by Jean Rabe
Would she consent to teach him?
By the dark gods, she had to; otherwise all of his humiliation and agony would be for nothing.
But it might be days before he could find the right opportunity. The crowded mountain trail certainly wasn’t the place. So meanwhile, he would continue to watch her and wait until they left the trail and returned to flat ground, where the goblins and hobgoblins would spread out and he might find her alone.
“Patience,” he whispered to himself. “It will happen.” He stifled a yawn and glanced back at Horace, the priest’s stomach still rising and falling in sound sleep.
Grallik envied the Ergothian, who seemed to have no trouble dropping off peacefully any time the goblin horde stopped their march. The priest had told Grallik it was Zeboim’s will that he slept deeply, so that he could better face the rigors of each day.
But no god seemed to will that Grallik should sleep—at least, not long enough to do him any good.
Despite his exhaustion, Grallik couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes; he didn’t trust the goblins not to slit his throat as he dozed. His wounds ached. His feet hadn’t stopped throbbing since he joined with the goblins. His head constantly pounded as loudly and rhythmically as a blacksmith’s hammer. His legs were beyond sore; sometimes he couldn’t feel them.
Grallik’s magic was powerful, but he didn’t know a single spell that could ease his wracked condition. In Steel Town Grallik’s spells enabled the work of the great smelters, and he fashioned glyphs and wards that shot columns of flame into the sky and kept the slaves in check. Fire spells came almost effortlessly.
Horace slept effortlessly.
Grallik tapped the fingers of his left hand against his temple and studied the priest’s face. Horace’s expression was serene. But in the passing of a few heartbeats, beads of sweat dotted his smooth forehead, and his eyelids twitched as if he were lost in a troubling dream. Moments more passed, and the sweat became a fine sheen that covered all of his face and traveled down his neck to settle on his bare stomach. The priest’s breathing became ragged. The goblin wearing the Dark Knight tabard turned to stare. She grunted something Grallik couldn’t understand, wiped her nose on her arm, and closed her eyes.
A smile tugged at the corner of Grallik’s lips as Horace’s discomfort increased. His sleep was no longer so peaceful. The wizard had no intention of harming the priest, just making him a little uneasy. It wasn’t fair that Grallik should suffer without company.
Grallik stopped worrying at the thread on his under-tunic just as Horace bolted upright, gasping. The priest placed the back of his hand against his cheek, as if to check for a fever, then slowly turned and glared at Grallik.
But the wizard did not meet the priest’s gaze. He had returned his attention to the red-skinned goblin. Her arms were thrust into the hard-packed earth nearly up to her elbows. It was as if the ground had turned to liquid around her.
“No, this was not a mistake,” Grallik said to himself.
4
MUDWORT’S REACH
Mudwort let out a ragged sigh, wrinkling her nose at the pungent scent of her own breath. She watched Boliver leave, wending his way past a lean hobgoblin and disappearing in the mass of bodies milling on the mountain trail. Mingling their magic had not yielded what Direfang wanted. In fact, it had not worked at all.
Her fault, she knew. She was too unfocused and listless, her mind wandering freely into the earth and thinking only about the earth itself. Boliver had been right to give up on her.
The earth had shaken so fiercely in days past that it had caused the mine to collapse and the volcanoes to erupt. She had predicted the disasters, sensing the nervousness in the rocks. She had marveled at the earth’s power, pleased that its violence had led to their freedom, worried that it had forevermore become a wobbly, uncertain, distrustful thing. Above all, she remained curious.
How soon would the earth tremble again? Would great rents appear soon and suck down more goblins and hobgoblins and the three Dark Knights who were their prisoners? Would bulges in the land arise without warning to block their path or push them off the mountain? Would the volcanoes breathe their hellish fire once more?
Her fingers teased the rocks that did not feel nervous. They were smooth and sleeping, and the longer she touched them, the more relaxed she became.
