The compulsion to answer squeezed her gut and her mind raced. “As long as they mean no harm to me and mine, I mean no harm to them,” she blurted, trying to sound pert, then looking down as if embarrassed. The power roiled, dissatisfied, but the compulsion to speak wasn’t overpowering. Someone entered the tent, but she was too busy controlling her expression to look around.
“Very well.” The alien power drained out of her and she suppressed a gasp of relief. “Goodwife Garron has a new baby—she might need an extra pair of hands. Jeriah will show you.”
She glanced up, startled by the name, and saw a handsome boy, younger than herself. The knight’s Jeriah? It wasn’t a common name. He nodded to Master Lazur and smiled at her.
“I thank you, sir.” Makenna curtsied unsteadily to both of them and Jeriah showed her out. She wished desperately for a few moments’ privacy to recover from her narrow escape, but Jeriah walked on without pause. She wiped her sweaty palms, gritted her teeth, and followed him.
After one shrewd glance, he didn’t speak—did she look that shaken? But probably many did, after their meeting with Master Lazur. She’d have plenty of time to ask questions later, so Makenna fell in with his silence, and used the time to compose herself before meeting Goodwife—what was the name? She felt a moment of panic, but Jeriah introduced them carefully.
Goodwife Garron was a thin, quick-moving woman, still pale and tired from the recent birth. But tired or not, she never wasted time. Almost before she knew what was happening, Makenna found herself up to her elbows in a tub of dirty laundry, where she finally had a chance to relax, after a fashion.
With a host of goblins willing to work for buttons and bowls of milk, she’d forgotten the incessant grind of housework. Even though there was no house, for the cabin they would live in was only half built, cooking, laundry, firewood, and dozens of other chores had to be done. By the end of the day, when the family came back to the big tent where they all slept, Makenna’s muscles ached as if she’d been pulling a plow.
There were six in the family. Goodman Garron was as slow moving as his wife was quick and seemed a quiet man, but perhaps that was only because he couldn’t get a word in. Along with the new baby boy, there was a boy of twelve, Dacon, who took after his father, and a seven-year-old boy, Mardin, who grinned impudently at her. Ressa, the only girl, was five, and Makenna never found out much about her because her thumb never seemed to leave her mouth. Mardin and Ressa were too young to be much help, so Goodwife Garron sent them off to pester the men during the day. The children giggled when she told Makenna that, and Dacon beamed with pleasure at being classed as one of “the men.”
Makenna gained a bit of useful information that first night.
She was laying a pallet for herself in the already crowded tent, protesting that she could very well sleep outside.
“Nonsense, Makenna,” said Goodwife Garron. “Suppose it rains? The last thing we need is to have to nurse you through a chill. Or suppose the alarm rings in the night?”
“Then she’d be closer to the church than we are,” Mardin piped up, and then giggled as Dacon buried him in the blankets.
“What alarm?” Makenna asked Goodwife Garron, who was smiling at the uproar.
“Didn’t I tell you? By the saints, I suppose I didn’t! All the folk who’ve tried to settle in this wood have been attacked by goblins—”
“Led by a sorceress, seven feet tall, with flaming eyes,” proclaimed Mardin, shaking off his brother.
“Well, not quite that, perhaps. But that’s why we’ve all these soldiers and priests—to catch the sorceress. If the alarm bell rings, you and I and the children will go straight to the church, Makenna. The menfolk, in fact most of the men in the village, plan to stay out and guard the stock and the supp—”
“I could help guard, too!” Mardin informed them. “If I had a medal like father does, I’d—”
“What medal?” asked Makenna, interrupting in turn.
“It’s a charm to keep goblins away,” the goodwife explained. “The same kind of enchanted iron they’ve got around the doors and windows of the church. We’ll be safe in there, and the men’ll take care of the rest.” Her frown told Makenna she wasn’t quite as sure of that as she sounded. But when Dacon told Mardin he was too young to guard a hamster, let alone a cow, the resultant fracas made the baby start to cry, and the subject was dropped.
