5.50 G (1/2)

Every species had a way of meeting. Not individually, but in large masses. For instance, Gnolls had no written law, but they still obeyed tradition quite scrupulously and they had a number of customs that related to interaction between two or more tribes.

When two tribes of Gnolls met, there were ceremonies to be observed. The Chieftains would meet and declare peace—or war. They would exchange gifts in the case of the former or part for one day in the case of the latter. Other species might scoff at these particular formalities, but they all had places of peace, and ways of meeting.

The Centaurs had gathering spots where no weapons were allowed to be brought, neutral ground where all might walk in peace, criminal and enemies alike. The Dullahans regarded steam baths as inviolate and would never sanction an [Assassin] to lie in wait there, or plan a trap of any kind.

[Ladies] had tea parties. Drakes (generally) didn’t fight under white flags, and even then, it was usually only punching each other in the worst of cases. Dragons tended not to do battle when one or more of their hoards were at stake. And Goblins? Well, Goblins had the sit-about.

Infighting between Goblins was rare. Usually one Chieftain would crush another by force or trickery and that would be that. However, larger battles and lasting animosity like the war between Garen and Tremborag’s factions with Reiss’ weren’t unknown.

And while it was unthinkable for them to share a confined space without one side attacking the other, the peace had been maintained by the Humans. Thus, the Goblins had declared a hiatus on killing each other and enacted a rare scene from Goblin tradition, the aforementioned sit-about.

It was simple. Two enemy tribes of Goblins found a big space and sat. One side faced the other, or in this case, since Rags was present and Garen and Tremborag were two different Chieftains, they formed into four sides, such that a square of space lay between them. From overhead it looked more like a rhombus, but no one was holding the Goblins to exact geometry at the moment.

A rhombus, with a bit of space between each Chieftain and the Goblin Lord. Each one sat at an inside corner, facing the others. And here was the curious thing about the Goblin sit-about; while the tribe of Goblins sat behind their Chieftain, eating and chattering and passing along what was said in the center, the actual amount of space that separated Rags from Garen and the other chieftains was only about five feet in any direction.

There she sat, on the grass. There he sat, five feet away, across a fire. Behind Garen, his entire tribe—barely more than eight hundred Goblins, all wearing the red stripes that marked them as ‘his’ Redfangs—sat. Rags glanced left.

A giant Hobgoblin, a massive blob of fat, chewed noisily on a dead cow’s haunch. Tremborag glanced down at Rags as he tore meat from bone, his eyes flashing with clear annoyance and hatred. Five feet separated them, but such was Tremborag’s size that he could reach out and strike Rags. He did not, because of the rules. And also because of who sat across from him.

Reiss, the Goblin Lord, sat to Rags’ right. He was cross-legged, with Snapjaw and Eater of Spears sitting just behind him. He stared at the crackling fire and glanced up. Rags saw his eyes flick towards her, but made no move.

The atmosphere was…well, tense was hardly the word for it. Rags had never been in a sit-about before. She only knew of it from looking back at other Chieftain’s memories. And what she remembered of the sit-about was that it usually didn’t end well.

During the sitting it was peaceful. Oh, the close proximity meant that sometimes Chieftains would shout or throw things at each other, but actual violence would be so wrong that their tribes would usually revolt rather than see one of their Chieftains break the peace. So the two Goblins, or in this case, four, would have to share one meal together, sitting practically cheek-by-jowl.

The violence was what came after. The sit-about was considered the last attempt for two tribes to make peace if one Chieftain refused to cede to the other. If they didn’t find some kind of common ground, then the next day they usually slaughtered each other. Rags didn’t know if that would happen here, but she was on edge.

Her entire tribe sat at her back. Pyrite on her left, Redscar on her right. Poisonbite sat on Pyrite’s left, Noears on Redscar’s right. Quietstab sat directly behind Rags, chewing on a bit of pan-fried beef. The rest of her tribe sat behind her lieutenants, chomping down and watching Rags from behind.

There was a bowl full of chopped and fried beef in front of Rags. Good, hot food that made her stomach growl. The Goblins had run across a herd of cattle on the march and so they were dining well tonight. Normally Rags would have been stuffing her face, but she knew she was being watched. Every Goblin would assess their Chieftain and the other Chieftain’s performance, weigh what they said. Thus, every move had to be made with care.

Rags thought like that for about five minutes. Then she gave up and began gobbling her beef because she was hungry. The fire crackled as it grew lower; it had been made right when the sit-about had been declared and no one had fed it yet. The four Goblins eyed the fire. It was Tremborag who broke the silence first.

“The fire’s getting low.”

The other three looked at him. All the Goblins looked at Tremborag. Some nodded. That was a neutral statement, a fact. A good opening. Garen glanced at Reiss. The Goblin Lord nodded.

“It’s low.”

