“Good day, sir,” said Sot.
“Good day, indeed.” Ben beamed, sitting up straight again on the stump.
“You wish to trade, sir?” asked Fillip.
“You wish to trade with us?” asked Sot.
“Yes. Yes, I most certainly do.” Ben paused. “Would you gentlemen mind coming over here? That way I can be certain you understand what it is that I have to trade.”
The G’home Gnomes glanced at each other, then emerged into the fading sunlight. Stout, hairy bodies were clothed in what looked like Salvation Army rejects. Bearded, ferretlike faces with tiny, squinted eyes and wrinkled noses tested the air like weather vanes directed by the wind. Dirt and grime covered them from head to foot.
Fillip and Sot without a doubt.
Ben waited until they had stopped just a few feet in front of him, beckoned them closer still, then said, “I want you to listen to me very closely, do you understand? Just listen. I’m Ben Holiday. I’m High Lord of Landover. A magic has been used to change my appearance, but that’s only temporary. I’ll change myself back sooner or later. When I do, I’ll remember who helped me and who didn’t. And I need your help right now.”
He glanced from one furry face to the other. The gnomes were staring at him voicelessly, eyes squinting, noses testing. They looked for a moment at each other, then back again at Ben.
“You are not the High Lord,” said Fillip.
“No, you are not,” agreed Sot.
“Yes, I am,” Ben insisted.
“The High Lord would not be here alone,” said Fillip.
“The High Lord would come with his friends, the wizard, the talking dog, the kobolds, and the girl Willow — the pretty sylph,” said Sot.
“The High Lord would come with his guards and retainers,” said Fillip.
“The High Lord would come with his standards of office,” said Sot.
“You are not the High Lord,” repeated Fillip.
“No, you are not,” repeated Sot.
Ben took a deep breath. “I lost all those things to a bad wizard — the wizard who brought me into Landover in the first place, the wizard we saw in the crystal after we freed ourselves from the Crag Trolls — remember? You were the ones who came to Sterling Silver to ask my help in the first place. I went with you to help you free your people from the Trolls — the same gnomes who had eaten the furry tree sloths that were the Trolls’ favorite pets. Now if I’m not the High Lord, how do I know all this?”
Fillip and Sot looked at each other again. They looked a bit uncertain this time.
“We don’t know,” admitted Fillip.
“No, we have no idea,” agreed Sot.
“But you are not the High Lord,” repeated Fillip.
“No, you are not,” agreed Sot.
Ben took another deep breath. “I smashed the crystal against some rocks after we discovered its purpose. Questor Thews admitted his part in its use. You were there, Abernathy and Willow were there, the kobolds Bunion and Parsnip were there. Then we went down into the Deep Fell. You took Willow and me in. Remember? We used Io Dust to turn Nightshade back into a crow and fly her into the fairy mists. Then we went after the dragon Strabo. Remember? How could I know this if I’m not the High Lord?”
The gnomes were shifting their feet as if fire ants had crawled into their ruined boots.
“We don’t know,” Fillip said again.
“No, we don’t,” Sot agreed.
“Nevertheless, you are not the High Lord,” repeated Fillip.
“No, you are not,” repeated Sot.
Ben’s patience slipped several notches despite his resolve. “How do you know that I’m not the High Lord?” he asked tightly.
Fillip and Sot fidgeted nervously. Their small hands wrung together, and their eyes shifted here and there and back again.
“You don’t smell like him,” said Fillip finally.
“No, you smell like us,” said Sot.
Ben stared, then flushed, then lost whatever control he had managed to exercise up to this point. “Now you listen to me! I am the High Lord, I am Ben Holiday, I am exactly who I said I was, and you had better accept that right now or you are going to be in the biggest trouble of your entire lives, bigger even than when you stole and ate that pet dog at the celebration banquet after the defeat of the Iron Mark! I’ll see you hung out to dry, damn it! Look at me!” He wrenched the medallion from his tunic, covering the face and the image of Meeks with his palm, and thrust it forward like a weapon. “Would you like to see what I can do to you with this?”