“… I thought the troll would listen to Max, but I was wrong! When it punched him, I did the sensible thing and ran far away to form a plan.…
“… so Max’s sword was broken and the troll was chasing him all over the place, tearing trees up by their roots and making so much noise I could hardly concentrate on my plan.…
“… When Max tricked him over the cliff, my plan was finally ready so I went down to finish the job. ‘You going to find another mountain, Troll?’ I shouted. Well, he didn’t want to answer, so I had to slap him around a little bit.…”
A climactic burst of applause woke Max. He opened his eyes just in time to see Skeedle take a gracious bow. Beaming at his audience, he placed his hat back atop his head and gazed longingly at the kitchen.
“Storytelling sure makes a goblin hungry,” he reflected.
“Would you like to stay for supper?” asked Isabella, masking her smile.
“I’d be delighted!”
* * *
The troll might have crumpled Max’s sword and broken his nose, but the encounter had its rewards. Not only was Skeedle’s clan status elevated tremendously, but the troll’s absence also enabled the Broadbrims to utilize better trade routes. As a result, the farmhouse enjoyed more frequent deliveries of better goods.
Within two months, the farmhouse boasted ten cows, and several blocks of enchanted ice that transformed a section of the cellar into a working refrigerator. At night, the children could eat actual ice cream while Max taught them the alphabet and how to write their names.
The farm was thriving, but Max was growing impatient. As the summer harvest came and went, he would often take his spyglass and climb atop the roof, scouring the roads and hills for any sign of Nix and Valya. The vyes had promised him information, but it had been three long months since they’d departed. Leaning against the chimney, Max watched yet another sunset and resolved to leave by the first frost.
By early October, the apples were finally ripe, and Max herded the children outside to pick the fruit before the rain arrived. While they worked, the children recited the alphabet or challenged one another to spell the word for something within view. Fence, tree, mountain, cloud … the words were assembled in singsong fashion, from little Mina all the way to Mario.
It was Porcellino who first spied the wagon.
Max assumed it must be Skeedle. Trotting down the slope, he crossed the animal paddock, pushing past the sheep and goats until he could get a clear view of the road.
To his great surprise, he saw that it was Nix and Valya’s wagon.
And to his great delight, he deduced their intent to stay.
The wagon was piled high with the vyes’ belongings—chairs and paintings, a grandfather clock, and a wardrobe. Four black horses pulled the heavy wagon, while a flock of sheep followed obediently in its wake. As the horses pulled alongside the fence, Nix raised his hat in greeting.
Within the hour, they’d unloaded the cart and stabled the horses before the rain finally swept in from the north. It pelted the soil, sending the children racing toward the house, swinging their buckets and catching the drops on their tongues. Whooping, Claudia and Paolo quickly drove the flock into the paddock, and soon the entire household had taken shelter inside, clamoring about the great room while Max started a fire.
The children might have been delighted at Nix and Valya’s visit, but Isabella seemed less so. Throughout dinner, she smiled as the children showed off their drawings or alphabets or elementary sentences, but her expression was distant and distracted. When Claudia asked why Nix and Valya had brought so many things with them, Isabella glanced sharply at the pair. Chuckling, Valya made room so Claudia could squeeze in next to her.
“We’re getting old.” She shrugged. “Too old to be living off on our own anymore or chopping our own firewood. And besides, we miss you little beasts.”
Claudia grinned at this and began playing with the vye’s necklace, whose charms gleamed in the firelight.
“Where will you sleep?” asked Paolo, understandably anxious, as he’d been moved twice to accommodate new arrivals.
“They’ll sleep in my room,” said Max.
Something in his tone commanded instant attention. Forks and knives were lowered, and the younger children gathered round from the side tables. Max had been preparing this speech for some time, but now that the moment had arrived, he found it difficult to begin.
“Um, this isn’t easy for me,” he said, glancing around. “But there’s something I have to tell you. You see, I originally came to this land because I had an important job to do. But when I found this place and met all of you, I wanted to stay and help.…” Max paused and took a sip of water. “But now that the farm’s doing so well, it’s time I left to do that job.”
