“Well?” Kothar’s eyes widened.
“Well, not exactly like you tolt us to, Sire.”
The goblin king took several steps toward them, and they cowered backward, their armor clanging together once more like some great, kitchen calamity. “Then you did not make her eat the fruit?” He asked.
“She wouldns’t opens her mouth, Sire.”
“Yeah,” Glorngk nodded in agreement. “We even tried to prise it open.”
“What do you mean she wouldn’t open her mouth?”
Blongok looked down, grateful that the faceplate of his armor dropped to hide his shame. There was a faint sound as he muttered inside it, but one cold look from Kothar caused him to quickly lift the faceplate.
“It is true, Sire. We done tried it all, an' she just woon’t open up her mouf,” he explained. “We weared her down real good though.”
“That’s right, we’s did!” Maglck growled in appreciation, a sinister laughter following. “We’s beat her and bruised her like old rotten fruit, we’s did.”
The Goblin just beside Maglck nudged him slightly and rubbed his hands together in greedy anticipation of what came next.
“Good,” Kothar began, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced before them. “I presume then that once she was sufficiently bewildered by the poison and the abuse, you drew her onto the path as I instructed you to do.”
Both Maglck and Glorngk lowered their heads again while Blongok said, “Er—uh, not exactly, Sire.”
The whole lot of them ducked inward, anticipating the roar that was sure to follow, however Kothar did not holler. In fact he hardly raised his voice above a rasping whisper of disbelief. “What do you mean, not exactly? You had orders to lead her into the forest.”
“Yeah, but Sire, they comed out of the trees,” Habolk interjected on behalf of his comrades. “Him of the Green did, and dat little rat pixie always chewing on his heel.”
“I’d like to take a bite out of his heel,” someone muttered under their breath.
“And let me guess…” Kothar paced in front of them, the soft swish of his leather boots accompanied by the near silent sweep of his cape behind him. “Upon first sight of them you ran away like the pack of lazy cowards that you are?”
“But what else was we s’posed to do, Sire?”
“I suppose it never occurred to you,” Kothar’s voice was soft and contemplative, but rising slowly to emphasize his rage, “to stand and fight?” He lowered his head, the jet black length of his hair falling in to hide the physical expression of his anger. “Tsk, tsk, tsk...” He continued pacing, each goblin flinching from him as he passed by, and they did not relax again until he was at least three paces away. “And I call you fools my army.”
“But Sire...”
“Silence!” As he whipped around on them, they stumbled backward, half of them falling over and into each other. “Where is the girl now?”
Once again the silence was so thick he could almost hear plant life climbing the ancient walls outside the castle. Kothar scanned the faces of every goblin in his midst, his lower lip quivering with fury. Not a single one dared to look him in the eye, and so he spun at last on heel and started toward his throne. They bumbled again, armor clashing as several of them shoved and pushed against each other until at long last the smallest of them was presented to answer his majesty’s question.
The small goblin swallowed and twisted his hands in front of him. “We followed them at first, Majesty.”
“And?”
“And they stayed pathright for a ways, but then they goed off into the painful grove that bites the mind and keeps us out of the sacred village, and we couldn’t foller anymore.”
“Of course they did.” He lowered into his throne, thoughtful and distracted. “So they took her to Sylvanus, who no doubt gave her quite a history lesson.”
“Maybe they wants to keeps her for their own,” the small one suggested. “Tasty morsel like that...”
A guttural moan escaped Kothar, as he lifted a weary hand against the side of his face. “Will you keep quiet? In fact, all of you leave me alone at once! I can barely stand the sight of you.”
“But Sire...”
“Go!”
The goblin soldiers scurried and scrambled like mice toward every exit in a clamor of clumsiness.
Kothar could not stop the disgruntled breath before it escaped him. His tolerance was waning quickly, especially in light of recent circumstances. One day in the Darknjan Wald alone, and she would have been his, begging for mercy on her knees in the darkness, but now that she’d gone to Sylvanus... now that she’d been under the influence of his enemy...
