Chapter 18

Goldeneyes

The Mistress of the Emberflint Clan, the goblin known as Goldeneyes, sat staring pensively out at the torched ruins of Eastmarket. Once a thriving commercial center, it was now a blighted shell holding the pitiful remnants of a population that was barely surviving.

On this day, she was dressed in her one conceit, an elaborate silken robe dyed in deep purples and blacks that seemed to shift and ripple in the light. Hundreds of small trinkets and ribbons adorned the garment--each one telling a story of her clan's triumphs under her leadership. The sleeves, intentionally oversized, concealed an arsenal of daggers, poison darts, and other tools of goblin negotiation.

Her clan had been incredibly lucky to escape the old dragon's wrath a season ago. It bothered her that luck had played so large a part in their deliverance. She was a firm believer that good luck was always followed by bad. The bad had come right quick. Silverbirch and his son, the main source of her clan's income, were dead. Much of the clan's carefully purchased investment properties in Eastmarket lay in ruin, slagged over by dragon-fire.

They were alarmingly close to being broke.

In desperate hope of some way out of their current mess, she had summoned a seer named Siah, or Far Looker in Ghukliak, the language of goblin-kind. The old female now sat across from her, sipping tea, waiting politely for permission to speak. Goldeneyes was no fan of seers. She really didn't want to hear their foretellings. They almost always complicated decision-making and would probably add to the feeling of doom that now flavored her days. Even in ordinary times, living in Oldtown was to balance on the razor knife's edge. Recent times had been anything but ordinary.

Suddenly, the seer's eyes rolled back in her head as she fell out of the chair onto the floor and into a trance.

"Doom and Choice are upon us," the seer croaked out and lapsed into unconsciousness.

Goldeneyes shuddered with superstitious awe.

There was a noise outside her office, a rapid knock on her door, and her youngest clan-brother came in, shaken and pale-faced.

"Mistress, you have visitors."

"Just what I need," she snapped. "Help this old fool up. Get her out of here."

Her clan-brother, still unaccountably pale and shaken, picked up the old woman like a sack of flour and hurried out.

Next, the seer's foretelling came alarmingly clear--

The Shadow Walker walked through the door.

A frisson of pure terror clenched in her belly at the sight of the being she had prayed to never see again in this world. She desperately tried to suppress her species' involuntary response to danger: body freeze, rapid panting in preparation for a quick escape. Her mind quickly sought out the four emergency bolt holes she had built into her office. Just as quickly, she gave up. If the Shadow Walker wanted her dead, she was dead. Her chief bodyguard, a tall troll female named Ukur, stood useless, staring at him open-mouthed.

Steady yourself.

Goldeneyes had not survived in a hostile environment as the weakest of the hominid species by accident. Her natural resiliency came to the fore and stiffened her spine. She let herself settle into her center.

"May Singer and Song bless you, Mistress. May we have a moment of your time," he guttered politely in perfect Ghukliak.

Awe again swept through her.

Sweet Mother, help me. He speaks the hidden tongue.

Then she noticed Hera, the Vampire's amazon and the Bank's assassin, had followed him into the room.

Sweet Mother, what is going on here?

"Singer and Song bless you as well," she replied. "How may my poor clan be of service?"

She snapped to her guard, "Ukur, snap out of it and go fetch chairs for my guests."

During the time it took everyone to be seated, her panic had ebbed, and rational thought processes surfaced again. She asked,

"Master, how may we serve?"

"I have a task for your clan. A task that offers a Bounty of Matzulx. The clan's babies will grow fat."

The instinctive greed of her kind asserted itself. The promise of a Bounty of Matzulx had a powerful draw for her kind. Matzulx were a species of rodents that had sustained the goblin race in their ancient past. It signified survival. A Bounty of Matzulx meant "a promise of life." The clan's precious babies would thrive. Hard times meant a generation of babies were sacrificed so the clan could eat. The clan's legends, told every holy day, recounted the bad days and harsh lessons of the past, branding them into the minds of every clan member.

Caution warred with greed. His casual mention of Matzulx and babies meant that he truly understood goblin-kind. This being would be expecting to be cheated.

Risk walks hand in hand with opportunity.

Her natural caution came to the fore.

Gather information.

She adopted her negotiating voice. Aside from her large, luminous yellow eyes, Goldeneyes' most striking feature was her song--smooth as poured honey. She almost never raised it above a conversational tone, knowing that those who shout reveal their weakness. Instead, she had trained herself to speak in measured, precise tones that could make a simple "perhaps" sound like either a promise or a threat, depending on her needs.

