“Jerrod!” Slouch Hat shouted at the sky. “I found a way! You vile, groping madman, I found a way! You bound my flesh, you bound my spirit and now I am neither! This hollow man shall be my deliverance!”

The laughter rang out once more, then abruptly ceased as the husk suddenly collapsed. Padric caught him as he fell, lowering him gently to the stones. Slouch Hat’s sack face was slack for a moment before expression returned and he looked up at Padric.

“She is…with me, Padric,” the husk’s voice was strained, worn thin. “By the Hallowed, she is with me.”

“What does that mean?” Padric asked. Slouch Hat smiled. “It means…we are no longer drowning.”

Torcan Swinehelm was there to meet them when they emerged from the tower at dawn. The goblin leader’s face was a brazen mask of avarice and glee when Padric stepped through the door alive, Svala on his arm and Slouch Hat following, bearing the iron crown. Torcan gazed at it with hungry eyes, lost for a moment in victory.

“I have claimed my birthright, Swinehelm,” Padric snapped. “And passed your test. The crown is mine.”

The goblin seemed to remember something, and then went to one knee. The Red Cap guards also knelt.

“Your Grace,” Swinehelm said with head bowed low. “We shall arrange a coronation immediately.”

“No,” Padric said firmly. “Fool, I dare not wear it. I am untutored in the ways of sorcery. Would you see me destroyed and the line ended?!”

Torcan looked up, shaking his head quickly. “No! Of course not. I misspoke. Forgive me, Your Grace.”

Padric gave a satisfied nod. “Now, get my lady some proper clothes. If she is to be mother to the one who will wear this crown, I will not have her gawked at like a common strumpet.”

“At once, Your Grace. What else would you require?”

“What else?” Padric gave the warlord a mocking smile. “My lord Swinehelm, have you so easily forgotten your own schemes?”

Torcan gave a puzzled shake of his head.

“We finish what you started,” Padric told him. “We go to Castle Gaunt.”

T WENTY

TWENTY