Then he barked in a strange language none of them knew, a harsh language like a boar’s roar or lion’s snarl. Lady Mintha, lying near the crypt door, turned to the darkness. The tramp of many feet echoed up the stairway, and the howl of answering voices.
Goblins poured into the courtyard of Gaheris. Like ghosts rising from the Netherworld, they issued from the shadows, enormous creatures of stone and teeth and claws. They fell upon the people of Gaheris, pursuing them into the keep itself, grabbing women by the hair, killing those who stood to fight. Leta curled into a ball atop her fallen father as though to protect him. An enormous hand took hold of her, yanking the barbet and veil from her head so that her hair fell free down her back. She expected any moment to feel the sharp bite of a sword. Instead, she was dragged away from her father and did not know if he lived.
The Chronicler, writhing in Corgar’s grasp, watched Leta vanish into the mob, watched the carnage and the madness filling the courtyard. A few housecarls put up a resistance, but he heard death screams that were distinctly human.
Corgar smiled and pulled the Chronicler close to his face. Breath like rotted meat filled the Chronicler’s senses. “Well, little king,” he said, “it looks as though it is I who will do the driving.”
The golden cat streaked across the shadow-strewn floor of the Wood Between. The Chief Poet of Rudiobus chased his Path through the trees, through the darkness, with the desperation of a hunted beast, though it was he who hunted. Those lurking in the dark fled out of his way and watched him go with frightened eyes.
His pace never slowed, not though he ran a hundred miles. And when he neared the Haven of his Master, he redoubled his efforts. Smells pricked his nose, smells as deep as the shadows themselves.
“No, no, no!” he growled, unwilling to believe what he already knew was true. For Bebo had spoken, and Bebo was never wrong. He flew to the Haven, determined to reach it, determined that he could not be too late.
Another smell caught his nose, and he stopped, horror-stricken.
He stood with his ears pricked, and his great eyes turned in a direction slightly off his regular Path.
“Dragons eat you, Imraldera,” he whispered in sudden terror.
Moving more carefully now, his body low, his tail catching leaves and twigs in its long fur, he crept down this new, narrow Path, one which he had only ever walked once before. Then he stopped and breathed another curse.
The Faerie Circle had grown. Stones taller than a man and silvery white gleamed before his eyes. And into that ring of stones, marching, marching, passed an army of goblins.
“Lights Above, mercy!” Eanrin growled.
He whipped about and rushed back to the nearest gate into the Near World.
9
AKILUN, WHO HAD REMAINED BY MY SIDE, his deep eyes studying my face, rose suddenly and crossed to his brother. Though he spoke in a low voice, I strained my ears and caught his words.
“Are you certain, Etanun?” he asked. “Is it wise for us to venture with her to Etalpalli?”
“Why do you ask?” Etanun said. “She and her people are desperate. And from what she has told us, can you doubt that it was our own Prince who guided her to us through the Wood?”
“True,” Akilun replied, and I saw him bow his head and cast a swift glance my way. “But when I looked into her eyes, I saw death.”
“You saw the mark of Cren Cru,” Etanun said and his grip upon the sword tightened.
“No,” Akilun said. “It is something else. Death in fire. Death in water. The death of thousands. Flame. And the fall of night.”
I turned away from them, wrapping my arms and my wounded wings tightly about my body, for his soft words frightened me as neither Cren Cru nor the dreadful Wood had done. I could not explain it, and this made it worse by far.
But Etanun said, “My brother, man of insight, would you counsel me to rest my sword and allow the Parasite to destroy yet another demesne?”
I waited to hear Akilun’s answer. It never came.
Instead, Etanun approached, his sword in hand, and when I looked, I saw that Akilun drew close behind, and he held the lantern Asha. When I saw its light, delicate and white, I found my heart rising. For the first time since the fall of my mighty parents, I began to hope.
Goblins filled Gaheris Castle.
From Alistair’s window, Mouse saw the creature stride from the crypt. He saw the bloodshed in the courtyard, the crushed coffin, the dishonored form of the dead earl. He saw Leta flung around like a husk doll, and he saw the Chronicler held in the monster’s grip.
“You seek the dwarf, little one.”
“I seek the dwarf,” Mouse whispered without knowing what he said.
Then goblins poured from that narrow doorway as though it were a portal from another world. They killed as they went, and Mouse could not see if they took prisoners.
“I’m not part of this,” he whimpered.