The Rebellion

31

The hobgoblin led the army south along a mountain path that wrapped down and away from the ogre village. The trail was narrow, so only three goblins could walk abreast. To their left, the mountainside rose up at a steep angle and disappeared into a billowing mass of gray clouds. Tugging cows along the trail proved difficult, but the goblins coaxed and pulled their tasty livestock along the side of the trail closest to the mountain. The western edge fell away with the slope to a narrow valley filled with jagged spires.

Direfang would have preferred a faster pace, but he’d been pushing the limit with the army for hours, and many of the goblins and hobgoblins carried packs and satchels filled with treasures and food, and jugs and skins filled with water.

Just how long they’d been marching before he announced a rest, he wasn’t certain. There’d been no break in the gray cloud cover, so he couldn’t judge the passing of time from the sun. There’d been no change in the air since they’d left. It was still warm, and the slight breeze carried some dust or irritant that continued to burn his eyes. He allowed only a few minutes’ rest before he urged the army back to its feet.

The longer they were on the road, the more he grew certain that the clouds were unnatural, an omen perhaps-with a frown, he wondered if the omen might be caused by the Dark Knights. He’d never seen such a gray sky before, and there had been no change in more than a day-just unending gray, not a cloud smelling of water, and all the world smelling dry.

It was Dark Knight sorcery, perhaps. After all, he himself had seen the wizard call down columns of flame. The smoky sky might not be beyond him, his coming to join the goblins a ruse.

The ground shook, not so strong as to impede the progress of Direfang and the others on the trail, but enough to worry even the most dull-witted goblin. Rocks tumbled down, pelting everyone and spooking the livestock. Stone dust fell too, making a gentle, almost pleasant, sound. But when the ground shook again, longer, the dust and dirt that rained down from the mountain above was thick and choking.

Direfang doubled over, coughs wracking him. Mudwort was on Erguth’s shoulders, the pair of them right behind Direfang. Erguth leaned against the slope, struggling to breathe. Behind them other goblins and hobgoblins coughed too. They dropped their packs and grabbed for water skins.

“Bring the wizard up,” Direfang managed to shout. He turned and looked through the filtering dust, seeing Crelb and gesturing. “Now! Bring the wizard and do it now!” He leaned over farther, breathing deeply, but found the air no better near the ground.

Mudwort climbed off Erguth’s shoulders, waving her arms. “Direfang, don’t stop, move faster! There should be no stopping here. Move away from this mountain and the other one. Get to new land.” She thrust a finger to the west, where a glowing red ribbon cut through the gray. “Direfang, this mountain and the other one are-” When the ground shook a third time, the screams of goblins and the squeals of animals drowned her out. Some goblins fell off the side of the trail, tumbling down the slope and disappearing into a haze of dirt and stone dust that rose in puffs from the valley below.

Another shaking made Mudwort herself stumble, nearly slipping off the side of the trail. Her fingers grabbed the dirt, sinking in, and she pressed her face against the stone. She breathed shallowly and held tight as Crelb pushed past her, dragging the wizard. After a moment she climbed to a safer spot and held her ear to the ground, listening.

“I can do nothing against this sort of disaster, hob-” Grallik began to say as Crelb shoved him forward. The wizard stumbled into Direfang, who was standing straight. The hobgoblin grabbed the wizard around the shoulders. “Foreman Direfang, I cannot stop the mountain from shaking.”

“The sky, Grallik!”

The wizard looked surprised that the hobgoblin had called him by his name.

“Look to the sky and tell me what is responsible for this darkness. Did Dark Knight magic do this?” Direfang snarled the question before nearly doubling over again with coughing. “Grallik, what is responsible for the damnable, dark sky?”

The wizard was wracked with coughing too. He grabbed the neckline of his shift and raised it to cover his nose and mouth. “Not my magic, Direfang. I’m not so powerful that I could do this, and I know of no wizard who could. A god, maybe. Perhaps we’ve all caught the attention of Chislev or-”

Direfang’s snarl turned into a roar. “The gods! Never did the gods help goblinkind, Grallik. So goblins do not recognize the gods. No god is responsible. And if not a wizard …”

“Another earthquake.” The voice belonged to the priest Horace. Brak had led the Skull Knight up the trail.

