The Goblin War Page 11

  “Then I’ve beaten him to punch!” Master Zachiros said. “Jathan, take this young woman down to the palace dungeon. No need to be rough about it. She won’t make it necessary. Will you, my dear?”

  “But I want to talk to the Hierarch!” Makenna protested. “I’ve got to—”

  “You’ve got to go with Jathan now,” said the secretary calmly. “Or you’ll never get your chance.”

  “Lord Brallorscourt said we were to take her to his town house,” Jathan protested.

  “And if she was his prisoner, you no doubt would,” Master Zachiros said. “But since she’s my prisoner, she’ll be housed where I say. I’m sure when you explain it to him, Lord Brallorscourt will understand.”

  This was clearly a matter above Jathan’s rank. “Whatever you say, sir.”

  “As for you, my girl,” Zachiros went on, “I’m afraid you have to go with this nice guard, who’s going to show you to a comfortable cell. And Jathan? She’s not to speak to anyone along the way, and she’s not to have any visitors. Not unless I personally approve them.”

  “But—” Makenna began.

  “Come along, mistress,” Jathan said, taking her arm and leading her down the corridor. “I’ve orders to see to your comfort and treat you with proper respect—as long as you cooperate.”

  “But—”

  Next time she wouldn’t underestimate the mild-looking secretary. Jeriah bit down a smirk as Master Zachiros ushered him into the office, and the older man’s foolish cheer dropped away. “She knows about the drugs? Given who your helpers were, I thought she must, but it’s a great pity. We don’t dare allow her to reveal that to anyone.”

  “Well, I didn’t tell her,” said Jeriah. “And without my helpers, the Hierarch might still be drugged and none of us would know the truth. But what in two worlds is going on with Brallorscourt? Why would he want to take her prisoner? I didn’t think he knew she existed.”

  “I have no idea. But she’s safe in my custody, and I’ll soon find out what Brallorscourt’s interest is. In fact, he’ll probably be hammering on the door and telling me all about it as soon as he learns I have her.” The secretary shuffled to a chair and lifted his sore feet onto a stool, while Jeriah found another chair for himself. He’d once burgled the desk in this office, but he now felt amazingly at home. And the secretary’s foolishness was an act; Jeriah knew he was both kind and just, and had the Realm’s best interests at heart.

  “I’m more concerned about what she knows,” the kind and just man went on. “This is a girl who once went to war against all humanity. If she’s still so inclined, she could do the Realm a great deal of harm simply by revealing our secret.”

  “I don’t think she’ll do that,” said Jeriah slowly. “I think there’s something else she wants. The goblins didn’t try to free her, all the way here from the northern woods, and that has to have been on her orders.”

  “So she’s up to something,” Master Zachiros summed up neatly. “But you don’t know what it is.”

  “That’s true,” Jeriah admitted. “But if you ask her, she might tell you. She doesn’t like me, but she’s not much of a schemer. Oh, she can plan out a battle or a raid, but she’s really very straightforward.”

  “Unlike the two of us,” said the secretary. “But you don’t have to dissemble with me. What were you doing on the border?”

  Jeriah thought he was straightforward, though given how many lies he’d told lately . . . He told Master Zachiros everything he’d learned about the barbarians and handed over the army commander’s dispatch.

  The frown in the bespectacled eyes deepened. “This is tricky. And the Bright Gods know it’s important, but I’m afraid it may do little good right now.”

  “But his mind has cleared, hasn’t it?” Jeriah asked. “I mean, if he’s meeting with the council . . .”

  “Oh, his mind has almost entirely cleared,” said Master Zachiros. “It’s his spirit that concerns me. There are days, my boy, when I think it’s not safe to ask the Bright Gods for anything.”

  This was the man, Jeriah remembered, who had prayed for the Hierarch to survive a terrible fever, only to see him do so with his mind—supposedly—destroyed. He must have prayed for the Hierarch to recover from the drugs too.

