The Rebellion

36

The goblins and hobgoblins worked their way up from the Godshome basin, buzzing among themselves about forging a nation in the old land of the Qualinesti elves, one where every other race would leave them alone. Direfang was one of the first to leave the magical rock, picking up Graytoes and looking at Moon-eye, then pointing to the stairway.

The one-eyed goblin lingered at the edge of the basin. “Catch up,” he said to his mate and the hobgoblin. “Want to touch this again, look through it again. Experience the magic. Want to one more time. Be quick, catch up, promise.”

Graytoes looked to Mudwort, who rolled her eyes. Graytoes sighed, wrapping her arms around Direfang’s neck. “Not stay long, Moon-eye. Days and days and days walk to the forest.”

“Not long.” Moon-eye waggled his fingers at the pair and sat back down on the mirror black surface, fingers outstretched and mind searching. He vaguely registered Graytoes calling to him again, telling him to hurry and not to get lost in the magic.

He heard Mudwort call to him too, saying there were plenty of other places of power in the world that they could explore another day. Moon-eye was surprised that the red-skinned goblin was letting him tarry alone at that wondrous place. But the air was still filled with sulfur and ash, and perhaps Mudwort wanted to start the journey to Qualinesti as soon as possible. That was all right with Moon-eye. He’d be quick.

“Yes, hurry!” Moon-eye called. “Not long. Just one more look.”

But he had trouble using the magic of Godshome without Mudwort’s help. Indeed, he almost gave up when nothing happened right away and he glanced over his shoulder and saw the last of the goblins crest the top of the crater. Saro-Saro and Krumb were at the tail end of the line, the old goblin looking down at him, shaking his head, and gesturing to hurry.

Then, suddenly, Saro-Saro was looking up at Moon-eye because Moon-eye was up in the sky looking down on him. The one-eyed goblin blinked furiously and rolled his shoulders, worriedly withdrew his fingers, and stared down at the vision in the mirror black basin. There it was. The image of Saro-Saro had somehow appeared on the surface of the magical stone.

Of course! Moon-eye thought. He’d seen Saro-Saro at the top, and so was concentrating on the venerable goblin clan leader. And because he was concentrating, an image of Saro-Saro appeared in the basin. He had much to learn about the magic.

“Like the magic,” Moon-eye purred. “Love the magic.” He replaced his fingers on the surface, feeling his skin turn instantly ice cold, then fiery hot. It took him a few minutes to manage the painful sensations. Then his mind plunged into the earth, searching … searching.

He clamped his teeth together and thought about the forest. And just like that, Qualinesti appeared again, though not quite as clear and vibrant as when he and Mudwort were working together. Moon-eye knew the red-skinned goblin had a better command of magic, and he hoped she would teach him some of her wisdom. The air smelled better the more he focused on the forest, as if his nose had poked through the basin, down through the earth, and up into the sky, and had traveled to Qualinesti and was deep into the woods.

A trace of flowers, he smelled. Almost too sweet, he thought. Moon-eye was not used to smelling such good things. The earth had its own odor there too, rich and redolent but neither pleasant nor unpleasant. He listened hard, hearing the squawk of many, many parrots, the growl of something that might have been a big cat, and the shush of leaves rubbing against each other, as if a wind were blowing through the forest.

He could have lingered in the elf forest a long while, he thought; it would be easy to spend a long, happy time there. But Moon-eye needed to hurry to get back to Graytoes, and he wanted to talk to Mudwort about the new things he was seeing.

As he thought of the red-skinned goblin, the forest disappeared. Moon-eye was instantly disappointed, but then Mudwort’s face sprang up in his mind-and on the mirror black stone-just as Saro-Saro’s had. Mudwort tipped her head up, as if she were searching the sky to find a break in the clouds. She walked behind Direfang and next to Boliver.

“Magic in Boliver too,” Mudwort explained to the hobgoblin leader. Boliver’s face loomed large on the mirror black surface between Moon-eye’s spread legs. The goblin’s lips moved, and a heartbeat later, Moon-eye heard his words.

“Long way to the forest,” Boliver told Mudwort, sounding surprisingly cheerful. “Legs will ache. Stomach will ache. Worth it, though, in the end. Free in the forest.”

“Free,” Mudwort replied wistfully. “Slaves never, ever again.”

Not far behind them, Grallik and the other Dark Knights trudged wearily. The eyes of the wizard never left the hobgoblin leader and the red-skinned goblin shaman. Grallik could scarcely believe his own fate. He had left the knighthood behind forever and had joined the goblin army. He had cast his future with the strange magic of the goblins.

How many goblins had magic inside of them, Moon-eye wondered. Boliver and Mudwort and himself. Others? Not Direfang, but the hobgoblin didn’t need magic. He was strong and smart, and that was why he was commander of the goblin army-no, the goblin nation, Moon-eye corrected himself.

