The Goblin War (21 page)
“All right, say I can outmaneuver Brallorscourt and get you an interview with the Hierarch, and even that the Hierarch’s willing to grant part of the northern wood to the goblins. Though I still think most of the Realm is going to end up there.”
Shattered bands of refugees, running from the barbarian army, tumbling behind the wall without food, shelter, or the tools to produce them. That was the nightmare Master Lazur had designed the relocation to prevent—until Jeriah had stopped him. If that nightmare came to pass, any promises made to the goblins would be broken—and Makenna knew humanity too well not to realize it. Which meant that she too had succumbed to hoping the barbarians would stop short of total conquest. Or that she believed her goblins, entrenched and organized, could fight off whatever starving remnant of the human population escaped over the border. But all that aside . . .
“Even if they grant your request, what’s to stop them from hanging you?”
His voice came out harsher than he’d intended, but the girl didn’t flinch.
“You needn’t worry about Brallorscourt getting in the way. I’ve already sent a message to Hispontic to bring me some papers that will take care of him. And I think the council will grant my request, sooner or later. Because if the Hierarch isn’t willing to show proper gratitude for what my goblins did for him, I’ll send them to bedevil the Realm’s army so thoroughly that the barbarians will be able to stroll through them like ladies at a garden party. We must have a place. A place of our own, set aside for us, before this Realm erupts in fire and slaughter.”
Jeriah sighed. “I was afraid you’d say something like that. What is it with you? Don’t you know any way of dealing with people except threats?”
He touched the cut on his throat by way of emphasis, and she blinked.
“What do you think I should say? What else can I do, if the poxy coward hasn’t the grace to be grateful?”
This wasn’t the time for a lecture on referring to the Sunlord with respect.
“Did it ever occur to you to try bribery? How about offering to have your goblins sabotage the barbarian army, instead of ours? Maybe that way you could get what you want, and they could keep the Realm from erupting in fire and slaughter. Did you even think about that?”
The girl frowned, as if such an idea had indeed never occurred to her. As the moments dragged past, Jeriah could almost see her thoughts turning from negotiation to strategy and logistics.
“The barbarians are as ruthless with any goblin they might catch as they are with Realm soldiers,” she said. “I’d be putting them in danger, and it’s not their fight.”
“Attacking the Realm army would be dangerous too,” Jeriah pointed out. “But if the goblins fought the barbarians, maybe the Realm could help them instead.”
Her lips twitched. “Given that the Realm’s whole army and all its priests can’t beat the barbarians, what good do you think my goblins can do?”
“How should I know? You’re the general. But Chardane’s experimenting with the notion of dumping green vervallen into their water supply, and maybe your goblins could help with that. Or steal all their amulets, or throw their weapons down a well, or . . . stop smirking. Maybe those ideas won’t work, but you tied every attempt to settle the woods into knots! There must be some way you could fight the barbarians, to earn that land you’re talking about.”
She considered this. “Seems to me we’ve already
earned
it.”
Jeriah shrugged. “You know as well as I do that’s not going to matter to the council, even if the Hierarch agrees with you. That’s done with. You have to offer them something they don’t already have to get what you want now.”
“And they call goblins greedy!” Makenna’s shoulders slumped in acceptance. “All right. There are things we can do to hurt the barbarians. Not enough to beat them, mind, but we could help. I’ll give your way a try.”
And if your way doesn’t work, we’ll try mine.
The implication was as clear as if she’d spoken it aloud, and Jeriah sighed again. He also noted that dropping the charges against her hadn’t been part of the bargain. But while she might be crazy enough not to care whether she hanged at the end of it, his brother would. And Jeriah knew only one person who might be interested in helping him prevent that.
“We need an ally,” he said. “But I’m going to talk to her alone first. You’d probably threaten to turn her into a toad, instead of begging for your life like a sane person.”
“This is certainly interesting.” Chardane’s fingers rested lightly on the pile of receipts Master Hispontic had turned over to Jeriah. Receipts that showed Lord Brallorscourt paying the treacherous physician who’d drugged the Hierarch the same amount Master Lazur had paid, whenever the priest was absent from the city for more than a month.
“It’s not conclusive,” Chardane went on. “Not hanging proof. Though if the Hierarch ever saw these papers, Brallorscourt would have a lot of fast talking to do! However, even if I used them to shut Brallorscourt down, what’s to stop another councilman from urging that the girl be hanged? I’m not even certain they’d be wrong. Mistress Makenna and her goblin army killed a number of people and were responsible for the destruction of who knows how much property.”
The spicy scents of the herbery eased Jeriah’s taut nerves, despite this awkward turn in the conversation. Chardane was now a second-circle priest, the highest ranked member of the church here in the palace, except for the Hierarch himself. She had a big new office and three clerks to help her with the business of governing a large portion of the Realm, but she still spent as much of her time as she could in the familiar herbery. She claimed that the church’s primary duty was to heal, and that brewing medicine for headaches kept that goal in her heart far more than sitting behind a paper-filled desk.
“She was a hedgewitch,” said Jeriah. “A child whose mother was murdered, who fought to protect others of lesser magic from the Decree. And since
you
led the human resistance against that same Decree, I’d think you’d support her!”
“I was one of several people who tried to help those who practiced the lesser magics,” Chardane corrected him. “And we killed no one. This girl was responsible for settlers’ deaths.”
“You were partly responsible for at least one death,” Jeriah said quietly. “Master Lazur would never have gone to the gallows if you hadn’t helped me.”
Chardane opened her mouth to protest . . . and then closed it.
“She was a commander in a war,” Jeriah continued, pressing his advantage. “You sent your people into hiding—she was fighting to defend the refuge where her goblins hid. People die in wars. Her people no less than the settlers. She says some things I’m not sure I believe, but I do believe that the men whose deaths she ordered had goblin blood on their hands.”
