Defiant in Gobland

The two captains had brought some serenity to the town by rallying up two hundred of the town’s two hundred fifty warriors, excluding the town garrison which was comprised of a hundred men and headed by a different captain. However, the two captains, Gazmul and Rekmun, were also in an argument about whether all the armed forces should sally out to follow war chief Baldrenraz, or whether to leave half the rallied warriors to support the town garrison.

I didn’t have the time nor the experience for this. Chiefs Hardalgmar and Baldrenraz were out there by themselves against a whole clan of dread lynxes—I had to join up fast. Then again, I didn’t know how many the lynxes numbered, how many troops I would need to vanquish them, and how long the town could hold with a lower amount of defenders.

“Chief Albar!” a lady called out to me. I turned on my heels and was greeted by the tribe’s only Highgoblina. She slowed her pace to a graceful walk before coming to a stop in front of me.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Maraldnund Grunyces. I’m, er, a friend of your uncle,” she said, “He sent me so that I may assist you in your endeavors whilst he pleads with the chiefs furthermore.”

I reciprocated her gentle but wary introduction, and briefly explained to her the situation. I planned on exterminating the dread lynxes in the area once and for all, so I would probably need troops to fight alongside me. I told her that I want to leave right now, and that I’ll return in the evening with the two lost chiefs, so that we can draw up a plan tomorrow. Once she heard my intentions, she eased up. Did I strike her as someone with ill-intent, or had she gotten the wrong idea from my uncle? She did not express the slightest worry about the fact that I was heading out by myself through these perilous lands.

“Sir Rekmun, in which direction did the two chiefs head?” I asked.

“The south. Towards the mountain,” He replied curtly. Did the mountain not have a name?

“And where is the lynx den situated?”

“…The south, sir.”

“Oh. I suppose I should hurry.”

After my inquiry, Maraldnund assumed charge of the two captains and their bands. She reassured me that she would settle the disagreement between the two, and manage them until I brought back Baldrenraz to sort the rest out. She was dependable. I thanked her, and went off to the mountain.

“…” I halted my departure.

I turned back around towards the two captains. “Masters Gazmul and Rekmun. Last winter, I had unfairly challenged you two to duels which you could not refuse. I have wronged you, so I ask for your forgiveness. If not, I shall compensate you in whatever way you deem fair.”

Rekmun, who, just a second ago, wore a cold expression on his face as he argued with his colleague, suddenly softened his gaze. His shoulders relaxed, and he offered me a firm handshake. He did not offer any words, and left it at that. His face beaming peace.

“…” Gazmul, on the other hand, stared at me in surprise. He clenched his spear, and I saw his hand shaking slightly. He offered me a heartfelt word. “You honor me, chief.”

We shook hands.

***

Between the mountain and Casbriga lay rolling plains, a hallmark of the Illgrum peninsula, the home of goblinkind. The grass here was greener and the ground more fertile than the lands my uncle and I had come from initially. Back there, the earth had a terracotta texture, whereas the soil here was browner and darker.

To my left lay a forest that was connected to the Narzakii’s hunting grounds. It was claimed, but abandoned. The dread lynxes made it too dangerous to come here—even if there was any prey left for goblins to hunt.

The mountain was an easy place to get to. Not because you could see it from whenever you were, but because you simply had to follow along the zigzagging river that flowed from it. Casbriga was located on the side of the river with the forest—the side I was walking on right now, and pretty much every other day. The river was known as the Ermas and served as tributary to a larger river somewhere out in there Gobland. I wouldn’t be heading to the mountain, though. I just had to search out here to the south of Casbriga, not necessarily reach the mountain. The mountains are in fact inhabited by very territorial cougars who could easily overpower dread lynxes, so their den cannot be anywhere near.

Evening; beautiful stars dotting the sky. It sure has been a long day. This morning I set out to Casbriga with Wergnar, observed the situation of the townsfolk, met up with the Highgoblins in fierce debate, and now I’m out and about again. I was exhausted from dealing with everything, and especially with the constant travelling by foot. Even now, my legs were getting super tired walking up and down the slopes of the moor.

Goblins historically have made us of horses, and specifically the Zorain horse. Considered one of the oldest native Illgrumian breeds, possibly descended from wild horses of the region. Small, hardy, dun-colored, with primitive markings, it is the perfect stallion for traversing the uneven plains of this peninsula. However, their use and amount have declined ever since the lynxes invaded this land forty years ago. Those felines are enamored with horse meat, it seems.

In times like these, when the lynxes are predominant, goblins keep their horses safe inside of the city stables. Rent is expensive which make horses a luxury. And when hunger creeps up on the people, they opt to slaughter the poor creatures instead. In times of peace, when the dread lynxes are few, people resume trade and business involving horses as usual. Sadly, I lived in the former time, so there was no cheap horse for me to utilize nor any point in doing so, unless I wanted to make myself a target for those kitty cats. Marching on, it is!

Be that as it may, in my current getup, I might just be a target already. You see, my huntsman clothes back home were inconspicuous. They were made from lynx fur and hide, making for excellent camouflage wherever one may find themselves. Lynxes—themselves exceptional hunters—made for good hunting attire. In contrast, the combat attire I was currently wearing made incessant noises as I tottered around the unsteady landscape—my padded garment bumping against my shoulder guards.

Apart from my attire, I had four tools with me. An iron-tipped spear in my right hand, momentarily serving as a walking cane. A burning torch in my left hand to scare away any dangerous animals; lynxes are naturally also fearful of fire. A quiver of javelins on my back to impale any charging beast before it reaches me. And lastly, my falcata sword on my hip; the weapon I am most proficient in.

With the skills taught to me by Ragnulf and his clan of huntsmen, I observed my surroundings with a keen eye at all times. I turned my gaze left, and saw the corpses of three lynxes scattered around the edge of the forest; their wounds manmade. I moved away from the river I was following, and closer to the corpses as I continued onward to the mountain.

Eventually I came across a collection of dead dread lynxes. About five of them. They were huddled together as if they had been felled mere moments from one another. Further on were two manmade tracks following a trail of animal tracks. Spots of blood further demarcated the way. I upped my pace and followed behind.

The trail must been created in a chase scene, the two chiefs in pursuit of a lynx or three.

I reached an open spot with a few boulders lying about. A man reclined on one of them. His hair silver, his skin green-grey, and his diluted pupils brown. In his right hand, he held a spear with the severed head of a dread lynx on top. In his other hand, a burning torch. To his right, by the butt of the spear, lay a headless lynx—the work of someone else, not the man himself. His clothing torn up just as much as his body. Two large gashes adorned his masculine, bloodied face. The markings of an incredible dread lynx’ ferocity at play. It was chief Baldrenraz. Dead.

“…”

I stared long before my neck strain became unbearable. My head was filled with sorrow and regret, but also admiration. If I had to die in battle one day, I would like to be positioned like him; dominant and defiant to the very end; the head of my prey before me.

I moved to pick up his torch, which threatened to burn his body and the shrubs behind the boulder. I planted it a few feet in front of him in the hopes that it would deter any scavengers from approaching.

As I gazed down on his face, I felt a lump of guilt in my throat. I could not swallow, but only express it:

“I’m sorry. I never got to apologize for my unjust duel with you, and now I also failed to save you,” I paused and averted my sight to tracks leading off into the forest. “I will not leave your corpse here for same vermin that did this to you, but right now, I must find chief Hardalgmar.”