they asked with one voice.
"Nothing. I was just going to pick one of those blue flowers so Lady Mantis could tell
Rozt'a and me the tree's name."
Tiep hadn't taken two strides toward the blooming tree before Sheemzher was in front of
him, flapping the spear. Rozt'a drew her sword—Tiep knew the sound. Dru prepared to cast a
spell. There wasn't a sound, though Dru kindled most of his spells with a spoken word. Tiep simply
knew when magic was immanent; it was a taste in his mouth, a scent at the back of his nose, a tingle
that raced down his spine and up again.
In the beginning, Druhallen and Galimer had hoped his premonitions meant he had
spellcasting talent; they hadn't. Tiep's talent was a minor jinx: some simple spells didn't affect
him, others went awry in his presence. Dru was good enough at his craft that the jinx didn't
matter; he'd fry the dog-face, hopefully before that spear penetrated Tiep's ribs. With Galimer
it was different. Galimer's command over his magic was chancy at best and worse when Tiep
was nearby, though Tiep privately suspected that his jinx got blamed more than it deserved.
Sheemzher was clever—for a dog-faced goblin. With his eyes on Dru, he lowered his spear and
retreated.
"Stay on path," he said in a childish sing-song manner. "Stay safe. Tree there not on path.
Tree there not safe. Tree there not belong good lady. Remember! Ask! Stay on path!"
Tiep hadn't cared about the tree, but he wasn't going to be bossed around by a goblin.
"Tymora's tears," he complained, sidestepping the spear point. "Who's going to miss one
lousy flower? The ground is crawling with dropped petals already."
Sheemzher matched Tiep's sidestep and shoved his spear forward. The sharpened flint
pricked Tiep's skin through his shirt. He held his breath, waiting for Druhallen to do something
magical.
"It's not the flower, Tiep," Dru said and the sense of immanent magic faded. "It's the path."
"What path?" he demanded.
"Path here! Sheemzher follow path. Follow Sheemzher!" the goblin snarled through his
too-big, too-sharp teeth.
He prodded Tiep with the weapon and despite his mind's determination to stand firm,
Tiep's body retreated.
"What path?" he repeated. "There's no path, no road. We're just slogging through leaves,
trusting a goblin, which has to be the dumbest thing we've ever done." He glimpsed Rozt'a's
darkening face and knew he'd said the wrong thing. "The dumbest thing I've ever done."
The attempt to mend his fences failed: Rozt'a turned her back to Tiep. Frustration boiled
over and he seized the spear. They wrestled for control: a sinewy, dog-faced goblin against a
larger, heavier, smarter human. Sheemzher kept his weapon, but only because Tiep flung
them both toward the flowering tree.
He had to admire the goblin's consistency. When Sheemzher found himself closer to the
flowering tree than to his precious, invisible path, he yelped and scrambled hand over foot to
rejoin them. He collapsed an arm's length from Rozt'a, shaking and clinging to his spear with
his shifty eyes squeezed shut.
The spear had shed a ratty, white feather. While everyone else's attention was on the
panting goblin, Tiep surrendered to temptation and tiptoed across the leaves. Holding the
feather by its tip, he called—
"Lose something, dog-face?"
Tiep's words and gestures might have been a spell for their effect on Sheemzher. The little
goblin's eyes popped open, then he brought his weapon to the ready and would have
charged—if Rozt'a hadn't seized his collar and lifted him off the ground. His booted feet churned in
the air. Tiep began to laugh.
"Get yourself back here ... now!" Druhallen shouted.
Dru had almost as much weight on Tiep as Tiep had on the goblin, so Tiep didn't waste
time standing with a feather dangling from his fingers. "I was just trying to be helpful," he lied
as he obeyed.
"You're headed for trouble," Rozt'a scolded.
She released the goblin who grabbed the feather and
"Nothing. I was just going to pick one of those blue flowers so Lady Mantis could tell
Rozt'a and me the tree's name."
Tiep hadn't taken two strides toward the blooming tree before Sheemzher was in front of
him, flapping the spear. Rozt'a drew her sword—Tiep knew the sound. Dru prepared to cast a
spell. There wasn't a sound, though Dru kindled most of his spells with a spoken word. Tiep simply
knew when magic was immanent; it was a taste in his mouth, a scent at the back of his nose, a tingle
that raced down his spine and up again.
In the beginning, Druhallen and Galimer had hoped his premonitions meant he had
spellcasting talent; they hadn't. Tiep's talent was a minor jinx: some simple spells didn't affect
him, others went awry in his presence. Dru was good enough at his craft that the jinx didn't
matter; he'd fry the dog-face, hopefully before that spear penetrated Tiep's ribs. With Galimer
it was different. Galimer's command over his magic was chancy at best and worse when Tiep
was nearby, though Tiep privately suspected that his jinx got blamed more than it deserved.
Sheemzher was clever—for a dog-faced goblin. With his eyes on Dru, he lowered his spear and
retreated.
"Stay on path," he said in a childish sing-song manner. "Stay safe. Tree there not on path.
Tree there not safe. Tree there not belong good lady. Remember! Ask! Stay on path!"
Tiep hadn't cared about the tree, but he wasn't going to be bossed around by a goblin.
"Tymora's tears," he complained, sidestepping the spear point. "Who's going to miss one
lousy flower? The ground is crawling with dropped petals already."
Sheemzher matched Tiep's sidestep and shoved his spear forward. The sharpened flint
pricked Tiep's skin through his shirt. He held his breath, waiting for Druhallen to do something
magical.
"It's not the flower, Tiep," Dru said and the sense of immanent magic faded. "It's the path."
"What path?" he demanded.
"Path here! Sheemzher follow path. Follow Sheemzher!" the goblin snarled through his
too-big, too-sharp teeth.
He prodded Tiep with the weapon and despite his mind's determination to stand firm,
Tiep's body retreated.
"What path?" he repeated. "There's no path, no road. We're just slogging through leaves,
trusting a goblin, which has to be the dumbest thing we've ever done." He glimpsed Rozt'a's
darkening face and knew he'd said the wrong thing. "The dumbest thing I've ever done."
The attempt to mend his fences failed: Rozt'a turned her back to Tiep. Frustration boiled
over and he seized the spear. They wrestled for control: a sinewy, dog-faced goblin against a
larger, heavier, smarter human. Sheemzher kept his weapon, but only because Tiep flung
them both toward the flowering tree.
He had to admire the goblin's consistency. When Sheemzher found himself closer to the
flowering tree than to his precious, invisible path, he yelped and scrambled hand over foot to
rejoin them. He collapsed an arm's length from Rozt'a, shaking and clinging to his spear with
his shifty eyes squeezed shut.
The spear had shed a ratty, white feather. While everyone else's attention was on the
panting goblin, Tiep surrendered to temptation and tiptoed across the leaves. Holding the
feather by its tip, he called—
"Lose something, dog-face?"
Tiep's words and gestures might have been a spell for their effect on Sheemzher. The little
goblin's eyes popped open, then he brought his weapon to the ready and would have
charged—if Rozt'a hadn't seized his collar and lifted him off the ground. His booted feet churned in
the air. Tiep began to laugh.
"Get yourself back here ... now!" Druhallen shouted.
Dru had almost as much weight on Tiep as Tiep had on the goblin, so Tiep didn't waste
time standing with a feather dangling from his fingers. "I was just trying to be helpful," he lied
as he obeyed.
"You're headed for trouble," Rozt'a scolded.
She released the goblin who grabbed the feather and
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