Cloud Eye went out with Magrat to the souk first thing in the morning. When they returned before the noon hour, Cloud Eye sat Cat down at the kitchen table.
“I want to try something, Cat,” Cloud dumped some brown powder with an intriguing smell into a bowl and added a little oil from a vial. He stirred it for a minute, inspected it, and then stopped, “Can you push your sleeve up, Cat? On your left arm, please.”
Cat gave Cloud Eye a wary look and pushed up his sleeve, exposing the angry, puckered scars of his cooked flesh.
Cloud Eye dipped a rag into the liquid, “This may or may not work, Cat, but if there is any pain at all, you must tell me.” He brushed the liquid onto the back of his own hand first. His skin turned a much darker brown where the fluid had been applied. “Huh,” he studied his hand.
“Ready?” he asked Cat. Cat nodded. Cloud Eye applied the rag to the scar. The skin turned even redder and started to blister.
“It hurts, it hurts, it hurts a lot,” Cat clenched his right fist and his teeth.
I stood on my back legs, put a paw on the table for balance, and held my other front paw over Cat’s arm. I invoked the healing spell for burns and watched the blisters go away. Cat took in a shuddering breath,
“Thank you, Fuzzy,” Cat exhaled in relief.
“Damn,” Cloud Eye grimaced. “You’re one of those people who reacts to gannum bark. It’s funny stuff. Half the world is okay with it, and the other half reacts like you. It’s a shame because it will darken the skin for several weeks. But it’s not something we can use. Now, please bear with me. I want to try one more thing.”
Cat gave Cloud Eye an even warier look. Cloud Eye took out another vial. He wetted a rag and dabbed some on Cat’s arm. We all stared at the spot, but nothing happened.
“What’s supposed to happen?” Cat asked. “It’s not getting any darker.”
“It’s not supposed to,” Cloud Eye explained. “I’m just making sure you don’t have any reaction to this stuff. It will turn your red hair blond.”
“Really?”
“Yep,” Cloud Eye smiled. “So we can at least give you some proper elven hair. We can keep you bundled up and tell everyone you have sensitive skin that can’t be exposed to sunlight. Sun disease is a known elven skin infliction. It’s uncommon but not unknown. I also picked up some spirit gum and some crepe latex. They’ve got everything in the apothecary shops here. I never thought I’d ever see crepe latex right when I wanted some.”
“What’s crepe latex?” Cat asked.
“With a candle, I can warm it and mold it, and it’s roughly the same color as your pale skin. Then I can glue it onto the top of your ear, and you’ll have an elven ear tip for as long as the spirit gum lasts.”
“But spirit gum is a permanent adhesive,” Wren said.
“Yes, which means it will hurt when we take it off,” Cloud Eye nodded.
“Can I go home now?” Cat squeaked, holding his head.
The other thing that Magrat and Cloud Eye picked up was a lovely full-length white houppelande. Magrat had Wren put it on and then had her hold her arms over her head. Magrat whipped out a pair of shears and trimmed the front hem. I was shocked. I padded over and looked at the fabric, which I thought might be a close-cropped velvet. It wasn’t. It was white deerskin. It draped beautifully on Wren and accentuated the golden brown of her skin, the amber of her eyes, and the pale yellow of her hair.
“There, now you won’t trip walking,” Magrat pronounced. I was amazed at how perfect Magrat’s cutting was.
“Is this really necessary?” Wren grimaced.
“If one must negotiate with humans, one must dress the part,” Magrat announced. “You and Fuzzy are the most eye-catching members of your party, so we will use you to catch eyes and draw them away from the boys.”
Cat, Owl, and Cloud Eye were all gaping at Wren in the houppelande as if they had never seen a woman in a long dress before.
“Wow,” Cat managed to say, “you look gorgeous in that, Wren.”
An open-topped coach pulled up to the front of Magrat’s house. Wren emerged, ducking her head under the too-short door jamb made for much shorter goblins. She was stunning in the houppelande. She was also the highest-ranking elf, so the Goblin Queen suggested Wren should be our party’s representative at the meeting about the wyvern problem. She suggested I should go too after she laughed over my story of playing chaperone for the elven Princess.
