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The Affairs of Wizards

“Men stink,” cursed Elena Rosa Capratis as she slammed the front door to her house and locked it. She threw a woolen scarf over her dark-haired head, wrapping it around her neck and letting the end flow down her back to seal out the chill wind that howled through the streets of Valek City every evening this time of year like a hungry wolf. She hiked up her skirts as her soft leather shoes carefully negotiated the wooden plank crossing the stream of muddy water that ran past her door. Once safely across, she squared her shoulders and headed off down the street.

How dare Marco treat her like that, she fumed silently as she stalked along, almost bumping into a goblin merchant pushing his cart. She bowed to the creature, apologizing curtly and turning away as he continued to jabber angrily at her. Marco had seemed so nice at first–friendly, charming, and oh so handsome. He came from a good family too. Not as rich as the Capratises, but then who in this city was? Still, money had seemed the furthest thing from his mind when he’d held her with his hands on her hips at the ball and kissed her. And later, when they’d retired to his chambers and she’d gotten a look at what lay beneath his silk shirt and pantaloons, she’d been sure he was the one.

But things had soured quickly, as they always did after she took a man into her bed. Within a week he’d begun ordering her around like a serving girl. Her, the daughter of Don Capratis, head of the Merchants’ Guild, who could buy and sell Marco’s family six times over! She’d told him off, and he’d responded, as her lovers always did, that he was a man and expected his woman to obey him. And that had been the end of that. Marco had left her house in a huff, and she, since he’d already drunk all her liquor, had decided to go out and drown her sorrows at a tavern she knew. She arrived outside the door as the sky overhead darkened from a burnt orange to a pale violet.

It was warm in the tavern, and the air was drenched with the smell of beer and sweat as a handful of candles tried valiantly to lighten the gloom. The patrons were mostly human, though she noticed a couple of orcs sitting in a booth to one side, eyeing her. She ignored them, making her way to the bar. She sat down on a stool, unwrapped her scarf, then bowed her head and sighed. This would be a long, bitter night, and she was not looking forward to it.

“Are you all right?”

She turned towards the rasping, nasal voice. It had come from a creature the like of which she’d never seen before seated on the barstool beside her. A pair of huge blue eyes dominated his face, pupils reflecting the candlelight with a faint amber glow. A shock of gold hair hung down between them. His ears fanned out to either side of his head, each looking like three tapering fingers joined by webbing. His face protruded forward in a beaky snout with a pair of slits for nostrils. His mouth was incredibly wide. The whole bizarre composition was covered in fine, dusty gold fur and sat atop a thin stalk of a neck which disappeared into a long dark gray robe that hung from his nearly non-existent shoulders all the way to his ankles. Buff-colored slippers covered his feet. His head barely came up to the level of her chest.

“I’m fine,” Elena replied to the strange creature, turning away and brushing her hair back.

He chuckled. “The last time I felt that fine, I needed a stiff drink. Can I get you one?”

She turned and looked back at him curiously, then shrugged. “Why not?”

He raised a spidery, four-fingered hand and gestured to the barkeep. “Brul, give the lady whatever she wants. Put it on my tab.” The barkeep nodded and came over to her. She asked for a mug of his best ale, and he filled one and set it on the bar in front of her.

“Cheers,” the creature said, smiling, as he raised his own mug to her and took a gulp. She nodded and sipped her ale, letting it warm her insides.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t mention it. If it keeps you from crying, it was money well spent.”

She smiled. “That would have been embarrassing.”

“And messy.” He took another sip from his drink. “What’s your name?”

“Elena.”

“Where are you from, Elena?”

“Right here in Valek City.”

“Really?”

She looked at him. “You sound surprised.”

He shrugged. “You have much better manners than the average Valek City dweller.”

She chuckled. “I guess all those etiquette lessons were good for something after all.”

“Good manners opens more doors than money or education. And speaking of good manners, my name’s Denvil.”

She leaned over the bar and propped her head up with her elbow. Talking to this weird little creature at least diverted her mind from her own problems. “And where are you from, Denvil?”

“A little village nobody’s ever heard of in the mountains far to the north.”

She nodded. “Not to seem rude, but what are you? I’ve never seen one of your race before.”

“I’m a kobold. The only one in Valek City, as far as I know.”

“And what brings a little fellow like you so far from his home?”

Denvil grinned. “Magic.”

She blinked. “You traveled here by magic?”

“No, I traveled here by foot. I came to learn magic.”

“I see. And have you?”

“See for yourself.” He gestured, uttering an incantation, and a bottle from the shelf behind the bar rose into the air and floated over to his outstretched hand. He refilled his mug from it.

She noted the bartender’s back had been turned. “That’s stealing.”

“Yes, but Brul waters his drinks, so it’s justified.” He finished pouring and knocked back a mouthful.

She smiled, sipping her ale. “So who is your master? I assume you’re someone’s apprentice.”

“Gartrist.”

Her eyes went wide. “Gartrist the Pantologist?”

“Ah, you’ve heard of him.”

“Who hasn’t? They say he’s the greatest wizard in Valek City.” Her respect for the little creature jumped substantially.

Denvil chuckled. “Is that what they say? Looks like I made the right choice then. You don’t settle for second best when it comes to something you care about.”

Elena sighed. “What if second best is all there is?”

“Not possible,” Denvil said, grinning. “Second best necessarily implies the existence of something better.”

She scowled. “All right then. What if second best is the best you can do?”

His grin faded, and he looked into his drink and shrugged. “Then maybe you’re doing something wrong.”

Elena sighed and sipped her ale. Some minstrels had come in and were setting up on a small stage. There was a lute-player, a flautist, and a drummer, all dressed in bright colors. They sat down on stools and began performing a jaunty dancing tune that made the room seem a bit brighter.

Elena smiled. She liked to dance and was fairly good at it, another benefit of her etiquette lessons. She looked around the room, but nobody else seemed to be especially interested in the music. She glanced down at Denvil, who was holding his mug with both hands and sipping from it.

Whatthehell.

“Would you like to dance?” she asked.

Denvil blinked and looked up at her. “Sure. But I warn you, I’m not very good.”

