“If he is the last of his kind,” Curdle nodded. “Yes.”

“How?”

Curdle put his scroll aside, collecting his thoughts. When he began speaking, his words were slow and measured.

“The resurrection of the Forge Born would be a woeful turn for this isle. And we must do all we can to stop that from happening. But of even greater import is not whether they awaken…but how they will function if they do. Certainly the Red Caps want them as the mindless drones they were at their creation. An army they can control. But will they wake so? Or will they still possess the mystical heart placed upon them by the Seelie Court? The heart that granted them free will. Or worst of all, will they awaken in that terrible condition so many of them succumbed to in their final years? Bloodthirsty, berserk, unfeeling…”

“Unwound,” Deglan finished.

“Yes,” Curdle nodded.

“Could a Goblin King control them in such a frenzy?”

“No,” Curdle answered. “That state of their being was never intended.”

Deglan watched something haunting play across the mystic’s face. “Intended?”

Curdle looked at him for a moment, choosing his words. “The Seelie Court was ever of just intention,” he said at last. “But they were not infallible. Mistakes were made, especially with the Forge Born.”

“Damn right,” Deglan said a bit too loudly, and Blink stirred slightly. He waited for her to settle once more before he continued in a quieter voice. “Should have destroyed them all after the war was won. Not forgave and forgot, giving them the run of the isle. Enemies are enemies, and they should be treated as such, not welcomed to the victory banquet with open arms.”

Curdle fixed him with a sad expression.

“I think,” he said, rolling up his scroll. “That I shall try and sleep. Pleasant night, Master Loamtoes.”

Too late, Deglan realized the meaning of his words, and felt suddenly ashamed of himself. Why should he? He spoke the truth. The Seelie Court should have no more forgiven the goblins than they did their creations. He always believed that, and still did… and yet, here he was, camped out in the wilderness on some desperate quest to save Airlann from further war and degradation, aided by a goblin and a mortal man; the condemned of history.

Deglan remained awake for a long time.

Madigan and the dogs were gone when he awoke in the morning. Blink was helping Curdle pack their camp kit, handing the hobgoblin blankets and cooking implements. The seer always thanked her with a smile. Blink turned, and, seeing Deglan awake, tramped over and offered him an apple. He stood, brushed the dirt and leaves from his clothes and took the fruit from her outstretched hand.

“Good morning,” he said, brushing her cheek with his thumb. “And thank you.”

Holding the apple in his teeth, Deglan walked over and helped Curdle get his pack over his shoulders. The hobgoblin turned and nodded cordially.