Jean Rabe: Death March

That was a god Direfang had not heard mentioned before.

“How did-?” Again Direfang’s voice cracked. Someone dripped water into his mouth, and he greedily swallowed the liquid.

“The sailors brought you and the others here,” the woman continued. “Cassandra and Jemtal sent us to tend you. Jemtal was once the same as Horace; he was a former Skull Knight. My sisters and brothers here are all from the Healing Lyceum. More of us are on your ship now.”

“Clearing it of the foul plague you brought aboard.”

Direfang opened his eyes finally and saw Captain Gerrold standing above him, next to Horace. The hobgoblin sat up, a little wobbly. He found he was in a meadow, the grass tall and mixed with purple and yellow wildflowers. Five women and two men in flowing blue and white robes trimmed in silver stood behind Gerrold. The tallest and oldest, a painfully-thin woman with short, gray hair, had been the main speaker.

Farther back stood four men in chain armor that glimmered under the late-afternoon sun. Had he slept most of the day away? Or how many days?

Spear in one hand, shield in the other, the quartet stood at attention and immediately reminded the hobgoblin of the Dark Knights in Steel Town.

“The Citadel Guardians,” the woman explained, following Direfang’s gaze. “They are a precaution only. Horace vouches for you.”

There were other goblins in the meadow, but they were some distance away, and there were more blue and white-robed men and women in their midst, as well as more of the armed and armored Citadel Guardians.

“Direfang, those goblins over there were found to have traces of the illness, and so the mystics are trying to heal them. They are far more proficient in healing than I,” Horace admitted. “Indeed, I envy their divine abilities.”

Direfang saw the oddest figure standing near the goblin gathering. It looked like a beast but walked on two legs. Appearing a little taller than Direfang, the figure had gray-green skin covered with thin fur and a head that resembled a hyena’s. A red-gray mane sprouted from the top of its head and ran down its neck. It was dressed in a leather jerkin and loose-fitting trousers. If it wore shoes, Direfang couldn’t see them for the tall grass.

“Orvago,” Aerlane named him, pointing toward the creature. “He is a gnoll, and one of Scanion’s druids from the Animism Lyceum.”

“A gnoll?” Direfang’s eyes widened. Horace nodded to him reassuringly.

“We do not judge here based on one’s race,” Aerlane said. “It is the heart that matters. Orvago is here because he is curious and because he has embraced nature’s arts.”

“He is always curious,” one of the robed men said.

Captain Gerrold stepped close and locked eyes with the hobgoblin, blocking his view of the gnoll.

Direfang noticed that the captain had changed into a fine shirt and trousers and that his hair was combed and tied tight at the back of his neck.

“That’s why I brought them all here, good lady. This one in particular. Good that you do not judge based on a man’s shell. And so you saved him, perhaps saved all of us.”

“Barely in time for him,” she answered.

“I’d not thought Direfang would make it the two days it took us to reach Pelican Cove. The island’s reputation spreads far across the waters, and I knew this was the only recourse, despite the distance. I thank you for allowing all of the goblins ashore, trusting woman. There are thousands, I know.” He broke eye contact with Direfang, turned, and took her arm, leading her away. “Now, tell me Aerlane, how does construction go on rebuilding the citadel? And can my men lend some of their muscle through the night? Carrying, cleaning, whatever we can do in Mishakal’s name. Take advantage of their gratitude now, and of all these goblins. The goblins are little, but they’re strong, and there are an awful lot of them.”

One of the robed women, who looked little older than a child, knelt next to Direfang. “It was an old, old plague that held you in its grip, one that the healers and mystics here had thought gone from this world. It is good that Gerrold brought you. And good that we can work to rid all of your ships of the last vestiges of this disease. The illness will not pain you and your brothers ever again.”

“What is this place?”

The girl passed him a crystal decanter of water and motioned that he should drink.

The water was cool, and he held it in his mouth before swallowing.

“This place? This island? This-”

She cocked her head. “I thought Aerlane explained that. You are on Schallsea Island near the Citadel of Light. What more do you need to know? Everyone has heard of this place, and-”

Horace cleared his throat. “Foreman Direfang has seen little of the world, Qel. He was …” The priest hesitated and let a breath whistle out between his teeth. “Until recently he and his kinsmen were slaves.”

She frowned first, then suddenly beamed. “Freed slaves? Good. All of the gods’ creatures should be free.” She helped Direfang stand. The hobgoblin found her surprisingly strong for her size. “The citadel was founded long years ago as a place to develop mystic talents. Now it is a place of learning and healing. But more than priests and druids and scholars call this home. Heartspring is near here, and Captain Gerrold has sent some of his sailors there to take on grain and vegetables. Heartspring is a farming village. Some of your kind are scattered on this island too, and-”

“Goblins? Or hobgoblins?” Direfang found that his full voice was returning. The cool water had soothed his throat and restored his energy. He wondered if there was something enchanted about the water.

“In the wilds are many races, Direfang. A forest surrounds much of the island. Some goblins live here. Captain R’chet has offered to take more goblins on his ship, provided that they can be gathered and that they will not fear the presence of his minotaur crew. The captains tell me they are taking all of you to the Qualinesti Forest, where you will build a nation for your kind.”

“Captain Gerrold and the minotaur R’chet speak too much,” Direfang growled.

“There must be a hundred or more goblins on this island. To be truthful, they vex the farmers, raiding the fields and taking sheep. No one knows how they got here, but Captain R’chet wonders if a slave ship wrecked on the coast and these goblins are the survivors.”

As they walked toward the host of sick goblins, Qel related some of the long history of the citadel to Direfang. “Goldmoon-”

“A Hero of the Lance,” Direfang supplied.

“Yes. Goldmoon was looking for a home for her mystics and settled on this island after climbing the Silver Stair. I will tell you about all that later. The dwarves of Hillhome built the initial citadel with its crystal domes. Knights of the Sword helped.” She paused. “Very many people helped. But a huge green dragon attacked the citadel during the War of Souls. It was looking for a great magical treasure. Some of the domes collapsed, and others were heavily damaged. But the mystics’ spirits were not harmed, and reconstruction is well under way. Some say the citadel will be more beautiful than ever when it is again finished.”

The hobgoblin let the rest of her words fade, instead concentrating on the chatter of his kinsmen. He’d found her story interesting but unimportant, and he doubted he would remember it long after that day. He looked around for familiar faces and realized that many of the goblins were pleased and excited to see him.

Two-chins rushed to him first, grabbing at his leg. “Clothes. Direfang needs clothes. Burned the old clothes, the people did.”

“Clothes later,” Direfang returned. “Back on the ship.” He remembered he had that new package of clothes waiting for him in the captain’s cabin.