by Hilari Bell
She did herself, and it was the one death she regretted.
“Every one of those men had killed several goblins,” she added. “And would have killed more if they hadn’t been stopped.”
“But killing goblins isn’t illegal,” Brallorscourt said. “Any more than it’s illegal to exterminate rats. Killing men is murder.”
The old hatred flared, bright and hot and real. But venting it now would do neither her nor her goblins any good.
“That’s the exact problem I’m trying to solve.” She managed to keep her voice level, but Chardane was the only one who nodded.
The Hierarch’s face was troubled. “I had thought more died at your hands,” he said. “And these men, they all died in the midst of battle?”
“Four or forty, it will make little difference to the people in the north who fought those goblins themselves, or took in the refugees this girl created,” Brallorscourt said sharply. “My lord, I fear that if you pardon her, we may find ourselves facing the same kind of trouble in the Northlands that is only now dying down in the west! We need our troops on the border, fighting the barbarians—not dealing with rebellion elsewhere, and particularly not a rebellion we could easily avoid. Even if Zachiros is right, and she and her goblins were at war with the Realm, that’s no excuse. If anything, it’s a greater reason to hang her!”
Still true, evidently, for there was no signal from the pouch. But the Hierarch was wavering. He might someday be strong enough to be a just ruler again—if he’d ever been a good ruler in the first place—but he was too weak now.
And Brallorscourt was a man who understood threats.
“If you think rebellion in the north would distract your troops from the barbarians, you might consider what havoc an army of goblins could wreak on your precious forces right there at the border. Goblins can hide, and work, and fight any—”
Jeriah’s fingers closed hard on her elbow, and she fell silent. Judging by Brallorscourt’s scowl, her point had already been made.
“But if you’d grant my request,” Makenna went on, “maybe the goblins could help your army fight the barbarians instead. If they had some stake in the Realm, they’d have reason to defend it. And if they help defend it, then surely they’ll have earned the land we’re talking about.”
She thought they’d already earned it, but the Hierarch’s expression brightened. “That seems fair. Let them do penance for their crimes and earn their place by defending the Realm now. And I’ll consider past crimes, yours and theirs, settled.”
Brallorscourt’s scowl deepened. “I hardly think they’d be that useful, my—”
“Lie!” Etta’s clear voice rang through the room, and most of the courtiers jumped. Not Jeriah, Makenna noted thoughtfully. He must be more accustomed to goblins than she’d realized.
Etta pushed up the satchel’s flap and stood, hanging her arms over the side for balance. Her hair was tousled, her small face flushed. But she didn’t seem intimidated by the grand assembly. Not when it came to exercising her gift.
“He’s come close to it a time or two.” The goblin girl frowned at Brallorscourt. “But that last was an out-and-out lie. He knows right well we could be useful to you. Maybe even make the difference between winning and losing.”
The guards stirred uneasily—but what harm could one tiny girl do? A ripple of astonishment ran through the crowd, the humans craning their necks for a better view.
The Hierarch stared at Etta—had he never seen a goblin before? He probably hadn’t. They hid themselves so well that humans could go their whole lives without catching a glimpse of them, even if a whole goblin family lived right beside them. And this man would be more sheltered than most.
“This is Etta,” Makenna told him. “Her gift is to know when someone’s telling the truth. Or not.”
“But . . .” Brallorscourt cast the small goblin a horrified glance and fell silent.
The Hierarch gazed at Etta in fascination. “But how do we know this girl is telling the truth, Mistress Makenna? How do we know she’s not lying in your service?”
“I wouldn’t!” Etta sounded scandalized by the very idea. “That’d be . . . that’d be shoddy workmanship. A bad debt!”
No goblin would cheat on a debt—but humans were different.
“You don’t know it,” Makenna said truthfully. “You can’t know for certain, unless you get a priest you can trust to put a truth spell on her. Though it might be hard to find a priest who has no stake in . . . just about any palace matter, I’d guess.”
“It is.” The Hierarch’s gaze was now very thoughtful.
