In The Coils Of The Snake (17 page)

“What are my
duties?” she demanded.

“Duties?”
asked the puzzled Nir.

“My work,”
continued the girl firmly. “What did you bring me here to do?”

The
elf lord felt a stab of guilt and dodged the question. “Among
members
of a civilized race,” he answered, “children do no work. I would
never order you to drudge and toil at your age.”

“I
am
not
a child,” asserted Miranda with some heat, and Nir felt
quite
taken aback.

“Of
course you are,” he said. “The fact is obvious. I don’t under
stand
why you keep challenging it.”

“I
am a grown woman,” declared his human captive with dignity.
“I
don’t care to be treated like a child. I don’t need anyone looking after me,
either. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

The elf lord looked
at her, expressionless. He said, “That’s why you would be dead by now, I
suppose.”

“Thank you for
breakfast,” replied the furious Miranda. “Please excuse me. A great
elf lord must have much to do.” She stood up and walked away, and she was
very relieved to find that he didn’t order her to come back.

She
went on a walk and surveyed the dim stretch of forest, bump
ing
into the invisible camp border several times. The dark didn’t
make
her so nervous tonight because she could hear the lyrical con
versation
of elves coming from all directions. Her faint bracelet pro
vided only a short
ring of light around her, and trees and people
emerged from the blackness with eerie suddenness. Unable to form a
complete picture of her surroundings, she was
struck by odd details
instead: the lacy patterns of twigs and branches,
the shadows that
fanned away from her into
the dark. She found herself reaching out
to touch tree trunks and bushes
as she passed, stroking the rough
bark,
feeling the cool, pliant leaves. Nearby, an exquisite voice began
to
sing, and Miranda paused to listen, enthralled.

When she looked
around again, she discovered that she had
acquired
an entourage. The elf children stood in a little crowd at her
heels, as charming and disconcerting as lovely
ghosts. She stared at them in dismay, realizing what a spectacle she must seem,
and they
stared at her curiously and
a little anxiously, as if she might charge at
them, or possibly start
shouting. Then a golden-haired girl smiled bravely at her, and Miranda smiled
back, completely conquered. There was just no way that she could resist an
elvish smile.

The children crowded
around close to her then, talking all at
once.
She couldn’t speak elvish, and they couldn’t speak English,
but it didn’t
really matter. She sat down on the ground so that she
would be eye to eye with most of them, and then she pointed at them
one
at a time.

They told her their
names, with their friends or older siblings helping out to such a degree that
she found it hard to understand a word. Kiba’s name she already knew, and her
little brother turned
out to be Min. Tibir
was the oldest boy, possibly about ten. The lit
tlest boy, Bar, could on no account be induced to speak, but so many
children spoke for him that it was some time
before she could learn
his name.

Then she tried to
tell them hers,
Miranda.
They went into fits of laughter, delighted to
find an adult who didn’t know her own name.

Sika,
they told her, and
when she looked puzzled, they touched her
hair,
and Tibir pantomimed sharp ears and a bushy tail. So that was
it,
thought Miranda, more than a little annoyed:
Sika
was the elvish word
for “fox.”

Nir
watched his human prisoner from a distance, pleased to find
her
getting on so well. Then he went to look for Kiba’s mother to
discuss his orders for the clothes. As they
talked, Willow walked up
and stood
respectfully, waiting to be acknowledged. He was on
guard duty in the
forest to the south of the camp.

“The elf goblin
is here to see you,” he announced, “and he’s brought a big wooden
thing with him.”

“A
big wooden thing?” wondered Nir. “You may bring him
into
camp.”

After a few minutes,
Willow returned with Seylin, who was
towing
a large desk with the Carrying Spell. He lowered the desk to
the ground.

“Elf
lord,” he said, “I’ve brought the first of the elvish spell
books.
This one has healing spells in it, so I thought you’d want to
see it right away.” Nir took the book from
the goblin, his eyes betray
ing a
gleam of excitement. “And I brought copying materials, too, as
requested. We weren’t sure you had a comfortable
place to write, so
I’ve brought one of our writing desks for you to use.”

The
heavy desk was made all of a piece with its bench attached,
and the writing surface had room for two books to be
opened on it side
by
side. A little sensitive at the arrival of the goblin, which reminded
him
of Arianna’s horrible ordeal, Nir genuinely appreciated this
thoughtfulness. It was true that his camp wasn’t
well set up for writing.

“Thank
you, friend goblin,” he replied. “I look forward to learn
ing
the spells.” Dismissing Willow, he sat down at the desk, laying the spell
book on it, and examined the blank book and writing materials. “And how is
Arianna?” he asked reluctantly. He wasn’t sure that he really wanted to
know.

“Oh,
she’s fine, as well as could be expected,” answered Seylin. “We
persuaded her to eat a little this afternoon.” The elf didn’t look
up
at this encouraging report. He trimmed the tip of a quill with his
knife, dipped the
pen, and started writing in the blank book. Seylin still lingered. He had the
air of a person not yet discharged of his mission.

“Elf lord,”
he asked, “is it true that the human girl, Miranda, is in your camp?”

