“Then let kindness begin with these three who have saved us,” the peasant woman said with sudden determination. “The lady has lost her horse in our defense; let us give her another, and a cart to carry the other lady who has spent so much of her strength for us.”
The villagers looked startled, then chorused agreement.
“Darby, your cart would be big enough,” one of the men said.
“My cart? Then how shall I bring my goods to market?” Darby protested.
“We shall build you another,” a second man said, “new and sound—but the lady needs wheels now.”
“No, no, friends,” Allouette protested—but the hand that she raised felt heavy as lead. “I—I shall manage quite well with my horse.”
“With my horse,” the woman insisted, “three years old, and as sweet a filly as you will find in the land. It may be she shall not do for a warhorse, but she shall pull your cart with a right good will.”
“But she is your livelihood!” Allouette protested. “I cannot take—”
Cordelia’s hand on her arm stopped her. “We may send the beast back when we have found a new mount for me,” she told Allouette, “with a present to thank the woman and her neighbors.”
Allouette looked up, saw Cordelia’s smile, and understood—it was a chance to give something to the peasants without making them feel it was charity, and to give them a chance to begin practicing the kindness that would stop at least one door through which the real monsters might enter. She returned the smile slowly, then turned back to the peasants. “I would dearly love to lie down while I travel,” she admitted. “Thank you for your kindness, friends. We shall appreciate the loan of your horse and cart, appreciate it most strongly.”
The people cheered.
So, half an hour later, a stolid little mare pulled a cart between two tall horses. Allouette lay back, half-sitting, against a cushion of pine boughs and looked up at Cordelia. “Thank you for interceding, lady. It would have been most rude of me to refuse their gift—but I could not bear the thought of such poor folk losing goods of such great worth to them.”
“Or of their regretting their generosity later,” Cordelia agreed. “It was the least I could do for one who spared me the pain of a broken leg—especially if it had not healed straightly.”
“I am glad I could make some return for your kindness.” Allouette looked down, blushing. “Indeed, I—I was quite overwhelmed by your protecting of me—me, who was your enemy, who sought to steal your lovers and heap humiliation upon you!”
“That is in the past now.” Quicksilver’s tone was unusually gentle as she reached down to take Allouette’s hand.
“Aye.” Cordelia took her other hand. “We are comrades in arms, and you have proven yourself so this day.”
Tears poured down Allouette’s cheeks. “Your kindness stabs me to the heart! I deserve it not!”
“So that is what made you so fierce in our defense!” Quicksilver cried. “Lady, did you feel you needed to prove worthy of our friendship?”
“I did, and ever shall!”
“There is no need,” Cordelia said gently, “for you have shown yourself to be a most valiant friend this day, shown that our interests are yours now.”
“And yours are ours,” Quicksilver agreed. “I for one believe that I am far safer with you beside me to aid in the fight, than if I stand alone.”
“You . . . you trust me, then?” Allouette asked with wide and wondering eyes.
“I do,” Quicksilver answered, “for you have proved trustworthy this day.”
“Indeed.” Cordelia smiled. “If you had meant us any harm, lady, you had only to turn and ride away, leaving us to battle the monster by ourselves.”
“But you have been kind to me! In spite of all I have done to you and your fiancés, all I tried to do, you have guarded my back on this venture and fought by my side!”
“Exactly,” Cordelia said, smiling. “It is today that matters now, not last month or last year. Recover your strength, lady, for it is our shield and our dagger, and we would be sorely weakened by the loss of you.”
“After all,” Quicksilver said, all business again, “we may have sent Big Ears packing, but its masters will surely send against us another monster more horrible still.”
Allouette shuddered but said, “You do not think it was made of witch-moss, then?”
“No, oddly.” Cordelia frowned. “I tried to take it apart, but there was no response at all. Whatever its substance, it is as impervious to thought as real flesh and blood.”
The three women were silent, each coming to the logical conclusion but not wanting to say it. It was Quicksilver who faced it first. “If it is real, we do not simply face some telekinetic crafter who seeks to make his own army of horrors.”
Allouette frowned up at them. “You do not think the mists that disgorged the first of these monsters actually hide the gateway to some other world, do you?”
“If so,” Quicksilver said grimly, “it is a world impoverished, for its creatures are most hungry for our riches.”
“Or for our blood and bones,” Cordelia said darkly, “unless Big Ears’ threat was pure cruelty.”
“Greed or hunger, it matters not,” said Quicksilver. “All we need to know is that they seek to despoil Gramarye, slay or enslave its people, and take the land for themselves.”
“Yes,” said Cordelia, “and there are espers among them, reaching through the portal to this world with their minds and crafting witch-moss monsters to frighten the people.”
“What use is there in such a campaign of terror?” Quicksilver asked. “It will only make our people fight with greater ferocity.”
“Not all, warrior,” Cordelia said darkly. “See what it has done to this one village—terrified them so badly that they have not only lost the will to fight, but even seek to befriend the monsters at any cost in hopes of appeasing them!”
Quicksilver’s nose wrinkled with disgust. “As though they would be appeased by an offer of hospitality!”
“Aye,” said Cordelia,
“Offer hospitality?” Allouette cried. “That is the reason for the sendings!”
Quicksilver and Cordelia turned to stare at her. “How is that?”
“Have you never heard that vampires cannot enter a house unless they are invited?” Allouette asked.
“True,” Cordelia said slowly, “but we have seen no vampires among them.”
“Even so, these spirits must suffer the same limitation,” Allouette explained.
“But our folk need not know they extend the invitation,” Quicksilver objected. “They need only do evil deeds; that is all the invitation Zonploka needs.”
“Is not this killing and roasting of so many poor helpless creatures evil enough?” Allouette countered. “It is not as though they were slain for food or clothing or any other useful purpose, after all! They were slain only out of wanton cruelty! Nay, the masters of these evil monsters seek not to enter a mere house, but our whole world!”
“But if that is so,” said Cordelia, shocked, “our stopping this village’s Taghairm is surely only a pebble in a gravel pit!”
“Meaning that some other village will take up where these have left off.” Quicksilver’s brows drew down, glowering.
“Aye!” Allouette cried. “Surely every villager in Gramarye is dreaming these nightmares, and every knight and lord too!”
“You have the right of it,” Cordelia agreed. “Other villages will try to curry favor with the invaders by performing the Taghairm or some other ritual to invite them in.”
Allouette shuddered and spoke with iron resolution. “We must find some way to seal this portal for good and all, ladies, and that right quickly, before some fool tears it off its hinges, unable ever to close it again!”