Unicorn Point

15 - Sirelmoba

The days on the undersea isle would have been completely delightful, had it not been for their awareness that a great decision was in the making, and that it was going against the Adept Stile and the animals who supported him. Sirelmoba romped with Barelmosi in wolf and human forms, hunting and gathering and eating and sleeping and attempting to mate. They had been unable to complete the last, because she was too young for her first heat, but the urge for it came in cycles and she knew that in due course those cycles would intensify until completion became feasible. Of course once they suc ceeded, that would be the last of that, because she would enter on her adult stage and would seek a mate elsewhere; her Commitment to Barel, and his to her, would be done. So she was not sorry that they couldn’t do it yet, because the trying and failing was a delightful process rife with mystery and hope. Success would end the mystery and promise, and end that aspect of their relationship, and that would have its sadness. So perhaps they were not trying too hard, after all. Actually they were able to go through the motions in human form, but that had no significance; only wolf form counted. Bitches often did it with human men just for sport; sometimes they were even able to fool the men into believing that they were human women. It was a good test of their ability to emulate the conventions as well as the body of that species. They always had a good laugh when the men finally caught on. Sometimes the men laughed too.

The sieges were set up, and the Translucent Adept made a spell that enabled them to see the action as a magic image over the isle. They watched the harpies beat the bats, thanks to the valiant final action of Phoebe. They knew she didn’t really want to win, but had to try her best as a matter of honor, and she had done that and brought the victory she deplored. They had seen the ‘corns beat the ogres thanks to the stratagem of Barel’s dam Fleta, and that was highly grat ifying. Barel had been so proud of her! But meanwhile came the news of the similar contests in Proton-frame. Nepe kept Barel informed, and some of it was very bad. Nepe’s rovot granddam—grandbitch?—no, grand mother— sometimes she got the various terms confused!—had dueled against the Adept—no, the Citizen Purple, riding dragons, and in the end gone down. It really hadn’t been fair, because they were Purple’s dragons; naturally they had seen to his victory. Then Nepe’s rovot friend Troubot had climbed the glass mountain, throwing water bombs at the lovely bitch Tsetse—oh what fun!—and won the siege. After that Barel had used the bit of magic he was allowed to fashion water balls, and they had re-enacted it, throwing balls at each other in trees. Sirel wondered whether her human form would ever approach the lushness of Tsetse’s. Unicorns could assume other forms, and make of them what they wished, so they were always powerful or esthetic or whatever else the ‘corn wanted, but werewolves were more limited because both their forms were natural. It was similar with the vampire bats. So she would just have to make do with what she had, and hope for the best.

Then had come the contest between Nepe’s mother Agape and the awful Tan Adept—Tan Citizen—wherein they had to make efforts to mate in much the fashion Sirel and Barel had. But there were differences. For one thing. Agape was per manently mated to Nepe’s father Bane, so didn’t want to do it with Tan. For another, it was a contest, with one wishing to mate and the other opposed, and so they had to negotiate. Barel and Sirel both found this process fascinating. But be cause there was no heat—it seemed that human beings had some other and less certain mechanism for breeding—nothing had come of it at first. But then at the end Agape must have come into heat after all—perhaps because she was really an alien creature—and Tan had come at her like any male who winded an available female in heat, and done it. In truth, it hadn’t looked like very much fun for Agape, perhaps because in acceding to it she lost the siege.

So now the enemy side had won two of the three Proton conflicts. That meant they got the Oracle and the service of Mach or Bane to use it in connection with the Book of Magic in Phaze. There was only one chance to stop them, and that was to have Stile’s side win the final siege in Phaze. Then the enemy would not have access to the Book, and would not be able to make the powerful magic that would enable them to prevail in their frame.

And that was why the wolves had to win against the goblins! They were the last good hope.

All of which led to the present need for Sirelmoba to rejoin her Pack. Kurrelgyre needed every wolf for this greatest of sieges, even the cubs!

