The Goblin War

by Hilari Bell

  “Vruud does,” said Tobin. “But I’d guessed it was an insult.”

  “Only mildly contemptuous,” she told him. “Not much worse than chan. But I don’t want to insult my partner. What’s your name?”

  “It’s Tobin.” Ridiculously, his eyes stung. “What’s yours?”

  “Hesida. Now let’s wash our clothes, and see if we can come up with a more sensible plan for getting three people who have no business on a battlefield right up to the enemy lines.”

  But hard as they thought, no plan emerged. The best advice Hesida had was for Tobin to get himself taken along as one of the grooms who tended the Duris’ remounts. It was a better excuse for him to approach a battlefield than any he’d have as Vruud’s servant. Perhaps she could get herself included as one of the chanduri who prepared food in the lulls between battles?

  It sounded incredibly tenuous to Tobin, and as he’d predicted, Vruud was furious to learn that someone else had been added to their escape plan. Though as Tobin pointed out, they had no choice. Their lives depended on Hesida’s silence.

  Vruud pointed out in turn that every person they added doubled the chance that their escape would fail. Getting himself and Tobin across a battlefield would be hard enough. Adding a woman, adding anyone, could easily end in catastrophe.

  Tobin knew that the storyteller was right, but he’d promised. He had to try.

  Tobin began working more with the grooms who tended the Duris’ horses, helping lead them down to the stream when he watered Vruud’s mules, currying their coats and cleaning their hooves. Within a few days he was tacking them up for the Duri who went on patrol and taking care of them when the patrols returned.

  He no longer feared the Duri would recognize him. Even if they remembered the escaped Softer’s features, they now knew him too well as Vruud’s servant for any other identity to occur to them. And they really didn’t look at the faces of their chanduri servants.

  Nor did they pay attention to what they said in their presence. Tobin kept his head down, and his expression blank, but a careless comment that “the new battle tactics will crumple up those Softer knights like paper” set his ears twitching.

  What new battle tactics?

  Of course, the talk then turned to a wrestling match between them and a nearby camp, and there was no further discussion of the things Tobin wanted to hear.

  What new tactics?

  Later that night Tobin lay on his bedroll listening to Vruud snore—but for once, it wasn’t the noise that kept him awake.

  Over several years of warfare, captured blood amulets had allowed Realm knights to spy on the barbarians. A handful of them had even returned alive. But no spy had ever gotten as deeply into the Duri camps as Tobin had.

  If they did have some new battle plan, something that might make a difference in their next fight against the Realm, wasn’t it his duty to find out what it was?

  Yes. No matter how many excuses he came up with, if Tobin could make the barbarians’ next big push into the Southlands fail, he had to try. The black skeleton of the burned-out village was a grim reminder of how many lives he might be able to save.

  He’d been accepted here, and no one suspected him. It shouldn’t be too hard to learn something about the new battle plans.

  But his simple escape was getting a lot more complicated.

  Chapter 6

  Jeriah

  JERIAH WAS HALF A DAY’S ride from the City of Steps. He’d considered pressing on to the city last night. The palace gates would have been closed, but he could have found a room in town. However, urgent as it was to get the relocation back on track, Jeriah knew it wouldn’t happen instantly. Not for weeks, maybe months, even if all went well. Commander Sower had given him a dispatch, signed by all the army commanders, begging the Hierarch to send more troops and expedite moving the Southland civilians north. Weighing against that was the fact that every town Jeriah passed outside the Southlands—and even a few Southland towns—had abandoned all preparations for the relocation.

  Would Koryn forgive him when she saw that he was trying to get the relocation back on track? Would she speak to him long enough for him to tell her what he was doing?

  Misty gray eyes that were never anything as soft as “misty.” Bright with enthusiasm, sharp with thought, blazing with fury . . .

  . . . I hope you do get your precious brother back. I hope his presence consoles you when a barbarian spear goes through your father’s heart, and your sisters are hacked to bloody rags. . . .

  In the end, despair had washed even the anger out of her eyes.

  You’re a fool.

