Will Power

unreadable language, but some were in Thrusian almost the same as ours or the ‘fair folk’s.’ I have some here.”

I fished in my pockets and pulled out a handful of burned scraps which I had taken from the furnaces. Lisha peered at them and I looked over her shoulder.

“A lot of it’s just old love poetry,” I remarked. “That was the batch they were burning, I guess. It doesn’t make sense. None of what I read was offensive in any way. Look,” I said, choosing the largest fragment of verse and beginning to read.

“My soul and I have traveled through the world

And yet in forest dark or ebon sky

I never have beheld a hue more black

Than that which pools and gleams in your fair eye.”

“Pretty predictable stuff,” I added. “ ‘Pools’ is nice, I suppose. Hardly worth burning though, don’t you think?”

“Hardly,” said Lisha, reading the other pieces silently to herself.

I watched her for a moment, and she noticed, glancing up at me suddenly. “What?” she said.

“Nothing,” I shrugged, flushing slightly. “I was just thinking about that line, you know, about blackness pooling in your eyes. Your eyes have that kind of look.” She looked confused, and I stammered hurriedly, “I don’t mean anything by that. I mean, I’m not, you know, trying to. .”

“It’s all right, Will,” she said, smiling suddenly. “I’ll take it as a compliment. Thank you.”

“It was a compliment,” I admitted stuffily. “But the words struck me because you don’t often see poetry that addresses people who, you know, look like you. Usually it’s all written for golden-haired ice queens with sky blue eyes and ruby lips. .”

It finally hit me.

I froze, then leaped to my feet. “That’s it!” I yelled. “That’s it! There is no history because the history is all wrong. The ‘fair folk’ didn’t write the books in that library. How many women with black eyes have you seen around Phasdreille? If there were any, they wouldn’t be the subject of poetry, I’ll tell you that, not unless things used to be very different.”

My mind was racing. Things were slotting into place, and I talked quickly to let them all out. “The brass panels on the doors that feel warm? They show the library being built. But the builders are squat and heavy-looking, not like the ‘fair folk’ at all. God, Lisha! Goblins built that city! Is that possible? It would explain why the new stonework looks so inferior. The masons had nothing to learn from. There were no hammers passed on from father to son, no heirloom weapons notched on goblin collars. It’s all been a lie. The history is being rewritten. Every part of that culture is being remade as the work of the ‘fair folk.’ ”

“But that would mean. .”

“That Sorrail’s ancestors are the newcomers,” I said. “They took the city from the goblins and the goblins want it back. No wonder the goblins don’t know their way around the Falcon’s Nest. They may have carved it out of the rock generations ago, but they haven’t used it in just as long. The so-called fair folk know about its secret entrances because they moved into it. It was their fortress, their base when they first invaded. That’s what they do. They commandeer and appropriate, and when it’s theirs, they ornament. But they don’t build, not really. They don’t construct. They don’t have the skills. They capture or they con their way in and then they make everything theirs. You see? It makes sense. That’s why the statues have been defaced. That’s why the library has been closed down while the books are edited for any reference to the goblin past.”

“But why?” demanded Lisha. “Why spend so much time and effort trying to convince the people of something they must know isn’t true?”

“They might not know,” I said. “I think the library, and that one room and whoever lives in it, is somehow affecting or altering the people’s memories of the past.”

“But you said these stories started cropping up long before you got near the city,” said Lisha. “Can his power have that kind of range?”

“What if the hammers and swords somehow do it, or focus his sorcery?” I said, thinking aloud. “They are all set with diamonds. We’ve seen stones that had power before. Maybe they serve as a kind of matrix for storing those bogus personal histories. But how he’s doing it is less important than what it all means. There were no great goblin invasions and no ‘fair folk’ builders, but the war and the city have to be explained, so history is being rewritten, even in the minds of those who live there. It’s the ultimate way to prop up their own sense of righteousness: Rather than feeling like the aggressor, the people of Phasdreille get to think of themselves as the victims, the righteous ones on the receiving end of evil and malice. I can’t think of a better way to make people fight than in defense of something they believe to be their ancestral home. Maybe this is what they expected me to realize earlier, though who the ‘they’ is, I couldn’t say. The king? Sorrail? Aliana? The hooded figure in the library? Him, at least.”

There was a long silence between us.

“And this would be enough to want you dead, I think,” said Lisha.

“Yes,” I agreed. “I see now. I seem to have become dangerous. Though what I could do with this knowledge, I really don’t know. Still, we can’t go back there now. I suspect that being caught by Sorrail and his fair-haired and perfectly attired men-at-arms would not be much better than being taken by goblins in these swamps.”

And before Lisha had time to agree, perfectly on cue, as if I had set the whole speech up just for dramatic effect, the swamp was swarming with them: goblins, gray and olive and yellowish and black, all snarling, all staring at us, all approaching cautiously with weapons at the ready.

Lisha leaped to her feet and swung her metal-shod staff up before her. I drew my sword hurriedly and stood at her back. Together we rotated slowly in some absurd dance as goblins crept closer, sputtering their foul words at each other. I don’t think that holding a sword had ever felt so pointless. There were dozens of them emerging, as if from the vile pools themselves, and through a thicket of tangled vines a goblin the color of sandstone riding a great bear led a dozen wolves, heads low and menacing, toward us.

The goblins came on, creeping watchfully, as if making sure we had no escort, until they formed a rough circle around us and stood no more than twenty feet away. There was a good deal of shouting from outside the circle and some rapid movement, but I was watching those goblins that were closest to me, those near enough for me to see their ragged armor and gnarled hands; their twisted, skinny frames; their eyes. They were glancing from us back to each other, and they were talking. Something strange was happening, and my sense that they were about to rush us en masse and tear us to pieces faded. The confusion which replaced it was shattered when the circle broke and a great black goblin came bounding toward us, brandishing a long and lethal-looking sword.

“Lisha!” I cried and stepped around to block the brute’s assault. It came toward me, taking huge strides and shouting. Then my sword arm was seized and held, my weapon twisted from my grasp. I wrenched my head around and saw Lisha taking my weapon and tossing it on the floor as a scrawny goblin came from behind me and pulled my arms behind my back.

“You are one of them!” I screamed at her. “You are. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you all!”

Lisha, or whatever it was that seemed to have taken her shape, stepped up to me so that her face was only inches from mine. She caught my face in her hands. I spat at her. “I’ll kill you, you foul bitch. What have you done with Lisha?”

“Will,” she said, and her voice was soft. “Will, look.”

She pointed me toward the huge black goblin who had almost reached us before stopping dead in his tracks. I looked.

It was Orgos. His armor was grimy and his tunic torn, but it was Orgos. I don’t know how I could have failed to recognize him.

“It’s all right, Will,” said Lisha. “You see? It’s all right.”

She broke from me and wiped her face.

My eyes fell on Orgos. He had dropped his sword, the one with the yellow stone in the pommel. I think he had been running to embrace us, but now his eyes were full of doubt.