Disclaimer: I do not own "Hollow Kingdom," it's the property of Clare B. Dunkle.
AN: Hope you enjoy!
Chapter 2
This was boring. Very boring. Exceedingly so. And he was wrong. Very wrong. A leashing spell wouldn't have been so bad.
That sixth finger on his father's hand gave Marak an exceptionally strong grip. He could barely feel his fingers! And he wasn't allowed to lag at all, which was a real shame. He didn't get any time to admire the scenery before he was whisked off.
The beginning hadn't been so bad. Father had moved at a more reasonable pace; he'd stop and point at different plants. Catspaw would ask about their properties, Father would answer, and he would be left to ponder the usefulness of said vegetation. It wasn't terribly entertaining, but it was better than this.
Father wasn't talking to him anymore; just the guards and they'd keep their voices low so he couldn't catch their words. Something had happened, but what?
He was pulled forth again through the woods and his patience as well as his legs were giving out. He silently yawned and stretched his shoulders as he risked a glance at the moon. It was as lovely as his mother described it, but…it didn't strike him as vital. It was pretty like Mother's perfume vials—well made, delightful, but inconsequential.
Not realizing that his father had stopped, Catspaw ran into the solid figure. That at last seemed to catch his father's attention.
Marak gave a strained smile. "Tiring?"
The boy shook his head, in the moment believing he had energy enough, but then yawned—ruining the effect. He shrugged. His father surprised him by picking him up. It had been a long while since his father had carried him. And he half-expected to hear Til rage over her foster brother getting such attention and demand to be carried too.
He might not have cared about the moon, but he certainly enjoyed having distance between him and the human his parents had adopted.
He might need to insist on such outings as a necessity. He would have to word it carefully though. Kate was sensitive to her children's hostile interactions.
He clicked the claws of his magic hand lightly together. His mother and the elves sometimes went out to appreciate the stars, perhaps he could tag along for the sake of astronomy lessons?
His father sighed.
"Am I heavy?"
If he was, then he was being a nuisance and could walk on his own. If he was…it also meant he was getting bigger and stronger and—
Marak laughed. "No."
And he wasn't sure if he was meant to be assured by that or not.
Carrying Catspaw was no real trouble for the Goblin King, his son was quite small for his age—his weight was a trifle to his strong goblin arms.
Catspaw settled against his father's neck, his eyelids drooping with each passing moment. Disappointment sagged in his stomach and disheartened his spirit. This night wasn't nearly as splendid as he'd hoped it would be.
Marak waited until the child had fallen to sleep, with a little aid of magic, before he turned back to his guards.
"So we know for certain that someone is wandering the woods," Marak muttered.
"Without a doubt" a sentinel grumbled through his fangs
"Magical too, but trying to hide it—nearly succeeding at it," wheezed a nasally voiced general.
"Any idea as to their purpose?" their King inquired, his mismatched eyes narrowed in suspicion.
The other goblins shrugged.
"I'm really not sure what it is. I don't think it's elven or gnomish."
"It could possibly be one of the fairy folk. It's rare, but they do occasionally venture here for the Harvest Moon," Marak suggested. Still…that didn't explain the horrible sinking feeling in his chest.
The boy shifted and muttered, and Marak pitied him. This wasn't how he intended the night to play out.
"Sir!" a voice called softly "Come look at this."
Deciding that he didn't really need to jostle the child about, he removed his cloak and laid it upon the ground before carefully setting the boy down. He patted the mismatched hair on the boy's crown before straightening and striding over to the soldier.
"What is it?"
"This, sir." The thick shouldered goblin lifted what looked like a gold coin.
Marak opened his hand and his servant placed the coin in his palm. He inspected it thoughtfully; there was a faint spell on it. Meant for mental control or momentary telepathy, far too weak to affect him, but it would certainly work on humans—but for what purpose?
He cast an eye back towards his child. But all was still safe—the child was sleeping peacefully.
"We've found several more over here, sir. And a card."
"A card? Of what sort?"
"Not certain, sir. It doesn't seem enchanted. But we'd rather not risk springing a spell."
Marak calmly stepped through the foliage towards his men's findings. It was true. There was no enchantment on the rectangular piece of paper. It was just a playing card: a Red Joker hideously depicted. Wide yellow eyes were slanted in a sharp teethed smile that stretched the face to distortion. He wondered if Kate would shudder at the deformed human clown. His elf was awfully brave and could easily stomach the bizarre, but what of the demented?
