The Goblin Wood (12 page)

“What in…?”

The brush pile extended to his right and left, curving gently back behind him. Tobin spun to flee, but it was already too late. They’d closed the ring. How had they done it so quietly? Too late. He was in the center of a clearing, about ten feet across, surrounded by burnable wood.

Small fires sprang to life all around the circle. Tobin released the sorceress and leapt for the wall, to claw his way through before the flames took hold. A hail of stones drove him back, and he had to sink down so his mail shirt could protect his legs. Even then the stones didn’t stop, bouncing off his armor, forcing him to use his arms to protect his face. When the rain of stones finally ceased and he lowered his hands, he was surrounded by a ring of fire.

“But you’ll burn her, too!” he cried to the darkness beyond the flames. “She’ll—” A gust of smoke caught his throat and set him coughing.

The sorceress had laid herself flat in the center of the circle, where the heat was least and the smoke rose above her. With her water-soaked clothes and hair, she’d last far longer than he would. That, no doubt, was their plan. She was laughing, demons take her.

Tobin had to get out. He had to break through that flaming wall, or he would burn. If the smoke didn’t kill him first. He was coughing again. He sank down beside the girl, drawing his knife, and cut open her vest, not caring that he sliced through strands of the net as well.

She turned to glare at him, but he didn’t care. The goblins would save her, and burning to death wasn’t part of Master Lazur’s mission. Jeriah would never forgive him if he died.

His commander had taught them how to deal with fire. If he ran fast enough, he could probably break through the barrier without being too badly burned—if his clothes caught fire, he could roll to put them out. Of course, if the burning brush was stronger than he thought, he might get stuck in the middle and go up like a torch. Tobin pushed the thought aside. He cut off a large strip off the girl’s wet shirt and pulled off his helm to wrap it around his face. The sparks stung, and the smoke seared his eyes. He never even saw the stone coming.

The first thing he became aware of was a headache so intense it made his stomach heave. Vomiting would only make the throbbing worse, so he took several deep breaths of the clear, cold air and his nausea gradually calmed. His throat was raw and his mouth tasted of smoke. A fire? He opened his eyes, wincing at the morning light, and a clearing holding a pile of blackened brush spun dizzily around him. He closed his eyes quickly, and took more deep breaths.

As he lay there, he became aware of two voices speaking nearby, one deep and gruff, and one higher. Female. That voice was familiar. The sorceress. Memory returned, and he groaned.

“He’s awake, mistress.” A new voice. Nervous. He heard footsteps approaching and tried to open his eyes again, but his vision still spun and he shut them.

There was no sound for several moments. He supposed she was inspecting him. He heard her thanking someone called Miggy. A hand lifted his head, not too gently, and she spoke a word he didn’t understand. His head dropped with a thud that almost made him sick again.

But then the pain began draining away, lessening with every throb. He stirred and discovered his hands and feet were bound. No surprise. She had resumed her conversation with the gruff voice, but now he was alert enough to follow it. They seemed to be bargaining. “Five deer,” she said. “Five deer is more than the weight of a horse.”

“There was fire. We went right up to the fire to throw our stones, and we did not do it for deer. We can always get deer.”

What were they talking about? Tobin opened his eyes carefully. The world no longer spun. He was lying just outside the ring of burned brush. A young goblin, a stranger to him, hovered anxiously. In the damp earth before him, he could see the edge of a circle and several runes, no doubt the reason his headache was receding. His armor was gone, and he could feel a chain around his throat—probably the hiding charm Master Lazur had warned him about. Fiddle was tied to a tree.

He had to twist his neck to see the sorceress, for she was standing some way beyond his feet, talking to a creature almost as strange as the horse-spooking things.

It was almost four feet high, tall for a goblin, with long, dirty, wild-looking hair. He had thought that most goblins dressed in imitation of humankind, but this creature wore nothing but skins, short furred, except for what looked like…yes, it was a horse’s mane running down the back. It was wearing horsehide.

The goblins had freed her from the net. She offered six deer. The creature declined. Tobin shut his eyes. Who cared that six deer were almost half again the weight of a horse? Then he realized what they were bargaining for.

He sat up with a shout of protest, which was a mistake, for he did get sick. To his surprise, the strange goblin helped him lie down again when his stomach was empty, but he didn’t take time to thank the creature. He was listening with desperate helplessness to the debate over Fiddle’s life.

The gruff-voiced horse eater finally settled for seven deer, and tears of exhausted relief crept down Tobin’s face as they discussed the time and place of delivery.

When the sorceress came back to him, he opened his eyes. Whatever happened, he owed her for this. “Thank you for saving Fiddle. He’s—he’s a good friend.”

