The Warlock is Missing

Chapter 10

There really was no reason not to stay and pitch camp right there, but Puck led them away into the night nonetheless—he had some sense of mortals' feelings, and thought the children would feel a bit strange sleeping nearby. So he led them away into the dark, pricked here and there by shafts of moonlight. They were very quiet behind him and, after his own black mood had lightened a little, Puck tried to cheer them by singing an elfin tune. The eeriness of its halftones fitted with the gloom about them, but after a few verses, the children began to feel a sense of calm pervading them. The huge old twisted trees looked less like menacing monsters and more like kindly grandfathers, and the bits of moonlight that lay on their leaves looked like jewels. The vines draping loops from huge branches began to seem like bunting hung for a festival, and the dry leaves underfoot a multicolored carpet. Within the hour, the children found themselves walking through a faerie forest with a silver brook cutting across their path ahead, prattling happily as it danced over rocks. A gilded little bridge arched over it and Cordelia breathed, "What enchantment is this thou hast woven with thy song, Puck?"

"Only to let thee see what is truly there," the elf answered. "There is ever magic and wonder about thee, if thou wilt but open thine eyes to it." He set foot on the bridge, and so did Gregory behind him.

"Ho! Ho!" boomed a voice like an echo in a chasm, and two huge hands with long, knobby fingers slapped onto the side of the bridge.

"'Ware!" Puck shouted, stepping backward, but keeping his face toward the bridge. Gregory bumped back into Geof-frey, who dug in his heels and braced himself as Cordelia bumped into him. Magnus managed to stop short and mur-mured, "Then again, in forests of fantasy, fantastical creatures abide."

"Ho! Ho!" A great ugly head popped up over the edge of the bridge, with a thatch of shaggy hair like a bunch of straw, eyes like saucers, a lump of a nose, and a wide mouth that gaped to show pointed teeth. "Ho! Ho!" it cried again, and a spindle-shanked leg swung up, slamming down a huge flat foot. But the body that leaped up onto the bridge was only four-feet high, though the chest was a barrel and the shoulders were three-feet across. Its arms reached down to its ankles, and its hands were almost as wide as its head. It clapped them with a sound like a cannon shot. "Children! Yum!"

The children crowded back against each other. "What— what is it, Puck?"

"A troll," the elf answered. "They do live beneath bridges —and are always a-hungered."

The troll grinned, nodding. "Children! Soft, tender! Yum!" And it rubbed its belly.

"So I had thought," Puck said, tight-lipped, "Step back, children! Leave the span to the creature!"

They stepped back—except for Geoffrey. The boy stood like a rock, brow clouded. "I do wish to cross, Robin. What is this thing to gainsay me?"

"One who can rend thee limb from limb with those great hands," Puck snapped. "Stay not to argue, lad."

The troll chuckled deep in its throat and swaggered forward, flexing its hands and drooling.

"Canst thou not defeat it?" Geoffrey demanded.

"Belike," Puck answered, "and belike none will be hurted. Yet 'tis not certain, and I'd liefer not chance it."

"Thou not chance it?" Magnus scoffed. "Speak truly, Puck —what wouldst thou do, an we were not here?"

A gleam shone in Puck's eye. "Aye, an thou wert not here, I would soon have it dancing in rage the whiles it did try to catch me, and would have its head 'twixt its legs and its arms tied in knots, like enough! Yet thou art with me, and I've no wish to chance it! Now, back!"

Reassured, the children retreated, though reluctantly.

"No, no! Not get 'way," the troll cried, and came at them with a sudden rush.

The children leaped back with a cry, and Puck howled, " 'Ware!" A torch suddenly flared in his hand, thrusting up at the troll's nose. It squalled and leaped back, swatting at a burn spot on its loincloth. Puck stepped away, the torch disappear-ing, watching the troll warily.

It finished dousing the spark and looked back at him with huge, witless eyes, drooling and grinning as its glance flickered from child to child. It took a tentative step forward, then hesitated. "What if troll do? Children flee!" It pulled its foot back, shaking its head. "No, no! Mustn't go! Stay on bridge! Children have to cross, soon or late!" It relaxed, gazing from one child to another with a toothy grin. "Children have to cross!" Then it fell silent, totally at ease, watching, waiting.

After a little time, Cordelia asked, "Must we cross, Puck?"

"Assuredly we must!" Geoffrey answered. "And if the foul monster will not step aside for us, then we must needs remove it!" He stepped forward, hand on his dagger.

