“Ragh!”
“Coming,” the draconian said. He pointed the long sword at Fiona, then Maldred. “Both of you, move. Stay in front of me so I can watch you.”
“What are they saying now?” Dhamon asked as Ragh and the others approached.
This time it was Maldred who answered. “Essentially they’re welcoming you to Throt, save that they call it Goblin Home. They are honored by your presence. They apparently have decided that you and the wingless sivak are among Takhisis’ greatest creations. They believe they are blessed by your presence.
The chief argues that Ragh is the greater blessing, however, as you still have some flesh on you and might be part human.”
“And you, ogre?”
“They believe I’m your slave, and Fiona is your property”
“Ragh?”
The draconian snorted. “Maldred’s translating well enough.”
“They talk a lot. Are they saying anything else worth knowing?”
Maldred paused, shifting his glance between the goblins and Dhamon while deciding how to answer.
“They’re asking how they can serve you—the ‘perfect children’ of their revered god.”
The sky continued to darken along with Dhamon’s mood, and he felt the ground tremble again beneath his feet—perhaps the precursor to an earthquake. “Perfect child of Takhisis. Ha. So everyone thinks I’m a monster,” he said softly. And maybe everyone’s right.
The goblin prattling stopped when Dhamon raised the glaive high, and as one the odd little creatures stood at some semblance of attention, breathing shallowly, eyes flitting between Dhamon and Ragh, faces all nervous. The stillness was broken by a wolf howling, and moments later by the screech of some night bird overhead. Again the ground trembled slightly, longer this time, before subsiding.
Ragh moved up alongside Dhamon, speaking in barely a whisper. “Use them, Dhamon. Put them on our side. Then we don’t have to worry about them.”
“Worry? I’m only worried about one thing.”
“Yes, I know. Finding the shadow dragon,” Ragh finished.
“All right. Let’s see if they can help,” Dhamon said. “Let’s see if they can guide us to Haltigoth, that is, the village near Haltigoth where Riki and my child are.” They’ll be a welcome nuisance if they do that, he thought. They can help against the hobgoblins outside the village if need be. “We’ll start now. The clouds are breaking and with the moon out it will be clear enough for travel.”
Ragh was quick to relay Dhamon’s commands to the ogres. When the draconian finished, several of the goblins grinned wide and bobbed their misshapen heads.
“They’re quite happy to help us,” Ragh told Dhamon, “though they say there are several human villages near Haltigoth. How will they know which is the right one? They fear they will displease you if they guess incorrectly”
“They should fear to displease me,” Dhamon said, “although I’m counting on the woman in the crystal ball to tell us which village.”
They’d walked until after midnight, a forced march set by Dhamon that had the goblins running and gasping and clutching their bony sides. The ground was not helpful, for it was broken by tree stumps and jagged rocks, with sharp dips and slick slate that sent the goblins flying. Dhamon found nothing interesting about Throt. The land was primitive and something he would have preferred to avoid.
When the goblins began to fall too far behind and even Ragh, Fiona, and Maldred had trouble keeping up, Dhamon grudgingly stopped by a thin, twisting brook. The moon was high, clearly illuminating the dying vegetation all around them and setting the water to shimmering like molten silver. The goblins struggled to catch their breath. They kept a polite if not wary distance from Dhamon and his associates.
Dhamon had ascertained that none of the goblins knew the common tongue, so he could talk freely without fear of insulting or provoking his guides. “To be venerated by these things is uncomfortable,” he confessed to the draconian.
It was clear Ragh didn’t share that feeling. The draconian basked in the goblins’ adoration and kept them busy bringing him water from the brook and plucking sweet apples that were still clinging to a nearby tree.
They’d removed the gag from Fiona’s mouth but didn’t untie her hands. The female Knight wouldn’t accept fruit or water and refused all conversation.
“They think we are going to ransom her to someone in this village. They think she’s royalty.”
“Don’t tell them anything different, Ragh.”
“They want to know why you and I don’t have wings.”
Dhamon grimaced. “What did you tell them?”
The draconian offered him a grim smile. “I told them I honestly don’t know where I lost mine,” he said. “Likely in some great battle so many decades ago that I’ve forgotten.”
“And me?”
“I told them your wings just haven’t sprouted yet.” The draconian instantly regretted the words when he saw the life go out of Dhamon’s eyes. “About Sabar,” he said, quickly changing the subject. He gently removed the cloth bag from his waist and produced the crystal ball.
There were a collection of ooohs and ahhhs from the goblins, and a few inched forward uncomfortably close until Dhamon halted them with a look.
“Ogre,” Dhamon said, calling to Maldred. “Use this crystal again, and see if you can find the village for us. I want to look in on Riki and the baby”
Maldred selected a flat, dusty patch of ground, spread his legs and rested the ball on its crown base between his knees. Using the ball was so much easier now, as his mind was already familiar with the magical pulse of the crystal. Soon the purple mists filled the globe, parting to form the image of Sabar.
“You seek me again, O Sagacious One,” she purred to Maldred. “Are we to take another journey together? I would enjoy that.”
Maldred quickly shook his head. “Show us the village, Sabar,” he said evenly.
“Blöten?”
“No. The one from before that, the one inhabited by the half-elf and the babe.”
“As you desire, O Sagacious One.”
Sabar twirled within the confines of the crystal, gradually revealing the village. Dhamon motioned one old, yellow goblin forward. The creature leaned over the globe, finger extended and almost touching the glass, but clearly afraid.
“Ask him if…” Dhamon nudged Maldred, watching intently as the image shifted to show Riki sleeping with the babe at her breast, Varek lying curled at her side. “Ask him if he’s seen this place.”
The goblin’s crude language sounded even worse in Maldred’s deep voice. The ogre-mage spoke for several moments, pausing at intervals to let the goblin answer him. Finally Maldred looked up from the crystal. “The old goblin’s name is Yagmurth Sharpteeth. He’s their leader, and he says he knows where this village is. Apparently he and his people are quite familiar with it. They usually visit it in the late summer, raiding small fields for corn and potatoes, and in the spring they come again when sheep are born. They didn’t visit it this summer, though, as a force of hobgoblins have been camped just outside of it for the past three or four months.” A hint of a smile crept across Maldred’s face. “The goblins hope the ‘perfect children of their revered god’ will lead them against their cousins, the hobgoblins, so they can crush their enemy and again raid the village for food.”
Dhamon studied the goblin named Yagmurth. “Only if necessary will there be a fight with the hobgoblins. Tell him that. Fights take time, and I’m in no mood to waste time. There’ll be a battle only if that’s the last resort, for I’ll do anything to make sure Riki and the child stay safe. But don’t tell him that.