The hunger was desperate, the feeding frenzied. Not even Folami, Leftear, and Bentclaw working together could control the clans. Within minutes, all of the food and water was gone.
Direfang and Mudwort sat with Moon-eye and Graytoes as goblins picked at the bones of the sheep and goats and lapped at the bloody hides. The oldest goblins had been given the animal hearts as symbols of respect, and they still gnawed on those vital organs while those around them whooped and danced in celebration of their freedom and full bellies.
“Worry soon,” Mudwort said, pointing at the horde. “Sinks in, other goblins will worry lots too. Wonder where next food will come from, food and water. In Steel Town, everything was provided, though never ever enough of it, no. No hunters in this lot, so there will be worries.”
“There used to be hunters among us,” Direfang argued softly. “In the time before Steel Town, some hunted.”
“Forgotten how,” Mudwort said. “Forgot everything except how to mine and carry ore. So soon the worrying will come.”
Direfang climbed higher and stretched out on a flat table rock and closed his eyes. He heard Moon-eye softly singing to Graytoes, and he faintly heard Saro-Saro calling to Mudwort, asking her to listen to the earth and discover what lay to the south. Moments later he heard goblins arguing over clothing they’d taken from Steel Town. Erguth the hobgoblin was loudly claiming a pair of boots. Spikehollow could be heard, grandly recounting his part in the knight massacre and boasting a long hank of hair he’d pulled off the head of a merchant who stood in his way. Direfang had no desire to see the prize so kept his eyes closed for a time.
There was a scuffle over a dagger with a horn handle, and Direfang briefly thought about rising and ending all the arguments, demanding that the throng quiet down and let him sleep. Or, failing that, he’d walk up farther into the hills where he could wait until they all dispersed. Quiet might ease the aches in his body and the pounding in his head from where the horse had kicked him. But before he could rise to speak or climb higher, exhaustion claimed him.
Mudwort waited until most of the goblins and hobgoblins were sleeping, their ugly snores drifting up the rise. Not so many goblins had ever slept at the same time in Steel Town because of the various shifts operating in the mines, so the snoring had never been so loud and bothersome.
She climbed higher, beyond Direfang, feeling the midafternoon sun beating hot on her shoulders. The lashmarks on her back had begun to scab over, and they stretched uncomfortably when she reached to grab for handholds. She squeezed her eyes shut after several minutes, willing the pain on her back to go away. She heard her heart pounding and her breath panting and the wind playing across the stone and sending dirt gathered in pockets scattering. She focused on the rhythm of her heart; it was labored. But she calmed herself and slowed the beat, concentrating on the warmth of the sun and caress of the wind, lessening the hurt from the whip marks.
There would be no more whippings, she promised herself. She would never let anyone catch her again and return her to slavery. She would die first. She opened her eyes and started climbing again. Mudwort had expected lots of trees and thick foliage away from Steel Town. She used to scamper through reeds and tall, itchy grass in her youngling years, and she thought the land away from Steel Town might be like that. She had expected mossy stretches and acorn husks crunching under her feet. But when she breathed deep, hoping to smell the heady loam, there was only dirt and stone, the same as she smelled in the mines, and still the hint of sulfur.
She didn’t intend to climb too high because that would take her away from the safety of the horde. But she wanted privacy. From her perch, the wind brought pleasant sensations-a trace of flowers that were blooming beyond her sight and the odor of some wild animal that had passed that way, perhaps a mountain goat. The stench from the unwashed goblins was not as strong up there, and she entertained thoughts of striking out on her own for good so she wouldn’t have to constantly breathe her smelly brethren.
But there was safety in numbers, she reminded herself, which was why she stopped. She sat on a flat piece of stone, warmed from the sun, and dangled her legs over the side. She placed her hands on either side of her hips and thrummed her fingers against the rock in time with the song Moon-eye had sung earlier. She repeated the verse she remembered.
Moon glows pale and soft pearly
Yet goblins have no time to rest
Moon calls the dark of the evening
When the night bird leaves the nest
Mudwort realized the earth was still angry, though not so terribly angry as it had been when it brought down Steel Town. When she dipped her senses into the stone, she could feel it twitch lightly, hardly noticeable. Things were shifting still in the earth, in ways she didn’t understand but could register. Even many miles away from Steel Town-from what had been Steel Town-there were hints of tremors. From cracks in the stones around her and other signs, Mudwort could tell that the quakes had reached out there.
How far?
Had all the world rumbled?
Had all the camps of men and all their cities been turned into dust?
It was a happy image she conjured in her mind, building after building in ruins, humans crushed beneath the wreckage. Ogres, too, buried in their villages, and minotaurs dead everywhere. All the creatures of the world slain, except for goblins and hobgoblins and perhaps a scattering of bugbears. She knew none of that was likely true, that the quake couldn’t have affected the whole world, but she let herself daydream for a bit. Then she dipped her senses farther into the rocks directly beneath her and listened hard.
If another quake came, it wouldn’t be as devastating as the two she’d already lived through. The earth told her that much. It had vented enough rage, she knew, at least for the time being.
“But the earth is angry still,” she reflected aloud. Mudwort was surprised at the sound of her voice, so clear up there when it wasn’t competing with other goblin voices. “It will not lie still, the angry ground. It is not yet done.”
Mudwort propelled her senses into the earth by imagining that her fingers that brushed the stone were actually burrowing into the ground, by growing eyes with sight so extraordinary she could see far below the ground, by growing huge ears, so she could better listen to the earth murmurs.
At first, she thought it might have been her imagination. She saw layers of stones and strips of sand, looking like painted bands on pieces of pottery. She saw crystals in slabs of rock, including one particularly vivid collection of blue crystals mixed with malachite. In some places the rock was dark, but mostly it was cerulean. Other stones her senses skipped along were familiar: obsidian, chert, and basalt.
She considered catching Direfang’s attention and sharing that information with him. But going after the hobgoblin might jeopardize breaking whatever connection she’d made with the deep-down stones. How far could she peer through the earth?
Mudwort pictured herself flowing to the northwest, where the Dark Knight camp once had prospered. A heartbeat later she felt as if she were traveling there, running through the ground rather than on top of it, moving effortlessly, her legs never tiring, her feet never hurting. She heard something as she went, a sound she didn’t recognize. It was almost pleasing, a susurrus that calmed her and bid her go faster.