“No. Not from the looks of it. But a far greater storm is coming, Foreman.” Grallik continued to peer at the sky. “If the Dark Knights are able to find us despite that magic in your old stone, a lot of goblins will die. You have numbers, I’ll grant you that. But they have far more skills. And their weapons are far superior.”
“Worried?” Direfang poked a taunting finger into Grallik’s shoulder, the force nearly toppling the wizard. “If the Gray Robe is so worried, better follow those goblins.” He gestured in the direction of the mountains. “Free to go.”
Grallik raised an eyebrow. At one point Direfang had called him a slave, and the hobgoblin had been ordering him around since the exodus from Steel Town. He had never felt free to do anything.
“Grallik is free to go,” Direfang repeated.
“They’ll kill me as fast as they’d kill any of you, the Dark Knights,” Grallik said. He stared past Direfang, eyes following a young goblin dragging a half dozen heavy clubs. The sky rumbled, and the goblin stopped and looked up. “I prefer my chances here. I’m a traitor as far as they’re concerned.”
“Worse than a traitor,” Direfang observed.
“Yes, I suppose I am. And I suspect they will kill me slowly. So I’ll stay, Foreman. I’ll cast my lot with you and-”
“Because of the magic Mudwort teaches.”
Grallik stared, not replying immediately. “Because there is some safety in your greater numbers. Better than if I was on my own.” The wizard looked away from the young goblin and instead stared up the bluff at Direfang’s spire. “I hope you have a plan,” he added, “beyond simply and foolishly waiting here to fight hundreds of trained, dedicated Dark Knights.”
“I have a plan for you,” the hobgoblin shot back. He pointed to where the ruined homes stretched, the wood all taken for weapons. All that remained were earth bowls. “Mudwort is gone, and much spell work needs to be done, Gray Robe. Who knows when Mudwort will come back? Meanwhile, your job is waiting.”
Grallik looked around. “Mudwort, gone?”
“Thya saw Mudwort leave.” Again Direfang pointed to the ruined homes. “No one saw Mudwort return. She comes and goes. But she’ll be back. You can go but not come back. If you stay, then there is spell work to be done. Understand?”
Grallik rubbed his chin. “Yes, I understand.”
Direfang left the wizard to find Draath and Olag and any other goblins known to have a spark of magic.
Direfang met with Orvago next. The hobgoblin thought the gnoll looked rather glum, probably because Qel had gone; she was his only link to his former home of Schallsea Island.
“Qel is safe away from here,” the hobgoblin said reassuringly.
The gnoll nodded. “But this place would have been good for her. And she would have been good for it. If there is a war coming …”
“No good can come of Dark Knights and goblins fighting. And no good can come of any war.”
“I could well imagine that you’re tired of all the bloodshed.” The gnoll shrugged. “There may be another outcome this time. If the spire hides us from magical prying, we-”
“How much magic is in here?” Direfang gently jabbed the gnoll’s chest. “Talking to trees, healing. How much is hidden?”
The gnoll stepped away and planted his hand against an oak. “My rapport with nature is considerable, Foreman Direfang.”
“Then there is much work to be done. Stop talking. Go to work.”
The goblins and hobgoblins worked through the night, only Grallik taking a rest, and that was because his eyes were not so keen in the darkness. The storm had held off until the evening, but it came with lots of thunder and gusts of wind. It wasn’t severe, but it drenched everyone and made some of the work difficult.
More goblins threatened to leave, tired of the endless work, ever hungry, and finding little to like about the forest.
“Let the elves take it back, this forest,” Neacha griped. The hobgoblin towered above Keth and shivered as a loud boom of thunder sounded. “The mountain caves are for hobgoblins and goblins. The trees are for elves. Caves would-”
Direfang shook a finger at him. “Gnasher is very smart. Gnasher will help save this city. Talk of leaving must stop.”
Keth stared up at Gnasher, waiting for him to speak; he stood silent, glowering. “No one place is safer than another. I will stay with Direfang and Graytoes and the Boarhunters.”
Direfang’s breath whistled out from between his teeth. “All right, caves were once for goblins and hobgoblins, true. But now the woods belong to the clans. What’s left of this blasted city, that will be for the hated Dark Knights.”
They all looked at him, astonished.
“So if the city is for the Dark Knights, all the clans are leaving?” Keth said. He looked in the direction of the mountains. He couldn’t see the peaks, the foliage thick and the overcast sky making everything dark. “Everyone is leaving?”
“Very soon.” Direfang nodded. “That is my plan. The Dark Knights can have what is left of this damnable city.”
Keth and Gnasher nodded. Even Neacha looked pleased.
Direfang looked around for Mudwort. He had made another decision he almost instantly regretted. He desperately needed her now.
DEAD RECKONING
Bera couldn’t sleep. Curled against Zocci, she listened to his heart and the sound of distant thunder. She carefully extricated herself, not wanting to wake him; rose; and watched fireflies come to ground and rise again. She put on her boots and adjusted her under-tunic, wrinkling her nose at the smell of it and herself.
She needed a bath. All her men could do with one, and there was no river or stream in sight. Isaam had not grumbled lately about the march, but she knew the sorcerer hated the expedition. He wanted an easier posting in a city. She had to admit she wouldn’t mind such an assignment with its abundant supply of water, better food, and a soft place to sleep. Bera looked over her shoulder at Zocci; he was snoring softly.
Better, perhaps, that the Order keep her there-even after she found the goblins and the traitor Grallik N’sera. There she could have Zocci. Elsewhere, and her husband and daughter might come to join her, and the mad affair with Zocci would end. Word might get back to them anyway, about her infidelity. She’d stopped being discreet, thanks to the rigors of the march and the length of time she’d been away from her family-it had been many months since she’d seen them-and, too, she blamed it on Zocci’s continued advances. He’d been persistent.
It was all of those things, coupled with her weakness for someone so young and attractive. Bera knew she would have to be careful; her behavior could not be seen to jeopardize their mission; otherwise, her rank in the Order would suffer.
She padded farther away from him, weaving through the maze of sleeping knights, their snores mingling with the song of crickets and the constant buzz of mosquitoes and gnats. Three small fires burned, but she couldn’t hear their crackle over the other sounds. Sentries were posted near them. Nine, one for each hundred knights. Normally she’d post four or five times that number, but the men were so tired; she’d been pushing them hard. And that many knights camped in the woods had little to fear.
She passed one of the fires and nodded to the sentry. Behind him, the former knight Horace was tied up tight. He slept fitfully, and she hoped his dreams were filled with visions of his death. She would enjoy killing him when he was no longer useful, and she was certain he knew that. Zocci had suggested she was keeping him alive merely because she liked to watch him suffer.
She had no patience for traitors.
Bera did not consider herself a cruel commander; Horace’s death would be a swift one when the time came. Grallik N’sera however ….
“I could not sleep either.”
Bera recognized Isaam’s voice, but she couldn’t see him at first. He stepped from behind a tree, a slash of gray amid the shadows.