by Jean Rabe
The air buzzed with activity and song. Jando-Jando sang raspingly as he worked on the roof of Graytoes’s home. Direfang recognized the tune and words as something Moon-eye used to sing, and he wondered if Graytoes had taught it to him.
He missed Moon-eye … and many other goblins who had been lost along the way-some to fierce creatures, others to the rumbling mountain, many to the plague and the Newsea. Their escape from the Dark Knights’ mining camp and their trip to the Qualinesti Forest had exacted a heavy toll.
“Too many dead,” Direfang muttered to himself as he leveled his axe and began chopping. A shiver danced through him. The willow had told Orvago it was worried. “How many more will die?”
“Fire!” someone shouted suddenly in the goblin tongue. “Fire! Fire! Fire!”
CONFLAGRATION
Flames shot up from a nearly finished home, black smoke roiling off the roof and obscuring the lower branches of the maples nearby. Direfang raced toward the blaze, ordering gawkers out of his way, and noticing two other homes were also afire.
The goblins couldn’t hear Direfang bellow over the crackle of the flames and the shouts of those who were trying to put it out-but instead were fanning it with their dumb tactics.
“Fire!” Keth hollered. The goblin was perched on the shoulders of a hobgoblin, gesturing wildly to the south where three more homes could be glimpsed burning.
“Grallik!” Direfang yelled as loud as he could, his voice cracking. The wizard must have done this, he thought. There’d been no lightning strikes to cause it, and there’d been no cookfires burning that he’d seen. Grallik had finally betrayed them.
The hobgoblin muscled his way through a throng that was panicked and dumbfounded-whimpering, shouting, trembling, awestruck. Most stood still, caught up in their disbelief and amazement and unable to move. But a few were throwing useless handfuls of dirt on the home that was almost wholly consumed. Three younglings struggled with a large wolf hide, using it to try to bat out the flames, causing them to spurt higher.
Direfang barked orders to get everyone working together.
“Meda’s home!” a frail male goblin cried. Direfang saw the goblin drop to the ground, sobbing. “Meda burns!” He covered his face with soot-streaked hands.
Direfang scooped up handfuls of dirt when he got close enough, hurling them at the fire and still crying out Grallik’s name. A goblin also throwing dirt shook his head.
“The wizard did not do this,” the goblin said. He said something else, but his words were lost in the flurry of activity.
Out of the corner of his eye, Direfang saw goblins pull the frail goblin back from the fire. He’d been crawling toward the flames, ready to immolate himself, calling for Meda. The intense heat reminded Direfang of the mountains they’d traveled through when the volcanoes erupted. The fire spit at them as more goblins tried frantically to put it out, embers striking their hands and faces, the smoke puffing away in all directions and choking them.
“This one is lost!” Direfang called. He had little strength in his choked voice, and the goblins near him repeated his statement until it was a refrain washing through the crowd.
More than half surged away, and Direfang was swept up with them, moving to the next fire. Direfang grabbed Nkunda. “Grallik. Go find Grallik.” Nkunda ignored him, and Direfang released him, spotting Gnasher over a sea of goblin heads. “Grallik!”
Gnasher nodded, forcing his way out of the mass toward Direfang. Then they both were throwing dirt on another home, others were grabbing blankets and skins and swatting at the flames. Only a few were successful, as most of those with blankets only seemed to give the fire more air to feed on.
Sweat pooled in Direfang’s eyes as he moved close and tugged off his tunic. He tried using his tunic to smother the flames, urging goblins and hobgoblins to copy him. Fire raged up the walls of a home that had been half finished, a hobgoblin home from the height of it. The stench of burning wood and thatch and of a few wolf pelts that had caught fire filled his mouth. Drawing a clean breath was impossible. Some of the goblins at his side were overcome, dropping and being pulled back by others. More filled in the gaps, stepping up with handfuls of dirt. One scooted close and upturned a jug of water on the base of a wall. Several applauded his effort.
