Jean Rabe - The Rebellion

Moon-eye stood and pulled Graytoes up close to him.

Graytoes nodded. “It is up to Direfang to build the goblin nation.”

The hobgoblin looked up to the western rim of Godshome. Right then there was a break in the clouds, a soft, orange glow spilling through. The glow wasn’t reflected fire or lava. It was the sun setting. He remembered Moon-eye’s song:

Low sun in the warm valleys

All goblins watch the orange sky

Looking for shadows of ogres

Knowing the time’s come to die

“It can be done, this nation.”

His own words only mildly surprised the hobgoblin. Direfang recalled from days earlier his conversation with Hurbear, and wondered if the old goblin had made it through the volcanoes. “A nation of goblins. Yes, it can be done.”

The goblins and hobgoblins worked their way up from the Godshome basin, buzzing among themselves about forging a nation in the old land of the Qualinesti elves, one where every other race would leave them alone. Direfang was one of the first to leave the magical rock, picking up Graytoes and looking at Moon-eye, then pointing to the stairway.

The one-eyed goblin lingered at the edge of the basin. “Catch up,” he said to his mate and the hobgoblin. “Want to touch this again, look through it again. Experience the magic. Want to one more time. Be quick, catch up, promise.”

Graytoes looked to Mudwort, who rolled her eyes. Graytoes sighed, wrapping her arms around Direfang’s neck. “Not stay long, Moon-eye. Days and days and days walk to the forest.”

“Not long.” Moon-eye waggled his fingers at the pair and sat back down on the mirror black surface, fingers outstretched and mind searching. He vaguely registered Graytoes calling to him again, telling him to hurry and not to get lost in the magic.

He heard Mudwort call to him too, saying there were plenty of other places of power in the world that they could explore another day. Moon-eye was surprised that the red-skinned goblin was letting him tarry alone at that wondrous place. But the air was still filled with sulfur and ash, and perhaps Mudwort wanted to start the journey to Qualinesti as soon as possible. That was all right with Moon-eye. He’d be quick.

“Yes, hurry!” Moon-eye called. “Not long. Just one more look.”

But he had trouble using the magic of Godshome without Mudwort’s help. Indeed, he almost gave up when nothing happened right away and he glanced over his shoulder and saw the last of the goblins crest the top of the crater. Saro-Saro and Krumb were at the tail end of the line, the old goblin looking down at him, shaking his head, and gesturing to hurry.

Then, suddenly, Saro-Saro was looking up at Moon-eye because Moon-eye was up in the sky looking down on him. The one-eyed goblin blinked furiously and rolled his shoulders, worriedly withdrew his fingers, and stared down at the vision in the mirror black basin. There it was. The image of Saro-Saro had somehow appeared on the surface of the magical stone.

Of course! Moon-eye thought. He’d seen Saro-Saro at the top, and so was concentrating on the venerable goblin clan leader. And because he was concentrating, an image of Saro-Saro appeared in the basin. He had much to learn about the magic.

“Like the magic,” Moon-eye purred. “Love the magic.” He replaced his fingers on the surface, feeling his skin turn instantly ice cold, then fiery hot. It took him a few minutes to manage the painful sensations. Then his mind plunged into the earth, searching … searching.

He clamped his teeth together and thought about the forest. And just like that, Qualinesti appeared again, though not quite as clear and vibrant as when he and Mudwort were working together. Moon-eye knew the red-skinned goblin had a better command of magic, and he hoped she would teach him some of her wisdom. The air smelled better the more he focused on the forest, as if his nose had poked through the basin, down through the earth, and up into the sky, and had traveled to Qualinesti and was deep into the woods.

A trace of flowers, he smelled. Almost too sweet, he thought. Moon-eye was not used to smelling such good things. The earth had its own odor there too, rich and redolent but neither pleasant nor unpleasant. He listened hard, hearing the squawk of many, many parrots, the growl of something that might have been a big cat, and the shush of leaves rubbing against each other, as if a wind were blowing through the forest.

He could have lingered in the elf forest a long while, he thought; it would be easy to spend a long, happy time there. But Moon-eye needed to hurry to get back to Graytoes, and he wanted to talk to Mudwort about the new things he was seeing.

As he thought of the red-skinned goblin, the forest disappeared. Moon-eye was instantly disappointed, but then Mudwort’s face sprang up in his mind-and on the mirror black stone-just as Saro-Saro’s had. Mudwort tipped her head up, as if she were searching the sky to find a break in the clouds. She walked behind Direfang and next to Boliver.

“Magic in Boliver too,” Mudwort explained to the hobgoblin leader. Boliver’s face loomed large on the mirror black surface between Moon-eye’s spread legs. The goblin’s lips moved, and a heartbeat later, Moon-eye heard his words.

“Long way to the forest,” Boliver told Mudwort, sounding surprisingly cheerful. “Legs will ache. Stomach will ache. Worth it, though, in the end. Free in the forest.”

“Free,” Mudwort replied wistfully. “Slaves never, ever again.”

Not far behind them, Grallik and the other Dark Knights trudged wearily. The eyes of the wizard never left the hobgoblin leader and the red-skinned goblin shaman. Grallik could scarcely believe his own fate. He had left the knighthood behind forever and had joined the goblin army. He had cast his future with the strange magic of the goblins.

How many goblins had magic inside of them, Moon-eye wondered. Boliver and Mudwort and himself. Others? Not Direfang, but the hobgoblin didn’t need magic. He was strong and smart, and that was why he was commander of the goblin army-no, the goblin nation, Moon-eye corrected himself.

How many other goblins could work magic? When Moon-eye thought about the army, a blur of faces rushed past him, most of them yammering or yawning, too many words to pick through.

“Shouldn’t be listening anyway,” the goblin decided. “Words aren’t spoken to Moon-eye. Moon-eye shouldn’t be listening. Bad manners.”

He thought he’d peek at Graytoes one more time, seeing her cradled in Direfang’s arms. He knew he would never tire of looking at her beautiful face and wide, kind eyes. But, he reminded himself, it was better to look at her in person, not in the magic stone. He needed to leave the basin and catch up to the column. Graytoes would be worrying about him.

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?”