"Please take your ease, Master, and tell me more." Her inquisitive gaze went to his companion.

"The Vampire Luciana Marinus has received a commission to rebuild Eastmarket."

"An impossible task," she said before she could stop herself. "The Bloodsucker is far too canny to agree to such a foolish thing." She stopped and ran her tongue over her sharp teeth. "Is it a con?" Her amber eyes shone at the idea of such a masterful thing.

"No, Mistress, it is not. As a matter of fact, it is a commission issued by me. I have provided funding. She will organize the effort with the dwarves, merchants, and the guilds. Your clan is going to help."

Stunned, all she could do was stare at him. Of all the things she would ever have expected in this life to hear, that would certainly be dead last.

"The Dragons will provide the funding. Kurt the Bear will speak for Draga Stonecutter and the grandfathers to provide the skilled labor to manage the teams to do the actual building. And Hera here will be the Vampire's agent to manage the entire enterprise."

Goldeneyes sat back, desperately trying to think. Caution warred with curiosity.

Slow down your mouth. You are not a cub. Quit acting like one.

"Master, why have you come to me?"

"Before I explain, would you call your sept-sister council? I would explain this once."

She had no thought to reject his request, and the promise of Matzulx, along with her innate curiosity, made the decision moot. She nodded to her bodyguard, who was instantly out the door.

Her sisters were soon seated in the meeting room next to her office.

"Let us begin." Goldeneyes' voice shifted to solemn. She raised her hands, closed her eyes, and growled out, "We live and die for our clan."

The sisters stiffened and intoned after her, "We live and die for our clan." The clan meeting ritual was complete. She nodded to her bodyguard, who left the room and returned with the tall human and his companions.

Of the six, only Asaqi recognized Quinn. She let out a fearful gasp before she managed to collect herself. The others merely stared with curiosity at the pair.

They all leaned back in astonishment as Quinn addressed them respectfully, his throat warbling the songs and clicks of perfect Ghukliak.

Quinn laid out what he had seen in the east. He next turned to his plans.

Goldeneyes could see her sisters' faces shut down at the foolishness of his plans. She desperately tried to think of a way to signal to them not to offend the Shadow Walker. Sure enough, the youngest of them started to speak but was relieved to see Asaqi dig her fingers into her arm to silence her.

Goldeneyes spoke. "Master, what do you need from us?"

"Obviously, the critical part of the construction is building materials and labor. Building materials will have to come through your ports here in Southmarket. I need your clan to be the go-between for supplies and labor with the vampire and Larissa the Romani. I will journey there this day to ask for her help in this endeavor. I do not know the area. I will need Asaqi to guide me."

The eldest of her sisters spoke up, her face wrinkled and age-grayed. Her years had honed her wits razor-sharp.

Goldeneyes sighed. Here we go.

"That the Vampire's second and the assassin are here with you means you have the coin sufficient for the task. Why us and not the Carters' Guild?"

Quinn gave a thin smile. "Because I know you are desperate. I suspect that you are days away from harvesting your babies. You are known to be excellent thieves, but you always do business with the clan's best interests in mind. I trust that fact, not your words. Do the job I am offering you and a Bounty of Matzulx beyond your understanding will fall into your laps. You have a connection with Larissa the Romani. I don't trust the guilds or the merchants. I trust your mistress to be smart."

The other sisters leaned forward slightly, their interest clear despite their carefully maintained expressions of indifference. A scarred female who sat to Asaqi's left bared her filed teeth in what might have been a smile or a threat.

"Why should we believe you, human?" Her tone was arrogant and dismissive.

Goldeneyes paled. She watched horrified as a Death God replaced the polite old human. His eyes turned black as the bottom of the Desolate. The nightmare that was the fabled dragon whip emerged with a shriek. In an instant, it looped around the scarred female's throat.

"YOU HAVE NO CHOICE, GOBLIN. YOU WILL DO AS I ASK OR I WILL HARVEST YOUR CLAN ROOT AND STALK, THEN FIND ANOTHER TO DEAL WITH--WILL YOU OR NIL YOU, MY PLANS WILL GO FORWARD."

The human's transformation from supplicant to killer was stark and utterly terrifying. As one, the sisters fell to their knees with a moan.

"Please, Master," Goldeneyes stutttered out. "Have mercy. We will do your will, Master."

"Your oath then?"

"My oath on the souls of my ancestors."

