Death March s-2

by Jean Rabe

  “Stay, then,” Direfang pronounced.

  Most of the stubborn goblins were from the Fishgatherer clan, but a few were Flamegrass clansmen. One was a tall, sturdy young goblin whom Direfang hated to leave behind.

  “Stay and hide,” Direfang warned them. “Stay and be hale,” he said finally, his anger softening.

  He and the priest were the last to step into one of the crowded longboats.

  “They will not fare well on their own,” Horace warned. He watched the eighteen back away until they disappeared into the shadows. “If they are not careful, ogres will catch them and sell them again.”

  “But not to the Dark Knights in Steel Town.”

  “No,” Horace admitted. “Iverton is shattered and buried in ash.”

  Direfang looked to the Clare, then to the five other ships beyond it, eyes lingering on the Wavechaser with its largely minotaur crew. For all his bravado and despite the priest’s spell, which had bolstered his own confidence, the hobgoblin felt anxious and uncertain. It no longer seemed like such a good idea. “Walk, walk, walk,” Skakee’s words echoed in his mind. The longboat carrying Direfang and Horace and the last of the goblins veered over to the Clare.

  Ahead, against the hull of the Clare, goblins were clambering out of another longboat and up a boarding net. The sailors yelled at them to wait, that the entire boat would be pulled up. But the goblins could not understand the men and tried to climb over each other in their haste and fear.

  “No!” Direfang stood in his longboat, setting it to rocking as he pointed toward the boarding net. “Take care!” He shouted in the goblin tongue. “Slow and easy. Do not-”

  Three goblins tumbled from the net, one falling back into the longboat and caught by her kinsmen. The other two were not so lucky and plopped into the sea. Spindly limbs flailed for purchase, touching the net and the side of the boat, before going under.

  The sailors in Direfang’s boat rowed faster, shouting to the deck of the Clare that some of their passengers had fallen into the sea. Two more goblins tumbled over the sides of the longboat in their clumsy attempts to help their drowning fellows. The sailors shouted and pointed but made only feeble rescue efforts.

  “Four lost all together,” Direfang pronounced minutes later when they had all assembled on the deck of the Clare. “Drowned and gone. Perhaps more were lost getting on the other ships. So dark, I cannot see, and so far, one ship from the other, I cannot hear.”

  “They use mirrors and lanterns to signal each other, Foreman.” Horace pointed to a signal light on the Clare and to a responding signal from Linda’s Grady. “I can read some of it, most of it. Your ships are on course. All … at the moment … is well.”

  “Some foolish goblins will drown,” Grallik said, standing behind Horace and Grallik. “You or I cannot be on each ship to keep all of them safe. We have done the best we can.”

  “Dark Knights such as you,” glowered Direfang, “cannot begin to understand the profound sadness of the loss of goblins to the sea.”

  Horace shook his head. “I understand your beliefs, Foreman. I know that goblins believe that after death their spirits return to their bodies as long as those bodies remain whole. It’s why you burn the dead and spread the ashes, so the spirits have nothing to come back to and must move on. I respect that belief.”

  If Direfang was surprised that the human understood goblin custom, or paid respect to it, his stern face did not show it.

  “You think the spirits will return to those bodies that have plunged to the bottom of the New Sea and will be trapped forever, don’t you?” The priest shook his head as he joined Direfang at the rail, staring out at the rising and falling waves. “The bodies will not remain intact, Foreman. Zeboim will take care of that.”

  “Yes, the fish will eat the dead and scatter the bones,” Direfang said. But will they do it soon enough? he wondered to himself. Before the spirits return? And what does a damn Dark Knight know anyway? He pushed away from the rail, heading toward the capstan.

  “As I said,” Horace repeated in a whisper as Grallik came up to stand beside him. “Zeboim will take care of everything.”

  Hours later, Horace was still at the port rail. He had not been so happy in years. His elbows were propped at the rail, his eyes were closed, and there was a sublime expression on his face. His mouth moved, some prayer of thanks to Zeboim, Grallik guessed.

