The Warlock is Missing

Chapter 14

"'Tis well asked," Magnus admitted. "Who can be chief among them? Who can be leader of they who seek to eschew leadership?"

They were walking down a forest path in the general direction of the main road, trying to puzzle it out.

"They do not truly lack a leader," Geoffrey asserted, "though they claim to. I heard Papa speak of this, of a time; there's one whose word they heed."

Magnus frowned at him. "I have not heard of this. What name had he?"

"I do not know," Geoffrey confessed, "nor did Papa. Yet he seemed certain that there was such an one."

"Mayhap thou hast heard of this, Robin?" Cordelia asked.

"As much as Geoffrey hath," Puck said, "yet no more. Thy father seeks some philosopher, some writer of ill-formed ideas, whose thoughts these foes of governance do adhere to. He doth give no orders, seest thou, but doth suggest some actions."

"Yet Papa doth not know?" Gregory inferred. "He doth but guess?"

"Nay; 'tis something more than that," Puck said. "He's certain that this philosopher exists, but only doth think the others follow his words."

Geoffrey shook his head, frowning. "I misdoubt me of it. No band of men can take any action an they have no commander. Their deeds would lack coherence; each would do what the others have done. There would be only repetition of the same work, in many places."

Magnus nodded slowly. "Now that I bethink me of it, their actions may bespeak just that."

"Hold!" Puck stiffened. "Here comes one hot-foot!"

Summer and Fall popped up, wide-eyed. "An elf hath told us, and we have gone to see! His words are true!"

"What words are those?" Cordelia asked.

" 'Tis a band of peasants," Fall explained. "They do march along the King's High Way, bearing scythes and brandishing sickles—and a boy doth march before them!"

Cordelia was puzzled. "Before them? Doth not his mother keep him close?"

"Nay, nay!" Summer protested. "The lad doth lead!"

The children stared.

Then Geoffrey scowled. "Can this be true? That a whole band of grown folk would allow a mere boy to lead them?"

"Quite true," Fall assured him, "for the lad who leads them claims to be thyself."

The children stared, thunderstruck.

Then Magnus found his voice. "How can this be? Could a peasant lad have such audacity?"

"Nay!" Geoffrey cried, "for who would credit him? What proof could he offer?"

"The best, for one whose claim is false," Summer answered. "He is the spit and image of thyself."

Geoffrey stood rigid, the color draining from his face. Cordelia saw, and took a step backward before she realized what she was doing.

Then the boy erupted. "The louse and recreant! The vile bit of vermin! How durst he? How could this overweening rogue have the gall and bile to present himself as me? Nay, take me to him straightaway, that I may carve his gizzard for his tombstone!"

But the two fairies stepped backward, appalled by his wrath.

"Wilt thou not, then?" Geoffrey shouted. "Nay, I must…"

"Throttle thy wrath!" Magnus snapped, and Geoffrey whirled to face him, crouching for a leap; but his brother said, more calmly, "What warrior will confront another in hot blood?" and Geoffrey froze. He stared at Magnus for a moment, then answered, quite reasonably, "Why, he who shall lose."

Magnus nodded. '"'Tis even as our father hath said, and we've seen the truth of it in himself. Nay, then, brother, be mindful—a rogue who would claim to be thee must needs be competent at battle. Thou must needs have thy wits about thee when thou dost face him."

"Even so," Gregory breathed.

Geoffrey stood, gazing at him for a minute; then he nodded, and slowly straightened up, relaxing—but every muscle held a tension that still bespoke firmly-bridled anger. "I thank thee brother. I am myself again." He turned to Summer and Fall. "My apologies, sweet sprites, for such unseemly wrath."

"'Tis warranted." But Fall still stared at him, her eyes huge.

"Wilt thou take me to him now?" Geoffrey asked.

The fairies nodded, and turned away wordlessly, running lightly down the path.

Geoffrey's mouth tightened in chagrin, and he launched himself into the air to follow them.

