The Warlock is Missing

Chapter 16

"We should take the left fork."

Magnus halted, and Cordelia's unicorn who had appeared just as Cordelia needed her, stopped, unwilling to come too close to one of the boys. Fess stepped up behind Magnus, who frowned down at the younger boy. "Wherefore, Alain?"

Alain scowled up at him, then shrugged. "It matters not. I am a prince, and I say it; therefore we should take the left."

"Yet it may not be the wisest thing," Gregory demurred.

"Hush, nutkin!" Alain said impatiently. "If a prince saith it, 'tis wise."

"Mayhap we should discover where each goes," Cordelia suggested.

"What need? I am a prince!"

Geoffrey Had had enough. "Directly and to make no ado, your Highness—thou dost not yet command, nor need we yet obey."

Alain rounded on him, furious. "Thou wilt head the Blood Royal!"

"Heed it, aye. Obey it, nay."

Alain drew back a fist, but Magnus caught it. "Be still, the pair of ye! Alain, when thou art grown, I will take thy commands, and gladly—but for now, I am eldest, and age is of greater import than rank."

"But I am a prince!"

"And I am the Puck!" boomed the resident elf. "The High Warlock and his wife have set me to govern their bairns in their absence, and I will—so an thou dost wish to accompany us, thou art welcome; but thou must needs mind thine elders!"

Alain scuffed at the ground with a toe.

"Even Robin will not bid us choose, when he knows not what lies at the end of each road," Cordelia said gently.

Alain looked up at her with gratitude, and for a moment, his face softened, almost to the point of idiocy.

Geoffrey saw, and smiled a cynical smile. "What! Wouldst thou heed a woman?"

Alain turned on him, fists clenching and face thunderous.

"So long as thou dost not heed my brother," Magnus murmured.

Alain looked up at him, startled, then smiled, his eyes glowing. "Thou hast ever the truth of the matter, Magnus!"

Geoffrey glared, but just then Summer and Fall popped up from the left-hand fork, shaking their heads. "There's naught down that road save a woodcutter's cot."

Puck queried. "How far didst thou pursue it?"

"To its end—mayhap a league."

Puck shrugged. "Let us hope Kelly hath found summat."

Leaves rustled, and a green top hat popped up with Kelly under it.

"Well come!" Puck cried. "What moves?"

"Naught but an army or three," Kelly said with nonchalance.

"At last!" Magnus sighed, but Puck demanded, "Whose?"

"The Shire-Reeve's." Kelly grinned. "At the least, I think it be he, for his arms have no crest, and his soldiers, no livery. Nay, it must needs be he, for his horses are great, rangy beasts, straight from the plow, not fit for a knight."

"What other armies are there?" Geoffrey asked.

"The King's, but 'tis on the far side of the hill, and be-tween them lies a field of wheat."

" 'Tis destined to become a field of battle," Geoffrey mut-tered.

"And at his back lies a river—yet there are two fords for the crossing of it, and five counts' armies beyond. None have more than a half-dozen knights and a few hundred men-at-arms—yet together, they're a force to be reckoned with."

"An they can fight in unity," Geoffrey added.

"'Tis even so." Puck turned to Alain. "Well enough—we have found the enemy. From this time forth, matters may become exceedingly dangerous—and we cannot risk the heir apparent. Thou wilt go home!" He transferred his glare to Kelly. "And thou shalt accompany the Prince, to ward him!"

"Nay!" cried Alain, and, "Niver, ye scoundrel! What! Would ye make a nanny of me?" howled Kelly.

"I am not a baby," Alain said, glowering.

"Nay, thou art nine now, and fully come into childhood. Yet thou art the heir!"

"Yet I've a smaller brother at home!"

" 'Tis for thy father to place thee at risk, not for me!"

"But he'll never do so!"

"Nay, he will—when he doth believe thou art a strong enough fighter. Yet that waits till thou art sixteen, lad, or older."

"That is seven years!" Alain wailed.

"Enjoy them whilst thou may," Puck advised him, "and I shall see thou art alive to do so. Now go to safety!"

