The Goblin Gate

by Hilari Bell

  Jeriah had to overthrow not only the priest, but the whole shadow government that would fall with him. Because if he didn’t, sometime in the next two weeks, Tobin was going to die.

  He tried to visit Senna in her cell, but the guards stopped him. No visitors allowed, by Master Lazur’s order. Jeriah almost went back to argue with the priest, but he knew he wouldn’t win. He did succeed in bribing the guard to deliver a pillow and a warm blanket to her cell…but only after the man had searched them and removed the brief note Jeriah had tucked under the pillowcase.

  Finally Jeriah sent Daroo, who swore he could sneak the note into Senna’s cell without being caught. He was sitting up in his bed, with the lamp burning low, when the small goblin returned.

  “Is she all right? She’s not too scared, is she? Did she recognize my writing? I didn’t dare sign it.”

  “I should let you keep stacking up questions,” Daroo said. “Just to see how high the pile gets. But it won’t do you any good. She was asleep.”

  “You didn’t wake her?”

  “Don’t be silly. What if she’d screamed? She’s not accustomed to being visited by our folk.”

  “Then how can you tell if she’s all right?” Jeriah demanded. “How can you tell if she recognized my—”

  “Who else would send her notes saying, ‘Don’t worry, I’m working on a scheme, and if we don’t all get killed everything will be fine.’ You’ve written her letters before, haven’t you? She’ll recognize the writing.”

  “I just said I had an idea, and that everything would be all right. To keep her from worrying.”

  “If she knows you, that’ll worry her more than anything else.”

  He might be right about that. Jeriah sighed. “But she was all right?”

  “How would I know? She was sleeping. And me going back to talk to her in the daytime would put the rest of your plan at risk. You know that.”

  Jeriah did know it. And Tobin was in even more trouble than Senna, so he had to let it go. But the thought of his sister, alone and terrified, still haunted him.

  The day before Equinox Jeriah hovered outside the door of the council chamber. He could hear muffled voices through the door but he couldn’t make out the words—he could only wait, and pray to be standing there when Nevin emerged.

  St. Cerwyn be praised there were no petitions today; the Sunlord was “meditating” before the holy ceremony. In fact, he was alternately resting and being drilled in the procedures. Jeriah had nothing to do but run errands for the attending priests, and he’d managed to make those errands last a long time. As far as he could tell, the busy priests barely noticed his absence.

  Master Kerratis had come by yesterday, and contemptuously declared the Hierarch “as fit for it as he’s likely to get.” Nevin had gone around in tight-lipped fury for the rest of the afternoon. He couldn’t know about the drugs. No one could fake the devotion Nevin showed the Hierarch…unless he had some motive Jeriah knew nothing about. Jeriah winced and pulled his mind back to the present. There was plenty that could go wrong right now.

  This next step of his plan might even work without Jeriah’s presence. But it was such a small thing, and so critical, the thought of leaving it to chance made his stomach cramp.

  If I bring my family out of this alive, he offered up as a silent vow, I will never involve myself in plots again.

  A few moments of general chatter came from the council chamber, then a single voice resumed speaking. Jeriah thought it was Master Lazur, who’d been addressing the council for most of the morning. There was still resistance to the relocation in many hearts. Chardane was wrong; Lazur’s grip on the council wasn’t unshakable. Not yet. And knowing his own weakness only made the priest more dangerous.

  There was another break in the flow of the speech, followed by a flurry of conversation. A new speaker? The doors opened and Nevin strode out. He clutched a roll of paper in his hand, and his mouth was tight with irritation. Thank you, Bright Ones!

  Jeriah gave him a few moments’ start, then dashed down the hall after him.

  “Hey, Brallorscourt! Wait up. I’ve got some questions about tomorrow.”

  Nevin slowed but didn’t stop. “I can’t help you now—they’re waiting for me. Ask me this evening.”

  “I’ll walk with you. What’s that?” Jeriah gestured to the map.

  “The stupidest thing! I put the new woods map with his papers, I swear I did. But…I must have mixed them up.”

