Miranda awoke to a feeling of dread. This was her elvish eighteenth birthday, the night she was supposed to be married. This was the night when Nir would find out that he would never see her again. For two weeks she had remained numb and disinterested in life. Now her grief surprised her. The last thing she wanted was to be alone. She hurried downstairs to find the others.
Hunter and Tattoo had cleared the low table. They knelt across from each other, staring at an ordinary bun. As Miranda watched, the bun wavered back and forth on the table between the opponents. Then it flew into the air and socked Hunter in the stomach.
“Ha! I win,” declared Tattoo.
“We were playing three buns out of five,” protested Hunter. “That was three buns out of five,” said the goblin. “Hand it over.” Scowling furiously, the elf pulled his deer-bone pipe from his belt and gave it to Tattoo. “At last!” exclaimed the goblin happily. “A peaceful evening!”
“Not exactly,” remarked a voice behind them. Seylin stood in the doorway. “Tonight will be remembered for many things,” he said, “but it won’t be remembered for peace. The elf lord returned last night to find Miranda missing. He sent a message to the goblin King, declaring the treaty null. He intends to meet the goblins in battle and fight to the death — to his own death, and the death of every warrior he has.”
The three stared at Seylin in shock for a moment. Tattoo was the first to speak. “Twenty two warriors against the King’s Guard. That won’t last long. Sorry,” he added to Hunter.
“It means the end of the elves!” breathed Miranda in dismay. “Catspaw won’t let that happen.”
“Marak Catspaw sent a messenger asking the elf lord to come to the truce circle,” replied Seylin. “He doesn’t intend to kill the warriors, just the lord himself The goblin King thinks he can reason with the elves once their leader is dead.”
“Well, he’s wrong,” snapped Hunter.
“The situation is desperate,” agreed Seylin. “It calls for careful handling. Even with the best intentions, it may well end in disaster, and the end of the elves will mean the end of the goblins. I can think of only one way to avoid this catastrophe. I need Miranda’s help.”
The guards looked puzzled and stared at her blankly. She stared just as blankly at Seylin. “I’m nothing but an ordinary human,” she protested. “I can’t even work magic.”
“Elves and goblins need their magic to survive in a human world,” said Seylin. “I’m not asking you to work magic. just come with me to the truce circle and swear to stay there until I give you permission to leave. Whether you like it or not, or even understand it, you’re at the heart of this entire conflict. As long as you’re inside the circle, that’s where the conflict will be, and the truce circle magic will keep it from being bloody.”
“I’ll come with you,” promised Miranda.
“Not without my permission,” declared Hunter. “She’s my responsibility.”
“And I can’t let her go anywhere,” announced Tattoo. “I have my orders.”
“Which were what?” prompted the elvish goblin.
Tattoo paused to think. “I have to stay here as long as Miranda does, as her goblin guard.”
“Fine,” answered Seylin. “She’s leaving in just a minute, and that leaves you free to go, too. I’ll bring both of you men with us if you’ll swear to remain with Miranda inside the circle. Otherwise, I think I should explain something. I learned magic from the old goblin King, I taught magic to the new goblin King, and I don’t intend to let either one of you jeopardize your own race’s future.”
Both guards looked at each other and then at their feet. They didn’t know what to do.
“Don’t you want to be at your old friend’s side tonight?” Seylin asked Hunter. The elf brightened at the thought. “And, Tattoo, I had a suspicion that you wanted to marry my daughter Celia,” he remarked. The goblin gave him a deeply reproachful look.
They followed Seylin out of the cavern and into the guardroom. Tattoo gaped at the bulky forms lying on the floor.
“You sent Lash and Jacoby to sleep?” he demanded frantically. “Yes, well,” demurred Seylin. “Their orders were different from yours.”
Tattoo gazed in disbelief at his snoring comrades. “He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?” he sighed.
“The goblin King?” asked Seylin. “Oh, I wouldn’t think so. Probably just me,” he suggested with an encouraging smile.
Outside, they found bright twilight and a crisp breeze blowing. Seylin collected them at the cliff. “I need your permission to conceal you,” he said, “for your protection and mine.”
“You’ll make us invisible?” asked Hunter.
“No,” lectured Seylin. “Real invisibility is impossible. The spells either make you look like something else, or they make you be somewhere else. This spell makes us look like shadows, so stay in the shadows or you’ll be spotted at once. Hunter, hold Miranda’s hand, and you and Tattoo hold my hands.” The four large black shadows hurried self-consciously across the grass and vanished beneath the trees.
In half an hour, they arrived at the truce circle, and Seylin rendered them visible, or at least conspicuous, again.