Makenna slipped out of the tent. The noisy jostling of these humans disturbed her, and she stood a few moments, staring up at the starry sky and trying to ignore the settlement around her. How was she ever going to sleep in a tent full of them?
At least she was getting the information she needed. How easy it would be to have the Flamers set the church afire—no need to cross charmed iron for that. And when the men rushed to save the women and children, their goods and gear could be stolen or destroyed. Of course, something must be done about the priests and soldiers first. She still had much to learn.
These people had been kind, but their kindness was for a human servant girl. For a hedgewitch, for her goblins, they would have no mercy at all. With a weary sigh, Makenna turned back to the crowded tent. In spite of her fears, she was so tired she fell asleep immediately.
As Makenna grew more accustomed to the Garron family, her very lack of unease around the humans began to trouble her—they were, after all, the enemy. If she got too comfortable, she might make some slip and give herself away. She hoped the need to gather information would keep her wary enough.
One bright morning, her hands covered with bread dough, Makenna asked Goodwife Garron who Jeriah was.
She laughed. “Don’t set your heart on that lad, dear, he’s a lordling or I’ve never seen one.”
“I noticed that,” said Makenna, kneading more flour into the dough. It felt strange to perform this task outside, in the sunlight. Perhaps it was the familiarity of these ordinary household chores that was draining her defensiveness. “That’s why I asked about him. What’s a lordling doing here?”
“He’s some sort of assistant to Master Lazur, who seems to be a pretty important man, judging by the way the other priests act around him. It’s not that odd.”
“Aye, I guess that’s right,” Makenna admitted, and turned the subject. There was no other priest whose name began with L, so Master Lazur was almost certainly the priest the knight had mentioned. If Jeriah was his assistant, it made sense that Tobin would know him, though it seemed strange that a priest’s assistant would have such heretical opinions.
She found out a lot about the soldiers by eavesdropping on their conversations. Though they were civil, the soldiers cared little for the settlers—their one ambition was to capture the sorceress, destroy the goblin army, and get out of “this wilderness” and back to the City of Steps to spend their reward. That chilled her, for the City of Steps was the Hierarch’s city, which meant these men were from the Hierarch’s own guard.
They all wore goblin repulsion charms, just like the knight’s, and many of the settlers had them, too. In addition, all the priests and some of the soldiers had extra charms to help them resist goblin spells. She tried to learn which of them carried these charms, but it was impossible, for they changed hands nightly when the soldiers gambled. Along with the charms, many of them wore steel armor beneath their rough tunics, but they carried no swords for fear of compromising their “disguises.”
Their plan was to let the goblins overrun them and flood into the settlement. Then they would close ranks to hold and slay them. The thought of her goblins dying in their trap sent a wave of hatred washing over her, and Makenna took several small risks trying to discover where their weapons were stored.
But it wasn’t until she entered the nearly completed church for the priests’ First Day Speaking that she found them, stacked neatly in crates along the back wall and protected from the goblin’s interference by the charmed windows and doors.
She’d avoided Master Lazur since their first meeting, fearing his sharp intelligence. Now she watched him curiously, but there was little to see. Although his eyes were fixed on the speaker, he looked as if his thoughts were elsewhere. Thinking of her? Makenna shivered and looked away, and her attention was caught by a young woman with tears pouring down her face. She seemed familiar, but Makenna couldn’t remember having met her in the settlement.
Goodwife Garron had spent most of the Speaking whispering threats to her restless children, instead of watching the priest, so it was easy to catch her eye and nod at the weeping girl. The goodwife’s cheerful face darkened. “Lost her baby, poor thing,” she murmured. “Stillborn. It came early when the goblins burned them out.”
The girl at the cabin! She looked diminished now, with her lank hair and reddened eyes. Makenna thought of the small, unformed creature that Goodwife Garron cherished so—she’d hardly let anyone else touch the child. Makenna’s mother had healed and helped pregnant women. “Magic comes from life and is part of it,” the long-dead voice whispered in her memory. But it was different from her mother’s voice—silvery, like the chime of the liar’s bell. A cold chill crept around her neck and shoulders. Her mother would not have approved of this, of her.
