Standing before the Gate of Lost Kings, Deglan wondered what King Blackmud would say if he returned and found his city in its current state. Maybe it was best he stayed away. Deglan certainly should have. He should have listened to Faabar and gone directly to the Seelie Court, but Durock said the Waywarders had been summoned and not yet answered, adding further proof to Deglan’s fear that the strength of the elves had diminished to the point of helplessness. Where else could he turn when his allies appeared as enemies and his enemies appeared as friends? Deglan looked at the fishing pole in his hand.

“At the least, I will figure out which one that pasty bastard is.”

Toad Holm contained several underground lakes, but Salt Well was the only one fed from the sea. A sharp, tangy smell filled Deglan’s nostrils as he came down the long tunnel. The cave was lit from luminous sponges that lived in the water, casting an eerie green light that danced across the stone walls in ghostly waves. Deglan was not a great lover of the ocean and when he sat down on the edge of the vast water he suppressed a shiver at the thought of some kraken’s tentacles or a great toothy whale jumping out to claim him for a meal. A boat labored far out in the middle of the Well, two fishergnomes casting nets into the water; a trade Deglan did not envy.

“I apologize if this makes you uncomfortable.”

“Buggery and spit!” Deglan snapped his head from side to side and found the hobgoblin sitting some distance to his right, dangling a pole in the water.

“A friend came up with this method of secrecy many years ago,” the hobgoblin sounded almost sad. “He is more…imaginative than I, so I thought it best to use what works.”

“Why did you want me down here?”

“It is not necessary for you to speak aloud. Just think it and I will hear.”

“No need,” Deglan said out loud. “I talk to myself all the time. Only one who answers back with any sense.”

“I can certainly see how it would feel so.” The hobgoblin turned and looked at him for the first time. “Are they biting over there?” he asked aloud with gentle courtesy.

“What? Er…yes.”

The hobgoblin drew his line in and got to his feet before making his way over to sit next to Deglan. He cast again before looking over. “Burden Curdle Milkthumb, but please, Curdle will do.”

“Deglan Loamtoes,” he replied. “But you already knew that.”

“Well done,” Curdle laughed in his head. “My honor to meet you. Do you visit Salt Well often?”

“No, I am recently returned to the city,” Deglan said flicking his rod absently. “Why did you stop me from speaking at the Wisemoot?”