War in Hagwood Read online

  Her words prompted a peal of hellish laughter and the High Lady’s form shimmered. Her white mantle became a glittering black robe, trimmed with sable fur and a crown of silver thorns, entwined with golden ivy leaves, encircled her brow.

  “Can you not see?” she demanded. “Are you as blind as my sister’s lifeless lover? Your Queen has ascended among the gods. At last, I am truly unassailable. My heart, you ridiculous harridan, can never be reached—I am finally free.”

  But Gabbity was only aware of the infant’s distress and she begged the High Lady to stop hurting him.

  Rhiannon gave a scornful laugh. “You are soft as curd,” she said. “He can so easily be replaced. When the human world grovels before me and fears my very name, among their tributes will be countless pink morsels such as this—and even younger. Every new day, I shall select a fresh bite of innocence.”

  Her gloating anticipation was horrible to watch and she stared into the cradle in a way that made Gabbity’s warty flesh creep.

  Then, for the first time, the owl spoke. “Majesty … Divinity,” he said directly into her ear. “Hath thou marked? Yon table is empty. The barn bogle is absent.”

  The owl’s mistress pulled away from the cradle and the goblin threw down her knitting to rush over and appease the child’s cries.

  “Where is the beast?” Rhiannon demanded. “Did you set it loose as a reward for the key you found upon it?”

  Gabbity held the infant tightly in her arms. Perhaps she drew courage from the aura that flickered around him, or perhaps it was her own innate goblin nerve that surfaced. Now that she knew all hope was lost, she no longer felt afraid. With a defiant gleam in her aged eyes, she stuck out her jaw and said, “Aye, the skinny fellow’s gone! I sent him skedaddling from this place hours ago. He’ll be deep in the forest by now if he’s any sense. You’ll not catch him easily.”

  The High Lady raised her eyebrows. “The toothless cannot bite, Gabbity,” she told her. “Do not attempt to snap at me.”

  “’Twere an evil night that delivered you,” the nursemaid answered hotly. “The forest was filled with screeching and lightning zagged about the hill. I knowed it were a bad omen. The cattle went dry for nine days. Born bad you was, and badder you became.”

  “Curb thine insolence!” the owl shrieked.

  Gabbity threw him an angry glare.

  “And the egg that hatched you should have been stamped underfoot!” she yelled. “I sorely wish my heel had done it. But this much I’ll do, Master Beak, eater of stolen eyes and feathered toady. I’ll lay a goblin curse upon your head. By the serpents’ breath, may you be ripped from the sky and your snowy plumes shout red with your own heart’s blood.”

  “Enough,” Rhiannon interjected. “I have one last use for Gabbity. But I promise you, my provost, you will watch her die an amusing death.”

  Concealed within the wooden chest, Grimditch had heard everything and a cold sweat had broken out over his bald brows. The High Lady’s crimes had stunned and sickened him. Curled up in that cramped space, his legs had grown numb but he was too afraid to shift his position, in case the movement was overheard.

  Suddenly, he heard Gabbity let out a pitiful shriek and the sounds of a brief and desperate scuffle broke out. He heard the stool kicked over and the owl cackling contemptuously. Then the nursemaid’s voice was muffled and Rhiannon’s strident tones were mocking her.

  “That will keep you here till you’re needed to play your part,” she said. “Now, the Under Magic of the Hollow Hill must be awakened and the stones shall rise. I will rouse the Unseelie Court. We have an appointment with my sister; she has been kept waiting too long. Then, when I return …”

  Her words turned to callous laughter and the infant cried out in pain once more.

  “A feast fit for a goddess will be waiting,” Rhiannon declared.

  Grimditch heard Gabbity’s stifled screams. He was anxious to lift the lid of the chest and peer out to see what was happening, but even his impish wits knew that would be a fatal mistake. So he remained in that squashed darkness, breathing as silently as possible. Presently, he heard the door of the chamber open and close. A few moments more and Gabbity’s frenetic struggles began again; this time he was sure they were meant for him to hear and were the signal for him to emerge.

