by K. M. Shea
She swiped up the mouse, eliciting an irritated “Watch where you grab me!” before she slipped through the forest, leaving the fallen goblins behind.
“If I put you on my shoulder, can you hold on?” she whispered to the mouse.
“Yeah.”
Quinn set him on her shoulder and gave him a moment to grab the fabric of her brown shirt, frowning a little when he latched on with his teeth. “You better hope you don’t put a hole in my shirt.”
“Why? It’s such a plain thing,” he said through the fabric in his teeth.
“It’s camouflage.” Quinn took off jogging before he could reply, taking care to run on bare patches of ground and soft moss. She winced when she heard the goblins shout—a phlegmy, wet noise like stale marsh mush—and give chase.
How did they pick up my trail? She glanced at her unusual passenger. Must be the mouthy mage.
Grumbling, Quinn picked a large, shadowy tree. She plucked a giant mushroom growing at its roots then shimmied up the trunk.
She waited in silence, and six more goblins hurried through the underbrush.
That’s nine goblins total! They must be part of a pack…
She shot the goblin farthest away from her—hoping to mislead the goblins where she was perched. It went down with a loud shout, making Quinn scowl at her slightly off shot which should have silently ended him.
His scream alerted the other goblins, who moved into a defensive circle, their eyes carefully tracing the trees. It was only a matter of time before they would look up.
Quinn stood on a thick branch and gripped her bow and the tree trunk with one hand. She threw the mushroom cap with her free hand—making the mouse summersault against her neck.
The mushroom hit several tree branches as it tumbled through the air.
The goblins whirled, their pointed ears twitching as they listened, and scurried after the mushroom. Quinn carefully crouched down and loosened two more arrows, killing two goblins.
Three left…
The goblins whirled around, their bulbous eyes rolling back and forth as they searched for her. They slowly crept in her direction.
Quinn fitted another arrow to her bow, barely aware of the mouse huddled on her collarbone. She waited until they were almost underneath her before she shot the fourth goblin, then leaped from the tree—making the mouse shout in surprise as he scrabbled for a hold. She landed on top of the fifth goblin and cracked the sixth goblin in the head, making it take a staggering step backwards.
This bought her just enough time to slide a dagger from a sheath and flick it at the unsteady goblin. She felt the fifth goblin stir beneath her and rolled off it just in time to avoid a direct stab to her calf muscle; instead, it landed a glancing blow that only sliced her skin.
Quinn hissed in pain but burst out of her roll with her short sword unsheathed. She lunged forward, carving the goblin across the chest and killing it.
Quinn crouched for a moment, ensuring that all was indeed silent, then wiped off her sword and retrieved her dagger, bow, and arrows.
“You’re a Farset soldier?” the mouse asked.
Quinn wiped the arrows off on a patch of moss and forced herself to renew her smile. “Yes.”
The mouse grunted. “As expected. The Farset army receives superior training.”
“We receive specialized training,” Quinn said. “Take us out of our lands—or more importantly out of the woods—and we’re only half as deadly.”
The mouse used Quinn’s arm like a ramp and climbed down to the ground. “Yeah, yeah. How humble of you. But what were you talking about before?”
Quinn paused, in the middle of sliding her arrows back into the quiver that hung from her belt. “Before?”
“You said wraiths and trolls have been plaguing these woods?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“But…but…” The mouse sat down heavily.
“I take it you haven’t been to Farset recently?”
Preoccupied as he was, the mouse mage started grooming his whiskers again. “Something like that. I have been told that the continent was troubled—cursed princes and princesses, massive storms in Ringsted and such.”
Is he a hermit shapeshifter? They are often eccentric enough I suppose it is possible… “Indeed, there has been that and more. Erlauf has been hit heavily with goblin attacks; Sole just recently fended off a rogue mage, and more.”
The mouse woefully shook his head. “I was too preoccupied. I didn’t know it was this bad…”
Quinn’s pleasant smile threatened to buckle as she shouldered her bow. “The goblins are a new threat to Farset—this is the first time I’ve seen them in any great number.”