“My lord!” Brallorscourt’s voice was tight with alarm. “This goblin, and her mistress, clearly have a stake in this matter. You can’t believe a word she . . . ah . . . surely you must consider the possibility that her testimony would be biased.”
Etta scowled, then shrugged. Not quite a lie.
“As to truth,” Makenna said, “look at the evidence. Lord Brallorscourt was wondering how useful the goblins might be in a fight? How much trouble did they cause your settlers in the north? Master Lazur brought a whole troop against us, and he couldn’t stop us!”
“Um.” Etta’s voice was hesitant. “That’s not entirely—”
“All right,” said Makenna hastily. “He did us a lot of damage. But only because he planted a traitor in our midst!”
That same traitor had turned against the priest, risked his life, and given up the human world entirely to go with them—and where in the Dark One’s name had he dis-appeared to?
Etta’s testimony against Makenna made the Hierarch chuckle, and he clearly liked hearing that the priest had lost against them. “It seems to me that Mistress Makenna offers an interesting bargain. I’ll accept on one con—”
“But we won’t,” said a deep, gruff voice.
Makenna spun, and felt her jaw sag in astonishment as Cogswhallop walked calmly down the floor to stand beside her. He looked as calm as if he appeared before the Hierarch every day. And if he was tired, and a bit grubby from long travel, Makenna doubted most humans could have read those subtle signs.
The humans were chattering like starlings, and the guards looked from one to another to see if they should do anything or not. The Dark One’s “lesser minions” shouldn’t have been able to even appear in the palace of the Gods of Light, and now there were two of them! But they’d look silly threatening a man only two feet tall who wasn’t even armed.
It was the Hierarch who rose to his feet and raised a hand. “Be quiet, all of you. I’ll attend to this.”
He stepped down from the throne and walked around Cogswhallop, studying him and Etta as if a tale in which he’d only half believed had suddenly come to life. Makenna was glad, and fiercely proud, that Cogswhallop had come to stand beside her.
If it troubled him to be stared at by so many humans, he didn’t show it, returning the Hierarch’s curious gaze quietly. Etta actually grinned at the man!
The Hierarch returned the girl’s smile, then turned to Cogswhallop. “Why have you come here, Master Goblin? Why are you showing yourselves to humans now?”
Cogswhallop gestured to Makenna. “She’s a fine gen’ral,” he said. “But she’s a terrible horse trader. It’s time I took a hand.”
The Hierarch returned to his seat, not like a man reclaiming his authority, more as if he needed to sit down. “Who speaks for your people?” he asked. “You, or her?”
Makenna’s “He does” clashed with Cogswhallop’s “She does.”
They looked at each other, and she saw the love in his eyes—but he saw the truth in hers.
“He does,” she told the Hierarch firmly. “I may lead them in battle, and sometimes be their voice in the human world, but they speak for themselves. Let Cogswhallop decide for all of us. If he wants me to lead the goblins against the barbarians, I’ll obey him.”
“True,” said Etta clearly.
Power shifted and resettled between them, but it felt solid in its new resting place, stu
rdy and balanced.
Cogswhallop shrugged and turned to the ruler of the whole human Realm, Chosen of the Bright Gods themselves. Makenna suddenly realized that he hadn’t bowed to the Hierarch, or acknowledged his sovereignty or holiness in any way. She hoped no one else would notice.
“The gen’ral had the right idea,” Cogswhallop said. “But she was asking for the wrong thing. It’s not land behind the great wall we need; it’s the land we already live on and work right now. We’ve no more desire to move to the north woods than anyone else. And just as much reason to fight to defend our homes against the barbarians. Assuming, of course, that you’ll agree they are our homes. Legal like.”
Makenna suddenly realized what he was asking. The enormity of it made her dizzy.
“I don’t understand,” the Hierarch said. “What is it, exactly, that you want?”
Cogswhallop met his gaze squarely. “I want goblins to have the same rights humans do, under human law. I want killing or harm to any goblin to earn the same punishment, in the same courts, as harm or death to humans. And I want the property we live in and work to be deeded ours, under the law. Ours to sell, trade, or buy, with human money, just as humans do.”
