The Hag's Contract

Fifteen

The goblins marched Bowspear and his men around the side of the mountain to another cave. Disarmed, outnumbered, he still watched and waited for his chance to escape. If even the slightest opportunity presented itself, he planned on taking it.

Unfortunately, none came. The thirty-five goblins who’d captured them—short, gnarled, grayskinned creatures in crude armor, with spears and axes constantly held ready—kept a close and careful guard.

As they passed through the cave mouth and into a broad stone passageway curving down and to the right, Bowspear noted hundreds of goblin faces leering out at him from side passages. Many of them gnashed their teeth, making horrible grinding noises. Others hooted in glee.

“Keep goin’!” grunted one of the goblins behind Bowspear, shoving him in the small of the back.

Bowspear stumbled, almost falling, but quickened his pace. No sense getting hurt in a fight with the guards. He and his men would need all their strength if they were going to escape.

At last they reached a broad underground cavern lit by smoky torches. More goblins joined the procession, surrounding them, and still they were herded on. Bowspear watched their faces, but saw little sympathy.

At last, the march halted before a blacksmith. Coal burned a deep orange-red in his forge, and the thick black smoke drifted slowly upward. Bowspear covertly glanced at the ceiling. The smoke seemed to be floating up into a natural chimney. If they could break away and climb inside it, they might well escape.

The blacksmith, a burly goblin covered in soot, began selecting heavy iron chains from a rack.

“You!” one goblin said, pointing to Nakkar.

Nakkar gulped.

Grinning wickedly, the goblin guard prodded him toward the blacksmith. Nakkar leapt away from the jabbing spear point.

Seizing his arms, the blacksmith fastened huge iron manacles to his wrists, then chained them to shackles on his feet. Clinking a bit, Nakkar returned to the line. He could barely move, Bowspear saw with rising panic. If they didn’t do something now, they wouldn’t get a chance.

“I want to see your leader,” Bowspear demanded suddenly, stepping forward. “I’m a man of importance.”

The blacksmith laughed. An old, grizzled goblin with a huge scar across half his face stepped forward, looking Bowspear over carefully. In one quick movement, he ripped Bowspear’s shirt off his back, then circled him, feeling his muscles. Bowspear tensed, angered and outraged, but he knew better than to fight.

“Good eating,” the goblin announced with a grin.

A horrible sick jolt ran through Bowspear. So that was to be their fate … eaten by goblins in the mountains.

He swallowed and once more glanced up at the natural chimney. So close …

Captain Evann pulled his gray woolen cloak more closely about himself and tried not to shiver. The wind felt bitterly cold here, on the water, as they sailed up the Gletscherel. They were rounding a bend, and ahead he heard the roar of a waterfall.

Gradually Gletscherel Felsen came into sight, and the size and beauty of it caught him by surprise. The falls stretched easily two hundred feet across, tumbling off a high rocky cliff in a dazzling show of froth and foam. The sun caught the spray, casting a huge bright rainbow across the sky, and the air smelled fresh and moist. Evann didn’t think he had ever seen anything quite so amazing before. If it weren’t for the Hag, surely a village would have sprung up here long ago.

All his men were chattering excitedly. He found he didn’t blame them. It took effort to tear his gaze away from the falls.

Studying the shore, he decided to land on a small rocky bank just to the left of the falls. They could beach their craft there. If the fishermen returned to claim it, it would be safe enough. If not … they might be able to use it on their way back. He nodded. A good plan.

“Put in there,” he said, pointing.

“Aye, sir,” Harrach called from the rudder.

As soon as he heard their hull scrape bottom, Evann leapt to shore from the prow. As Uwe lowered the sail and Harrach lashed the rudder down, everyone else stripped off boots and pants and, in just undergarments, hopped out knee- or thigh-deep into the icy water. Quickly they dragged the boat up out of the water.

“Gather wood and light a fire,” Evann said. “Dry yourselves off. I’m going to take a quick look around.”

As the men hurried to obey, Evann headed for the cliffs beside the falls. There has to be a way to the top, he thought, tilting his head back and studying them. He’d heard of an old trade pass here.

As he neared the cliff, the roar of the falls grew deafening, and a cold spray fell like a mist on his face and hands. Then he spotted a narrow, winding path carved deep into the rock. It had been carefully disguised to look like part of the mountain, and it led all the way to the top.

Nodding, he returned to find his men clustered around a small fire, busily toweling themselves off with cloths taken from the fishing boat. They were using dry wood, so the fire didn’t let off much smoke, but it wouldn’t do to have it burning more than they needed.

Evann fetched a bucket from the boat, filled it with water, and hauled it back to them. As the last of them finished dressing, he emptied the bucket on the flames. Hissing and sizzling, the fire went out.

“I found the pass,” he said, shouldering his. pack. “Follow me. Keep close together, and watch your step—it’s slick from the spray.”

Turning, he led the way to the path. As he’d expected, it proved readily accessible—a long, stepped climb, full of turnings and switchbacks. The rock underfoot, slick and icy, proved a little treacherous, but the company made the climb with few slips and no falls.

As they reached the top, Evann glanced back and down. Below, nestled in the little river valley, sat their boat. From this height it looked more like some child’s lost toy than a sailing vessel. The Gletscherel itself swept on, curving between the mountains on either side and vanishing from sight.

He drew a deep breath and turned. Onward, he thought. Winding gently to the left, the river passed through a dense forest of towering pines. Along its bank grew waist-high grass, now brown and dead with winter fast approaching.

