Finally, with a deep sigh of weariness, Direfang stopped and waited for the wave of escaping goblins to reach him.
So many had fled from Steel Town that their movement sounded like a thundering herd. Direfang closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply and registering the scents of blood-Graytoes’ and his own. But the sweet air didn’t carry a hint of the odor of burned corpses. He didn’t smell humans either-the Dark Knights and the laborers and their children. The scent of men was not particularly offensive to him, but he rejoiced in its absence. He opened his mouth and tipped his head back, howling in glee and inhaling deeply again and again as the thunder of goblin feet drew closer.
Within moments, his howls were echoed by the mass of goblins who yelled and screamed with joy to be free of their terrible labor camp. After a few moments, however, several goblins shouted to be heard above the others, one finally successful in catching the crowd’s collective attention.
“Quiet!” screamed a pale gray-brown goblin called Spikehollow. “The Dark Knights will hear! The ogres will hear!” He jumped up and down and finally climbed up on the shoulders of a stocky goblin of a similar coloring. “Quiet!”
The throng fell silent, though there were still murmurs from some. They circled closer to Direfang. The hobgoblin guessed there were maybe a thousand goblins there, maybe half of the slaves who had survived the quakes. He tried to spot Moon-eye, Saro-Saro, and Mudwort, but there were simply too many to sort through. And though the stars were shining down through gaps in the clouds, the goblins were like one thick mass. Direfang didn’t recognize any of those he looked for.
“Where do the clans go now, Direfang?” The question came from Spikehollow. His voice was raspy, having used all his energy running and shouting. The question was instantly repeated by other goblins nearby, acknowledging Direfang’s leadership.
“Moon-eye, where?” Graytoes craned her neck over Direfang’s shoulder, trying to locate her mate.
“South, maybe,” Direfang answered Spikehollow. “Maybe all the clans should go south. But right now, let’s head to those foothills to the east to rest and plan. Later, south …”
“Graytoes!” It was Moon-eye, alive, trying to push his way through the crowd of goblins, but not many knew him or were willingly giving him room to pass. “Moon-eye’s Heart!”
“South?” Spikehollow asked. “Why not south now?”
“To safety first.” Direfang growled and turned east again, forcing his way through the goblins who had gathered around him and starting to run again as the way cleared. Graytoes called for her mate and tugged at Direfang’s hair, begging him to stop so she could rejoin Moon-eye. The hobgoblin snarled, more crossly than he had intended, but did not answer her. Moon-eye was alive; he would follow. There would be time for a reunion when they reached the foothills. At that moment, he wanted more distance from the Dark Knight camp.
Cracks were evident in the ground even a few miles away from Steel Town, showing that the quake damage was not limited to the camp and the mine. In one place a wide crevice sliced through the land, looking like an ugly, jagged scar and causing Direfang to slow his pace and alert the huge crowd running behind him. Beyond the crevice, the landscape was chewed up raggedly, reminding the hobgoblin of Steel Town’s garden when it had been freshly tilled. Large rocks protruded there, sharp looking and dirt covered, suggesting they’d been buried until the quake thrust them upward.
The uneven, treacherous terrain would slow any pursuing Dark Knights, Direfang reflected. It certainly slowed him. When he finally made his way past the worst of it, he picked up the pace again. He was unfamiliar with the land that far east and had no idea if there was water running somewhere in the vicinity. But water was what he was looking and smelling for.
What plants there were in that area were stunted. A lone tree to the north was thick-limbed but looked dead. The hobgoblin desperately needed a drink of water, and he knew that the rest of the escaped slaves were just as thirsty. After he reached the foothills, he’d post some lookouts for the Dark Knights, ogres, minotaurs, and anything that might pose a threat. Then he’d search in earnest for water and go back and find Mudwort. He wanted the shaman goblin to talk to the earth again and see if any more quakes were coming.
Maybe, too, he thought, Mudwort could talk to the earth and ask it where water could be found. Why not?
Direfang’s feet were bleeding by the time he reached the first slope. His soles were thick from working in the mine but not thick enough to protect him against needle-sharp fragments of shattered rocks that were everywhere on the ground. He climbed up several feet and sat down with a great huff, gently resting Graytoes next to him and waiting for the rest to catch up. From his higher vantage point, he could tell that not all of the escaped slaves had followed him.
Some had fled south, scattering. Others were traveling north, where the mountains were steeper. But well more than half of the escaped slaves were coming his way. He intended to climb higher as soon as he caught his breath. He wanted to climb high enough so he could overlook Steel Town.
That was still too close to the camp to suit him.
As he peered for Mudwort, Graytoes searched the advancing line of goblins for Moon-eye. She didn’t whimper for him anymore, apparently satisfied that she’d spotted him once and was certain he was alive and would eventually find her. She put her hands on her stomach and looked up gratefully at Direfang.
“Hate the skull man,” she said. “Hate the Dark Knights.”
Direfang nodded. “It is fine to hate the knights. It is a good hate, Graytoes.”
The air filled with whoops and shouts of joy when the goblins and hobgoblins arrived. They’d forgotten Spikehollow’s warning about the Dark Knights and the ogres and felt like celebrating. They seemed to have forgotten everything in their unfamiliar exuberance. Spikehollow tried to quiet them again, but his efforts were wasted.
Direfang buried his head in his hands and waited for the ruckus to subside. Indeed, the ogres would hear those shouts, if there were any nearby, and perhaps they would come to investigate. But unless there was a small army of them, they could do nothing against so many determined, escaped slaves.
“Safe for the time. Safe away from the knights. Safety in numbers,” Direfang muttered to himself. “Strong in these numbers. Safe and strong and not stoppable.”
An idea began to form.
The hobgoblin patiently waited several long minutes until the celebration died down. The lack of water played a part in the quieting, as many of the goblins became hoarse and rubbed at their throats. He heard murmurs of “water,” “free,” “Dark Knights,” and words he couldn’t distinguish.
Moon-eye had found his way to the front. The one-eyed goblin was battered and bleeding, and Direfang noticed that quite a few of those in the front rank were injured too, not only from the quake, but from bumping and clawing each other in their mad dash away from Steel Town. Moon-eye scampered up the rise, put his arm around Graytoes, pulled her close, smoothed at her face with his free hand, and sang to her, an old tune Direfang had heard in his youth. It was the only one Moon-eye seemed to know-the song he had been singing when Direfang and Mudwort found the couple in the mine. Moon-eye’s voice quieted the goblins in the front of the throng.
High sun on the dry, high ground
On goblins it shines white-bright
Chases away the bad shadows
Chases away the deep night