"Dear gods," Lindenlea whispered.
"It's Gnash’s work," Ithk said. He pointed north where smoke hung dark on the sky. "It’s him. He's makin' another goblin town his own." His mouth, lips so thin as to seem nonexistent, twisted. "These didn't like the idea, and Gnash didn't like their not likin’."
"What did he do," Lea said, "kill every one of the goblins in the town?"
Ithk shook his head. "Nah. Half these are his. Gnash, he's got the fire, and he's got the belly for killing. He does what he does. Me, I does what I does." He jerked his head toward Hammer Rock. "Brand, he been in there, first when he got yer woman, again not long ago."
Kethrenan’s blood quickened. "You know this, how?"
Ithk’s eyes shifted right, then left. "I know," he said, and only that.
Horses snorted, not liking the death-smell, the goblin-stink All around, the wind moaned low, having slid down the hillsides as though in the wake of the elven band. To Kethrenan it sounded like the voices of ghosts. Close to the pooling shadow of Hammer Rock, the prince dismounted and tossed the reins to Lindenlea.
"Wait here," he said. He pointed to Demlin and one other warrior, Lathal, a mage of the Birchbright clan. "Come with me."
With tethered Ithk, they walked into the shadows beneath Hammer Rock, and they found the way in. Lathal lit a torch, and they took the stairs.
"I smell old fires," Lathal said. He held the torch higher, and the light spread out through the darkness.
The scents of old fires became embodied in the rough rounds of stones marking long dead cookfires. In the dim light, the elves breathed and smelled, faintly, the greasy scents of cooked food and the clinging scent of rough wet wool. Guided by the goblin, they walked around the dark smudges of campfires on the stony floor. They found niches in the stone walls and burned brands scattered. Kethrenan prowled among the campfires, and he looked like a dog trailing a scent.
"My lord prince!"
Kethrenan turned to look at Demlin, the servant’s white face gleaming in the torchlight. Long eyes shone bright, and in the shadows his mouth looked like a dark gash in his face. He held up a strip of cloth: the green hem of a cloak.
It's hers.
The thought rang in Kethrenan’s heart, even before his fingers closed round the cloth, before he felt the satin underlay and saw the careful, tiny stitches running the length. Hem-stitches, lovely, for each was shaped like a tiny elven rune to signify health and luck. They were proud of their work, the tailors of Qualinost. The one who had made the cloak from which this piece had been torn had likely been very proud indeed. He'd been working for a princess.
Blood stained the scrap of cloth, a darkness soaked into the fiber, rough as a scab. The prince ran his finger over the stain and scraped it with his nail. Rusty flakes fell away, but most of it was long soaked in.
He felt it again: the coppery salt-taste at the back of his mouth, as though blood seeped thick and warm near his throat.
Ithk said, "Come with me. I'll show you what else I know."
They went through the cavern and into a narrow passage where the sound of trickling water became loud in their ears, bouncing to echo off the close stone. The little passage turned, then widened, and the torchlight threw their shadows ahead, long and dark. When the goblin looked back, his eyes glowed as a dog's eyes, eerie and orange in the dim light.
A little farther they went, until the way opened and the glow of the light glinted on running water. Here they smelled a foul combination of odors—lantern oil, perhaps, wet wool, body waste…
Demlin shot a glance at his master, and the prince shrugged. Lathal came forward past the prince, past them all. His torchlight bobbed in the air, floating; its beams illuminated a running black stream and spangled the surface with silver. The ground dropped down in two ledges like broad steps. Across the water a small trickle slipped out of a crack in the far stone wall. So long had it run that it had hollowed the rock into a shallow bowl.
The goblin trotted along the edge of the stream on Demlin’s leash. The elf lowered his torch, for day's light shafted down from the far ceiling. The roof of this cave was not solid, and upon some of the stone higher up snow had sifted in. Hemmed by silent stone, with only the voice of water and the breathing of elves, the goblin turned his back on the stream and the small fountain. He pointed toward a niche in the wall behind them, a hollowing as though a god's hand had smoothed and indented the rough wall.
"There."
