"Guide on my voice," the Black Knight's echo called from his left, and, "Touch hands with me," the same voice called from behind and to the right.
"I come, Sir Guy!" But Sir Nigel's voice faded away, too.
"Sir Dai Do you march forward double-quick, and link hands with the cyclops!"
"March forward," Sir Guy's echo called from behind, then, "Link hands with the cyclops!" from off to the left.
"I come, Sir Guy!" But even as he called it, Sir Dai's voice faded off to the left—then sounded from the right.
"Robin Hood! Do you hear me?" Matt called in a panic.
"I hear!" Robin's voice called from behind. "I shall summon my men by my horn!" it said from the right.
The horn sounded, and a ragged cheer went up from the men of Sherwood, off to their right, swerving around to the front, then back to the left. Another horn blew from the north, then its echo sounded from the south, then again from the east.
"I just hope his men know which one is the real horn," Matt groaned. "Are your people still together, Robin Hood?"
But this time, only the echoes of his own voice answered him—and, in the distance and fading, the blare of a hunting horn. On the other side, knightly voices called to their men, growing more distant. Steel clanked as the army marched, and the whole plain was filled with its distant susurrus—but all far away, and going farther.
"He has fragmented our army!" Sir Guy groaned. "He has led us away from one another in the fog! Pray Heaven the men of each flank stay together."
"Do," Matt agreed. "Please do. As for us, let's find out who's here. I'm still feeling Stegoman's scales—and that must be your hand I'm holding, Sir Guy, because it's metal. Squeeze the hand you're holding, and tell its owner to say his or her name."
"I am Sir Guy," the knight called. "Say your name when I squeeze your hand!"
"Squeeze not overly hard," quavered a female voice. "I am Yverne. Nay, say your name as I squeeze your hand."
"I am Fadecourt," the cyclops' voice answered.
Matt waited.
No one called.
Finally, he said, "Who's holding your other hand, Fadecourt?"
"I feel no hand upon that arm, Lord Wizard"
"Down to our original group," Matt groaned, "plus yourself, Sir Guy. I see why you stayed in that castle."
"Even as you said, we could not remain there forever," the Black Knight reminded him. "To live is to place oneself at risk, Sir Matthew. We must make that risk as small as possible, and lay protections in case we are beset—yet still is there risk."
"I knew I needed a savings account." Matt sighed. "Well, there's nothing to be done about it now."
"You did not pray while peace lasted?"
"Well, sure, but..."
"Then you have a font of strength to draw on—the channel you established between your God and yourself. Go forward boldly, my friend."
"Yeah, sure," Matt muttered, and followed Stegoman, somewhat shaken by the Black Knight's combination of theology and military science.
" `Boldly,' he shaizh," Stegoman muttered. "Channel, he talksh about Pretty good, for a man who spendzh all hizh time making noizh with a shword." Then his voice trailed off into ramblings that didn't make much sense, aside from the occasional reference to a foul hatchling hunter and vampires who drained dragons' blood to strengthen their charms. Matt realized there was still a lot of Stegoman's biography he didn't know about. "Anybody have any idea where we are?"
"Aye," Puck's voice slurred. "We wander on a darkling plain, beset by ignorance and confusion."
"Thanks for a summary of the condition of humankind," Matt grunted, then stopped bolt still. "Stegoman! Hold on!"
"Wha' for?" But the dragon ground to a halt.
Matt took a few more steps to catch up, making sure his hand was firmly on the dragon's tail plates. "I just had an idea." He ignored Puck's gasp of amazement and recited,
It worked. He actually did begin to understand where he was—and the fog began to thin.
"You have done it!" Yverne cried. "You have lifted the fog!"
"Don't celebrate too soon," Matt cautioned, but he was almost limp with relief himself, as he began to be able to see all of Stegoman's bulk, then to make out the dragon's head and even, in front of that, the road, with huge boulders lining each side, a grove of fir trees ahead on their right...
And an armored man half as wide as he was tall, with a huge broadsword and an evil grin. "Wise advice," the armored man gloated. "Do not celebrate at all."
"Duke Bruitfort!" Yverne screamed.
Suddenly there were soldiers everywhere, erupting from the rocks and racing up from behind. A squadron of knights came charging out of the clump of fir trees. Stegoman saw the men on horseback, gave a roar of drunken rage, and pounded off to slam into them...
Leaving the humans' flank exposed. The evil duke laughed and stepped into the gap, sword slashing. Sir Guy's blade flashed out, but it was Yverne who leaped on the enemy. Grabbing a halberd and twisting it out of a trooper's hands, she swung it about with a sweeping motion that bespoke years of training, and clipped the trooper smartly with the butt, then swung the axe head to chop the next soldier in the hip.
Sir Guy leaped in front of Matt, blocking the duke's blow and riposting in a huge, deadly, sweeping cut.
Fadecourt roared, leaped on a soldier, and threw him into the men behind. He grabbed up the fallen halberd, broke it over his knee, and waded into the soldiers, chopping with his left hand and whirling his right as a club.
A net sailed out of nowhere and settled down over him. The cyclops bellowed and chopped at it. He slashed through the mesh, but two men caught his arm, and a third stepped up to slam a cudgel against his skull. Fadecourt slumped.
Matt scarcely noticed; he had pulled out his wand and was wielding it as a club, ducking pike thrusts and cracking skulls. Then some sixth sense warned him just in time to spin around and see a weighted club swinging down toward his sinuses with a fully armored knight behind it. He was just realizing that he might not have used the wand in the most effective way possible, when the club connected, and he didn't get to see how they managed to disarm Sir Guy.
The line straggled across the hillside above them, and the slope that had seemed small and insignificant when it was far below seemed to be lofty and forbidding now. The soldiers who had been ants were now fearsome gargoyles, frowning down on them.
Alisande found the grizzled veteran and summoned him. "How say you now, Sergeant? Shall I lead you in a charge up this hill?"
"God forbid!" the sergeant cried. "Begging your Majesty's pardon—but I would rather save your Majesty's life!"
"l, too," Alisande agreed, "for I have not so many men that I can spend their lives like pennies. Yet how think you we are to progress, if we do not climb this hill?"
The sergeant frowned. "Wherefore does..." He cleared his throat, also his impatience, and pulled his mask of civility back on. "I am surprised that your Majesty asks."
Alisande nodded in agreement, smiling. "We may not fly up, but the gray goose shall. Go call up the archers."
A few minutes later, a flight of arrows arced up from the ranks of Merovence.
But at the tops of their arcs, they burst into bright flame. What fell on the men of Ibile was little more than ashes.
Alisande just stood staring up at the sky.
Finally, the sergeant said, "Right glad I am, that 'twas only the gray goose that rose up against that sorcerer."