He traipsed back through the forest, planning on sharing the find with Catspaw. Perhaps, the boy wouldn't feel his night was wasted with such a unique discovery. He had a smile already turning his lips, a smile that dropped dead away as his eyes rested on the cloak. The child was gone!
Now, Catspaw never intended to stray. He never meant to stumble headfirst into trouble. All he wanted was to discover the source. An odd lilting melody had begun, interrupting his sleep. It was so fragile and eerie and beautiful that all other thoughts were pushed out.
Otherwise, fear of punishment for disobedience would surely have kept him rooted in his place; for his father could be very strict and his mother's disappointment was painful.
Naturally, his own self-preservation would also monitor the risks in his adventures. But right now—right at this moment, the only thing that mattered was the music. He'd travel anywhere to find it, climb any mountain, scale any wall, and wander any cliff-side.
Eventually, he came to a clearing of trees. The music seemed to be emanating from there. Some brief corner of his mind warned him not to enter, that once he passed the circle of trees his fate would be set into motion. But, like a siren song, the soft chiming of the melody enticed him into the snare.
He wandered the clearing, the music all around him now. He could feel eyes watching him.
"I know you are there," the child declared.
The man stepped forward from the shadows, a bemused smile twisting his lips.
"And just how did you know?"
"The music," the little goblin chirped—as though it were the most obvious answer.
The man chuckled. "So you can hear it. And you followed it here."
"Where is it coming from?" Catspaw demanded, his keen eyes searching for the source of the haunting melody.
"From this," the man answered, tossing an object to the boy.
Catspaw managed to catch the heavy item in his human hand. It appeared to be some manner of marble music box carved in the shape of an egg.
The goblin prince watched in fascination as the egg slowly split into fragments—opening like a blossom. As the petals spread a bright light began to shine.
Despite his sensitive eyes, the prince did not avert his gaze.
"What is it?" Catspaw questioned earnestly, eyes still glazed and dreamy.
"My dear child…" The man smiled while ruffling the boy's short hair. "It's a trap."
The mechanical flower emitted a bright flash and the child froze shock still before slumping forwards.
"What a strange child you are," the man remarked. "I never knew of a human who could hear-" he broke mid-sentence as his eyes roved the figure and settled on a distinctly beastly right hand.
He knelt beside the child's prone figure and turned him over. He was definitely human shaped and yet…there was something distinctly off about him; mismatched hair of blond and tan strands crisscrossed the child's head. He seemed almost human. He looked almost human and yet. He touched the child's paw. A seamless blend from flesh to fur. A true freak of nature.
Infinitely curious about this new specimen, the man gently opened the boy's mouth. Almost human teeth except for a pair of exaggerated canine teeth. A pair of baby fangs seemed to be growing.
It was definitely a child but a child of what? What creature could birth such a thing? Such a –a-No, it couldn't be. The man felt a grin twisting his features. What a find! Such a rarity never before witnessed by man! He had before him a goblin! A baby monster! What grand crowds would come to see the substance of their nightmares! Mothers would shriek at the sight of such a hand and children would gasp and glare with cruel delight.
This night was ending splendidly—far better than he imagined.
The man gazed down at the boy in his arms for a moment before hearing a nearby growl. His eyes darted to the angered goblin just outside the clearing. There was a certain resemblance.
A pair of blazing green and black eyes glared at him from the darkness.
Well, that answered another question. Baby goblins don't just appear. They were sired by great, dangerous, hideous full-grown goblins.
The man gritted his teeth, mulling over his blocked escape route. If he left now, the goblin would tear him apart. If he waited, he risked angering the master—a fate quite possibly worse than death.
He shifted the boy in his arms to reach into his pocket. He withdrew a coin—he rubbed it with his thumb and muttered, "I'll be late—inform him." He then tossed the coin aside.
After a message was sent, the coins were useless—not to mention manufactured. Once their purpose was through, you couldn't even buy yourself a drink—which was a real shame—he glanced back to the furious goblin watching him—because after tonight—he could really use some gin.
He swallowed nervously, "is there any way, I can buy safety—some manner of pardon from you?"
The eyes slit into an even angrier glare.
"Surely, the loss of one goblin child will hardly affect your people. Why, he's not even that scary. And I can assure you, you'll be paid well for it. The Master is always willing to spend great fortunes to purchase…unique objects."
Marak bristled. His six fingered hand clenching and unclenching—itching to perform magic. And, unfortunately, he would not be allowed into the circle unless he was going to be peaceful. Alas, the urge for Goblin Revenge was just too strong.
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