The Rebellion

15

Direfang had not run so far or so fast since his youth, not since those days long ago, before he was captured by a band of minotaurs braving ogre lands and was sold to the Dark Knights. Once the ground stopped trembling and he was certain the quake was past, he still ran hard and fast, with all the strength he could summon. The ground was relatively flat there, and the sky was clearing, though there were still clouds, especially to the west, where Steel Town and the mine were behind him. Dawn was still hours away, but the lightening sky made it easy for him to avoid holes and cracks in the earth and the rocks that lay strewn in his path.

His legs were much longer than the goblins’. They couldn’t keep up with him, and he had long since passed them by and stopped worrying about tripping over them. He still cradled Graytoes, and she still whimpered to him about Moon-eye.

“Stop, Direfang. Find Moon. Please.”

He kept running, offering her no reply, wanting nothing more than to put more distance between himself and Steel Town.

He heard voices strung out behind him, goblins arguing about how long it would take before the Dark Knights would ride out on their surviving horses and search for them.

“Long while,” a goblin with a high-pitched voice declared.

Direfang agreed with that sentiment. Though slaves were crucial to the operation of their detested camp, the second quake had caused enough problems in Steel Town to keep the knights and their horses busy back there for some time.

So Direfang continued to run, stretching his legs and delighting in the dull aches that centered in his thighs and in the backs of his calves. His legs had not been tested in that manner for years. His side began to ache after a while, and he held his right arm close to one side while at the same time making sure he kept a good grip on Graytoes.

The young goblin wouldn’t stop babbling about her missing mate. Still, Direfang ignored her, kept running.

Foothills loomed ahead to the northeast, where he was heading. There were ogres in those hills-there were ogres in many parts of Neraka-but he intended to hunker down there long enough to rest and think and talk with any of the other goblins who had kept up with him and who wanted to keep following his lead. He would seek Mudwort’s counsel in the foothills. He would linger there so she could catch up.

Behind him, sounding like a chorus of whispers because the pounding of his feet and the pounding in his ears were so loud, he faintly heard the frightened calls of goblins and hobgoblins. When the cries diminished and became so soft that he could no longer hear them, he finally slowed his pace and looked over his shoulder. The horde of slaves looked like a brown wave rolling toward him, dirt billowing around their feet, but none moved very fast anymore. He saw two small ones in front stumble and watched as they were trampled by their fellows.

Finally, with a deep sigh of weariness, Direfang stopped and waited for the wave of escaping goblins to reach him.

So many had fled from Steel Town that their movement sounded like a thundering herd. Direfang closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply and registering the scents of blood-Graytoes’ and his own. But the sweet air didn’t carry a hint of the odor of burned corpses. He didn’t smell humans either-the Dark Knights and the laborers and their children. The scent of men was not particularly offensive to him, but he rejoiced in its absence. He opened his mouth and tipped his head back, howling in glee and inhaling deeply again and again as the thunder of goblin feet drew closer.

Within moments, his howls were echoed by the mass of goblins who yelled and screamed with joy to be free of their terrible labor camp. After a few moments, however, several goblins shouted to be heard above the others, one finally successful in catching the crowd’s collective attention.

“Quiet!” screamed a pale gray-brown goblin called Spikehollow. “The Dark Knights will hear! The ogres will hear!” He jumped up and down and finally climbed up on the shoulders of a stocky goblin of a similar coloring. “Quiet!”

The throng fell silent, though there were still murmurs from some. They circled closer to Direfang. The hobgoblin guessed there were maybe a thousand goblins there, maybe half of the slaves who had survived the quakes. He tried to spot Moon-eye, Saro-Saro, and Mudwort, but there were simply too many to sort through. And though the stars were shining down through gaps in the clouds, the goblins were like one thick mass. Direfang didn’t recognize any of those he looked for.

“Where do the clans go now, Direfang?” The question came from Spikehollow. His voice was raspy, having used all his energy running and shouting. The question was instantly repeated by other goblins nearby, acknowledging Direfang’s leadership.

“Moon-eye, where?” Graytoes craned her neck over Direfang’s shoulder, trying to locate her mate.

“South, maybe,” Direfang answered Spikehollow. “Maybe all the clans should go south. But right now, let’s head to those foothills to the east to rest and plan. Later, south …”

“Graytoes!” It was Moon-eye, alive, trying to push his way through the crowd of goblins, but not many knew him or were willingly giving him room to pass. “Moon-eye’s Heart!”

