"She comes," Magnus reported, "yet more slowly; lasses cannot appear and disappear."
"We'll be done with thee, then," Hugh snarled, and nodded to Bertram. The brute grinned and yanked the dagger back for a stab.
Gregory bleated and twisted; his brothers shouted as his body whiplashed, slamming the thugs who held him against the ground. Bertram's dagger stabbed into bare dirt.
Then a tearing scream pierced their ears, and a missile shot down from the sky to slam into Bertram, knocking him backwards. "Foul beast!" the ten-year-old witch cried. "Wouldst thou then slay babes?"
The other thugs roared and leaped for her—and lurched against something unseen, something that yanked them up to dangle, feet a foot off the ground, as their faces grew purple and they thrashed about in panic—but the only sound that emerged from their throats was a muted gargling.
Hugh stared up at them, pop-eyed; then he whirled and slammed a vicious backhand blow into Magnus's face, knocking him back and away. He yanked Gregory up against him, holding the boy in front of his chest and backing away, his own dagger in his hand. "Stay away! Do not seek to take me—or I'll slit his throat!"
Geoffrey's eyes narrowed, and a rock shot up off the forest floor to crack into Hugh's skull. His arm loosened as his eyes rolled up, and he slumped to the ground.
"Gregory! Art thou hurted?" Cordelia dove for her baby brother, cradling him in her arms; but he stared past her shoulder at the men dangling from the trees, fear and horror in his face. "Cordelia! What hath happed to them?"
Into the ring of hanging thugs strode an eighteen-inch elf, face white with rage. "Hear! Oh men of no heart—as I know thou canst for a minute more, ere thy breath ceases. 'Tis the Puck who doth stand before thee, and elves who ride the high branches above thee, with nooses braided of hundreds of strands of spiders' silk that thou canst see not!"
"Eh! Fell captain!" cried a voice from the leaves, and the children turned to see Kelly strutting on a limb by a small brown person who knelt, guarding an invisible twine. "Shall we harvest this rotting fruit, then?"
"Puck, do not slay them!" Cordelia cried. "They be evil men, yet surely not so evil as that!"
"Be not so certain." Geoffrey stood glaring up, pale and trembling. "They have fled from their brothers in arms. Surely such could do anything, no matter how foul."
But the thrashing was weakening, stilling, and the staring eyes dulled.
Puck nodded at Kelly. "Cut them down."
The Irishman nodded at the brownies, and the thugs fell with a crash. Foot-high elves popped up next to them, slashing with tiny knives, and the deserters' chests rose, slowly.
"They live." Puck spat. "Though I regret it. Still, I would not afright thee too greatly."
"I thank thee," Cordelia breathed, and Gregory, huddled next to her, nodded.
The elf stumped over to the unconscious Hugh, eyes hidden in a scowl. "He doth lie senseless, children, yet I've no doubt thou canst peer within his mind. Do thou find the pic-tures of the men who have bribed these villains to slay thee."
The children crowded around, and Cordelia frowned down at Hugh's face. They waited, poised; the image appeared in her mind, and the others saw it, then sat back with a sigh.
"'Tis the slight ones," Magnus said, "the old ones with scant hair and burning eyes."
Gregory nodded. "They who seek to abolish all governance."
"As indeed they must be," Geoffrey said, "and have gone far already in so doing." He shuddered. "Only think! That governance could be so far decayed as for soldiers to desert their stations!"
Chapter 6
They set off into the moonlit wood, Puck leading the way with Cordelia right behind him on her unicorn. Kelly brought up the rear, on its rump. "Wherefore," said he, "should I then walk?"
"And thou hast the gall to excoriate me for lack of industry," Puck snorted.
But half an hour into the woods, the unicorn suddenly stopped, lifting her head and looking off toward the east.
Geoffrey frowned. "What ails her?"
"I think that she doth hear summat that we cannot." Puck cupped his ear, listening. Then he shook his head. "An she doth, it escapes me quite. What sayest thou, Horseface?"
"A moment, while I boost amplification." Fess lifted his head, ears turned in the direction the unicorn was pointing. "I do hear cries. They are very high-pitched, and faint with distance."
" 'High-pitched'?" Puck scowled. "And of interest to a unicorn? That hath the sound of Wee Folk in need of aid. Come, children! Let us seek!"
