“Well, Breasal. I have to tell them that Torcan Swinehelm is ravaging the countryside with an army of Red Caps and he is aided by a Flame Binder allowed to escape from this city.”

“Allowed is not the word I would use Master Loamtoes,” Breasal said tautly. “And the Moot knows all of this.”

“Well damn, then I have come all this way for nothing.”

“You know more.” It was not a question and Deglan did not bother to answer. “How?”

“I found a Red Cap,” Deglan said. “And I asked him impolitely.”

“What did he tell you?”

Deglan stopped and whirled on the commander. “That my people need to stop asking questions and start fighting back! Because if they do not, they and everyone else on this island will once again be crushed under the boot heel of oppression!”

He paused, reluctant to tell a gate commander before he had a chance to speak to the Moot. Then he damned his caution. Let them know! Let them fear! It may be what forces them to act.

“Torcan thinks he has found the lost heir to the Goblin Kings. He means to bring the heir and the Flame Binder together and reawaken the Forge Born.”

F IFTEEN

FIFTEEN

“There you go! Almost…No! Don’t think about it, just…yes! Very good.”

Rosheen laughed and clapped her hands together. Pocket’s smile threatened to split his face in two as he turned his head from side to side, trying to see the mule’s ears that now drooped down past his cheeks.

“I did it!”

“I told you.”

Pocket giggled and Rosheen could not help but laugh again. She glanced up and saw the younger coburn trying to suppress his own smile as he pretended not to watch the boy’s progress. Pocket did not give him a chance to continue his feigned indifference. He jumped off the ground and ran over to where the squire trained with his quarterstaff. Where else would he be?

“Flyn!” Pocket was breathless. “Look!”

The coburn leaned on the training dummy and smiled down at the little gurg. “I have often been called an ass, but you my friend are the first to make me wonder if it was a compliment.”

“I am sure it wasn’t,” Rosheen threw at him, smiling.

Flyn bowed grandly. “As my lady says.”

Pocket was feeling the tips of his new ears, his face a mix of pride and amused confusion. “Now all you need is a proper tail,” Flyn told him.

“A tail!” Pocket ran back over. “Can we? Rosheen! Show me how to do a tail.”

“Show you?” she said with fake aghast. “I cannot do that. I do not have a tail!”

She heard Flyn whistle bawdily and fought to keep her eyes on Pocket’s bright face.

“We can work on it,” she promised. “You should run inside and show Sir Corc.”