Interrogation

I followed the man to his lair. Or house? He had a mysterious feel and his mantle did well to cover him up. Combined with his inhuman look, I had little reason to assume that he did NOT have a lair. Speaking about his look, though it was inhuman, it was still humanoid. Two eyes, a nose with two nostrils, two ears, two lips, two cheeks; everything in a pair, like a human would. I wondered, if I was his nephew, would I not look similar? I would soon find out, I suppose.

His evil, bad, and despicable lair seemed to be located just behind the hillock on which I had been reborn. The ground was still elevated, meaning the man’s lair was situated on a hillock, and I had been reborn on a higher, neighboring hill. The man… let’s just ask his name.

Before I could do so, though, the man spoke up.

“My bo—,” The man swallowed his words. He looked down as he stayed silent for a few seconds before speaking once more:

“We will soon arrive at my domicile, where it is we will converse, so remain patient.”

Domicile? Can we count that as a lair?

Well, if we’re not going for introductions, I’ll just call you shaman from now on. Anyone knows that a goblin with enough intelligence to speak must be a shaman. He probably has a bunch of goblins waiting to do his bidding, all the while he swings around his magic staff. Then again, he did not look like a stereotypical goblin, so who knows how rare his well-spoken kind is.

***

We walked for another couple of minutes until we reached a building. It was cylindrical, like one of those castle towers where a princess-in-distress awaits her knight in shining armor. Unlike a castle tower though, this building was not tall. The walls were composed of rocks and the roof of thatch. This was the backside, and so we walked around to the entrance. Standing opposite of the bland, wooden door, the shaman (formerly known as the man) spoke up once more, with his back facing me:

“It must be made clear before entering, whether you intend to or not, that once you have passed this threshold, you will have signaled your readiness to demonstrate to all of man- and goblinkind that you are a goblin prepared to shoulder what is presented, and so if you mean to reject, you must do it at once and know that you have turned away from those who need and look to you for assistance and covering.”

My initial expression of intrigue gave way to a pained one. Professors would sometimes speak in convoluted terms and phrases as well, but they would quickly follow it up by a “What I mean” or “In other words”. They were there to educate, after all. What I understood from the shaman, who still had not introduced himself, is that he sought my consent. After entering his house, I could no longer turn back, but I did not have anywhere to turn back to anyway, so…

“Ok.” I said, bluntly. I like the jargon of royalty and nobility where they speak with old proverbs and high-class adjectives. But in this moment, I felt that the shaman was a bit too serious. Introduce yourself to me first, man! How can I take you seriously like this?

The shaman gave me a neutral look before opening the door. He stepped to the side and held the door open while he slumped his head down in deference. This overly respectful gesture made me feel bad for my blunt comment prior, and so I stepped inside with humility. The shaman closed the door behind me and locked it with a key before barring shut it as well. Once he did so, the shaman unbent and took a deep breath.

***

We sat down on wooden chairs. I sat up straight with my fists resting on my knees. I was tuckered out, but a wooden chair was not going to make me relax or gather any rest. The shaman, however, was seemed to be at ease in his chair.

“Sir—erm… I mean, uncle?” I stuttered. “My name is Clemens.—”

“It is sufficient for yourself to only be Albar,” The shaman cut me off. I had wanted to continue speaking, but it seems he was not of the same mind. He continued: “and so the past shall not be brought up again while we focus on the task at hand, which you have affirmed to be your priority by setting foot herein.”

“Alright…” I muttered meekly.

A silence seized the room. He cut my introduction off, and had yet to introduce himself. What am I supposed to call this guy now? Uncle? Sir? Shaman?

“Albar is meant to be a king—the goblin king—who must mediate between two Gnobbles who accuse each other of treason, despite the fact that both have shown the king nothing but loyalty, so how must such a king act?” The shaman remained calmly seated on his chair as he put forth a question.

“...” I stared in silence. Uh…what? Was this a rhetorical question? First things first, what even is a Gnobble (Adzak)? From the context, I can assume it refers to a vassal of some sorts. I’ll go with that, I guess. I wasn’t sure where this question suddenly sprouted from, but I had steeled myself to answer any questions coming my way. That way, it was fair game if I reciprocated the gesture.