  Jeriah pulled Glory’s saddle off the log that had kept it out of the dew-wet grass and slung it onto the saddle blanket on her back. He would get the relocation back on track—no matter what Koryn thought of him!

  Although, given the resistance everyone outside the Southland felt toward the whole idea of relocating, Jeriah was amazed that even Master Lazur had managed to take the plan as far as he had. There was an old saying that if you cut off a snake’s head, the body would die. Of course, that was true of any living creature—but Jeriah was beginning to fear it was even more true of political causes. Hanging its leader had certainly killed—

  “Good morning, hero. You’re a hard man to find.”

  Jeriah jumped, but he’d given up complaining about the goblins sneaking up on him.

  “Cogswhallop! What are you . . . You’re out! Where’s Tobin? Is he all right?”

  The goblin shrugged. “He was alive last I saw him, and there’s no reason to assume that’s changed. But I have to tell you, he was very ill. If we’d been a week later getting him out, it would have been his corpse we brought back with us.”

  “Is he recovering now?” Jeriah asked anxiously.

  “I’ve no reason to think otherwise,” said Cogswhallop. “I’m here because the gen’ral’s run into trouble. You remember the things we heard about gates not always coming out where you’d expect?”

  Jeriah nodded. Master Lazur had told him you could cast two gates, minutes apart, in the exact same place, and they could come out hundreds of miles apart in the Otherworld.

  “Well, the gate we came out through, by sheer bad luck, was on the edge of the northern wood,” Cogswhallop went on. “And one of the humans who came to investigate recognized the gen’ral. The sorceress of the Goblin Wood, no less.”

  “But the Decree of Bright Magic was rescinded,” said Jeriah. “Just as I promised.”

  “Aye,” Cogswhallop drawled. “Unfortunately, both you and I forgot about a couple of writs for murder they’d laid on the lass. They’ve dropped all charges of sorcery, but the murder charges stand. The judge seems inclined to fairness when it comes to trial—but about half the town is prepared to build a scaffold right now and skip the formalities.”

  “She did kill people,” Jeriah said reasonably. “She probably should be tried for it.” And if she hanged, he wouldn’t have to worry about her getting his brother into even more trouble.

  Fury flashed in the goblin’s eyes. “If she killed, it was because she had no choice! As your own brother recognized when he threw in with her!”

  “They’ve arrested Tobin too?” Dread clutched at Jeriah’s heart. “Why didn’t you tell me?” No wonder Tobin hadn’t come home yet!

  Cogswhallop hesitated a moment. “The soldier was her accomplice. Shouldn’t he be tried for it?”

  “We don’t have time for sarcasm! Why don’t you just break them out of jail?” Jeriah knew they could do it.

  “This near the Goblin Wood, they know enough about us to be holding her in chains of charmed iron. We can’t touch ’em. The last time they held her so, it took your brother to free her. And now . . .”

  “Now he’s imprisoned too,” said Jeriah resignedly. “I thought I was the one who was always landing myself in trouble!”

  Getting involved with the sorceress had driven Jeriah’s sensible brother mad—that was the only explanation. He’d h
ave to separate them, talk some sense into Tobin. But first Jeriah had to get him free.

  “At least in jail he’ll be safe and get the nursing he needs,” Jeriah said. “How long before this trial takes place?”

  “That’s the only good news,” said Cogswhallop. “The judge wants to wait till the mood in town has settled a bit. He’s set a tentative trial date for two weeks from today.”

  “Two weeks? And this town’s in the north of the Realm?”

  Cogswhallop nodded. His usually sardonic expression was inscrutable, but Jeriah, deep in travel calculations, took no notice.

  “She’s in jail in Brackenlee,” the goblin went on. “It’s just north of—”

  “I’ve been there,” Jeriah said. “I’ll have to keep switching between Glory and Fiddle, and they’ll both be exhausted, but if we have two weeks, I’ll get there in time.”