“That’s fine. I am very good, so together we’ll be average.” She held out her hand to him, and he took it and hopped down off his stool. He couldn’t be more than four feet tall, she noted, and his hand was covered with a fine velvet of soft golden fur, though his palm and the pads of his fingers were bare. She led him out onto the floor in front of the stage, and they faced each other, holding hands, and began to dance.

The kobold was somewhat better than “not very good,” she quickly realized, and while his height made certain moves impossible, they were able to improvise around them. They twirled adeptly around the small dance floor as the minstrels smiled, clearly glad someone was enjoying their playing. Denvil seemed to be getting into it, even managing to dip her at one point. For her part, it felt good just to lose herself in motion and let the music sweep away her troubles. Wasn’t that what music and dancing were for? When the song finished, the minstrels and several of the patrons applauded them. Denvil bowed and Elena curtsied, and then they both went back to the bar.

“Where did you learn to dance like that?” she asked, smiling.

Denvil took a gulp from his mug. “Gartrist taught me.”

“Gartrist taught you?”

He nodded and grinned. “He knows lots of things besides magic.”

“Really? I thought wizards were all stuffy old coots who stayed locked up in their towers, studying arcane lore, and had no time for frivolity.”

Denvil chuckled. “Some are. And some, like Gartrist, prefer to come down out of their towers every once in a while and party.”

“He sounds like an interesting man.”

“He’s an amazing man. I’ve been listening to him tell stories about his adventures for years, and I’ve yet to hear him repeat himself. I hope I can see and do half the things he has.”

She smiled. “You’re very fond of him, aren’t you?”

Denvil nodded. “Whatever I become, I’ll owe to him.”

Elena nodded and sipped her drink, envying the little kobold. He knew what he wanted, and was busy chasing his dream. What did she want to become? It pained her to realize she didn’t know. She certainly didn’t want to end up the trophy wife of some money-grubbing, social-climbing parasite, but as for what she did want, she had no idea. Nearly twenty and not a clue what to do with her life. The thought depressed her. She wouldn’t be young and pretty forever.

“Elena!” The familiar voice jerked her out of her funk. She looked up and saw Marco coming towards her. She groaned inwardly. This was the last thing she needed right now.

Marco came over to her, his handsome face grim. She sighed. “What do you want, Marco?”

He stood before her wearing a white silk shirt with puffed sleeves, a crimson vest embroidered in gold, burgundy hose, and dark brown leather slippers. A sheathed rapier dangled from his black leather sword belt. He lowered his eyes. “I came to apologize. I acted like a fool. I’m sorry.”

She waved him off. “You’ve been sorry before, Marco, and I’ve forgiven you. And then things went right back to the way they were. I’m tired of it. Please leave.”

“It will be different this time, I promise. I have learned my lesson.”

She glanced at him sideways. “Why should I believe you?”

He went down on one knee before her. “Because I am in love with you, Elena. You are the most remarkable girl I have ever known.”

She laughed. “High praise indeed, considering you’ve known so many.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “They were nothing compared to you. I realize now the very thing that made me angry–your strength, your willfulness–is what makes you different from the others.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why do men always most want what they can’t have? Are you so vain you can’t accept being denied?”

His face flushed. “Elena, please, take me back, I beg of you!”

She sighed. “Don’t beg, Marco. It’s unbecoming.”

He stood up and gestured around the room. “What is unbecoming is for a lady of your status to be drinking in a place like this! This is beneath you, Elena!”

“I will decide what is and is not beneath me, thank you very much.”

He grabbed her arm. “Let us be gone from here.”

Her eyes flashed. “Take. Your hand. Off me. Now.”

He shook his head. “I cannot permit you to dishonor yourself like this.”

Denvil spoke without looking up. “Maybe you should do as the lady says.”

Marco glared at the kobold, and with his free hand grabbed him by the collar of his robe and lifted him off his stool, holding him face to face. “Listen, you . . . whatever you are. If you know what’s good for you, you will mind your own business!”

“I’m more concerned with what’s good for Elena,” Denvil said, matching eyes with him. “And I don’t think it’s you.”

Marco’s eyes went wide. “Insolent little beast!” He released Elena’s arm and raised his fist. Denvil spoke and gestured, and the bottle sitting on the bar rose and smashed itself against the side of Marco’s head. The youth groaned and collapsed to the floor, releasing the kobold, who plopped back down on his barstool.

Denvil smoothed the collar of his robe and looked up at Elena apologetically. “Sorry about that.”

Elena blushed. “I’m the one who should be sorry. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, but that bottle will never walk again. Would you like me to throw him out?”

She sighed, looking around the room at the stares they were getting. “Perhaps it would be best if I left after all.”

“In that case would you care for an escort home? The streets aren’t safe for a lady at night.”

Elena smiled. “I would appreciate that, thank you.”

Denvil paid his bar tab–including, she noted, the price of the bottle he’d broken–and hopped down off his stool. She tossed back the last gulp of her ale and they left the tavern together. It was a cold night and the wind whipped around them as they headed down the dark, empty street. Neither of them spoke as they walked along. Eventually they arrived at Elena’s house–a small, two-story affair tucked between two much larger buildings. She turned to face him. “Thank you very much for your company, Denvil. And for your help.”

“You’re welcome, Elena. I hope you find someone nice who treats you with the respect you deserve.”

She blushed. “Thank you. Will you be able to get home all right?”

He grinned. “I can take care of myself.”

She smiled back. “So I’ve seen. Well, good night to you.”

“Good night, Elena.”

She turned and took her key from her belt, unlocking the door. Then she stopped and looked back at him. He was still standing there in the street, smiling at her. Someone nice. Someone who treated her with respect. She sighed. If only he were human. She opened the door, then stopped and looked back at him again. His smile faded and he looked puzzled, probably wondering why she was delaying going inside on such a cold night.

So he wasn’t human. Why did that matter so much? She liked to think of herself as open-minded. Being nonhuman shouldn’t automatically place him off limits. He was kind and brave and funny and clever. She could do a lot worse–and she always had.

“Would you like to come in?” Elena asked.

Denvil nodded slowly. “Yes.”

She stepped aside and let him enter, following him inside and closing the door. It was dark in the house, and freezing cold. She went to the fireplace, poured some oil on the kindling, and began anxiously striking a flint and steel together.

