The Goblin Gate Read Online Free Page A

entirely different one? He shook his head. These waves of self-doubt were becoming more frequent as days went by and Todder Yon continued to elude him, but he couldn’t quit. If he quit, Tobin would die.
    One step at a time, he told himself wearily. First the tinker, then the goblins, then the rest of it.
    Branches rustled furiously as a man sprang out from behind a tree and seized Glory’s bridle. She snorted and shied, and for a moment staying in the saddle demanded all of Jeriah’s attention.
    He dropped the reins and started to draw his sword, but hard hands clamped on his elbow. A cudgel struck his right shoulder, numbing his arm, and Jeriah yelped with the sudden pain.
    There were five of them, all men, with ragged clothes and dark hair. Bandits. Why didn’t I listen?
    He kicked Glory, shouting for help. She tried to rear, but two men were hanging on to her bridle, and they knew what they were doing. Jeriah struggled to free his sword arm, and almost succeeded when Fiddle snapped his halter rope and spun to kick. But one man clung to Glory’s saddle and grabbed Jeriah’s wrist just as he got his hand on the hilt.
    The bandits fought in silence. Jeriah would have shouted again if he hadn’t been so busy gasping for breath. The thunder of his own heartbeat was louder than the thud of the horses’ hooves.
    A cudgel struck his ribs and pain leapt up his side. Someone grabbed Jeriah’s belt and pulled; he’d have fallen if Glory hadn’t spun.
    But the men clinging to her bridle stayed with her, like dogs hanging on to a tugging rag. The man gripping Jeriah’s sword arm stayed, and the rest closed in again.
    A flash of regret almost broke through the panic that pounded through him. He couldn’t afford to die. Not now!
    A blow that could have broken his arm missed, smashing bruisingly into his thigh. Jeriah had come north as a priest’s assistant—his armor was in a chest at home. His sword arm was pinned. Two men held Glory’s head down so she couldn’t fight, and Fiddle had run off. Another man grabbed Jeriah’s leg and yanked his foot from the stirrups. Jeriah twisted his leg, trying to kick, but the man gripping his belt heaved, pulling him down.
    Another blow smashed his shoulder; the pain was sickening. Hands shoved him, and he stumbled to his knees. He never saw the blow that struck his head, but lightning streaked across his vision and agony blotted out thought.
    The lightning left darkness behind, but, slowly, his hearing returned.
    “…of you help me get this demon-cursed mare…” The man’s voice grunted with effort.
    Other voices replied, but Jeriah didn’t understand what they said. Waves of pain washed through his head, but he couldn’t die now. Someone rolled Jeriah over. His limbs flopped helplessly, and the surge of blackness almost sucked him down. He concentrated on the voices.
    “…only got a handful of silver,” someone said. “But with what we’ve already got…”
    A handful of silver. They were robbing him. Of course they were. Bandits.
    “…decent clothes…split up…mare’s worth a lot more…”
    Glory! They were stealing Glory! Jeriah did his level best to move then, to protest, but his body refused to obey and the pain in his head whited out sound for a time.
    “…get some land,” one of them was saying when his hearing returned. “Far enough past the wall that those white demons will never reach us. Which reminds me, get his weapons too.”
    Hands fumbled at his belt, and another shaft of pain shot through Jeriah’s head as his body rolled again. He wasn’t aware of the sound he made till the hands searching his clothing froze.
    “He’s alive.”
    “Never said he wasn’t,” another voice replied. “I thought…take care of that while we dealt with the mare.”
    “But I can’t just…”
    “You said you’d take care of it.”
    “I thought you’d already done it!”
    They sounded like brothers squabbling over who had to wash the dishes, and Jeriah