The ground rumbled strongly beneath the fire pits, and Direfang hoped that another earthquake wasn’t coming to add to the confusion and misery. As he slogged through the battle, thumping bodies, he again looked around for Mudwort.
He was pitched to his knees when the rumbling intensified and the crack that ran to the communal building widened. As the goblin screams grew shrill and painful, Direfang realized that it wasn’t an earthquake. Something else was causing the strong vibrations.
The rumbling gradually turned into a sustained growl, with small cracks extending in all directions from the larger ones. The ground near the largest fire pit bulged upward, the earth turning powdery there as the growl climaxed.
That was when a massive centipede head thrust up through the still-widening crack. The centipede, surely the king of all the rest, was as large as a dragon, Direfang thought, as big around as three or four ogres. Its segmented body dropped down onto where the large fire pit had been, the impact causing a thunderous noise and sending goblins flying.
“Death comes!” Spikehollow shouted, his words a mere whisper amid the tumult. “Run from death! Run now!” The goblin spun, dropped the knife he’d been waving, and dashed past Direfang. Even the few smaller centipedes remaining scurried away frantically from the new monstrosity.
“Worse than digging beasts!” Crelb cried.
“Worse than earth dragons,” Spikehollow agreed.
Direfang would have joined Spikehollow in flight, but a look at the churning legs of the massive centipede told him retreat wasn’t the answer. The huge creature with its many legs would catch up to them in mere seconds. Its trilling sound deafened all those in the vicinity, including Direfang. It jumped up in the air again, showing a stomach as dark as the sky, and dropped straight down toward the hobgoblin.
He swung his club defiantly over his head, fully expecting to be squashed. But then, over the deafening trill and the sound of his heart thrumming loudly, he heard a great whoosh of fire-a fiery column that shot down from the sky, striking the centipede and instantly roasting it. Looking up, Direfang saw its legs flailing madly as the creature was turned into flames. The hobgoblin dropped and rolled away just as the burning creature crashed down onto one of the fire pits. A second column of flame caused the giant centipede to explode, fire roiling across the village.
The stench from the charred giant centipede set all the goblins to retching. Direfang struggled to his knees as he was overcome by choking spasms. When there was nothing left in his stomach to empty, he stumbled to his feet, feeling dizzy and weak from the intense, vile smell. There was no place in the village to escape the horrific odor; burning pieces of its carcass and little flaming piles were strewn as far away as the slave pens, the explosion had been that great.
The hobgoblin fought for breath, tipping his head back and furiously blinking his eyes. The burning air sent tears rolling down his face.
Throughout the village, goblins were similarly picking themselves up and fighting for air, waving their hands in front of their faces, as if that might chase away the incredible stink. Graytoes and Moon-eye clung to each other, gasping. Hurbear curled at their feet, seemingly unconscious.
Mudwort had been only halfway down the trail toward the village, so she was spared the brunt of it. But a piece of the creature had splattered all the way up there, and she looked at the burned flesh with a mix of revulsion and envy. The fire spells that ended its life had been impressive.
She took another few steps down the trail, breathing shallowly and keeping her eyes on Moon-eye, still intending to draw him back up to the crest. Then she whirled and looked up the way she’d come. No one in the village had been responsible for the fire spells, Mudwort knew, but with widening eyes, she saw who had saved the goblins.
The Dark Knight wizard stood at the crest of the trail that led down into the village.
27
Three men moved up from the other side of the ridge to stand near the wizard: a stocky dark-skinned priest and two other knights. All four wore tattered tabards and tunics, and the priest’s cloak fluttering behind him looked shredded, as if some clawed beast had raked it. Their skin was dirt streaked but slick with sweat. The two knights in armor stood at attention, the light from the still-burning centipede making their plate mail gleam and revealing all the pits and flaws in the battle-worn pieces.
The goblins not deafened or injured by the great centipede’s demise spotted the Dark Knights and surged toward the trail, shouting and waving knives. Mudwort rushed halfway up the trail again, arms raised and fingers splayed, shouting too-but not at the knights. She turned and planted herself in the path of the onrushing goblins, shouting at her own.
Her presence halted the goblins. Direfang lumbered into the front, pushing goblins aside with his good arm.
“Kill the skull man!” Brak shouted, his voice heard above others’.
“Kill all the knights!” came from a tall goblin in Saro-Saro’s clan, pushing up close to Direfang and Mudwort.
“Smear the blood in symbols!” Crelb yelled. “The symbols of Clan Spear!”
A crackling, snapping wall of flame shot up between Mudwort and the knights, stretching well beyond the sides of the trail and lighting up the village below. It was not so tall or so wide as the one the wizard had cast in Steel Town to stop some of the slaves from escaping, and its flames did not burn so hot as to harm the goblins. The fire burned only as high as the knights’ waists as they stonily watched the goblins.
“Brave the fire and kill them!” Brak called.
“Stop! Stop now!” Direfang yelled. He planted his feet in front of Mudwort and faced the throng. “Talk to the Dark Knights first.” He continued to shout to be heard over a chorus of murmurs and continued cries of “Kill the knights!”
“Why talk?” Saro-Saro edged through the throng. He was hoarse from shouting, and he was coated with goo from the exploded centipede. One of his clansmen tried to pick the most offending clumps off him. “Why talk instead of kill, Direfang? Why not smear the knights’ blood in clan symbols?”
The wall of fire crackled louder, and the ground trembled enough for all the goblins to feel it. The murmurs turned to speculation of another gigantic centipede coming-or another earthquake-with one of the hobgoblins in the front shouting that the wizard had clearly been responsible for the quakes in Steel Town and every bad thing that had happened since.
Direfang waited several moments until the horde quieted down a little. “Not kill the Dark Knights … yet.” He kept his voice loud, but he no longer needed to shout. All were listening, the knights too.
“Why not now?” Saro-Saro persisted. “The clan of-”
“Because the wizard helped by killing the great worm,” Direfang returned. He lowered his voice and narrowed his eyes, and he thumped a goblin in the chest who tried to dart past him. “If the wizard had not helped, the great worm would have killed many goblins. The wizard helped. So talk first.”
Saro-Saro’s lip curled up in a snarl. “Might be more knights on the other side of the trail, Direfang. Dark Knights come to find slaves, probably to buy new slaves from the dead ogres. Dead knights cannot buy slaves.” But Saro-Saro’s voice and eyes were flat, attesting to his supreme weariness.
Direfang shook his head and turned his back on the army, stepping around Mudwort and making his way up the trail to the four knights, stopping a few feet away from the wall of flames. The hobgoblin leader of the rebellion rotated his neck and clenched and unclenched the fist of his good arm.