Chapter Thirteen

“Catspaw!” shouted Miranda, running up to face him across the boundary line. He could have reached out and touched her if it weren’t for the magic that kept them apart. “Catspaw, get out of here with your Guard! You’re frightening the children.”

The goblin King smiled down at her, but his eyes were very cold. “I’m not just frightening the children,” he growled. “I’m frightening them all. Every last one of them — except my sensible Miranda. Where is he?” he continued, gazing at the cowering elves with cruel satisfaction. “I don’t see the prettiest elf anywhere.”

“He isn’t here,” she said. “He left last night.”

“Of course he did,” said Catspaw, nodding grimly. “But don’t worry, we’ll find him.” He turned to his Guard. “He’s not here,” he called in goblin. “Mongrel, hunt his trail.”

“How dare you break the treaty like this!” she cried as the gangly, droopy-eared goblin came forward and began sniffing along the boundary line. “Nir gave you his own bride, and you’ve gone back on your word!”

“I’m not breaking the treaty,” said Catspaw. “He broke it first. Last night your elf lord attacked Sable as she came to see you. He sent her back with a warning to me that my spies weren’t safe, and then she died right in front of me, her heart stopped by magic. Treaty or no treaty, do you think I’d let him live after that?”

Miranda stared at him, speechless with shock. Nir, arms around her, telling her he loved her, and Sable, collapsing in death as a brutal warning against spies. “That can’t be possible!” she exclaimed. “It can’t be! Sable’s dead?”

“She’s as good as dead,” answered the goblin. “Someone has to stay with her and work the magic to make her heart beat while the Scholars search for a counterspell. I’m almost positive it won’t help, but I had to try something.”

“He wouldn’t have done that!” insisted Miranda. “Nir wouldn’t have killed Sable!”

“Oh, yes, he would,” replied Marak Catspaw. “Your pretty elf enjoys attacking women. You should know; he dragged you away and worked magic on you by force. Mother was the first, in the truce circle, no less. He got a hand on her by fraud and left her devastated.”

“He attacked Kate?” gasped Miranda. How could anyone hurt Kate?

“Sable is the third goblin subject that he’s treated this way,” said the King. “Who knows how many of his own people have suffered? Sable was afraid of him from the start, and so was Irina. Sable only came here at all because she was worried about you.”

Miranda’s world was crumbling into ruins again, something that she was growing used to. “There has to be another answer,” she declared. “You can’t kill him, Catspaw. The elves need him to do what’s best for them.”

“They don’t need him at all,” said Marak Catspaw. “They need me.” He looked around serenely at the terrified, fascinated elves. “I’ll make sure they’re safe, well, and properly taught. We should have ruled the elves after the death of their King, just as Marak Whiteye proposed. If they’d agreed to that, there would still be thousands of elves instead of this tiny band.”

“King Fox and the chickens!” scoffed Miranda.

“You sound just like they do,” Catspaw retorted. “It’s a good thing Father can’t hear you. How many elves have I harmed, Miranda? How many did Father harm? All the elves hate us, except for the ones who actually know us. And poor Arianna! They told her I would cut her and bend her and scar her up until she looked worse than the ugliest goblin. You can’t imagine how terrified she was. It’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“But Catspaw, you can’t kill Nir,” she insisted helplessly. “I love him.”

The goblin King flexed his lion’s paw and studied the big claws. “So I’ve heard,” he remarked dryly. “That’s not why I’m killing the elf lord, but that’s the reason I’ll enjoy it.”

“But you said you wanted me to be happy!” exclaimed Miranda. “Nir’s going to marry me.”

“No, he isn’t!” laughed Catspaw. Then he paused to study her face. “There are only two explanations for this,” he continued matter-of-factly. “Either he’s lying to you as an exceptionally cruel form of revenge, or he’s insane, which I’m inclined to believe anyway.”

Mongrel came trotting up, ears flapping. “I’ve found the trail,” he wheezed in his high, whining voice.

“Good,” said the goblin King. “We’ll finish this in no time. And I do want you to be happy,” he added, turning away. “The minute he’s dead, those stars will fall off, and you can come back home where you belong.”

Miranda hurried along the boundary line, keeping up with his long strides. “Catspaw, Catspaw, please!” she begged. “You said you’d do anything for me!”

“I did it already,” he answered. “Father didn’t raise you to be imprisoned by a mad elf.”

Think, think, Miranda told herself You have to do something. “Catspaw, your father raised us both,” she said breathlessly. “You’re like a brother to me.”

“Why, so I am,” said the goblin King, stopping to smile at her.

“Do this one thing for me,” she said. “Don’t kill Nir. Please!” The goblin King stared at her as he thought things over. “And will you do something for me, little sister? Say yes, and I might consider it.”

“Yes!” cried Miranda. The King began absently shredding the bark off a tree with his claws.

“All right,” he said slowly. “I promise not to go after the elf lord and not to authorize any other goblin to attack him. No goblin will harm any of the other elves, either. I’ll follow the treaty.”