Kothar leaned inward and hovered over the looking glass. Only his own image mirrored back at him from the underside, and then it quickly faded, offering a clear vision of the silent Wald. An eerie vapor clung to the trees, swirling around the twisted trunks and branches. He took off his gloves and waved the long fingers of his left hand dramatically over the arc of the crystal. The other hand followed, and the vapor rushed and swirled at his silent command.
“Show me the past,” he commanded.
The thick white mist danced inside the crystal, thickening until it hung over an achingly familiar scene.
A ring of trees, the worn earth beneath them littered by a cast of stones she’d laid out before her. Her position was casual; the hem of her lavender gown hiked up and arranged beside her like an inconvenient pool. The endless length of her honey colored hair flowed across her shoulders, down her back, and whispered in the soft afternoon breeze. Tiny flowers made a circlet on her brow, which she occasionally pushed out of the way in pure annoyance. She was so wrapped up in the mysteries laid out before her that she hadn’t heard him approach, and for several minutes he was able to watch her unnoticed.
Lips moved over the silent spell she wove, the occasional catch of her breath the only sound that disturbed the secret clearing in which the three of them had often played as children. She was a woman now, and yet there was something innately wild about her that no amount of grooming or schooling could tame. It was what attracted him, he realized, though he hardly understood that she radiated freedom the way the sun gave off light.
He took one tentative step toward her, a traitorous twig cracking beneath his foot and startling her from the strange trance she’d enveloped herself in.
She whipped around startled to see him there, and yet there was a hint of pleasure upon recognizing the voyeuristic nature of his visit.
“Don’t skulk in the shadows. Did no one ever tell you it is unseemly to spy, Kothar?” She hadn’t even looked up from the bones she’d cast in the circle between her legs. “At least my aunt would tell you so. If you wish to sit with me, come and take your seat.”
A shy young man, Kothar stepped out of the shadows in which he’d always felt more comfortable whenever she was near. He would never admit that she intimidated him, or made him feel such weakness that it gripped him from within and worked its way out. He sensed that she could see it every time she looked into his eyes, and so he often found himself avoiding the intensity of her gaze.
“I wasn’t spying,” he muttered quietly. He hated how weak he felt around her, hated his own tendency to shy away from his true nature for fear that if he acted instinctively, she would turn away. “You looked as though you were under some spell that took a great deal of concentration,” he explained. “I was simply watching until I knew it was safe to come out. What game is that you play anyway?” He knew very well what she was doing; it was certainly not a game.
“I’m studying the future,” she said; her soft laughter followed. “Shall I have a look into yours?”
“I’d rather not know,” he admitted, circling around until he stood behind her and looked down over the pattern in which the marked stones had fallen. He wanted to say ‘I’m afraid I’ll look into it and find that I am not with you,’ but the words never left his lips, as that would be an admission of weakness.
“I’d rather be free from time’s limitations, from the weary tendency to believe I have no power over my own affairs.”
“How poetic.” She turned her head to the right and gazed up at him behind her. “I had no idea you had such a way with words, Kothar.”
“There is a lot about me you don’t know, Glylwythiel,” he said. “Things you could scarcely begin to imagine.”
She had opened her mouth to speak, but was cut short by the intrusion of an unexpected third party breaking through the brush. “Ah, there you are, Glyl.” Sylvanus charged into the clearing, stopping short to study Kothar with guarded disbelief. “Kothar, I hardly expected to find you here.”
“Come and sit beside me, Sylvanus.” She patted the earth. “I was just about to cast the stones again.”
Sylvanus obliged her so easily, rushing in to take the seat at her side, and though he’d never admit his easy jealousy, Kothar had loathed how effortless it was for Sylvanus to sit beside her and share her company. He was hardly breathless, an obvious sign of how comfortable he felt with her, and that comfort lit the fires of resentment inside him. He raged at his own difficulty when it came to talking to her, and at last he blamed Sylvanus, who always managed to appear at the most inopportune moment, for ruining his every opportunity to speak his heart to her.
