Direfang nodded. He was familiar with some of the old tales.
“That’s why these sailors call it the lady’s island, Foreman. This lady, Goldmoon, established the Citadel of Light, which was destroyed not too many years ago. Last I heard, it was being rebuilt, though.”
“Why take this ship there?” Direfang’s shoulders were slumped, and he wrapped his arms around his chest, trying futilely to warm himself.
“Because Goldmoon attracted many healers to her citadel. There are people there far more skilled in the divine arts than I. If anyone can cure this plague, it would be the priests on that island. Captain Gerrold is smart to head there. I must go and tell Grallik.”
“Fine,” Direfang muttered. He groaned softly, his chin dropping, and slid forward, his chin striking the floor.
THE CITADEL OF LIGHT
There were flowers somewhere; Direfang could smell them. He couldn’t see them-something sodden and soft was draped across his eyes. But the flowers smelled sweet, and he knew they must be close by. They mixed pleasantly with the musky scent of himself and with that of grass that had been rained on recently.
Gone were all the abysmal smells that had filled the cramped hold of the ship.
He felt warm but not too warm. His fever had broken, and he could breathe without coughing. His jaw ached, though, and when he ran his tongue around in his mouth, he felt broken teeth and spots of dried blood.
“You hit your head when you fell.” It was Horace’s voice. “Broke your jaw, which I was able to mend. The mystics here took care of the rest.”
Direfang tried to get up, but a few pairs of strong hands pushed him back down.
“Rest.” The voice was female and human, to his surprise. “I understand that you can speak Common.”
Direfang tried to answer, but his throat was dry. He nodded, dislodging the wet cloth that had been covering his eyes. He blinked then closed his eyes again. The sun was high and bright and hurtful. He struggled to stay awake, but in the end gave in to the smell of the flowers and the feel of the soft breeze that played over his clean, bare skin. He’d registered that his ragged clothes had been removed and that the gouges on his arms and legs had been bandaged.
“Sleep,” the woman insisted.
He let himself do just that.
The same woman spoke to him when he awoke again. “You are on Schallsea Island, Direfang, near the Citadel of Light. Horace thought it best to keep you and your brothers outside the citadel and the city.” She paused before continuing. “I am Aerlane, once of Solace. And I welcome you to our island.”
“Schallsea Island,” Horace’s voice echoed. The priest must have been nearby as well. “Remember? The captain said he was taking us there. To the citadel.”
“Citadel?” The word came out of Direfang’s mouth more as a croak. Again the light seemed bright, though not so strong anymore. Still, he closed his eyes. His ears would serve him well enough.
“The citadel is as much a piece of our hearts as it is a construction. It is more spiritual than physical. Most of us worship Mishakal here.”
That was a god Direfang had not heard mentioned before.
“How did-?” Again Direfang’s voice cracked. Someone dripped water into his mouth, and he greedily swallowed the liquid.
“The sailors brought you and the others here,” the woman continued. “Cassandra and Jemtal sent us to tend you. Jemtal was once the same as Horace; he was a former Skull Knight. My sisters and brothers here are all from the Healing Lyceum. More of us are on your ship now.”
“Clearing it of the foul plague you brought aboard.”
Direfang opened his eyes finally and saw Captain Gerrold standing above him, next to Horace. The hobgoblin sat up, a little wobbly. He found he was in a meadow, the grass tall and mixed with purple and yellow wildflowers. Five women and two men in flowing blue and white robes trimmed in silver stood behind Gerrold. The tallest and oldest, a painfully-thin woman with short, gray hair, had been the main speaker.
Farther back stood four men in chain armor that glimmered under the late-afternoon sun. Had he slept most of the day away? Or how many days?
Spear in one hand, shield in the other, the quartet stood at attention and immediately reminded the hobgoblin of the Dark Knights in Steel Town.
“The Citadel Guardians,” the woman explained, following Direfang’s gaze. “They are a precaution only. Horace vouches for you.”
There were other goblins in the meadow, but they were some distance away, and there were more blue and white-robed men and women in their midst, as well as more of the armed and armored Citadel Guardians.
“Direfang, those goblins over there were found to have traces of the illness, and so the mystics are trying to heal them. They are far more proficient in healing than I,” Horace admitted. “Indeed, I envy their divine abilities.”
Direfang saw the oddest figure standing near the goblin gathering. It looked like a beast but walked on two legs. Appearing a little taller than Direfang, the figure had gray-green skin covered with thin fur and a head that resembled a hyena’s. A red-gray mane sprouted from the top of its head and ran down its neck. It was dressed in a leather jerkin and loose-fitting trousers. If it wore shoes, Direfang couldn’t see them for the tall grass.
“Orvago,” Aerlane named him, pointing toward the creature. “He is a gnoll, and one of Scanion’s druids from the Animism Lyceum.”
“A gnoll?” Direfang’s eyes widened. Horace nodded to him reassuringly.
“We do not judge here based on one’s race,” Aerlane said. “It is the heart that matters. Orvago is here because he is curious and because he has embraced nature’s arts.”
“He is always curious,” one of the robed men said.
Captain Gerrold stepped close and locked eyes with the hobgoblin, blocking his view of the gnoll.
Direfang noticed that the captain had changed into a fine shirt and trousers and that his hair was combed and tied tight at the back of his neck.
“That’s why I brought them all here, good lady. This one in particular. Good that you do not judge based on a man’s shell. And so you saved him, perhaps saved all of us.”
“Barely in time for him,” she answered.
“I’d not thought Direfang would make it the two days it took us to reach Pelican Cove. The island’s reputation spreads far across the waters, and I knew this was the only recourse, despite the distance. I thank you for allowing all of the goblins ashore, trusting woman. There are thousands, I know.” He broke eye contact with Direfang, turned, and took her arm, leading her away. “Now, tell me Aerlane, how does construction go on rebuilding the citadel? And can my men lend some of their muscle through the night? Carrying, cleaning, whatever we can do in Mishakal’s name. Take advantage of their gratitude now, and of all these goblins. The goblins are little, but they’re strong, and there are an awful lot of them.”
One of the robed women, who looked little older than a child, knelt next to Direfang. “It was an old, old plague that held you in its grip, one that the healers and mystics here had thought gone from this world. It is good that Gerrold brought you. And good that we can work to rid all of your ships of the last vestiges of this disease. The illness will not pain you and your brothers ever again.”
“What is this place?”
The girl passed him a crystal decanter of water and motioned that he should drink.
The water was cool, and he held it in his mouth before swallowing.
“This place? This island? This-”
She cocked her head. “I thought Aerlane explained that. You are on Schallsea Island near the Citadel of Light. What more do you need to know? Everyone has heard of this place, and-”
Horace cleared his throat. “Foreman Direfang has seen little of the world, Qel. He was …” The priest hesitated and let a breath whistle out between his teeth. “Until recently he and his kinsmen were slaves.”