Few people had come this way in generations, Evann realized. He walked toward the riverbank, shoving his way through the grass, feeling like an explorer venturing into the wilderness. He saw no signs of logging or camps, no tracks or trails that hadn’t been made by small game. The scruffy waist-high brown grass ahead of them showed no sign of ever having been trampled down by anyone passing through.

At last Evann reached the soft muddy bank. The river had cut a deep path here over the centuries, and the low winter water level left ten feet clear. They would have no trouble making their way.

On the other side of the river, directly across from the company, three deer looked up from drinking, then bolted into the cover of the trees, white tails flicking. A few birds called raucously from the pines. Then came silence, broken by only the muted roar of the falls behind them.

Despite how safe it looked, Evann had to remind himself that this was the Hag’s Domain. He started forward, skirting just short of the water in the clearest passage. Though the land around them looked deserted, it likely held any number of traps, as had the village where they had run into the wizard.

Squinting up at the sun, Evann guessed the time at just after noon. Another hour, he thought, and they would stop for a rest and a quick meal.

Taking a deep breath, he checked his sword, then pressed onward.

The day proved singularly uneventful, which pleased Evann. The most danger they encountered was a brown bear, but this one showed no interest in them and ambled away even as they approached.

Toward evening, they passed completely through the forest and onto a small grassy plain. Ahead lay a large lake, the origin of the Gletscherel, and on its shore, jutting up from the grass, he could see the scattered stone walls and chimneys of a ruined settlement. There were only fifteen or twenty houses, and they looked as though they had been abandoned for decades.

Evann hesitated. Darkness had almost overtaken them, and he hadn’t relished the idea of spending the night out under the stars. Here, on the plain, an open fire would be visible for miles in all directions.

Harrach moved up beside him. “What do you think, Captain?” he asked.

“It may be a good place to shelter,” Evann said slowly. “On the other hand, some of the Hag’s creatures might well inhabit the ruins.”

“Shall I check them out?”

“Aye,” Evann said. “Take Freisch and Uwe with you. Be careful … keep everyone in sight at all times.”

“You heard the captain,” Harrach called to the others. He shrugged off his pack and drew his sword, and Uwe and Freisch did the same.

“Give a shout if you see anything,” Evann said.

The three of them spread out in a line, advancing on the village. Evann watched as they carefully ventured among the ruins. Several times, he tensed as he lost sight of one or two of them, but they always reappeared.

Nor did they seem to find anything lurking in the ruins. He relaxed a bit as Harrach sheathed his sword, called something to Uwe and Freisch, and the three of them jogged back to join him.

“Nothing there but stone,” Harrach reported, panting a little. “I think we’ll be safe enough tonight.”

“Good.” Evann found his mood brightening a little. He hadn’t been looking forward to spending a night in the open in the cold. Dusk had started to fall, and with it came a cold breeze off the lake.

Shouldering his pack, Harrach led the way. Evann looked around curiously as they entered the ruins. The buildings seemed to have been abandoned voluntarily; he saw no sign of char marks on the stone to show the inhabitants had been burned out. They might well have fled when the Hag took up residence here; the buildings were old enough.

Harrach said, “I think we’re best off in here for the night.” He indicated a large building in the center of the village. It had the highest standing walls. “Someone camped here—there’s still a fire circle in the middle and some of the wood they scavenged from the ruins.”

“When?” Evann ducked through the low doorway. Though the roof had long ago fallen in, it seemed a good enough place to spend the night. The walls would also shelter them from the wind and provide some cover for a campfire.

“At least a year,” Harrach said, following him inside.

“Ah.” The large circle of stones in the center of what had been the main room held a few gray smudges and half-burned logs. “Probably some of the Hag’s men on patrol, perhaps even Orin Hawk.”

“Perhaps,” Harrach agreed.

The others came in and threw down their packs. Without a word, Uwe set about laying a fire, kindling it with dry grass he’d carried in. Striking sparks with his flint and steel until one of them caught, he leaned forward and blew softly on the tiny ember, feeding it more grass and splinters of wood. Finally it caught fire, and he started piling on the wood that the ruins’ previous visitors had left stacked in one corner.

Evann sat with his back up against one wall, staring into the flames and thinking back to Wolf-gar and Breitt, dead before they had halfway reached their goal. It would be a long, long journey yet to come.

“I’ll take first watch,” he said. “Freisch, you’ll have second, then Turach, then Uwe, then Harrach. Eat, then get some rest. We’ll leave at dawn.”

Everyone else seemed to share his dark mood. As the fire warmed the ruins, they stretched out their bedrolls, ate trail rations, and stared into the flames or the sky, now full of stars. Slowly, one by one, all but Evann curled up in their blankets and fell asleep.

Rising, he put a couple more logs on the fire, then went to the doorway and gazed out across the lake. It glimmered faintly in the moonlight, low waves rippling with silver. Around him the wind made a low moan as it whipped around the old stone walls, hummed down ancient chimneys, or slid catlike through gaping doors and windows. He shivered a bit, wondering about the people who had lived here.

Suddenly he heard what sounded like a footstep to the left, outside the building. Whirling, he drew his sword, ready to give a cry of warning.

It wasn’t a soldier, though. It was a woman in a long, flowing white dress, with a veil across her face. Her eyes glimmered like blue diamonds, and she stretched pale arms toward him.

“Terrill,” she whispered, “come to my, my love.”

Powerless to stop himself, Captain Terrill Evann put down his long sword and walked into her cold, cold embrace.