I wore my usual riding pad, mainly because it was the easiest way to carry my reading glasses. Magrat rode with us. She wore a rather amazing white and dark green set of robes covered with gold embroidery and an elaborate headdress that matched. She carried a white staff topped with a gold knob.
Magrat sat next to Wren and across from me. I took up the entire seat. I am bigger than any goblin, after all.
*So, Lady Magrat, are you really just the head of the Equalizer’s Office? After all, your sister is the Queen.*
“We goblins, don’t have a hierarchical society like the humans do. We don’t have territorial lords like humans, chiefs like elves, or meisters like dwarves. People sometimes call me lady because of my office, not because my sister is Queen. We choose our Queen by the election of the three government wards plus all the ward and village heads, who are also elected. I’m just the head of the equalizer’s office, though there is another name for my office that you probably aren’t aware of.”
*And what is that?*
“First Minister.”
Wren laughed and shook her head. “I’m beginning to appreciate why my father likes you people as much as he does.”
The coach drove up the ramp road to the second ring and turned into the driveway to the palace doors. The goblins’ love of outrageous color was evident in the little park in front of the palace. Flowers of every hue covered every spot of ground, planted in beds that formed geometric patterns. It was both wonderful and overdone, as only a goblin can overdo color.
“Oh,” Wren smiled, “it’s a new pattern. How exciting.” She turned her head this way, and that, trying to take it all in. Her delight was sincere, and it impressed the goblins driving the coach.
“Yes,” Magrat smiled at Wren’s reaction. “The Queen held a competition for the design. Only the survivors of the great wildfire last summer were eligible to enter. I found it quite satisfying that a flower gardener submitted the winning design.”
This trip changed everything I thought I knew about goblins, but then I wondered where I even learned about goblins and other creatures. I was only six years old, and yet I had all this knowledge in my head. Before we came here, I thought goblins were small, dirty, and wretched creatures with green skin who were dishonest and barely civilized, living in holes in the ground and grubbing about in the dirt doing subsistence farming.
I often wondered where this knowledge came from, especially since what I thought I knew about trolls and goblins was wrong. If I was a divine beast, why didn’t I have correct knowledge about other creatures? It was a puzzle. Where did this knowledge come from? Why was it wrong?
The coach rolled to a stop before I could ponder any further. Four goblin boys in all-white coats, trews, stockings, shoes, and gloves came running out to serve as footmen. I found their earnest young green faces adorable. The boy who helped Magrat adjusted her collar and fixed the drape of her robe. They weren’t just for show.
The one who helped Wren down from the coach was half her height, yet the grace he used to guide Wren out of the coach was lovely to watch. I was so taken up with watching that I was surprised when Magrat and Wren turned to look at me.
“Coming, Lady Fuzzy?” Magrat asked, amused.
The goblin boys looked panicked when they realized they didn’t know what to do with me. I looked down from the coach door and saw that the footstool was too close to the coach for me to use it.
I had been holding off casting the mind-talking spell, but now it was time.
*The footstool is too close to the coach,* I told the two boys standing on either side of the door. Their eyes widened when they heard me speaking to their minds, but they didn’t even twitch otherwise. They were well-trained.
The one on my right moved it back, “is this better?” His voice was a piping soprano.
*Just a little more, please.* I do have a long back. The boy moved it back half again as far, and I stepped out. *That’s just right. Thank you.*
“You are most welcome, my lady,” he replied, bowing. These boys were cute, and their service was perfect. Why did I ever think that goblins were a crude race? Goblins look strange with their green skin and their round heads, and they do have an inexplicable love of bright colors, but they have their own sense of culture and aesthetics.
Carpet covered the steps into the palace, and each step was a different color. The palace itself was four stories and had a massive feel, squat and solid. Its exterior used huge blocks of marble. Each block was a different color. Inside, the floors were a riot of colorful mosaics in geometric patterns. The walls were colored marble piled the same way as the outside of the palace.
