He released her and stood, and she scrambled to her feet, glaring up at him. Now she understood how Cogswhallop had felt.

"Why'd you let me go?"

"Why not?" Todder Yon shrugged. "If you'll stay awhile, and behave yourself, I'll even heat up some stew for you."

"But why?"

"Because you're a powerful hedgewitch, of course." The corners of his eyes crinkled as he bent over the fire to stir it up. "We lesser minions ought to stick together."

"Lesser what?"

"Minions." The amus.e.m.e.nt left his facea"he looked older. "Haven't you heard it? The Hierarch decided that any power that doesn't come from the Seven Bright Ones, like the priests' power does, must be coming from the Dark One. He declared that all hedgewitches, seers, even the light healers, are lesser minions of the Dark One. Bad as demons, he said, just not so strong."

"But that's nonsense," Makenna burst out. "Mother never had anything to do with the Dark One. And neither have I. We don't even know anya"" She stopped abruptly, but he wasn't slow.

"Demons' names? That's fine with me, la.s.s, for I'd hate to be cursed. Did something happen to your mother?"

Makenna said nothing, but he read the answer in her face.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "You don't have to talk about it. No father, either?"

"No," said Makenna shortly. Ardis had always claimed Makenna's father had loved her, loved both of them. But not enough to stay with a hedgewitch. Ardis had never blamed him for it, but Makenna had.

"On your own, then? Well, you'd best have a care for yourself, since you've no one to care for you. The Hierarch decreed that all the Dark One's minions are to be slain or turned over to the church. The Decree of Bright Magic, they're calling it. And you'd best watch out for your goblin horde as wella"they've been declared lesser minions, just like the rest of us."

"But why?" Makenna demanded. "I know they never approved of hedgewitches, but that's no reason to kill us!"

"I don't know the real reason." Todder sighed. "They say it's because the barbarian attacks in the south are growing worse. They had to recruit more men into the army last winter, and they'll need even more this year. Soon there'll be all-out war on the southern border."

"So?" demanded Makenna. A border war was the Hierarch's business, and perhaps the lords'. The barbarians had been raiding the southern border for as long as anyone could remember. "What does that have to do with hedgewitches? It's knights and priests that fight a war."

"Ah, but the knights and priests are commanded by the Hierarch, so you can hardly expect them to take the blame, now can you? The logic is that the Bright Ones have stopped favoring the Hierarch's army, because he's been tolerating the presence of the Dark One's servants in his own land. If he casts out the 'evil ones,' then the army will start winning again. It's pigdung, but that's what they say." He shook his head ruefully and stirred the bubbling pot. "By St. Spiratu's truth, I'd give a lot to know what they're really up to. Of course, those with power blaming those without isn't exactly a new thing in the world."

"But that's absurd. Hedgewitches have nothing to do with whether the army wins or loses. And seers and light healers can't do anything but predict or heal-a"and not even as well as a hedgewitch can! To blame us for what happens to some distant army is ... is ..." She could think of no word strong enough.

"Despicable? Aye, so it is. But unless the Decree is revoked, it'll go hard with all of us."

Hatred was rising in Makenna, a cold, solid hate, not at all like the blazing fury that had led her to flood her village. "Why do you keep saying 'us,' tinker? Do you have power?"

"Not a sc.r.a.p." He ladled stew into a bowl and gave it to her. "You might as well sit down." He sat himself, leaning comfortably against his pack.

"The Hierarch says the way we rove abouta"tinkers, and the gypsies, tooa"serving no lord is a sign of lawlessness. And lawlessness comes from the Dark One. Myself, I think the Hierarch is more concerned about the news we spread."

As Makenna ate, he proceeded to spread news. He told her about failed harvests, which were also being blamed on the Dark One's minions. One village had even been completely swallowed by flood when its sluice gate was mysteriously damaged, though no one there was killed.

Makenna tried to hide her riveted attention and evidently succeeded, for the tinker went on to talk about scandals, dishonest lords, and rumors of corrupt priests. At first, satisfaction at the success of her revenge distracted her, but eventually she began to listen. She was most interested in his talk of the priests' intention to push the goblins into the north woods, where they could be imprisoned behind the great wall.

"But that'll never succeed," Todder remarked. "It didn't work three hundred years ago, and it won't work now. Especially with all the holes that have grown in the wall over the centuries."

