***
I liked watching the goblins. At one point, I even knew all their names, but I can only remember so much. Grubnut was one of my favorites.
Grubnut had five living sons: Gloomnut, Glumnut, Grimnut, Globnut, and Shimbles. He also had three living daughters, and thirteen assorted children who were only memories. That was largely thanks to the Wandering Goblin-Trap, a very resilient carnivorous plant of my own design. It’s rather ingenious. It eats goblins, obviously, but when one of the stalks dies for any reason, a new one grows out of a random spot on the roots, usually around two feet away from the old stalk. It puts a lot of pressure on goblins to build better foundations for their houses. They’re better for it.
I thought about letting them grow multiple stalks at a time, but that just seemed sadistic.
One day, Grubnut and his sons were standing off against a Goblin-Trap. It was a hungry one, too. You can tell because the flowers aren’t quite open yet, and the petals are still blue. They turn purple and bloom after a good meal. The stalk was twice as tall as a goblin, but the mouth hung from it at the height of a goblin’s head. One misstep and it would latch on and suck the goblin up, brains first.
Grubnut and his boys had it surrounded with garden rakes. I gave the plant a stiff breeze so it would wobble around unpredictably. I wouldn’t want them going soft. They fought it for a while, and actually managed to kill it. Impressively enough, they only lost Globnut in the process. The rest of them would learn from it and survive longer because of his loss. My wager was on Shimbles. The ones with unique names always seem to survive longer.
But I forgot the best part about the Wandering Goblin-Trap. When a stalk gets cut, it releases Lunchdrake pheromones. A Lunchdrake is a sort of dragon that only appears to goblins at lunch time—its own lunchtime. Normally, goblins remember to use fire to kill the plants, but Grubnut must not have learned that lesson. If there was any justice in the world, he’d get eaten as an example to his sons. Now orphans have it tough. They always have far more interesting lives. I’m a little jealous, really.
The Lunchdrake appeared on cue, with its beating leathery wings, talons just the width of a goblin’s heart, and maw just the size of a goblin’s shoulders. It soared over the horizon and homed in on the dead Goblin-Trap. Grubnut should have been running away or cowering, but for some reason he wasn’t. What was he doing? I saw him pull something out of a bag, but couldn’t quite tell what it was. Things are so tiny on this planet that I have trouble resolving them sometimes.
Grubnut kept a keen eye on the Lunchdrake, crouched down to the remains of the plant and—this was just unthinkable—he actually cut off a chunk and rubbed the sap on his head. He was trying to attract the dragon. I appreciate a little pathos now and then, but I can’t tolerate this kind of flagrant self-destruction. I was just about to intervene when I saw their plan.
The Lunchdrake dove at Grubnut, but never ate him. He didn’t get close enough before Grubnut threw the net. The boys all jumped up and grabbed the net, and soon all five of the goblins were on the Lunchdrake’s back. I finally saw what Grubnut had pulled out of a bag: a bridle! In a moment, he was not just riding a dragon, but he successfully steered it until the Lunchdrake tossed him. But the sons held tight until the drake grew tired and landed. Gubnut’s sons tied ropes around its neck and dragged it back to their village. They had captured a Lunchdrake! I had never been so proud of them.
One generation later, I looked down again. Shimbles had indeed been the only survivor of Grubnut’s litter, and he was fussing over a saddle. It didn’t look like it would fit a horse, and I immediately knew what he was planning. His sons opened a gate for him, and he passed through, giving a large egg in the corner a wide berth.
The Lunchdrake was sleeping. Both of them. One was the same drake that Grubnut had captured, but his advanced age was barely apparent. Shimbles boldly stepped up to the beast and patted its muzzle. The Lunchdrake grunted contentedly. The other Lunchdrake, a female, opened one eye long enough to register Shimbles’ presence and fell back to sleep. Shimbles strapped the saddle on, and still the Lunchdrake gently rested on the ground.
Neither of them moved until Shimbles pulled two chickens out of a nearby coop and dropped them on the ground between the drakes. I was expecting them to pounce at each other and fight to the death over these paltry mouthfuls of poultry, but these two Lunchdrakes were now so docile that they negotiated with their eyes. The male took the smaller chicken, and while he was chewing, Shimbles climbed onto the saddle.
When the Lunchdrake entered the air this time, it didn’t buck or spin upside-down. It soared through the air with no sign of protest about the goblin on its back. Shimbles had actually tamed it.
It took me ten times as long to relate that story to Lux, thanks to his penchant for interrupting me to go on long tangents. When I finally got to the end, I asked him, “So do you understand what I mean when I say that suffering leads to improvement?”
Lux stared blankly back at me, then looked down on the world. “Ah, but methinks my Elves could have merely hypnotized a dragon eons ago.”
I banged my head against the barrier separating us from the miniscule universe.
“Oooh,” said Lux. “Behold, a war! Your goblins wreak jealousy upon my Elves’ farmland. I wonder, which faction shall prevail?”
“Probably the Elves, for the first few times,” I said. “But the goblins will learn how to beat them.” I hope. I’d love to see Lux’ people knocked down a few rungs on the cultural hierarchy. They hunted goblins for sport, but of course Lux didn’t consider that war. He actually thought he was helping my plan to “incur cruel and arbitrary suffering upon the goblins.” I tried explaining that it wasn’t as simple as that, but he had the attention span of Hassium-256 atom (about 2 milliseconds).
“Report to me the victor when the war is concluded,” Lux said, and he was gone.
Once I was sure he wasn’t lurking just out of sight, I engineered a solar eclipse over the battlefield. Let’s see the Elves fight in the dark.