The Land of the Silver Apples

please.”

They joined hands, the Bugaboo and the Nemesis in front, followed by Ethne, Father Severus, and Pega. Jack and Thorgil brought up the rear, being the better warriors. Silently, they moved forward, with the hobgoblin king’s whiskers brushing the sides of the tunnel, and soon they were in complete darkness.

They wound around pillars and stumbled over rocks. The Bugaboo whispered instructions: “Left now. Left. Ow. Sorry. Mind the hole.”

The hard floor was unrelieved by sand, and when Jack touched a wall, he was shocked by how cold it was. It was summer outside, but here, it seemed, winter never lifted. An icy chill found its way through his boots. The others must have been affected too, for they began to stumble.

“Almost there,” whispered the Bugaboo. “Courage, dearest Pega.”

The trail began to go up, and the deadly chill lessened. A light came from ahead. Encouraged, they began to walk faster. Now the grim walls were visible, a blue-black stone that swallowed whatever illumination fell on it. Long shafts of what Jack could only call “lesser gloom” fell from openings overhead.

They passed great iron doors. Dungeons, thought Jack. I wonder if anyone’s in there? They must have come close to the sea again, for he heard a distant boom of waves and the kelpies howling.

“Ah, that feels better,” said the Bugaboo, furling up his ears. First the whiskers lay down flat against the skin, then the rims folded over them and rolled up as neat as you please. They looked like fat little sausages when he was finished. “The Nemesis and I will wait here—mud men make such a fuss about hobgoblins. You go up those stairs and come out into the courtyard. Later you can sneak us in through a side door.”

“Don’t take too long about it,” growled the Nemesis, listening to the kelpies out at sea.

“I’ll ask the Bard for help,” Jack promised.

The two hobgoblins found a recess in the wall and fitted themselves inside. In spite of not having motley wool to conceal them, they blended well into the shadows.

Jack led the way up the stairs. He wasn’t quite certain of King Yffi’s welcome, but the king was afraid of the Bard. He wouldn’t harm anyone under the old man’s protection. Once again, Jack felt a twinge of guilt for not telling the Nemesis about Yffi. The Bard will figure something out, Jack thought, willing the uncomfortable feeling away.

He couldn’t help smiling as he approached the iron door at the top of the stairs. He was back! They could all go home. Father Severus could move into St. Filian’s Monastery. Ethne could become a nun. Pega could marry the Bugaboo—here Jack had another twinge of guilt, but honestly, what better opportunity did she have? In the village she’d only be an ex-slave, so ugly that no one would ever ask for her hand. In the Land of the Silver Apples she could be a queen.

And I would have no rival, thought Jack. He was ashamed of himself for thinking it. He’d never been jealous of Thorgil, although she often enraged him. She was a better warrior, but he didn’t want to be a warrior. He was a bard. Pega’s voice outshone his.

Jack’s smile faded. He didn’t like finding this ugly motive hidden in himself. Father Severus would call it sinful, and the Bard, whose opinion mattered more to him, would call it mean and petty. I’ll have to overcome it, Jack vowed.

He was almost at the door. What of Thorgil? He turned back to see her walking behind Father Severus, Pega, and Ethne, guarding them. What was he going to do with her? She wouldn’t be welcome at St. Filian’s. If she was recognized as a Northman, everyone on the coast would be out for her blood. As for her clothes…

For the first time Jack looked at Thorgil the way the villagers would. She was dressed in men’s clothes. Her hair was chopped off. She had a belligerent expression, and her manners were crude at the best of times. How was he ever going to explain her?

Using all his strength, Jack pushed open the heavy iron door. Rain blew into his face. A large arm reached through and yanked him outside.

Chapter Forty-four ETHNE

King Yffi’s soldiers had been dragging a scullery boy, caught stealing a chicken, to the dungeons. They’d been none too pleased to be ordered out in such weather, and finding an escapee (as they thought) made them no happier. They threw Jack to the ground. The captain tried to put his foot on Jack’s chest, but he twisted out of the way and swung his staff at the man’s leg with a resounding thwack.

Before the others could react, Father Severus stepped through the door. “Hold!” he commanded, his voice rising above the torrent of rain and wind. Everyone froze—Jack on the ground, the captain holding his injured leg, the two guards grasping the scullery boy’s arms, the boy himself, who had been trying to bite. Water splashed all around, pouring off their heads and soaking them to the skin.

Jack recovered first. “King Yffi will be pleased. We have brought back the water,” he said, climbing to his feet and holding his staff out to the side. He hoped he looked properly bardlike.

“You’re the brat we threw down the well,” snarled the captain, rubbing his leg. “Never expected to see you again.”

Probably not, since you sealed the well, thought Jack.

Behind the monk, still sheltered in the doorway, appeared Pega, Thorgil, and Ethne. “Who’s that?” said one of the soldiers.

“We had no women prisoners,” said the captain.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” said the soldier, “but that be no mere woman. That be a lady, sure as I’m standing here.”

“Aye, a right fair one,” marveled the other soldier. “Not a mark of the pox on her or a tooth missing.” The scullery boy tried to squirm free, and the soldier banged him on the top of his head.

Thorgil and Pega might have been invisible for all the attention paid to them. The captain hobbled over to Ethne and bowed deeply. “Welcome to our keep, noble fair one. Please forgive this wretched weather and allow us to conduct you to more suitable quarters.”

The elf lady laughed, a sound like little silver bells. The captain and his men were enchanted.

“Ratface! Off with that shirt!” barked the captain. Lickety-split, the soldiers had the shirt off the poor scullery boy. They held it over Ethne’s head while the captain held her hand to escort her. The only good result was that they forgot about Ratface’s punishment and left him to shiver in the rain.

The shirt didn’t really protect Ethne, but it was a well-meant gesture. The soldiers and the captain escorted her tenderly, lifting her over the deeper puddles. Thorgil, Pega, Father Severus, and Jack followed, sloshing up to their knees, but no one cared about their comfort.

On the other side of the courtyard they were conducted up and up through a maze of winding hallways to a chamber Jack recognized as the Bard’s room. His heart lifted at the prospect of seeing the old man through the open door, but the room was deserted. Perhaps he’s visiting King Yffi, Jack thought. Very quickly, the soldiers lit a brazier for warmth. Back and forth they went, hauling rugs, tables, chairs, beds, and mattresses stuffed with goose down into the room. They brought food from the kitchen and clean, dry robes for Ethne.

“I’ll tell the king you’re here,” said the captain, blushing when Ethne impulsively kissed his grizzled cheek. “I forgot to ask. What is your name, fair one?”

“Princess Ethne,” said Father Severus in his sepulchral voice, before Ethne could respond.

“A princess!” said the captain, impressed. “I should have guessed. No mere lady would be so graceful, so— so—”

“Excuse me,” said Jack, before the captain could think up more compliments. “Where’s the Bard? And my father? And Brother Aiden?”

“Giles Crookleg is in the infirmary at St. Filian’s,” said the captain, still staring at Ethne’s dimples. “Brother Aiden was put in charge of the monastery, much good that’ll do him. Those monks will ride over him like a herd of highland cattle. As for Dragon Tongue, I’m happy to say he’s joined them. You could never relax when he was