He was agreeing with Tremborag. That was good. It meant the two agreed on something, however small. There were nods all around. Garen growled, not wanting to be left out.

“Should probably add more wood. Other Goblin should do it.”

His Redfang Warriors smiled decisively as if Garen had pointed out something no one else had. Rags rolled her eyes and didn’t comment. Tremborag tore off another chunk of meat. He spoke while chewing.

“Make the nameless child refuel it. She’s better suited to that than leading a tribe.”

The convivial atmosphere became glacial in a moment. Rags stiffened and her tribe sat up. Redscar half-rose, his eyes flashing, but Noears and Quietstab grabbed his shoulders in an instant. Rags had to be the one to respond. She glanced coolly to her left at Tremborag and replied.

“No.”

The Goblins stirred. Some of them, smaller ones and females, glanced admiringly at Rags for her confident reply. Tremborag’s eyes only narrowed. He waited, but Rags went back to eating.

“Why not?”

Rags glanced back up at Tremborag.

“Don’t want to.”

Tremborag smiled mirthlessly. He tapped one huge finger on the ground as a spark flew from the fire and died in the dirt.

“The fire will go out. Someone must tend to it. Why not you?”

It was a cunning philosophic trap, at least in Goblin terms. Why shouldn’t Rags refill the fire? But the little Chieftain was equal to the challenge. This time she looked straight at Tremborag and raised her voice slightly.

“I said no. Big fat Hob deaf as well as stupid?”

Tremborag’s jaw fell open. There was a guffaw from behind Rags and laughter from other Goblins. The gigantic Hob growled, but nothing could take away the amusement on Reiss’ face, or the way Garen was clearly trying not to laugh. Rags smiled to herself, then felt a poke in her side. Every head turned to Pyrite, who looked troubled as he withdrew the finger. Rags nodded.

“Sorry. Big fat, ugly Goblin. That better?”

She looked at Pyrite, who grunted with approval. Again, laughter came from behind Rags and from Reiss’ camp. Tremborag’s face was murderous. He swung around and the faint, stifled sounds behind him went instantly silent.

That had been a perfect riposte with Pyrite’s help as verbal duels went. Rags sat a bit straighter, knowing that if there was a score, she would be ahead. Tremborag was fuming, but unwilling to try to attack Rags again and Garen was recovering himself. Reiss chuckled and turned his head.

“Snapjaw.”

Instantly, the Hob with the metal teeth turned and waved a hand. She shouted.

“Wood!”

One of the Goblins behind her threw a split log. Snapjaw grabbed it and handed it to Reiss. He pointed at the log and flicked his fingers. The piece of firewood flew up and landed in the fire, sending up a flurry of sparks. There were murmurs from all sides and Rags saw Noears sit up with interest. She was staring at Reiss as well, trying to figure out how he’d done that. Pisces had tried to teach her telekinesis, but she hadn’t mastered it to that extent. Or at all really.

The fire crackled with the new fuel in place. Garen grunted and pointed. One of his warriors strode forth and dumped some firewood next to the fire, adding a few logs. The other Goblins watched. Obviously the fire hadn’t been the issue. It had just been an opening joust of words and actions. And Reiss had cleverly found a way to set himself ahead as well.

His trick with the firewood was a display of magic, meant to impress. And it did. Goblin [Shamans] couldn’t levitate objects, at least not as casually as [Mages] did. That set Reiss apart and more than a few Goblins were staring at him now. Tremborag, glaring, rumbled.

“Cute trick.”

His words were meant to be an insult, but Reiss just smiled slightly. He turned his head and stage-whispered to Snapjaw.

“Better cute than being big, fat, ugly, deaf and stupid.”

She laughed loudly and again, Tremborag turned a mottled shade of red and green. His huge claws clenched and unclenched. Rags watched him out of the corner of her eyes as she sipped some water from her cup.

He wasn’t good at this. Tremborag might have a commanding presence, and he was dangerous, but he had never really suffered challenges to his rule in the mountain. Thus, he wasn’t as nimble in places where words mattered more than power, like the sit-about. And Garen was likewise stuck. The Redfang’s Chieftain was no conversationalist and though he kept sitting forwards, he missed his chance to jump in time and time again.

Reiss glanced at the two fuming Chieftains, and then at Rags. He tapped his own bowl and then there was silence again. This time, his face was more serious as he looked at Rags.

“Why does your tribe fight Tremborag and Garen’s? I hear rumors, but not why. Chieftain Rags, tell us.”

Rags sat up. Now they came to the real issues. She glanced across the fire at Garen. His face was stony. Rags shrugged.

“My tribe was Garen’s tribe. He was mine. I beat his tribe.”

There was a rumble of protest from Garen’s side. Rags raised her voice.

“He called me Chieftain! He advised me to go to Tremborag.”

“And you betrayed me!”