“Allow me,” said Denvil. He gestured and spoke an incantation, and the fireplace crackled to life, filling the room with a warm, rosy glow. She sat down on the thick wool rug in front of the fire, hugging her knees, and the little kobold sat down beside her, the firelight flickering in his enormous eyes and across his beaky face.

Elena looked down at him and smiled. “Has anyone ever told you you have beautiful eyes?”

Denvil grinned. “Gartrist may have mentioned it once or twice.” They both laughed.

Then she leaned over slowly. He stretched his neck to meet her. Their lips touched, and she kissed him, feeling his soft velvety fur against her face. His mouth was much more flexible than she’d thought, and he had no difficulty returning her kiss. They both drew back, smiling.

“Did Gartrist teach you how to kiss, too?”

“No. Some things you have to learn for yourself.”

She chuckled and stroked his hair. “I’ve never kissed a nonhuman before.”

He grinned again. “Was it everything you dreamed it would be?”

She laughed, trailing her fingers along one of his webbed ears. “It felt strange.”

“In a good way, I hope.”

She nodded. “Yes, in a good way.” She leaned over again, wrapping her arms around his skinny waist. He did the same to her, and they held each other for a time, bodies locked together as they kissed again and again, their fervor growing.

She paused a moment, her nose rubbing against his, breathing hard. “Do you want me?”

He nodded. “Unless you’d rather we played cards.”

She giggled. “No, I think I’d rather play with you.” She reached down and lifted his robe up over his head and off. He wore only a pair of shorts underneath. She pushed those down as he reached around behind her, unlacing her dress. Within a few minutes they were both naked, and she took a moment to examine him. From the neck down, his form wasn't unlike that of a young boy, save for his coat of fine golden fur. She smiled. She hadn’t been sure their bodies would be compatible, but she saw now that would not be a problem. Her hands slid down to his narrow hips as she knelt before him and kissed him again, and he took her face in his hands, pressing his mouth against hers. She lay back on the rug and let him climb on top of her, her arms and legs wrapping around him. He grasped her shoulders while she caressed his back, and his soft fur rubbed against her bare skin as they began moving in unison. Minutes passed, and their moans grew steadily louder and more intense as they made love, bathed in the firelight, straining against each other. They both cried out as they climaxed together.

Afterwards Elena lay spooned against the little kobold, gently stroking his downy chest as they basked in the fire’s warm glow.

“That was wonderful,” she said, smiling and nibbling one webbed ear.

Denvil sighed deeply. “I certainly have no complaints.”

She squeezed him. “And to think I almost didn’t invite you in.”

He chuckled. “It’s understandable. I don’t imagine many humans would even consider a kobold as a potential lover.” He turned his face towards her. “Just out of curiosity, what did I do that won you over?”

She smiled and stroked his head. “You were nice and treated me with respect. After you walked me home I realized the only reason I was reluctant to ask you in was because you weren’t human. Then I decided that wasn’t a good enough reason.”

He smiled back. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

“So am I,” she said, and kissed him. He turned in her arms, wrapping his own around her, and hugged her tightly. She reached down and cupped him, making him giggle and squirm.

“We should probably go to bed,” she said, releasing him.

He grinned at her. “Tease.”

She got to her feet, offering him her hand. He took it and stood up, and she led him into her bedroom. They slipped under the covers together and hugged and kissed again.

“Goodnight, my sweet little kobold,” she said, smiling.

“Goodnight, Elena,” he sighed.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Elena woke the next morning to the sound of soft snoring. She looked to her left. Denvil lay beside her on his back, head turned away, left arm bent up under his pillow, right arm lying across his chest. She decided he looked adorable that way. She gazed at him for a long moment. He was such a small, frail-looking creature. It was all she could do to keep from taking him in her arms to shield him from the cold, cruel world outside.

She slipped carefully out of bed so as not to wake him, threw on a robe, took care of her morning ablutions, and went into the kitchen. There, she stirred up the fire, hung a kettle over it to boil, and went to the cupboard, laying out some bread, meat, cheese, and fruit on her dining room table. When the kettle whistled, she fetched it, added some tea leaves, and let them steep. Then she went back into the bedroom.

Denvil was still sleeping. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. His big eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at her.

“Good morning,” she said, smiling.

“Good morning,” he said, stretching and yawning.

“There’s some breakfast, if you’re hungry.”

He grinned. “Sex and free food! This keeps getting better!” She laughed as he tossed the covers aside and hopped out of bed.

He followed her into the dining room, picked up his shorts, pulled them on, and sat down at the table bare-chested. With his fur, the morning chill probably didn’t bother him, she thought. He fell to eating, devouring the food hungrily as she poured them both cups of steaming hot tea.

She watched him as he ate, studying his strange face. He noticed and glanced up at her. She blushed. “Sorry. I just can’t stop looking at you.”

He smiled. “I guess I should be flattered.”

“You’re so different from anyone I’ve ever known before.”

Denvil shrugged his bony shoulders. “I’m not that different from you, apart from a few anatomical features. I eat, drink, sleep, dream, and make love, just like you do.”

“I understand that.” She shook her head. “It’s funny, I’ve been around nonhumans my whole life, but until last night I’d never really looked at one before–never thought of one as a person, like me, or wondered what he was feeling.” She looked at him guiltily. “That sounds horrible, doesn’t it?”

He shrugged again. “At least you’re aware of that.”

“But it isn’t just that you’re not human. All my life I’ve been attracted to handsome boys. Not that you aren’t handsome,” she added quickly, not wanting to hurt his feelings, “but you’re not the kind of man I’d normally be interested in. And maybe that’s a good thing. You’re nicer than any man I've known before.” She smiled at him. “I think I needed to meet someone like you.”

Denvil folded his hands on the table and looked up at her. “Elena, you just came out of a bad love affair. After that, anything is bound to look good, even me. I’m glad I was able to make you happy, but there’s nothing special about me. There must be scores of men in this city who’d be nice to you if you gave them a chance.”

“But they weren’t there last night when I needed them. You were.”

“I was just lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time.”

She bit her lip. “Are you saying we’re done?”

