Goblin Nation

by Jean Rabe

  “Those prisoners are useless too.” Direfang nodded to the north. Tied at the base of a tree were two naked Dark Knights, both with legs broken from falling into the earth bowls. Direfang gestured toward them, the same foul gesture Grimstone had made repeatedly before the hobgoblin banished him from the horde.

  “I don’t know those knights, Foreman.”

  “But you do.” Orvago approached, his long legs carrying him toward Grallik in a half dozen steps. The gnoll’s hands and chest were bloody. But it wasn’t his own blood; it was that of the many patients he was tending. “Foreman Direfang, I’ve done what I could for your goblins. There are three Boarhunters and a Flamegrass clansman who are beyond my aid. They will die before morning. They may die before the hour is out, I fear.”

  Direfang growled but said nothing.

  Orvago turned his attention back to Grallik. “You do know them. You know them because they are knights. You know what kind of people they are and what drives them. You know what is in their hearts. And you can learn something from them that they wouldn’t tell the foreman or me or anyone else. You can do this because you know the Dark Knights. You know how to talk to them.”

  “I’ll see what I can learn,” Grallik said, turning to head toward the prisoners.

  Direfang followed Orvago over to a group of wounded goblins.

  “I am not a healer of Qel’s abilities, Foreman Direfang, though I don’t know if even she could mend these.” The gnoll had bandaged the four goblins with strips of cloth he’d cut from Dark Knight tabards and cloaks. Because they were black, the bandages effectively covered the blood. “This one here …”

  “Neph,” Direfang supplied. He didn’t know the names of the other three, though. “Neph of the Flamegrass clan. Neph was a slave in Steel Town. Neph was one of the first to leave when the earthquakes struck. And Neph returned to fight the Dark Knights and free those whose minds had been ensnared by the—”

  “Skull men? I remember that. Neph, you call him. I might be able to help. At least let me try.”

  Direfang’s eyes widened as the human who had spoken stepped out of the shadows. Orvago tugged his oak cudgel from his belt, ready to fight. “It’s all right,” the hobgoblin said, staying Orvago’s hand. “This is the Skull Man Horace.”

  Graytoes had kept the goblins from killing the Ergothian. So many goblins had joined Direfang after the exodus from Steel Town that some of them had never seen Horace before. That he wasn’t in Dark Knight attire, and that he was in chains, helped. Several stood behind him, wary and with weapons ready.

  “Found the Skull Man for Direfang,” Graytoes said. “Found Horace. Brought the Skull Man here. Thought he could help.”

  “Graytoes did not find the Skull Man,” another yellow-skinned goblin corrected. “The Skull Man walked right into the city. Almost died at the hands of the Skinweavers.”

  Graytoes thrust out her bottom lip peevishly. “Saved the Skull Man, then. Saved him from Pigeyes and Nothumbs.”

  Orvago used the narrow end of the cudgel to pry open one of the links on Horace’s arm chains next to a wrist manacle. The Ergothian explained how he had been taken prisoner on Schallsea Island and brought there. Orvago worked on the other wrist.

  “And they let you get away now? After all their trouble?” the gnoll asked warily. “That does not sound like diligent Dark Knights. It sounds like sloppy ones.”

  “Sloppy now maybe, but only because of the foreman.” Horace brought his hands up to his face, wiping off sweat. Direfang studied him. Horace looked changed, defeated. The skin hung on his arms, as if he’d been starved, and his face had developed jowls. His eyes were sunken. There were marks on his shoulders, as if he’d been beaten. Direfang knew well the signs of torture.

  “You threw them into disarray,” Horace said. He shuffled over to Neph, the chains around his ankles limiting his movements. “They certainly weren’t paying any attention to me in all the confusion. My usefulness to them was over anyway.” He gently worked the bandages away from the goblin’s chest. “I well know they were going to kill me after the battle. A traitor to them, I am.”

  “The Dark Knights will come back here,” Direfang said. “You are not saved yet.”