*Goblins love color, don’t they?*
“Yes, we do,” Magrat replied. “If you like visual art, we have a place where people can display their creations. Goblins like art as much as they like dancing.”
All these colors jammed up at random were giving me a headache. Given how much goblins like bright colors, I concluded I was happy not to attend any goblin dances. The dances were probably as bad as the art.
Magrat opened the door to a room with a large round table with differently-shaped chairs. A large map already covered the tabletop. In gold and white robes and an enameled gold plaque crown, Queen Margo was talking with a corpulent human in dark blue clergy robes. The Prince was present in a full-length tawny velvet houppelande and gold circlet. He was with an older red-haired, bearded gentleman in a blue knee-length houppelande. They were looking at the map with a trim-looking hobgoblin in shiny chainmail.
A herald just inside the door held up a restraining hand and cleared his throat. He wore a herald’s tabard with four quarters of bright blue, yellow, red, and purple.
“The Lady Magrat, First Minister. Her Royal Highness Princess Roaming Wren of the Green Elves. The Divine Beast, Lady Fuzzy.”
The Prince went bug-eyed, as did the two other humans. Wren in a houppelande presented a serious distraction for certain male members of this meeting. I’m sure the two goblin sisters running this kingdom did it on purpose.
“Ah!” Queen Margo looked up, “Wren, darling, you look marvelous. Promise me you’ll sit with the court artist this afternoon, and we’ll send your mother a portrait of you for the planting festival. Wren, take that chair right there. It should be tall enough for you. Bishop, if you would take the seat next to the Princess. Prince Willam, next to the Bishop. Duke Sven, you’ll be next to me. Lady Magrat, take the chair on the other side of me, and Lady Fuzzy, I thought this tall bench seat would work for you.” She patted the seat.
The bench seat was a thick red cushion on a sturdy square table, as tall as the round conference table. I lightly leapt on top of it and lay down. It was comfortable, and I could see all of the map on the table, but it was too close to read the fine print.
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“Meow,” I looked at Wren.
“Do you need your glasses, Fuzzy?” I nodded.
Most people don’t realize that all the smaller cats, including cougars, are farsighted. We felines don’t depend on our eyes for close-in work or hunting. Every one of the smaller cats has a network of whiskers. Each whisker ends in a specialized sensory nerve. Cats have whiskers all over, not just on the face, and they are sensitive enough to feel how air currents change in the cat’s immediate vicinity. It’s a sensory system as fine-tuned as sonar in bats. Cats don’t need near vision because we have something better. The downside is that I’m farsighted and require glasses to read anything close-up in print.
Everyone in the room watched as tall, elegant Wren took out my glasses. She carefully perched the pinching nose piece across my broad nose and then tied the black silk twine at the back of my head. I shook my head back and forth to check that they would stay on, and they did.
“Is the fit good enough, Fuzz?”
I nodded.
“Great,” Wren scratched my head briefly and took her seat.
All the goblins, elves, and cougars sat while the three humans were still gaping.
“Planning on joining us, gentlemen?” Queen Margo asked in an amused voice.
Once everyone was seated, Margo addressed Wren and me, “Ladies, this is Generalissimo Gargle of the Army of Gorgurak, Bishop Geralt de Ramnerburg of the See of Tammerhof, Prince Willam Nordvek, and Duke Sven Nordvek.
The Generalissimo was between Wren and me. Wren was opposite Queen Margo, and I was opposite the Prince. He tried smiling at me. I tilted my head, studied him without blinking at all, and counted how long it took for his smile to falter. I counted to 36, which was longer than I thought it would take. Once his smile died and was replaced by dismay, I made sure to yawn loudly. The Generalissimo had to put his hand over his mouth to hide his smile.
“Well, now that we are all settled,” the Queen began, “Sir Gargle, would you please summarize our current wyvern problem for our guests?”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” the Generalissimo stood and picked up a pointer as long as the table was wide. “Two years ago, one red wyvern moved into the Blazroggle district, which is located in the mountain range marking our westernmost extent of settlements. The district contains twelve villages and two towns with light garrisons. The villages specialize in cattle raising, timber, and local dairy. One town specializes in cheese production, and the other specializes in lumber.
