Fudd dipped his head at his king. "Yes, Your Highness." Then he poofed away.
Harold stepped forward. "And what about me? Can I help?"
Elliot took a deep breath, then nodded at the Shapeshifter. "I need you for one of the biggest jobs of all. I need you to turn into me again and let Kovol see you down here. When he does, he'll chase you. If he gets too close, change into a butterfly, or a bumblebee, or something he won't suspect and can't catch. Keep him confused but busy and distracted. And whatever you do, keep him far, far away from Demon Territory. Can you do that?"
Harold paled a little, as if he were already shapeshifting into a white snowman. Then slowly he returned to his n
ormal color. He swallowed hard, then nodded. With a squeak, he said, "I thought you'd ask me to bring chips and dip for the battle, or do something simple. But I said I would help, and I will."
He closed his eyes and shapeshifted into a bird again. Before he flew off, he tweeted back to Elliot, "If I don't come back, make sure to tell the love of my life, the beautiful Cami Wortson, that I was a hero."
"Of course you'll come back," Elliot said. "And for the last time, she's not the love of your life!"
When Harold had flown away, Mr. Willimaker stepped forward from the crowd and asked, "What good will it do to send Kovol away from Demon Territory? None of us are there, so neither is he. We have to defend our homes out here instead."
Elliot smiled. "We're not going to defend ourselves from Kovol. We're going to attack."
Dear Reader, at one time or another, you have probably played a sport such as tennis or basketball, or Limburger soccer. (It's pretty much the same as regular soccer, except that you kick around a chunk of stinky Limburger cheese instead of a ball. The only downside is that it smells so bad, nobody really wants to get anywhere near it.) If you have, then you know it's very important to have a strong defense, or the other team will score points and win the game. But it's even more important to have a good offense, or plan of attack. Because if you don't, you'll never earn any points for your team. A defense only stops you from losing. To win, you have to attack.
And Elliot understood this. His family had played an exciting game of Limburger soccer only one week before. His twin brothers had won the game, in part because they didn't mind bad smells. And also because they cheated.
The rest of the mythical creatures didn't understand the reasons for attacking Kovol quite as well as Elliot did. (Limburger cheese is very hard to find in the Underworld--and that's a good thing.)
When Elliot announced his plan to the group, everyone got very quiet. The Troll in the back did jump up and say "Yay!" but Elliot soon realized it was because he had finally found what he'd been reaching for in his nose, not because he liked the idea of attacking Kovol.
"Why would we go to Demon Territory?" a Fairy asked. "That's Kovol's land."
"Exactly," Elliot said. "If we fight him in our own lands, then he will destroy them. But if we can beat him in Demon Territory, then we'll win this war."
"If Kovol catches us in his territory, he can make us his prisoner," an Elf said.
"I doubt that, because he's not a king," Elliot said. "And besides, he won't know we're there until we're already winning."
The moans continued, but Elliot said, "Everyone go home and gather the rest of your kind. Come as soon as you can to Demon Territory."
There were a handful of grumbles, at least twenty-two growls, and one rather high-pitched whine. But they had chosen Elliot to lead this war and intended to obey him. One by one the various groups poofed themselves away.
Except for the Elves. They waited until everyone had left before one came forward. He was a tall and handsome Elf with long white hair that fell like silk down his back.
"I am Slimmy Tojam," he said.
Elliot blinked. Had that elf just said he had slimy toe jam? If a Dwarf or a Troll or a Goblin had said that, then he could understand. But he wouldn't have thought any type of slime would be a problem for an Elf.
"You're slimy?" Elliot asked.
"It's Slimmy. Like Timmy or Jimmy. And it's my name, not a description of my feet."
"Toe Jam?"
The elf looked annoyed. "Tojam. Not 'jam,' like one spreads on toast, but 'jum,' that rhymes with 'come.'"
The fact that his name sounded like foot fungus made Elliot giggle. However, Mr. Tojam was a very serious-looking Elf and didn't seem to think his name was nearly as funny as Elliot did. So Elliot apologized. He hadn't meant to be rude. It's what he really thought the Elf had said.
"I am a teacher among the Elves," Mr. Tojam said.
Elliot wondered what the kids at his school would say if someone named Slimy Toe Jam started teaching there. They once had a teacher whose name was Mrs. Popzitt. She left after only three weeks to teach on an island where the natives all spoke in sign language, and she hadn't been seen since. Nobody blamed her for leaving.
"You've been thinking about my name for a long time," Mr. Tojam said. "Can we move on?"