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How far ahead of him had the army gotten?

With that thought, the vision in the basin shifted, and Moon-eye saw Saro-Saro and Krumb trailing a little behind the rest of the line. He intended to move away from that image to something more interesting, so he could see where the ex-slaves were right then. But something he saw riveted his attention.

Saro-Saro was speaking softly to Krumb, and the other goblin was leaning very close to hear, their brows knitted together and noses twitching. They were sharing a secret.

“More words not meant for Moon-eye. Bad manners to listen.” Still, he reflected, it would be fun to listen for just a moment, just a brief moment. Then he would leave the wonderful, magical basin and catch up with Graytoes and surprise Saro-Saro and Krumb with his knowledge of their secret. “What saying Saro-Saro? What is secret? What saying Krumb?”

Moon-eye, like many of his kind, was a curious fellow.

“Saro-Saro should lead.” Krumb’s voice was scratchy, as though there were something caught in his throat, and even with the magic, Moon-eye had trouble hearing all the whispered words. “Saro-Saro should lead the goblin nation.”

Saro-Saro nodded, and the old goblin’s lips crept up in a sly smile. “Smarter than Direfang, certainly.” He thumped his thumb against his chest. “Would do things differently. Do things much better. Not let so many goblins die and starve.”

Krumb made a snuffling sound and rubbed his hands together. “Direfang would build a peaceful nation, probably. Make goblins into hunters and farmers and nut gatherers. He is weary of fighting, I heard him say. Weary of fighting, bah!”

“Goblins should be raiders,” Saro-Saro said, agreeing, but gesturing for Krumb to lower his voice. “Killers and slavers.”

“Slavers.” Krumb’s dark eyes glistened. His eyes flicked ahead to the human slaves. “And killers, yes. Strong goblins.”

Saro-Saro said something else that Moon-eye couldn’t hear until the goblin leaned closer to the surface and put his ear to the black stone itself, to the very image of the old one.

“… kill Direfang,” Saro-Saro said. Moon-eye had missed the early part of his declaration. “When the hobgoblin sleeps. With the Dark Knight knife.” Saro-Saro carried just such a knife at his waist, Moon-eye saw, a weapon belted on with a strip of cloth that he’d scavenged from the ogre village. The pommel matched the color of the tabard he’d fashioned from an ogre child’s shirt. “Can be done, Krumb. In the old days, the one who killed the king became king. Can be done.”

“When the time is right,” Krumb whispered, nodding. “When Direfang is no longer useful. The mad one too.”

“Mudwort,” Moon-eye said. “Direfang and Mudwort.”

In horror, the one-eyed goblin pulled back from his magical scrying and scrambled to his feet in the mirror black basin. “My friends are in trouble.” He felt hot and dizzy, the magic of Godshome tingling through him. He tried to shake it off and start up the rise but walked as though tipsy.

He was halfway to the top before his senses cleared, and he saw no sign of the goblins along the ridge of the mountaintop. Panic gripped him. Had they left him too far behind? He felt his throat tighten, instantly worrying about Graytoes.

How long had he been playing with the magic in the crater? The goblins couldn’t have gotten too far ahead, could they?

The sky was still gray and the world in shadows, so Graytoes and Direfang probably weren’t able to see to the end of the column. They would think he was marching with them. They wouldn’t realize that Moon-eye had not yet caught up.

“Moon-eye’s Heart,” the one-eyed goblin sighed. “Must hurry. Must warn Direfang and Mudwort.” He scampered along the rim of the mountaintop, his fears giving him a surge of energy. “Must tell Direfang about Saro-Saro.”

He hurried down a trail he found on the southern slope of Godshome, certain the army had traveled that way and confirming it by taking a pinch of dirt in his fingers and sniffing it for goblin smells. He tripped in his race down the trail, head over feet, and bruised his ribs before picking himself up and gulping dusty air. He smelled the ash still thick in the air, though it was not nearly so strong there as it had been on the other side of Godshome. He smelled blood-his own-and dirt. But the scent of goblins was strongest.

“Not too far behind,” he told himself. He peered far ahead, believing he saw a goblin start up another rise, and well ahead of that goblin must be the tail end of the ex-slave army. “Someone else slow.” Moon-eye was thankful for that.

A few more deep lungfuls of dusty air, and he was off at a clip, though more careful than before because he didn’t want to trip and fall and lose time. There were clumps of grass here and there, not all of them brown, and the dirt was thicker along the trail, almost mud, helping to cushion the soles of his feet. He covered ground so fast that he drew close to the straggler, still far behind the rest of the goblin army. As he came up to the fellow, he spotted two birds in the sky.

“The land is better here,” Moon-eye said to himself. “Not so angry and not belching fire.” He thought that when he and Graytoes had another child, there would be wondrous stories to pass down to their younglings about their great escape from Steel Town in the midst of an earthquake, and about their victorious battle with the ogres, and all the volcanoes erupting and painting the sides of the mountains with their shiny red ribbons of fire. “Such stories.”

It was several long moments more before Moon-eye caught up with the last goblin, who had stopped to wait for him.

“Spikehollow!” Moon-eye stopped, leaning forward, hands on his knees and sides heaving. “Spikehollow waited?”

The young goblin nodded, coming up to him and clapping a hand on Moon-eye’s shoulder. “Worried, some were. Afraid the magic of that place might swallow Moon-eye. Almost gave up, but saw Moon-eye running down the mountain. Waited a little, and walked slow. And now together.”

Moon-eye continued to gulp in air. “Liked the magic,” he admitted. “Liked it almost too much.” Then he stood and stared into the other goblin’s eyes. “You, Direfang’s friend.” He touched Spikehollow’s chest. “Direfang is in danger. Listen. The magic told me something …”

The pair stayed on the trail, letting the rest of the army reach the top of the next rise. Moon-eye told Spikehollow everything-about seeing Saro-Saro and Krumb, listening to them conspire, about the pair planning to murder Mudwort and Direfang and turn the army into a force of killers and slavers.

“Certain this is true?” Spikehollow looked skeptical of Moon-eye’s vision. “Certain not dreaming? Magic and dreams, same sometimes, different other times. Maybe Moon-eye breathe too much of the volcano dust? Mind turn sour.”

Moon-eye shook his head so hard his entire body seemed to shake along with it. “No, no dream. The magic tells the truth. Direfang is in danger.”

Spikehollow nodded. “All right. Must hurry, then.” He pointed a thin finger up the trail, telling Moon-eye to go ahead of him.

The sky was a little lighter over the next rise, the cloud cover thinner. The pair could spot the last few goblins only a few miles ahead of them. They would have to hurry.

Moon-eye took in one more deep breath. “Yes, hurry now.” He brushed by Spikehollow and started off at a jog. He wasn’t as quick as he’d hoped, but his ribs hurt and his legs ached, and he was terribly tired. “Hurry, hurry. Hurry and-”

A sharp pain in his back suddenly competed with the rest of Moon-eye’s miseries. He glanced over his shoulder just as the pain repeated itself again and again. It was the greatest hurt the one-eyed goblin had ever suffered. Spikehollow stood behind him, holding one of the knives that had been stolen from Steel Town.

Moon-eye tried to speak, to ask Spikehollow why he had stabbed him, but he couldn’t get a single word out of his choked, burning mouth. His throat was filling with blood, and his back felt on fire. His chest burned too, where Spikehollow had whirled him around and stabbed him yet again.