Someone called to her. It was a goblin’s voice, not a hobgoblin’s, so it was not Direfang. She increased her pace and practically ran down the rise where the half-constructed homes that had been ruined by the dragon were spread. Goblins there were collecting what pieces of wood could be turned into weapons.
“Dark Knights and dragons and bloodragers,” she cursed. “Nowhere is safe.”
But she’d seen no Dark Knights or other foul creatures near the circle of ash trees. Her treasure was at least safe.
“Chislev’s spear is safe,” she said to herself. She ducked behind a large bush as several Boarhunters rushed by. When they were gone, she hurried to follow the path that would take her to the precious artifact. “And soon it will be Mudwort’s.”
ONE HEALER LESS
I am leaving,” Qel solemnly told Grallik, speaking in the common tongue, which not many of the goblins understood. She faced the half-elf, who was still with Draath and Graytoes. “I told Orvago, and I thought I should tell you.”
The wizard looked at her, mildly taken aback. “Now?” He gestured at the ruins. “With Dark Knights in the woods, goblins still nursing injuries from the dragon attack and-”
“It is not my responsibility, the health of thousands of goblins. I am not enough to make a difference.” She drew herself up, looking tall and stately and at the same time young and vulnerable. “Orvago is a healer too. I simply don’t want to see more fighting and dying. And if there is indeed more fighting, with beasts or men, then it is up to the gods to save these goblins.”
“What if the gods are saving these goblins through your presence?”
She scowled at the notion. “I was wrong to ever come here.”
“They need you, Qel.”
“They need your fire spells far more than they need my mending.” She blew out a breath, teasing the pale strands of hair that hung against her forehead. “Why are you here, Grallik? I can tell you’ve no love for the goblins and hobgoblins. You’re not fond of them. You’re no hero trying to help them carve a nation.”
“No,” he admitted.
“The one you call Foreman orders you around, and you do his bidding with only whispered complaints. Why are you here? You could leave with me. I’d prefer company in my walk to the beach.”
“I’m here for the magic.” Grallik surprised himself by telling her the truth. “You’ve seen the goblins pool their energies to cast spells. I have learned how to join them. It’s magic such as I’d never been able to cast before. And I have so very much more to learn. It’s all about the magic, Qel.”
She gave him an incredulous look. “Magic?” She brushed idly at a spot on her tunic and shook her head. “You will stay here? With all this death and stench, you will stay? Just for magic? I came here to help these goblins. I thought I could make a difference. I thought I was kind and compassionate, selfless. I thought I could make whatever sacrifices necessary to help.”
“You’ve helped saved lives, and-”
“It was all bluster and foolish pride. I was filled with noble thoughts … when my feet were firmly planted on Schallsea Island. I’m not who I thought myself to be … or who I wanted to be.” She crossed her arms plaintively, as if hugging herself. “I was all talk, and when I got here, when we got here, I realized my words were all hollow. I am going home, Grallik.”
“Where life is easy.”
“Easier. And where I belong.”
He studied her, looking down when Graytoes tugged on his leggings.
“Something wrong, Grallik?” She spoke in the common tongue, but Grallik knew she had only a smattering of the words in her head, so her sentences were clumsy. “Hurt someone? Sick?”
Draath chatted quietly in goblinspeak to Sallor, who’d joined them, Grallik not catching everything that was said, but they were not paying attention to Qel. They were speculating on which spells would be best against the Dark Knights.
“Nothing is wrong,” Grallik told Graytoes.
“Besides Dark Knights coming,” she corrected.
“Besides that.” Grallik turned back to Qel. “I think you told me you’re leaving so that I would try to talk you out of it.”
She hugged herself tighter. “No. There’s no talking me out of anything. I’d merely hoped you’d leave with me. Orvago intends to stay. Maybe forever. He loves these woods.” She whirled and strode away, heading toward a satchel that sat at the base of a dead oak.
“Qel leaving?” Graytoes tugged on his leggings again. She understood more than she let on sometimes.
“Apparently,” Grallik answered crisply. “You should tell Direfang. He’ll want to know that his city has lost one of its healers.” Softer, he added, “The more proficient of the two.”
Graytoes poked out her bottom lip, and Grallik repeated his instructions using as many goblin words as he could.
“Direfang will be unhappy,” Graytoes offered.
“Yes, I should think he will.”
She clutched Umay close and went to find the hobgoblin.
Grallik went in search of a small patch of ground free of goblins. “If Draath the head-shrinker is right, the knights can’t see me,” he said to himself. “The spire stops your scrying, Isaam.” He touched his fingers to the ground, twirling a thumb in a long strand of grass. “Hopefully, however, I can see you.”
He’d used the earth-magic only a few times on his own, meeting with limited success. For a moment he considered calling Thya and Draath and asking them to merge their magic with his.
And he’d do that if he were unsuccessful. But for just a little while, he wanted to try alone. Shutting out the sounds of shouts and wooden weapons clacking together, feet pounding across the ground, he sent his eyes into the earth then skimming above it. He was like a thrown rock hurtling into an unknown distance.
The sensation was dizzying, and he suddenly felt weak. He had no one to share the burden of casting his spell, and all the energy to power it was coming solely from him. He pressed on, taking slower breaths and concentrating on only sight and hearing. He couldn’t care less what the woods smelled like or what the air felt like. Limiting his senses seemed to help, as then the spell did not appear to sap quite as much strength from him.
He could not tell how much time passed as he went from one clearing to the next, across a stream, and to a section of the woods that must have been an orchard at one time. But his back felt stiff from being in one position for so long, and his legs ached after a while. An hour maybe? No. One of the more curious goblins would have disturbed him before that much time passed. Neither could he tell how far his mind had traveled in terms of miles.
Grallik was just about to give up and find Thya to ask her for help when he spied the sun glinting off something shiny.
“Armor.”
He focused, suffering light-headedness from the exertion but feeling rewarded. He heard the rhythmic clanking of men in plate armor walking and the soft swish of tabards and scabbards brushing against the foliage. It was some time before he heard a human voice, and it was a deep male command calling a halt. Another voice, clipped and female, gave instructions.
The female came into view at the center of a column of hundreds of men.
“Bera Kata.”
Grallik ground his teeth together. He’d seen her once, though they’d never met. And he knew quite a bit about her; he doubted there was a Dark Knight serving in Neraka who hadn’t heard of Bera Kata.
Stern, icy, fanatical, single-minded, and driven to succeed, she had won several campaigns against superior forces of Solamnic Knights and rebels. She had a husband and a daughter, but beyond that he knew nothing of her personal life. She was usually called in to fix problems, and the escaped slaves would count as a big problem.
Grallik had never before seen the man towering at her side, the one who’d bellowed an order to halt. He wore blued plate, a sign of wealth and station, yet he evinced neither decorations nor insignia that indicated his rank. And there was the sorcerer, who stood out because he was the only one not wearing armor.