Wraith(19)

As they glared at each other, I tumbled to my right until I reached the bureau’s dark spot. I whipped round. None of the men had moved or altered their expressions. My shoulders sagged – I’d made it. Now I needed them to tell me what Marrock wanted to know.

‘Out? Goodness me. I presume you are heading back to Kanji. Perhaps a lady took your fancy there after all.’ Ghrashbreg gazed up at the Dark Elf with an amused expression on his face. Anyone else would have taken this as fair warning to back off but the Elf held his ground.

Now that I could see his face clearly for the first time, I scanned his features with interest as he oh-so-casually replied to the goblin, ‘No, not there. I think a stroll in the other direction is in order. I’d like to see more of the city.’

I could see why they were called Dark Elves. Everything about this man was dark: the warning note in his voice; his flawless complexion, and his glittering eyes. Even the way he held himself suggested menace as he towered over Ghrashbreg. The goblin might not look intimidated but I reckoned he was saving face by staying in his seat. If he stood up and faced the Elf, this would turn from a mild conversation into a stand off. Literally. And the power rippling from the Elf made it clear who would win, even with Ghrashbreg on home ground.

I looked at the other man; he was still sitting down but looking anxious. He was human, with kindly features and greying hair. Judging by the way he was twisting the napkin underneath the table, he knew as well as I did how badly this could go. How very, very interesting.

‘That’s not wise,’ Ghrashbreg said.

‘I wasn’t asking for your opinion but I appreciate your concern.’

I shivered, wondering if I was about to witness the moment the Elves finally turned on the goblins. History in the making – and all over an evening stroll.

‘Sit down and have some cake.’

A ghost of a smile crossed the Dark Elf’s lips. ‘Thank you but no.’ He turned and started to walk away while his human companion got clumsily to his feet and stumbled after him.

Ghrashbreg cleared his throat. ‘I know what you’re capable of, Lord Gabriel,’ he called out.

Gabriel. There were less than fifty Dark Elves in the whole of Scotland and there was only one Gabriel that I’d heard of. My blood chilled. Ghrashbreg wasn’t the only one in this room with a reputation.

‘Then,’ Gabriel de Florinville murmured, ‘you know I can look after myself. I will be in no danger on those streets. And I’m no Lord.’

‘No,’ the goblin returned. ‘But you are one of fewer than fifty Dark Elves who reside in Scotland. Don’t overestimate your powers. You don’t know Stirling.’

‘I know enough.’

There was nothing to suggest the Elf was boasting but Ghrashbreg wasn’t wrong either. If de Florinville ventured out on the streets on his own, he might be approached by idiots who thought they could take him on. Even if they recognised him as a Dark Elf, there would be those who would want the challenge. There were also people who were hungry enough and desperate enough to try their luck, regardless of the odds.

I wondered idly what the ransom for Gabriel de Florinville would be; certainly enough to buy a way out of Stirling for every person I knew. I wasn’t stupid enough to think that I could take him on. Even Marrock, on a good day and with a full belly, would be lucky to land a single punch against a Dark Elf. When that Dark Elf was de Florinville … well, let’s just say it would be a one-sided fight.

Two goblin guards, whose bulging muscles suggested they’d been overdoing the steroids, appeared in the doorway. The servant who’d left had brought beefcake as well as chocolate cake. Each guard was carrying a long curved sword as if they were both preparing to slice and dice the Elf. They actually looked eager, as if they were hoping they’d receive the order. I almost hoped they would too.

‘Are you threatening an Envoy of the Realm?’ de Florinville asked.

Ghrashbreg arched a bushy eyebrow. ‘We allowed you to come here. We have been gracious hosts who have met your needs and answered your questions. At your bidding, we have even made several concessions towards the Gneiss goblins. Given all that, why would you want to risk a diplomatic incident over an evening stroll?’

‘Am I a prisoner here?’

I didn’t move. Unless one of these two backed down, it seemed certain that blood would be spilled. There was no logical conclusion that suggested any benefit for Stirling. If that bloody Elf really was here as the Prime Minister’s envoy and he got himself hurt – or killed – we’d all be dead within the week. If Ghrashbreg died at the Elf’s hand then we could probably expect the same end. Brilliant. At least my presence meant I had fair warning of the city’s impending doom.

Ghrashbreg laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. It grates though, doesn’t it? You’ve only been here a few days and you already feel the weight of being trapped within the city walls. Imagine how we feel after three years. It’s not Filits who are the enemy. We are as innocent of wrongdoing as you are. We’re simply trying to keep a hold of what is ours.’

I stared at the goblin. What an arse. The weight of being trapped? Innocent of wrongdoing? He should try living on my side of the city. My hands curved into tight fists and suddenly I was prepared to cheer Gabriel de Florinville on. I was even tempted to help him.

Then I noticed the way Ghrashbreg’s hands were grabbing the arms of his chair and a tiny muscle pulsating above his wiry eyebrow. The goblin was quivering – but not in fear. It was something else – he was excited about something. I thought back, recalling his words. Excited about what, though?