Demlin’s breath hissed between his teeth. Others murmured in surprise. The faint streaming light fell upon a weapons cache. They were not fools, whoever had hidden this hoard. Oiled woolen cloaks wrapped the long blades of swords and the beaked faces of axes. None of the precious steel would rust for lack of care, even here in this damp cavern.
Ithk said, "Some o’ what Brand got off you, eh?"
Demlin yanked on the tether. The goblin staggered, but the sly light in his eyes didn't falter.
"Some, but not all. He's got it stashed all over the mountain. Some here, some other places…"
Not prepared to believe the answer, Ketluenan said, "You know them all?"
Ithk shook his head. "l know all the ones I know. Found six stashes just like this one. None north of here, all south."
All south. Brand would keep close to them. He'd be sure to stay within range of his weapon caches. Kethrenan walked round the little hoard, the small part of what Brand had stolen. He snorted, a humorless sound.
"Steel's not all they store here."
He nudged something small and round near the edge of the hoard. What he kicked had a wooden voice. The faint odor of dwarf spirits mingled with the stink of oil-soaked wool.
He circled the hoard again, then slipped a throwing axe out from its oily wrapping. The oaken haft felt slick in his grip, but he wasn't going to need it long or do any precision cutting. Wordless, he struck the keg, splintering the wood and loosing the liquor in gurgling flow. The goblin sighed. Demlin and Lathal shared a mirthless grin.
Turning on his heel, Kethrenan left the others to follow. He took the stone stairs upward two at a time. Still clutching the hem of his wife's cloak, he strode out into the bitter brightness of the day. His sight dazzled, he saw only shapes and shadows. No matter, he knew them, his warriors.
"Prince?" said Lindenlea, the word a question.
He held up the strip of bloodstained green cloth, waving it like a pennon.
"She's been here!" he cried, not to her but to all. His words echoed from the dark stone of Hammer Rock. "Our princess has been here, but now she's gone. They are all gone, but here is the bloody hem of her cloak to say that she left this stinking hole alive!"
Their voices rose in rage, elven men and women clashing swords against shields and shaking their lances at the sky. One, a woman with eyes as fierce as a wolf's, shouted above the rage and the roar, "We will find her, my prince!" and others took up her cry. "We will find her! In the name of every god, we will take her back! We will bring home the princess!"
The force of their vows ran like fire in Kethrenan, and he would not kindle to it. He could not. This was not a season for fight. This was a hunter's season. He had seen what the goblin wanted to show him, and he knew Ithk was not going to lead him to Brand's doorstep. Ithk didn't know which of the hiding holes kept the outlaw now.
A slow grin tugged his lips. It was the hunting season, and he could be a hunter.
"Lea," he said, "take the warriors and find a clean place to camp, out of the wind. We have some planning to do."
By the light of a high, hot fire, they looked at the small map. It was roughly made; goblins aren't skilled at that craft. Drawn on the back of a scribe-made map from Kethrenan’s broad leather wallet, no ink to define but only soot from the fire, it showed six caches, each marked by a wavering triangle. They all pointed generally south, as Ithk had said. They didn't make a straight line. Brand had stowed his war gear in places that, when connected, made a triangle. The broad base of it lay in the north
ernmost part of the goblin’s map, where the largest part of the load of stolen weapons had been stored. The narrow head of the triangle lay farthest south.
Almost, Kethrenan thought, pointing at Pax Tharkas.
"That," said the prince, laying his finger on the point. "That was the last cache he made."
Lindenlea said she didn't know how Keth could know that. Demlin, maimed Demlin, said the answer was obvious.
"They had two wagons to unload and not so many men to do the work. They stashed most of it along that line—" He traced the base of the triangle, smearing it a little. "And they took the rest as far as they could go."
Lea considered, and she nodded. "Likely they've been living within that triangle all winter, close to their weapons. Smart."
"Wolf cunning," Demlin said, unwilling to give the outlaw more than that.
Keth let them bat it back and forth, his cousin and his servant. He listened a little, but he had his eye on the mark indicating the farthest cache. Wolf cunning, indeed. He sat back, feeling as he did when he knew exactly what must be done to bring the prey to earth.
