The Goblin Gate (5 page)

The woman accepted his request without a blink, though four in the afternoon was far too early for bed. His father had chosen to be alone with his grief, and Senna was probably avoiding everyone right now.

His meal finished, Jeriah lay tossing on his bed, but eventually the fatigue of the journey caught up with him and he dozed. A good thing, too. He had plans for tonight.

Jeriah crept down the stairs, automatically avoiding the second and seventh steps, which creaked. He wondered if every child who grew up in this house learned that trick. Tobin had shown him the noisy steps when he was very young—though Jeriah had come up with most of the pranks that made the knowledge useful.

The banked embers in the big hearth provided enough light for Jeriah to find his way around the kitchen. He took a large bowl and filled it from a jar in the pantry, where the milk had been left for the cream to rise. He hoped none of the servants would be blamed for the theft, but the cows were let out to graze at night, and it would take too long to catch and milk one.

How long would it take the goblins to discover the bowl?

Jeriah carried the milk out to the vegetable garden behind the house and set it near some bushes.

The night was crisp and still. Jeriah started to shiver, even as the quiet soothed him. He thought about returning to the house for his cloak but decided against it—the goblins might come while he was gone. Besides, the chill would keep him awake.

The gardener’s shed he’d chosen for his hideout held a pile of empty sacks. Jeriah dumped several on the floor and wrapped another around his shoulders. Then he propped the door open so he could see the bowl. He sat down on the sacks to wait.

As the night grew colder, Jeriah was forced to use more of
the sacks to cover himself so the goblins wouldn’t be warned away by his chattering teeth. Clouds drifted over the moon, leaving the bowl in shadow. A rabbit hopped into the lettuce bed, nibbled for a time, and departed.

Jeriah’s mood passed from anticipation to boredom to weary resignation. He had napped that afternoon, so he was surprised when a wave of drowsiness washed over him. He yawned and leaned his head against the wall, just for a moment.

He woke with a start and lay blinking. A rooster crowed—that was what had roused him. Why was he lying on a pile of sacks? Memory returned, and he sat up and looked out. Dawn light spilled through the garden. Even at this distance, he could see that the bowl was empty.

“Dung!”

They’d bespelled him! Those cursed goblins had bespelled him again, and this whole night had been wasted. But at least they’d found the milk, so he supposed he had made contact, after a fashion. Tomorrow night he’d speak to them. Jeriah rubbed his face, and the blanket slid from his shoulders. Blanket?

It was a horse blanket from the stables—wool, which was why he wasn’t freezing. But Jeriah hadn’t brought it. And he certainly hadn’t brought the cushion from his mother’s solarium.

Jeriah had heard the old stories, that if you did favors for
the goblins they’d repay you, but he’d written them off as nursery tales.

“Repay you with spells and deceit!” He said it aloud, in case some goblin was listening. Never mind. Tomorrow he’d be ready for them.

He got the blanket back to the stable without waking the grooms, but the cook’s helper almost caught him replacing the hastily rinsed bowl. At least putting the pillow back wasn’t a problem—his mother wouldn’t be up for hours.

Jeriah stripped out of his tunic and crawled into his own bed, grateful for the softness of his mattress after a night on the rough sacks. He was just dozing off when his father knocked on the door.

“…
ARE THE ONLY WILLOWS
growing anywhere near us…”

“…potato roots not only taste good, they’re good for…”

“…if you go disturbing their ground, willows won’t…”

“…those potato roots grow fast, too! They’re…”

Makenna drew in a breath to shout down the whole mob, but before she could speak…

“Be quiet, all of you. Mistress Makenna can’t hear if you’re talking at the same time.”

Makenna stared. She hadn’t known the lordling could produce that commanding voice. He hadn’t even raised it, but the squabbling goblins fell silent as he came forward and knelt between the Greeners, who wanted to plant potato roots in the stream’s marshy bend, and the Makers, who wanted to use the willows growing there for baskets.

She felt a tug on her britches, and looked down into the lumpy gray face of Harcu, the chief Stoner. “Rock funny,”
his deep voice rumbled. “Not right.”

Makenna sighed. “I’m sure it’s not. Nothing else seems to be. But you’re going to have to wait your turn.”

“One at a time,” Tobin added firmly.

Cogswhallop would have threatened to crack a few heads to emphasize the order, but Cogswhallop wasn’t there—and his absence was like a cut still seeping blood.

No one knew what had kept her small lieutenant from following her through the gate, though the absence of his family was a pretty good clue. He’d been right beside her, organizing the frantic exodus as she cast the gate spell. He’d been at her side for the last six years.