“South?” Spikehollow asked. “Why not south now?”

“To safety first.” Direfang growled and turned east again, forcing his way through the goblins who had gathered around him and starting to run again as the way cleared. Graytoes called for her mate and tugged at Direfang’s hair, begging him to stop so she could rejoin Moon-eye. The hobgoblin snarled, more crossly than he had intended, but did not answer her. Moon-eye was alive; he would follow. There would be time for a reunion when they reached the foothills. At that moment, he wanted more distance from the Dark Knight camp.

Cracks were evident in the ground even a few miles away from Steel Town, showing that the quake damage was not limited to the camp and the mine. In one place a wide crevice sliced through the land, looking like an ugly, jagged scar and causing Direfang to slow his pace and alert the huge crowd running behind him. Beyond the crevice, the landscape was chewed up raggedly, reminding the hobgoblin of Steel Town’s garden when it had been freshly tilled. Large rocks protruded there, sharp looking and dirt covered, suggesting they’d been buried until the quake thrust them upward.

The uneven, treacherous terrain would slow any pursuing Dark Knights, Direfang reflected. It certainly slowed him. When he finally made his way past the worst of it, he picked up the pace again. He was unfamiliar with the land that far east and had no idea if there was water running somewhere in the vicinity. But water was what he was looking and smelling for.

What plants there were in that area were stunted. A lone tree to the north was thick-limbed but looked dead. The hobgoblin desperately needed a drink of water, and he knew that the rest of the escaped slaves were just as thirsty. After he reached the foothills, he’d post some lookouts for the Dark Knights, ogres, minotaurs, and anything that might pose a threat. Then he’d search in earnest for water and go back and find Mudwort. He wanted the shaman goblin to talk to the earth again and see if any more quakes were coming.

Maybe, too, he thought, Mudwort could talk to the earth and ask it where water could be found. Why not?

Direfang’s feet were bleeding by the time he reached the first slope. His soles were thick from working in the mine but not thick enough to protect him against needle-sharp fragments of shattered rocks that were everywhere on the ground. He climbed up several feet and sat down with a great huff, gently resting Graytoes next to him and waiting for the rest to catch up. From his higher vantage point, he could tell that not all of the escaped slaves had followed him.

Some had fled south, scattering. Others were traveling north, where the mountains were steeper. But well more than half of the escaped slaves were coming his way. He intended to climb higher as soon as he caught his breath. He wanted to climb high enough so he could overlook Steel Town.

That was still too close to the camp to suit him.

As he peered for Mudwort, Graytoes searched the advancing line of goblins for Moon-eye. She didn’t whimper for him anymore, apparently satisfied that she’d spotted him once and was certain he was alive and would eventually find her. She put her hands on her stomach and looked up gratefully at Direfang.

“Hate the skull man,” she said. “Hate the Dark Knights.”

Direfang nodded. “It is fine to hate the knights. It is a good hate, Graytoes.”

The air filled with whoops and shouts of joy when the goblins and hobgoblins arrived. They’d forgotten Spikehollow’s warning about the Dark Knights and the ogres and felt like celebrating. They seemed to have forgotten everything in their unfamiliar exuberance. Spikehollow tried to quiet them again, but his efforts were wasted.

Direfang buried his head in his hands and waited for the ruckus to subside. Indeed, the ogres would hear those shouts, if there were any nearby, and perhaps they would come to investigate. But unless there was a small army of them, they could do nothing against so many determined, escaped slaves.

“Safe for the time. Safe away from the knights. Safety in numbers,” Direfang muttered to himself. “Strong in these numbers. Safe and strong and not stoppable.”

An idea began to form.

The hobgoblin patiently waited several long minutes until the celebration died down. The lack of water played a part in the quieting, as many of the goblins became hoarse and rubbed at their throats. He heard murmurs of “water,” “free,” “Dark Knights,” and words he couldn’t distinguish.

Moon-eye had found his way to the front. The one-eyed goblin was battered and bleeding, and Direfang noticed that quite a few of those in the front rank were injured too, not only from the quake, but from bumping and clawing each other in their mad dash away from Steel Town. Moon-eye scampered up the rise, put his arm around Graytoes, pulled her close, smoothed at her face with his free hand, and sang to her, an old tune Direfang had heard in his youth. It was the only one Moon-eye seemed to know-the song he had been singing when Direfang and Mudwort found the couple in the mine. Moon-eye’s voice quieted the goblins in the front of the throng.

