“What will happen to them if the Council finds out that you got away?”
“Nothing. They will simply say that they locked me in my rooms but that I escaped. The Elders will suspect, but won’t be able to prove a thing. They’ll retreat to meditate about it. We thaladar meditate a lot.”
“They could send soldiers out to look for you.”
“Away from Socalia? That would be most unthaladarian.”
“Yeah, I’d like to see a bunch of them follow us all the way to Shadowkeep,” commented a gleeful Sranul. He bowed in Maryld’s direction. “No offense, ma’am.”
“I am never offended by the truth, my good roo.”
“What will the Elders do besides meditate?” Praetor wondered.
“They will say that they have done their best according to their consciences and move on to other matters of state. In any case, it doesn’t matter what they decide to do now. All that matters, all that’s important, is what we do. If we can penetrate Shadowkeep’s mysteries and stop Dal’brad from carrying out his designs, it matters little what decisions the Council of Socalia makes.”
He nodded agreement. “I’m sorry it had to be done this way, but I’m very glad you went to all that trouble to rejoin us. We really value your company, you know.”
“Do you?” There was a coquettish twinkle in her eyes. “For my knowledge or myself?”
“Both,” he said without thinking.
Later it occurred to him that he was going to have to listen with utmost care to everything Maryld said. He didn’t want their relationship to stumble over any misunderstood double meanings.
Days later they began to leave the last of the thaladar lands behind. Ahead lay the broad, ravine-striped, heavily forested expanse of the Horap Plateau. On its far side was the Valley of the Rift and on the shores of the river that cut through its center, Shadowkeep.
“Tell me something,” he asked Maryld. “How came the thaladar to know of Shadowkeep? Since you rarely venture beyond your own cities and farms, how did you learn of the evil that dwells within? Surely your father and grandfather were not the first to learn of it?”
“Some few of us do travel widely. My family is not the only group of ‘eccentrics’. Thaladar traders move between thaladar towns, and in addition to goods and produce, they carry information with them. If not for them, each thaladar city would remain truly isolated from its neighbors. Socalia, for example, carries on a steady if not spectacular commerce with the towns of Sorsen and Sulahu.”
“If the people there were more like you and your parents,” said Sranul, “I think the thaladar would be a lot better off.”
She shrugged. “We are what we are, roo. We like our privacy. Myself, I agree with you, but most do not. Perhaps someday that will change. Grandmother says that it must or one day the other races will join together out of envy and hatred to attack and destroy us. As you have seen, we are reluctant to fight, even to defend ourselves. We should have used our knowledge against Shadowkeep long ago, yet only my father and grandfather had the courage to do so. If you two had not come along, then Dal’brad would like as not never have been challenged.” She gave Praetor a look that was enough to make him shake in his saddle.
“It was an accident,” he blurted. “We didn’t plan it.”
“Now don’t be modest, my friend.” Sranul was grinning. “You instigated this expedition. Don’t deny it.”
“Nonsense. I’m only an instrument. The Spinner was the instigator.”
“Sranul is right,” Maryld insisted. “You are an extremely brave man and I won’t have you denying it. You do yourself an injustice.”
Praetor hoped he wasn’t blushing. “You can tell me how brave I am once we get into Shadowkeep. It doesn’t take a brave man to play tourist, and so far that’s all I’ve , done.”
They would have continued the argument had not Sranul suddenly bounded on ahead. Praetor looked after his friend curiously.
“I wonder what got into him?” They followed without increasing their pace, and the roo rejoined them moments later. He put up both hands, forcing them to stop.
“What’s wrong?”
The roo glanced back over his shoulder. “I thought I heard noises up there, so I went to check. I was right. There’s fighting going on ahead of us. I’m sure of it.”
Praetor strained his ears, looked doubtful. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Neither do I,” said Maryld, “but I wouldn’t doubt a roo’s hearing.”
