The Hob's Bargain

they should be getting nervous. The men might be coming down from the field.
    An immense pot in the cellar fell to the floor with a crash. The sound quieted the men who stood above.
    â€œThere’s something below us—look for a door outside. These kinds of places usually have a cellar. There could be valuables in it.”
    I jumped to my feet and ran to the far side of the cellar. It was dark, but the dirt floor was clear of things that could catch my feet. There was a violent boom from above. They’d knocked over the big shelves near the fireplace.
    Without actually seeing it fall, I caught the big soap-making cauldron as it slipped from the peg Daryn had worried was too small for it. I’d have to remember to tell him he had been right. Men liked that—at least Ma said they did. The weight of the cauldron made me stagger, and the handle flipped down and bruised my thumb where it rested over the edge of the pot—but I managed to hold it and my knife without making any noise.
    I set the cauldron carefully on the ground. As long as nothing else fell, I was safer now. The shelves had fallen across the trapdoor. There was nothing the raiders could do to the house that we couldn’t repair. Nothing they could take we couldn’t live without.
    I could safely marvel at my vision of the pot falling. I’d never had one so clear, never had one I could use to prevent a disaster. It must be because of the unbinding.
    I would tell Daryn about the sight tonight, I decided. Not to punish myself, but because I could tell him how it had saved me. If magic was unbound again, maybe I could use my bit of magic to help us, help the village—as Gram had done. I was still smiling when yet another vision took me.
    Daryn held the horses in place while Father helped Daryn’s younger brother, Caulem, attach the harness to the plow Lord Moresh had given the village two years ago. Father was patient, letting Caulem fumble with the unfamiliar double harness. Beresford had only the older style, single-horse plows.
    Something caught Daryn’s attention, and he held his hand to shade his eyes as he stared into the rising sun. His body tightened to alertness, and he said something urgently to my father.
    Father dropped the leather strap into the dirt and stepped forward to Daryn’s side.
    After no more than a look, Father grabbed Caulem’s shoulders and shouted something at him, throwing the boy onto the horse that hadn’t yet been hitched to the plow. He shoved the reins into the boy’s hands. Caulem shouted something back, protest written in the stiffness of his jaw. Father took his hat and slapped the horse, sending it running down the path to my parents’ house.
    The track was wide and the horse knew every rock and rut, sprinting full-out for home. The bandit waiting in the tree at the edge of the field had a finger missing from one hand, but it didn’t affect the flight of the arrow that took Caulem in the throat.
    The man leaped from the tree and tried to catch the horse, but it had been thoroughly spooked by the run and the scent of blood. It was a working horse, strong enough to pull the raider dangling by its reins as if he weighed no more than a twist of straw. The man held on until he lost his footing and the horse’s iron-shod hoof caught him in the leg, throwing him to the ground.
    Unhindered, the animal raced on. The message that the bandits had come covered its back in a red blanket of Caulem’s blood.
    The vision shifted abruptly.
    My father was facedown in the dirt, an ax buried in his back. Daryn stood over him, work-hardened muscles lending strength to the blows he dealt with Caulem’s walking staff. The men he fought appeared only as vague blurs and flashes of weaponry. Blood ran down Daryn’s face and neck until it disappeared in a larger stain of red spreading from his shoulder.
    The staff he held broke, and he threw it aside, taking a step forward to protect my father. Metal gleamed, and a sword sliced into his neck.
    A winter lily grew out of the unbroken ground, browning with the weight of time. A drop of Daryn’s blood fell on the faded, scarlet petals.
    The vision left me, and I sat where I was, stiff with shock. It was too late for me to do anything. From the position of the sun in my vision, I knew Daryn had died before I’d hidden in the cellar, running from his killers. The shock held me for a moment before the warm rush of