"Why's the Hierarch killing hedgewitches and not goblins?" Makenna asked. It felt strange, talking to a human, but good, tooa"pleasure and discomfort mixed, like stretching out stiff muscles.

"Have you ever tried to kill goblins, la.s.s? It's not impossible, but killing them all would take far more men and magic than the church can spare. Driving them out's hard enough."

He still hadn't run out of gossip when he caught her yawning and tossed her a couple of blankets.

"By the by, la.s.s, what was it you wanted here?"

"Your pack." Makenna was too tired to lie. "I need something stronger to carry my things in."

"Hmm," said the tinker. "Well, I can't give you that one, for I've need of it myself, but I've an old one here you might make use of." He dug into his pack as he spoke, and pulled out a heap of crumpled leather. "It's pretty well in tatters; I've been using bits of it for leather sc.r.a.p. But perhaps that goblin horde of yours could mend it for you." He winked as he handed it over. "There you go, and St. Veschia's charity with it."

Makenna snorted. "You have the most blasphemous opinions I've ever heard, but you offer a saint's blessing? A saint's nothing but a priest who went and did something memorable enough to get himself talked about."

"And so? Veschia was a good woman, by all accounts, priest or no. Why shouldn't the poor folk she cared about invoke her name?" His face was sober, but his eyes danced. He knew she had no answer.

"Humph." Makenna turned away. She didn't like feeling indebted, any more than Cogswhallop did. Especially to someone who laughed at her.

She took the battered pack with her, when she crept out of camp just before dawn, listening to Todder Yon's deceptive snores.

Speaking with another human had roused the aching loneliness the goblin's company had almost cured. And he'd been kind, she supposed. But the villagers had seemed kind before they turned on her mother. She didn't trust him. She preferred the goblin's system of favor for favor, even though it took two weeks to set out enough food to get the pack mended.

She hadn't seen Cogswhallop in all that time and was beginning to think she never would again. She was surprised how much she missed him, but she'd become accustomed to loneliness oncea"she'd come to accept it again.

So when Cogswhallop shook her awake one morning, she sat up gasping in astonishment. He had never touched her before. Her delight at seeing him was washed away by the tension in his thin face.

"I thought I'd paid it," he fretted. "I thought with finding you a pack I'd cleared my debt, for good and all."

"You have," said Makenna promptly. "You owe me nothing, Cogswhallop. Paid in full."

"Aye," he said glumly. "But that's about to change. It may be too late already, wench, and I'm not even sure if there's anything you can do, but I've some friends who need help. Badly."

Makenna stared at the wood piled under the towering oak and groped desperately for a plan. The thought of what she might have to witness sickened her.

"It's that great chain they've laid in a circle around the tree that's the problem," Cogswhallop told her grimly.

Makenna squinted through the crack between the boards of the old barn where they were hiding. She could only catch glimpses of the chain, between the bodies of the milling mob. "I thought you could touch iron."

"Oh, it's not that it's iron. It's spelled against goblins, like the doorsills of the churches. Not one of us can get within six feet of it. Keeps us out and the Greeners in. Real effective, that priest, may foxes chew off his b.u.t.tocks! I was hoping you could get past it."

"If the chain's only spelled against goblins, then I can," said Makenna. "The problem isn't the chain, it's that great crowd of people."

A wave of despair swept over her. Trapped, the lot of them. She hadn't been able to save her own mother. What made Cogswhallop think she could save his friends? Even with unexpected help.

She could feel the hopeful gazes of her goblin allies. When they'd arrived at the farm, four strange goblins had materialized and followed Cogswhallop out of the bushes. Cogswhallop had seen her staring.

"You didn't think I'd ask you to do it all on your own, did you? These are Oddi and Beekin, the la.s.s is Narri, and the little one's Pimo. They're the ones who've been following you all these weeks."

It felt strange to see the faces of her pursuers.

"Good enough, if all we needed was tricks with a food bag," Makenna had said grimly. She had no great faith in the goblins' abilities, for all the bedevilment they'd given her, but it had been nice to have allies. Until she saw what she was up against. Now they were just four more people she might fail.

Returning her thoughts to the present, Makenna stared into the bare branches. The tree was an ancient giant. Almost all its leaves had fallen, but she still couldn't see anything in it.

"Are you sure they're trapped up there?"

"Aye, a whole family of Greeners. Five of 'em. They're keeping still, hoping the humans will think they're gone and the farm folk'll be able to talk the mob out of it. Those farmers are the only reason they didn't set it alight at dawn."

