Goblin Nation by Jean Rabe

Author:Jean Rabe [Rabe, Jean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-7869-5644-9
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2010-01-25T16:00:00+00:00

17

THE STONETELLERS

PREPARING FOR WAR

Lurreg, a muscular goblin of middle years with mudbrown skin and olive-colored eyes, was leader of the Fernwold clan. He’d made it clear that he and his fellows did not like the Skinweavers, wrinkling their noses at the shrunken elf heads and refusing to return any friendly gestures.

Yet Lurreg toiled by Draath’s side, expending more effort and energy than he had when building his ruined home.

The two clans had fashioned spears from the thick, straight branches that could be salvaged from roofs. Those who had axes and knives cut logs that had once formed walls to make more spears, the best and thickest pieces becoming clubs. They discarded pieces that were cracked or bent like a supple willow or had been weakened too much by the chlorine.

Draath sat on a scarred piece of ground with a half dozen spear hafts in front of him and a pile of black, fist-sized rocks. Lurreg was nearby and watching the Skinweaver’s hands … refusing to look him in the eyes. Draath patted the smallest of his shrunken heads, a ritual he followed when he worked on each weapon; reached for a stone; and touched it to the end of a haft.

“This is obsidian,” Draath explained. “Dark as its purpose, to slay. Black as death.” His fingers moved over the stone, which shimmered and became as malleable as clay. “Obsidian is the best for this. Crystals work too, but those are more difficult to find.” The stone flowed over the end of the haft, capping it and firmly affixing itself. His thumb ran along the edges, forming it into something that looked like an arrowhead, but the thin edges were larger and appeared sharper, gleaming in the bright morning sunlight.

“Looks like glass,” Lurreg said. “This clan saw glass on the other side of the mountains. It was in a village in the Plains of Dust. An empty village. Obsidian looks like glass that reflects the night sky. Looks brittle. It will break easily.”

Draath grunted in disagreement and ran the spear tip across the palm of his hand, drawing a thick line of blood. “Obsidian is the very best,” he said. “And it is very difficult to break.” He put the finished spear off to the side and happily sucked on his wound. A youngling collected the spear and carried it to a growing pile.

The Boarhunters were making spears too, but theirs did not have stone tips. They affixed pieces of the spine that had run down the dragon’s back, dragon teeth, and talons to hafts. The youngest clan members did not have the luxury of using dragon parts. They sharpened the ends of the wood with knives and rubbed the knobs off the hafts so they would be easier to hold and more balanced to throw.

“Kroan used to work the dirt with magic,” Lurreg explained. “Kroan listened to the dirt and heard Mudwort’s call.” The clan leader bowed his head ruefully. “But Kroan was killed by the dragon. No remaining stonetellers in this clan.

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