  Cautiously, he raised the lid and looked out.

  The goblin nursemaid was half lying, half sitting on the floor at the foot of the cradle. Grimditch thought it seemed a very peculiar and most uncomfortable position and he tilted his head curiously. Only then did he realize she had been tied to one of the cradle’s legs by her own hair, which had also been bound tightly around her mouth as a gag. Her hands had been fastened behind her back by her knitting and she could do nothing to free herself.

  She was staring, wild eyed, over at the barn bogle and making frantic jerks of her head to summon him to her aid. A number of the large spiders that spun the cradle’s canopy had scurried down and had begun throwing their silk across her face.

  Grimditch clambered hurriedly out of his hiding place but instantly tumbled head over heels and went slithering across the floor. His legs had been so cramped within the wooden chest they were now completely numb and felt heavy and clumsy. Gibbering with frustration, he rubbed and slapped them vigorously to get the blood pumping around again.

  Then his scatty wits remembered Gabbity and he hurried over to her.

  “Grimditch save you, you gummy old baggage!” he declared grandly, setting about the knotted knitting that fettered her hands.

  The nursemaid’s struggles hindered his efforts, so it was many minutes before she was loose. Her hair was another matter. Neither she nor Grimditch could untie it. She clawed at it frantically but it was no use. Finally, she mimed cutting it and pointed to the knife on the table that she had used to shave the barn bogle earlier that day.

  A moment later, the blade was scything through her wiry hair and she jumped to her feet.

  “A hundred plagues on you!” she raged, lashing out and delivering Grimditch a mighty whack across his face.

  “What you do that for?” he howled. “Me rescued you, you wormy old crab apple!”

  “That’s for taking so long!” she shouted at him as she wiped the webs from her eyes and chased the spiders from what was left of her hair.

  The goblin glanced apprehensively at the door. “She will be back soon!” she told him. “You must flee from this place, before it is too late.”

  “Us both go!” Grimditch nodded as he ran to the door. “But no more smacks!”

  Gabbity turned the key in the lock but the door would not open.

  “She’s spelled it shut!” she cried. “There’s no getting out this way!”

  Grimditch’s bottom lip began to quiver, but she quickly put a stop to that.

  “There is another way,” she told him. “A secret path. Behind them drapes yonder is a great stone that hinges back as smooth as an oiled gate. ’Tis how She steals outside with no one seeing Her leave this chamber.”

  The barn bogle darted to the gloomy corner she had pointed at. He tore aside the dark cloth that hung there and revealed the carved stone wall behind. But he could not see any trace of a door. It was far too cunningly concealed. He pushed and shoved but nothing happened.

  “Me can’t find it!” he grunted in exasperation.

  Gabbity was hunting through her bags of herbs and wool, muttering under her breath.

  “Me can’t find it!” Grimditch repeated.

  The nursemaid ignored him. She was too intent on her own search. Presently, she gave a little cry of delight and ran back to the cradle, flourishing something in her hand.

  “Missus!” Grimditch grumbled.

  Gabbity bent over the infant, lifted him in her arms and placed something around his neck. Wrapping a moss-colored blanket around him, she carried the child to the c
orner.

  “You must take him,” she told Grimditch, handing the precious bundle over. “If you love him as I does, then bear the little lordling far from this evil place.”

  The barn bogle grunted from the sudden weight in his arms. He wasn’t that much taller than the infant. His skinny legs almost gave way and his back bowed. Then he stared down at the peaceful, slumbering face crooked in his elbow. For a moment he was speechless and then he straightened his back. He would protect this tiny life with his own.

  Then, abruptly, he shook his head in alarm. What was he thinking? He was only a lowly barn bogle. The baby wouldn’t be safe with him and he tried to return him to the nursemaid’s arms.

  “No, no, no, no, no!” he said. “Me can’t!”

  But Gabbity refused to take the child and she seized hold of the barn bogle’s shoulders. Her yellow eyes were burning and fierce. “He must go from here!” she insisted. “You doesn’t understand, you stupid beast. You don’t know what She intends to do with him.”