Brak gave a small, tight smile. “Direfang wanted the wizard, figured Direfang might want the skull man too.” Brak’s shoulders shook when he broke into a coughing fit.

Dust billowed all around them, as if the dry clouds had settled to the ground. The plink and plop of rocks skittering down the slope drowned out the fearful murmur of the goblins.

“A quake would not so darken the sky, would it, priest?” Direfang spoke loud enough to be heard by the many others around him. Then he cupped his hand over his mouth and nose, filtering some of the dust out. “Zeboim would not darken the sky either, eh, Grallik, priest? So what is responsible?”

When the priest shrugged indifferently, Direfang spun and gestured for the others to follow him south on the trail, knowing that while his long strides would make it difficult for the goblins to keep up, it would also urge them to go faster.

The trail trembled against the soles of his feet, rocks biting into them and adding to the hobgoblin’s misery. There was no end to the rumbling as the army scurried behind its leader. Words of panic and the frightened bleats of animals filled the air. Occasional screams cut through the hubbub as goblins slid off the trail and shot over the side.

Mudwort labored to keep up with Direfang, practically running and gasping as she finally closed in on the long-striding hobgoblin. “Wait! Listen, Direfang. Listen!”

He slowed only to pick her up and set her on his shoulders. She wrapped her arms around his neck, then she held her face to the back of his head, finding it easier to talk with the air not quite so dusty against his scalp.

“Listen to the growling, Direfang!” She moved her lips close to one ear. “The mountains growl like maddened bears. Rabid and hungry, the mountains taunt each other. Goblins are caught in the argument between the mountains, Direfang. Goblins will die to the mountains’ venomous bickering!”

The hobgoblin frowned, trying to figure out just what Mudwort was saying. He wasn’t sure even she knew exactly.

“This quake is longer than the ones before, Mudwort,” he replied stoically. “This quake seems to follow us and does not stop. This is not like what happened at Steel Town.”

She thumped her heels against his chest, as a rider would knee a horse to get it to go faster. “This is not a quake, Direfang. The quakes started this argument, though. Listened a moment ago to the earth. Listened to the earth explain that the quakes from days ago woke up the mountains.”

He slowed but only a little, wanting to be able to hear her a little better. He knew better than to ignore her words.

“The mountains woke up, still tired, Direfang. Cranky and mean, the mountains shake now and spit smoke into the sky. The mountains’ bellies are filled with fire.” She moved her hands to the sides of the hobgoblin’s head and forced him to turn his gaze slightly. “The river of red over there … that mountain belched it up. This mountain will-”

The trail bucked beneath them, cracks appearing everywhere. Goblins screamed and called for those in front to run faster.

Grallik and Horace yelled too.

Direfang dropped the satchel he was carrying, raised his hands, and grabbed Mudwort’s legs to keep her from falling off. Then he broke into a reckless run, dodging rocks bouncing down the slope and gasping in the dirt-thick air. Goblins and hobgoblins raced behind them, their screams trailing off as they toppled over the side. He wanted to look behind him to see who had been lost, but the air was filled with a brown dust fog, and he couldn’t see more than a foot or two in front of his face. He heard a strangled “moo” and a shower of rocks, followed by another and another. He suspected the goblins were pushing the cows and other livestock over the edge because the animals were clogging the trail.

“Knew a mountain would break, Direfang. Should have said something earlier. Did not think it would be this mountain.”

It was difficult to hear Mudwort over the groaning mountain and the screams of the goblins and hobgoblins behind them.

“The earth did not say it would be this one. The earth gave no warning the ogre village was not safe. The earth is tricky.”

The hobgoblin ran faster still, his chest aching from the exertion, his lungs burning from the dust and the heated air. The hot air! In a few minutes time, the world had grown feverish around them. Direfang pulled Mudwort off his shoulders and set her on the ground, both of them running.

He heard the chink-chink of chains and realized the wizard and skull man were keeping pace close behind him, the latter huffing and wheezing like a dying old man.