Tremborag interrupted. He thrust a huge finger at Rags.

“You were the traitor! I welcomed you into my mountain, offered you food! And you fled, coward, nameless Goblin! You fled with my treasures, my people! You are no Chieftain, but a thief! You dared not challenge me so you fled in the night!”

This time Tremborag’s words caused an commotion among the Goblins listening. Stealing was one thing, but stealing from a tribe that had welcomed Rags into their hold? Rags held up a hand, her heart beating faster.

“I left, yes. But for good reason! Your tribe kidnapped Human women. Did bad things to them. Sex things. Not-Goblin things.”

The Goblins went silent. Reiss stared at Rags in confusion, then his brows drew together. He looked at Tremborag with disgust.

“Rape? They captured Human women for…?”

He looked at Rags for confirmation. She nodded. The Goblins behind Reiss looked at each other, some uncomprehending, others like the ones sitting next to Eater of Spears, clearly appalled. The Goblins sitting behind Garen shifted and he stared at his lap, silent. And Tremborag?

He laughed. The Great Chieftain slapped his belly so his flesh rippled and laughed long and loud, so that every eye fell on him again. He laughed until tears began to leak from the corners of his eyes. He wiped one away and then looked around. His eyes fell on Rags and he leaned forwards.

“That was what you objected to? That? Yes, we captured Humans. So what? They are Humans. What does it matter what happens to them?”

His words provoked an uproar from the Goblins behind Rags. Redscar shot to his feet, as did many of the Redfang warriors. Some of the Goblins in Reiss’ camp also shouted. But the Goblins sitting behind Tremborag jeered and shouted back. For a few minutes there was chaos as both sides shouted at each other. And then Reiss raised his voice.

“Quiet.”

And there was. Rags heard the shouting Goblins go silent as if Reiss had cast a spell. She stared at him as the Goblin Lord turned to the silent Goblin. Garen Redfang. Reiss looked at the other Hob, who sat with both hands on his knees, bare-chested, his scars glowing in the firelight.

“Tremborag says raping and kidnapping Humans is meaningless. Rags says it is not-Goblin. I say it is wrong. But what do you say, Garen Redfang? You walked among Humans. Why did you stay when Rags and your warriors left?”

It was a cutting question. All the Goblins went silent. They fixed on Garen. He chewed his lip, then looked up.

“It is Tremborag’s tribe. He decides. Deal with it.”

His gaze passed right by Reiss as he stared at Redscar and his warriors, sitting across the fire. The Redfangs shifted. Redscar clenched his fist in anguish and shook his head. So did the others.

It was not a good reply. But it was the same one he had made before. Some of Garen’s warriors looked unhappy with it, but there was nothing more to say. Reiss just nodded.

“So. That is why your tribes are at odds. I see now.”

He cupped his chin in his hand. Rags stared at him. Reiss’ eyes flicked to her and to Garen. She stared at him. If the sit-about was just between her, Garen, and Tremborag it would already be over and they would be preparing for a battle. But Reiss was the unknown factor here. She looked at him, and then at Tremborag and Garen.

“Why are you fighting them?”

The other two Chieftains started. Tremborag glanced at Rags, and then his eyes narrowed.

“Yes, Goblin Lord. Why do you attack your own kind? You talk of fault when it is you who attacked first! You came to my mountain and besieged it. You chased us out, brought the Humans here! If you had never marched north, then all our tribes—Garen’s, mine, and…the child’s…would be at peace! This is your fault!”

He pointed at Reiss. The Goblins behind Tremborag shouted agreement. They stared at Reiss with real anger. They had lost their home because of him. But again, Reiss was calm. He stared at Tremborag and then shook his head.

“I did not attack first.”

Tremborag snorted in disbelief. His Goblins began shouting. Reiss raised his voice.

“I did not attack first. I came north seeking allies. I came to your mountain to seek you out, Tremborag. Your tribe, that I might fight the Humans. And you laid a trap when we met under peace. You attacked me first.”

His words caused a hush from the Goblins behind Tremborag. The Great Chieftain hesitated.

“You still came north, bringing attention on my tribe. If you hadn’t—”

“I was not the one who declared war first, Tremborag. Even before I marched on your mountain, my armies were under attack. I sent many north. Raiding parties, armies to fight the Humans. And they were attacked. By Goblins.”

This time Reiss looked at Rags. She bit her lip and glanced at Garen. The Goblin Lord’s forces. She remembered attacking at least two armies. It had seemed so obvious at the time, but—was all of this just a misunderstanding? Reiss held his gaze on Rags and then looked at Tremborag.

“I had cause, Tremborag. As for you—I am a Goblin Lord. You are a Chieftain. Great Chieftain, perhaps, but a Chieftain nonetheless. When I call, would you not at least give me the courtesy of speaking first? No. Instead, you attacked my people. You killed them.”