Miranda scowled at him. “That’s just what your father did,” she retorted. “He said he wouldn’t authorize anyone to follow Seylin, and instead he allowed Seylin to be followed without his express permission. You know anyone in Sable’s family will try to kill Nir, starting with Tinsel and Tattoo.”

“Clever girl,” said Catspaw approvingly. “But I’ll command that there be no attacks on the elf lord. No goblin violates a direct order. The only way your precious elf will be killed is if he attacks one of us goblins. I can’t promise away our ability to defend ourselves.”

Miranda turned over the promises in her mind. Surely Nir would know not to attack the goblins. There were thousands of them, after all, and the goblin King was so powerful.

“What do I have to do?” she asked suspiciously. “It will be horrible, won’t it?”

“Miranda, these elves have corrupted you,” said Marak Catspaw benignly. “You just have to come back home where you belong and live under my command. You’re my subject, you shouldn’t be out in these drippy woods. It’s a wonder you’re not sick or dead.”

“But I won’t see Nir again!” whispered Miranda.

“That’s the idea,” he replied. “Don’t just glare at me. Tell me yes or no. I can’t wait long, I have an elf to kill.”

“Yes!” hissed Miranda. “You know I don’t have a choice.”

“Fine,” said the goblin King. “I’ll give you a few minutes to arrange your affairs.”

He walked off to speak with his Guard, and Miranda turned to find Hunter standing behind her. “You know I have to leave,” she told him, struggling against tears. “You heard what they were going to do.”

“Yes,” said the blond elf, his handsome face grim. “I’ll gather some things we’ll want to take.”

“But you can’t go,” protested Miranda. “The elf lord needs you.”

Hunter gave her a tight smile. “Sika, Nir left you in my charge,” he pointed out. “If he comes home and learns that I let a goblin have you, the first thing he’s going to do is kill me. I’ve been Nir’s friend for years, and I couldn’t do that to him. Killing me would hurt his feelings something awful.”

He returned with a pack and erased the camp character. Then he took Miranda’s hand and crossed the boundary.

The goblin King turned as they approached. “Who are you?” he asked, eyeing the elf curiously.

Hunter was pale, and he flinched as those ghastly eyes raked over him, but he held his head up and looked straight at the King.

“I’m Hunter, and Sika was left in my care,” he said loudly. “I’m not going to hand her over to you. Either I come with her, or she doesn’t go at all. You’ll have to kill me to get rid of me.”

“I won’t kill you,” said Marak Catspaw, quite unruffled. “An honor guard. That’s showing Miranda proper respect. Come along then. You can be her elf guard. And, Tattoo,” he called, beckoning the young goblin from the line, “you can be her goblin guard.”

Miranda frowned when she heard the familiar name. So they still want me to marry him, she thought. Another member of the Guard led up a horse. Hunter stared at it, appalled.

“Hey! Get that thing out of here!” he exclaimed, jerking Miranda away from it.

“The horse is for Miranda,” observed the goblin King. “I have one for you, too. We’ll have to ride because it’s too far to walk.”

“We will not have to ride,” declared the blond elf emphatically. “I wouldn’t let Sika near that frightful beast. Too far to walk! Do you have any idea how far I’ve walked in my life?”

Catspaw frowned. “I thought you were concerned about Miranda’s welfare,” he said. “It’s a two-hour walk at least.”

“Oh,” scoffed Hunter. “I thought you said it was too far.”

The goblin King, rather short on sleep, eyed the elf balefully. “All right,” he decided after a minute. “we’ll do it your way.”

Whispering softly, he took off his long black cloak and held it so that it Just brushed the ground. It dangled in the air alone when he released it. Then he spread out the sides and the hood, pulling the garment taut. When he stepped back, a half-circle of black cloth hung flat in the air before them, the hood forming a shallow cave at the top. It looked like a giant black bat.

“There you are,” said the King to Hunter. “Just step through.”

“That’s not my way!” insisted Hunter.

“It isn’t a horse,” explained the goblin King. “Tattoo, you go first. Walk through the middle, and don’t forget to duck.”

Tattoo stepped forward without hesitation and vanished into the cloak. Hunter walked around it cautiously and studied it, but Tattoo was nowhere to be seen.

“I’m not risking Sika’s life on a goblin trick,” he said huskily. “Elves are such cowards,” remarked Marak Catspaw with satisfaction. “They’re afraid of everything but trees.”

Hunter’s jaw tightened at that, and he strode into the cloth, pulling Miranda with him. A second of blackness, and a cliff face loomed before them, glimmering in the dusk. They stood on thin, scrubby grass about thirty feet from the forest’s edge, and a line of broken cliffs barred their way. Tattoo stood to one side, casually surveying the area.

Hunter jumped in alarm. The goblin King’s cloak hung in the air right behind him. He jumped again. Now the goblin King stood right behind him. Marak Catspaw studied the nervous elf as he retrieved his cloak. Miranda didn’t even bother to look up.

“Here we are,” announced the goblin King.

