The Hob's Bargain

could choose to let them live. None of his moaning foes were dead. I was the only one who’d killed.
    I waited for the flood of exultation, for release from the anger that had dogged my every step since that morning when I beat my hands bloody on the trapdoor of my cellar. I waited for triumph.
    The hob turned to me, though I noticed he kept one ear cocked behind him to keep track of his victims. The man I’d hit in the diaphram continued to struggle for breath, making the other man, the one I’d stabbed, seem all the more quiet.
    His face serious, the hob looked at me. I wondered if I’d violated some taboo by killing the raider, but after a moment he stepped to the dead man and took my dagger, cleaning it on the bottom of the man’s shirt. Though he did a thorough job, the knife he handed to me was hard to take back.
    I’d wanted to kill the raiders, all of them, ever since they’d destroyed my family. I dreamed of it at night, how it would feel to avenge their deaths. Instead, I felt sick and guilty.
    â€œCome,” said the hob, giving me another speculative look. “We need to leave before the rest of them recover.”
    I followed him into the woods. The next group we found were even easier than the first one. Not only was the man Caefawn brought down was the biggest of them. The rest of the party were lowlanders, three of them little more than boys. The leader sent all three of the youngsters off with their unconscious comrade. Swearing bitterly, the leader took four fewer men with him as he continued on.
    The fourth group we came upon was very close to the manor. The woods had begun to thin out, and the place we’d found to hide wouldn’t conceal us from any kind of determined search. That didn’t seem to bother the hob.
    The leader of the raiders wore a horn around his neck, and a bit of gold cloth, battered and bedraggled, dangled from his belt. After the hob’s quill had done its magic, the man knelt over his fallen comrade, drew his knife, and slit his throat. The rest of his men were silent.
    The hob shook his head in disgust. “The fool. Let’s teach him a bit of a lesson, shall we. Here, take this and follow me.”
    The underbrush where we crouched was dark, and I was distracted by what had happened. I took what he handed me and scuttled behind on my hands and knees as he approached the stone-faced mercenaries. Their leader said something short and curt, and one of the others nodded.
    We edged closer…closer. The soft, velvet-covered rope I held in my hand twitched, and I realized what it was. I banged my head on a low tree limb. It’s hard to pay attention to things like tree limbs when distracted by the…well, the peculiarity of holding on to someone’s tail .
    Caefawn kept going, though the cover was so thin now that if someone chanced to glance our way, they couldn’t help but see us. Bright red feathers don’t exactly blend into the landscape.
    â€œHush, now, and mind you don’t lose your grip.” The hob’s voice was soft. The mercenaries, as jumpy as they were, didn’t hear him.
    Caefawn wove some magic and dropped from the sight of my eye sometime between one instant and the next. The only way I knew he was there was the reassuring pressure of his tail in my hand. I couldn’t, quite, see myself either.
    When the mercenaries started out, we did, too. I held my breath as we broke from cover. One of them looked right at me, but he called no warning. The dead man glared accusingly at me as we passed.
    Their progress disguised any sounds we made. Caefawn tugged me forward until we were so close I could hear the last man muttering angry swearwords under his breath as he guarded their rear. And I’d thought Kith could curse.
    When we reached the first of the manor gardens, the hob whistled softly. The swearing man turned to see who had made the noise, but the mercenary beside him cuffed him lightly to get his attention.
    â€œNawt but t’bird— Look! ” The last word was drawn from the man in a shout, calling everyone’s attention (including mine) to the edge of the garden.
    Nearly half again as tall as a normal deer, the kindred deer, nearly twice the size of any other kind of deer, posed motionless, as if to say “Here I am, worship me.” I’d seen a kindred deer a time or two, but they were rare here. I’d never heard of one that was white like this one