The Rebellion

18

Kill the Dark Knights before the Dark Knights kill Spikehollow!” Spikehollow called. “Before the Dark Knights kill Brak!” “For water!” Folami cried. “For lots of water!” “Beautiful water!” Direfang ran straight toward the center pen, where the Dark Knight guards were lining up to fight the attackers. One yelled a warning to the rest of the camp, then led the others charging the hobgoblin.

Direfang slashed wildly at the first knight-no skill behind his swing, but a considerable amount of strength. All the years toiling in the mine had given Direfang powerful arms, and when he connected with the Dark Knight’s waist, he cut through the chain mail and severed the man’s spine.

The hobgoblin was so surprised at the effectiveness of the blow that he froze, letting the other knights dart in and surround him. They would have skewered him too, had the rest of Direfang’s army not caught up and swarmed them.

Like Direfang, the goblins and hobgoblins boasted no skill with their weapons, and unlike him, they’d never paid much attention to the Dark Knights’ drilling. But their numbers overwhelmed the small group of knights. The goblins knocked the soldiers to the ground without suffering much injury to themselves, and proceeded to drop their weapons and tear at the knights’ faces and necks with their teeth and claws. Some goblins wielding long knives stabbed at the knights, over and over until their own leathery hides were soaked and coated with Dark Knight blood.

In the midst of the melee, Direfang was facing off against one knight, ducking beneath the powerful swing of the man’s sword. The steel whistled in the sulfur-filled air. When the knight brought the weapon around a second time, Direfang thrust his own sword forward clumsily, just grazing him. But the strength behind the blow surprised the knight, and Direfang kicked at his legs until he toppled.

Dropping his sword, Direfang leaped on the knight, tearing at the man’s black tabard and chain coif, pulling them both free and pounding on the knight’s face. He pounded and pounded until the bones broke and the man had no face left, was just a mushy, distorted form with broken, protruding teeth and bare skin slick with blood.

Direfang had never killed a person before that day, but within a few minutes he’d sliced through one man and brutally slain another. His savageness ought to bother him, he thought, but he didn’t feel any emotion except pleasure. He rose from the second man’s body and picked up his sword then bent and grabbed the knight’s sword too. A few steps ahead of him was another knight, and the hobgoblin jabbed at the man with both blades, shoving forward and piercing the man’s chest.

The goblins were hooting and howling, and by then the entire camp was alerted. Direfang was annoyed that his plan had been subverted so quickly. He’d intended to ambush the knights guarding the slaves, quickly and silently, release the slaves, steal all the water and other provisions they could find in a hurry, and make their escape.

That plan was ruined. Yet all the knights who had been guarding the pens were dead or dying. The goblins were hopping over the bodies and pushing, like a wave crashing, against the rebuilt, makeshift pen that was so rickety it was already swaying. Direfang watched as his goblins smashed it down and yelled at their freed fellows, urging them to run east. The shouts turned angry when most slaves simply stood dumbstruck and refused to move.

“Magic!” It was Mudwort. Direfang spotted her perched atop a still-standing post, waving to him and shouting. “The skull men used magic to deaden minds! The goblins are rooted like trees to this place. Their minds are magicked.”

Direfang leaped over fallen knights, slicing open throats as he went just to make sure that some of the moaning, groaning ones would surely die. Then he pressed through the swarm of goblins until he was at the broken pen, knocking a few entranced slaves aside to reach Mudwort.

“Why come back?” The shaman cocked her head and gave the hobgoblin a stern look, yet with a faint smile and grateful relief showing in her eyes. “Come back for Mudwort?”

“Water,” he said, shaking his head, unwilling, even now, to declare his friendship. “Came back for water. For all the goblins and for food. Came back for those things.”

She grabbed his arm and climbed on his shoulders, her legs straddling his neck. “Water there.” She put her hands on either side of his head and forcibly turned his gaze. “Thirsty, Direfang. So very, very thirsty. The shattered well is new again and filled with sweet-smelling water.”

Direfang growled softly. He knew where the well was, he’d stacked a ring of stones around the place. But the stones had been tossed away by the second quake, and all around the area, goblins were frantically digging.

“Well collapsed,” she explained. “Broken. The quake destroyed the rest of this place along with the well. Everything is broken. Destroyed the insides of the mountain too, the quake did.” Her voice was gleeful. “And there.” She turned his head again so he could see a row of benches loaded with jars and skins. “Things to carry the very sweet water.”

“Lots of things to carry lots of water.” Direfang smiled at the thought of bringing water to Moon-eye and Graytoes, and even to Saro-Saro and Hurbear. But first they would have to fight more knights, as dozens came running from various posts around Steel Town, all in arm and leading with their swords.

“Wait here,” Direfang said quickly, setting Mudwort down and shouting to the goblins to turn around and meet their nemeses.

Many of the knights were spent, Direfang could tell, their faces dirty and haggard. Still, they looked fierce and determined. Yet the goblin army was surging with energy, all their pent-up hate boiling over and erupting. All but the hobgoblins had dropped the long swords. But many of the goblins had snapped up knives and daggers from the blood-splashed Dark Knight bodies. Those knives were out and flashing as the goblins rushed to meet the knights, and even more, teeth and claws viciously ready for the hated humans.