The mist thickened until it had swallowed the scene whole, and left Kothar feeling as empty and cold as he’d felt that very afternoon. Perhaps with time, that emptiness had grown heavier, the chill more frigid. He should have known she would return to Sylvanus, to the comfort of his companionship and council. Even if she did not remember who she was, her spirit would sense their old bond and she would trust the lingering memory of their long ago friendship.
Kothar swept his hand across the crystal’s surface again, drawing a deep breath into his lungs and holding it there until they felt as though they were on fire. When he released that breath, it deflated him completely, and there was nothing in the world Kothar hated more than feeling let down.
She had always cast him aside so easily, been able to go on as though he’d never been there at all once Sylvanus was there with her, but this time he would use her own vanity and pride against her. This time, he would make sure she understood the power of her rejection, and all those who had suffered because of her selfishness, but first he had to be sure she did not falter on her way to him.
The girl... the sister was a nice touch, and one that would surely keep her on the path of righteousness until the end, but when she arrived at his castle, he needed to make sure she had come by the hardest road, and above all else, that she arrived without the companions Sylvanus had surely sent to guide and protect her.
“Yorglungk!” A wicked gleam sharpened Kothar’s eyes, the smile he wore a flash of fiendish delight.
Yorglungk had only been passing by in the hallway, but scurried into the chamber at his master’s call, head bowed submissively. “You called for me, Sire?”
“Indeed, I did, Yorglungk.” The clever grin lifted both corners of Kothar’s mouth in a smile such as none had ever seen. It was such a terrifying sight that the young goblin before him cowered and trembled as he awaited his orders. “There is a fool who wanders the Wald and answers to the name Gorigast,” he started. “I want you to find him and bring him to me at once.”
“Yes, Majesty.” He bent so low that he nearly toppled forward. “Anything for his majesty.”
“Then hurry,” he barked.
The goblin scurried out of his presence and Kothar sat back in his throne, the cold stone pressed against the rigid length of his spine. Upon his face there was evidence of a sinister plan that flashed in moments of reflective joy across his face.
As goblins passed by the throne-room, there were some who believed that their king had finally lost his mind, and others who dared not test the flexibility of elation that had surely been wrought by madness.
Madness, perhaps, but what they did not know, however, was that sometimes in order to find one’s self, he must lose his mind again and again, as Kothar had most obviously done over the centuries. He must lose himself to truly find himself, and as the pieces of his cursed existence came crumbling down around him, he grabbed them one by one, and put them back inside, for the first time feeling as though the suffering had all been worthwhile—a learning experience he would never forget.
At long last he knew what it meant to have control.
CHAPTER TEN
Sir Gwydion led the trio through the final twists of Ambiance Grove, walking several paces in front of Meredith and Him, who had fallen into deep conversation shortly after leaving the village.
Him’s flirtations had taken a more serious turn, and though the act had made Merry uncomfortable early on, as the morning progressed she relaxed, and found herself laughing and enjoying his company.
Him went out of his way to amuse her with stories and jokes, magic tricks and slight of hand, and her laughter often moved through her entire body so that as they walked, it was shoulder to shaking shoulder and all their effort to keep from falling down.
“Well, you’ve certainly shown your true colors, Lady Meredith,” Sir Gwydion commented as they paused beside a small tributary to wash the dust and pollen from their skin.
It was nearing noon, or so she gauged from the position of the sun almost directly above them.
Merry retreated, a quick, familiar reaction caused by embarrassment, which also painted her face a soft shade of rose. “And what is that supposed to mean, Sir Gwydion?”
