The Hob's Bargain

we poked around. I pulled Duck’s bridle off completely and tied it to the saddle. If he wandered off, he’d only go to the inn.
    I took Caefawn to the kitchen door set in the side of the house, unobtrusively hidden behind a wall of hedge.
    â€œThe old cook, Fenwick, used to give bits of leftover food to the village children if the lord wasn’t here. The old steward didn’t mind, said it kept us from raiding the gardens. We’d all come in through here.”
    The kitchen was a mess. The bread oven was tipped on its side, its door flung several paces away. Broken bits of crockery were scattered here and there amid the litter of food on the floor. A bedraggled dog scuttled out as we came in. Flies buzzed about their business, unimpressed by visitors.
    â€œFenwick would be horrified,” I commented, stepping over the mess as best I could. “She kept this place as if it were the king’s kitchen.”
    It felt right leading him through the manor, introducing him to things I’d known all of my life: the small drawing room where the lord met with the villagers on business, the great hall where the harvest feast was served. I tried to let him see past the recent destruction, into the life of the valley before the mountain had fallen. That life had centered around the manor house. We villagers had our own lands, held in trust from the lord, and we served him and tithed to him to keep them. In return he protected us from raiders and, upon occasion, fed us in hard times.
    The upper floors had fared better than those below. I had never been above the ground floor, so I fell as silent as the hob, letting my feet take me where they would.
    The gaming room was full of tables with strange markings on them. I picked up a ball from a large table in the center of the room and sent it spinning off the edge and onto the floor. Caefawn ran his hands over the carving on the fireplace. His claws made light clicking sounds on the hard, polished surface.
    I moved to the next room. It was shrouded—covered against the lord’s return, I supposed. Even with the sheets, I could tell that it was a bedroom, though it was larger than my whole cottage. I wandered among the ghostly forms, trying to decide what each was. A table. A desk. Near the far wall was an object that defeated my guessing. It stood a full head taller than I was, narrow and rounded in shape. Finally admitting defeat, I pulled the sheet free.
    A fully articulated human skeleton hung on a frame from an eye hook drilled into its skull, which stared emptily at me, jaw gaping wide. A strange thing to have in a bedroom. This must have been the bloodmage’s domain.
    I wasn’t bothered so much by the skeleton as by the strange double vision I had that tried to tell me it was a young man instead. Chills ran down my spine as I looked at the skull hanging some inches above me. His eyes were honey-brown, framed by hair a shade darker than my own. A small scar trailed from the side of his right eye, like a tear that had been etched in. Laugh lines lightly touched the corners of his mouth. Something drew my attention back up the edge of the scar to his eyes; but this time they seemed…almost yellow.
    I stepped forward, lifting my hand to touch bone or flesh and see which one was real. Before I could touch it, the skeleton glowed green and red briefly before dissolving into ashes at my feet. Dissolved by magic so strong I could smell its acrid scent in the air. Hob’s magic.
    â€œBy the mountain, lady,” growled the hob from behind me, “’twas ill-done. That poor lad had enough to bear without being summoned back as a wraith.”
    â€œWhat?” I asked. Even to my ears my voice sounded foggy. His words were plain enough, but I didn’t understand the meaning. Still captured by the memory of the skeleton’s eyes, I found it hard to think. “A wraith?”
    He glared at me a moment more, then frowned. His ears flared widely and he shook his head.
    â€œTell me, Lady, what magic do you possess?”
    I rubbed my face briskly with my hands, but the vagueness didn’t go away. He took my hands in his and spoke even more slowly. “What powers do you have, Aren?”
    â€œI see visions.” There, that was right.
    â€œOf what?”
    â€œThings that happen.” That didn’t seem a good enough explanation, so I made another effort. Finally the fog in my head dissipated. “I used