The children didn't need persuading.
They wound through the woods for half an hour, with Puck dodging around the roots of shrubs and through gaps in the underbrush, and Fess following him, to beat down a path. Behind him came the unicorn, with her nostrils flaring, and white showing all around her eyes.
Finally, the children could hear the cries too. They were very high, as Fess had said, and sounded very distressed. As they came closer, the children could understand the words: "A rescue! A rescue!"
"Help us! Aid, good folk!"
"There is, at least, no present danger," Cordelia said. "There's unhappiness in those words, but no great fear."
"Then let us find them ere it comes," Magnus said.
"'Tis here!" Puck cried.
The children stopped, startled, for the voices had still been so faint that they had thought them some distance away. But Puck dove into the underbrush almost under Fess's nose and started pulling back branches. The unicorn let out a musical neigh and pushed forward, pawing at the bushes and fallen leaves. Between them, they uncovered a small iron cage, with two foot-high people in it. They were clothed in green, the one decorated with flowers, the other with red, yellow, and orange leaves. They looked up with children's faces, and cried with delight when they saw the unicorn.
" 'Tis one of the Silver People!"
"Greeting, Velvet One! What good chance brings thee?"
The unicorn whickered softly, butting her nose against the cage.
"She wants them out." Cordelia knelt by the cage, and the two fairies fell silent, staring up at her, wide-eyed. "Oh, fear me not! I wish thee no hurt!"
"'Tis but a lass," the flowered one said to her sister, in a high, clear voice.
"Aye! A bairn would not wish us ill!" The leafy one turned back to Cordelia. "I am Fall, and here is my sister, Summer."
Summer dropped a curtsy. She was chubby and ruby-cheeked, with a smile that seemed as though it could never fade.
"I am Cordelia." The girl bobbed her head in lieu of a curtsy, since she was already kneeling. "What is this horrid contrivance that houses thee?"
"Why, 'tis a rabbit's trap." Puck sauntered up. "How now, sprites! What coneys art thou, to be caught in so rude a snare?"
"As much as thou art a lob, to stand there and jibe without loosing us," Fall retorted. She was slender and supple, with short-cropped brown hair.
"A hare was caught within," Summer explained. "We could hear its frantic thumpings, and we took sticks to pry the door up and free it."
"Most kindly done." Puck grinned. "And did it lock thee in, for thanks?"
"Nearly," Fall confessed. "We held up the door, and the hopper thumped on out—but as it fled, one great hind foot caught me in the middle, and sent me sprawling. My sister could not keep the door up alone."
"It crashed down on me, most shrewdly," Summer sighed, "and we were trapped within."
"But what manner of trap is this, that can hold a fairy?" Cordelia asked.
"One of Cold Iron," Puck snorted. "What fools were they, to risk such capture!"
"And what a knob art thou, to stand and mock us!" Fall jammed her tiny fists on her hips, glaring at him.
'Truly, Puck!" Cordelia reproached him. "'Tis most unkind of thee! Hast thou no care for others' feelings?"
"Why, none! Or canst thou truly believe that they'd be thereby injured?"
"Nay, certes they would! Unkind words too oft give hurt!"
"Na
y, not to mem. Say, ask!"
Cordelia turned a questioning glance on the two fairies.
A slow, grudging grin grew on Fall's face. "I cannot deny it. His teasing doth not trouble me."
"Nor I," her sister smiled, "so long as we may chide him in return."
"As bad as children," Cordelia proclaimed with every ounce of her ten-year-old dignity.
"And as careless of time as a grown-up." Geoffrey frowned, glancing about him. "Whosoe'er set this trap, will shortly come to search it. Ought we not to set them free?"
"Aye, at once!" Cordelia fumbled with the trap. "Yet how doth it open?"
"Ye've but to lift," Geoffrey snorted. He knelt down, pressed a catch, and lifted the door. The two fairies darted out and swirled up into the air on gossamer wings, caroling with joy. "Free! Free!"
"Ah, the blessed air!"
"And the cursed Cold Iron." Puck glowered at the trap. "How comes this, elf? Must the folk of thy woods forever be using traps of steel?"
