The Goblin War (22 page)

Several of the ninnies actually gasped at this, Jeriah among them, and Brallorscourt hastily rearranged his expression.

“Then you may be in trouble,” said the Hierarch. “Because in my judgment, I need this man’s advice. I may not always take it, but I will listen.”

Was there a twinkle in those bright blue eyes?

“State your case, Mistress Makenna,” the Hierarch commanded.

She took a deep breath. “It’s the goblins. Who are surely as much the Bright Gods’ creatures as you—as humans are.”

Jeriah winced.

She told the Hierarch her idea, about setting aside a portion of the great northern wood for goblins alone, a place they could live in safety, and build their homes in the open, without human interference.

“Some will argue that with that accursed Decree rescinded, they’re no longer under a death sentence,” Makenna finished. “But they’ve no protection from those who would still drive them out, or wish them ill. It’s not enough, Sunlord. They deserve more, after all they’ve endured at the priests’ hands.”

And after what they did for you.
But she didn’t have to say it aloud; the thought was clear in his cloudless eyes.

“Goblins had no place of their own before the Decree,” Brallorscourt put in. “I must say I see no reason for that to change. The Decree of Bright Magic may have taken things too far, but it should be pointed out that in using magic not sanctioned by the church, the goblins have put themselves outside it—and therefore outside your governance, my lord. They may live in the Realm, on our sufferance, but they aren’t part of it.”

Makenna hadn’t expected him to remain silent. But it seemed his statement was true—or at least, he thought it was.

“I’m not asking you to make them part of your pox—precious Realm,” she said. “All I ask is that you give them a bit of land outside it, and keep your cursed humans from meddling with them.”

Chardane had long since resigned herself to disaster and taken a seat off to one side, but Jeriah still stood beside her, and now he stirred.

“There’s plenty of unclaimed land north of the great wall, Sunlord. No one would care if it was granted to the goblins.”

“Unless more refugees from the barbarian attacks are forced to settle there,” Brallorscourt replied smoothly. “As you keep reminding us, Rovanscourt, that land may be needed.”

“But you keep telling me that the barbarian army is going to be defeated,” Jeriah shot back. “So if you’re right, there’s no reason not to deed that land to the goblins. And if you’re wrong . . . Are you prepared to admit you might be wrong about that, Lord Brallorscourt?”

Makenna considered kicking him, but even if it wouldn’t have caused more commotion than it was worth, those cursed skirts would get in her way.

“Besides,” said Brallorscourt, “there’s another issue to be considered here, Sunlord. This girl herself is still charged with multiple murders, of people who sought to settle peacefully in the same northern woods she now politely asks you to grant to her. Why should she be pardoned for those deaths?”

“So don’t pardon me,” Makenna said. Her goblins would never allow her to hang, and she was long accustomed to living outside human law. “But you owe the goblins a place they can be safe. And you know it.”

Her eyes were on the Hierarch’s face, and he nodded slowly, admitting it. But he still hadn’t agreed.

“How many men died fighting the goblins?” he asked.

“Four,” said Makenna. “Directly. And there was a pregnant woman we drove out, who miscarried her child before they reached the town. Some add that to my tally as well.”

She did herself, and it was the one death she regretted.

“Every one of those men had killed several goblins,” she added. “And would have killed more if they hadn’t been stopped.”

“But killing goblins isn’t illegal,” Brallorscourt said. “Any more than it’s illegal to exterminate rats. Killing men is murder.”

The old hatred flared, bright and hot and real. But venting it now would do neither her nor her goblins any good.

“That’s the exact problem I’m trying to solve.” She managed to keep her voice level, but Chardane was the only one who nodded.

The Hierarch’s face was troubled. “I had thought more died at your hands,” he said. “And these men, they all died in the midst of battle?”

“Four or forty, it will make little difference to the people in the north who fought those goblins themselves, or took in the refugees this girl created,” Brallorscourt said sharply. “My lord, I fear that if you pardon her, we may find ourselves facing the same kind of trouble in the Northlands that is only now dying down in the west! We need our troops on the border, fighting the barbarians—not dealing with rebellion elsewhere, and particularly not a rebellion we could easily avoid. Even if Zachiros is right, and she and her goblins were at war with the Realm, that’s no excuse. If anything, it’s a greater reason to hang her!”

