The journey was endless. Body past the point of pain, mind near broken with constant worry, Pocket struggled on in a cloud of numb torment. Each step in those torturous metal boots threatened to drop him, each jarring bang of the wagon on the brutal road made him wince. He had to keep the whimpers from escaping his lips, fighting back tears of exhaustion and despair. The second day was the start of some long, unending punishment, and Pocket knew that he would march behind that wagon forever, unable to ever stop walking. Neither rest nor death would give him ease. There was only the fear, and it existed in everything.

The sun was setting when the castle came into view, and the goblins began to complain even more bitterly, as if the end of the road was more terrible than trodding upon it until the end of time. The castle sat atop a great, rocky hill, wider and shorter than the perch of the Roost. A long, ascending bridge supported by arches of stone led up to the gatehouse, a lolling tongue into the mouth of some bloated beast. There were men on horses near the base of the bridge. Pocket saw them staring, each man fighting to hide the confusion, hatred and doubt on their bearded faces. The wheels hit the stonework, and the horses hooves scraped sharply as they pulled steadily up the incline. It was not too steep, and there was no cause to push. Pocket walked wearily along with the rest, but where their heads looked to their boots, his was held up high, staring at the gate.

The walls of the castle were thick and in poor repair. Towers peaked up over the ramparts, wall-walks and covered bridges linking them to the dominating bulk of the central keep. Inside there would be narrow passageways and turret rooms. Cellars and garrets, lost stairways and forgotten depths. Chambers would be ruled by spiders and the dust of years. Shadows held sway here.

Pocket smiled as he crossed under the gate. This was his new playground.

T WENTY T HREE

TWENTY THREE

Panic was her pillow. Deglan reached down carefully, adjusting the blanket so it covered the girl’s shoulders. The dog was awake and raised her head slowly, fixing him with a look that seemed insulted, as if doubting the child’s wellbeing was a personal affront. Blink slept on, her head resting in the crook between Panic’s belly and back leg.