The Goblin's Curse (25 page)

“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.”

He shook away the transformation, relaxing his shoulders, then smiled and nodded. “Hello, folks.” He turned to Keelie. “I’ll gather the others,” he said softly.

“There are monsters in the woods,” Blakely said, her voice shrill. “Don’t go down that road.” She pointed to the East Road.

Vangar nodded. “Thanks, I won’t.”

Before Keelie could stop her, Blakely was yelling into phone. “I need the editor, now. I’m sending some photos from my phone. I have the scoop. Those sightings of green men at the faire—I have proof they’re real. No, not makeup. We’re talking some kind of green monsters, with axes, wearing armor. This is big.”

Keelie didn’t think Finch was going to like this latest development. If the world discovered that goblins were real, what would happen to those with real magic? Would they be subject to government testing? Would they be socially ostracized? She hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“I think you need to meet our faire director,” she said.

“Does she know what’s going on here?” Blakely asked.

“Um, yes.” Keelie ran toward the Admin office by the main gate, the reporters huffing and puffing behind her.

In Finch’s office, the dragon-woman broke several pencils as Blakely explained how she’d run into goblins and sent the pictures into the newspaper.

Then the reporter’s phone rang. “No, that’s awesome news—I’ll let them know,” she said into her phone. She beamed at Keelie. “CNN, the Associated Press, all the news stations picked up my story, and they’re on their way with cameras. In twenty-four hours this place is going to be covered with reporters.” She did a little dance step, beaming with excitement.

Finch’s pile of broken pencils was getting scary.

Keelie needed to find Dad and make sure he was safe. He was probably thinking the same thing about her.

Finch’s radio crackled on her desk. Vangar’s voice was garbled, but clear enough to make out his warning. “Goblins have been seen near the elven camp. I’m sealing the shields around the faire.”

Finch paled.

“What does he mean, seal the shields around the faire? Do you have soldiers guarding a secret compound?” Blakely asked.

“It means you’re not leaving.”

“What?” The reporter reeled back from Finch’s booming voice.

Once again, Keelie wished she had the Compendium— she could’ve cast a forgetful spell on the reporters.

“Keelie, contact the trees. Find out the situation with the elves.”

“Elves. Contact trees?” Blakely looked like she was about to wet her pants. “If I hadn’t seen those slimy, greeny-gray guys myself, I’d think this was a LARP.”

“LARP?” Finch frowned.

“Live Action Role Playing—it’s a game,” Keelie explained.

“What kind of games do humans play?” Finch asked, not expecting an answer. She pressed a button on a remote control and a wall panel slid to the left, exposing swords, spears, and maces. It was a fully stocked medieval armory.

“Quite the collection,” Keelie said as Finch removed a short blade from the wall.

Blakely stood, open-mouthed, while her photographer got busy snapping pictures.

“Can you handle a sword?” Finch asked the reporter.

“I took fencing in school, but I did foil. These are all edged weapons,” she said.

“I’m impressed that you called it an edged weapon. So, close enough.” Finch handed the hilt of the short blade to the reporter. “We’re at war, sweetheart, so you’re going to have to slice and dice if you’re attacked. Otherwise, you’re dead. Keelie, what do you want?” Finch held out a selection.

Keelie had wielded a sword before. She chose a rapier with an emerald in the pommel. “This one.”

Finch nodded her approval. “Good choice.”

“This is for real.” Blakely’s voice was serious.

“It’s for real,” Keelie replied. “I’m going to contact the trees.” Plus, she wanted to make sure Dad was safe. She took comfort in knowing that the elves, at least, were on their way home.

Stepping outside, Keelie took a deep breath and sought out the greenness.

Hrok.

The tree didn’t answer. What did reply to Keelie’s summons wasn’t Hrok.

Do you seek counsel with your tree friend?

An orange and red light filtered through Keelie’s mind. The fieriness reminded her of a goblin’s eyes.

Who are you?

Surely you can guess?

Melankin?

Perceptive. That is one of my names.

Elven lore doesn’t tell of a goblin tree shepherd. I’m not sure it’s possible. Goblinkind are linked to rocks and crystals, not living things.

The elves think they’re the only species who can live in harmony with nature. My kind lives in close association with the humans in the cities, nature of a different sort. It is our way of preserving our independence, but still being part of this world.

Keelie couldn’t argue with this point. The elves had withdrawn into their forests and isolated themselves.

Why are you attacking the faire? These are innocent people here. If you’re a friend of trees, then you wouldn’t put them in harm’s way. You would leave the faire. And you say goblins live closely with humans, so why hurt them?

I am indeed a friend of trees, but I’m not an elf friend, nor a human friend.

Why this faire?

Why, Keelie, I thought the reason would be obvious.

I’m clueless. Enlighten me.

Laughter erupted in her mind, making it pound with red and yellow bursts. She inhaled. Could it be Tavyn? He had talked to the Redwoods, but those ancient trees could be seen and heard by all if they wished to reveal themselves.

Getting closer. In fact, you’re red hot.

The trees may know you by the name Melankin, but the goblins and elves call you Tavyn.

Ah, Keliel, you’re a smart one. What else do you know?

You’re here at this faire because you want to get your revenge against me for foiling your plans in California.

One of the reasons. But you have something in your possession that I want.

Keelie had no idea what he could want. She had nothing of value. Could it be her magical cat?
You mean Knot?

She felt a wave of disbelief trickle through her mind.
As if. That cat is a curse to anyone who owns him. You two are a well-matched pair. I’ll make a bargain with you, Keliel. We’ll save the trees, we’ll save the humans and their little faire, and no one gets hurt if you make a trade with me.

Keelie’s heart started to thud faster. What could he want that was worth disrupting and destroying so much?
What do you wish to trade?

You give me the Compendium, and I’ll call off my goblins, and your humans will be safe. You have until sunset today.

It was already mid-afternoon. Keelie felt sick to her stomach. She couldn’t possibly comply. The Compendium was a pile of ashes.

twenty

Once Keelie emerged from her telepathic communication link with Tavyn, she dropped onto a nearby bench to steady herself. Her head ached even more than from her earlier contact with Hrok. She glanced up at the position of the sun. She had about four hours before Tavyn’s threat would come to pass.

It was eerily quiet. There were no birds singing, and the trees were silent. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Could goblins be lurking and watching her every move and reporting back to Tavyn? She fought the urge to flee back into the Admin office.

Something warm and hairy rubbed up against her leg. Keelie jumped up from the rock.

Knot, back to normal-cat size, rubbed his face against her leg as the familiar tree greenness formed in her mind. She recognized the essence: Hrok.

Daughter of the Forest. You seemed distressed. Melankin’s request seems reasonable. He explained to me he merely wants to read this book. Yet fear flows through you. Why are you so afraid of him?

How did she explain this to Hrok?

I don’t think Melankin is as nice as he’s making himself out to be. I think he has a shadowy-bark side.

He seems very nice to us.

Keelie didn’t have time to debate the situation with Hrok. She had to report to Finch.

Be careful around Melankin. He’s not what he seems. His rings are stained with treachery and betrayal. Hrok, can you sense my father?

This conversation puzzles me, Daughter of the Forest. As to sensing your father, I do not. In fact, I think he has left the area.

I need to see him. It’s an emergency.

I am sorry. Still, I do not sense his presence. Let me ask the trees within the elven camp.

Their connection thinned and became a wispy green thread as he consulted the rest of the forest. Then it flared back to life.

The little cedars at Heartwood would like for me to tell you that they saw your friend Hob. It looked as if he was making magic with a book.