“Out of Airlann,” the knight replied. “To Sasana or the Knucklebones. All the way to Middangeard if we must.”

Muckle let loose a mock shiver. “Don’t fancy freezing my bollocks off.”

Sir Corc ignored him. “Getting off the isle will take some doing. With Black Pool overrun, finding a ship will be difficult. If Seanach’s Ford remains unmolested we may have a chance.”

“That is on the far side of Airlann,” Rosheen pointed out.

Sir Corc started up the road. “Best be on our way.”

Pocket rubbed his face before ambling after the knight, Muckle following behind the mule.

“How about the Isle of Mad Women?” she heard the goblin call after Sir Corc. “We could go there! They might be…lonely.”

Rosheen considered waiting on Flyn, but thought better of it. The squire would not take well to the idea of leaving the isle. To him, everything was a retreat. Besides, he had his job.

And I have mine.

She flew up the road, bypassing the others without a word.

“…and that is how you tickle a troll with a toothache!”

Pocket nearly lost his footing when Muckle slapped him merrily on the back. He was saved from having to pretend to laugh when Sir Corc shushed the goblin and not for the first time. Muckle turned to Pocket, teeth clenched past downturned lips as if he were about to be struck on the head. Pocket smiled, hoping it would appease him for a while. He had liked Muckle the day he first met him, with his endless antics and rude humor. The goblin had offered him aid and companionship when he most needed it, and that was something new to Pocket. Now he was fairly certain that Sir Corc had asked Muckle to follow him all along, so the unsought help of a stranger was actually the watchful eye of his keeper. Pocket was not upset about it. Black Pool had been a dangerous place. He understood that now, and he knew why Muckle was an effective protector.

He was dangerous.