“The elves won’t arrive for at least another hour,” he told them. “Miranda, swear by the magic of the truce circle not to leave until I give you permission.” He guided her through the oath. “And you two swear by the magic of the truce circle to remain in it with Miranda.” They did so. “Now, Miranda, see if you can leave.”
Miranda walked to the outer line of trees and stopped, unable to go farther. She glanced down at the stars at her wrists, but they were dark. “I thought force was forbidden in the circle,” she said, rejoining her companions.
“It is,” answered Seylin, “except what you force upon yourself. What you swear here you have to honor here. Now I’ll conceal you again. Please trust me and stay concealed until the two lords enter the circle. After that, you’re free to be as conspicuous as you like.”
He changed them back into shadows again, and they sat down under the trees. Twilight deepened into night, and the stars came out. They heard a crowd approaching and Richard issuing orders. Seventy-five of the King’s Guard filed through the trees and formed ranks. The rising full moon began to light the interior of the circle.
“The elves are coming,” whispered the shadowed Hunter to Tattoo.
“I don’t hear anything,” murmured the goblin.
“I know,” replied Hunter proudly.
“Elf lord!” came Catspaw’s shout from outside the circle. “You may have broken the treaty, but I stand by my promise. I mean to do what is best for the elves.”
“You stole Sika from my camp through lies and threats,” called the elf lord’s clear voice. “In doing that, you have already destroyed the future of the elves.”
The shadow that was Miranda leaned toward Seylin. “Is that true?” she whispered, dumbfounded.
“I’m almost positive it is,” answered Seylin. “Except for the lies, of course.”
“I encouraged my subject to flee a murderer and return to safety,” responded the goblin King. “I and my goblins remain the friends of the elves. We refuse to attack your warriors, and we will disarm them if they attack. If you wish to fight, send your people into the circle and face me alone.”
“Very well,” replied the elf lord, and the warriors began to file into the circle.
“But Seylin, he can’t do that!” whispered Miranda to the shadow next to her. “Nir has absolutely no chance of winning!”
“True,” answered Seylin, moving away. “But I wouldn’t worry about that. I don’t think the elf lord expects to win.”
She followed the sound of his voice to the outer circle of trees and looked out between the great oaks. Lit by the full moon, goblin and elf stood face-to-face not ten feet apart. Catspaw was a little taller and heavier. He held his great paw outstretched, his lion claws bared. Nir held his own right hand up, his cloak thrown back from his shoulders.
“Seylin, you’re going to do something, aren’t you?” she whispered to the shadow beside her.
“Of course,” he answered. “In a minute.”
“In a minute?” she echoed frantically. “Seylin, you have to do something now!”
As the last elf man reached the circle, the two leaders sprang at each other. A blast of wind tore the branches around them, and they disappeared behind a sheet of white flame.
The howling wind drowned out all other sounds, and the sheet ,of flame became a fiery ball. Crackling and arcing, it rolled across the ground, its brilliant glare now purple, now golden. Trees split and splintered as it rolled by, and the wind whipped leaves and twigs into a whirling column. Dimly, within the glowing heart of the flame, moved the black forms of the magical warriors.
Inside the truce circle, the assembled men broke ranks and scattered, crowding to the gaps between the trees. Elves and goblins jostled together, unheeding, intent on watching the combat. But no one set foot outside the great trunks, no matter how advantageous a view this might offer. Torn tree limbs, caught on the spiraling wind, crashed into one another, and flames ran along the ground and licked the very edge of the enchanted ring. No one inside it dared to leave its safety.
The flaming sphere, spinning and flashing, rose high into the air. The wind whirled into a scream. With a crash like a thunderclap, the heaven-bound globe split open in a shower of sparks. Stark against the bright light, two dark figures plunged to earth. They landed with twin thuds a few feet apart on the ground outside the truce circle.
Seylin walked out and stood between the prone leaders, his hands behind his back.
“And did you enjoy your refreshing combat, my lords?” he asked. “I trust that you’re both well.”
The men looking up at him appeared not to know whether they were alive or dead. He smiled reassuringly at their stunned expressions.
“In fact, I’m sure you’re both well,” he concluded. “And since each of you firebrands has failed to annihilate the other, perhaps you’ll come into the circle now and look for a less drastic approach.”
They climbed shakily to their feet, gazing around in amazement. The scorched earth smoked, and shattered tree limbs littered the ground. They studied their own hands, their clothes. They watched each other out of the corners of their eyes. Not a scratch, not a bruise, not a rip in a cloak. Their clothes weren’t even dirty. Avoiding each other’s gaze, they followed Seylin into the circle.
A shadow flung itself at the elf lord. “Nir!” cried Miranda, the spell falling from her as she reached him. Nir put his arms around her and stood still, holding her tightly, his head bowed over her bright hair. He had fully expected to be dead this minute. He had never expected to see her again.
