The rider was a human soldier from Durpar. Our doings had been discovered. Someone had sent for help against us.

"We can't go farther south," I told Zeth. 'The danger is great. We've got to head back, or at least go west where they won't look for us right away."

"You do not understand," said Zeth.

We went on south. We caught a farmer on a hay wagon, then two field hands, one human and one halfling. We surrounded a cottage on the edge of a woodlot, but there was only an old woman inside.

"We are cowards," I said, looking at the old woman's body as it swung in the breeze. I did not say it loudly, as goblins were all around. I no longer felt like one of them. They had betrayed me. Death was better than this.

"We are goblins," said Zeth. He stood with his back to the tree from which the old woman hung. He looked high into the branches. "We have been like humans for too long. We did not understand what the gods wanted of us. We forgot their lessons. We forgot the maggots."

"I've been listening to you talk about teachings and lessons and forgotten things, and I am sick of it," I said. 'Tell me what the lesson is, or I will kill you."

The talking among the goblins stopped. Those who had been my warriors were now motionless, holding drinking flasks and cups and jugs pilfered from the old woman's cottage. The goblins were all around me, watching me.

"We have been like humans for too long," said Zeth. His voice was calm and peaceful. "We forgot that the gods made us from the lowest of all life, then gave us the burning inside to become the highest. They gave us the will to gain supremacy at all costs. Yet humans challenge us at every turn. Humans think they are better than we in every way. All know this-goblins, ores, giants, elves, dragons-all know this is true. Humans believe only in humans. None of the rest of the world matters to them. Soon we all come to believe that, and we lose the vision the gods gave us to see our way up. We lose our will, and then we are gone."

Zeth pushed away from the tree and walked slowly over to the hanging corpse. He put out his hand and touched the body, causing it to slowly spin.

"It was only when my grandfather put out my eyes that I began to see for the first time," he said. "The gods gave me the vision. Humans do not understand us and call us evil. They think we do terrible things just because we want to, because we are selfish. They call it evil, what we do, and I will call it evil, too, because the humans hate it so."

Zeth looked directly at me. "We do evil, then, but we do this for the gods. Humans do not see that our evil is like love, in that it is greater than the self. Our evil reaches out to embrace the world and slay it, as the gods did, so that it will be ours. Our evil is as warm and red as love, and it enters the world in the same way love enters the heart- through the least defended places."

The half-breed spread his arms, palms up. "You did not understand what I meant by the 'insult,' " he said. "This body is tainted. I am forbidden by the gods to carry a weapon or wear armor to protect the taint." A cold grin formed at the edges of Zeth's mouth. "My father wanted to prove something when he attacked my mother and cut off her hands. He wanted to prove he was stronger than a goblin. Perhaps he wanted to show that he was more evil than a goblin, too. He certainly knew how we feel about humans and what we call the taint-the touch of humanity, of goodness and weakness. We might wallow in it, but we hate the word. And my father rubbed it in our faces.

"How could a human be stronger than a people descended from the worms that crawled in the wounds of the earth? How could he be more evil? Humans say they are so much better than we, and my father's deed was as if humans had also claimed to be so much worse, as if we were nothing. It was an insult to us all. The gods saw it and were angry, and I was born to repay the insult to our people.

"We are now teaching humans how it feels to be weak. What do the strong fear more than weakness? What is more terrible to a warrior who prides himself on his might than to know it means nothing? We strike at the weak and the helpless, and the mighty humans go mad because they cannot protect the weak and helpless with goodness! The gods and our people are avenged! The old debt is repaid!"

Zeth suddenly whirled on his heel and slapped the swinging corpse of the old woman. It spun around and around in the moonlight. He looked back at me. His face shone like the moon. "Now do you understand, Captain? Do you see now?"

I looked at the corpse as it swung, the old woman's dress ruffled by the gentle night breeze.

And I saw.

Zeth knew it. He felt his way back to the tree. The god who had let him see had now left.

"Let us head south," he said. "Our teaching is not yet done."

Three days later, the humans caught us.

"How many are there now?" Zeth asked. He did not shield his face from the sunlight, as the rest of us were forced to do on the flat hilltop. Whatever god or gods had been using him were now gone.

It didn't matter. The teaching had gone well.

"About a hundred," I replied. There looked to be more, but it was hard to tell in all the light. Many of the humans were mounted, so more troops could have been hidden in the dust behind them. Their battle flags were raised. The colors of Durpar flew.

We dug in as well as we could. We could not outrun them on the open fields where the humans had sighted us. The hilltop was no defense, but it gave us the altitude we needed against the tall folk and their mounted riders.

"A hundred is good," said Zeth. "More would have been better, but a hundred is good."

One of our human prisoners screamed at the soldiers marching toward us. I could not understand what she was saying. A goblin slapped her across the face, then began to beat her.

"Stop it," Zeth said mildly. He didn't turn around. "Let her scream. It is better that way. Let the prisoners scream as much as they want."

“They're splitting up," a warrior said. "Some have bows drawn."

"They won't use them," said Zeth, his face at peace. "They know we have the prisoners."

'They'll charge us," I said, squinting at the distant figures. I made decisions and shouted aloud. "The horsemen will come in first-archers, take out as many as you can. I want everyone with a spear to be ready to meet them. Go for the horses first. Ignore the riders. Once a horse is down, ignore it. Draw your swords and go for the next horses. Cut at their legs and drop them. The riders won't be able to get up right away; we can send a second rank over to finish them. Then get ready to meet the foot soldiers. Use your height and go for the heads and arms as they come up the slope."

"Ever the warrior," said Zeth, quietly so only I heard.

My mouth opened, then closed in silence. Ever the warrior. Perhaps so I was. I had known nothing else. Yet my words were wise, even now. More humans would learn from us as a result. It was better that way.

I watched the humans close in, dust flying against the distant rumble of hooves. Though I could not see their faces, I sensed their hunger for our blood. I could almost smell it. It was natural and right.

"It is a good day," I finally said. It wasn't what I had meant to say, but it was true. I was at ease at last, at peace with all. It would be a good fight on a good day. I looked at the oncoming riders, their pennants flying, and a strange sensation passed through me. It was the purest feeling that had ever touched me. I blinked, forgetting myself, and my breathing stopped.

"You feel it," said Zeth softly. "It is good, yes?"

My lips formed the word yes, but gave no sound. I slowly smiled at the humans coming for us, smiled as a child would do. Welcome, I said without sound, full of that feeling. Welcome to our final teaching.