The chant of “Never again!” grew louder.
Mudwort settled next to Graytoes, taking her hand and tugging it under the surface, teasing what little magical energy she possessed and urging it to grow.
Graytoes gasped in surprise and slammed her eyes shut.
“Direfang says look for dragons,” Mudwort told her. “Look for more dragons now.”
“But there’s something else you look for, isn’t there?” Grallik whispered.
Mudwort made a sputtering sound. “Direfang is worried about dragons and bloodragers.”
Their senses joined and spiraled out, giving them the sensation of flying over that section of the Qualinesti Forest. They headed south, the direction from whence the dragon came. Graytoes made little childlike sounds as they went.
The ancient woods looked markedly different from above, the sun so bright and unobstructed that it was hurtful, and the greens were varied and intense. The air smelled fresher and was thick with scents of flowers that grew near the top of the canopy. They breathed deep and held in the sweetness, as it masked the stench from the dragon’s breath, the burned goblin corpses, and their own sweat. They dipped lower, like a bird cutting through a gap in the branches and swooping down over the bluff to skim the river, then entered the young pine forest.
“Higher,” Thya suggested. “The air is better.”
“But not too high. It is harder to see bloodragers and dragons and other things with sharp teeth and claws when you are up too high,” Graytoes said, adding, “Dizzy higher.”
They compromised, hurtling along several feet above the earth and just above the lowest branches, Thya leading them. Scattered amid the pines were maples and hickories, and there was a small grove of walnut trees where a herd of deer grazed.
“Tell the Boarhunters,” Graytoes said. “Tasty deer.”
“Later,” said Grallik.
It felt like they searched for hours, long enough for the chanting of “Never again!” to have stopped and for a break to have been called in Direfang’s drilling. They persisted, finding a trio of massive boars, and floating through a grove of cherry trees that were overgrown with ivies and thistles.
There were no signs of large predators, however, so Thya took them north, coming back across the river, where the Fishgatherers were bringing in nets.
“Not everyone prepares for a fight,” Mudwort observed.
“Someone has to find food,” Thya said.
Mudwort started to pull away from the others, but Thya’s magic drew her back.
“Not done yet,” she told Mudwort. “Look to the farther north now.”
Mudwort scowled. “A little north. And just for a little while. Then Direfang should know there are no more dragons.”
Grallik took the lead, the first time he had done so on one of their magical expeditions. Thya drifted to the background, allowing the wizard to pull them. Mudwort snorted, following.
“Curious where the man will take us,” Thya whispered to Graytoes. “North and north and north.”
“Grallik lived in these woods a long time ago,” Mudwort added. “Direfang said Grallik was scarred here in a fire.”
Orvago padded over to the small circle, regarding each participant before bending over to tickle Umay’s chin. The baby grabbed his hairy finger and giggled.
“Your magic is fascinating,” the gnoll told them, though they were concentrating. “Perhaps I could find a way to join in.”
“Shh!” That was whispered by Grallik, who was taking their senses in a serpentine pattern, first low to the ground then circling higher, unknowingly close to the spot where Mudwort buried the group of knights who’d caught her.
“Done yet?” Graytoes yawned. “So tired.”
“The magic is draining,” Mudwort explained. “Time to be done.”
“Yes,” Grallik admitted. “But wait.”
Their senses hovered in a clearing where the remains of a campfire smoldered. A thin wisp of smoke curled up from charred logs that had been kicked apart.
Orvago knelt next to Umay and peered at the goblins’ and Grallik’s submerged hands. The ground around their wrists was hard and dry. “Curious,” he said.
“Curious, certainly,” Thya said. “Look closer at the fire.” She forced their senses down, until they could see the bones of a small animal, a rabbit perhaps, with scraps of fur.
“Something ate here,” Grallik said. “Several somethings.”
There was a pile of bones and stripped hide nearby, and the ground was disturbed, clumps of grass and ferns torn up. A scrap of black cloth dangled from a high-growing thorn bush. A tributary gurgled a few yards away, and they hovered above it, the sun so bright on the water that it showed through to the gravel bottom. Small, silver fish swam in a cluster.
Grass on both banks had been tamped down, and in bare spots footprints could clearly be observed.
“Men,” Thya said.
“Not dragons or bloodragers like Direfang worries over,” Mudwort said. “Just men. They are not so dangerous as dragons and bloodragers.”
“How many?” asked Graytoes. “Don’t like them, men.”
“And where have they gone?” Grallik mused.
“Doesn’t matter how many,” Mudwort said. “Graytoes is tired and-”
Grallik tugged their senses west, following the tributary and the occasional print of a heel that had sunk into the soft earth. “Many men,” he said softly. “I do not like this.”
“Don’t like men at all. Don’t like-” Suddenly Graytoes collapsed, exhausted and drained. Orvago gently dug her hands free from the earth and laid her next to Umay.
Yet Grallik, Thya, and Mudwort continued their magical journey to another clearing. That one was much larger than the last they’d looked at, and it was filled with men in armor.
“Worse than a dragon,” Grallik said. “Dark Knights.”
Mudwort had a difficult time counting numbers. But it looked to her that there were quite a few more than five hundred and forty.
“A great many Dark Knights,” Thya said in awe.
“No wonder the old willow worries,” Orvago observed.
NO NEED TO FEAR THE DARK KNIGHTS
The Dark Knights cannot find this city with magic,” Draath insisted. “Only with their eyes. Goblins worry about the Dark Knights, and the wizard worries about the Dark Knights. Silly to worry so. The Dark Knights might never find this place. Safe here.” He gestured up the bluff to the stone spire. “Explained this to Direfang. The magic in the stone does not let the Dark Knights look here with their spells. Explained this to Direfang before and before.”
And he was trying to explain it to Mudwort and Thya and Graytoes, growing exasperated and rubbing the nose of one of his shrunken heads as he repeated what he understood about the protective markings on the spire. “The Dark Knights cannot find us.”
“With magic,” Thya repeated.
Around them was a blur of activity. Goblins continued to practice their fighting skills while clans fashioned spears and clubs. The Boarhunters worked on making bows and arrows, while Olag happily formed arrowheads from pieces of obsidian and slate.
“I understand,” Grallik said, approaching them, Qel a few steps behind. “I should have realized what the stone was when I examined it earlier. Perhaps I was too preoccupied with something else.” He paused and tipped his head back, his hair falling away from his scarred face. “Regardless of what the stone prevents, the Dark Knights pose a serious threat. Armed and armored, they can decimate these clans if they find us. Easily they can conquer us if wizards and priests are among them.”
Though Grallik had been learning the goblins’ language, he still did not have all the nuances, and he got many of the words wrong. Mudwort grudgingly translated the ones he had missed.
“No reason to fear the Dark Knights,” Draath countered stubbornly. “No reason for knights to bother with goblins. The knights must be in the forest for another reason. Maybe-”