“Where are we?” snapped the elf. “And why?”

“This is Miranda’s new home,” replied Catspaw. “I can’t bring her into my kingdom because of those stars, so we’ve renovated some old guest quarters. Right through there.” He nodded at the cliff. “Go ahead.”

Miranda looked up and remembered Marak bringing her through the front door only a few months ago. She had been so happy to be going home with him at last. Her happy future had crumbled several times since then. She wondered if it would continue to crumble every single time it appeared that it might possibly be happy.

Hunter glared desperately at the sheer, broken rock, his whole being rebelling against it. No worse destiny awaited an elf than being dragged into the goblin caves. He stalled for time.

“I’m not bashing my face into a rock wall,” he told the King. “I don’t want it to look like yours.”

“Stop acting like a child,” replied Marak Catspaw calmly. “Tattoo, you go first again.”

The goblin promptly disappeared into the rock. Hunter couldn’t let himself be outdone, so he closed his eyes and hurled himself at the cliff face, almost jerking Miranda off her feet. A second later, he collided with Tattoo. They were inside a large stone room.

“What happened?” demanded the surprised goblin. “Did he have to give you a push?” The distraught Hunter felt that rudeness could go no further. He couldn’t even frame a reply.

The goblin King walked past them to a door in the far wall. `And through here,” he said, pulling it open. Tattoo walked in and looked around with interest. Miranda stepped in looking at her feet.

Hunter staggered in and closed his eyes against the bright light. Marak Catspaw examined the elf. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and his breathing was shallow.

“Miranda, you’d better help your guard sit down before he faints,” Catspaw concluded.

Miranda helped Hunter over to a thick mat on the floor while Tattoo brought a handkerchief dipped in water. Hunter leaned back against the cave wall and slowly began to revive.

“I’m fine, really, Sika,” he muttered, opening his eyes to glare at the goblins. “It’s just that this place is so dreadful.”

“What a shame you don’t like it,” remarked the goblin King, not sounding particularly sorry at all. “These quarters were designed especially for elves.”

They were in a cave about twenty-five feet wide and so long that Miranda couldn’t see the end of it. It curved away steadily in a shallow bend. Unlike the goblin palace, this cave had been left close to its natural state, or perhaps, decided Miranda, it was just supposed to look natural. The bumpy, irregular walls curved upward to become the sloping ceiling about twenty feet above them, and the cave floor was uneven, too.

The cavern, full of shadows to her human eyes, was just light enough that she could distinguish colors. The walls and floor shone milky white, as if they were covered with ice, and hanging globe lamps cast a dim, pearly glow. Columns stretched from ceiling to floor here and there, like stalactites or tree trunks. They were the color of fine jade, and they matched the wide, thick green mats scattered on the floor near the walls.

A few feet in front of Miranda, a fountain bubbled up in a wide basin, bobbing in five uneven jets of water that sparkled and sang. The water spilled over the sides of the basin into a shallow channel three feet wide that ran down the center of the cave room; composed of large chunks of light blue stone, it was designed to look like a brook’s natural bed. It broke the flow of the water into small rapids as it twisted out of sight around the long bend of the cavern room.

“The elf lord Girzal was our last guest,” said the goblin King. “He stayed here for several months as his ransom was being arranged. He and Marak Blackwing became somewhat cordial, and he pronounced the place quite livable. Hunter, I realize it’s bright for you, but farther down the cave, you’ll find a small cavern off to the side that isn’t lit. It has hooks in the floor for your tent.”

Hunter looked slightly relieved. “Ransom?” he muttered, looking around with a little more interest. “What ransom could elves pay?”

“The elf lord’s youngest daughter Lim paid it for him,” answered Marak Catspaw. “She lived with the goblins for three months as a guest before she accepted the terms of the ransom. Then she became the goblin King’s Wife, and her father went free.” Hunter grimaced in disgust.

“Miranda,” continued Catspaw, “the dwarves have added new rooms suited to a human, and you can reach them through the stair case over there. This door will be locked, these quarters will be guarded, and the guards in the outer room will bring you your meals. Hunter, you may stay here as long or as short a time as you like. You’re a guest, not a prisoner, but if you leave, you won’t be allowed to come back. Tattoo, you’ll remain here as long as Miranda does, and I’ll have the guards bring you whatever you need. You can sleep in a tent, too, if you like,” he suggested. “Remember, you did when you were little.”

Under the scrutiny of his monarch, Tattoo tried not to look dismayed. Miranda felt no such constraint.

“So I have to stay locked in here for the rest of my life,” she declared.

“Of course not,” replied Catspaw. “Just for the rest of the elf lord’s life. Then you can come back into the kingdom.”

Miranda gave him a suspicious look. “You promised me,” she warned, but he only smiled at her.

“Don’t worry,” he answered. “I’ll keep my promise.” And the goblin King left.

Elf, human, and goblin sat and gazed dejectedly at the fountain for several minutes, each depressed for a different reason.

“Tattoo,” began Miranda, “is your mother really — I know what Catspaw said — but Sable can’t be dead, really?”

