It was a language she could understand!
“Mudwort!” Direfang was growling her name, drowning out the conversation she heard below ground. “Mudwort find anything?”
She fought to keep her mind in the tunnel, but the hobgoblin tapped her shoulder then jostled her, threatening the spell.
“Mudwort find something?”
“No,” she said as she tried desperately to concentrate on the cavern. “Find nothing.”
He nudged her once more, and all traces of the cool air that had stirred around her senses vanished. It was replaced by still air filled with the stench of sulfur and the tang of sweaty goblins and hobgoblins. She felt the clay her arms were thrust into hardening.
“No!” she shouted. “Found nothing!” The cavern below disappeared from her mind, the spell completely broken. Damn Direfang! She’d wanted at the least to find out where the mysterious cavern was.
She heard the Dark Knight priest talking behind her, his ugly-sounding words coming so fast, she couldn’t understand what he was saying. Direfang continued to question her. Graytoes still sobbed, though not as loudly as before. There were other conversations and other sounds, the whisper-soft bleat of something … of several somethings- the hoofed creatures.
“Mudwort find anything?”
She tugged her arms out of the earth, the clay thoroughly hard and as dusty-dry as it had been before she used her magic.
“Something?” she snarled angrily. “Yes, found something, Direfang.” The hobgoblin had ripped her mind away from the marvelous secret.
“Find what?” Direfang asked, looming over her.
The hobgoblin was nearly seven feet tall, easily twice Mudwort’s height. His hide was dark gray and hairy, but there were spots on his chest and upper arms that were heavily scarred and where no hair grew. “Mudwort find what?”
“Sheep, goats,” she returned, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. “Feel the hooves against the ground. Find food. Found just what Direfang wanted.” Mudwort futilely tried to brush the dirt off her arms then scratched at her chin and pointed down the trail. “Farther south, but not too far. And there are not many.”
“Food,” Direfang repeated, sounding pleased. He motioned for the goblins and hobgoblins to stand and pointed south. “Good Mudwort found some food.”
THYA’S CLAN
The mountainside was high and steep, but the rocks were jagged and provided plenty of tiny hand- and footholds for the goblins climbing it. Thya chose that section because it was so sheer; the ogres that had been pursuing the clan could not fit their large, thick fingers into the crevices the goblins used and were, therefore, stuck at the bottom. However, before the ogres had given up, they had managed to catch a dozen of the goblins who hadn’t scaled the rocks fast enough.
“A smart one, Thya is,” a pale gray goblin pronounced when the clan finally reached the top. “Smart to find a path the ogres could not take. Not many clansmen lost.”
It was midmorning, and the sun struggled to chase away the chill that wrapped around the peaks. There were no clouds, and the bright, blue sky was almost hurtful to the goblins, who had spent their lives in the caves to the north, emerging in only the evenings to hunt.
There were nearly two hundred clansmen, all of them panting and out of breath, some of them fearful of the height, most of them shielding their eyes from the brightness.
“Never climbed like this before,” one of the young ones said. Her arms were wrapped around a spire, her eyes closed. “Like the low places much, much better. Like the dark better too.”
“Arms so sore,” Rockhide complained. He was the oldest goblin, the one who had insisted the clan leave their home. The earth inside their main cave had told him the ogres were coming. “Need to rest here,” he continued. “This clan needs to sleep and-”
“Sleep later, Rockhide. Sleep now and this clan might never leave this peak.” Thya had threaded her way through the crowd. Perched as they were on a narrow part of the mountain, there was little room to maneuver, so she used great care.
“Understand? This clan must move now. Sleep later when it is safe, Rockhide.” Thya was overly tall for a goblin, nearly four feet, and her skin was the color of pine bark. Her face was long and narrow, her nose wide, the center of it pierced with a silver ring she’d taken from the corpse of a merchant a few years back. She wore his shirt too, gathered at the waist and tied with a leather cord that had been around the merchant’s neck. A charm dangled from the cord, a jade dragon’s claw that she rubbed each morning as a luck ritual.
“Move now!” she shouted, raising her right fist, small finger crooked outward. The finger had been broken-along with other bones-when she’d fought for leadership of the clan eight months past. The finger was the one thing that hadn’t properly mended. “Move now, or stay here and die.”
“Safe here,” Rockhide argued. “Safe so high where the ogres cannot come.”
She bent until her face was inches from his. “Do the stones say it is safe?” She hadn’t meant it as an honest question, more as a taunt, but the old one looked dazed and worried.
“So tired,” he answered. “Thya, just rest a little-”
“The ogres are not tired,” she returned, raising her voice so plenty of other clansmen could hear. “The ogres did not climb the mountain, and so are not tired at all. The ogres will look for an easier way up here and could well find a path. The ogres will not give up. A smart goblin does not need to talk to the ground to know that.” She stood and squared her shoulders, tipped her chin up, and shook her fist. “South now, or wait for the ogres. Wait to be taken and sold as slaves.”
She picked her way back through the throng, nodding to each one as she went and telling them to be careful treading on the rocks. The goblins had as many of their worldly possessions with them as they could carry; most were items looted from trappers and goatherds who had ventured too close to the clan caves. A few goblins, such as Thya, had more valuable treasures from raiding the merchants who came through a pass to the north.
She was pleased there was no real challenge to her command to keep moving. Even Rockhide was edging his way along the summit, though he still grumbled about it and rubbed at his arms. Her arms hurt too; her legs and feet ached. But Thya could not show any weakness.
“South,” she said. “The mountain goes south, and so does this clan.”
“Why south?” That came from a youngling standing directly behind her. The small goblin had little trouble with the terrain, but he blinked furiously because of the harsh sunlight. “What is south, Thya? Are there more ogres to the south?”
Thya shrugged. She was not one to lie to her clansmen. Her father had taught her from an early age that the truth was easier and could always be remembered. Lies were easy to get tangled in.
“Maybe more ogres, maybe minotaurs, maybe worse,” Thya said. “But maybe peace too. That is what the stones say, that peace lies to the south. That many goblins are massing to the south, and that clans are banding together for safety.”
The youngling tugged on Thya’s shirt as she continued on her way, following the spine of the mountain.
“Cannot hear the stones, Thya. Cannot listen-”
“Then listen to Thya, little Rawdon.” A stoop-shouldered goblin nudged the youngling along. “Thya can hear the stones, and that is enough.”
Thya listened to the stones as she led her clan south, heard the voice of the earth coming up through the soles of her aching feet. She was not as proficient with earth-magic as her mentor, Rockhide, and she had not heard the warning about the ogres coming. But she had, days past, heard the summons and been touched by the mind of a goblin called Mudwort. She’d thought little of the call then, having no desire to leave her comfortable cave. But the ogres changed that, and she listened more intently to the earth as they traveled. It told her the northern lands were not safe, and that ogres and minotaurs hunted her kind. They were to be sold as slaves, she knew. Though Thya had always lived free, she’d lost many friends and kinsmen to slavery.