Tears of Liscor, page 48
part #9 of The Wandering Inn Series
It was grey. And long. It ran down onto his chest in a wispy point. It was slightly matted and dirty from the road. But it was a beard.
The other Goblins stared. They had never seen a Goblin with a beard. Not the Cave Goblins or even the Redfang Warriors. They had never seen a Goblin with facial hair of any kind to begin with. Some had hair, but a beard? It was so strange.
For a second, the Redfang Warriors were amazed. But then they were wary. They stood up slowly as the Hob stood in the entrance to the cave. He wasn’t making any dangerous moves, but there was only one thing he could be.
A wandering Hob. They were rare, but it did happen. Goblins who left their tribes or were the only remnants of a tribe destroyed would wander about, looking for new homes. Generally, they would be killed or assimilated into the first tribe willing to have them, but wandering Hobs were different.
Some were outcasts who had challenged their Chieftain and failed. Others were simply independent by nature and trusted to their own strength to live alone. In any event, they could be dangerous as they obeyed no Chieftain of their own. Garen Redfang had been challenged by many wanderers searching for fame or wanting to control his tribe. Had this one come to steal the Goblins’ supplies or fight them for leadership?
All eyes fixed on the old Hob, waiting for him to make the first move. He looked around slowly, not reaching for the greatsword on his back. The Hob caught sight of the five Redfang Warriors and raised his claws. Slowly, he reached for his belt and pulled something off it. He tossed the bag towards the Redfang Warriors. It landed with a soft thump, scaring away the Cave Goblins near it. The bag was open slightly, and from it leaked a familiar odor. Numbtongue was closest. He carefully walked over and bent to pick it up. He opened the bag and pulled out what was inside.
A wheel of goat’s cheese. It was soft, crumbly, and a slice of it had been cut out. It must have been the old Hob’s food on the road. He was giving it to them as a peace offering.
It wasn’t a challenge. The Goblins relaxed as one. Numbtongue looked at Headscratcher. The Hob blinked and realized he was being asked to say something. So he spoke.
“Old one, come. Eat.”
The bearded Hob had been looking warily at the Hobs, but at the invitation, his face broke into a smile. He walked over and took a seat, bowing his head and cackling thanks as Numbtongue offered him a bowl. The Cave Goblins watched the old Hob warily, but they soon picked up on what was happening.
The Redfangs made room and offered the Hob a seat around the steaming pot. Numbtongue broke the cheese and placed it in his bowl with some bread. It went well with the garlic bread. Meanwhile, the old Hob was smiling as he received a bowl of soup loaded to the top and a big heel of bread.
“Very kind! Chieftain is generous!”
He smiled and bobbed his head to Headscratcher. The Hob blinked, but didn’t correct Greybeard right away. He hesitated and looked at his companions, wondering what to say. It was Shorthilt who took the lead this time.
“Old Hob is wanderer? I Shorthilt.”
“Greybeard. Yes, this old Hob wanders far. You have name? Is good name.”
He grinned at Shorthilt, showing a few missing teeth. The other Redfangs introduced themselves. Greybeard nodded to each in turn.
“Did not think tribe would be here! Saw Goblins cooking, came by. Many days travel! Hungry for good food! This best food!”
He gobbled his soup, smacking his lips loudly. The Redfangs nodded proudly. This was indeed the best food they’d ever had, bar none. Garen had kept the tribe fed, well, most of them, but he hadn’t bothered with cooking much.
“What brings old wanderer down here?”
“I travel far. No tribe. No home. So I go south. Hear of big fight north. Bad-death north. Many Goblins running from Humans. So I go south. Hear strange things of Goblins in dungeon. Come here.”
Greybeard explained as he refilled his bowl. He pointed at the soup, still agog.
“Good food! You make?”
The Redfangs exchanged a quick glance. Numbtongue lied for them.
“Yes.”
It was too hard to explain Erin to another Goblin. Greybeard didn’t seem to notice the moment of hesitation.
“Amazing! Good-good food! Best tribe food I ever eat! What is this tribe? Never knew one was here. Thought Flooded Waters tribe was, but Flooded Waters is gone.”
The Redfangs froze at the mention of Rags’ tribe. They exchanged a quick glance. What was their tribe? Numbtongue thought quickly.