How many other goblins could work magic? When Moon-eye thought about the army, a blur of faces rushed past him, most of them yammering or yawning, too many words to pick through.

“Shouldn’t be listening anyway,” the goblin decided. “Words aren’t spoken to Moon-eye. Moon-eye shouldn’t be listening. Bad manners.”

He thought he’d peek at Graytoes one more time, seeing her cradled in Direfang’s arms. He knew he would never tire of looking at her beautiful face and wide, kind eyes. But, he reminded himself, it was better to look at her in person, not in the magic stone. He needed to leave the basin and catch up to the column. Graytoes would be worrying about him.

How far ahead of him had the army gotten?

With that thought, the vision in the basin shifted, and Moon-eye saw Saro-Saro and Krumb trailing a little behind the rest of the line. He intended to move away from that image to something more interesting, so he could see where the ex-slaves were right then. But something he saw riveted his attention.

Saro-Saro was speaking softly to Krumb, and the other goblin was leaning very close to hear, their brows knitted together and noses twitching. They were sharing a secret.

“More words not meant for Moon-eye. Bad manners to listen.” Still, he reflected, it would be fun to listen for just a moment, just a brief moment. Then he would leave the wonderful, magical basin and catch up with Graytoes and surprise Saro-Saro and Krumb with his knowledge of their secret. “What saying Saro-Saro? What is secret? What saying Krumb?”

Moon-eye, like many of his kind, was a curious fellow.

“Saro-Saro should lead.” Krumb’s voice was scratchy, as though there were something caught in his throat, and even with the magic, Moon-eye had trouble hearing all the whispered words. “Saro-Saro should lead the goblin nation.”

Saro-Saro nodded, and the old goblin’s lips crept up in a sly smile. “Smarter than Direfang, certainly.” He thumped his thumb against his chest. “Would do things differently. Do things much better. Not let so many goblins die and starve.”

Krumb made a snuffling sound and rubbed his hands together. “Direfang would build a peaceful nation, probably. Make goblins into hunters and farmers and nut gatherers. He is weary of fighting, I heard him say. Weary of fighting, bah!”

“Goblins should be raiders,” Saro-Saro said, agreeing, but gesturing for Krumb to lower his voice. “Killers and slavers.”

“Slavers.” Krumb’s dark eyes glistened. His eyes flicked ahead to the human slaves. “And killers, yes. Strong goblins.”

Saro-Saro said something else that Moon-eye couldn’t hear until the goblin leaned closer to the surface and put his ear to the black stone itself, to the very image of the old one.

“… kill Direfang,” Saro-Saro said. Moon-eye had missed the early part of his declaration. “When the hobgoblin sleeps. With the Dark Knight knife.” Saro-Saro carried just such a knife at his waist, Moon-eye saw, a weapon belted on with a strip of cloth that he’d scavenged from the ogre village. The pommel matched the color of the tabard he’d fashioned from an ogre child’s shirt. “Can be done, Krumb. In the old days, the one who killed the king became king. Can be done.”

“When the time is right,” Krumb whispered, nodding. “When Direfang is no longer useful. The mad one too.”

“Mudwort,” Moon-eye said. “Direfang and Mudwort.”

In horror, the one-eyed goblin pulled back from his magical scrying and scrambled to his feet in the mirror black basin. “My friends are in trouble.” He felt hot and dizzy, the magic of Godshome tingling through him. He tried to shake it off and start up the rise but walked as though tipsy.

He was halfway to the top before his senses cleared, and he saw no sign of the goblins along the ridge of the mountaintop. Panic gripped him. Had they left him too far behind? He felt his throat tighten, instantly worrying about Graytoes.

How long had he been playing with the magic in the crater? The goblins couldn’t have gotten too far ahead, could they?

The sky was still gray and the world in shadows, so Graytoes and Direfang probably weren’t able to see to the end of the column. They would think he was marching with them. They wouldn’t realize that Moon-eye had not yet caught up.

“Moon-eye’s Heart,” the one-eyed goblin sighed. “Must hurry. Must warn Direfang and Mudwort.” He scampered along the rim of the mountaintop, his fears giving him a surge of energy. “Must tell Direfang about Saro-Saro.”

He hurried down a trail he found on the southern slope of Godshome, certain the army had traveled that way and confirming it by taking a pinch of dirt in his fingers and sniffing it for goblin smells. He tripped in his race down the trail, head over feet, and bruised his ribs before picking himself up and gulping dusty air. He smelled the ash still thick in the air, though it was not nearly so strong there as it had been on the other side of Godshome. He smelled blood-his own-and dirt. But the scent of goblins was strongest.

“Not too far behind,” he told himself. He peered far ahead, believing he saw a goblin start up another rise, and well ahead of that goblin must be the tail end of the ex-slave army. “Someone else slow.” Moon-eye was thankful for that.