  “Can I see him?” Jeriah asked. “I promised to deliver this report, and I have to try—”

  “Oh, you’ll certainly do that!” said Master Zachiros. “In fact, your arrival is very timely. The council has been discussing these matters, and its break is about to end. Come along, dear boy.”

  For a man with sore feet he moved swiftly, whisking Jeriah through the maze of marble corridors and down a servants’ stair to the big chamber where the Landholders’ Council met.

  Jeriah had wanted to talk to Koryn, to get another intelligent view of what was going on in the palace, before he approached the Hierarch. Frankly, he’d planned to use that as an excuse to convince her to speak to him. To let him explain . . .

  But Master Zachiros was right. This opportunity was too good to miss.

  A number of men were milling about—influential landholders, clerks, courtiers, servants. Jeriah knew many of them by name. Even Nevin’s scowl, as he looked up and saw Jeriah approaching, was familiar.

  But it was the man beside whose chair Nevin stood who commanded Jeriah’s attention. As he stepped forward and knelt before the Hierarch, sky blue eyes focused on his face. And recognized it.

  “Jeriah! Jeriah . . . Rovan, isn’t it? I thought you were visiting your family.”

  “Yes, lord,” Jeriah said. “I’m sorry I was gone so long.”

  The Hierarch’s broad hand waved dismissively. It was covered with rings that Jeriah had placed on those fingers and later removed, as if their owner was a child. “I’m sure your leave was well earned, and I remember your kindness during my illness.”

  My illness. They’d had to admit that Master Lazur had tried to drug the Hierarch, in order to bring him to trial for it, but they’d concealed the fact that he’d succeeded in doing it for seven years. Jeriah knew that Master Lazur himself had never revealed that truth, in all the long days of his trial. It would have harmed the Realm. Even when that Realm was about to hang him, that had still been the priest’s paramount concern. Now, it seemed, drugs were no longer even being mentioned. Jeriah fought down a shiver. The Hierarch remembered his “kindness,” so perhaps . . .

  “I’ve done more than just visit my parents,” said Jeriah. “In fact, I’ve gone from one end of the Realm to the other since I was here last. On your business, Sunlord.”

  After that, they could hardly help but ask why.

  Master Lazur had suppressed the information that the barbarians could heal themselves. The fact that the barbarians possessed magic that the Bright Gods’ priests couldn’t defeat undermined the very foundations of church theology. Having seen the situation on the border, Jeriah didn’t give a tinker’s curse about church theology.

  He told the Hierarch and the council the full story of all he’d heard and seen during the barbarian attack, and also about the report from the army commanders he’d given to Master Zachiros.

  “But you can read what they have to say for yourself, sir. And the council should also know exactly what our army is facing.”

  “That the enemy uses black sorcery is hardly surprising,” said the Hierarch. “The Bright Gods will no doubt show us how to defeat them in due course. Though your report does raise some questions we should consider.”

  “Helping the army overcome its challenges is the proper business of both the Hierarch and the council,” Lord Brallorscourt interposed smoothly. “Your assistance is appreciated, Rovanscourt, but I’m not sure it was necessary.”

  A snicker ran through the room, and Jeriah flushed.

  “It’s Rovan,” he said. “My brother’s still alive. You were wrong about that, just as you were wrong about—”

  “My squire’s intention was to protect me, the Realm, and the church,” the Hierarch
interrupted firmly. “He shall be given credit for that.”

  Jeriah hadn’t been going to say anything indiscreet. But if the Hierarch decided to silence him . . .

  “I’ve brought you more than information, my lord,” said Jeriah hastily. “Though that information comes directly from commanders who are fighting the barbarians on the border of our Realm. A border the barbarians have already pushed back once. As you would hear from the Southland lords, if they hadn’t lost so many of their numbers.”

  The Hierarch frowned. “That does seem unjust. Perhaps—”

  “The rule that to be a landholder a man must hold the land is the tenet on which the council was founded,” Lord Brallorscourt said. “I put it to you, Sunlord, that only a few weeks recovered from a devastating illness is not the time to change a law that’s been in place for over a thousand years!”

  The Hierarch’s uncertainty deepened, and Jeriah’s heart sank.