His brothers wafted after him. Cordelia's unicorn kept pace.

"I have ne'er seen him so angered," Cordelia murmured to Magnus.

"I do not wonder at it," he answered. "But we must watch him closely, sister, or he'll rend that whole peasant band apart."

Magnus halted them with a raised hand. "'Ware, my sibs! I mislike this!"

Beside him, Geoffrey nodded. " 'Tis not natural."

A hundred yards away, the village stood, a handful of houses circling a common—but with not one single person in sight.

"Where have the goodfolk gone?" Cordelia wondered.

"To follow my fetch," Geoffrey grated, "or to attend him."

"'Tis the latter." Magnus pointed. "Seest thou not the flash of color, here and there, between the cottages?"

His brothers and sister peered at the village.

"I do," Fess said, "and I have magnified the image. There are people there, many of them—but their backs are toward us, and only one voice speaks."

"Cordelia," Magnus said, with total certainty, "bid thy unicorn bide in the forest till we come. And thou, Fess, must also wait in hiding."

Cordelia's face clouded up, but Fess spoke first. "I am loathe to leave you, as you know, Magnus. Why do you wish me to wait?"

"For that the safest way to come upon them is to slip into the crowd, and worm our ways to the fore. Thus may we discover whether this double of Geoffrey's is any true threat or not, and if he is, may we thus take him unawares. Therefore I pray thee, hide and wait."

"Well enough, then, I shall," Fess said slowly. "But I will hide nearby, and listen at maximum amplification. If you have need of me, you have but to call."

"Be assured that we shall," Geoffrey said, his face taut.

Cordelia slipped off the unicorn's back and turned to stroke the velvet nose. "I must bid thee await me, beauteous one." Tears glistened in her eyes. "Oh, but thou wilt not flee from me, wilt thou? Thou wilt attend?"

The unicorn nodded; Magnus could have sworn the beast had understood his sister's words. He knew better, of course —Cordelia was a protective telepath, as they all were; it was her thoughts the unicorn understood, though the sounds may have helped. She tossed her head and turned away, trotting off toward the shelter of the trees.

"Come, then," Magnus said. "Cordelia, take thou the eastern point with Gregory. Geoffrey will take the center, and I the western edge. We shall meet in the front and center."

The others nodded, tight-lipped, and they spread out as they approached the village. Fess accompanied them, but stopped behind one of the cottages, waiting, head high, ears pricked, as the children silently infiltrated the crowd.

The "crowd" consisted of perhaps a hundred people, only a few dozen of whom, to judge by their carrying scythes and pitchforks, had come in off the road with the juvenile rabble-rouser. But he was doing his level best to convert the other threescore to his cause; as the children stepped in between grown-ups at the back of the mob, they heard him telling atrocity stories.

"Thus they have done to a village not ten miles hence!" the boy cried. "Wilt thou suffer them to so serve thy wives and bairns?"

The crowd in front of him rumbled angrily. Scythes and pitchforks waved.

"Nay, thou wilt not!" The boy stood on a wagon, where they could all see him—but he failed to notice the four children who slipped in from the space between two cottages. "Thou wilt not suffer bandits to rend thy village—nor wilt thou suffer the lords to amuse themselves by warring in thy fields, and trampling thine hard-grown com!"

The mob rumbled uncertainly; apparently they hadn't heard this line before. Bandits were one thing, but lords were entirely another.

"Thou wilt?" the boy cried, surprised. "Then I mistook thee quite! I had thought thou wert men!"

An ugly mutter answered him, and one man at the front cried. " 'Tis well enough for thee to say it, lad—thou hast not seen the lordlings fight! Thou hast not seen how their armor doth turn our pike blades, nor how their swords reap peasant soldiers!"

"I have not," the lad answered, "but the Shire-Reeve hath!"

The crowd fell silent, astonished.

It was quiet enough for Geoffrey to hear the words Magnus whispered in his ear: "We know now whence he cometh!"