“We’re making her stay alive,” growled Tattoo” but it doesn’t work very well, and I don’t know what good it does when she won’t stay alive on her own.”

“You don’t mean that elf woman is your mother?” exclaimed Hunter. “Stars above!” Then he turned red when they both looked at him. “Sika, don’t you believe that goblin claptrap,” he insisted. “Nir would never attack a woman, much less an elf woman. He didn’t even let us hurt the revolting humans we found near camp — no offense,” he added hastily. “They didn’t look like you.”

“It’s not a lie,” declared Tattoo. “I was on duty when my mother came in. She looked horrible, dead white and covered with dirt. First, she told Marak — he hesitated — “well, she said what he told you, anyway. And then she fell right down, not four feet from him. We thought she’d fainted, but she wasn’t breathing. Seylin said he knew some spells that could do it, but not delayed and at a distance like that.”

Miranda covered her face with her hands, overcome at the thought of Sable dying because of her.

Hunter furrowed his brow in thought. He pulled his set of knucklebones out of his tunic and began absently tossing them and catching them. “Nir didn’t put a spell on that elf woman to kill her,” he said slowly. “And he didn’t attack that other elf woman, either, the mother of the goblin King.” He glanced bemusedly at Tattoo’s silver face with its faint black lines. “It’s a shame you both didn’t take after your mothers a little more. But Nir just affects elves, that’s all. I can’t explain how he does it. He can be too much,” he continued, waving his hands. “Too much, and not even know it.”

Tattoo raised his eyebrows. “So you’re saying that the elf lord affected my mother to death?”

“I just mean,” said Hunter, “that if he told her to drop dead, she’d do it.”

“My mother? You don’t know my mother!” scoffed Tattoo. “She’s not about to drop dead to please an elf man, and don’t think they didn’t try to make her do it, either. No. I know what happened. The elf lord told her to take herself off, and she gave him a piece of her mind. He just wasn’t used to being talked to like that, him with all his affected elves.”

“No, no, no!” declared Hunter. “That isn’t what happened.”

“Well, it happens that my mother’s dead,” pointed out Tattoo. “And your elf lord is, well… He trailed off, glancing at Miranda again. Another silence fell.

“Let’s have some food,” suggested Hunter, opening his pack.

Miranda raised her face from her hands and gazed at him reproachfully. “How could you think of eating at a time like this?” she demanded.

“At a time like this?” he wondered. “Well past the time for the evening meal, which we haven’t eaten yet. I know, we’ll take a walk first and see the rest of this dismal hole. That’ll work up an interest in food.”

It took the three of them almost an hour to reach the end of the curving cavern. The milky walls and randomly spaced pale green columns continued, as did the occasional mats. The small artificial brook hurried along the middle of the cave floor, bridged periodically by narrow slabs of stone. It reminded the wanderers that they were walking downhill.

After some time, the curve of the cavern became more pronounced. Hunter stopped and looked around suspiciously. “It’s as if we’re in a giant snail shell,” he said.

“We’re walking in a spiral, yes,” agreed Tattoo. “It makes sense if you think of this as an elf prison. You elves are active, and a spiraling tunnel gives you plenty of room to take walks without using up too much space. These mats are for elves, too, to use instead of chairs. Marak is right, this place was designed just to suit you.”

Hunter looked unimpressed, but in another minute he gave a cry of delight, unintentionally confirming Tattoo’s remarks. They had come around a sharp bend and arrived at the center of the spiral, a large circular room. The channel of water ended in a deep pool as large as the room was wide. Stone steps in front of them descended into the clear water, and ripples cast their waving lines on the walls and floor. Hunter couldn’t have been more thrilled.

“A place to bathe!” he cried. “Even underground.”

Tattoo dipped a finger into the water. “It’s frigid,” he announced sarcastically. “It’s everything an elf could wish.”

Miranda was hungry by the time they made their way back uphill to the fountain. A low table waited by the door. On it were plates of meat and cheese, rolls, buns, meat pies, sweets, and a bowl of fruit. Miranda and Tattoo realized that someone had thoughtfully raided the pantries for them, but Hunter was very wary.

“Don’t touch that stuff, Sika,” he ordered. “It’s probably poisoned. I thought of this, so I brought food with us.”

“Oh, good,” said Miranda loyally. She sat down and surveyed the dinner Hunter handed her. A strip of dried deer meat and a stale round of bread. Then she watched Tattoo devour a meat pie. The goblin caught her wistful look and grinned.

“I’d especially avoid these jam tarts,” he suggested, biting one in half. “The cooks always poison them first.”

“You’re probably right,” said Hunter, relenting. “We shouldn’t be rude. I suppose we could bring ourselves to eat a little goblin fare. Here, Sika.” He handed her an apple.