  Grimditch caught the horror in her voice and stared at her fearfully. “What be that?” he murmured.

  The goblin took a steadying breath and stroked the infant’s hair with a trembling hand. “M’Lady’s wanting to celebrate this night,” she began. “She’s going to come back here and feast. She’s going … She’s going to eat him!”

  Grimditch’s mouth fell open and his large eyes grew even rounder. He made a strangled choking noise in his throat.

  “So you have to take him!” Gabbity implored.

  “But …” he croaked in anguish. “Him can’t never leave here! Your witchy lady has kept him tiny and not growed by Her foul magics. If me carried him off, them snatched years would snap back and crumble him to dust.”

  Gabbity patted the thing she had placed around the infant’s neck. It was a small effigy—carefully knitted in green wool, stuffed with strange-smelling herbs, and with a lock of real hair sewn onto the head. The hair was raven black.

  “Aye,” she said when she saw the barn bogle guess. “The hair is Hers. I snipped it without Her knowing one day. ’Twas the only way, else the charm would have no power. I made it long ago as a guard against such a plight as this. I never really dreamed it would be needed. I didn’t know how wicked She truly is. Thank the serpents for my foresight. I put into this charm what small craft and lore I have. It has the virtue to keep my lordling safe. As long as it stays on him, the mortal years won’t gobble him up—so make sure ’tis always there.”

  Grimditch frowned. “But you is coming as well?” he asked uncertainly.

  The nursemaid turned away and pressed a finger into one of the recesses carved into the wall. There was a soft click and a tall section of stone swung backward into a narrow, sharply climbing passage.

  “Come!” Grimditch urged. “Me niffs the outside!”

  With the child in his arms, he stepped into the tunnel and began hurrying along it, but stopped when he realized she was not following. He peered back at her and saw the nursemaid still in the bedchamber, wiping her nose.

  “Quick! Quick!” he called.

  “You’re such a bluntwitted beast,” she answered wretchedly. “Look at that slender tunnel, now look at me. Are you so lacking in brain to notice? Gabbity’s got too much comfy padding to squeeze herself through there.”

  The barn bogle looked at her squat, round shape and let out a groan. She was right.

  “But you’ll be deaded if you stops here, missus,” he said. “She’ll come back and pull your giblets out—double fast.”

  “That don’t matter now,” she replied. “And I’ll have saved my sweet manikin from Her knife. That’s enough for Old Gabbity. Now, get you gone.”

  Grimditch headed back toward her. There had to be some way she could be pulled or pushed or pummeled through.

  “You got any goose fat there, missus?” he called. “We could grease you up and try squeezing you out.”

  Gabbity reached out her hand. “A goblin blessing upon you both,” she said sadly, her voice breaking.

  Grimditch saw what she was doing. He tried to cry out but it was too late. He heard the soft click and the stone slab silently closed back into place between them. He and the infant were sealed within the tunnel. It was pitch dark in there. Frantically, he ran his fingers over the smooth walls but couldn’t find any lever or secret trigger.

  “Missus!” he yelled, thumping a fist against the stone.

  It was no use. Within the bedchamber, Gabbity closed her ears to his muffled protests. She settled down on her familiar stool and steeled herself for her mistress’s return.

  Grimditch ceased pounding on the stone. It hurt his fist, and he knew the faster he escaped the Hollow Hill, the better his chances would be.

  Wrapping both arms about the infant, he began hurrying up the cramped and dark passage. The cool airs of evening that filtered down from the outside gave him hope and spurred him on. Presently, he saw the night sky peeping through gaps between the branches of a large gorse bush that concealed the tunnel entrance.

  Screening the child’s face from the spiky leaves, the barn bogle pushed through and emerged on the high slopes of the hillside.

  For a long moment he stood there, breathing hard and gazing about him as a strong breeze blew cold and strange upon his shaven face and naked head. The trees that stirred below him were clogged with night shadows: sinister and thick with unknown menace. Where was he to go?

