Chương 7: A Bargain or Two

If they had hoped for a peaceful sleep in the fae-wood, they were both sorely disappointed. They had earned the right to rest for the night from Lob, but that right did not extend to any notion of ease or comfort. Elyse wove a glamor to hide them, and Martimeos laid sigils on the ground to warn them of approaching danger, but he knew it was useless. Though many of the fae feared the Art as wielded by man, there were others which seemed to know their way around it.

And many of them had Art of their own, glamor being the greatest among their crafts, along with the changing of animals, transformation and ensorcellment.

First, there were the singing lights between the trees. Once darkness had fallen upon Martimeos and Elyse, and they had settled into their nests, it was not long before they found their eyes drawn to strange lights in the wood, dancing between the trees, off in the far distance. Pale blue, whitish lights, impossible to tell the source from this far away, but bright enough to bathe the ground between them in an eerie glow. And they sang, though not in any tongue they knew; it did not seem a tongue at all, in fact.

Instead, they seemed to hum, long and low and mournful.

Martimeos had heard tales of such strange lights in fae-woods before, though he had never seen them personally. Some said they were nothing more than little goblins carrying enchanted lanterns through the forest, though he could not see any figures or poles on these. Others named them will o' the wisps, and said they were the lost souls of those poor mortals who had died in the fae-woods, doomed forever to wander the strange forests not their own.

He could not say which was true, but the song of these lights struck a chord in his own soul, and he felt at once overwhelmed with such a sense of longing, to sing back to them, to go and dance among them, that he was halfway to his feet before Elyse had managed to grab onto the tail end of his cloak, whispering furiously to him that he must be mad. And perhaps he really was. It was an effort to listen to reason, and to lay back down in the dark.

The witch did not seem to feel what he felt, and only watched him, her expression unreadable in the darkness, only the glimmer of her eyes betraying the fact that she stared.

After a time, the lights moved off, or perhaps they simply faded away. The moon was a waxing crescent, and very little could be seen by its weak light, and yet the forest was full of noise. In the dark, the sounds of footsteps running at speed across the dried leaves, all around them, though Flit called out that he could see no one. This, despite Elyse's carefully wrought glamors and Martimeos' warning sigils, neither of which seemed to matter at all to this unseen runner.

The witch now cursed at the strangers in the dark, afraid that the fae, fickle by nature, had found some loophole in their agreements, or perhaps had simply decided to attack them either way. It was not an unfounded fear - the fae might do anything at all - and yet Martimeos was quite certain that this was not the case, and someone was simply having fun at their expense.

His words calmed Elyse somewhat, at least until whoever ran began taking running leaps over them in the darkness, though still they could not see in the slightest who it was. It became so bad, and the witch's breathing so panicked, that once, as it happened, just as their invisible harasser leapt over them, Martimeos roared out, "PEACE!" He was rewarded with a gasp, and the sound of someone stumbling, falling to the ground.

"We traded riddles with Lob," he shouted blindly into the night, "For the promise of a peaceful rest here! Know that we are no mere travelers, but practitioners of the Art, and if you break your promise I may set your woods ablaze!"

The woods had echoed with laughter then - not from one or two voices, and not from the direction their runner had stumbled in, but from dozens of voices, even hundreds, all around them. And then, all at once, every laugh stilled, went silent, as if they had all been laughed with one throat. But there were no more runners and jumpers that night. Though they both agreed that it would be best to set a watch, then, for whatever sleep they still might catch.

Martimeos had just dozed off for what seemed the slightest of moments when he was ripped from sleep by a sound that stabbed fear into his gut. The sound of the vulture-men, crying out in their wicked buzzard-screech. Elyse was by him, a dagger already in her hand, with Cecil crouched near her looking ready to pounce, and he fumbled for his crossbow before sleep had even fully left his mind.

The cries, hoarse and wheezing, seemed to come from some distance, and it was impossible to tell from where - first it seemed to come from in front of them, then behind, ever-changing, and certainly faster than the demons could move.

