The commander’s metal armor glinted in the sun. About half of his soldiers had the same armor, the others a mix of metal and leather, but all of them had swords, and some of them had long bows. They weren’t Imperial soldiers—those all had metal armor—but they moved like men who’d worked together and knew their strength.
The big one grinned at Jem, licked his lips, and then looked at Garrad. Before he could say anything, a different man rode into Ree’s view. This one wasn’t a soldier. He was dressed like Ree’s idea of a lord, only he didn’t have a sword. Instead, he had a big leather bag, and he held a rolled paper in his hand.
“Is this the farm of Garrad Lenar’s son?” He spoke as if he smelled something bad, all thin and whiny.
Garrad nodded. “It’s my place. And you’d be?”
The man sniffed. “We represent the Grand Duke Parleon, who owns this land.”
“Really?” Garrad leaned forward on his cane. “Last I heard it belonged to the Emperor. Emperor Melles, so I heard.”
A few of the soldiers looked at each other. They must not have expected to hear anything about the Emperor here.
“Times have changed,” said the unarmored man. “My Lord Parleon holds here.” He unrolled his paper and glared at Jem. “According to the records, you have no dependents.”
Garrad shrugged. “That paper of yours is a bit out of date. My boy in the Imperial Army, he sent me his son to look after me.” He nodded to Jem. “He’s a good lad. A bit sickly for soldiering, what with the hacking cough and all, but he helps.”
Jem was skinny enough, but he couldn’t disguise his height. He couldn’t fake a cough, either. Jem was no good at lying.
The next thing the man said was all about taxes and fines and things, but it sounded to Ree more like he was looking to plunder as much as he could and was trying to claim as much wealth as the soldiers could carry off. It made no sense. In Jacona, the merchants and shopkeepers might complain about Imperial taxes, but Ree had never heard of their taking a man’s whole living.
Ree remembered all the people tied up behind the soldiers and wondered if this Grand Duke just wanted to control everyone so he could have his own friends take the land and live off it without working for it, like the bandit lords the traders talked about. He must be dressing it in all this talk of tax.
Garrad didn’t look happy about it. Jem held his head down, so Ree couldn’t see his expression. When the long list finished, the old man grunted. “Go get them snow bear furs out of the barn, lad.”
Jem left Garrad leaning on his stick and rushed into the barn. He didn’t talk, just picked up the three cured furs and carried them off.
“Snow bears?”
“Hobgoblin critters,” the old man said with a shrug. “They look sort of like bears, and they come down off the forests each winter since the magic storms.”
The soldiers and the official looked startled when they saw the sparkling white fur piled high in Jem’s arms.
“Pretty, ain’t they?” Garrad grinned. “Fit for a king, I’d reckon.”
The official ran one hand over the fur. “How . . . how many do you have?”
“We got three over from last winter,” Garrad told him. “You want to go hunting ’em, forest’s right there. We only ever see ’em in winter, and you can’t tell they’re there till they attack. Something magic in the fur, I reckon.”
The official frowned. “And you kill them.”
Garrad snorted. “One of them comes at you, you kill it or it kills you. Ain’t saying it’s easy, now.”
A few of the soldiers chuckled. Ree supposed they understood.
The man must have decided, because he nodded, then said, “That will suffice. Take the furs and secure them. The boy joins us. He’ll be trained and fight in my Lord’s service.”
Garrad’s hands clenched tight, and his breath caught. “He’s weakly. Sick. You’ll be the death of him.”
But the officer ran an eye over Jem and grinned. “Strong enough for what he needs to do.”
Ree felt sick.
Jem caught the old man’s hands in his. “It’s all right, Granddad.”
Garrad’s eyes shut tight. “I lost one boy to the Imperials, son. I ain’t losing you too.”
“You’re not losing me, Granddad.” Jem hugged Garrad and whispered something Ree couldn’t hear. “It’ll be okay.” He turned to face the big bastard. “Can I get changed? And what can I bring with me?” His voice didn’t waver at all.
