Death March

A FEAST OF GEMS

It was early morning; the sun wasn’t yet up, and the sky was a pale gray contrast to the dark waters of the inland sea. Many of the goblins busied themselves socializing with the new clans while filling the bottles they’d taken from the glass tree with river water. Others were staring mutely at the sea. No one had ever seen so much water.

“This is a young sea,” Horace explained, his face beaded with sweat. He still hadn’t recovered his strength; his healing was still in demand. “At least as far as the entire history of the world is concerned, it is young. It was born when the Kingpriest of Istar demanded too many things of the gods. Angered by his insolence, they raised some land masses and sank others. Ansalon’s most beautiful plains were among the places the gods drowned with the Sirrion Ocean. The people named the divinely created water the New Sea.”

Horace took a deep breath and let the air out slowly. “The dragons have played a part in the formation of this sea too. A section of the eastern part of the New Sea became a swamp, thanks to the great black dragon they called Sable. They say Sable is dead now, and so the swamp slowly is retreating. The New Sea will grow larger again. It is a few thousand feet deep in some places, difficult to navigate in others, particularly where it brushes the great swamp with its tribes of bakali and other lizard-folk.”

Horace waded out into the water, Grallik nearby the hobgoblin following both of them closely, listening skeptically.

Direfang scowled. “Keep all those words in the human tongue, skull man. Some clans might not cross this New Sea after learning how deep it is … and how dangerous.” He looked to the goblins near the shore. “Some will not even come into the shallows to try to lose the plague. And look how many foolish goblins there are now.”

“Easily three thousand, I’d wager.” The priest’s expression grew troubled as he noticed Saro-Saro and a few dozen of his clansmen clustered well back from the shore. But he turned back to stare at the sea. His expression turned serene; he bowed his head and traced a symbol in the air. “I feel the Sea Mother’s presence,” he said. “Zeboim’s breath gently stirs the waves.”

Some goblins near them spat at the mention of Zeboim, but Horace and Grallik and Direfang waded farther out, while behind them, a handful of goblins tentatively entered the water.

“May the last vestiges of the plague be washed from all of us. Cleanse us, Sea Mother.” Horace traced another symbol in the stirring surf, his fingers playing along the top of the water. Then he closed his eyes and prayed at length. Grallik, too, bowed his head, though he was not given to praying even in the most dire times.

Direfang motioned for other goblins to join the priest in the shallows. Some refused, terrified at the immenseness of the New Sea. They huddled in groups on the shore, watching as, gradually, more and more of their fellows edged out until the waves sloshed around their waists. Some of them playfully slapped at the water.

Grallik’s eyes sought out Mudwort. The shaman was one of the hesitant ones, he noted, wrinkling her nose and looking around for Boliver. But he was already out in the water. She raised her lip in a brave snarl and stepped from the shore until the water rose around her ankles, then her knees, and finally her waist. She felt the pouches at her side shift in the current, and she placed her hands on them protectively. A little farther, and the water was up to her chest. She’d go no deeper as she didn’t know how to swim.

“Sink,” she said with a sneer. “Sink and die and be food for the fishes. Knights would be good food for fishes.”

Skakee quickly joined Mudwort, her youthful exuberance apparent; she seemed unafraid. Skakee held her breath and dipped her head in the water, came up and shook herself out, then splashed around and dunked again until Mudwort became annoyed.

Mudwort moved away from the others and peered back at the bank. Saro-Saro and some of his clan members were still huddled there. She couldn’t hear their conversation over the lapping water, but she suspected the words were not good. She squinted to study the old goblin, hoping to see him coughing, with black spots on his arms. He’d pose no threat to Direfang if he were dead.

Saro-Saro caught Mudwort staring at him and gave her the evil eye, turning his back so she could not see his face.

Many of the goblins stayed in the water while the priest prayed and continued to trace symbols in the air. Grallik and Direfang waded back to shore and plopped on the ground.

Some risked speaking to Horace, but he ignored their words and dropped to his knees, the water swirling around his chin.

Gulls dipped down, finding small fish along the surface. Their cries were at the same time harsh and musical, and some of the goblins imitated the noise. A bell sounded far off, and Grallik told Direfang it was a ship’s bell. Direfang waited to hear more. He knew Grallik knew much about the sea and wanted to talk.

“They say nothing lives below two hundred feet,” Grallik said. “It is not that way with all water, but with this body. They say that the depths here are far saltier and colder and hide caverns and all manner of things. But fish are plentiful near the surface.”

“You know this how?” asked Direfang.

“I traveled it once, when I was young, and the captain talked a lot. I guess I paid attention.” Looking out, he saw that Horace had finished his praying; he was splashing seawater on his face, coaxing the goblins to do the same. “I disembarked at a Dark Knight outpost to the west. And I haven’t seen this sea or any other for nearly forty years.”

Direfang grunted. Probably that was interesting talk for humans, but not for him.

“My plan, Foreman,” Grallik began hesitantly. “The one I mentioned to you earlier. Perhaps we should speak of it now.”

“It is impossible now.” Direfang’s eyes were dark and sad, and his brow deeply furrowed. “Too many goblins. All of it impossible.” The hobgoblin let out a deep breath, a sigh that was almost a moan.

Grallik was taken aback. The hobgoblin suddenly seemed so lost, so uncertain. He opened his mouth to say something, but Direfang waved his words away.

“There is a shorter way to the Qualinesti Forest.” Direfang gazed at the water, straining to see an opposite shore. He looked east, where the mountains curved around the New Sea and led to ogre country and the swamp … eventually, if his recollection of maps was correct, that path would lead to the Plains of Dust.