“Right…” I mumbled as I began with my response. “Surely he would have to investigate both parties discretely in order to prevent unrest, and whatever turns out to be the truth, he should use it to strengthen his position over them, right?” I replied nervously. I based my answer on how I played my grand strategy games. If you showed open hostility to your vassal, they would rebel and incite other vassals to do the same. But if you went through the backdoors, scheming and plotting, you could discretely deal with them one by one, strengthening your own position.

“So what then if two clans fight over a river, and neither fall under the king’s domain, how would he turn a profit from their predicament?” The shaman posed.

“He would have to ensure both parties believe that he is on their side. Once trust has been built, and the clans have tired each other out, he can offer a peace that only he can enforce. Do that, and he can control the river without outright claiming it.” I responded, a slight feeling of determination in my voice. My answer was a classic divide and mediate, something I saw happen a few times in my history books.

“Let us suppose you fail in this endeavor,” the shaman continued, “and the two clans raise their spears against you instead, and so you are outnumbered, when is it a wise king would prefer to lose the battle than win it?”

“Well, winning a battle is different from winning a war. So if retreating preserves strength to fight another day, it would be preferable to lose.” Fabius against Hannibal. Another classic.

My confidence rose as our chat turned into a fun bout. I could apply my years of history reading and my study of politics to answer interesting questions, so I was enjoying myself.

The shaman proceeded to reach out and place his palms flat on the table, directly in front of my own arms. “Pray, what if the enemy offers peace instead, but while doing so, they insult the king in front of his warriors whom he had just fought alongside, and his authority is challenged, how do YOU answer?” He posed while hunched over, looking me in the eye, provoking me directly.

I felt challenged. The fact that he addressed me directly in that last question made me realize I was being put to a test. The shaman was testing my knowledge and reasoning ability. It would make sense as he did not know me, but wanted to make me a king. Of course he would need to know what I’m capable of and what not.

I thought for a short while about the question. I remembered a lecture about realpolitik presented during last year’s course on international relations. “I would accept the peace if it benefited me. I would keep the insult in the back of my mind and make use of it as an excuse whenever the opportunity calls for it.”

The shaman paused as he reclined back in his chair, crossed his arms, and frowned at me through his uncanny eyebrows. I had failed to notice his grey-haired eyebrows prior because they blended in with his skin.

“Albar has been destined to unify the goblin tribes under a uniform banner to bring forth his kingdom unsullied by the backwards way of goblins, so upon gathering the tribes, how would he unify them into one?” He continued his interrogation. The description of his kind as backwards gave me a pause, but I paid it no further attention.

“Albar would have to find a common enemy that would bring the goblins together.” Just like how Von Bismarck did in the German unification, I thought. “He would also have to share the spoils between them fairly. And lastly, he would have to ensure no clan feels threatened in their autonomy and way of life.” There have been plenty of cases where giving preference to one group would bring the ire and jealousy of another, so fairly sharing spoils would be natural. As for the last point, I had learned this historical lesson early in my life: deny people their autonomy, culture, values, traditions, and whatnot, and they would come to rebel. My great-great-grandfather’s demise was the result of his empire failing to recognize other peoples’ autonomy and way of life. Under my watch, I would not let that come to pass, surely.

The shaman had a slight frown during my first point, but he outright grunted in disapproval at my last point. He seemed content with the second one, however. His earlier provocation, and now his grunts had awakened my debate instincts. I was prepared to defend my beliefs if he sought to counter them… but he did not argue.

“A wise king is presented with two groups of vassals of which one consists of a hundred goblins who fear him while the other consists of fifty goblins who trust him, which of the two would he employ in his court?” He proceeded.

“The wise king…,” I paused. “I… would choose the latter.” I said. The shaman’s frown deepened, and I glared back with my sleep-deprived eyelids. My frustration was building up. “Well, some might stupidly argue that it is better to be feared than to be loved,” I continued. “However, trust is what builds a stable kingdom where people can live in dignity and happiness. With fear, the system all comes crashing down the moment one stumbles, and no one feels at ease.” My frustration leaked into my speech, leading to a harsher tone.

Before I could take a breather and continue, the shaman quickly stood up. “I see”, he curtly retorted. He walked around before returning his gaze to me once more.

“Ere we retire for the night, I shall leave you with this puzzle.” The shaman said. Two short sentences in a row. Is he also tired?

“A king has to cross a dune of quicksand to save his kingdom, but he will be swallowed up if he rushes in a panic, and so too will he be devoured if he remains stationary in fear, so what must he do to save his realm?”