“The knights see! Run fast and be mean!” Direfang called to the goblins. “Kill the Dark Knights!”
18
Kill the Dark Knights before the Dark Knights kill Spikehollow!” Spikehollow called. “Before the Dark Knights kill Brak!” “For water!” Folami cried. “For lots of water!” “Beautiful water!” Direfang ran straight toward the center pen, where the Dark Knight guards were lining up to fight the attackers. One yelled a warning to the rest of the camp, then led the others charging the hobgoblin.
Direfang slashed wildly at the first knight-no skill behind his swing, but a considerable amount of strength. All the years toiling in the mine had given Direfang powerful arms, and when he connected with the Dark Knight’s waist, he cut through the chain mail and severed the man’s spine.
The hobgoblin was so surprised at the effectiveness of the blow that he froze, letting the other knights dart in and surround him. They would have skewered him too, had the rest of Direfang’s army not caught up and swarmed them.
Like Direfang, the goblins and hobgoblins boasted no skill with their weapons, and unlike him, they’d never paid much attention to the Dark Knights’ drilling. But their numbers overwhelmed the small group of knights. The goblins knocked the soldiers to the ground without suffering much injury to themselves, and proceeded to drop their weapons and tear at the knights’ faces and necks with their teeth and claws. Some goblins wielding long knives stabbed at the knights, over and over until their own leathery hides were soaked and coated with Dark Knight blood.
In the midst of the melee, Direfang was facing off against one knight, ducking beneath the powerful swing of the man’s sword. The steel whistled in the sulfur-filled air. When the knight brought the weapon around a second time, Direfang thrust his own sword forward clumsily, just grazing him. But the strength behind the blow surprised the knight, and Direfang kicked at his legs until he toppled.
Dropping his sword, Direfang leaped on the knight, tearing at the man’s black tabard and chain coif, pulling them both free and pounding on the knight’s face. He pounded and pounded until the bones broke and the man had no face left, was just a mushy, distorted form with broken, protruding teeth and bare skin slick with blood.
Direfang had never killed a person before that day, but within a few minutes he’d sliced through one man and brutally slain another. His savageness ought to bother him, he thought, but he didn’t feel any emotion except pleasure. He rose from the second man’s body and picked up his sword then bent and grabbed the knight’s sword too. A few steps ahead of him was another knight, and the hobgoblin jabbed at the man with both blades, shoving forward and piercing the man’s chest.
The goblins were hooting and howling, and by then the entire camp was alerted. Direfang was annoyed that his plan had been subverted so quickly. He’d intended to ambush the knights guarding the slaves, quickly and silently, release the slaves, steal all the water and other provisions they could find in a hurry, and make their escape.
That plan was ruined. Yet all the knights who had been guarding the pens were dead or dying. The goblins were hopping over the bodies and pushing, like a wave crashing, against the rebuilt, makeshift pen that was so rickety it was already swaying. Direfang watched as his goblins smashed it down and yelled at their freed fellows, urging them to run east. The shouts turned angry when most slaves simply stood dumbstruck and refused to move.
“Magic!” It was Mudwort. Direfang spotted her perched atop a still-standing post, waving to him and shouting. “The skull men used magic to deaden minds! The goblins are rooted like trees to this place. Their minds are magicked.”
Direfang leaped over fallen knights, slicing open throats as he went just to make sure that some of the moaning, groaning ones would surely die. Then he pressed through the swarm of goblins until he was at the broken pen, knocking a few entranced slaves aside to reach Mudwort.
“Why come back?” The shaman cocked her head and gave the hobgoblin a stern look, yet with a faint smile and grateful relief showing in her eyes. “Come back for Mudwort?”
“Water,” he said, shaking his head, unwilling, even now, to declare his friendship. “Came back for water. For all the goblins and for food. Came back for those things.”
She grabbed his arm and climbed on his shoulders, her legs straddling his neck. “Water there.” She put her hands on either side of his head and forcibly turned his gaze. “Thirsty, Direfang. So very, very thirsty. The shattered well is new again and filled with sweet-smelling water.”
Direfang growled softly. He knew where the well was, he’d stacked a ring of stones around the place. But the stones had been tossed away by the second quake, and all around the area, goblins were frantically digging.
“Well collapsed,” she explained. “Broken. The quake destroyed the rest of this place along with the well. Everything is broken. Destroyed the insides of the mountain too, the quake did.” Her voice was gleeful. “And there.” She turned his head again so he could see a row of benches loaded with jars and skins. “Things to carry the very sweet water.”
“Lots of things to carry lots of water.” Direfang smiled at the thought of bringing water to Moon-eye and Graytoes, and even to Saro-Saro and Hurbear. But first they would have to fight more knights, as dozens came running from various posts around Steel Town, all in arm and leading with their swords.
“Wait here,” Direfang said quickly, setting Mudwort down and shouting to the goblins to turn around and meet their nemeses.
Many of the knights were spent, Direfang could tell, their faces dirty and haggard. Still, they looked fierce and determined. Yet the goblin army was surging with energy, all their pent-up hate boiling over and erupting. All but the hobgoblins had dropped the long swords. But many of the goblins had snapped up knives and daggers from the blood-splashed Dark Knight bodies. Those knives were out and flashing as the goblins rushed to meet the knights, and even more, teeth and claws viciously ready for the hated humans.
The first row of goblins fell screaming as the organized and well-drilled knights cleaved through them like farmers cutting down wheat. But before the knights could draw their swords back for second blows, the second and third line of goblins engulfed them. Direfang watched the knights gasp with surprised exclamations of pain, their spurts of blood filling the sulfur-laced air. The quakes had beaten the knights down, and exhaustion added to their misery. They weren’t the same hardened troops who had ruled Steel Town before.
The knights’ feeble attempts to regroup were soon drowned out by their screams and the whoops and shrieks of the goblins. Even Direfang howled in a frenzy. He ran toward the south slave pen, where goblins were clawing and pounding without weapons at the exposed faces of fallen knights. But they showed a discipline lacking in the first battle. They beat one knight after another senseless, but moved on quickly to other foes after making certain each victim was dead.
It was a good, strong army Direfang had assembled.
“Most have muddled minds, Direfang.” Mudwort had followed him and was there at his side, pointing to the slaves in the pen area. They milled there with blank expressions and dull, empty eyes that didn’t seem to notice the battle. “Most won’t leave. Muddled minds won’t let the feet move.”
But the few who had resisted the Skull Knights’ spell were moving, some joining Direfang’s army, others fleeing east.
“Hold tight, Mudwort.” Direfang placed her up on his shoulders again and rejoined the fray as still more knights materialized and advanced toward the struggle. With Mudwort shouting and pointing to aid him, he swept both swords up and down, as he’d seen the knights do, clearing out a line of knights who had targeted him as a leader.