Chardane shook her head, but her serene expression had given way to doubt. “I still can’t approve. She was a hedgewitch, a healer. She knows better than to use magic for harm.”
“So using spells to trick an enemy to his death is somehow worse than sending him to the gallows with lies? You did what she did, Chardane, and you know it. You’d do it again if you had to.”
And even knowing how desperately Master Lazur had struggled to save the Realm, Jeriah too would make the same choice.
He stopped, struck by the sudden realization that when Master Lazur had drugged the Hierarch, when he’d passed the Decree of Bright Magic to keep the church strong enough to enforce the relocation, the priest had made those same choices himself! He’d killed more, sacrificed more people—but his cause had been more noble and more necessary than Jeriah’s.
Were all of them wrong? All right?
But saving Makenna and her goblins was the right thing to do now. He was certain of it.
As certain as Master Lazur had been that no sacrifice was too great to ensure the survival of the Realm?
Jeriah pushed the thought aside. “I’m calling it in.”
Chardane had been silent for some time—thinking along the same lines he was? She turned to him now, shaking off the shadows. “What?”
“You once said you owed me a debt for bringing down Master Lazur and getting the Decree rescinded. I’m claiming it now. Get her off, Chardane. Keep Brallorscourt from killing her. And arrange for her to talk with the Hierarch.”
Chardane sighed. “The Bright Gods know you’re right about me owing you. Every man, woman, and child in this Realm owes you! Though they’ll never know it. . . . Oh, all right! I’ll get the girl paroled into my custody, for a start. I can keep her safe, and it won’t be hard to find a judge who’d see things your way. I know of a number who were dismissed from office, some even flogged, for refusing to enforce the Decree. They’re all back now, so that’s no problem. An interview alone with the Hierarch is something else. I can use these papers to muzzle the man, though I’d rather use them for several other things. But the reason Brallorscourt attends so many of the Hierarch’s meetings is because the Hierarch wants him there. He relies on the man’s advice in secular matters—and young Mistress Makenna is a secular matter, and so’s her request. I can silence him, but there’s nothing to stop him from setting another councillor to challenge the girl.”
“So she might as well face Brallorscourt himself,” said Jeriah slowly. “In the Hierarch’s presence, where he’ll be forced to oppose her openly instead of sneaking behind everyone’s backs. I see. And so will she, when it’s explained to her. Set it up, Chardane. I’ll bring the girl to you, and we’ll make sure she’s ready.”
T
HEY MADE HER WEAR A
dress. It threw her off, those heavy tangling skirts in which she could neither fight nor run. She supposed the color was good on her, a rich bronze satin that Chardane had found somewhere. It looked almost like a gleaming version of the brown robes worn by the lesser sun priests. And the seamstress who’d fitted it to Makenna had snipped out most of the embroidery that had decorated it, so it was far less fancy than most of the gowns the Hierarch would be accustomed to seeing.
This, Chardane had said firmly, would make her look humble and penitent. She was supposed to act humble and penitent, and right now Makenna felt almost nervous enough to bring it off.
She was used to fighting for what she wanted, not begging for it. But in such unfamiliar territory, Makenna knew she’d better pick her battles. And her weapons. So she didn’t haul out the battered messenger’s satchel till they were leaving for the hearing, too late for Chardane to object.
The herb mistress flanked her on one side and Jeriah Rovan on the other, as they climbed the flower-lined stairs to the echoing chamber where the Landholders’ Council met. Most of the desks were empty now, but a handful of “concerned” landholders had pulled chairs up beside the Hierarch’s throne.
Brallorscourt was one of them, and when he saw the satchel hanging over Makenna’s shoulder, his scowl could have melted wax. He thought she’d brought Hispontic’s evidence—the poor, deluded bastard. He thought he was going to have a voice in this matter, but he was wrong. The Hierarch was the only human who mattered.
The Sunlord wore robes of gold, and the fact that he’d set the glittering gold diadem aside hadn’t diminished his power and dignity. That was accomplished well enough by the uncertainty in his eyes. Makenna, despite herself, felt a stir of pity. It strengthened her wobbling knees as she sank into an awkward curtsy before the throne.
“I come to seek the Sunlord’s favor.” Chardane and Jeriah had been very insistent that she begin with the proper, ancient words. That she maintain a polite and proper demeanor. That she didn’t insult or threaten anyone, or refer to humans as another species—and one she held in contempt at that! Or, or, or . . .
“What favor do you seek from me?” the Hierarch replied. The proper answer, which gave her permission to make her plea.
“It’s not really a favor I want,” said Makenna. “It’s justice. The justice you owe everyone who lives in the Bright Gods’ Realm, and which has been sadly lacking till now. Though that,” she added fairly, “was through no fault of yours.”
The lady priest closed her eyes, like someone watching an accident she couldn’t prevent, and Jeriah’s breath hissed through his teeth. Yet another of the things she wasn’t supposed to do was even to hint that she knew the truth of the Hierarch’s “illness.”
But this man had no responsibility for what Master Lazur had done in his name, and she refused to blame him for it.
The Hierarch regarded her gravely, ignoring the puzzled looks of several of his landholders.
“If it’s in my power to provide justice, I will. But as you know, young mistress, even the Bright Gods themselves sometimes disagreed about what was and wasn’t just. It’s a matter of judgment, and even the judgment of the Chosen isn’t divine.”
A couple of the councillors murmured in shock. Was his judgment supposed to be divine, or at least, divinely inspired? What fools they were.
“I think I’d trust your judgment,” said Makenna. “But I’m not sure”—she gestured to Brallorscourt, who was glaring at the satchel—“that I trust his.”