High sun on the dry, high ground

On goblins it shines white-bright

Chases away the bad shadows

Chases away the deep night

Late sun on the Sirrion Sea

Turns it a sparkling gold

Signals a hunt for all goblins

Keeps out the hurtful, deep cold

Moon glows pale and soft pearly

Yet goblins have no time to rest

Moon calls the dark of the evening

When the night bird leaves the nest

Low sun in the warm valleys

All goblins watch the orange sky

Looking for shadows of ogres

Knowing the time’s come to die

There were more verses, but Moon-eye’s voice dropped, singing only to Graytoes. But occasionally he looked up and met the gazes of the goblins closest to Direfang.

Saro-Saro was there, wheezing from the effort of running. Hurbear stood next to him, gasping and clutching at himself, alternating between his chest and his throat. The old, yellow-skinned goblin bent his knees, leaned forward, and made a noise as if he were retching, though nothing came out.

Direfang was surprised that Hurbear had made it that far from the Dark Knight camp. Hurbear’s legs had so often given him trouble going up and down the mountain trail to the mine.

“Free!” Saro-Saro shouted when Moon-eye was done singing. The word was picked up and repeated by the others, some loudly, some in a normal tone, until it sounded like a chant.

“The ogres!” Spikehollow shouted, finally managing to be heard. Again, he perched on the shoulders of a clansman, so the others could see him. “Quiet or the ogres will hear! Or the Dark Knights will hear! Dark Knights will come and catch Hurbear and Saro-Saro and Graytoes. The knights will-”

“No more knights! No more slavery!” Direfang said, standing, and they all hushed to listen to his words. The hobgoblin felt a little uncomfortable, seeing all of them looking up at him, some holding their breath as if they expected him to say something memorable and momentous.

“Listen to Direfang,” Saro-Saro said.

“South,” Direfang announced. “Stay together, stay safe, then go south.”

“But the ogres?” one of the goblins worried aloud.

“And the minotaurs and the Dark Knights,” Direfang added. “Dangerous, all of those creatures, and men.”

“What about dragons?” That comment came from someone in Spikehollow’s clan. “Dragons are bad. Saw a dragon to the north once. There could be dragons to the south.”

“Could be dragons anywhere,” an old goblin added.

“Everything dies sooner or later,” Hurbear said. “So Direfang says south, and to the south the clans will go.” He set his fists against his waist and nodded, signaling his approval of Direfang’s plan. “Hurbear’s clan will go south with Direfang. The better air is to the south. Better to breathe away from the Dark Knights.”

“What lives to the south?” Moon-eye asked. His clan was originally from the northwest, and he’d never been farther south than Steel Town. “More Dark Knights? More ogres?”

“More dragons?” another asked.

“What lives to the south, Direfang?” Moon-eye persisted. “What sort of creatures?”

“Yes, what lies to the south?” Spikehollow interrupted.

They waited for Direfang to reassure them. He said nothing.

“Freedom!” Graytoes answered. “Blessed freedom lies to the south.”

They all nodded, murmuring to each other.

“Sleep first?” Hurbear wondered. “Or find water first?”

Direfang shook his head. “Ceremony first,” he declared. “Honor the dead burned this night in Steel Town. Then tomorrow, head south, find food and water along the way.”

Hurbear cleared his throat and pushed gently at the goblins near him. When he had a little clear space around him, he began. “The shell destroyed, fire cleansed, the spirit reborn.” Hurbear made a fist and placed it over his heart.

“Spirits reborn!” the goblins near him repeated. Brak and Folami thumped their bellies with the flats of their hands then started up a drumlike cadence joined by many of the others.

Hurbear raised his arms, fingers spread wide, and he turned west, pointing. “Spirits fly above Steel Town. Above pain. Above the great sad. Above clans left behind. Above all things.” He repeated the message as he turned in a circle, nodding to each of the compass points. “The passing comes to all goblins. The passing came to …”

“The child of Moon-eye and Graytoes.” Again, it was Direfang, claiming the right to speak first.

The remembrances continued for nearly an hour, judging by the position of the stars they could see and the continued lightening of the sky. While the goblins shared the memories of their many dead friends, Direfang only half paid attention. He climbed down from the rise and walked among them, looking for faces familiar to him, eyes locking on the red-skinned goblins in particular. There was no sign of Mudwort, so when the ceremony was finished, he returned to the rise so he could stand and be seen above the crowd.