Tremborag’s eyes flashed.

“I killed a bare few. You were the one who brought war to my mountain.”

“Yes. For those you killed. For the dead slain by Garen Redfang.”

The Great Chieftain laughed incredulously.

“For a handful of Goblins? Are you a fool?”

Some of his Hobs laughed as well, but the rest did not. Rags did not laugh and no one behind her laughed either. Wasn’t that what a Chieftain did? Tremborag’s boisterous laughter died out as he realized all the other Goblins were just staring. Reiss slowly shook his head. His gaze, when it met Tremborag’s was dark. This time it seemed like the light retreated from him as he spoke.

“For one Goblin I would kill you, Tremborag of the Mountain. For one of my people I would bring ruin to your mountain and shatter your tribe. For the thousands that have died, I will make you suffer before you go.”

The sitting Goblins were silent. Tremborag’s face went still as he met Reiss’ eyes. Rags was still as she watched Reiss’ face. There was nothing amused about Reiss now. His pleasant demeanor, his educated speech—she forgot all about that when she stared at his eyes and saw the little white demons staring out from behind his pupils. Promising death.

And yet Tremborag did not look away. The Great Chieftain sat, the bones of half a cow in front of him. Grease and drippings covered his front. He looked down at Reiss. And then he changed.

Fat changed to muscles. His body contorted. His eyes grew wide and then sunk slightly into his face. His body shifted, grew. The Goblins edged back as a monster, a beast of muscle and sinew appeared where Tremborag had sat. This Goblin was not the fat, laughingly arrogant Great Chieftain of the Mountain. It was something else. Tremborag looked down at Reiss and his voice was quiet when he replied.

“I will eat you slowly, little slave.”

Reiss made no reply. The two sat like that for minutes, perhaps as many as ten while the other Goblins sat around in silence. Rags felt sweat rolling down her shoulder blades. If any Goblin behind Tremborag or Reiss moved, she felt like there would be a battle, sit-about or not. She could see Garen tensed, hand on his blade, looking from face to face. Rags had no idea how to break the tension. Neither Reiss nor Tremborag were willing to look away first. The tension filled the air, growing worse by the second until—

Prrt.

Rags’ heart nearly stopped. She heard a loud, muffled fart coming from her left. She whirled, and saw Pyrite. He paused as every Goblin, Reiss, Tremborag, Garen, and the tens of thousands of others, looked at him. He fanned at his behind as Poisonbite choked and threw herself back and apologetically shrugged.

“Bad beef.”

There was a nervous titter from the Goblins, and then laughter. Tremborag relaxed and his features shifted back to normal. Reiss smiled and glanced away. The tension defused—somewhat. Reiss and Tremborag avoided meeting each other’s eyes, but the lingering threat was still there, just beneath the surface. Only, the danger of imminent violence had passed.

Thanks to Pyrite. Rags nodded at him as the Hob endured Poisonbite kicking his side. The Hob smiled at her and kept eating. After a little bit, the relieved laughter and other Goblins copying Pyrite’s example and letting off humorous farts quieted down. Rags found herself sitting in silence again, only this time all eyes were on her and Garen.

Negotiations had failed between Reiss and Tremborag’s forces. That was clear. But the sit-about wasn’t over yet. Garen and Rags had yet to state their positions and while Garen’s was clear, Rags was still up for debate. And it was she who decided to ask the burning question once more. Rags sat up and pointed at Reiss. Every eye turned towards her. The Goblin Lord looked at Rags. She met his eyes, ignoring the sense of unease his white pupils and black eyes provoked in her.

“He called you slave. Are you a slave?”

“No. I told you. I have a master. But I do not consider myself a slave.”

“Liar.”

Two voices said the same thing. Tremborag and Garen. They stared at Reiss. He looked back at them, and they glared. Rags looked from face to face and waved her arms.

“Stop glare! Explain! Why slave, why not a slave? What master?”

Reiss looked at Rags, and then around at the watching Goblins. He nodded at Garen and Tremborag.

“They call me a slave because they know my past, Chieftain Rags.”

“And what is past? Explain. Tell. Garen calls you not-Goblin. Why? Who is master?”

The Goblins sitting behind Reiss were troubled. Snapjaw poked Reiss and whispered to him, and Eater of Spears leaned down to converse as well. Reiss listened to his lieutenants, and then shook his head.

“No. Snapjaw. Let them hear the truth.”

The female Hob looked troubled, but she nodded and sat back. Rags was surprised.

“You tell? Just like that?”

Both Garen and Tremborag looked shocked as well. But Reiss just smiled. A trace of amusement reentered his gaze. He shrugged.

“It is not a secret. We are Goblins. If you ask, I will tell you my story. You want to know how I became a Lord? About how I knew Garen Redfang? You want to know about this?”

