Hounded

elves walking briskly and waving their arms about somewhat spastically. In the magical spectrum, though, I saw that they were trying to bind the kobold and he was deflecting every attempt. He didn’t counterattack—he didn’t have time to muster a response under the relentless assault of the gnomes—but neither was there a need to as long as he could keep making progress toward the quarry.
    I had nothing I could contribute magically at this point. My last dregs of power were needed to keep Oberon camouflaged; I couldn’t have him be seen unleashed and unattended at a mall. Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough left to cast it on myself, and I sorely needed it now that other shoppers, drawn by the sounds of conflict, were paying attention to our little imbroglio—especially since they saw a naked man lying next to a clothed man. I could see how that might excite their curiosity. I needed to get out of there and reconnect with the earth—and help the gnomes while I was at it.
    Gasps and cries and an outraged » Hey! What are you doing? « reached me from various parts of the parking lot as I rolled the man over, looking for anything that might help me in a fight. I was hoping for a pocketknife, but had no luck. However, a bulging, telltale ring on the back pocket of his jeans suggested that he owed his brown teeth to chewing tobacco. I fished the round can out of there, satisfyingly heavy in my hand, and then streaked east toward the quarry—in both senses of the word.
    Indignant cries chased me. They probably thought I’d taken the man’s wallet. If they pursued me in earnest they’d risk getting themselves drawn into the fight between the gnomes and the kobold. The sooner this was over, the safer everyone would be.
    I scooted along the northernmost edge of the lot, which would allow me to pass the duelists with the grace of maybe three or four yards. As I drew even with the gnomes, I contributed to their cause by chucking the can o’ tobacky directly at the kobold. He saw me and the flash of the can in the light of the lot and desperately whipped a deflection spell at it, perhaps thinking it was a throwing star or some other kind of weapon. It was nothing more than distraction.
    It served to open a fissure in the wall of the kobold’s defense, however, allowing one of the gnomes’ binding spells to squirt through and knock him down. The steel thermos clattered loudly on the ground a couple of times before rolling away. Now that the breach was made, other spells piled on. Kohleherz screeched a nerve-shredding chalkboard scream, knowing that his death was imminent and there was nothing he could do about it. I kept running east and left the gnomes to it as they rushed in to make the kobold render them personal, physical restitution; Kohleherz’s cries cut off abruptly with a wet noise—and the sense of wrong I’d felt as a subtext ever since his arrival dissipated.
    Sirens approached as my feet found the sandy soil of the quarry. Relief flooded through me as I drew energy up through my tattoos and camouflaged myself. Once I’d topped off the magical tank, I strolled back to make sure Kohleherz was truly dead.
    He was. Nothing remained but an oily, oozing patch of asphalt and a group of savagely pleased gnomes. I felt sure they would keep my presence here a secret, and the faery would be telling no tales, since his ashes were scattering in the wind. Goibhniu had come and gone without ever seeing me, so I concluded, as I wished to, that it was safe to stay in Tempe for a while longer. The Rathskellers retrieved the steel thermos, and that was for the best; whatever Goibhniu had brewed, it was not intended for humans. They saw me passing by, my camouflage providing no concealment to their magical vision, and they bowed briefly. I nodded back, acknowledging that I’d done them a favor and someday, if occasion arose, they’d return it.
    The smokeless tobacco guy would be getting an ambulance soon, judging by the sirens and the few people clustered around him holding cell phones, so I walked back to where I’d left my dog and got dressed so I could walk in plain sight again.
    › It’s about time, ‹ Oberon said when I returned. › I am famished! ‹
    Famished, eh? That’s a pretty big word for a dog to use .
    › I have been saving it for a special occasion, and here we are. We have moved beyond simple hunger into hoity-toity synonyms. Nobody dropped a muffin or a sandwich or anything the whole time