  “But as I said, I have more than mere information,” he went on swiftly. “I was summoned north to identify one of Master Lazur’s enemies who was recently captured. Since I feared she wouldn’t receive true justice there, I brought her back to the City of Steps for your judgment, lord.”

  And your judgment is just fine, whatever Brallorscourt implies!

  Several councillors glared at him, and Master Zachiros stepped forward. “I think young Rovanscourt . . . ah, Rovan is right. She might not have received justice anywhere in the north. Our prisoner is the sorceress who led the goblins behind the great wall, driving out so many settlers that Master Lazur himself was forced to go and deal with her. And then she escaped from him as well.”

  Only someone who was watching the man closely would have seen Lord Brallorscourt stiffen.

  “A sorceress?” The Hierarch clearly knew nothing about it; he’d been drugged while the girl was fighting her war. “If she practices dark magics—”

  “She doesn’t,” said Jeriah. “Sorceress is what her enemies called her, but she’s only a simple hedgewitch.”

  Or so she claimed.

  “In truth, it’s a tragic story,” said Master Zachiros. “And a tricky case. I found many notes regarding her in Master Lazur’s papers, so I know something about it. Her mother was a hedgewitch too, drowned by their village priest in the first year after the Decree of Bright Magic passed, when this girl was just ten years old.”

  Jeriah, who hadn’t known that, blinked.

  The Hierarch’s brows rose. “Then she’s only . . . fifteen years old? How much trouble could a girl that age have caused?”

  “Plenty.” Master Zachiros said drily. “She organized the goblins who were fleeing the decree and fought off the settlers, and even the army, so effectively that she brought the relocation to a standstill.”

  “But the Decree of Bright Magic was rescinded,” said the Hierarch. “Those who practice the small magics, and those magical creatures that do no harm, are no longer under sentence of death. Why should we prosecute this girl? Especially if her mother was slain, I think she can be forgiven for resisting an unjust law. A new unjust law,” he added, with a pointed look at his chief councillor.

  Brallorscourt nodded reluctantly.

  “Unfortunately,” said Master Zachiros, “her resistance wasn’t passive. She, or the goblins under her command, killed several men.”

  “Then try her for murder,” said Nevin. “And be done with it. There’s no need for you to be bothered with this, Sunlord.”

  “But was it murder?” Master Zachiros asked. “If you claim that the conflict between those of lesser magic and the church was war—and the law’s original phrasing called for ‘war against all who serve the power of darkness’—then in fighting back, she did no more than any soldier. And now that peace has been made, she can’t be prosecuted for it. On the other hand, if you rule that the Decree was simply a law, not a declaration of war, killing those who tried to enforce that law is murder. Though even then, I think extenuating circumstances might be considered.”

  The Hierarch looked at Brallorscourt for guidance, and Jeriah’s blood ran cold. He’d been wondering whether he should mention the charmed iron chains, still in his saddlebags in the stable. He decided not to.

  Lord Brallorscourt shrugged. “A tricky case indeed. Just the kind of case the judges of the lower courts are most fitted to—”

  “Speak with her yourself, Sunlord,” Jeriah said urgently. “Hear her side of the story before you make any decisions.”

  “I shall,” said the Hierarch. “But not today. This is a complex matter, which will require both more information and careful consideration on my part. But if she managed to delay that accursed relocation, she certainly can’t be all bad. Right, my friends?”

  The answer was a cheer that rocked the rafters.

  Jeriah always knew where to find Koryn. The library table where she sat was crowded with books, notebooks, and scrolls, as always—but today the books were closed and the stopper was still in the ink pot beside her. Curly, dark Southlander hair formed a shadowy halo around her face, and her wide, pale eyes were fixed on the middle distance.

  He didn’t think he’d ever seen her doing nothing before. She had a restless energy that was always driving her, mind and body. It might have been her obsession with destroying the barbarians, but Jeriah suspected it was just the way she was.

  He dropped into the chair opposite her, but several moments passed before Koryn’s gaze turned to him. Had she lost weight? She’d always been too thin, but he didn’t remember her bones standing out that starkly.

