by Jean Rabe
Most of the others watched patiently, in silence and awe. The Dark Knights never wavered. Some goblins drifted back up and out of the basin. A few began to doze.
They saw a land one goblin near Moon-eye called Northern Ergoth, a rugged land teeming in parts with goblins.
“Sikkei’ Hul,” Mudwort said, using the goblin tongue. Somehow she, too, knew the name of the place. The goblins there looked organized and fierce, muscular, and they didn’t exhibit the whip marks and insignia of slaves. “Warriors,” she pronounced them. Then she shifted her vision again.
“The army of Ankhar.” Mudwort didn’t know the land she looked at, but she heard a nearby goblin whisper “Estwilde” and saw a band of goblins chasing down Solamnic Knights.
The scene shifted again and again. Finally they saw a forest.
“Qualinesti,” Grallik said, putting a name to the place. He stood close behind Direfang, who frowned and raised an eyebrow as if suddenly reminded of the wizard’s existence.
“This place,” Direfang said, “holds itself familiar to Grallik, yes?”
The wizard nodded, returning his attention to Mudwort and Moon-eye’s partnered fingers. “Aye, the forest is familiar to me. Long ago familiar. I lived there once.”
Mudwort and Moon-eye slowed their voyage through the woods of Qualinesti, finding small settlements of elves on the coast and the ruins of elven villages toward the heart of the land. Water and game appeared plentiful, and the ground undoubtedly could support whatever crops they wanted to grow.
It seemed empty compared to the other places they’d looked at.
Something about the place struck a chord with Mudwort, and she felt her senses reach out and dip deep below the basin. The sights, sounds, and smells she picked up exploring the Qualinesti trees were heady and overwhelming, and she wrapped herself in the experience and wondered if the place appealed to Moon-eye as much as it appealed to her. Was Moon-eye sharing all her feelings? Did any of the other goblins understand what they were seeing or share her regard?
She thought about the goblins, noticing Direfang and Spikehollow standing nearby on the basin, Saro-Saro with them. It was as though she studied them from a distant point far, far away. There was Moon-eye and Graytoes too, and she saw herself, also. Nearly all of the goblins wore astonished, exhausted expressions-but there’d been no change, subtle or dramatic, in their awestruck expressions since she’d plunged into the Qualinesti wilds and felt the surprising euphoria.
So they were not feeling what she was feeling, not even Moon-eye. She thrust her mind away from the mountain and deeper into the place Grallik had called the Qualinesti Forest. She could hear him, faintly, over her shoulder, talking about the forest, answering Direfang’s questions. She half paid attention to what he was saying-in case he knew something that might prove valuable to her.
Grallik said that the elves had abandoned that nation, once their homeland, that a great green dragon had conquered them and chased them away. They had slain the dragon but fled.
She listened to other voices, too, none of them from goblins she recognized and none of them talking about the Qualinesti Forest. They were goblins whispering as though from far away, goblins scattered in the lands that her mind had visited. They were talking about food and shelter and the heat of the sun. One talked of a mate she’d recently lost.
“Who is there?” one of the spirit-goblins asked.
“Mudwort. Just Mudwort passing through.” Mudwort didn’t speak those words; they were only thoughts in her mind, but clearly the faraway goblin heard and understood her and answered.
“Mudwort? Where is Mudwort?”
Startled, Mudwort continued moving, fearing if she stopped to converse with the mysterious unseen goblin, the magic of the place might melt away and she’d be forced to stop.
Searching intently again, deeper down in the earth, she noted the earth-bones of long dead creatures, the husks of insects, thick tree roots, forgotten cellars and pits, and more.
Was she still in the Qualinesti Forest? Had she traveled somewhere else? Mudwort didn’t know where her senses had taken her without physically leaving Godshome. Her searching was so intense, she hadn’t realized another goblin had joined her and Moon-eye. His name was Boliver, and he spread his fingers out to touch those of the other two goblins. Boliver’d helped her days past in Steel Town. Together, they’d willed the dirt to move beneath the wall of fire so a goblin named Twitch and a few others could escape. Boliver had survived the death march of the army and was beside her now.
“Goblins in the village named Boliver Shaman,” Boliver told her.