“Is that supposed to encourage me? And why are you smiling? You’re obviously as unhappy about it as I am.”
She let her smile slide off her mouth and shrugged. “Make of it what you will. Where can I take you so you will be safe?”
The mouse ignored her and instead tilted his head. “What is your name?”
“Quinn of Midnight Lake,” Quinn responded.
“You are a part of what band?”
“Gallant.”
“Squad?”
“Razor Leaf, led by Sergeant Jennabeth.”
The mouse—the mage who thought it was a good idea to run through the woods in the form of a mouse—narrowed his button-black eyes and twitched his nose. “Family?”
Quinn heaved her eyes to the tree tops. “Daughter of Lomman and Maeve, and since you seem to be chronicling my background, I suppose I ought to tell you I am sister to Bridget of Midnight Lake, the Red Rider.”
“The Red Rider?” The shape changer finally seemed to relax. “For once things seem to work in my favor. Will you give me a ride back to the Alabaster Forest?”
Quinn paused. “You’re staying with the elves?”
“Yes. I am an elf.”
Quinn took a moment to gather her words so she didn’t pick him up and shake him. “If you’re an elf, then you know what’s going on—you know why your people have not left your woods and why the princesses dance at night.”
The mouse stood up on his hind legs. “You know about them?”
She squatted down in front of him. “Never mind that. Can you tell me what is going on? Or if not me, Sergeant Jennabeth or King Dirth? I can take you to Navia.”
The mouse sat back down with a grumble. “Nice thought, but you can’t. Borrowing the shape of a mouse let me slip past the border, but I don’t think I can go much farther.”
“Why?”
He shook his head.
How expected—more complications, and an elf on top of that. I never would have guessed, though. He talks like a soldier. “You can’t say or you won’t say?”
The mouse opened and closed his mouth several times.
“That’s a can’t, I think.” Quinn lowered her hand to the ground and was rather surprised when the shape-changed elf crawled onto it. “Can you share your name?”
“Emerys,” the mouse said.
Quinn lifted her hand so she could properly address him. “Emerys, I am Quinn of Midnight Lake. My band and I are investigating the princesses’ nightly activities. One band mate and I followed them two nights ago into the Alabaster Forest where we saw the elves gather in a party. We deduced that the princesses and the elves are both cursed—which you have only confirmed. We are desperate to break the curse and free the princesses, which, I suspect, by proxy means you as well. Can you tell me anything? Can I do anything?”
Emerys turned in a small circle on her palm. Quinn heard the click of his teeth as he tried to speak and failed.
…This is bad. I knew Lady Enchantress Angelique said they were cursed and couldn’t speak of it, but I didn’t expect it to be this strong. I didn’t think there was a magic user alive outside of enchantresses and enchanters who could cast magic powerful enough to affect the elves! We’re in a much more terrible position than I thought.
“I’ll make you an elf-friend,�
� Emerys finally said. “That will let you enter and exit Alabaster Forest without an elf escort whenever you want.”
“Will that help my mission?” Quinn asked, careful to avoid naming the curse lest it made it even more difficult for Emerys to speak.
Emerys slowly nodded, as if he found the gesture difficult.
Quinn glanced back and forth before she set out, slowly moving back in the direction of Alabaster Forest with Emerys still balanced on her palm. She strained her memory to recall any mention of elf-friends. She knew they existed—they were humans the elves found favorable who were granted the honor of friendship and easy access to the elves. Even generals could not enter the elf lands without the elves’ say so, but an elf-friend could drop in whenever he/she liked.
Of course, as no new elf-friends had been made since the elves disappeared, she couldn’t recall what the process was.
“Do you mind if my band and I follow the princesses?” Quinn asked.
“No,” Emerys said. “But it will be…better if you can enter our city—Sideralis—and talk to whomever you want. Though if you walk into homes and rooms without knocking, someone is bound to smack you upside the head.”
