leaves, people went down.
Tiep had fallen twice already when he felt his toes catch beneath another root. Flailing like
a tethered hawk, he managed to land on his rump instead of his face.
Rozt'a offered her hand. "It's your own fault. You insist on scuffling your feet. Pay attention
and you'll stay upright."
Tiep accepted the boost, rejected the advice. "I am paying attention," he insisted, testing
his abused ankle. It was sore but held his weight. "That's the whole problem. We're being
watched. The trees are staring at us. I'm about ready to jump out of my skin. We should hie
ourselves back to Parnast before it's too late."
She gave him a lethal look. "Don't start with me. You can spend tomorrow with Manya and
tell her how brave you were in Weathercote, but until then, don't carp about shadows. Quit
being a sulky brat and try to enjoy this. Look over there—have you ever seen a more beautiful
tree?"
Tiep had never paid much attention to trees. They were all green in summer and a few
stayed green in winter. They made shade when they were growing and fire when they
weren't. What more did he need to know? But it was wiser to sight down Rozt'a's arm than to
argue with her. His eyes came to rest on a tree that was shorter than its neighbors and
speckled with sky-blue flowers, each about the size of his open hand. For a tree, he
supposed that it was beautiful. Beyond doubt, he'd never seen another remotely similar and
mentioned this to Rozt'a.
"There's magic here," his foster mother explained with exaggerated patience.
"That's not a good thing, Rozt'a, not for the likes of you and me. Last night, I told you what
the Parnasters say about this place: folks go in but they don't come out, sometimes for years,
sometimes never."
Rozt'a scowled. "I'm sure you didn't say that."
"You weren't listening," Tiep lied. "Tymora's tears! I never thought you'd be the one to cave
in. You were going to smack the dog-face up if he showed up, remember?"
"I had a dream—more than a dream. I saw her ... I didn't cave in, Tiep. I'm getting closer to
something I never thought I'd find in this life."
Before Tiep could ask what that might be, they both became aware of the goblin hurrying
toward them.
"Call out if you need to rest," Sheemzher said, as if it were perfectly normal for a goblin to
give orders to humans.
Sheemzher had added a thrusting spear to his blue and green costume. The weapon was
a bit longer than the goblin was tall and its gnarled shaft had been oiled so much that the
wood was glistening black. Beads, tattered feathers, and strips of fur hung from the cording
that lashed the flint point to the shaft. The ornaments rattled with the goblin's every move and
effectively drew Tiep's attention from the point.
A single goblin, even one with a nasty spear, was a joke, but a horde of spear-toting
goblins was a different matter. Tiep glanced at the trees. He did feel they were being
watched. Goblins weren't tree-climbers; at least that's what he'd heard in the cities where
he'd harvested most of his education. Before Parnast, he'd never seen a goblin that wasn't a
pet or a slave. Such goblins wouldn't have dared to look at Tiep the way Sheemzher did, all
impatience and calculation.
"I wasn't resting. I stopped to look at that tree over there," Tiep said before Rozt'a could
say anything at all. "The one with the big blue flowers. It's some kind of magic tree, isn't it?"
Sheemzher fussed with the brim of his hat and cupped his hands around his eyes. Like
elves and dwarves, goblins could see clearly through the darkest night, but unlike those
races, goblins paid a price for their night vision. When the sun shone bright, they had to strain
to see half of what humans saw.
"Sheemzher not remember. Good lady tell Sheemzher, but Sheemzher not remember.
Ask good lady. Good lady Wyndyfarh never forget anything. Good lady remember name,
magic."
Druhallen and Galimer joined them. "What's the problem?"
Tiep had fallen twice already when he felt his toes catch beneath another root. Flailing like
a tethered hawk, he managed to land on his rump instead of his face.
Rozt'a offered her hand. "It's your own fault. You insist on scuffling your feet. Pay attention
and you'll stay upright."
Tiep accepted the boost, rejected the advice. "I am paying attention," he insisted, testing
his abused ankle. It was sore but held his weight. "That's the whole problem. We're being
watched. The trees are staring at us. I'm about ready to jump out of my skin. We should hie
ourselves back to Parnast before it's too late."
She gave him a lethal look. "Don't start with me. You can spend tomorrow with Manya and
tell her how brave you were in Weathercote, but until then, don't carp about shadows. Quit
being a sulky brat and try to enjoy this. Look over there—have you ever seen a more beautiful
tree?"
Tiep had never paid much attention to trees. They were all green in summer and a few
stayed green in winter. They made shade when they were growing and fire when they
weren't. What more did he need to know? But it was wiser to sight down Rozt'a's arm than to
argue with her. His eyes came to rest on a tree that was shorter than its neighbors and
speckled with sky-blue flowers, each about the size of his open hand. For a tree, he
supposed that it was beautiful. Beyond doubt, he'd never seen another remotely similar and
mentioned this to Rozt'a.
"There's magic here," his foster mother explained with exaggerated patience.
"That's not a good thing, Rozt'a, not for the likes of you and me. Last night, I told you what
the Parnasters say about this place: folks go in but they don't come out, sometimes for years,
sometimes never."
Rozt'a scowled. "I'm sure you didn't say that."
"You weren't listening," Tiep lied. "Tymora's tears! I never thought you'd be the one to cave
in. You were going to smack the dog-face up if he showed up, remember?"
"I had a dream—more than a dream. I saw her ... I didn't cave in, Tiep. I'm getting closer to
something I never thought I'd find in this life."
Before Tiep could ask what that might be, they both became aware of the goblin hurrying
toward them.
"Call out if you need to rest," Sheemzher said, as if it were perfectly normal for a goblin to
give orders to humans.
Sheemzher had added a thrusting spear to his blue and green costume. The weapon was
a bit longer than the goblin was tall and its gnarled shaft had been oiled so much that the
wood was glistening black. Beads, tattered feathers, and strips of fur hung from the cording
that lashed the flint point to the shaft. The ornaments rattled with the goblin's every move and
effectively drew Tiep's attention from the point.
A single goblin, even one with a nasty spear, was a joke, but a horde of spear-toting
goblins was a different matter. Tiep glanced at the trees. He did feel they were being
watched. Goblins weren't tree-climbers; at least that's what he'd heard in the cities where
he'd harvested most of his education. Before Parnast, he'd never seen a goblin that wasn't a
pet or a slave. Such goblins wouldn't have dared to look at Tiep the way Sheemzher did, all
impatience and calculation.
"I wasn't resting. I stopped to look at that tree over there," Tiep said before Rozt'a could
say anything at all. "The one with the big blue flowers. It's some kind of magic tree, isn't it?"
Sheemzher fussed with the brim of his hat and cupped his hands around his eyes. Like
elves and dwarves, goblins could see clearly through the darkest night, but unlike those
races, goblins paid a price for their night vision. When the sun shone bright, they had to strain
to see half of what humans saw.
"Sheemzher not remember. Good lady tell Sheemzher, but Sheemzher not remember.
Ask good lady. Good lady Wyndyfarh never forget anything. Good lady remember name,
magic."
Druhallen and Galimer joined them. "What's the problem?"
Similar Books