"Wherefore do they stay?" Alain pointed at the Gallow-glasses.

"For that they are in my care, and must stay where I do— and for that they've no parents to be sent home to. Fear not—I'll keep them as safe as thou wilt be."

"Oh, nay!" Geoffrey protested, but Alain bawled, "'Tis not fair!"

"Nay, but 'tis merciful. Go now to thy mother!"

"I'll not take him!" Kelly declared. "My place is here, with the witch-children!"

"Thy place is wheresoe'er the Hobgoblin doth send thee. What, elf! Wilt thou question the King of Elves?"

"He is not here," Kelly snapped.

"Nay, but he hath given this brood into my care—and wilt command as I do: that the Heir have guard to his parent!"

"'Tis thou dost say it, not he," Kelly grumbled; but he seemed wary now.

"Shall I ask it of him, then? Nay, thou canst reach to him as quickly as I! Shall we go? 'Tis but a matter of minutes, for elves."

Kelly glowered at him, but didn't speak.

Puck held his gaze level, fists on hips, waiting.

Finally, Kelly snapped, "Well enough, then! It shall be as thou dost say!"

Puck smiled. "Brave elf!" He turned back to Alain. "And wilt thou, too, be as worthy?"

"Where is the worth in retreat?" Alain burst out. "Wouldst thou have me flee from danger?"

"Aye, till thou art grown. What! Must I summon His Elfin Majesty to command thee, too?"

"He may not! I am Prince of Gramarye!"

"And he is a king, who may by right command a prince— yet his power's within himself, not his army, and can be wielded on the moment. Wilt thou go to thy home for safety,

or wilt thou be kept on a lily pad?"

"Thou canst not afright me thus!" Alain declared, but he looked less certain than he sounded. "Attempt it, then—and answer to my father for what thou hast done to the Royal Heir!"

Puck reddened, and his voice fell to a deadly quiet. "Wilt thou go, or must I send word to the Queen?"

"Mummy is fifty miles distant!" Alain wailed.

"Aye, yet thy father's but half a league onward—and so is his belt."

Alain glared at Puck for a moment longer, but finally could not hold it. He collapsed with a sigh. "Even so, then. I shall go."

Puck nodded, but showed no sign of victory. He turned to Kelly and said, "Guide him, elf. And see thou he doth come to his parent ere morn!"

When darkness enveloped the forest glade, Puck moved silently among the sleeping children, shaking them and murmuring, "Wake. The moon is up, as thou must be, also."

One by one, they sat up, stretching and yawning.

"I could sleep the night through," Geoffrey sighed.

"Do so, then!" said Magnus. "Puck and I will suffice to tend to this Shire-Reeve."

"Nay," Geoffrey said quickly. "I am fully awakened."

Cordelia lay nestled against the unicorn, who lay on her side, tummy against the girl's back. Now she sat up, blinking, cuddling Gregory against her. That meant the little boy had to sit up, too, but as soon as he did, his eyes sagged shut again.

"Do thy best to waken him," Puck advised. "Thou two must be most alert, when we do return."

Cordelia kissed Gregory on the forehead and gave him a little shake, murmuring, "Waken thou, mannikin." Little Brother lifted his head, blinking; then his eyelids closed, and so did hers. Cordelia shook her head and turned to Puck. "He shall be wakeful, when thou dost return."

Puck nodded and said, "Keep safe, then. Fairies do watch thee." He turned to Magnus and Geoffrey, "Let us go. I have been to the Shire-Reeve's tent already, and long did I wait till he ceased his work with parchments, and lay down to steep; yet now he doth slumber, and I've deepened his sleep with a spell."

Magnus nodded. "Aye, let us away."

Puck caught their hands and nodded. All three disappeared. With a boom, air rushed in to fill the space where they'd been.

Two young men stood guard at the door to the Shire-Reeve's tent. One had been a member of the Reeve's trained band of armed men for several years; the other was a raw recruit, a shepherd boy, who kept watching his veteran partner closely, trying to imitate him, holding his pitchfork the same way the constable held his pike.

