The harsh trill of a goblin pipe rang out across the endless expanse of empty flat land before the tune died away, carried off by the wind. Blessed silence returned. For a few lovely seconds, anyway, before the stupid pipe-player realized his message was being willfully ignored.
“Oi!” The stranger’s reedy voice shouted over the shifting sway of the tundra grass, shrill enough to startle a flock of nesting birds from their evening roosts. “You’re seriously not going to answer, you greedy little prick? I’m not going to let one measly orc get between me and my kin. Just you wait and see!”
“Kin?” Daana repeated in astonishment. Her brown eyes grew large and wide, like sad dinner plates with no munchies on them. The elf’s accusing stare settled over Snag, pressing him closer to the ground under its weight. “What’s he mean by kin, Snag?”
His instincts were to run, but that didn’t seem very fair to either of his companions, both of whom were watching him like hungry hawks. Snag wrapped his bony arms around his leather cuirass and hugged himself tighter. It didn’t do anything to alleviate the gnawing dread in his belly, but it kept him from diving head first into the surrounding grass for cover. That was something, surely.
“You misheard,” Snag explained. “He said, uh, kitten.”
“Kinky,” Ashwyn said around a generous mouthful of stew. If she was troubled by the approaching goblins, she didn’t show it. The orc seemed more concerned with scarfing down her dinner than the possibility of being held up by an entire den.
Snag wished he had that kind of confidence.
“That makes absolutely no sense, Snag.” Daana persisted as the reddish tinge in her cheeks spread to her pointed ears. “He clearly said kin, not kitten. Is that a member of your family out there?”
The reedy voice rang out once more. “I’m heading your way, you impudent little wretch!”
Snag wished the ground would split open and gobble him whole. Or maybe it could take the approaching goblin instead. Yeah, that would be better. Two stones, one turkey sort of thing, or however that nonsensical human saying went. The voice emitting from between Snag’s tightly clenched teeth was odd in that it didn’t sound like his own. It was as if he’d swallowed a tiny goblin and it was speaking from the lump currently lodged in his throat.
“Tell him I’m not here.”
Dried grass crunched underfoot as someone stomped purposefully in their direction. Daana had her head tilted to the side, listening as the approaching goblin grew unmistakably closer. “Who is he?”
“Fangle Bogfoot,” Snag gave in with a low-pitched wail. “My den brother.”
Ashwyn had made good progress on dinner. Having already emptied her bowl, she was currently eyeing the leftovers still simmering over the fire. “Before you clarify what in the seven realms a den brother is, does anyone else want more stew? Because I’m about to polish it off.”
“How can you be hungry at a time like this?” Daana demanded.
“Shove off, Peaches. Some of us like to eat our feelings, okay?”
Snag didn’t hear the rest of their petty squabbling as his thoughts turned inwards. What was a den brother? Gods, you’d think after having spent so much time with him, they would have bothered to learn a thing or two about goblins by now! Of course that would have meant being open about these sorts of things. Not really a possibility considering Snag fancied himself a steel trap rusted shut most days. Come to think of it, sharing such details probably would have made all of this a bit easier. Now he had to speed run them through a crash course on goblin culture before Fangle arrived.
Shit.
“As soon as a goblin is old enough to walk on his own, he gets tossed into the same burrow as all the other babes born that same season,” Snag explained, still curled in the fetal position upon the ground. “There were so many of us, it was impossible to keep straight who was actually related to you. Everyone who shared the same sleeping burrow automatically became your den kin. The shared space was supposed to make things equal, so that nobody got favored treatment. Except Fangle was the son of the den leader and he made sure everybody knew it. Little shit tormented me my whole life and never once got slapped down for it.”
Daana stirred her stew thoughtfully. “So Fangle was your childhood bully, got it. Why’s he here?”
Dammit. Why did she have to be so quick with the questions? Why couldn’t she just sit in a hungry stupor like Ashwyn? Snag knew if he didn’t provide an answer she’d just keep at it. “He’s probably upset that I didn’t stop in and offer my respects when we passed the ol’ homestead about ten miles back.” Snag paused, before adding reluctantly, “Apparently Fangle’s the new den leader now.”
“Seriously?”
“What? I purposely gave the den a three mile berth. I was hoping Fangle wouldn’t catch wind of our presence until we had a decent head start.”
Daana set her steaming bowl of chow by her feet and crossed her arms, pinning him beneath an unrelenting glare. “Are you avoiding him because you’re still scared of him? You, the most notorious goblin in all the land, famous for inciting civil war within the United Territories of the Realm?”
Snag produced a knocking sound from within his chest. His attempt to deter Daana was wildly unsuccessful on the account that it sounded less like a threat and more like a dying shrew.
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The elf shook her head in disbelief. “Seems like he should be the one afraid of you.”
Fangle’s annoying voice carried on the breeze, substantially closer than it had been the last time Snag had had the misfortune of hearing it. “I’m done waiting, Snaglebrag. And don’t you get any bright ideas about fighting me, either. I’ve got more than a hundred of our kin hunkered down in the grass waiting to jump in the moment you cause trouble.”
Ashwyn’s nostrils twitched as she tested the air. Stifling a snort, she reached for the stew pot and ladled herself another steaming portion. “He’s bluffing. I smell ten goblins, maybe twelve, tops.”
“Oh! An’ one last thing,” Fangle called.
Daana wriggled the tip of her pinky into her ear, wincing at the goblin’s unnecessary volume. “Does he always talk this much?”
“That’s rich coming from you, Peaches.”
“Hey!” Daana bristled at the accusation. “At least I know something about volume control.”
“Snaglebrag! Oi, Snaglebrag! I’m talking to you!”
