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.
“I smell a story, kid.” Blakely and Ralph bounded off toward the woods before Keelie had a chance to stop them.
Knot lifted his head up toward her. “Meow not good. Snoopy human will meow trouble.”
“I’ll need to let Finch know we not only have rogue goblins, we have rogue reporters. She’s going to explode when she finds out.” Keelie pressed the radio switch, but it was dead. She tried again.
“Meow wrong?” Knot asked.
“I think the battery is dead.” She pressed the “on” switch again. Nothing but silence. “Weird.”
The sound of stomping footfalls and the rustling of leaves caught Keelie’s attention. It was coming from the woods across the meadow from the faire. Then loud screams erupted from the woods as the sound of war bugles echoed through the trees. It was the battle cry of the goblins.
Knot grew to his human size, looking like an orange tabby leopard. “Yeow go to faire. Tell Finch.”
Blakely and Ralph crashed through the bushes and came running back toward them, rushing right past Keelie. “Run! Monsters are attacking!”
They’d seen the goblins. Keelie’s worst fear had come true. Dad had to know this right away.
The reporter and photographer had stopped to stare at the abnormally huge cat. Ralph lifted his camera and got some shots.
“Meow will take care of them.” Knot flicked his tail and bounded into the woods.
“Be careful,” Keelie shouted out after him. Then she gestured toward the parking lot in the performers’ campground; it would be better to get Blakely and Ralph out of here for their own safety. “You should go that way.”
“That cat talked,” Blakely Kilpatrick said, looking dazed.
Keelie ignored her statement and jogged ahead. “Follow me.”
They ran down the path. When an arrow zinged past them and struck a tree, Keelie came to a complete stop. The alder screamed in pain, its cries rippling through her head.
“We need to go back.” She would have to lead the reporter and the photographer into the faire itself. “Run.”
She moved as fast as her legs would take her. She heard the huffing and puffing of the winded duo from the Fort Collins Daily, but they were still talking as they made their way after Keelie.
“Did you see that thing back there?” Blakely asked.
“Yeah, and I got great photos,” the camera dude answered.
So they had proof-they had seen the goblins. Keelie wondered what the photos would show.
As they came around the Griffin jousting ride, Keelie saw Vangar walking quickly toward Wood Row. He stopped when he saw her with her bedraggled companions.
“Keelie, I was about to go and search for you. Finch is beside herself with worry,” he called.
“Goblins,” she said breathless. “They’re coming in from the woods side of the faire.”
Vangar’s face reddened as his shoulders hunched and his hands clenched. He was about to transform. Keelie held up her hand. “These are reporters.”
