The Goblin Gate

by Hilari Bell

“And just what reason is that?”

  “You didn’t ask me.”

  There was a long silence. Only a month left before Tobin became ill. Would Jeriah have time to track down the elusive tinker? Again. “I don’t suppose you know where I can find him. Or do you need payment for that, too? All the gold in the world? My life’s blood?”

  “No, I’ll see that he gets your message.”

  “That’s it? I did all this, and all you’re going to do is deliver a cursed letter?”

  “And we’ll make sure he passes it on. You gave us a place to live, so we’ll see that your message reaches the Lesser Ones. That was the bargain, and we pay our debts.”

  “What about your debt to Tobin?”

  “Ah, as I said, that’s between him and us. Another bargain entirely. Write up a letter. I’ll see the tinker gets it into the right hands. And then you’re paid. Agreed?”

  It was the best bargain Jeriah was likely to get.

  “Agreed.”

  INTERLUDE

  Makenna

  “WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?”

  The sound of angry voices had drawn her from her tent just after dawn, and over to the site where the first of the goblins’ small houses was under construction. Or not under construction, given how much timber had to be taken out because it had warped after being pegged into place. But the goblin homeowner confronting the Stoners who’d laid the foundations was gesturing at the stonework, not the walls, and as Makenna drew nearer, she saw why. Cracks, like jagged lightning, ran through the thick stones of the small home’s foundation, leaping from one block to another.

  “What in the Dark One’s name could do that? These stones were laid only a few days ago!”

  “Not solid.” Harcu picked up a piece of what looked like gray granite. When he closed his fist, it crumbled like cornbread.

  “We had a bargain!” Dannut, the homeowner, snarled. “And they used shoddy materials—”

  “The stones were fine when we started building the walls,” another goblin protested. “They were fine yesterday.”

  “Just like that flax fiber we had such hopes for,” Thadda the Weaver said grimly. “It seemed perfect for thread until you got a spindle full of it. Then it withered into a handful of cobwebs. I’m beginning to think this world’s accursed!”

  Makenna suddenly remembered a conversation she hadn’t thought important at the time. “Harcu, when you first started working this stone, you told me it was ‘funny’ and ‘not right.’ What was wrong with it?”

  Most humans found the Stoners’ faces unreadable. Makenna had dealt with them enough to see his baffled frustration. Stoners were the least articulate of all the goblin kindred. The Bookeries, the Charmers, the Makers, and even the scatterbrained Flichters considered them stupid, but Makenna had long since realized that a slow tongue didn’t necessarily mean slow wits. She waited patiently as the Stoner tried to fit complex knowledge into his limited vocabulary. Finally, his thick shoulders rose in a shrug. “Not solid.”

  “We know it’s not solid,” said Dannut, almost dancing with fury. “That’s why it’s crumbling to bits! That’s why—”

  Tobin, who had joined the group so quietly she hadn’t noticed him, laid a gentle hand on Dannut’s shoulder and the goblin stopped yelling—though his scowl made words unnecessary.

  Harcu turned away.

  “Wait,” Makenna said urgently. “If you can’t fulfill your bargain, the least you can do is try to tell us why.”

  Not fulfilling a bargain was serious insult among goblins. Harcu stopped.

  “Underwalls built. Bargain full.”

  “Well, they’re not built now.” Makenna glanced at the collapsing stones. “But I don’t believe that’s your fault. You tried to tell me, didn’t you? To tell me there was something wrong with the stone.”

  Harcu nodded. Makenna didn’t recognize the expression in his flat eyes.

  “What was wrong with it?” she asked. “I wasn’t paying attention then, but, I promise you, I’m listening now.”

  Harcu shrugged again. It was the usual response of a Stoner who couldn’t put something into words, but Makenna persisted. “Harcu, try. I think this is important. What was wrong with the stone?”

  “Not solid,” Harcu repeated. “Not solid solid. Not stone solid. Not stone.”

  “Well, if you knew it was shoddy materials,” said Dannut, “then you owe—”

  Tobin must have suppressed him, but this time Harcu didn’t turn away. And now Makenna recognized the look in his eyes, for the same fear rose in her own heart.

  “Are you telling me that it’s not that it wasn’t sound,” she said slowly, “but that it wasn’t real stone?”

  Harcu nodded.

  “But that’s ridiculous!” Thadda said. “Of course the stone’s real.”

  “As real as the plant fiber you spun,” said Makenna. “Which made a fine strong thread for almost three days and then broke when you blew on it. As real as timber that dried straight and true, then warped into pretzels as soon as we tried to build.”

  Erebus, who’d been watching curiously, spoke for the first time. “What are you saying, mistress? If this world wasn’t real, we’d all have starved by now.”

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” Makenna admitted. “But we need to find out. And someone besides me is going to have to power the spells,” she added. “My magic still hasn’t recovered from casting the gate.”

  In truth, she felt like her magic was weaker now than when she’d arrived, but that had to be nonsense.

  “Thadda, you’re a strong Maker. If I laid out the runes, do you think you could feed them power?”

  Makenna was already reaching for one of the buttons on her vest, but the little woman’s uneasy frown stopped her.

  “Mistress, I’d be willing to try, but you’d be better asking someone else. My magic…I don’t know where it’s going, these last weeks, but it’s as feeble as an infant’s. I’d say I was overusing it, if I’d been able to do anything. Maybe someone else?”

  No one volunteered. The dread on the faces around her grew.

  “What?” Tobin asked. “What is it?”

  Someone had to say it aloud. “All of us?” Makenna asked. “Are you telling me that the magic of everyone in this camp is gone?”

  The silence that fell then felt like a drought wind blowing through her bones. One by one they turned to Tobin.

  “Don’t look at me! I don’t have any magic to lose. If there’s something suppressing all your magic, we’ll find out what it is and put a stop to it.”

  He tried to sound calm and confident, but Makenna thought that he’d known something was wrong before any of them. His ordinary face was thinner now, and he’d been jumping at shadows for several weeks.

  If their magic was being stolen away, “something wrong” wasn’t the half of it. Magic was the only way in or out of this world, and right now “out” looked like a really good idea. Making flax rot, wood warp, even solid stone crumble—that was one thing—what could possibly reach into their own bodies and steal the magic out of blood and bone?

  “What in the Dark One’s name is going on here?”

  CHAPTER 6

  Jeriah

  THE CITY OF STEPS 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 th
e 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.