The Goblin's Curse (24 page)

eighteen

“Do you think that if we find Peascod, we’ll find this goblin wizard?” Sir Davey asked, his eyes locked on Finch.

“I don’t know. Damn goblins!” The faire director shook her head. She reached into a cup full of pencils and snapped one of them in two, as if she imagined she was snapping a goblin neck.

“Last sighting of Peascod was when Knot tried to save Cricket.” Keelie’s breath hitched at the memory of finding the goblin’s little body, but she forced herself to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

Finch leaned forward on her elbows. “Vangar is out scouting for goblin activity and possible entrance points into Under-the-Hill, looking for a way to prevent a secret attack. We don’t know if they’re watching us. We just can’t find them. We must let Vangar know about this powerful goblin with the pointed ears, and that he may be their leader.” Finch stared at the tarot deck. “If the fate cards are affected by this goblin wizard’s magic, it means we’re dealing with a powerful foe.”

“King Gneiss and his army were supposed to be here by now.” Sir Davey’s voice was weighed down with worry. “I’ll need to contact them again and tell them to hurry.”

Finch nodded. “Good idea.”

“Anyway, can we persuade the elves not to leave?” Finch asked Dad.

He shook his head. “Believe me, I tried. Niriel’s influence has spread far and wide among my kind.”

“Elves!” Finch reached for another pencil and snapped it in two. “I’ve sent a message to Ermentrude. She’ll fly to the High Court, and she hopes to find Herne.”

Sir Davey ran a hand down his face. “If the elves aren’t going to help us, and we have to wait for Herne and possibly members of the High Court, what are we going to do in the meantime? I’m sure the goblins are waiting for a weak moment to attack. What if they’re just waiting for the elves to leave?”

Keelie listened, remembering how in Under-the-Hill she had seen the tendrils of elven magic on Dad. But what if it
hadn’t
been Niriel who’d cast the spell on Dad? A disturbing thought was forming in her mind, and she cringed inwardly. Tavyn could be hiding among the elves. He had a cold side to him, and he was bitter toward the elves, blaming them for not accepting him or his mixed blood. Keelie tried to remember each of her encounters with Tavyn. In the Redwoods, he had first appeared to be a pureblood and charming elf; he hid his dark side beneath an illusion of elven-ness, much like Peascod had disguised himself as Hob.

“We’re going to ramp up our patrols,” Finch announced. “We’ll ask some of the humans to join us, telling them we’ve had problems with vandals. Maybe that’ll keep the questions at bay.”

Sally clenched her hands. “Rumors are circulating around the faire about the jousters leaving. The shop owners say the faire is cursed with bad luck. So they’ll believe anything at this point.”

With the elves gone from the faire, Keelie felt sure there would be panic among the humans. They’d be distracted and fearful, and Tavyn would take advantage of it as part of his strategic plan.

“I know. I know. Until I have some intel, I don’t have a better plan,” Finch said. “Zeke, can you talk to the trees, find out if they’ve seen anything?”

“What do you want to know?” Dad asked.

“I want to know if they can sense any difference in Under-the Hill.”

“Tavyn can disguise himself as a pureblood elf,” Keelie blurted out.

“What?” Finch stared at her.

Keelie tapped the goblin picture. “He can look like an elf. He did it in the Redwood Forest. He fooled me.”

“You’re right—and he could’ve been the one to put an enchantment on me. Maybe it wasn’t Niriel.” Dad scratched his chin in worried contemplation.

Sir Davey stood up. “Come with me, Zeke. We’ll need to get you a better specimen of dwarfstone from my shop while we have time.”

“I’ll enhance its protective qualities with my magic,” Finch said.

“We need to warn the trees about the goblin wizard,” Dad said. “Hrok in the meadow would be the best one to spread the message.”

“I’ll do it. You need that dwarfstone,” Keelie said. And Hrok thought goblins were friends.

Dad was about to protest, but Sir Davey intervened. “Keelie is right. She can talk to the trees. First things first—you need that dwarfstone, then you can meet her in the meadow.”

“Keelie, I’ll be back as soon as possible.” Dad’s troubled eyes couldn’t conceal his worry.

“I’ll be careful.”

Finch tossed a communications radio toward her, the kind the faire workers used to talk to one another. Keelie caught it.

“Keep in contact. I want a report every fifteen minutes,” Finch bellowed. “Cat, go with her.”

Knot saluted with his tail. “Meow on the job.”

Once Keelie and Knot were outside the Admin building, Keelie inhaled the dry summer air. It was hotter than usual today. As they made their way through the faire to the East Road, a greenness filled Keelie’s mind. One of the trees was about to contact her, and she closed her eyes and opened her mind.

She recognized Hrok’s energy. She wondered if he had any updates on the whereabouts of the goblin tree.

Hrok. I need to know …

Hold on, Tree Shepherdess. I have someone else who wishes to speak to me.

Hrok had never put her on hold before. Who else was speaking to Hrok?

An icy darkness skated through her mind, and vertigo overcame her. Keelie stumbled and fell to the ground. Knot rushed to her and pressed his paw against her forehead.