Still true, evidently, for there was no signal from the pouch. But the Hierarch was wavering. He might someday be strong enough to be a just ruler again—if he’d ever been a good ruler in the first place—but he was too weak now.

And Brallorscourt was a man who understood threats.

“If you think rebellion in the north would distract your troops from the barbarians, you might consider what havoc an army of goblins could wreak on your precious forces right there at the border. Goblins can hide, and work, and fight any—”

Jeriah’s fingers closed hard on her elbow, and she fell silent. Judging by Brallorscourt’s scowl, her point had already been made.

“But if you’d grant my request,” Makenna went on, “maybe the goblins could help your army fight the barbarians instead. If they had some stake in the Realm, they’d have reason to defend it. And if they help defend it, then surely they’ll have earned the land we’re talking about.”

She thought they’d already earned it, but the Hierarch’s expression brightened. “That seems fair. Let them do penance for their crimes and earn their place by defending the Realm now. And I’ll consider past crimes, yours and theirs, settled.”

Brallorscourt’s scowl deepened. “I hardly think they’d be that useful, my—”

“Lie!” Etta’s clear voice rang through the room, and most of the courtiers jumped. Not Jeriah, Makenna noted thoughtfully. He must be more accustomed to goblins than she’d realized.

Etta pushed up the satchel’s flap and stood, hanging her arms over the side for balance. Her hair was tousled, her small face flushed. But she didn’t seem intimidated by the grand assembly. Not when it came to exercising her gift.

“He’s come close to it a time or two.” The goblin girl frowned at Brallorscourt. “But that last was an out-and-out lie. He knows right well we could be useful to you. Maybe even make the difference between winning and losing.”

The guards stirred uneasily—but what harm could one tiny girl do? A ripple of astonishment ran through the crowd, the humans craning their necks for a better view.

The Hierarch stared at Etta—had he never seen a goblin before? He probably hadn’t. They hid themselves so well that humans could go their whole lives without catching a glimpse of them, even if a whole goblin family lived right beside them. And this man would be more sheltered than most.

“This is Etta,” Makenna told him. “Her gift is to know when someone’s telling the truth. Or not.”

“But . . .” Brallorscourt cast the small goblin a horrified glance and fell silent.

The Hierarch gazed at Etta in fascination. “But how do we know this girl is telling the truth, Mistress Makenna? How do we know she’s not lying in your service?”

“I wouldn’t!” Etta sounded scandalized by the very idea. “That’d be . . . that’d be shoddy workmanship. A bad debt!”

No goblin would cheat on a debt—but humans were different.

“You don’t know it,” Makenna said truthfully. “You can’t know for certain, unless you get a priest you can trust to put a truth spell on her. Though it might be hard to find a priest who has no stake in . . . just about any palace matter, I’d guess.”

“It is.” The Hierarch’s gaze was now very thoughtful.

“My lord!” Brallorscourt’s voice was tight with alarm. “This goblin, and her mistress, clearly have a stake in
this
matter. You can’t believe a word she . . . ah . . . surely you must consider the possibility that her testimony would be biased.”

Etta scowled, then shrugged. Not quite a lie.

“As to truth,” Makenna said, “look at the evidence. Lord Brallorscourt was wondering how useful the goblins might be in a fight? How much trouble did they cause your settlers in the north? Master Lazur brought a whole troop against us, and he couldn’t stop us!”

“Um.” Etta’s voice was hesitant. “That’s not entirely—”

“All right,” said Makenna hastily. “He did us a lot of damage. But only because he planted a traitor in our midst!”

That same traitor had turned against the priest, risked his life, and given up the human world entirely to go with them—and where in the Dark One’s name had he dis-appeared to?

Etta’s testimony against Makenna made the Hierarch chuckle, and he clearly liked hearing that the priest had lost against them. “It seems to me that Mistress Makenna offers an interesting bargain. I’ll accept on one con—”

“But we won’t,” said a deep, gruff voice.

Makenna spun, and felt her jaw sag in astonishment as Cogswhallop walked calmly down the floor to stand beside her. He looked as calm as if he appeared before the Hierarch every day. And if he was tired, and a bit grubby from long travel, Makenna doubted most humans could have read those subtle signs.

