The Goblin Wood

by Hilari Bell

  Tobin stared into the quiet stable. The big horses dozed peacefully, a sharp contrast to his uneasiness.

  Jeriah wasn’t in the stables. He wasn’t in the grooms’ quarters, or the deserted tilt yard, so unless he was in the pasture, the clerk’s offices, or swimming in the lake, he wasn’t on the second level at all—and that was impossible because he couldn’t have gotten past the gates! The Hierarch’s guards might be distracted by a drunken wanderer, but they knew their business. The only way to pass through those gates unchallenged would be to kill them. So where in this world or the Other was Jeriah?

  Could he have gone for a moonlight swim? With a warm public bath available? Besides, the lake shore was a blanket of mud….

  …just like the mud on the boots he’d seen thrust under Jeri’s bed only a week ago. At the time Tobin had smiled and resolved to let Jeriah discover for himself that boots under the bed didn’t get cleaned. Now he gritted his teeth, furious at his own stupidity. Friends had told Tobin that there was a place you could sneak under the wall between the second and third levels, if the lake was low enough, but Tobin had never used the escape route himself, and he’d almost forgotten about it.

  He stamped through the deserted pasture to the place where the lake met the twelve-foot-high wall, and squished along beside it through the muddy lake bed. The ground on the other side was level with the ground here, the water flowing under the barrier through grated pipes, but…Yes, here was the pass-through, a muddy dip where the ground beneath the wall had washed away. Even in the moonlight, he could see boot tracks—and they were Jeriah’s size.

  There was no reason to stand in the mud. Tobin trudged back out of the lake bed and found a large stone half sheltered in a clump of bushes and settled in to wait for his wayward brother. And kill him. And then shake the truth out of him.

  He was dozing when he heard the scrape of boots over rock and the harsh panting that heralded an approach. Tobin smiled grimly, peering through the brush until the man scrambled under the wall. His hood was drawn forward over his face, despite the mildness of the night, but Tobin recognized the cloak.

  He held quite still as Jeriah hurried past his hideout, then he stepped out and grabbed his brother’s wrist firmly. “Got you!”

  Jeriah jumped and spun around, moonlight flashing on the knife in his free hand. Only the reflexes developed through three years of combat enabled Tobin to leap aside as the knife plunged toward him.

  He grabbed Jeriah’s other wrist and forced the knife up. Jeriah pulling a knife? The impossibility of it swirled through his mind. Was this his brother, or had he ambushed someone else? The man’s hood had fallen completely over his face—it must be blinding him.

  The man twisted his wrist, almost freeing the knife, and Tobin braced himself and kicked the inside of his opponent’s knee, hard.

  The muffled cry sounded like Jeriah, but Tobin didn’t have time to think about it. He surged forward, pushing his opponent’s wrists up and back, and the man’s damaged knee gave, tipping him backward, with Tobin on top of him. He slammed the hand that held the knife against the ground, harder and harder, until his opponent cried out and the knife fell.

  Tobin let go of the man’s wrist long enough to cast the knife into the bushes. The man’s freed hand struck for his face and missed by inches. With a muffled curse the man swiped the hood off his face, and Tobin grabbed his wrist and bore it toward the ground. But the man wasn’t resisting. Tobin looked down and met his brother’s startled eyes.

  “Tobin! What are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? And why did you pull a knife on me?”

  “I didn’t know it was you. Thank the Seven I missed! Tobin, let me up, I’ve got to get out of here!” Jeriah’s wrists twitched in his grasp.

  “Not a chance. Not till you tell me what’s going on.”

  “But you don’t understand! They’re after me! I think I lost them, but they had dogs and trackers and they might have picked up the trail again. I’ve got to be in bed before they start looking for missing men. Tobin, let me up!”

  “Who’s after you?” demanded Tobin, not budging.

  Jeriah stopped struggling. “The Hierarch’s guard.”

  “The Hie—By the Bright Gods, Jeri, what did you do?”