He blinked. “No, I’m not saying that at all! I just don’t want you to be disappointed when you find out I’m not your knight in shining armor come to rescue you from creeps like Marco. I’m just an apprentice wizard. You hardly know anything about me.”

She smiled. “I know you’re cute. And sweet. And a good lover.”

He blushed. “You left out brilliant, charming, and incredibly attractive.”

She laughed. “All right, I get it!” She gazed at him affectionately. “But I like what I’ve seen so far.”

Denvil smiled back. “I like what I’ve seen of you too, Elena.” He hopped off his chair and went over to the fireplace where he’d left his robe. “I should be getting back to Gartrist, though, before he starts wondering where I am.”

As he got dressed, she knelt down and hugged him. He returned it.

“Thank you, Denvil,” she said, smiling and stroking his hair. “See you soon?”

He nodded, smiling back. “Soon.” They went to the door together and Elena opened it and let him out. After closing it behind him she leaned back against the door and started giggling. Then she ran into her bedroom and threw herself on the bed. She grabbed a pillow and squeezed it tightly, laughing hysterically.

Denvil sauntered down the street towards Gartrist’s house, whistling merrily, nodding to passersby even if he didn’t know them. He unlocked the door and entered the wizard’s residence. Gartrist’s living room was fairly modest and conventional, save for a few mementos of past adventures in far-flung places. He opened another door and descended the stairs that led to the cellar, where Gartrist maintained his magical workshop.

Gartrist the Pantologist was slumped in a large stuffed chair, reading a book, with his slippered feet up on his desk. He preferred to sit with his feet higher than his head, claiming this provided his brain with more blood for thinking. He was a large man, tall and broad, with a pronounced paunch from years of overindulging in food and drink. He wore a scarlet robe trimmed with raccoon fur, and on his head sat a black velvet hat with a jeweled brooch. Several jeweled rings adorned his fingers. His hair and beard were grey. He lowered his book, piercing blue eyes glancing up through his spectacles as his apprentice entered the room.

“May we begin now?” he asked pointedly.

Denvil blushed. “Sorry I’m late, master.”

Gartrist laid his book aside. “I am not accustomed to having to wait for my apprentices to arrive so I can begin work. Patience is one of many virtues I lack, particularly as I get older.”

“I know, master. I apologize.”

“Your bed was not slept in. I take it you were out all night?”

“Yes, master.”

“Well, I hope you had a good time at least.”

Denvil grinned and nodded. “You could say that. I met a girl.”

Gartrist blinked. “A girl?”

“Yes, master.”

“And you spent the night with her?”

The kobold’s grin widened. “The whole night.”

Gartrist sat up abruptly. “Well, that changes everything! Far be it from me to begrudge anyone female companionship! All is forgiven!” He rose and went over to a set of scales on the work table, tapping out powder from a vial onto one of them and placing weights on the other to balance it. He glanced back at his apprentice, smiling impiously. “So, what was she like?”

Denvil blushed again. “Please, master. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell. You taught me that.”

“I didn’t mean for you to apply it to me! I pray you, apprentice, do not deny an old man his vicarious pleasures.”

Denvil came over to join him. “She was very nice, though I got the impression she was somewhat spoiled. She clearly came from a family of means.”

Gartrist went back to fiddling with the scale. “What was her name?”

“Elena.”

He stopped and looked down at the kobold. “About twenty, dark hair and eyes, dark complexion?”

“Yes, that’s her exactly!” Denvil cocked his head. “How did you know?”

Gartrist chuckled and held out a hand to him. “May I shake your hand, apprentice?”

Denvil accepted the hand, looking puzzled. “What did I do?”

“You just bedded Elena Rosa Capratis.”

The kobold gasped, eyes going wide. “Don Capratis’s daughter?”

Gartrist nodded. “A member of the richest family in Valek City.”

Denvil shook his head in wonder. “Elena Capratis. I had no idea.”

Gartrist chuckled. “In Casino Town, this is what they would call ‘hitting the jackpot.’ If you play your cards right, apprentice, you could become a very wealthy kobold.”

Denvil looked up at him in alarm. “I’m not interested in her money! I wouldn’t want her to think that of me!”

“I hardly see how she could, since you only just now found out who she is.”

“But she doesn’t know that! I could have recognized her! You did!”

The wizard hummed and stroked his beard. “Do you plan on seeing her again?”

Denvil nodded. “She made it clear she wants our relationship to continue.”

Gartrist shrugged. “Well, presumably she intends to reveal her identity to you in her own time. When she does, just try to act surprised.” Then he smiled. “I hope you found the things I taught you about human females useful.”

Denvil grinned sheepishly and nodded. “Very useful, master.”

“Good. I’m glad you are learning something from me apart from magic. The world is full of beautiful and fascinating things. To focus on one to the exclusion of all others is a waste. Now if it’s not too much trouble, may we put your amorous exploits aside for the moment and get some actual work done? I have several enchantments to perform for which I will require your assistance.”

Denvil blushed. “Of course, master.” He followed the wizard into the next room to begin the castings.

Elena cuddled up next to her kobold lover, gently stroking his fuzzy chest. Denvil sighed happily, one webbed ear pressed against her bare shoulder as they lay in bed together, the room illuminated by the flickering light of a single candle on the night table. In the two weeks since they’d first met, he’d come to see her every evening. Some nights they went out to have dinner at an inn or tavern. Some nights they went to see a play. One night she’d taken him to an opera, which he seemed to like. And some nights they just stayed in and enjoyed the pleasure of each other’s company. But every morning had found them together.

“Do you think other people make love as much as we do?” Denvil mused.

Elena smiled. “Nobody makes love as much as we do.” She kissed his cheek.

He looked up at her. “I really like being with you, Elena.”

She played with his hair. “I like being with you too, Denvil. I’ve had the best time these past two weeks. You’re the best lover I’ve ever had. I wish I’d met you years ago.”

He chuckled. “Would you have given me a second glance years ago?”

“Probably not,” she admitted. “I would have just written you off as another odd-looking nonhuman and moved on.” She smiled. “I’ve been doing some research on kobolds.”

Denvil propped himself up on his elbow, looking interested. “Do tell.”

“I consulted with the most learned men in the city–excepting your master, of course–to find out everything I could about your people, which turned out to be pitifully little. Apparently, they’re very reclusive.”