Miranda was happy to discover that the Daylight Spell worked underground. She wished it could keep her asleep night and day. The months since she had left home had been a series of painful sore rows and shocks, and this last setback had put her beyond feeling altogether. She wasn’t even unhappy. She just felt worn out and listless. After all, she reasoned, she wouldn’t be able to see Nir anyway. He was still on his trip. She couldn’t face even imagining how she might feel when she knew the elf lord was back home.

Hunter took Miranda on walks with him and fed her his elf food until it ran out, but his attitude completely baffled her. He hated the subterranean prison intensely, and he had lost all of his old companions, but he was much more cheerful than she was. She didn’t realize that elves were naturally optimistic and didn’t ordinarily worry, as Nir had pointed out. Hunter wasn’t really happy, but he didn’t see any reason why that should interfere with his fun.

In Miranda’s room was a shelf of books, and a couple of nights after their arrival she came downstairs deep in the tale of Robinson Crusoe. Hunter was examining a buttered croissant suspiciously. Tattoo dozed on a mat nearby. Lonely and homesick for goblins, Tattoo spent as much time with the two of them as he could.

“That’s not elvish,” commented Hunter, looking over her shoulder at the book as he ate. “Is it goblin?”

“It’s English,” she said absently. “A story.”

“Oh, chronicles,” said the elf.

“I can read it to you if you like,” offered Miranda. “It’s about a man who suffers shipwreck at sea.” Then she thought that Hunter might not understand this. “His ship, his boat, sinks in the middle of the sea — that’s like a huge lake. And the man has to live all alone on an island and find everything he needs.”

“I didn’t know your family knew how to do that kind of thing, Sika,” admitted Hunter, considerably impressed. “Nir says we elves used to go fishing in boats made of hides, but no one in my family knew anything about it. My father fell through lake ice, though, and drowned.”

Miranda was puzzled by these remarks, but Tattoo was a veteran of Kate’s English classes and spotted the confusion at once. “That man on the island isn’t Miranda’s relative,” he said from his comfortable position on the mat. “He isn’t anybody’s relative; he’s just made up. Imaginary, like a dream.”

Hunter was astounded. “You’re learning the history of a man who didn’t exist?” he demanded. “Why would you bother to do that?”

“Because it’s interesting,” said Miranda. “When I think about his troubles, I forget mine for a while.”

“You want imaginary troubles to forget real troubles?” asked Hunter. “I don’t have to read a big long chronicle for that. I’ll just imagine I have a stomachache.”

He rolled around on the floor, moaning and holding his middle. Miranda was disgusted. She headed back to her room to enjoy her book in peace. Hunter sat up laughing as she passed.

“Wait! My stomachache’s gone!” he exclaimed. “I feel wonderful.” But she marched up the stairs without looking at him. “She’s mad at me,” he sighed. “Now we’ll never find out what happened to the man who didn’t exist. And what will we do for fun now that we can’t tease Sika? I know,” he suggested, giving the goblin an appraising glance. “Do you know how to play knucklebones?”

• • •

Miranda was glad to have normal food again, and she thought that Hunter would like it as well, but the poor elf simply hated it. He couldn’t reconcile himself to his new diet at all.

“I can’t get over how horrible it is,” he insisted to Tattoo one evening before Miranda came down. “Like this brown stuff. What do you call it?”

“Chocolate cake,” answered Tattoo, glancing at the wedge Hunter was waving about in the air.

“This chocolate cake,” continued Hunter. “I can’t even begin to guess what it’s trying to taste like.”

“Like chocolate?” suggested Tattoo, helping himself to a slice of his own. Hunter gave him a pitying glance.

“I don’t know how you ever got to be so big and hulking on food like this,” he remarked. He rummaged in his pack for a minute. “Here,” he said, handing Tattoo a piece of dried meat and taking a piece for himself “The last of my stock. just wrap your silver lips around that.”

Tattoo tore off a shred and ate it. “Haven’t you people ever heard of salt?” he demanded.

“Now, that’s food to savor!” exclaimed the elf, brandishing his
“My own kill, too, the night before we got locked in here.”

Tattoo looked more interested, and gnawed at the meat again. “My father used to hunt with the old goblin King,” he said, “but I’ve never hunted, myself.”

“You’ve never hunted?” cried the elf. “At your age! Where does your meat come from, then?”

“Mostly from sheep,” replied the goblin.” Sheep walk right up to you if they know you.”

“Oh, you’ve missed so much!” exclaimed Hunter. “There’s nothing like it, your own food running wild, beautiful, and carefree through the forest. And you find it and follow it, bring it down and bring it back home, and you feed your whole camp with your efforts.”

Tattoo watched the animated Hunter, mildly impressed. The goblins didn’t respect the pretty elves, but this was an achievement he couldn’t boast of.

“Why, you take that deer you’re eating now,” said the elf. “I didn’t even have my hunting partner that night. I had to stalk her and bring her back alone.”

Tattoo choked and swallowed with an effort.

“Her!” he shouted. ‘And now I’m eating her! Oh, you people are just barbarians!” He flung the rest of the meat onto the ground and stomped off down the cavern. Hunter watched him go, more bewildered than offended.