The humans were chattering like starlings, and the guards looked from one to another to see if they should do anything or not. The Dark One’s “lesser minions” shouldn’t have been able to even appear in the palace of the Gods of Light, and now there were two of them! But they’d look silly threatening a man only two feet tall who wasn’t even armed.

It was the Hierarch who rose to his feet and raised a hand. “Be quiet, all of you. I’ll attend to this.”

He stepped down from the throne and walked around Cogswhallop, studying him and Etta as if a tale in which he’d only half believed had suddenly come to life. Makenna was glad, and fiercely proud, that Cogswhallop had come to stand beside her.

If it troubled him to be stared at by so many humans, he didn’t show it, returning the Hierarch’s curious gaze quietly. Etta actually grinned at the man!

The Hierarch returned the girl’s smile, then turned to Cogswhallop. “Why have you come here, Master Goblin? Why are you showing yourselves to humans now?”

Cogswhallop gestured to Makenna. “She’s a fine gen’ral,” he said. “But she’s a terrible horse trader. It’s time I took a hand.”

The Hierarch returned to his seat, not like a man reclaiming his authority, more as if he needed to sit down. “Who speaks for your people?” he asked. “You, or her?”

Makenna’s “He does” clashed with Cogswhallop’s “She does.”

They looked at each other, and she saw the love in his eyes—but he saw the truth in hers.

“He does,” she told the Hierarch firmly. “I may lead them in battle, and sometimes be their voice in the human world, but they speak for themselves. Let Cogswhallop decide for all of us. If he wants me to lead the goblins against the barbarians, I’ll obey him.”

“True,” said Etta clearly.

Power shifted and resettled between them, but it felt solid in its new resting place, sturdy and balanced.

Cogswhallop shrugged and turned to the ruler of the whole human Realm, Chosen of the Bright Gods themselves. Makenna suddenly realized that he hadn’t bowed to the Hierarch, or acknowledged his sovereignty or holiness in any way. She hoped no one else would notice.

“The gen’ral had the right idea,” Cogswhallop said. “But she was asking for the wrong thing. It’s not land behind the great wall we need; it’s the land we already live on and work right now. We’ve no more desire to move to the north woods than anyone else. And just as much reason to fight to defend our homes against the barbarians. Assuming, of course, that you’ll agree they are our homes. Legal like.”

Makenna suddenly realized what he was asking. The enormity of it made her dizzy.

“I don’t understand,” the Hierarch said. “What is it, exactly, that you want?”

Cogswhallop met his gaze squarely. “I want goblins to have the same rights humans do, under human law. I want killing or harm to any goblin to earn the same punishment, in the same courts, as harm or death to humans. And I want the property we live in and work to be deeded ours, under the law. Ours to sell, trade, or buy, with human money, just as humans do.”

Jeriah, who had some idea of just how much property the goblins would claim—property humans thought they owned—opened his mouth to protest, and Makenna pinched his elbow. Hard.

He flinched and subsided.

Makenna thought of all the court cases to come about exactly who owned what—but as long as the concept of goblins legally owning property existed, she knew her goblins would be willing to trade their labor for eventual full ownership. Goblins were always willing to bargain. She held her breath.

“And in exchange,” said the Hierarch slowly, “for the right to protection under human law, for the right to own property as humans do and those lands on which you already dwell, you’ll agree to help us fight the barbarians?”

“Aye,” said Cogswhallop. “I’m not saying we can provide more than help, mind. We can’t defeat them all on our own. But anyone who’s tried to settle in the wood in the last few years will tell you that we could be . . . useful to you.”

“In fact,” said the Hierarch, “I’ve read some of those reports. And I agree to your terms, goblin. If you provide our army with material assistance against the barbarians, I’ll grant you the same legal status as humans within the Realm of the Seven Bright Gods. Is that good enough for you?”

Lord Brallorscourt looked horrified, but for once, Makenna was pleased to see, the Hierarch wasn’t looking at his adviser. And Brallorscourt didn’t know even half of what Cogswhallop’s proposal would entail. The Hierarch was too naive to understand at all. And Jeriah, who did understand, glanced at Etta and didn’t say a single word.