Lithbet
Lithbet, Warrior Princess of the Dong, burst forcefully into her mother’s chambers without permission or preamble. It was her way. The concept of asking anyone permission simply never occurred to her. So the doors slammed open with a resounding clang, rebounding with such force that they very nearly closed behind the young goblin maiden as she stomped into the room. Her back was hunched and her arms swung wildly with purpose and haste. Jaw jutting determinedly forward, she smacked her large feet loudly against the fitted stones of what were generally known as the Queen’s Apartments.
The Foot may have been a popular focus for the envy of the majority of goblins, but it paled entirely against the rooms in the palace occupied by Ebu Gynik, Most High Queen of the Goblins. The audience chamber was a round room thirty feet across covered by a low dome of arching metal girders. A dazzling array of intricate pipes threaded a mesmerizing pattern overhead, just above long, milky rods of glass that ran in lines from the center of the dome out to its edges. There were metal doorways that interrupted the curved wall of the room at three of the compass points, while three large frames—two of which held actual glass in their panes—shined dim, golden light into the room. Beyond the glass lay the Very Secret Laboratory whose floor was far below, putting the heads of the titans being reconstituted in there by the Technomancers on a near eye level with Gynik’s rooms. More tantalizing still, each section of the curved wall between these points was covered with shattered glass plates and intricate objects protruding from the metal walls.
Nothing was too good for Gynik, as she so often reminded her husband. The finest of rooms, the most elegant decor, the rarest and most delectable of foods; all of these were the just due of Gynik, and she accepted them with all the grace and charm that a goblin who knows she is deserving can muster. In the middle of this sumptuousness, a huge, ancient desk curved into a nearly complete circle. Gynik sat in a chair that actually still swiveled, leaning forward with her hands reaching in dreamlike distraction for the panels on the desk. Through the windows, yellow light from the setting sun cast long shadows across the smashed dials that no longer measured anything, as Gynik flipped impotent rusted switches and twirled useless knobs.
“Mother!” screeched Lithbet. Her voice was used to commanding armies with great effect. It rarely worked on her mother.
“Ah, Lithbet!” Gynik smiled, baring her teeth, her yellow eyes flashing in the failing light of day. “How good of you to come and visit me.”
“This is no visit, as you well know,” Lithbet snapped. “You summoned me here!”
“Of course I did,” Gynik purred. “And how else was I going to see my own daughter who is too busy to visit her ailing old mother.”
“I’m in the middle of preparing the Grand Subjugation Army for our next glorious campaign,” Lithbet rumbled. “Of course I am too busy to visit you.”
“Exactly my point.” Gynik smiled disarmingly, as she turned her back on her child and contemplated with relish the complex patterns of controls inlaid into the desk. “Magnificent, aren’t they? All these delightful switches, buttons, and dials, and all of them are paying homage to me.”
Gynik reached forward with her long right hand and flipped a random switch in the shadows. “You know, Lithbet, hundreds of years ago a titan—of high rank to be sure—sat right here where I sit today. She looked out on all these wonderful devices around her—much the same way I do today—and knew everything there was to know. She could see what everyone did, even their very thoughts, and if she didn’t like what she saw . . .”
Gynik reached forward and flipped another switch closed.
“She just got rid of the problem—simple as that.”
“And I take it there is a problem you would like someone to get rid of for you?” Lithbet asked, crossing her arms in front of her. “What is it, mother—who do you want me to kill this time?”
“Kill?” Gynik replied with surprise. “I should never!”
“All right, then.” Lithbet sighed. She hated playing these guessing games with her mother. “Who do you want me to blackmail or rough up, or have their legs broken or their teeth pulled or their hair cut while being forced to serve in the Grand Subjugation Army?”
“Oh, you are a tease.” Gynik smiled easily. “No, I’ve called you here to discuss your upcoming wedding.”
The Warrior Princess gaped at her mother for three heartbeats before she even breathed. “I’m sorry—what did you say?”
“Now what would be wrong with a mother discussing her daughter’s wedding,” Gynik said, standing up from the chair, her smile filled with sharp teeth, “especially such an important wedding as that of the goblin princess.”
“I can think of a number of things that might be wrong with that,” Lithbet snorted with derision, “the first being that I’m not getting married.”
“Oh, but of course you are,” Gynik replied with light charm. “Every goblin maiden—well, perhaps, most goblin maidens at any rate—look forward to finding that special someone in their life—or several someones—whom they can use to really make them powerful.”
“Mother, if you hadn’t noticed—I am in command of the army,” Lithbet said.
“And a lovely little army it is.” Gynik nodded, taking Lithbet by the arm and guiding her toward the windowpanes at the side of the room. “Very powerful, indeed—but for how long, my child? Your father is getting older and won’t be much longer for this world, I should think. When he is gone, who then will be King of the Goblins? Who will inherit the lands you have conquered in your father’s name? And, more importantly, when someone else becomes king, what use will they have for a warrior princess whose father is dead?”
