Writer's Note: Valor, Chapter 7

This is a Writer's note, and not the actual Chapter 7 of Valor. You can find that here.

Hey guys, another Writer's Note. Warning, this may have some spoilers for later bits. Nothing direct, but it's kind of a look into my process, so it may be revealing. That said.

Part of the reason it took me several months to make Chapter 7 is that I'm beginning to set up things further down the road. And not just a little bit down the road, but way down the road. Valor is, in some ways, the first part of a trilogy, and though I'm hoping for it to stand on its own merits, at the same time I want to hint at larger subjects that will come into play later. The problem is that I don't know, exactly, what those are.

"That's kind of sloppy Richie. Why even hint at them, then? What's the bloody point?!"
Well, here's my problem; I don't get along too well with detailed outlining. There IS an outline for Valor, but if I made it too detailed, I would feel uninspired to write it. One thing I love about writing is the same thing I love about reading, or watching shows/movies: I like finding out what happens next. I've noticed its something you can use to distinguish a Writer from "someone who writes." A Writer is someone who can be surprised by their own characters, their own story, and find themselves caught off-guard by what happens. Some people look at me like I'm crazy when I say stuff like that, but if it's happened to you, you know EXACTLY what I'm talking about, and how much of a difference it makes.

So that's where my problem for Chapter 7 comes in. This is the first chapter where I'm starting to lay down the foundation for what comes later, and while I'm trying to peg down what that is without forcing the story a certain direction, it's very much in a state of flux. In a strange way, the stuff I have outlined for Valor and its "sequels" are not even the most important bits. More like trail markers to find my way with. So I've struggled a lot, because even though I've said repeatedly this is all a work in progress, I don't like putting up something that feels like it could change. And trust me: Chapter 7 could change. I'll make it known if it does, and what changed, but I think it's pretty close right now.

Either way, thank you all for your patience.

Valor: Chapter 7

            Their rough skin had an orange tint to it instead of being gray. They were also the size of elves, averaging about five feet. Their eyes were mostly black, so that much was the same, but Elias found it hard to mistake them for goblins.

            “Oh come off it,” Gustav grumbled. He, like Elias and William, was tied and bound inside of an old cell, one clearly meant to hold the enemies of the men who used to own it. Ironic, then, who its current owners were.

            “They are clearly hobgoblins.”

            “I’m sorry,” William interrupted, “but what difference does that make.”

            “Well, one, they’ll be somewhat less likely to kill us for no reason.”

            “What Elias means is that they like to pretend to be Elves.”

            Elias flushed, and hissed through clenched teeth “that is not what I mean.” Even though it was, he just didn’t want to admit it. At some point in the distant past some goblins had decided to try and emulate the elves… and over time, became hobgoblins. Their language was a mix of Goblin, Elven, and a few Orcish words that many simply called “Hobbo.” Elias spoke it more or less fluently, because it wasn’t that far off from Elven and Orcish.

            A guard came over, rapping an axe carved from bone against the cell bars. “What’re you yammin’ about in there Elf?”

            Elias sighed, and said “I am telling my friends the difference between hobgoblins and goblins.” It didn’t hurt to tell the truth, he figured. At least in this case.

            The guard snorted, and it seemed amplified by his bat-like nose. “You tell them a rock-biter would’ve killed you by now?”

            That seemed as good an opportunity as any to try and mine for some information. “More or less. I told them hobgoblins tend to have better reasons for holding prisoners than meals or slaves.”

            The guard laughed. It was an annoying, screechy sound. “You’d be right.” He slammed the haft of his axe against the bars, the iron-on-iron painfully loud in close quarters. William jumped slightly at the sound, not able to follow the conversation in the slightest. “But don’t think you’ll get off easy either.”

            Elias grunted, and the guard walked off. Leaning in, William asked “what was that about?”

            Gustav snorted. “From what I could follow, it was the guard not telling Elias anything useful.”

            Elias sighed. “Right on the nose. I don’t think we’ll be eaten or enslaved, at any rate.”