“The garrisons are oriented toward search and rescue and adverse weather response such as road clearing, emergency housing, flood rescue, blizzard rescue, livestock rescue, and wildfire response. The two garrisons also perform dangerous wildlife and monster removal.
“The garrison out of Wiffleblatt responded to the arrival of the red wyvern two years ago during calving season. Losses included fifteen full-grown cattle and seven calves, twelve trained herding dogs, thirty-seven villagers, and one hundred and eighteen troops. Death of the wyvern was achieved one hundred and twelve days after deployment through the use of a freshly-killed poisoned steer carcass loaded with fifty pounds of white arsenic.
“The garrisons’ response included the development of new tactics to preserve villagers’ lives but only at the sacrifice of livestock. Life-preservation tactics that work involve deploying five-yard lances and shields from phalanx formations at a ratio of seven hobgoblins to one wrangler or shepherd.
“Last year, a breeding pair of red wyverns moved into the same district. We hypothesize that the wyvern from the year before left a usable nest behind. We failed to remove those two wyverns from the district. They bred three young. If those three survived the winter, which we do not know yet, then there may be two full-grown and three adolescent wyverns this year. Our level of losses is not sustainable, hence the request sent to neighboring kingdoms for specialists with experience with wyverns.
“The breeding pair was sighted fourteen days ago and have started hunting activities. Last year, losses included one hundred thirty-seven cattle, forty-three calves, seventeen trained herding dogs, fifty-six villagers, and two hundred four hobgoblin troops. Only the breeding pair participated in attacks.
“We evacuated the three villages closest to the nest over the winter and are currently evacuating five more. The evacuation includes flocks. The current effort will be completed eight days from today. We have chosen evacuation routes that leave the shortest paved road into the area open and unimpeded for the hunting specialists.
“Half of the army is now deployed to protect the villages and their livestock. We will leave two phalanx brigades to protect the two hunting parties. One company is currently camped just past the northwest gate of the outer wall. It will escort the two hunting parties to the impacted area. They need four hours’ warning before they can be on the road.
“I believe I have covered the pertinent points,” the Generalissimo concluded.
“Where are the evacuated villages and the ones you’re evacuating now?” Duke Sven asked.
“Ah! Excellent question,” the Generalissimo landed the pointer right in front of me. “Her Majesty is seated at the north of the regional map, and the Princess is at the south. Kizdangengar is on the east edge of the map, in front of the Prince. The evacuated villages are here, here, and here,” he tapped on three villages to the left of my nose, “in two narrow east-west valleys separated by a mountain ridge. The current evacuation involves these villages,” he tapped on five villages immediately to the east of the first three. All were in the same two valleys.
“Do you know where the nest is?” the Prince asked.
“We do not know where it is,” the Generalissimo stated. “It is behind the mountain range beyond which are the Wilds, where no one can live safely.”
“You have not explored beyond that ridge?” the Bishop asked accusingly.
“The mountains cannot be breached from either valley. The summits are capped year-round with ice and snow, and the weather is always bad,” the Generalissimo answered calmly with a pleasant expression.
*Are the summits above the heights of death?* I asked.
“Yes, my lady, it is,” the Generalissimo nodded with a knowing smile at me. “Many lives have been lost trying to map that area. We no longer make any official attempts, though there are a few brave idiots every few decades who believe all mountains must be climbed for the sake of bragging about it. In the past, these have been mostly elven youths adventuring, who sadly make the effort and never return.”
“Which is why, by a treaty in force for six decades,” Wren interjected, “any elves who appear in western Gorgurak looking like they want to climb mountains are arrested and returned in chains to elven lands and the judgment of the King. Please pardon me for interrupting you, Generalissimo.”
“No offense taken, your Highness,” the trim and buff soldier gave her a polite bow.