The great room was utterly still until Isabella finally spoke. “How long will you be gone?” she asked quietly.
“Probably for a long time.”
There was a general outcry among the older children. The younger ones looked anxious and confused.
“We’ll go with you,” offered Claudia. “We can help.”
“Not with this,” said Max. “You can help me by listening to Isabella, Valya, and Nix. They are in charge and I want you to be good for them.”
The children nodded, but all of the energy had been leeched from the room.
“When will you leave?” asked Isabella, staring pensively into the fire.
“Within a day or two,” said Max. “It’s a long journey. You should all be fine. The harvest is in, and the goblins will leave you be.”
“But what about our lessons?” complained Porcellino.
“Nix and Valya can teach you better than I,” said Max. “And Skeedle will bring you more ink and paper if you need it. I expect you all reading and writing by the time I return.”
“When will that be?” asked Mina, tugging at his sleeve.
“I don’t know,” Max replied. “By next spring, I hope, but I can’t make any promises. No crying or moping. Diego, pick five helpers to clean up while I help Nix and Valya get settled.”
Upstairs, the vyes set their suitcases down and rubbed at their reddening eyes.
“You really should tell them,” said Max, closing the door. “I think they would understand. You’ll be miserable in human form all the time.”
Nix smiled appreciatively at the suggestion but shook his head.
“Another day,” he said. “They have enough on their plates with you leaving. Don’t worry about us—there are medicines and remedies that can help.”
“And we can always transform at night,” added Valya.
“Well, I appreciate what you’re doing,” said Max quietly. “Moving in. Looking after them.”
Nix waved him off, reaching inside his satchel for a large, folded sheet. “Here’s your map,” he said, unfolding it and smoothing it on the bed. Gazing down, Max surveyed a map whose general outline comprised what had been Europe and North Africa. But while the map’s basic contours were familiar, its many boundaries and labels were not.
“So that’s the Kingdom of Blys,” Max breathed, peering closer at the parchment.
“Correct,” said Nix. “We’ve had to travel far and consult with many an unsavory character to patch this together, so treat it like gold.”
“Your Vyndra is indeed one of the dukes,” murmured Valya, pointing to a section of the map that comprised the majority of Germany, Denmark, and the Netherlands. “We heard lots about him at the Crossroads and beyond—a tyrant, jealous of King Prusias’s throne. Some think he’s in league with King Aamon. There’s not yet open war, but the duke is suspected in two attempts on Prusias’s life. The vyes we spoke to claim he is terrible, Max. Even those who served the Enemy …”
“Well,” Max muttered. “I never thought it would be easy.”
“Do you have a plan?” asked Nix, concerned. “Surely you don’t mean to walk to Azur and challenge its ruler. There are now but two passes through these mountains,”
he said, pointing to the former Alps and Carpathians, “and they are closely watched. You don’t want to travel east and loop back, as that will take you to Holbrymn.”
Max found the name, a large region encompassing what used to be the Ukraine and Georgia.
“What’s the matter with Holbrymn?” he asked.
“That’s Yuga’s realm,” said Valya. “Nothing lives there—Yuga has eaten it all.”
“The demon takes no form.” Nix shivered. “The vyes say she is a whirlwind, a moaning storm that has stripped the land bare and devoured all life within it. Not even other demons will travel there.”
Thinking of the Ormenheid, Max traced his finger west through the Mediterranean, north past the Bay of Biscay, and along the coast of a duchy called Harine until he arrived at Azur.
“I can sail,” he said. “The weather shouldn’t prove too rough compared to what I’ve already been through.”
“True,” said Nix. “But from what we hear, the strait is now guarded. Nothing gets in or out without passing by Mad’raast—another duke and a close ally of Prusias. You will never sail through without inspection.”
Max grew increasingly frustrated and began scouring the map for spots along the coast, rivers, and lowlands that might provide an easier path than scaling the mountains or slipping through some toll or checkpoint. For each solution he identified, the vyes proposed a counterargument.
