“Aarroo g’naa Shpok of the Branch of the Crystal Dew.”
“I am glad to greet my brother of the little people at my campfire. What brings you here, Aarroo g’naa Shpok of the Branch of the Crystal Dew?” Miralissa asked with a nod of greeting.
“A message. Information. News,” Aarroo answered with his ceremonial phrase, and set the dragoatfly down on the ground.
“Have you sought me out especially, or is your knowledge for any of the dark elves?”
“I have sought you out. The head of the House of the Black Moon sent several of my brothers to look for you, Tresh Miralissa, but I am the only one fortunate enough to have found you. And that is all because I can think.”
“Luck serves the worthy,” the elfess replied seriously to the little braggart. “Would you care to taste our food and drink our wine?”
“Gladly,” Aarroo shouted, rubbing his little hands together in anticipation of the forthcoming banquet.
Egrassa had already brought the food, and the delighted flinny was presented with a tiny little golden plate of gruel cooked by Hallas and a tiny little goblet of fragrant wine. The elf obviously carried these miniature items around with him especially for little loudmouths who rode around on dragoatflies.
I touched Kli-Kli’s elbow and led him aside to make sure that the flinny couldn’t—Sagot forbid—overhear our conversation.
“Why are they making such a fuss of that little squirt? Wouldn’t it be easier to first find out why he came to us, and then feed him?”
“Oh, Harold,” the goblin said, clicking his tongue in disappointment. “Of course it wouldn’t be easier. He’s a flinny. You should never forgive their rudeness, or those flying nosey parkers will hound you to death, but you can’t just dispense with the ancient rituals, either. If it was something urgent or dangerous, he would have told us already, but since it can wait a bit, it’s best to stick to their silly rules. He’ll eat up his gruel and tell us everything. You should just be thankful that he was
The flinny had almost finished his meal. The little fellow ate with the speed of a ravenous giant, while the dragoatfly peered over its master’s shoulder at the plate and mewed gently, making a sound like the squeaking of a drowning mouse. Aarroo whatever-his-name-was shoved the dragonfly-goat’s face aside yet again.
“Have you got anything left in that great big cooking pot? Flolidal won’t leave us in peace until he gets fed,” the flinny said peevishly, taking a swig from his goblet.
Egrassa took a wooden spoon and scraped it round the pot, and the dragonfly-goat fell on the spoon with its wings humming, like a hungry vulture attacking a chicken.
Meanwhile Hallas woke up. The gnome yawned, then he spotted the flinny eating breakfast; he slammed his mouth shut so hard that his teeth clattered, and rubbed his eyes furiously. After this slapdash procedure Hallas took another look at Aarroo but, as was only to be expected, the flinny was still there, and he carried on chewing and gave the astonished Hallas a dour look.
“Strange,” the gnome declared thoughtfully, nudging the sleeping Deler in the back with his elbow. “Hey, hathead! I don’t remember us drinking anything yesterday. So why in blazes am I seeing little men?”
Deler woke up, took a look at Aarroo and said, “That’s a flinny, you bearded woodpecker!”
“In the name of the Nameless One, what do you mean, a flinny? Deler, flinnies only exist in children’s stories, and they don’t eat the gruel that I cooked!”
“Gnomes are even worse than people,” Aarroo declared in annoyance, apparently addressing everyone in the meadow at the same time. “As for the gruel, dear sir, it’s only my respect for Tresh Miralissa that prevents me from throwing this swill into your beard. I’ve never tasted such disgusting muck in my life!”
The gnome almost choked on this insolence and couldn’t come up with an answer.
“Well, then,” the flinny said with a sigh, pushing his plate away. “All the laws have been observed.”
Aarroo whistled to summon his dragoatfly, climbed onto its neck, circled round above us, then hovered in the air and announced in a singsong voice:
“A message. Tresh Eddanrassa, the head of the House of the Black Moon, sends his daughter Miralissa greetings and a mournful message. Tresh Elontassa has been killed in a skirmish with the Clan of the Bloody Axes. Tresh Epevlassa was killed at the same spot. Tresh Miralissa is now the third in line for the leafy crown, after only Tresh Melenassa and Tresh Epilorssa. Tresh Eddanrassa asks his daughter to abandon other business and return home as speedily as possible. The message is concluded. Do you wish to send a reply?”
“How did this happen?” Miralissa asked abruptly.
“The message is concluded. Do you wish to send a reply?” the flinny repeated stubbornly.
“The reply is: Until the business entrusted to me last year by the united council of the houses is completed, I shall not return home.”
“It has been heard,” the flinny said, nodding solemnly, and the dragoatfly flew another circle above us.
“Just like a dragonfly,” Mumr said with an envious whistle, following the flight of the magical creature.
“Information. Unpaid,” the flinny chanted, and made a wry face. He clearly didn’t like doing anything without pay. “In the Red Spinney, which lies beyond the city of Chu, all the birds have disappeared. And also the wild boar, the elk, the bears, the wolves, and almost all the forest spirits.”
“Why?” Egrassa asked curtly.
“If I knew, the information would not be unpaid,” Aarroo replied irritably. “I was told about it by the spirit of a large tree stump, who lives three leagues’ journey away from this spot. He didn’t know anything himself, but in recent times the small inhabitants of the forest have tried to keep as far away as possible from that area. And they keep their mouths tight shut about it, too.”
“Stupid information!” said Hallas, tugging on his beard in annoyance.
“The information is every bit as good as the porridge,” the flinny said furiously, and his dragoatfly buzzed angrily. “If the gnome wishes to taunt, then get your news from someone else! Let beard-face here tell you about it!”
“Shut up, Hallas,” Eel said immediately.
“Please forgive my servant, honorable Aarroo g’naa Shpok of the Branch of the Crystal Dew,” Miralissa said in a conciliatory tone of voice.
“Servant?” the gnome asked with a silent movement of his lips.
Deler waved his fist at Hallas. The gnome turned redder than a red-hot sheet of metal in a blacksmith’s forge, but he didn’t say a word.
“That’s a bit better,” the flinny said with a satisfied grin, and the dragoatfly made yet another circle in the air above our heads.
“Will we be passing through this Spinney, Lady Miralissa?” Alistan Markauz asked while this was happening.
“Unfortunately, yes. It’s the shortest route.”
“But there are others?” the count inquired, emphasizing every word.
“Yes, but if we go through the Red Spinney, we shall be at the Palaces of Bone tomorrow evening. By taking a detour we shall lose five or six days. And the path will lie right along the edge of the orcs’ inhabited lands. It is far too dangerous.”
“No more dangerous than a place from which all the forest spirits have disappeared,” Egrassa contradicted his cousin.
“We’ll take the risk,” said the elfess with a flash of her eyes.
“You are the senior in our line, it is for you to decide,” said the elf, raising his hands in the air to indicate that he did not intend to argue with her.
“News,” said the flinny, after waiting for the end of the conversation. Then he sang out: “Three pieces of news. The price of the first is a dance by that obstinate gnome.”
“What?” Hallas bellowed. “Gnomes never dance for anything!”
“Then I am doubly fortunate!” the flinny laughed mischievously. “If you wish to know the first piece of news, the gnome has to dance. If you do not wish to know it, I shall fly. I have already completed the assignment I was given and am only talking to you out of simple politeness.”
“Ah, you little…,” said the gnome, jumping up and clenching his fists.