Faintly she heard Boliver speaking to her. A part of her mind was pulled back to Godshome.
“Talk to the stones, sometimes,” Boliver added. “Like Mudwort do. Shaman, the goblins of home clan said. Stone-teller, some named Boliver.”
Mudwort preferred to ignore Boliver, but he was trying to help. And in that instant she felt the power of Godshome coursing through her, more than before. Everything suddenly came clearly into focus.
Her mind was still in the Qualinesti Forest. And there was magic in the old forest of the elves. It was one of the true places of power in the world, of secrets in the bosom of the earth.
Godshome was another such place, where the eldritch energy was so vibrant.
But the Qualinesti Forest was perhaps more powerful-she didn’t know. All she knew was that she wanted to go there.
The power of Godshome could not be hers. But the power in the Qualinesti Forest, it was something different and perhaps obtainable. Her mind continued to search, coming close, closer, yet never close enough to what she craved.
“Need to be in that forest,” she whispered to herself. “In that forest, it can be found, the magic.” Louder, she called out to all surrounding her. “The Qualinesti Forest, Direfang!” The excitement in her voice was palpable to all who listened and spread with murmurs and whispering.
“The forest?” Direfang asked, prodding her shoulder, but that was a mistake. Instantly Mudwort’s mind was ripped away from the vision of the Qualinesti Forest, and she found herself wholly back to reality, back in the basin, her fingers briefly unloosed from those of Moon-eye and Boliver.
She shook her head and rolled her shoulders, and by her expression let Direfang know that she was not pleased with his stupid interruption of her vision, even after all those hours.
“The Qualinesti Forest, Direfang. That is the place for a goblin nation. Not the Plains of Dust.” She shook out her hands and crossed her arms in front of her chest irritably. “There are goblins in that forest and goblins elsewhere. Goblins on an island with a stairway of great energy-saw that. Goblins everywhere, scattered. Weak, most are.”
Moon-eye pulled his hands back and hugged Graytoes. “Yes, goblins all over the world,” he boasted. “Saw the goblins, Direfang, heard the goblins. Those goblins can be called.”
“And added to this nation,” Boliver chimed in.
“Through stone,” Mudwort said. “Talking through the stone, this stone, any stone, the goblins can be called to the Qualinesti Forest. There to form a nation.”
Moon-eye stood and pulled Graytoes up close to him.
Graytoes nodded. “It is up to Direfang to build the goblin nation.”
The hobgoblin looked up to the western rim of Godshome. Right then there was a break in the clouds, a soft, orange glow spilling through. The glow wasn’t reflected fire or lava. It was the sun setting. He remembered Moon-eye’s song:
Low sun in the warm valleys
All goblins watch the orange sky
Looking for shadows of ogres
Knowing the time’s come to die
“It can be done, this nation.”
His own words only mildly surprised the hobgoblin. Direfang recalled from days earlier his conversation with Hurbear, and wondered if the old goblin had made it through the volcanoes. “A nation of goblins. Yes, it can be done.”
36
MOON-EYE’
S REVELATION
The goblins and hobgoblins worked their way up from the Godshome basin, buzzing among themselves about forging a nation in the old land of the Qualinesti elves, one where every other race would leave them alone. Direfang was one of the first to leave the magical rock, picking up Graytoes and looking at Moon-eye, then pointing to the stairway.
The one-eyed goblin lingered at the edge of the basin. “Catch up,” he said to his mate and the hobgoblin. “Want to touch this again, look through it again. Experience the magic. Want to one more time. Be quick, catch up, promise.”
Graytoes looked to Mudwort, who rolled her eyes. Graytoes sighed, wrapping her arms around Direfang’s neck. “Not stay long, Moon-eye. Days and days and days walk to the forest.”
“Not long.” Moon-eye waggled his fingers at the pair and sat back down on the mirror black surface, fingers outstretched and mind searching. He vaguely registered Graytoes calling to him again, telling him to hurry and not to get lost in the magic.
He heard Mudwort call to him too, saying there were plenty of other places of power in the world that they could explore another day. Moon-eye was surprised that the red-skinned goblin was letting him tarry alone at that wondrous place. But the air was still filled with sulfur and ash, and perhaps Mudwort wanted to start the journey to Qualinesti as soon as possible. That was all right with Moon-eye. He’d be quick.