The cries had an odd quality to them, as well, and it was not long before Martimeos realized that it was fear that he heard in them, fear, and panic. And then it was not fear, but pain - their screams tore through the night, the demons howling, no longer even sounding like buzzards but rather like dogs gone mad. He could not know what was happening to them, but some of those tortured wails cut off short, and others seemed almost to beg before they went silent.

He thought he could hear at least five distinct cries, and that matched up well with the number that he thought he had counted that had pursued him into the fae-wood, though he had never been sure of that.

He could not help but shiver. He felt no pity for them - never for such vile things - but he could not help but be reminded of what their hosts might have done to them, had their mercurial whims just so happened to fancy that. What may still happen to them, in truth. He had good reason to think that they would not, of course, but there was a reason he had not gone immediately into the fae-wood to escape the demons. Always it was best to remain in those parts of the world trafficked by man, if one could.

Though at times, he wondered if this really was so. Many of the roads laid by man lay unwatched, quiet and darkened these days, and it was not just demons or fae who prowled them.

Highwaymen and footpads stalked them as well, and they could be every bit as brutal, conniving and false. And when you lay dying, did it really matter whether it was a bandit's blade or a demon's claws that had opened your throat?

Elyse tested her ankle, and she could walk but stiffly at best, and it was tender - not likely a good idea to run on it. Martimeos offered that he might carry her again, though he knew this would be a strain to do so for any great distance. She was light, but not so light that he would be able to carry her on his back for very long without it wearing on him.

"That might be agreeable," she told him with a teasing smile.

"I had not been carried so before, and it was quite the experience." But then, to his surprise, she grimaced, and spots of color came to her cheeks.

"Fah, I jest," she said, looking away from him. This content belongs to noⅴelfire. net

"If it must be done, it must be done," Martimeos began, but she turned to him and gave him an odd, dark look.

"Are you that eager to carry me, then?" she murmured, her dark blue eyes hooded - a strange blue, the thought floated through his mind - and for the barest moment he felt that she seemed somewhat predatory, that the look she gave him was somewhat akin to what he had seen her give to Lob yesterday, when she had taunted the goblin about eating his own ears, a look of snakelike hunger. But then that look vanished, and she was blushing further.

"No, I feel badly enough that you ran yourself near to death carrying me before," she muttered.

"I am not so useless that I cannot walk on my own. If it must be done, then we can come to it, but let me walk on it for a while and see how things fare."

He wondered if she might feel embarrassed at having had to be carried, and felt a bit badly for having pressed the issue. Still, it was a real worry. He had seen her ankle the day prior, and it looked to be the sort of injury where you might want to remain off your feet totally for at least a couple of days after, and do as little walking as you could manage a week after that.

She did have the Art and her healing, and that definitely quickened recovery - the wound in his forehead was practically gone by now with little to mark that it had ever been there, and the wounds in his side and his shoulder both felt like they had gone through a week of mending already. But watching her limp around the campsite, muttering to herself, it was clear that it was still bothering her.

He found a stout branch - never straying too far from where they had rested, it would still be foolish to leave each other's sight here - and hacked it from its tree with his sword, then trimmed the shoots from it, whittling down rough gnarls with his knife.

"If you must walk, then best for you to at least have a walking stick," he said, handing it to her.

"Hah!" she laughed, taking the stick from him. It was a bit too tall for her, and the end was a heavy, gnarled knot that might have been whittled down more, but she apparently liked it as it was, refusing his offer to modify it further.

"You see, wizard? I fooled you into thinking I was a crone the night I met you, and already I'm hobbling around like one."

He shrugged, yawning into his hand.

"Maybe it's just what you get. Fortune does have a funny sense of humor sometimes."

She hefted the stick appreciatively, and for the first time he realized that it might also serve well to beat someone with, if it came down to that.

"It is a fine thought, of course, but I had heard that it could be dangerous to take things from a fae-wood."

He paused for a moment before answering her.

"In this case, it should be fine," he said carefully.

"I know a bit of the fae, and knew how to pick out the right stick. But you are right, and should be more careful about picking things up if you do not travel with a guide who has some experience."

She began to ask him what the signs were to tell if a branch was safe to pick, giving her walking stick a heavy swing as she did so, but she stopped with a surprised shout as she spun around. Lob sat on the gnarled roots of a tree, prodding glumly at the darkened ash of their campfire with his curved and notched blade, still dirty with dried blood.