“Yes, the shorter way you spoke of before.” Grallik gestured west, and the hobgoblin followed his gesture with his eyes, sweeping the shoreline. “It is not impossible, Foreman. Difficult, oh yes, very difficult. But it is not impossible. Not if-”

Just then, at the edge of his vision far down the shoreline, Direfang made out the silhouettes of buildings and ships.

“Mudwort!” the hobgoblin stood and called. “Mudwort, be fast!”

“Yes,” Grallik said, noticing Direfang’s concern. “You’d best move these goblins back behind the trees. Wouldn’t do for a ship to see thousands of goblins so close to that town. Might spook the people and rouse whatever passes for a local militia. You don’t need a fight. Oh, you very well could conquer the town with these numbers, but then trouble would come looking for you.”

Direfang yelled again for Mudwort. Eventually, she came out of the water and drew near. He pointed to her pouches. The red-skinned goblin bristled; her pouches were none of the hobgoblin’s business.

“Give me one,” he barked.

“Direfang notices too much,” Mudwort hissed. She untied a pouch, the one she guessed had the faceted blue stones in it. She liked the uncut ones better. “Here.” She tossed the pouch, which was sodden, to him.

“One more,” he said. “Hand it over.”

She growled but complied, again giving him one with faceted stones.

“The rest belong to Mudwort, probably,” Direfang said.

Her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed to thin slits, showing her displeasure. They all belonged to Mudwort was the way she looked at it, and Direfang only got what she gave to him.

The wizard watched the exchange with undisguised fascination. Direfang opened one of the sodden pouches and took out one of cut stones. He showed it to the wizard before putting it back in the pouch and addressing Mudwort. “You want to go to the Qualinesti Forest, don’t you? Getting there will cost these gems.”

Direfang passed the sodden pouches to the wizard. “Men value these. Tell me, then: Is this enough to pay for passage on a ship for everyone? For three thousand?”

“It will take more than one ship.” The wizard opened the two pouches and could not hide his astonishment at the number and variety of stones. The wet gems caught the morning light and sparkled. “But yes, these should be enough,” he said, knowing full well it was far more than enough. “Enough for passage and supplies. See, Foreman? I told you it was not impossible.”

“Supplies.” Direfang nodded. “Passage and much food. It will take an awful lot of food.” The hobgoblin paused. “And this passage you speak of …”

Grallik rubbed at his chin and hefted the pouches filled with stones. “Foreman, I will have to go to the town and make the arrangements; I will have to bring the ships to you. It wouldn’t do for three thousand goblins to march into that town and-”

Boliver came up, slogging toward the three of them, eyeing Direfang. He caught on quickly; he knew the human tongue, having learned it by listening in Steel Town, as Direfang had.

“Direfang, the wizard and the skull man cannot be trusted to go into that town.” Boliver drew in a deep breath and looked to the shore, where Saro-Saro was still huddled with his clansmen. “The wizard and the skull man will escape from us and-”

Mudwort tapped Boliver on the arm. “The wizard- Grallik-will return, Boliver. I know this. He has his reasons to return.” She looked hard at Grallik, who nodded.

“I promise to return,” Grallik said.

“The wizard has to come back,” Mudwort added softly to Boliver, “because the wizard wants to learn stone magic.”

Boliver raised an eyebrow, still looking dubious.

“The skull man will stay here with us,” Direfang commanded. “Only the wizard goes. Another reason for him to return, loyalty to his friend.” He glanced at Mudwort, seeking some approval of his strategy.

“Already told you, Direfang,” she huffed. “The wizard will come back. The wizard will arrange passage and lots of food.” She touched her ragged tunic. “And clothes, Grallik. Passage and food and clothes. Make sure that you bring a lot of clothes.”

“These blue gems will buy those things.” He gently shook the pouches.

“Yes, clothes,” Horace agreed. He had silently joined them, the priest’s bare chest glistening. The water on his face had dried, leaving behind traces of salty white powder. “I should be the one who goes into the town, you know. I am more familiar with ships and sailors-and with contracts. I am certain-”

“But the wizard is willing to go,” Direfang said. “And he has the best reasons to return. Mudwort believes that.”

“Indeed,” Grallik said. He drew his head back and watched a V of birds flying east toward the mountains. “I will go right away. Perhaps I will be able to return by this evening,” Grallik said. “If I have managed to find suitable ships by then.”

Direfang growled. “Need those ships right away, wizard.”

Grallik shook his head. “I said I would bring the ships to you, but I don’t think that’s a wise thing to do in daylight. First I’ll make the arrangements.” His gaze swept over the many goblins who still bobbed in the shallows. “Too many ships on the sea then, too many eyes in that port. You will have to trust my judgment.”

Direfang snorted but said nothing.

“Meanwhile,” suggested Horace, following Grallik’s eyes, “perhaps we should retreat to the cover of trees.”

Boliver spoke up harshly. “No. Leave the goblins in the sea while the Gray Robe is gone. Leave them in as long as they can stand it, Foreman Direfang. Until their skin looks withered like prunes and they can’t feel their toes. Let us hope the water washes away the plague. But they are happy now. Let them be happy. Leave them in until ships come this way and force them to hide.”

“Yes, happy goblins,” said Mudwort, who was already tired of their tedious discussion. “That is good.”

Direfang nodded, looking over toward Saro-Saro, who still refused to enter the water. He was closer at that time and couldn’t help but notice that the goblin had a black spot on the underside of one arm, and a bump was forming on his neck.