CHAPTER 7. AMONG THE WILD GOBLINS

The Hermits, who were known as the wild goblins, seemed to live in a separate forest, or even in another world. To reach the other goblinums of their clan, they had to travel south for several days and cross two rivers. One was small and flowed not far from their goblinum, while the other was a great river that crossed the entire forest from west to east. The two were connected. The smaller river could easily be called a daughter who had run away from her mighty mother to the northeast and become lost somewhere among the swamps.
Just a few decades earlier, no one had called these goblins wild. Visitors used to come to them. They themselves traveled to other goblinums of their clan, sometimes ventured out to the Bignoses, and even visited the clans of the western forest. Over time, however, such journeys became rare and eventually stopped altogether. Perhaps the goblins had grown tired of spending long days on the road. Or perhaps they simply had nothing to offer their neighbors, because their poor lands had never yielded rich harvests. And that was how they became wild.
Whatever the case, they still had the most important thing that connected them with all the other goblins of the forest: the goblinum. And that was hardly surprising. Long ago, everything had begun with a single first settlement, which the White Rider had named a goblinum. Over time, the goblins spread from it to different corners of the forest and founded their own clans, but the memory of the first goblinum remained. Besides, goblins were known neither for their building skills nor for their rich imaginations. That was why all goblinums looked the same.
But now one important difference stood out among the wild goblins. No, their houses had not become square, the central square was still round, and streets still spread out from it in every direction. But those very streets were now filled with armed goblins. A chance visitor might have been told that this was necessary. After all, the goblinum stood at the very edge of the forest, beyond which, supposedly, filthy trolls and who knew what else roamed. So, they would say, the borders had to be protected. Such an explanation might have been believable if not for one thing: the trolls had not attacked either the Hermits or any other clans for many years. So why did the wild goblins need so many warriors?
Dagul, Uruk, and Brakha approached the Warden’s house, tied up their rams, and headed for the door. Two goblins armed with swords stood at the entrance. They recognized the newcomers at once, gave them a quick look, and let them inside without any unnecessary questions.
The Warden had not expected his messengers to return so soon. He was therefore somewhat surprised, though it did not show on his face. Beside him stood another goblin, no longer young: a Counselor named Torul. Why, one might wonder, would Warden Appo, a young, strong, and far from foolish goblin, need a Counselor? Especially one so unremarkable. Yet Torul only looked like an ordinary, even somewhat pathetic old goblin. In truth, he was very clever and calculating. His head was full of knowledge. He was very fond of studying ancient manuscripts. Torul, too, had been awaiting the return of the three messengers. Perhaps even more eagerly than the Warden himself.
“We greet you, Warden, and you, Torul,” Dagul said, speaking as the senior of the three.
“How did your secret journey go, Dagul? Did you manage to get what I told you about?” Appo asked.
“Yes, Warden. We succeeded. You were right. It really does exist,” Dagul replied, lifting the bag.
“Good. That’s very good. And remember: not a word about it to anyone.”
The Warden fell silent for a moment, then pointed at Dagul.
“You stay. The others may go.”
He turned his gaze to Uruk and Brakha.
“I think you’ve earned a reward for your work. Go to the meat cellar.”
Then he turned to Torul.
“Go and see to it that these two are given a good piece of mutton each.”
After Uruk and Brakha left, the Warden asked Dagul to tell him about the entire journey in detail. The goblin described every day of their travels from the moment they reached the lands of the Bignoses. He did not conceal the fact that they had been spotted near one of the goblinums, either. He did this not because he was particularly honest. Dagul simply knew very well how terrible the Warden’s anger could be if he learned that something had been hidden from him. Nor did he forget to tell him about clumsy Uruk in the tree.
Appo had tolerated the first mistake, but the second clearly angered him.
“From what you’ve told me, I’ve concluded that things didn’t actually go all that well,” he said with displeasure. “The Bignoses who saw you might have suspected something. I don’t think they often get to see strange goblins hiding in the forest near their fields. And that fool Uruk could have given you away.”
“I told him the same thing,” Dagul hastened to reply. “But fortunately, no one noticed him. Otherwise, the Bignoses would certainly have gone to check the forest. Besides, no one set an ambush for us at the anthills the next day. So we weren’t discovered after all. And those Bignoses believed we were heading for the Road of the Four Clans.”
“I hope so,” Appo said coldly. “But you said it rained during the night. Because of that, you didn’t manage to destroy all the anthills. And rain means tracks. Or am I wrong?”