            William’s face contorted. “I’d say that’s pleasant, but the mere thought is still somewhat revolting.”

            Elias sighed. “Still, nothing I’d like to stick around for.”

            “You’ll not be going anywhere quickly” Gustav said, motioning with his shoulders, hands bound behind his back. “Aside from being a bit tied up at the moment, you have a bit of a leg issue.”

            Elias grunted, glancing down at his leg. Even the hobgoblins had seen it was broken, and hadn’t bothered binding his legs together. As luck would have it, it wasn’t even the same leg that had been injured earlier, leaving him with a painfully working leg, and one that simply… didn’t. “I do find it odd that they bandaged it, though,” he said aloud. It was a crude job, but…

            “I’ve heard elves are revered by their sort, but I didn’t think it went that far.”

            “I don’t think it does, Gus,” Elias said. “Not really. After all, they bandaged Michael’s wound up as well.”

            The three looked over towards Michael, who was still unconscious. His head wound had been bleeding quite badly, and William had already tried asking the hobgoblins to let him heal the wound. They had refused, instead doing their own patchwork medicine.

            “True,” Gustav said after a moment, looking back to Elias, “but we had to ask them to do that. You may have more sway here than you think.”

            Elias thought for a moment… and didn’t like where his thoughts lead. “If that is true, and they are a bit more, ah, reverent than most, you have reason to worry.”

            Gustav cocked an eyebrow, but Elias continued unprovoked. “Hobgoblins started mimicking us during the Second Empire, Gus. The Kelavastans. They may have certain, ah… eugenic policies.”

            The reminder of what the Second Elven Empire endorsed, or rather, enforced, hit Gustav in the pit of his stomach. “Ah… yes. Bringers of the light, in all forms.”

            “Mmm,” Elias said, somewhat uncomfortably. He knew it was awkward for him to bring up, as many elves still felt that way even today. Elias was different, and Gustav knew that.

            But many elves, and some of other races, saw people with skin as dark as Gustav’s as literal stains upon the world. That they represented an impurity of all races that must be cleansed. The Elves did that… not just to themselves, but to the Dwarves and Halflings as well. They had even started to do it to humans, but that was when the Kelavastans fell from power in the Empire.

            And that’s why, out of all the civilized races of the world, only humans had darker-skinned folk like Gustav.

            He shook his head slightly. “If they followed that, I wouldn’t be here. I’ve read all about those sorts of things… it was just slaughtering, there was no ritual or procedure.”

            “True,” Elias added, “but who knows what the hobgoblins may do? After all, they can’t find too many Easterners around here.”

            “Perhaps we should focus less on why we’re here, and more on how to not be here?” William interrupted.

            “It doesn’t hurt to wonder, Will.”

            “He has a point though,” Elias said, nodding. “Whatever their reason for keeping us, it’s certainly not good. They’re hobgoblins, not nubile young women.”

            Gustav grinned mischievously. “I’m sure technically some of them are both, and would be MORE than eager to have a round with an elf.”

            Gustav found the faces of revulsion that both Elias and William made to be exquisite. “Heavens forbid me that horrid a fate!” Elias squawked indignantly, which only brought a low laugh from Gustav.

            “What of your magic?” William asked, desperately trying to change the subject.

            Gustav and Elias shared a look, and then Gustav looked to William. “Technically, we both have a spell that could easily get us out of the cell, but it would be rather difficult to pull off like this,” he said, again gesturing with his shoulders, emphasizing his bound hands. “Even if we got out, we’d be swarmed upon by hobgoblins, and with no weapons…”

            “Magic will only get us so far,” Elias finished, though Gustav had not felt he was quite done. “In all honesty, I think seeing what they want of us may serve us better, for now. Or at least, awaiting an better oppor… ssh!”

            Gustav didn’t need to ask why they should be quiet, given where Elias looked. Not a moment later, even Gustav could hear the approaching hobgoblins; the jailor from before, along with two more heavily armored guards. He looked between them all suspiciously.

