“Nearly,” Curdle replied. “We must do something soon or the Swinehelm will act unimpeded and we shall miss our chance.”

“To do…?” Deglan fished.

“Anything we can,” the mystic replied vaguely. “But for now, we are waiting.”

Deglan was getting tired of his own questions, but he asked anyway. “For what?”

“For them,” Curdle replied, turning towards the dark just as Sweat came padding silently forward. Madigan was close behind, and following him was the fattest goblin Deglan had ever seen. He smiled broadly over his chins when he saw Curdle, and dropping the huge club in his hands, he bounded forward, gut bouncing and wrapped the seer in a hug.

“Milkthumb, you candle-colored flirt,” the sack of lard said, hoisting Curdle off the ground. “Give us a kiss.”

Curdle suffered the embrace stiffly, adjusting his robes primly after being set back on his feet. “A greeting as enthusiastic as it is dignity-robbing. As always.” The mystic gave a resigned sigh than looked up at Deglan. “Master Loamtoes, may I present Burden Dughan.”

“Yelch!” the fat goblin grimaced, before extending his hand.

“Please, call me Muckle…or Mule or Dandy Breeches or

Fishfucker….call me anything but that!”

“You sit on King Hob’s council?” Deglan asked incredulously.

“Not often,” Fishfucker replied cheerfully. “That damn

Moot chamber makes my ass itch.”

Deglan was saved from a response by the pair of coburn approaching. One older and stern, the other young and brooding, but both armed and wearing surcoats of crimson and grey. Curdle introduced them as well, but Deglan did not hear their names. His attention was entirely devoted to the last newcomer, flying up to greet him.

“I’ll be buggered.”

Rosheen planted a kiss on his cheek. “I should have known you were too stubborn to die.”

“I’ll be buggered,” he said again, slack jawed.

Rosheen wasted no time once she pulled the gnome aside.

“Padric?” she asked.

Deglan looked at her for a moment and she witnessed the surprise on his face chased away by pain.

Do not say it.

“The Wallow,” Deglan began slowly, “was ash. The bodies burnt--”

“He might have escaped,” Rosheen cut in.

The gnome opened his mouth, lost his words, struggled to find them.

No. “No.”

“Faabar,” Deglan managed.

Yes, he was with the fomori.

“Rosheen, even he did not make it.”