  “The goblins are below now, all of them,” Grallik reported. “I understand they are happy to be out of sight of the water, but they are not happy to be in a ‘wooden cave,’ as some of them are calling the ship. I do not know how the goblins are faring on the other ships, but Captain Gerrold has told me that R’chet speaks the goblin tongue, as does the first mate on The Elizabeth. That will be some help, I would hope, in calming the creatures.”

  The priest gave no indication he had even heard him.

  “Save for Foreman Direfang, Horace. He is not below. He hovers behind the captain at the wheel. The foreman is nervous,” Grallik said. “I’ve never seen him like this. He fears the water as much as the goblins and hates being on this ship.”

  “And does that make you nervous too?” Horace asked without opening his eyes.

  Grallik shrugged. “He leads the goblins. The ship makes him vulnerable. And, yes, I guess that does make me nervous.”

  Horace leaned out farther and sucked in a deep breath. He held it as long as possible then released it, whistling through his teeth. “How was your day in port, Gray Robe?”

  “Glorious.” Grallik remembered the clothes and boots he’d purchased for the priest. The captain was keeping that private bundle in his cabin, out of sight of curious goblins. He was surprised Horace had not asked him about his own fine clothing-his bulging new backpack and boots and top-quality attire. “I hadn’t realized how badly I’d missed … civilization, Horace. I ate two cooked meals, spiced perfectly. You would have enjoyed them. And there were people … colorful, talkative people. A welcome change from the bickering and chattering of goblins.”

  “I hadn’t realized how badly I’d missed the sea.” The priest finally opened his eyes and angled his face to look at Grallik. Then he fumbled with a small pouch at his waist and pulled out a pipe, tamping some tobacco into the bowl. Grallik stared at the priest. “A gift from Mudwort,” Horace explained. “I don’t want to know where the little goblin got it.”

  “Mudwort.” Grallik’s thoughts never strayed far from the shaman. He had seen her come aboard the Clare, the lead ship, but had lost track of her during all the hubbub of boarding. He was meeting her price-helping to take the goblins to the Qualinesti Forest. He would look for her in the morning and seek her part of the bargain.

  “I’ll not be joining you in the Qualinesti Forest, Gray Robe. I’ll not let you or the foreman persuade me.” Horace held the pipe out for Grallik to light.

  With raised eyebrows the wizard touched his finger to the bowl, and the tobacco glowed.

  “I’ve other plans,” the priest explained, contentedly puffing on the pipe and watching the wisp of smoke spiral up.

  Grallik opened his mouth to ask about those plans but thought better of it. It was not the time to argue with Horace, or to remind the priest that he was a slave to the goblins and might have no real say in his ultimate destiny.

  “I’m staying here,” Horace continued, unprompted. “On the water, where I belong. On this very ship perhaps. It is a fine ship, though a little overburdened at the moment.” He took a long puff. “It’s the sail configuration, I think, that makes it drag.”

  The wizard turned and walked toward the stern, as the priest blathered on to himself about attach points for the top mast.

  “I doubt you’ll be leaving our company, ‘skull man,’” Grallik muttered when Horace was out of earshot. “I’ve no intention of leaving Mudwort, and I don’t think it wise to be the only human among these goblins. So you will not be going anywhere, my friend.”

  The Clare had two levels of cargo holds, and
the goblins occupied the largest at the bottom. A share of the goods Grallik had purchased was on the higher level, and Direfang had appointed two hobgoblins to guard those goods from both the goblins and sailors.

  Seven hundred fifty two goblins were packed into that hold, and there were even more packed into holds on some of the other ships, especially the big minotaur-manned vessel. Direfang had counted the number there a little while earlier when the oil lamps hanging from the ceiling were turned bright. At the moment only one lamp burned, that from the top of the stairs. The hobgoblin had logged the number of goblins in the book the dwarf had drawn her maps in.

  “Seven hundred and fifty two,” Direfang mused. Where had all the many, many goblins come from? The mountains, east to the sea, from the far north; he’d vaguely listened to the clans talk about their former homes and the call that had summoned them. “So many. Too many.”

  He listened to the wooden bones of the ship softly groan, thinking the sound vaguely comforting. His keen hearing picked up the sound of his hobgoblin guards striding overhead. He suspected they were poking through some of Grallik’s myriad purchases. They were loyal, though, and he knew they would not eat much.