Catspaw turned at Miranda’s cry. Then he examined his adviser’s careful expression. “Seylin,” growled the King, flexing his claws, and it was fortunate for the handsome goblin that they both stood inside the truce circle.
“A good subject anticipates his monarch’s wishes,” remarked Seylin smoothly.
“And what does that have to do with you?” roared the King.
“Thank you, friend goblin,” said the elf lord with dignity, “for doing what you knew was right.”
“Well, he didn’t do what I know is right!” snapped the infuriated Catspaw. “I hope you don’t think I’m letting Miranda leave here with you. She’s not tagging after some itinerant, half-mad, flute-playing elf and living the rest of her life on deer meat and rainwater!”
`And the life you have planned for Sika is better, is it?” replied Nir hotly. “Living in some airless hole among malformed people who can’t even touch her, with no possibility of the marriage she wanted or the children she’s been worrying about.”
“Children? Don’t be ridiculous,” declared the goblin King. “She’s not having children with you.”
“That’s a lie!” asserted Nir.
Marak Catspaw stared in surprise. “It is not, you crazy elf! Goblins don’t lie.”
“Tell him how you know it’s a lie,” Seylin prompted the elf lord.
“How he knows?” cried the goblin King. “Seylin, you taught me that law yourself!”
“Not exactly,” observed his adviser. “Co ahead, elf lord, tell him how you know.”
To Miranda’s surprise, Nir stiffened and carefully pushed her away. Then he stood, head high, glaring at the goblins as if he were back in combat again.
“Just as I thought,” mused Seylin. “He won’t tell you because it’s a secret. A dark, shameful, terrible secret that he hasn’t told a single elf. You see, goblin King, the elf lord knows that Miranda can have his son. He knows it because his own mother was a human, and she had his father’s son.”
A murmur arose at this from the assembled men, amazement from the goblins, dismay and disappointment from the elves. The elf lord stood perfectly still, ignoring them all, and stared at the rising moon.
“An elf-human cross?” growled the puzzled goblin King. “With that kind of magic? Seylin, it’s not possible!”
“He’d tell you if I lied,” observed Seylin. “But I didn’t. And that isn’t the only secret this elf has been keeping. Miranda thought that he would give up on his lost human sweetheart and marry some elf girl, but I knew he would fight to recover her with every warrior he has. Because Miranda isn’t his sweetheart. She’s his wife. And she’s been his wife from the very first night they met.”
The murmuring grew louder. Miranda stared at the elf in confusion. Married from the first night they met?
Nir looked at her, at the shock and bewilderment in her eyes. “I’m not a monster like you are,” he said angrily to Marak Catspaw, “to drag home a young girl and announce that she has no choice in such a personal matter.”
“Oh, no,” retorted Catspaw sarcastically. “You’re so much more noble than I am. You dragged her home, gave her no choice, and then didn’t bother to tell her.”
“I don’t think a single elf knew what he’d done,” Seylin remarked to the King. “There was none of the customary dancing or the presents of flowers for the new bride. I suspect that when he swore to give Miranda all that his world had to offer, he did it very quietly.”
Catspaw frowned. “Seylin, you’re talking about the Seven Stars Spell,” he observed. “In its original form, it is a marriage vow, yes, but you can’t pretend that it applies to him.”
“Doesn’t it?” asked Seylin in excitement. “Look at this elf, not as an opponent you personally despise, but as an academic puzzle instead. He marries a human using the Seven Stars, and she’s so well protected that she can’t even run her finger along the edge of a knife. He heals without spells, which not even a strong healer can do, or Sable would have managed to save her friend Laurel. He knows by magic the location of every elf and collects them by twos and threes, and they obey him so completely that Arianna couldn’t even drag her feet when he sent her off to become your wife. He faces you in single combat and emerges without a scratch. But all you really need to know is that he is the son of a full elf man and a full human woman. Answer the riddle, goblin King. Do you know who he is?”
Marak Catspaw walked around the elf lord, studying him. He was beginning to enjoy the situation hugely. Nir ignored him, staring at the full moon. He obviously was not.
“The real question is,” mused Catspaw, “does he know, himself?”
“No,” answered Seylin. “He knows everything he needs to know, and not one thing more. But we should have known sooner, and would have, if we’d listened to Miranda.”
“By the Sword!” exclaimed Catspaw. “Seylin, you’re right! Tell us, Miranda, what did Father raise you to be?”
The girl looked at him and then at the silent Nir. She was angry that they were laughing over him and puzzled that he wouldn’t defend himself.
“Marak raised me to be a King’s Wife,” she snapped.
“Well, you’re a wife now,” observed Catspaw, “so that means your husband must be a king. You’re married to the prettiest elf there is, Miranda. You’re the wife of the elf King.”