            Gustav, unfortunately, didn’t speak Hobbo, and barely understood Orcish. His grasp of Elven allowed him to follow a little bit of the conversation between the jailor and Elias. Something to do with Michael, and injury… healing? Why couldn’t they just copy Elven in full, damn them?

            The jailor would open the door, and the two guards would ready their weapons, two heavy stone maces. “What’s going on?” Gustav asked as they came in, prodding at William and grabbing Michael.

            “They’re, uh,” Elias licked his lips nervously, “well, they’re going to heal Michael.”

            “You don’t make that sound very positive.”

            “Well,” Elias glanced over at the jailor, who grumbled something at him. “Our relative health is important to them, and they don’t want Michael dying, apparently.”

            “So why not just let William heal him?”

            “I think they’re only just realizing what he is,” Elias finished.

            William, who had been somewhat reluctant to follow them, looked over now. “What, were the crosses not clue enough?” He glared at one of the hobgoblins as it grabbed it him, pushing away. “I am a servant of the Lord, you bilious-”

            The hobgoblin growled, and with a shout of “utaan!” backhanded William. The jailor yelled at Elias. Gustav’s inability to follow what was happening here was infuriating.

            “William, please just go with them. I’m not sure what they’re planning, but I think they’re letting you heal him.”

            “And I can’t do that here?”

            “Utaan!” Another slap.

            Gustav broke in, saying “just go William! I don’t like it either, but we don’t have many options.”

            Gustav shot a look at the jailor as he dragged him by. “And you! Jailor! Um, err, onkunad! Amad!”

            The jailor looked over, an eyebrow cocked. Okay, he recognizes at least one of those words. “You better bring them back in one piece, or I’ll bring this whole place down! Bok arkhastralla, if that means anything to you!”

            The jailor let go of Michael, walking over and firmly grasping Gustav by his chin. Gustav tried jerking back, but he couldn’t move far enough fast enough. The jailor’s leathery grip was tight, and he lifted Gustav off the ground one-handed.

            “Bos cre se ROS arkhastralla?” Gustav got the gist of it, and responded in kind.

            “Yes, I your downfall,” he responded in broken Hobbo. The hobgoblin sneered, and then tossed Gustav back against the wall. He grunted, and then bit his lip to swallow a yell as the jailor slammed his foot into his gut. “Bosne serca net os lurass!”

            “Gus!” William shouted, but was pushed out of the cell by the guards. The jailor dragged Michael behind, and the bars slammed shut loudly.

            Once the guards left, Elias shifted his way over as best he could, an act which Gustav wasn’t too injured to appreciate, given Elias’ own injuries. “Gus! Gus, are you alright?”

            Gustav coughed, though made no attempt to right himself. “I’m just going to lay here for a bit.”

            Elias took a breath, leaning back against the wall. After a few moments of silence, he said “sorry about that.”

            Gustav coughed when he tried to speak, but eventually forced out a “sorry for what?”

            Elias said nothing for a moment. When Gustav looked up at him, Elias was looking away. Sighing, Gustav pressed his shoulders to the ground and shifted his legs, moving into an upright position. “Are you feeling worse about it calling me a lursass than about this being somewhat all your idea?”

            “I… well, put that way, no.”

            “So that means it was a yes,” Gustav said, shaking his head. “Elias, I’ve been called a ‘lowborn’ all my life.” Gustav did his best to force a grin. “It’ll take more than the words of a damned goblin to start hurting now.”

            “Hobgoblin,” Elias corrected.

            Gustav rolled his eyes. “Oh shut up.”

            Elias laughed slightly, and so did Gustav, though it started a coughing fit once more. Hopefully that would get Elias’ mind off it.

            Especially as, now that Gustav had confirmed the Hobgoblins saw him as a… Easterner before a human, that certainly gave him more to think about.

            William grunted as the mace prodded into his back again, pushing him forward. “I’m going, damn you!” he shouted, pulling away from them slightly, but not too far. They’d been walking for a few minutes now, and he had already learned that if he stepped too far away, they’d simply hit him.