The first row of goblins fell screaming as the organized and well-drilled knights cleaved through them like farmers cutting down wheat. But before the knights could draw their swords back for second blows, the second and third line of goblins engulfed them. Direfang watched the knights gasp with surprised exclamations of pain, their spurts of blood filling the sulfur-laced air. The quakes had beaten the knights down, and exhaustion added to their misery. They weren’t the same hardened troops who had ruled Steel Town before.

The knights’ feeble attempts to regroup were soon drowned out by their screams and the whoops and shrieks of the goblins. Even Direfang howled in a frenzy. He ran toward the south slave pen, where goblins were clawing and pounding without weapons at the exposed faces of fallen knights. But they showed a discipline lacking in the first battle. They beat one knight after another senseless, but moved on quickly to other foes after making certain each victim was dead.

It was a good, strong army Direfang had assembled.

“Most have muddled minds, Direfang.” Mudwort had followed him and was there at his side, pointing to the slaves in the pen area. They milled there with blank expressions and dull, empty eyes that didn’t seem to notice the battle. “Most won’t leave. Muddled minds won’t let the feet move.”

But the few who had resisted the Skull Knights’ spell were moving, some joining Direfang’s army, others fleeing east.

“Hold tight, Mudwort.” Direfang placed her up on his shoulders again and rejoined the fray as still more knights materialized and advanced toward the struggle. With Mudwort shouting and pointing to aid him, he swept both swords up and down, as he’d seen the knights do, clearing out a line of knights who had targeted him as a leader.

One knight managed to step past his weapons and slice the hobgoblin’s left arm. Direfang reflexively dropped one sword and pulled his wounded arm in close, lurching and nearly unseating Mudwort. But at the same time he brought his right arm around with as much strength as he could summon, the sword cutting through the knight’s chain shirt and plunging deep into his shoulder. The blade was lodged there for only a moment, then Direfang pulled hard to free it. Then he brought the sword down again, cutting the man deeply on his head and finally kicking out and bringing him to his knees, weaponless. Before Direfang could finish him, goblins swarmed the fallen knight and started clawing him.

“Could have done this long before,” Mudwort said, leaning toward one ear. “Gone after the Dark Knights to win freedom. Should have done this long before. Why not before now?”

“Before there were wards and pillars of flame,” Direfang answered. “Before there were more knights and less willpower.”

“Yes, and before the ground did not shake.” Mudwort agreed, resting her chin on the top of Direfang’s head as the space cleared out around them and the fighting moved on.

“This place is ruined now,” Direfang said, looking around in satisfaction at his rabid army. “So are the knights. Came back for water, supplies, and other goblins and you. But didn’t plan a victory … a total victory, like this.”

Perhaps one-third of the Dark Knight soldiers had been killed by the first quake, with one-third wounded, and only one-third unhurt. That was what Direfang had heard someone say to the wizard. And that was long hours ago, before the second quake. The second quake had been every bit as powerful as the first, perhaps worse, so the knights were further weakened.

The whole camp could be taken by his ragtag army, Direfang suddenly knew, though at some loss to his force.

“Water!” the hobgoblin shouted, reminding his army of their first goal. He shouted and shouted the word until he couldn’t speak. He sorely needed water himself. His legs burned terribly. His left arm pained him too, from where he’d been cut.

The hobgoblin felt a stickiness down his side and realized it was blood dripping from his arm. He couldn’t focus on his wounds right then, however, as he spotted three knights heading toward the well, one of them the hated skull man who had magically ripped away Graytoes’ youngling.

Mudwort was shouting something and pointing, but he shut her out of his mind and charged the trio, feet pounding behind him to let him know he had plenty of bloodthirsty company. He nearly tripped in his haste, crashing over a fallen knight, but somehow managed to keep his footing and lead with his sword as though it were a pike. Mudwort clung to him.

The Skull Knight, looking sickly pale in the light from lanterns scattered unevenly around Steel Town, turned and squarely faced Direfang, seeming to recognize the once-loyal foreman who had led the slave escape. The Skull Knight moved his hands as though he were weaving lace. A silvery blue glow arced out and struck the hobgoblin in the chest.

“End this fight,” the Skull Knight proclaimed. It was Siggith, the priest who had earlier helped charm the goblin slaves into staying in camp, and who before that had murdered Graytoes’s baby. “Tell your pitiful soldiers to surrender! Yield to peace, and we will feed you and keep you safe!”

The words sounded so pretty and soothing, they begged to be heeded. Direfang wanted to obey, hear more of the sweet words.

“Steel Town is the only place you’ll be safe, hobgoblin. Safe from the ogres and minotaurs. Steel Town is home!”

The Skull Knight’s voice wrapped around him like a soft blanket, and Direfang froze in hesitation.

“We will keep all of you safe,” Siggith continued.

The silvery blue fingers of light jumped from Direfang to spread to the goblins behind him and closest around him.

“End this fight and find peace, hobgoblin. Embrace peace, all of you. Drop the blades and rest. Welcome home.”

Direfang’s right arm dropped. “Find peace,” the hobgoblin parroted dully. “Peace. Safety. Home.”