Something exploded inside the tent. The two men whirled about, staring. They heard the Shire-Reeve cry out, then heard the explosion again. The two men stared at each other in alarm, then crashed together as they both tried to jam through the tent flap at the same time.

They tumbled in, weapons at the ready, staring about them wildly.

"Hold up the tent flap," the veteran barked.

The shepherd turned and yanked the flap high. Moonlight streamed in, enough to show them the Shire-Reeve's cot, empty.

In the forest glade, the two boys appeared with a thunder-crack, a full-grown man held horizontally between them. His feet dropped to the ground, and he thrashed his way upright, shaking off the boys' hands. "Witchcraft! Vile dwarves, who…"

He broke off, staring at the small figure confronting him, only as high as his knee, but with a very stony look on his face. "Thou, who dost nail up Cold Iron over every door, and dost never leave milk for the brownies," Puck grated, "wilt now face the Puck!"

While the Shire-Reeve stood silent for just that one moment, Cordelia, in the shadows, stared at the quarterstaff that lay hidden in the grass. It leaped up and cracked into the Shire-Reeve's head. He fell like a pole-axed steer.

The Shire-Reeve awoke, frowning against a splitting headache. He tried to sit up, but couldn't lift his arms to support himself. In sudden panic, he thrashed about, trying to move his hands and legs, but found they were lashed securely together, with the arms bound tightly to his sides. He looked about him, panting, wild-eyed, and saw four children of varying sizes, gazing down at him. A shadow moved behind them; he recognized it for a huge black warhorse with glowing eyes, and a chill ran down his back. Then something stepped up beside the horse into a patch of moonlight, and he saw a silver head with a long, straight horn spearing out from the forehead —and centering on him. The chill spread into his belly, and turned into dread.

"Look down," suggested a deep voice.

The Shire-Reeve did, and turned completely cold. There, in front of the children, stood a foot-and-a-half-high elf with blood in his eye.

"Be honored," the mannikin grated. "Few mortals ever do see the Puck."

The Shire-Reeve lay stiffly, panting, wide-eyed. Frantically, he strove to compose himself, to collect his thoughts.

"I know thee," Puck said. "Thou art Reginald, son of Turco, who was squire to Sir Bartolem—and thou dost call thyself 'squire' too, though thou hast no right to it, sin that thou hast never borne a knight's armor, nor cared for his horse."

The middle-sized boy started at that, then glared down at the man.

The Shire-Reeve nodded, trying to slow his breathing. He swallowed and said, "Aye." He swallowed again and said, "Then the Wee Folk are real."

As real as thou, but with a deal more sense," Puck said with sarcasm. "We do not make spectacles of ourselves, flaunting our power for all men to admire—or women, in thy case."

Reginald's face darkened. He was glad of the anger he felt; it helped restore him to himself.

Puck nodded toward the children behind him and said, "I can see in thine eyes that thou dost dismiss these children as being of no consequence. Thou art a fool; they are the High Warlock's brood."

Reginald stiffened, staring from one little face to another.

Puck nodded. "Aye, thou hast cause to fear them. They will have little mercy for the man who did kidnap their parents."

"I did not!" Reginald cried. "Who saith this of me? 'Tis a false lie!" And it was, in a way—he had only spoken with those odd scrawny men with the gaunt faces and the wild looks in their eyes, telling them that the King was a tyrant, and so was Earl Tudor and even Count Glynn. He had claimed to believe all the noblemen were, and had sworn he wished to destroy them all, letting the people live freely on their own, with none to oppress them. And the odd men had smiled, eyes glittering, and promised to aid him in any way they could— they were wizards, after all, and owned a kind of magic that few witches knew of.

So he had asked them to kidnap the High Warlock and his wife.

All of that passed through his mind as he stared at the elf with the High Warlock's children behind him, their faces growing darker and darker with anger. He hadn't asked enough of the weird men; he should have asked them to take the children, too…

He let none of that show in his face. He only said stoutly, "I did not abduct the High Warlock!"

