"They say you're very brave," Azdra'ik remarked.
He did not in the least believe that was what they had said.
Then Ela said, coldly: "Pahai'me. Shi ashtal i paseit."
Goblin eyes widened. Faces turned, conversation stopped, and Azdra'ik laughed in what sounded like surprise.
"Pasefcfc, ng'Ysabela."
Tamas cast a glance at Ela: he heardthe name, constructed it with ng'Saeich, and saw the whiteness of Ela's face, cold, ever so cold and angry. "Spas'i rai, ng'Saeich. You are most grievously mistaken."
"Ami?"
"Did you kill her?"
Azdra'ik laid a hand upon his heart—if he had one. "I swear by Lady Moon."
"The Lady changes."
"No. She has moods, but she never changes. Nor I. Nor have I ever, young witch. I swear that, too."
Ela did not answer that, Ela only stared at him, and, oh, god, the stress of the question in the company. Tamas saw it in every face, every frozen motion.
"You should learn your friends, young witch."
"You'll let us go," Ela said coldly. "No three wishes this time, ng'Saeich."
Grins broke out among the goblins. One nudged Azdra'ik in the ribs, but Azdra'ik seemed not so amused. "Impudent child."
"You know who I am," Ela said coldly.
"Young," Azdra'ik retorted. "Very young. Leave it alone, young mistress. Yes, it has power. So does the queen, and she's well aware of you now, and of us, if you use it again."
Ela said nothing to that, only scowled. What side is she on? Tamas asked himself, but clearly it was not quite for or against Azdra'ik, who was not quite loyal to his queen.
Meanwhile the goblin next to Tamas had caught a stick back from the fire, snagged whatever black, ragged thing was sizzling there, cut it and leaned their direction to proffer a tidbit on the edge of his knife. "Our guests first?"
"No, thank you," Tamas said faintly: his stomach was upset enough with the debate and the company. He had rather not look at it, and now that he had, he had rather not imagine what it had come from. The goblin laughed as if it were a great joke, others laughed; Azdra'ik, too, who said, "Rabbit, man. It's rabbit."
"We have our own breakfast," Tamas retorted, which set off more of their laughter, but he got into their packs and unwrapped what they owned. He could not have eaten that bit of meat, or, on second thought, have used his borrowed goblin knife to eat with—he was glad to keep to bread and cheese, and he offered a portion to Ela.
"A slight of our hospitality," Azdra'ik said. "How are we to bear it?"
Ela said nothing. And so it went. They ate their separate breakfasts in silence. Azdra'ik and his company pieced out theirs on knife's-edge and spoke animatedly in their own tongue. But eventually Azdra'ik said, "Not a word of thanks for your rescue."
"Rescue!" Ela said.
"Especially seeing young witches with more in their hands than they can handle. That will not serve you in the least, mark me. You know nothing of it."
"And you do," Ela said coldly.
The goblins thought this funny.
"Do you?" Ela wanted to know.
"Only," Azdra'ik said, "insofar as I betrayed its secret to the witches of the Wood, and counseled Ylena to make her minor." Azdra'ik rested an arm on his knee and pointed a black-nailed forefinger at them both. "She was a fool. At the moment of the disaster, I was with the queen. I smuggled the fragment elsewhere and bided my time. Ytresse betrayed her maker."
"Meaning Ylena," Ela said.
"Oh, no, meaning the queen. Ytresse was hers, in all senses but maternity. Ylysse—was her own. Likewise your predecessor—who was twice a fool. Now is the time, I said. Do something with the mirror, I said. But no, she was afraid. Now comes her apprentice to take her place, and what does her apprentice for a beginning? Her apprentice wanders the hills using the mirror for trifles and rattling the queen's own gates, then wonders that it attracts notice. Be glad that I found you, young witch. And show better manners."
"To you."
"Ela," Tamas said. If there was a peaceful offer from the goblin lord, he was willing to hear it—he was desperate to hear it, considering it was himself Azdra'ik would slice in pieces first if Ela decided to provoke him.
"No, now, I have patience. You remember my patience, man." Azdra'ik nipped a bit of meat off the skewer with a small knife, and offered it. "Rabbit, I swear to you. Lady Moon, what a disgusting thought. — Will you?"
"No, thank you."
"The rabbit doesn't care. Not now. There are ways and ways to lose one's concerns. I'd listen to advice, man. I'd persuade the witchling to listen. There is something about her and you that cannot find the right way through the woods—that will never find it, because the magic weights you in one direction, do you understand? The Wood is like that. You'll never meet a thing there but what you've already met, and I wouldn't advise going back in."
"What do you advise?" he asked, since Ela was too proudly sullen.
Azdra'ik shrugged. "Why, rattle the queen's gate quite properly. A place of power, that's where to use that trinket. And the Wood is denied you. So—take it to the queen's gate to use it."
"That would suit you," Ela said.
"That is where you were going," Azdra'ik said, "isn't it? Else you could have circled full about and headed back to Tajny Wood—which I don't think you dared last night to do. The magic—the magic was bringing you toward the queen's own doorstep. And think of it—what better trap for your predecessor to lay, than to plot her magic right down the very course the queen wants most? Irresistible? The queen would not stop you. So who carries that fragment has to come this way. I only hoped to stop you so long as there were choices— to take that bauble back to hiding before you did yourself and us grievous harm."
"Oh, I am sure!" Ela cried.
"An effort foredoomed, I've no doubt now. You were set before birth to be where you are, and I couldn't prevent you. So—since you want to go to the queen, we'll take you to the queen."
"No, "Ela said flatly.
"I assure you," Azdra'ik said, "you've no other choice. The world—has no other choice. You see in us a company that does not love the queen. But your obstinacy has put us in danger—has damned us to assist you now or die, and I assure you, young witch, we have our preference in the matter."
"I'm sure I should believe you," Ela said, but it seemed to Tamas there was worse than listening, and a more dangerous course than asking why.
"So why," Tamas asked, "don't you just kill us, take the mirror and do what you please? That seems the way goblins do things."
A quiet settled at the fireside. Azdra'ik gave him a look that seemed to go on very long. "Because, man, among other virtues I do possess—I am not a witch. None of us can use the mirror—worse, none of us can long resist the mirror—but the existence of that fragment of the great one is the only freedom we have."
"You say," Ela retorted. But it seemed to Tamas that he had just heard a compelling reason, if it was in any sense true.
"I do say. The mirror shapes what is in this land—beyond this land, for all we know. But as long as there exists another mirror, as long as there exists a different vision in another such mirror, there is hope for us. No, we are not eager to contest with our queen. We'd be content to live as we have, in exile—because we have no great hope in opposing her and we have no wish to lose everything in hasty confrontation. But to work against the magic that draws these pieces together—that we cannot, and since we cannot, we attempt to persuade those who can. Unfortunately—" Azdra'ik rose to his feet, towering above them. "Unfortunately, considering who holds it, and who can and cannot use it, the fragment cannot go back into the Wood again. Everything indicates where it's going, and that, young witch, means the queen."