He pointed at his black eyes. Rags hesitated and nodded. Reiss sat back. He looked thoughtfully at the stars.

It was a clear night. The many campfires of the Goblin sit-about blew smoke into the sky, but you could still see the distant lights high above. To the north, the massive Human army’s fires were also bright, but above the sky was peaceful. Soft. Beautiful. Reiss sat with an audience of hundreds of thousands of Goblins around him. The ones behind Reiss seemed to know what he would say and sat back, relaxing, willing to hear the story again. The other Goblins sat, attentive, some wary, but all curious. Garen looked away and growled for more food. Tremborag spat and called for wine.

After a moment, Reiss began. His words were listened to and passed from Goblin to Goblin, so even the ones sitting on the very edges of the sit-about knew what he said.

“Once upon a time, there were two Goblins. One was a Hob. A wanderer with no tribe. The other was a small Goblin who knew magic. They met by chance, on a day when the winds and water blew a wyvern from its nest. The Hob found the small Goblin running, trying to escape the wyvern. He saved the small Goblin, and with his help, the two Goblins slew the wyvern.”

The Goblin Lord turned to look at Garen. The Hob sat back, not looking at him, staring up towards a cloud in the night sky. Rags held her breath. A wyvern? They’d killed a wyvern? And was Reiss the Goblin with magic? The Goblin Lord smiled and went on.

“The small Goblin had no name. But he impressed the Hob. They were the same age, despite one being smaller. And they talked. The Hob wanted to be a famous warrior. The small Goblin wanted to be a Chieftain and teach all Goblins magic. They were very different, but they liked each other. So the small Goblin took the Hob to his tribe. He convinced the Chieftain to let the Hob stay and the two worked together. They became friends. And after a while, they were like brothers.”

All of the Redfangs, both on Garen’s side of the fire and Rags’ sat up. They stared at their leader, their hero with eyes that shone. They had never heard this story. Garen didn’t deny any of it. Tremborag ate savagely, ears twitching, but listening. So did the others. Reiss drew a handful of dirt up and threw it on the fire. As smoke rose, he pointed his finger. And the smoke twisted into shapes, following his words.

“One day, the small Goblin became a Hob. And it was the best day ever. He and the other Hob, who called himself ‘Garen’, decided they were strong enough. So they challenged their Chieftain. And they lost!”

He laughed. The smoke turned into a pair of scrawny Hobs fleeing from an angry Chieftain and others Goblins chasing them.

“They fled, shamefaced. But they resolved to grow stronger. The problem, the Goblin with magic said, was that they did not know the world. They had not fought under the Goblin King. Humans had adventurers. Drakes had cities with magic walls. How could Goblins surpass them? The Goblin with magic pondered until Garen told him that he wanted to become an adventurer. To fight monsters. And then the Goblin with magic had an idea.”

“To learn.”

“To learn.”

Garen’s voice was an echo of Reiss’. In the sky, the two Hobs stood apart.

“It was not an easy choice. But to grow, to become the great warrior and Chieftain they wanted to be, they decided to split up. One would go north and become a famous adventurer in Human lands. The other would study in Drake cities and become a [Mage] like no other.”

“Just like that?”

The whisper came not from Rags, but from Pyrite. The Hob stared at the smoke with…a strange look in his eyes. Reiss nodded.

“They were fearless. Overconfident. The two Hobs thought they could do anything. So the one called Garen made a mask and wore a hood. The Goblin with magic taught himself an illusion spell. They swore to meet seven years later at this very spot.”

The two Goblins made of smoke pointed to the ground and then walked away from each other, waving. Reiss closed his eyes.

“The Goblin with magic did not see Garen for many years. He wandered Drake cities, sometimes being found out, other times staying for a week, a month. Learning. Fitting in. He could not go to the larger Drake cities, but in the smaller ones there was no [Mage] who could see through his spells. And he began to hear tales of an adventurer in the north, the strangest of things. A Goblin adventurer. And he worked harder than ever because he remembered his promise.”

The smoky Goblin sat and read books, reading, talking with Drakes and Gnolls. Rags was entranced. She stared at Garen’s face. The Hob pretended not to be paying attention, but he never took his eyes off the smoky shape that was Reiss. The Goblin Lord paused, and his smile faded.

“And then one day, nearly two years after he had set out on his quest, the Goblin with magic met a man who brought death. He came to a Drake village, posing as a [Merchant]. It was a peaceful place, a rare settlement without walls. The [Merchant] arrived bringing goods, asking for news. He met the Goblin with magic and stared at him because he saw through the Goblin’s illusions. But he pretended to be kind.”

A stranger made of smoke with a fake smile appeared, a wagon laden with goods behind him as the smoky Goblin and Drakes gathered around him. Rags felt a bit of unease. Even as a figment of smoke, there was something unsettling about the man’s smile. Reiss’ voice quietly went on.