Some thought they’d been captured by the soldiers, but Makenna didn’t believe it. Cogswhallop was more than a match for Lazur and all his men—even Daroo was. No, Cogswhallop was safe in the Realm—no doubt working to rejoin her, just as she was trying to figure out how to open a gate to reach him.

But in the meanwhile, Tobin was doing a pretty good job of taking his place.

Makenna had assigned Miggy as her second-in-command. He was slowly growing comfortable in the role when things were peaceful, but he wasn’t happy about it when trouble broke out. And that was when Tobin took up the slack.

A small, petty part of her resented a human stepping into Cogswhallop’s shoes…but the rest of her was deeply grateful that he did it so well.

“Harcu,” she said, “if the rock here’s not right, then you’ll either have to make do or get good rock somewhere else, because those foundations need to go in. You’re doing a fine job. I don’t want you stopping now. As for the rest of you”—she glared at all of them, impartially—“one reason we settled here was because we didn’t want a lot of marsh nearby. Food is a priority.”

The Greeners smirked.

“Food won’t do you much good,” one of the Makers snapped, “if you don’t have baskets to store it in. What are you going to do when all that grain you’re planting is ready to harvest? Put it in your pockets? We—”

“We need baskets too,” Makenna agreed. “And willows can’t be grown in a minute. So like it or not, you’re all going to share that marsh. The Greeners will plant as near to the willows as they can without disturbing them, but they’ll leave paths through their root beds so the Makers can harvest the willows. And the Makers will stay on those paths! That way…”

“S
EE THESE ROOTS
?” H
IS FATHER
held out a young cornstalk, roots attached. “White and firm, like they should be. Last year we had too much water in this field and lost half the crop. The first sign of the problem was in the roots. You can’t just pay attention to the part of the plant you can see—you have to…”

Jeriah’s father had been going on like that all morning. He yawned.

“Am I boring you, Jeriah?”

His mouth snapped shut. “No, sir. It’s just…I’m sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

His father’s lips tightened, deepening the lines around his mouth. “
I’m
sorry, son. I shouldn’t have…I didn’t get much sleep either.” He knelt to replant the corn sprout, hiding his face.

The speed with which his father had set about training his new heir would have hurt, if his grief for Tobin hadn’t showed so clearly. Jeriah’s father had always considered
him…not incompetent, not really. Just lightweight. Not to be taken seriously. Unreliable, compared to his sensible older brother. Since Jeriah didn’t want the estate, that suited him fine. But until Tobin came back he was stuck with it, so he might as well do his best.

“Um, why did you let so much water into this field? I thought old Woder measured inflow to the last drop.” He gestured at the gate in the low dike that held back the river. His great-great-grandfather had married a woman from the wetlands and built the dikes and gates, creating acres of fertile land in what used to be the river’s flood plain.

“We were trying to water this field with a ditch from the next gate down. We still are, in fact, and judging by these roots we’re doing better this year. Come with me and I’ll show you why. This is something you should know about.”

His father strode off toward the nearest sluice gate and Jeriah followed, slipping in the muddy furrows.

“Look at the wood of this gate, Jeriah. What do you see?”

“Well…” He examined it, fishing for an answer. “It’s damp. It’s…Wait a minute. It shouldn’t be that wet. It’s rotting on the other side, isn’t it?”

“Exactly.” His father eyed him with satisfaction, and Jeriah felt a flicker of pride. It was the first question he’d answered right.

“It’s not just the gate,” his father went on. “There’s also seepage through the dike. See here?” He led Jeriah to a mud
puddle twenty feet from the gate. To Jeriah it looked like all the other puddles he’d seen that morning.
If you can’t make an intelligent comment, ask a question.

“Is it dangerous, sir?” He gestured to a cluster of cottages in the midst of the low fields. As their campfire had burned low, Todder Yon had told Jeriah something of the sorceress’ history—including the tale of how she’d flooded her own village.

“Of course it’s dangerous,” his father said. “Oh, not to people’s lives or I’d evacuate the place. The houses are higher than they look—even if the whole dike gave way, there’d only be a few feet of water over the floors of the lowest buildings. And that’s now, with the river at full flow. The higher buildings would be left on an island, but the tenants could wade ashore. The fields would be lost, though, along with the crops they’re carrying.”

“But why haven’t you…ah, I thought winter was the best time to repair dikes.”

“It is.” An expression that held both pain and pride swept over his father’s face. “And I’d have done it, except Master Averas has told us that we’ll have to leave this land forever next spring. The spring after that at the latest. I am ordered to move all my people into the north.”

