Dragon Precinct by Keith R. A. DeCandido Page B

of some sort into your backyard. See, ma’am, this is why it’s necessary to ask questions, so we can get at the truth of why—”
    In a tight voice, Elmira said, “It was ten years ago. The wizard in question died five years ago.”
    Manfred felt deflated. Damn. It was a good theory, too.
    The woman reached out a hand, and one of the girls standing behind her handed her a handkerchief. She dabbed it irritably over her forehead, which was beaded with sweat and caked makeup. “Now if you do not stop wasting my time—”
    “Who else is present in the house?” Manfred asked before she could cite her friendship with Lady Meerka again.
    “We’re all standing right here!” Elmira practically screamed the words. “Just me and these three servants—and the cook, but she’s out at market. All the rest of the servants are with my husband—he took them on his business trip to Iaron, and he won’t be back until next month.” Then her face softened. “Oh, well, there’s also my dear son, but he’s in his room. He’s been there all day, of course.” She shook her head. “He’s a teenager, he—”
    Whatever else Elmira was going to say about her son was lost by a screeching sound coming from the portal. Manfred turned around to see that the swirls of amber were now rotating faster—and changing color to a more red hue. “Something’s happening,” he said, his hand moving to his sword hilt.
    “Another brilliant observation,” Elmira said snidely. “I do wonder what my taxes are paying for. I will have to bring it up with Lady Meerka when next I speak to her. We’re very good friends, you know.”
    So I’ve heard. Manfred bit back the retort. Instead, he peered more closely at the hole. There seemed to be movement, and he was hearing some kind of noise. It almost seemed to be laughter.
    A moment later, a diminutive creature with orange fur covering all of its body save its yellow face came leaping out of the portal, cackling madly.
    “Hobgoblin!” Manfred cried, unsheathing his sword and interposing himself between the creature and the civilians. “Get behind me!”
    “We’re already behind you, you idiot! Kill that thing!”
    The servants, for their part, just screamed.
    Manfred had heard all about hobgoblins—they were on the chart on the bulletin board—but had never seen one. They generally didn’t come this far north, though Manfred had a friend who was in Tomvale when the town was overrun six years ago. If he remembered correctly, they preferred to grab whatever weapon came to hand and beat their prey over the head until they stopped moving.
    The one advantage Manfred had was that the impeccable lawn had no such weapons—no stray branches or rocks, not even dirt clods. While the hobgoblin wasted time looking for something, Manfred charged and swung his sword at it.
    Unfortunately, hobgoblins were also quite fast. This one dashed to the left at the last second, leaving Manfred to stumble forward in much the same way Nulti had the previous night. Eyes widening, he realized he was about to go into the portal, and he managed to stop himself, but at the cost of his balance, and he fell down.
    Struggling to his feet, he wondered what Elmira would complain about more, his ineptitude or the fact that he had matted down some of her perfectly manicured lawn.
    Looking up, he saw that such was the least of Elmira Fansarri’s problems: the hobgoblin was heading straight for her. She was now also screaming, and apparently so scared that she was rooted to the spot. Her servants, at least, had the wherewithal to run away—Manfred could see their retreating forms moving toward the house. They’ll probably head for one of the basements.
    Manfred ran toward the hobgoblin even as it knocked Elmira to the ground. Her screams mingled with the hobgoblin’s cackling to form a shrill cacophony even as the hobgoblin started to beat the wealthy woman about the head and shoulders. Not having found a useful weapon for