“That night, the undead attacked. Zombies. Ghouls. Crypt Lords. And worse. They slaughtered the Drakes. The Goblin with magic fought them as the kind Drakes died. He would have run, but the man of death cornered him. He revealed his true face and they fought.”

The smoke spun into a confusing scene. A Hob fought with magic, leaving smoky trails as he shot spells at a laughing man surrounded by lurching shapes. Then the smoke drew together. The next scene was of a Goblin lying on the ground and the man standing over him.

“He lost. That was the first time I met my master. The man of death. The one who hated Drakes, Gnolls, Human, hated everything. He did not kill me that day. Instead, he offered me a choice. Serve him in life or serve him in death. And I chose to live. So I became his apprentice. The one student of Az’kerash. The Necromancer.”

Every eye was fixed on Reiss. Rags’ breath caught in her chest. Tremborag stared at Reiss and then crunched down on his bone.

The Necromancer. Rags had known someone powerful had to be Reiss’ master. But this? She looked around and saw shock on Pyrite’s face. Disbelief on Noears, Quietstab and Poisonbite’s. As for Redscar—he looked blank.

“Who?”

Quietstab leaned over to whisper. More than a few Goblins were confused. They did not know the history of Izril. But Rags did. Reiss let the whispers continue and then spoke.

“Yes, the Necromancer. The one who came from Terandria. He fought in the Second Antinium War. He battled the Antinium, the Humans, the Drakes. He even clashed with the Goblin King. He was alive. In hiding. But he had not lost his hatred. And he saw a chance in the Goblin with magic. A chance to create a Goblin King of his own. A weapon to strike the living with. That was his plan.”

Rags’ gaze swung back to Reiss in disbelief. The Goblin Lord looked at her and smiled crookedly.

“He failed. Or rather, even the Necromancer could not make a King. But his student did become a Goblin Lord. For five years he studied under Az’kerash, growing in power until he was stronger than any Chieftain.”

“Not any Chieftain.”

Tremborag drank from a wineskin. Reiss looked up at him.

“No, perhaps not. But stronger than most. Strong enough to fulfill his master’s plans. It was then that the Goblin with magic went back to fulfill his promise. He walked to the spot where he had sworn to meet his friend. His brother.”

The Hob made of smoke reappeared. He looked taller. Older. The smoke could not capture fine detail, but with every step, it looked like the Hob was moving faster. He arrived at the meeting place, a hill with a rock and waving grass and looked around. And another Hob was there, sitting on the rock. A sword was strapped to his back.

“His brother was waiting for him. He was a famous adventurer, then. So famous that the Goblin with magic had heard of him even in his master’s lair. The Gold-rank adventurer who was a Goblin. Garen. Garen Redfang of the Halfseekers.”

Garen stared at the smoke as the two Goblins embraced and sat down, laughing and talking. The Hob’s crimson eyes were distant. Reiss looked up at the smoke and clenched his hands.

“At first they were ecstatic. Both had fulfilled their promise. Both were alive. Garen wanted the Goblin with magic to join the Halfseekers. The Goblin with magic wanted something else. He told Garen about his master. And he showed him what he could do.”

In the air, the Hob with robes pointed. A zombie burst out of the earth, startling the Hob with a sword. He backed away, sword drawn. The smoky Goblin with magic pointed at the zombie, waving his hands. The Hob with the sword shook his head. He leapt forwards and slashed the zombie in half.

“Garen did not accept what the Goblin with magic had done. He called his brother a traitor. A slave. What Goblin would kneel to a Human, let alone a [Necromancer]? Goblins could not be slaves. And undead—he hated the undead.”

In the air above the fire, the two Hobs quarreled.

“They argued. Then fought.”

The Hob with a sword swung at the Hob in robes. Light flashed amid the smoke and Rags saw the Hob with magic firing spells. The two retreated.

“Garen could not accept that the Goblin with magic had a master. He did not wish to be part of the Necromancer’s plan—to make a Goblin Lord. He swore to oppose his friend, his brother, if he ever tried to carry out the plan.”

“Why?”

Rags stared up at the smoke as the two Hobs stared at each other. She looked at Garen. The Hob looked up at her. His red blade sat on his knees.

“Because of the undead. Because of him. The Necromancer. Because we are not slaves. Because of the undead.”

The hate in Garen’s voice was physical. But Rags thought of Pisces and her heart hurt. She looked at Reiss.

“Just that?”

The Goblin Lord’s eyes were sad.

“Velan the Kind hated undead. And we are his people still. Garen refused to listen. He and the Goblin with magic separated. That was the last time they saw each other for years. The Goblin with magic went back to his master, heartbroken. In time he would leave and form his own tribe. Become Chieftain, and then a Lord just as he said. And Garen would go north. He would be an adventurer for another year until he betrayed his team and escaped to the High Passes. There he would form the Redfang Tribe and ride against his brother.”