“I could be wrong, I suppose,” Sranul muttered, “but I think not. Both my ears and my nose say we should proceed cautiously from here.”
“Can’t we get around whatever it is?” Praetor asked him. The last thing they needed was to be involved in someone else’s fight.
“I don’t know. The forest becomes very dense off that way,” he pointed to his right, “and somewhere to our left is the first of many steep canyons. We must continue on this course, but once we see what we’re up against, we may see a way around it.”
They followed the roo onward. After a short ride he had them dismount. In this manner they continued through the woods on foot. Before long even Praetor was able to overhear the unmistakable sounds of fighting not far ahead.
“This way,” Sranul whispered, leading them off to the left.
They left their mounts tethered at the base of a pile of smooth granite boulders and started to climb. Sranul had to wait for his companions, who could not bound easily past the difficult places. Soon all three of them were lying on their bellies atop the rocks, overlooking the trail below.
It dipped into a narrow ravine which widened out again only at its far end. It was an easy way to descend to the next level of the plateau, but this morning it had been turned into a trap.
A group of travelers were under attack in the defile. Praetor saw that the far end of the narrow ravine had been sealed off with bundles of straw and thorn branches, blocking the only avenue of escape. Then he let his eyes rove over the cliff tops, and shuddered as he got his first look at the attackers.
Goblins.
Chapter V
The squat, ugly parodies of humankind were jumping up and down, grunting and babbling disgustingly as they threw rocks down on their trapped prey. A few of them used short, thick bows to shoot at those below. Here was a collection of bandits who did not have larceny on their minds.
They were after food.
Some thirty individuals had been trapped in the ravine. They’d pulled their wagons into a defensive square, but by now nearly all the dray animals had been slain and there seemed no hope of escape for the survivors. From time to time several of the besieged would break from the cover of their wagons and try to force a path through the far end of the canyon. Each time they were driven back by a hail of goblin arrows and throwing stones.
These poor unfortunates were man-sized but even less human-looking than their attackers. Their tails were shorter and bulkier than Sranul’s. Instead of fur or bare skin they were covered with interlocking gray scales. Their bodies were broad and muscular.
“Zhis’ta,” said Maryld softly, “making their way down to warmer country before the onset of winter.”
“Why can’t they break out of this trap?” Praetor wondered aloud. “The Zhis’ta are supposed to be the best warriors alive.”
Sranul put a paw on his shoulder. “Strength is a poor substitute for tactics, my friend. They are badly outnumbered and the goblins have them well and truly trapped. And that’s not all.” The roo pointed toward the lead wagon. Gray shapes could be seen huddling beneath the woven roof.
“Females and young ones. That’s no war party down there. It’s a Zhis’ta extended family. They’re all related. The males could possibly break out, but men the goblins would swarm down to slaughter the children. So they’ll all perish together.”
“No they won’t.” Maryld’s expression was grim. “Because we’re going to help them.”
“We are?” Praetor looked dumbfounded.
So did Sranul. “I’ll be damned for a newt: a fighting thaladar. I didn’t think such a thing existed.”
Maryld’s eyes were blazing as she glared down into the ravine. “I will not stand by while the children of any intelligent race are murdered.”
“Wait a minute.” Praetor hurried to follow her back down the rocks. “Aren’t you forgetting something, Maryld? We have to deal with the evil that lies within Shadowkeep. That threatens all children, everywhere.” He was hard pressed to keep up with her. Sranul simply bounced from boulder to ledge, heedless of missing a step.
“We’ve got to talk this over. Maryld, listen to me! What happened to thaladar logic? Hey, wait for me!” She was already mounting her horse. For the first time he saw that she carried a small rapier. It had been kept hidden beneath her cape. It was a delicate, feminine, altogether deadly-looking device.
“If we’re going to do this, we ought to do it right,” Sranul muttered. “The first thing we need to do is clear away the barrier that’s blocking the far end of the canyon so they can get their wagons out. We ought to be able to circle all the way around the battleground without being spotted. The goblins are so intent on massacre they won’t be bothering to watch their rear.”