“Where is Mudwort?” Direfang cursed. Perhaps the shaman could have wielded her magic to bring the earth up and put out the fire. “Thya!” he screamed, jabbing at Keth, who had come up behind him with his mate. “Find Thya!”
Keth’s expression was blank. “Don’t know Thya.”
“Don’t know Thya,” Cari echoed.
Direfang thrust his tunic at her, and she immediately grabbed it and started swatting it at the fire. The hobgoblin threaded his way through the goblins, directing them to spread out to the other fires. All but a few were quick to follow his orders. The smoke was getting thicker, the pops from the flames louder. He wiped at his eyes and searched for familiar faces as he went: Thya, Draath, and Mudwort above all. Nothing. They were all missing.
He looked over the goblins’ heads, searching for Grallik and finally spying the wizard not far away near a burning wall. Anger filled Direfang’s heart, and his feet churned over the ground as he rushed toward the suspicious-acting wizard. Fire was flowing from Grallik’s fingers, striking the ground near the base of the wall and sending up a steady whoosh of flames.
So the wizard had started the fires!
Direfang reached for the axe on his belt, fingers squeezing the handle so tightly, it was hurtful. He raised the axe and meant to hurl it but stopped himself just as he saw the fire along the wall die when it was touched by Grallik’s flames. The wizard, apparently oblivious to Direfang’s near-attack, moved quickly to the next wall and repeated his smothering spell.
Direfang stared. The wizard was doing his best to stop the fires. Something else had caused the conflagration. Almost disappointed, he turned his attention back to finding Thya and Draath. He would confront Grallik later and see what he knew.
Goblins continued to battle the blazes all around Direfang. To his right, he saw flames lick up the trousers of a hobgoblin, who was quick to drop to the ground and roll in the dirt before he suffered too badly. Others also were being burned when they ventured too close. He saw Qel tending one of them.
The scene was a blur of color, the orange and red flames, and the gray, brown, and yellow of goblins and hobgoblins working to limit the destruction. The spreading smoke melded everything, making it look like a watercolor painting that had been caught in the rain. Direfang blinked furiously to see better and to make sense of everything he saw.
A group of Fishgatherers had managed to put out one fire using jugs of water. More of their clansmen were beating at a small fire that had spread to a pile of thatch. There were tiny fires here and there along the ground where twigs had been pulled from branches and set aside for thatching. Direfang, stepping too close to one, finally caught a glimpse of Thya.
Ignoring the burning pain that shot up his leg, the hobgoblin leader thundered toward her. She was keeping well back from the conflagration, directing her clansmen to attack the smallest fires, where they might have the most success.
“Thya!” Direfang dropped to his knees and pulled her down with him, grabbing her arm and pressing her hand against the ground to dramatize his point. “Use the magic, Thya.”
Her eyes grew wide with understanding. “S’dard!” A heartbeat later her hands sank into the dirt, and the ground rippled away from her and toward a burning home. The earth churned over clumps of leaves and twigs that would have been more kindling, helping keep at least one of the fires in check.
Direfang jumped up, brushed the flames from his clothing, and went looking for Draath, his eyes scanning goblin belts in the hopes of spotting tiny black elf heads. All that smoke and thousands of goblins, but Direfang could not see a single Skinweaver. He knew he was fortunate to have spotted Thya.
There was another loud whoosh, and Direfang spun in tim
e to see Grallik create a line of fire that rose parallel to an engulfed wall. With a gesture, the wizard moved his line closer to the fiery wall, and there was the sound of an explosion when the two walls of fire clashed, snuffing each other out.
Then the hobgoblin spotted Orvago, clearing brush away and pointing toward a small home, over which it began to rain.
“More magic,” Direfang muttered, and it was of a sort he’d not seen before. “Would that the gnoll could make it rain everywhere.”
A dozen Boarhunters were helping the gnoll clear brush on the ground around their homes, where the fires had not yet reached.
Jando-Jando darted past Direfang, holding Umay, and for a moment the hobgoblin worried that Graytoes had been caught in one of the fires. He whirled, his hand batting away the smoke. No, Graytoes was with Thya, helping her send dirt toward a burning home.