He started back to the horses, with his son slogging behind. “Jeriah, I’ve been meaning to ask you…” The hesitation was so unlike his father that it captured Jeriah’s attention.

“Sir?”

“The Hierarch is the Sunlord, chosen of the Seven Bright Gods, but the priests who serve him are only men. I’ve been wondering…You fought the desert barbarians yourself, last winter, and you’ve always had a mind of your own. Do
you
think this relocation is necessary?”

Jeriah had never actually fought the barbarians. He’d only patrolled with a troop for several months before the conspirators had recruited him. But he’d heard the stories of howling mobs, white as ghosts, swarming out of the flying sand. Of the gutted remains of Southland farms. Of human bones in the refuse heaps of barbarian camps. Some of those stories had come from his brother. “Yes, sir. It has to be.”

“Ah.” His father’s shoulders slumped, then straightened again. “Well, that’s the other reason I didn’t repair the dike. Before we leave, I’m going to open all the gates and flood the land. They’ll get nothing I can keep from them.”

His father might be short on forgiveness, but he’d never lacked courage. This probably wasn’t the best time, but Jeriah didn’t have a lot of time.

“Master Lazur gave me leave for a month, but with the problems involved in the relocation, everyone is needed. I was wondering if I could return sooner.”

His father frowned. “I think you should leave Master Lazur’s service. You’re my heir now—and through no fault of your own, you haven’t been trained to run the estate. I should have taught you along with Tob—your brother, but you weren’t interested in farming and…Well, you have a
lot of catching up to do.”

Not if I can help it.
“There’ll be time for me to learn all those things when we’re resettled in the north. Besides, I think the woodland soil is different. Half of what you’re teaching me might be useless there.” He saw his father’s lips tighten and continued hastily. “Serving the Hierarch and the Realm is what I
am
trained for. I’d like to do it, at least till this crisis is past.”

His father sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

Jeriah knew better than to press, and they mounted the horses and rode on in silence. His father noticed every bug, on every leaf, in every field. Jeriah could barely tell the wheat sprouts from the potatoes. Demon’s teeth! He hadn’t been trained for this. It was Tobin who loved the land, who cared which worms ate the barley. Jeriah had dreamed of serving the Realm, of doing something brave and worthy. Now Tobin, who’d wanted to stay home and plant crops, was a hero, and Jeriah was stuck looking at muddy roots.

The brightness of raw lumber caught his eye. “Why did you fence off the east wood?” Jeriah was only mildly curious—the east wood was one of their best hunting grounds—but his father’s face darkened.

“It’s not our fence. I sold that land.”

“Why? The amount of land we own now will determine how much we’re granted in the north!”

“The money was needed. It’s not your…” His father stopped and shook his head. “I’m sorry. As the heir it is your
business. I sold the wood, several fields, and some of the land on the east bank to bribe the tribunal to spare your brother’s life.”

The silence echoed. He should tell him the truth. Jeriah owed it to Tobin, as well as his father, to tell the truth. But the angry grief in the old man’s face froze Jeriah’s tongue, and telling that particular truth required more courage than he possessed. Perhaps he wasn’t cut out to be a true knight after all.

“How much did it cost Father to bribe the tribunal?”

His mother looked up from her embroidery, calm in spite of Jeriah’s tempestuous entrance. “I don’t know the exact sum. He sold a lot of land. But I gather you’ve discovered that.”

“How could you let him do it? This place is like…like part of his own body! How could you let him hack off pieces, and not tell him that it was me and not Tobin?”

“It would have been more expensive to bribe them to release a second son. I did consider telling him privately, but he’s such a bad liar, I don’t think he could have pulled it off. He might not even have agreed to lie, and then we’d have had to pay a
lot
more.”

Jeriah paced restlessly. “You could have let me face the consequences, instead of protecting me like a child.”

Her smile grew. “Of course, dear one. Just like you’re going to let Tobin take the consequences of
his
actions? Though I must say, your father took the whole affair ridiculously hard. There were several families in the area who
had members involved in the conspiracy, but your father has become almost a
recluse
since we came back, and that’s not like him.”

“Who else from this area was involved?” Perhaps some of the priestly conspirators had escaped. If Jeriah could get one of them to cast the gate spell…No, he’d still need the goblins to help him locate the sorceress and his brother in the Otherworld.