“Your magic said the goblins would not kill us, Horace,” the wizard yelled, spitting out the words. “But your magic said nothing about the volcanoes. They will kill us all.”

Volcanoes! Direfang remembered the word the knights had often repeated one night as they studied a large map. The word in goblin-speak was the language’s longest: gosjall-giyerafajra, mountains of fiery war. He’d waited on the knights that evening, around the map, bringing them mead and water and honey-covered bread, and polishing the pieces of armor they’d nested along the wall. He’d taken a long time with each task because he had found their words and the map interesting. It had been some years ago, right before he’d been named a foreman in the mine and was taken away from the servile duties of waiting on the knights. But he remembered the maps and what the men had talked about. It had been fascinating.

Direfang recalled seeing nine mountains of fiery war on the map, most of them scattered amid the Khalkist chain, two or three of them quite near Steel Town. Ever since that night, he would often look to the nearest two, sometimes seeing their crowns glowing, sometimes seeing gray clouds hover above them. From time to time, ribbons of red flowed from their tops, and he later learned the Dark Knights called these red rivers lava. The goblins had a word for the red rivers too: eldura-bundok, mountain fire.

“This army must keep going south, Direfang. Faster, even if some are left behind. Better that some live than none. The fast ones will live.” Mudwort’s face was twisted with apprehension as she darted ahead of the hobgoblin. Once ahead on the trail, she started running faster than she ever had before, keeping to the middle and looking straight ahead.

Direfang, impressed by the small one’s speed, lengthened his stride but did not overtake her. He decided to let her be the leader for all to follow that day. After all, she had talked to the earth and knew its heart and would know the best path. He valued her wisdom and the counsel she gave.

He heard a pounding behind him, feet slapping against the trail, rocks bouncing down from higher up on the mountain. Chains jangled from the wizard and priest, and no doubt from the warrior knights farther back in the column. Direfang wished he would have removed the chains from the slaves, though he wasn’t sure how to do that. He’d seen no keys with the manacles and hadn’t bothered to search for any.

“Faster!” Mudwort called, risking a glance over her shoulder.

“Faster!” came cries behind Direfang.

Then the mountain heaved, and the hobgoblin lost his footing, falling forward on the trail and finding himself overrun by a half dozen goblins scrambling over him. He might have been trampled if two pairs of hands hadn’t hoisted him up and propelled him forward, the chains dangling from the wizard’s and priest’s wrists thumping his sides.

“The Maws of Dragons seek to slay us all, Foreman Direfang. While your people will not kill us, the volcanoes certainly will.” The priest’s face was wet with sweat beads. The trousers he wore also appeared soaked with perspiration.

The wizard was having an easier time dealing with the heat and the strain, but he looked worried and was coughing harshly. “I say not a god nor a man is responsible for this hell, Direfang. It is nature, worse than anything a god or a man could visit upon us. Horace is right; we will all die here. I’ve no magic that can save us, and he is spent.”

The mountain heaved again, and the trail rose and fell as if they were on the back of some great rearing animal. Direfang kept his balance, though he knew many in his army were not so fortunate. Their screams cut through the persistent rumbling and the sound of rocks pelting the slope. He wondered how many had died on the trail, their bodies bouncing against jagged rocks as they tumbled down. And he wondered how long before he took a misstep and joined them.

“Fought too hard to die here,” Direfang said through clenched teeth. He fixed his eyes on Mudwort’s back. She was ahead of the rest, even the group of goblins who’d passed him, nearly trampling him. Brak was among that group, and Crelb too. The two young goblins were good at running.

The trail turned down at a steep angle. From his vantage point, Direfang saw a great rent ahead, where it looked like the path had been ripped apart with a gaping hole in the center. There was nowhere to go but ahead, the hobgoblin knew, no turning around and going back, no heading down the side of the mountain-not without dying. They must jump the crevice. He couldn’t even warn the others above the din. His words would be lost-a useless waste of saliva.