“Mudwort!” Direfang called one last time. “Draath!” He knew his voice was lost in the cacophony. Giving up on them, he rushed toward the closest blaze and joined in the fight against it.
The hobgoblin couldn’t tell how much time passed. It felt like forever, the heat and ash burning his lungs and making his arms and legs feel like lead weights. Water streamed from his eyes, and he worked unsuccessfully to bring saliva up in his dry throat. He knew his fellows fared no better, so he kept at it despite wanting to get as far away as he could from the heat and flames.
“City is cursed!” Direfang heard a yellow-skinned goblin shout. “A storm and now fires. S’dards to build here. S’dards to build anything!”
Though most of the goblins around him stayed quiet and focused on their fire fighting jobs, the words echoed and a few agreed volubly.
“S’dard Direfang for wanting a city at all!”
The wind made everything worse. As the goblins got one fire under control, gusts swept in and whirled embers in the direction of other homes. The heat from the fires generated their own wind too, pushing fingers of hot air higher and all around, cooler air rushing in beneath and making sparks fly.
The sheer number of goblins made for chaos. As goblins dropped from all the smoke, more hurried in to carry the hurt ones away and replace them. Orvago had to give up on creating his miniature rain clouds and focus on the injured with Qel.
At last Draath appeared, working his earth magic to help smother the smaller fires, while a few of his Skinweaver clansmen added their energy to spells that seemed finally to tip the balance.
Direfang tottered but stayed on his feet and refused to quit.
“Winning,” he told a Flamegrass clansman next to him, close to another burning home. “Finally winning.”
The goblin shook his head despairingly. “Winning what? This city is lost, Direfang.”
Direfang growled. “Never lost,” he argued. “Never give up. Never-”
“Dragon!” someone shouted.
GREEN DEATH
The dragon was at the same time beautiful and terrifying. It was myriad shades of green, lighter on its back, darker on its belly-which the goblins could see plainly as it swooped down from across the river and hovered above the bluff. Its scales were the size of small shields and glistened as if the dragon had been drenched in the rain. Its wings were scalloped like a bat’s, the membranes beneath nearly black, like its talons. Its neck was long and serpentine, and covered with scales that ranged from the jade of a sugar maple to pale green of a honey locust. All of it was huge, the dragon’s head larger than a bear.
As goblins screamed in terror, it opened its maw, showing a row of long, white, dripping teeth, unrolling a forked scarlet tongue, and letting loose with a roar that sent the ground to shaking. Full-moon eyes cut by a slice of black surveyed the fire-ravaged city and the goblins scurrying in all directions. Another roar emerged, flattening its spines that ran from the tip of its snout to the end of its tail. The dragon dived, claws outstretched and noxious gas expelling from its cavernous mouth.
The green cloud of gas mingled with what was left of the smoke from the fires, glittering sickly olive and yellow and wholly obscuring the goblins blanketed in it. The cloud stank, and virtually all the goblins in the near vicinity pitched into coughing fits that had them doubled over and rubbing at their eyes.
Direfang was on the fringe, managing to hold his breath just as the dragon roared. He blinked furiously, his eyes stinging and throat burning worse than before, worse than ever. He felt as if he were drying up from the inside out as he whirled in confusion and inadvertently sucked in a lungful of the caustic stuff.
Others who had been standing near him, arguing over the status of the goblin city, were running frantically, their feet slapping across the ground. A few fell and were trampled by their fellows.
“Stop!” Direfang cried, but his voice was a coarse whisper from inhaling the noxious gas. “Stop!” The order was meant partly for himself, and still, like the others, he ran. He tripped over an exposed root when he passed an old oak, trying to catch himself as he plowed into the ground. The impact knocked the air from his lungs.
Hands pulled at him, and he stumbled to his feet. He was tugged behind the oak, panting and rubbing furiously at his eyes. Catching his breath, he reached for the axe at his side, intending to dash back toward the noxious cloud and save anyone trapped under it. He couldn’t budge, though; his feet were effectively fastened to the spot, his legs trembling.