  “Are you going to let me go?” his brother asked quietly.

  Tobin released him, and Jeriah sat up, grimacing and rubbing his wrists, then, gingerly, his knee.

  “Jeri, tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I can’t,” said Jeriah. “It’s not your business and I don’t want to involve you. Help me up.”

  “Involve me? I’m your brother. I’m supposed to be placing you in the Hierarch’s service. How can I not be involved when you do something stupid and make that impossible?”

  “Well, if I don’t get back to bed, that will certainly be impossible.” Jeriah’s eyes gleamed with a determination that disturbed Tobin more than anything he’d said. He’d never before seen his impetuous brother so cool and self-controlled.

  He grabbed his brother’s arm and pulled him up, but when Jeriah put his weight on his injured knee, he gasped with pain and his leg buckled.

  “Demon’s teeth, I’ve torn something,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

  “You mean I tore something,” said Tobin remorsefully. “Lean on me. Can you make it, or shall I fetch someone to carry you?”

  “You mustn’t fetch anyone,” hissed Jeriah. He hobbled a few steps, wincing.

  “But you have to see a healer priest, Jeri. Whatever’s wrong, it isn’t worth crippling yourself.” Memory washed over him coldly. “Or is it? Jeriah, why did you pull a knife on me?”

  “Because if it had been anyone but you, and they’d stopped or recognized me, I’d have had to kill them. Do you still want to fetch me a healer priest?”

  “No.” Through his stunned shock, Tobin’s mind finally began to function and his irritated alarm deepened into real fear. “Jeri, you have to tell me what’s going on.”

  “No, I don’t.” Jeriah gritted his teeth and tried to move faster. The sickly pallor of his face gleamed in the moonlight. “You know too much already.”

  “Not by half, I don’t! You said the guard was after you! If they’d caught you, what would the charge have been?”

  “They’ll catch me yet, if you don’t get going!”

  Tobin slowed his pace even more. “The charge, Jeri.”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  Tobin stopped and spun his brother to face him. “Of all the—” Then he heard it, and his blood ran cold—the distinctive, high-pitched baying of the Hierarch’s tracking dogs, on the other side of the wall and not far away.

  Jeriah drew a short sharp breath, but when he turned to Tobin his voice was calm. “Run. You can cross the pasture before they get here. Then they’ll be busy with me.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll never make it with this knee.” The baying sounded closer. “Go on, Tobin. This isn’t some prank played with gisap glue and feathers—you can’t mother me out of it. Just…I love you, brother. Now go!”

  Tobin’s fear transformed itself into a well of still, icy terror. “Whatever it is, it’s not worth dying for.”

  Jeriah’s face contorted. “It would have been,” he whispered passionately, “if we’d been able to bring it off, but—Tobin, the charge is high treason. So go now, all right?” Jeriah pushed him away. “There’s no time to be stupid. Think what it would do to Mother to lose us both—to Father to have his heir disgraced as well as his second son. Go on, Tobin, run!”

  Terror rose and drowned him. A traitor’s death. They took an ax and hacked you, screaming, into bits, keeping you alive as long as they could. His little brother. Never.

  “Jeriah,” said Tobin. The dogs were nearer now. Jeriah turned and Tobin swung his fist up, striking the point of Jeriah’s chin, just like the master of arms had taught him.

  He caught his brother as he fell, li
mply unconscious, and threw him over his shoulder. The slope of the lake bed was steeper here. There was a small grassy island, just a dozen feet from the lake’s shore—even a dozen feet of shallow water was enough to cover their tracks, and the wind was in the right direction to keep the dogs from scenting anything.

  Tobin waded out and dumped Jeriah on the island’s far side, fumbling furiously with his brother’s cloak pin. The dogs sounded as if they’d almost reached the gap beneath the wall. Swinging Jeriah’s cloak around his shoulders, Tobin splashed back through the lake and raced away. He was halfway across the pasture when the baying became crystal clear, and he knew the dogs had come under the wall. The shouts of their handlers sent him flying over the rough ground. One quick glance over his shoulder told him they’d passed the island where Jeriah lay and were happily chasing after him. The dogs, drawn by the scent on the cloak, had no doubt of their quarry. All I have to do now is save myself.