“At this juncture,” the Queen addressed the table, “neither hunting party has committed to traveling to our afflicted province. I would like to hear exactly what the two parties have to offer to address a wyvern threat. Prince Willam?”
“I have a hunting party of thirty men,” the Prince answered, “with three wagon-mounted ballistae designed to fire nets that can envelop a wyvern. My party’s men took down three wyverns in Nordvek, all of them last year in our southern reaches. We took down and then killed the first in early summer. Five weeks later, we took down a breeding pair in an area west of the first wyvern sighting. It took ten spearmen and several minutes to kill each wyvern. They are difficult to kill. You must use a spear to penetrate the upper palate in the mouth and reach the brain, or to break through the skull through an ear.”
Wren was nodding in agreement. The Prince noticed and addressed her, “You agree, royal cousin?”
“There is a third way,” Wren nodded solemnly. “It is possible to penetrate the anus with a long spear that can reach the heart for an instant kill, though jamming in a spear to perforate the intestines and stomachs will kill one within a few hours, assuming anyone is left alive to witness the demise.” I was amazed Wren said that with a straight face. I noted that the Queen was earnestly biting her lip, and Magrat was just a bit bug-eyed. For the record, I was biting my tail. I must note that the Bishop looked outraged.
“How foul!” the Bishop of Tammerhof exclaimed, looking rather put out.
“Oh, yes,” Wren agreed in a helpful voice, “It does smell quite foul, or so I am informed by those elders amongst my people who have killed wyverns.” On my, Wren really was on a roll. I was working hard not to snort in laughter.
I saw the Prince and the Duke both trade a glance and swallow a laugh. The Generalissimo studied the map intently. I was amazed by the perfect deadpan looks from both the Queen and Magrat. What pros those two ladies were.
“Fascinating,” Queen Margo remarked with perfect sincerity. “Dearest Wren, please, tell us about your party.”
“Certainly, Aunt Margo,” she smiled warmly at the Goblin Queen. Ouch. The look on the Bishop’s face was prime entertainment. He looked like he was drinking sour milk.
Wren continued, “We are a hunting party of five, including myself and Lady Fuzzy. Every non-mountain cat member is part of the extended royal family of the Green Elves. Cloud Eye is the King’s cousin by how my people account for that relationship. Cat Rider and Motley Owl are both adopted sons of Storm Eagle, my father and King. Fuzzy, as a divine beast, requires no introduction. You know what she is.
“Four of us are capable of combat: Fuzzy, myself, the King’s kin Cloud Eye, and the King’s adoptive son Motley Owl. We also have two mages, Lady Fuzzy here, and the King’s adopted son, Cat Rider, who, two years ago, invented a spell that killed a wyvern.
“We are accustomed to traveling and camping by ourselves,” Wren added. “My brother Cat Rider is lame and weak on his left side. Fuzzy carries him when we travel. Our group is structured so that Cat is never by himself. He is always protected.
“He is the most talented mage in all the elven lands. Gaining permission from my father to spend his two years adventuring was on the condition that we hunt or travel only and not work the caravans or mercenary service. I agreed to meet and consider the wyvern-hunting request for two reasons. The first is our traditional friendship with the goblin kingdom. Second, he is one of four mages alive that can kill a wyvern at a distance using the spell he invented.”
“He really killed a wyvern?” the Bishop asked in a tone that suggested his disbelief.
“I would not put my lame and weak brother at risk of his life for anything but the best reasons, Eminence. He is dear to me,” her tone was so cold that icicles were growing off her words. “Cat Rider killed a wyvern. I saw it happen because I was one of its combatants. So did Motley Owl, who also fought the snow wyvern. The attack at Elvenhome began when the wyvern attacked Motley Owl while he was skiing. The use of Cat Rider’s spell is devastating, and it does not fail. It can only be used once because it completely drains all the magic of the mage casting it. That means we can only fell two wyverns on any one occasion, and then our two mages must rest two days to recover.”
“It seems to me, Highness,” Magrat spoke up, “to have the best chance in eliminating the wyvern nest, both parties must travel and work together. What will it take to achieve that?”