“No, Warden. You’re right. There were tracks. But the anthills are far from the fields. I doubt anyone will go wandering around there, especially after the rain. And in a few days, the wind will erase everything.”
“Time will tell.”
Appo looked closely at the bag.
“But in any case, nothing can stop me now. Because the one thing that could is right there.”
He pointed a finger at the bag.
“With such power, we’ll be able to bring the entire Goblin Forest under our control. What do you think, Dagul?”
“I don’t know, Warden. But I’m ready to carry out any order you give,” the goblin replied, bowing his head obediently.
In truth, all he was thinking about was keeping Appo from returning to the subject of their mistakes.
“Good.”
A smile appeared on the Warden’s face.
“I think you’ve earned a reward too. But mutton alone won’t be enough for you.”
With that, he walked over to the door and looked outside.
“Find Lukdun and tell him I want to see him,” he ordered one of the armed goblins.
At that moment, Torul returned. Without saying a word, he went straight to the bag containing the Ant Power.
A little while later, Lukdun arrived. He was a huge, fearsome goblin with a broad jaw and angry eyes. And when he laughed, which happened extremely rarely, his gaze became especially frightening. Even Warden Appo sometimes felt a chill run down his spine because of it. Lukdun looked at the Warden and nodded to him, paying no attention to anyone else.
“As you know, Dagul, Lukdun is the commander of all my warriors. And in the near future, I hope, he’ll be commanding my army. When that happens, I think he’ll need an assistant, perhaps even several. I’m planning to make you one of Lukdun’s assistants. I think you’ve earned it.” The Warden turned to Dagul and, without waiting for his reaction, addressed Lukdun. “What do you think, Lukdun? Will this goblin make a good assistant, or am I mistaken after all?”
“I know you never make mistakes, Warden. But first I’d like to see what Dagul can do. Perhaps he’ll turn out to be a good assistant only for the ram-keeper,” Lukdun replied without any emotion.
“We’ll find out soon enough. For now, go with Dagul to the cellar and see to it that he’s given a good piece of mutton.”
When the two goblins left, the Counselor had already finished examining the pouches of Ant Power and was standing there with a satisfied smile. What lay in the bag was exactly the same as what he had seen in the ancient manuscript from which he had once learned about the wars and the Ant Power.
“Everything is just as I promised you,” he said to the Warden.
“Yes, Torul. You surprised me. When you first appeared in our goblinum and told me your story, of course I didn’t trust you. And how could anyone trust a stranger who had been banished from his own goblinum for theft?”
“If I may respectfully disagree with you, esteemed Warden Appo. I didn’t steal. I merely sometimes took things that weren’t meant for me. As you may recall, I was the Warden’s assistant and was responsible for the food cellars. And I never allowed our goblin families to go hungry. Some of them simply received less meat and more potatoes, sometimes rotten ones. Yet for some reason, the Warden became very angry when he found out. And so here I am. But when I learned that he intended to banish me, I decided he was treating me unfairly. So I brought some manuscripts with me, which I don’t consider theft either. Those ignoramuses, led by the Warden, had never taken any interest in the manuscripts of our ancestors. They had no use for them. Just some ancient scribblings that couldn’t be thrown away out of respect for the ancestors. So I saved them, pulled them out of oblivion, and opened them up for you.”
“Then I suppose that makes me an ignoramus too, because I have no interest in manuscripts. Though once, out of boredom, I read one, but found nothing interesting in it. It merely described the everyday lives of goblins many centuries ago. I know my predecessor was the same.”
There was displeasure in the Warden’s voice, for he did not consider himself an ignoramus at all, even if he had no desire to know anything about his ancestors.
“Oh yes, Warden. The ancient goblins loved to record their deeds and called it history. Unfortunately, that tradition has been forgotten in our time. And of course, I don’t consider you an ignoramus. Nor do you need to read anything. After all, you have me. I can read your manuscripts and tell you the most important things they contain. I’ve already shared the knowledge from one manuscript with you. And now you have the Ant Power.”
Torul noticed the Warden’s displeasure and therefore tried to speak as gently as possible, glancing at him ingratiatingly.
“And by doing so, you proved your loyalty to me. That’s why I sometimes allow you to say things others are afraid even to think,” the Warden said, softening slightly.
“I am immeasurably grateful to you, and I very much hope that with the help of the Ant Power, you will become the most powerful goblin in our forest. Then I’ll look into the eyes of that worthless goblin who drove me from my own home. If, of course, his foolish head is still on his shoulders by then.”
Sparks of hatred flashed in the Counselor’s eyes.