            They occasionally spoke in their hissing language, though he couldn’t follow a word of it. He wondered if that was intentional… though part of him felt that was giving them too much credit.

            Finally, they came to an old wooden door, upon which the jailor knocked several times. A voice called out from within, and then the doors opened. At first it seemed as if on their own, but once William entered he saw two guards standing to either side. It was then he realized where he was.

            “Oh… oh my God, what have you done?”

            What had clearly been, long ago, the Chapel of Tagen Rynns was altered in such a way he could only describe it as heretical. The cross at the far end still stood, though had obviously been repaired; thorny vines were wrapped around the broken pieces, holding them in place. Skeletal remains were crucified to the walls, likewise held together by vines or rope.

            Beneath the cross sat the oblong altar, and a ramshackle throne constructed behind it. However, the being clearly in charge of this room wasn’t on the throne, but the altar. It was a hobgoblin lying upon some crude bedding, and with him were two more female hobgoblins. All were nude. Despite that, the eyes of the male hobgoblin weren’t on the women, but the William.

            He said something, and one of the guards shoved William forward, onto his knees. The ‘lead’ hobgoblin shouted, and the two women stood and walked out, as well as the two guards and jailor that had come with William and Michael.

            William glanced down at Michael, who was still unconscious. His armor, which had been only a day or two ago polished and shining, was already worn down and scratched.

            “He has seen better days, yes?” the hobgoblin asked, throwing on a shawl that draped over his form (mercifully). William looked back at up him, trying to hide his surprise with a glare, but saying nothing.

            The hobgoblin grinned crookedly. “Net much for talking, are you?”

            He got in close, looking William right in the face. “Well…” his eyes flickered mischievously, “si qi I’toc daxa?”

            It wasn’t Toremen, but it wasn’t Hobbo either. It took William a moment to recognize it through the accent, but when he did, the words ‘what if I spoke like this’ came across almost as a threat.

            “Foul creature!” he yelled, standing and moving towards it. The hobgoblin was ready for that, and backhanded him, staggering William, and William heard the two guards, still by the door, draw their swords. “Achdrammen is a holy tongue, not fit for your ears, let alone your mouth! You shouldn’t…” William shook his head, “you shouldn’t even be able to speak it!”

            “I thought that would get your attention,” it said, speaking Toremen once more. “And my introduction will explain what you need to know. You may call me Shaman Yernta Iron-Tongue.” As he said that, he opened his mouth and licked the front of his jagged teeth, causing a slight scraping sound.

            William stared in confusion. “Y-your tongue is… iron?”

            “It is,” Yernta said, and motioned for his guards to stand down. “Stops almost all the nasty side effects of your Three-Headed Sky-King’s speakings.”

            William fumed, taking a step forward. “Call the Lord a Sky-King again and I swear I will-”

            “Die, and so will your friend,” Yernta said matter-of-factly. “In fact, I’ll ensure you watch him die. He’ll join my collection,” he said, motioning around the room.

            William glanced around at the various skeletons adorning the walls. It certainly wasn’t a subtle threat. He took a step back. “What do you want with us?”

            “I want nothing,” Yernta spoke, stepping back and sitting on top of the altar. “I am the Shaman. I am the Iron-Tongue. Our chief gives me all I want.” He pointed at William. “I do not want you. The chief wants you.”

            “So you’re not the one in charge” William said. It could’ve been a question, but he didn’t feel like it needed asking.

            Yernta just laughed quietly.

            “Chief wants you and your friends. Wants you alive. We try fixing your big friend.” He nodded towards Michael’s prone form. “Not doing so well, hmm?”

            William’s jaw clenched. “No,” he forced out, “he’s not. I heard you were going to let me heal him?”

            The grin from the hobgoblin put William in mind of a crocodile smiling; it was only doing it because it was about clamp down on him. “Yeesss. You will… but up here,” he said, patting the altar. “You put him up here, heal him all nice and good before your Sky-King.” He jerked a thumb back towards the cross.

