Free Goblin Quest by Philip Reeve Page B

through the use of a magical trumpet. This trumpet, having done its work, was cast into the depths of the sea, there to remain hidden until the world ends. Do not try to seek it, reader! One blast of that horn will part the waters, two shall raise the drowned land, and then the world will tremble again before the terror of the Cushions. ”
    â€œElves,” said Skarper. “That’s what that word must mean. Nobody’s scared of cushions, not really. They mean elves.”
    â€œI am certain it is not elves,” said Dr Prong. “It is something else…”
    â€œThe land that the Lych Lord and his wozzard friends sank with this magic trumpet business,” said Henwyn, “that must be Elvensea, mustn’t it? There can’t be two sunken continents out in the Western Ocean.”
    â€œBut elves are good, aren’t they?” Zeewa asked. “I mean, it was the Lych Lord who defeated them, and he was evil, so…”
    â€œThe Lych Lord was not always evil,” said Fentongoose. “Even if he was, you should not fall into the trap of thinking that his enemies were always good. There was wild magic in the world in those days. Perhaps the Lych Lord and his fellow sorcerers saw Elvensea as a threat to themselves – another land of magic, far out there in the Western Ocean, but not far enough for comfort. Perhaps the people of Elvensea – these elves, or cushions, or whatever we choose to call them – were really their bitter rivals? This old stone recalls a war between two powerful bands of magic-users. Clovenstone defeated Elvensea. But we must not imagine that the sorcerers of Elvensea were any less power-hungry or dangerous than them. Why else would the folk of the Autumn Isles have been so afraid of them?”
    â€œI wish we’d never even heard of that blimmin’ Elvenhorn,” said Skarper.
    â€œBut we have heard of it,” said Zeewa. “And now Prince Rhind has it, and he imagines the masters of Elvensea were good and kindly folk, and that everyone will thank him for waking their magic again.”
    â€œWell, we must stop him!” said Skarper. “We don’t want a load of blimmin’ elf magic all over the place – it’ll be a proper bother.”
    â€œRhind can’t have got far,” said a small goblin called Spurtle. “He only set off at sunrise.”
    â€œHis horses are faster than any we have in Clovenstone,” said Henwyn.
    â€œGoblins go fast!” said Yabber.
    â€œGoblins can hunt!” said Libnog.
    â€œGoblins can follow softling scents through marsh and moor and mountains,” said Spurtle.
    â€œWe ought to have a quest of our own!” said Skarper suddenly. “Why do only softlings and princes and such get to go on quests and have songs sung about them an’ stuff? I say we should have our own goblin quest to fetch this Elvenhorn back and smash it, or plop it back into the deepliest depths of the sea, whichever is most convenient.”
    Around the table, goblin eyes shone. They liked this idea. It had been brilliant last year when they had biffed those stupid dwarves and all the softlings had said what heroes they were. Now they would be heroes again.
    â€œI’ll go!” yelled Spikey Peet.
    â€œAn’ me!” shouted Libnog.
    â€œMe too!” said a dozen more.
    â€œSteady!” said Fentongoose. “You can’t all go – that wouldn’t be a quest, it would just be chaos.”
    â€œSeven sorcerers once set out from Clovenstone to defeat the power of Elvensea,” said Dr Prong. “Perhaps seven of us should go to make sure that it stays defeated. Also, seven is a very auspicious and magical number, and it will sound good if anyone writes songs about us.”
    â€œI should go,” said Henwyn, “because it is sort of my fault that he was able to take the Elvenhorn in the first place.”
    â€œMe too,” said Skarper.