Quinn puckered her forehead as she thought, trying to sift through his words for the intended meaning. He was a cursed elf, after all; he wasn’t simply exchanging pleasantries!
“So I will be an elf-friend…” Quinn said slowly.
“My elf-friend,” Emerys emphatically added.
There was something about his tone that made Quinn eye him. “Aren’t all elf-friends merely friends of the elves in general?” Quinn asked.
“Usually, yes,” he said. “Not so in this case. Do you want to go to Sideralis?”
“Yes, but I have patrol shortly—I may be late already. Can I come tomorrow? Or is that…too late?”
Emerys determinedly shook his head. “No. It’s enough that I…” He released an angry squeak.
“Found someone who can offer assistance?” Quinn guessed.
Emerys patted her gloved finger.
“It was a fortunate meeting. There are many who will wish to know of your circumstances—King Dirth and Queen Orsina, the Veneno Conclave and more. May I inform my band leader? He will report to our superior officer and likely the king.” She ducked under a low-hanging branch, pausing to peer in the opposite direction when a doe spooked at her and ran.
Emerys nodded again. “Yes,” he agreed in a barely audible growl.
Yes…some very powerful magic indeed.
“Is there a special ceremony for making me an elf-friend?” she asked.
“Not really. Just a few words. There is no reason for rambling ceremonies. The forest itself will recognize our good will towards you.”
Quinn nodded slowly. “I see. Is it special that I’m your elf-friend, and not a general elf-friend?”
Emerys was silent, but Quinn was not certain if it was because of the curse.
Elves have such depth, she thought sourly. And I always feel their superiority, which is what is going to make this temporary partnership difficult. No matter how many hints he drops, I might not catch any of them. Quinn sighed. Give me plain humans—better yet, give me my band.
She paused and twitched her shoulders when the zing of magic tickled her neck. “We’re on the border. Do I need to take you farther in, or will this do?”
“Here is fine.” Emerys started to fluff his whiskers, then angrily slapped his paws on her palm. He muttered a few dark words in elvish before raising his surprisingly cute eyes. “Quinn of Midnight Lake, I name you my friend and heart’s companion.”
He waddled off her hand and started to climb up her wrist and then her arm.
That wasn’t so bad. I don’t even feel any magic.
But it seemed Quinn had congratulated herself too soon, for Emerys climbed up her shoulder, snuggled against her neck, then stretched as far as he possibly could to give her a mouse kiss—which was more nose than lips—on her cheek.
Quinn felt something click into place, and suddenly the zing the Alabaster Forest radiated didn’t seem quite so invasive and was instead rather welcoming. She blinked. “Did you use magic?”
“No,” Emerys said as he sat on her shoulder. He was close enough she could make out the black fuzz on his ears. “It’s more of an ancient agreement that activates whenever we name an elf-friend. Our magic isn’t involved. It’s the latent magic of the forest itself.”
“…I see,” Quinn said slowly.
“I’ll meet you here tomorrow afternoon,” Emerys declared.
“Can’t do it,” Quinn said—not at all apologetic. “I have patrol then. It will have to be in the morning.”
Emerys narrowed his mouse eyes into slits. “Fine. I will listen for you.”
“Don’t venture past the border,” Quinn warned him. She gently scooped him off her shoulder and placed him on the ground. “It’s far too dangerous for you. I think the goblins can track you—for they shouldn’t have been able to follow me.”
Emerys grunted—which, Quinn knew, was not a promise.
“Will you still be a mouse?” Quinn asked.
“Likely. I have things I wish to test,” Emerys said. He sat on his hind legs and peered up at her again. “Oh. Yeah. May the sun guide your days and the stars your nights, Quinn of Midnight Lake. And may you be in good health.”
Quinn smiled. “Thank you.”
“I mean it. Do not get distracted and wander off and get attacked,” Emerys said.
“You were the one who thought he could outrun a bunch of goblins as a mouse,” Quinn said.
Emerys muttered some more elvish and turned to scurry across the border and into his home. “Tomorrow! Don’t forget!”
