The Goblin Gate (9 page)

T
HE
C
ITY OF
S
TEPS WAS
a three-day ride from his home. If he changed horses frequently enough, Jeriah decided, he could arrive in two.

Soon Todder Yon would receive his letter, and surely the tinker would at least ask the Lesser Ones to contact him. And if the Lesser Ones would open the gate, he had Cogswhallop’s promise to lead him to Tobin in the Otherworld for free! This was progress! If shame and disgrace were the price, then so be it.

Jeriah set a sufficiently brisk pace that Fiddle had tired by midmorning, but Glory was still tired from the long night, so he was forced go on more slowly. He bought bread and cheese at a farm he passed, spending several of the coppers he’d gotten from the tinker, and then found a sunny meadow with a stream where the horses could drink and rest for a while. After midmeal he planned to investigate the traveling pack his father had given him—he hoped there’d be some money in it. Banished or not, he had to eat.

Jeriah dismounted, pulled off Fiddle’s saddlebags, and tossed them to the ground.

“Ow!”

Jeriah spun. He saw nothing that could cry out, but as he stared, the clasp on one of the bags slid open. Jeriah drew his sword and stepped back. The flap lifted and a tiny face appeared. The goblin boy who’d spoken to him by the river eyed him warily.

Jeriah shoved his sword back into the sheath.

“What are you doing here?”

“Following you.” The child scrambled out, rubbing his elbow. “You didn’t have to be so rough.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jeriah with deceptive mildness. “But I didn’t know you were there. If I had known…I’d have pitched you off a cliff! Your kin are going to think I’ve kidnapped you! Get out of here! Now!”

He reached down and picked up a rock to enforce the order, and the child scrambled back.

“Wait! They know where I am. Fa’s the one who…ah…” The tips of his pointed ears turned pink.

Arm cocked to throw, Jeriah hesitated. “Your father was the one who what?”

The child stopped, eyeing him warily. “I told Fa that Tobin was my friend, and if he died because of helping us and I’d done nothing to help him, it’d leave me indebted. He saw that right enough, so he said I could as long as I didn’t do anything dangerous. I had to promise, but I’ll do
all I can to help you.” When he’d first seen the boy, Jeriah had assumed he was very young because of his size. In the daylight he appeared to be…twelve? thirteen? Whatever his age, he wasn’t old enough to lie well. The latter part of his speech had the ring of truth, but it wasn’t what he’d started to say. He knew something. And Jeriah needed all the information he could get. He dropped the rock and folded his arms.

“Goblins never do anything for nothing. You expect me to believe that you’re willing to leave your people and come with me, just because you like my brother? Try again.”

“I do like Tobin,” the boy said indignantly. “Though there’s other things too. Onny and Regg and Miggy, all my friends went into the Otherworld with Mistress Makenna, and I want them back.”

That made more sense, but the goblin’s eyes had shifted aside. He still wasn’t telling the whole truth. On the other hand…“Let me get this straight. Cogswhallop is your father?”

“Aye.” The boy perched cautiously on a fallen log.

“And he gave you permission to come with me?”

“Aye. He really likes you. I can tell.”

“He
likes
…” Jeriah snorted. “If he likes me, then the Bright Gods help his enemies!”

The boy grinned, and Jeriah regarded him thoughtfully.

“You’re here to help me? Your father wasn’t interested in that, last time I talked to him.”

“Aye, but this is between you and me. I told you, Tobin is my friend.”

It sounded convincing, but the small ears had turned pink again. Jeriah couldn’t trust the creature. But if the goblins were going to guide him to his brother, he needed to learn more about them, and this boy was less guileful than Cogswhallop. He might even know something about those mysterious Lesser Ones.

So find out everything he knows, then send him packing.

Jeriah remembered a lesson Cogswhallop had taught him the hard way and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Daroo.”

“Well, Daroo, if you’re here to help you can begin by undoing this pack.” He pulled it off Glory’s back and dropped it at the child’s feet. “You can tell me what’s in it while I unsaddle the horses.”

“What for?”

“Because my father packed it, and I don’t know what’s there.”

“No, I mean what’ll you give me for doing it? You don’t want to be indebted.”

“Indebted? Because you unpacked a bag? I thought you wanted to help.”