The smoke showed two Hobs. They looked older and stood apart from each other. On one side, a Goblin in robes stood with shambling undead and undead at his back. On the other, a Hob with a sword pointed and Goblins mounted on wolves rode towards him. Rags felt her heart squeeze as the two met. Reiss and Garen looked at each other.

“We can still join together, brother. It does not have to end like this.”

“It does.”

Garen stared up at the smoke. He moved suddenly and his sword slashed the air. The illusory figures made of smoke vanished. Reiss lowered his hands and shook his head.

“I betrayed no one.”

“You claim that. But you serve the Necromancer. I lived while he destroyed the Humans in the north. I saw him, once.”

Tremborag spoke up suddenly. He leaned forwards, for once not sneering or furious. He looked at Reiss, one Goblin to another.

“He is not Human. He was once, but whatever that part was is gone. He is a monster and he will use you as a pawn.”

Garen nodded. He stood and pointed at Reiss. He had spoken little, but now his voice was loud. So loud that every Goblin heard it.

“You are a slave. Reiss! You betrayed Goblins! You served the Necromancer! You are not Goblin. You are a tool! Better to be dead than join you! Better to die than be undead! Better—”

He stared at the wisps of smoke trailing upwards. Garen’s voice grew quiet.

“—better not to be a traitor. Why did you have to betray us?”

He looked at Reiss. The Goblin Lord’s eyes flashed. He stood as well, thinner than Garen, his magical robes sweeping about him.

“I betrayed no one! My master offered me a chance and I took it! Yes, he uses me. But he gave me power. The power to do this.”

Reiss raised his hands. The fire went out. And something rose in its place. A spire of bone. No—an undead. It was folded up, compacted. But as the earth shook loose, it unfolded. A creature taller than all but Tremborag. Old, yellowed bone forming strange arms. It was humanoid, but the bones were oddly proportioned. Only when Rags saw the head did she realize.

It was a cow. A cow whose bones had been rearranged to make it stand upright. It towered over Garen as he raised his sword. The Goblins shrank back. Reiss shouted.

“Look at it! It will fight! It will die at my command! Instead of Goblins! How can that be so wrong? It’s just—just—”

He looked around. The Goblins of Reiss’ tribe looked at him, fearful. The others stared at the horror he had brought to life. The Bone Horror’s dark sockets burned with green light from within. A Goblin child hid behind Pyrite. Reiss faltered as he saw the terrified eyes. The Bone Horror collapsed silently onto the ground, amid the embers.

“Redfang called you traitor. He was right.”

Tremborag spoke in the darkness. The Great Chieftain was a shadow as he stared at Reiss. He pointed at the pile of bones.

“You serve something no different from that. Traitor indeed.”

“You think so?”

Reiss stared at the fire. He pointed and the fire burst back into life. The bones cracked as the sudden heat engulfed them. The Goblin Lord strode back to his seat and sat. He reached for his cup of water as Garen sat as well. Reiss drank and pointed at Garen. His face was twisted by anger and grief.

“If we’re speaking of traitors. You had a tribe, Garen. Not one of Goblins, but of adventurers. The Halfseekers were famous in Izril. They championed all races and they alone let a Hobgoblin enter their ranks. And you betrayed them. You slaughtered half of them and fled. You are the traitor as much as I.”

The Goblins turned to look at Garen. The Hob went still. His eyes burned as he slowly looked up at Reiss and shook his head.

“They were not my tribe. They never believed I was one of them.”

Reiss’ eyes narrowed as he gulped more water.

“But they were yours. They trusted you. And you killed them. For the key. Do your Redfangs know that? Garen killed his own?”

His Redfangs did. At least, Redscar did. But even his gaze was uncertain. They must have heard the tale from Garen. But Reiss had thrown that into doubt. Garen shifted.

“I did everything for Goblins. For Goblins.”

“So did I!”

Reiss nearly stood again, but Eater of Spears patted his shoulder. The Goblin Lord visibly calmed himself and kept drinking from his cup. Garen copied him by eating from his bowl of meat. The two of them glared at each other, looking so alike in that moment that Rags could see them sitting together, just like they had in the smoke.

At last, Reiss sighed. He tore his gaze away from Garen and looked at Rags.

“So, little Chieftain. That is our story. That is our past. That is why Garen calls me slave and I do not. I have a master. I will not pretend he thinks of Goblins as anything but tools. But he will give us power if we fulfill his wishes. What other option is there?”

“Freedom.”

Garen spoke quietly. Tremborag crunched a bone.

“Pride.”

“So you say.”

Reiss looked back at the other two Chieftains. His gaze fixed on Tremborag.

“You sat in your mountain, ‘Great Chieftain’. The Goblin King called and you did not answer. You grew your tribe and it was mighty, yes. But for what? Are you content to hide from Humans forever? Why have you done nothing?”

