"She is lame. This is the first aspect of her situation. But with a steed, that need never be a problem. I need her to have that steed by the time Gouty passes, which I fear will be sooner than might ordinarily be the case. His illness is progressive, and when he can no longer walk he will be deposed. This I can not prevent."

It was evident that goblin politics were as fierce as their natures. They required a fit and active leader. Jenny had seen what happened to her own folk when they became incapacitated. They usually chose not to remain as burdens on the holt.

"But this is perhaps the lesser of Gwendolyn's problems," Godiva continued. "She is also virtually blind."

Jenny jumped. "You mean nearsighted, like me? These spectacles have made me see so much better! Maybe if you get her a pair—"

"We may not do that. Her deficiency must not be accommodated in this manner. If others of the mountain discovered that her vision is impaired, they would make her life a short one. So she must conceal her liability. She can see only general shapes, but not well enough to recognize faces or the detail of tapestries. I have kept her isolated so that the others are not aware of this, but it will be far more difficult as she matures and is required to take greater part in the activities of the tribe. The centaur can serve as her eyes, too, advising her of those things she needs to perceive."

"But surely other goblins will help her!" Jenny said, beginning to feel for the goblin girl. To be lame and nearly sightless—what an awful thing for a princess!

Godiva frowned. "I see you do not understand the way of goblins," she said.

"Well, I'm not from here," Jenny admitted. "You call me an elf, but where I come from I'm just a girl. I've never been to Xanth before, and it's strange seeing cookies growing on plants, and having cherries explode. So I guess I don't know much about anything here."

"But you did see how it was in the Golden Horde."

Jenny shuddered. "They are mean folk."

"Goblins generally are mean folk," Godiva said. "This dates from a long time ago, when a curse was put on us so that the women preferred the worst of men. This resulted in a degenerating species, at least with respect to the male persuasion. That curse was finally eliminated, so that now we can choose good men, but there is great inertia."

"Great what?"

"Things are slow to change. This is because there are so few good men of our kind that we are constrained to pick the marginally less bad. It will be a long and frustrating climb back to decency, and I suspect that some tribes will not make it."

"Like the horde," Jenny said, understanding.