Here be Monsters

CHAPTER 10

“Forfend!” Alain grasped his shoulder, then let go and dodged adroitly as Geoffrey’s arm swung like a windmill to knock his hand away—but the prince caught his shoulder again and said, “If he feeds all day, what is that to you?”

“I do not call him liar,” Geoffrey said evenly, “but people do not graze the livelong day, so I know he cannot live on naught but salad.”

“Come home with me and see,” the Brown Man sneered. “If you dare, come across this brook and see how you fare!”

Geoffrey stepped down into the stream.

“Brother, no!” Gregory caught his arm and, before Geoffrey could turn on him, said quickly, “You taught me when I was quite small that a man’s a fool to take a dare and thereby let another steer him as he pleases!”

“I spoke of boyhood pranks then,” Geoffrey said in a voice strained tight with self-control, “not a grown man’s insult.”

“Yet he will govern you as surely by those insults as a bully’s taunts do manipulate a foolish boy! Come, brother, you are a man in his prime, and a knight!”

“And it is beneath a knight’s dignity to stoop to brawling,” Alain said.

“All excuses for cowardice!” the Brown Man jeered. “Cross the brook if you dare!”

Geoffrey froze with one foot in the water, his eyes narrowing. “The man who names me coward is too blatant in his aims.”

Gregory sighed with relief, then frowned at a sudden thought. “You said you would not name him liar, but I shall—for he could not truly eat apples when the nearest orchard we have seen is so well guarded.”

“What’s this?” the Brown Man demanded, outraged. “It cannot be that some fellow has dared to steal my groves!”

“It most certainly can,” Geoffrey said, gloating. “Indeed, the land seems to be bursting with guardian spirits in these latter days.”

“Only I am rightful warden!”

“Of the moors,” said Alain, “but the orchard we speak of stands where forest trees once towered, though fields of wheat and barley spread about it now.”

The Brown Man fell silent, glowering.

“ ’Tis the land of farms and farmers,” Geoffrey said, “and no concern of yours.”

“We should not have told him this, brother,” Gregory said. “We should have let him go forth on another trip to that orchard all unknowing, and let him lock himself in combat with the Apple-Tree Man.”

“The Apple-Tree Man?” The Brown Man’s glower lightened to brooding. “I have heard him spoken of before.”

“Enough to declare him your enemy?” Gregory asked, too innocently.

“Nay, my ally! And fool would I be to bait him into combat, for no matter who won, the world of trees and bushes would have one less guardian.” The Brown Man eyed Geoffrey with reluctant respect. They could see how dearly the words cost him as he said, “I see you are brother to a wise man.”

“The next best thing,” Geoffrey said cheerfully.

“I shall greet the Apple-Tree Man with all courtesy, and offer him heather in place of his apples,” the Brown Man decided. “Thus may we keep from coming to blows.” He took a deep breath. “Loath though I am to admit it, I owe you lads a favor for telling me of him.”

Geoffrey noticed that he hadn’t said he was grateful and had certainly offered no hint of apology. “You shall owe us another, then, for I promise not to hunt any creature that moves till I have come off of your moors.”

“That is not a favor—it is the course of discretion,” the Brown Man snapped. “Know, belted knight, that if you had crossed that stream, my ravens would have fed upon your flesh and I would have enriched my moors with the dust of your bones!”

“If you could have,” Geoffrey said, the wolfish grin now open and wide.

“He could have indeed,” Gregory said low-voiced behind him.

“Know that the power of the moors is within me,” the Brown Man informed him with no trace of boasting, “the life-force of ten thousand acres of bracken and heather, and all the creatures that feed upon them or make their homes within them! Do you truly think you could stand against such might?”

Geoffrey scowled and stood with every muscle tensed—but did not answer.

“Nonetheless, I would as lief not shed the blood of any creature, deserving or no,” the Brown Man rumbled. “Nay, go your way, and come not again onto my moors with empty packs. Bring with you all the food you will need for your sojourn here.”

“Why, so I have,” Geoffrey answered, “dried beef and biscuit, and though I would have preferred fresh meat, I can do without.”