“So must needs I leave thee, 0 mine oath-friend,” she said tearfully. “But when this be done, then will it change.”

“Well I know it, beloved bitch,” he agreed, hugging her. “I will watch thine every motion, hoping thy presence dost make the difference.”

They separated. She walked to the edge of the isle. ”I be ready to go, 0 Adept!” she called.

Translucent’s big water bubble appeared. “Aye, pup; I will conjure thee now to thy Pack.”

There was a splash around her, and she felt a wrench. Then the water faded into fog, and the fog dissipated, and she was standing outside of the old palace of the Oracle. The Oracle was no longer there, because it had been moved to Proton frame, but the palace remained.

She changed to wolf form and lifted her nose to sniff the wind. Sure enough, she caught the mixed scent of the Pack nearby. She loped toward it, and soon was in the circle of wolves.

She trotted up to Kurrelgyre. “Pack Leader, I be reporting for service with the Pack,” she growled. In growl-talk it was 3 more of an attitude and sniffing of noses, but the essence was precise.

He growled assent, and dismissed her. This, too, was Pack protocol. Now she was free to rejoin her companions. In a moment she was frisking with Forel (now Foreimo!) and Terel, sniffing noses and tails and growling reunion tokens. Her absence from them had not been long as such things went, but it was her first, and suddenly she felt its impact. It had been fun with Barelmosi, and she had regretted leaving him, but it was fun with her Pack and oath-friends too. Later Kurrelgyre summoned her for a private conference.

He assumed manform, so she assumed girlform. He asked her about the isle and what she had noted of the activities of the Translucent Adept, and she reported all that she could remember. Then he surprised her. “Sirelmoba, thou willst participate in the strategy session in the mom ing.”

“I?” she asked, astonished. “But I be but a pup!”

“Aye. Thou be not yet grown. In humanguise thou be very like a gobliness.”

Her human eyes rounded. Small, like a lady goblin! She might infiltrate the goblin ranks and get the flag! “Nay, not exactly,” he said. “Thou willst try for the flag, aye, but from hiding, while others distract. But an they see thee, then mayhap they will not realize thy nature. This be dangerous; be thou ready to risk it?”

“Aye.”

“Come to the session.”

“Aye,” she repeated faintly.

“Bruit this not about; we fear goblin ears.”

“Aye,” she said once more.

That was it. Awed by the importance of her mission, she changed back to cub form and returned to her friends. But all she could tell them was that she had been told to report to the strategy session.

The Pack strategy, it turned out, was direct and brutal. The main body of wolves would attack the goblins, attempting to take out as many as possible so that few would remain to defend the red flag. Meanwhile Sirel would circle around be hind the flag, hide under a bush, and wait. When she saw an opportunity she would assume girlform and walk slowly up and take the flag and hide it in her clothing. Then she would walk back the way she had come and hide again, concentrat ing on concealment rather than speed. If the goblins discovered her, she would assume wolf form and run for it. Sirel, uncertain, asked what would happen if she got caught. “I mean, who will carry the flag, then?” The wolves considered. Then they assigned her oath-friends to this mission also: Poreimo would lead, Sirelmoba would follow when he had found a safe way, and Terel would follow her and move up if Sirel were taken out. Meanwhile Terel would mount rear guard. The object of all of them was to remain unobserved, and to do what they had to to get Sirel to the flag.

“Mark well,” Kurrelgyre growled, “the harpies used a similar ploy ‘gainst the bats; the goblins will be on guard. But by similar token, they will assume we will not be so foolish as to try a known ploy. Ye three will masquerade as goblins, as the harpies could not, and that be the key we hope enables you to succeed. Only small folk can do this; other wise we would ne’er put a pup at such risk. Now when this session be o’er, come to me, that I may guard you from observation while you practice the goblin ways. Say naught elsewhere.”

They were glad to agree, appreciating the importance of secrecy. The Pack Leader had ways of guaranteeing privacy that others did not. If the gobs got any whiff of this, the ploy would be useless; the three of them would be ambushed and dispatched immediately.