He nodded. “We tend to keep to ourselves.”

“I learned there are two distinct types of kobolds–one huge, savage and brutal, the other small, gentle and sophisticated. I’m guessing you belong to the latter.”

Denvil lay back on his pillow, hands clasped behind his head, grinning. “Oh, I don’t know. I can be pretty savage sometimes.”

She smiled. “So I’ve seen. I also learned that many of the smaller type are born with a talent for magic and often aspire to become wizards.”

He nodded again. “There have been some great ones among us.”

“And that’s about it. Nobody seems to know anything about kobold society, history, or culture. You’re very much a mystery.”

Denvil grinned. “I’d be happy to help you solve it. I have nothing to hide from you.”

A pensive look crossed her face.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, looking concerned.

“Denvil, there’s something I’ve been hiding from you.”

He sat up. “What is it, Elena?”

“I’ve never told you my last name.”

Denvil shrugged. “I never asked. Is it important?”

She bit her lip. “It might be.”

He took her hand in both of his, squeezing it gently and smiling. “It’s all right. I know who you are, Elena Rosa Capratis.”

She gaped at him. “How long have you known?”

“Gartrist figured it out right after I first told him about you. He said I should act surprised when you told me, but I can’t bring myself to lie to you.”

“So you’ve known all along.” She sounded faintly annoyed.

Denvil looked at her earnestly. “Elena, I don’t care about your money. Kobolds aren’t interested in material wealth.”

She smirked. “I only have your word on that.”

“It’s true, Elena. If I found out you were dirt poor, it wouldn’t change how I feel about you one bit.”

She gazed into his huge, faintly luminous eyes for a long moment. “I believe you,” she said at last. He smiled and threw his arms around her, hugging her tightly. She held him close, gently caressing his downy back.

“Let’s get some sleep,” she said. He nodded, lifting his head, their lips touching. They kissed for a moment, and then Elena leaned over and blew out the candle. They both lay back and slowly drifted into sleep.

Elena strode through the wrought iron gates of the Capratis family estate–paying the bowing guards no heed–and wended her way among the fountains and statuary in the courtyard, entering the foyer of the manor house. Old Fidelio, the family’s most senior and trusted servant, greeted her, smiling.

“Welcome home, Mistress Elena. Your father said you would be paying us a visit.”

“Hello, Fidelio. Yes, I received a letter from him this morning.” She peered at the old man, wondering if he knew what was up. His lined face betrayed nothing beyond the polite deferential courtesy he always showed towards all members of the Capratis family.

“Shall I escort you to his office?” Fidelio asked.

Elena waved her hand. “No need. I know the way.”

“Good day, then, mistress.” He bowed deeply to her, as he always did, and went off to tend to his duties. She headed off down the hall, past more statues, and up a flight of marble stairs. As she ascended, she passed a pair of her cousins, whom she hadn’t seen in some time. She nodded curtly to them, but they simply looked at each other and giggled. She watched, puzzled, as they went downstairs, wondering what that was all about.

She paused before a pair of double oaken doors to straighten her hair and dress; then pushed the doors open and stepped into her father’s office. It was a large room with a carpeted floor, paneled walls, ornately carved wooden furniture, and still more statues. Behind a large desk at the far end sat Don Capratis. He was a robust man in his early fifties, with neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair, a moustache, and a goatee. His features were sharp, as were his blue eyes. He was wearing a wide-sleeved black velvet doublet, embroidered with gold and jewels, and a black velvet flat cap with jewels and a white plume. He was busy scribbling on a piece of parchment with a quill pen, and did not look up as his daughter entered. She waited silently for him to finish. One did not interrupt Don Capratis while he was working.

After a minute, he finished writing, plunked the pen back in its inkwell, and laid the scroll aside. He looked up at his daughter and folded his hands. “Hello, Elena.”

“Hello, father,” she replied, smiling. Her smile faded when he did not return it.

“How are things with you?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Things are fine with me, father. How are they with you?”

“In truth, they have been better.”

“Oh?”

“It appears one of my offspring has done something rather rash.”

Elena suspected she knew what was coming, but continued to feign ignorance. “And what might that be, father?”

He regarded her pointedly. “She was seen at the opera last week in . . . inappropriate company.”

She sighed. “Father, if I might explain–”

“Explain what? That you were publicly intimate with a nonhuman?”

Elena frowned. “That nonhuman has a name, father. Denvil. And he is apprentice to Gartrist the Pantologist.”

“Who Gartrist chooses to take for an apprentice is his affair. The good name and reputation of the Capratis family is mine. It is bad enough that you choose to live by yourself in a bad section of town without servants or guards. Apparently, the possibility that you might be kidnaped and held for ransom has never occurred to you. Now, you will discontinue your association with this Denvil, immediately.”

“I will do no such thing!”

His eyes narrowed. “You would disobey a direct order from your own father?”

“Father, if you would just speak to him, you’d see that he’s very nice and intelligent–”

Don Capratis stood abruptly. “I do not care how nice or intelligent he is! He is not human! For you to hold his hand and kiss him in public is completely unacceptable!”

Elena glared at her father. “I have done much more than that with him in private.”

Don Capratis’s eyes widened. He gripped the edge of his desk, looking down at it, and stayed that way for a long moment until he regained his composure. Then he looked back up at her.

“Elena, I understand the lure of the exotic–”

“That has nothing to do with it!”

He nodded once in acquiescence. “I also know that your relationship with Marco did not end well.”

Elena blinked. “You’ve had me watched?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “I have better things to do than spy on my offspring. But people do talk, and one does hear things.”

“Marco was a pig, father.”

He nodded. “Of that I have no doubt. His father was a pig; it only makes sense that he would be one as well. But please, Elena, be reasonable. You and this Denvil have no future together.”

“I disagree. We have as much of a future as anyone else.”

“What kind of life could you have?”

She shrugged. “Perhaps I will marry him.”

“There would be no issue!”

“That is by no means certain. We know nothing about his people.”

Don Capratis turned pale and clenched his jaw. “I will not have my daughter spawning half-human monsters and tainting our family line with inhuman blood! I would disown you first!”