  “Aye, Foreman. Not this night, however. They’ve wounds to lick and plans to make. And they know your kind sees well in the darkness. They won’t cede another advantage to you. But they will come back, I agree. Early in the morning is my guess.”

  Horace’s hand glowed orange. “Zebir Jotun, Zura the Maelstrom,” he began. “Zeboim, who I revere above all else.” His fingers brightened as he touched them to the gaping wound in the goblin’s chest. “By the silvery hair of the precious Sea Mother, heal Neph and keep him safe.” Softer, he added, “Keep us all safe.”

  Horace went from one goblin to the next, working hard to heal and pray, until he collapsed near the last one he tended.

  Direfang had been gathering the clan leaders and discussing the options for the coming showdown with the knights. “Little more can be done to make this place more defensible,” he explained. “No more tracks, and no time for tricks. The Dark Knights’ magic would see through all of that this time.”

  He instructed them to bring everyone together; then he returned to check on Horace.

  The hobgoblin did not care for humans, and he detested Dark Knights. Like Mudwort—still missing—he hated Dark Knights above all for enslaving him years past. But he had grown familiar with Horace and was glad the Ergothian had returned to heal the wounded.

  The four goblins the Ergothian had assisted were resting well, and Orvago had pronounced that all of them would live.

  “Aye, they will at least live through the night now,” Grallik said. The wizard had spent the better part of an hour questioning Direfang’s prisoners. “But more goblins will die when the Dark Knights return. Without Mudwort, our magic is limited.”

  Direfang grunted. “Did the knights say anything useful?” He pointed with the axe to where the humans remained tied up.

  “Less than what Horace has been able to report. There were nine hundred knights, led by Commander Bera Kata.”

  “Less knights now. Killed some.”

  “Which will make Bera angrier, Foreman. She is a fanatic, a decorated soldier. Her men are loyal, and she is a clever strategist. She can’t be faulted for her loss here; like her peers, she underestimated goblinkind. But she will not underestimate you again.” Grallik watched Horace twitch in his troubled sleep. “They have a sorcerer with them who practices the darkest arts. Horace said Isaam can speak with the dead. I’ve heard of the man. His magic is likely more potent than mine.”

  “Speaks with the dead? Then Isaam soon will have a lot of knights to speak with,” Direfang said brusquely. Behind him the ground was covered with goblins, all their colors mingling in the growing shadows. Twilight was claiming the sky.

  “The Gray Robe agrees, the Dark Knights will come back.” The hobgoblin spit at the ground and raised his new axe. The blade gleamed despite the darkness. “The Dark Knights would come in the morning, he predicts. But goblins will not wait for the Dark Knights. This ends here, Grallik, Orvago. And this ends tonight.”

  Direfang turned and walked through the army, marching away from his ruined city and toward where the knights had fled. The goblins fell into step behind him, first a few, slowly, then more quickly and in greater numbers, forming ranks as straight as any Dark Knight formation.

  “Foreman Direfang intends to take the fight to the Dark Knights,” Orvago observed, turning to follow.

  Grallik nodded. “Foreman Direfang has a death wish.”

  31

  THE STONETELLERS

  BERA’S GRIEF

  We go at them come first light,” Bera was saying. She walked in a tight circle in front of Isaam and Doleman, striking her fist against the palm of her hand, her eyes boring into theirs. Her thoughts whirled; she did not try to hide her haggard, harried expression. She’d let her men march into a trap.
/>   And she’d let Zocci die.

  They’d cut off his head—a big, ugly hobgoblin had done that. And then the murderer had taken Zocci’s ancestral axe, taken his life.

  Her throat was tight and dry; her breath came in ragged bursts. She had rarely given vent to grief because she had never let herself get close to any of her men before. But the grief over Zocci hit her like a hammer. She’d had honest feelings for Zoccinder; she’d never know if they would have had any future together.

  By the memory of the Dark Queen, don’t let me cry! She paced faster, thinking, trying hard to push the memories of the lost men out of her mind, striking her fist with renewed fury.