  “A new map? Of the Goblin Wood?” Innocent, casual, easy. “I think I saw something like that the night when you, ah, interrupted me.”

  “Oh, really? You remember every paper you glanced at?”

  Calm down, he’s not suspicious. If he was nice, you’d know something was wrong. Jeriah wished, passionately, that Nevin was a fool.

  “I noticed it because I just returned from that area,” Jeriah said coldly. “But if you want to go through every stack in Master Lazur’s office, that’s fine with me. It should only take you half a day.” He turned and began to walk away. Don’t let me go. Don’t let—

  “Wait. It’s your duty to assist the council as well as the Hierarch. Besides, ah, I thought you had some questions.”

  Jeriah’s questions about the Hierarch’s role in the Equinox Ceremony carried them to the door of Lazur’s office, where he went straight to the tall cabinet.

  “I’m sure it was here, on the top shelf. Let me get…” Jeriah pulled a small chest over, and stood on it so he could go through the papers—and his body blocked Nevin’s view of the shelf.

  “If you cared to think,” said Nevin, “it might occur to you to bring the stack down and sort through it on the desk.”

  “No, I’m doing fine, but…Hold these for me.”

  He handed the crockery jars to Nevin, who put them on the desk without a second glance. “Demon’s teeth! Bring those cursed papers down so we can go through them!”

  “It’s all right, I’ve got it.” Jeriah passed the map down to Nevin. “Hand me those jars, will you?”

  “Get them yourself.” Nevin was already on his way out the door. “I’m not your servant.”

  Jeriah replaced the jars carefully at the back of the shelf. He’d called as much attention to them as he dared. And at least Nevin hadn’t recognized them too soon, which could have been disastrous. Nevin had handled them himself—surely he’d remember. If he didn’t, Jeriah could remind him, but to bring himself into the matter, even in a small way, would be horribly dangerous. Thank the Bright Gods Nevin wasn’t a fool.

  On the morning of Equinox Jeriah stared out of the Hierarch’s bedroom window at the gardens, though calling it morning was a hideous exaggeration. The gardeners, who’d been ordered to make all perfect before the sun rose on this holy day, were working by torchlight.

  “Come away from the window. You’re supposed to be serving him, not sleeping.”

  Jeriah was too apprehensive for even Nevin to irritate him.

  “Mohri’s serving his breakfast. And I’m trying to straighten this.” Jeriah held out a web of fine gold chain that would be draped over the Hierarch’s robe. He’d spent the last five minutes twisting it into knots.

  “Well, leave it for now and…Demons curse it! We’ve run out of caroliss tea!”

  They wouldn’t have, if Jeriah hadn’t emptied the jar down the privy last night. “Those priests must have used it up. Can you give him something else?”

  “The Sunlord is to be served nothing but the best. Besides, I don’t want to change his routine any more than we must.” Nevin looked nervous too. “Go down to the kitchen and get some.”

  Jeriah held up his hands, covered with tangled gold. So many small things had to go right. The whole plan hinged on his next words. “This is a real mess—if I put it down, I’ll have to start over. Besides, it’s as much as your life’s worth to go into the kitchen this morning. One of the cooks threatened me with a carving knife yesterday, I swear he did. Master Goserian wants the feast to be perf
ect and he’s riding them hard. Why don’t you go to the herb-healer? I bet she’d have some, and it’s nearer.”

  “Would she be awake this early?”

  Jeriah shrugged, trying to make it look casual. His shoulders were tighter than a drawn bow.

  “Who knows? Lots of people are up; anything that gets done today has to be finished by dawn.”

  “I’ll try her.”

  Nevin hurried out, and Jeriah tried to relax. It was all going according to plan. But this plan was so complex. Too complex to succeed. There were a thousand things that—

  “Sir?”

  Jeriah jumped, almost dropping the chains.

  “Will you eat breakfast? It’s ready.”

  “No! Don’t sneak…” He summoned up a smile. “Sorry, we’re all a little tense.” The servant was staring at him. “I want to finish this. I’m not hungry, anyway.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jeriah tried to sort out the tangled chains of the Hierarch’s ceremonial necklace—he shouldn’t have done such a thorough job of twisting them up.