“You speak beautifully, Torul, skillfully turning a thief into a virtuous goblin and blaming an innocent one. And therein lies your fearsome strength. I’m sure many goblins would like to have your head, including many Wardens. That’s why I made you my Counselor. But remember: we have a very severe punishment for theft and betrayal. And it isn’t banishment.”
“Rest assured, I would never allow myself to do anything of the sort, because I have the greatest respect for you. For the rest of my life, I will be indebted to you for taking me into your goblinum. Believe me, I will yet be of great use to you and will stand beside you at the moment of your greatness. And I am prepared to serve even for a couple of rotten potatoes.”
“Now, now, Torul. That’s too much. Save your flattering tricks for the simpletons in the street. I have no need of them. And you won’t be eating rotten potatoes. A head like yours needs good food, and you’ll get it.”
“I never tire of thanking you, Warden. You are the most worthy goblin not only in your own goblinum, but in the entire Hermit clan. And your head is no worse than mine, because very interesting ideas appear in it.”
“What do you mean?” the Warden asked, not understanding the remark about his head.
“I noticed long ago how life in your goblinum is organized. You very cleverly arranged things so that you have two kinds of goblins. Some are warriors, while the others are workers. And everyone is busy with their own work every day, while elsewhere half the goblins idle away their time and call it fair turn-taking at work.”
“You’ve noticed correctly. But it wasn’t difficult for me to do. The thing is, our land is probably the poorest in the entire Goblin Forest. That’s why we have meager pastures and small harvests. We have nothing close to the abundance of food the Bignoses have. Everyone in our goblinum knew that well from the days when we still traveled to those lands. So food is highly valued here. And whoever I give more of it to will serve me more loyally. Once you’ve had something good, it’s hard to give it up afterward. Isn’t that right? You’ve probably guessed that the warriors get the best food. But I can’t make all the goblins warriors, because then there would be no one to work the fields and tend the sheep. That problem will be solved, though, because soon one of my warriors will be worth ten.”
As he spoke those last words, the Warden’s gaze once again settled on the pouches of Ant Power.
“I don’t doubt it in the slightest,” the Counselor said obligingly.
“Now call the Iron-master to me. And search the manuscripts for any mention of how much Ant Power one needs to drink for it to take effect. This magical nectar is too valuable to waste.”
“I’ll do everything, Warden,” Torul replied quickly and left.
Left alone, Appo cast a greedy glance at the Ant Power, walked over to the table, and picked up several pouches at once. He badly wanted to swallow them all so he could gain as quickly as possible a power that perhaps existed nowhere else in the world. He had already raised his hand to his mouth, but at the last moment suppressed the sudden urge.
No need to rush. A power this great may be just as dangerous. Better to wait and hear what Torul has to say, he thought.
Before long, the door opened and the Iron-master entered the room.
“Greetings, Warden. You wanted to see me?” he asked, not daring to venture farther into the room.
“Yes. You must make a casket. The strongest one you possibly can. It must have a lock — the most complicated one you know how to make. I also need large cages and swords. Lots of swords. As you can see, your workload has increased considerably. So take on some assistants. As many as you think you need. I allow you to take any goblin from among the workers. And hurry with the casket. If it’s ready by tomorrow evening, then I think you can count on some skauti.”
“I’ll start at once and work all night. You’ll be pleased, Warden,” the Iron-master replied and immediately ran out the door.
At the same time, the three former companions were finishing their mutton. Dagul and Uruk were in their homes, while Brakha sat outside near the enclosure for the riding rams. Brakha was an orphan and did not have a stone dwelling like the other goblins. What served as his home could hardly be called a place anyone would want to return to. A tiny shack made of half-rotten, crooked logs that, for some reason, had not been used as firewood barely protected him from bad weather. He could only dream of a wooden sleeping platform. Instead, hay lay on the ground, covered with scraps of sheep’s wool. So during the warmer part of the year, Brakha preferred to sleep outdoors, often beside the rams. It seemed to him that they were softer than any sleeping platform. He knew there were empty houses in the goblinum — goblins were not immortal, after all — and he was certain he did his work honestly. But he could not understand why the Warden would not give him even the simplest dwelling. Nor did he dare ask, suspecting he was more likely to receive a slap than an explanation.
Brakha had not even finished his well-earned piece of mutton when the Iron-master appeared before him. He urgently needed assistants.
“The Warden allowed me to take any worker, and you’ll only be idling anyway.”
