What friend was he if he did not believe her?
What holy man was he if he could not see past his earthly cynicism and dare to believe in miracles?
Chapter 41
We cuts 'em, and that horsie-man leading them won'ts help 'em!" Kriskshnuck, the little goblin, said with a toothy sneer. "Cuts 'em and eats 'em!"
His companions bobbed their heads eagerly, for down on the trail, in clear sight of them, came the line of folk from Dundalis and the other Timberland towns-the first pilgrim group that had set out for the Barbacan.
For the goblins who had swarmed back into the area just south of the mountainous ring, this seemed like an easy kill. The goblins knew this rugged land, where the humans did not. They'd hit the fools on the road, and repeatedly, whittling at their numbers and their resolve, setting them up for the final, overwhelming assault.
And as more and more goblins joined in, their numbers now swelling to over three hundred, it did indeed seem as if that assault would be overwhelming.
Kriskshnuck couldn't keep all of the eager drool in his mouth as he and his companions scrambled down from the ridge, excited to give their reports to their waiting kin. Halfway down the rocky outcropping, though, one of those other goblins cried out in pain.
"Ow!" the wretched little creature yelped. "A bee stinged me." And then, "Ow! Ow!" over and over, and when Kriskshnuck looked back, he saw his companion swatting futilely at the air, waving and jerking spasmodically, before giving one final howl and falling over onto the stone.
Before Kriskshnuck could begin to ask, another of his companions began a similar dancing routine, and then the third of the group.
Kriskshnuck was smart, as goblins go, and so he asked no further questions but just turned and sprinted and scrambled to get out of the area. He got over one ridge, across the flat top of a huge boulder, then down a short cliff face. He turned and started to run, with only twenty feet of open ground separating him from the relative safety of a tree copse.
He felt the first burning sting on his thigh, and looked down to see a small shaft protruding from the muscle. He limped on and got hit again, on the hip, and again after that, in the belly.
Doubled over, clutching his belly with one hand, his thigh with the other, Kriskshnuck scrambled on.
"The trees," he said hopefully, thinking his salvation was at hand. But then he saw them-small forms sitting among the boughs of the closest trees, leveling bows his way.
A volley of small arrows blasted the goblin to the ground.
King Danube stared down at the parchment in disbelief. It had been penned by a trader whose ship had put into Ursal's port that morning, a message that had been shouted down the Masur Delaval, ship to ship, in advance of a formal ducal declaration.
Danube looked up at his advisers, Constance and Kalas, both of whom had seen the parchment before bringing it to him; and their grim expressions accurately reflected one half of the emotions battling within him.
"This could be our salvation," he reminded them.
"Tetrafel is plague ridden and willing to chase any hope," Duke Kalas argued.
"The false hope," Constance was quick to put in. She winced as she considered her own sharp tone, a reflection, perhaps, of her petty fears that Jilseponie had once more come to save the world.
"Can we be so certain?" the King asked. "And we are still days away from the official ducal declaration, dispatched under Tetrafel's own hand."
"Many advance writs prove inaccurate," Kalas reminded him, his tone making it fairly obvious that he was hoping that to be so in this case, as well.
But Danube didn't think so, and he shook his head slowly. "Too important," he remarked.
"Many of the callers are likely as desperate as poor Timian," Constance argued. "Plague ridden themselves or a member of their family, perhaps."
King Danube looked down at the writ again, reading it slowly. Duke Tetrafel was on his way to the Barbacan, it said, along with the entire garrison at his disposal, and most of the folk of Palmaris. How could even desperate callers confuse an event on a scale such as that?
"The particulars might be confused, but the general message of the writ will likely prove accurate," King Danube decided.
"You believe that Timian Tetrafel would be fool enough to turn over his garrison to Jilseponie Wyndon? " Kalas asked incredulously.
"If she has found the answer, then he would likely see that as an obvious course."
Constance snorted and turned away.
"Let us make our plans on the assumption that the particulars of this writ are correct," Danube offered. "That a cure has been found?" Duke Kalas asked, shaking his head with every word. "Are we to tell that to the desperate thousands in Ursal? What riots might we cause, and what of the cost to the Throne if we are proven wrong?"
"Not that far," King Danube corrected. "We will await Timian's official writ before deciding upon any such course as that. But let us assume that the lesser particulars, the desertion of Palmaris by soldier and citizen alike, are indeed accurate. What, then, must we do? "
Kalas' breathing came in hard rasps, and Constance continued to stare across the room, shaking her head. If those particulars were true, then the implications to Danube could be grave indeed. If Timian Tetrafel had turned the garrison of Palmaris over to Jilseponie, or had sent them out in accordance with Jilseponie's words, then this event could prove politically disastrous for an inactive King Danube. But if Danube fell in with his often unpredictable Duke, and turned his army and his citizenry into the hands of the woman, and her apparent "cure" proved invalid, then the disaster would be multiplied tenfold.
"We could send a small force-Duke Bretherford's sailors, perhapssailing north to investigate," Kalas offered.
"And by the time they can return to us, the season will be past, and the roads north closed," King Danube argued. "And the winter will claim many lives that otherwise might have been saved."
Constance turned on her heel. "It sounds as if you have already thrown your faith in with the woman," she said sharply, and she and Danube stared at each other long and hard.
"We are all desperate for an end to the plague," Duke Kalas quietly put in, acting in the uncustomary role of mediator.
"Ready the soldiers for the road," Danube ordered.
"But, my King…" Kalas started to argue, and Constance chimed in, as well.
But Danube, expecting such an outburst, was already patting his hand calmly in the air. "I did not command you to begin the march," he clarified, "only to ready the troops in case we so decide. And let us send for Abbot Hingas, that we might learn the disposition of the Church on this matter. The situation at St. Honce and the other abbeys will likely prove even more tentative than our own, for the majority of the folk have come to single out the Church and not the Crown as the source of the plague."
Rain fell, but it hardly dampened the mood of the Timberlands folk, for the mountains of the Barbacan loomed before them, less than a day's march away. Roger Lockless and Bradwarden knew how to get through those mountains; and from there the trip to Mount Aida, to Avelyn's hand and to salvation, would be an easy one indeed. Roger was up front with Bradwarden that morning, scouting the road carefully, for the centaur had caught a strong scent of goblin and feared that the little wretches were about.
They feared they would encounter a large tribe, an army of the creatures, but the first goblin they actually saw was no threat at all.
It was lying dead on the side of the trail.
Roger went over to inspect the body, prodding it with his foot, then rolling it over. He saw many puncture wounds on the creature's face, neck, and chest-very similar to injuries he had witnessed before.