“A sound plan.” Maryld eyed Praetor. “Don’t you agree?”
“I don’t—oh hell, I guess so. Do I have a choice?”
“Not morally.” She turned her steed and galloped off with Sranul.
“Thaladar.” Praetor drew his own sword and spurred Kaltar forward. What he couldn’t admit to himself and what really troubled him about the discussion was that until Maryld’s arrival, he’d been the clever one with words.
Sranul’s estimation of the goblins’ state of mind turned out to be correct. Not one of the attackers noticed the trio as they made their way stealthily through the woods and circled back behind the blocked end of the ravine. Not that they had to be especially quiet. The howls and screeches of the goblins, inflamed as they were by the smell of blood, were overpowering. You couldn’t hear the Zhis’ta at all.
Praetor asked Sranul about the silence of the besieged.
“They utter no battle cries, not even to exhort each other,” the roo explained. “I always thought it a strange way to fight. They do battle silently, in a most businesslike manner. Not that I’ve ever seen them in combat myself, but such are the stories I’ve heard. They are the best.”
“Better fighters even than twos?”
Sranul was not offended. “So it is said. It’s difficult to make comparisons because they aren’t involved in many wars. Sensible folk leave them alone. One would not expect goblins to act in a sensible manner, of course.” He glanced at the anxious Maryld, who was staring toward the ravine, and lowered his voice.
“They’re not standoffish, like the thaladar. Friendly enough, I’m told, but not exactly the life of the party, either. Taciturn’s the word my clan elder once used to describe them. Then too, there aren’t a lot of them living in this part of the world. They prefer the hot southern lands. The way I understand it, their blood is not warm like ours, but cold. They have to lie in the sun or next to a fire to warm themselves, so our winters can be deadly to them.
“That’s why this family group is moving south, to beat the winter weather. Perhaps this bunch lingered too long and became separated from a larger group. This I do know: unless they were awfully sure of their strategy, the goblins would never take them on, not even a single family. But the rotten little things know that the warriors won’t abandon the children, so they feel safe in attacking.”
“I’m still not sure this is any of our business,” Praetor muttered. They were starting to pick their way back up the canyon, toward the blocked end of the ravine. “The goblins are warm-blooded and look more like you and me than any Zhis’ta.”
“In some ways you are wise beyond your years, Praetor,” Maryld told him, “but you still have much to learn about the world and those who inhabit it. Shape and appearance and internal makeup are not what makes a person. For all their strange, solitary ways and cold blood the Zhis’ta are people. The goblins are not. Laws and attitudes, art and compassion make people. Not looks.”
Praetor accepted the mild reprimand because he knew Maryld was right about at least one thing: he did have a lot to learn of the world. Another might have gotten mad, but this was one of his greatest attributes: that he recognized his own limitations. He knew that wisdom grows from ignorance, that learning was more important man defending one’s ego. Although he did not realize it, this attitude in itself made him wise.
But he still wasn’t completely convinced that they had any business risking everything to save a bunch of strangers.
They were quite close to the bottom of the ravine now and could make out the bundles of brush and thorn that had been used to block the exit. Sounds of battle came from above.
“Ready then?” Sranul asked him as he pulled a couple of javelins from his quiver and hefted one in each hand. “I’ll try and clear out as many of them as I can from the rocks on either side of the gap. You two make a break through the barrier.”
“You sure you can keep up with us?” Praetor asked him. “I don’t mean now, but when we’re retreating. I don’t want you falling behind for the goblins to overtake.”
The roo grinned up at him. “It’ll be a cold day in Coscatua when there’s a goblin alive who can run me down. Don’t worry about me. Worry about staying on your horse.”
“Wait until we are right on them.” Maryld’s eyes glittered and she held her dainty blade tightly in her right hand.
“Right. Let’s get to it.” Sranul turned and took a twenty-foot leap up the canyon. Maryld and Praetor followed.