"Hold thy blade!" Puck's hand clamped on his. "I have told thee once I do not wish to fight! He who fights when he need not is either a fool or a knave!"

Geoffrey reddened, but held his place.

"Puck hath the right of it," Magnus acknowledged.

"But why dost thou speak of it?" Gregory asked, puzzled. "How can there be a question? Wherefore ought we fight for the bridge, when we need but fly over it?"

Geoffrey stared at Magnus, astonished. Magnus stared back, then grinned sheepishly. "What fools were we not to see it!"

"Aye," Cordelia agreed. "What banty roosters art thou, so intent on the challenge mat thou couldst not see a foot into the air?"

"And where were thy words, whilst we did debate it?" Geoffrey demanded. "Naetheless, the laddie hath the right of it. Up, folk, and fly!"

"But what of Fess?" Magnus said.

"Don't concern yourself with me," the great beast replied. "This creature would not find me a tasty morsel."

They drifted up into the night air, wafting across the stream. The troll howled in frustration. Geoffrey laughed and swooped low, taunting. The troll leaped, snatching at the boy's ankle. Geoffrey howled with dismay as the troll yanked him down with a chuckle, straight toward its great maw. The boy yanked his dagger free and bent to stab, while his siblings cried, "Geoffrey!"

"Be brave—we come!" And they all swooped back for him.

But a diminutive figure leaped up onto the troll's hand just as it was about to bite, a green-clad figure that howled, "Ye foul Sassenach! Would ye gobble up babes, then?" And it

struck with a small hammer, right on the blob of a nose. The troll howled and clapped a huge hand over its proboscis—and Geoffrey yanked his foot free, soaring upward, pale and trembling. Kelly hopped down off the troll's hand, a bit pale himself, and darted for the end of the bridge. The troll roared and stamped at him, but the elf was too quick, and vanished into the night.

"Bless thee, Kelly," Geoffrey cried.

"Aye, and bless thy stars, too," Puck snapped, right next to him in midair. "What possessed thee to taunt him so? Foolish boy, now get hence!"

Geoffrey's jaw tightened, but he obeyed without an argument for once, and swooped away after his brothers and sister.

Below, the troll watched him go, rubbing its nose and muttering to itself. Then a slow grin spread over its face, and it swaggered bandy-legged toward the far side of the bridge, chuckling deep in its throat, sniffing the night breeze and following the scent of the children.

As the trees closed behind them, Cordelia looked back. "Puck! The troll hath come off the bridge! It doth scent the night air… it doth follow our trace!"

Puck frowned, darting a quick look back. '"'Tis not the way of that kind. Then again, they're seldom so thwarted. Summer and Fall! These are thy woods; thou dost know them better than I. Where shall we find safe hiding?"

"Come!" Summer cried; and "Follow!" echoed Fall.

Fess, who had followed them, crossing the bridge after the troll, blundered off in the wood with a great crash, hoping to distract the monster.

The children for their part tried to follow Fall and Summer, but it was slow going—the fairies failed to remember that the children couldn't dodge through a net of brambles, or dive through a twelve-inch hole beneath a shrub. "Hold!" Puck cried to them. "These great folk cannot follow wheresoe'er thou dost lead!"

"Eh! We regret!" Summer bit her lip, glancing back at die sounds of rending and thrashing, and the booming "Ho! Ho!" far behind. "We'll seek to lead thee through ways large enough," Fall promised.

And they did, though they still tended to underestimate what "large enough" meant. The children grew sore from stooping through three-foot gaps in the underbrush and weary from pushing aside springy branches. But they kept at it, for

the crashing and booming "Ho! Ho!" was growing louder behind them. Festoons of vines glided by them, silvered by moonlight; spider webs two-feet across netted the sides of their way, glistening with dewdrops. Cordelia looked about her, enthralled, and would have stopped to gaze, enchanted, if her brothers had not hurried her on, darting glances back over their shoulders.

"Where dost thou lead us?" Magnus panted.

"To a secret place that only fairies know of," Fall answered.

"Courage—'tis not far now," Summer urged.

It wasn't; in fact, it was only a few more steps. Gregory was following along in Cordelia's wake when suddenly he tripped and lurched against a screen of vines twined together. But the screen gave beneath his weight, and he went bumping and mumping down a hillside with a single yelp of dismay.

"Gregory!" Cordelia cried, and leaped after him.

