The Hob's Bargain

the mountain than I had ever taken. But then, I’d been on the Hob only a handful of times. The rain stopped falling, leaving behind the fresh scent of a newly washed world. The sun began warming the wetness from my rough wool cloak.
    Duck enjoyed the sun, snorting and curveting as no responsible farm horse ever would. The hob was certainly having an effect on my horse—on me, too, for that matter. By all rights I should have been fretting and stewing about how we were going to appease the earth spirit and keep the villagers from assassinating me on sight, or I should have been examining my possibly upcoming nuptials and chewing my nails. Instead, I was chasing after the hob and enjoying it. His boundless energy and enthusiasm, coupled with the warm sun, made worry impossible.
    The path we took wasn’t well suited for a horse. Duck and I jumped over several piles of trees, and slipped and slid around a boulder too big to jump. The faint trail we followed didn’t climb up the mountain, but meandered here and there around her sides.
    We topped a rise into a small meadow flanked by steep mountainsides. On the far side of the meadow was a tight growth of brush and trees. I sat back, and Duck halted with a snort and toss of his head, mouthing the bit and making it jingle musically.
    â€œFaker,” I accused him. “I didn’t even pull the reins.”
    Duck snorted and took advantage of the loose reins to drop his head and snitch a mouthful of grass.
    â€œWell trained horses don’t eat with a bit in their mouths,” I informed him. He ignored me, so I turned my attention to Caefawn. “This is as far as Duck can go. There’s no way for him to get through that mess of trees, and the sides of the mountain are too steep for him to climb.”
    The hob nodded. “If you wait for me here, I’ll get what we came for. It’ll take me but a minute.” He strode across the meadow, then stopped. “We’ll be here a while after that, so you might as well unsaddle Duck.” He continued toward the greenery, keeping to a brisk walk for a few strides then breaking into a run—as if unable to contain himself another moment.
    I slid off Duck’s back and, following Caefawn’s advice, unsaddled him. After a moment’s thought, I took off his bridle. We’d become close comrades over the past few months. I didn’t think that he’d run off; the grass here was long and full of clover. I’d probably have a hard time getting him to leave it.
    I lay across a large, flat boulder. If I bent just right, I could avoid most of the sharp places. The grass was too wet to be comfortable. I closed my eyes, just for a while. I dozed, dreaming of a motherly woman who patted my hand and told me, oddly enough, that I was most pleasing. I couldn’t quite work up the energy to ask pleasing to whom or for what.
    â€œSleeping again?” asked the hob.
    He was sitting beside me and, like Duck, he had a strand of grass sticking out of his mouth.
    â€œI usually do, if I’m up all night fighting hillgrims.” I rolled to my feet. “What is that?”
    He held a body length of cedar in his hands, twisted and knotted as cedar tends to be, though the end effect was a straight line. Long, stringy bits of bark dangled from it, and there were twigs of greenery here and there.
    â€œCedar,” he said, as if I didn’t know.
    â€œAnd what’s it for?” I persisted with obvious patience.
    â€œFor an anchor, my sweet. Cedar’s hold is as strong as its scent.”
    He broke off the remaining leaves, then drew one of his claws down the side of the limb to break the surface of the bark. He peeled the bark off in long strips, wet with the yellow tissue that protected the inner wood. When he was finished, he held a gaudy staff of wood striped pale and red, with knots and twists aplenty.
    â€œTake this,” he said, handing the staff to me.
    It was heavier than I expected. If it had all been stretched straight, it would have been half again as long, which explained the extra weight.
    â€œNow what?” I asked.
    â€œWell,” he said, “when you were telling me about your visions, I thought of a kite in the wind—tugged here and there, willy-nilly. It occurred to me that you needed a string to tie you to yourself, so when the wind blows, it cannot pull you too far without your consent.”
    â€œIt looks more like a staff