“Obsidian.” She knew the name of that stone, and she’d encountered it several times before in the mining camp. This obsidian, which made up the spear tip, was ten times as beautiful. Black glass, some of the knights in Steel Town had called obsidian. It was like glass, she had to admit, but as far as she knew, obsidian came only from the volcanoes that ringed the mining camp and stretched north and south in the mountains. There were no volcanoes in the forest.
Opaque in the center and where it joined the haft, the stone was translucent along the edges, all of it with a vitreous luster. A silver band wrapped around the spear just below the obsidian tip. Dangling from it were dark yellow feathers. Despite the passing of time and lying under the earth, the feathers appeared as if they’d just been plucked from a bird.
None of the birds in the trees around the clearing matched the coloration of the feathers, however. Mudwort cocked her head. The birds were still perched in the various trees, but they’d all stopped chirping and singing. It was deathly silent.
She stood and grasped the spear firmly, eyes scanning the woods around her. Something had spooked the birds, and though she couldn’t see anything, she was a little spooked too.
“Nothing,” she said after a moment. “There’s nothing there. There’s nothing to be frightened of.”
She looked at the spear again-her spear. The feathers were Chislev’s symbol. Mudwort knew that only because Saarh had said so. She’d heard the long-ago shaman talking about the god in one of the mystic journeys she’d taken through the earth. Saarh was foolish to worship a god that would leave behind such a beautiful, magical thing, Mudwort thought. Through the centuries goblins had learned to abandon the gods, just as the gods had abandoned the goblins.
And just as Chislev had abandoned the spear.
“Nothing to be afraid of.” Mudwort shook off her nervousness and decided perhaps she had spooked the birds by splitting the earth and bringing the great artifact up from its long slumber. She held the spear above her head like a warrior might.
“Oh!” The sunlight set the spear to fairly glowing. All the gems and inlaid metal sparkled and sent little shards of color spiraling away. “Incredible.”
Mudwort nearly dropped the spear in surprise when she heard a voice other than her own.
“That certainly is incredible and beautiful.” Standing at the base of one of the ash trees was Thya.
AT LAST, THIS IS MUDWORT’S SPEAR
Thya’s eyes shifted between Mudwort and the spear, her gaze finally settling on Mudwort, whose eyes were narrowed suspiciously.
“An amazing thing Mudwort has found,” Thya said amiably. She shuffled forward, one hand drifting to her belt to worry at a small brass buckle, the other reaching forward. “Grallik said Mudwort was looking for something. Grallik will be surprised at just what Mudwort has found.”
Mudwort raised her upper lip, but the snarl was lost on Thya, who was busy staring at the spear. A large crow launched itself from a high branch, cawing loudly and sending some of the sparrows flying in all directions.
Thya held out both her hands and wiggled her fingers.
“No, Thya. At last, this is Mudwort’s spear. Only Mudwort’s.”
“Just want to hold it,” Thya cooed. “Just for a moment. Beautiful. Nothing more beautiful than that.”
Thya was right, Mudwort thought. She’d never seen anything more glorious. The sapphire necklace she kept hidden paled next to the spear’s display of sparkling colors. The haft of the spear slightly warmed against her palm, the dizzying sensation fainter but still present … something else was present too. Something she couldn’t see or decipher. What?
“What?” Mudwort asked aloud.
An answer came but she couldn’t quite make it out.
Voices?
Mudwort heard Thya, asking just to touch the spear or to look at it up closer. She heard the leaves too, repeating “hope” and “wonder” and other words she couldn’t distinguish because Thya continued babbling. She heard another voice, a somewhat familiar voice, Mudwort thought. If Thya would just be quiet, maybe she could hear.
“Stop talking, Thya.”
“Just one touch.”
“No, Thya. I told you, this is Mudwort’s spear. Mudwort’s only. Go away.” She knew she’d never be able to go back to Direfang’s city. She couldn’t risk Thya or someone else stealing her treasure while she slept. “Come no closer.”
Thya stopped about five feet away, a hurt expression on her face. “One touch?”
Mudwort shook her head vehemently.
“That’s not a goblin spear. It’s much too long. And goblins would not make anything like that. Could not make anything like that. Mudwort, that is so beautiful. Where was it?”
More questions tumbled out of Thya: How did Mudwort learn about the spear? How did she find it? Who made it? Was it magic?
“Of course it’s magic.” Thya answered her own question. “Smells like magic. A very strong magic smell.” She wriggled her nose and took another step, edging closer. “Just a little touch, Mudwort, please. Hard to follow the footprints here. So much walking. Walk. Walk. Walk. Just one touch.”
Mudwort shook her head fiercely and held the spear in front of her, threatening. Thya looked surprised and shuffled back.
“Sorry,” she said. “Sorry, Mudwort. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.” Thya cast her head down then looked up, her expression growing brighter. “Direfang and Orvago think the Dark Knights are coming. That would be a good weapon against them, a beautiful and magical weapon. Direfang will be pleased. It will kill a lot of Dark Knights. Maybe it will scare all the Dark Knights away.” She gestured with her head for Mudwort to follow her back the way they’d come. “I can walk with Mudwort.”
“I stay here,” Mudwort said resolutely. “Mudwort can stay right here.”
“Mudwort isn’t coming back to the city?”
Mudwort thrust out her chin. “There is no city to go back to. S’dard to think the ruins are a city. Flattened, burned, all gone. Don’t need to be there. A waste of time, that place is.”
Thya’s eyes narrowed. “Mudwort has to come back. Direfang needs-”
“Direfang doesn’t need this spear.”
Thya pointed at Mudwort, her little face screwed up into a venomous expression. “Direfang needs Mudwort. Needs Mudwort’s magic. The Dark Knights are searching for goblins and-”
“No.”
“Desperately need Mudwort to help fight the-”
“The Dark Knights won’t find this goblin,” Mudwort retorted. Another crow launched itself from a tree and was followed by another, both cawing loudly. “Direfang neither.”
“Mudwort is-”
“Never going back there, Thya. Tell Direfang good-bye.”
Thya looked despondent. “Sharing spells and helping the city is very important, Mudwort. Graytoes loves Mudwort. Graytoes and Umay.”
“Umay,” the leaves whispered. Again, the goblin word for hope. The leaves spoke other words too: danger, warning, wonder, magic. But maybe they spoke nothing and Mudwort only imagined things in her confusion and anger at the intrusive goblin.
“No! Stay back, Thya!” Mudwort hadn’t intended to physically lash out at Thya. She had enjoyed Thya’s company and sharing spells and listening to her clan’s tales of their villages on the far side of the Nerakan mountains. But then Thya had lunged forward, maybe to touch the spear, maybe to grab it, and Mudwort brought the spear up quickly, level and firm.
The spear tip penetrated the other goblin’s belly, sinking in like a hot coal dropped in a snowdrift. Thya’s eyes grew so wide in surprise that Mudwort thought they might pop out of her leathery head.
Thya’s mouth dropped open, in astonishment or perhaps to say some admonishing words to Mudwort. But the spear sank in deeper, the tip coming out Thya’s back. She sagged and Mudwort caught her weight and eased her to the ground, pulling the spear free.