“I have no conditions,” Prince Willam said. “I will see that my men will be on their best behavior in the presence of foreign royalty.”
“I have one condition,” Wren said stiffly. “The Bishop will not come with us. We will not travel with him. He can stay here, or he can go home. I also have one thing I want to make clear. I know you are sincere with what you just said, royal cousin. I do not mean to make little of your good gestures. I will note only that one’s good intentions and reality are often at odds. So I will make it known now,” she reached into her cleavage and drew out a small bodice dagger, “I swear a blood oath here.”
She rolled the map away from her and then plunged the dagger through her hand. Holding her hand up, so the blood dripped on the table, “I swear here that if any goblin or hobgoblin or human insults any of my party, especially the mage Cat Rider, we will invoke the elven rite of death duel to redress the defaming of him. That is how serious I am. I will note that in our party is the warrior Motley Owl, who is every inch his natural father’s son.”
“Who was his father, cousin?” Prince Willam asked in an unoffensive voice.
“He is the son of Blue Talon, the elven warrior who slew the Great Grey Worm of the Blasted Blight. Owl is devoted to his brother, Cat Rider. He is also, at age 16, able to defeat all comers throughout elven lands. I am leaving Lady Fuzzy out of this, who, incidentally, can kill with a thought. We take this seriously. We will not tolerate behavior like the good Bishop demonstrated today.”
“I protest!” the Bishop, slamming his fist on the table.
“That’s nice, Eminence,” Wren smiled with just a dash of condescension. “I have stated my condition. I have stated what we will and will not tolerate while traveling with a troop of human soldiers, who I note, do not have a good reputation in elven lands based on our past experiences with them. For the sake of Gorgurak and the elves’ friendship with the goblins, I am willing to give Prince Willam’s men a chance to prove me wrong.”
“You unmannered arrogant brat,” the Bishop went red in the face, “you could start a war with that attitude.”
“I doubt that, Sirrah. You are just one Bishop out of Nordvek’s 24 bishops. I’m not even sure why you are here since you have no official role in Nordvek’s government other than the fact that you are the Regent’s confidant. You are a failure as a diplomat. You have been consistently arrogant, insulting, doubtful, and patronizing at almost everything I have had to say. I am insulted on behalf of myself and my family.
“Elves do not play the sorts of passive-aggressive word games humans play. In our culture, once you are an adult, you are either polite to your fellow sapients, or you will die by your insults in a duel. I do not live to fulfill your two-faced human standards, just straight-forward elven ones.”
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Wren’s little outburst killed the meeting. I healed her hand and cast a cleaning spell to disappear all the blood. The Queen then invited Wren to have her portrait done. I believe this was an excuse to talk with Wren in private. Magrat went with them. I was invited by Generalissimo Gargle to look at more detailed maps down in his office.
I had a pleasant afternoon with the hobgoblin. Not only did I see an incredible array of maps, but the Generalissimo also had a squad of hobgoblins demonstrate the seven-hobgoblin shield-and-lance formation that made a turtle of shields over the person it protected. I pointed out that three elves were too tall to be covered by just seven shields.
The Generalissimo paid attention to what I said and sent a flurry of orders off to our armed escort waiting at the outer wall. Then he remarked that I might be too big to cover with seven hobgoblins’ shields. I agreed with him and showed him my invisibility spell. He had a good laugh over that and then pointed out that I couldn’t vanish if I were unconscious. He had a good point, so I got to do some live practice with being covered by hobgoblin shields. It took ten shields because I couldn’t curl up as tightly as a two-footed. My back was too long with respect to the length of my paws.
The hobgoblins, by the way, all wanted to pet and scratch me. I let them, though it was such a burden to get that much excellent scratching, especially under the chin.
After that, it was time to go home to Magrat’s place. The Queen invited herself over for dinner. She came in her own transport. A second vehicle followed hers with eight waiting staff from the palace. They brought dinner plus a lovely haunch of fresh venison for me.