After the main strategy was determined, the wolves dis cussed the likely goblin effort. Goblins were sneaky crea tures, sure to come up with bad tricks, and these had to be anticipated. One of the bitches, Hornirila, had been at one time a captive of goblins; they had tortured her and forced her to assume woman form as an object for their lust. She had in due course escaped by using her dull human teeth to gnaw through her bonds; the goblins had not expected that. She had returned to the Pack battered in body and spirit, and with an implacable hatred for goblins. But she also had a thorough knowledge of their ways. She had made it a point to range out alone and kill stray goblins, each kill being only a pittance of vengeance, but all she could do to mitigate her malaise of spirit.

Now she explained the likely goblin organization and ap proach. They would be armed with small spears and clubs, and each would have a knife. Some would have had military training, having served on one of their more disciplined cam paigns, and those would be the organizers. They were tough little fighters, fearless in combat, but tended to dissolve into mobs, each intent on grabbing loot for himself. Their females were relatively gentle and often quite pretty in the human style; these would be assigned noncombat duties as far as possible.

The goblins were good at tunneling, seeming to have some magic that facilitated this. It was Hornirila’s judgment that they would try to tunnel to the blue flag, and draw it under, collapsing the tunnel behind so that pursuit was awkward. But they would surely try any other stratagems they could devise, and the wolves would have to be constantly alert. “Ne’er assume a gob is dead unless you have killed him,” she warned. “Bite one and he will scream and fall and lie still—then stab you when you turn away. Stay clear o’ any bodies, or dump them in a ditch and guard it. No gob can be trusted, living or dead.”

They decided to form a disposal crew that would follow after the fighters, and use spears to stab any dead gobs, then would haul them to a central depot and guard them. That way they would be sure, and not be trapped by gobs feigning death. If they got all the goblins in that pile, fine; then the red flag would be vulnerable.

“I believe we can take them,” Hornirila concluded, “if we fall not into one o’ their traps. Care be the watchword; take time and take naught for granted, and forge a slow victory.” The session broke up.

The three cubs remained for their special instruction. This was done by Hornirila, who showed them how to fashion goblin garb and darken their manform skins to goblin hue. Forelrno had to practice grimacing, and to add covers to his ears to make them huge and ugly, and fluff his hair out wild to make his head look big enough and put on special shoes that resembled the gross goblin feet. The bitches had less trouble, being much more like gob women, but did have to pad out their shirts to look grown-breasted. “But will they not know us for non-tribesmen?” Sirel asked. “Their group be not much larger than ours—”

“Three times ours, in numbers,” Kurrelgyre said. “They deem three gobs to be equal to one wolf, and it behooves us not to question that, lest they increase the number.”

“E’en so,” Sirel persisted, “they should know their own, as we do. We know all o’ ours, and many o’ other Packs, and many ‘corns and bats too, and some elves. The gobs be not stupid like ogres.”

“Needs must I explain,” Hornirila said. “Gobs be not like decent folk. They be creatures o’ annoyance, ire and hate. They band together because they hate all others worse than they hate other goblins, but it be an uneasy association. All too readily goblin males fight goblin males, and gob women are fair game for erotic pursuit, whether they will or nay. It be a point o’ pride that gobs o’ both genders have no friends and few acquaintances; all others they detest. Their cubs are cursed into grudging obedience, and leave their dams early as they can. There be no families; offspring be from rape, coercion, deception or, if all else fails, seduction.”

“Deception?” Terel asked, morbidly intrigued. “Gob girls be e’er naive and hopeful. They want to think that a gob man be decent inside, and that his violence and bad manner be but a show. So when one says he loves a girl, an only she give him a suitable time, she believes, and gives him that time. That may endure till he forget himself and revert to normal, and start hitting her. But by that time she may be gravid. Mostly they bother not; a male simply threatens her with a bashing an she not do for him, or he bash her anyway so she can resist not. Before long the girl comes onto the truth,’that there be no good in any gob male, and that be her initiation into womanhood. Thereafter she avoids males when she can, and submits when she has to, that she be not beat on too badly. But by that time, too, she has little use for any other o’ her species, and be as isolated as the males. Nay, an ye three look like goblins, and like young ones, none will challenge.”