Geoffrey nodded, and his eyes glittered.

"The Shire-Reeve hath fought in lordlings' armies!" the false Geoffrey cried. "When young, he fought for the Queen against the rebels! Again he fought, chasing out the Beastmen from our isle! And anon he fought, when Tudor called, against the depredating bands of other nobles—and he hath grown sick at heart, from seeing all their wanton waste!"

"Yet how can he, a man of common birth, stand against a belted knight?" a man in the crowd called.

"Because his rank is royal!" the boy called back. "He is the King's reeve, for all the shire! And if he doth now bid the nobles cease their brawling, can any say him nay?"

The rumble agreed, gaining heart.

"Come follow me, and I shall lead thee to him!" cried the lad. "Come join the Shire-Reeve, and fight 'gainst those who do oppress thee!"

"This swells too greatly," muttered a baritone by Magnus's knee. "We must spoke his wheels." A second later, a voice from the middle of the mob called, "How dost thou know where thou mayest find him?" The men in that location looked around, startled, but the boy answered,

"We know that he doth quarter in the town of Belmead. We've but to go, and attend his pleasure!"

"And will he welcome us?" called a voice from another part of the crowd, "or will he think we come against him?"

Again, men turned to look, but the imitation Geoffrey answered, "How could he think thus? Assuredly he'll welcome thee!" >

"How couldst thou know?" cried another disembodied voice from a third quarter. "What lad art thou, to speak thus?"

The boy reddened. "I am the High Warlock's son, as I have told thee! Dost thou doubt my word?" And he turned to call out over the crowd, "Can any call me false?"

"Aye!" Geoffrey cried. "I call thee false!" And he sprang into the air, arrowing straight toward the wagon, landing straight and tall, turning to look out over the crowd proudly, then turning further, to glare at the imposter.

The boy stared, thunderstruck. So did the crowd, confronted by two Geoffreys—and indeed, the imposter was Geoffrey's exact double, matching him inch for inch and feature for feature. A frightened murmur began.

"How sayest thou now, O false one?" Geoffrey demanded. "Tell us thy true name!"

The boy's chin lifted. "I am Geoffrey Gallowglass, the High Warlock's son! And who art thou, who doth dare to walk in my semblance?"

"Thou liest, rogue!" Geoffrey shouted. "How durst thou claim my place?"

"Thy charges shall avail thee naught," the double answered, "for 'tis plain to any I am the true Gallowglass!"

A shriek of rage pierced the air, and Cordelia shot over the heads of the crowd on her broomstick, leaping down to the wagon and crying, "Thou liest, rogue! This is my brother, Geoffrey Gallowglass! And I am his sister, the High Warlock's daughter Cordelia!"

A double explosion cracked, and Magnus stood behind her with Gregory at his hip. "She speaks good sooth! And I am Magnus, the High Warlock's eldest!"

"And I his youngest!" Gregory piped. "We all now tell thee, goodfolk, that thou hast been deceived!"

"Even so!" Magnus shouted to the crowd, and clapped the real Geoffrey on the shoulder. "This is my brother, the true Geoffrey Gallowglass! He whom thou hast followed is a false and lying knave!"

Geoffrey cast them all a brief, warm look of gratitude, while the imposter stared, appalled. But he recovered quickly and cried aloud, "They all conspire against me! Why, these four are no more brothers and sister than I am a cockerel! Their claim is false, for I am the true Warlock's child!"

A fearful mutter swept through the crowd, as Cordelia howled in anger and leaped at the boy. Her brothers caught her and held her back, though, and Magnus said evenly, "Nay," then cried aloud for the crowd, "Nay, thou hast no need to claw him with thy nails! Thou art a witch; thou hast but to mink him ill!"

Cordelia's eyes glittered, and the boy said quickly, "Oh, aye, belike thou art truly witch-brats! Indeed, I saw thee fly —but that's no proof that thou art the High Warlock's brood!"

