“He has other duties far from here,” Torcan said with a wry smile. “But you are right my Lord, we were careless. We sought a woman. I gave orders to spare the females, but the men…” He waved his goblet dismissively.

“Would that I had burned with all the rest,” Padric muttered, “and denied you your prize.”

“The Magic within your veins may be dormant,” Torcan said, leaning over the arm of his chair and growing more passionate with every word. “Unused. Untrained. But it is no less potent in its protection of you. It was not fortune that spared your life. I was destined to find you, my Lord! The days of searching are over! I will restore your birthright and show you from what greatness you issue. Your sons will know dominion over Airlann and lead the goblins back to their deserved station!”

Padric watched as the goblin flushed with anticipation, the frustration giving way to lusts for vengeance and glory. “You are wrong,” Padric told him. “Your search has not ended. I am not who you believe me to be.”

Swinehelm regarded him for a long uncomfortable moment, then looked past him and spoke rapidly to the man called Arnheir in his own language. The captain nodded, responded simply and then returned to his carousing.

Torcan stood. “Come with me.”

The goblin led him through the rear door of the hall and they stepped out into cold, open air. Several Red Caps stood just outside complaining about the rain, but they ceased their muttering when Torcan appeared and fell in behind as he continued walking away from the hall towards a small storehouse squatting in the dark. Two more goblins were posted near the storehouse door and with a wave of his hand, Torcan ordered them to open it and then stepped aside, indicating that Padric should enter with a nod. The smell of salted fish hung about the room, but Padric could see nothing until Torcan stepped in with a torch he had taken from one the guards. Harsh orange light filled the cramped space and Padric stared grimly at the back wall.

The goblins had nailed Slouch Hat up with iron spikes through his elbows, his body hanging limply. The hat which gave the husk his name lay upon the earthen floor and his stuffed sack head lifted slowly when they entered.

“Tell him,” Torcan commanded.

Slouch Hat’s laugh was a dry rustle. “Did not believe you, Red Cap?”

“Tell him,” Torcan repeated.

“Perhaps,” Padric suggested, “if you left us, the husk would be more agreeable.”

Torcan chewed on this a moment. “I must attend the captains,” he said at last, handing the torch to Padric. He thrust a finger at Slouch Hat. “Convince him or you burn!”

When the goblin was gone, Padric tried to pull the spikes from the wall, but they were embedded deep, the broad heads holding the husk’s limbs firmly.