"Nay, or the Wee Folk would torment them sore." Kelly stumped up beside him, glowering at the cage. "Our trappers here use wooden boxes when they wish to take their prey alive, or, if they do not, then snares of cord that slay in a moment."
"Then there's a hunter newly come unto thy woods," Puck said grimly, "or an old one who's taken up new ways." He turned to Summer and Fall. "Ward thee, fairies—for I misdoubt me an some souls do be preaching disregard of Wee Folk unto all the parish."
"And disregard of animals' suffering," Kelly agreed. "Beware—mayhap more traps of iron dot yer forest."
"An they do, they'll be quickly buried," Fall promised.
"Never fear—we'll broadcast word," Summer affirmed. "And we thank thee, mortals." She dropped a curtsy to Geoffrey and Cordelia. "We owe thee favor now."
Cordelia exchanged an excited glance with Geoffrey. To have fairies owing them favors!
"If ever thou hast need," Fall agreed, "only call, anywhere throughout this Isle of Gramarye, and Wee Folk will fly to aid thee."
"That doth not mean their aid will suffice." Puck fixed the children with a gimlet glare. "Thou shouldst not therefore court danger."
"Be sure, we'll not," Cordelia said, round-eyed.
Puck didn't say a word; he only bent a stern glance on Geoffrey.
The boy glared back at him, then looked away, then back again. "Oh, as thou wilt have it! Nor will I court danger, neither!"
"'Tis well." Puck nodded, satisfied, and turned back to Summer and Fall. "But we will seek. Some mortal doth speak for Cold Iron in the elves' demesne—and that we'll not abide. Nay, we must seek him out, and school him. Children, come!"
He turned, striding off through the forest.
The children stared at his upright, determined back in total surprise. Then Geoffrey grinned and started after the elf.
Magnus looked down at Gregory, then grinned and hoisted the little boy to ride before him. Gregory squealed with delight and thumped his heels against Fess's sides. The great black beast seemed to sigh.
Cordelia followed all of them on her unicorn, singing softly, "A-hunting we will go, a-hunting we will go…"
Chapter 7
As they traveled along the forest path, Geoffrey glowered behind at Cordelia, swaying gently on the unicorn's back and singing happily as she plaited a wreath of flowers. The two fairies rode with her, chatting. But Magnus kept an eye on his younger brother, and was well aware that his scowl was deepening and his mood darkening. After a little while, he turned to Puck. "It hath been some few hours that we've been afoot, Robin. I do grow a-hungered."
Geoffrey looked up sharply. "Aye! Food, good Puck! I shall find it, and gladly! Let us rest and dine!"
Fess glanced up at the leafy canopy and calculated the time from the light. "The sun will rise soon. Stop and rest—and find whatever is about that may be edible."
Geoffrey whooped and disappeared into the leaves. They rustled for a second or two; then none but the songbirds knew he existed—and even they might not have been sure.
Cordelia slid down from the unicorn's back. "Eh! What berries may I find nearby, good Summer?"
"Raspberries, mayhap. Come, and I shall show thee!"
Gregory sat down, leaned back against a tree. In three breaths, his eyes closed and his head nodded forward.
Puck smiled. "I had thought as much. 'Twas little sleep thou hadst this night past."
"Naetheless, Geoffrey will not wish to nap," Magnus warned.
Puck shrugged impatiently. "He never doth; he fears some part of life will pass him by, the whiles he sleeps. Even so, he hath need of slumber."
"Aye—he doth grow sullen. I think that he doth aim this secret anger at Cordelia's unicorn."
Fess agreed. "Yes. Because it allows her to ride, but will not let him near."
"That could breed trouble," Magnus mused.
Puck shot him a keen glance. "Thou wilt be a wise captain some day, youngling. 'Tis even as thou sayest—thou must needs find some way to quench his envy, or he'll wreak havoc."
"'Tis as I've thought," Magnus admitted, "yet I can see no way to it. The unicorn will not abide him near. What can I do?"
"Thou hast not seen it, then?" Puck grinned. "Seek within the terms of the situation, lad. The unicorn will not allow him near—yet doth it bear him ill?"
"Nay," Magnus said slowly, "not while he doth keep his distance."
Puck nodded, waiting.
"So," Magnus mused, "I must find some way for the beast to pay him heed, though he cometh not nigh."