The boy landed at the bottom with a thud and a thump, and a sister right behind him, who caught him up in a hug almost before he'd stopped sliding. "Oh, poor babe! Art thou hurted, Gregory?"

"Nay, 'Delia," Gregory answered, rubbing at a sore spot on his hip. " 'Tis naught; I'm no longer a babe… Oh, 'Delia!"

He looked about him in rapture. She followed his gaze and stared, too, entranced.

It was a faerie grotto, only a dozen yards across, like a deep bowl in the midst of the woods, lit by a thousand fireflies and walled by flowering creepers and blossoming shrubs, roofed by blooming tree branches and floored with soft mosses. An arc of water sprang out of one wall in a burbling fountain, to fall plashing into a little pool and run tinkling and chiming across the floor of the grotto as a tiny brook.

" 'Tis enchanted," Cordelia breathed.

"In truth, it is," Fall said beside her. "Long years ago, an ancient witch did fall and sprain her ankle here. The Wee Folk aided her, sin that she had always been kind to mem; we bound her hurt with sweet herbs and a compress of simples, and murmured words of power o'er it, so that the grasses took the hurt from out her, and healed her. In thanks, she made this dell for us and, though she is long gone, her gift yet endures."

With a crash and a skid, her two brothers shot down the side of the grotto. Their heels hit the moss and shot out from under them, landing them hard on their bottoms. Magnus

yelped, and Geoffrey snarled a word that made Cordelia clap her hands over Fall's ears.

"I thank thee, lass," the fairy said, gently prying Cordelia's fingers away, "but I misdoubt me an thy brother could know a word I've not heard. Still, 'tis most ungentlemanly of him to say it!" She stalked over to glare up at the seated boy, fists on her hips. "Hast thou no consideration for a gentle lady, thou great lob?"

Geoffrey opened his mouth for a hot answer, but Magnus caught his eye, and he swallowed whatever he'd been about to say.

"I prithee, forgive him," Big Brother said. "He is young yet, and 'tis hard for him to be mindful of manners when he is hurted." That earned him a murderous glare which he blithely ignored, and turned back to his sister. "I take it from these presents that thou art not greatly hurted, nor our brother neither."

"Thou hast it aright," she confirmed. "Yet never have I so rejoiced in a mishap. Hast thou ever seen so lovely a covert?"

Magnus looked up, saw and stared. Cordelia realized that he hadn't really noticed his surroundings, nor had Geoffrey. Even he was looking about him with awe. "'Delia! Is this some magical realm?"

" 'Tis a faerie place," Summer told him, "and 'twas made for us by a good witch."

"'Tis enchanted," Fall agreed. "Hush! Canst thou not hear the chant?"

They were all quiet, and heard it softly—a murmur of musical tones, like the wind blowing through the strings of a harp, overlaid with the chiming of the fountain and its brook.

"What is it, then?" Magnus murmured.

"The wind blowing midst the vines," Fall answered.

"And what is this!" Gregory cried. He scrambled down to the center of the grotto, where light glittered from the facets of a huge crystal that sprang from an outcrop of rock.

" 'Tis some great jewel, surely." Cordelia was right behind him.

"Nay." Fall smiled, stepping up next to the huge stone. "'Tis only a stone, though a pretty one. These glistening planes are but its natural form."

"Nay, I think not quite." Magnus came up behind her. '"'Tis mat kind of stone which Papa terms quartz, an I mistake me not."

" 'Tis indeed." But Gregory's gaze was glued to the crystal.

Magnus nodded. "And I've seen quartz aforetime. Rarely doth it show surfaces so flat—and when it doth, they are scarce larger than a finger. There hath been some skilled working in this."

"Nay." Summer disagreed. "It hath been there sin that the witch did make this place."

"She made this crystal with it." Gregory's voice seemed distant somehow—diminished and drawn. "It did not merely grow; she did craft it."

Geoffrey frowned. "Why hath his voice gone so strange?… Gregory!"

"Hist!" Cordelia seized his hand, pulling it away from their younger brother. "He doth work magic!"

For Gregory's face had taken on a rapt expression, and his eyes had lost focus. Deep within the crystal, a light began to glow, bathing his face in its radiance.

"Surely it must hurt him!" Geoffrey protested.

"Nay." Magnus knelt on the other side of the crystal, watching his littlest brother's face intently. "It cannot; it is he who doth make use of it. Let thy mind look within his, and see."