“What’s wrong with him?” he wondered as Miranda came down the stairs. She had heard the last of the conversation.

“Goblins never eat female animals,” she said. “They think mothers are sacred.”

“Now, that’s funny, Sika,” remarked Hunter. “He just called me a barbarian. Doesn’t he know that goblins are the barbarians?”

• • •

A few nights later, Miranda sat staring at the fountain, despondently wondering where Nir was.

“Miranda,” whispered a soft voice. She looked around in surprise. A large, fluffy black cat crouched on the stairs that led up to her room.

“Seylin!” she cried. The black cat flattened his ears and switched his tail.

“Do you mind keeping your voice down!” he hissed. “I don’t want Tattoo to know I’m here.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “Hunter talked Tattoo into going swimming with him. He didn’t want to, but Hunter teased him and made fun of him until it was just easier, I think. Why don’t you want him to know you’re here?”

“I didn’t just come to cheer you up,” replied Seylin. “I need information. Within the last two months, something completely unexpected has happened: a healthy band of almost seventy elves has returned to their ancestral homeland. But almost immediately, things have started to go wrong. They’ve lost arguably their most magical female to a goblin marriage, and they’re about to lose their most magical male as well. The band doesn’t have very many descendants of the noble families. I’m afraid they won’t survive it.”

“Catspaw promised me that he wouldn’t kill Nir!” exclaimed Miranda. “Why are the elves going to lose him?”

“The goblin King means to keep his promise, but that won’t save the elf lord for very long,” opined the cat. “The lord has already caused enough harm to get himself killed several times over, and I very much doubt that he means to stop.”

They went upstairs. With a shimmer, Seylin changed back into his regular form and pulled from his pocket a pen, a bottle of ink, and a small scroll. He unrolled it, and Miranda saw that it was blank.

“Recent events have shown me just how little we understand the elves,” he said. “I have to find out why the elf lord keeps doing these irrational things, and you’re the only one I can talk to.”

“I’ll tell you anything that will help,” she promised. “But why would Tattoo care that you’re here?”

“He won’t, but he’ll tell the guards, and they’ll tell Marak Catspaw,” answered Seylin. “The King’s mind is already made up about this, and he’s happy with his conclusions. He’s already forbidden me to discuss this with Arianna. If he knew that I had been here, he might tell me not to come see you again, and I would have to obey him. That would limit my choices in a very critical matter.”

Miranda had not been able to talk to anyone about Nir since the day she had met him. She talked about life in the elf camp for hours. Seylin was a good listener, and he surprised her by taking frequent notes, unrolling the small scroll farther and farther as the night progressed. By the time he ran out of questions, the scroll was several feet long.

Miranda lay on the bed with her hands over her eyes. The talk had stirred up her battered feelings, and her heart was aching. Seylin tapped his pen against his knee, looking back over his copious notes.

“I still don’t understand it,” he remarked. “The more I know, the less I understand.” He rolled up his notes into the same tiny scroll as before. “And here you are, at the center of a fight between the two greatest lords of our day. I suppose you could consider that an honor.”

“I wouldn’t say that they’re fighting over me,” protested Miranda gloomily, staring at the stone ceiling above her. “Catspaw certainly tossed me aside without a fight. Now Nir will come home in a week and find out that he has to give me up, too. He’ll just pick one of the elf girls to marry. It won’t be hard, they’re all beautiful.” She sighed. “And now I know that I haven’t even saved his life.”

“That’s not true,” observed the handsome goblin. “The elf lord would definitely be dead tonight if you hadn’t struck your bargain with Marak Catspaw. You bought him time and more important, you bought me time as well. Maybe I can find the key to this puzzle before it’s too late.”

“I’ll go downstairs and get rid of Tattoo for you,” she said. “Come back and visit me again, Seylin. I’ll be glad to talk to you.”

She found her guards playing knucklebones by the fountain. “Let’s take a walk,” she suggested, and the three of them started off.

As soon as they were out of sight, a large black cat crept out of the shadow of the stairway. He froze in concentration for a second. Then he leapt into the fountain’s wide basin. No splash sounded, and no ripples rose as he hit the water. The black cat simply disappeared.

• • •

Miranda spent the next several days in her comfortable room, reading and rereading her books. Meanwhile, the two guards killed time below. Hunter was growing restless, trapped inside day and night. He was missing howling winds, autumn storms, and the leaves cascading from the trees. It began to wear on his temper.

One night, he pulled out his pipe and tossed it back and forth for a minute. “This is no life for an elf,” he declared.

Tattoo was reading Robinson Crusoe. “It’s not much of a life for a goblin,” he noted.

Hunter glared at him. “I thought you goblins just adored caves,” he said.

“We prefer the ones with goblins in them,” replied Tattoo. He grimaced as Hunter began playing his pipe. “Look, do you mind?” he protested. “That thing hurts my ears.”

“Your face hurts my eyes,” snapped Hunter, “but you don’t catch me complaining.”