But the children didn't believe him, he could see it in their faces. With a sinking heart, he remembered that they were warlocks and a witch, and that they could hear thoughts. "'Tis not true!" he burst out; but the elf only said, "We had guessed already what thou hast thought. Yet who put this notion of conquest into thy mind? Was it the other wizards, they who go about dressed as peasants and speak to the common folk of their miseries? Or didst thou come to think of it by thine own self?"

"Nay, 'tis all false!" Reginald insisted. "I did but seek to keep the peace in mine own shire! And when I saw there were bandits throughout all of Tudor, I marched out against them!" He tried desperately not to think of those scabrous, tattered men coming to him when he was, very truthfully, only seeking to keep the peace, which did not take much doing—only the occasional poacher, and the peasant who drank too much on a feast day; but it was enough to earn the King's silver, and keep him in his grand, stone house. But those false peasants with the burning eyes had convinced him he could have more, so much more—the whole Earldom, perhaps even the whole kingdom! And they were right, it was possible—for he had an army now, and those magical weapons the wizards had given him! He would defeat the King, with the aid of those foolish counts. Or, rather, with the help of the other wizards, the ones who said they were spiteful, and who swore they could persuade a few of the counts to attack the King from the rear. For a moment, the fear clamored up in him—what if they did not? What if he attacked the King's army, and found himself fighting alone?

Then he thrust the fear down. It was needless; the wizards had sworn he would win, both the peasant ones and the spiteful ones.

"The King hath the aid of the Wee Folk," Puck grated, "and the magic of all the royal witches and warlocks—and even these half-fledged ones are mighty. Be sure, an thou dost fight His Majesty, thou shalt lose."

For a moment, panic seized Reginald. Could the elf speak truly? But he forced the fear down; the goblin was only trying to frighten him, to defeat him by destroying his confidence! Yet Reginald would confound him; Reginald would face the King and beat him. But he would not go on to take the title of "dictator," as the peasantish wizards wished him to, nor would he set up their odd system of officials to control every aspect of the people's lives. Neither would he continue to battle the noblemen and kill them all off, letting the serfs and peasants run riot, as the spiteful wizards wanted him to. Nay, he would seize the crown!

"Thou dost seek to establish thine own dynasty." Puck glared into Reginald's eyes, and the Shire-Reeve felt as though they pierced him to his very soul. "Thou dost seek to beget sons, who will take the title of King from thee when thou dost die."

"Nay!" Reginald said. "'Tis not one word of truth in it!" But there was, of course—and not just one word, but every word.

Puck looked up at the children. "Thou hast heard his thoughts—he doth seek to rule. Yet he hath neither the wit nor the strength for it." He turned back to the Shire-Reeve. "Thou wilt finish by serving the ends of the spiteful wizards —for of such ambitions as yours, is anarchy bred."

The Shire-Reeve stared into Puck's eyes, and realized that the elf and the children had heard even the thoughts he'd sought to suppress. With a sinking heart, he read his doom in their faces.

"What shall we do with him?" Magnus whispered.

A brawny forearm slammed into his face, and a knife-point poised in front of his eye. "Hold!" snarled a voice like a bro-ken garlic bottle. "Witch's brat!"

On the other side of the knife, Magnus saw another soldier with a sword pricking his sister's stomach and, beside her, Gregory at arm's length over a third soldier's head, squalling with terror, about to be thrown. Terror for his younger brother galvanized Magnus. Without even thinking, he aimed the emotion with the old sorcerer's torture-spell, and the third soldier screamed in agony, clutching his head as burning pain stabbed through it, dropping Gregory. The little boy drifted downward and landed as lightly as a feather.

Geoffrey was struggling and kicking in a fourth soldier's arms. A rock shot up off the forest floor and crashed into the second soldier's head. He gave a hoarse shout, then folded, sword dropping harmless to the ground. Cordelia stared at it, and it swooped up toward the soldier holding Magnus.

"Hold!" the man shouted. "An it comes nearer, thou'lt have a blind brother!"

The children froze.

