Death March
Page 31
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.
“Let the priests watch this nation grow, grow in spite of everything.”
The hobgoblin turned away from the sea and led the goblins inland.
36
BERA’S QUEST
The largest ship in port, the Mercy Corvan had four masts and blue pennants flying from the top of each one. There were three crow’s nests and men in each of them. One was a Dark Knight scout who had scant sailing experience, but he had keen vision.
Bera paced along a plank sidewalk so she could better watch the ship being loaded. The crates and barrels were meager, given the number of knights they would have to feed. No matter how much she berated the local merchants, she knew she could extract little else from them. They told her that a well-dressed half-elf with a heavily scarred face had been through the town seven days past and had purchased practically all goods and supplies. The merchants tried to soothe her ire by suggesting she stop in one of the ports to the west and replenish along the way. But she had already tarried there too long and was anxious for the chase.
Bera stared at the ship. Along the top at the rear were ornate carvings of horses pulling a man in a chariot. The chariot man was dressed in a flowing robe, and his left shoulder and arm were exposed, an ancient style of dress she thought had been favored by the Irda. Birds with human faces were perched on the exposed flesh, all expertly rendered and painted garishly. Only one of those faces looked feminine. There were windows rather than portholes in the ship, the glass gleaming in the bright afternoon sun.
She shuddered, still furious the goblins had eluded her. She’d heard from a few sailors that a half dozen ships had been bought by the fine-dressed half-elf; there were rumors they had picked up passengers along the coast—not humans. Honor, and her orders, demanded that she find the ships, the wizard, the priest, and the fugitive goblins and deliver Dark Knight justice.
Isaam was standing at the railing, supervising the loading of knights and supplies. The wizard’s magic had not led Bera there, however; it was the handful of goblins they’d caught along the river to the east. The goblins had crumpled under torture, revealing they’d been part of a much, much larger force, one led by a grizzled hobgoblin who was aided by a former Dark Knight wizard. The goblins had left the larger army because they were afraid of traveling on ships across the New Sea. She’d spared two of the goblins, and they were in Mercy Corvan’s hold. After they recovered from their injuries, they might be able to provide additional useful information. If not, she’d see if they could swim.
“The captain wants to leave at high tide.”
The words startled Bera, and she turned to see Zoccinder, who had materialized behind her. “I’m well aware,” she replied tersely.
“More knights have just arrived at an outpost on the edge of this city,” he continued. “Come from the north, they’re tired from the forced march. Their commander has turned them over to you, as he’s returning to his post. The knights will be at the docks shortly.”
“That makes nearly five hundred of us, then.” Bera had picked up additional knights along the river. The mission was of the utmost importance. Among other things, her own future depended on its success. “And I’ve received notice that two ships are sailing from the north.”
“An adequate force,” Zoccinder pronounced.
“More than adequate to deal with those rats.” Bera paused and watched an ungainly penguin waddle down the pier and launch itself into the water. “I’m impatient, Zocci. Let’s get moving.”
She strode to the gangplank, Zoccinder following, their boot heels clacking in time across the weathered wood.
“We will crush the rats and send a powerful message across the face of Krynn,” she whispered. “And we will send the souls of our traitorous brothers to the deepest corner of the Ab
yss.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jean Rabe, the author of twenty science fantasy books including the popular Dhamon series, makes her long–awaited return to DRAGONLANCE® with the Stonetellers trilogy.
The Stonetellers, Volume Two
DEATH MARCH
©2008 Wizards of the Coast, Inc.
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Published by Wizards of the Coast, Inc. DRAGONLANCE, WIZARDS OF THE COAST, and their respective logos are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast, Inc., in the U.S.A. and other countries.
eISBN: 978-0-7869-5639-5
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