The human stood. "I know goblin-kind well, Mistress Goldeneyes. Hear me well. In a week or a month, the time will come when there is an overwhelming opportunity to cheat. Please remember this day and swallow your greed for the good of your sisters and their babies."

He gestured to Asaqi to follow, and he and his companions walked out.

Chapter 19

Quinn

Quinn didn't second-guess his tactics in his dealings with Goldeneye's clan sisters. He was grateful that he hadn't needed to make an example of one of them and kill. Goblin-kind were ever amoral. One minute friendly--the next, betrayers. At the slightest sign of weakness, any being outside the clan was fair game to be exploited for the good of the clan. If a being understood that, they were extremely clever and hardworking when given the right encouragement.

He had lined up management, investment, and logistics. Now it was time to secure supplies and labor.

He sent the Amazon and the Assassin went back to their masters.

Quinn waited with Asaqui's crew for the ferry that would carry them across the Salt River to Southmarket. The crew clustered together, munching on whatever treats they had snared along the way. Goblins, more than any of the hominid races, had a serious sweet tooth. The two white mountain trolls kept glancing at Quinn furtively. Tooli, their leader, anxiously kept her eye on him lest she miss a whim he might express. The three troll women had an important place in the pantheon of their gods. To them, he was literally a messenger of the Gods--terrifying and to be obeyed at all costs. Her grandmothers would grill her unmercifully for flaws in her behavior when she got back to her clan to report on the day's events.

It was nightfall and a bad time to be entering an environment he knew little about. His early years in Oldtown and subsequent missions as Keeper had never called him to the Southmarket district. But he had no choice. Time was growing short. If the daemon succeeded in getting more of its kind through the portal, they might be impossible to kill. He was juggling three missions, something Vuza the Warrior would have punished him for. According to her, mission creep was failure by another name.

The barge came. The ferryman, a squat elderly gray-faced orc, collected his fare and silently poled them across.

They disembarked. Asaqi led them through a maze of narrow cobblestone streets. They passed chandlers and sailmakers, shipping offices and taverns, all shouldered together in a jumble of architectural styles. The rich smell of tar being heated for the caulking of ships' seams mixed with the ever-present brine smell off of Amster Bay, mingling with the sharp tang of fresh-caught fish. White-rimed barrels of salted herring stood stacked on the wharf.

Asaqi's crew showed their nerves by trying to watch everywhere at once.

The sailors they passed were mainly orcs and trolls mixed with humans. The shop owners were predominantly dwarves. Very few goblins. The beings hated being around bodies of water bigger than puddles.

At last, they drew up beside a large houseboat painted in a myriad of colors and intricate designs. Quinn saw that her security was tight. There were a score of heavily armed orcs guarding the pier.

He forced himself to pause and take a breath before entering. Despite feeling that he had no time to waste, Goldeneyes had told him that dealing with Larissa required finesse, and finesse required patience--something he well knew he lacked.

The door opened to reveal the interior of Laressa's floating vardo. Stained glass windows cast jeweled patterns across the wooden deck. The scent of incense mixed with herbs filled the air. As he entered with Asaqi, six pairs of eyes turned to study him--females whom he assumed were Laressa's daughters. A female closest to the door was signing furiously, her fingers snapping and twisting in what was no doubt their clan's secret language.

Chapter 20

Rose

"There is something about this forest that is scary," Junie whispered to Rose as they followed the big man deeper into the forest.

Rose agreed. First, there were the little fat furry creatures that looked like little bear cubs. Junie called them ewoks. Now that she looked closer, she agreed. They looked exactly like Star Wars ewoks. As the day passed and they went deeper into the maze of undergrowth, the canopy overhead grew thicker, blocking out light. Now she had the distinct feeling that they were being watched. And not by friendly watchers either. She had the distinct feeling they were interlopers and not welcome.

A little further, and the forest changed again. Sunny. Flowering vines everywhere. Suddenly a flurry of tiny sprites appeared. She heard a squeal from Izzy and Junie; like a cloud of colorful butterflies, they hovered around them as well. The pixies were no bigger than her thumb. Their wings caught the filtered sunlight in prismatic flashes of violet, gold, and emerald. Some had dragonfly wings that hummed with an almost musical quality; others seemed to trail stardust as they spiraled and danced. Their tiny piping whistles and clicks lent more magic to an already surreal scene.

Izzy especially seemed enthralled. Her usual absent-minded demeanor--the faraway look she'd worn since Junie had known her--was completely gone. She was fully present in wonder, reaching up with tentative fingers as one brave sprite landed on her palm. The tiny creature was luminous, its features delicate as spun glass. When it chirped--a sound like wind chimes--Izzy's face broke into the first genuine smile Rose had seen from her in months.

