Party time

We stepped into a perfect mix of chaos and festivity. The goblin courtyard was a throbbing mess of bodies and sound. Bone drums pounded off-beat, flutes played in high spirits, and goblins laughed, shouted, wrestled, and guzzled thick black ale from broken horns. Easily thirty of them milled about, some passed out in the dirt, others dancing around spitted meats or broken barrels. It was grotesque, but lively.

Shadowheart wrinkled her nose beside me. "Savages."

Lae’zel looked bored, unimpressed by their gluttony. "Wasted energy. No discipline."

Karlach, however, was already grinning ear to ear. Within seconds, she was spinning through a circle of dancing goblins, stomping in rhythm with their wild drums, having the time of her life.

I let her have her fun. The rest of us moved slowly through the crowd toward the center of the courtyard. A makeshift stage had been built atop a ruined fountain, rough planks and a few torches. Around it sat a cluster of tables made of scavenged doors and shield panels, all sagging under the weight of goblin bodies and half-eaten animal parts. At least I hope it was animal parts.

On the stage stood a man—dressed in fine, albeit disheveled, blue and purple garments, his face sweating and his collar torn open. He was reciting some kind of heroic verse, his voice cracking under pressure.

"Praise be to Ragzlin, hammer of skulls, Breaker of backs and... uh, vanquisher of mulls! Dror the mighty! Dror the bold! Dror, whose rage is... Um... glittering gold!"

The goblins cackled, jeered, and threw bones toward the stage. The bard looked as if he'd literally be anywhere else.

I recognized him. Volo.

My supposed "mentor." The one I claimed had taught me all I knew about Ceremorphosis, and whose reputation I’d leaned on like a crutch. If the girls discovered that he didn’t actually know me? That I’d never been his pupil?

That might make things... complicated.

Shadowheart stepped closer to me, close enough for our arms to brush. Protective or curious—I couldn’t tell. Lae’zel circled wide, eyeing the goblins like they were unarmed traps.

I wouldn’t get a private moment with Volo. Not here.

So I clapped. Loud and clear.

"Bravo! Truly, no words could match your command of rhyme, friend!"

Volo’s eyes locked on mine. Confusion. Deduction. Panic. Hope.

A female goblin at one of the front tables growled, reached up, and grabbed him by the arm. "You tryin’ anything, songbird? Better get you back in your cage."

Volo looked at me again, this time with more desperation. I gave him the barest tilt of the head, then a small gesture with my index finger. Play along.

He blinked. Swallowed. Nodded, just enough.

It was a silent language—charisma recognizing charisma.

He understood.

The goblin yanked him down off the stage, muttering to herself about "Flapping songbirds. Up to no good" as she dragged him toward the far end of the courtyard.

We continued walking. Past more overturned tables, past a pair of goblins arguing over a half-roasted dog. Past Karlach joyfully twirling under a hanging torch, hands locked with a screaming goblin, much to the enjoyment of the rowdy onlookers.

I whistled for her to join us, and she released the poor git, his hands singed and hopefully too drunk to really feel it.

"Sorry, I got carried away for a minute," Karlach smiled apologetically "He'll be all right. I think."

Shadowheart arched a brow "At least he won't be able to wield a sword against us."

"Yeah, but let’s not give the rest of them a reason to."

We moved on toward the keep, leaving the goblins to their festivities, and slipped inside the wooden gates of the fortress beyond.