“We shall indeed refrain from hunting until we have come down from your lands,” Alain said. “Tell me, how long a journey have we till we have passed out of your domain?”

“Aye,” said Gregory. “Where do these moors end?”

“Weary of them already, are you?” the Brown Man asked with a sour smile. “Well, you’ve a long and lonely road to travel yet, me buckos. Onward you go with the rising sun on your left hand, onward for two more days before you come to the end of my moors. Down a long slope you’ll go then, to the shores of an icy lake—and when you see its waters, you’ll think the moors a pleasant place, mark my words!” With a sinister laugh, he turned, stepped into the bracken, and was gone.

“Wait!” Geoffrey called. “Wherefore shall we rue that coming? Stay, spirit, and tell!”

Alain’s hand fell on his shoulder. “Do not think to call him back, Geoffrey. It galls him to have to acknowledge a debt to us, no matter how slight, and he still rejoices in his revenge.”

“Even if there is little reason,” Gregory agreed. “There may be no cause to fear that lake—or for all we know, no lake at all.”

“Quite so,” said Alain. “The fellow seeks to steal our peace of mind, that is all.”

Geoffrey turned back, frowning. “Telling a lie only to have us spend the next two days in apprehension? Aye, I can see that would be such revenge as he could allow himself even though he feels beholden.”

“Call it that and nothing more,” Gregory coaxed. “Come, dip some water from that stream and let us set to stewing some dried beef.”

“That, at least, we do not have to hunt,” Alain said with some irony.

As the three women rode through a sun-filled tunnel of leaves, Quicksilver asked, “Can you hear Alain’s thoughts yet, Cordelia?”

“Nay,” Cordelia answered, “nor those of my brothers. Can you, Allouette?”

Allouette frowned, shrugging to disguise a shiver of apprehension. “No, and never since we plighted our troth have I been without awareness of his mind at the back of my own.”

“ ’Tis worrisome,” Cordelia admitted, “but if Gregory and Geoffrey wish to shield their thoughts, I doubt not they can do it quite thoroughly. Indeed, Gregory could well shield all three by himself.”

“I do not doubt it,” Quicksilver said, “but I would expect a moment’s slippage now and then—a thought or emotion let loose in a moment of excitement, or of danger.”

“Let us hope it means they have come to no peril,” Allouette said fervently.

“I shall hope so in truth,” Quicksilver said, “but warriors develop instincts, and mine suspect the action of an enemy.”

“How?” Cordelia frowned. “Can you mean someone other than our lads shields their minds from us?”

“Well thought!” Allouette wheeled toward them. “What more obvious for a foe to do, if he realizes how formidable a set of antagonists we could be if united?”

“Divide and conquer!” Cordelia cried. “Of course! But what manner of wizard would this be who could erect an invisible wall that bars their thoughts from ours?”

They looked at one another, shuddering at the thought of the kind of magical power the feat would take. Then Allouette scolded herself for being superstitious and said, “Merely a trickster who knows one prank that we do not.”

“Well thought!” Quicksilver cried with relief. “He need not even be as strong as one of you ladies alone!”

“ ’Tis well thought.” Cordelia nodded. “Still, let us not lose sight of the chance that it is only their own shielding, for fear of some puissant mind-reader whom they approach.”

“Or some sorcerer of vast powers indeed,” Quicksilver said grimly. “I do not truly believe it—but a fool I would be not to be ready for the possibility.”

“We must keep open minds on the subject,” Cordelia agreed.

“Open minds, and an open landscape.” Allouette smiled as they rode out of the woods into pastureland. “How bright the sunshine seems! But why is that milkmaid chasing her cow?”

They turned to follow her gaze and saw a young woman, pail in hand, closing in on a dappled cow who stood in a corner made by two hedges a hundred feet away from them. The milkmaid walked quickly, holding out a hand palm up.

“She speaks soothing words to the cow,” Cordelia told them. “Can you hear her mind, Quicksilver?”

“I can,” the warrior said, “but weariness drags at her thoughts. How long has she pursued the beast?”

