Maldoch arched a shaggy eyebrow at the freed youth. “Hmmm, the spell’s degraded faster than anticipated. I must tweak the recitation to remedy that for future use.”

“I’m a Goblin?” Garrich blurted incredulously.

“What did you think you were boy? An Elf?”

“Actually, yes,” admitted the dazed youth. “The upswept ears, slanted eyebrows…”

Maldoch chuckled cruelly. “You’re a little on the short and dark side to be a native of Gwilhaire.”

Garrich sulked. In the absence of any other clues, his guess was a reasonable assumption. But to now be named a member of the people to whom the general evil of the world was attributed, and who were considered the black sheep of the Fellow Races, was disconcerting.

“Gather up your stuff,” ordered the spellcaster. “We’re leaving for Alberion shortly.”

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