  If even one of his allies got caught, the plan was finished. Jeriah also worried about the number of times Chardane came into it, but she didn’t seem concerned. When she’d approached the council and offered to investigate the possibility of using drugs against the barbarians, no one had seemed suspicious. In fact, she’d told Jeriah, the council was so enthusiastic she’d probably have to come up with something no matter what else happened. If Chardane was so confident, why did Jeriah feel as if he was floundering on the brink of disaster?

  Nevin hadn’t returned—he would have, if it hadn’t gone according to plan. It was still going according to plan, it was…it was going to drive Jeriah mad if he didn’t get up and do something.

  “Here, someone take care of this mess. I’m going to dress; then we’ll start robing the Hierarch whether Nevin’s here or not.”

  They’d almost finished by the time Nevin returned, carrying a tea tray…and wearing different clothes than when he’d left. Jeriah suppressed a gasp of relief.

  “Where have you been? It’s almost time.”

  “That woman spilled some concoction all over me! She said it was mildly toxic and insisted on hauling off my clothes and washing me—as if I were a two-year-old! But the stuff stank, so I had to change anyway. Have you got the gold on him yet? Where’s my tabard? Where’s…”

  Jeriah let the stream of questions run over him. Remember that scent, you arrogant toad. The pieces were now in place. Jeriah was shaking as he joined the procession that led the Sunlord to welcome the turn of the season.

  The sun rose, spreading its glowing benediction over the land, and the Sunlord greeted it. As the day wore on, the sun beat down on Jeriah’s head and shoulders. He fretted and sweated, paying as little attention to the ceremony as he could manage. Nevin had to nudge him into his assigned place several times.

  The Hierarch had “honored” other priests by asking them to recite the twelve long prayers that lasted from sunrise to sunset, but no one else could recite the hourly invocations. As the day passed, his fatigue grew, but he never complained or tried to avoid the altar—not even when the words deserted him and he was forced to rely on the whispers of his prompters.

  Courage. Even drugged, the courage showed through. Jeriah felt a piercing shame that he’d actually considered letting the Hierarch continue this loathsome half life.

  Master Lazur watched along with the rest of the crowd. If he felt anything, it didn’t show. How easy it was to sacrifice others to a personal obsession. At least Master Lazur’s goal was noble—Jeriah couldn’t even claim that. If his plan didn’t succeed, he still might have to make that impossible choice. He glanced at Nevin, on whom his whole plan depended, and shivered despite the heat.

  Tobin would have been ill for some time now.

  Wait for me, brother. On this of all days, surely the Bright Gods would hear his prayer. Just hang on till I can get there. I’m coming.

  Finally the sun set. Nevin and Jeriah helped the Hierarch inside—he shook with exhaustion, but he had less than an hour to rest.

  “He has to appear at the feast,” Nevin fretted, “and watch the dancing till midnight—it’s traditional. But if he gets too tired, demons can take tradition! I’m putting him to bed when he needs to go.”

  A chill ran along Jeriah’s nerves—he needed those hours before midnight. “He did well today, and did it bravely. All he has to do is eat, then sit and watch. Surely he can manage. Besides, you said Master Zachiros is responsible for him in the evening. We have leave to join the festivities as soon as the high table’s been served.”

  “You can spend the night drinking and dancing if you want—and I’m sure you will. I’ll stay where I’m needed.”

  “Suit yourself.” Jeriah shrugged away the sting. As long as he was free between the end of the feast and midnight, nothing else mattered.

  Nevin served the Hierarch himself, but helping to keep the exhausted ruler’s true state from becoming obvious took all of Jeriah’s attention. The senior council lord and the second-circle priest, who sat on the Hierarch’s right and left, did their best as well. Hungry now in spite of his taut nerves, Jeriah snatched a meal in bites as he passed to and from the kitchen. Finally, the last dishes were removed and the tables cleared away. Master Zachiros took Nevin’s position at the Hierarch’s shoulder, and Jeriah was free.

  But Master Lazur’s eyes kept straying to him. Not yet. Not quite. Dance awhile, let him see you in the crowd, let him lose himself in his own conversations.

