Dark Lord of Derkholm (Derkholm 1) - Page 41

The six lordly elves there sprang up from behind after-dinner cups of coffee and bowed gracefully. “My liege lord,” said the one with the golden circlet. “Greetings.”

They were all nearly seven feet tall. Derk found them a bit much. He hurriedly pulled forward a chair and sank down on it, and it was just as well that he did. The pigs had scented Derk while they scented the dragon. With a frenzied drumming of trotters and much excited squealing, the whole herd swept in through the open front door and on into the dining room, where they threw themselves delightedly upon Derk. The youngest porker jumped painfully into his lap. The rest stood on hind trotters to bunt him with their snouts, or surged against his knees, while Ringlet, being the oldest and the cheekiest of the sows, fluttered up onto the table, where she could look soulfully into Derk’s eyes. Derk busily rubbed backs or scratched at the bases of stumpy wings and bawled at Ringlet to “Get down off there, pig!”

The effect on the elves was peculiar. The one with the circlet gaped and stood like a statue. His right hand was out, with its long, long index finger pointing stiffly at Ringlet. Derk would have been afraid he was trying to turn Ringlet to stone or something, except that the other five elves were falling about with laughter, crowing joyfully, slapping their elongated thighs, and hugging one another, as pleased as the pigs were. Finally, the laughing five swung the elf with the circlet around and hugged him, too, at which he joined in their laughter and began slapping the others on their backs. Old George, coming in hot pursuit of the pigs, skidded to a stop in the doorway and stared. Elves just did not behave like this normally.

“Forgive us, oh my lord!” gasped one of the five lesser elves. “Talithan, my prince, has this moment seen his prophecy come true, and we are witness to it.”

“Yes, truly, my lord,” said Prince Talithan. He was panting with emotion, and tears were running from his great greenish eyes. “Pray forgive me. I must tell you that my brother long ago went adventuring to our neighbor world, where Mr. Chesney has him a prisoner, thus forcing all elves to do his will. And when my father lately was sorrowing at this and saying that surely one day my brother must escape and come home to us, I answered him bitterly and scoffingly, saying, ‘Yea, that day will come when pigs do fly!’ for which reason my father grew angry and sent me to you, to become the Dark Lord’s minion. And here, where I come, behold! Pigs fly!” He pointed again at Ringlet, who was still on the table.

“Well, I’ve been breeding them with wings for years now,” Derk said. “Perhaps you shouldn’t build your hopes on it.”

“I do. It was spoken as a prophecy,” Talithan replied.

“Have it your own way,” Derk said. “What actually brings you here? I thought I’d made all the arrangements with your people.”

Prince Talithan blotted away his tears on his green silken sleeve and bowed again. “That was when others were to lead your Dark Elves, my lord. I must now pay my respects as the new leader of Dark Elves, with these my captains, Gwithin, Loriel, Damorin, Fandorel, and Beredin.”

They were all names famous in elflore. Derk did his best to bow respectfully while sitting in a chair under a heap of pigs. The Elfking, he thought, must have been very angry, if he sent people like this to be Dark Elves. It was considered a great disgrace. And this made it all the odder that Prince Talithan seemed so eager to pay his respects. Derk suspected there was more to this than the matter of flying pigs. “I am honored,” he said as he bowed.

“And I am distressed, my lord,” said Talithan, “that you seem not quite to be well.”

“I had a little disagreement with a dragon,” Derk said, “but I am honored at your concern, Your Highness.” And now let’s cut the cackle, he thought, and find out what they’ve really come for. “Indeed, you honor me too much. What is it you were waiting here for?”

“I do, in truth, my lord,” Talithan admitted, “require a boon of you.”

Ah, thought Derk. “You want to be released from having to be a Dark Elf, I imagine?”

“No, no, my lord!” Talithan protested. “To be allowed to serve you, obeying your every whim for a year and a day, is all I ask!”

“What?” Derk began to wonder if the elf prince was mad. Maybe this was why his father had sent him to Derkholm. “Why would you want to do that?”

Talithan smiled, as only elves could smile, heartrendingly, brilliantly. “You have a small wonder horse with striped wings,” he said, “that can talk and has the pow

er to visit the secret home of the elves.”

“Pretty?” said Derk. “Can Pretty do that?”

“He can indeed, my lord,” one of the other elves—Loriel, Derk thought—assured him. “We found the small horse, all of us, astray in our hidden places, crying out that he was lost.”

“That was probably a lie if I know Pretty,” Derk murmured. “And?”

“I crave the small horse, Pretty,” said Prince Talithan. “Give him to me, of your bounty, and I will serve you in any way you wish.”

“No,” said Derk.

To Derk’s consternation, Talithan vaulted the dining table, dislodging Ringlet in the process, and went down on one knee among the pigs at Derk’s feet. “I beg you!” he said, amid Ringlet’s irritated grunting. “My lord, I implore you! Never, for three hundred years, have I felt such joy in or longing for a living creature! Life would have meaning for me once again were I only to own this horse and train him and ride him in the sky! I would treat him better than I treat myself. You have my word.”

“Oh, do get up,” said Derk. “I said no. Pretty isn’t a year old yet.”

“That I know,” Talithan said, still kneeling. “That is why I said I would serve you a year and a day for him. I will most faithfully serve you, lord, if you will only let me have Pretty at the end of that time.” He stood up, towering over Derk. “This I swear to, in front of these thirty witnesses.”

Thirty? Derk looked round at the pigs, each, even Ringlet, with his or her snout turned wonderingly up to Talithan, then at Old George, looking quite as wondering, and then over at the five elves, who each had a hand over his heart, swearing witness. Finally Derk looked over at the kitchen door, where Lydda, Elda, and Fran were squeezed together, staring at him accusingly.

“I was hoping to breed more winged horses with Pretty,” Derk said weakly.

“That can be arranged,” Talithan suggested.

“We would like winged horses, too,” said one of the other elves, Gwithin, Derk thought.

Tags: Diana Wynne Jones Derkholm Fantasy
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