“For fuck’s sake!” Snag leapt to his feet and threw his clawed hands into the air in exasperation. “What, Fangle? What more could you possibly have to say that can’t be said to my face?”
“I’ve got your mam with me. So yeah. Don’t get clever.”
“Mam?” Snag’s eyes darted back and forth as he toyed with the ring strung through his lip, ruminating in his thoughts. Why did Fangle have Mam with him? By Snag’s count, that old bag of bones should have been buried in the ground decades ago. There was something foul afoot here and he didn’t like it.
Snag smelled the goblins before he saw them. It was a familiar scent, a mix of bog laurel, smoke, and black river silt. It summoned an old squirmy feeling in the pit of his gut, something he thought had died years ago. Swallowing the dry lump in his throat, Snag watched as the rustling grass parted, allowing a pair of goblins to pop into view.
The first was Fangle. Snag hasn’t seen the cuss in years but he looked virtually the same. Maybe a little older. Definitely more ugly. Fangle was a weathered, wiry goblin who’s collection of bangles was rather impressive considering he was missing sizable chunks from both ears. He was similar in size to Snag. In fact, everything about him was suspiciously similar to Snag. From his jewels, to his tattoos, all the way down to his choice of clothing. All except for the bone-handled dagger, for Fangle had not just one, but three strapped to his person.
Always overkill with this one.
Fangle swaggered into the center of camp, moving to the tips of his toes in order to look down his nose at Snag. “Still puny as ever, I see, Snaglebrag.”
“Mhm,” Snag murmured, half listening. He tilted his head to get a better view of the second goblin. Mam appeared to be having trouble navigating the long grass. Her bent frame was obscured by a thick, woven shawl. The elderly goblin hobbled closer, stopping every few paces to fight the thorns that snagged her loose garments like cat claws to furniture.
“You sure went through a lot of trouble to drag an old lady out here, Fangle.” Snag spoke without lifting his gaze from the elderly goblin, who appeared to be losing the battle against the thorns.
“You never did have much respect for authority,” Fangle replied. “I figured if there was anyone who’d get through to you, it would be your dear ol’ mam.”
Snag’s stare moved from the old goblin woman and settled over his den brother. “That’s not Mam.”
“What do you mean that’s not your mam? Of course it is!”
“You didn’t think I wouldn’t recognize my own mother?”
“Well you have been away for some time,” Fangle said. “People change as they age, you know. You certainly did. You’re ugly as fuck as now.”
“That’s not my mam. The smell’s wrong!” Mam’s smell was that of sweaty sausages on a hot summer day. The elderly goblin across from him had a bitter fragrance, like crushed dandelion leaves.
“Oi!” Fangle twisted around in the direction of the elderly goblin, motioning for her to join them faster. “I thought you said this tadpole was one of your brood.”
“I said it was possible! I had so many damn nippers, it’s impossible to remember them all. Not without a good look at his face first.” The elderly female yanked at her skirts until the cloth tore free of the thistles ensnaring it. She stomped closer, huffing, “I don’t see why you couldn’t have just brought him back to the den, Fangle. I can’t walk a damn foot in this tall grass without getting hooked on something!”
Not-Mam managed several steps before her foot caught on Ashwyn’s alarm system and she went down in a tangle of twine and jingling bells. Neither Snag nor Fangle moved to assist her. Both remained stock-still, staring the other down, waiting to see who would break from the standoff first.
“You’re both acting ridiculous.” Daana, bless her heart, shoved to her feet with a muttered curse and stomped over to help the flailing goblin. With a few twists and turns of the twine, the elf had Not-Mam untangled from the alarm system. Daana extended her hand to the elderly goblin. “Are you alright?”
Not-Mam stared at Daana’s hand as if expecting it to bite her. “What’s she doing, Fangle? She want money?”
Daana’s insulted expression said everything her mouth didn’t. “No, I’m helping you.”
Unconvinced, Not-Mam uttered something in Laftak under the false assumption that Daana wouldn’t understand.
A smile tugged at the corner of Snag’s mouth when Daana’s hands shot to her hips in outrage. “Excuse me?” the elf said, having the sense not to stomp her feet even though she looked like she really, really wanted to. “How dare you! I’m not planning to rob anyone!”
Snag snickered at the older goblin’s shock. “What’s there to steal? Those bangles of yours aren’t even real gold anyway.”
With a look that could have curdled a rock, Not-Mam grabbed Daana’s hand and heaved herself upright. Sniffing her disapproval, she adjusted her skirts and stomped towards Snag and Fangle, grumbling, “He’d better hope he’s not one of mine, else he’s about to get his ears clipped.”
Shoving Fangle aside, Not-Mam took Snag’s face in her claws and twisted it this way and that, squinting one eye as she peered up at him. Snag’s weak protests went ignored. With a calculating sniff, she released him, turning back to Fangle. “Not mine.”
Fangle’s expression fell. “What do you mean he’s not yours?”
“Not mine,” Not-Mam repeated. She mistook Fangle’s dejected expression for confusion and began listing all the different ways to make her point, if not clearer, than certainly more graphic. “I’m not his mam. He’s not my runt. Didn’t slip from my loins in a puddle of—”
“I know what it means!” Fangle cried.
“Good. Not as stupid as you look then.” Not-Mam wrinkled her brow as she studied Snag one last time. With a huff of disapproval, she turned and shuffled over the cook pit to warm her hands by the fire. “He is blood, though. Got the family nose. Sister’s brood, probably. She only ever birthed scrawny ones.”
“Bet you’re feeling mighty stupid now, aren’t you, Fangle?” Snag crossed his arms over his chest triumphantly.
“Oh shut up!” the other goblin said. “This doesn’t change anything, Snaglebrag. We’ve still got business, me and you. And I ain’t leaving until it’s settled.”