  Jeriah took his place on the dance floor. He smiled, laughed, and must not have mangled the sets too badly, though afterward he couldn’t remember his partners.

  The eighth set, also by tradition, was the threshing dance. The dancers took up their wands and formed a circle, no partners needed. No one to miss Jeriah if he slipped away.

  The drumbeat throbbed in heart and bone as they danced their way through the plowing, sowing, reaping, and finally threshed the grain, their wands pounding the floor. If the Seven Bright Gods were the source of all life, why did dancers throughout the Realm take up wands every spring and do their best to dance the seed from the soil? Was this dance older than the Bright Gods themselves?

  It was the kind of question that used to horrify Tobin. Suddenly, sharply, Jeriah missed his brother. If this didn’t succeed…

  Master Lazur was deep in conversation with what looked like half the council.

  Even Master Kerratis, a cup of wine cradled in his thin fingers, was talking with friends, not watching Jeriah. In that whole, vast, crowded room no one was paying—

  He saw her eyes first, luminous gray surrounded by small, sharp features and a cloud of dark hair—her pale gray gown as drab as ever. Maybe it did set off her eyes, but it made that warm skin look muddy. A deep red, or a really brilliant blue, would make her glow…though they might not have suited her. Koryn was a creature of shadows and corners. Dragging her into the light would be as unkind as driving a bat out of its cave.

  And perhaps she preferred the shadowy corners because it made spying on Jeriah easier. She watched him openly now, making no effort to hide it, though she must have seen that he’d noticed.

  He couldn’t absent himself while she was looking. If he simply walked out and ran from her, she might report his odd actions to Master Lazur, and Jeriah’s scheme would come to an end right there.

  He had to make her leave him. But how…?

  It turned out someone else was watching him, after all. A strong hand clapped his shoulder so heartily Jeriah staggered a step.

  “So.” Marof’s voice was thick with wine. “The nettle’s looking at you. Got her blooming yet, Rovan?” He tried to wink, but both his eyes closed.

  “No, I…haven’t,” said Jeriah. “Though I think…”

  It would make him look like a total cad. Jeriah had sisters. He despised men who made that kind of bet. But it would get Koryn out of the way. And if he cou
ld get her to slap his face, in some spot she’d have difficulty escaping from, it might take her some time to report the matter. If she wanted to report it. And when Jeriah lost and paid—because he was going to say he’d lost, no matter what happened—her reputation would be spared. It was Jeriah who’d look like a callous, brutish idiot. But not a traitor.

  “…I think I could get her blooming tonight,” he finished firmly.

  It took only moments to set up a bet that tonight he would “make the nettle bloom.” Even the drunken louts who were wagering weren’t crass enough to get specific about what that meant. And since Jeriah intended to lose, even if it only referred to a passionate kiss, it hardly mattered.

  Now, as he wove through the crowd to the corner where Koryn sat, he faced the hard part—he had to get her to go with him. And Koryn was neither drunk nor a fool.

  “Good Equinox, Mistress Goserian.”

  “Good Equinox, Master Rovan.” Her voice was dry. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

  “And you aren’t? I know you can’t dance, but half the women and three quarters of the men aren’t dancing either, and they all seem to be having a fine time. If you’d just let yourself…”

  Jeriah hadn’t figured out how he was going to lure her to a secluded spot, but scolding her for sulking in the corner wasn’t going to help.

  “I’m sorry. Maybe sulking in corners is how you enjoy yourself. I have no right to judge.”

  That hadn’t come out quite the way he’d intended.

  “No, you don’t.” The gleam that leapt into her eyes at the prospect of a debate looked remarkably like enjoyment. Gods, she was prickly.

  “As it happens,” she went on, “I liked watching the threshing dance. Though it occurs to me that if the Seven Bright Gods are the only ones with the power to create life…”

  “Why are we dancing for it? I thought the same thing!”

  Here was someone who wasn’t a bit shocked by his blasphemous musings. And there were things she enjoyed. Things she wanted. That was what he had to use against her. Suddenly, the solution fell into place.