A few more deep lungfuls of dusty air, and he was off at a clip, though more careful than before because he didn’t want to trip and fall and lose time. There were clumps of grass here and there, not all of them brown, and the dirt was thicker along the trail, almost mud, helping to cushion the soles of his feet. He covered ground so fast that he drew close to the straggler, still far behind the rest of the goblin army. As he came up to the fellow, he spotted two birds in the sky.

“The land is better here,” Moon-eye said to himself. “Not so angry and not belching fire.” He thought that when he and Graytoes had another child, there would be wondrous stories to pass down to their younglings about their great escape from Steel Town in the midst of an earthquake, and about their victorious battle with the ogres, and all the volcanoes erupting and painting the sides of the mountains with their shiny red ribbons of fire. “Such stories.”

It was several long moments more before Moon-eye caught up with the last goblin, who had stopped to wait for him.

“Spikehollow!” Moon-eye stopped, leaning forward, hands on his knees and sides heaving. “Spikehollow waited?”

The young goblin nodded, coming up to him and clapping a hand on Moon-eye’s shoulder. “Worried, some were. Afraid the magic of that place might swallow Moon-eye. Almost gave up, but saw Moon-eye running down the mountain. Waited a little, and walked slow. And now together.”

Moon-eye continued to gulp in air. “Liked the magic,” he admitted. “Liked it almost too much.” Then he stood and stared into the other goblin’s eyes. “You, Direfang’s friend.” He touched Spikehollow’s chest. “Direfang is in danger. Listen. The magic told me something …”

The pair stayed on the trail, letting the rest of the army reach the top of the next rise. Moon-eye told Spikehollow everything-about seeing Saro-Saro and Krumb, listening to them conspire, about the pair planning to murder Mudwort and Direfang and turn the army into a force of killers and slavers.

“Certain this is true?” Spikehollow looked skeptical of Moon-eye’s vision. “Certain not dreaming? Magic and dreams, same sometimes, different other times. Maybe Moon-eye breathe too much of the volcano dust? Mind turn sour.”

Moon-eye shook his head so hard his entire body seemed to shake along with it. “No, no dream. The magic tells the truth. Direfang is in danger.”

Spikehollow nodded. “All right. Must hurry, then.” He pointed a thin finger up the trail, telling Moon-eye to go ahead of him.

The sky was a little lighter over the next rise, the cloud cover thinner. The pair could spot the last few goblins only a few miles ahead of them. They would have to hurry.

Moon-eye took in one more deep breath. “Yes, hurry now.” He brushed by Spikehollow and started off at a jog. He wasn’t as quick as he’d hoped, but his ribs hurt and his legs ached, and he was terribly tired. “Hurry, hurry. Hurry and-”

A sharp pain in his back suddenly competed with the rest of Moon-eye’s miseries. He glanced over his shoulder just as the pain repeated itself again and again. It was the greatest hurt the one-eyed goblin had ever suffered. Spikehollow stood behind him, holding one of the knives that had been stolen from Steel Town.

Moon-eye tried to speak, to ask Spikehollow why he had stabbed him, but he couldn’t get a single word out of his choked, burning mouth. His throat was filling with blood, and his back felt on fire. His chest burned too, where Spikehollow had whirled him around and stabbed him yet again.

“Saro-Saro should lead the goblin nation,” Spikehollow said grimly. “A nation of wolves, it will be, Moon-eye. Not a nation of sheep.”

Spikehollow hissed other things through clenched teeth, but Moon-eye couldn’t hear his words. There was a great rush of sound in his ears, like the rapids of a river. Then the one-eyed goblin collapsed on the trail and died.

Spikehollow reached down and cut off one of Moon-eye’s fingers, hurling it away so the goblin’s spirit could never return to the body. He briefly considered hiding Moon-eye’s corpse or pushing it over the side and hoping animals below would discover it and eat it. But he was in a hurry, and he was also stupid, so he loped off in the direction of Saro-Saro and Krumb and the rest of the goblins, proud of what he had done. None of them would be coming back that way, Spikehollow was certain, so Moon-eye would never be found. They would imagine he was following after them and would catch up, but that would never happen.

The goblin wiped at the blood spatters on his arm as he moved ahead. He took in great gulps of air and tried to ignore the pain in his feet from traveling so far over the biting rocks. Spikehollow knew his feet and legs-and all of him-would only hurt more before they stopped. The Qualinesti Forest was quite some distance from there, or so Saro-Saro had told him.

Spikehollow’s smile turned into a predator’s grin. He would have plenty of time to rest in the forest. All of Saro-Saro’s army would rest there before joining together and embarking on the scheme the old goblin was hatching.

In the distance, he saw the silhouettes of the last goblins in the back of the army.

He hurried to catch up.