While Direfang remained engrossed with some spell Mudwort and Boliver were casting, Saro-Saro met with Spikehollow and other goblins who were angry the big hobgoblin had not let them kill the females and children in the village. They’d wanted to kill everything.
“Should have killed everything,” Spikehollow complained.
Saro-Saro quietly sowed his dissension. He was wily, and knew that many, many goblins were loyal to Direfang because he’d fomented the rebellion in Steel Town. If Saro-Saro spoke to the wrong goblins about his plans and word drifted back to Direfang, there would be trouble.
Saro-Saro had secretly made an alliance with the leader of the Flamegrass clan, an aging female who did not like the prospect of walking “more than a year,” the phrase that had been whispered down from Boliver. She’d told Saro-Saro she didn’t want to walk more than another day.
“Patience,” he told her and Spikehollow. “When Direfang takes this army away from the mountains, the time will be right.”
“To leave?” she asked. Her name was Cattail, and she wore no clothes, disdaining them and calling them “Dark Knight trappings.” She had shoes, however, small ones that had been taken from a child’s corpse in Steel Town. Cattail made it clear she hated shoes too, but there was the matter of the rocky trail they’d been following. “The Flamegrass clan will leave after the mountains. Go its way or go with Saro-Saro.”
Saro-Saro shook his head. “Leave, yes. Together, yes. But after Direfang dies-regardless of where in the mountains that is.”
Her face was darker than the rest of her, and it had a shine to it, like mist on a rock. She moved with a grace Saro-Saro found incongruous considering her years, and she had not so many wrinkles as himself. Were he not so venerable and preoccupied with plans for the army, he might woo her for a mate. It could be an advantageous pairing, melding her clan with his. He tugged at a wiry hair that protruded from a mole on his face. Perhaps he would pursue her anyway after Direfang was dead and they broke away and headed for the Plains of Dust. Pursue her or Pippa, who was considerably younger, a mere child. Pippa adored him, and Cattail more or less considered herself Saro-Saro’s equal.
He would need a queen eventually, he mused.
“Kill Direfang?” Cattail had drawn closer, the musky smell of her becoming distracting. “Why not just leave? Hurbear’s clan left this army long days ago. Why not leave like Hurbear’s clan did?”
Saro-Saro tugged harder on the stubborn hair protruding from the mole on his face until it came out. “Killing Direfang is necessary.”
“That would make Saro-Saro the king.” That came from Spikehollow. “With Direfang gone, all the clans would follow Saro-Saro.”
Cattail’s eyes narrowed as she considered that possibility. “Maybe,” she said after a few moments. “Maybe Direfang’s death makes Saro-Saro the king. Maybe it makes Saro-Saro hated.” She paced in a small circle, her musky scent growing stronger. “Maybe killing Direfang is a smart thing to do. But maybe it is stupid. Many goblins like Direfang. But Direfang-”
“Prevented all of those dwarves from dying,” Spikehollow said angrily, sitting next to Saro-Saro. “It was bad to let some of the dwarves live. Direfang let Dark Knights live in Steel Town’s infirmary. Direfang is weak and has a soft heart. This army should back down from nothing.”
“Should kill everything in its path,” another clansman softly added.
Spikehollow wrapped his colorful quilt tightly around him. “Mudwort and Boliver are searching for a shorter way to the Qualinesti Forest. But it looks like there is only a long, long walk through more mountains and then through a swamp.”
“A death march Direfang demands,” Saro-Saro said.
“A foolish thing,” Spikehollow whispered. He was careful to keep his voice down as on the surface he’d championed Direfang’s decisions. “So many clansmen already dead. The living ones tired of this walk. Direfang should instead march on more villages. Killing everything. Taking everything. Taking a village to live in.” Even though it was warm and the air dry, Spikehollow shivered.
Pippa bent over Spikehollow, running her fingers along his forehead. She did not see Saro-Saro raise a jealous eyebrow over her ministrations.
“Hot,” she pronounced. “Spikehollow is hot.”
