But the mountain range was a large wilderness. She’d asked Clary to set her down near the goblin king’s palace but there was no such place in sight. She clutched her hand around the bracelet Clary had given her—a simple leather thong strung with painted wooden beads. It was bespelled to open the portal to return home at a spoken command—an innovation the witches had recently invented. Clary had been inordinately proud of her work, but cautioned her that reopening the portal would only work once and there weren’t enough supplies in her kit to create another. So, Gwen wasn’t giving up and running home unless she was certain there was no other option. She marked the site carefully with a pile of small rocks and began walking.
To her left was a stream flowing down the mountain, light dancing off the churning water. Gwen followed it up the slope, using it as a guide to keep from wandering in circles. She’d dressed in warm clothes, with the sturdy boots she had bought, and taken along a knapsack filled with the food left in the minibar and the small knife she’d brought with her from Camelot. It wasn’t truly a weapon—knives were everyday tools, even for a queen—but it could be used for self-defense.
The rise ended in a steep but brief climb. Gwen had grown up scrambling over hills and made it to the new plateau with no trouble. Here, the view was wider and she went to her hands and knees, crawling to the edge of the rocks for the best possible panorama. She was warm from hiking, and her cheeks welcomed the mountain chill. Although she’d found nothing useful yet, excitement bubbled inside her as if she were made of champagne. This was what she had lacked all along—adventure, a purpose and a way to challenge herself.
Her new viewpoint showed more breathtaking views, but also something that made Gwen give a triumphant cry. There was no castle, but there were signs of habitation on the face of the mountain below. Rings of earthworks were held in place by smoothly sculpted rock. They were cut in half by a steep stair that wound out of sight around the face of the steep cliff. Bridges arched over steep crevasses, miracles of engineering and craftsmanship Gwen longed to study up close. All of it led to a doorway in the face of the mountain, a huge arched maw of blackness surrounded by elaborate geometric carvings. When the goblins had said their king lived in the mountains, they meant literally inside the mountains. Gwen had found where she needed to go.
She looked a moment longer, plotting the best route to the stairs, and began to back away from the cliff’s edge. She had barely moved when a cold, hard point pricked her neck.
“Have you done spying on our home, human?” came a rough, nasal voice.
Goblin, Gwen thought, remaining absolutely still. No other voices had that same rasping quality, as if the speaker was being slowly strangled. The words were obscured further by the speaker’s accent—goblins had their own language, though most could speak at least one human tongue. “I was seeking a way to your door, guardsman. I would ask you to escort me the rest of the way.”
“Escort you?” he mocked. “I will escort you straight to our dungeons.”
Gwen’s heart skipped in fright, but she kept her voice level. “I request an audience with your king. I am Guinevere, Queen of Camelot and wife of Arthur of Britain. Ambassador Krzak knows me well.”
“Krzak died in my great-great-grandsire’s time.” Now the guardsman sounded incredulous. “What’s a queen doing crawling around the mountains alone? Where is Arthur? Where are your men-at-arms?”
Pulse thundering now, Gwen realized she’d made a terrible mistake. Krzak had been young when she’d known him, but too much time had passed for even a goblin to live so long. “Please,” she said. “I’m telling the truth.”
The blade poking her neck was removed and rough hands pulled her to her feet. She turned to the guard, catching sight of the stone-tipped spear before finding the guardsman’s face. If there had been any doubt what he was, one look dispelled it. Goblins came in every shade of the rainbow, and this one was a mossy green that blended into the vegetation. He was perhaps four and a half feet tall but sturdily built, wearing a leather tunic and cap scrunched down over straggly green hair. But what set goblins apart, besides the earthy, mildewed smell of them, was their lumpiness. Like autumn gourds, they were covered in bumps and warts that in any other species would be a sign of a contagious skin disease. To them, it was a natural hallmark of beauty. Gwen had trained herself to see past it long ago, and so she gave no reaction to the guardsman’s irregular face.