  He raced into the tilt yard and rolled under the fence without a check. Sword posts, jumps, jousting barriers—no place to hide, nothing to stop them. The stables? On a horse he could outrun them, perhaps even get through a gate.

  He banged through the door and slammed it, startling the nearest horses, who snorted and stamped. He took a second to drop the latch and pull the string so it couldn’t be opened from the other side, then he ran along the corridor. His own horse? No, it might be recognized. He threw open the big doors at the other end of the stables and chose a dark bay that would blend with the night.

  No time for saddle or bridle. Tobin looped a rope around the horse’s neck, and the animal followed him obediently into the corridor, though it danced nervously, fearful of his strangeness and the barking of the dogs.

  Tobin threw himself belly-down across the horse’s back. A guardsman smashed into the door. The bay shied and Tobin slid off, staggering to keep his balance and still hold the prancing horse with his makeshift halter. The guard pounded on the door and one of the dogs howled. Tobin leapt for the horse again.

  It was too much. The bay tossed its head and bolted for the open doors, tearing the rope from Tobin’s grasp. A burst of shouting greeted it, and the horse took off alone, at a dead run. Two of the baying dogs ran after it.

  Tobin held his breath. Would they follow it? Surely they could see, as it raced through the moonlit shadows, that there was no rider on its back.

  Evidently they couldn’t. The barking of the dogs drew away from the stables. Tobin prayed the bay would lead them a long chase.

  Shaking now that the crisis was past, he made his way back between the stalls. The horses were settling down again, with the dogs gone.

  He opened the door a crack and peered outside—nothing. With a sigh of relief, Tobin stepped out, and the butt of a pike shot between his legs and sent him sprawling.

  He rolled over and started to sit up, but a sharp blade pricked his throat, forcing him back to the ground. His eyes traveled up the pike and met the eyes of a man wearing the sunred tunic of the Hierarch’s guard.

  “I arrest you,” he said formally. “In the Hierarch’s name. To resist him is to resist the Seven Bright Ones’ will.” A fierce grin spread over his face. “And if you give me any trouble, traitor, I’ll skewer you here and now, and save the executioner the trouble.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The Knight

  The cell was damp and cold enough to make Tobin glad he had Jeriah’s cloak. A stone box with no windows, the cell had a stout wooden door with a barred peephole in the top, a slop pot in the corner, and nothing else. Tobin had become familiar with every stone in its walls because, judging by the changing shifts of the silent guards who brought him meals and emptied the bucket, he’d been there for four days.

  He spent most of his time praying Jeriah had gotten away. He had no idea what his brother would do for the rest of his life, as an outlawed traitor, but whatever he did would be better than being executed.

  Jeriah had always been the adventurous one. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind too much, vanishing into the mass of homeless farm folk the war had created. And once Tobin knew his brother was safely away, he could admit that it had been Jeriah they were chasing, accept whatever punishment they chose to lay on him (surely not too severe—an impulsive decision to save his brother?), and go home.

  A wave of longing for the mellow stone house, the laughter of his young sisters, and the rolling fertile fields washed over him. He closed his eyes. Surely the law wouldn’t be too severe. He hadn’t even known about the conspiracy until it was over. He still didn’t know anything! And he was his father’s heir—everyone knew that heirs to lordship got off lightly. It was almost a scandal. No matter how angry his father was at Jeri, he’d surely do his best to help Tobin. Surely. So why had he heard nothing in four days?

  He opened his eyes, looked at the stone walls, and sighed. The longer he was here, the longer Jeri would have to escape. It would be better if weeks passed before they came for him. A nervous person might have gone mad by then, with no light, and no news. It was a good thing Tobin wasn’t the nervous type. And since he intended to tell the truth the instant anyone remembered him, waiting here, day after day.