Cecil, who had been sitting by the campfire as well, watching his mistress, sat up with alarm when she shouted, and then jumped nearly as high as Martimeos stood when he noticed that Lob had appeared close enough to touch him.

"Your demon friends," the little man leered at them, when he noticed them watching. He gestured to his bloodied blade, and gave them a smug, sly look.

"They did not have any riddles to trade to Lob, no no. You see what Lob does to those who cross him, now? You heard them last night, maybe? Screaming out their last breath into the forest, before Lob cut their throats."

Martimeos plucked a brilliant red leaf from the tangles of his hair and twirled it between his finger, admiring it.

"Lob did all that, did he?" he said idly.

"Without any help from Lob's friends, was it?"

The goblin scowled, turning his knotted face even more ugly, but fear quickly crawled across his features once Elyse spoke up.

"I was hoping you might come back," she told him, once she had recovered from her surprise.

"I was wondering, when you eat your ears, do you plan on cooking them first? If you do, promise me a bite, and I'll only make you eat one of them."

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Lob looked positively sick at the thought.

"I…Lob…he…he will not!" The little man leapt up, and held his blade in a white-knuckled grip, eyes darting back and forth between the both of them.

"He will not eat his ears! Let him barter with you, let him trade!"

Martimeos was not surprised that the fae would do this. Even leaving aside the pain of eating his own ears, if he were marked in such a way it would be the end for him. To see him walking around without ears would be a reminder to other fae, for as long as he lived, that he had been outwitted; to those who knew the tale, they'd know it was his senseless boast that had seen him disfigured so.

"There is only one thing we want from you," he told the goblin, making himself sound only half-interested.

"And that's if you can give us safe passage through your wood, placing us as close as you can to the village of Silverfish. You know of it?"

"Passage?

Passage?" The goblin gnashed his teeth and stamped his foot. Safe passage was a dear thing for a fae to barter for, and very rarely given except to those who they considered friends, which was not many at all.

"Lob has so many other tricksies and charms he could give you. Let him teach you the trick of hiding in places smaller than you are! Let him show you the makings of leaf-dolls that will whisper to you what they see, instead. Let me-" Martimeos did his best to quiet his curiosity. He did very much want to know those things. Fae-charms and fae-tricks were no small thing to idly pass over. And he could likely find his way out on his own…

but he knew that if he did take these tricks from Lob, the little goblin would try to find a way to keep him here. Leaving these woods with the tricks in tow would be much more difficult than leaving the woods without them.

"Passage," he said sternly, "And that is it."

Lob sucked in air through his sharp and crooked teeth with a hiss, and turned to Elyse.

"It is you, that Lob should be talking to," his voice suddenly and strangely coy.

"You are the one who a-riddled him here, pretty one, beautiful one. If you will release him from…from eating his own ears, Lob will give you…" he drew a deep breath, puffed his chest out, and locked eyes with her."

Three kisses."

Elyse stared at the goblin for a moment, stunned. She glanced at Martimeos, as if for guidance, and all he could do was shrug at her.

"No," she said, flatly, though he could tell the witch struggled to contain laughter.

"No, I think the wizard has the right of it. Passage out of this wood, and quick, too."

The goblin wheedled, and whined, and sighed. He cajoled, and promised them sumptuous banquets (Martimeos quick to point out that they would never accept any food from him or any fae), a pot of gold, a favorable introduction to fae royalty, and all manner of other things that he likely had no ability to produce.

But they remained firm, and in the end, stamping around their campsite and kicking their campfire to scatter the ashes out of sheer spite and frustration, Lob agreed to give them their passage through the wood.

He beat his head in frustration and turned as red as the cloak he wore as Martimeos procured more promises from him - that the little creature would, indeed, lead them as close as he could to Silverfish, that he would not lead them out of the wood and into danger. Martimeos thought (or at least, he hoped) that, once free of the fae-wood, they would be free of the demons as well.