“That’s about Tobin,” said the child, with exaggerated patience. “Unpacking bags is different. Here, I’ll talk you through it. See that pinecone over there?”

“Yes.”

“Give it to me, and I’ll help you unpack.”

“Why?” Jeriah picked up the pinecone and handed it over. “It’s worthless.”

“That’s my lookout.” Daroo eyed the pinecone, nodded in satisfaction, and pitched it over his shoulder. “Now I’ll unpack.” He did so, leaving Jeriah shaking his head in bewilderment.

Jeriah kept an eye on the boy as he worked, but as far as he could tell the child played no tricks. The pack held the usual camping gear, food for a week, the letter for Master Lazur, and a bag of silver coins. Jeriah sighed, remembering his lost gold pieces, but he could hardly blame the old man for not trusting him with the same amount this time. Considering the circumstances, his father had been generous.

After their meal they took to the road once more. The afternoon was cool but clear, as if last night’s storm had drained the sky. Soon the spring rains would end and the dry heat of summer set in.

As the day passed, Jeriah’s decision to bring the boy along paid off. Daroo, riding behind Jeriah hidden under his cloak, was a well of information—assuming, of course, that what he said could be trusted. He made Jeriah pay for every bit of it, but payment could be a half-open flower or a pretty stone as easily as a bit of cheese or an apple.

Jeriah learned that although every goblin had a “gift,” each could work only one type of magic. Daroo’s gift, which he’d inherited from his father, was the ability to work with iron
and steel—metals other goblins couldn’t touch.

“That’s why I could work the catch on your saddlebag from the inside. Because it was iron, see?”

“Sort of. How did you get into the bag in the first place?”

“I just crawled in, when you were talking to Fa.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“You weren’t looking.”

Jeriah sighed.

The boy also explained the goblins’ philosophy of trading for everything they gave or gained.

“…or else you’ll be indebted. If you’re indebted or owed, then you can’t be equals, and if you’re not equal, you can’t be friends. See?”

“Not exactly,” Jeriah admitted. It still seemed like nonsense, especially since the payment involved was trivial.

The boy was also useful when he made camp at night. By the time darkness fell, both horses were tired and Jeriah was exhausted. Daroo helped him make camp for a share of his supper, gathering dry wood from the Gods knew where—though he almost drowned when he led the horses down to the stream to drink and a sudden tug on the lead rope pulled him in.

Swearing as he hauled the child out of the rushing water, Jeriah felt like he was dealing with Tamilee. Did all children insist on tackling jobs that were beyond their strength?

Jeriah pushed the pace as much as he could, but it wasn’t till midmorning of his third day on the road that the City
of Steps appeared on the horizon. For Daroo, this was the journey’s end.

“But how can I help if I’m not with you?” Frustration tightened the goblin’s voice.

“Look at that.” Jeriah gestured to the distant hill, towering over the plain and marsh around it. “The City of Steps is the Hierarch’s own city. The palace, where I’ll be, is full of priests and the sunsguard, all of them sworn to destroy servants of the Dark One—which includes you, demon brat!”

“That’s pigdung.” The child folded his arms, looking so like his father that Jeriah bit back a grin.

“Maybe, maybe not. All right, it is pigdung—but the guards and priests don’t think so. If they caught you, you’d be killed. You can’t help your friends get back from the Otherworld if you’re dead, and there won’t be anything you can do in the city to help Tobin or me.”

Daroo had been helpful, but smuggling a goblin into the Sunlord’s own palace would be far too risky—particularly since Jeriah still hadn’t learned what the boy was concealing.

“You’ve told me several times that you can take care of yourself,” Jeriah finished. “So prove it. Go home to your parents. That’s an order,” he added, as Daroo opened his mouth to argue. “And I wouldn’t take an ally who can’t obey orders with me, anyway.”

“Humph!” The child turned and stalked into the bushes, vanishing in seconds.

Smiling, Jeriah turned Glory and set off for the city
before Daroo changed his mind. That stubborn loyalty also reminded Jeriah of Tamilee. In truth, Daroo had begun to feel more and more like a younger brother over the last two days. All the more reason to leave him behind. Jeriah’s last attempt at plotting and conspiracy had gotten Tobin flogged, and ultimately trapped in the Otherworld. Trying to smuggle Daroo into the palace would be madness—because if someone captured the tiny creature, Jeriah could never abandon him to die.