Soldiers stared at them, warily. Then a sergeant barked, and farm boys leaped in to point pitchforks at the children.

The Shire-Reeve grinned. "Well done, Bardolf! Now, Harold—cut my bonds!"

A man-at-arms hurried over to cut through the ropes that held his master. The Shire-Reeve sat up, rubbing his wrists, then caught Harold's arm for support as he climbed to his feet.

How did they find us? Geoffrey thought.

A slender man in herald's livery stepped forth from the group of soldiers with a contemptuous smile.

He is a warlock! Cordelia thought.

The slender man gave her a mock bow. Dorlf Carter at thy service, lady.

I wonder that he gives us his name, Geoffrey thought darkly. Come what may, we'll know who to hang.

Dorlf glared at him with narrowed eyes. Then he turned to the Shire-Reeve. "Thou shouldst slay that one with no more ado, Squire."

Cordelia's gaze leaped up to him, startled. Then she glared at the pitchfork that was pointed at her tummy.

Magnus followed suit, staring cross-eyed at the dagger in front of his eyes.

The nearest soldier swung his pike up, and would have died in agony at that moment, if the Shire-Reeve had not held up a hand. "Nay, hold! These children are of too great value to be slain out of hand! King Tuan will never dare fight us, so long as we hold these!"

His face hard as flint, Geoffrey gave the telepath a stare like a poniard, and Dorlf shrieked, clapping his hands to his temples, back arched in agony.

"Stop him!" the Shire-Reeve shouted, and soldiers leaped to Dorlf's aid. "Not him, you fools—the child!"

A tendril of smoke spun up from the hand of the soldier guarding Cordelia, and he howled with pain, dropping his sword.

The knife in front of Magnus's eyes glowed cherry-red, and the soldier dropped it with a bellowed oath. Both blades landed in dried leaves; flames bloomed and soldiers shouted in panic, stamping at the blaze.

Dorlf dropped to the ground, unconscious or worse.

"Kill them!" the Shire-Reeve shouted, his face dark with anger.

The soldiers turned on the children, chopping with swords and pikes—but their weapons jerked in their hands and slammed back against their chests, knocking them into the peasant recruits trying to come up from behind.

Gregory clung to Cordelia's skirts and stared at the soldiers behind his big sister and brothers—and pebbles and sticks shot up at them from the forest floor. The farm boys stumbled backward, swearing; then their faces hardened, and they stepped forward again, arms up to guard their faces. But Gregory had found the larger rocks now, which cracked into the soldiers' heads. They bellowed in pain and retreated. One dropped his sword, and it leaped up, whirling in midair like a windmill in a gale, turning from side to side as though it were looking for someone to slice. The peasant soldiers stepped back farther, poised to dart in at the sign of an opening—but there wasn't one.

Fess's hooves and teeth seemed to be everywhere, and the unicorn's horn darted about, bright with blood—but there were a hundred soldiers, and more.

Geoffrey stepped forward, pale with rage. The soldiers in front of him knocked backward, sprawling against the ones behind them to either side as though a snowplow had hit them. The invisible plow moved onward, shooting off bow-waves of soldiers.

No, Geoffrey! Magnus thought; but his younger brother didn't even seem to hear him. He stepped forward, a foot at a time, as though he were wading through molasses. One thought, and one thought only, rang through his mind, again and again, like the tolling of a funeral bell: The Shire-Reeve! Though I die, I will slay the Shire-Reeve!

Magnus leaped in behind, adding his power to Geoffrey's, slamming soldiers back against one another. He didn't want to see murder—but if someone had to die, it was going to be the Shire-Reeve, not his brother.

