The Hob's Bargain

pain would make of him something neither human nor animal. I’d see to it that he lived forever knowing nothing, neither darkness nor light, for the agony of his transgressions.”
    Wandel looked at me as if he’d never seen me before.
    Kith gave a rusty chuckle. “That took me back. I haven’t heard that curse since the last time your brother and I raided your grandmother’s garden. Scared us silly.” He pulled up a blade of grass and played with it in his hand.
    â€œAnyway, now you know.” Kith stopped playing with the grass and met my eyes again. “And if we find Danci, you can tell her why I’m not a suitable candidate for a husband and father.”
    So that’s why he told me. My eyebrows shot up. “Why? Because a bloodmage, who is now dead, was searching for you?”
    â€œBecause I’m dangerous enough to need him to do so.”
    â€œDangerous to whom?” I sputtered. “No one at the village seems to be suffering from your presence.”
    He shook his head, the stubborn mule. “It doesn’t matter. Just tell her what the harper and I told you.”

FOUR
    C rouched in the gathering shadows, the hob held very still as he watched over the party. He’d always avoided the traditional task of following well-meaning folk whenever he could—his talents and interests lay in tormenting the wicked. But here he was. No wine to sour, or horses to loose, just the soft sounds of the humans’ voices to drive away the loneliness. He hunkered down further and let the warmth of their camp wash over him.

    K ITH JUMPED TO HIS FEET, STARTLING ME . “C OME ON , then,” he said. “We’ve got some time now. Why don’t you get your knife, and I’ll see what I can teach you.”
    Grateful for a chance to put the last few revelations behind me, I took Daryn’s knife from my borrowed saddlebags and scurried back to present it nervously to Kith. I’d spent a good bit of time yesterday sharpening it, but Kith was particular about things like that.
    He took it and turned it over in his hand. “Good thing it’s got an edge on it. I’m not much of a hand at sharpening things anymore.” He grinned at me unexpectedly. “Father’s been putting the edge on my stuff, but it’s not like doing it yourself.”
    I smiled back. “I’d guess not.”
    â€œRight.” He gave me back my knife and watched how I held it. His frown made me shift my grip several times, but the disapproving expression didn’t change.
    â€œThe first thing to remember is that the knife is sharp,” he said.
    I rolled my eyes. “And I haven’t been butchering pigs and cattle since I was old enough to crawl.”
    He smiled, and, drawing his own knife, he continued talking. “It can cut you as easily as it will cut your opponent: keep it away from your fingers. The second thing to remember is that you can do a lot of damage with it by just holding it in your hand and punching.”
    He closed his hand into a fist and demonstrated with an imaginary opponent. He moved with swift efficiency, and his imaginary foe’s instant death was obvious.
    â€œFor now, forget you even have a knife,” he advised. “It will take care of itself—at least until you have more experience. You’re at a disadvantage because you’re a woman. A man will back off from another man with a knife, but he’ll not do the same for a woman.” He watched me try to imitate his move several times. I couldn’t tell if I’d done anything right or not. Probably not.
    â€œPut that away for now,” he said, in sudden decision. “We’ll practice with something else.”
    When I got back from storing the knife, Kith was waiting with three sticks a little longer than his forearm. They were green wood, and very nearly equal in diameter.
    He motioned for me to follow him to a flat area a little way from camp, then handed me two of the sticks and tucked the third under his arm.
    He adjusted my grip, then took up his own stick with a clever little toss. “The sticks will teach you the moves without either of us chancing a cut. The additional benefit is that the sticks are a decent weapon in their own right. Around here, there are always sticks of some sort.”
    Then he proceeded to teach me how to fight—at least that’s what he said he was doing. I thought he was beating