He did not think that Lob's friends were inclined to spare any of those demons which had pursued them, nor to let them go, if indeed any of the vile creatures yet lived. Lob swore to him that indeed, where he would lead them would be far away from that part of the forest in which the demons stalked and hunted.

"Enough!" the goblin eventually howled in response to Martimeos' continued prodding.

"You will be safe enough from them, worrisome man! They keep to their part of the forest, north of here, and are too cowardly to come and follow where so many of their fellows have disappeared. They do not occupy the whole of the Forest of Glys. Did they seem very clever or organized to you?" And Martimeos had to admit that they did not. Still, it was difficult not to dwell on his concern over the demons, when he had been so driven and harassed by them.

And so it was that they set out, following after the goblin, who stalked off between the trees, just as if he were walking a path, though none could be seen. Elyse hobbled along with her stick, and leaned on Martimeos that he might take much of her weight, and yet it was clear that walking was still a pain for her, slow-going. She did not wince with every step, but she occasionally gave short gasps that she tried to conceal as her ankle pained her.

He offered that he might carry her, at least for a while, upon his back, but very soon she insisted on hopping off and walking along on her own once more. Cecil padded alongside the both of them, giving his mistress concerned looks. Martimeos could have sworn the cat was looking at him reproachfully, as if it were all his fault.

Lob complained and grumbled about the pace, and tried to press them hard, undoubtedly out of spite; more than once the fae walked so far ahead that Martimeos was sure the little man was trying to lose them. He sent Flit to fly after him, to peck at the goblin's forehead, until the little man held back for them, tapping his foot impatiently.

The forest changed as they walked, and the land seemed strange. Though the ground was undoubtedly flat - at least when you stopped to look at it, it would seem so - it felt as if they climbed a hill that grew steeper and steeper, until they began to sweat despite the chill autumn air. The fae-wood did not easily give up its hold on those it had taken in, however short their visit had been. Only those friends to the fae here could pass easily.

Their path between the trees grew straighter, and the trees themselves more regular, until they appeared nearly like columns. Columns so closely placed that their branches grew into each other, until it seemed as if they walked down a brilliant scarlet tunnel, and at times it seemed almost to spin around them, dizzying, their patterns so strange to the eye that it almost felt as if those branches and leaves breathed.

And when Martimeos looked behind him, far, far down the path, there were dark figures watching them. Too far away to see clearly. But they were taller, and more slender, than the goblin who led them, and they watched, just watched, unmoving, never acknowledging them.

And then, just like that, they stood at the edge of the fae-wood. Martimeos blinked. He did not know how long they had been walking - at some point, his mind had left him among the leaves, though this was a familiar thing. Elyse's face was pale, or paler than she normally was, her mouth a thin line, and he did not think that all of her sweating was from exertion.

They stood at the edge of the creek that they had crossed earlier, though here, it ran very nearly right alongside the road, the blessed road that they had left behind. Even better, he could see here that the One-Road Wood thinned, not too far ahead, the trees becoming more sparse. He held a hand up to shade his eyes - it was not past midday yet, he thought, or just barely - and peered into the distance.

He could see, if he just squinted, what was unmistakably the shape of a building in the far distance, perhaps the barn of an outlying farm.

"Is that Silverfish?" he asked.

"No," Lob replied, and the fae sounded far too snide and clever for Martimeos' liking. He squatted, crouched, by the bank of the creek, beady eyes watching the water gently pass by.

"You have a bit more a-walking to do before you reach your destination, clever wizard. But Lob has brought you as close as he can, as he promised."

"If we might rest a while?" Elyse asked, her voice tight.

"I think my ankle might appreciate the touch of cold water, for a time."

Martimeos helped her to the water's edge, where she tugged off her crude shoes - they did not even have knots to tie them, as far as he could see - and unwrapped her bandages, and then sighed with contentment as she dipped her swollen ankle in the creek's gentle currents. Cecil lay beside her and lapped at the water, and even Flit took the opportunity to flutter down towards the ebb of calm water where the bank was gentle and take a bath.

Martimeos thought he might cool his feet as well, if just to relieve the strain of long walking, but to his surprise, Lob had lingered with them, and now gestured to him, away from the rest.