Ree stayed in the barn, trying to be as brave as Jem, until he heard Garrad say, “They’re gone, son. Ain’t gonna be back in a while, I reckon, not with as much as they’ve got to carry back to their damned Grand Duke fellow.”
He looked worse than Ree felt, all gray and much older than he’d been this morning. Even though Ree didn’t like to touch the old man—it was just wrong, him not being human—he couldn’t help wrapping him in a hug before they went back to the chores. “I’m sorry, Granddad. I wish—” He shook his head. There wasn’t anything they could do. He wished for Jem back. He wished for his humanity back. He wished . . .
They didn’t eat much that night, and Ree didn’t think Garrad slept any better than he did. He kept thinking of Jem and what might be happening to Jem, and his thoughts made him wake with his claws out and dug into the mattress.
Jem had said Garrad wouldn’t be losing him. Were those just pretty words like it will be all right?
Two days later, Ree saw smoke from Three Rivers. Wrong smoke. The smoke of something burning. Once he was through with the milking, he told Garrad, “I’m going down to the village to see if they could use any help.” He managed a crooked kind of a smile. “Don’t worry, Granddad. No one’s going to see me unless I want them to—I’ll go through the forest,” and hurried out before the old man could object.
Ree had to do something. He couldn’t stand just waiting and hoping the soldiers never came back and yet hoping Jem did, somehow.
The forest was so familiar it hurt. Ree had run through here with Jem so many times he knew every tree and every meandering pathway. He noted the deer paths, the signs that there were more this summer than last, which meant they might get more antlers this fall, and maybe carve some needles and other tools from them. There were plenty of burrows, too, foxes and rabbits and other animals. It seemed as though everything was recovering from the horrible year after the change circles and starting to live like normal again.
Everything but the people.
Or maybe it was normal for soldiers to come taking away people’s children and burning down their homes. Ree didn’t know, but he didn’t think it could be right. Who would plow the fields and raise the animals and do all the things the cities needed but didn’t have space to do themselves? This Grand Duke must be very greedy or very stupid. Maybe both.
Three Rivers village wasn’t there anymore. Ree stood at the edge of the forest looking down at what had been a neat little cluster of homes on the tongue of land where two rivers joined to become a third. There was only smoldering ruins. His nose twitched and his eyes stung.
It was far, far too quiet, as though everything else was scared by the smoke. Ree was scared too, but somehow he found himself running toward the ruins, his toe claws digging into soil and hummocky grass and his chest aching.
Not a single house stood. Vegetable gardens wilted from the heat, and all the village animals were gone, either taken by soldiers or run away from the burning. There were bodies in the street, charred things that Ree couldn’t recognize and didn’t want to. He shuddered. He should never have come. Had Jem seen this done? He couldn’t think Jem would have helped. But if Jem stayed with them long enough . . . His heart felt cold and shrunken within him, like a small thing, trying to hide.
Around him cooling timbers creaked and settled. The smoke was now more charred wood than charred meat, and he was glad for that. He shuddered again, and his stomach lurched toward his throat. The hazy air stung his eyes and made them burn and tear.
/> Someone whimpered.
Ree followed the sound to one of the ruined houses. He edged toward it. It had been a big house. The thatched roof was gone, and the walls had fallen in on themselves in a tangle of wood and sun-dried brick, all of it charred and stark. The cellar doors, heavy wooden things with metal strapping, were still intact although the wood was badly burned.
Someone was crying in the cellar.
Ree hauled the doors open and scurried down into the dark, ashy-smelling air below. He could see the mess of everything that had fallen in from the house, but there was a small clear space, and a girl of about six huddled by the wall. She was trying to cry quietly and not really succeeding.
“They’ve gone,” Ree said softly. “You’re safe now.”
She looked up, staring at him. Soot smeared her face, and her eyes were wide and full of fear. “You . . . you’re old Garrad’s goblin.”
“Yep.” Ree didn’t go into the town, ever, only watched from the cover of the forest when Jem was there, but people had caught glimpses of him, and people always talked. “You think he’d keep something dangerous?”
