Deglan gently scooped up one of the grubs and placed it in Blink’s hand. It all but covered the little girl’s palm, but she held it tenderly and continued to gaze at it with the first real emotion Deglan had seen.

“Come,” he said, taking her free hand. “Let us see who else we can find.”

They struck off together down the tunnel, Blink’s moonback providing adequate light to guide them. The tunnel was raw earth and barely twice Deglan’s height. Thin roots poked through from the ceiling and there were no stones paving the way. It was only wide enough for two riding toads to travel side by side, telling Deglan that this was a remote passage. The absence of sentries was puzzling and he expected they would be challenged at any moment. He was not wrong.

At the first intersection, they found the tunnel barred with a bronze gate and four guards stood watch, each wearing the heavy leather armor of the Worm Guard.

“Halt there!” one of them yelled when Deglan and Blink drew within a spear’s throw of the gate. “Who goes?”

“I am Deglan Loamtoes, master herbalist and former Staunch of the Bwenyth Tor Wart Shanks. Open up! I have information for the Wisemoot.”

He heard the creak of a key being turned in the gate lock and the bars swung open. He led Blink through and had a moment of worry when he saw one of the four guards was a hobgoblin. Thankfully, the girl was still fascinated by her moonback and took no notice.

“Which way?” Deglan demanded, looking down both forks of the passage. “I need to get to the Moot and speak with Durock Moundbuilder, if he still commands.”

“He does,” one of the guards said. “We will escort you.”

“Not him!” Deglan pointed at the hobgoblin guard, whose face flashed with anger, then settled in an almost sad resignation. The gate commander also shot him an impatient look, but Deglan held the stare and nodded down at Blink. “Red Caps.”

“Understood,” the gate commander said and looked to the hobgoblin. “Morel, you and Slevin have the gate. Master Loamtoes, if you would follow me.”

Deglan could feel the hobgoblin’s eyes on him as they left, but he did not return the look. The hobgoblin was quite young, no more than two hundred and was probably born in the city long after the Restoration, but Deglan had no time or inclination for sensitivity, and he meant to limit Blink’s exposure to goblins, any goblins, for as long as possible.

The watch commander was still a bit put off by him. “May I ask,” his voice was brusque. “What you have to tell the Wisemoot?”

“What is your name, commander?” Deglan asked as they came to a larger tunnel.

“Breasal, Master Loamtoes.”