Makenna had guessed that without being told. A farmer was speaking furiously with the priest, who wore the seven-rayed sun symbol of his calling upon his breast. The farmer had the look of a man who'd been arguing for a long time. His wife stood off a bit, weeping into her ap.r.o.n. A little boy, also sobbing, clung to her skirts. An older boy stood beside her, but he wasn't crying. He looked grim and angry, and his hands flexed as if he wanted a weapon in them. The priest looked sober, even sympathetic, but there was a smugness about him that reminded Makenna of Mistress Manoc from her village. He'd already won, and he knew it.

Anger surged through her, burning away her helplessness. These were her mother's enemies, in spirit, if not in person. "The farmers won't be able to talk them out of it," she said quietly, turning to face her small troop.

Cogswhallop's sharp face crumpled with despair. "Then if you can't get though the crowd, they're as good as burned."

"Not so fast." All she needed was a plana"she'd been able to destroy her whole village, once she had a plan. "I might be able to get through the crowd. There's a spell that'll make people look right over me. But it's not strong enough to make them overlook me if I step across that chain and lift the goblins down from the tree. We need to distract them. Maybe if we could burn down something elsea"but it'd have to be important, not just a haystack, and we've no time to lay a fire and have it take hold."

Without looking, Cogswhallop reached behind him, grabbed Oddi's tunic, and hauled the goblin, squeaking, in front of Makenna. "Oddi's a Flamer. He's the lad who's been keeping your fire going nights. He can get anything blazing in minutes."

"Really? How? No, never mind. Oddi, could you set fire to a building?"

"Aye, gladly. What for?"

"For a diversa" Oh. But what do you want?" Makenna gestured helplessly. "I left all my gear back by the trail. I could owe youa""

"No, girl, I'll have no owing." Oddi looked shocked by the mere thought. "All I want's a token, to keep us in balance, like. A b.u.t.ton would do. Or a small stone or a bit of cloth. Anything, really."

This was how friends traded. Makenna's heart warmed, despite the urgency and fear. "But what use would you have for one of my b.u.t.tons?"

Oddi shook his head pityingly. "You're a bit dim still. It's the trade, not the profit, that counts." "Buta""

"They're moving," hissed the littlest goblin, Pimo.

Makenna spun. The crowd had seized the farmer and dragged him back, ignoring his shouted protests. The priest stepped forward, torch in hand, and the older farm boy leapt away from the crowd and tackled him. They rolled over and over, struggling, and the torch went out. Makenna drew her knife and sliced a b.u.t.ton off her vest.

"Oddi, burn the church," she commanded. "The rest of you, tell me quick, what can you do?"

As she listened to the goblins' replies, she watched the mob. Beekin and Narri were Makers, supremely clever with their fingers, but slow. Pimo was a Sleeper, but he warned her that his gift worked best on people who were relaxed or tired, and still better on animals. Makenna smiled briefly, remembering all her sudden naps. Cogswhallop, son of a Maker and a Flamer, could work with iron and steel, but he had no other gift.

The mob dragged the farmer's son off the priest and clubbed him into unconsciousness. His mother screamed and ran to kneel beside him, pulling his head into her lap. The farmer struggled harder, but he couldn't break free.

The villagers helped the priest to his feet, brushing off his clothes, restoring his dignity as much as it could be restored until his nose stopped bleeding. Someone brought another torch. The priest started to make a speech.

Makenna sliced four more b.u.t.tons off her vest. She had her plan. "See that sheep pen, the one that opens into the yard?" she asked quickly, pa.s.sing out b.u.t.tons. "It's closed with an iron catch, so that's Cogswhallop's job. Beekin and Narri, can you saddle a horse? The quietest one you can find. Then get out to the pen and get those sheep ready to spook. It shouldn't be hard to excite them; there'll be fire nearby and they're silly creatures."

Beekin and Narri took their b.u.t.tons and vanished. They were supposed to be slow?

"Pimo, can you keep an animal relaxed and drowsy without putting it to sleep?"

His tiny face screwed up doubtfully. "It depends. I'll try."

"Then go with Beekin and Narri and bring the horse as soon as it's soothed. And remembera""

A roar from the crowd interrupted her. The priest had lit the pyre. Pimo s.n.a.t.c.hed a b.u.t.ton and vanished.