“Perhaps the ground is tired and done,” Mudwort said to herself. “Perhaps it will not bounce again.” She, too, was tired, and the soothing pebbles lulled her toward sleep.
A muffled wail startled her. Glancing up the trail, she spotted Direfang cradling Graytoes. The once-delicate features of the young goblin with skin the color of sunflower petals were twisted in pain as Direfang held her, and she sobbed over the loss of her mate, Moon-eye. She had been sobbing practically every minute she was awake. Moon-eye had tarried behind the column, and a scout searching for him the previous day reported seeing a big cat feasting on his corpse.
Graytoes was as worthless as her dead mate, Mudwort decided—worse than worthless, as she was commanding Direfang’s attention and pointlessly caterwauling all the time. It might not be such a bad thing if the earth opened up and swallowed Graytoes.
Mudwort missed Moon-eye too, or rather, she missed his abilities. His senses had been keen, and he had tracked better than anyone she knew. If he were alive, Moon-eye would have been tasked with her present assignment.
Graytoes wailed louder.
“A bag of flesh with a sad, sour mind, Graytoes is,” Mudwort muttered. She cocked her head and heard Direfang talking to Graytoes, no doubt trying to calm her. She also heard the Dark Knight priest blathering to the Dark Knight wizard in their horrid-sounding tongue, and she picked out pieces of other conversations between goblins and hobgoblins—all of whom should be resting rather than bothering her by crowding the air with their unimportant prattle. She dismissed the jumble of words and returned her attention to the earth.
Direfang had given her a task. It was past time she tended to it.
She pushed her arms even farther into the earth, which her mind had willed to be as soft as clay. She stopped just short of her shoulders, her face pressing close. Breathing deep, she welcomed the smell of the dirt, far preferable to her own odor and the stench of sulfur that still filled the air. She held the dirt-scent deep in her lungs and relished it, again becoming distracted.
The task! Mudwort cursed herself for being so easily sidetracked. Do what Direfang asks!
She closed her eyes and imagined she was an ant scurrying down her arm and into the ground, leaving the noisy mass of her kinsmen behind and following a maze of thin cracks plunging down, down. In the back of her mind she saw rock shards and the husks of dead insects, all pleasantly cocooned by the dirt.
Deeper and farther south she traveled, in the direction Direfang was leading them. She detected tiny bones, likely those of a bird, and the desiccated dung of some creature. There were cracks everywhere her ant-mind wandered, some reaching up to the surface, others leading to mysteries she craved to explore. She felt hooves atop the trail and up a rise, and was curious as to their source.
She felt heat, residue from the volcanoes—their touch noticed even there, though the lava was many miles behind them. Small nests of grubs and pockets of beetles caught her attention; those she lingered on. Her stomach rumbled with hunger. She was thirsty too, and the thick, juicy insects would help to sate her. But there were only handfuls of squirming things here and there—not enough to be of much use. Certainly not what Direfang had tasked her to find. She should look closer at the hoofed things up above, she thought again.
Was Direfang watching her as she worked? Was he upset that she’d not come up with anything yet? Or was empty-Graytoes still bothering him? For an instant the buzz of conversations from the hobgoblins and goblins intruded on her consciousness. Someone complained of aching legs. Another speculated the Dark Knights might be tasty.
The task!
Once more she forced the chatter
away and continued her earth-journey. She let the dirt press down on her, embracing the smothering sensation and the darkness. A calm settled in her core, and all the goblin sounds melted to nothingness. Mudwort held her breath.
Calm.
She exhaled slowly, the scent of the blessed dirt nearly overwhelming her. She continued to slip to the south, leaving her body and the hundreds of other goblins far behind and taking her senses on an amazing journey.
So perfect things were down in the earth, she thought. The world around her had thoroughly receded, and there were only granules of rich dirt, smooth pebbles, small roots of long-dead plants, a colorful egg-shaped insect, and much, much more. Everything was so interesting and perfect. Even the cracks her senses crawled through intrigued and pleased her.
