Jem retched violently. He had been heaving for hours, and now only thin trickles of blood and saliva came from his mouth. Neri held the poor man’s beard back and tried to console him as best he could. The bonesmiths had been helpless to aid him. They’d given him water, calming broth, fed him a paste that soothed the most troubled stomachs, and yet his convulsive vomiting persisted.

Lobuhl was standing nearby. “Should we bring the heartsmiths? Perhaps they can help.”

Ephraim shook his head. “They help the citizens, Dread Highness. They know nothing of the afflictions of soldiers.”

“This is not a soldier’s affliction,” the Prince said. “Send for them, Ephraim.”

The bonesmith looked the prince in the eye and opened his mouth to speak.

“Now,” Lobuhl said, before Ephraim could utter his protest. The physician bowed stiffly and left the chamber.

“More help’s coming,” Neri said, patting Jem on the back. He retched again. Each time he tried to vomit, less fluid escaped his body and more pain could be heard in his voice. He panted heavily in between heaves, at times moaning and grunting. By the time the heartsmiths arrived he was rocking back and forth on the ground and clutching his stomach with both arms.

One of the heartsmiths, a woman not much older than Neri, hurried to Jem’s side and felt his forehead with her hand. “He’s hotter than a mass forge!” she exclaimed. “Ephraim, I need coldstones and freezing towels, and warm blankets.”

“Do you mean to warm him or cool him?” the old physician asked peevishly.

“Do as your bid,” said Lobuhl, his voice completely bereft of patience.

Ephraim snapped his fingers and a half dozen orderlies came running into the chamber. “With me,” he told them brusquely, then left the chamber again.

The woman gave some instructions to the other heartsmiths and they set a bundle of cloth on the ground near Jem. Within the bundle was a collection of stone jars. They opened three of them and poured a small amount of powder out of each onto a small piece of white cloth, then added each powder one at a time into a jar of water. The woman then wrapped another white cloth over the top of the jar, swirled it around, then wrung the cloth out over Jem’s mouth while two of the other heartmiths held his jaw open.

Jem was unconscious within minutes. Ephraim returned with the orderlies soon after. They carried bundles of cloth, sleeping furs, and two of them held a large stone chest.

“Get him on a featherbed,” the woman said. Neri and Lobuhl then hoisted Jem off the ground and carried him into a quarantine sleeping chamber. Both Neri and the prince had a great deal of experience lifting wounded and broken men. They kept Jem stable as they carried him, and deftly set him on his bed, cradling his head as they rested it on the pillow.

“You did that well,” the woman said.

Neri felt a surprising nervousness. He searched for something to say, but all he managed was a curt smile. The sound of marching feet echoed in the hall outside and Lobuhl hurried to the door. Gund had arrived with a troop of soldiers. Wulden and Ganly were with him as well, and six of the soldiers were carrying stretchers with sick men on them.

The army chief looked at Jem, then to Lobuhl. “What’s happening to our men?” he asked.

The heartsmiths attended to the sick footmen, putting them all to sleep as they had Jem. The bonesmiths then opened the stone chest. It was lined with blue glacier ice from the Sholai, and filled with smooth round stones. The coldstones were then wrapped in cloths and tied to the foreheads of the feverish soldiers, and the furs were laid over them to warm their chilled bodies.

“Grar sent me to look for you,” Gund said to Lobuhl, “I bid Wulden and Ganly to help find you. When we’d heard you were in Forvangur looking after a sick man, we came this way and found these poor fellows.”

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“Jem was injured in the first centaur encounter,” Lobuhl said, “but it was a bone fracture. His flesh was not pierced or slashed, so he couldn’t have been infected with their filth.”

“And these other men took ill whilst in the mountain,” said Wulden.

“Have you checked the stores?” Neri asked Ephraim.

“Yes, Captain,” said the bonesmith, “and none of our food had spoiled. In fact, our stock had run low and Bozen had ordered fresh provisions brought up from the army stores.”