They were silent then, each child letting his mind open to the impressions from Gregory's. They saw the crystal from his point of view, but its outlines had dimmed; only the bright spot where the moonlight cast its reflection on it was clear. As they watched through his eyes, that gleaming highlight seemed to swell, filling his vision but growing translucent, as though he were gazing into a cloud, into a field obscured by fog. Then the mist began to clear, growing thinner and thinner until, through it, they could see…

"'Tis Mama!" Geoffrey exclaimed, in hushed tones.

"And Papa!" Cordelia's eyes were huge, even though it was her mind that saw the vision. "Yet who are those others?"

In the vision, their mother and father sat side by side at an oaken table in a paneled corner with flagons before them, chatting with other grown-ups sitting there with them. One the children could identify—he was obviously a monk, for he wore a brown cowled robe; even the yellow screwdriver-handle that gleamed in his breast pocket was familiar. But the others…

"What manner of clothing is that?" Cordelia wondered.

Indeed, their clothes seemed outlandish. Two of the

grown-ups, by the delicacy of their features, were probably women, but their jerkins were almost identical to those the men wore. One of the men was lean, pale-skinned, and white-haired, his eyes a very pale blue, his face wrinkled; the other was much younger, but quite fat, though with a good-natured smile. And the third was stocky and broad, but also rather ugly…

" 'Tis Yorick!" Cordelia gasped.

"He who was King Tuan's Viceroy of Beastmen, till lately?" Geoffrey stared. "I' troth, 'tis him! Yet what strange manner of garb doth he wear?"

Indeed, Yorick was dressed just like the other grown-ups, in some weird form of tight-fitting tunic that was fastened up the front without buttons.

" 'Tis he," Magnus agreed. "Yet how doth he come to be with them?"

"At the least, they have found themselves good folk to accompany them," Cordelia observed.

"Why certes, thou dolt!" Geoffrey snorted. "Would our folk e'er find aught else?"

Cordelia whirled toward him, a sharp retort on her tongue, but Magnus touched her arm. "Nay! Thou wilt disrupt the dream! Abide, sister! Be patient! Watch our parents whilst thou may!"

"Oh, aye!" Cordelia held still, concentrating on the vision. "Yet 'twas ill of them, to so leave us. Oh! How dare they go wandering without us?"

"I misdoubt me an they did it by choice," Geoffrey said, with sarcasm.

"He hath the right of it, for once," Magnus agreed. "At the least, sister, rejoice that they do live and are well!"

"Oh, aye!" Cordelia cried, instantly contrite. "How selfish of me! Praise Heaven they are not hurted!"

But even as she said it, the vision began to fade. Cordelia gave a wordless cry of longing, but the mist thickened, obscuring their parents and their friends, till cloud filled the crystal again.

"At the least, we did see them for some little while." Magnus stared at the darkening crystal with huge eyes. "Godspeed, my father and mother! And bring thee back to me quickly!"

Then the crystal was only a glittering bauble again, and Gregory's eyes closed. He swayed, kneeling, men slowly top-pled

Cordelia leaped forward and caught him, cradling his head in her arms. "Oh! Poor lad! Magnus, it hath quite exhausted him, this seeing!"

"'Tis only weariness, sister," Magnus reassured her. "He must needs rest some little while; then he will be well."

"An we have that 'while' thou speakest of." Geoffrey looked up, turning toward the entrance to the grotto with a frown.

"What dost thou hear?" Magnus was instantly alert, holding very still, straining his ears. Then he heard it, too—a crashing through the brush and a distant "Ho! Ho!" coming nearer.

"The troll!" Cordelia exclaimed. "Oh, it must not find mis wondrous place!"

"I fear that it will," Geoffrey said, tight-lipped. "It doth follow our trace, and will track us here soon or late!"

"A great blundering monster such as that, entering in amidst all this dainty beauty?" Cordelia cried. "Such a creature would destroy it quite!"

"Nay, it will not." Magnus rose, hefting Gregory's unconscious body, but with great effort. "It will not come in… if we… are gone."

"Thou must not leave!" Summer insisted, hands upraised to stop him.

"Aye! 'Tis not safe," Fall agreed. "The monster will follow and catch thee!"

"Aye… but it will not have come in here, if… we have fled."

"Will it know that, though?" Cordelia demanded. "Nay! It will follow our trace in, then will follow it out again—but Heaven alone knows what havoc it will wreak while here! Nay! Set down thy brother, and aid me! That troll must not enter this grotto!"