She’d never experienced this particular type of dark, strange dizziness during tree speak, but she had sensed this magic before. She lay with her body pressed to the moist dirt, enjoying its coolness against her back, watching the clouds drift past in the sky until the spinning feeling eased. She didn’t bother to stand. Tapping back into the greenness, she again reached out to Hrok.

Who is this other person you’re speaking to?

Melankin.

Melankin?
She’d never heard the name before.

Yes, Keelie. He is a friend, and he is like you. He can talk to trees.

Do you mean there is another elf in the forest? Another tree shepherd?

No, Melankin is a goblin. We trees found it very strange at first, but he is like you, his magic is like yours and he speaks to us. He has reassured us that the goblins will not harm the forest. They only want to restore a balance to this magical area and allow us to live in a sanctuary of peace.

A goblin tree shepherd? It sounded like this Melankin was trying to bamboozle the trees into thinking he was there on a peaceful mission.

Shocked, Keelie tried to think clearly. Maybe there were things the goblins could do that she wasn’t aware of. The whole concept of a goblin tree shepherd seemed like something from an upside-down universe.

Would you like to speak to Melankin?

Keelie didn’t know if she should have contact with a goblin tree shepherd without knowing more about him first. Opening yourself telepathically to someone could be dangerous. Her palms were all sweaty.

Hrok, does Melankin know about me?

Oh, yes. All the trees have told him about your magic, and what you’ve done for all the trees since we discovered you. He finds the stories very interesting.

Keelie quelled the panic flooding through her.

Does Melankin tell you about the goblins?

No, we talk about trees, and the land, and the magic of the forest, and like I said, you’re a topic of conversation. He seems particularly interested in your father’s growing power as Lord of the Forest.

Keelie did not have a good feeling about this. Not at all. How could you muzzle a tree? Duct tape their bark?

How long has Melankin known about me?

Since you arrived. He sensed a change in the magic when we first spoke, and he asked about you, so we told him. We had no reason not to, Forest Daughter. The goblins wish us no harm.

How do they feel about the humans here at the faire? The elves?

If you have a conflict with the goblins, then you must resolve it. We trees stand with our roots deep in the soil, strong in the nurture of Mother Earth.

These goblins don’t encourage nurturing Mother Earth.

How do you know?

I met an army of them that had power and control on their agenda.

Oh, Melankin had to go. Too bad you didn’t take the time to speak to him. He seems as alarmed that you know about him as you do that he knows of you. I explained to him, like I did to you, that elves are friends to trees, as are goblins. Humans and other species are so strange.

Keelie wanted to bang Hrok’s branches against a wall to knock some sense into him. However, she closed off the image as it appeared in her mind. She didn’t want to startle the tree. Hrok was a gentle soul.

Keelie, are you feeling well? Your sap is boiling. Not good—your leaves will die off.

Don’t worry about me, Hrok. I’m not feeling well, so I’m going to rest. I’ll talk to Melankin another time. Maybe you can arrange a meeting?

I would be delighted.

Before I go, any word on the missing aspen sapling?

No, milady Keliel, but a lot of the trees in the forest are glad it is gone. It was a mean tree.

Keep searching for him.

Keelie wondered if the mysterious Melankin could be in league with Tavyn, or maybe Peascod.

nineteen

Clutching the radio in her hand, Keelie suddenly realized that she’d blacked out. She shook her head as a headache throbbed behind her eyes. How long had she been in telepathic contact with Hrok? She was near the woods bordering the East Road. She could hear people talking as they passed by her, not seeing her.

Knot rubbed up against her legs. “Yeow call Finch.”

Keelie was supposed to have contacted the faire director every fifteen minutes on the radio. Judging from the sun’s position in the sky, she figured she was over an hour late. Finch would be furious, and Dad would be worried. Keelie picked up the radio, but dropped it in her lap when she heard a snap of twigs behind her.

Goblins?

“Excuse me, miss?” someone said.

Keelie rose to her feet and looked around at the speaker, and her body relaxed when she realized she wasn’t dealing with an attacking goblin. A woman in jeans, a short-sleeved T-shirt, and sensible shoes was watching her, accompanied by a stringy-haired man who had a camera with a huge telephoto lens—the kind professional photographers use—strung around his neck.

Keelie didn’t recognize them. They weren’t performers or shopkeepers.

“Yes?” Keelie said cautiously.

“I was wondering if you knew why all the helicopters are flying into the faire? Is there some sort of emergency?” The woman pointed in the direction of the elven camp. She pulled out a small pad and paper, ready to record Keelie’s answers.

“Who are you?” Keelie asked.

“My name is Blakely Kilpatrick. I’m a reporter for the
Fort Collins Daily
, and you are?” The reporter smiled, expecting an answer.

A reporter?

“Why are you here?” Keelie asked.

“There’ve been a lot of wild rumors about this faire. I’m here to check them out, and look into the reason why the faire has been plagued by so many fires. Do you work here?” Blakely still held her pencil poised.

“My dad owns one of the shops.” Keelie looked up as more helicopters flew overhead. Where had the elves gotten so many? They were probably taking the entire remaining elven folk out in one group.

Blakely followed her gaze. “Strange to see these big transport choppers. Something’s up.” She motioned toward the photographer. “Come on, Ralph, let’s follow them.”

“You’re not supposed to be back here,” Keelie said. The reporter and photographer would be whammied with the Dread any second.