“Who is it, Ree?” Jem whispered. He’d come running from where he’d been, near the chicken coop, and skidded to a stop near Ree. He’d gotten a bit taller since last summer, but mostly he’d put on muscle, filling out to match his height. Sometimes Ree felt like a child beside him, even though Ree was older.
But then, no one knew how Ree was supposed to grow. He was a hobgoblin after all, part cat, part rat and part human, changed by the magic storms. Jem might treat him like a human, and Garrad, the old man whose farm this was and who’d become a kind of grandfather to both of them and who looked enough like Jem to be his real grandfather. Even little Amelie, whom Ree had found after soldiers burned Three Rivers last summer and whose parents had been killed treated Ree like a human, but no one else did.
They accepted him, even were grateful for the way he’d scared off the soldiers, but his fur, and the tail he kept tucked in his pants, and his claws and cat-eyes made him different. Too different to be one of them.
“Three soldiers. They don’t look like the other ones that came last year.” Ree whispered back as Jem leaned into him, partly trying to see around him and partly probably instinctive protection against the bitter cold. He indicated the gate. “But they’re not happy, and blondie out there is getting ready to break things if he doesn’t get an answer soon.”
Jem nodded. He narrowed his eyes at the gate, listened to the way the big man was bellowing and got what Ree thought of as his Garrad look. It was the stubborn, no one makes me do anything look, and it usually meant trouble. Ree had seen it a lot while they helped keep people fed and rebuilt Three Rivers and put a wall around the village so soldiers couldn’t easily burn it out again.
Jem had been a scared little thing when Ree had saved his life on the streets of Jacona, just about three years ago, but he was almost a man now, and while he would help those who needed it, he did it on his own terms and refused to be pushed around no matter how much bigger or older those doing the pushing might be.
“Granddad’s plucking the old rooster,” Jem said his voice slightly louder. “He’ll be out as soon as he’s done. Meanwhile, I’ll deal with them.” He walked up to the gate as calm as if he were going to talk to young men from the village.
The blond fellow didn’t wait for Jem to speak. The moment he could see someone, he demanded, “Where is Garrad? And who are you?”
Jem folded his arms on his chest, tilted his head up, and gave the blond a frosty look. “Until you tell me who you are, it’s none of your damn business who I am or where he is, stranger.”
Ree heard the sharp catch of breath and the creak of leather that meant the man’s massive fists were clenched tight enough to strain his gloves. “Get this thing open now, before I break it down.”
Jem smiled a little. The blacksmith had put special care into the lock and into the forging of that gate and had told them that it would withstand a small group of soldiers. “Go right ahead and try.”
“Jem! Ree!” Garrad’s came from behind them, with the short breath that meant he’d been running.
Ree turned to see the old man hurrying toward them, his walking stick, the one Jem had carved for him two years back, thumping into the ground with every step. He really didn’t need the stick most of the time, but the cold made the ground slippery, and Garrad was all too aware of what falls could do at his age. When they’d met him, he’d been rendered helpless by one such fall. “What’s going on out here?”
Ree had been looking at the blond and thought he noticed a startled jump at their names, but it was nothing to the way Blondie’s face seemed to melt out of its harsh lines and his voice softened at the sight of Garrad. “Father?”
Father? It could be. The old man’s son had been conscripted by the Emperor’s army years ago.
Garrad rocked on his feet, and Ree raced to steady him while Jem kept on giving the blond man his coldest glare.
“Lenar?” Garrad waved Ree off—with the walking stick, so Ree had to jump out of the way—and scurried to the gate. “Gods be praised, it is you!” He fumbled with the lock that held the locking bar down and nodded to Jem. “Get the gate open, and let him in, lad.”
Ree helped Jem with the gate, lifting the heavy bar while Jem hauled it open. The blond man, Lenar, gave them a disdainful look, and the other two men got closer to the blond and started to draw their swords when they saw Ree. But they looked at Lenar before they drew them out all the way.
Lenar didn’t even see them look. He jumped off his horse and hugged Garrad so hard he lifted the old man off his feet. If Garrad’s eyes were a bit too bright, well, Ree didn’t have to say he’d seen it. Not that Garrad would ever admit to it, anyhow.
Jem caught the horse’s reins while Ree closed the gate behind the other two men. Having his back to them made his skin itch and his fur try to rise, but if this was Garrad’s son, then this farm was his. It wasn’t up to Ree to be inhospitable to Lenar or his guards.
“Not so close now, you’ll break something,” Garrad protested, and he disguised his wavering voice with a cough. “Now come on inside and tell me what’s brought you back home and all that happened to you all these years.”
Lenar sounded grim when he said, “Not so fast, Father. What are you doing with a hobgoblin and some other brat here? Who are they?”
Ree got the gate barred and turned in time to see Lenar posed just as Jem had been shortly before, trading glares with Garrad.
Garrad grinned grimly, as though this were a game he was used to. “Boys, you get them horses looked after, you hear? The rest of you come on inside out of the cold, and then we’ll talk.”
Taking all the gear off the horses and stacking it neatly near the barn door took a while, and rubbing the horses down and getting them fed and watered took longer. Jem didn’t say anything, and Ree couldn’t think of anything to say. They’d never talked about it, but Ree had always figured Garrad assumed his son had died. He’d never expected anyone to come back, and Jem made a kind of a replacement.
He wondered where the son’s return left them. Oh, Jem looked enough like Garrad to really be his grandson, but they didn’t know, and Ree wasn’t anything anyone would want. He was useful, maybe, but that was all. A tame pet, Garrad’s goblin.
And little Amelie was just another one of their group of waifs that Garrad looked after and tolerated. She’d lightened up some since Ree had brought her here, but men scared her, and a harsh word from anyone except Garrad got her tearing up and clutching at her skirts as though someone were going to do something horrible to her any time. Ree had only ever seen her smile around the Damn Young Cats—they were too big now to be Damn Kittens, although he suspected next spring there’d be more Damn Kittens to make Garrad grumble. Were all of them surplus now that Garrad’s lost heir was back?
As if thinking about them was a cue, Ree felt a brush of air, then a solid thump on his shoulder. He winced and bit down on a yelp when claws dug in. The Young Damn Cats never could remember that his fur wasn’t as thick as theirs.
The horse he was brushing down didn’t seem to care that it now shared its stall with a hobgoblin and a cat, or that the cat was complaining to Ree in a thoroughly put out tone. “Yes, yes,” Ree said, hurriedly. “Your mama doesn’t catch enough rabbits, and mice are boring. That doesn’t mean you have to complain so much.”
The Damn Young Cat added Ree’s indifference to the list of complaints, and Ree paused long enough to pluck it from his shoulder and set it on the floor of the barn. It was the gray and white one he’d rescued from a tree last summer. Of all the Damn Young Cats, this one was the one that got into the most trouble and had to be rescued most often.