Mari, moving so quickly he almost missed it, snatched up her knitting needle, jabbed it into the wound, hooked something, and pulled.
Slowly a long white tail emerged from the hole. She continued to pull, and six inches, then a foot, then a foot and a half of snake emerged. The snake’s tail began to lash, whipping back and forth. It wrapped itself around Mari’s wrist and tightened.
Candabraxis screamed again as the snake’s head came free of his body. Holding its head firmly between thumb and forefinger Mari took her knife and drove the blade through the creature’s brain. The snake gave a long, low hiss as it died.
Mari held the white corpse out to Harlmut. “Burn it,” she said simply.
The wizard had stopping struggling, so Harlmut let go and gingerly took the snake’s body. It felt warm as blood and soft as a baby’s skin. Gingerly, he carried it into the workroom, cut it into several pieces, and dropped them one by one into the still-burning jar on the windowsill. Then he added more oil to make sure all the snakes burned away to nothing.
By the time he got back to the wizard’s side, Mari had finished dressing the new wound on his stomach. She pulled the blankets up around his chin and tucked him in like a mother would her firstborn child.
“There now,” she murmured. “Sleep for old Mari. You’ll be up again before you know it.”
It seemed to Harlmut that Candabraxis began to smile a little. A healthy flush had returned to the wizard’s cheeks, and he breathed deeply and regularly again.
Softly, Harlmut drew Mari aside. He didn’t quite know what had happened, but he knew it was evil. He couldn’t allow such magic in Grabentod.
“Those snakes,” he began.
The old healer shook her head. “A foul magic,” she said. “My grandmother saw it once, long ago. Her patient died before she found out what caused it. My mother saw it twice, but both times she arrived too late to help.” Mari glanced sidelong at the wizard. “This one, he was lucky.”
“Do you have any idea who caused it?”
She hesitated. “It is not my place to guess at blame.”
“Please, we may all be in danger.”
“My grandmother, she knew who killed hers: an assassin sent in the dark of night by the Night Walkers.”
Haltengabben, Harlmut thought, could easily arrange an assassination if she wanted to. And yet he had no proof … no proof that Haltengabben and Bowspear were allies, no proof that Haltengabben had sent an assassin to kill Candabraxis, no proof of anything.
At least the wizard had survived. Perhaps he could identify the man who had attacked him.
“Will you stay with him?” he asked Mari.
“Tonight, yes. But keep a watch over us both—guards you trust at the door. And I must prepare all his meals personally tomorrow. His stomach will be weak, and he needs certain herbs to speed his healing.”
“Agreed,” he said quickly. “And … thank you.”
“Do not thank me so quickly,” she said, eyeing him darkly. “We all pay a price for help we request.”
Seventeen
Bowspear lay still in the dark, eyes open, and listened to the moans of his men and the dripping of water somewhere in the back of the cave.
He cursed himself for a fool. He should have tried to fight. He should have tried to run. He should have done something, even if the goblins killed him on the spot. Anything would have been better than being chained up in this confinement. He shifted a bit, and the heavy iron shackles on his feet made a muted clanging sound. He could have wept in despair. Captured by goblins … it was a human’s worst nightmare. He pressed his eyes shut and felt tears trickle from their corners.
After chaining them so they could barely move, the goblins had carried them down to a lower level of caves and locked them in a dark cell. Water dripped slowly in the back. Escape seemed ever farther away.
And, over the last few hours, the goblins had returned periodically. “Good eating!” they said each time, as they hauled a man out. Then Bowspear would hear a brief struggle in the corridor outside, followed by a human scream and the thud of a falling body. Afterward would come a faint jingle of shackles … a dead body being dragged away.
He’d shuddered. Now there were only three of them left in here. He heard skittering goblin footsteps outside the cell and saw the flicker of torchlight under the door. Slowly he scrambled backward, deeper into the darkness.
The door swung open and a goblin stepped in … followed by a human. Bowspear stared up at the stranger in polished chain mail, with his deep-set eyes, short black beard, and sharp prominent nose.
“Get up,” the man said.
Slowly Bowspear climbed to his feet. The others did the same.
The man held out his hand. From it dangled the Eye of Vadakkar. Bowspear’s breath caught in his throat.
“Which one of you wore this?” the stranger demanded.
“I did,” Bowspear said. It came out as little more than a croak.
The man took a torch from one of the goblins and thrust it closer to Bowspear’s face, looking him over carefully.
“You don’t look like a wizard,” he said.
“I’m not,” he said. “I am Captain Parniel Bowspear of Grabentod.”
“How do you explain this, Captain Bowspear?” He held up the Eye again.
Bowspear remained silent. Perhaps, if he could make this man think he was a wizard …
“I thought so,” the man said. He nodded to the goblin. “You did well. You will be rewarded.”
After tucking the Eye of Vadakkar into his pocket, he grabbed Bowspear’s chain and pulled him toward the door.
“Come,” he said. “My mistress wishes a few words with you.”
Bowspear dragged his feet. “My men—” he began.
The stranger hauled him into the rough stone passageway. More goblins were waiting there, and they all held long knives. As soon as the stranger had dragged Bowspear out of the way, they poured into the cell.
“I’m afraid,” the stranger said, “they’re lunch.”
Screams echoed from the cell. Goblins began to gnash their teeth happily, and a small river of deep red blood washed out the open cell door and down the passage.
Bowspear gulped, feeling sick.
Harrach dreamed of beautiful women flying toward him with arms outstretched. He reached out to embrace them, but something kept blowing them away, like rose petals caught on the wind. When finally he did manage to touch the hand of one, it felt cold and damp, like a corpse’s.
He came awake suddenly, very afraid, though he didn’t know why. His heart pounded wildly; a cold sweat covered him. For a second he didn’t know where he was, but then it all came back. In the Hag’s Domain … surely that alone was enough to cause nightmares.
He blinked. The campfire had almost gone out, he realized with alarm. Silent as a cat, he rolled from his blanket and drew his sword. Who was supposed to be on watch? He hesitated, glancing around anxiously. It felt early, certainly no later than midnight.
Softly, he moved around the camp, counting sleeping bodies. One too few. Everyone was present except Captain Evann … and Evann had taken the first watch.
He moved to Lothar’s side and shook him awake.
“Wha—” Lothar asked, blinking sleepily.
“Shh!” he whispered. “Something’s wrong! The captain’s gone!”
Instantly Lothar snapped awake. “What happened?” he asked in a low voice.
“I don’t know. I’m going to investigate … I’ll take Uwe. Stand watch. If we don’t come back, wake the rest of the men and retreat to the forest. Got it?”
“Aye, sir,” he said.
Harrach gave a quick nod, then crossed to Uwe and gently shook him awake. As soon as Harrach told him what had happened, the lad leapt to his feet and eagerly drew his sword. He even puffed out his chest, doubtless proud to have been chosen for such a dangerous assignment, and Harrach didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth: Uwe was the most expendable of all the men here. That alone made him Harrach’s first choice.