Chapter One #3
Another servant entered at a run shouting the same thing, prompting an older lady to faint, a singularly unhelpful reaction to the news. Some guests surged toward the doors—running for the terrace or escaping elsewhere in the building—as others shouted that the ballroom doors should be barricaded.
Two figures emerged from the back of the ballroom and swept past Elizabeth: Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy. The latter was unsheathing a sword engraved with runes: a bespelled blade.
Jane’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh! They must be paladins.” The warrior mages were the kingdom’s primary defense against goblin attacks, evil mages, and any other dark magic that might threaten the rest of the population.
Paladins learned a special technique that allowed them to hide and then summon their swords seemingly from thin air.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Of course Mr. Darcy is a paladin.” They were known for an extra helping of arrogance.
Jane watched Mr. Bingley disappear through the ballroom door. “We are fortunate they are here.”
Elizabeth had never observed a paladin fight; goblins and other dark magic were rare in Hertfordshire. Watching the battle would be terribly thrilling. But fighting goblins was hardly an activity that called for spectators, and her assistance might be needed in the ballroom.
“Remain calm!” shouted a stout, unprepossessing man who emerged from the card room.
Since Elizabeth did not recognize him, she guessed he was another visitor from Netherfield.
“If you remain within the ballroom, you will be safe. I am a mage with the Convocation, and I shall fight any goblins that attempt to attack this room!”
There was a general murmur of approbation at this announcement, but Elizabeth was tempted to roll her eyes. Most mages belonged to the Convocation—well, male mages anyway—the country’s magical governing body. Being a member did not prove much beyond a minimal level of magical talent.
The man chanted in Latin to activate a spell. Elizabeth could sense him weaving together strands of ether—the magical energy that only mages could see or use. He created a standard deflection spell, which would be useful if anyone shot arrows into the room but would do little to stop a goblin.
When the man ceased chanting, several people applauded, causing the stout man to preen. Elizabeth sighed. Yet another Academy-trained mage who regarded himself more highly than was warranted.
Somebody yanked on Elizabeth’s arm, and she turned. Her hands fluttering like butterflies, Elizabeth’s mother peered anxiously at her. “Your father went to summon the carriage. The goblin will attack him, I know it! What shall we do if he is killed? We’ll be thrown into the hedgerows for sure.”
“Papa is outside?” A stab of terror jolted through Elizabeth.
She took a step toward the door, but Jane caught her hand. “You cannot go outside, Lizzy. It is too dangerous!”
“It is not much safer here,” Elizabeth replied. “That mage could not stop an angry gnome.”
“Let the paladins take care of it,” Jane insisted, her forehead creased with worry.
“I will not leave Papa alone and defenseless,” Elizabeth said. The mere mention of her father provoked an anguished moan from her mother. “The paladins may not even know he is there.” Without another word, she pulled her arm from Jane’s grasp and rushed toward the door.
Guests were wailing in fear or arguing loudly about what to do; the commotion made it easy for Elizabeth to slip through the doorway unnoticed. The last thing she needed was someone trying to prevent her from leaving for her own good.
The corridors were empty; no doubt the servants were hiding.
The sounds of shouting and the goblin’s angry roar echoed through the building even before Elizabeth reached the front hall.
Despite her slippers and long gown, Elizabeth crossed the hall quickly and burst through the doors to a little porch, which topped a short flight of stone stairs that descended to the drive.
She stopped to take stock of a scene that barely made sense.
It was a warm night for early January, but winter’s bite was still in the air.
The sun had set long ago, but a plethora of torches illuminated the circular drive before the assembly hall.
The drive was lined with coaches; the coachmen had fled.
The goblin stood on the roof of a ruined carriage, having killed the horses with swipes from its enormous claws.
Elizabeth was astonished at how accurate the terrified coachman’s description had been.
The monster was at least six feet tall—with bright blue, leathery skin covered in thick dark hair and twisted horns emerging from its skull.
Most notably, it had six arms that each ended in five-inch claws.
Elizabeth had only encountered one goblin previously, and it had resembled a cross between a hellhound and a border collie—with a tendency to eat sheep rather than herd them. This goblin was nothing like that.
But she had viewed similar illustrations in books. “Hobgoblin,” she breathed. Her stomach lurched with agitation—and a touch of excitement. Many mages went their whole lives without observing a hobgoblin, one of the most destructive types of goblins.
Given its size, she was not surprised that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were struggling to fight it. Just after she emerged from the hall, the goblin jumped down from the roof of the ruined coach, forcing Mr. Bingley to jump backward to avoid being sliced open by one long claw.
Mr. Darcy fared a little better. Needing to stay out of reach of the six long arms, he struggled to get close enough to the creature to stab it.
While the goblin’s attention was distracted by Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy did manage to land one good blow, severing one of its hands.
The goblin screamed in pain, but did not slow its attack, advancing with even more fury.
The stump at the end of its arm bled freely for a few seconds, but then a hand started to grow back.
Heavens! How unfair! How could such a creature be defeated?
Elizabeth had a tendency to dive headlong into any fray but held herself back from racing toward the goblin by sheer power of will.
She reminded herself that paladins were trained for such battles, and she was not.
Moreover, her task was to find her father.
She strained her eyes but could discern no figure lurking in the shadows along the edge of the drive.
Her breath caught in her throat. Where was he? Had the goblin already killed him?
Then she spied a figure, crumpled and unmoving, at the foot of the steps.