Lithbet thought for a moment as she looked out through the broken window. The ranks of titans before them glowed in the deepening sunset. The Warrior Maiden then eyed her mother suspiciously. “So, I thought I should come and tell you that I am going to be married, eh?”
“Most sensible of you.” Gynik nodded.
“Perhaps you might remind me,” Lithbet said, a sudden twitch developing in her right cheek, “just who it is that I am going to marry?”
“Well, my dearest dear, it cannot be just any goblin who falls out of a tree,” Gynik said thoughtfully. “Your father created the power of the Technomancers, and it is that power that has kept him in his position all these years. I think what you really need in your husband is someone who understands this power as well as, or perhaps better than, your father does. Someone who can take over and continue the grand tradition of conquest your father started. There are a number of talented Technomancers your father has collected over the years but none of them seemed right. Until today, this is.”
“A worthwhile Technomancer?” Lithbet said skeptically.
“Oh, this one is very worthwhile and very powerful.” Gynik nodded. “Just today he dumbfounded all the Technomancers in the Very Secret Laboratory with his incredible skill. All of them are jealous and looking for some way to get rid of him, but so far none have dared make a move! Your father promoted him to boss just an hour ago.”
“Sounds promising,” Lithbet agreed. “Who is the unfortunate idiot?”
“Thux.” Gynik nodded firmly.
“Thux? The Wizard of Jilik?” Lithbet stamped her considerable foot. “Are you out of your mind, mother? I just captured him last month. He’s impossible to talk to, only interested in those devices of his, has no understanding of combat or tactics or strategy or anything that is interesting at all! And he’s old! We’d have nothing in common.”
“Exactly.” Gynik nodded. “It’s perfect. Since you won’t have anything in common, you won’t have to worry about talking to each other at all. He won’t bother you in the least and all you have to do is keep him under control.”
“And just how do I do that?”
“Oh, it’s easy, darling—I’ll teach you,” Gynik said, patting her daughter on the arm.
Lithbet withdrew from her mother and stepped back to the window. She missed riding inside the titans, seeing the land roll under their gigantic strides and taking them into battle. Things were always so much simpler out there than they were at home. You win or you lose and you always know the difference. Still, she was a warrior and a princess, and she was equally savvy on both battlefields. Her father was getting older and would one day weaken. Should he fail altogether before there was a clear successor, then the titans—those great toys—would no longer belong to her.
“Thux would be acceptable,” she said at last. “Although I suspect that his wife would have some objection to our marriage—the goblins of Jilik were peculiar in that way.”
“Nothing, however, that I am sure could not be handled in due time,” Gynik said. “All we need to do is make sure that Thux stays near court. You can work on him when you return from your next conquest and, in the meanwhile, I’ll see what I can do about his poor, unfortunate soon-to-be-late wife. Whatever it is, I’m sure it will be tragic but ultimately work out for the best.”
“Well, then it seems we do have a wedding to plan,” Lithbet agreed with a smile. “I’d like a dress of pure burlap with an armored train.”
“Anything for my prized darling.” Gynik beamed.
“We should hold it the week after I return,” Lithbet said, her mind working quickly through the logistics of the ceremony. “That would give us another week to cement the marriage and then two weeks after that for me to prepare for the next campaign. In total, it wouldn’t cost me more than a month and I’d be right back at work.”
“Sound thinking,” Gynik agreed cautiously, “but a marriage does require more than just an occasional visit to really work. You have to be able to communicate: your demands, your instructions, your wishes—not to mention the whole technique of him thinking everything in his head is his own idea. Those things take time, Lithbet, or the marriage won’t succeed—at least not long enough for you to stay in power.”
“Yes, mother.” Lithbet nodded impatiently. “You’d know better than I would.”
“Indeed I would,” Gynik replied, sitting back down in her chair, idly twisting knobs to no effect. “Thank you for coming—and congratulations on your impending wedding.”
“You are most welcome, mother.” Lithbet bowed so deeply that her shock of hair touched the floor. She turned and was nearly to the exit when she stopped. “Mother, how long do you think father has before he will become gravely ill?”
“He is already showing signs, my dearest, though none but myself seem to see them,” Gynik said with sad tones carefully injected into her voice. “Of course, I would trust that our conversation would be kept in the strictest confidence. I wouldn’t want your father to hear about this and upset himself.”
“Of course, mother,” Lithbet said with slight exasperation, “but how long does he have before this grave illness takes him?”
Gynik shrugged and turned back to absently flipping dead switches as she spoke. “Oh, I should say he could survive no longer than the third week after your wedding—whenever that may be.”