"Slay them!" the Shire-Reeve shouted, pale with fright, and the soldiers leaped in. There were fifty of them, all grown men, and only two young boys. A wave of peasants slammed into the backs of the front rank, and the front rank pitched forward, crashing down on top of the boys. Cordelia screamed in rage, and rocks struck the soldiers nearest the pile—but they fell forward, on top of the stack. Underneath, Geoffrey squirmed, pinned to the ground, fighting for breath he couldn't get; then more soldiers slammed down on top, more and more, pinning him down, crushing him, and the fear of death seeped through his every fiber. He fought back hysterically, and his brother did, too, repelling the crushing pile above them with every ounce of adrenaline shooting through them. The pile lurched, heaved—and steadied. More soldiers leaped on, and more, collapsing the bubble of telekinetic force that protected the young warlocks, jamming the huge pile of flesh down on top of them, crushing, flattening…

A hoarse shout rang through the forest: "For the Queen and for Gramarye!" And, suddenly, soldiers in the royal colors were leaping out of the trees around the clearing, faces shadowed under brimmed metal helmets, the blazon of the King's elite Flying Legion on their surcoats, charging in at the Shire-Reeve's ragtag peasant boys, chopping down at them with pikes, stabbing with long spears. The Shire-Reeve's men turned, with howls of terror and rage, fighting back. Pikes flashed; men dropped with blood pumping from their chests, gushing out of slashed necks. A head went flying; a headless corpse fell to the forest floor.

With a tearing scream, the huge black horse reared, steel hooves lashing out, the unicorn beside it, goring men with its silver horn. The Shire-Reeve's men howled in superstitious fear and crowded back against their own companions in a huge knot, surrounded by King's men.

Through it all raged a great chestnut warhorse with a golden knight on its back, shouting, "Onward, brave fellows!

Onward! For glory and freedom! Hurl the soldiers aside! Hack through to the core! Seize the vile recreant who seeks to slay children!"

"King Tuan!" Cordelia cried, eyes streaming.

The King it was, laying about him, hacking and hewing his way to the pile of men on top of the boys.

That pile exploded with sudden, shattering force, a dozen men flying outward, striking their fellows and knocking them down. An eighteen-inch elf stood where they'd been, face pale with fury, as the two boys scrambled to their feet, gasping for breath.

"Ga-a-a-llowgla-a-ss!" a great voice bellowed, and a small dark body shot from the King's horse like a cannonball, landing beside the two boys, laying about him, two feet high, huge-headed and black-bearded—Brom O'Berin, the King's Privy Councillor, come to defend the children who were his favorites in all the land. He leaped, kicking and slamming punches. Armed soldiers fell back from his blows. Foot by foot, he cleared the path between the boys and Cordelia, and she caught up Gregory and ran to her brothers with a glad cry.

The Shire-Reeve's men turned to face the new enemy—but they were all about, ringing in the whole clearing, crowding in by the hundred, against fifty. The Shire-Reeve's guards fought with the desperation of men who know they cannot retreat; but one young soldier cried, "Mercy! I yield me! Have mercy!" and dropped his pike, throwing his arms up, palms open. A King's soldier yanked him by the collar, hurling him behind and out of the fight, where more soldiers, coming out of the trees, stood ready to catch him and tie him up.

Seeing him still alive, other soldiers began to cry, "I yield me!"

"I yield me!" The King's men caught them and pulled them out of danger.

"He is a traitor who yields him!" the Shire-Reeve shouted. "A traitor and a fool! Fight! 'Tis thine only hope—for the King shall hang thee if thou dost surrender!"

"A pardon to any man who yields him!" King Tuan bellowed. "Full pardon and mercy! I shall hang no man who was constrained to fight! Surrender and live!"

"He lies!" The Shire-Reeve screamed; but the King knocked the last bodyguard aside, and his horse leaped up to the Reeve.

The Shire-Reeve howled like a berserker in fury and stabbed at the King, sword-point probing for the eye-slits in the helmet; but Tuan's sword leaped to parry, whirled about in riposte, and stabbed down as the King lunged, full extension. The Shire-Reeve gave a last curdling scream, and his eyes glazed even as the sword transfixed him, piercing his heart. Then he fell, and Tuan yanked the sword free. "Thy master is dead!" he roared. "Yield! What cause hast thou for fighting now? Yield thee, and live!"

