“This will damn me,” Grallik muttered. “Kill me. Those flea-ridden monsters will-”
“The wizard killed Leftear,” one of the hobgoblin’s friends cried. “Kill the wizard! Revenge in blood!”
“Yes, Leftear is dead. Stinky dead.” Upana grabbed at Leftear’s waist, gagging on the scent of burned flesh that mingled with the stench of the sick. He pulled free a long knife and rushed at the wizard. Keen as the goblin’s eyes were, he didn’t see a pool of blood near a coughing hobgoblin. Upana slipped in the ooze and fell down but was quick to struggle to his feet.
“Stay away from me!” Grallik shouted. “I’ll not touch that blood! Keep your damnable sickness to yourselves!”
Upana continued his charge, just as lightning flickered again, and the wizard blasted him with a ribbon of flame. The impact propelled the goblin back into a sick kinsman who was trying to rise.
The fire and commotion caught Direfang’s attention. He and Mudwort had been too far away to see Leftear attack the priest, but he could tell there was trouble brewing beneath the tree.
Another column of flame lit up the night. The flash almost blinded the hobgoblin, but it also served to reveal a group of goblins swarming at Grallik and toward the black willow.
“Stay put,” he ordered Mudwort. “Stay away from the plague tree!”
He lumbered forward toward the column of flame. Fingers of lightning again illuminated the wizard, who was being pulled down and pummeled. Another flash showed the glint of several blades.
Direfang ran as fast as he could, not to save the Dark Knight, but to stop a brawl in which who knew how many goblins might be hurt. He was at the scene in a few heartbeats, and started pulling knives out of goblins’ grasps and hurling them into the river. Then he tugged the goblins off the wizard, who in such a short time was already badly beaten and cut.
“What is the meaning behind this?” Direfang bellowed. Staggering, the wizard put his back to the hobgoblin’s. “Speak fast!” Direfang demanded.
More goblins were rushing toward the black willow, all of them anxious to be a part of whatever excitement was happening.
“Speak now!” Direfang screamed so hard his voice broke.
He was answered by dozens of explanations that ran together and made no sense. The sound of the brawl at the tree, the goblins’ chattering, the river rushing by, and the thunder coming louder rose to a painful cacophony. The wizard was also trying to explain, and Direfang could pick out only a few of Grallik’s words.
“Horace … attacked … monsters.”
Direfang howled again, and the growing number of goblins around him hesitated and backed away. One risked darting in to slash at the wizard, but Direfang was faster. The hobgoblin spun, his big hand reaching out and closing around the goblin’s wrist. He picked the offender up and hurled him into the river.
“This … ends … now!” Direfang snarled. He pushed his way through the mass of goblins and headed toward the base of the tree. “This ends now!” he howled again and again.
The goblins edged back, cowed by his fury. Direfang carefully stepped between the ill and neared the trunk, pulling curious goblins aside until he reached Pippa. Her dress was covered in blood; her companions were just as blood soaked.
Direfang threw a hand over his nose and mouth, but that couldn’t keep out the foul odors.
“Leftear,” Pippa pointed. “The wizard killed Leftear.”
“Burned Leftear and Upana,” another goblin interjected. He muscled his way past Direfang and took a stance on top of the unconscious priest. “All to protect this useless skull man. Goblins died to the wizard’s fire for no reason!”
Direfang knocked the goblin off Horace’s stomach and kicked Leftear’s body away. He saw that the priest was still breathing. He bent and carefully picked him up, placed him over a shoulder, and struggling under the priest’s weight, carried him down to the riverbank. The hobgoblin laid him down at the water’s edge and put his own face inches above the water.
He breathed deep, trying to clear his lungs of the terrible stench of burned flesh and rotting goblins. “All of this ends now,” he said when he finally stood up and faced the many who had followed him. “No more fighting. This isn’t worth it, none of it. No more bleeding.”
“Direfang leaving?” one of the older goblins murmured. “Direfang angry and leaving?”
He listened to a wave of similar questions before finally shaking his head. “No one should leave until the sickness runs its course. It must not spread beyond this place.”
“Direfang not leaving!” a relieved goblin shouted to the crowd.
“But the skull man must pay for not stopping the sickness!” Pippa had threaded her way to the riverbank and prodded Direfang with her finger. “The skull man-”
The thunder boomed loudly, and Pippa stopped talking. Rain began falling, gently, and the goblins looked up and closed their eyes, letting the water sluice over their faces. It was quiet for several minutes, save for the pattering sound the rain made against the goblins and the river.
“Leave the skull man alone,” Direfang said. There was little power behind his words, however. And leave me alone, his dour expression seemed to add.
The rain came down harder, swelling the river and soaking Direfang and all the goblins gathered. Within the passing of a few moments, the sound of the rain grew until it seemed hurtful in its intensity. The ground began to rock, and the river shuddered when the thunder grew louder still. Direfang arched his back and let the rain massage it, craned his neck, and watched the river rise, the current racing. He glared around at all the goblins who were waiting for his next words, his leadership.
“Direfang leaving? Not now, but later?” It was the older goblin again. She’d squeezed her eyes shut against the pounding rain, but she was turning her head this way and that to enjoy the refreshing wetness of it. “After the sickness, Direfang go?”
The hobgoblin scanned the faces of the goblins pressed closest. The rain and the darkness shadowed their expressions and muted their whispered conversations.
“Leaving?” asked the persistent goblin worriedly. “Direfang can’t leave.”
Direfang made his way through the crowd and toward the black willow. He shivered as he stepped beneath its dead branches, shuffling now and then to avoid bumping into the sick. He couldn’t see them well, all but dark lumps against the dark ground. Yet he could hear them: moaning, whimpering, coughing, vomiting. And he could smell them; the stench was a wall he pressed through.
The rain continued to come down hard but not hard enough to squash the stink or drown out the sounds of the ill ones’ misery. He found Leftear’s corpse and Upana’s too. He bent to pick up the two bodies then noticed that several more of the sick goblins near them were dead-not from any of the wizard’s spells, but from the illness. He pressed his head against the black willow’s trunk and let out a sob. It was a weakness to cry, but in the darkness only the closest sick goblins could see him. And Direfang knew they would die soon, telling no one of his shame.
His shoulders shook in grief over the dead and dying, over the ragtag army that was so difficult to control, and over the whole of his life that had consisted of nothing good-only a dozen free years followed by many more of slavery and brutal beatings, relentless hard work, and finally his horrible situation. He dropped to his knees, scraping his face against the rotting bark. The smell of blood was stronger close to the ground.
A goblin cried out softly, and Direfang reached to his right, feeling the goblin and touching blood and massive boils. He didn’t pull his hand away; rather he rubbed the goblin’s forehead and reached to touch others that were near.
Let the sickness take me, he thought. Let it end all of this.
The early-morning sky shimmered a soft pink, the color of the roses that used to grow in barrels outside the tavern in Steel Town. Mist curled across the top of the river and twined around tree trunks, hinting that the sun would burn the mist off soon and make for a hot day.