"What proof hast thou?" Geoffrey retorted.

"Why, this!" and the boy rose five feet into the air, smoothly and easily. A rumble of awe and fear rose from the crowd.

"What proof is that?" Geoffrey sneered, rising up to match him, but Gregory murmured to Magnus, "Ah, then! He is, at the least, truly a warlock!"

" 'Tis the only aspect of him that is true," Magnus growled back.

"Show other proof," Geoffrey taunted, "that I may match and best thee!"

The boy reddened, and disappeared with a bang. Its echo sounded from across the common, and everyone whirled, to see him standing on the roof of a cottage. "Match this an thou canst!" he cried.

"What warlock cannot?" Geoffrey retorted. Air boomed in to fill the space where he'd been, then blasted atop the cottage next to the one on which the young warlock stood, as Geoffrey appeared next to its chimney.

"They look alike, and both work magic!" someone in the crowd cried. "How can we tell which one is true?"

"Why," Cordelia answered proudly, "by their moving lifeless objects! For the High Warlock's lads, alone of all the warlocks in Gramarye, can move things other than themselves!"

The fake paled, but he bounced back instantly, sneering at Geoffrey, "Dost need a lass to speak for thee?"

"Why," Geoffrey retorted, "art thou envious because thou hast no sister?"

"Thou liest, rogue!" the imposter shouted. "My sister bides at home!"

"For such a fib, thou shouldst be caned," Geoffrey snapped, and a quarterstaff wrenched itself out of the hands of a peasant who shrank back with an oath. The stick shot spinning straight toward the false Geoffrey. The boy saw it coming and leaped into the air; the stick passed under him, and he turned to Geoffrey with a taunting laugh.

"Wherefore didst thou move thyself, rather than the staff?" Geoffrey demanded.

The boy frowned. "It did not please me to do so!"

"Then thy pleasures must change," Geoffrey said, with a sour smile. " 'Ware, from thy back!"

The imposter spun about, just in time to see the whirling staff make a great half circle and come spinning back at him. He howled, throwing himself flat on the rooftop, and the staff passed over him. As he scrambled to his hands and knees, it paused and lashed one quick spank across his bottom. He went sprawling with a cry of rage, but Geoffrey's yell of accusation was louder. "Now wherefore didst thou not seize the stick with thy mind?"

The imposter stood up slowly, glaring in fury, but made no answer.

"Thou didst not because thou canst not!" Geoffrey cried. "I am the true Geoffrey Gallowglass!"

"Thou art the true liar!" the boy shouted back. "Thou didst move that staff no more than I did! 'Twas thy tame witch who did move it for thee!"

Cordelia howled in indignation, but Gregory said reasonably, "Whether my brother be the true Geoffrey or not, thou must needs be false—for all Gramarye doth know that the High Warlock's sons can move things with their minds. And thou canst not!"

The crowd rumbled in excitement, but the boy shouted, "'Tis a lie! No warlock can move things by thought! If thou sayest the High Warlock's sons can, then do it thyself!"

"Why, that I shall," the six-year-old lisped, and Cordelia floated gently up into the air. She squawked in fury and whirled, trying to reach her little brother, but Magnus cried, "Aye! All know a witch cannot make herself fly! 'Tis why she doth sit on a broomstick and make it to move! Now wilt thou say my sister doth this trick for her brother?"

The imposter's face darkened in fury. "Even as thou dost say—'tis a girl's trick! What lad would practice it, save he who is womanish at heart?"

"Thou insolent rogue!" Geoffrey shouted in fury. "Match this 'girl's game,' an thou canst!"

An unseen hand seemed to snatch up the imposter and send him tumbling through the air toward Cordelia. He howled in anger and terror, but Cordelia cried, "I wish him not! Have thy rogue back!" And the spinning imposter suddenly reversed, flying back toward Geoffrey.

