“It isn’t me,” said the wizard. Not a question this time.
“It’s bad magic,” said Sings.
“It is?” He met the elf’s eyes with an expression of naked entreaty. It reminded Sings, for a moment, of a troll, all good nature and confusion.
Then Sings had it, and his heart broke a little for the human, because he realized that what the man was asking.
He knows he’s supposed to react somehow when I tell him these things, and he doesn’t know the right thing to say. Poor baffled soul. Worst case of magic I’ve seen in a while, and if Nessilka’s right and he’s able to kill people with that blue stuff as well as “make holes”, then nobody’s getting too close to him to teach him what’s normal.
“It’s killing people,” said Sings. “It’s bad. We don’t like it.”
The wizard nodded once, firmly, as if committing this to memory. “Sorry,” he said after a moment. “I get confused.”
“That’s okay,” said Sings. “If I tell you about the magic, can you tell me if you know anything about it?”
“Yes, sir.” He lowered his head slightly and pulled the goblin cloak tight around his shoulders. Sings-to-Trees had the feeling that no one had ever listened to him so intently in his entire life. The forest itself seemed to quiet down, out of respect for the intensity of the wizard’s concentration.
“It’s some kind of sound. It’s as if you can almost hear a conversation, but you can’t make out the words. It makes you try to get closer, no matter who’s in the way. People run toward it from miles away. In fact—”
He stopped there, because John had sat bolt upright. Some of the vagueness vanished from his face, replaced with dawning horror.
“It’s Lisabet,” he said, and it was clear he knew exactly what he felt about that. “That’s her power. She makes the voice.”
“Lisabet?” Now Sings-to-Trees was the one who didn’t know how to feel about something. “Who’s that?”
“My sister,” said John. “We have to find her, sir.” He didn’t look vague at all now, just very worried and very determined. “It’s very important that we find her at once. Before something terrible happens.”
TWENTY
Their bonds had been loosened and they had been given water. When the goblins were retied, the elves let them keep their hands in front. Nessilka debated requesting the teddy-bear again, then decided not to push her luck.
“Do you think he believes us?” asked Murray.
“No.”
“He has to know we couldn’t have killed all those people. And they’ve been dead for days.”
“He doesn’t have any way to know how long we’ve been here.” Nessilka sighed. “Think it through, Murray…”
He did. She saw his face fall. He scowled. Nessilka nodded.
“He’s caught us. There could be dozens of goblins in the woods, and he just doesn’t know it yet. We could have been transported here weeks ago. We could have been killing people all that time. We could have our own wizard with us.” She considered this. “I’d be surprised if they hadn’t heard that voice thing as they were approaching. That girl had a heckuva range.”
Murray considered this. “I think she might have been focusing it on us. When we were hearing it before, it didn’t give me that horrible headache, and we could move a lot faster.”
Knowing that your enemy has the ability to focus her powers was somehow not comforting. Nessilka rested her forehead on her knees. “Well, regardless. They don’t know how many of us there are. They may think we’ve got a wizard. Hell, maybe Blanchett here’s a wizard, they don’t know.”
Blanchett focused his eyes with apparent difficulty and said, “No.”
Nessilka forced a smile. “Glad to have to with us again, Blanchett.”
“The bear?” he said.
“Still on a mission.”
“I’ll wait, then.” He lay down on his side and, to all appearances, went to sleep.
Nessilka envied him.
A few minutes slid by, and then Murray said, “Sarge?”
“Mm?”
“It’s worse than that. It may not matter if he believes us or not.”
Nessilka glanced over at the tent. Late afternoon shadows stretched over the grass, but there was no movement. “It doesn’t?”
The other goblin gestured as well as he could with his wrists bound together. “Look, there are people who don’t like the war, right?”
“I’m not terribly fond of it myself, Murray.”