He found himself trembling slightly. He’d never been in a real fight before, not one where blood was to be spilled. Angrily he shook off the tremors. If he couldn’t control his nerves now, what would happen when they reached Shadowkeep? Compared to that, this was nothing more than a mild diversion.
The blood was real enough, though, and so was the prospect of dying. Praetor and Maryld fell on the barrier that the goblins had erected at the back end of the ravine, taking those few at its base by complete surprise while Sranul overwhelmed those atop the brush. In the surprise and confusion, they gave the impression of being many more than three. Goblins fled in all directions as Maryld threw a rope around the first stack of thorn branches. With the other end looped around the pommel of her saddle, she urged her mount downhill, pulling the pile clear. Several other bundles of brush toppled down around it, opening the first hole in the wall. While Praetor guarded her, she unhooked the rope and returned to repeat the maneuver.
He was surprised the first time he ran a startled goblin through with his sword. The squat creature had charged straight toward him, waving a spiked club over its head, and there’d been no time to think, only to react. What surprised him was how easily the metal point penetrated the gray flesh. The goblin choked and fell backward, pulling free of the shaft. How simple it was to kill! He discovered he didn’t like it one bit, not the actuality of it nor the ease with which it could be accomplished.
He often helped with the slaughter of animals for food, but this was something quite different. Could there be varying degrees of death? He struck at another goblin who came at him from behind, slicing its throat. It reeled away, blood pouring out of it.
How strange to see his sword as something more than a mere decoration, to be worn proudly at the waist at a parade. It was an instrument of killing, not of beauty. All his life he’d helped to fashion such devices—swords and knives, battle-axes and quashoggis, never thinking of their ultimate use. He took pride in putting a fine edge on a blade without ever imagining it passing through living flesh.
Another goblin rushed at him and he ran it through. No, he didn’t like killing, skilled as he was in the use of death’s instruments. But there were children depending on him, even if they were cold of blood and skin. Would a Zhis’ta have defe
nded him as a child from a similar attack, or would they have gone on their way without getting involved? If he asked one, would it answer truthfully?
No matter. He knew that what they were doing was right, and necessary, and not just because Maryld said it was so. He knew what was right.
Maybe that was one reason why the Spinner had settled on him.
The rest of the goblins guarding the barrier turned and fled as Maryld pulled another mass of brush from the exit. Sranul jumped down from the rocks above and joined her, leaning back and balancing himself on his tail while he used his huge feet to kick with, sending bale after bale flying. Then the roo dashed through the opening and shouted at the trapped Zhis’ta, dodging rocks and the occasional arrow that flew his way. Most of the goblins lining the lip of the ravine continued to concentrate single-mindedly on their prey, unaware that anything was amiss.
Praetor and Maryld waited anxiously, ready to keep the gap clear. But there was no counterattack. Sranul finally managed to get the attention of several of the Zhis’ta females and show them that the way was now open. They jumped from their wagon and ran to the others, passing the message along. While the strongest males continued to defy their attackers, the others bent to the harnesses. The wagons abandoned their defensive square and began to move toward the exit.
The children hid beneath the cloth covers while the adults struggled to run the gauntlet of goblin arrows and stones. They burst through the gap in the barrier without pausing to thank their rescuers.
By now the goblins had figured out what was happening, and they began to drop down into the ravine themselves, to pursue their fleeing quarry. Howls of triumph turned to cries of outrage as they saw their once hopelessly trapped prey escaping. Several of them jumped onto the back of the rearmost wagon.
Seeing this, Praetor let out a yell and sent Kaltar circling round behind them. His sword cleared the back of the wagon rapidly and kept it clear. The goblins didn’t have the stomach to confront a man on horseback.
Several pairs of small yellow eyes peeped out at him. He smiled toward the wagon, feeling suddenly that no matter what happened now it had all been worthwhile, and galloped around to rejoin his friends.
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