Hearing this, Brakha merely sighed. He had planned to rest after the long journey, but he had no choice. Fortunately, the Iron-master treated him much better than most goblins did. He explained that a casket had to be made urgently on the Warden’s orders and promised that Brakha would personally deliver it.
“You’ll take the casket to him, and maybe you’ll get some kind of reward from the Warden.”
All night long, hammers rang in the workshop and the fire burned. By dawn, the casket was ready; only the lock and keys remained to be made. The Iron-master decided to do that work alone, since he did not wish to reveal such delicate secrets of his craft. So he let his assistant go, reminding him that he expected him back after lunch.
After returning to the enclosure, Brakha decided to tend to the rams first and rest afterward. Despite his weariness, he could not leave the animals unattended. During the several days he had been away, he had missed them, and now he took pleasure in caring for each one. He had known these rams since they were lambs and had watched the little balls of wool grow into powerful animals capable of killing an adult goblin with a blow of their horns.
After finishing his work and getting a little sleep, he returned to the workshop. The lock and two keys were already finished. As promised, the Iron-master gave everything to him.
From the moment Dagul brought back the Ant Power, Appo had barely left his house. The Warden was afraid the precious pouches might be stolen. He had hardly slept and was waiting impatiently for the Iron-master. So when he saw Brakha holding the casket, he visibly brightened.
“Well, finally. After what the Iron-master heard from me yesterday, I thought he’d come himself for the promised reward. But it seems he doesn’t value my kindness very highly,” the Warden remarked with displeasure.
“Oh no, Warden. The master simply has a great deal of work and doesn’t want to waste time. That’s why he sent me. He plans to come himself later.”
“Later, then. Did you help him make the casket, the lock, and the keys?”
“Only the casket. The master didn’t share his knowledge of lockmaking with me.”
“Quite right. You may sometimes be called a keeper, but you’re only the keeper of the riding rams, not a goblinum. So you shouldn’t know more than your duties require. Though I admit, you take good care of them. It’s clear you get along better with rams than with goblins. They probably take you for one of their own, just a little ugly and skinny.” A mocking smile appeared on the Warden’s face.
“I simply love these animals, and they return my affection,” Brakha replied meekly, as though he had not noticed the Warden’s mockery.
“Excellent. Soon we’ll need many good riding rams. Now leave everything here and go.”
Brakha shifted timidly from foot to foot and did not leave. He had finally decided to speak about the house, but he did not know how to say it without displeasing the Warden.
“I see you like it here so much that you don’t want to leave. Or perhaps you’re expecting mutton for supper as well?” the Warden asked.
“No, no. Yesterday’s piece was so large that I ate enough for two days. I wanted to ask for something else. There are empty houses in the goblinum, after all. And the place where I have to live now is nothing like a comfortable dwelling. When it’s windy, the wind blows through it, and when it’s cold, the cold does too. So, could you give me one of the empty houses? I would be very grateful to you. It’s just that I fall ill every winter. And who knows, perhaps one winter will come that I won’t be able to survive. Then the riding rams would lose, as you said, a good keeper. I wouldn’t want to let you down like that,” Brakha finished, bowing his head.
“What a sly one you are. But our winters aren’t that harsh. And you’re still too young to complain. Young goblins have nothing to fear from illness. Though it’s hard to call you a proper goblin. Right now, you live beside your rams and spend a lot of time with them. But if I give you a good stone house, you’ll spend more time in it than with the animals. So everything will stay as it is. Our drawn-out conversation is over.” The Warden gestured toward the door.
Brakha understood that his life would not change today. He had hoped so much that, for the first time, he would be able to sleep in a real house on a wooden sleeping platform, as all goblins did. He turned and slowly walked toward the door with his head bowed, as though it had suddenly become too heavy a burden for his thin neck. He was suddenly overwhelmed by a painful sense of hurt over his miserable life, the mockery, and his own helplessness. His head sank even lower, his lips trembled, and tears welled in his eyes.
He opened the door and was already stepping over the threshold when he suddenly heard behind him:
“You really do take good care of the rams, and I need keepers like that. Maybe I’ll think about your request.”
Brakha turned, quickly wiped his eyes, nodded, and left. As he closed the door behind him, he raised his head for a moment and saw the Warden carefully placing into the casket the very same pouches that had been in Dagul’s hands that night. Now he understood why the Warden had needed a casket with a lock so urgently. The Ant Power was too valuable to be stored like an ordinary thing. And Brakha also remembered the two keys the Iron-master had made.
So the second key will have to be kept somewhere. But where?
The question greatly interested the little goblin.