Goblin denied
nothing. “She kept me alive somehow. She intended to use me.
But she never did anything to me. I spent most of the time
sleeping. Dreaming ugly dreams. Probably her dreams.”
The little wizard’s voice was barely a whisper. It husked.
He seemed permanently on the verge of tears. The irrepressible
spirit that had made him the Goblin of old seemed to have fled.
His audience did nothing to make him welcome or feel wanted. He
was not welcome or wanted. He had spent four years sleeping with
the Queen of Night, the Mother of Deceivers.
“She lives in the bleakest place you can imagine.
It’s all death and corruption.”
“And madness,” Sahra added without looking up from
the trousers she was mending.
Tobo asked, “Where’s the Lance?” Goblin had
been asked before. The Lance of Passion was the soul of the
Company. As much as the Annals did, it tied past and present
together. It went all the way back to the Company’s departure
from Khatovar. It had symbolic power and real power. It was a
shadowgate key. And it was capable of causing a Goddess terrible
pain.
Goblin sighed. “There’s nothing but the head left.
Inside her, from when I stabbed her. She made it migrate through
her flesh. She’s taken it into her womb.”
The Captain, obviously uncomfortable with this heathen talk,
snapped, “Would any of you infidels care to explain that?
Tobo?”
“I don’t know anything about religion, Captain. Not
the practical stuff, anyway.”
“Anybody?”
None of the infidels had a thought.
Sleepy had a few. One was that Kina was not a real Goddess. Kina
was just an incredibly powerful monster. All the Gunni Gods and
Goddesses were nothing but powerful monsters. There was only one
God . . . She continued staring at Goblin,
wondering if he was worth believing, wondering if the best course
was just to kill him. The silence stretched. Goblin remained
immensely uncomfortable. As he should be, considering the
circumstances and his limited ability to explain what had happened
to him.
There was no way anyone would ever trust him.
The Captain said, “I have a thought, Tobo.”
Silence stretched again as the boy waited on her and she waited
for him to ask what her thought was. Grown-up silliness.
Sahra said, “Why don’t we have Goblin go help
Croaker with Khatovar? He’ll be more comfortable with his old
friends, anyway.”
Sleepy gave her a dirty look. Then Tobo did the same. Sahra
smiled, bit the thread she was using, put her needle away.
“That’s done, then.”
Goblin’s froglike face had lost the little color that had
survived his time underground. It lost all expression. The man
within was trying hard to remain unreadable. In trying he gave away
the fact that he did not want to join the expedition to
Khatovar.
Maybe he just dreaded facing the forvalaka again.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” the Captain
said. Coldly. “Croaker sent a raven whining for help. He has all those
unpredictable soldiers and sorcerers headed his way. Goblin. You
can still cut it, can’t you? Sorcery-wise? You haven’t
lost the knack?”
The sad little wizard shook his head slowly. “I
don’t know. I’d have to try. Not that I would be any
good against a real talent even on my best day. I never
was.”
“It’s decided. You’ll take the Khatovar road.
Everyone else. We’re done here. We’re moving out. Tobo,
find the Chu Ming brothers. They’re going to go with
Goblin.”
The news that movement was imminent spread quickly. The
remaining troops were glad to hear it. They had stayed here in this
uncomfortable, frightening place far too long while the higher-ups
fussed about nothing. Rations were growing short, despite all the
years of preparation.
Goblin denied
nothing. “She kept me alive somehow. She intended to use me.
But she never did anything to me. I spent most of the time
sleeping. Dreaming ugly dreams. Probably her dreams.”
The little wizard’s voice was barely a whisper. It husked.
He seemed permanently on the verge of tears. The irrepressible
spirit that had made him the Goblin of old seemed to have fled.
His audience did nothing to make him welcome or feel wanted. He
was not welcome or wanted. He had spent four years sleeping with
the Queen of Night, the Mother of Deceivers.
“She lives in the bleakest place you can imagine.
It’s all death and corruption.”
“And madness,” Sahra added without looking up from
the trousers she was mending.
Tobo asked, “Where’s the Lance?” Goblin had
been asked before. The Lance of Passion was the soul of the
Company. As much as the Annals did, it tied past and present
together. It went all the way back to the Company’s departure
from Khatovar. It had symbolic power and real power. It was a
shadowgate key. And it was capable of causing a Goddess terrible
pain.
Goblin sighed. “There’s nothing but the head left.
Inside her, from when I stabbed her. She made it migrate through
her flesh. She’s taken it into her womb.”
The Captain, obviously uncomfortable with this heathen talk,
snapped, “Would any of you infidels care to explain that?
Tobo?”
“I don’t know anything about religion, Captain. Not
the practical stuff, anyway.”
“Anybody?”
None of the infidels had a thought.
Sleepy had a few. One was that Kina was not a real Goddess. Kina
was just an incredibly powerful monster. All the Gunni Gods and
Goddesses were nothing but powerful monsters. There was only one
God . . . She continued staring at Goblin,
wondering if he was worth believing, wondering if the best course
was just to kill him. The silence stretched. Goblin remained
immensely uncomfortable. As he should be, considering the
circumstances and his limited ability to explain what had happened
to him.
There was no way anyone would ever trust him.
The Captain said, “I have a thought, Tobo.”
Silence stretched again as the boy waited on her and she waited
for him to ask what her thought was. Grown-up silliness.
Sahra said, “Why don’t we have Goblin go help
Croaker with Khatovar? He’ll be more comfortable with his old
friends, anyway.”
Sleepy gave her a dirty look. Then Tobo did the same. Sahra
smiled, bit the thread she was using, put her needle away.
“That’s done, then.”
Goblin’s froglike face had lost the little color that had
survived his time underground. It lost all expression. The man
within was trying hard to remain unreadable. In trying he gave away
the fact that he did not want to join the expedition to
Khatovar.
Maybe he just dreaded facing the forvalaka again.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” the Captain
said. Coldly. “Croaker sent a raven whining for help. He has all those
unpredictable soldiers and sorcerers headed his way. Goblin. You
can still cut it, can’t you? Sorcery-wise? You haven’t
lost the knack?”
The sad little wizard shook his head slowly. “I
don’t know. I’d have to try. Not that I would be any
good against a real talent even on my best day. I never
was.”
“It’s decided. You’ll take the Khatovar road.
Everyone else. We’re done here. We’re moving out. Tobo,
find the Chu Ming brothers. They’re going to go with
Goblin.”
The news that movement was imminent spread quickly. The
remaining troops were glad to hear it. They had stayed here in this
uncomfortable, frightening place far too long while the higher-ups
fussed about nothing. Rations were growing short, despite all the
years of preparation.