Makenna looked down. But her mother wouldn’t have approved of the slaughter of the goblins, either. She’d been forced to choose, and she had no regrets. But…magic comes from life. Perhaps it was because of the voice that she did what she did next.
It started simply enough. The afternoon clouds had blown off without producing rain for once, and the family sat around the dinner fire, wrangling as usual. Goodwife Garron had just told Mardin for the third time not to talk with his mouth full or he’d choke, when the boy stopped talking and wheezed loudly.
At first Makenna thought it was a joke—Mardin had a seven-year-old’s sense of humor. Then the strangled choking began, violent and obviously involuntary. Goodwife Garron laid down the baby and rushed to him. His father reached him at the same time.
“Slap his back,” said Dacon.
“No, don’t,” said the Goodwife. “You might drive it deeper!” She pressed her hands against Mardin’s stomach, trying to squeeze the air out of his lungs, but nothing happened. His face was turning blue. “Dacon, go for a healer priest, hurry!”
The boy took off like a bird. Mardin’s father laid him down. His frantic thrashing was weaker. Soon he would be unconscious. The priest would be too late.
Before she was even aware of moving, Makenna found herself kneeling beside the child. She snatched a piece of charcoal from the fire and drew the runes of loosening and freeing on his chest, then grabbed a pot of butter, since no oil was available for the essential object, and rubbed it on his throat and spoke the words.
His lungs heaved, and he began to cough—loud, clear coughing, his lungs inflating time and again. He spat out a piece of half-chewed meat. His mother pulled him into her arms and met Makenna’s eyes.
“What’s happening here? Is the child all right?” It was one of the priests, an older woman with a sharp hatchet face.
Makenna froze, hiding the piece of charcoal under her skirt.
Useless.
Her mind screamed,
Fool, they’ll know you’re a hedgewitch, and then the rest of it will come out! You’ve traded it all for that brat’s life!
“There’s nothing wrong now.” Goodwife Garron stood, holding Mardin against her, pulling his shirt over the smudged runes on his chest. “He was choking, but he brought it up himself, by the Bright Ones’ grace! I’m very grateful for your coming, though.”
There was a frozen pause as if the entire noisy family was holding their breath. Then Mardin began to sob, and Ressa and the baby joined in, and in the tumult of getting them all settled down, the priest was thanked again and politely dismissed.
As soon as the others were asleep, Makenna stole from the tent. No one had mentioned the spell she’d cast, and she knew Goodwife Garron and her husband never would. But the children were another matter. The sooner she was away, the better.
She wished that she hadn’t been forced to put her hiding charm on the knight. She’d put off making herself a new one—she couldn’t bring it into the human village, and she hadn’t had time for the complex spell. There was no reason for them to use magic to search for a runaway hired girl, and she couldn’t imagine they’d ever suspect her of being “the sorceress.” But she’d make herself a new one as soon as she could, just in case.
A simple look-away spell took her past the perimeter guard, and soon she was walking through the darkened woods. The relief of being free of the human settlement lightened her heart. She now had enough information to make a successful plan. Soon she’d be back with her own, and they’d drive these humans away.
But at the thought, a cold chill touched the back of her neck. It took her several minutes to shrug off the knowledge that her mother would not have approved.
T
obin paced back and forth, head bent so he wouldn’t hit the roof beams. The sod cottage was too small—it had seemed larger, somehow, when the sorceress was here.
He should have told her he’d been convicted of treason, and that he had no desire to hurt her, or any of her goblins. The silly bell wouldn’t have rung at that!
His chain was more than nine feet long, but six of those feet stretched from the ceiling where it was fastened, to his ankle on the floor. It only let him pace five steps before bringing him up short. He’d tried pacing in a circle, but that made him dizzy, so now he paced in short lines.