“Don’t you know?” his mother asked. “I’d have thought—”

“I hardly knew any of them.” Jeriah stopped pacing and sank into a chair. “The conspirators only recruited me because…”

Jeriah had always known that some landholders abused their privileges. But Jeriah’s father, for all his sternness, was fair both with his sons and with his tenants. It was only when Jeriah went to the Southlands, to join his older brother fighting the barbarians, that he learned that abuses he’d considered rare aberrations could be commonplace in other parts of the Realm. Some of the Southland lords were like his father, but there were others who imposed rents so high no farmer could pay them—and disputes were settled in favor of the man who paid the biggest bribe.

That was bad enough, but conditions in the army were even worse. Most of the officers were younger sons, whose troops frequently consisted of troublemaking tenants their fathers wanted to get rid of. And army discipline was harsher
than any civilian community would tolerate.

When the conspirators had realized that the men Jeriah played “pranks” on were invariably officers who abused their men, they had cautiously approached him. The conspirators had considered him reliable. Had trusted him with serious matters.

The conspiracy was over.

“I was recruited because they needed a liaison between the military branch and their spies in the palace,” Jeriah finished. “But I knew only a handful of men. They said they’d tell me more when I needed to know it.”

“Very sensible,” his mother approved. “It’s a pity they were exposed. Do you think their goals…What were their goals—did you mention them?”

Jeriah recognized the signs. “Don’t change the subject. We were talking about…” For a moment he couldn’t remember. His mother often had that effect on people. Jeriah, through long practice, dealt with it better than most. “Who from this district was involved in the conspiracy?”

“Poor Kirlath Ivor, and that awful Lord Glovinscourt. You know, I thought worse of your conspiracy when I learned he was involved.”

Lord Glovinscourt was one of the landholders Jeriah had thought was an unusual aberration.

“Your father was the only one in the area who dared stand up to him,” his mother rambled on. “Do you remember the time that poor woman escaped, and he came after her with
forty
armed men! I was never more frightened!”

“It would be hard to forget.” He’d been ten years old, trembling in a tower window with Tobin’s arms around both him and Senna as they listened to their father. The old man had stood alone at the top of the steps, telling Lord Glovinscourt to take his filthy brigands and get off Rovanscourt land. Telling him quite a few other things, too. “You wouldn’t have given her back to him either.”

“Of course not. I’d have hidden her away, then smuggled her off to someplace out of his reach.”

Jeriah grinned—and then realized he’d been distracted again. “Do you think Kirlath would help us? He was older than Tobin and me so I don’t know him well, but…”

His mother’s eyes shifted aside.

“Mother?”

“I’m sorry, but Kirlath and Lord Glovinscourt must have been more deeply involved than you. Lord Ivorscourt beggared himself with bribes, but…They were both executed. So I think, dear one, you’d better stay away from any survivors of your conspiracy.”

“If there are any.”

It could have been him.
If Tobin and his mother hadn’t intervened…Jeriah took a deep, calming breath. He was alive, and he was going to repay Tobin for everything. As for his mother…

“Mother, we need to have a talk about your sleeping drugs.”

That night when Jeriah went out to the garden shed, he brought his cloak and a saddlebag the bandits had cut up. He could have asked a groom to mend it, but he thought he’d be less likely to fall asleep if his hands were busy. Surely the goblins couldn’t bespell him when he was awake and ready for them. He put out the milk bowl, took half a dozen stitches, and began to yawn.

When he awoke just before sunrise, there was a pillow under his head, and the saddlebag, neatly mended, lay beside him. He didn’t even have to look to know the bowl was empty.

Three dawns later, Jeriah picked up the wild brillnuts they’d left beside him and stumbled to his feet. The goblins had mended his tunic, polished his boots, and returned a knife he’d lost two years ago. He rubbed his face, almost too weary to swear, and started back to the house. He’d been napping through the early hours of the night, but it wasn’t enough. He was no longer certain if it was goblin spells or natural exhaustion that knocked him out each night.

And yawning his way through his father’s lectures on oat blight and fertilizer wasn’t doing either of them any good. The memory of his father’s sarcastic comments roused a tired flash of resentment. He was bored, but he’d been going short on sleep all week, and he was
trying.
He was also losing time. Seventeen days had passed since
Tobin had entered the Otherworld.

It was his furious awareness of time slipping away that had led Jeriah to add a few drops of his mother’s sedative to the milk the previous night. He’d wakened from the familiar sleep, cold, stiff, and missing every button and tie that held his clothing together. Thank the Bright Gods no one had caught him dumping the untouched milk and returning the bowl to its place with one hand holding up his pants! But the goblins seemed to have forgiven him; this last bowl of milk had vanished as usual, even if they hadn’t returned his belt and buttons.

Jeriah rinsed the bowl in the horse trough, wrapped it in his cloak, closed the kitchen door quietly behind him…and almost walked into his father.