She scowled. “I didn’t do it for you. To kill the wild things is bad enough. To slay a trusting servant like that big fellow is an act of betrayal only a human would commit.”

“Or a goblin, if I understand the original bargain. And you’re human, whatever else you are.”

“Insults,” she snapped, “will get you nowhere. Offering the horse was the only way Cogswhallop could get them to come in time. Stoners like horse meat, and with goblins, you have to trade something for what you want.”

“Because they aren’t capable of love,” said Tobin. “I understand.”

The corners of her mouth turned down. “You are a fool. The goblins repay kindness with kindness. Humans repay kindness with death. How dare you look down on them?”

Tobin’s head hurt too badly to debate it. “Anyway, I thank you. I’ve had Fiddle since he was a colt.”

“I thought knights’ horses were all named for a virtue?” she asked casually.

Tobin sensed a trap in the question, but he was too tired to cope with it. “His real name’s Fidelity, but he doesn’t always keep his mind on business. A good-looking clump of grass, a butterfly, anything can distract him, so…Fiddle.”

He thought her lips twitched, but the motion was too slight for him to be sure.

“I see. We’ll be moving out soon, so you’d better rest.”

She turned away, and Tobin let his eyes fall shut. But before he fell asleep, he made certain the Otherworld stone was still in his pocket.

M
akenna paused outside the door of the earth hut where the knight was imprisoned. “You’ve got everything?” she asked Cogswhallop.

“All but the bell, and the pen pusher’ll be along with that soon enough. Stalling, gen’ral?”

“Don’t be silly,” she snapped. But she had to admit it was true—trust Cogswhallop to see it. She opened the door and strode in.

There were several windows, but the little sod room, its ceiling barely high enough for her to stand upright, felt cramped and gloomy. He was sleeping on a pallet by the far wall, free except for the copper chain that dangled from the roof beam to his ankle. Made by goblin smiths, it wasn’t as strong as iron, but plenty strong enough to hold a man who had no iron or steel tools. It wasn’t a trap, she told herself fiercely. And even if he was trapped, her strange compulsion to set things free didn’t extend to humans.

As soon as Cogswhallop stepped inside, she slammed the door and he sat up, blinking sleepily. The bewilderment on his face changed in seconds to mulish stubbornness. Good thing she could work the lying spell, or they’d get nothing out of this one.

Without a word (let him sweat), she gestured to Cogswhallop, who handed her the small bag of silver chains. She laid the first circle on the floor at the north side of the room, opened one of her mother’s battered books, and began to trace the elaborate runes around it. Working magic from these books still brought her mother’s memory back, but now it carried love as well as sorrow.

The knight watched in silence as she completed the same process at the south and west points, but when she drew near him to lay the east circle he spoke up, apprehension clear in his voice, despite his effort to sound casual. “What are you doing?”

“Setting a spell.”

“I can see that! I mean—” He broke off, frustrated.

That’s right, lordling. I don’t have to tell you anything.

The chain rattled as he leaned back against the wall, trying to look composed and in control.

“It’s a spell that’ll tell me if you lie,” Makenna admitted. She didn’t want him too nervous, or he’d refuse to open his mouth. “A bell will ring.”

“What bell?”

“Erebus is bringing it.”

He looked more suspicious than ever. “If that’s all it is, why don’t you just put a truth spell on me?”

“Can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t? Why not?”

She snorted. “I don’t have half the power to cast that. This one is complicated enough. Do you mind letting me work?”

“But priests cast truth spells all the time.”

“I’m not a priest.”

A polite tap on the door preceded Erebus’ bustling entrance. “I’ve got it, mistress,” he announced. “Bocami didn’t have one, so I started asking all the likely folk and found one at Wintle’s house. She was using it to store dried nettles in, which silver’s good for, but she says glass will do as well, if you want to trade for it.” He beamed at all of them, including the knight. Cogswhallop scowled.

“Aye, give her this when you get the chance.” Makenna passed him two buttons. “The second’s for your trouble.”

With both goblins’ help, she rigged a stand and hung the bell in the center of the room. Cogswhallop glanced skeptically at the complex runes. “Are you sure this’ll work, gen’ral?”

“Of course I’m sure—”

Ping
. The silvery note echoed in the cramped room. Makenna felt her face turn scarlet.

“Well, we know it works,” said Erebus cheerfully.

The knight began to laugh. Makenna glared at him and he sobered, but she wasn’t displeased. It’d be easier to catch him off guard if he was relaxed. Would she have the courage to laugh like that, if she was a prisoner? She doubted it.