Sirel exchanged glances with Terel and Forelmo. All three were appalled. What an awful curse it was to be a goblin! But maybe the bitch exaggerated. After all, she had had bad experience with goblins. Still, she was their expert on the matter. They had to hope she was right, so that their mission had a chance.

“Now, an a gob male come at thee—“ Hornirila said to Sirel.

“But will he not mistake me for one o’ theirs?” she asked, hoping she misunderstood the thrust of this advice. “That be what I mean. He will seek sex with thee, if he be not hard-pressed by wolves at the moment. An it be pri vate, smile at him, let him embrace thee, then stab him in the stomach, thusly.” She whipped a knife out from a sheath hidden under her skirt and stabbed upward in a gutting mo tion.

“But I can do that not!” she protested.

“Aye thou canst, cub! Think o’ it as a mere animal kill. Remember, all deaths be for the duration o’ the siege only, more’s the pity. It be our purpose to dispatch all the gobs we can, that their number be insufficient to defend their flag at the end. E’ery little stab helps!”

Sirel had to acknowledge the validity of that. She had to be prepared to kill creatures who did not seem like animals. “But an it be public, this be more o’ a problem,” the bitch continued.

Sirel understood why. If other goblins saw her kill one of them, they would know her for an enemy. But if she did not resist . . .

“Avoid him,” the bitch continued. “Sidestep as he reaches for thee. An he pursue thee, flee. This be what the goblin lassies do. Lead him to a private place, then do as before. But an there be no private place, an he catch thee, stare him in the face and say ‘What be my payment?’ He will profess outrage at the notion; gobs like plundering the wealth o’ oth ers, not yielding up their own. Then say ‘But Slackjaw paid me with a magic amulet! Be thou not his match?’ An he be not diverted by this, and seeks to ravish thee regardless, call to the nearest other male gob and cry ‘Canst stand by and watch me be ravished by this dullard, when thou dost be the one I hanker for?’ Then in the ensuing quarrel, sneak away.”

Sirel was impressed and appalled. She realized that if she got killed, she would recover after the siege—but what if she got raped? She wasn’t sure that could be undone. After all, she had not yet had her first heat. Her motions with Barel had been tentative and gentle; this would hardly be the case here. A successful masquerade could still put her in jeopardy! They perfected their costumes, then reverted to wolf form. Now when they changed, they would be complete with cos tume and knives. They would remain in wolf form until the siege, so that no spy would know.

Next day was the siege. Kurrelgyre and his senior bitch went out to make contact with the goblin chief. At their re turn, the action commenced. Several wolves bounded for ward, zig-zagging so as to make poor targets. They were met by a number of thrown rocks, but the goblins were no ogres; most of the rocks missed, and those that struck were not very damaging. The wolves landed among them and started tear ing flesh.

Meanwhile, other wolves in manform used bows to pick off any goblins they saw exposed. Before long the front re gion was clear, and the bitches on the body-hauling crew went out to collect the goblin corpses. Sure enough, some of the gobs weren’t dead; a bitch got stabbed when she bent over one. Hornirila’s warning had been apt! Meanwhile other bitches listened at the ground. Here, too, the warning was apt: in due course they heard the sounds of deep tunneling. It was proceeding at a measured but adequate rate toward the blue flag. Well, there would be a welcoming party when that tunnel broached the surface! The three cubs saw these activities only in passing. They faded back, pretending to be searching for hidden goblins, but actually working their way out of sight so they could make their long circuit to the rear of the goblin flag. They knew that the goblins’ main effort, the tunnel, would take time, just as the wolves’ main effort of gob destruction would. They did not have to hurry, only to hide. Still, they felt urgency, lest some surprise cost their side the siege before they had a chance to complete their mission.