Puck broke into a broad grin. "Thou hast the right of it. Now thou hast but to find the way."
Magnus found it as they finished breakfast.
As they ate, he sat there, looking about him, trying to find something to pull Geoffrey out of his black jealousy. The younger boy was a bit better, now that Cordelia had climbed down off her high horse long enough to gather a quart of berries and join them for roast partridge; but Magnus knew it would be just as bad, just as quickly, when she mounted again, and Geoffrey had to watch her riding. He could fly, of course, or ride Fess, but that was boring now. Riding a unicorn was something new.
Magnus eyed the unicorn, standing thirty-feet away, nibbling at some leaves. Then, as he turned back to his brothers and sister, his gaze fell on the wreaths Cordelia had plaited, resting on her head and on those of the fairies. The idea hit, and Magnus slowly grinned. "Cordelia—wilt thou lend me thy wreath?"
The girl looked up warily. "What wouldst thou do with it?"
"Naught but to play a game."
Cordelia eyed him, not trusting the simplicity of his claim —but she couldn't see anything wrong with it, so she held out the stack of wreaths with a glare.
Magnus caught them up and, with a gleeful whoop, flipped one sailing toward the unicorn.
She looked up, startled, poised to flee—and saw the wreath skimming through the air toward her. She whinnied,
ducked to aim her horn, and caught the flower loop with a toss of her head.
"Nay!" Cordelia cried, leaping to her feet. " 'Tis not fair!"
But Magnus was flipping wreaths to Geoffrey and Gregory, and the unicorn was swinging her head around in a circle, making the wreath spin around her horn, then suddenly ducked, and the flower ring sped back toward Magnus. He caught it with a yelp of delight. "I had not thought she could toss back to me!"
"Play with me, too!" Gregory cried, and spun his wreath through the air toward the unicorn.
"Nay, 'tis my turn!" Geoffrey insisted, and his wreath went flying, too.
Gregory's ring flew wide; he was a little short on motor development, but the unicorn dashed to the left and caught it anyway. Then, with a leap, she was back where she had been, to catch Geoffrey's wreath and rear up, pawing the air with a triumphant whinny.
"No! Nay, now! Give back my wreaths!" Cordelia shouted.
"Peace, lass," Puck counseled. "They do but play, and will give thee back thy wreaths when they are done."
"But th
ey will have torn them to shreds!"
"And if they do, what of it? Thou mayest weave more quite easily."
"Oh, thou dost not comprehend, Robin! Ooh! They make me so angered!"
"Aye, certes," Puck said softly. "Why, 'tis thy unicorn, is't not?"
"Aye! How dare they play with her!"
"Why dost thou not join also?" Puck asked. "If she can play with three, she can most certainly play with four."
"But they have no right to play with her at all! She is mine!"
"Nay, now. There, I say nay." Puck shook his head. "She is a wild and free thing, child, and though she may befriend thee, that doth not give thee ownership over her. Never think it, for if she doth feel constrained, she will flee from thee."
Cordelia was silent, glaring at her brothers, growing angrier and angrier at their whoops of glee.
"She doth prance to catch each ring," Summer piped up, "and her eyes sparkle. She whinnies with delight. Nay, if I mistake me not, this unicorn doth rejoice to play at ring-toss
thus—so long as thy brothers keep their distance."
Cordelia's glower lessened a bit.
"You," Fess pointed out, "are the only one who can go close to the beast. Why not, therefore, let your brothers have what little pleasure she'll permit them?"
"'Twould be most generous of thee to allow it," Summer agreed.
Cordelia's glower was almost gone now.
"Show them thou dost grudge them not their sport," Fall urged.
"Why, how may I do that?"
"Play," the fairy answered.
Cordelia stood, wavering.
"What!" Kelly cried. "Will ye have them gaming with yer unicorn, while ye yerself do not?"
Cordelia's lips firmed with decision. She caught up a handful of flowers.
"I have one plaited for thee." Summer thrust a wreath into her hand.
"I thank thee, good Summer!" Cordelia dashed forward, tossing her ring backhanded toward the unicorn. The silver animal saw, and caught it with a neigh of delight, then sent it spinning back.
Summer heaved a sigh of relief.
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