“It’s called dragonfear,” said Grallik. The wizard had been the one to grab him. “The great beasts exude it. A second skin, the fear, though I’ve been told they can suppress it if they want.”
Direfang’s chest heaved, and still he rubbed at his eyes.
“It probably saw the fire,” Grallik continued matter-of-factly. “Curious, it must have flown over and discovered a meal spread out all over this bluff and beyond.”
Bone-chilling screams reached the wizard and Direfang. The dragon roared again, and they heard the thunderous sound of its clawed feet striking the ground, plucking up victims.
“How do we fight this … dragonfear?” Direfang managed to gasp.
Goblins raced past them, more falling and being trampled, some trying fleetingly to look brave and defiant, but then giving in and rushing headlong as fast as their legs could pump. The screams were mixed with the sound of the dragon feasting.
“Wizard … how to fight this?”
“I don’t know,” Grallik said. Sweat ran down his face and soaked his shirt. His blond hair, blackened by the smoke and soot, was plastered against his head; he looked pale and exhausted, defeated. “I’ve been trying. But I’ve no spells to combat it. Not like Horace had.”
“So … the fires … attracted the dragon.” Direfang’s hands dug into the bark behind him. He closed his eyes tight and tried to breathe slower, thinking furiously. Still, the screams slammed into him, and still, his legs shook. “The fires …”
“I didn’t start them, Foreman. I know that was your first suspicion. But in your heart, you know that isn’t true.” Grallik poked his head out around the tree, looking for the dragon, seeing nothing but chaos. “We’ll all die here, you know. We can’t fight a dragon. Not one of that size, no matter how many goblins are here.” He sucked in air and swung back around to hide behind the tree. “The gods’ joke, Foreman, bringing death to me here. I should have died in Steel Town. Saved myself the trouble of this arduous trip. All this way, just for death.”
With that speech, lengthy for him, Grallik pushed away from the tree and drew his hands up in front of his face, lips working feverishly as he began to bring down a great gout of flame. Staring in wonder, Direfang peeked around the tree, seeing Grallik’s column of fire rush to strike the dragon’s head. Goblins caught in the beast’s mouth were instantly incinerated. More goblins were caught under its front claws, some of them burning, one screaming. Direfang recognized poor Cari.
“How do … we fight … this … fear?” Direfang took a deep breath, inhaling chlorine mixed with the scents of burned goblins, burned homes, and the drag
on’s stench. The hobgoblin spit and spit, trying to clear the redolent mix out of his mouth as he made a decision. He jumped up and dashed around the tree, straight toward the huge monster, pulling his axe free with one hand and reaching for a long knife at his side with the other.
He screamed as he ran-a lunatic sound that drew the dragon’s attention. The maw opened again, and the dragon inhaled, sounding like all the air from the goblins’ sprawling city was being sucked into its lungs. Direfang knew another cloud of chlorine gas was coming his way, and he held his breath.
At the same time, another whoosh of Grallik’s flame struck the dragon’s head. Its tail flailed like a whip, batting away Boarhunters who were darting in to battle it. The force of the tail sent goblins flying against trees and past Direfang, who was getting close. The dragon’s neck snaked out, jaws snapping with fetid breath. Direfang raised both weapons just as its leg muscles bunched and propelled the creature into the air. Its wings flapped, the wind flattening everyone on the bluff.
Direfang had dropped his axe and knife, but he was quick to grab them up again.
“Cari!” Keth hobbled toward his mate, using a branch to help him walk; his right leg was twisted and useless.
“Cari! Cari! Cari!”
With one glance, Direfang could tell Cari was dead, her small chest crushed and head twisted at an unnatural angle. Dozens of goblins lay dead and broken or charred. Dozens more were injured-broken limbs from either the dragon or being trampled by their clansmen, skin blistered from the horrid gas, most rubbing at their eyes. Two hung limp from low branches, where they’d been propelled by the sweep of the dragon’s tail. Qel was tending the hobgoblin Sully; a piece of flesh hung loose from his arm, and it appeared she was trying to reattach it.