They had ranged the terrain in advance, of course, and well knew the lay of it. They had marked the places where goblins could hide. The gobs would be watching for an encirclement, and there were certain key spots for this. These were the tricky ones to navigate.

The first was a ravine that ran from wolf to gob territory. Beyond it was an open plateau leading to the big lake; no cover there. Inside it was a thicketed dirt bank that was so obviously suitable for goblin tunneling that no wolf dared go near it. So the ravine was the route to use—and there would surely be a goblin guarding it. Perhaps two. But not many, 9 because the goblins could not spare a great number for the outlying regions, while the main action was in the center. There was a faint smell of goblin, so the region was suspect. The pups were prepared. Terel had a small bow, with which she was facile in girlform. She crawled in the brush beyond the bank on the near side of the gully. When she was in place, Forel in wolf form leaped into the gully at its origin and raced straight along its deepening center. If he got through, Sirel would follow. If not—

A goblin popped out of a hole in the top of the bank. .He drew back his arm, about to hurl a stone down into the gully. Terel fired her arrow. It struck through the goblin’s back.

The goblin collapsed.

Forel continued on down the length of the ravine without other event. It seemed that one goblin was all the enemy had been able to spare for this. Was he truly dead? Sirel wasn’t sure, but knew that they would not be returning this way, so it probably didn’t matter. She set off in wolf form, following Forel’s trail.

The goblin did not stir as she passed him. He was either dead or too canny to move while Terel covered him from behind. Sirel got through unscathed, and joined Forel in the cover of a tree. Forel had sniffed the vicinity and was assured that no goblins were near.

In a moment Terel arrived, having changed back to wolf form and followed their trail. “Dead,” she growled. “In hole.” Obviously she had verified it, and hauled the gob back into his hole so that the body was hidden. That was good, because it meant that there would be no report of their passage. Of course if another goblin came and found the dead one, there would be a suspicion, but by then it might well be too late.

One hurdle down. The next was a thickly forested section that was sure to be mined with goblins. Indeed the smell was there; goblins would be hiding in several trees, ready to at tack any wolf who tried to pass.

Now the three changed to their human forms. They looked exactly like three goblins. They had rehearsed for this too, but Sirel was weak-human-kneed about the ploy’s chance for success.

Terel set up in the bushes near the trees, her bow ready. Forel stood and walked boldly toward the trees, making no effort at all to hide. “Hey, any wolves in here?” he called. “I’ll bash ‘em!”

“Shut up, nut!” a goblin called from the foliage above.

“You’ll ruin the ambush!”

“Aw, they’ll ne’er get this far!” Forel asserted. Now Sirel walked up. Forel whirled on her. “Hey, that’s for me!” he cried, starting toward her. Sirel dodged behind a tree. “I be coming only to relieve the guards o’ the flag!” she protested. “Molest me not, oaf!”

“Ha-ha! What I plan be not molestation, just fun!” He pursued her around the tree.

Sirel fled through the forest, in the direction of the flag. There were assorted chortles from the trees; evidently the ambushers considered this mere good sport. Forel was gaining on her; by the time she reached the cover of the bushes of an overgrown glade, he was almost upon her. But as they dived into the bushes, they changed back to their wolf forms. They had made it! The ruse had worked! They were through without suspicion.

Could Terel make it also? They waited anxiously.

Soon they heard a commotion from the forest. “Mine!”

“Nay, mine!” Then a scream.

Sirel shuddered. Terel had not made it. The ambush goblins, perhaps excited by the notion of chasing females, had pounced on the next one that showed, and Terel had been unable to escape. She must have stabbed one—but there had been more than one, and no chance to play them off against each other. Was Terel dead or raped?

At any rate, their rear guard was gone. Terel had done well, but now they were two. They could not pause for regrets. The flag was not far ahead. They crept to cover near it and watched.