“I see you are familiar with our kind,” he said with a ferocious grin that showed blocky, crooked teeth.
Gwen remained firm. “I am. I entertained the ambassador many times.” And she knew better than to ask the goblin’s name. Only public figures like Krzak shared their names with outsiders—which meant anyone not born of goblin kind.
“So history says, human, but that doesn’t explain how you’re here now.”
“Magic,” she said simply. “And I came for information only the goblins, with their great wisdom, can provide.”
The dollop of flattery must have worked, because the guardsman gave a slow nod. “All right. We’ll go to the palace and my captain can decide what to do with you.”
“Better to let the tall heads roll than risk those bowed in humility,” she said, quoting one of the ambassador’s favorite lines.
He gave her a sharp look. “My mother used to say that.”
“Then she gave good advice,” Gwen said, although she knew her tall head was currently at risk.
With the barest flicker of a smile, the guardsman angled his spear until the point prodded her in the chest. He jerked his head toward the stream Gwen had followed to get there. “Walk.”
The route to the stairs was arduous, testing Gwen’s endurance to its limit as she scrambled over rock piles and up slippery screes of gravel. The goblin, on the other hand, had no such trouble, skipping like a goat over stone and stream and only occasionally using the butt of his spear like a walking stick. A half-dozen times, he had to help Gwen along.
But once they reached the stair, the real climb began. Ever afterward, Gwen tried to forget that upward slog. She arrived at the top gasping, sweaty and with a fire in her legs that promised excruciating muscle cramps.
She collapsed outside the door while the guardsman conferred in his own tongue with a blue goblin wearing a steel chain about his thick neck—presumably an officer of some kind. He glanced at Gwen, but didn’t bow, and she knew better than to expect it. Even if he did believe she was the Queen of Camelot, goblins barely recognized any royalty besides their own.
When another guard shoved an earthenware cup of water into her hands, she gulped it without question. Only when she caught her breath did she realize the goblin’s captain had disappeared, and the others stood watching her with curious eyes.
“What are we waiting for?” she asked, refusing to admit that anything could go wrong after she’d made it this far.
The goblins didn’t answer. They were clearly under orders to wait in silence. Gwen settled with her back to the rock and did her best to ignore the chill of her sweat-dampened clothes.
Minutes later, the blue goblin returned and gestured to his men. They stood at attention, spears straight, while Gwen got to her feet. “Come,” he ordered, and led the way inside the mountain. Gwen followed, and the guardsman and his companion brought up the rear. Their small procession had the appearance of an honor guard, but she knew very well she was their captive.
The dark cave mouth gave way to a smoothly hollowed tunnel several times her height. Flaming torches sat in stanchions every dozen yards to light their path, but Gwen barely noticed where they were going. The entire tunnel—walls, ceiling and floor—was lined with glittering mosaics depicting scenes from goblin history. Each tiny tile was a chip of glittering, translucent stone set against a field of gold leaf. The torchlight caught the gold, the reflection making the passage shimmer with light. Her steps slowed a
s she stared openmouthed, her whole being dazzled by the unexpected beauty.
The captain, however, was impatient and soon spear points prodded her back. She was almost trotting by the time the tunnel emptied into a large chamber set with double doors of carved oak. As Gwen was marched closer, a pair of blue goblins opened the doors wide enough to let them pass through.
Beyond was the throne room, packed with citizens come to beg justice or a favor or leniency from taxes. This was daily business for a court, and Gwen had seen thousands of such gatherings before, though none had smelled quite so bad. She was used to unwashed humans, but a room packed with overheated goblins was enough to make her gag.
The king sat beneath yet more mosaics. The alcove was lit from behind and surrounded the king in a halo of sparkling light. Only when Gwen drew near the throne did she see the goblin king clearly.