He put away the pipe, but Tattoo had picked up his bad mood. The goblin put down his book and began wandering around the fountain with a scowl. For some time he maintained silence, determined to keep up appearances in front of the enemy, but finally his frustration got the better of him.

“At least you know why you’re here,” he burst out. “Your lord left you responsible for Miranda, so you have to be. But me I’m here day and night for no reason at all! My mother’s dying, and I can’t even be there.”

“I know why you’re here,” announced Hunter casually. The tall goblin stopped and stared at him.

“You don’t! You can’t!”

Hunter shrugged, picked up his pipe, and started playing softly. “It’s goblin revenge,” Tattoo suggested. “And what a revenge!” The blond elf shook his head. “All right then, why am I here?”

“Because that lying beast you work for is going to kill Nir as soon as he gets home,” responded Hunter, “and then he wants you to marry Sika.”

Tattoo stood still for a long minute. “Marak isn’t a lying beast,” he said automatically. He sat down to give the matter further thought. “How do you know he wants me to marry Miranda?”

“The elf goblin told her so when he came into camp to fetch her,” replied Hunter.

Tattoo stared despondently into the distance. “I call that meanness,” he sighed. “Seylin knows perfectly well I’ve wanted to marry his daughter Celia ever since we were little pages. So they’re going to make me marry a foreigner. They did the same thing to my father.”

“I’d say your father was lucky to force some poor elf girl to marry him,” observed Hunter.

Tattoo pulled his knife from his boot and began to play with it. “Technically, Mother forced Dad to marry her,” he said moodily. “I don’t know how anyone could force Mother to do anything. And now I’m stuck here in this boring place, facing marriage with a human. What did Miranda say about it when Seylin told her?”

Hunter opened his mouth to convey Miranda’s passionate refusal, but he looked at Tattoo’s miserable expression and stopped. He hated goblins, he reminded himself, and he would be happy to face Tattoo in battle, but there were some things that a man simply shouldn’t do.

“It never mattered,” he answered with a shrug. “Nir wouldn’t let her leave.”

“Oh,” said Tattoo. He turned his knife blade and studied it. “It’s a great honor, being chosen to marry a non-goblin bride,” he muttered. “I know my family would be thrilled. But you take it from me,” he said earnestly to Hunter, “elves and humans are nothing but trouble!”

After Hunter’s revelation, Tattoo avoided his potential bride’s company, leaving Miranda puzzled and hurt at his quick departures. She came downstairs less and less often. This left the goblin and elf with nothing but each other for entertainment, and neither one was pleased about it.

“No!” declared Tattoo one evening when Hunter began tossing his knucklebones invitingly in the air. “I refuse to play that stupid game one more time!”

“I don’t blame you,” replied the elf. “You always lose. What do you goblins do for fun, then? Make faces at each other?”

“I don’t always lose,” grumbled Tattoo. He thought for a minute. “Adding corners is a game we play in the guardroom.” He retrieved a piece of meat from the table and laid it on the ground between them. “Adding corners is really just illusion magic, a variation on the solid shape manipulation drills you did as a child.” Hunter’s stare went blank. “Oh, good heavens!” Tattoo groused. “Didn’t you learn anything at all?”

“I surely did,” responded the elf promptly. “I learned how to be hungry. My mother and father were dead by the time I was nine, and I was hunting to feed myself and my little sister.”

Tattoo was taken aback. Maybe these pretty elf men were tougher than they appeared. “I’ll show you how,” he continued more respectfully. “You take anything at all” — he gestured at the meat — “and you change its appearance into a simple solid shape, like this.”

The meat became a shiny silver triangular pyramid, a tetrahedron. Bemused, Hunter picked it up. It felt heavy and cold, like metal. Each face of the tetrahedron was a perfect equilateral triangle.

“That’s a game?” he wanted to know, putting it back down.

“That’s just the start,” said Tattoo. “The next person has to add a corner to it.” As he looked at the tetrahedron, it changed shape. Now it looked like a silver ax head. “Go on, it’s your turn.”

Hunter studied the figure. It dissolved and became the piece of meat once more.

“You lose,” said Tattoo. “That happens when an opponent can’t visualize the shape and add to it.”

“What a stupid game,” remarked the elf.

“No, no,” insisted the goblin. “It’s fun once you learn how.” The meat became a tetrahedron. “Your turn.” The tetrahedron became meat again.

“A really stupid game,” commented Hunter.

“Oh, come on!” said Tattoo impatiently. “Even our children can work this magic.” The meat became a tetrahedron. After a long moment, a spike appeared from one face.

They played for several hours, and Hunter always lost, but he improved steadily. They finally reached the point where the goblin had to do more than glance at the figure to change it. He looked over the spiky object before him and added another spike.

“Your turn.”

Hunter stared at it for several seconds. It turned bright pink. “Hey!” exclaimed Tattoo. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” sighed the elf. “I got a little bored. Our games don’t make you think so much.”

Tattoo studied the figure. Then he shrugged. He turned it purple with green dots.

