Chapter Thirteen
‘My brother,’ hissed Rasgha.
‘Grunewald,’ Bessie agreed, unable to restrain the smile which overtook her features at the prospect of his near arrival. Now they would see some fun. The show would begin in earnest.
Rasgha clutched at her arm. ‘Do not desert me, Bess!’
Bessie shook her head. ‘I told you. As long as you and he are at odds, we cannot be friends.’
The storm-wrought hide of Tatterfoal emerged from the mists, darker even than the night, and triumphant upon his back rode the Goblin King. He was a terrible figure, tall and shadowed upon a steed of nightmares, his hair wind-tossed and his leaf-eyes blazing fury. He rode his reclaimed steed to within a mere few paces of the crowd — the dancers knotted together now in fear — and halted. He did not dismount.
He sp
