a city, Direfang.”
“It will be someday, Mudwort.”
It sounded like insects were swarming around them, but the sound was all the goblins chattering. Direfang’s army was cutting trees nearby, some of them heading north to cut more trees that Orvago had scouted. Others were eating or setting out to hunt and forage-all assigned tasks by Direfang, Sully, and Rustymane. Still more goblins were gathering on the bluff to ogle the newcomers across the river, pointing and talking. “How all them eat?” he heard more than one say. Everywhere the talk seemed to be of food. His own stomach grumbled, though he knew food would not settle it.
“There is hardly enough food for the goblins already here, Mudwort. How can more be fed?” Direfang felt his stomach start to churn.
“Cities feed the people. Palanthas, Neraka, Steel Town. Cities always feed the people living there. So build your city.”
“Only if you find the food to feed this city,” Direfang said. “Look through the earth, Mudwort. Find herds and fruit trees.”
“Roots too.” She thrust her dirty hands in the pockets of her tunic and turned away, seeing Thya and heading toward her.
The line of goblins on the other side looked up and seemed, as one, to catch the eye of Direfang before plunging into the river.
“Swimming!” Rockhide said. “No fear.”
“No fear …” The words buzzed through the goblins assembled around Direfang. The chopping faded as more curious goblins swarmed onto the bluff to see the fearless newcomers.
