“But Eldionessa did exist. The first and last king who ruled our entire people,” said Miralissa, pouring cold water on Kli-Kli’s belligerent passion. “His children created the houses of the elves.”
“And Argad lived eight hundred years later, and he almost reached Green Leaves; you barely managed to stop his army at the edge of the Black Forest,” the goblin said disdainfully. “And men appeared in Siala one thousand seven hundred years after the events described, so Eldionessa, Argad, and the man couldn’t possibly all have met each other. And the elves are certainly not such idiots as to make their arrowheads out of gold. And the orcs are not so stupid as to forge their yataghans out of bronze. It’s nothing but a legend, Tresh Miralissa.”
“But you must admit it’s beautiful, Kli-Kli,” I said.
“It’s beautiful,” the little jester said with an amicable nod. “And very instructive, too.”
“Instructive? What lesson does it teach, goblin?” asked Alistan Markauz, stirring the fire with a stick.
“That you shouldn’t rely on men or trust them, otherwise you can lose your home forever,” the goblin replied.
Nobody tried to argue or object. This time the king’s fool was absolutely right: Give us a chance, and we’ll finish off all our enemies, then our friends, and then each other.
That night my nightmares came back, and at one point when my head was filled with incomprehensible hodgepodge, I opened my eyes.
Morning had already come, but everyone was still asleep, apart from Lamplighter. Hallas and Deler were dozing, having laid their own responsibilities on the shoulders of reliable Mumr. The soldier nodded without speaking when he noticed that I was awake. I lay there for a while, feeling surprised that Miralissa was not in any hurry to get up and wake the others. Perhaps the elfess had decided to let the group have a rest before the final dash for Hrad Spein?
That was probably it.
I heard Kli-Kli crooning gently somewhere at the edge of the meadow. The goblin was wandering along the line of the trees, singing a simple little song. So I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep.
“What are you singing?” I asked, going up to him. “You’ll wake everyone up.”
“I’m being quiet. Want some strawberries?” Kli-Kli held out a hat, filled to the brim with fine strawberries.
The berries were giving off an amazing smell, and I simply couldn’t resist.
“You were groaning in your sleep again, Dancer. Bad dreams?”
“Probably,” I said with a casual shrug. “Fortunately I hardly remember them.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” the goblin said with a frown. “Someone doesn’t want you to see them.”
“And just who is this someone?”
“The Master, for instance. Or his servant—Lafresa.”
“You certainly know how to keep your friends’ spirits up,” I told Kli-Kli. “Come on, let’s get a fire going while everyone’s asleep.”
“You go on. I’ll just finish off the strawberries and take Deler’s hat back.”
“Hmmm … Kli-Kli, surely you can see the inside is all stained with juice? You squashed half the strawberries!”
“Really? I never thought about that,” said the goblin, thoughtfully contemplating what he had done. “It’s just that I think squashed strawberries taste a little bit better than ordinary ones. Maybe I should wash the hat in the stream?”
“Please don’t, you’ll only make it worse,” I told him, and set off back.
Kli-Kli was like a little child; he didn’t seem to realize that now Deler would be yelling the whole day long about how his hat had been ruined! And the jester had made that unwelcome comment about the Master and Lafresa, too.
The Master was the nasty piece of work who had been making our lives a misery since the very beginning of our journey, but we still hadn’t found out who he was. The bastard was virtually omnipotent and vindictive, and his powers rivaled any of the gods’. But the lad obviously didn’t want to simply swat us like flies, so he just mocked and battered us, and when we ruined his latest tricky plan, it didn’t upset him at all, he simply came up with a new one even more elegant and dangerous in no time at all. The Master, like the Nameless One, was not very keen on the idea of us retrieving the Rainbow Horn from the burial chambers. But while it was a matter of life and death for the Nameless One, it was just one more whimsical fancy for the Master.
Lafresa was a servant of the Master, and although she looked like a twenty-year-old, she was several hundred years old—at least that was according to one of my dreams. (Yes, indeed, imagine that—I happened to have acquired the remarkable gift of prophetic dreams!) And Lafresa was also the most powerful shamaness (or should that be shawoman?) that I had ever seen in my life. The Master’s servant possessed the forbidden magic of Kronk-a-Mor, and she had managed to kill two of us with it after we stole the Key and left her with egg on her face. And to be quite honest …
“Watch where you’re treading, beanpole!” someone barked in a deep bass voice under my feet.
I was so startled I almost sprouted wings and flew away. I certainly jumped a serious distance up into the air.
“I’ve seen all sorts of things in my time, but I’ve never seen a beanpole jump like that before! Hey! Where are you looking, idiot? Look down! Down!”
Sitting there on the ground was a creature that looked like a strange mixture of a grasshopper, a dragonfly, and a goat. That’s right. This little creature had the legs of a grasshopper, the head and body of a goat, and the transparent, segmented wings had been inherited from a large dragonfly. Its entire body was covered with yellow and black stripes. In other words, sitting there at my feet was an actual legendary dragoatfly. The little beast was no larger than the palm of a man’s hand.
“Well, how much longer are you going to go on gawping at me?” the same voice asked.
It was only then I saw there was a tiny man, the size of my little finger, sitting on the dragoatfly’s neck. Curly golden hair, a tearful-looking face, a little suit of velvet lilac, a small bow, and a quiver.
“A flinny,” I gasped.
“How very perceptive, may the forest spirits drink my blood! Are you always so bright, or is it just in the mornings? Take me to elfess, quick!”
“What elfess?” I asked, staggered by the little minnow’s cheek.
The dragoatfly shot up into the air and hovered in front of my nose, fluttering its wings. The flinny on its neck gave me a hostile look. “Are all beanpoles this stupid, or did they dig you out especially for me? Tresh Miralissa of the house of the Black Moon. Ever heard of her?”
“Yes…”
“Then wake up and take me to her, you idiot!” the little man yelled.
“What’s the noise?” asked Kli-Kli, who had joined us unnoticed. “Ah, a flinny’s shown up!”
“I’ll give you ‘shown up,’ greeny,” the midget fumed.
“Greeny, you say?” Kli-Kli asked ominously. “You just shut your mouth, you golden-haired half pint, or it’ll be worse for you!”
“All right, all right, keep your hair on,” said the flinny, backing down immediately. “I was just introducing myself.”
“Well, now you have. So what have you
“Well, go and pass it on. The elves have already got up—look!”
“I have to be introduced, you know yourself, it’s the custom,” said the flinny, making a face as if someone had stuffed sour gooseberries into his mouth.
“I know,” Kli-Kli sighed, “your kind are all full of dragoatfly’s milk! Come on, then.”
The dragoatfly’s wings hummed as it flew alongside the goblin’s shoulder. I walked behind them as a guard of honor.
“Lady Miralissa, permit me to present the flinny.… What’s that your name is, titch?”
“Aarroo g’naa Shpok of the Branch of the Crystal Dew, you blockhead,” the flinny hissed, stretching his lips out into a smile.