He should have told her he knew nothing of the settlers, except that they intended to live in the Goblin Wood—that was true, too! He could have created a fortress of misleading truths, if he’d been smart enough. Failing that, he could at least have kept his mouth shut. But he’d lost his head and started to babble, and now she knew everything. Almost everything.
Tobin sat down wearily against the one wall he could reach, clutching the Otherworld stone in his pocket. He had only vague memories of the ride to the goblins’ base, maybe because of the headache, which had returned rapidly when he was lifted out of the healing circle, or maybe because the goblins had bespelled him. He’d remained in a daze throughout the ride and slept afterward, until the slamming door woke him and she’d launched into her questions, giving him no time to devise a story that could trick the spell.
Only when she’d gone had he been free to take stock of the situation. The stone was still in his pocket, that was the most important thing. But everything he carried of iron or steel—armor, weapons, even his belt buckle and his boots with iron nails in the heels—had been removed. They’d replaced his belt with a thin rope, and his boots with soft leather slippers, slightly too big, that slid off his heels as he paced.
The only metal on him was the copper shackle around his ankle and a slim chain around his neck that held a medallion—no doubt the hiding charm Master Lazur had warned him about. Tobin couldn’t see it. The chain was so tight he could only slip two fingers between it and his throat. Half an hour of careful feeling had discovered no clasp, and the chain was too strong for him to break. The Otherworld stone was in the very center of the goblin’s base—but useless because it was with him, and he was under a hiding spell.
Tobin considered throwing the stone out the window, but Master Lazur had said she might have a hiding spell covering the whole camp, and if that were true he probably couldn’t throw it far enough. On the other hand, a lot of the things Master Lazur had said weren’t true.
Was it possible the girl really was a common hedgewitch? If it was, then how had she defeated all the forces that had been sent against her? A small force could defeat a stronger one, but only if the leader of the small force was a very good tactician. To defeat stronger forces again and again, the leader had to be not merely a good tactician, but a truly great one. A general, in fact. Tobin scowled. A seventeen-year-old peasant girl? She was a year younger than he was. Tobin couldn’t believe it. But he found it no easier to believe that she was a mighty sorceress.
The door opened and sunlight streamed into the room, almost reaching the wall where he sat, which meant the sun was low, and the door was in the west wall. Tobin noticed this, but most of his attention was concentrated on the goblin woman who carried the tray in. She was almost two feet tall, what he was coming to think of as average height for goblinkind, with lank brown hair and the longest, sharpest nose he’d ever seen. The tips of her fingers were green tinged—he hoped she wasn’t the one who’d prepared whatever was in the bowl she carried. Then the smell of rabbit stew reached him, and his mouth started to water.
“Hello.” He smiled tentatively. No use being on bad terms with the gaoler who brought food. “It looks like a nice evening out there.”
“Humph.” The soft snort was her only response. She came forward, set the tray within his reach, and stepped back quickly. Rabbit stew in a wooden bowl, wooden spoon, bread, and a wooden tankard containing fresh water. Nothing he could use as a tool or a weapon, unless he wanted to hit her with the tray, which he didn’t. He was far too hungry.
She stood with her arms folded, watching him eat. His attempts at conversation met with no response. Even his thanks, when he set the tray away from him, went unanswered. She took the tray away and returned with a large clay pot, whose purpose was obvious. Tobin was grateful that she didn’t insist on staying to watch him use it.
When she’d gone, he investigated the room. His chain wouldn’t let him reach the windows, but he could still see parts of a clearing with trees not too far off. The walls were made of stacked sod bricks. He could probably dig through them with his bare hands, but since the chain kept him prisoner he saw no point in trying.
The ceiling was made of wood planks, supported by thick beams. It was easy to see why they’d attached the other end of his chain to a ceiling beam; aside from the door and window frames, they were the only wood in the hut. His bed, which consisted of a rough mattress stuffed with straw, several blankets, and his cloak, was the only furniture.
