Part 9 (2/2)

”You think they have to have me around to come up with a battle plan? Taking me was your first mistake, human. On their own, they're even nastier than I am.”

”I didn't ask who came up with the plan, I asked how you're controlling them. How you're keeping them enslaved withouta””

She began to laugh. It sounded like genuine amus.e.m.e.nt, but Tobin couldn't think of anything he'd said that was funny.

”You think they're doing this because my magic enslaves them?” she asked.

”Well, since goblins have no loyaltya””

”Who told you that? That goblins have no loyalty?” She sat down beside him, without asking permission, but Tobin was too tired to care.

”Aa”A man I know. A wise man.”

”Priest, was he? Never mind, you don't have to say. But let me tell you a story my mother, who was also a wise woman, once told me.”

Tobin scowled, but he had no way to stop her. Listening was better than being stoned.

”It's about a farmer, who owned an apple tree and a grapevine. His grapes were good, but the apple tree, ah, the apple tree produced the most, and the biggest, apples of any tree in the village. He was a wise man, this farmer, or so he thought. How could he not be, when his tree produced apples so fine?”

Her voice had softened, its country lilt p.r.o.nounced. Chattering about apples, she sounded more like a farm girl than a mighty sorceress.

”Is there a point to this?” Tobin asked.

”Patience, lordling. For the time came when the grapevines grew high and shadowed the apple tree. The farmer, being so proud of his fine apples, uprooted his grapes and burned them. Only then did he discover that the reason the apple tree had done so well was because the grapevines shaded it in the hottest part of the summer. That, and the mulch from the grape squeezings, which he'd spread around the tree's roots. Without the grapes, his apples were just like everyone else's.”

Tobin snorted. ”So the point of this story is that humans need goblins? We've done fine without them for the past six years.”

The sorceress smiled. ”That's likely the point my mother would have made with the tale. My point is that the farmer was a fool, who knew as little of apples or grapes as your priest knows of goblins. And if your priest's a fool, what does that make you for following him?”

Tobin looked away from her smug expression. Apples and grapes. Perhaps she was mada”madness might account for a lot of things. But the goblins she led were altogether too sane. The hoofprints lay before him, their message as clear as if someone had posted a sign. He couldn't leave the trail.

If he stayed there, all they had to do was wait until he fell asleep, and he was tired enough to do that right now, in spite of the pain in his legs.

If he killed her, he would die.

But if he went on . . . Tobin touched the stone in his pocket and made up his mind. ”All right.” He hauled himself to his feet, dragging the sorceress up after him. ”We'll do it their way.”

As long as he followed the tracks, the goblins gave him no trouble, but his bruised legs were unsteady and he kept his eyes mostly on the ground, not looking up until the hoofprints vanished into a wall of dry brush.

”What in . . . ?”

The brush pile extended to his right and left, curving gently back behind him. Tobin spun to flee, but it was already too late. They'd closed the ring. How had they done it so quietly? Too late. He was in the center of a clearing, about ten feet across, surrounded by burnable wood.

Small fires sprang to life all around the circle. Tobin released the sorceress and leapt for the wall, to claw his way through before the flames took hold. A hail of stones drove him back, and he had to sink down so his mail s.h.i.+rt could protect his legs. Even then the stones didn't stop, bouncing off his armor, forcing him to use his arms to protect his face. When the rain of stones finally ceased and he lowered his hands, he was surrounded by a ring of fire.

”But you'll burn her, too!” he cried to the darkness beyond the flames. ”She'lla”” A gust of smoke caught his throat and set him coughing.

The sorceress had laid herself flat in the center of the circle, where the heat was least and the smoke rose above her. With her water-soaked clothes and hair, she'd last far longer than he would. That, no doubt, was their plan. She was laughing, demons take her.

Tobin had to get out. He had to break through that flaming wall, or he would burn. If the smoke didn't kill him first. He was coughing again. He sank down beside the girl, drawing his knife, and cut open her vest, not caring that he sliced through strands of the net as well.

She turned to glare at him, but he didn't care. The goblins would save her, and burning to death wasn't part of Master Lazur's mission. Jeriah would never forgive him if he died.