“What’s your name, knight?”

“What makes you think I’m a knight?” he asked pleasantly.

“Your horse’s name. What’s yours?”

The lingering laughter fled from his eyes as he realized that he’d given himself away. “Where’s Fiddle now?”

“Safe and cared for. Safer than you’ll be, if you don’t answer my questions.”

Ping
.

He managed not to laugh, but it looked like a hard fight.

“Dung,” Makenna muttered. The knight’s expression changed to startled disapproval. A prig, was he? Maybe she could use that.

“I said you should let me handle this,” Cogswhallop told her. “I’d have meant it.”

“His name is Tobin,” said Erebus. “At least, that’s what he told me.”

They stared at the knight, who nodded reluctantly. “It is. Will you tell me your name, ah, in trade?”

Why not? He wasn’t going to take his knowledge to the fair. “Makenna, Ardis’ daughter.” She saw his shock at the implication of bastardy and smiled. Priggish lordling.

“And will you tell me of your family, Sir Tobin?” He winced at the title, and she wondered why, but he said nothing. “In a way,” she continued, “it doesn’t matter. Your silence tells me there’s something to conceal, and my goblins are everywhere. With your name and rank, I can get your life’s history in a few weeks.”

“Then why bother with this?” He gestured at the runes and the bell.

“To be sure I have the right name,” she answered promptly. “I don’t want my spies chasing a trail of rotten fish.”

“But why all the trappings? A sorceress of your power should be able to cast this with a wave of her hand!”

This time she laughed. “And what makes you think I’m a sorceress?”

“Master L—But you cast spells. You’re certainly not a priest. What else could you be?”

“I’m a common hedgewitch. And you’re a knight. What’s a knight doing hunting for me, Sir Tobin?”

He said nothing. He looked at the runes, the sign of someone too weak to work magic without aid. The bell hadn’t rung, but if she was a powerful sorceress, she might be able to keep it from ringing. She took a vast, malicious pleasure in his dilemma.

“I thought hedgewitches helped people,” he protested.

She had thought herself indifferent to any human opinion, but it still stung. “Why should we? People have surely given no help to hedgewitches.”

It was his turn to wince.

“What’s your connection with the settlers?” she continued.

He tensed, a flash of alarm crossing his face. A trace of color followed it. He was a pitifully poor liar. Who could have been fool enough to send him after her?

“Did the priest you mentioned tell you about them? Or did he send you out to blunder along on your own? They’re an odd lot. Half of them are soldiers, or priests in disgui—Ah. Is your priest with them?”

“No!” he snapped.

Ping.
He jumped. He’d forgotten the bell.

“I mean, I don’t know.”
Ping.
“There is no particular priest.”
Ping.
He bit his lip and fell silent.

Cogswhallop grinned. Erebus shook his head mournfully.

“So, there’s a priest behind both you and the settlers, and he’s important enough to make you lose your head. He’d be the one who knows so little of goblins? Still, I’m glad I got the hiding charm on you fast. What’s his name, this Master L—?” No reply. He’d probably say nothing more, but she’d learned enough. She took down the bell and began picking up chains.

His face was red with anger. “Who are you?”

“A hedgewitch named Makenna, just like I told you.”

“He—” a furious gesture indicated the silent, satisfied Cogswhallop, “—called you general.”

“Well, I lead the goblins here.”

“Why?”

“They needed someone. The different races won’t accept another kind of goblin as their leader, but they don’t mind me.”

“You turned them into killers! I saw what you did at that cabin—I’ve heard about the others. You’re not just a hedgewitch, you’re a killer!” He sounded almost hysterical, but his eyes were observant. Trying to turn the tables and provoke something out of her? A good idea, but he’d picked the wrong target for his jibes. She cared nothing for humans killed.

He must have seen it in her face. His own expression changed, chilled and wary. “How old are you, anyway?”

It mattered even less than her name. “Seventeen.”

“Seventeen!” He glared wildly at the dismantled bell as if expecting it to ring. “Seventeen and you’re—you’re—Bright Gods! Does your mother know what you’re doing?”

It was a ludicrous question, but it cut through her defenses as his accusation of murder never could. “My mother’s dead. Drowned by the very humans she spent her life helping. If she was alive, she’d be proud of me!”

Ping.
The tone was muffled by her grip, but clear. Makenna jumped. It shouldn’t have rung, with the runes dismantled. But this was an intricate spell. She’d never really understood it.

“I’m sorry,” the knight said gravely. “I can’t imagine what that must have meant to you. But surely abandoning the Bright Gods and taking power from the Dark One isn’t the answer.”

