“You don’t want me,” he said, shaking his head violently and looking down at the ground. “You want the power you think I represent. You’re wrong about me, Senya.”
She stepped close again and breathed into his ear. “So what if I am? What do you want, Gaven?” She put a hand on his chest and started to slide it downward.
He took her shoulders in his hands and gently pushed her away, looking straight into her bright blue eyes. “I don’t want you,” he said.
He couldn’t quite read the expression that twisted her face. It was clear that she wasn’t used to being refused, and her hurt pride made her angry and defensive. But her eyes held something else, something that her anger couldn’t quench.
“Senya!” Cart’s voice surprised them both, and Gaven saw Senya’s pale skin flush red. “Gaven!” the warforged called. “Haldren is signaling! Time to move!”
Gaven wondered how much Cart had seen or heard, and what he’d tell the Lord General. His mind filled with a string of curses directed at Senya and himself, even as his feet carried him quickly to the gate of Grellreach.
CHAPTER 12
Darraun took in the scene while he waited with Haldren for Gaven and the others to catch up. His travels had taken him over most of Khorvaire, to Xen’drik a couple of times, and now to Aerenal, but Darguun was a new experience. It wasn’t uncommon to see the three races of goblinkind-the burly bugbears, proud hobgoblins, and sniveling goblins-in the rougher parts of many cities, and they were more common the closer you came to the fringes of civilization. Here, though, they were everywhere, from the guards at the gate to the merchants hawking their wares in ramshackle stalls that lined the main street.
Four hobgoblins stood proudly at the gate, wearing piecemeal armor-mismatched plates and bits of chain over a basic suit of leather-that was at least clean and well maintained. They leaned on polearms that were as motley as their armor, watching impassively as Haldren led the group through the gate. The guards were all almost a head taller than Darraun and looked considerably stronger, so he was glad that Haldren had so easily talked his way past them. Just past the gate stood a bugbear who looked like he was normally kept chained and as if he might begin a savage rampage at any moment-head and shoulders taller than the hobgoblins, covered in matted fur, and armed with a wickedly serrated sword. Despite his appearance, he too let them pass without incident.
If one could forget that all the citizens of this town were goblinkind, Darraun reflected, it would not seem very different from Whitecliff. The buildings were constructed from stone blocks salvaged from the surrounding ruins, but they were well made. Street vendors hawked food, clothing, and tools from push-carts and wagons pulled by donkeys or oxen. Many of the buyers were women, and children ran and played on the rutted dirt streets.
One thing made this place different from Whitecliff in a way that Darraun didn’t like. People stared at them wherever they walked-particularly at Cart, he noticed-and Darraun squirmed under their curious gaze. He had made a living out of blending in, and to be attracting so much attention made him nervous.
“Senya and I will get the supplies,” Haldren said as they made their way down the town’s main street. “We won’t spend the night here, so there’s no point in getting a room-even assuming we could find one that would take us.” He called a halt in front of an open-air building-some sort of restaurant or tavern by the looks of it-crowded with rowdy hobgoblins, probably drunk even in the early afternoon. “Why don’t you three find a table here and pass the time until we’re finished?”
Some of the nearby hobgoblins stared at Cart and pushed out their chests in a way that Darraun recognized as a sign of aggression, so he wasn’t sure Haldren’s idea was a good one. But the sorcerer was already walking away, his arm locked around Senya’s waist. “And watch your tongues,” Haldren said over his shoulder, shooting a glare at Gaven.
With a sigh, Darraun led the way to a table in the quietest corner of the place, making a wide circle around the aggressive hobgoblins near the street. “Do either of you speak Goblin?” he mumbled as they took their seats.
Gaven shook his head, and Cart said, “A few words-the kind soldiers throw around.”
“Let me order, then,” Darraun said, as a rail-thin goblin woman approached the table.
“Azhra dam?” Her voice was a high growl.
“Two ales,” Darraun answered in Goblin, and the goblin woman vanished in the crowd.
“I hope Haldren comes back quickly,” Gaven muttered.
“I agree,” Darraun said. “Cart, some of these men were looking at you in a way I didn’t like.”
“I noticed that,” the warforged said, “but I’m used to it.”
“Kak-darzhul!” Three of the hobgoblins Darraun had seen before stomped to their table, and the one in front addressed Cart. The warforged turned to face the one who had spoken. He was almost as big as Cart, and his arms were as thick as Darraun’s legs.
“He doesn’t speak Goblin,” Darraun said, pronouncing his words carefully to avoid any insult.
“Tell him I think his ancestors’ swords couldn’t cut the tail from a lizard,” the hobgoblin said.
Darraun started to explain the hobgoblin’s insult to Cart, but the warforged interrupted, rising to his feet. “Your ancestors couldn’t sharpen sticks to use as spears,” Cart said in perfect Goblin.
Darraun bit back a laugh. Naturally, the language of insults would be what Cart had learned from goblin soldiers.
The hobgoblin pounded his chest with one fist, raising the other hand toward Cart. Cart mimicked the gesture, and the onlooking goblins backed up, making a wide circle with Cart and their leader at the center. Cart and the hobgoblin clasped hands and started to push.
Darraun had never seen this form of contest before, but it was easy enough to see what was going on. Right palms together, each man pushed to his left, trying to force his opponent off balance. Their feet were firmly planted on the dirt floor, so Darraun surmised that a single step would mean defeat.
He also quickly saw what he hoped none of the goblins could discern: Cart was holding back. He would win eventually, but he was letting the goblin feel that the contest was a close one. Darraun smiled. Cart continued to impress him, demonstrating an amazing sympathy for the emotions of flesh-and-blood people.
A dozen goblins circled the contestants, shouting, laughing, and making wagers on the outcome. Cart showed no sign of exertion, of course, but his opponent grunted as his biceps bulged, veins pulsing. He leaned in closer, baring sharp fangs in Cart’s face and snarling to intimidate him. Unfazed, Cart bent his legs to lower his center of gravity, and with one last push he sent the hobgoblin sprawling on the ground. Cart gave his chest one more resounding thump and returned to his seat, among the yells and jeers of the onlookers.
A quick glance around confirmed Darraun’s suspicion that a lot of money had just changed hands. He figured that meant that their chances of nursing their drinks in peace were almost zero, and his fears were confirmed when a big bugbear stepped into the circle, drawing a chorus of loud cheers.
The bugbear pointed at the defeated hobgoblin, who tried to slink away. “Prax is so stupid he doesn’t know that the kak-darzhul have no ancestors,” the bugbear growled.
Many in the crowd laughed, but several looked with wide eyes toward Cart, wondering how he would respond to what they considered a grievous insult.
Cart leaned close to Darraun and whispered, “What did he say?”
Darraun translated, and Cart stood up. “Well, I wasn’t drinking anyway,” he said with a sigh. In Goblin, he addressed his challenger. “I’d rather have no ancestors than have ancestors too weak to throw stones.”