Geoffrey held himself in, but just barely. He glowered up at the Duke and thought, But will there be another army? Will there truly?
Never doubt it, Magnus assured him; and,
Puck will see to it, Gregory added.
As though he had overheard, one of the knights moved his horse up next to Count Drosz's mount and advised, "My lord, hear me, I implore thee! 'Tis known far and wide that the Wee Folk do hold these children under their especial care!"
"What! A grown man, and thou dost yet believe in the power of the Little People?" Drosz scoffed. "Assuredly, Lan-
gouste, thou must needs know that elves can be no threat to we who are clad in Cold Iron!"
Langouste glanced over his shoulder with apprehension. "My lord, I implore thee! Do not scoff at the power of the Wee Folk!"
"Power?" Drosz laughed and scooped something out of his saddlebag. He held it up for Sir Langouste to see. "Behold the bane of the Little People, and the counter to all of their powers—a handful of nails! Common nails! They cannot even stand against these! See!" And he whirled, hurling the sharp iron points into the underbrush. A scream tore from the thicket, and another, and another, a dozen or more, all about them. As they faded, the children saw the count was laughing.
"Nay, then," he assured his men, "'tis even as thou dost see. These elves must quail before armed might. Any man who wears Cold Iron need not shrink from them."
Cordelia stood trembling, wide-eyed with horror, and Geoffrey was quaking with rage. Gregory stood like a statue, staring at the count.
But the nobleman only smiled, and turned his horse toward a gap in the trees, calling "Ride!" and trotted off into the night.
His men threw the children across their horses' backs in front of their saddles, and followed the count; but they were pale, glancing at one another with wide, apprehensive eyes.
The horses' backs jolted into the children's stomachs, driv-ing the wind out of them with every step; they had to gasp for air between hoofbeats. They gritted their teeth and bore the pain, while their thoughts flickered back and forth.
He hath injured a dozen elves at least, Cordelia thought, outraged, and may have slain some.
And he doth not respect his neighbor's demesne, Geoffrey added. He doth respect naught but force of arms.
There may be good within him, but we have not seen it, Magnus replied, and that which we have seen is vile. Canst thou bethink thee of any cause to spare this count?
Nay!
Nay!
Nay!
We are agreed, Magnus thought, with the weight of a judge's sentence. We will await opportunity.
They jolted on down the trail, gasping for snatches of
breath between hoofbeats, but every sense was wide open now, waiting for the opportunity. Trees blurred past on both sides, dark in the moonlight. Magnus turned his head, craning his neck to peer ahead, trying to see where they were going, but it was no use; the darkness was too complete in this leafy tunnel. Only scraps and patches of moonlight glinted through.
A roar shook the wood, and something huge and massive humped up from the forest floor right in front of the count. Red eyes burned through the darkness. Horses screamed and reared, throwing their riders, trying to turn, trying to gallop away; but they slammed into each other in the confines of the trail, in panic.
The count fought his bucking, twisting horse to a standstill, crying, "Stand and fight! For whatever it is, it cannot stand against Cold Iron! Dismount and draw your swords!"
The few soldiers who hadn't been thrown leaped down; their comrades struggled to their feet, drawing their blades and staggering after the count, tripping on tree roots and stumbling in holes, but charging toward the hulking, roaring shape.
It saw them coming and bellowed, lashing out at the count with a huge dark paw; claws like scimitars slashed past him. His mount screamed and pawed the air, twisting away.
The soldiers lurched and tripped on something that heaved upward against their feet. They cried out in fear and anger, tumbling down in a crashing clatter. A host of little forms rose among the tangled mass of men and struck downward with six-inch cudgels, right at the base of the skull between helmet and collar. Soldiers yelped and stiffened, then slumped, unconscious.
The count's horse bucked and plunged, trying to turn; but the count fought it, yanking on the reins, crying "Hold, cowardly beast! I'll not flee an enemy!"
"Brave man," boomed a voice without a body. "Thy cour-age doth thee credit—but no advantage."
And the count rose up from his saddle—up and up, so far that his horse was able to whirl about under him and bolt away from the horrible midnight ogre. The nobleman bellowed in rage just before he slammed into a huge tree trunk and slid downward toward its base. Even as he slid, he shook his head, trying to clear it, groping for his sword; but it hissed out of its sheath by itself. He jolted to the ground and immediately lurched up, trying to stagger to his feet—and dropped back
with a howl, clutching at his throat where his own sword's point had lanced him. He looked up, wide-eyed, and saw the blade floating in midair, its point circling right in front of his eyes. He shrank away and, finally, horror crept into his eyes.
The monster gave one last roar and shrank in on itself, disappearing.
For a brief moment, the trail was absolutely silent.
Then Puck's deep voice rumbled through the night. "Well done, children! Thou didst seize the moment, and gave excellent aid!"
"''Twas our pleasure." Geoffrey stood slowly, rubbing his wrists where the rope had bound them.
"Pleasure indeed." Cordelia glared at the count while an elf cut her bonds with a bronze knife. " 'Tis I who wielded his sword—and almost could I have wished he'd driven himself harder against it."
"That 'almost' is not enough. Who did lift him from his saddle?"
"Geoffrey and I." Magnus flexed his fingers, trying to restore circulation. "I wish we could have thrown him harder."
"Nay! Cease!" the count roared, jerking his arms forward; but the sword feinted at his eyes, and he froze with a shuddering gasp. Behind him, a rope yanked his wrists together and knotted itself tightly, while Gregory stared at it. Elves whipped rope around his ankles, then yanked on his wrists, and he fell with a howl.
"Take away thy thing of Cold Iron," Puck said with distaste, and Cordelia sent the sword spinning off among the trees. Geoffrey watched it go with longing, but said not a word.
"He is harmless now," Puck rumbled. "Again I thank thee, children; thou hast ably done thy part. Now leave us."
"What! Leave?"
"Nay, Puck! Wherefore?"
"We have helped to fell him, and we should have some say in…" But Magnus's voice trailed off as he stared at Puck's face. There was a hardness to the elf that he'd never seen before, and a glint at the back of the Old Thing's eyes that made him shudder and turn away. His brothers and sister saw it, too, and went with him.
"Forget not thy father's faithful servant," Puck rumbled, "thy father's and thine. Do not leave him to rust."
"Fess! Oh, aye!" The children exchanged looks of guilt and hurried back along the trail toward the place where the count's men had ambushed them.
They came upon the great black horse in a patch of moonlight, standing with his legs out stiffly and his head between his fetlocks. Magnus floated up and reached under the front of the saddle, pushing the lump that was the reset switch. He felt it move and, slowly, the robot lifted its head, blinking and looking around at the children, dazed. "Wwwhaat? Wwwherrrre…?"
"Bide thee." Cordelia laid a gentle hand on his nose. "Wait till thy mind hath cleared."