"In that, we agree." Summer and Fall said in chorus. "Faerie magic is thine to command. How shall we stop the creature?"

A glitter caught Magnus's eye, and he turned, staring at the tracery of a dew-coated web. "With thine aid, I can at least think how to slow it when it doth seek to enter."

"Slowing the thing will not save this grotto! Oh!" Cordelia stamped her foot, glaring at Gregory's unconscious form. "Waken, lob! Canst thou not find a way to stop this monster?"

"Do not seek to rouse him." It was a deep baritone; Puck stood by her knee, frowning up at Gregory. "That seeing drew

greatly on his strength; thy folk must be far indeed from us."

"Yet how shall we stay this troll, Robin?"

"An Magnus can slow it at the entrance to this grotto, I may know how to banish it—unless I mistake the creature's nature quite." Puck grinned. "At the least, we could watch from safe hiding and try. Art thou willing, children?"

"Well, if it must be safe hiding, it must," Geoffrey sighed. "What is thy plan, Puck?"

When the troll came blundering and bellowing to the grotto, they were ready for it.

It followed their trail up to the hole in the vines, went on past it, slowed, stopped, and looked around, confused. Then a grin split its face, and it turned to swagger back, sniffing as it went. As it came to the hole in the vines, its grin widened, and it shouted, "Aho!" It bent over, sniffing from side to side, then turned toward the hole with a chuckle. It stepped forward…

And blundered into an invisible wall.

The troll stepped back, frowning, but whatever it had come against clung to it and it swatted around trying to bat the substance away. But the effort was for naught, and it bellowed in anger, kicking and thrashing.

"It is wrapped in the spiders' webs," Geoffrey reported.

"Small wonder, when there were a thousand of mem, one on top of another," Magnus answered. "Now, 'Delia, lead us. Think, brother."

Geoffrey glared at the troll, but his mind concentrated on Cordelia's thoughts.

Cordelia was thinking of birds—many birds. Sparrows, robins, bluebirds, crows—hundreds of them. Magnus picked up on the sparrows, imagining a horde of mem as vividly as he could. Geoffrey took robins, lots of robins, flocking together to practice flying south for the winter.

The troll roared in full anger now, struggling with more and more strength but less and less effect. As it struggled, bits of it began to flake off against the spider webs, taking on independent life, wriggling through the holes the troll tore in its invisible cocoon, clawing loose and fluttering away into the night.

"'Tis even as Puck thought!" Geoffrey cried. The troll is a thing made of witch-moss!" And he redoubled his efforts, glaring furiously at the monster.

The birds were fluttering out of the churning chrysalis by the dozens now—robins, sparrows, and bluebirds flying away, huge crows flapping into the night with cawing cacophony that masked the troll's shrunken, high-pitched roaring— and as they fluttered away, the thrashing shape grew smaller and smaller.

Finally, it was small enough to crawl through one of the holes it had torn—and a foot-high troll came waddling and tumbling down the side of the grotto wall with roars that sounded like a kitten's mew.

"Eh, the poor thing!" Cordelia said, and her vision of blue-birds vanished like a soap bubble. She leaped up, arms out-stretched—but Puck caught at her skirt. "Nay, lass! Small it may be, yet 'tis even now a vicious, voracious monster! Hold out thy hand to it and it will take thy wrist with its teeth!"

"Think, brother!" Magnus commanded, and Geoffrey obeyed with a will. As Cordelia watched, appalled, the troll's form blurred like a wax doll too close to the fire. The colors of its face, hair, and body flowed, blending into an even pinkish mass which still wobbled toward them, pinching in the middle, dividing, splitting apart. Then each half stretched, darkening, and slabs of its substance shelved out, moving up and down, as its form coalesced and hardened—and a crow flew away into the night, cawing. A sparrow hopped after it, chirping.

Then the grotto lay empty, and silent.

Cordelia stared, eyes huge and tragic.

"Do not feel guilt, sister," Geoffrey snapped. "It would have eaten thee, an it could have."

" 'Twas never a thing of its own," Puck pointed out, "for it had no mind—only an impulse, a blind, clawing need. 'Twas born of an old wife's delight in a children's tale, and had no more substance than a fevered dream."

"'Tis almost as though it had never been," Cordelia whispered.

"Never think it!" Geoffrey insisted, and Magnus nodded, his face hard. "It would have bitten thee with teeth hard and sharp, and devoured thee with an actual hunger. 'Twas real enough, sister—real enough."