“Yes, hurry!” Moon-eye called. “Not long. Just one more look.”
But he had trouble using the magic of Godshome without Mudwort’s help. Indeed, he almost gave up when nothing happened right away and he glanced over his shoulder and saw the last of the goblins crest the top of the crater. Saro-Saro and Krumb were at the tail end of the line, the old goblin looking down at him, shaking his head, and gesturing to hurry.
Then, suddenly, Saro-Saro was looking up at Moon-eye because Moon-eye was up in the sky looking down on him. The one-eyed goblin blinked furiously and rolled his shoulders, worriedly withdrew his fingers, and stared down at the vision in the mirror black basin. There it was. The image of Saro-Saro had somehow appeared on the surface of the magical stone.
Of course! Moon-eye thought. He’d seen Saro-Saro at the top, and so was concentrating on the venerable goblin clan leader. And because he was concentrating, an image of Saro-Saro appeared in the basin. He had much to learn about the magic.
“Like the magic,” Moon-eye purred. “Love the magic.” He replaced his fingers on the surface, feeling his skin turn instantly ice cold, then fiery hot. It took him a few minutes to manage the painful sensations. Then his mind plunged into the earth, searching … searching.
He clamped his teeth together and thought about the forest. And just like that, Qualinesti appeared again, though not quite as clear and vibrant as when he and Mudwort were working together. Moon-eye knew the red-skinned goblin had a better command of magic, and he hoped she would teach him some of her wisdom. The air smelled better the more he focused on the forest, as if his nose had poked through the basin, down through the earth, and up into the sky, and had traveled to Qualinesti and was deep into the woods.
A trace of flowers, he smelled. Almost too sweet, he thought. Moon-eye was not used to smelling such good things. The earth had its own odor there too, rich and redolent but neither pleasant nor unpleasant. He listened hard, hearing the squawk of many, many parrots, the growl of something that might have been a big cat, and the shush of leaves rubbing against each other, as if a wind were blowing through the forest.
He could have lingered in the elf forest a long while, he thought; it would be easy to spend a long, happy time there. But Moon-eye needed to hurry to get back to Graytoes, and he wanted to talk to Mudwort about the new things he was seeing.
As he thought of the red-skinned goblin, the forest disappeared. Moon-eye was instantly disappointed, but then Mudwort’s face sprang up in his mind-and on the mirror black stone-just as Saro-Saro’s had. Mudwort tipped her head up, as if she were searching the sky to find a break in the clouds. She walked behind Direfang and next to Boliver.
“Magic in Boliver too,” Mudwort explained to the hobgoblin leader. Boliver’s face loomed large on the mirror black surface between Moon-eye’s spread legs. The goblin’s lips moved, and a heartbeat later, Moon-eye heard his words.
“Long way to the forest,” Boliver told Mudwort, sounding surprisingly cheerful. “Legs will ache. Stomach will ache. Worth it, though, in the end. Free in the forest.”
“Free,” Mudwort replied wistfully. “Slaves never, ever again.”
Not far behind them, Grallik and the other Dark Knights trudged wearily. The eyes of the wizard never left the hobgoblin leader and the red-skinned goblin shaman. Grallik could scarcely believe his own fate. He had left the knighthood behind forever and had joined the goblin army. He had cast his future with the strange magic of the goblins.
How many goblins had magic inside of them, Moon-eye wondered. Boliver and Mudwort and himself. Others? Not Direfang, but the hobgoblin didn’t need magic. He was strong and smart, and that was why he was commander of the goblin army-no, the goblin nation, Moon-eye corrected himself.
How many other goblins could work magic? When Moon-eye thought about the army, a blur of faces rushed past him, most of them yammering or yawning, too many words to pick through.
“Shouldn’t be listening anyway,” the goblin decided. “Words aren’t spoken to Moon-eye. Moon-eye shouldn’t be listening. Bad manners.”