“You’re just trying to keep me here,” Max snapped.
“No,” said Valya. “We’re trying to prepare you for the realities.”
“Let’s assume you can even reach Azur,” said Nix. “How will you defeat him? You have no weapon that could harm such a demon!”
“I do have a weapon,” Max insisted. “I just need to get it fixed.”
“Well, we know a blacksmith at the Crossroads,” said Nix. “And there are dvergar in the mountains between here and Azur. You might ask them if you go that way.”
Max shook his head. “I’ve already asked dvergar. They won’t touch it.”
“Then I don’t know what to say,” sighed Nix, sitting on the small chair.
The vyes sat patiently while Max tapped the map with his pencil and probed mountain ranges and coastlines for possible routes toward Azur.
“I’ll try the strait,” he concluded, glancing at the narrow opening. “I’ll travel fastest by sea, and at least the strait will be the only barrier. Mad’raast is probably more concerned about what comes in than what gets out. Maybe I can slip through and sail north.”
“So, let’s be optimists,” mused Nix. “Let’s say all goes according to plan. What then?”
Max had no ready answer. His mind had been so consumed with abstract thoughts of vengeance or concrete realities of the farmhouse that he had not yet plotted his life beyond the moment of retribution. He doubted he would be welcome back at Rowan. He might seek out Connor, but he did not know where to find his friend’s tiny barony. Of course, he could live quietly at the farmhouse, but this struck him as an irresponsible use of his gifts and training. Max had already tamed or slain the greatest threats in the valley; Nix and Valya could look after the farm and care for the growing household.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ll have to cross that bridge—” Max paused at a sudden commotion, quick footsteps coming down the hall. There was a sharp knock and Mario’s anxious voice from beyond the door.
“Max, come quick. Skeedle’s here!”
Puzzled, Max hurried downstairs to find the goblin pacing anxiously on the doorstep.
“Don’t tell me there’s another troll,” Max chuckled.
Wiping sweat from his brow, Skeedle shook his head and beckoned frantically for Max to follow him outside onto the porch.
“I didn’t want to frighten the others,” he whispered, “but trouble is coming, my lord. Trouble of the worst kind!”
“What are you talking about?” inquired Max, his smile fading.
“He knows the monster is dead!” exclaimed the goblin. “The monster that lived in the well!”
“Who knows?” asked Max.
“And he knows about the troll!” hissed Skeedle. “The real story …”
“Who are you talking about?” asked Max.
“He knows it was you!” shrieked the goblin, tugging at his hat brim. “You have to run!”
“WHO KNOWS?” yelled Max, taking hold of Skeedle’s shoulders.
But the little goblin was incapable of answering. Fear had totally overwhelmed his senses, and he was reduced to hoarse, unintelligible gasps. Max repeated the question, but Skeedle merely sobbed and shut his eyes. A crowd gathered behind Max as Isabella and the children hurried over to see what the disturbance was about.
“Skeedle,” said Max, softening his voice. “Please talk to me. Who knows I’m here?”
But the goblin had fainted.
Instead, another voice answered, in tones as rich and warm as pooling blood. “I do,” it laughed. “And I bid you welcome to my kingdom!”
~20~
BLYS
Prusias emerged from a hawthorn’s shadow like a barbarian king plucked out of time. His black hair looked leonine, and his black beard fell in ragged plaits across his broad chest. Seven feet he stood, but it was not his shocking height or girth that drew attention; it was the demon’s eyes, which flashed in the light from the open doorway.
The demon appeared elated, his dark, rough-hewn face stretching to an exultant grin as he staggered forward on his cane, one arm held wide as though to embrace them all.
“Max,” he cried. “Come down and greet your old friend Prusias.”
A shiver raced down Max’s spine as he digested the demon’s glazed eyes, the compulsive licking of lips. Every limb trembled as though Prusias sought to restrain some horrific impulse.