Just as the kitten had, she watched him with big eyes, trying to decide if he was dangerous. He thought of the burned bundles in the street and of Jem taken away by the people who’d done this, and he wasn’t sure he couldn’t be very dangerous. He had to do something, but what?
“Mama put me here so the soldiers . . . Mama . . .” She cried, big wrenching sobs.
Ree sighed and picked her up. She didn’t weigh much, and he’d carried Jem before, and he was stronger than someone his size should be, but he’d hurt if he had to carry her far. She buried her face in his shirt and kept right on crying.
In the end, Those Damn Kittens calmed the girl down. Three of them had crept into her lap, purring and tumbling, and she’d calmed enough, watching them, to tell Ree and Garrad her story.
She was the youngest child of the village mayor, and named Amelie like her mother. Mama had put her in the cellar because she thought her being so pretty might tempt the soldiers. But the soldiers had taken everyone and burned everything, and Mama . . . She’d eaten some stew, petted Those Damn Kittens, and finally fallen into an exhausted sleep.
Ree and Garrad had gotten her into a makeshift bed under the eaves, then come back to sit by the fire.
“All of ’em?” Garrad asked softly.
Ree nodded. “Jem—” He said. His hands clenched, his claws extending and digging into his palms. “He saw it. He’ll see it. He’ll get used—”
The old man nodded, and sighed. “I don’t know what to do, son.” He closed his eyes. “Seems like no matter which way we turn, there’s damn soldiers in the way.”
“Yeah.” Ree might be able to survive in the forest, but not as a person. Here he belonged. He’d helped make that chair and the matching one where he sat. There was new plaster in the bedroom that he’d put on, and the roof was weathertight because of the many times he’d been up there fitting new shingles and looking for ones too old and dried out to use any more. His humanity was tied to these and to Jem in the kitchen, cooking, and to Garrad making jokes about teaching Jem to shave because he couldn’t call both of them Fur Face.
Why didn’t one of the bad hobgoblins like the snow bears go after the soldiers and kill them all, and let Jem escape back home.
But that wasn’t right. If they were grabbing boys like Jem, that meant a lot of the soldiers were boys like Jem. And besides, if there was one thing Ree knew, all the way from Jacona, before the changes, it was that you didn’t sit around waiting for someone to solve your problems for you.
That reminded him of the way hobgoblins were hunted, how much they scared people in the city, where they had guards and soldiers to protect them. Wouldn’t people out here be even more scared of creatures like him?
“Granddad? You remember when we arrived here?” Garrad looked away from the fire and gave him a sharp look. It had to irk the old man to remember how helpless he’d been.
“You were scared of me, because I’m a hobgoblin, right? And you couldn’t stop me.” He remembered Garrad’s frightened eyes.
A little life crept back into the old man’s face. “I remember all right.”
“How scary do you think a hobgoblin could be? At night?”
Garrad laughed, that short, harsh bark of a laugh that seemed to dare the world to argue with him. “Pretty damn scary, I reckon.”
Ree crept toward the soldiers’ camp, his heart and chest tighter than a miser’s pocket. His fur prickled with every hint of breeze. He moved by animal instinct. Stealthily. He’d never thought there’d be a day when he’d thank the Little Gods for being part cat and part rat.
He’d taken off his clothes and hidden them in the forest not far from where the soldiers camped. This was just himself and his claws. And a lantern, to use later.
One of the soldiers walked past, boots stomping within inches of Ree’s face. He held his breath until the man moved on before he inched forward again. Every sound he made seemed unnaturally loud, every rustle of grass and trickle of dirt like an avalanche. His breath was like thunder to his ears. But the soldiers didn’t hear him and didn’t see him.
He found Jem lying pale faced and exhausted, wrapped in a thin blanket. Ree guessed they worked the boys hard, but there was no excuse for the big bruise darkening one side of his face and the way he lay huddled as if afraid. He wasn’t the only boy like that, and the soldiers must have been scared they’d run away, because they tied all the boys up at night, the same as their prisoners.