Tremborag tossed aside the cow’s femur.

“You want to know my past? You want to know why I refused Velan? How I became Great Chieftain? The secret of my strength?”

He flexed one arm and muscle grew out of fat. Reiss nodded. The other Goblins leaned forwards. Tremborag gazed around.

“No. That story is mine. I am Tremborag of the Mountain and I will reclaim my home. I bow to no Goblin Lord. You traitors I will hunt down. That is the only story you need know.”

He pointed at Poisonbite, who jumped. Reiss shook his head. He looked towards Rags.

“So. The Great Chieftain refuses. Garen refuses. But do you see, Rags?”

“Yes.”

Rags did see. She saw pride in Tremborag, and that burning fury and loss in Garen as well as Reiss. The two were separate, but they had been—she hesitated. Rags looked from Garen to Reiss. Her eyes narrowed.

“One question. You two have sex? Lovers?”

Reiss choked on his water. Garen paused as he chewed on his meat. Both Hobgoblins stared at Rags. Then Garen dumped his bowl of meat onto the ground and spat out what he was eating. Reiss shook his head.

“No. We were never—no.”

“Oh.”

Rags shrugged. The Goblin Lord’s face was a mix of chagrin and amusement as he wiped his mouth. Redscar looked amused as well. Garen did not.

“Fah. That was your question?”

Tremborag eyed Rags as he found another wine flask. Rags shrugged.

“Important question.”

Pyrite nodded.

“Good to know.”

Tremborag snorted and glanced dismissively at Pyrite. His gaze found Pyrite’s face and then paused. The Great Chieftain frowned and put down his wine.

“Wait. I recognize the other traitors behind you. But you. Do I…know you?”

He stared hard at Pyrite. The Hob glanced up. He was breaking up bone and sucking the marrow out. He shrugged.

“No.”

Tremborag wasn’t convinced. He stared at Pyrite.

“I…do. You were of my tribe once, weren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Reiss glanced between Pyrite and Tremborag with interest. Garen frowned. It seemed like a distraction, but Rags could see how Pyrite’s left foot tensed up as he stared calmly at Tremborag.

“You were in my tribe.”

The Great Chieftain insisted. Pyrite nodded at last.

“Small Goblin. No name.”

“Yes. A worthless little Goblin. But for some reason—”

Tremborag peered at Pyrite. Then his huge eyes widened.

“Now I remember! You were with him all the time. That decrepit old Hob. Grey…Greybeard! Yes, that was it! That useless fool and you were always together. Where is that traitor? Dead?”

All the Goblins in Rags’ tribe stirred. They looked at each other and then at Pyrite. Redscar sat up and stared hard at Pyrite. All of Rags’ lieutenants and Rags herself remembered. And Reiss sat up too. Snapjaw was poking Eater of Spears urgently and the huge Hob was nodding. Garen sat bolt-upright, his eyes widening as he realized who Tremborag was mentioning.

Only Tremborag himself didn’t notice. Pyrite glanced around and seemed to sigh. He nodded.

“True. I was with Greybeard. But not right name. He had another.”

“Oh yes?”

Tremborag smirked. He opened his wineskin with one claw.

“What was it? Was he an old Chieftain from another tribe? A wanderer who stole his name like the child? What did he call himself?”

“Greydath of Blades.”

The wineskin slipped from Tremborag’s claws. It landed on the ground, leaking wine. Tremborag stared at Pyrite.

“Do not lie.”

“No lie.”

Pyrite met Tremborag’s gaze. The Great Chieftain drew himself up to shout, and then, at last, caught the mood around the camp. The Goblins in his tribe stared at Reiss’ face, at Rags’ expression, at Garen and the other Hobs.

They knew. Rags remembered the grinning Hob with the grey beard. Tremborag’s jaw worked soundlessly.

Perhaps if he was Human he might have denied it. But Goblins seldom lied, let alone to each other. And the truth was written on every face. The Great Chieftain’s face changed from shock to fury to confusion and a host of other emotions as he tried to process that information. Then, at last, he croaked.

“Greydath? But he died—”

Pyrite nodded amiably. He fished around in his pile of bones for a new one. Looking unconcerned at all the eyes on him, he cracked another bone and hunted for the marrow.

“True. Greydath died in war. Probably like Necromancer. Probably was just imposter. All he had was rusty greatsword. Didn’t do much. Ate. Slept. Worked. Cut Griffon in half. Go poo. Talked. Taught me.”

“So that was Greydath who visited my tribe?”

Reiss stared hard at Pyrite. The Hob looked up and met his eyes. He shrugged at the Goblin Lord, which was incredible in itself.

“Maybe? Old Goblin? Beard? Cackle like this?”

Pyrite made a good attempt at Greydath’s crackling laughter. Reiss hesitated.