“Times have changed,” said the unarmored man. “My Lord Parleon holds here.” He unrolled his paper and glared at Jem. “According to the records, you have no dependents.”
Garrad shrugged. “That paper of yours is a bit out of date. My boy in the Imperial Army, he sent me his son to look after me.” He nodded to Jem. “He’s a good lad. A bit sickly for soldiering, what with the hacking cough and all, but he helps.”
Jem was skinny enough, but he couldn’t disguise his height. He couldn’t fake a cough, either. Jem was no good at lying.
The next thing the man said was all about taxes and fines and things, but it sounded to Ree more like he was looking to plunder as much as he could and was trying to claim as much wealth as the soldiers could carry off. It made no sense. In Jacona, the merchants and shopkeepers might complain about Imperial taxes, but Ree had never heard of their taking a man’s whole living.
Ree remembered all the people tied up behind the soldiers and wondered if this Grand Duke just wanted to control everyone so he could have his own friends take the land and live off it without working for it, like the bandit lords the traders talked about. He must be dressing it in all this talk of tax.
Garrad didn’t look happy about it. Jem held his head down, so Ree couldn’t see his expression. When the long list finished, the old man grunted. “Go get them snow bear furs out of the barn, lad.”
Jem left Garrad leaning on his stick and rushed into the barn. He didn’t talk, just picked up the three cured furs and carried them off.
“Snow bears?”
“Hobgoblin critters,” the old man said with a shrug. “They look sort of like bears, and they come down off the forests each winter since the magic storms.”
The soldiers and the official looked startled when they saw the sparkling white fur piled high in Jem’s arms.
“Pretty, ain’t they?” Garrad grinned. “Fit for a king, I’d reckon.”
The official ran one hand over the fur. “How . . . how many do you have?”
“We got three over from last winter,” Garrad told him. “You want to go hunting ’em, forest’s right there. We only ever see ’em in winter, and you can’t tell they’re there till they attack. Something magic in the fur, I reckon.”
The official frowned. “And you kill them.”
Garrad snorted. “One of them comes at you, you kill it or it kills you. Ain’t saying it’s easy, now.”
A few of the soldiers chuckled. Ree supposed they understood.
The man must have decided, because he nodded, then said, “That will suffice. Take the furs and secure them. The boy joins us. He’ll be trained and fight in my Lord’s service.”
Garrad’s hands clenched tight, and his breath caught. “He’s weakly. Sick. You’ll be the death of him.”
But the officer ran an eye over Jem and grinned. “Strong enough for what he needs to do.”
Ree felt sick.
Jem caught the old man’s hands in his. “It’s all right, Granddad.”
Garrad’s eyes shut tight. “I lost one boy to the Imperials, son. I ain’t losing you too.”
“You’re not losing me, Granddad.” Jem hugged Garrad and whispered something Ree couldn’t hear. “It’ll be okay.” He turned to face the big bastard. “Can I get changed? And what can I bring with me?” His voice didn’t waver at all.
Ree stayed in the barn, trying to be as brave as Jem, until he heard Garrad say, “They’re gone, son. Ain’t gonna be back in a while, I reckon, not with as much as they’ve got to carry back to their damned Grand Duke fellow.”
He looked worse than Ree felt, all gray and much older than he’d been this morning. Even though Ree didn’t like to touch the old man—it was just wrong, him not being human—he couldn’t help wrapping him in a hug before they went back to the chores. “I’m sorry, Granddad. I wish—” He shook his head. There wasn’t anything they could do. He wished for Jem back. He wished for his humanity back. He wished . . .
They didn’t eat much that night, and Ree didn’t think Garrad slept any better than he did. He kept thinking of Jem and what might be happening to Jem, and his thoughts made him wake with his claws out and dug into the mattress.
Jem had said Garrad wouldn’t be losing him. Were those just pretty words like
Two days later, Ree saw smoke from Three Rivers. Wrong smoke. The smoke of something burning. Once he was through with the milking, he told Garrad, “I’m going down to the village to see if they could use any help.” He managed a crooked kind of a smile. “Don’t worry, Granddad. No one’s going to see me unless I want them to—I’ll go through the forest,” and hurried out before the old man could object.
Ree had to do something. He couldn’t stand just waiting and hoping the soldiers never came back and yet hoping Jem did, somehow.
The forest was so familiar it hurt. Ree had run through here with Jem so many times he knew every tree and every meandering pathway. He noted the deer paths, the signs that there were more this summer than last, which meant they might get more antlers this fall, and maybe carve some needles and other tools from them. There were plenty of burrows, too, foxes and rabbits and other animals. It seemed as though everything was recovering from the horrible year after the change circles and starting to live like normal again.
Everything but the people.
Or maybe it was normal for soldiers to come taking away people’s children and burning down their homes. Ree didn’t know, but he didn’t think it could be right. Who would plow the fields and raise the animals and do all the things the cities needed but didn’t have space to do themselves? This Grand Duke must be very greedy or very stupid. Maybe both.
Three Rivers village wasn’t there anymore. Ree stood at the edge of the forest looking down at what had been a neat little cluster of homes on the tongue of land where two rivers joined to become a third. There was only smoldering ruins. His nose twitched and his eyes stung.
It was far, far too quiet, as though everything else was scared by the smoke. Ree was scared too, but somehow he found himself running toward the ruins, his toe claws digging into soil and hummocky grass and his chest aching.
Not a single house stood. Vegetable gardens wilted from the heat, and all the village animals were gone, either taken by soldiers or run away from the burning. There were bodies in the street, charred things that Ree couldn’t recognize and didn’t want to. He shuddered. He should never have come. Had Jem seen this done? He couldn’t think Jem would have helped. But if Jem stayed with them long enough . . . His heart felt cold and shrunken within him, like a small thing, trying to hide.
Around him cooling timbers creaked and settled. The smoke was now more charred wood than charred meat, and he was glad for that. He shuddered again, and his stomach lurched toward his throat. The hazy air stung his eyes and made them burn and tear.
Someone whimpered.
Ree followed the sound to one of the ruined houses. He edged toward it. It had been a big house. The thatched roof was gone, and the walls had fallen in on themselves in a tangle of wood and sun-dried brick, all of it charred and stark. The cellar doors, heavy wooden things with metal strapping, were still intact although the wood was badly burned.
Someone was crying in the cellar.
Ree hauled the doors open and scurried down into the dark, ashy-smelling air below. He could see the mess of everything that had fallen in from the house, but there was a small clear space, and a girl of about six huddled by the wall. She was trying to cry quietly and not really succeeding.
“They’ve gone,” Ree said softly. “You’re safe now.”
She looked up, staring at him. Soot smeared her face, and her eyes were wide and full of fear. “You . . . you’re old Garrad’s goblin.”
“Yep.” Ree didn’t go into the town, ever, only watched from the cover of the forest when Jem was there, but people had caught glimpses of him, and people always talked. “You think he’d keep something dangerous?”
Just as the kitten had, she watched him with big eyes, trying to decide if he was dangerous. He thought of the burned bundles in the street and of Jem taken away by the people who’d done this, and he wasn’t sure he couldn’t be very dangerous. He had to do something, but what?