“Nothing more than I’ve said,” he shrugged. “You were rather sullen and hard-pressed to save your sister yesterday, and yet today you seem a new soul altogether, laughing, singing. One might never guess we journeyed toward imminent doom.”
“Such drama, Gwydion,” Him shook his head.
“I do feel rather hopeful, despite the challenges ahead,” Meredith noted. “Should I have no hope at all?”
“Hopeful?” He scoffed and turned the point of his nose toward the path ahead. “It’s going to take far more than hope for you to brave what lies ahead. You’ve barely seen the worst of things to come.”
Meredith knew he was right, and yet her time in the bathhouse and among strange, but familiar company had altered her perspective. What else did she have, if not hope, she kept asking herself?
“What has gotten into you?” Him towered over the pixie in a menacing stance. “You have had nothing encouraging to say since we met Merry, and I’m beginning to wonder why you’ve bothered to come along at all.”
“To keep your nose out of trouble is why, though the further we travel, the less I worry about your nose and the more I worry about the rest of you. You’re making a complete fool of yourself, Him, as you often do in feminine company.”
“Oh please,” Him said. “As if you would know the first thing about how to behave in feminine company...”
Meredith let go of the thread of their argument and tuned in to the sound of the tiny stream trickling beside them. Without a word, she took a few steps in the direction they had been traveling in while Sir Gwydion and Him bickered behind her.
She supposed on some level she was grateful for Sir Gwydion’s company. After the wild dream she’d had about Him, it had become all too easy for her to sink into uncivilized familiarity, and yet she couldn’t for the life of her understand at all how the quick progression of their flirtation had been in anyway uncivilized. Things were different Underground; she could sense it in the air and the way her heart ached as it sped up at the mere thought of Him.
She glanced back over her shoulder in an attempt to put her feelings into perspective, and realized that all her life she’d never known such peace and oneness with the world around her. For the first time everything was alive and real, including her.
Eyes wide open, she was amazed at all she saw, but even more by all she felt.
And it was those feelings, she supposed,
that made her glad Sir Gwydion had accompanied them. His company seemed to establish an edge of reality she could hold onto while her entire world spun out of her grasp.
Him caught up with her, still spouting over his shoulder at the insensitive lout behind them. “Don’t mind him, Meredith. Gwydion’s sense of loyalty has always been twisted.”
“You take that back!” Sir Gwydion marched in behind him. “You bastard son of a farmhouse mule!”
Meredith tuned just in time to spin around and grasp Him by the arm as he reached down to grab their smaller companion. “Gentleman, please. All of this arguing is unnecessary.”
“He started it,” Him reminded her.
“It doesn’t matter who starts such things, as long as someone is man enough to end it, now I say let’s end it before it goes too far and someone really gets hurt.”
Abashed, Meredith was surprised by the subtle shade of rose that colored Him’s cheeks as he looked away from her. “Perhaps Merry is right, and we should end it here, Gwydion.”
“There are miles to go and I would much rather not spend them trying to prove I’m the more clever of us both. It should be obvious, but that’s another matter altogether.”
His words made Meredith laugh, though judging from his expression, he hardly understood why. Self righteous and most definitely beside himself, Meredith tried not to let his brutish words effect her. Him was equally confused, but she urged them on despite it.
“I would like to reach the bridge before nightfall.”
“Absolutely,” Him agreed. “I want a camp set up long before sundown. The darkness may not cross the bridge, but that place is cursed, no doubt.”
Sir Gwydion made a strange gesture much like crossing himself against bad spirits, and then he spit over his left shoulder. “Agreed.”
“And to make matters a bit more complicated,” Him lifted his gaze toward the canopy of treetops above them, “it looks like rain.”
“Rain?” Meredith stretched her neck up over her shoulder only to discover that the sunlight that had winked and shimmered through the leaves only moments earlier had been dimmed by a series of quick-rolling clouds. “Surely those aren’t rain clouds,” she tried to convince herself.
The Goblin Market (Into the Green) Page 12