“This is…Wandering Inn tribe. New tribe. Very new. Many Goblins come. From dungeon?”
“From dungeon? Where?”
Greydath listened with an open mouth as the Redfangs gave him an abridged version of events that had led to them taking control. He shook his head.
“Bad not-Gnolls? Big dungeon full of invisible-death? Too much for old Hob like me. But young Hobs very strong! Very strong!”
He patted Rabbiteater on the shoulder, pointing at the Hob’s cloak, which had transformed into a cloudy soup-cloak. Only, there weren’t any vegetables or chunks of fish in the cloak, just somewhat opaque broth. Some of the Cave Goblins were dipping their bowls into it even so. Rabbiteater preened a bit. Numbtongue rolled his eyes. He offered Greybeard the last of the garlic bread.
“Old one, eat more. We have lots. You give cheese, we feed. Where are you going? Travelling south? Much rain and water to swim through. Dangerous fish-monsters too.”
Greybeard accepted the bread gratefully. He tore into it with his good teeth as he replied.
“Maybe go south. Maybe. Not stay long and eat tribe’s food. Very generous, but not stay. Not unless…Chieftain needs old Hobs? Can fight.”
He glanced at Headscratcher quizzically, hope illuminating his craggy features. Headscratcher hesitated. This time, he replied awkwardly.
“Old one is wrong. I not Chieftain. Wandering Inn tribe…have no Chieftain.”
The other Redfangs looked at Headscratcher. He could have accepted the role and they wouldn’t have denied it. But Headscratcher clearly felt as they did. They had no Chieftain, and this wasn’t a tribe. Unless…was Erin…?
The old Hob choked on his garlic bread in surprise. He coughed and spat out a hunk onto a Cave Goblin, who promptly ate it.
“No Chieftain? How so many Goblins, then? All should run off!”
The Hobs shrugged. That was the mystery, wasn’t it? By all rights, they should have created a Chieftain or disbanded. But perhaps it was the Cave Goblins being used to multiple Raskghar masters that had kept them functioning as a tribe without a Chieftain.
“Don’t know. But tribe is good. Has good food. And getting stronger. If you want to stay…could stay? At least few days.”
Numbtongue looked at the others for support. It was a risk, but the old Hob seemed friendly, and he looked battle-scarred and tired from the road. The other Redfangs nodded, albeit a bit hesitantly. Badarrow glanced towards the door and raised his eyebrows at Numbtongue.
What about Erin? What about the inn?
Numbtongue made a face, taking care not to let Greybeard see. He flicked his claws towards the cave’s entrance.
We can keep him in another cave, not show him Erin.
Then he shrugged.
Or show her.
She would probably like the old Hob. Badarrow nodded slowly. Greydath had missed the entire quick exchange. He looked around and then nodded rapidly, beaming eagerness.
“Will stay. Will work hard! I know many tricks. Can teach. Maybe help even strong, young warrior Hobs!”
“Good! Old Hob should sit, though. Is long road. Sit and watch!”
Headscratcher beamed and slapped Greydath on the back. Then he looked at the other Hobs. They’d eaten their fill and were sitting around in post-meal content. However, there was a look in Headscratcher’s eyes that Numbtongue recognized.
“Should show old Goblin and Cave Goblins our tricks! Fight!”
He glanced challengingly at Shorthilt. Instantly, Numbtongue wanted to slap himself. He realized he’d missed something in the time he’d been sitting in Erin’s inn. Shorthilt stood up slowly and gave Headscratcher a slow grin.
“Good idea.”
Resigned, Numbtongue looked over at Rabbiteater and poked him for confirmation. When the Hob looked over, Numbtongue rolled his eyes and pressed together his forefingers. Rabbiteater sighed and nodded.
That said it all, really. Headscratcher and Shorthilt were friends, but they were fellow warriors as well. And they were easily the best at physical combat of the five Redfangs. Badarrow was dangerous too of course, but in his own way. And Headscratcher and Shorthilt couldn’t be more dissimilar in how they fought. Shorthilt would use the best weapon he could find and use it with precise, killing strikes. Headscratcher by contrast favored big, heavy weapons and battered his opponents down, as befit his [Berserker] class.
Normally, they got along fine, but their recent class changes and the rivalry between their sub-tribes had ignited their sense of competition. Now, they wanted to prove who was better. Numbtongue rolled his eyes. Was this a good idea? But then he glanced at Rabbiteater who was stretching, and he had to admit. He was a bit curious.