She shook her head. “I refuse to believe my father is so heartless that he could ever look on any of his grandchilden with anything but love, regardless of their appearance. In any case, even if Denvil and I can’t have children, what does it matter? You already have six grandchildren. You don’t need me to give you more.”

Don Capratis slumped back in his chair, rubbing his forehead. “Why are you doing this to me, Elena?”

“This isn’t about you, father. He makes me happy.” She looked at him searchingly. “Don’t you want me to be happy?”

He sighed and got to his feet, moving around the desk to stand before her, and placed his hands upon her shoulders. “Of course I do, Elena. I just don’t want you to make a terrible mistake.”

“You never cared this much about all my previous mistakes.”

“Those were . . . easier to understand.”

“If you met him, maybe you’d understand what it is I see in him.”

He sighed again. “Very well. Bring him here for dinner tomorrow night. Then I will form my own opinion.”

She hugged him. “Thank you, father.”

He returned the hug. “I’m sorry your father is so hidebound.”

She smiled. “I still love you.”

“I love you too, Elena.” They hugged again, and then released each other. “Goodbye, daughter.”

“Goodbye!” She left the room and descended the stairs, grinning.

“Denvil!”

The kobold started, wide eyes blinking, as Gartrist yelled his name. “Yes, master?”

“I was planning on enchanting this crystal today,” the wizard said patiently. “Would you care to join me?”

“Of course,” Denvil said, jumping down off his stool and walking over to him. “Sorry, master.”

Gartrist folded his arms. “You’ve been distracted of late, apprentice. It isn’t hard to infer the cause.”

Denvil shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry, master. I just can’t stop thinking about her. Everything I see and do reminds me of her in some way. It’s as if I’m trapped in a maze, and no matter which way I turn, there she is.”

The wizard frowned. “Inability to concentrate is not just an inconvenience in the magic business, Denvil. It’s potentially dangerous.”

“I know that! I wish I could make it stop, but I can’t!”

Gartrist smiled sympathetically. “My word, you are well and truly smitten.”

Denvil looked up at him plaintively. “I don’t want to be in love! I don’t want to be tied down to one person or one place! I want to become a wizard, and travel and have adventures, like you!” He shook his head. “Tonight she’s taking me to have dinner with her family!”

Gartrist smirked. “Meeting the parents, eh? That is a big step.” He reached down and clapped a hand on the kobold’s bony shoulder. “Denvil, allow me to share some of my great wisdom with you. Being in love is the greatest adventure there is.”

Denvil sighed. “Have you ever been in love?”

“Yes. Several times, in fact.”

“Why did you never marry, then?”

The wizard bobbed his head. “A fair question. The easy reply would be to say that I never met the right woman, but that would be trite, and not wholly accurate. A more honest answer would be that I was never able to work up the courage to ask anyone.”

Denvil’s mouth fell open. “You were afraid? You, who have done battle with orc hordes and dragons and demons and vampires?”

Gartrist chuckled. “There are many kinds of courage, apprentice. And many kinds of loss. To a vain man, death–even a violent one–is less to be feared than humiliation. After all, when you die, your suffering ends.”

The kobold sighed and shook his head. “I wish my suffering would end.”

Gartrist shrugged. “You could always stop seeing her.”

Denvil looked up at him, horrified. “Elena would be heartbroken! She's had so much pain in her life. I don’t want to give her any more.”

“Then I am afraid you will have to go on being in love with her, apprentice. There are worse fates. In the meantime, you are no use to me like this. Take the rest of the day off. Go see Elena. Tell her how you feel. Then, after dinner, indulge in a long night of orgiastic excess. Perhaps once you have drunk your fill of her, you’ll be able to concentrate on your work.”

Denvil squirmed. “Did you have to use those exact words, master?”

“Of course! I am a crass and vulgar man, you know that.”

The kobold smirked. “You are no such thing, master.”

Gartrist leaned forward, an impatient look on his face. “Go.”

Denvil nodded, turned, and went upstairs.

Gartrist sighed and sat down at his workbench, shaking his head. He spoke and gestured, and a bottle of whiskey floated from a shelf on the wall to his hand. He poured the sepia-colored liquid into a glass and held it up to the light. “To be young and in love. Thank goodness that’s over with!” He tossed it back in a single gulp.

Elena cursed in a manner most unbecoming of a lady as she went to answer the knock at the door, her emerald-green satin gown swirling around her ankles. She had been in the middle of fixing her hair for the dinner tonight. She wondered who it could be. It surely wasn’t Denvil. He never came to see her this early in the day.

“Yes? What do you . . .” she stopped, staring. “Marco?”

The young man nodded. “Hello, Elena.”

She folded her arms, frowning, her half-done hair hanging in her face. “What do you want?”

He bowed. “I came to offer my apologies. My behavior the last time we spoke was reprehensible . . . inexcusable. I disgraced myself and my family. I beg your pardon.”

She sighed. “Marco, I thought I made it clear I am done with you. I’ve found someone else.”

“So I hear. I am not seeking to come back, Elena. I accept that we are through. I hope your new lover is able to give you what I could not.”

She blinked. “That is unexpectedly civil of you, Marco. So yes, I do forgive you.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Elena. I would not have us part on bitter terms.”

She smiled back. “Nor would I.”

He bowed again. “I shall be on my way, then.” He turned to leave, then stopped. “Oh, one last thing. I believe I left a ring in your bedroom. Silver, with a turquoise stone?”

She furrowed her brow. “I remember the ring, but I don’t recall seeing it in my bedroom recently. Are you sure?”

“I cannot think of any other place it could be. I’ve looked everywhere for it. It is not especially valuable, but it was a gift from my late aunt, and I would hate to lose it. Perhaps it may have fallen behind the night table, or been kicked under the bed?”

She shrugged. “It’s possible. I suppose we could take a look. Come inside.”

He smiled and entered. “Thank you, Elena.”

As she turned towards the bedroom, she heard the door slam behind her, and felt a pair of strong arms seize her, a hand covering her mouth.

“Whore!” Marco hissed in her ear. “Slut! You prefer that thing to me?”