Tobin sighed and turned his attention to the chain. It was linked to a spike driven deep in the beam. Tobin grabbed the top of the chain and tried to work the spike back and forth, leaning all his weight on it. It didn’t budge. He might be able to loosen it—in about a week.
He sat down and studied the shackle around his ankle. There were hinges on one side and a lock on the other, but he had no tool that would either break the first or pick the second.
His headache was coming back, but he took advantage of the last of the light to study each link in the chain. They were as thick as the tip of his little finger and welded solidly.
Tobin sighed again and went to bed. He was exhausted now, and his head throbbed. Perhaps morning would bring some opportunity to escape.
Morning brought the green-fingered woman with his breakfast. She served him in silence, and he ate again, uncomfortable under her angry gaze. He was almost finished when he heard a slight scrabbling at one of the windows. Glancing up, he caught a glimpse of half a tiny face and two wide hazel eyes.
“Be off with you!”
Tobin jumped at the sound of the little woman’s voice—he’d almost decided she was mute. She hurried out the door. “Didn’t I tell you to leave the human alone? Tadpoles eat your toes!”
Tobin set his food down and went as far as he could toward the window. He couldn’t see her, but he heard her voice scolding, and a childish voice replying.
“Your child?” he asked when she came back for the tray. “I don’t mind if they’re curious.”
“She’s not mine. And I do mind.” She said it coldly, but at least she’d answered.
“Why?” he pressed on. “All children are curious.”
“Not about humans. I don’t want them having anything to do with humans, ever!” Bitter passion filled her voice.
“Have you been injured by humans?” he asked cautiously.
“Aye.” There was a world of irony in the soft word. “You might say I’ve been…injured.” She met his eyes and he flinched at her pain. “The only reason I let you live, human, is that the mistress insisted.” She picked up the tray and left then, and he was glad to see her go.
When the knock fell on the door, he was delighted. “Come in, Master Erebus.”
The door opened on the little goblin’s astonished expression. “How did you know it was me?”
“Because you’re the only one who’d knock,” Tobin told him. “I’m glad to see you. Come in and sit down. We can talk.”
“Oh, no,” said Erebus ruefully. He closed the door and sat carefully, several feet beyond Tobin’s reach. “I’ve gotten into enough trouble talking to you. Not that I blame you, mind. You have your duties and loyalties, just as I have mine. But I’m telling you nothing of the mistress or anything else.”
“You mean I’ll have to rely on my talkative gaoler for information? Thanks a lot.”
“Not speaking to you, is she? Well, she’s bitter. She has reason.”
“Why? Oh, all right, don’t tell me. I just hope she’s not the one who’s fixing the food.”
“Oh, Natter wouldn’t poison you, if that’s what you’re thinking. She’s a gentle sort, for all her sharp tongue.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it. Speaking of seeing, I’m going mad in here. Is there some way I could go outside? Just for a bit of exercise? I’ll give my word….”
Erebus was shaking his head. “I’ll not be taken in by you twice, Sir Tobin. May I call you Tobin? And even if I could be, others wouldn’t. You’re going to stay right here until the mistress decides what to do with you.”
Tobin rubbed his thumb over the stubble of his beard. “In for a long wait, am I?”
“Sorry, I’m telling you nothing this time.”
“Will you at least tell me how Fiddle is? If you’re having trouble taking care of him, perhaps I could help?” He didn’t really believe they’d let him out, but it was worth a try.
Erebus’ eyes shifted guiltily. “Well, I suppose I could tell you about that. The mistress sent your horse to be sold.”
“Sold!” Tobin’s voice spiraled up. “To who? What’s happened to him? He could be whipped! Starved! I’ve got to—”
“Calm yourself,” said Erebus serenely. “He won’t be abused, he’s too valuable. Todd—Ah, the mistress’ agent is a tinker. He knows the worth of a good horse.”
“But why?”
“The mistress said you’d be less likely to try to escape on foot than on horseback, and—”
“But he’s my horse! How dare she sell my horse?”
