“We must make for the village while his attention is diverted,” he hissed. “They will be slowed by that damnable chair and that gives us a chance. Go with all speed. Do not wait for me. We may not make it, but we must try.”

And so they snuck away. Snuck away and ran, determined to reach the village ahead of the Red Caps. Padric could not hear the fomori behind him anymore, but he did not slow. They had ventured out hunting a threat to the village and found another entirely. He did not understand much of what he had seen, but he knew the Wallow was in great danger along with everyone who called it home, so he ran on. There was only the breath in his lungs, the fall of his feet and the weapons in his hands. He had time for nothing else.

They were clear of the trees and flying across the flatness of the plains when Deglan spied the torches. They were moving fast, held too high off the ground to be goblins.

“Riders,” he told Bulge-Eye. “Cut them off you tub of guts.”

The toad surged ahead, covering the distance in moments. The lead horse spooked and reared when Bulge-Eye leapt into its path. The rider struggled to get the animal under control, cursing as he pulled at the reins. Deglan did not waste breath on pardons.

“Hog’s Wallow is threatened! Goblins are on the raid!”

The riders clustered around, torches fluttering. Deglan knew them and he knew the man who spoke for them.

“Then it is a day of bad omens,” Acwellen said. “And piss-poor luck.”

The man was smiling and Deglan’s patience evaporated.

“Did you not hear me? Red Caps threaten the herdsfolk! They bring Fire and Magic and death! Even now, Hog’s Wallow could be burning!”

Acwellen swept his men with a theatrical look, his smile contagious.

“Goblins,” he said and they all laughed, Fat Donall loudest of all. “Magic.” More derisive chuckles. Acwellen looked back at Deglan lazily, mouth twisted with amusement. “And gnomes… lost in the fields at night. What are we to do?”

“Ride for the Wallow, you daft prick!” Deglan had no patience for this fool. “Should I beg? Pay for your service and your loyalty like the Winetongue? Well and good, name your price! But waste no more time!”

Deglan watched his pleas fall on deaf ears. Acwellen continued to grin down at him, unaffected even by insults. This man’s pride was as thin as his intelligence, usually rankling at the smallest slight, but now he remained calm, even relaxed. And then Deglan realized his mistake. He had been distracted by that damn smile, concerned with the safety of the village and the desperation of his message. He had not noticed Acwellen’s eyes.

He saw them now.

“You knew,” Deglan’s teeth ground into each other. “Damn you, Acwellen! You knew!”