“Wise, Guardian Grallik,” Horace, the stocky priest, said. He was an Ergothian with dark and smooth skin. He’d been sweating heavily, and his face was scored with salty streaks that could have been tears for lost comrades. Though Horace’s posture was straight, there was fatigue in his eyes, and a sense that the priest was thoroughly overwhelmed.
“I appreciate your devotion to the wounded, Horace,” Grallik said. The wizard had seen the priest working to the point of exhaustion. Still, he did not care much for the Ergothian.
Horace had admitted once in Grallik’s presence that he joined the Dark Knights only because his brothers did and had pressed him into service, and that he revered Zeboim and never worshiped Takhisis. When his brothers died, Horace requested that the Order to post him on the coast or in Ergoth. Grallik believed that, when the time came, if the Order had other ideas, Horace would quit and likely return to the far island anyway.
Siggith? He was more loyal to the Order, as loyal as Montrill. Grallik had far more respect for Siggith.
“The pens are gone, splinters,” Siggith said. “I was trying to heal some of the slaves when the quake struck. For all my efforts, they practically trampled me. I’d flay them all if it was within my power, but …” He fixed his gaze on Grallik. “But the camp requires them, as you say. And with the pens in splinters, something must be done to hold them here.”
Three men walked past them, their clothes in tatters and their hair so matted and filthy Grallik did not recognize them. One was talking about his wife, who was wounded and near death. He looked up and stared coldly at the Ergothian priest, then moved on.
“The tavern man, his family, and some others are gathering wood now to help reconstruct three of the pens, Horace,” Grallik explained. “They’ll be using timber from the stables.” He had no need to explain his orders but felt compelled to confide in the priests, thinking his openness might make allies of them. “Fortunately or not, we won’t be needing five pens this time-not until we’ve acquired more slaves or recaptured the ones that have escaped.”
“Recapture?” asked Siggith skeptically.
“Wooden fences will not be enough to hold them.” The Ergothian smoothed at his robe, a nervous gesture Grallik had noted on other occasions. “We cannot spare enough knights to guard the pens. It’s a wonder they all didn’t bolt when they had the chance. A wonder that we didn’t lose all of them.”
Grallik considered boasting about his fiery wall that had blocked nearly half from escaping. Certainly they had witnessed the fire. The air still stank of roasted goblin flesh.
“Most of the slaves are dull minded and weak willed, thank Zeboim,” the Ergothian continued. “They have been so long under our thumb, they lacked the courage to run.”
“Perhaps,” Grallik said.
“Or perhaps they fear what’s out there more than they fear us. The ogres. Starvation.” Siggith let out a raspy sigh. “Minotaurs. We’ve told enough stories about the minotaurs that the goblins should fear them. Any sane creature would fear the horned race. But you want us to put even more fear into the goblins, eh, Guardian? You want us to … convince them that it is in their interest to stay.”
Grallik nodded. “For the sake of Steel Town.”
The wizard looked beyond the priests and to the glowing peaks. The streams of lava had thickened. It was not his imagination. And the crests glowed brighter than he’d seen them in quite a long time. The vivid color reminded him of the glowing ingots he had culled from the ore.
“Aye, Guardian Grallik, for Steel Town and the Order,” Siggith said.
The two priests headed shoulder to shoulder toward the slaves. Already the tavern owner and his son were reconstructing a corner of the center pen, flanked by two knights who aided and shielded them. Ten more knights were on the eastern side, working similarly. Swords out and at their sides, they offered a meager defense against the greater number of goblins. But so far the goblins remained docile.
Some slaves grew uneasy as the Skull Knights neared, a few shouting “murderer” and “youngling slayer” in the common tongue so the priests could understand their insults. They pointed to the gaunt priest. Still, they made no move to escape, though they grouped together and shook their fists. A hobgoblin raised his clawed hands and growled a string of harsh words that none of the knights could translate.
The Ergothian tucked his chin to his chest and started chanting loudly, the melody barely heard above the goblins’ chattering and the sound of digging-laborers working on reopening the new well. The priest crossed his arms in front of his considerable chest, then dropped them to his sides. He’d taken his gloves off, and his dark hands were growing pale and shimmering, beginning to look like molten silver.
The gaunt priest copied him, his hands also starting to glow. The Ergothian spread his fingers and pointed them at the goblins. The slaves huddled together defiantly and at the same time they backed away, fear etched on their faces.
The glow spread from the priests’ hands, forming two misty clouds that thinned as they spread across the mob of slaves, then slowly descended upon them. The silvery mist shimmered like dew on wet grass, and some of the goblins licked at the vapor, thinking it might be water.
“Steel Town is home,” Siggith droned. His words were honeyed and melodic, and the goblins stopped their chattering to listen to him. Most stared unblinking, mouths falling open, but a handful appeared resistant to his charm.
Grallik had seen the priests perform that spell once before, many months past, when a newly-arrived clan of unruly goblins had tried to resist orders to work a double shift. As before, the wizard admired the divine magic and wished he had such powerful enchantments at his fingertips.
“Home is safe,” Siggith intoned.
“Home is food and protection and fellowship,” Horace said. “There are no ogres in Steel Town.”
“Home,” one of the younger goblins called out. “Steel Town is home.”
“Food is in Steel Town,” another barked.
“There are no minotaurs in Steel Town,” Siggith said. “Home is safety. Home is water and work. Home is where you belong. Home is where the Dark Knights protect you.”
“Steel Town is protection,” mumbled a wizened goblin in the front rank. He grinned vacantly, showing only a few intact teeth. “Protection is good. Home is good.”
“There are no ogres here,” Siggith repeated. “No dragons.”
“Yes, home is safe.” It was the Ergothian’s turn. His voice was deeper and had an edge to it, and most of the goblins covered by his cloud of mist were entranced and started to sway.
If the priests were able to sustain their spell for longer periods of time, it might envelope all of the slaves and bound them all as surely as steel shackles, Grallik reflected. But some of the stronger-minded goblins appeared immune, and they visibly resisted the magic, gritting their teeth and closing their eyes. Some poked at the ones in a trance, trying to rouse them, but to no effect.
“Home,” the Ergothian droned, “is a place that slaves should never leave. There are ogres and minotaurs and far, far worse beyond the boundaries of Steel Town. Digging beasts running loose, earth dragons you call them, they are out there.”
“Steel Town is home,” another goblin called out.
“You must never leave home,” the Ergothian said, echoed by Siggith, whose voice was not as commanding as Horace’s.
“Wrap your minds around the notion of Steel Town as home!” Horace shouted. “Take home into your hearts. You must never, never leave Steel Town. Death awaits you in ogre lands. You are safe here. The knights protect you.”
“The knights will bring you water,” Siggith said. He instantly had the attention even of those resisting the magic. “The well is being reopened, and soon fresh water will be brought to you. There is no water outside of Steel Town. And the water we offer here will be cool and good and sweet.”