Jean Rabe - Death March

“Could make a goblin home here,” Two-chins suggested. “Lots of trees, farms to raid, sheep and goats to-”

“Goats!” That was blurted by Truak. The big hobgoblin stood and smacked his lips. “Like goats a lot, me do.”

“Back on the ship,” Direfang said. “That is our home for now.”

He spoke loudly, making it a command for the others to hear. “The forest that once belonged to the elves is not far now.” At least he hoped it wasn’t. He tried to picture the map Gerrold had showed him days past. He recalled seeing the island, but he couldn’t remember how much sea stretched between the island and the Qualinesti Forest. “Be fast,” he added. “Get back on the ship.” A part of him worried that Captain Gerrold might sail on without the goblins. He vividly recalled the anger in the man’s voice and the fire in his eyes when he accused Direfang of bringing the plague on board his ship.

Looking around, he finally caught sight of Mudwort, who was well east of the assembly. She sat with the wizard; Grallik was hunched over so far that his forehead appeared to be touching hers. A snarl caught in Direfang’s throat; he disapproved of Mudwort aligning her magic with that man’s.

“Back to the ship, now. Now!” The goblins around Direfang grumbled only a little, they were so pleased to be healed and happy to have the hobgoblin leader back among them. Two-chins picked a handful of the yellow flowers as he turned to head toward the sea. For his mate, he told Direfang, and he hurried to be one of the first back. The robed men and women slowly followed the goblins down a winding dirt path that stretched toward the sea. The guardians remained, eyes on Direfang and hands clenched tightly on the spears.

Direfang approached Mudwort and sat near her and the wizard. His fingers were twined in the grass, like hers, and after a few minutes, he pulled up a long blade and slid it between two teeth.

“Do what?” Direfang finally asked.

“Looking for goblins.” Mudwort answered him in goblinspeak, which kept their words private from the wizard. “Calling the ones hidden on this island. The old, skinny woman asked for this. Wants the goblins away. Says it will be better for the goblins. Says there is no prejudice here. But those last words sound hollow.”

Direfang nodded.

“Still,” Mudwort continued, “calling the goblins on this island is good. Calling goblins from other places is good too.”

Direfang frowned.

“Still summoning them, Mudwort? We don’t have enough already?”

She smiled. “Talking through the stone, Direfang. Calling goblins and hobgoblins through the earth. Many more goblins everywhere. Many listening too, and some talk back.”

He noticed that her and Grallik’s hands were buried in the ground and that the grass had twisted around their wrists. He watched them for quite some time, aware of the guardians still standing rigidly but more aware of the meadow. He’d never felt so at peace before, and he allowed himself time to savor the moment.

Twilight had claimed the sky by the time Direfang heard Grallik and Mudwort stir away from their magic. He’d sat there for hours! His legs were a little stiff, but he shook off the feeling as he stood.

“Past time to return to the ship,” he declared brusquely in Common so the wizard would understand. Direfang suddenly wanted to don his new clothes. He felt fully healed, alive again. “Be fast.”

Grallik likewise was stiff, picking up first one leg then the other and rubbing them to get the feeling back. “Aye, Foreman.” The wizard’s eyes glistened like polished black buttons. “Past time it is. And soon enough we’ll be in the Qualinesti Forest.”

“The Goblin Forest,” Mudwort corrected him. She hadn’t stood, and her hands remained in the earth. “Go,” she told them. “Won’t be long now. Just a little bit more.”

Direfang started to argue, but the wizard brushed past him, taking the same dirt path. The hobgoblin decided to follow as Mudwort wouldn’t listen to him anyway. Stubborn goblin, she was.

“Just a little longer,” Mudwort said.

The guardians remained, watching her.

The forest she envisioned had more trees, though they were still all relatively young-hundreds and hundreds of saplings. Mudwort knew Saarh had done something to increase the number of the trees. Everything was more lush and greener, and there were more goblins too, plenty of younglings hanging on their mothers.

They’d built a village, which consisted of dozens of rock and wood-domed homes atop hollowed-out earthen nests.

“How long ago was this?” Mudwort mused, concentrating. “Long time ago to be certain. A long, long time.” When her mind had touched the forest as it existed in her time, during the seeing spell she’d just conjured with Grallik, there’d been no trace of the village. So Saarh and her followers had had enough time to build homes.

She’d been careful not to search for the spear, buried somewhere in the ancient woods, wrapped in the once-beautiful piece of cloth. She didn’t want Grallik to know about the unusual spear, once wielded by Saarh. She could search for the spear because she was alone, but it was getting late, and she’d better be careful; she might miss the ship. She would find an opportunity to look later.

“The spear of Chislev,” Mudwort murmured to herself. “Soon to be Mudwort’s.”

She took a last magical glance at Saarh, who stood apart from her village, looking up at the twilight sky. Yes, there it was! Chislev’s spear was in Saarh’s hand, and her consort was at her shoulder. He no longer had the crooked face, and his leg and foot were not twisted. But Mudwort knew it was the same goblin.

“The spear and the power will be Mudwort’s very soon.”

A few days later, nearly five thousand goblins stood on the shore of the Qualinesti Forest, watching the longboats row back to the five ships that had brought them to land. More than one hundred fifty goblins had streamed from the woods to join Direfang’s ever-growing goblin nation on the journey from Schallsea Island.

Grallik stood closest to the water, hand shielding his eyes as he looked toward the ship and the setting sun. Mudwort stood near the wizard, her back to the sea, peering inland, already wandering off on her own path.

Direfang guessed that the wizard was trying to catch one last sight of Horace on the Clare’s deck. He’d heard the wizard arguing hotly with the priest, demanding that he come to the forest with him and Mudwort and Direfang and all the other goblins. The hobgoblin leader had interceded and decreed the priest could go where he wished, that Horace was free.

There were two healers to replace Horace; Direfang was thankful for that. One was the gnoll Orvago, a creature the hobgoblin considered even uglier than his scarred self. The gnoll said he had wanted to come along for the adventure and to make sure the goblins did not damage the “precious woods.” Direfang did not object to the creature’s presence because if an illness such as the plague came again, he wanted all the help he could get in dealing with it.

The other was the young woman named Qel.

“I was born on Schallsea Island,” she had told Direfang as she boarded the Clare . “And I need to see something else of the world. Why not start with the ancient woods and the birth of a new nation?”

Direfang suspected her motives were not so innocent and that the mystics at the Citadel wanted her to be their eyes.

“Let the priests watch,” he muttered, drawing the curious stare of Graytoes.

Graytoes wiggled her feet in the sand, scampering back when a wave came in and careful not to drop Umay. The baby cooed happily, and Graytoes answered it with meaningless sounds.