“Pigdung,” Makenna snorted, enjoying his shocked scowl. “There is no Dark God. Likely no Bright Ones, either.”

“That’s blasphemy! Besides, if there are no gods, where does your power, and the priests’, and the goblins’, come from?”

“From the same place.” She gestured to the meadow outside the windows. “From nature, from inside ourselves. The only reason I’m not a priest is that the chooser said I hadn’t enough power. ‘Her holiness is not sufficient.’” She mimicked the chooser’s voice, remembering her mother weeping in the night.

“But…” He fell silent and then spoke quietly. “Jeriah said something like that once. That the priesthood was the Hierarch’s way of keeping people with powerful magic gifts in his service. Father was furious.”

“Who’s Jeriah?”

He realized he was giving away information and his mouth snapped shut.

She shrugged. “It makes no difference. He sounds a sensible man, whoever he is. But if you’re interested, these days I swear by St. Maydrian the Avenger.”

She smiled and left him to think it over.

“Please, sir, all I want is work.” She stood before Master Lazur, eyes downcast, her shaking knees concealed by the unaccustomed skirt. Cogswhallop and Erebus had both hated this idea—and they never agreed on anything. But she needed more information about the settlement, and according to the knight, they believed their enemy was an ancient and powerful sorceress. They shouldn’t suspect an ordinary peasant girl.

She’d been confident she could deceive them…until the guard brought her to this tent and addressed the sharp-eyed priest before her as Master Lazur. Well, what if he was her enemy? He couldn’t know who she was, for they’d only caught a glimpse of her at the wall, and she looked very different now, with her drab skirt and properly braided hair. She took a calming breath and steadied herself to meet his eyes. Unlike the knight, she was a fine liar.

“Things are hard this time of year,” she said pathetically. “Goodman Branno, he couldn’t afford to keep me, and since then I’ve worked only a few days at a time. In Brackenlee, when I heard about your people, I thought there’d be lots of hands needed in a new village, so I came to ask. I’ll work for bed and board until you can pay me.”

“I think we can do something for you.” His words were kind. He probably was a kind man, unless you got in his way. Then you’d be uprooted and burned, along with the rest of the grapevines. Makenna knew all about ruthlessness in defense of your own. She wouldn’t underestimate this man. Just now, for all his kindness, he looked as if most of his attention was elsewhere. Good.

“But first you must answer a few questions, so we can be sure we can trust you,” the priest went on. “May I cast a truth spell on you? It’s a standard precaution—we’ve done it with all our settlers here.” Makenna’s heart lurched. His expression held nothing but a trace of boredom. It probably was a standard precaution, just like he said. Sensible, too, so why hadn’t she thought of this possibility?

“Of course you may.” To say anything else would arouse his suspicions. She drew a deep breath. “I have nothing to hide.”

He stood for a second, gathering power while she strove desperately to gather her wits. Unlike the weaker spell in her mother’s books, the truth spell forced you to tell the truth, but perhaps…

He laid his hand against her throat, and she felt the power swirl through her like a churn paddle. She gasped and he glanced at her, startled. Should she not have felt it? She blinked innocently. He withdrew his hand, and the power wrapped around her stomach like a giant fist and settled there.

“What’s your name, girl?”

The fist squeezed and she felt the answer welling up in her throat. She couldn’t stop it. “Makenna, Ardis’ daughter.” He accepted the indication of bastardy with visible indifference, and she thanked St. Spiratu the Truth Giver that she’d not yet told anyone the false name she’d intended to use.

“Where do you come from?”

“The wetlands, originally.” The name of her village rose in her mind, and she added quickly, “But that was years ago. I’ve traveled a lot since.” It was all true. The alien power in her belly stirred restlessly but forced no further answer. Good lies came from truth, like butter came from cream. If she could keep talking and always tell the truth, would that work?

The priest shrugged. He evidently cared little for her travels. “What do you want here?”

Need it be the whole truth?

“To work for some good family,” she said. The words “to spy” surged in her throat, but she swallowed them down and babbled on rapidly. “It’s a long time since I had a proper job, and I haven’t much money left.” The pressure was subsiding. She’d answered and spoken the truth—evidently that was enough.

“Have you heard of the sorceress of the Goblin Wood?”

“Aye, in Brackenlee.” And from Sir Tobin and many others, but she managed not to say it.

“Have you ever seen her?”

“No, sir. To tell the truth, I didn’t believe much of what they told me.” And still don’t.

“Do you serve this sorceress?”

“No, sir.” For she doesn’t exist.

He nodded acceptance, then thought of a final question. “Do you intend harm to anyone in this settlement?”