He explained it to them, quietly and clearly, while the high wind moaned around the hills and the voices of his warriors played quiet counterpoint. Lindenlea didn't like the plan. She listened respectfully, but she didn't doubt that her cousin knew what she was thinking.
"My lord prince," she said, her voice stiff with disapproval, "this isn't how I would manage it."
He nodded. "I know. You would fly in with troops and burn down the mountains with your And you wouldn't find them that way, Lea."
She shook her head, careful not to speak as she would have were they alone. Alone she'd have said, Cousin, you're not thinking! Keth, you're a fool to trust this goblin!
She had said it before, in Qualinost. She believed it now, and, she supposed, there was no need to shout it.
He knew. Here in this cold camp, they were commander and warrior, not cousins. She did not speak her frustration; she spoke her warning.
"My prince, I don't know why you trust the goblin. You can't really believe that story about how much he hates Brand and what a coward Gnash is. Gnash is no coward, Keth."
"I know. I've seen Gnash in action, and I've seen what he leaves behind in the wake of his ambition. Gnash is blood-hungry. If he's not going after Brand, it's because he considers him small fry, something to be dealt with later. Me, I don't consider him that."
Kethrenan looked past her and past Demlin, who was rolling up the map. He looked at the goblin, guarded and pretending to sleep. It was a strange thing—something he wouldn't say to Lea or to Demlin—but he believed the goblin. He believed he wanted revenge on Brand. He knew what that looked like, the hunger.
"And him? I'll trust him till I can't. Then I'll kill him."
Lea frowned. "Remember what we saw in the temple, Keth. We heard him howling when the Stone went red. He's hiding something, and I don't trust him."
"Aye, well, it's not you who has to. You, cousin, are going to clean out this weapons cache, then you'll take this troop back to Qualinost. You're going to commission a better map than the one the goblin has made. While that is being made, you will take warriors and put them thickly on the borders, because I don't like all the goblin activity I'm seeing here. After that, you will send troops out to the other caches and empty them. I don't care what you do with the weapons. Break them if you can't carry them back. Just be sure to leave nothing for Brand."
"And you?"
The prince sat back, smiling for the first time in a long time. It was no cheerful smile, nor was it warm. He sat that way, still, for a long moment. When he looked up, Lea thought his eyes were frightening: cold and without the softer quality that might lead a person to think him capable of mercy.
"Demlin and I—and Ithk to be sure—are going hunting. I know the outlaw’s territory now. It used to be all this wild borderland. It's been shrunk a little now. Wherever it is he's gone to ground, he won't be far from one of those caches, and from time to time, he's going to have to put his head up for food. When he does—" He slammed his fist into his palm, startling Lea, startling the horses. "When he does, I'm going to take that head off."
Chapter 9
"Tianna said, "It’s a good day when you see the sun."
Just those words, no more, and Elansa couldn't have said the half-elf sounded wistful or wore any trace of sun-longing in her expression. She simply stood at the mouth of the cave, bent her bow to string it, and settled a full fat quiver on her hip.
"I'm not going alone," she'd said to Brand when it was decided it was her tum to go above and hunt. "And I'm not taking any of those damn men with me."
Over this dark season she'd grown a dislike for most of them, hungry-handed men who now and then tried their luck with her. Luckless hungry-handed men, but Elansa saw that the half—elf was getting tired of making her point. Tianna was, Elansa thought, getting tired of them all. It had been a while since she'd shared the sleeping furs with Brand. She spoke to no one but her father, sometimes to Char, but only if she was of a mind to flatter him for a drink. She looked beyond the fire a lot, like someone who was thinking about moving on.
Brand had said he didn't care who Tianna hunted with. All he cared about was that she come back with supper. And so she'd looked around for Dell, who could not be found. Neither could Arawn be found, and that answered that. Tianna announced she was taking Elansa and no one was to worry about her escaping.
"If she tries, I'm just in the mood to shoot her."
Tianna tested her bow’s string, liking the tension. She slipped an arrow from the quiver. Fletched all in white but for a green cock-feather, it was a beautiful shaft—straight, with sunlight gleaming on the golden wood.