Erebus shrugged. “At least she didn’t sell him to the horse eaters. You can always buy him back, if you get free. Think of it as a small payment for our hospitality.”
“But…but…” There was nothing he could do, curse her! And Erebus was right, a horse as good as Fiddle would be well treated. The humor of it began to strike him—protesting wildly at the sale of his horse when his life was threatened!
Erebus beamed, sensing his change of mood. “Speaking of payment,” he continued, “I’d like to get the information you owe me now.” Paper, pen, and ink appeared as if by magic. “About those barbarians…”
Outrage warred with humor…and lost. Tobin laughed and told him what he wanted to know.
The next time Tobin heard the scrabbling at the window, he was ready, glancing up cautiously, not wanting to startle them. But as soon as they saw him looking, the eyes vanished. He heard muffled giggling outside the window, but it soon faded away.
On the morning of his fourth day of imprisonment, he wakened to the growling of thunder. The sky was gray, and he couldn’t guess the time. He thought it might be late, for he’d worked on loosening the spike far into the night. The spike was beginning to shift just a little as he pushed and pulled at it. The shackle was turning his skin as green as Natter’s fingers.
Natter seemed disturbed by the weather when she brought his breakfast and nodded absently when he remarked that the storm would be a bad one.
The thunder grew louder. Tobin had thought the goblins would be busy preparing for the storm and was astonished when the door opened, revealing a rectangle of writhing dark clouds and a tiny goblin girl, hardly more than a foot high. She was slender, her nose quite short for one of her kind, and she looked very young in spite of the determined set to her jaw. Her eyes were a familiar hazel.
“Hello,” said Tobin softly, trying not to startle her. “I believe I’ve seen you, but we haven’t met. I’m Tobin.”
“My name’s Onny.” She took a wary step forward, and then jumped as the thunder crashed.
“It’s getting closer,” said Tobin. “Are your people ready for the storm?”
“They’re doing that now.” She inched forward, wary and graceful as a hummingbird. “They’re all busy, so now seemed like the best time to—”
“To come see me? Then you aren’t supposed to be here? I’m glad you are,” he added hastily. “I don’t like being alone with the storm coming in.”
It thundered again and the girl flinched, then wrinkled her nose. “That’s a lie. You’re not scared of the storm.”
“Well, not a lot,” Tobin admitted. “Are you?”
“Of course not. Only babies are afraid of thunder.”
“I see. And I see you’re not afraid of the mistress, either.”
She looked puzzled.
“Because she told you not to come here, and you have,” he explained.
“Oh, the mistress didn’t say anything about you.” Thunder crashed again and she winced. “That was just Natter. The mistress is away now.” She edged toward him.
“Really? Where is she?”
“She’s off spying on the human village,” said the girl. “Fa was upset about it, but she wouldn’t listen.”
A brilliant flash lit the windows, and thunder exploded right on top of them. The child jumped and clapped her hands over her ears, her face white beneath the scattered freckles. Then she leapt forward, touched his knee, and darted back to the door like a fish out of a net. “It was a dare.” She flashed a smile at him and ran out as the first heavy drops splattered down.
The spike was beginning to shift. Working it grimly back and forth, Tobin wondered how much the girl had learned about the settlement. Everything, if she was as clever with them as she’d been with him. She’d have been there for days by now. And what would she do with her knowledge? He had to warn them. If he could get there in time, perhaps they could—
The spike came loose. Tobin, in the act of pulling back on it, lost his balance and fell, the chain rattling down around him. He stared at it stupidly for a second, then a shout of joy welled up in his throat and he had to struggle to suppress it.
Grinning triumphantly, he jumped to his feet, slinging the chain over his neck to keep it out of the way. He snatched up his cloak and hurried out the door, closing it behind him. If he was lucky, his escape might not be noticed until Natter brought his dinner.
Stepping into the storm was like stepping into a waterfall—he had to pull up his hood to protect his face or he’d have been unable to see at all. At least no one was likely to see him.