“Don’t move,” Max murmured to the fear-stricken children standing about him on the porch. Steeling himself, Max walked slowly down the steps and onto the paved walk where Prusias was waiting. As soon as he came within arm’s reach, the demon cackled and snatched Max to his chest.
Even through his corselet of black mail and silk robe, Prusias was blistering hot. He laughed with sincere pleasure, appraising Max like a delighted relative. But throughout the demon’s jesting chatter and salutations, Max focused on one horrifying realization.
There was blood on his breath.
There was blood on the demon’s boots, too. And more smeared the gloves that gripped Max’s shoulder with such terrible strength. It was still red, still wet, as though Prusias had cut a murderous swath through the valley.
“Please don’t hurt them,” Max murmured, numb with fear. “They haven’t done anything.”
“Well, now,” replied the demon with a dreamy smile. “That all depends on you. Are you going to invite me in or must I loiter outside like a beggar?”
“Of course not,” blurted Max. “We would be honored if you would grace our home.”
The demon leaned upon Max and his cane, his heavy boots crunching through the fallen leaves and up toward the house.
“My compliments to the lady,” said Prusias, bowing to Isabella and holding forth a diamond necklace in his bloody fingers. She took it in her trembling hand, her eyes never leaving the exultant grin of the giver. “I daresay these adorable children don’t all belong to you!” he laughed, glancing at the small figures backed against the walls.
With just the tiniest shake of her head, Isabella stood aside as the demon stepped over the inert goblin and ducked beneath the doorway. Lifting Skeedle, Max followed the demon inside and watched as Prusias hobbled toward the rocking chair by the fire. Easing into it, he laid his cane across his lap and looked about as though expecting the evening’s entertainment to emerge from offstage.
His eyes fell upon Gianna’s crib.
“May I see the baby?” he asked, beckoning greedily.
Isabella glanced at Max, who overcame every instinct and nodded. Scooping her daughter from her crib, Isabella crossed the roo
m and handed the sleeping baby to the demon. Upon settling against his chest, Gianna stirred and began to cry.
“Shhh,” cooed Prusias, his darkly handsome face hovering inches from the baby’s. Removing his glove, he held out a finger, which Gianna dutifully clutched. The bawling subsided to sobs and then bewildered silence as she stared up at the grinning demon.
“May you never want,” he murmured, kissing his fingers and touching them lightly to her forehead. While Prusias rocked the silent child, his eager eyes traveled about the room. They fell upon the enchanted spinning wheel, dutifully spinning fleece into yarn.
“A gift from the goblins,” he observed, his eyes continuing to wander. They lingered on a harp and the blocks of paper bound with glue. Stacked upon the paper was a mug stuffed with pens and an ink bottle that had leaked upon the topmost sheet. “What have we here?” inquired the demon amiably.
“Nothing,” said Max quickly. “The children like to draw.”
Leaning over, the demon reached down and plucked a sheaf of papers from a stack on the floor. Sweat trickled down Max’s neck as the demon perused sheet after sheet of alphabets and writing exercises.
Prusias intoned the commandment that Max had heard one year earlier. “Edict three: It is forbidden to teach reading, writing, or history to humans beyond Rowan’s borders. Do you remember the penalty for violating this edict, young Max?”
“I do,” Max muttered, closing his eyes. “And I beg that you will not invoke it. I beg you to be merciful and wise as a king should.”
“Ho-ho!” the demon exclaimed, bouncing Gianna on his great knee. “How desperation makes you courteous. You know, Max, these aren’t my rules but our lord’s. And if he requires the execution of every man, woman, and child within a hundred leagues, what am I to do?” Prusias laughed and offered an apologetic shrug.
“This is your kingdom,” said Max, scraping every reserve of calm. “You could ignore those pages or pardon them or forget you ever came here.”
The demon chewed on this a moment, a wry twinkle in his hooded eyes. “Well,” he purred. “I suppose one good turn would deserve another, and perhaps there is something you could do for me. Yes, yes, I think that would answer.”
The Fiend and the Forge Page 32