“Not
a terribly useful name for her, is it?” remarked the elf. “Yes,
she’s
here. Why would it matter?”

“The
goblin King has been concerned about her,” replied Seylin cautiously. “Miranda
is his ward; he considers her a goblin subject.
She was distressed last night, so as a kindness, he let
her return to her
human home under
guard. But he wants her brought back into the kingdom as soon as possible.”

“Why would he
want her to come back?” asked Nir. “He has another Miranda now.”

“Oh, Miranda’s
very special,” answered Seylin. “Her parents
were both raised by the goblins, and the old King lavished great care
on
her, weaving enchantments through and through her. She’s a strong human bride
who will be very important in the genealogies; her blood will be an asset to
the high families for generations.” He paused. “May I see her now?”

Nir
continued copying for some time after this speech ended. He
didn’t
know why it should make him so angry. After all, they had gone to a lot of
trouble over her, and there was no reason why they should think that she would
matter to anyone else.

“Of
course you may see her,” he said finally. “Ama,” he called to
a
young elf woman passing by, “please tell Sika to come here.”

Miranda walked up a
short time later, studying the writing desk
with
curiosity. Then she caught sight of Seylin and stopped. As Nir
glanced up, she gave him an indignant glare.
Traitor, said the glare.

“Miranda,
I’m glad to see you’re well,” said the handsome goblin
in
a friendly way, stepping toward her. She reminded herself that he
had known all about
Catspaw’s new bride and hadn’t bothered to warn her.

“How kind of
you,” she replied coolly. “I really can’t imagine why you’re here.”

“I’ve come to
take you home,” answered Seylin. “I know you
were upset last night, and I certainly don’t blame you, but you must
realize
by now that you belong with us. You won’t be happy anywhere else.”

“Being
happy has had little to do with my life so far,” responded
Miranda. “Now that Marak is dead, I don’t expect it
to again. I have
no
intention of returning, and what’s more, I have no need. Catspaw
gave
me my freedom when he broke our engagement.”

“The
King did what he had to do,” Seylin replied smoothly.
“But
you’re still his ward, and you owe a debt of gratitude to his father. It’s time
for you to honor that debt and come home.”

“Come home to
what?” demanded the girl skeptically. “To take over Kate’s English
classes?”

“No,
to get married,” replied the goblin. “Catspaw says you can
have your choice of any man in the high families, but I
think the best
match
for you is Tattoo. Sable would be so pleased to have you as a
daughter,
and you know you’re fond of them both.”

The
pain of all that she had lost struck Miranda like a sting
ing
blow.

“Marak
didn’t raise me to be Tattoo’s wife!” she said with icy fury.
“So
Catspaw did what was best — well and fine, but I don’t have to kiss his cheek
for it! I won’t come back now and curtsy to him and
marry one of his lackeys. I was raised to be a King’s Wife
—
a King’s
Wife, Seylin! And I won’t be
anything less!”

“Now,
that’s a fine plan,” remarked the goblin with weary
patience.
“And just how do you intend to accomplish it? Wait
around here with
your nose in the air living off the goodwill of the elves? They’re not
interested in a human, no matter how grand her destiny is.”

Miranda
had no answer to this, and they both knew it. She
turned
away from him, fighting back tears. “I’d be dead by now if I had my
choice,” she said bitterly.

“Don’t
take it so badly,” advised the goblin, putting an arm
around
her shoulders. Then he jerked back with a sharp cry of pain.

“What’s the
matter?” she asked. Seylin was staring at her wrists in avid fascination.

“Miranda!”
he gasped. “It’s the Seven Stars! The Seven Stars! I can’t t believe it!”

The
puzzled girl looked down at her wrists and touched the circles
of
stars. “What do they have to do with this?” she wanted to know.

“Everything,”
answered Seylin ruefully. He paused to think and
then gave a sigh. “I’m afraid the elf lord’s been
having a nice laugh at
my expense.

Nir
glanced up at that, and it was true that his eyes were suspic
iously
bright. “I didn’t realize that your King would still be concerned for her
welfare,” he said. “Please assure him that he has no need to worry.
The stars keep her perfectly safe.”

“They certainly
do,” agreed Seylin sadly. “Especially safe from
goblins. You can’t come home anymore. And you
would have been
happy with us, I know it.”

Miranda
hid her astonishment at this unexpected victory.
“Marak
didn’t raise me to be happy,” she replied. “He raised me to be a King’s
Wife.” And she turned on her heel and walked away.

Most
of the elves were in the little meadow now, dancing to the
music of pipes, harps, and a sweet-toned violin. Feeling
bewildered,
Miranda
wandered down to watch them. The white stars were thick
in the black sky overhead, and the graceful dancers were
mysterious and alluring by their faint light. Miranda let herself be captivated
by
the bewitching spectacle and forgot about
her grief for a while.

She
felt better, she realized. She had stood up for her honor and
refused
the comfortable life that the goblins had planned. But this
was certainly no place for her, either, with
nothing to do. These elves
were even stranger than the goblins.