"Not a bad day, either, when you feel the wind on your face."
Her words caught Elansa by the throat, like grief. How long it had been since she'd seen the sun or tasted the wind! How long? She didn't know. Greedy, her eyes took in all she saw, and that was not much. Stonelands stretched as far as the eye could reach, a dun earth brushed here and there with shadow. On the shaded side of the hill, little crevices and cracks between rocks held dusty snow, but the air was warmer than she remembered it being the last time she'd felt it moving on her skin. No matter where she looked, she saw no sign of her forest. It was as though the horizon had forgotten the green and the gray and the way the lines of trees could soften its line.
She had lived below ground with the outlaws for a time she didn't know how to reckon. In the sky the two moons hung, faint and weary from the night. A trick of the light made it easier to discern red Lunitari. She hung full, and so must her brother Full, but how many times had the moons turned since Elansa had been taken? Her body had twice missed its cycle, two months. A month later, she had lost the child. She'd not caught her rhythm back yet, and she hadn't been able to discern the patterns of the other women. As best she could estimate, all the winter had passed since Brand had taken her away.
The wind shifted, coming down from the warmer north. She thought she caught the scent of green things growing. Tears welled and dried at once. She did not weep now, or ever. It was a sign of weakness, and she could not afford that, not in the day, not in the night.
Why didn't Keth let me die?
Came the accusatory reply: Why did you stop him?
Across the sky, a raven went winging, its cry like a curse in the silence. Another followed, and then move. Tianna nudged Elansa and went leaping down the stony slope. Elansa followed, springing down the hillside with the same confidence as the half-elf. She had been walking inside the mountain for months, and the way was no easier on the inside than out. Lately, since he'd decided he wasn't going to kill her out of hand, Brand had seen to it that she fared better with food. She ate before the hounds did now, and that almost doubled her fare. She grew strong with the food and the hard walking. She did not take this as reprieve from the threat of killing, though. It was just that she had to be able to move as quickly
and strongly as anyone else.
The wind, the sweet wind, did indeed smell of green. Tianna stopped at the foot of the slope. She looked back, marked the dark slit in the side of the mountain that was the way back, and then watched the ravens, the dark flock growing thicker.
She jerked her head at Elansa. "Come on. They're following something minded to do a killing—goblins maybe. No place we want to be."
So saying, she turned in the direction opposite from where the ravens were going.
Elansa followed, but once when "Tianna wasn't looking, she cast a glance at the sky, then along the dun land behind. She saw nothing, but the birds flew high and they saw more. For a moment, her heart rose, and she thought, Do they see searchers? Do they see Keth?
Or does he think I'm dead?
Wind moaned lonely in the empty land, sounding like lost things. Elansa ran to catch up with Tianna, and she walked beside her around the base of the hill and north into the warmer wind. They went that way for a while. She was not a hunter, this stolen princess, but she had become a watcher. She knew, almost before Tianna stopped, that she would. Something in the way the half-elf’s shoulders squared, a thing about the way she moved to settle the quiver on her hip.
"Wait," Tianna said, not whispering, but low.
Elansa had already halted, and she was already smelling what had warned Tianna. Blood and smoke, and something so foul she could not name it. Bleating, like the cries of goats, sounded against the hill, echoing.
"Ogre," Tianna said. She looked around. Nothing in her countenance seemed like panic, but Elansa felt the urgency as though it were a spark leaping from one of them to the other. "Tianna grabbed her shoulder and turned her around, pointing uphill to where tumbled stones made a pile as high as the women were tall. "Up there! Go!"
Goats cried again, then one made a terrible screaming and fell silent. Laughter, harsh as daggers, bounded around the stone as two more death cries cut the air. Someone—or something—shouted in a language Elansa couldn't identify, neither Dwarvish nor Elvish nor Common. All the words of it—if words there were—sounded like calls to murder. She ran, scrambling, her heart thundering in her breast and her mouth dried up with fear. She fell once, pushed herself up again, and bent her back to run. She ducked behind the stone and had no time to catch her breath before Tianna pulled her to her knees. Long elven eyes widening, she mouthed one word: Quiet!
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