            William frowned. He hadn’t given location much of a thought, but since the shaman was so insistent upon it, it made him question it. “Why?”

            “Because I said so. Because I am the Iron-Tongue.” He hopped off the altar, grabbing a crude key from the edge of it, and moving behind William. As he unlocked the bindings on William’s wrists, he rasped “nin sanab, Cleris.”

            William shrugged him off. “Don’t command me to heal in the words of the Lord,” he snapped, rubbing his wrists lightly. He looked down at Michael, and then around at the chapel. The blasphemy was almost thick enough to be tangible, beyond the reality of the bones and vines.

            He looked at the bedding upon the altar, and his eyes narrowed. He brushed it all to the side with one sweep of his arm. He heard Yernta chuckle behind him.

            Sighing, William dragged Michael up onto the altar. It was a little difficult by himself, especially with the heavy armor, but he was up there. He did his best to lay Michael straight, his back flat against the altar.

            Without the bedding on it, he was able to properly see the engravings upon the altar. Nothing was sacred to these creatures. Whole sections looked to have been filed away and redone, with new engravings of hobgoblin make carved in, drastically different from those of the Church.

            “One day you will be punished for all of this,” William said, glancing back at Yernta.

Yernta merely shrugged. “That day is not today, Cleris. Now heal your friend before I get bored.”

William sighed, and set his hand upon William’s face. He closed his eyes to concentrate, but then Yernta shoved his shoulder. “Say the words, no silence! You’ll not trick me, human.”

It honestly hadn’t occurred to William to be deceitful… even then, at best he could have, maybe, forced a holy binding on Yernta. But Elias and Gustav had been right; now was not the time for that.

The hobgoblin chief wanted them alive. For some reason. If they were alive, they could escape. At some point.

He glanced up and around at the blasphemed room again, then once more shut his eyes. Forgive my blasphemy Lord. I act not of this place, nor of the Heathen’s command, but of my duty towards my fellow man… and my friend.

Hoping his God would understand, William began to speak. “Dous min lum sanab ti. Vid min restati tu…”

Michael was drowning. He fought against the thick fluid with every ounce of his being, desperately clawing his way up. Or what he thought was up.

It wasn’t water he was in. No, too thick… more like mud. It was hot, and stung at him. He kept swimming, kept struggling. Kept drowning, though he would not die.

Am I dead? he thought at one point. Is this hell?

Finally, after what seemed like hours, he surfaced, gasping, taking in a deep lungful of breath. He coughed and sputtered, immediately swimming forward until he met a shore. The liquid he’d been swimming in was sticking to him, covering him. He slowly crawled out, dropping to his chest when he was finally free of the mire.

Just a moment’s rest, he thought. Only a moment.

Something kicked in his mind, a sharp pain that brought a groan to his lips. No, no rest!

He began to crawl forward on his hands and knees. It was dark, almost as dark as it had been below. He couldn’t tell where he was, it either being a starless night or a large darkened chamber.

He vaguely remembered being underground, so he assumed the latter. He called out. “William! Gus! Is anyone there?”

There was no verbal response, but several red glows pulsed in the distance. He forced himself to stand, though his legs still wobbled and his lungs still burned. But if he had been drowning without dying, he could run now.

And so he did, running towards one of the pulsating lights. As he got closer, he saw the light for what it was, a red orb as tall as a man’s torso, half-filled with a thick liquid. He pressed his hand to the orb, and it pulsed brighter. It was soft to the touch, giving and warm.

Suddenly a beam of bright white light pushed through the darkness, nearly blinding him. Then another, piercing the darkness from another direction. “What… what is going on?”

Another. Then another. It looked as if the darkness was falling apart around him, and light shining through from beyond. He looked at the red orb, focusing on it, his hand flat against it.

And as the light swallowed him whole, a hand pressed against his from the other side.

“Michael! Michael, it’s okay, it’s okay!”

Michael looked down at his hand, and then smoothed it over his chest. Over the steel armor, comfortably protecting him. He next reached for his head, tentatively running his finger tips over the crude bandaging.