The milkmaid stepped up to stroke the cow’s neck, then her shoulders, then her side, moving steadily toward the udder—but as she knelt to prop her pail under the cow’s teats, the beast lunged away, smacking the woman with her tail, and went gamboling over the field like a calf.

“ ’Tis a most contrary cow,” Quicksilver said with a frown.

The milkmaid’s shoulders slumped; for a moment, she seemed about to sink to the ground in defeat—but she straightened, squared her shoulders, and started after the cow, her legs weighted with exhaustion.

“The beast has been leading her a merry chase for some hours,” Cordelia said, “and will likely do so for hours more.”

“Not if we can help it,” Quicksilver said, “and we can! Ride, ladies, and catch the animal from front and sides!”

“Then it can only turn to run back to its mistress.” Allouette nodded and kicked her horse into a canter.

The three women rode down on the cow. It saw them coming and veered to their right—but Allouette swung wide to head it off, and the beast turned back to try the other side.

Cordelia turned her horse to the left, circling away, then back toward the cow. It saw her, swung back, then stopped, nonplussed, to see Quicksilver bearing down. It lowed an objection, put down its head, and charged.

“This is most unbovine behavior!” Quicksilver drew her sword and leveled it at the cow’s neck.

“No!” the milkmaid cried. “Spare my poor Dapple!”

The cow looked up at her words, saw the bright steel, and gave a moo of disappointment. It slowed, tossing its head, and with a bang like that of a large firecracker, turned into a horse.

The three riders drew rein, staring. Then Cordelia cried, “That is not your Dapple, milkmaid, though it is a very clever counterfeit!”

“ ’Tis a spirit, that’s sure.” Quicksilver kicked her horse again, holding her sword level. “Ride, ladies! Whatever it is, spirk or sprite, it must fear Cold Iron!”

They converged on the horse, a dancing roan, boxing it in, coming closer and closer. It could have turned and charged the milkmaid, but instead it gave another toss of its head and disappeared with another explosion—a bang that had echoes uncommonly like a horselaugh.

The milkmaid gave a cry of fear and dismay and sank to the ground.

“Quickly!” Cordelia cried. “She faints!”

Allouette was down off her horse in the instant, cradling the milkmaid’s head in the crook of her arm, testing her pulse and peeling back one eyelid, then the other, to check the size of the pupils. She nodded to Cordelia. “She only sleeps.”

The milkmaid’s eyes fluttered; then she sat up. “What . . . where . . .”

“A moment’s loss of consciousness, nothing more,” Allouette assured her.

“No wonder, seeing a cow turn to a horse!” Quicksilver said.

“A horse!” The milkmaid clutched her head as memory came flooding back. “But where is my Dapple?”

“Eating acorns in the forest, as like as not,” Cordelia said in a soothing tone. “Surely she shall seek you out, now that the horse has gone.”

“That was no horse, but the Hedley Kow!” the milkmaid told them. “I have heard of it but hoped never to see it.”

“So had we.” Allouette exchanged a glance with her companions. “Surely there are shape-shifters enough in this land without that one.”

“But the town of Hedley is far from here, is it not?” the milkmaid asked. “I have only heard of it in minstrels’ songs.”

“So far away that I am not sure it is real,” said Allouette. “It may be something the songsters made up to beguile an idle moment.” But she exchanged another meaningful glance with Cordelia, then with Quicksilver.

They nodded their understanding: that the minstrel must have sung very recently and been a projective telepath who didn’t know his own talents, or that someone else had crafted the creature deliberately.

“Surely it is a mischievous sprite,” said Quicksilver, “but it has done you no harm, praise Heaven.”

“Aye, only wasted some hours,” Cordelia agreed.

“Most of the morning, I fear.” The milkmaid sighed. “There is not so much harm in that, if I find my Dapple alive.” She started to rise, wavered halfway up. Allouette caught one arm, Quicksilver the other, as Cordelia cast about quickly with her mind and read a cow’s wordless satisfaction in the taste of acorns and leaves. She projected a “come hither” thought and, as the cow began to plod toward her, said, “I am sure she is alive, and only a little calling will bring her to you.”

