last
twenty years, I have gathered all of the remaining elves.”
“All of the
elves you could find,” corrected Marak Catspaw.
“All of the
remaining elves,” declared the lord in a firm voice. “In order for my people to survive, we have
to come back to our own land and
live in our own forest. I need the goblin King to swear that he will do what is best for the elves. He must
swear not to hunt us or allow brides to be taken during his reign. We
must be able to live freely on our land, with no goblins spying on us.”
“How many elves
are left?” asked Marak Catspaw.
The lord hesitated
as if he were ashamed. “Sixty-seven,” he replied bitterly.
“Such a treaty
is reasonable,” mused the goblin King. “We couldn’t raid such a small number for brides and expect the elves to survive
it.”
“But
that isn’t all,” continued the stranger. “You goblins took the magic
books from my people so that we couldn’t defend ourselves. We lack many spells that we need to survive,
spells for healing and for making our way of life. I must have those
books back.”
“That
you can’t have,” answered the goblin King. “We use those books
ourselves.”
The
elf lord’s expression hardened. “The books belong to us, and you have your own magic,” he said heatedly. “What
do you need with ours?”
“We can work
elf magic, too,” said Marak Catspaw, “and the spells are essential to
the care of the elves who live with us.”
At this mention of
captives, the distaste in the stranger’s eyes became
definite. He glanced away from them, looking over their heads at the
stars.
The goblin King gave
the matter further thought. “I well under stand
your need for the spells,” he concluded. “I would be willing to give
you copies.
The
elf lord looked at him again. “An elf should copy what elves have
written,” he replied. “I would rather copy the books myself. They will be safe in my care and promptly
returned. But I must have writing materials and the materials for books.
My people don’t yet have these things.”
Marak
Catspaw was well aware of the importance of the elves to the goblins. The discovery of sixty-seven elves still
alive was an event of
tremendous significance. Catspaw didn’t mind meeting the lord’s demands,
either, and even augmenting them with his own con cerned vigilance. But the new King was growing tired of this pretty stranger’s
arrogant attitude.
“The elves are
asking a great deal of the goblins,” he remarked blandly. “What do they intend to do in return?” Nothing, he was sure, and he wanted to make this elf admit that and swallow a nice dose
of humility.
But the elf lord
didn’t look in the least humiliated. He glared at Marak Catspaw. “We will give this unmarried goblin King a bride,”
he retorted.
“A what?”
gasped Seylin. Catspaw just stared. The elves never sanctioned the marriages of their women with goblins. Goblins stole elves.
They didn’t accept them.
“I will give
you a bride,” repeated the elf lord emphatically, his handsome face set in a look of bitterness and
contempt. “My people are too
poor and too few to wage battle. We won’t survive without our own land and magic, but we aren’t strong enough
to take them. I will give you one
bride in exchange for these things. I have no other choice.”
He
dropped his gaze and stared at the ground, plainly overcome with
despair at the thought. Good, thought Marak Catspaw. He’s taking that dose of
humility after all.
“Sixty-seven
elves,” mused the King. “But how many of those could be brides?”
“I’ve been
forbidding the marriages,” replied the elf lord. “Four women are unmarried, and one is old enough for
marriage at the full moon.”
“Five women,”
considered Catspaw. “Is any from the high families?”
The elf studied him
with loathing. “I don’t know their ancestry,” he replied.
“What
color are their eyes?” put in Seylin. Now those black eyes glared
at