  To the west a great fire was blazing in the woodland; black smoke was coiling up in massive pillowing clouds and by wind out over the forest. His old barn lay south, but the High Lady would suspect he would try to return to Moonfire Farm. The Cold Hills lay northward, but it was a desolate region with no shelter for the likes of him. Grimditch turned his attention to the east. From that stretch of the forest, a small bird was racing through the sky. Something silver was glinting in its little feet, but he had no time to wonder what it may be.

  Suddenly, the night blared with the strident blast of trumpets. He let out a strangled yelp, believing they were proclaiming his escape. Then, the very ground beneath him began to rumble. He swayed and staggered, backward and forward, slithering down the slope in his woolen socks.

  From far below the ground, he heard the thunderous grinding of colossal stones and felt the Hollow Hill shake, as if gripped by an earthquake.

  Grimditch had no idea what was happening. He clasped the human child close to him and began leaping down the juddering hillside as fast as he could.

  There came the sound of ripping and tearing. As he looked before him, he saw the ground was parting—splitting along the contour of the hill, and across his path, in one huge trench.

  Whatever magic was behind this point was far more powerful than anything he had ever heard of. Roots of shrub and wildflowers were torn apart and loose earth went spilling down into the widening gulf. In a panic, the barn bogle rushed toward the gap and jumped across it. Then he hastened, terrified, down to the lower slopes, and only then he paused to glance back.

  What he beheld made him suck in a marveling breath.

  The summit of the Hollow Hill was rising. Gigantic monoliths were thrusting up from the lower regions of the earth, like vast pillars, supporting the immense grassy crown of the hill’s summit. The subterranean halls and mansions of the Hidden Realm were now revealed, and the light from the great silver lanterns spilled out across the forest.

  Grimditch did not know that such a momentous event had not happened since before the wars with the troll witches. This was Rhiannon Rigantona’s declaration to the world that she, at long last, was free from fear and a divine, invincible force. The time of her true reign had commenced and the tradition of concealment was over.

  The silvery green light that fell across Grimditch’s face astounded him, but he quickly pulled himself together. Carrying the precious mortal child, he went bounding
into the trees, the tails of his frock coat flapping madly and the trumpets of the Unseelie Court sounding a loud and piercing fanfare behind him.

  * Chapter 13 *

  Wary and Cautious

  SEVERAL HOURS HAD PASSED since the death of the Tower Lubber. Tollychook Umbelnapper’s stomach was growling so loudly that Fly the fox cub started snarling at it. Liffidia put her arms around the animal’s neck and calmed him with a whisper in his ear.

  “All this waitin’,” the boy grumbled. “’Tis worse than the battlin’. I be imaginin’ all sorts of ’orrible happenins in store. I almost wishes them Redcaps had stuck a poison dart in each of us and made a quick end of it.”

  Liffidia threw him an angry look and hissed for him to be quiet. They were in the infirmary, where she had been tending to the sick and injured birds. Peg-tooth Meg was still crouched by the dead Tower Lubber and many of her sluglung subjects were gathered around her, moaning soft, dirgelike sounds.

  It was growing dark.

  The ominous hammering had only recently ceased and the golden casket was still in Meg’s hands. It too had stopped its answering chime and the heart within had fallen into silence.

  “My sister is victorious,” Meg said at length. “Young Tollychook is correct. It would have been far easier for us all if the Redcaps had succeeded. Now we must wait. She will return to have one final triumphant gloat before she is done with me.”

  Leaning over the Tower Lubber’s face, she kissed his brow with her wide, toadlike lips. Then she arose, her crooked joints creaking.

  “I shall await Rhiannon above,” she said. “From the battlements, I shall watch her parade from the forest. I will not cower and hide. I am also a daughter of Ragallach; I shall meet her gaze without flinching.”

  Taking her harp and the casket with her, she ascended the stairs to the roof and her sluglung guards trailed after.

  “It won’t be too much longer,” Liffidia told Tollychook. “Come. Let us go with them and await the end. We might as well all be together. There’s nothing more we can do now. All hope is gone.”