  “You’ll have them,” Cogswhallop promised. “I’ve got to go see that fool Hispontic. He says there’s trouble with the library. As if that matters now! But I left orders that if the town seems to be calming down, the lads there are to work a bit of mischief and stir things up again. The gen’ral’s known to be our leader, so she’ll be blamed for anything we do.”

  “Which is fine,” said Jeriah, “unless they stir up too much trouble, and the judge decides to hang her just to put an end to it.”

  He finished tightening Glory’s girth as he spoke and swung into the saddle. If they convicted the girl, his brother’s conviction as her accomplice would soon follow. The Realm would have to look out for itself for a while—Jeriah had a brother to save. At least, thank the Bright Gods, this should be the last time it was necessary!

  The Hierarch would have to wait.

  And Koryn . . . She probably wasn’t waiting for him now. Jeriah was surprised to realize how much that bothered him.

  Twelve days later Jeriah rode into Brackenlee, almost as exhausted as the horses he’d been riding.

  The town was gray and drab, with rain dripping from the thin wooden shingles and running in surly streams down the gutters. He’d forgotten how miserably cold and wet the Northlands could be, even in early summer. But Jeriah was going to see his brother again, and until that happened, he could ignore the worst kind of weather. Exhaustion and misery as well. Once he had Tobin safe, nothing else would matter.

  Cogswhallop had promised to meet Jeriah in the town, after he dealt with Master Hispontic’s problem. Goblins could travel faster than humans, though they never explained how. Jeriah had spent the journey thinking and had decided that the simplest way to free Tobin would be to get the sorceress released into his custody, and just bring his brother along with her.

  If it was up to him, he’d leave her there! But Tobin, who’d been firmly convinced of her innocence, would never leave her behind to hang. Jeriah wasn’t convinced, but if Tobin wanted her free so badly, it would be more efficient to rescue both of them at the same time.

  So even though he longed to see Tobin, Jeriah went to an inn, stabled his horses, and changed, not into his court clothes, but into traveling gear that wasn’t so worn. The soft leather and subdued embroidery had the richness that a provincial judge would associate with a servant of the Hierarch.

  He then went to the town hall and politely requested a few minutes with the magistrate in charge . . . in the Hierarch’s name.

  He had to wait for only fifteen minutes, which he took to be a good sign. But the shrewd-eyed man who sat behind a paper-strewn desk in his shirtsleeves didn’t look as easy to impress as his clerk had been.

  “Aren’t you a bit young to be representing the Hierarch?”

  “I’m his body squire,” said Jeriah, almost truthfully. “One of them, anyway.” If this man could confirm that Jeriah was the Hierarch’s personal squire, then the rest of his preposterous tale would seem a lot more plausible.

  “Hmm.” The judge looked him up and down. “You’re a long way from the Hierarch’s body, sir squire.”

  “I was sent to the Northlands as a courier,” Jeriah said. “There was information the Hierarch needed—not urgent, but he wanted it carried by someone he trusted. So when news of the sorceress’s capture reached him, I was the nearest person who could execute his will in this matter.”

  “The Hierarch is interested in that hard young wench?” the judge asked.

  “She was Master Lazur’s enemy for a number of years,” Jeriah pointed out, also truthfully. “A powerful sorceress might have ways of spying on that renegade priest, even from a distance. Now that Master Lazur’s treachery has been revealed, the Hierarch needs to learn all he can about any plots the man had a hand in. And since this girl might know something about that, he wants me to convey her back to the City of Steps, where her case will be dealt with properly.”

  It sounded outrageous to his own ears, but Jeriah’d had a lot of practice over the last few months in controlling his breathing and expression. The rapid beat of his heart would be invisible to the judge, who was now eyeing him skeptically.

  “So the Hierarch wants me to turn my prisoner—a prisoner who’s charged with several murders—over to you? Where’s the order for her release?”

  This was the hard part. Jeriah spread his hands in a helpless shrug. “Unfortunately, the messenger who was sent to inform me of the Hierarch’s will was robbed by a band of those Southland brigands who have been so prevalent lately, and his orders were destroyed. But he did give me the Hierarch’s verbal instructions, and since we knew she might face trial soon, we didn’t dare wait for another set of orders to be sent.”