  “Rats, they are. Stinking, filthy, a disease festering on this land.” But she couldn’t call them stupid any longer. “Kill them all. We must kill them. Come first light, there will be so much blood, the ground will not be able to drink it all in.”

  She abruptly stopped and squatted. Isaam held a lantern over a patch of ground she’d been drawing on. “Here’s the bluff. I don’t think they’ll run far from it. The place is fairly defensible with all the pits they’ve dug, and with their druid who can bring the trees to life, but there must be a way. I wish we knew how competent the druid was, the scope of his magic.”

  “I’ve an answer for that, Commander,” Isaam answered. “I’ve a way to neutralize their druid.” The sorcerer touched his finger to the lantern glass, raising his eyes to meet hers.

  “I think I well know what you’ve in mind, old friend. Be careful with that sort of magic.” Bera made a mark to show their current position. “They knew better than to follow us here, the stinking rats. With Isaam’s shield keeping them at bay and us having the advantage here, they will stay put. They’ve no traps to rely on here. The advantage is ours away from their wretched camp.”

  “But the druid,” Doleman risked asking. “Won’t the druid have every advantage here, where the trees are thick?”

  “Apparently you did not hear Isaam.” Bera shook her head and continued to draw in the dirt. “We will come at them here and here and here, forcing them to the edge of the bluff and over. Three positions this time, at first light. Their eyes are best in the darkness, I believe. So we’ll have to wait until our eyes have the edge. Too, Isaam has some important work to do first.”

  Word had reached her that the prisoner Horace had escaped during the brief battle. She had fumed then, and she fumed again.

  “No provisions now or in the morning for the men who guarded him,” she ordered. “And no one goes looking for him. In his condition he won’t go far. Let some bear eat him.”

  “What if he makes it to the goblins?” Doleman was again the only skeptic. “He could tell them our strength.”

  She rubbed out a few marks and made some more. “He’s not so stupid, Lieutenant. They’d kill him before they recognized him. And if by chance they didn’t, then we’ll kill him at first sight when we march into goblin town.” She drew lines to indicate the river and made scratches for the pine forest on the other side. “Isaam’s shield—what he used to protect us—will be erected here and will keep the goblins from climbing down the bluff and escaping. We’ll pin them at the edge of the bluff.”

  “What makes you think they haven’t already fled?” A knight who had been watching from a polite distance asked softly.

  “Because they’re not stupid.” Not like I once thought they were, she added silently to herself. “They know we’ll come at them again and again and again. So they’ll make their stand because they have no choice. And they’ll make it here because of all their clever little pits.”

  “And because they’re tired of running,” Isaam added. “I know I would be tired of running from us.” The sorcerer put the lantern on the ground and peered away into the growing darkness where the vast ranks of Dark Knights waited, some standing, some sitting, none of them having removed their armor, many of them eagerly polishing and sharpening their weapons for the coming fight.

  He backed away and let the growing shadows to the south swallow him.

  Bera pointed at her crude map again, a gesture that drew Doleman down close by her. “Here and here and here. Yes, they’ll be expecting us, but this time they’ll be the ones trying to retreat.”

  “And failing.” Doleman seemed to be persuaded, pointing to the line Bera had drawn to indicate Isaam’s shield spell. “They’ll be caught against an unseen wall conjured by Isaam, and we’ll pin them with our arrows.”

  “And with Isaam’s fire magic. They like to burn the corpses of their fallen? We’ll burn them alive. Victory will be ours at first light.” Bera rose and brushed the dirt off her knees. “Pass the orders to the other lieutenants. Set up a watch.” She stared at the men and lowered her voice. “How many did we lose, Lieutenant?”

  He stood and spoke equally as softly. “Fifty-one, Commander. Others are badly wounded.”

  “That’s fifty-one too many.” She stepped carefully through the underbrush, relying on the emerging stars for light. It took her a while to find Isaam as he’d walked farther south than she’d expected. He stood, his gaze searching ahead.