She brushed against something cool and hard, and she peered closer. It was a crystal embedded in a chunk of ugly grayness. Pretty, it was a transparent blue-green with six sides and thin grooves that would do well as a decoration. A few such similar pieces had been found in the Dark Knight mines and been fashioned into jewelry. Beryl, she remembered the crystals being called. It was odd that humans had names for rocks. But then, they seemed to have words for everything.
Perhaps the crystal was not terribly deeply buried and she could dig it out. Just where was it? She willed her ant-mind to spiral outward and up, so she might learn precisely where the pretty stone was buried, ahead on the trail.
Suddenly a crack widened below, and her mind slid away from the crystal and felt the tug of something secret.
What is this?
What Direfang wanted would not lie so deep, she knew, and so she should not pursue that secret. Instead, she looked for the hoofed creatures she sensed farther down the mountain trail, but she hoped not too far. If Moon-eye were alive, he would be helping her see all of that, she reflected, and she would be free to roam and unravel the beckoning secrets in the belly of the world.
“Should not do this,” she told herself. “No time for this.” But she allowed herself to be tugged away from her task regardless. “Just for a little moment. Direfang will not know.”
What would be the harm?
She could take just a quick look at the mystery. Then she would help Direfang, herself, and all of the goblins and hobgoblins stuck on the mountain trail, help them find something to eat. One quick look. No one need know.
Besides, Direfang had empty-Graytoes to occupy him.
The crack widened the farther down it she went.
“Share the secret,” she murmured, unaware that she had spoken the words aloud above the earth, drawing the attention of Grallik and the Dark Knight priest. “What is the mystery?”
She spied a cavern in the distance, and though so far underground it should have been blackest-black, she could make out myriad details. The walls were granite in places, a common enough stone. But sections were cut through with beautiful dark red crystals, some filled with spiderweb-fine cracks.
“Fragile rocks,” Mudwort guessed. “Fire-colored and pretty as beryl.”
The floor was likewise granite, but there was an oval patch that was smooth and deliberately polished, reflecting light that spilled out of a tunnel she hadn’t immediately noticed. A cluster of short, prismatic crystals, dark green and gleaming, sat in a copper bowl in the center of the smooth patch.
A smile threatened to break out on Mudwort’s face. That was far more interesting than what Direfang had asked her to look for. What wonderful secrets the earth hid!
Just where was that cave? Was there a way down from the mountain trail? Could Mudwort physically reach that secret place?
The cave floor felt cold to her senses, and air stirred, coming from the tunnel. The air on the mountain trail was dead and gray and reeking of sulfur. Below, it carried the scents of the rocks, of water that trickled somewhere out of sight, and of something that seemed familiar but was not quite familiar.
A part of her wished that Boliver had not given up on her so soon and that he could see that amazing place. But a greater part was glad that she was alone, so she could keep the precious secret to herself. Her secret!
“Where is this place?”
She started toward the tunnel, slowly so she could take in everything. There were carvings around the polished oval on the floor, odd symbols that might have been a language or were simply pictures. Stick drawings of animals, perhaps. She studied them a moment and picked out what might be representations of bears and bats. But she could make no sense of most of the drawings. There were more such markings on one wall of the tunnel, and the flickering light made the crude carvings appear to move.
The tunnel floor was smooth, though not polished like the oval, worn perhaps from feet—just like places in the Dark Knights’ mines that were worn from the feet of goblins who had labored there for so many years.
The light grew brighter as she continued down the tunnel, the scents intensifying. The odors of the familiar-but-not-quite-familiar thing, and water—definitely water— filled her nostrils. Direfang would be interested in the latter discovery, Mudwort thought. All of them were so thirsty. And so he would not be upset that she’d let the earth distract her, tug her. She heard the splash of something. A moment more, and she heard voices.
It was a language she could understand!
“Mudwort!” Direfang was growling her name, drowning out the conversation she heard below ground. “Mudwort find anything?”