  He hated speaking ill of the Southlanders, but it wasn’t slander. Some of the refugees, having lost their homes and wealth in the last barbarian push, had taken to robbery. It was more common in the South- and Midlands, but the problem was known to every magistrate in the Realm.

  The judge watched Jeriah closely, rubbing his chin with one thick thumb. “Do you have any evidence at all, then? Because I’m afraid . . .”

  “Only this.” Jeriah hauled out the dispatch Commander Sower had given him. Addressed to the Hierarch and marked with an official seal, it was exactly the kind of document Jeriah would be carrying if his story was true. The judge’s frown deepened.

  “I need to think about this. Do you want to see the prisoner?”

  There was only one prisoner Jeriah wanted to see, and it wasn’t the sorceress—but Tobin was probably in the cell next to hers. He considered asking, but if this man would let him take custody of the girl, he should have no trouble getting his brother thrown in.

  “I should identify her,” Jeriah said. “To be certain she really is the sorceress of the Goblin Wood. I was Master Lazur’s assistant before I went into the Hierarch’s service, and I was present when she was first captured, so I can confirm her identity.”

  “She admitted her identity,” said the judge. “But by all means, confirm it.”

  He summoned a guard to show Jeriah to the cells. The town hall’s cellar wasn’t as grim as Jeriah had expected, being mostly used for records storage. But the only source of heat was a brazier at the head of the corridor, where another guard was stationed.

  Jeriah tried to peer through the small, barred windows in the wooden doors he passed, but without making a show of stopping to look, he couldn’t see anything. The guard led him halfway down the hall and opened a door with one of the keys in his jingling ring.

  The girl sat on a cot, wrapped in several blankets against the damp chill. Her hair had been hacked off close to her head, so untidily it looked as if she’d done it herself without comb or mirror. If the townsfolk were so angry they’d done that before she even went to trial, then she needed to be rescued! But Jeriah couldn’t see any bruises.

  She showed no surprise at the sight of him, her expression closed and sardonic.

  “Stand up,” the guard ordered. “Let me see those chains.”

  She stood, letting the blankets fall away. She was wearing britches and a button-covered vest, and her shir
t was dirty. The chains, clamped to both wrists and one ankle, clanked as she lifted her arms.

  The guard went so far as to make sure they were locked, though he looked a bit embarrassed when he saw Jeriah’s quizzical expression.

  “We’ve had trouble from the goblins since we took her. This is charmed iron, and the local priest swears they can’t touch it, but better safe than sorry, eh?”

  “Certainly,” said Jeriah. “I commend your caution. But since you know she’s securely bound, could I converse with her alone? This woman may have information the Hierarch needs. The sooner I can establish that, one way or the other, the better for all of us.”

  The guard glanced at the girl uneasily. “I promise not to bite him,” she said. “Or turn him into a rat. Though if he does go missing, you might be careful what you put into your stew.”

  “Sass does you no good,” the guard told her. “Call me when you want out, young sir.” He locked the door behind him, and they waited in silence till the sound of his footsteps faded.

  “You made good time,” she murmured, beating Jeriah into speech by half a breath. “Cogswhallop didn’t expect you for another day. What could I possibly know that the Hierarch would be interested in?”

  “Things about Master Lazur,” Jeriah told her. “The Hierarch is trying to find out about everything Master Lazur was involved in, so it makes sense. Where’s—”

  “It makes nonsense.” Her voice was low, but the words cut. “The priest was my enemy, Jeriah Rovan. I know far less about him than, say, one of his loyal aides.”

  There were at least two insults buried in that speech, and maybe more.

  “Smart people spy on their enemies,” Jeriah said. “If you didn’t, you’ll have to fake it till I get you out of here. Where’s—”

  “Hero!” Cogswhallop’s face appeared in the window. “That was a grand tale you told the old man, but he’s sent clerks flying to check on this and that, so I hope it’s true. If not, you’ll likely end up in the cell next to this one.”