Trial & Adjustment

Dusk passed and the night arrived. Gusts blew into the goblins’ faces as the air currents took a turn for the worse.

“As per our people’s tradition, your competency will be tested, son of Albar, with a trial by combat.” Hardalgmar’s voice boomed into the windy night.

“A crude and unpolished manner of testing, do we goblins not seek to elect our betters by higher standards than simple combat ability, or do we seek to remain mossbacked?” My uncle spoke in a frustrated tone.

I was inclined to agree with him. No developed civilization measures their ruler’s competency by how well they can put up in a fight; it’s archaic. However, in such an archaic setting, would that not be the right way to go? In our modern day, many seem to think that the people of the past were simply stupid and foolish for having such seemingly nonsensical traditions, ignorant of the fact that nothing in our past is so without a reason. There’s surely some wisdom behind testing a leader’s martial aptitude over their intellectual prowess. Wisdom… that I couldn’t care less about because I did not possess the martial aptitude in question!

“There it is you go again, Aremfrid. Have you no respect for our traditions?” Another Highgoblin spoke up.

“It is as chief Baldrenraz says,” Hardalgmar affirmed, “This is a tradition that we have practiced since the days of our founder Ausmul. Now, Frasmul, son of Albar, do you accept?” He gave me a serious but expecting look as he did so. “Your opponent will be myself.”

Without much choice left, I agreed and unsheathed my falcata. This is my one chance to attain my dream. I would live and rule, or die and rot. I swallowed, and forced a confident smile on my face.

The crowd and the Highgoblins backed away to make way for our duel. I shot a glance at my uncle, and our eyes met. He had calm and collected expression, but his slight frown betrayed his frustration. He puffed up his chest and nodded to the right, reassuring me. I did not know what to think, because why would he object to the duel if he was confident I could win? For now, I took it with a grain of salt and accepted his confidence in me.

A Crawgoblin, by looks of his complexion which mirrored Kelmun’s, handed Hardalgmar a spear, but he rejected it. He instead unsheathed his own falcata, which seemed to be quite bland compared to mine. It was simple iron, but beautifully endowed with ornate carvings. My blade’s beauty lied in its dark color and simplicity.

A Highgoblin, the one named Baldrenraz, stepped forward and gave a shout, starting the duel and spurring Hardalgmar into action. He slowly walked to the side before quickly leaping at me. My guard instinctively rose and I blocked his slash with both my hands on my falcata, my bones trembling as the hit reverberated through my body. Had I blocked with only my right hand on the sword, my guard would have been sent flying.

I regained my stance as Hardalgmar circled me, looking for an opening, which he quickly found. Again he struck my blade as I blocked his attack, and again the kinetic energy took my bones for a ride. It happened a third—and then a fourth time before my guard broke, my blade driven down. I was open, but before he could follow through, my body managed to dodge the upcoming strike using the down-driven blade’s momentum, and I quickly leaped back to create distance.

It's fascinating; I did not feel a nugget of fear within me. I was nervous, sure, but I was not scared. I was rather composed and could see Hardalgmar’s movements with ease. Nothing could instill such fear within me as the lagsrik had done, so everything else fell flat in comparison.

Despite this, and the apparent muscle memory moving my body, I knew I could not win. I was an amateur; I did not know how to slash or feint, or whatever else you do in a fight apart from blocking and dodging. I was not going to rule; I was going to rot in the ground. I wondered: would constantly blocking his strikes save me more face than if I attacked wildly? All the spectators looked at me with amazement even though I was only blocking. Is there something impressive I’m doing? At least I don’t want to die a complete loser, so I will continue to simply block.

Hardalgmar approached me once more, but with an dead serious face this time. Rather than try to break my guard, he tried to circumvent it. He raised his blade and nudged forward, and as my guard rose to meet his strike, he suddenly stopped and lowered his blade, slashing me across my stomach; a feint attack! I staggered back while the adrenaline kept my body from ailing. His attacks had not finished, as he kept up the momentum and slashed across my stomach from the left, immediately following it up with a strike from above. Despite my body nearly collapsing on itself, my arms still rose to guard my head, and as the strike was blocked, and the kinetic energy shook my bones once more, my core caved in on itself, and I slumped to the ground.

Baldrenraz shouted once more, and the duel had come an end. Contrary to my preconceptions of goblin culture, I guess loss did not equal death.

***

Four days had passed.

In the hall on top of the mound, the Highgoblins gathered every day to discuss the future of the tribe. Maraldnund and my uncle continued to push for me as leader of the tribe, while Hardalgmar advocated for electing a new clan to rule instead. The remaining eight Highgoblins were torn on the matter. My uncle and Maraldnund had tradition on their side, whereas Hardalgmar led by reason plus evidence. The Habzakii have ruled the tribe for generations so far, and though they have lacked in reliability the past decade, it remains natural for tribal leadership to be inherited from son to son. On the other hand, there is no rational reason why they should have to stick to the Habzakii, and it is more than logical to elect a new leader once the previous one abandoned post. One appealed to tradition, the other to reason, and both appealed to emotion.

Meanwhile, the townsmen continued their business as usual. The warriors stood guard, the hunters sold game, the farmers tended to their fields, the craftsmen produced tools, the mothers nursed their children, and the teens learned professions from their masters, usually their parents.

I sat for most of the day in the house of my uncle. I’m not talking about his lair—that was miles away. He apparently owned a home in this town, and we inhabited the place for the time being.

My physical wounds had healed rapidly after a night’s rest, but my shame and loss of spirit remained. While the flames crackled in the fireplace, I reflected on my fight, on my destiny, on myself. My uncle said that I was a Goblin King, a level above the Gnobble, just further proving the fact that I’m meant to be king. I turned to look into the fire and saw myself with a crown on my head, exuding an aura that made everyone instinctively know that I was the king. Everyone submitted in my presence, and showered me with praise, while I replied in a humble, magnanimous tone of speech. My imagination would always wander whenever I was alone, daydreaming about how cool I could be, and how destined I was for greatness.

“It’s unfair!” I yelled as I sprung up from the chair I was seated on. “They don’t see what I could be, what I’m supposed to be!”

I walked in circles around the house, brainstorming about how I could prove my worth to goblinkind and my tribe. If they couldn’t see my potential by themselves, I would have to show it to them myself. I pondered, and pondered about what I could do.

I could try to give speeches and convince people to pledge fealty to me? No. Even without my fear of public speaking and disgraced reputation, convincing people through words is precisely the thing I don’t want to be doing. People should just see how capable I am based on how I look or what I show. I must demonstrate my worth rather than preach it.

If only I had won that trial, everyone would have come to understand my capacity for greatness, I suddenly realized. If I demonstrated my strength and dominance over others, would that not convince a tribal peoples, especially if they’re goblins? Might makes right; that is the standard procedure here, no?

I grabbed my sword and stormed out of the house. I was going to train and get stronger, beat every Highgoblin I met, and establish my dominance through sheer force. I was going to strongman my way to power. THAT is how I will win respect and be recognized as king. That is my path, like Alexander ‘the Great’ and Napoleon Bonaparte before me.