"I got more," he said, a honed edge to his voice. "I got news he wants, an’ if he treats me fair, I'll tell him."
Lindenlea lifted a hand, fist tight as though she were ready to follow the guard’s cuffing blow with another.
"Hold," the prince said. When Lindenlea let her fist open and her hand drop, he nodded to the goblin. "What do they call you?"
The goblin seemed surprised. It isn't a question often asked by elves of goblins. "Ithk," he said. "Ithk of Goblintown on the east side of the Forest-Around-Hammer-Rock-But-Not-Too-Close."
Kethrenan raised a brow. The goblin had spun out that name as though it meant something.
"Isn't that where Gnash the hob rules?"
"Him," said the goblin Ithk, not allowing himself to be baited by elven scorn. He adjusted his fur carefully till the bear's head sat between his shoulder blades. "Ain't no good thing in my mind though. I quit him."
"Did you now?" Keth glanced at Lea. "Why?"
"Hates 'im. I hates 'im. He's no good. Took our Golch’s army and his goblin town but ain't got the guts to do more than talk about our ancient feud with Brand of the Stonelands."
Our ancient feud…
The words caused a warrior by the door to snort sudden laughter at the thought of this creature naming contention between outlaws and goblins a feud, or even ancient. Kethrenan silenced her with a narrow glance.
"Go on," said the prince to the goblin.
His eyes darting from Kethrenan to the others, suspecting mockery, Ithk nevertheless went on. "Bastard Gnash killed Golch, saw the son's head come back in an outlaw’s sack, and did nothing about it. Says he gots better things to do than chase a handful of humans. Says he gots an army to grow. Hates 'im."
Kethrenan was grateful Ithk didn't say Gnash had shamed him, for if he had, the prince himself might have laughed at the idea that one of these wretches could speak of shame.
"And you're here-why?"
"I want to kill that whoreson bastard Brand." The goblin’s lips pulled a nasty grin. "I'm thinkin’ you do, too. I know how to find him."
The warriors looked from one to another. The torch in the hand of the elf woman cast streaming orange light and shadow all around the room. In that running light and shadow, Kethrenan took one long step. Swift, he snatched the goblin’s shoulder, his long fingers gripping hard.
"Tell me," he said, no pretense to amusement in his voice now. Ithk yowled like a kicked cat, struggling to get away. Keth gripped harder. "Tell me where they are and how you know."
"I know," the goblin whined, "because I looked. Ain't me can kill ’em by myself. Ain't Gnash going to do it. I'm you want to know where he is. They're nowhere in the light, but I know how to find ’em, and you want to know, so maybe you'll pay me good-"
He twisted in Keth's grip, the bear-headed fur falling to the floor.
"My prince," Lindenlea said, her hand on Keth's arm, "don't break him. Let’s see if we can determine whether he is telling the truth."
Kethrenan found her suggestion sound, though he'd have liked to break all the bones in the goblin Ithk for the sheer effrontery of the creature's thinking he could come here to bargain. He ordered his warriors to take the goblin to the Temple of Solinari, the moon-white marble hall where, in secret chambers, mages kept a lovely necklace of golden links from which depended a stone of indeterminate nature. Sometimes it shone diamond clear. At other times, it shone red and burned the flesh like a fiery ember.
"See if the creature is telling the truth," the prince said to Lindenlea. "If he is, come tell me. I'll be in the Tower."
"If he lies?"
Kethrenan shrugged. "Kill him."
The prince's cousin did as he ordered, and for a time a high screeching could be heard echoing through bright Solinari’s temple. It rang strangely in that place of peace and prayer where the air smelled always of rain-washed The screeching didn't go on long, and in the end the clerics had to say to the Lady Lindenlea that they didn't know what to tell her about how the Stone of Truth judged the goblin’s tale.
"Sometimes the stone showed clear and bright, sometimes like a liar’s bloody hand. You'll have to make your own judgment, my lady. If you think the prince is served by killing the creature, kill him. But don't do the killing here, and get some of your warriors to dump the body outside the city if you don't mind."
Lindenlea took this news to her cousin. Walking back through the city, watching the first fat flakes of snow drift down from burdened skies, she thought things had turned out as she'd feared from the start. They would be offered the risk of trusting a goblin, there would be no surety, and Keth would consider the possible gain worth the risk he'd take.
"What fee does he want?"
Lindenlea shrugged. "Brand's head. He says he wants to be the one to kill Brand."
"He can't, but he doesn't need to know that. Tell him what he wants to hear."
Lindenlea did that, and she left the goblin in the care of warriors, well guarded in a cell until he was needed. Ithk raised his objections, but not too loudly. It seemed he was disposed to be cooperative.
Grimly, Lindenlea left him. Restless, she strode the streets of Qualinost, a tall figure in flame-colored silk and whitest ermine making for the shining lights of the Tower of the Sun. Faintly, strains of sweet music drifted on the snowy air. They had started the dancing in there, the elf king, his kin, and his senators, celebrating a young prince's birthday. Lindenlea did not doubt that Keth was there, that sword of a prince ready to begin his search again.
And soon, too. It must warm up to snow, and she could feel the temperature of the air changing even as she lifted her face to the falling snow. There would be a snowfall, and then there would be a thaw. Kethrenan would ride out from his brother's city and go again in search of his wife. Lindenlea would, of course, be with him. He was her cousin and her prince.
Her boots were the soft boots of the court-thin-soled, buttery leather with fur trim useful for drawing a man's eye to a shapely calf. They were not meant to carry her across any terrain rougher than thick carpeting or polished floor. Still, none of the guards on the four spans who saw her doubted that here was a warrior, back straight, stride long, her hand moving like it wished to grip a sword.
Now began the season of hunting lost things.
Chapter 8
"Here is what I know about how to live," said the princess to herself in the dark reaches of the earth while winds moaned without and snow fell, the hissing of it heard at the mouths of secret caves.
I know how to mend my clothing with needles of bone and thread of clumsy sinew. I know how to recognize the smell of good water and foul. I know to watch the dwarf when we are walking-he never puts a foot wrong. I know I am beaten if I fall, and I am kicked up again. I know how to eat fast, though I am the one who eats last. I know how to keep quiet in shadows, and I know it is a blessing that I no longer dream.
I know to keep my eyes low. I know to speak to none of them. I know there are some who watch, some who wait. I hear them breathing, occupying other shadows than those I cling to. I hear them.
What is it they wait for? They are like hounds themselves. They wait for chance. Hounds. I know to keep near the hound. I know to share my food with Fang so he is willing to be more with me than with Char.
These things Elansa thought, often and over, for they were the new rules for how she could live. Sometimes, when she sat a long time in her shadows at night-or what she imagined must be night-Elansa sensed two pairs of eyes on her more strongly than others. They held her in tension between them, the eyes of Arawn, Dell's handsome lover, and the eyes of Brand. Brand would watch her thus even as he lay with Tianna asleep in his arms. He didn't like it that dark-haired Arawn wouldn't let go the matter of the disposition of the prisoner.