“Where is Mudwort?” he finally asked, hoping that she finally would be found and come forward.

Her name was passed back through the crowd, and some of the goblins chattered about her.

“Mad, that one is.”

“Knew about the quake. Warned knights and goblins, Mudwort did. So not mad, mind not so sour.”

“Mind not spoiled and rotten.”

“Free because of the quake, free because of Mudwort.”

“Caught in Steel Town,” one finally answered. An oak brown goblin strode forward. He boasted a crooked nose and a thick, pale scar running across his forehead. “Gnasher of the Fish-Eater Clan,” he announced himself. “Saw Mudwort caught. The Dark Knight spell-weaver called forth a great wall of flame, hot as any death-fire. Mudwort dug beneath the fire wall and helped Twitch escape, but then Mudwort was caught.”

Another goblin came over. Her skin was the same hue, but more deeply scarred; she was of Gnasher’s clan. “Saw that too.” She thumped her chest for emphasis. “The wall of flame, it killed many slaves, but not so many as the quakes did. Maybe Mudwort died inside the wall of flame. Should have honored Mudwort in the ceremony. Could honor Mudwort now.”

Direfang’s aches and exhaustion all worsened in that moment, as if he’d been hit in the stomach by a mailed fist. “Mudwort is caught.” He wanted her counsel, needed her to help guide them out of Dark Knight territory by talking to the earth and discovering what stretched beyond the mountains to the south. And he needed her to find water. Mudwort was his friend, the wisest goblin he knew. And though he was free of Steel Town and did not want to go back there, neither did he want to leave her there if she had survived and was still alive. Without his protection, the knights might take revenge on her. And without her wisdom, he wondered how long he would last.

“How many more caught besides Mudwort?” Direfang wondered aloud, the half who did not race to follow him?

“Many. Lots,” Gnasher answered firmly. “Lots and lots caught behind the great wall of flame. Lots and lots left behind, still slaves. Lots were burned in the great wall of flame. Lots of slaves screamed and burned and died.”

“Slaves no more!” Saro-Saro waved his arm to get the assembly’s attention. “Freedom lies to the south. The better air is to the south. Forget the unfortunate left behind.”

“South now?” Brak and Folami asked in unison.

Direfang didn’t answer. He was listening to the faint call of a hunting bird and the soft growl of a big cat prowling in the hills above him. He registered the feel of the ground against the bottoms of his feet, the wild ground, different from Steel Town. The wind stirred the hair on the back of his neck and spun his own redolent scent around him.

He shook his head after several moments. “South, yes, but not now. First, return to Steel Town to rescue Mudwort and the others. Water and food are plentiful in Steel Town. Clothes and foot coverings too. Things must be stolen. Better that goblins have those good things than men keep it all.”

Most stared in shocked disbelief at the hobgoblin. A few spat and shook their heads as if he were mad. It had taken so much of their willpower just to reach that point of safety. To return to Steel Town was absurdity, lunacy.

“Slaves once, slaves no more,” Folami snarled. “Not go back to the slave place ever, ever again, Direfang. No reason to go back there now, ever. Forget the ones left behind.”

“Too tired to go back!” Brak agreed. “Too dark. Too tired, and so forget all the others.”

The growl of the big cat sounded again, more distant. The hunting bird shrieked again.

“The Dark Knights have weapons!” Saro-Saro protested. “The knights’ numbers are less now, but the weapons are sharp. The weapons kill. Saro-Saro will not go back to that bad, bad place. None should ever go back.”

Direfang let the protests continue for a few minutes more, then he waved his arms and demanded their attention.

“This time goblins will have weapons too,” Direfang proclaimed. “Plenty of weapons to fight the Dark Knights. So it is back to Steel Town for needed friends and needed things. It would be wrong to let the Dark Knights have any slaves, wrong to leave goblins behind.” He puffed out his chest, feeling important with the words. “Without any slaves, the mines and the town will be crippled-neither will be rebuilt. So go to Steel Town before the knights gain reinforcements, before the knights can rest and tend their wounds, before the knights rebuild the slave pens. There is no better time to strike at the Dark Knights than now. Defeat the knights, then go south to freedom, where the air is better.”

The escaped slaves stared mutely, not one nodding in agreement.