He looked at William, and only then noticed the thin laughter coming from behind him. Slowly, Michael’s senses were returning, and he realized just what sort of room he was in. The macabre scene that played out on the walls and ceiling was jarring enough to shake his dream from his mind, and he sat up quickly.

He felt some slight pain in his head, and put a hand to it once more. William put his hands to his face, using his thumbs to force Michael’s eyes wide open. “Wh-what is…”

“I’m making sure you aren’t concussed or worse,” William said, and switched to Michael’s other eye. “We’re currently the captives of some hobgoblins, who have… graciously allowed me to heal you.”

Michael didn’t miss the distaste in William’s tone at the end, and the low laughter of the Hobgoblin behind him rang hollow in his ears. He focused back on William. “If you healed me, wouldn’t I no longer be concussed?”

The hobgoblin’s laugher was even sharper now. William shot it a dirty look, and then went back to examining Michael. “It’s complicated, but in short, there are some things my magic simply isn’t strong enough to heal.”

“Your situation, for one,” the Hobgoblin hissed, cackling afterwards.

Michael moved his arm around and pushed William’s hands away before shifting off the altar, moving to stand. His legs felt weary and weak underneath, and he realized after a moment he was starving. How long was I out? he almost asked, but after a brief glance around the room, enshrouded in heresy that he knew would be clawing at William, he decided to get to the point. “What do you mean?” He had more questions, but he felt William could answer many of them.

The hobgoblin stopped laughing at William’s question, but after a moment’s thought, began to grin. The teeth it revealed were surprisingly white, far different than those of goblins he had seen in the past, and only a few were chipped or missing.

“Forgive my impertinence, oh mighty human.” He gave an overly dramatic bow. “I am the shaman of my tribe, Yernta Iron-Tongue, and-”

“What is your tribe?”

Yernta scowled, straightening back up. “You’ll be wise to not interrupt me again, human.”

Michael took a step forward. He easily had a foot or more of height over the Hobgoblin, and though he was unarmed, he was far from unarmored. His footing felt unsure, but he did his best not to let that show. “I am responsible for these men. I am Michael Niels, of House Niels, and leader of this expedition into Taskurr and Tagen Rynns.”

He looked back and beyond to the guards by the door. “You there! Daslang mo Hadisaan! Haaa-dii-saaan.” One of the guards jumped a little, and began to go for the door. Yernta whipped around and yelled something, though Michael couldn’t really make out the words. Yernta turned back to Michael, glaring at him.

“You will meet Chief when he wants, not before.” He whipped around again, and shouted some more in Hobgoblin. After a few moments, the guards came forward, and motioned for Michael and William to follow them.

“You go back to your cell now. Ask God to forgive you Cleris, and you, big Niels…” Yernta came up to him, standing as tall he could to look Michael in the eyes, “sweet dreams.”

Michael did his best to suppress the gut-wrenching feeling. What did this shaman know? How did it know? He pushed past the shaman, walking alongside William as the guards drew their swords and began shouting in occasional hobbo.

After they were away from the corrupted chapel, William looked at Michael in confusion. “What was that?” he hissed quietly.

“Prefix or not, still a goblin,” Michael whispered back, leaning over slightly. “Act big and strong and mean, and they tend to-”

“Utaan.”

“That means-”

“I think I know. We’re talking when we get back to the cell. Are Gus and Elias okay?”

“Yes, they are. More or less.”

“Utaan!” the guard said again, prodding William in the back with his sword. William winced, and Michael shot the guard a glare, but their conversation ended. Michael stewed in silence for a moment before looking back at one of the guards. “What did Yernta say your clan was? The ‘Flowered Valley’ clan?”

Michael fought back a grin as the guard sneered, and his eyes narrowed.

            “Sorry Michael, but it was either healing Elias’ leg or your face.”

            Michael laughed, bringing a strange brevity to the cell that had been missing. “I think I’ll survive with a black eye, Will. How’s your leg Elias?”