She fought to keep her mind in the tunnel, but the hobgoblin tapped her shoulder then jostled her, threatening the spell.
“Mudwort find something?”
“No,” she said as she tried desperately to concentrate on the cavern. “Find nothing.”
He nudged her once more, and all traces of the cool air that had stirred around her senses vanished. It was replaced by still air filled with the stench of sulfur and the tang of sweaty goblins and hobgoblins. She felt the clay her arms were thrust into hardening.
“No!” she shouted. “Found nothing!” The cavern below disappeared from her mind, the spell completely broken. Damn Direfang! She’d wanted at the least to find out where the mysterious cavern was.
She heard the Dark Knight priest talking behind her, his ugly-sounding words coming so fast, she couldn’t understand what he was saying. Direfang continued to question her. Graytoes still sobbed, though not as loudly as before. There were other conversations and other sounds, the whisper-soft bleat of something … of several somethings— the hoofed creatures.
“Mudwort find anything?”
She tugged her arms out of the earth, the clay thoroughly hard and as dusty-dry as it had been before she used her magic.
“Something?” she snarled angrily. “Yes, found something, Direfang.” The hobgoblin had ripped her mind away from the marvelous secret.
“Find what?” Direfang asked, looming over her.
The hobgoblin was nearly seven feet tall, easily twice Mudwort’s height. His hide was dark gray and hairy, but there were spots on his chest and upper arms that were heavily scarred and where no hair grew. “Mudwort find what?”
“Sheep, goats,” she returned, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. “Feel the hooves against the ground. Find food. Found just what Direfang wanted.” Mudwort futilely tried to brush the dirt off her arms then scratched at her chin and pointed down the trail. “Farther south, but not too far. And there are not many.”
“Food,” Direfang repeated, sounding pleased. He motioned for the goblins and hobgoblins to stand and pointed south. “Good Mudwort found some food.”
5
THYA’S CLAN
The mountainside was high and steep, but the rocks were jagged and provided plenty of tiny hand- and footholds for the goblins climbing it. Thya chose that section because it was so sheer; the ogres that had been pursuing the clan could not fit their large, thick fingers into the crevices the goblins used and were, therefore, stuck at the bottom. However, before the ogres had given up, they had managed to catch a doze
n of the goblins who hadn’t scaled the rocks fast enough.
“A smart one, Thya is,” a pale gray goblin pronounced when the clan finally reached the top. “Smart to find a path the ogres could not take. Not many clansmen lost.”
It was midmorning, and the sun struggled to chase away the chill that wrapped around the peaks. There were no clouds, and the bright, blue sky was almost hurtful to the goblins, who had spent their lives in the caves to the north, emerging in only the evenings to hunt.
There were nearly two hundred clansmen, all of them panting and out of breath, some of them fearful of the height, most of them shielding their eyes from the brightness.
“Never climbed like this before,” one of the young ones said. Her arms were wrapped around a spire, her eyes closed. “Like the low places much, much better. Like the dark better too.”
“Arms so sore,” Rockhide complained. He was the oldest goblin, the one who had insisted the clan leave their home. The earth inside their main cave had told him the ogres were coming. “Need to rest here,” he continued. “This clan needs to sleep and—”
“Sleep later, Rockhide. Sleep now and this clan might never leave this peak.” Thya had threaded her way through the crowd. Perched as they were on a narrow part of the mountain, there was little room to maneuver, so she used great care.
“Understand? This clan must move now. Sleep later when it is safe, Rockhide.” Thya was overly tall for a goblin, nearly four feet, and her skin was the color of pine bark. Her face was long and narrow, her nose wide, the center of it pierced with a silver ring she’d taken from the corpse of a merchant a few years back. She wore his shirt too, gathered at the waist and tied with a leather cord that had been around the merchant’s neck. A charm dangled from the cord, a jade dragon’s claw that she rubbed each morning as a luck ritual.