It was guarded by several goblin maidens. They chatted and tittered and tossed flowers at each other in the manner of maidens everywhere, seeming to have not a care in the frame. But each had a knife in her garter, and there were surely many males within hailing distance. One scream would bring a convergence. Sirel knew better than to try to pass for a gobliness among these; the males overlooked details be cause of their unbridled lust, but these girls would know. She had to wait for her opportunity.

Time passed. The distant clamor of battle came closer. The 1 goblin defense was understrength, because of the number be ing used in the tunneling, so it was hardly surprising that the wolves were making progress. But Kurrelgyre was not de pending on that to win the flag; he was depending on Sirel. She had to have the patience to do it correctly, and that meant waiting, no matter what else happened.

Suddenly three wolves burst into sight, running for the flag. They had won through! The goblin maidens saw them and screamed.

Then six turf-lids popped up, a goblin head showing in each hole. Six small spears flew at the wolves, who could not avoid them at such close range. All three were struck and wounded.

The goblins scrambled out of their holes, drawing their sharp little knives. The wounded wolves fought, snapping viciously, but each was beset by two goblins, and already bleeding. The action was fierce and brief. Then four goblins and all three wolves lay dead, and the remaining two goblins staggered away, injured.

The maidens went to the goblins, checking the dead and attending to the living.

Then a wolf in manform burst through, armed with a bow. He put an arrow through one goblin, and was aiming at the other when two of the girls leaped at him, their knives flashing. He got the arrow off, and the remaining male died, but then he went down under the stabs of the girls. He changed to wolf form and snapped at them, and both girls screamed as the sharp teeth tore their tender flesh. Then a third girl ran across with a club. She smashed it down on the wolf’s head with all her strength, and he went quiet.

Sirel knew that Forel could have taken out that third maiden with one of his arrows, and perhaps saved the wolf. But that would have revealed his presence, and that was forbidden. He had had to exercise the discipline of his mission, and watch one of his own Pack brothers be killed. Now only two gob girls remained to guard the flag. Sirel considered. Surely there would soon be replacements for the lost girls, because that flag was important. Now might be her best opportunity.

She assumed her gobliness form and walked toward the flag. “I be here to replace—“ She paused, as if just now spying the bodies. She screamed, emulating the manner of the others.

But one of the girls was not fooled. “How came thee from the other direction?” she demanded. “Give me the code word!”

Code word? Sirel had not anticipated this!

The girl drew her knife. “Say it now, or we skewer thee!”

These were not, Sirel now knew, quite as innocent or gentle as she had been led to expect. What was she to do?

She drew her own knife. “Say it thyself! I answer not to thee!”

But the second gobliness was approaching from the other side, her knife also drawn. “All answer to us, here. Methinks thou dost be a spy!”

Then the first girl leaped and fell, an arrow protruding from her back. Forel had struck.

Sirel whirled on the other, her own knife flashing. The gobliness, startled by the fall of her companion, was slow to counter, and Sirel’s knife plunged into her chest. She sighed and collapsed, looking so woebegone that Sirel felt horribly guilty. She wanted to stop and try to help the girl, but she remembered two things: her mission, and the warning about supposedly dead goblins. She turned away. An arrow swished by her. Was Forel firing at her? Then something touched her leg, behind. She jumped and turned—and found the stabbed gobliness, fallen on her face, her arm outstretched, knife still in hand. Forel had caught her with the arrow as she tried to stab Sirel in the back. She had indeed not been quite dead! She had pretended to be more grievously wounded than she was, so as to put Sirel off guard, and it had worked. Except for Forel’s alertness. Sirel went up to the flag. She climbed the tree and took it down. But as she touched the ground, another goblin appeared. His mouth opened—and Forel’s third arrow smashed into that open mouth and through the head. Sirel tucked the flag out of sight in her clothing. She walked by Forel’s bush. “We must go!” she whispered.

“Thou must walk, masquerading,” he whispered back. “I will follow concealed and guard thee.”

She nodded. It was the best way. She had the flag, but she was not yet out of the goblin region. The longer she could pass for a gobliness, the better.