            Elias looked down at his leg, stretching it warily. There was still a twinge of pain when he did so, but… “I’ll manage. Thank you, William.”

            “I felt I had to do what I could while I could,” William said, and for added emphasis, displayed his hands that were bound once more. Michael’s hands were also bound, though with no magic, he was in some ways the least dangerous one here.

            “Surprised they let you do it,” Elias said warily. “Especially after the song and dance they made you pull with Michael.”

            “What happened up there?” Gustav asked, studying Michael. “Me and Elias… felt something.”

            Elias shivered. It had been a very cold feeling, and had almost blurred his vision. It was so sudden and bizarre, not only for its intensity, but for its limited duration. He was curious, but at the same time part of him didn’t want to know.

            “It was… I don’t know.” William said with a frown. “When I healed Michael, something was… off about it. I can’t explain what.”

            “Oh, so that’s why you checked my eyes and all afterwards.”

            “Well, that and exactly what I said. Sensitive injuries such as that can be a bit trickier.”

            “Perhaps the shaman had something to do with it?” Elias queried, shifting his weight to take some pressure off his hips. Neither of his legs were truly injured now, but they both still felt the occasional twinges of pain, and he couldn’t find relief from it.

            “Perhaps nothing,” Gustav scoffed. “Someone who transmutes his tongue into iron is not your average witch or shaman. I’d stake my hands that he’s planning something.”

            Elias smirked, tilting his head slightly. “Would you now?”

            Gustav blinked, and glanced to the side. “Well. Theoretically.”

            That got another chuckle from everyone. Gustav just shifted, and tried to get back on topic. “Either way, it doesn’t help that I’ve never heard anything about a, ah, what, Water Drop clan?”

            Elias sighed. Why? Why did humans have to translate everything into Toremen, and why did they have to do it so poorly. “Taesuus. It’s… tears, rain, even waterfalls in some ways. Falling Water.”

            “Isn’t Ta et Suas ‘Drop of Water’ in Elven?” Gustav countered.

            “Well, yes, kind of, but Hobbo is different, and combined like that, it’s-”

            “Whatever,” Michael interrupted, “water drop, waterfall, crying baby clan it doesn’t matter. Clearly they have some sort of plan, and unlike a lot of goblins-”

            “Hobgoblins, they are clearly-”

            “Let it go Elias,” Michael grumbled, “unlike a lot of goblins,” Michael repeated, and Elias swore he paused and looked at Elias for a moment out of spite. Elias decided to keep his mouth shut, but just glared back, “they seem to know enough about magic. Probably because of that shaman. And they want us alive for something. So… what are we thinking that something is?”

            “Some sort of ritual?” William proposed, gesturing with his head towards the cell’s entrance. “I only felt my magic working incorrectly in that room. It worked fine on Elias’ leg.”

            “Hobgoblins aren’t very magical, in general,” Gustav said, tilting his head. “But they do want to be like Elves, who are. Maybe they’re trying to use us for our magic or something?”

            William frowned. “But my magic isn’t anything like, well, Elven magic.”

            “There’s a chance they don’t know that,” Elias suggested.

            William shook his head. “No, I… think he was fully aware of the difference. I may have been thrown off by his nature, but I recognized it. He was a cunning, smart creature.”

            “That doesn’t answer why they needed me alive,” Michael said. “I’m as magical as a chunk of rock.”

            That silenced them. After a few moments, Elias winced as another thought occurred to him. “Maybe they figured we wouldn’t cooperate otherwise?”

            Another silence. Elias saw William cross himself, silently murmuring.

            Michael shook his head. “Well, here’s hoping we find out by tomorrow.”

            Gustav barked out a bitter laugh. “If we don’t starve before then. Do they know humans need to eat?”

            Elias sighed. “Careful what you wish for Gustav, who knows what goblins eat?”

            “Don’t you mean hobgoblins?” Michael interjected.

            Elias’ mouth hung open for a moment, and then he frowned at Michael. He hadn’t meant to say that, but… “Damn it.”