"It's like we're in a fairytale, Rosie," Junie whispered, her voice hushed with awe. A sprite had tangled itself in her dark curls, and she giggled as it tickled her ear. "Look, hundreds of Tinkerbells."

Rose saw that the sprites were attracted to the colorful bracelets the woman named Niamh had given them after Junie had commented on them. Friendship bracelets, she called them. That kept Rose from complelty sharing their wonder. The feeling of dread that had settled in her chest ever since the Preacher Man had picked them up flared anew. Everything about this felt wrong. The sprites were beautiful, yes, but their arrival felt too alien.

Sam clearly felt the same. He clutched his stolen knife--still hidden beneath his oversized shirt--and tried to look in all directions at once. His jaw was tight, his eyes scanning the undergrowth, the canopy above, the shadows between the trees. When one sprite drifted too close to his face, he swatted it away like a mosquito. It let out an indignant squeak and rejoined its companions.

The beings Junie had name ewoks ignored the sprites and plodded on, clicking and whistling softly to each other. But Rose noticed their ears were laid back, their movements more urgent. They were hurrying, she realized--trying to get somewhere or away from something.

They calmed when the forest changed again. It was continually transforming in ways that defied all logic and geography. They'd started in what Rose recognized as a pine forest--the familiar rust-red bark, the vanilla-sweet smell of sun-warmed needles, the dry crunch of pinecones underfoot. She'd hiked in these forests in better days with her daddy before...before.

The ponderosas gave way to something else. The air grew heavier and damper. Moss appeared on the tree trunks, first in patches, then in thick carpets of emerald velvet. "Rainforest," Rose thought, stunned. They were in rainforest now--massive fallen cedars creating bridges and caves, their trunks so wide three people couldn't link arms around them. Mounds of mushrooms erupted from the decomposing wood: oyster mushrooms in shelf-like layers, honey-colored chanterelles, and others Rose couldn't name. Huckleberry bushes grew in the gaps, their berries dark and glossy.

The temperature climbed. Rose's t-shirt stuck to her back with sweat.

The trip seemed endless. They stopped and rested many times. The one eyed man would hand out water and snacks. Once, they stayed for a sleep time in the hollow of an enormous tree, sleeping the sleep of exhaustion. The big man woke them up, and after some food and water, they moved on.

The rainforest morphed into jungle--proper jungle, like something from an adventure movie. Broad-leaved plants with leaves the size of dinner plates crowded the path. Hot, humid air pressed against them, thick enough to taste. The undergrowth grew dense with shade-loving shrubs whose names Rose didn't know, all deep greens and waxy surfaces. The smell changed too--from the clean scent of pine to the rich, earthy smell of decay. Not unpleasant yet, but organic, primal. Water dripped constantly: from leaves, from vines, from the canopy high above. Somewhere in the distance, Rose heard the call of a bird that sounded nothing like any bird from home.

"This doesn't make sense," she muttered. Sam grimaced in agreement.

Still, the ewoks plodded on, their pace never slowing. The scarred man and his two orc companions--Grissel and Murg, she'd heard them called--had gone silent; their earlier banter had stopped.

The forest changed again, and this time there was nothing wonderful about it.

Now there were nothing but dead trees--skeletal sentinels stretching up toward a canopy that had thinned to reveal a gray sky. Enormous mushrooms attached to the trunks like leeches, some as large as car tires, their gills a mottled purple-black that seemed to pulse. The shrubs and grass underneath were black and twisted, brittle things that crunched when stepped on and released a smell like sulfur and old meat.

The oppressive, dank air smelled worse than ever--like something had crawled into the earth and died. It was like the forest was rotting from the inside out. Rose had to breathe through her mouth to keep from gagging. Several of the younger children were crying silently, tears streaming down their faces.

The man and his two orc companions now looked visibly nervous. His hand never left the hilt of his sword, and his scarred face was pale beneath the weathering. The orcs had drawn their weapons, crude axes that looked more like cleavers than proper tools.

The ewoks looked nervous as well. They kept glancing at the sprites with what Rose could only describe as fear, their clicks and whistles taking on a sharp, anxious quality. One of the younger Ewoks--barely more than a cub--had pressed itself against the old female's side, whimpering.