The Redfangs had sparred every day at Erin’s inn and on the road. They knew the order of strength. It went like this: Shorthilt, Headscratcher, Numbtongue, Rabbiteater, Badarrow with physical weapons, but Badarrow was really closer to the top since he could shoot arrows. But now they all had different classes.
And Rabbiteater was a [Champion]. As the Hobs and Cave Goblins trooped outside and saw countless Goblins eating in the sun from the boiling pots, they began changing their gear. Numbtongue unbuckled the precious steel sword that Erin had bought for him and checked the quality of the leather armor he was wearing. Headscratcher put on some padding and then a dented breastplate salvaged from the Raskghar’s armory as well as a helmet. Badarrow and Shorthilt declined to wear armor to begin with and so just kept stretching. And Rabbiteater changed into his chainmail.
Greybeard and the Cave Goblins gasped when Rabbiteater put on the rusted and slightly holey chainmail. As it slid over his shoulders, it changed, growing longer to fit him precisely, and the missing patches closed together. The chainmail even looked lighter, and when Rabbiteater turned, it shone as if he’d polished it with oil. His sword looked just as beautiful when he unsheathed it, but when he laid it on the ground, it turned back, growing shorter and developing a slight warp in the blade.
[Champion’s Gear]. Numbtongue eyed Rabbiteater enviously. Meanwhile, Shorthilt was giving the other Hob the stink eye. One of Rabbiteater’s new Skills made it so that everything he held became stronger, more durable. Sharper. It made someone like Shorthilt, who coveted the best blades and religiously maintained his gear, envious. And Rabbiteater also had [Grand Slash].
He’d always been one of the weakest of the Hobs in a fight. But now, was he better than Numbtongue? He might be. Numbtongue was a [Bard]. But was he better than Headscratcher? Than Shorthilt? Rabbiteater accepted a club from one of his followers, and Numbtongue watched as the crude wood grew thicker and visibly sturdier in his hands. Numbtongue turned as his faction cheered loudly for him, sitting down in a wide ring as the other four Hobs prepared as well. With his liquid cloak and his enhanced body armor, he looked like…an adventurer.
“Give me an axe. And shield.”
Numbtongue muttered to one of his Goblins. The Cave Goblin scurried off and came back with a crude stone hatchet and shield made of bark and wood. Numbtongue nodded. Greybeard called to him as he strode to the center of the circle.
“No use sharp weapons?”
“No. It’s too dangerous.”
Numbtongue shook his head. While the other Hobs had kept the armor they would use in a real fight, they wouldn’t spar with naked blades. They were too strong, and they could kill or maim each other with an incautious strike. Badarrow would use arrows without tips, and the other Hobs would use sticks or blunt stone weapons.
“Sparring! We prove who is best fighter!”
Headscratcher called out to Shorthilt, lifting his axe with two hands. Shorthilt smiled and twirled the long quarterstaff he’d picked out.
“Fine. We fight. Ready?”
Badarrow grunted. He took a position farther back as Rabbiteater grinned, clearly nervous. He locked eyes with Numbtongue, who set himself with his axe and shield in hand.
“Ready.”
The Redfangs tensed. They stared at each other in silence as their audience watched with bated breath. There was no one who shouted ‘go’. One second the Hobs were tensed, the next all five charged as one. Numbtongue raced towards Rabbiteater. He saw something fly at his head and lifted his shield, snarling as he blocked one of Badarrow’s missiles. He lifted his axe as Rabbiteater charged him. He raised his club, ready to strike—
“[Grand Slash]!”
That was all Numbtongue heard for a while. Eventually, he landed on his back and realized he’d fallen down. After some more time, he realized that he really hurt. Numbtongue got up shakily and saw Rabbiteater was advancing on him, using his cloak as cover. Numbtongue stared at Rabbiteater, heard the groans of Goblins and cheering, and saw Greybeard cackling as he pointed at Numbtongue. The Hob groaned and lay back down on the ground.
After some Cave Goblins had dragged him off the field, Numbtongue saw the rest of the battle play out fairly predictably. Confronted with Rabbiteater’s cloak, Badarrow couldn’t do much more than retreat from the Hob. He did manage to hit Rabbiteater a few times, but ultimately went down to the [Champion]’s club just like Numbtongue.