He was scarlet and lumpier than any goblin Gwen had ever seen. A crown sat on his hairless brow, a cloak of ermine over a tunic of royal purple. The picture wasn’t improved by the fact that he was as wide as he was tall. It was like meeting a royal red toad, especially when he gave an unexpected burp.
Gwen’s escort stopped, and then stepped aside, leaving her alone before the throne. “Greetings, Your Majesty,” she said, sinking into a deep curtsy. “I am grateful to be granted an interview.”
“I am Zorath, King of the Goblins and Emperor of the Crystal Mountains, Spear of the Deep and Blade of the Fangs.” The king spoke with almost no accent but plenty of attitude. Every syllable of his title rang with pride.
“And I am Guinevere, Queen of Camelot,” she said, bowing before him. “I have come seeking Your Majesty’s wisdom, so that I may return to my royal husband and help him save the mortal realms.”
Without warning, Zorath burst into a raucous laugh, holding his stomach as if to contain his merriment. The outburst finished in another belch. “Is that so?” he asked wryly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “If I were you, I’d be asking for mercy. No outsider has left here alive for the last thousand years.”
Chapter 13
“Your Majesty,” Gwen said with forced calm, “please explain what you mean.”
Their eyes met. Zorath’s shrewd gaze was as hard as twin black buttons.
Gwen silently panicked. Krzak had never mentioned anything like this. By all reports, the goblins had always been eager to show off the glories of their mines. Something had changed during the centuries of the stone sleep.
“We have riches. Outsiders have armies. No one visits the goblins for the pleasure of our company.” Zorath leaned forward, studying her features with keen interest. “Tell me, pretty human, how did you find our stronghold? Was it the fae who told you of it?”
“The fae? Have they troubled your borders?”
“Ever since the end of the demon wars. Now our lands are closed to any but our own tribes.”
That explained much. Gwen rose from her bow, dizzy with fear and an urgent need for fresh air. “With your indulgence, sire, I will tell you everything.”
“A story!” he exclaimed with obvious delight. He snapped fat fingers. “Bring wine and food.”
As servants hurried to obey, he turned back to Gwen. “Before you start your tale, did you bring me any presents?”
Gwen was stumped, realizing she should have anticipated this. Goblins set great store by tribute, but what could she offer a king already wealthy beyond measure? “In my pack,” she said, scrambling for ideas. “It is a small gift, sire, barely worthy of your notice, but it is a great delicacy among the humans of my new home.”
The green guardsman brought her knapsack forward and watched carefully as she opened the zipper. Gwen was careful not to reach for the knife, but instead plucked out one of the cellophane packets. She went down on one knee, offering up her gift in outstretched hands. “Sire, I offer you Cheese Wizards.”
A murmur ran through the crowd as Zorath delicately took the bag between fat fingers tipped in long dark claws. With a frown of concentration, the king wrestled the bag open. As she expected, he gave a cry of pleasure at the bright orange color of the treats. He extracted a curl and chomped it down with relish. The only thing goblins craved more than color was salt.
“More,” he demanded, waving at her knapsack. “Show me all your tribute.”
Gwen emptied the knapsack of food, laying out the bright packages of snacks at the goblin king’s feet. “I hope the variety pleases Your Majesty.”
The king now had a huge golden goblet and was alternating slurps of wine with bites of Cheese Wizards. “It is acceptable,” he said with a full mouth. “Now, rise and tell me your tale.”
She did, from Krzak to the stone sleep to the dragons at Medievaland. The story took time, but Zorath’s attention did not waver. Neither did that of the audience in the hall.
“You say that you knew our ambassador to Arthur’s court in Camelot?” Zorath asked after she had at last finished.
“I did,” she agreed. “I knew him well.”
“You gave him a lock of your hair?”
“I did.”
“We will put your word to the test.”
There was a long wait while the king summoned a historian who trotted off to do the king’s bidding. Then more time passed until the historian reappeared with a small box on a purple velvet pillow and knelt at Zorath’s feet.