Then, as if responding to some unseen signal, the sprites disappeared. Not gradually--all at once, like someone had flipped a switch. One moment the air was full of light and color and that musical humming; the next, there was only silence and the gray filtered light of the dead forest.

The change in atmosphere was immediate and chilling.

The ewoks slipped away one by one, melting into the underbrush with barely a rustle. First the young ones, then the males. Soon only half the pack remained, then a quarter. Finally, only the old female was left--the matriarch who had led them this far.

She stopped in the middle of the path and held out a small, furred paw.

The scarred man didn't hesitate. He pulled a leather pouch from his belt and placed it in her outstretched paw. She opened it, looked inside, and nodded once.

She looked back at the line of children once, her expression unreadable. Then she waddled away, whistling softly to herself like a songbird--a sound so incongruously cheerful in this dead place that it made Rose's chest ache.

They were alone now. No guides. No sprites. Just Torrn, the two orcs, and a line of terrified children in a forest that felt actively hostile.

Rose's attention was drawn to movement in the cart. The woman--the one who had been unconscious since they'd started this nightmare journey--had awakened. Her eyes were open, confused but clearer than before.

Rose hurried over to her with a bottle of water. "Here," she whispered, helping the woman sit up enough to drink.

The woman sipped gratefully. She looked a lot better--the fever-flush had faded from her cheeks, and her breathing was steady. Up close, Rose could see she was younger than she'd first thought, maybe late twenties, with tangled blond hair and blue eyes.

"Thank you," the woman breathed. Her voice was raspy from disuse. "How long was I out?"

"Two days," Rose whispered. "Since they... since we left."

The woman's eyes closed briefly, processing. When they opened again, they were harder. She glanced toward where the male called Torrn was consulting with the orcs, then back to Rose. In that moment, a silent understanding passed between them.

Rose subtly motioned to Sam, catching his eye. She tilted her head toward the woman, then made a small gesture--knife. Sam's eyes widened, but he understood. He nodded once.

Sam cut the ropes around the woman hands, then quickly stepped away. The woman's eyes met hers again, and this time there was a fierce gratitude there, and something else--determination.

"Tell me your name again?" she asked.

"Rose." The woman, Niamh, tested the name, then nodded. "Thank you. When the time comes--"

"Oi!" Torrn's voice cracked like a whip. "Get away from the cart, girl. We're moving."

Rose jumped back, her heart hammering. But Torrn wasn't looking at her suspiciously, just irritated. He was already turning away, calling orders to the orcs.

A short while later, they stopped on the edge of a huge canyon. The path simply... ended, opening onto nothing but air and a view that stole Rose's breath.

The canyon was enormous, a wound in the earth that stretched as far as she could see in either direction. The far side was at miles away. And the depth--Rose made the mistake of looking down and felt her stomach drop. The bottom was lost in mist and shadow.

A narrow trail led down into the depths, so steep it was almost vertical in places. It had been carved into the rock face, probably by hand, probably centuries ago. In some places, it was barely wider than Rose's shoulders. There were no railings, no safety ropes. Just bare rock, loose scree, and the promise of a very long fall.

The line of children clustered close to each other, instinctively drawing back from the edge. Izzy had lost all her earlier wonder; she stood frozen, her eyes huge. Junie had latched onto Rose's arm with both hands, her nails digging in through the fabric.

The dark depth of the chasm looked scary in a way that went beyond physical danger. There was something wrong about it, something that made Rose's skin crawl. The mist below didn't move like normal mist--it seemed to writhe, almost alive. And the quality of light was strange, dim and gray-green, like they were looking at the world through dirty glass.

Torrn grabbed a length of rope. "Okay, you lot, line up."

He started tying them together one by one, the rope biting into their waists. Rose was third in line, behind a boy of maybe ten who had barely spoken since they were taken, and ahead of Izzy. The knots were tight--too tight--and she could already feel them cutting into her skin.

Some of the kids began to whimper. A little girl, who couldn't be more than seven, started to cry in earnest. "I can't," she sobbed. "I can't, scared..."

"You'll do as you're told," Torrn said, his voice devoid of sympathy. He jerked the rope tighter, and the girl yelped.

Rose looked back at Sam. His face was set, determined. He gave her a small nod. In front of him were Junie and Izzy. Izzy was shaking, looking like she might bolt at any second.

The line stretched out, all of them connected, all of them vulnerable. If one fell...

"Move out, we'll go slow. Keep your hand on the wall." he ordered, starting down the path himself. The rope pulled taut, and the line of children, with the woman Niamh at the end, began to descend into the darkness.