“There it is,” said Ganly. “The army stores must be corrupted.”

“But the food we brought was fresh.” Ephraim insisted.

“It’s the goblins,” said Lobuhl, “it has to be. Who else would specifically want to weaken our soldiers? They must have snuck some spies in and planted some drowish poison in our stores.”

Neri struggled with a disturbing thought, unsure if it were his place to speak it. “There was a goblin among King Salimod’s entourage.”

“He’s remained outside in their servant’s camp,” said Wulden.

“How do you know?” asked the Prince.

“Because of my orders,” said the Chieftain. “There was a series of rock falls on the western slopes. Some of them were sever enough that I tasked the Red Spears instead of the builder’s guild. If you ever feel the urge to goad Urum, this would be a choice topic to mention. He fought me beard and braid over the matter but Grar sided with me. How exactly did you become aware of this goblin, Wulden? Was he on the mountain?”

“No, Chieftain. The worst of the stone fall blocked one of our main artillery platforms overlooking the trembling path and the Sholai glacier. I kept a spyglass on the human’s camp down on the foothills to make certain our blasting didn’t send any boulders too far their way. One goblin amongst hundreds of humans would be hard to miss, and I saw him every time I looked. He seems to be a person of some importance to High Alden. He looked to be giving orders to their troops and laborers.”

“This is troubling,” said Gund, “there’s so many questions…”

“We know the first one that needs answering,” said Lobuhl.

“The soldiers’ pantries are vast,” Gund replied, “and will be difficult to search.”

“Have them searched all the same,” Lobuhl commanded. “Use as many people as you need. Look for anything that is even slightly out of the most ordinary of circumstances.”

“I’ll see to it personally, Dread Highness. I’ll arrange for our soldiers to be fed from civilian stores as well.” Lobuhl nodded and Gund bowed and left.

Lobuhl dismissed Ganly and Wulden, instructing them to see to their own legions, then turned to Neri. “The Owls have their own stores, do they not?”

Neri nodded. “Just outside the mountain’s roots, near the listening post beneath the trembling path.”

“Good. You may be called upon to help fight the goblins.”

“We’ll do our part, Dread Highness, and then some.”

“I dare say. Now give me your thoughts. Is this a natural outbreak? Some bad strain of grain or rancid meat? Or have the goblins slipped a few agents through our beards?”

“You saw them out there in the Coldwood, Sire. They’re disciplined and effective. And they crept up on us without being seen, when we’d killed the third centaur.”

“Yes, and the their Captain is the Goblin King’s brother. I know my nephew counts him as a friend, but I’ve never trusted Ridzak Gurgu Driggz.”

The heartsmiths approached meekly, waiting for Lobuhl to notice them.

“How are our men?” he asked the young woman who’d mixed the sleeping powders.

“They’re resting, Dread Highness. With your leave, I’d like to stay while my fellows return to our station. I’d benefit greatly from any aid the bonesmiths could render.”

Lobuhl looked to Ephraim. “Give her anything she asks, promptly and without complaint.”

Ephraim’s mouth tightened within his silver beard. “Yes, Dread Highness.”

“Neri,” said the Prince, “you can stay here if you like, or you can help me get through what’s left of this snozzled feast.”

"If it's all the same…"

Lobuhl laughed and waved a hand. "I don't blame you, boy. Stay here and help that pretty heartsmith. I'll go and appease our Dread Sovereign. Though I doubt he’ll enjoy the feast after I’ve told him of this. Between you and me, I’ve half a mind to tell him right in front of Salimod, just to see if he squirms."

“With all respect Dread Highness,” Neri did his best to sound reverent, and not overly familiar, “if the King of High Alden is involved, wouldn’t it be wise to keep as much information from him as possible?”

The prince regarded him with an unreadable stare, the kind of look that could lead to either accolade or reproof.

“I value your shrewdness and candor,” the prince said at length, his lips spreading in an approving smile. “I hope you never leave the Owls, Neri.”

“It would be the death of me, Sire.”