“I hope so indeed.” The milkmaid stepped away from Allouette and Quicksilver. “I thank you, ladies, but I am stronger now. Dapple! Da-a-a-a-ple! Come, sweet cow!”

They let go, watching her anxiously. She took a tottering step, then steadied and started toward the woods. “Would she truly have gone among the trees?”

“I doubt not the Kow chased her there,” Quicksilver said with a quick glance at Cordelia. Seeing her nod, she turned back to the milkmaid. “ ’Tis the most convenient hiding place, after all.”

They set out for the trees, their horses following, the milkmaid calling Dapple. They were halfway there when the heifer came ambling out into the meadow.

“My sweet Dapple!” The milkmaid ran to meet her, completely recovered. Quicksilver followed, carrying the pail, with Allouette and Cordelia close behind. The milkmaid threw her arms around the cow’s neck. “I feared for you so! And, poor thing, your udder must be near to bursting!”

“It must indeed,” Allouette agreed. “You set out to milk her at dawn, did you not?”

“Indeed.” The milkmaid set the pail under the cow’s udder.

“I shall hold her head for you.” Allouette gripped Dapple’s bridle.

When the pail was full and the cow looking distinctly relieved, the milkmaid offered them drinks, but they politely declined and mounted, turning their horses back toward the road. As they went, Cordelia asked, “Was she not overly concerned for that cow? It was not a babe nor even a kitten, after all.”

“Nay—it was her livelihood.” Allouette had grown up on a farm. “Think of it as her working capital.”

Quicksilver nodded agreement—as a squire’s daughter, she had seen how important livestock could be to peasants.

“I had not thought of that,” Cordelia admitted. “If the Kow had slain Dapple, our milkmaid would have been poor indeed!”

“Still, I am sure she is genuinely fond of the beast,” Allouette assured her.

“And most deservedly fearful of the Hedley Kow,” Cordelia said fervently.

An explosion rocked the trail.

The horses shied and the women had to fight to keep them from bolting. When they looked up, they found themselves facing another horse—if one could call it that. Its ears were long and bristled at the ends, its head was like a giant plucked owl’s, its legs rubbery and claw-footed, its tail like a bundle of broom. But it opened its beak to produce a very credible horselaugh and cried, “What fools you women must be!”

“How now, varlet?” Quicksilver asked in a dangerous voice. “What folly do you see?”

“The foolishness of antagonizing so powerful a spirit as I,” the Kow said in menacing tones and padded toward them like a panther, every muscle in motion, its whole stance hinting at massive power waiting to be unleashed. “You have ruined my jest! All morning I led that lass astray, hours I spent to bring her to the point of hysterics when I transformed—but you made me spring the trap too soon, and worse! You were there to comfort her when she screamed!”

“Oh, how treacherous of us,” Allouette said with dripping sarcasm. “Be warned, Kow—it may have been no mere chance that brought us to that place and time.”

“Next you will have me believing in providence!”

“Is not the phrase ‘Divine Providence’?” Cordelia asked.

“Speak not that word to me, nor none pertaining to it!” The Kow’s neck stretched out to double its length as its beak opened, revealing a multitude of pointed teeth. “Foolish wenches, if I could not relish that creature’s horror, I shall savor your flesh!”

Fear clawed its way up in all three women, even in the warrior Quicksilver, for this was no ordinary foe, no human or real animal but a strange and obscene thing of nightmare. But each of them had faced terrifying enemies before and all reacted as they had learned—with a fierce determination to defeat any attack.

“How ridiculous!” Allouette’s counterattack was scorn. “Whoever heard of a beak with teeth!”

“Aye!” Cordelia picked up the idea instantly. “Are not things impossible called ‘rare as hen’s teeth’?”

“Impossible this creature is,” Quicksilver agreed. “Cannot that beak tear as well as any eyetooth?”