She struggled desperately as Marco dragged her to the trap door that led to the cellar. He flipped it open with his toe and threw her in. She cried out as she tumbled down a flight of wooden stairs to the flagstone-covered floor. Marco drew his rapier and descended the stairs after her. She got to her feet, painfully bruised but uninjured, only to find the steel point of his blade touching the base of her throat.

“Scream, and it will be the last sound you ever make,” he growled menacingly.

Elena swallowed and nodded silently, knowing it was unlikely anyone outside would hear her anyway.

Marco spied an old wooden chair and gestured to it with his blade. “Sit in that.” She complied, and he moved around behind her. Once out of her line of sight, he sheathed his rapier and removed a short length of rope he’d concealed between his vest and his shoulder. He seized her arms, pulling them behind her, and bound her wrists together, looping the rope through the back of the chair. Then he moved around in front of her, grinning.

Elena tried to sound nonchalant. “So, what’s the next step in your brilliant plan, Marco? Kill Denvil when he comes to see me? He’s the apprentice of Gartrist the Pantologist, you know. You’ve already seen what he can do. And even in the unlikely event you succeed, Gartrist won’t take kindly to someone murdering his apprentice.”

Marco smiled. “I don’t intend to kill him. My plan is to make it look like he killed you. I’m sure the vengeance of the law will be most swift and terrible.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. What possible reason would Denvil have to kill me?”

He shrugged. “People kill their lovers all the time. Perhaps he became enraged when you laughed at his smallness.”

She smirked. “He is a bigger man than you will ever be!”

His face grew flushed. “It doesn’t matter! He’s a nonhuman who has been sleeping with a human girl. Nobody will have any sympathy for him, nor give him the benefit of any doubt.”

Elena sighed. “Marco, this is the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard. Are you really vain enough to think you can fool Gartrist the Pantologist? It’s not going to work! You’re going to get caught!” She grinned wickedly. “And then my father will see to it that you suffer the most excruciating death imaginable!”

He stalked slowly towards her. “Even if I do get caught, nothing could be more painful than the humiliation of hearing people going on about how you threw me over for that ugly . . . little . . . freak!” She winced as he yelled the last word in her face.

“That’s not what happened,” she protested. “I had already broken up with you before I ever met Denvil!”

“Well, that’s what people are saying.”

“But it isn’t true!”

Marco exploded. “The truth doesn’t matter! What matters is what people think!”

Elena shook her head. “I don’t believe you can go through with this, Marco. I don’t believe you could murder a helpless woman in cold blood, especially one you once claimed to be in love with. Now untie me and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

He pointed the rapier at her throat, his eyes hard. “People kill their lovers all the time, Elena.”

Denvil made his way down the street towards Elena’s house. The air was crisp and cold, and it had snowed last night. He didn’t mind the cold. His fur kept him warm. He wondered how bare-skinned humans could stand it.

He knocked on the door when he reached her house, and called out her name. Then he waited.

Down in the cellar, the knocking on the door and the sound of Denvil’s voice had caught both Elena’s and Marco’s attention. Marco frowned, looking anxious and annoyed. “He’s early.”

Elena smiled. “I seem to recall you had that problem too.”

Marco scowled. He took a balled-up rag and stuffed it in her mouth over her muffled protests. Then he moved stealthily up the stairs.

Denvil knocked and called Elena’s name again. Again there was no reply. He sighed. Perhaps she’d gone out. He looked down. There were three sets of footprints in the snow. Two he recognized as his own: the ones he’d made when he’d left this morning and the ones he’d made just now coming back. The prints of the third set were much larger and led toward the house, but not away from it. They clearly weren’t Elena’s, which meant she was still in there, and someone was with her. But then why hadn’t they answered? Elena’s house wasn’t that big. They could hardly have failed to hear him.

The kobold’s heart was hit with a cold, sickening realization. His shoulders slumped and he hung his head, shaking it disconsolately. “Elena, how could you?” He turned and started slowly trudging away.

Then he stopped and turned back towards the house. No, he thought to himself, he would not slink away like a whipped dog. He had his pride. He was apprentice to Gartrist the Pantologist. He deserved an explanation. And he wanted to see the face of his rival. He squared his shoulders and marched back towards the door, grasping the handle. It was unlocked. He pulled it open and went inside.

Denvil looked around the room and noticed the open trap door leading to the cellar. He went to the edge of it and peered down. His eyes went wide. There was Elena, sitting in a chair, bound and gagged. She looked up at him, eyes frantic, making muffled, urgent noises. No, not up at him, he realized. Past him.

He whirled and narrowly dodged the blackjack Marco had been swinging at the back of his head. The kobold lost his balance and fell to the floor. Marco tossed the blackjack aside and drew his rapier.

“You little monster,” he snarled. “Is your heart where a man’s would be? Perhaps I’ll have to hunt for it!” He thrust his blade at the kobold’s chest.

Denvil raised a hand, speaking and gesturing, and the plunging blade turned aside, the point burying itself in the wooden floorboards. Marco cursed, yanked it loose, and thrust a second time, achieving identical results. Denvil spoke and gestured again, and Marco was hurled backward, leaving his sword left stuck in the floor. He struck the wall and staggered forward, stunned.

Denvil got to his feet, brushing himself off, and glared at Marco, his large eyes blazing with fury. He spoke through clenched teeth. “A great wizard once said, ‘Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards, for they are subtle and quick to anger.’ I was never much for subtlety, Marco. But anger . . . _that _I can do!” He made a punching motion with his small fist, and Marco was hit by a tremendous impact that doubled him over. He spewed blood and collapsed.

Denvil ran to Marco and turned him over. His breath was coming in ragged gasps. His chest had been crushed. The kobold bit his lip, watching helplessly as Marco's eyes went blank and his breathing ceased. Then he ran down the stairs to Elena and swiftly untied her. She pulled the gag from her mouth and threw her arms around the kobold, hugging him tightly, and he did the same to her. She could feel his small body trembling against her. He looked up at her, eyes glistening.

“I didn't mean to hit him so hard!” he whimpered. “I killed him!”

Elena nodded, stroking his hair. “It’s all right. He was a pig.”

She cradled him gently as he stained her dress with his tears.

Denvil squirmed uncomfortably as he sat in a red-velvet-upholstered chair in the waiting room outside Don Capratis’s office. Shafts of late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, making orange rhomboids on the ornate rug his feet dangled above. He glanced up at the two constables standing to either side of him and sighed, shackled hands clasped in his lap.