When Miranda came downstairs, her two guards were staring at a brilliantly colored object that was covered in spikes, nodules, and twists. A blue eyeball on the end of one spike appeared to be watching her. She let out a shriek. Tattoo flinched, and the creature dissolved into an ordinary piece of meat.

“You lose!” exclaimed Hunter with satisfaction. “Hello, Sika,” he said, smiling up at her. “I just won a goblin game.”

• • •

In a quiet room in the palace, Tinsel sat by his wife Sable’s bedside, his silver face haggard. Sable’s breath hissed in the room, loud and shallow, as her daughter Fay chanted the spell that forced the elf woman to stay alive. They no longer let Tinsel work the lifesaving magic. He was too tired and distraught.

The magic that sustained the black-haired elf wasn’t working terribly well. The unconscious figure on the bed had grown gaunt. Her skin was dry and dull now, and her lips were cracked. Little by little, she was becoming a corpse before their eyes.

The goblin King and his two lieutenants came into the room, but when Tinsel looked up with a hopeful expression, Marak Catspaw shook his head. The Scholars had done a full review of every spell in the kingdom’s books, and they had found nothing that would help.

The silver goblin dropped his head and began to sob. His daughter put an arm around him as she continued her work. “Don’t keep her like this,” he begged brokenly. “If you can’t bring her back, just let her go.”

“We will,” promised his sovereign grimly. “But not just yet. That murdering elf will die before she does. He’s back in three days. We’ll surround the camp with the entire Guard and terrorize it until he decides to attack us. Then we’ll annihilate him bone by bone. After that, we’ll stop the magic. Sable will die avenged.”

Tinsel wiped his streaming eyes. “I want to help,” he whispered.

“You’ll have to get more rest,” warned Catspaw. “Then we’ll see.” He left the room with his lieutenants.

As the door closed, Seylin turned. “Goblin King, I would recommend that you reconsider this plan,” he said. “Revenge is one thing, but you must consider the cost. Your father—”

Marak Catspaw exploded.

“My father!” he exclaimed. “Oh, yes, I know all about it. Father never hurt an elf. But he’d have hurt this one, and long ago, unless I’m very mistaken. Father wouldn’t have stood by and watched his ward turned into a slave, and he wouldn’t have gotten Sable killed, either. It’s time, gentlemen, that you faced a sad fact,” he concluded angrily. “My father is not ruling this kingdom.”

Seylin glanced away, embarrassed, and Richard studied the floor with a frown. Catspaw glared at them both, frustrated and discouraged, but neither one looked him in the eye. The King was just opening his mouth to say something far more bitter when a voice behind him spoke.

“And why is that a sad fact, dear?”

Kate stood behind him in the hallway, surveying the three of them. Delicate and beautiful she might be, and they were undoubtedly the rulers of the realm, but she had watched them grow from boys into men, and her steady gaze told them so.

“Marak was a great King,” she said quietly, “but he would be the first to remind you that his brilliant plans only worked half the time. His revenge on my guardian brought disaster, and he promised a human girl that she would be your wife when he had no right to do so. Don’t turn him into something that he wouldn’t want to be. He would laugh at you for making him into a legend.”

Richard gave a wry grin at this, and Seylin looked thoughtful, but the goblin King crossed his arms, unmoved. “You’ve always known it,” he pointed out with cynical fatalism. “You said yourself that I wouldn’t be a King like my father.”

“Of course you won’t,” replied Kate with a smile. “Because you’re more like your mother. Did you think that would disappoint me? Excuse me now; it’s my turn to watch with Sable.” And she disappeared through the door.

Marak Catspaw stared after her for a moment with a very odd expression on his face. When he turned around, he found that Seylin was smiling, as if he were calling to mind an old and well-loved joke.

“Catspaw,” he pointed out, “one of your parents saved this kingdom. Sometimes I make the mistake of forgetting which one.”

The goblin King nodded thoughtfully, frowning a little, but his unmatched eyes were alight with satisfaction. “Very well, adviser,” he said calmly. “Give me your advice. I’m ready to listen to reason.”

“I only wanted to point out,” replied Seylin, “that if you take your whole Guard to the elf camp and carry out a brutal revenge on their lord right in front of them, you’re likely to cause such despair that the elves won’t submit to your rule. They’ll refuse your commands and die provoking additional attacks.”

Marak Catspaw considered this. “That’s quite true,” he agreed.

“Instead, I suggest that you call for a meeting and have all the elf warriors come to the truce circle. They won’t be able to launch an attack in there, and they can consider your proposals more calmly. Send your Guard in as well, to protect goblin lives.”

“He’s right that the elf lord is likely to take some goblins down with him,” opined Richard.

`And what do you suggest we do with the elf lord?” demanded the King, growing angry again. “I suppose you want me to send him into the circle, too.”

“No,” said Seylin resignedly. “I know you better than that. I’ve been doing quite a bit of study on this issue, and I see no way to avoid a fight. The best plan I can suggest, to minimize loss of life, is this: Meet the elf lord outside the circle. Propose a duel. And then kill him yourself.”