"That horse has to stay calm," Makenna hissed after him. "Because"a"she turned to Cogswhallopa""I'm not much of a rider. Why are you still here?"

"It's a simple latch. I can undo it in seconds. And since it's in plain view I'd best wait till your diversion has taken hold." He was watching the flames rise around the base of the tree. His face, contorted with anguish and hope, made a terrible contrast to his carefully calm voice. Makenna felt a surge of respect for the little goblin. This was courage.

She hadn't been able to save her mother. Maybe she could save someone else who deserved it.

Hoofbeats clopped on the barn's wooden floor. The horse sounded calm, but it hadn't seen the fire yet. The sheep were beginning to bleat and bounce. "Here's your b.u.t.ton, Cogswhallop."

Cogswhallop looked at her oddly. "Keep the b.u.t.ton. It's me that's owing you again. More than I'll ever be able to pay, if you bring this off. Do you think we have a chance ?"

The horse arrived, a big gray. Pimo rode high on its neck, clinging to its mane, whispering in its ear. Makenna climbed awkwardly into the saddle and settled Pimo on the pommel in front of her. "There's always a chance," she said. The sheep were going crazy. "Now get out there and get ready. Open the pen when I come out of the barn and not before, understand?"

A taut smile flickered across Cogswhallop's face and vanished. "Aye, gen'ral." And he was gone.

General?

The fire was reaching into the lower branches now. Makenna sc.r.a.ped a handful of dried bird droppings from a post beneath a swallow's nest and, rubbing it on the horse's flank, drew the look-away rune. The horse twitched its hide and looked back at her curiously. Pimo's whispering became more intense, his face streaked with the sweat of fear.

Makenna felt the terror, too, rushing like a pulse through her body, but it was mixed with anger and a wild exhilaration that came close to joy. "Steady," she said, to the horse, to Pimo, to herself. "Wait for it. . . ."

Finally it came. A gust of smoke from another direction. Murmurs of confusion. Cries of dismay and outrage. The priest yelled, "My spell books!" and raced for the burning church. Makenna smiled grimly. It seemed that endangering their spell books would distract anyone who made magic, not just hedgewitches. Three-quarters of the mob followed the priest to fight the fire. Makenna kicked the horse into a drowsy amble, out of the barn.

An avalanche of bounding, bleating, wild-eyed sheep rolled over the farmyard, leaving more chaos in its wake.

Makenna guided the placid gray carefully through the shouting crowd that struggled to control the terrified animals. One man, fingers wrapped tight in a kicking ewe's coat, bounced off her horse's rump without even looking around at her. The spell was working.

As the horse stepped over the chain, Pimo turned faintly green and his voice choked into silence. On the high saddle he was almost five feet from the charmed iron, but it still might not have been enough if the horse hadn't carried him past. The horse snorted and started to flinch back from the raging fire, but the goblin coughed once and started to mutter again and the horse calmed.

Makenna caught an echo of the spella"for a moment the fire seemed distant, like something seen in a dream. No need to run, no need to fear; it couldn't hurt anything. She fought the spell like a diver fighting for the surface, and when she won free of it, the fire crackled before her, above her, greedy and dangerous. Heat beat against her face, her arms, her hair. She guided the horse around the tree to the windward side where the flames burned less fiercely.

"Come here," she cried, lifting her arms to the branches. "I'll get you out. Comea""

A furious rustling erupted above her and a tiny goblin boy, no more than a foot tall, dangled above her hands. She stood in the stirrups and grabbed him, propping him on the saddle between her and Pimo. He squirmed in her grasp, staring up into the tree.

A goblin man and a young goblin woman crouched there, shouting over the roar of the approaching flames. "You get, girl."

"What about Mam?" The flames cast distorting shadows on the girl's long-nosed face. "She hasn't got Bini out yet. We've got toa""

"I'll go get 'em as soon as you're gone! Nowa"" The young woman turned to climb back into the tree, and the man, snarling, pulled her forcibly from the branches and dropped her, screaming and struggling, into Makenna's arms. She fought with insane, panicked strength, and it took all Makenna's attention to subdue her.

The gray, distracted by the struggle on its back, began to snort and sidle, and Makenna took a firm grip on the reins.

When she looked up, the tree was a writhing vortex of fire, but she stayed, struggling with the horse as it grew more fearful despite Pimo's efforts.

Then a voice from the crowd cried, "Look! The tree . . . girl on a horse . . . saving the goblins!"