He had surrendered himself to the local constabulary after he’d regained his wits, Elena accompanying him in order to corroborate his statements. A pair of constables had returned with them to her house, examined Marco’s body, and placed Denvil under arrest, pending an investigation. The Chief Constable of Valek City had quickly arrived at the scene, his presence no doubt spurred by Marco’s belonging to a wealthy family. Then a page had shown up bearing a letter from Don Capratis to the Chief Constable, in which he requested an audience with both him and Denvil at their earliest convenience–which meant immediately. The Chief Constable had complied, bringing him to the Capratis house under guard, then going into Don Capratis’s office, an old servant closing the huge oaken doors behind him. That had been over an hour ago.

The doors opened and the Chief Constable emerged, accompanied by the servant. He looked at Denvil, his face impassive, and then nodded to the constables.

“Release the prisoner,” he told them. The constables looked at each other, then one of them unlocked the shackles and removed them. The Chief Constable looked down at the kobold. “He wants to see you.” Denvil nodded and hopped off the chair, rubbing his wrists, and the servant escorted him into the office.

Don Capratis was standing gazing out a window, hands clasped behind him. “You may go, Fidelio,” he said without turning. The old man nodded and bowed, exiting the room and closing the doors. Denvil stood there, fidgeting silently.

“Have a seat, Denvil,” said Don Capratis. The kobold obeyed, climbing into a chair facing him, and waited anxiously. After a long moment, Don Capratis turned, his steely eyes surveying the small creature seated before him.

“I had hoped that our first meeting would be under more pleasant circumstances,” he said. “Tonight over dinner, for instance.”

Denvil nodded. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Don Capratis held up a hand. “Do not apologize. You saved my daughter’s life. I am in your debt.” He did not sound pleased by the idea. He walked to his desk and sat down facing the kobold. “I am old-fashioned, Denvil. Old-fashioned enough to disapprove of my daughter sharing her bed with a nonhuman. Elena has already made it clear that she intends to continue seeing you, regardless of my wishes. I invited you to dinner tonight intending to offer you a financial incentive to discontinue your association with her.”

Denvil swallowed. “With all due respect, sir, there is no amount of money you could offer that would make me do that.”

Don Capratis nodded. “I had surmised as much.” He tilted his head. “Do you love my daughter, Denvil?”

The kobold nodded. “I do, sir.”

He shrugged. “In that case I am left with only one option, which is to accept what I am powerless to change. You may continue seeing Elena, with my blessing.”

Denvil blinked, unsure he’d heard right. “You approve of us being together?”

“No, I do not!” said Don Capratis sharply, causing the kobold to recoil. “But I owe you this, and a Capratis always honors his debts. And who knows, perhaps someday I will come to regard you with the same affection she does.”

Denvil shook his head. “I'm beyond words, sir.”

Don Capratis waved a hand. “I have seen to it that you will have no further difficulties with the constabulary or Marco’s family. By all rights they should both thank you for ridding the world of him.”

Denvil looked up at him. “Have you ever killed anyone, sir?”

Don Capratis nodded. “Yes, I have.”

“Did it make you feel . . . dirty?”

He nodded again. “It is a hard thing to know you are capable of taking a life.”

Denvil sighed. “My people abhor killing, for any reason. It’s the worst thing a kobold can do.” He hung his head. “I wish I could take it back.”

Don Capratis smiled. “Perhaps we are more alike than I thought. In any event, we are done here. I will reschedule our dinner for another night.”

Denvil hopped out of the chair and bowed to him. “Thank you, sir . . . for everything.” He turned and went towards the doors. Don Capratis rang a bell on his desk, and Fidelio opened the doors to grant the kobold exit, closing them behind him.

Denvil descended the marble steps to the hall below. Elena jumped up from the couch she’d been sitting on and ran over to him, kneeling down and hugging him. He hugged her back.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“Your father says we can continue seeing each other. And he’s apparently smoothed things over with the constabulary and Marco’s family.”

She smiled. “Well, that’s good news.” Then she noticed the gloomy expression on his face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, sighing.

She chuckled. “The last time I felt that fine, I needed a stiff drink. Can I get you one?”

He looked up at her and grinned. “Why not?”

“Good. I know a nice little tavern not far from here. The bartender waters the drinks, but the atmosphere is pleasant enough.”

“Sounds great,” said Denvil, smiling. She took his hand in hers, and they walked together through the wrought-iron gates and out into the darkening city.

Denvil shook his head. “I'm beyond words, sir.”

Don Capratis waved a hand. “I have seen to it that you will have no further difficulties with the constabulary or Marco’s family. By all rights they should both thank you for ridding the world of him.”

Denvil looked up at him. “Have you ever killed anyone, sir?”

Don Capratis nodded. “Yes, I have.”

“Did it make you feel . . . dirty?”

He nodded again. “It is a hard thing to know you are capable of taking a life.”

Denvil sighed. “My people abhor killing, for any reason. It’s the worst thing a kobold can do.” He hung his head. “I wish I could take it back.”

Don Capratis smiled. “Perhaps we are more alike than I thought. In any event, we are done here. I will reschedule our dinner for another night.”

Denvil hopped out of the chair and bowed to him. “Thank you, sir . . . for everything.” He turned and went towards the doors. Don Capratis rang a bell on his desk, and Fidelio opened the doors to grant the kobold exit, closing them behind him.

Denvil descended the marble steps to the hall below. Elena jumped up from the couch she’d been sitting on and ran over to him, kneeling down and hugging him. He hugged her back.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“Your father says we can continue seeing each other. And he’s apparently smoothed things over with the constabulary and Marco’s family.”

She smiled. “Well, that’s good news.” Then she noticed the gloomy expression on his face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, sighing.

She chuckled. “The last time I felt that fine, I needed a stiff drink. Can I get you one?”

He looked up at her and grinned. “Why not?”

“Good. I know a nice little tavern not far from here. The bartender waters the drinks, but the atmosphere is pleasant enough.”

“Sounds great,” said Denvil, smiling. She took his hand in hers, and they walked together through the wrought-iron gates and out into the darkening city.