  “I hear you failed,” she said. “Again. Unless your goal was to sink the relocation further than you already have.”

  He clearly hadn’t been forgiven yet. On the other hand, the last time they’d spoken, she’d cursed him with white-hot fury, so this grim depression was probably an improvement. Jeriah didn’t ask how she’d learned about the council session so quickly—if it had to do with the relocation, Koryn made it her business to know.

  “I’m trying to get the relocation back on track,” he told her. “I’d hoped that freeing one of Master Lazur’s enemies might make the Hierarch a little less frightened of the man. It still might!”

  “If you think that’s all it will take, you’re dreaming,” Koryn told him. “If you’d thought for five minutes before making this mess in the first place, we wouldn’t—”

  “At least I’m doing something,” Jeriah retorted, stung. “Now the Hierarch, the whole council, knows why the barbarians are such a threat! You and your precious Master Lazur were keeping it secret. Now that he knows—”

  “You think he’s going to do anything differently? The Hierarch doesn’t care about anything except escaping the clutches of a man who’s already dead! The barbarians aren’t even real to—”

  “It’s more progress than you’ve made,” Jeriah said. “You’ve spent over a year digging through those books, and how much have you accomplished? In less than a month, I’ve given him something that might lessen his fear, and I’ve brought new facts to light. Facts the council might listen to, even if he . . . You’re not listening to me.”

  “You’re right,” Koryn murmured. “That’s just what I’ve been thinking.”

  “What?”

  She got up and limped out of the room without replying, which was just like her, Jeriah reflected irritably. Talking to Koryn only depressed him. He didn’t know why he’d bothered to seek her out.

  The next day he learned that Koryn had left a note for her uncle and departed for the Southlands.

  Chapter 7

  Makenna

  MAKENNA HAD BEEN EXPECTING THE face that appeared at the grate set into the floor of her cell. That it had popped up behind the sewer grate was . . .

  “Isn’t there some other way out?” Makenna asked.

  “What, you want us to lead you past two guard stations and up the main stair?” Cogswhallop asked impatiently. “It’s not so bad as you think. And you’re not fool enough to care, even if
it was.”

  Makenna frowned, and the goblin added persuasively, “The hero did it twice, and he hardly whined at all.” Having silenced any further complaints on her part, Cogswhallop went on, “We’ll have you out of this in a bit, Gen’ral. Just give the Stoners a chance to take the grate out.”

  “What if I don’t want to go?” Makenna demanded. “I came here to talk to the Hierarch himself. I can’t see how running will accomplish that. And your escape route’s not exactly appealing—though I like the idea of Jeriah doing it.”

  In truth, she didn’t care what she had to crawl through in order to escape. But if she could talk to the Hierarch herself, then maybe she could accomplish something for her goblins. Rescinding the Decree of Bright Magic meant they were no longer under death sentence, but that didn’t give them a safe place to live. If she’d been allowed to speak to the Hierarch—who certainly should be feeling grateful!—she’d intended to ask him to deed the woodland north of the great wall to the goblins. Or some other place where they could build their villages openly, without having to hide from humans.

  “You’ll not reach him.” Cogswhallop wiggled through the sewer grate as he spoke. He was muddy—at least, she preferred to think of it as mud—but he didn’t smell as bad as she’d expected.

  “Lord Brallorscourt will do whatever he must to stop you, and he’s got a long reach. You wouldn’t be safe here if Zachiros hadn’t put you under his protection. And I can’t swear how long that will last, so you’d best be going—whatever you think of the route!”

  “Why would Brallorscourt want to stop me from talking to the Hierarch?” Makenna asked. “Why would he care about me at all? I’ve never had a thing to do with the man!”

  “You haven’t,” Cogswhallop admitted. “But the same can’t be said of your minions.”

  “My what?”

  “Your minions. The vast goblin army that runs about spying on everyone for you. At least, that’s Brallorscourt’s take on it, and you can’t entirely blame the man. Given the conversations he’s been having with Master Hispontic and all.”