“Do you say ‘aye’ to my tooth?” But the Kow’s teeth dwindled on the instant and disappeared. It paced forward, reaching out. “Still, as you say, my beak is sharp enough to shred you!”

“Sharper than its owner, I doubt not,” Allouette returned.

“But duller than my sword.” Quicksilver drew. “My apologies, creature—it is not bronze.”

The Kow eyed the sheen of Cold Iron with misgiving. Then its beak turned into a muzzle with lips that curved up in a grin. “Do you thirst, damsels?” And as they watched in horror, it grew an udder.

Cordelia turned to her companions, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Why is it so obscene to see a horse with an udder?”

“If you can call that a horse,” Allouette said with withering contempt. “I have never seen so bizarre a collection of parts in my life!”

“Have you never seen a man of parts?” the Kow returned. “Nay, I shall grow some if you wish.”

“Thank you, no.” Cordelia smiled, actually amused. “We all have men at home with all their parts, enough to last us all our lives.”

The Kow frowned, clearly nonplussed. “Have you never learned it is rude to refuse a gift? Nay, taste of my milk!”

“I suspect this creature is beyond the pail,” Cordelia told Quicksilver.

“Alas!” Allouette said to the Kow. “We appreciate the thought.” She suspected that the Kow knew exactly how they appreciated what it was thinking. “Unfortunately, we have no bucket.”

“If Fate is kind, you should indeed not seek to buck it,” the Kow rejoined.

Cordelia kept her smile. “You do not claim that you are Fate, I hope.”

“So should you hope indeed,” the Kow returned. “Nay, make a bucket of bark so that you may taste of my milk!”

“A mammal has milk only because it has young to suckle,” Cordelia pointed out. “Have you, then, given birth?”

“Any who know of me give me a wide berth indeed! What is this ‘mammal’ you speak of?”

“Why, any creature which suckles its young,” Allouette explained.

The Kow frowned. “This is to say that a bird with webbed feet and a bill is a duck, but a duck is a bird with webbed feet and a bill!”

“The bill for thus baiting us will likely be too high for you to pay,” Quicksilver said darkly.

“Then you would be well advised to duck when I say so!”

“It has the egg of an idea there,” Cordelia admitted.

“No doubt that will make the creature brood upon it,” Allouette answered.

“Be sure you would not wish to meet my brood,” the Kow retorted.

“Are there more than one of you, then?” Cordelia asked in wide-eyed innocence. “I had thought you a singular creature.”

“What, like the phoenix?” The Kow grinned again. “Would you have me disappear in a burst of flame, then?”

Allouette saw her chance and said with withering scorn, “As though you could!”

“Think you anything is beyond my scope?” the Kow demanded, affronted.

“I would not see you burnt to a cinder.” Allouette backed her horse away, widening her eyes as though in fright.

“Behold what you fear, then!” the Kow cried triumphantly.

“Back, ladies,” Quicksilver barked with sudden dread.

They all managed to back their horses a few paces away before the Kow, laughing hysterically, burst into a geyser of flames that ballooned out to singe the ground for thirty feet around before it died as quickly as it had bloomed, leaving only a mound of ashes behind.

Cordelia heaved a sigh of relief. “Most cleverly done, Allouette! You baited the creature to its own doom!”

Allouette flushed, pleased at the compliment and wondering if it betokened real acceptance.

Cordelia turned to Quicksilver. “How did you guess that it meant to burn us to char with itself, lady?”

“I would have to think somewhat to answer that.” Quicksilver frowned. “Suddenly I knew what it meant to do—perhaps because it was too gleeful in its eagerness to demonstrate what Allouette had said it could not do, perhaps because its nature is mischief and malice . . . I cannot say for certain.”

“Suffice it that her counsel saved our lives,” Allouette said with heartfelt gratitude. “I thank you, warrior woman.”

“And I you, dame of cleverness.” Quicksilver gave her a smile. “Shall I play Achilles to your Odysseus, then?”

Allouette returned the smile. “As you please, so long as, together, we have defeated this Trojan horse.”

“Who dares call me Trojan?” nickered a voice that seemed both distant and close.