  He couldn’t see Mudwort, though he’d spotted her down there earlier, whispering to Graytoes. He’d wanted to put Mudwort in charge of the goblins on The Elizabeth or Linda’s Grady, but she’d preferred to stay close to Direfang. And Direfang did not trust Saro-Saro, Grallik, or Horace enough to have them on a ship other than his. So they were all there, friends and enemies, and some friends who might very well become enemies.

  “Mudwort?” She would be sleeping where the shadows were the thickest or where she might find some nook that afforded her a little privacy. He’d look for her later, maybe wait until morning.

  His ruminations were interrupted by Two-chins. The goblin suddenly stood, swayed unsteadily on his feet, held his stomach, then bent over and vomited, the bile splashing over the goblin and spattering his kinsmen nearby. After a bit of arguing and shuffling to find a clean place of floor, the hold grew quiet again.

  Was this a mistake? Direfang wondered.

  He was not wondering about leaving Steel Town; they were right to abandon that hellish life. So many, many dead-more than a thousand lost to the earthquakes, more lost in the mountains to the volcanoes. Some left with Hurbear; Direfang hoped they were safe somewhere. Dozens were dead to the tylor-his fault for ordering the charge. Hundreds fell to the malady the skull man called a plague.

  Had it been a mistake to take them into the mountains?

  Would things have turned out better if he’d led them north? There were volcanoes there too. But perhaps they did not all erupt as violently. The mountains didn’t stretch as far to the north; he remembered that from the Dark Knight maps. He knew men were more numerous there. But he hadn’t anticipated the tylor and the plague. If he’d taken them north, would more of them be alive?

  “A mistake,” he whispered in the human tongue. “Too, too many dead.”

  Direfang sat on a step that led down to the lower cargo hold, his feet touching the floor. He stared into the shadows where the goblins were huddled in clusters corresponding to their clans, most of them trying to sleep. He rubbed his thumbs over the pouch that Grallik had returned to him; the wizard had spent all but five gems. Direfang was pleased the wizard had done his job well, managing to purchase ships. It felt good to own something.

  Graytoes sat near Direfang, cradling the dwarf baby and making cooing sounds to it.

  “Goats above,” she said, beaming. “Saw the goats. Goat milk for this baby. For Umay. And for other younglings.”

  Direfang nodded.

  “Umay,” Graytoes repeated. She made a clicking noise with her teeth, and the baby gurgled happily.

  “It is a good name,” Direfang said.

  “For a very good baby.” Graytoes rocked the child and started singing an old goblin tune about war and death. She did not know any lullabies.

  “A horrible mistake,” Direfang whispered.

  Graytoes looked up in surprise, interrupting her singing. She didn’t understand many human words, but she knew mistake.

  “What is a mistake?” she asked, pushing out her bottom lip. “Not Umay!”

  “No, that was not a mistake.” Direfang gave her a rare smile. She’d not whimpered about Moon-eye since taking the baby from Reorx’s Cradle. At least that was one good thing that had happened on the journey. “Shh. Time to rest, Graytoes.”

  She settled herself against a snoring hobgoblin, reclining against his stomach and holding the baby close. It cooed pleasantly.

  Direfang’s head bobbed forward until his chin touched his chest. He had stayed up on the deck for a few hours, until his legs got sore from standing so long and he feared he would get sick in front of the sailors. He worried about the goblins on the other ships and was frustrated that he had no way to communicate with them. He didn’t want to show his frustration or his fears to the sailors on the Clare, so he had eventually gone down to the hold, wanting to check on his kinsmen. His stomach still roiled, and he was thankful he’d not eaten much that day. He could smell the vomit everywhere from goblins who’d gotten sick from the rocking of the ship.

  He also smelled their familiar musky scent in the close air. They did not stink as much, most of them wading in the sea for hours at the priest’s direction in an effort to rid themselves of the plague germs. But he smelled the salt and the wood of the ship.

  Their clothes were stiff from the saltwater, as was his ragged tunic. He pawed at his arms, brushing more salt away. His feet still ached, though he liked the feel of the smooth oak against his soles.