  He turned to meet her eyes. “You blame yourself for the battle’s loss. But you must realize the outcome of this day was not your fault.” Isaam could say such things to Bera because of their years together. “I doubt any other commander would have done things differently. You knew where the goblins were and you—”

  “I don’t know if I loved him, Isaam.”

  “But you cared for him.”

  “Yes. He made me feel young again.”

  “Then grieve, Commander. Grieve while I go to work.”

  “The goblins smell horrible, Isaam. Good that the wind blows toward them. It keeps away their stink. They are hideous, and they chatter endlessly in a vile, vile tongue that sounds like wild dogs in heat yapping. The clothes they wear mock men. Shirts too big, hanging on them like rags. Most of them have yellow eyes like raw egg yolks, making them look sick. Bumpy skin, scabrous, looking worse than sickness. A veritable disease, I say they are, on this land. They sully the earth. They killed him, Isaam.”

  “Grieve, Commander.”

  Tears hung at the corners of her eyes, but she would not surrender to them. “After the last goblin is dead, old friend. And after the traitor Grallik N’sera has been burned. Then, perhaps, I will allow myself to grieve.”

  She watched Isaam, who went down on his hands and knees at the base of a dying oak. The sorcerer began to speak in a sing-song pattern from a language Bera guessed was old and magical. She squinted, thinking she saw the earth crack around Isaam’s fingers. She looked closer, just as leaves fell from the oak, curling and drying up. More leaves fell as she watched. Isaam’s breath grew ragged.

  “Drawing the life out of the woods,” Bera observed.

  “Consider this in memory of your Zocci, Commander.”

  “How far does your magic range, my old friend? As far south as the bluff, where the goblins are surely burning their dead? Is your enchantment that strong?” She pictured their funeral pyres. The wind continued to blow toward the river, so the stench traveled in the opposite direction, away from her nostrils. “I can’t smell their stink, but I can well imagine it. Will your magic stretch that far, my old friend?”

  The sorcerer didn’t answer, the ancient words tumbling faster from his lips. He threw his head back, and Bera saw that his face was fuller, his eyes shining dark in the pale light. His lips were puffy, as if he took the moisture of the woods into himself. His hands looked fleshier. Or was that her imagination?

  “To your last measure, Isaam. Until you’ve only a faint heartbeat left. Drink in the life of this accursed forest. And let it be the death of the damnable goblins that took Zocci and my men.”

  Bera watched the sorcerer until the sky grew darker and the stars brighter. How long did she watch him? How long had they been there? An hour? More?

  Her legs were stiff from standing still so long.

  “They
come!” She turned, startled.

  She heard the call only faintly because of the distance Isaam had put between himself and the rest of her men.

  The warning grew louder as other voices joined. “The goblins are coming for us!”

  Bera ran back toward her camp.

  32

  THE STONETELLERS

  THE KILLING WOODS

  Isaam did not have the skills of a druid, which he judged considerable, and so the presence of a druid with the goblins bothered him. Was it a goblin? A hobgoblin that boasted nature magic? Or had the foul creatures found a human or an elf ally in the woods?

  And if the latter was the case, was the druid so attuned to the Qualinesti Forest that alone he was a more formidable foe than all the goblins put together? Isaam remembered vividly the trees fighting the knights near the bluff. The trees were thicker in the knights’ camp and would pose a greater threat to the Dark Knights.

  “To my last measure for Commander Kata,” he vowed silently.

  Isaam’s enchantments were aimed at the druid, aimed at rending his nature magic useless.

  “Let them all die for Commander Kata.”

  Grallik N’sera was a nuisance compared to what a druid in the woods could do, so Isaam did not trouble himself over the traitorous Gray Robe.

  Isaam struck at the greater threat, the druid, and therefore at the very forest itself. He would try to keep the druid neutralized and let Bera deal with the foul creatures that so vexed her. Let her find some joy in slaying them in great number.

  To his last breath, he would help her.

  The Qualinesti Forest was too vast for Isaam to take on in its entirety by himself, but his part of it … that perhaps he could manage. He could suck the life out of his little section.