“Your Majesty,” the historian said in a wheezing voice, “Ambassador Krzak placed the lock in a casket bespelled to preserve it from the ravages of time. That casket has been kept in our treasure stores, for the memory of Queen Guinevere’s respect and kindness has been a legend among our people.”
“Very well.” Zorath lifted the lid of the box. “Step this way, lady.”
Gwen obeyed, kneeling at the king’s feet. The goblin king lifted a long golden lock tied with sky blue thread and held it beside Gwen’s fall of hair. “It is a match. This human woman tells the truth. She is Camelot’s Queen.”
The assembly of goblins erupted in a cheer, tossing caps into the air and bowing as she turned her head to witness the commotion. Zorath broke into a wide grin and offered an unexpectedly graceful bow. “Queen Guinevere is always welcome in these realms. For her, the borders are always open.”
Gwen exhaled a long breath, her heart lifting. “Your hospitality is gratefully received, King Zorath.”
A herald called for silence as the king replaced the lock of hair in its casket and motioned its keeper away. Zorath turned to Gwen. “There was something you wanted to ask me, my lady?”
Now Gwen wanted to cheer, as well, to stamp her feet and wave her arms in jubilation. She’d done it—she’d won the goblin king over without threats or swords or magic. She’d done it just by being who she was and never forgetting that a queen owed courtesy to everyone who came beneath her roof. And now she would have something to offer in pursuit of keeping the human realms safe.
“No one knows the dragons of these mountains better than the goblins,” she began. “Can you tell us why they are leaving their dens to terrorize the new Camelot? It does not make sense. Dragons do not ever stray far from their hoards.”
Zorath opened his mouth to answer, but a commotion came from the back of the room. Dismayed by the interruption, Gwen turned to stare as the great doors to the throne room swung open and a knot of goblins appeared, half marching, half trotting after a prisoner who seemed to be in charge of the procession.
“What is the meaning of this interruption?” Zorath demanded.
The goblins parted to reveal a figure with a large sword. Gwen stared for a moment, disbelief stalling her brain for a beat. “Arthur?”
He was muddy and bruised, and his expression crackled with temper. He fixed Gwen with a look that spoke of relief and fury in equal measure. “You’re not hurt?” he demanded.
�
�No!” she protested. “I’m completely fine. What are you doing here?”
“Kneel before the king!” a blue goblin ordered, prodding Arthur with his spear. Arthur swung around to glare, and the goblin scampered backward.
“Kneel, human,” Zorath commanded.
Casting a puzzled glance at the bag of Cheese Wizards, Arthur sheathed his sword and went to one knee. “Greetings, King of Goblins. I am Arthur, King of Camelot and High King of the Britons.”
Zorath looked down from his dais with incredulity. “Two outsiders in one day? And one such a mighty warrior of renown.”
Arthur glanced up from his bow. “I came in peace to find my wife.”
Gwen met his eyes. “Are you trying to rescue me?” she asked.
“Of course. I made Clary send me through her damnable portal as soon as I’d found out where you’d gone.”
Gwen huffed in exasperation. It might have been touch and go along the way, but she’d managed to navigate the goblin court on her own. In fact, she’d been about to get the answers she needed before Arthur had interrupted.
Her thoughts must have shown, because Arthur’s gaze snapped away. A stubborn angle formed along his jaw. Gwen turned to Zorath. “A thousand pardons for the interruption, Your Majesty. I hope you can find it in your heart to excuse the actions of a protective spouse.”
Zorath sank back onto his throne, a hard tone creeping into his words. “Ambassador Krzak wrote of the generous Queen of Camelot. I have no reason to welcome the king.”
“Then we shall leave at once,” said Gwen, “though I hope you will still give me the answer I seek.”
Arthur’s brows crooked in question, but he let her speak. It was Zorath who interrupted with a wave of his hand. “No, those who venture here do not return to tell the tale. In honor of past friendship, we will let you leave, Guinevere of Camelot, but only you. The king stays.”
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