  He heard voices in the corridor outside and sprang to his feet, apprehension warring with relief. It wasn’t mealtime, but they might be coming for someone else. There’d been several false alarms in the past few days. It was ridiculous to assume—A guard looked through the peephole. Tobin leaned against the far wall and tried to look harmless. The door opened. The guard stepped in, set a lamp on the stone floor, and ushered Tobin’s mother respectfully into the room.

  She was plump and astonishingly pretty—Jeriah had inherited her looks. Tobin, on the other hand, had the kind of face that even his friends described as ordinary.

  “Oh, Tobin.” She hurried across the small room and pulled his head down to kiss his cheek. The scent of roses, which she always wore, was a ludicrous contrast with the dreary cell. “Oh, Tobin.” She embraced him again. “Dear one, you look dreadful! I’m so proud of you!”

  “They wouldn’t let me shave.” Tobin shook his head, trying to get his mind to function. “Mother, what are you doing here?”

  “I bribed the guard, of course. It was really quite easy.” She sounded surprised.

  Tobin winced and glanced at the door. The guard had gone, but he lowered his voice anyway. “Did Jeri get away? I’ve been going mad, not knowing what was happening.”

  “Jeriah is perfectly safe, dear.” Then why was she avoiding his eyes? “At least, he’s safe for now. I left him at home with your sisters. They were hysterical, poor girls. I had trouble persuading him, but he was always like that, even as a child. I remember…”

  Tobin remembered, too. “Mother,” he said firmly. “What are you hiding? What’s happening to Jeri? I know it can’t be too bad—no matter how angry Father is, he’d have to help him escape…at least…surely, he would.”

  “It, ah, it hasn’t arisen,” said his mother. “Oh, Tobin, you know how your father is. Of course you do. Why, I remember when you were four—”

  Tobin sighed. “Where is Father?” Strict, formal, and inflexible, but at least the old man would give you a straight answer. Tobin’s father had taught him honor, just as his caper-witted mother had taught him love.

  “Your father is here, of course. I know he can be a little…stern, but he couldn’t stay home with you in so much trouble.”

  “But you said Jeri was at home? Isn’t Father helping him get away?”

  “Well, dearest…” She looked up at him pleadingly. “Oh Tobin, you know how he is. He’d have been so angry, and Jeri’s only a second son, and your father’s always been so harsh with him. I was afraid he might not help, and then Jeri would die horribly and I couldn’t bear that, so I persuaded Jeriah not to tell him about it!” She finished in a breathless rush and smiled.

  “What do you mean, not tell him? If you didn’t tell Father anything, why is he here?”

  “Why, to help
you, of course. I had to tell him you’d been arrested. The only thing he doesn’t know, and no one must find out, dear one, is that it was Jeriah who was…involved in…” Her voice trailed off under his astonished gaze.

  “You mean—” He took a deep breath, his voice rising in spite of himself. “You mean Father doesn’t know I’m innocent? Mother, how could you? I can’t believe you did that! I can’t believe Jeri would ever do that!”

  Easy tears streamed down her face. “Oh, Tobin, I know how you must feel, but think. Jeriah would die a horrible death, that I couldn’t possibly—”

  “But if I’m executed, that’s all right?”

  “No, of course not, dear one. But you won’t be executed, because you’re the heir. Your father almost has it settled. You’ll be punished, of course, and probably deprived of your knighthood or some such thing, but you won’t be killed like Jeri would have been. Like those other poor men.” She shuddered, genuine horror flickering over her face.

  “What other men?”

  “The leaders of the—the conspiracy have already been executed. They’re trying the rest more slowly. They’re not going to kill them all, although most will be stripped of rank and some will be imprisoned for a while. For a long time, actually. But when it’s over you could come home and run the estate, which is what you always wanted anyway. As a second son, Jeriah’s only possible career is service to the Hierarch, and if he’s convicted he can’t ever, ever do that!”