Jeriah, who had some idea of just how much property the goblins would claim—property humans thought they owned—opened his mouth to protest, and Makenna pinched his elbow. Hard.
He flinched and subsided.
Makenna thought of all the court cases to come about exactly who owned what—but as long as the concept of goblins legally owning property existed, she knew her goblins would be willing to trade their labor for eventual full ownership. Goblins were always willing to bargain. She held her breath.
“And in exchange,” said the Hierarch slowly, “for the right to protection under human law, for the right to own property as humans do and those lands on which you already dwell, you’ll agree to help us fight the barbarians?”
“Aye,” said Cogswhallop. “I’m not saying we can provide more than help, mind. We can’t defeat them all on our own. But anyone who’s tried to settle in the wood in the last few years will tell you that we could be . . . useful to you.”
“In fact,” said the Hierarch, “I’ve read some of those reports. And I agree to your terms, goblin. If you provide our army with material assistance against the barbarians, I’ll grant you the same legal status as humans within the Realm of the Seven Bright Gods. Is that good enough for you?”
Lord Brallorscourt looked horrified, but for once, Makenna was pleased to see, the Hierarch wasn’t looking at his adviser. And Brallorscourt didn’t know even half of what Cogswhallop’s proposal would entail. The Hierarch was too naive to understand at all. And Jeriah, who did understand, glanced at Etta and didn’t say a single word.
“Agreed,” said Cogswhallop. “As long as it’s you yourself, Sunlord, who determine just what constitutes ‘material assistance.’ Not the Landholders’ Council, or the priests, or some court judge. You.”
“I’ll accept that,” said the Hierarch, “on one condition. That young Mistress Etta will assist me. Not just with this. I can think of dozens, hundreds of matters in which her . . . gift, is it? . . . might prove useful.”
Now half the council looked horrified.
Etta climbed out of the pouch and dropped to the floor. She looked incredibly small as she went to stand before the Hierarch’s throne, but she gazed into those sky-blue eyes fearlessly.
“I don’t mind working for a human,” she said. “But what for? This would be a separate bargain, between you and me. And we goblins, we don’t work cheap.”
“Done,” the Hierarch pronounced. “The agreement be-tween the Realm and the goblins will be drawn up, signed, and witnessed, so that none may argue later that it was not as it is. Mistress Etta and I can continue our negotiations in private.”
Etta nodded.
Jeriah’s hand yanked Makenna out of her farewell curtsy, and he dragged her out of the hall. He would have dragged Cogswhallop too, but the goblin, for all his calm expression, was moving to escape even faster than Jeriah was.
“Where’s Tobin?” the young knight demanded the moment the great doors closed behind them. “Did you find him? Is he all right?”
Cogswhallop looked a bit nervously over the open terrace. “Is that girl really going to work here?” Already the clerks and courtiers who passed by were stopping to stare.
“Probably,” said Makenna. “It’s up to her. But city goblins are more accustomed to humans than we are—and frankly, I think the prospect of working with a Truth Seer who has no loyalty to any political faction is what clinched the deal. Did you find Tobin?”
“What’s happened to him?” Jeriah asked. “Why hasn’t he come home? Is he all right? Where—”
“I’ll tell you,” said Cogswhallop, “if you’ll shut your yap long enough for me to get a word out.”
His calm, sardonic expression had already answered the most important question, and Makenna felt a terror she’d refused to acknowledge melt away.
“Don’t get too happy just yet, Gen’ral.” Cogswhallop could read her face too. “He’s alive, and he looks well enough from what I could see, but he’s in trouble yet. The barbarians have him.”
Makenna’s heart stopped. “And you left him there? They sacrifice—”
“No, no,” said Cogswhallop swiftly. “Sit down, hero, if you’re going to faint. I shouldn’t have said they had him. Though it’s hard to think how to put it another way.”
Jeriah sank down on the rim of a planter, though Makenna thought it was less because he was feeling obedient than that his knees were about to give way.
“What are you talking about? Where’s Tobin?”
So Cogswhallop explained. And explained some more. Makenna soon forgot the stares of the passersby, for the bizarre story held all her attention. If Cogswhallop had his way, they’d soon get used to seeing goblins out and about.