"Nay, keep him!" he retorted, and the boy-ball halted a foot from Geoffrey's head, then shot back toward Cordelia. The imposter wailed and, at the top of his arc, disappeared with a bang.

"Out upon him!" Magnus called, but Geoffrey disappeared with a gunshot-crack before he finished the phrase.

The crowd burst into a fury of excited, fearful noise.

Gregory's eyes lost focus. "He hath found the imposter!"

"How could he fail to?" Cordelia said, with an impish smile. "Is't for naught thou hast spent so many hours at play with flit-tag?"

"They will cry to burn witches next, an we do not appease them," Magnus said in an undertone.

Cordelia nodded. "Do so, and quickly!"

Magnus stared. "1? How shall I quiet this mob?"

Cordelia shrugged. "Thou art the eldest."

Magnus favored her with a murderous glare, then looked about in a frantic search for aid.

Aid was sitting in the corner of the wagon, leg propped over folded knee. "Speak to them," he advised, "and tell them the true end of the Shire-Reeve's actions. They will credit thee, for thou art the High Warlock's son."

Magnus stared at the elf, and swallowed. "Yet what shall I say to them?"

"It shall come to thee," Puck assured him, "and should it not, I shall give thee words."

Magnus gave him a long, steady look, then nodded. "I thank thee, Robin." He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and turned to the crowd, holding his hands up and crying, "Goodfolk, hearken! I beg thee, attend me! Give me a hearing, I pray!"

Here and there, a villager noticed and pointed, telling his neighbor, who turned, then elbowed the one next to him. One by one they quieted, until finally Magnus could make himself heard.

" 'Twas an evil young warlock who did lead thee," Magnus cried, "and the mark of his evilness was this: that he called for combat! It may seem he did not-—but be not deceived! If the Shire-Reeve fights the lords, 'twill be not one battle, but many! 'Twill be war—and the end of it will be, that the Shire-Reeve will battle the King!"

The crowd erupted into a fury of incredulous noise again, each man demanding of his neighbor if the charge could be true. This time Magnus just waited it out, fists on his hips, knowing they were thinking about the tightness of the Shire-Reeve now, not of the witch-folk.

Gregory tugged at Magnus's tunic. "Is't true, Magnus? Doth the Shire-Reeve truly mean to attack King Tuan?"

"I know not," Magnus confessed, "yet it doth seem likely, doth it not?"

Gregory nodded. "I see no other end to it. But doth the Shire-Reeve?"

That was enough for Magnus. If his baby brother said it was bound to happen, it was inevitable. He held up his hands, signaling for quiet again. When the crowd's babble had begun to slacken, he called out, "Good people, hear me!" and they quieted.

"He who we called brother," Magnus called out, "was the real Geoffrey Gallowglass, the true High Warlock's son! We are his brothers and sister; we are the High Warlock's brood! I tell thee, our mother and father would never approve of this Shire-Reeve's doings! Yet there is much unrest in this Isle of Gramarye at this time, and they cannot be everywhere at once to quiet it!" A neat turn around the facts, there. "Thus are we come to bear word to thee! Wait and watch, and guard thine own villages! Endure in patience and in loyalty to the King and Queen! Join not in the unrest, lest thou dost make it more furious still!"

He began to catch uneasy glances and, at the fringes of the crowd, people began to edge away.

It was the right idea, but he had to make sure he didn't make it sound like blame. "If thou art one of those who hast been cozened away from thine own village, I beg thee: Hasten! None can tell what mischief may be wreaked on thine house or crops whilst thou dost tarry. Go back, and swiftly! Guard thine own!"

Now even people in the center of the crowd began to glance around them, and the ones at the edges turned about and strode away, not caring who saw them. After all, the High Warlock's eldest had just told them they should do it, hadn't he?

Cordelia breathed a sigh of relief. "Well done, brother! Only now do I bethink me there could have been evil here!"

"Let it depart, also," Magnus said, frowning as he watched the crowd break up. "Gregory, seek! How fares our brother?"