She walked back toward the region of the blue flag. All around were the bodies of wolves and of goblins; the carnage was horrible. She was glad that this was a siege and not a real battle; it certainly looked real!

A goblin staggered back from the front. “More troops! More troops!” he gasped, seeing Sirel. “They ambushed the tunnel; we took awful losses! All’s lost unless—”

“Let me bandage that arm,” she said, realizing that she still had a part to play. She bent to rip the material of a dead gob’s shirt, to make a bandage. The goblin would not suspect her of being a wolf, this way!

“No time!” he protested. “Got to put in our reserves!”

“The ones guarding the flag are dead,” she said. “Wolves broke through. There was a terrible fight, and the wolves are dead, but so are the goblins.”

He sagged. “Then all be lost.” Then he looked more closely at her, as she approached him with a strip of cloth. “In which case, might as well have some fun.” He grabbed for her.

Oops! Maybe she had played it too well. “Wait, let me bandage thee first! Thine arm—”

“Bandage me second,” he said, catching hold of her with his good arm, with surprising strength. He bore her back against a tree, crowding close.

Then he sagged. An arrow had sprouted from his back.

Forel had struck yet again.

But the delay had been critical. Now more gobs were straggling back from the front. “Hey, look what we got!” one cried, seeing Sirel.

“Change and run!” Forel cried. “I will hold them here!” She didn’t argue; she knew they would catch her, rape her, and soon discover her nature and kill her, in the process stop ping her ploy with the flag. She assumed wolf form and leaped away to the side, seeking the cover of brush. “Wolf! Wolf!” the goblins cried, recovering excitement.

“Catch the bitch!”

But the first to start after her was felled by an arrow. The others whirled at this new menace. Much as they liked raping girls of any species, they liked living more. As Sirel reached the brush, she saw them closing in on Forel who, retaining manform, was methodically putting arrows through them. But she knew his supply was limited; he had already expended several in the course of guarding her. There were too many gobs; they would get him and kill him. So it was that Forel sacrificed himself to spring her free, and she had no choice but to accept.

She burst through to the wolf section of the range. Here the gob tunnel debouched. Goblins lay all around, and there was a huge pile of them in the depot; evidently in the end there had been too many bodies for the cleanup crew to drag, so they had been left. A few wolves were licking their wounds, getting ready to resume duty.

She looked to the blue flag—and it was gone! The gobs must have gotten it! But they had not brought it back to their own flag. It must be somewhere in between. She assumed girlform. “Where be the flag?” she called to the nearest wolf.

He looked at her—and growled. Suddenly all the few wolves of the vicinity were growling, coming for her. “Wait!” she cried. “This be but a costume. I be no gob girl!” She changed back to wolf form, to prove it. They relaxed. One of them turned out to be Kurrelgyre.

He was wounded, but could still fight. “Didst get it?”

“Aye!” she said, returning to girlform and pulling out the red flag.

“One got our flag, but we killed him,” he said. “We were resting, making ready for the final effort. But now, with thy success—“ He relaxed, and she saw that his injuries were worse than they had seemed at first. He had been putting on a brave show, and was near collapse. “There, across the field,” he said, sinking down as he pointed. Now she saw the dead gob. The blue flag was clutched in his hand. The wolves had not been allowed to touch it, of course, so it remained there where he had fallen. Obviously this had been a near thing!

She reached the body, and extended the captive red flag.

Victory!

The dead gob came to life. He snatched up a dagger that had been hidden beneath him and plunged it into her belly. Then, as she fell back, shocked, not yet feeling the pain, he bashed her hand so that the red flag fell out. He jammed the blue flag on top of it! “Victory!” he cried. The final goblin trick had been so obvious—and it had worked. If only she had remembered to make sure he was dead! She had labored so hard, only to cast it away so fool ishly.

The gong sounded. The siege was over—and the goblins had won. The enemy had won two of three sieges, just as in Proton-frame. Sirel’s anguish was worse than the pain in her body.