True to their words the goblins arrived as dawn cut across the tops of the dunes and filled their low troughs with shadow. They dragged the mandril on the sled, a team of six led by three warriors and their chief, Tusk-Mouth. The old shaman was with them, but walked slowly.

I got to watch as his people saw the height of the trees, branches dripping with green leaves and rich, verdant vines that flowered brightly and pollinated the air, creating a honeyed scent that blew out on the winds to draw them in. The slow-building heat of the day was lifted from their shoulders as they stepped into the shade.

His own face was furious and dark. The night had left him plenty of time to see how accepting my gifts had subtly poisoned his authority, and this further show of my power would only cement that impression in those who followed him.

But when he saw the caravan, his tight, sour mouth split into a scowl and he drew his knife, lifting the point to aim toward's Kahlin’s neck.

Kahlin was unimpressed. The fact he was twice the goblin chief’s height helped.

“You trespass on goblin land without invitation. Bandits and interlopers! As soon as we have something to claim you arrive like fleas to steal it from us.” Mm. I wouldn’t say I predicted him being friendly, but this was a step beyond. To him the visitors could only be bandits, come to snatch away the water and wealth of the oasis.

I was about to speak up and remind him that it wasn’t his land either, but Kahlin spoke first.

“Friend, you may put down your knife. I have been invited, and received as a guest. Your territory starts with the sand and the sun. You do not own this place.” His hand settled on the massive cleaver-sword he bore, standing tall, his gold-painted mask covering his face. It resembled a lion with curling red locks and bright blue tusks erupting from its mouth.

“Coulda had it, tho’. I toldya this place was here, an’ you coulda been lying in the grass all this time, drinking honey-suckle and whatnot. It’s all- Whatcha say- Idiotlike.” Shine-Catch piped up. She meant idyllic, I think. The goblin exile sat on the rocks, her face twitching with barely held emotion as she twisted her knife between her fingers.

If the mood was harsh before it sharpened to a killer edge as Tusk-Mouth saw her. He tried to advance, only for Kahlim to silently step into his path.

“You-” For a moment his rage failed him, left him white-lipped.

“How’s ol’ Wild-Eye? You killed him, huh?” She had the spear close to hand, ready. It wasn’t just Tusk-Mouth who was looking for violence here.

“You killed him, brat. A crippled old man was no use to the tribe. I only cast off the burden you left behind.” Again, he tried to advance, but Kahlim’s presence was more than enough to render him impotent. He could feel it happening. His control was slipping away with every step his people took into my land, every pause in which they looked to the trees and the earth with wonder.

One of his lieutenants reached to seize him by the shoulder and drag him back, and the glare Tusk-Mouth shot at the boy was so vicious I thought they might kill each other on the spot.

The shaman’s eyes were shut. She knew as well as I did this fool would only lash out at anyone who tried to tame his worst impulses. He was cornered, and resented even an implied challenge.

It was easy to hold the reins when your people were starved, scared, and stripped of their dreams for a better life. But when they didn’t need you to protect them anymore? Then your bullying and harsh discipline became harder to sell.

“Really sounds like you killed him. Huh! I guess I’d feel bad, but ain’tcha like a son to him? His fault really, if his own son’s the kinda creep who’d slit an old man’s throat.” She slid off the rock and grabbed the spear, swinging it to face him. Her voice was rising, her control slipping. The blade sparked in the light of day as she swung the tip towards him. “I didn’t kill Wild-Eye. But I still might kill a sorry sack’a shit like you.”

Kahlin was going to make a move any second now, his whole body tense for the moment words gave way to violence.

“ENOUGH.”

I’d let this go on long enough for Tusk-Mouth to embarrass himself. My voice boomed through the glade with godly splendor. Or what most people imagined was godly, having never met them. The stone bells swung in the wind.

“I AM THE LAND, AND I BELONG TO NO-ONE. CLAIM ME AGAIN AT YOUR OWN RISK. IF YOU DRAW YOUR WEAPONS YOU WILL DIE WITH THEM IN YOUR HANDS.”

My creatures shifted. Before the oasis had been idyllic, full of animals grown strong on the water, unworried by the presence of men and women among them. Now they lifted their heads and turned towards the interlopers.

“YOU HAVE HELD YOUR END OF THE BARGAIN. I WILL HOLD MINE. BUT FIRST THERE IS SOMETHING I WANT YOU TO SEE.”

---

When Kahlin told his story, one stoneskin played the chelys. Now, as I prepared to create their beast of burden, the whole caravan was united in music. Drums with rattling cymbals set into their edges held the beat and the string instruments followed, rising and rising in synchronized waves that built to a crescendo and fell, the straining call of bone-carved flutes filling the space as the next structure began to unfold, starting playfully and gaining complex structures as it grew.

I’d hardly heard music before. Birdsong, yes, but not like this. The whole of the oasis was lost in a tapestry of sounds, woven together one by one.

The arcanists in the troop had made a little bird, a thing of light bent to form feathers, beak, eyes. Rough around the edges, they moved it like a puppet, drawing it through the air as the children chased along afterwards snatching at the golden sparrow.

In the midst of all this the goblins sat, their faces mixed. Only the shaman seemed unaffected, happily settling beside the musicians and taking up a wooden pipe to join the melody. Some of the goblin tribe were lost in the spectacle - others were too busy trying to avoid the chieftain’s wrath as he sat there, legs crossed, sneering.

Well.

I’d wipe that look off his face easily enough.