“Sick?” Saro-Saro adopted a concerned expression. “Spikehollow is sick?”
Spikehollow wrapped the colorful quilt even tighter around himself and shook his head, beads of sweat flying off his brow. He coughed once. “No, just tired, worn out like a pair of boots full of holes.” He laughed at the image and coughed harder, until his shoulders jumped and he gasped for air.
Saro-Saro grew truly concerned. The young goblin was loyal and a good spy. The cagey old goblin needed him to be healthy. “Spikehollow is sick. That is a bad thing.”
“A little sick maybe,” Spikehollow admitted when he stopped coughing.
Pippa felt his forehead again. “The skull man will help. Direfang will make the skull man tend Spikehollow. Direfang will make-”
Spikehollow and Saro-Saro shook their heads in unison. Both goblins did not want to ask anything of the hobgoblin right then as they intended to betray him as soon as possible.
“Then Spikehollow should rest,” Pippa scolded. “Sleep long while this clan-and the Flamegrass clan-talks about what to do. Yes, Spikehollow should stop being part of the talk and start sleeping. Then the sick will go away.”
Spikehollow agreed, stretching out on the trail a few yards from Saro-Saro, cocooning himself in the quilt, the wings of the embroidered butterflies moving in time with his rising and falling chest.
“So Direfang must die,” Cattail finally agreed. “Spikehollow will do it.” She had no trouble volunteering someone outside of her clan. “Spikehollow is strong and crafty. It can’t look like Saro-Saro did it. Nor can it look like any goblin in the Flamegrass clan is responsible. It should look like an accident.”
“Yes, Spikehollow will do it. Spikehollow will think of something. Maybe push Direfang off a mountain.”
“And this time,” Pippa cut in. “This time Direfang will not be so lucky. This time Direfang will die on the way down.” She smoothed her shirt, trying to work out a wrinkle, and she flapped around in her too-big dwarven shoes. “Saro-Saro will be king, and Cattail queen. And Saro-Saro will take us … where?”
The old goblin did not have an immediate answer to that question, though he tried to display a wise expression.
Mudwort had to hurry. She knew Direfang would leave early in the morning and that he intended to head toward the Plains of Dust. She and Boliver had not found a shorter way to the Qualinesti Forest through the seeing spell, even though they had tried very hard by pulling energy from the Dark Knight wizard. There were mountains and swamps and more mountains in the way of her forest, she knew that. Direfang was right; it could take more than a year to reach Qualinesti-the world looked very big. So maybe the forest wasn’t such a good idea after all, but she still wanted to go there. For some reason it was important.
She needed some rest. She needed to think.
First she wanted to scry on the cave with the young female shaman, so she’d best do it. There was little privacy in the pass Direfang’s goblins sprawled in, so she climbed up to a ridge. There was a recess in the stone, and Mudwort settled herself inside the recess so she couldn’t easily be seen from below. Her back felt good against the granite as she rubbed gently against it. She felt the energy of the mountains radiating through her. There was no more pain and nervousness to the stone, as she’d felt before the earthquakes struck and the volcanoes erupted.
“Finally at peace, the earth, maybe,” she mused. A small part of her was disappointed. Though the earthquakes had been terrifying, they’d also been interesting, and she was glad to have witnessed the destruction and happier to have lived through it.
She reached into the smallest pouch at her waist and pulled out the dainty gold necklace dotted with the cut blue stones. Mudwort put on the necklace, her fingers squeezing some of the dainty stones. They grew warm to her touch, something all true stones did, and she searched to find the pulse in them. It was there, so faint she might have imagined it. She wished the young shaman from her vision could see the necklace and that Direfang and Boliver could see it too, not to mention the collection of cut and uncut stones in her pouches that she took out to admire when she hoped no one was watching. But if she showed Boliver the necklace and stones, that might mean that other goblins would hear of her treasures. Those stones, the necklace in particular, were things of greed, and so someone might steal them from her. She took the necklace off and replaced it in the pouch, and she stretched her hands to the rock she sat upon and magically began searching for the young shaman and her cave.