“You mean he’s working in their camp as a servant?” she finally asked incredulously. “They think he’s one of them? How could that possibly be?”
“I don’t know how it came about,” said Cogswhallop. “But that’s certainly how it looked to me. I couldn’t get near enough to ask him, either. Those barbarian warriors, somehow they always knew where I was, Gen’ral. If I got anywhere near one of ’em—as much as a hundred yards, sometimes—their heads went up like hounds scenting the wind. I had to dig into a badger burrow once, to escape ’em. I’d heard that they could sense our presence, but I’d not rightly believed it till I saw. I couldn’t begin to get near him, nor sneak a written message in to where he’d find it. But if I went back with a support troop, I might. And once we make contact, well, you taught me yourself, the first step in any battle plan is information. It’s going to be tricky, but I’ve got an idea.”
Chapter 11
Tobin
TOBIN FIRST BECAME AWARE OF Cogswhallop’s idea when he heard a deep voice shouting curses. He’d grown so accustomed to hearing everything through his amulet’s translation that it took a while to realize that those curses were in the language of the Realm.
Tobin had been sweeping the packed earth floor of Vruud’s tent, and he almost rushed out to aid whoever it was. Fortunately his brain started working, and he peered through the tent flaps instead, as a struggling knot of warriors rolled into camp.
Tobin recognized Cogswhallop’s voice before he saw him; the small goblin put up an amazing fight, kicking and biting as well as shouting threats. It was incredibly courageous and completely futile—and Cogswhallop was too smart to waste so much effort to no purpose. It was also incredibly noisy.
Exasperated affection warred with fear. Was Cogswhallop creating all this commotion to attract Tobin’s attention? It had certainly worked!
After some discussion, the warriors who’d captured the goblin thrust him into the cage they used to transport chickens, for the goblin could slip right through the bars of their human prison. Tobin waited till the goblin was sa
fely stored, then went in search of Vruud.
“Friend of yours, is he?” The storyteller’s single eye glinted. “Well, he found you, I’ll give him that.”
“Will they use a goblin in the blood trust?” Tobin persisted. “Can they? Goblins have innate magic, like the spirits, so I hoped . . .”
He stopped then, because he wasn’t sure what to hope for. If Cogswhallop couldn’t be used in the blood trust, the Duri might kill him immediately.
Vruud sighed. “You’re going to insist on rescuing him too, aren’t you? I knew it! We named you people ‘soft’ in truth. No, don’t answer. I don’t care why, or how, as long as it doesn’t interfere with our escape.”
“It might aid in our escape,” Tobin told him. “Cogswhallop probably came to help me—”
“And got himself captured before he could even reach you. How reassuring.”
“Will they use him in the blood trust?”
“No,” said Vruud. “I don’t know if a goblin can absorb a spirit, like a dying human can. But even if it could, it doesn’t have enough flesh to pass the magic on to the warriors of an entire camp—much less two camps! So when they capture the spring spirit, they’ll kill one of us. Unless, of course, another of your friends turns up.”
Tobin preferred to ignore this. “Then what happens to Cogswhallop?”
“Oh, they’ll eat him as soon as a shaman can set up the ceremony,” Vruud said. “Probably a day or two, but it might—”
“What? You said he couldn’t be used in the blood trust!”
“He can’t,” Vruud confirmed. “But as you pointed out, goblins have innate magic. No one is certain if consuming that magic strengthens a Duri’s blood-trust magic or not. Some swear it does, some say they feel no effect. So few goblins are captured that it’s hard to gather much information, but they won’t waste any chance of enhancing their own magic.”
“I have to get him out of there now!” Tobin rose to his feet. “Tonight!”
“Not tonight,” said Vruud. “The shamans are going out to set more traps around the spring. Your friend should be safe tomorrow as well. The shamans say a ceremony is needed to make the goblin’s magic compatible with ours. Some people think that’s just the shamans’ attempt to make themselves important, but they’ll insist on it, and it takes some time. You’ve probably got two nights.”