Thunder split the peaceful air of the forest clearing, and Geoffrey looked about him, noting in an instant the debris of burned-out campfires, bones, rags, and vegetable garbage, registering the conclusion that he was in the peasant band's last campsite. It made sense—it was the nearest isolated location the imposter would have remembered, and been able to visualize well enough to teleport to.

Because he was there, of course, in the center of the clearing, with his back to Geoffrey. He whirled about, startled by the thunder-crack, and stared, appalled, at his double. "How didst thou know where to seek me!"

"Why," Geoffrey gloated, "what warlock of any real power would not?"

The boy went dead-white—but he was the kind who attacked when he was terrified. He caught up the nearest dead branch and leaped at Geoffrey.

Geoffrey sidestepped with a mocking laugh, jumped away, and caught up a tree branch of his own. The boy was on him in a second, but Geoffrey met his blow with a block and a counter. The imposter just barely caught it with the tip of his staff and swung a murderous double-handed blow at Geoffrey.

It was a mistake, for it left his whole side unguarded. Geoffrey simply leaped back, let the stick whip past him, then leaped in again, snapping his staff out in a quick, hard blow.

It caught the imposter on the side of the head, sending him spinning and down. Geoffrey stood, waiting for him to get up again, but he didn't.

Foreboding struck the young warrior. For all his belligerence, he himself had never killed, and had only once knocked someone out. Warily, he stepped around and knelt by his opponent's head, reaching down to touch the throat, alert for the boy to jump up and attack—but the imposter stayed still, eyes closed. Geoffrey felt the strong, steady beat of the boy's pulse through the artery, and sat back with a sigh of relief, which turned into a frown. Now what was he supposed to do?

"He hath fought the imposter, and knocked him senseless," Gregory reported. "He asks our aid."

"And certes, he shall have it," Magnus answered, "Sister, do thou, an it please thee, fly aloft o'er the forest, and spy out his place." He closed his eyes, concentrating on Geoffrey's thoughts.

"I have it." Cordelia had bees mind-listening, too. "'Tis a half-day's walk to the north, not far from the High Way. I shall see thee there anon." And with no more ado, she hopped on her broomstick and swooped up into the sky.

"I thank thee," Magnus called after her, then paused to frown a moment in concentration. Fess! There is a clearing toward the north, where these peasants did pass the night! Wilt thoufind it, an thou canst, and meet with us therein?

I shall, Magnus, the horse's thoughts answered. I have no doubt I will find it.

Magnus relaxed a little. The imposter might present him with a difficult decision, and he had a notion he was going to need all the advice he could get. He turned to Gregory. "Now, lad! Let the semblance of this clearing fill thy mind."

They both closed their eyes, letting themselves see through Geoffrey's eyes. A second later, thunder cracked around them; the clearing solidified, and was real.

"We are come," Magnus informed Geoffrey.

"And well come indeed," Geoffrey said heartily. "Now what shall we do with him?"

"Why, let Gregory lull him to deeper sleep, of course." Magnus knelt down by the unconscious imposter. Gregory followed suit, dropping into tailor's seat and closing his eyes. Magnus stared at the face, so completely like his brother's, and felt with his mind as the imposter's breathing deepened and slowed.

"He sleeps most soundly," Gregory said softly. "He will believe whatsoever thou sayest now, and answer whatsoever thou dost ask."

Magnus started to speak, but caught himself and looked up at a hissing of air, as Cordelia brought her broomstick in for a landing near them. "Well met, sister," he said softly. "Here's one for thy questioning."

Cordelia dropped down to kneel by the imposter, muttering, "Thou mightest do this thyself."

"Aye," Magnus admitted, "yet not so well as thee." It was only partly flattery.

Not that Cordelia was really about to object. Her face settled as she stared at the sleeping boy, her mind probing, asking, following question after question, drawing out seven years of information in a few minutes, at the speed of thought. Her brothers frowned down at the imposter, too, eavesdropping on his thoughts through Cordelia's mind.