His commander had taught them how to deal with fire. If he ran fast enough, he could probably break through the barrier without being too badly burneda”if his clothes caught fire, he could roll to put them out. Of course, if the burning brush was stronger than he thought, he might get stuck in the middle and go up like a torch. Tobin pushed the thought aside. He cut off a large strip off the girl's wet s.h.i.+rt and pulled off his helm to wrap it around his face. The sparks stung, and the smoke seared his eyes. He never even saw the stone coming.

The first thing he became aware of was a headache so intense it made his stomach heave. Vomiting would only make the throbbing worse, so he took several deep breaths of the clear, cold air and his nausea gradually calmed. His throat was raw and his mouth tasted of smoke. A fire? He opened his eyes, wincing at the morning light, and a clearing holding a pile of blackened brush spun dizzily around him. He closed his eyes quickly, and took more deep breaths.

As he lay there, he became aware of two voices speaking nearby, one deep and gruff, and one higher. Female. That voice was familiar. The sorceress. Memory returned, and he groaned.

”He's awake, mistress.” A new voice. Nervous. He heard footsteps approaching and tried to open his eyes again, but his vision still spun and he shut them.

There was no sound for several moments. He supposed she was inspecting him. He heard her thanking someone called Miggy. A hand lifted his head, not too gently, and she spoke a word he didn't understand. His head dropped with a thud that almost made him sick again.

But then the pain began draining away, lessening with every throb. He stirred and discovered his hands and feet were bound. No surprise. She had resumed her conversation with the gruff voice, but now he was alert enough to follow it. They seemed to be bargaining. ”Five deer,” she said. ”Five deer is more than the weight of a horse.”

”There was fire. We went right up to the fire to throw our stones, and we did not do it for deer. We can always get deer.”

What were they talking about? Tobin opened his eyes carefully. The world no longer spun. He was lying just outside the ring of burned brush. A young goblin, a stranger to him, hovered anxiously. In the damp earth before him, he could see the edge of a circle and several runes, no doubt the reason his headache was receding. His armor was gone, and he could feel a chain around his throata”probably the hiding charm Master Lazur had warned him about. Fiddle was tied to a tree.

He had to twist his neck to see the sorceress, for she was standing some way beyond his feet, talking to a creature almost as strange as the horse-spooking things.

It was almost four feet high, tall for a goblin, with long, dirty, wild-looking hair. He had thought that most goblins dressed in imitation of humankind, but this creature wore nothing but skins, short furred, except for what looked like . . . yes, it was a horse's mane running down the back. It was wearing horsehide.

The goblins had freed her from the net. She offered six deer. The creature declined. Tobin shut his eyes. Who cared that six deer were almost half again the weight of a horse? Then he realized what they were bargaining for.

He sat up with a shout of protest, which was a mistake, for he did get sick. To his surprise, the strange goblin helped him lie down again when his stomach was empty, but he didn't take time to thank the creature. He was listening with desperate helplessness to the debate over Fiddle's life.

The gruff-voiced horse eater finally settled for seven deer, and tears of exhausted relief crept down Tobin's face as they discussed the time and place of delivery.

When the sorceress came back to him, he opened his eyes. Whatever happened, he owed her for this. ”Thank you for saving Fiddle. He'sa”he's a good friend.”

She scowled. ”I didn't do it for you. To kill the wild things is bad enough. To slay a trusting servant like that big fellow is an act of betrayal only a human would commit.”

”Or a goblin, if I understand the original bargain. And you're human, whatever else you are.”

”Insults,” she snapped, ”will get you nowhere. Offering the horse was the only way Cogswhallop could get them to come in time. Stoners like horse meat, and with goblins, you have to trade something for what you want.”

”Because they aren't capable of love,” said Tobin. ”I understand.”

The corners of her mouth turned down. ”You are a fool. The goblins repay kindness with kindness. Humans repay kindness with death. How dare you look down on them?”

Tobin's head hurt too badly to debate it. ”Anyway, I thank you. I've had Fiddle since he was a colt.”

”I thought knights' horses were all named for a virtue?” she asked casually.

<script>