Silver's Edge. Anne Kelleher
a potential problem so large it made his head ache to consider it. “What’s your name, maiden?”
“My name is Nessa. My father is Dougal, the finest blacksmith in all of Gar.”
His head jerked up. He looked at her more closely, observing the deep slices of grime beneath her fingernails, the scars and calluses beneath the charcoal-stained skin. “Your father’s a blacksmith?”
“Yes. He was.”
Again he sat back, stunned, even as that one slip of her tongue told him that the girl who could spot the mortal stamp upon his features was not blind to the possibility of her father’s fate. He stared at her, every question he’d ever had about his own father rising to his lips, for the fact his father had been a smith was the only other piece of information Artimour had about him. A wild, insane thought leapt to his mind from what could only be his mortal half—that Dougal and Nessa were somehow related to his own father. He could smell the scorch of burning metal in her clothes and in the wild tangle of her hair. He hesitated, torn between the urgency to address the situation and the sudden desire to ply her with questions.
But he saw clearly that the consequences of a failure of the Caul’s magic were so dire, they made even his rancor at being shunted aside seem petty. He had to get to the Queen as quickly as possible, not to confront, but to warn. So he drew a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “My name is Artimour, Maid Nessa. I am the second-in-command here, under Prince Finuviel.” What else was there to say? He should send her on her way, but something held him back, something wanted to keep her talking. A few minutes more wouldn’t hurt. “Tell me how you came to find the goblin.” He leaned forward over the desk, observing every minuscule detail of her appearance. Surely his father hadn’t smelled quite that—that ripe? Distress poured off her like a tide, dragging him back to the present, making him disregard the odor.
“My father left the smithy just before dusk last night—earlier than usual, but he—he—had gone to check the traps at the lake.” She paused, and looked at him, as if considering what to say.
“Go on.”
“He’d been gone just a short time, when some of the children came running back from the lake saying there was a dead goblin floating in the water. And so we all—everyone who could walk—dropped what we were doing and followed the children back. And there it was, floating in the water, among the traps we set to catch the lakefish. But my father was missing. We looked, everywhere we could think of, but there was no sign of him. Only the goblin.”
“And so who decided to cut off its head?”
“I did.”
“How did you know to do that?”
“Do what?”
“Cut off its head. We—the Faerie and the goblins that inhabit this realm—cannot be slain by mortal weapons, but by beheading. If your father really did kill that goblin, unless he used the goblin’s own weapon against it, it would’ve revived ere the sun had set on another day. Did you not know that?”
“There hasn’t been a goblin in our parts for over a thousand years, they say. I’m sure there’s a few things we’ve forgotten twixt then and now.” She leaned forward, fists clenched. “I lost my mother here. I will not lose my father, too. I know about the Silver Caul. I thought the Queen would listen to me if I brought the goblin’s head. Why didn’t the Caul work?”
He shook his head, silent, uncertain how to answer. It was difficult to think at all, because the stink coming off her was enough to turn his stomach. At last he decided to tell her as much of the truth as he believed she would understand. “I don’t know. The Caul was forged in another age—under another Queen. The present Queen carries an heir at last, and thus this is a dangerous time in Faerie, for her magic, which normally sustains the land, is diverted to another source, and the wards that contain the goblins within the Wastelands are strained. This we expected and have, to the extent we can, prepared for. But the Caul was made of greater magic. We did not think that it would fail. And if it has—” Artimour stopped. The possibility that the Caul would fail had never even been considered, and no contingency had even been bandied. The idea of a mortal world vulnerable to the goblins was not what made him shudder. The Caul’s failure meant Faerie lay open to silver. “You’ve achieved your purpose, maiden, for I myself will bear this message to Her Majesty. Even now, my saddled horse awaits. You can re—”
“But—” she leaned forward, and once more he felt the scorch of her stare “—I didn’t come here just to tell the Queen about the goblin. I’m here to find my father. I won’t go back until I find him.”
Her obstinacy was like a brick wall. He couldn’t take her to Court—that in and of itself would cause such an uproar, he would never hear the end of it. It would most assuredly end all his hopes of regaining his command. What could he say to convince her? He cast about. She cared passionately about her father. Maybe there were others for whom she cared just as deeply. “What about the others—the other people—”
“What others?”
He spread his hands. “The others—the other people in your village? Don’t you care about them?”
“Not the way I care about him,” she shot back. She leaned forward and for a moment he thought she would leap over the table. “You don’t understand. The other people in the village, in our district, they all know about my mother. They all know about me. They think I’m tainted somehow. My father raised me to be a blacksmith just like him, and they think that’s odd, too. So no, there aren’t any others. I have no one else in the world. He’s my whole life. I am not going back without him. Dead or alive.” She raised her chin and he groaned inwardly, even as something deep inside him recognized a kinship with her.
He knew what it felt like to stand on the margins of all that is acceptable and accepted. But he had to make her understand that this crisis was greater than even her need to find her father. So he leaned across the desk and met the fire in her eyes with as much calm assurance as he could muster. “I see that your father means a great deal to you, maiden. But there are more lives than his at stake. You must go back and warn the mortals of your village. If the magic of the Caul has indeed broken in some way, the people living nearest that lake are in utter danger. And time runs differently in our two worlds. You’ve spent but a few hours here by my calculation, but a few days or more could’ve run in Shadow. Guards must be set about the lake, armed with weapons tipped in silver. For if even one goblin somehow fell into Shadow, living or dead, it is possible that more will find a way there. And they most likely won’t be dead.”
He watched the realization of the truth in his words dawn across her features and war with her own desire. “But my father—”
“Was he wearing silver?”
“Of course. Everyone does. No one ever takes it off—though I did, so I could get in.”
“Then it’s still extremely unlikely that he’s here, maiden. A magic as great as the Caul cannot simply fail all at once. Even the magic here within the wards that hold the border—a much different sort from that which made the Caul and not as strong—it fluctuates, but does not fail.” At least, he thought, he hoped great Herne would see that it wouldn’t.
“But if a fluctuation in the—the Caul’s magic has let a goblin into Shadow, is it not possible that despite the fact my father was wearing his amulet, the silver wasn’t enough to keep him out?” She pressed on relentlessly, arguing with a determination the most exacting Lorespinner might envy.
The force of her logic, fueled by the intensity of emotion, was inescapable. Much as he would prefer to deny it. He sighed and shifted in his chair, crossing and uncrossing his legs. “You force me to agree. Such a possibility—that at the moment the goblin fell into Shadow, a mortal slipped into Faerie—does exist. So I will order the scouts who escort you back into the Shadowlands to search for him, once they see you safe across, and alert all the patrols from now on to search as well. And if your father has not fallen into the Wastelands, I’m sure we’ll find him. But much as you wish to stay