The Hob's Bargain
knew the man.
He rode a dark horse and wore a bloodred cloak. Behind him trotted three men dressed in black, Kithâs old uniform, on horses tired and wet. Rain poured down as the sky wept. Lightning flashed and the wind turned branches into whips that beat and slashed at those who dared ride through the weather.
For an instant, then again as lightning scrawled across the sky, I could see the rocky outcrop topping the crest of the mountain they rode around. One of the horses stumbled over nothing. His rider called somethingâI could hear his voice but not his words. The front rider stopped his horse and listened. Lightning flashed, and his white face stood out in bas-relief. Mad eyes in a face that might have come from any family in Fallbrookâthough his features were oddly misshapen, melting from the fire beneath. Gray threaded through his mahogany hair, the contrast more vivid because of the additional darkness the rain lent to the rest of his hair.
The bloodmage shook his head and goaded his horse on with sharpened spurs.
âCome on back, love,â said the hob.
It was his voice this time, not the staff, that anchored me and drew me back. The smell of green cedar sharp in my nose, I turned to Caefawn.
Fear and rage fought for ascendency. The fear was for Kith, for I knew of nothing else that would have brought the bloodmage here. He had come to kill his creation. Buried underneath was another fear. Too many people who didnât like me knew what I was. The bloodmage would find out and demand my death, as was his king-and god-given rightâthe price of that long-ago binding of the wildlings.
Fear shortened my breath and caused my limbs to tremble, but it was the rage that won.
My lips drew away from my teeth, hating the raiders had been too difficult. Their Quilliar was no more evil than my Quilliar had been, though it had taken the hob, death, and the duplication of my brotherâs name to show me that. Their Quilliar had been a sheepherder; Rook (so my vision of him had told me), a lord far more able and kind than Moresh. In a different world they would have been men just like my father and husband, perhaps better men. My parentsâ death, my husbandâs death were the fault of some cosmic madness that haunted men of warâdeaths I might have been able to stop.
My brotherâs death, though, belonged to the bloodmage. As the disaster that had descended upon Fallbrook belonged to the bloodmages, all of them. Without them there would have been no unraveling of the binding. No war. No mercenaries-turned-bandits. So I gave Moreshâs mage the guilt for all of the deaths of this spring and summer, for every evil thing that had befallen me and mine.
There was some inconsistency in my logicâI knew it even thenâbut anger clouded my thoughts, and it felt good. I gathered my righteous rage around me like a warm blanket. There was someone to blame for this. Iâd thought the bloodmage dead, safe from my wrath. I felt the fury pounding in my blood as if Quilliarâs death were just yesterday.
âAren!â Caefawn peered worriedly into my face. âAren, what did you see?â
I tamped the rage down gently for later use and said, âMoreshâs bloodmage is coming back. I saw him on the old road that runs around the back of Faranâs Ridge, near Mole Rock.â Caefawn frowned, coming to his feet and pulling me to mine. âHeâs come for Kithâto kill him.â
âWhen?â
âMoresh gave him three months. Until last spring planting. When the mountain fell, when Moresh died, I thought that would be an end to it.â
Caefawn shook his head. âNot yesterday; there was no lightning storm on the ridge yesterday. Not today either, or at least not this morning, although it might rain on the ridge between now and nightfall.â He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. After a moment he opened them and shook his head. âThe mountain says there wonât be such a storm today. Maybe tomorrow.â
âWhich puts him at the village tomorrow, or possibly the day after.â I hugged myself tightly, though I wasnât cold.
Time was giving me perspective, and I felt the rage seeping away. Moreshâs bloodmage was no more responsible for my situation than the raiders were. Heâd once been a victim, too: Iâd never heard of anyone apprenticing to the bloodmages happily. Remembering the relief Iâd
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