Tusk, the oldest, wisest, and most wicked of all gobs, lifted his ear slightly to the sound of the bone chimes hanging in the entrance to his personal cove. He didn't look up from his dusty human tome, deep into his study of man magic. The ancient text's pages crumbled away in a massive gust of magic-laced wind that swept down the cave's throat.

  The shaman's rising anger quickly gave way to curiosity; he tossed the ruined book aside carelessly and adorned his cloak and scepter. He was ready to face his people as their ever-giving overlord.

  No, not their overlord—no, no, not yet anyway. The thought brought a smile to Tusk's twisted, scarred face. Ready for battle, he stepped from behind his wolf-skin doorflaps and into the poorly lit hall that sat along the route to the throne room.

  Here, near the very heart of the clan, Bigbite allowed Hobs and some special gobs to live with a space of their own. Often, it was the female lowborn who were gifted these warrens; however, being the only mage had its perks.

  Many female gobs peered out, fear in their eyes, as Tusk's shadow passed over their doors. Whimpering and muffled sobs were quickly drowned out by the cheers of those inspired to battle by Tusk—many rushed to his side, giving him cheer and reporting. "Wolves attack, close to the cave, set off many alarms," two scouts reported to Tusk, out of breath and flickering with fear.

  Tusk walked past them, paying them no heed. One managed to choke out, "outsider." It stopped him dead in his tracks. The exact word he was looking for—that magic was almost as strong as the human who had owned the book that turned to dust. The smile faded from his face quickly when he heard it was a goblin, and it turned to a scowl when he heard that it may be a clan member.

  Nobody had had magic beyond cloak other than Tusk since the humans purged the warrens to the north. Farsee approached Tusk carefully, as he could tell he was in a sour mood. "Outsider is not outsider. Is Thok, the outcast. He smell different." Farsee noted that the smell matched that of the shaman, yet kept that for himself. Tusk stroked his crow-feathered cloak and made a large show of his thinking.

  He stomped his foot at a nearby gob and swung his large scepter around his head before slamming its butt into the ground. A faint glow filled the room, slowly at first, capturing the attention of all onlookers, both Hob and gob alike.

  The rooms nearest the chanting shaman quickly shuttered their flaps and hid away from the light. The lights grew bright and soft like clouds, and each goblinoid found itself deeply proud to be a part of Tusk's next grand plan. The shaman grinned once more as the light faded, leaving his bright red eyes burning in the growing dark.

  The charm spell had worked perfectly; every head grinned and moved just as Tusk wanted them to. A shame he couldn't learn more. Tusk used his scepter to move the flaps of a female's cove and ordered her out. She looked out at the massive crowd that had gathered at her door, and her breath held all on its own.

  The female held her breath and sprinted out as fast as she could to avoid the males. She made it three steps before she felt her feet lift and a pain around her waist. Her small green body came fully into view when she landed hard in the center of the corridor.

  Fear forced her eyes closed and kept them that way, too afraid of what might come. Long moments went by, yet no pain or savagery befell her. She peeked one eye open to meet the gaze of the squatting shaman with his eye pressed very close. "You not sneaky. Tusk keep you safe."

  Tusk reached his long, bony hands toward the girl. She batted him away and tried to stand for herself. Tusk watched with a leer.

  "What you want?!" she barked, swiping at him. The onlookers watched the long-faded clouds continue to bounce around the room without a thought given. Tusk's face grew stern as he stood, his knees popping as he reached his full height.

  "Go get outcast before Bigbite live up to name. Tell him Tusk need it alive."With a wave of his hand, an opening made itself clear between the goblin mass. The female held her breath, cloaking herself as best she could, her heart racing. She cleared the hall as fast as the wind itself; the further from that shaman, the better.

  Every time he used that spell, more gobs listened, and more Hobs followed. Moss had been outside many times and had almost mapped and memorized all the traps. She planned to get as far away from here as she could. Her life as a female in the warren was always in danger, with no heroes here.

  The human stories were filled with heroes who helped make it right. She would often hide in bushes near camping travelers, dressed as a child, and listen to their tales of killing monsters and saving people in distress.