He thought he’d peek at Graytoes one more time, seeing her cradled in Direfang’s arms. He knew he would never tire of looking at her beautiful face and wide, kind eyes. But, he reminded himself, it was better to look at her in person, not in the magic stone. He needed to leave the basin and catch up to the column. Graytoes would be worrying about him.
How far ahead of him had the army gotten?
With that thought, the vision in the basin shifted, and Moon-eye saw Saro-Saro and Krumb trailing a little behind the rest of the line. He intended to move away from that image to something more interesting, so he could see where the ex-slaves were right then. But something he saw riveted his attention.
Saro-Saro was speaking softly to Krumb, and the other goblin was leaning very close to hear, their brows knitted together and noses twitching. They were sharing a secret.
“More words not meant for Moon-eye. Bad manners to listen.” Still, he reflected, it would be fun to listen for just a moment, just a brief moment. Then he would leave the wonderful, magical basin and catch up with Graytoes and surprise Saro-Saro and Krumb with his knowledge of their secret. “What saying Saro-Saro? What is secret? What saying Krumb?”
Moon-eye, like many of his kind, was a curious fellow.
“Saro-Saro should lead.” Krumb’s voice was scratchy, as though there were something caught in his throat, and even with the magic, Moon-eye had trouble hearing all the whispered words. “Saro-Saro should lead the goblin nation.”
Saro-Saro nodded, and the old goblin’s lips crept up in a sly smile. “Smarter than Direfang, certainly.” He thumped his thumb against his chest. “Would do things differently. Do things much better. Not let so many goblins die and starve.”
Krumb made a snuffling sound and rubbed his hands together. “Direfang would build a peaceful nation, probably. Make goblins into hunters and farmers and nut gatherers. He is weary of fighting, I heard him say. Weary of fighting, bah!”
“Goblins should be raiders,” Saro-Saro said, agreeing, but gesturing for Krumb to lower his voice. “Killers and slavers.”
“Slavers.” Krumb’s dark eyes glistened. His eyes flicked ahead to the human slaves. “And killers, yes. Strong goblins.”
Saro-Saro said something else that Moon-eye couldn’t hear until the goblin leaned closer to the surface and put his ear to the black stone itself, to the very image of the old one.
“… kill Direfang,” Saro-Saro said. Moon-eye had missed the early part of his declaration. “When the hobgoblin sleeps. With the Dark Knight knife.” Sar
o-Saro carried just such a knife at his waist, Moon-eye saw, a weapon belted on with a strip of cloth that he’d scavenged from the ogre village. The pommel matched the color of the tabard he’d fashioned from an ogre child’s shirt. “Can be done, Krumb. In the old days, the one who killed the king became king. Can be done.”
“When the time is right,” Krumb whispered, nodding. “When Direfang is no longer useful. The mad one too.”
“Mudwort,” Moon-eye said. “Direfang and Mudwort.”
In horror, the one-eyed goblin pulled back from his magical scrying and scrambled to his feet in the mirror black basin. “My friends are in trouble.” He felt hot and dizzy, the magic of Godshome tingling through him. He tried to shake it off and start up the rise but walked as though tipsy.
He was halfway to the top before his senses cleared, and he saw no sign of the goblins along the ridge of the mountaintop. Panic gripped him. Had they left him too far behind? He felt his throat tighten, instantly worrying about Graytoes.
How long had he been playing with the magic in the crater? The goblins couldn’t have gotten too far ahead, could they?
The sky was still gray and the world in shadows, so Graytoes and Direfang probably weren’t able to see to the end of the column. They would think he was marching with them. They wouldn’t realize that Moon-eye had not yet caught up.
“Moon-eye’s Heart,” the one-eyed goblin sighed. “Must hurry. Must warn Direfang and Mudwort.” He scampered along the rim of the mountaintop, his fears giving him a surge of energy. “Must tell Direfang about Saro-Saro.”
He hurried down a trail he found on the southern slope of Godshome, certain the army had traveled that way and confirming it by taking a pinch of dirt in his fingers and sniffing it for goblin smells. He tripped in his race down the trail, head over feet, and bruised his ribs before picking himself up and gulping dusty air. He smelled the ash still thick in the air, though it was not nearly so strong there as it had been on the other side of Godshome. He smelled blood-his own-and dirt. But the scent of goblins was strongest.