  Coming that way, to the south, probably a mistake, he thought. The tylor, Reorx’s Cradle-the monster and the village that spread the plague. Those deaths were on his hands.

  But the ship … that might not be a mistake, he reflected, trying to rally his spirits. It would be a chance to rest, to give his feet time to mend, an opportunity for the goblins to eat and not complain about walking on a mountain.

  A shout from above roused him.

  “Foreman! Trouble’s coming!” It was the priest, Horace, calling to Direfang from the top of the stairs. “You’d best hurry.”

  ROUGH WATERS

  Direfang hadn’t meant to, but he had fallen asleep in the hold. The sky was lightening as he climbed up on deck. Above him the sails snapped, startling him, and the ship rose on a wave. He couldn’t keep his balance and dropped to his knees; a pair of sailors working the lines nearby laughed at his clumsiness.

  “The beastie has no sea legs,” a gangly human chortled. “They’re all puking below. I heard a lot of them giving up their dinner last night.”

  “Two weeks and we’ll be clear o’ them,” his companion said. “Then we’ll scrub the hold three or four times to make sure we get all the fleas. Bet The Balifor Breeze is faring worse. They got most of the hobs.”

  Direfang stood, bracing himself when the ship rode up on another wave. He sneered at the two men, who were oblivious to the fact that he understood their tongue. They continued to deride the goblin passengers as Horace hurried back from the wheel and took Direfang’s arm.

  “Foreman, you need to see the captain.” Horace tugged him toward the wheel. “There’s trouble, I say!”

  The ship rose again, the bow coming down just as a wave washed over it, the spray washing over Direfang and Horace and making the deck slippery. The hobgoblin tugged his arm free and lengthened his stride, coming up to Captain Gerrold just as a sailor in the crow’s nest barked down “Still following us, she is! Following all o’ us!”

  The captain turned at Direfang’s approach. His eyes were hard, and the lines on his tanned face reminded the hobgoblin of tree bark.

  “What trouble?” Direfang steadied himself as the bow rose again.

  The captain raised an eyebrow and twisted the wheel to port. “You speak Common?”

  “If that’s what you call your language, y
es.”

  “The storm is one trouble,” the captain replied. “It’s coming up quick. A sharp freshening, feel it? The wind shifted on us, and we’re tacking through it, but it’s going to be rough sailing for a while. You’ll need to explain that to your … fellows. I pray my counterparts will be able to handle the others.”

  Direfang looked up through gaps in the sails, spying a thick bank of clouds and smelling a sweetness in the air that hinted at heavy rain. He saw the sails of the other five ships, spread out and drawing close to the Clare. In fact, it appeared that the five were gaining and were going to overtake the lead ship.

  “The storms here … on this inland sea … they ain’t so bad as what you’ll come into on open water.” Captain Gerrold forced the wheel to starboard and closed his eyes as another wave washed across the bow. “This is nothing for the Clare…”

  “Foreman Direfang,” Horace supplied. “His name is Direfang.”

  The captain made a humming sound, as if to say that was an interesting name. “What concerns me is that ship that is following us … Foreman Direfang. That’s why I’m slowing, letting the others catch up and get ahead. We’ve got a wizard with us, I know, and so we’ll need to organize a defense if such is needed.”

  Direfang turned, but he couldn’t see anything beyond the masts and lines, and the men moving around on the other ships. The water looked as gray as the sky, broken by only chunks of white foam.

  “Oh, she’s back there, Direfang.” The captain paused. “How is it you know Common, may I ask? I’d not think your kind-”

  “This ship that follows us,” Direfang said, ignoring the question. “Why is it of concern? Aren’t there many ships that sail this route?”

  The captain wrapped the fingers of his right hand around the king spoke. “She’s a sloop with one mast, not close to Clare’s size, not as big as any in your armada. But her bowsprit’s as long as her hull, and I’d wager she could make double our speed in fair weather. She’s built for the shallows, her draft but a whisper. If the wind weren’t against her, she’d easily overtake all of us. But she’s been catching up, and with the freshening, she will.”