  Someone who stops the monsters—Moss had never thought a weak human could do anything but scream and die. That's what the clan's stories were all about. Moss sided with the humans in many of their stories and was always too afraid to try to meet one in person. That was what she wanted: a way out—a way to be more than a goblin or the chew toy of one.

  The memories flicked away when she stepped into the chamber just as Bigbite moved from his chair. Before she could even understand what happened, he had moved across the room and stomped something hard into the ground.

  The female gasped and called out to Bigbite, who ignored her. She ran further down the stairs that led from the females' chambers to the throne room and tried again to get the Hob's attention. With all her bravery, she informed Bigbite of the need for the goblin underfoot, sparing his life—for now anyway.

  Whatever Tusk had planned, Moss wanted to be long gone before it happened. After watching Thok be ragdolled, she rushed to his side and lifted him to his feet. He was bleeding from many places across his body and fading in and out of consciousness. At each step, he felt heavier and heavier until he faded all the way out, bringing them both to the cave floor.

  Moss grunted and struggled out from under the collapsed goblin and called for one of the Hobs that guarded the door. He promptly spat in her direction and returned to his side of the leathers. She huffed and grabbed Thok under his arms and began the long drag up the stairs to the chambers above the throne room.

  Soaked in sweat and more angry than she'd ever been, she dropped the limp Thok at the shaman's door. Just as she turned to leave, the flaps opened, and a green skeletal finger bid her come closer.

  She exhaled deeply and grabbed him once more to drag him inside. The inside of the shaman's chamber matched the arrogant Tusk well: each wall adorned with the finest gold and trophies. The floor had been matted with gold coins and decaying food that had been left about.

  Moss wasn't impressed by the filth-coated coins or the stolen treasures; she had long raided the best parts while he wasn't around. Yet he bragged and rambled about his collection while she slinked away step by step. Just as she made it to the exit, the flaps opened behind her, and a burly Hob carried in two dead wolves like they weighed nothing. With no regard, the oaf dropped both onto a very expensive-looking pot, shattering it and the shaman's patience.

  "OUT!!!" squealed the shaman. The Hob flickered and ran, with Moss hot on his heels. Outside the chamber, she went left and pressed herself hard against the wall and into the shadows. She listened to the irate shaman spew every form of goblin profanity at the fleeing Hob.

  Tusk leaned in close, sniffing the wolves, before opening their mouths and looking inside. "Strange. Arrows did no kill."

  The shaman's eyes rose to the bleeding, unconscious Thok. "Weak outcast no kill." He said, crawling closer with long strides.

  Tusk got inches away from Thok and sniffed. He jerked his nose away, covering it with his hand to block any further affront. He looked closer at the goblin's blood and slid his finger through it before tasting it. The flavor was like the poison of a pitchviper on the tongue; it coated everything quickly and thickened like tar.

  It was like the very fluid itself raged against the shaman's mouth. He tried to spit, but found it clung to his mouth and throat like glue. With a flick of his scepter, the magics in the blood lost their hold and grip.

  "Cursed," he spat again. "Maybe useful alive." Tusk shook his scepter over Thok and chanted deeply. Dim green light balls began to form all around the room before they formed a bubble around his small body. Tusk placed his hand on the center of Thok's head and poured the healing spell over him.

  Inch by inch, his body knitted itself back together—broken bones snapping and popping back into place. His ears folded back into place, and even a few teeth grew back that he had lost. By the time the spell reached Thok's feet, the shaman was struggling to stand; channeling became laborsome, and his legs failed.

  Breathing returned to Thok's lungs the moment the lights faded from the room. Tusk's labored breathing eased as the moments ticked past. Regaining his strength, he stood on wobbly legs. Thok remained asleep even while being transferred to the cell nearest Tusk's cove. Moss watched from the shadows, following just out of sight.

  This stranger was worth healing; she had to know more. After the guards changed shifts, she snuck to Thok's cage and watched him. One way or another, she would find a way out of this place for good.