They were so intent on the account of the boy*s life that they did not see the huge black horse step quietly into the clearing, and move up behind them.

Finally, Cordelia sat back with a sigh. "Thou hast heard. 'Tis indeed a woeful tale."

"Aye." Gregory's eyes were wide and tragic. "Poor lad, to have never known mother or father!"

"Slain by beastmen." Geoffrey regarded his rival with sympathy. "And himself only living by chance, hidden under the fold of a blanket."

Magnus shook his head, scowling. "How cold were they who raised him! How unfeeling!"

"Aye," Cordelia said softly, "yet he loved them, for they cared for his needs."

"Therefore he sought ever to please them," Gregory finished, "and still doth."

Geoffrey shook his head with finality. "There will be no shaking his loyalty to them. He will ever cleave to these enemies of our father's."

"Yet how horrible, to set surgeons to changing his face!" Cordelia protested. "And not once, but thrice!"

"Until he became the image of myself," Geoffrey said grimly, "and his own countenance was clean forgot."

"They have taken away his face," Magnus said softly, "and taken away his sense of self with it. Yet they cannot take his soul."

"I doubt not they would, an they could," Geoffrey said darkly.

"They have allowed him a name, at least," Gregory sighed.

"Bren." Geoffrey said the name slowly, feeling its texture on his tongue. "Odd, to know another name with my face."

Suddenly, Gregory leaned forward with tears in his eyes. "Let us wake him, and tell him how vile are they who reared him! Oh! Let us bid him come home to our mother and father, and grow up with ones who care for him!"

But Magnus stayed him with a hand on his chest, shaking his head with a very dark frown. "'Tis even as we've said—'twould avail us naught. He will never believe evil of his masters; he is loyal."

"Yet what should we do with him?" Geoffrey said softly.

They were all silent, none of them wishing to say it.

"Thou shouldst slay him." Puck was there suddenly, gazing somberly about at each one of them.

They stared at him in horror.

"It would be prudent," Fess admitted. "This child has been bred to mimic Geoffrey, and to oppose him. Further, he has been indoctrinated with beliefs which are the antithesis of your own. If he lives, he will one day be your enemy—and when he has grown, he may have acquired the skills and strategy to defeat you."

"'Tis even as he saith," Puck agreed. "'Twould be best war-lore to now slay him."

The children looked at one another in guilty foreboding. Even Geoffrey's face was haunted.

"Yet thou wilt not, and therefore I rejoice," the elf went on. "To slay a sleeping child would twist thy souls to a course that could only end in devotion to evil. Nay, thou wilt let him live, and I'm glad of it."

Fess nodded in approval. "I must agree. To slay him is the course of prudence—but to spare him is the course of wisdom."

"Yet what shall we do with him, then?" Cordelia whispered.

"Why, walk away, and leave him," the elf answered. "What else?"

They were all silent.

Then Magnus stood, slowly, and turned away.

After a minute, Gregory too stood up, murmuring, "Wake when thou canst no longer hear our footsteps," and turned to follow Magnus.

A moment later, Cordelia followed him.

Finally, Geoffrey rose, face thunderous, and went after them.

Puck heaved a sigh of relief and disappeared into the brush.

As they went out of the clearing, Geoffrey said darkly, "This is unwise, brother. An we let him live, we allow a viper to flourish."

"Yet he himself hath done no evil," Cordelia pleaded. "At the least, brother, let him grow up!"

"Aye," Magnus agreed. "That much is the right of every child."

"Well, I will be ruled by thee in this," Geoffrey grumbled. "Yet I prophesy, brother, that he will bring disaster upon our heads when we're grown!"

Magnus walked on for a few paces, not answering. Then he said, "What sayest thou to that, Gregory?"

"Geoffrey is right in this matter," Gregory answered. "We must begin to prepare ourselves for that battle."