He made a quick decision. He grabbed the wizard and the priest by their arms, half lifting them off their feet. Ahead, he saw Mudwort hurdle the crevice, thankful she landed on her feet and continued her mad run. Of the six who followed her, only five made the gap. Crelb jumped too early, legs and arms flailing in the air and failing to gain purchase. He opened his mouth and a scream emerged, though Direfang could not hear his death cry. The rumbling had grown in intensity and was almost hurtful to his ears. Crelb disappeared into the black hole, and a heartbeat later, Direfang, clutching the two spellcasting knights, who were running wildly in his grip, vaulted the gap and kept going.

“I made it!” Horace gasped proudly.

The wizard said something lost to the hobgoblin, but it sounded like gratitude to Direfang.

“Keep running,” the hobgoblin growled, letting go of the two so they could run on their own. “Run and live. Run, skull man and-”

A great whoosh swallowed the rest of the hobgoblin’s words and rose above the rumbling and screams and pelting rocks. The volcano they raced down had just expelled the tremendous breath it had been holding for decades and coughed up a gout of fire wider and longer than even the greatest red dragon could have breathed. With it came a stream of smoke and ash that shot miles into the air, pushing away the clouds and allowing, for the briefest of moments, a hint of blue sky.

Glowing, fiery rocks were spat out of what had once been the ogre village, some shooting so high up that the goblins lost sight of them. Others arced out in all directions from the crater, horribly burning goblins they hit on the way down. A cinder cloud billowed out as the mountain continued to writhe.

“It bleeds!” Erguth yelled. He’d fought his way up through the panicked horde until he was running directly behind Direfang and the spellcasters. “The mountain bleeds!”

Direfang risked a glance up the slope, registering a thick, orange-yellow ribbon of molten rock erupting over the crater lip and spilling down the side. The glance cost him, as he drew in ash-laced air that sent him into another coughing fit. Horace and Grallik grabbed him, pushing him forward again.

“All of us will die, Foreman Direfang,” the priest hissed. “Not even a dragon can match this beast’s fury.”

Direfang’s lungs felt on fire, his throat and mouth so dry he could not work up any saliva. Never had he felt such pain in his eyes. He wanted to offer a clever retort to the priest, to tell him that not all in his army would die that day. But many would perish, he knew, too many.

It felt like hours, but Direfang guessed it had taken only minutes for the front of the column to reach the foothills. It looked like a brown fog had settled in the low part of the Khalkists, but it was dust that hung several feet above the ground. Everywhere the air was filled with dust or ash or both. All of it was difficult and irritating to breathe. Direfang spotted Mudwort and Brak through the haze.

He bent and grabbed the chains that dangled from the spellcasters’ wrists. Leading the human slaves like livestock, he hurried into the haze, following Mudwort and Brak and hoping those farther back could spot him and follow too.

The mountain continued its upheaval. Faintly, he heard one of the knights call loudly for Grallik and Grallik’s answer. Hurbear had somehow made it, as Direfang picked out the old goblin’s voice shouting orders to his clansmen. Someone was also calling for Moon-eye, asking if the one-eyed goblin had made it safely down the angry mountain.

Direfang doubted he had. Graytoes wouldn’t have been likely to keep up with the brutal pace, and Moon-eye would not leave her, not even to save himself. He pictured the two of them stumbling into the crevice on the trail, not being able to leap over it. Then he thrust the disaster from his mind and yanked on the spellcasters’ chains. He shut his eyes, telling himself it would only be for a moment. They were dry and hurting, and he needed a moment for them to be refreshed.

“Look out, Foreman!” Grallik shouted.

Direfang opened his eyes abruptly. Not releasing the chains, he brought his right arm up and brushed his forearm against his eyes. Through the haze, he saw another ribbon of red, narrower than the last but coming down right toward them, spilling out over the foothills and blocking their path.

“We are done,” Horace said.

Direfang tried to say “not yet,” but his mouth was parched. So he tugged hard, nearly pulling the spellcasters off their feet, and charged toward the lava stream, moving faster with each lunging stride. From somewhere behind, he heard Erguth shout for the other goblins to run and jump. Direfang did just that himself, clearing the lava stream, which was not yet very large, while pulling on the chains to yank the knights over the widening lava stream too.

Behind him he heard an agonizing scream. Glancing over his shoulder, Direfang saw the hobgoblin Grunnt trip into the lava and shrivel and burn, his cries pitifully dying away.