Pocket found Backbone tucked away in what was left of the castle stables. The goblins had hung a filthy canvas over the remnants of the walls, providing some shelter for the draft animals they kept inside. Pocket had slipped out of his tower and into his goblin face the moment the alarm was raised. The Red Caps were marshaling to defend the main gate, and in the chaos of shouted orders and pounding boots, Pocket simply ran through the castle yard, looking purposeful. He stole a look at the group on the steps of the keep as he passed. The armored goblin was shouting at the soldiers, while the brooding man with black hair watched impassively. The scarecrow holding the crown stood next to the man, and Pocket felt for a moment that the stuffed man was watching him, but he put it out of his mind, hurrying on. The stables hugged the curtain wall, almost directly across from the keep. Thankfully, the forest of Forge Born stood between, providing plenty of concealment, and Pocket checked to make sure he was not seen before ducking inside.

Backbone looked a little tired, but otherwise was unharmed. The goblins had not bothered to unhook him from the litter or give him water or fodder. Pocket searched the stinking stalls for anything suitable. He was rummaging through a pile of filthy straw when a hand clapped firmly on his shoulder, wheeling him around. Pocket stared into the broad face of the Red Cap who held him. Pocket smiled.

“Nice disguise,” he said.

“And yours,” Muckle replied with a grin, releasing his hold. “I am glad to see you have discovered the doors that will open for you simply by becoming that most handsome of creatures, the goblin.”

Pocket shifted back to himself. Holding another skin was still difficult and gave him a throbbing pain behind the eyes. He took a step back when the other Red Cap emerged from the neighboring stall.

“It is alright,” Muckle said. “He is a friend.”

Pocket looked back to find the Red Cap was still a goblin, but dressed in robes and possessing very white skin.

“Greetings, Pocket,” the pale goblin said. “My name is Curdle Milkthumb. I am honored to meet you.”

“Hello,” was all Pocket said in reply before turning back to Muckle. “What are you doing here? And why did you bring my mule?”

Muckle crept toward the front of the stables and took a cautious look out into the yard as he spoke. “It is all a part of a very intricate plan to get ourselves killed.”

Pocket joined him. Leaning carefully, he could just make out the top of the keep stairs through the ranks of Forge Born.

“Who is that?” he asked, pointing to the black-haired man.

Muckle shrugged. “The once and never king.”

“Muckle,” the other goblin said from the back of the stables. “We must make ready.”

Muckle gave the stairs one more searching look and nodded his agreement.