He did not follow the little goblin far - it would be foolish to lose sight of his companions even here, at the edge of the fae-wood - but Lob stopped, just out of the earshot of the others reverie, beneath the spreading leaves of a red maple, and glared up at the wizard.

"Awful, filthy boy. Foul, tricksome witch," the twisted little fae hissed, with real bitterness. He ran his tongue over his crooked teeth, as if feeling how sharp they were, and seemed almost on the verge of tears.

"You have humiliated Lob, you have."

Martimeos was taken aback, for a moment, but it was not long before his heart hardened.

"You humiliated yourself," he said sternly, shifting his black-furred cloak on his shoulders and giving the goblin a hard stare.

"With your ill-considered boast and all your empty threats. You might have just traded us a riddle and have been done with it. It is not my fault your mouth ran ahead of you and made promises you were not prepared to keep."

"Lob cannot stay here anymore," the little man whinged, wringing his hands. Martimeos supposed that the expression on the fae's face was meant to be piteous, but the knotted whorls of his skin and his sharpened teeth made it quite horrible.

"You have made him look a fool in front of his friends. He must go away now, where no one knows him. You must help him."

"I must not do anything at all," Martimeos snapped, but Lob ignored him. The little man snatched a falling maple seed from out of the air. Its papery wing was as brilliantly red as everything else in the fae-wood. This, Lob held out to him pleadingly.

"Here," said the goblin, wheedling, and he seemed so pathetic that, even ugly as he was, once more Martimeos could not help but feel a surge of contemptuous pity towards the creature.

"Plant this, where you think Lob might have a good home. Lob will repay you in however you desire."

Martimeos had been about to tell the little man to make tracks as quick as he could back into the fae-wood, but he paused. A promise like that, so open-ended, from a fae could be a grand boon indeed, even from one as small as this.

"What would make you a good home?" he asked cautiously.

Lob licked his lips, and then his gnarled face contorted once more into something unpleasant. Something hungry.

"Where the lost may roam," he whispered in a sharp hiss.

"Where foolish souls may tread. Some like to live far away and all-alone, but not Lob, no-no. He wants to be a-talking and a-playing with folk."

Thinking of the little man's curved and notched blade, Martimeos frowned. That was what he thought. There were some fae that were content to stay far away from normal folk. But many others had a fascination for humanity, one that often did not turn out so well for the objects of their interest. Though at times it was harmless enough, he did not think that little Lob's interest would be so benign.

"And why me alone?" he murmured, rolling the seed between his fingers.

"Lob is not a-trusting the witch." The little man's eyes darted towards Elyse, who had only just now glanced back towards them, watching them with a blank expression on her face, and he grimaced.

"She has something dark in her nature. But you, though." The goblin reached out and patted his leg in an almost comradely fashion.

"You…you understand the position Lob is in, don't you? You are…" he paused, as if he suddenly remembered all the insulting adjectives he had used previously.

"An.. an upstanding boy, yes?"

Martimeos continued to twirl the seed between his fingers, staring at it, and then looking down at the little goblin as the little man smiled up at him, hopefully, slyly. He had no intention of doing what the creature asked of him. And yet, such a promised boon was not so easily discarded. It may even be valuable in trade. And if he changed his mind, he might always simply burn it.

"We'll see. I make no promises," Martimeos told the goblin as he pocketed the seed.

"But if it is planted, you must grant a favor to whoever it was who planted it for you." The goblin opened his mouth, but Martimeos rode right over him.

"That is all, Lob. Now leave us be."

The little man gave a sharp, nasty grin, and his little eyes blazed, but he backed away towards the crimson fae-wood, almost deferentially.

"Lob will see you again," he said, and then stamped his foot and leapt straight up into the air, and seemingly never landed, disappearing from sight. Still, his voice lingered.

"Yes. He is sure that he will."

"What was that about?" Elyse asked Martimeos, as he walked back to rejoin them at the bank.

"Nothing," the wizard told her.

"Lob tried to beg us into staying in the fae-wood, like most of them will. He seemed to think I might be more easily convinced than you." Before she might ask him more questions, he motioned to the creek.

"Let us get across, then. There are buildings ahead, and there might be places more suitable for you to rest than here."