Riding through the farmed land surrounding the City of Steps took half a day. As morning passed into afternoon, Jeriah could make out the three walls that sculpted the hill, like an off-center layer cake. The top four levels of the City of Steps comprised the palace and temple—perfect circles, each wider than the one above it. The three lower tiers followed the shape of the hill forming irregular ovals, each one spreading farther toward the west.

Closer to the city the road was crowded with exhausted Southlanders, carrying all they owned in small carts and ragged packs. In the furor over his own banishment, Jeriah had forgotten that soon everyone in the Realm would have to leave their homes.

If he could get Tobin back, surely the old man would relent. Would understand that Jeriah had been forced to flood that village, would understand all the other choices he’d been forced to make.

For the refugees around him there was no going home. Ever. But Master Lazur and the Hierarch would see them relocated behind the wall, where they could build anew, and Jeriah had enough on his plate already. His job was to get Tobin back. The refugees would have to look out for themselves.

Jeriah reached the gate in the first wall by midafternoon. The low city was dirty, clamorous, exciting, and, well, low. It had always fascinated Jeriah, in a way his respectable brother had deplored.

At the third gate, where army guards were posted at night, the straight road to the palace began. But there Jeriah turned aside, riding past the gardens and into the woods that concealed the barracks where visiting knights and lesser nobles and priests were housed.

Past the barracks, he settled Glory and Fiddle in a stable and arranged for their care before going on to the palace.

The gate that lay beyond the Hall of Justice and the Hall of Plenty (which most people referred to as the treasury) was guarded at all times by the sunsguard itself.

Jeriah halted when challenged and told the guards his name and business. They looked bored, but Jeriah knew they’d remember his name, his face, and what he’d told them. The Hierarch’s personal guard, in their sunred tunics, were the best in the Realm.

He climbed two flights of wide stone steps, which ran all the way up to the high temple, broken by a wide landing at
each level. The numbering of palace levels started at the top; the temple was on level one, the Hierarch’s rooms and highest government offices on level two, midlevel functionaries on level three, and the big public rooms on level four.

Jeriah turned off the stairs at the third-level landing. Flower beds and planters ringed the terrace, brimming with the brilliant blossoms of the Midland spring. Trees carried the vibrant sheen of new leaves, and fountains splashed soothingly. Jeriah circled around the terrace to Master Lazur’s office.

Master Lazur had two rooms in corridor five, one an outer room with a window. That wasn’t bad for a priest of his rank in this crowded place. What other fifth-circle priest had so much influence? Power without rank.

Jeriah’s palms were damp as he knocked on the door. He had too much to hide.

“Come in.”

He took a final breath and swung the door wide.

“Jeriah! I’m pleased to see you, but surely it hasn’t been a month?” Master Lazur rose, smiling, from behind his desk. Bookshelves lined the walls around him.

“My father released me. I want to serve the Realm until the difficulties and dangers of the relocation are past.”

“And he agreed?” The priest’s brows rose.

Jeriah handed over his father’s letter. He wished he knew what it said, but it had been sealed. Some people could remove and replace a seal without destroying it, but Jeriah
wasn’t one of them. Still, his father wasn’t likely to reveal family quarrels to a stranger.

“Very well.” Master Lazur set the letter aside. “I’ve received another message concerning you…from your mother.”

“Oh.” Jeriah had forgotten about his mother’s plans. “She said she was going to write.”

“Yes. She feels that I should mount some sort of expedition to rescue your brother, and that if I don’t I’ll…How did she phrase it? I will ‘deeply regret’ it.”

“Ah…”

The priest swept on. “I do regret your brother’s death.”

He’s not dead yet.

“But if you’re to stay here, you must understand that it’s the relocation, the safety, the survival of the Realm that matter. If you can’t understand that, I’ll have to reconsider allowing you to work in the palace. In truth I’d planned to assign you as a courier between the palace and the army, but your mother’s service has earned you a palace post”—Master Lazur glanced down at the letter—“as she repeatedly reminds me.”