At the same time, Headscratcher and Shorthilt were dueling, trading blows and dodging back faster and faster, trying to get an edge. Overconfident or perhaps thinking he could join forces with one or the other, Rabbiteater charged towards them—
And was promptly laid out flat by a joint attack from both sides. He stumbled off to one side as the duel between Headscratcher and Shorthilt got hotter. Headscratcher roared as he swung his axe, forcing Shorthilt to retreat. He was stronger and faster than he’d ever been! The trouble was that Shorthilt was too.
And he had a quarterstaff. The weapon gave him reach on Headscratcher and an edge. Time and again, Shorthilt would batter the Hob from afar, keeping a respectable distance or spinning the staff to hit Headscratcher from an unexpected angle. And the more times he struck, the angrier Headscratcher got. And accordingly, the stronger he became.
The breaking point came when Headscratcher charged Shorthilt, ignoring the blow that struck him on one shoulder and struck at the other Hob’s chest with a roar. Shorthilt blocked with his quarterstaff in desperation. The sturdy wooden shaft splintered as Headscratcher connected—and so did Headscratcher’s axe. The crude wood couldn’t bear the strain, and so both weapons broke with cracks that sounded like thunderclaps.
“Draw!”
Numbtongue shouted, laughing as Shorthilt backed up. The [Weapon Expert] grinned, raising his hands, but Headscratcher didn’t. The [Berserker]’s eyes flashed. He charged Shorthilt with a roar and tackled the Hob to the ground. Then he sat on Shorthilt’s chest and began pounding at his face!
“Stop! You win!”
Shorthilt shouted, exasperated and angry. He blocked Headscratcher’s punches as Numbtongue and Badarrow shouted for him to get off. But Headscratcher didn’t stop. He roared as he struck Shorthilt repeatedly, and his punches weren’t for show. The other Redfang Warriors froze up as they realized he’d lost control.
“Stop! Stop!”
Rabbiteater ran towards Headscratcher. He tackled the bigger Hob, but Headscratcher threw him off. Badarrow swore, and the Cave Goblins swarmed around Headscratcher, trying to drag him off Shorthilt, whose arms were rapidly failing him. But Headscratcher was lost to his fury. Numbtongue looked around desperately. What could he do?
“Guitar!”
Rabbiteater scrambled up and threw the guitar at Numbtongue. The [Bard] caught the instrument, eyes widening. Of course! Music to soothe the savage beast! He put his claws on the strings, blinked, and then had a better idea. He charged over to Headscratcher and brought the guitar down on the back of Headscratcher’s head. He heard a crackle of electricity, a roar of pain, and then silence.
Slowly, Headscratcher rolled off of Shorthilt. The other Hob sat up slowly, spitting out blood that ran from his bleeding nose and cut face. He stared at Headscratcher as the [Berserker] stared at his bloody fists. It wasn’t all Shorthilt’s blood. He’d cut his skin open with his wild punches.
All the other Goblins stared at Headscratcher as well. They backed away from him as he looked around. Headscratcher looked desperate, shocked, and then terribly, terribly guilty. He looked at Numbtongue as blood dripped down from his hands. Numbtongue didn’t know what to say. But then he heard someone else speak.
“Now I see. You five are a fragment, aren’t you?”
The voice was unfamiliar. And it was speaking in the common tongue! Numbtongue whirled around. He saw Greybeard standing behind him. The old Hobgoblin was grinning. And he’d drawn his greatsword. He gestured at Headscratcher, at Shorthilt who’d gotten to his feet and was frozen in using one of the healing potions Erin had given them.
“I dreamed of five not-Chieftains. Of five seeds not grown. And I did not know why. Now I do. You aren’t independent. You’re copying your tribe. But what worked when you were lowly warriors isn’t working now. You are too large to be common Goblins, but you haven’t grown into your new roles. You are incomplete, and so you are fragments. And these lost children are just like you.”
Greybeard walked forwards. The Goblins around him drew back slowly. Everything about him was different. The way he walked, the way he spoke—before, he had appeared old, tired, broken down. Now, he was confident. And dangerous. Numbtongue stared at Greybeard in shock. The Hobgoblin looked at him as if he were a speck and went on.