Quinn waved her hand in farewell. I can’t tell if he is overly concerned because of the curse or if he merely has a low opinion of me. Shaking her head, Quinn turned on her heels and trotted back through the woods. She had a lot of ground to cover and only a short time before she needed to meet the others for patrol.
* * *
Quinn managed to be early to roll call for Gallant’s patrol—though only because she skipped lunch and found Din impatiently waiting for her at the road leading back to Navia.
After hurriedly stabling Din and throwing on her uniform, she skidded into Gallant’s meeting spot moments after Kenneth arrived.
“Sir.” Quinn offered him a quick salute, then fiddled with her belt that had twisted a little during her sprint from the barracks.
Kenneth inclined his head. “Quinn. Do you have something to report?”
“I met an elf while checking the borders this morning.”
Kenneth looked up from the slate he was reading. “What?”
The story of Emerys running from the goblins as a mouse spilled from her lips.
Kenneth listened and grimly rubbed his clean-shaven chin. “The goblins represent another issue on their own. If there is a goblin pack roaming the woods, they have indeed become a real threat.”
“And the elves?” Quinn asked.
“It only widens the scope of catastrophe, though surely more than luck was on your side to be able to randomly come across this Emerys. I’ll need to inform Sergeant Jennabeth. Immediately.” Kenneth nodded to Leigh when the woman arrived, whistling a tune.
“Tell Jennabeth what now?” Leigh asked.
“Quinn will explain,” Kenneth said before turning his attention back to Quinn. “What else can you tell me of Emerys?”
Quinn tucked her arms behind her back as she thought. “I think he’s a warrior…he talks too roughly to be one of noble blood, and he’s far more expressive than any elf I’ve ever seen—none of the formality you would expect. Based on his vocabulary, I would say he’s younger…but estimating the age of something immortal is not my strong suit.”
Leigh squawked but refrained from asking questions.
“He must be a respected warrior, though,” Quinn continued. “He clearly thought he was bestowing a high honor on
me by labeling me his friend, and I got the feeling it was more due to his significance than to me being human.”
“Ask him more about himself when you meet tomorrow,” Kenneth instructed. “Though we want to learn as much as we can about the present situation, we need to know more about your new friend.”
“Hi-ho, brothers!” Roy strolled up to their trio with a bright smile. “What has you three looking so grim?”
“Leigh will be Gallant’s leader for this patrol,” Kenneth said. “I’m going to call a meeting with Sergeant Jennabeth. Quinn will explain.”
Roy blinked rapidly. “Yessir?” He saluted Kenneth automatically in spite of his confusion.
Kenneth nodded to the group, then left them with a fast, efficient stride.
“Where is he going?” Guy asked as he wandered up, his hands folded behind his head. “He looks like someone stole his favorite bow.”
“Emergency meeting with Jennabeth. Quinn will explain, and I’m in charge.” Leigh glanced at Guy, then recoiled slightly. “What is wrong with your face?”
Guy patted his cheeks. “What are you talking about? I don’t feel anything?”
Leigh squinted and leaned closer to him. “You have mold growing on your jawline.”
“That’s my beard,” Guy said, scandalized. “I decided to grow one for winter!”
“That’s no beard; that’s patchy peach fuzz.”
“You can do better?”
“Quinn,” Roy said, interrupting the squabble. “What’s going on?”
Quinn met Roy’s gaze and shook her head slightly. “Everything is worse than we thought.”
* * *
The sky darkened overhead with night, and pinpricks of starlight leaked through even though the sun hadn’t yet completely disappeared.
Emerys crouched on the lip of a pleasantly splashing fountain, stranded as a mouse since he lacked the power to turn back to his real form. It had taken every drop of magic he had saved just to manage the transformation in the first place. “I maybe should have researched this spell before trying it out,” he mused. “Alastryn is going to kill me if I get stuck like this.”
His mind was pulled in three directions as he fought the mouse instincts that made him want to clean his face and the bidding of the curse that yanked him in the direction of Brandy Crest—the meadow where the elves held their nightly celebrations.
