One knight managed to step past his weapons and slice the hobgoblin’s left arm. Direfang reflexively dropped one sword and pulled his wounded arm in close, lurching and nearly unseating Mudwort. But at the same time he brought his right arm around with as much strength as he could summon, the sword cutting through the knight’s chain shirt and plunging deep into his shoulder. The blade was lodged there for only a moment, then Direfang pulled hard to free it. Then he brought the sword down again, cutting the man deeply on his head and finally kicking out and bringing him to his knees, weaponless. Before Direfang could finish him, goblins swarmed the fallen knight and started clawing him.
“Could have done this long before,” Mudwort said, leaning toward one ear. “Gone after the Dark Knights to win freedom. Should have done this long before. Why not before now?”
“Before there were wards and pillars of flame,” Direfang answered. “Before there were more knights and less willpower.”
“Yes, and before the ground did not shake.” Mudwort agreed, resting her chin on the top of Direfang’s head as the space cleared out around them and the fighting moved on.
“This place is ruined now,” Direfang said, looking around in satisfaction at his rabid army. “So are the knights. Came back for water, supplies, and other goblins and you. But didn’t plan a victory … a total victory, like this.”
Perhaps one-third of the Dark Knight soldiers had been killed by the first quake, with one-third wounded, and only one-third unhurt. That was what Direfang had heard someone say to the wizard. And that was long hours ago, before the second quake. The second quake had been every bit as powerful as the first, perhaps worse, so the knights were further weakened.
The whole camp could be taken by his ragtag army, Direfang suddenly knew, though at some loss to his force.
“Water!” the hobgoblin shouted, reminding his army of their first goal. He shouted and shouted the word until he couldn’t speak. He sorely needed water himself. His legs burned terribly. His left arm pained him too, from where he’d been cut.
The hobgoblin felt a stickiness down his side and realized it was blood dripping from his arm. He couldn’t focus on his wounds right then, however, as he spotted three knights heading toward the well, one of them the hated skull man who had magically ripped away Graytoes’ youngling.
Mudwort was shouting something and pointing, but he shut her out of his mind and charged the trio, feet pounding behind him to let him know he had plenty of bloodthirsty company. He nearly tripped in his haste, crashing over a fallen knight, but somehow managed to keep his footing and lead with his sword as though it were a pike. Mudwort clung to him.
The Skull Knight, looking sickly pale in the light from lanterns scattered unevenly around Steel Town, turned and squarely faced Direfang, seeming to recognize the once-loyal foreman who had led the slave escape. The Skull Knight moved his hands as though he were weaving lace. A silvery blue glow arced out and struck the hobgoblin in the chest.
“End this fight,” the Skull Knight proclaimed. It was Siggith, the priest who had earlier helped charm the goblin slaves into staying in camp, and who before that had murdered Graytoes’s baby. “Tell your pitiful soldiers to surrender! Yield to peace, and we will feed you and keep you safe!”
The words sounded so pretty and soothing, they begged to be heeded. Direfang wanted to obey, hear more of the sweet words.
“Steel Town is the only place you’ll be safe, hobgoblin. Safe from the ogres and minotaurs. Steel Town is home!”
The Skull Knight’s voice wrapped around him like a soft blanket, and Direfang froze in hesitation.
“We will keep all of you safe,” Siggith continued.
The silvery blue fingers of light jumped from Direfang to spread to the goblins behind him and closest around him.
“End this fight and find peace, hobgoblin. Embrace peace, all of you. Drop the blades and rest. Welcome home.”
Direfang’s right arm dropped. “Find peace,” the hobgoblin parroted dully. “Peace. Safety. Home.”
19
No! Direfang, do not listen to the skull man!” Mudwort jabbed her fingers at the sides of the hobgoblin’s head. “No!”
“There is peace in Steel Town,” the Skull Knight continued, staring hard at Mudwort.
Many of the goblins trailing Direfang had stopped, and the soft thuds that followed were their knives and daggers hitting the ground. But the spell didn’t reach all of the goblins, and some swarmed past the ensorcelled ones and headed straight for the trio of knights near the well.
“No, Direfang!” Mudwort clawed at his face, jarring the hobgoblin back to reality. “No muddled mind, Direfang! No time for a muddled mind!” She thumped her heels against his chest for good measure. “Move, Direfang! Kill the skull man!”
A heartbeat more, and the haze in his mind lifted. Mudwort hammered at his shoulders to spur him on. With a deep breath and a shake of his head, he started racing forward again, his mind clearing, bent on throttling the life out of the priest. But Direfang was not able to reach the man because he was surrounded by a deep press of enthralled goblins.
The two knights at the priest’s side were still alive and fighting, slashing away at as many goblins as they could reach. Those two were clearly elite warriors, Direfang could see. Their moves were precise, and they flaunted many medals on their tabards. And though they were killing one goblin after the next, they couldn’t hold off the mob forever. Again he tried to push forward, gaining a little ground.
Bleeding, snarling goblins who had shrugged off the magic scampered up the men’s legs. Some were bashed aside by the knights’ shields, but others climbed up their tabards and scratched at their faces. More goblins swarmed the knights until it looked as if a leathery goblin hill had grown by the new well. The Skull Knight was swallowed up too.
Direfang watched all the trio fall before he could get close enough to join in the killing. He tried to call out to Spikehollow, but his throat was still too dry. The young goblin was tearing at the priest and oblivious to anything else.
Instead Direfang turned and lumbered toward the benches with the skins and jars on them. He desperately needed water.
“The blasted wizard!” Direfang cursed in a low voice, as much for his own ears as Mudwort’s. He’d found a jar filled with water and drained all of it in one long gulp, regaining his voice. “Not spotted the Gray Robe among the dead, Mudwort. The wizard is the commander now, and must be found and killed in order for goblins to be safe.”
The fight continued behind him, and as his right hand closed on a clay jug, he looked around for the man called Grallik.
“Should have been watching for the wizard. Forgot all about the wizard, Mudwort. In all the blood frenzy and with all the noise, forgot. The most dangerous man is still in camp.”
Direfang knew it was the wizard who had birthed the sheet of flame that kept goblins from escaping with him, and who had summoned the priests to muddle all the slaves’ minds.
So there was at least one priest left in Steel Town, there was the wizard, and there were still plenty of knights who would be coming to fight the goblins. They wouldn’t surrender. They would fight and fight until death.
“With the wounded maybe, the wizard is,” Mudwort said, thinking it over. “Protecting the wounded. Protecting Marshal Montrill.”
Yes, protecting themselves, Direfang thought. Gathering their forces and making a last stand with the wounded. The wizard would have enough sense not to send all of the surviving knights to confront the ravenous army of slaves.