The Shire-Reeve's soldiers hesitated, for but a second— but that was enough for Tuan's finest. In that moment, they struck the weapons from their enemies' hands and set the points of their pikes to the throats of the Reeve's men. The enemy shouted, "I yield me! I yield me!" holding up their empty hands, and King Tuan wiped his blade and cried, "Let them live!"'

When the soldiers had shackled the Shire-Reeve's officers and led them away, Tuan nodded to his own men. "Let them flee."

Glowering, the legionnaires stood aside, and the Shire-Reeve's peasants blinked up at them, trying to believe they were really free, but afraid they were not.

"I did declare I would not harm any man who hath been constrained to fight for the Shire-Reeve," Tuan said. "Now go, and tell thy fellows what hath happed here."

With a glad cry, the peasant boys turned and bolted.

As they disappeared among the trees, Brom O'Berin rumbled, "Was that wise, Majesty?"

"It was," Tuan said, with full certainty. "They will bear word to the Shire-Reeve's army, and the army will disband, each man going to his home, as most of them wish to do. The remainder will know their cause is lost with the Shire-Reeve's death." Then he turned to the children.

Four chastened and humbled Gallowglasses looked up at him with foreboding—and an apprehensive Puck eyed Brom O'Berin warily.

"We thank thee, Majesty, that thou hast saved us in our hour of desperation," Magnus managed.

"I rejoice that I came in time," Tuan returned. "Yet I trust thou hast learned not to meddle with armies again, till thou art grown!"

"Oh, aye!"

" 'Twas dangerous folly, we now know!"

"We will never dare such hazard again!"

Tuan reserved his own opinion about that—and he noticed that Geoffrey hadn't said anything. Still, he counted his winnings and decided to stand pat.

Cordelia said, greatly daring, "Yet how didst thou know we stood in such great need"of rescue?"

Tuan smiled. "For that, thou hast another to thank." He turned to the trees and called, "Come forth, Highness!"

There was a moment's silence; then Alain stepped out from between the trees with Kelly beside him.

The silence stretched; then Puck muttered, "I commanded thee to take him home!"

"Aye, ye did." Kelly's beard jutted up defiantly. "Yet if I had, what would have become of the other children?"

"Would thou hadst ta'en such great caution with all those entrusted to thy care." Brom O'Berin glared at Puck.

Puck looked away. "Who could ha' known the Shire-Reeve had his own tame warlock?"

"Who should ha' known better than the Puck?" Brom re-torted.

Puck bit his lip. "I cry thy worship's pardon; I mistook."

"Gentlefolk," Tuan murmured. Dwarf and elf alike fell si-lent, and the King bowed gravely to his son. "I thank thee for thy timely news."

Equally formally, the Crown Prince returned the bow. "I rejoice that I have been of service." He cast a glance at the Gallowglasses. "Mother was so far away—and 'twas even as Puck said: Father was scarce two miles off!"

"Let him not deceive thee," Tuan said kindly. "He was concerned for thy safety."

"As well he should have been," Brom muttered.

"And I must thank thee," Tuan said to the Gallowglasses, "for thy loyalty. An all my subjects were so true and courageous, I would have little to concern me."

They stood, staring; then Cordelia, blushing, dropped a curtsy, and the boys, suddenly remembering their manners, bowed. "We are only glad that we could aid," Cordelia said.

"'Tis well for me that thou didst. Thanks to thee, this greatest threat to Queen Catharine and myself—and thy friends the princes—is removed; for, due to thine action, I took this Shire-Reeve unawares, yet with honor."

The blush spread to the boys.

Tuan turned to Alain. "Thou hast served me well this day, my son."

Alain fairly beamed.

"Yet I cannot help but wonder," Brom O'Berin rumbled, "how much of what they did was out of fear for Their Majesties, and how much was adventure." He glowered at Kelly. "Thou, I'll wager, couldst not abide the thought of being far from battle."

The elf hunched in on himself, but Puck spoke up. "The fault, my lord, was mine. 'Twas I who led them out against enemies."

"Aye, but the enemy was not the Shire-Reeve," Magnus said quickly. "'Twas a fell giant, who gave us little trouble."

Brom's head snapped up; he stared, appalled.

