Magnus reappeared with a thunder-crack right behind Gregory, eyes alight with glee, crying, "Hide me!" and ducking down behind his little brother.
"Thou great oaf, I can see thee most clearly!" Cordelia cried; but Gregory squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating furiously, thinking of apples and oranges, of a large bowl of luscious fruit, of their tantalizing aromas.
Air boomed, and Geoffrey shouted, 'Tag!" as he swatted Magnus's shoulder, then pivoted to Gregory. "I had lost him; he 'scaped without a trace of a thought of where he was bound. Yet when I listened for sign of his presence, all I could find was a picture of luscious fruits in thy mind—and, me-
thought, 'There's no reason for Gregory to be so suddenly entranced with food.' Therefore did I know thou didst seek to hide knowledge of him—wherefore, he must needs be near thee."
"Thou dost talk overlong." Magnus slapped his shoulder and disappeared, crying, "'Ta…!"
"It will not serve," Geoffrey hollered. "Thou must needs remain long enough to finish the word!" But he was talking to empty air. With a hiss of impatience, he turned to tap Gregory. "Thou, too, art in this game! Tag!"
He disappeared with a firecracker's bang, and Gregory disappeared after him with a whoop of joy.
Cordelia stamped her foot. "Oh! How naughty of them! They know Papa was wroth with them for playing this game, how afeard he was that two of them might appear at once in the same place together, and bom be slain!"
"Aye," Puck agreed, "till thy mother did explain to him how some instinct within a warlock's mind ever seeks ahead of himself, to be sure he will not appear inside a tree or rock —and that it must needs work so with this game of tag, sin that the one lad is always ahead of the other, by no matter how slight an interval."
"Oh, aye! Yet Papa did say that such a knack must have grown because little warlocks whose minds did not work in that fashion, must needs have died young!"
"Yet he could see thy brothers all lived," Puck reminded her, "and was therefore persuaded that their minds did have such guarding within." Privately, he thought Magnus had found an admirable way to shake his brothers and sister out of the effects of their harrowing night—and didn't doubt for an instant that the eldest had intended just that.
"Naetheless! Mama hath forbade them to play this game, when I've naught to do by myself!" Fuming with jealousy, Cordelia glared off toward the series of small explosions like a string of firecrackers. "Oh! Vile lads, to play so without me!"
"Yet what withholds ye?" Kelly demanded. "Go! After them! Horse and hattock! Ho, and away!"
"I cannot," Cordelia answered, seething.
Kelly frowned. "Wherefore not? Can ye not read minds as well as they?"
"Aye," Cordelia answered, "mayhap better—but I cannot teleport."
"No witch can." Puck frowned at Kelly. '"'Tis a warlock's
power only. Dost not know so simple a fact?"
"Nay." Kelly reddened. "Nor do I now, since word of it has come only from an Englishman. Is't true then, lass?"
Cordelia nodded, face thunderous.
"How do ye know it, then?"
"Papa hath told me, as Mama hath also. Nay, further—so hath every other witch and warlock that I've met."
"Ah, well, then," Kelly sighed, "if all do say so, it must needs be true."
Puck scowled at him. "Mind thy sarcasm!" But Cordelia didn't notice; she was too busy trying to follow the peripatetic tag game by telepathy, as the whole acre of woodland re-sounded with pops, bangs, and cries of "Tag!"
"Nay, 'tis thou art 'it'!"
"Base!"
"There is no base!"
Air boomed, and Magnus stood before them, darting glances around the trail. "Where is he? Hath he not returned to thee, sister?"
"Nay, he hath not! Which 'he'?"
Geoffrey was there beside them with a bang, swatting at Magnus. 'Tag!"
"Oh, be still!" Big Brother snapped, before Geoffrey could disappear. "I've lost track of Gregory."
Geoffrey shrugged. "'Tis his purpose, in this game. Rejoice that he doth it so well."
"I do not." Responsibility made Magnus peevish. "There's too great a chance of one so small being hurted. Listen for him, brother. If I can have but a single happy thought from him, I'll pretend I've heard it not, and take up our game again—but I must know he's safe!"
"Oh, Magnus!" Cordelia cried, exasperated. "He's no longer a babe! Gregory doth know what danger is!"
"Even so," Geoffrey agreed. "'Tis silly of thee to worry."
But for once, Magnus's concern was warranted.
Gregory popped into sight in the middle of a thicket some distance away, and found himself staring up at a half-dozen men in dirty, ragged livery, rusty steel caps, and three-day beards. They stared at each other, stupefied.
Then Gregory felt a surge of panic—but before he could think himself back to Magnus, two of the men lunged and seized his arms, and he froze in fright, staring up at them.
"Hugh!" cried one. "What in the name of all that's foul is this?"
"Ah, that? Why, 'tis a lad, Bertram—naught but a lad. Dost'a not see?"
"Oh. Well, uh, I can see 'tis a lad, Hugh—yet what doth it here?"
"Well asked." Hugh frowned down at Gregory. "And how came it amongst us so suddenly, and with so great a noise? What dost thou, boy?"
Well, after all, he was only six years old—and being Gregory, he couldn't think of anything but the truth. "Why, I do but play!"
"Play?" The men eyed him warily. "What manner of game is this?"
"'Tis flit-tag."
"'Flit-tag'?" Suspicion sharpened.
"Aye, one doth flit from place to place—and the other must seek in his mind to discover where he hath fled."
"In his mind?" Wariness was edged with fear, and the hands clenched more tightly on his arms. Gregory winced, but they paid him no heed.
"He is a witch-child!"
"Aye—yet which child?" Hugh fixed Gregory with a glare. "What is thy name?"
"Gr-Gregory. G-Gallowglass."
Bertram, Hugh, and their mates locked gazes. Together, they all nodded. " 'Tis the one we've been sent for."
Fear stabbed through Gregory, horror welling in behind it. What had he done?
Then he caught something odd, and the horror receded. He frowned. "Thy garb is motley. How canst thou be sent?"
Six gazes whipped back to him. "What?"
"Thy garb," Gregory repeated. "Thou dost not wear livery. Thou dost wear each colors that differ one from another. Thou art not, then, all of one lord's company; therefore no lord can have sent thee."
The men exchanged glances again. "'Tis even as we've said," one snarled. " 'Tis a witch-brat."
"Aye! Let us slay him and be done with it!"
"Slay?" Gregory gasped, and his mind screamed, Magnus! Cordelia! Geoffrey! Aid me! "Why! Wherefore wouldst thou slay me? I have done thee no harm!"
"I would not be sure o' that, sin that thou art a witch's brat," Bertram snarled. "If thou hast such power as thou dost show, how canst thou not harm me?"
Gregory stared, made speechless by absurdity—and in his mind, Magnus's voice soothed, Courage, brother.
Oh, Gregory…!
Bide, Cordelia! Gregory, we dare not leap upon them, lest they strike at thee.
Yet if they do strike, thou must flit! Geoffrey added. If thou dost bear two great hulking brutes with thee, fear not! We shall deal with them!
If thou canst, Magnus agreed. Yet we'll seek to come upon thee, if we may; 'tis more sure. Do thou keep them occupied in talk, the whiles we do stalk them.
Gregory swallowed heavily, reassured, but still frightened. "Is that wherefore thou wouldst slay me?"
"Nay," Hugh growled. "For that, 'tis a matter of money, lad—pure silver. Living comes hard, to we who have fled to the greenwood. We must take food, or coin, where it comes."
They are soldiers who have deserted their lords! Geoffrey's thought was scandalized and enraged. 'Ware, lad! For an they did flee their posts, belike 'twas for that they'd committed heinous crimes!