Grallik had waited until the last possible moment before informing the Captain Gerrold about the true nature of the passengers he was about to pick up, giving the man a sapphire and promising him another when all the goblins were on board.
“I didn’t sign on for goblins,” Gerrold said irritably, rubbing his chin. “But I knew this would not be a normal run. Not with us coming here at night, and not after being paid so well. I suspect Captain Ghanger knew something odd was happening too.” He referred to the captain of the big merchantman, a sea elf who spent as much time over the side as on the deck. “And I know damn well R’chet had to be suspicious-not that he’d object, given what you’re paying.”
“I paid well,” Grallik echoed. “I bought these ships.”
Gerrold wasn’t the owner of the Clare, but earlier in the day he’d pointed Grallik to a wealthy merchant who owned her and three of the other ships he had engaged. The merchant was willing to part with the Clare for seven of the stones-a price Grallik considered outrageous, but in the end he handed them over. The rest of the ships commanded similar prices. Owning the ships would guarantee the sailors would have no choice but to accept the “cargo.” The Clare and the others could be sold later, though no doubt at a loss, at some port town near the forest where they were headed, though Grallik hoped Direfang might see the wisdom in keeping at least one.
The wizard kept the existing crews after changing fifteen more sapphires for steel pieces and distributing them evenly among the veteran seafarers. The pay was many times over what the sailors would have earned otherwise for a voyage to the Qualinesti Forest-or to anywhere else in the world for that matter. He hoped that steel would buy their loyalty, although he expected plenty of grumbling and complaints when the goblins materialized.
“Lower all of them,” Gerrold barked his commands. “Our … passengers … gentlemen, are goblins. No questions. No arguments.”
But there were arguments, of course, fast and heated ones, and the captain let them run their course for several minutes before silencing the sailors with a violent gesture. Grallik decided to accompany the longboats and climbed in the first one over the side.
“We’ve been compensated well to take the goblins on. The owner of our fair Clare,” he nodded toward Grallik, “has been more than generous. We certainly can stomach the foul beasties for a few weeks. No worse than hauling cattle, gentlemen. And he’s promised they’ll not be too much trouble.”
Oh, they’ll be some trouble, I suspect, Grallik thought as his longboat touched the water.
Bosun’s mate K’lars commanded that longboat. The half-ogre shielded his thick brow with his hand and peered toward the river’s mouth. The clouds were high and thin, so the moonlight revealed the army of goblins gathered on the shore. K’lars growled softly deep in his throat.
“Goblins,” he muttered. “Rats what walk on two legs, they are.”
“Why are we hauling ’em to the Qualinesti Forest?” one of the oarsmen asked. “What’s wrong with the woods over there?” He gestured to the trees west of the river.
“What’s wrong with the mountains?” asked another. “Or the Abyss, for that matter? And why’d you need so many ships for ’em?”
Grallik didn’t reply.
“By the gods!” K’lars shouted when he got closer and saw the spreading mass of goblins. “There must be thousands.”
“Yes,” Grallik said dryly. His shoulders sagged when he realized there were more goblins on the shore than when he’d left them in the morning. Somehow hundreds more had heard the “call” that Mudwort was sending out.
“Four thousand, I’d guess,” K’lars said. He shuddered and spit. “Four thousand, five maybe. Rats, all of them.”
Minutes later, the first wave of goblins climbed into the longboats, chattering and hissing, unnerving the sailors, and crowding in the center of the boats to keep away from the water. Not one had been on the water before, and several of them retched from seasickness before they even made it to the ships.
Staring around at the sailors and other goblins almost contemptuously, Mudwort was among those who climbed into the first boat, settling herself almost regally amid the others.
Yet there were screams and shouts when the first longboat reached the Wavechaser, captained by a minotaur named R’chet. It took an overly tall goblin called Thya to calm the panicked goblins down.
Horace remained on the shore with Direfang, who was trying to convince some of the goblins most reluctant to accept the strategy of the sea crossing, when the longboats returned for a second trip.
“Rather walk some more,” Skakee argued. “Walking is better. Can’t swim, Direfang. Walk to the Qualinesti Forest. Walk, walk, walk.”
“Can’t swim,” voice after voice echoed.
“You don’t have to swim,” Horace said, stepping close to Direfang and lending his support to the hobgoblin leader. The priest spoke slowly and clearly in the goblin tongue. “The ship does it for you.” He cupped his hands together, imitating the vessel, raising his voice so many could hear. “It will carry you across the water and-”
“What if it sinks?” Skakee asked. She shivered at the notion. “If it sinks, all the goblins will drown.”
Direfang spoke in Horace’s ear, and the priest began a spell. Horace had relied on variations of the spell whenever the goblins became unruly in Steel Town. There had been three other priests in the mining camp, and all of them used similar enchantments on the goblins and hobgoblins from time to time. The divine coercion had been particularly useful after the earthquakes struck, keeping some of the goblins from escaping; it worked best on those with simple minds, the priest told Direfang.
“No fear,” Horace intoned. “Have no fear of the longboats and the great ship. Have no fear of the water on which we will sail.” The words were repeated, the sound was rich and melodic, almost like a song, and the goblins nearest to the priest were listening intently. “The sea belongs to Zeboim, and she will keep us safe.”
Even Direfang found himself caught up in the priest’s incantation.
“Safe,” Skakee said. “Have no fear of the water. Zeboim.”
“Have no fear of the great ship,” Two-chins said. He swayed back and forth in time with the bobbing of the longboats. “Safe, safe, safe.”
Direfang shivered. The hobgoblin was thankful for the priest’s incantation in that instance. But it worried him that Horace retained the power to sway the simple minds of the goblins.
“Into the boats,” Direfang ordered.
“Safe in the boats,” Skakee echoed. She was quick to climb into the closest boat, settling herself next to a sailor who was clearly repulsed by her presence. Regardless, she plucked at his shirtsleeve and oohed over the colorful stripes in the material.
“Skull man, watch the sailors,” Direfang cautioned.
“Aye, Foreman. My spell can soothe the men too.”
Despite Horace’s enchantment, eighteen goblins refused to budge from the sand. They saw what was happening to the others; they refused to look the priest in the eye, and they plugged their ears with their fingers, managing to resist his persuasive words.
“Stay, then,” Direfang pronounced.
Most of the stubborn goblins were from the Fishgatherer clan, but a few were Flamegrass clansmen. One was a tall, sturdy young goblin whom Direfang hated to leave behind.
“Stay and hide,” Direfang warned them. “Stay and be hale,” he said finally, his anger softening.
He and the priest were the last to step into one of the crowded longboats.
“They will not fare well on their own,” Horace warned. He watched the eighteen back away until they disappeared into the shadows. “If they are not careful, ogres will catch them and sell them again.”