"Coming to fight the Shire-Reeve was our choice," Geoffrey seconded.

"Yet not thine idea." King Tuan bent a stern eye on his son, who seemed to shrink. "I mind me an I bade a certain person to bide at home, for the protection of his mother."

"I could not see thee go against such odds," Alain wailed.

"Bless thee for thy caring, son," Tuan said, thawing a little, "yet I've faced such odds before, and won."

With Papa's aid, Magnus thought; but he didn't say it aloud.

"Yet I cannot pretend I am not happy at the outcome of thy disobedience," Tuan admitted. "Indeed, thine aid was most fortunate."

"Fortunate indeed," Brom rumbled. "In truth, 'twas but good fortune that none of thee were slain, or maimed."

The children shrank in on themselves again.

"He doth but speak the truth," Tuan said, some sternness returning.

"We know," Magnus said, his voice low. "Had it not been for thy timely rescue, we'd ha' been crow's meat this even-tide."

"Indeed thou wouldst have," Brom O'Berin agreed. "Therefore, hearken! I now command thee to get to thine home! And sweep, adorn, and wash it, that thy parents may have pleasant housen when that they return!"

"Dost thou think they will?" Magnus's eyes lit.

Brom shrugged impatiently. "A universe could not keep them from thee. 'Tis but a matter of time. Therefore, go!" He glared at Puck. "Directly, to their home! Conduct them, Robin—and let them not linger by the wayside!"

"I go, I go!" Puck cried. "See how I go!"

"Be sure, I will," Brom said.

"Thou also." Tuan fixed his son with a stern gaze. "Thou must not risk thyself further."

"Must I go home then after all?" Alain protested.

The wood was quiet while Tuan gazed at his son thoughtfully. At last he said, "Nay, I think not."

Alain grinned, delighted.

"A prince must learn the ways of battle," Tuan explained, "and this will be a proper chance for learning, now that the Shire-Reeve is felled and there's little danger. These petty barons are not like to combine against me—and, one by one, I may swat them like flies. Yet an thou art with me, my concern for thy safety will hamper me; I will not strike as swiftly and fully as I ought. Therefore must thou promise most devoutly to stay within my tent, whiles I do battle."

Some of the glow left the prince. He lowered his eyes and glowered at the ground, shuffling a toe.

"What!" Tuan cried. "Is a father's commandment not enough?"

"Nay," Alain said reluctantly. "I will obey."

"Yet I bethink me thou wilt forget, and seek to creep out to watch the battle," Tuan said, frowning.

Alain was silent.

"Therefore, I command thee—as thy liege!" Tuan said sternly. "Son or not, thou art my subject—and my vassal!"

Alain drew himself up smartly. "I am, Majesty!"

"Then thou wilt hearken to me, by thy vows as my vassal! Thou wilt stay in thy tent when battle rages! 'Tis thy duty to thy sovereign!"

Alain stared at him. Then he said, "An thy Majesty doth command it, I shall," and his face was full of devotion.

Tuan broke into a smile. "Stout lad! Come, then—for thou and I must hasten back to our army."

"Aye, my liege!" Alain came running, and jumped. Tuan caught his outstretched arm and swung him up behind, on his horse's rump. Alain threw an arm around his father's waist, and turned back to wave to the Gallowglasses.

"Again, I thank thee!" Tuan called back over his shoulder. "Now get thee home, young witchfolk!"

They rode off into the forest, and disappeared among the trees with Brom and the soldiers thronged around them.

Cordelia watched them go with a gleam in her eye.

"And what dost thou think, watching that handsome lad so shrewdly?" Magnus teased. "Bethink thee, thou'rt five months older—he's too young for thee."

"Yet he'll not always be so," Cordelia pointed out. "And thou, great lummox of a brother, mayest mind thine own affairs!"

"Of which thou art one," Magnus said, grinning. "Come, sister—gather up thy babe of a brother, and follow our elf."

Cordelia smiled and caught Gregory by the hand. They all turned toward the southern trail, following a chastised, but very relieved, Puck.