Soil and grass slid under Ree’s stomach and tickled his nose. Just as well it was night, because he could see much better than any human. He hoped he could scare them so they ran all the way back to their fancy Grand Duke and never, ever came back.
Ree slid his way to Jem and up alongside him. Carefully, he started to untie Jem’s hands. The way Jem started when he woke, and bit back a scream, made Ree choke on anger.
“Ree?” Jem barely breathed his name. “They’ll kill you!”
“We’re leaving. We all are.” When he’d decided that, Ree didn’t know, but he wasn’t leaving anyone for those bastards. Not even if he had to kill again. He gestured with his head. “Can you get them free?”
Jem nodded. His lips went tight, and his eyes narrowed. He looked so like Garrad that Ree’s eyes burned.
“Good. Warn them about me.”
“What are you going to do?”
Ree grinned. “What do you think? Big, terrifying hobgoblin come to eat them for dinner.”
Ree shielded the lamp before he lit it. It was one of the old ones from when there was magic, with glass behind the metal shutters and a lighter that you pushed to make a spark. There wasn’t any magic in the lamp, but it had taken a mage to make the lighter.
The click of the lighter seemed awfully loud.
None of the soldiers heard it.
Ree wiped his hands on his fur. He was sweating, and his skin prickled. He had to scare the soldiers so much they left their captives where they were.
He cupped his hands to his mouth and let out a hollow roar that could have come from one of the snow bears.
Soldiers stumbled up and moved a bit like bees, only with torches and weapons and looking for something to kill.
Ree caught the handle of the lantern with his claws and raced to the next place he’d chosen: a cluster of boulders not far from the woods. He let loose a second roar before he’d come to a stop, then darted back into the woods to get to his third place.
Another roar sounded, this one from the other side of the soldiers. Ree’s heart jumped in his chest, then he grinned. Jem must have decided to help.
The ruin of an old building was Ree’s stage; all that was left of it was half a wall that he could stand on. He hung the lantern and unshielded the side he needed, then stepped into its light. The effect on the soldiers was better than he’d dared to hope: They cringed from his hugely magnified shadow.
&nb
sp; A whole chorus of roars erupted, some of them—to Ree, anyway—sounding like they came from little children.
Ree breathed in deeply and bellowed, making his voice big. “Begone! This is my territory!”
He didn’t expect them to break and run right then, but they did. Maybe the shadows from the rest of the ruins made him look scarier, or maybe it was all the howls and roars coming from everywhere around the camp.
There were a few screams, too, men, not women or boys. Ree dropped back out of the light and shielded the lantern and tried to ignore the way his stomach knotted up. If some of the people who’d been chased out of their homes and . . . hurt wanted to pay back some, well, it wasn’t any business of his.
He leaned against the ruined wall, shuddering. This wasn’t over, not by a long way.
A shape loomed out of the shadows. A meaty hand grabbed for Ree’s throat. He ducked aside, gulping. It was the big one, the commander.
Ree’s lips drew back in a snarl, and he launched himself at the soldier. The man wasn’t in his armor, just a shirt and pants, but he had a sword in his right hand. That wouldn’t matter if Ree was right up close.
He caught the man’s shoulders, digging his claws in while he arched his back so he could get his legs up and use the toe claws where it would hurt most.
The big bastard made a sound that might have been a scream, and Ree heard metal hit stone. His nose wrinkled at the man’s smell of sour beer and worse. His toe claws got a grip, dug in.
The man grabbed at Ree’s chest, trying to pull him away. That let Ree use his right hand to dig his claws into the man’s eyes, his throat.
The big man’s choking scream died to a horrible gurgling noise, and he pitched forward.
Ree scrambled to pull away from him and bit back a yelp when he found the man’s sword the hard way. His feet might be tougher than a human’s, but they weren’t horn.
He stumbled away from the wall and loose stone and collapsed, gasping. His foot stung.
Changing the World Page 19
