"Men in armor riding horses—about fifteen of them, coming down from the north."
"So I was right." El felt a tiny thrill of satisfaction at that, which Tear immediately buried.
Another pixie darted in and shrilled, "They're coming!"
"We already know," El said.
"You knew?"
El nodded, but Widdershins interrupted "Weed was waiting in a different part of the forest, El. Weed, what did you see?"
The second pixie said, "Men, perhaps twenty, coming around from the southeast."
"Oh!" El looked from the first pixie to the second, and her eyes went round "Nearly forty men. That's a lot."
She glanced over at Widdershins, who shrugged "To be expected."
"Do we have enough Folk waiting to beat them?"
"Beat them? The plan was never to beat them, missy."
"But we're going to have to beat them—fight them into the ground and take them prisoners. My plan can't hope to work—look at me! I look ridiculous."
"To yourself, and," the hint of a smile twitched across his face and was gone, "to the Folk, perhaps—but you won't to the people you need to convince. You're going to have to trust me; you're going to have to trust all of us."
El shook her head, but mounted up. Outside the stables, she began to hear the low moans and eerie howls of her advance troops. "I hope I can," she muttered. She couldn't help but wonder how seriously the Folk would take her signature scratched on a promissory note, once things got nasty—or if they would consider what she promised in exchange for their help good enough.
Something was definitely going on.
The prince, traveling with the soldiers who crept through the night toward the house along the main path, had just decided the blonde girl's stories of bogles had been, like her story of brothers, designed to frighten him off. He and his men were already within a longbow shot of the house, and nothing untoward had happened.
Then the wind died, and the normal nighttime sounds with it. In the stillness and the hush, he heard leaves rustling, and then something howled. His men stopped and drew weapons. Without the creaking of saddles and the soft clank of armor, he could near another sound—a low, steady, garbled whispering.
"What was that?" the soldiers muttered among themselves.
"Nothing," the prince said. "Dogs. And the leaves on the trees. Keep moving." He hadn't bothered to relay the story the girl had told him about the forest—he didn't want his orders questioned.
The men started forward, but his captain dropped back to his side long enough to say, "I believe I heard men in the undergrowth up ahead. That sounded like whispering to me, not leaves rustling. I fear we may be riding into an ambush."
The prince frowned. "We're heading to a house where one sick girl is all alone."
"Then why did we bring all these men?"
"Because I want to convince her that we're holding her mother and sisters hostage, and that she wants to give me her land. I don't want her to try any—"
He broke off in midsentence, as he noticed that pairs of glowing red orbs surrounded him and his soldiers, just above their heads. He pointed them out to the captain. "Do you see those?"
"Yes." The captain did not sound enthused, exactly. In fact, his voice squeaked out the word, with the tiniest quaver at the end.
"Do you know what they… are?"
"No."
They drew closer, those floating spheres—and the prince had a bad moment when he noticed that they
blinked. Then another, when he realized the lowest of them was easily twelve feet off the ground. He began to believe he could make out the hulking, hairy shapes attached to those eyes. "Bogles," he whispered.
His men packed in around him, riding close and slow. He shuddered as something warm and wet licked along the back of his neck. He jerked around in the saddle, but nothing was there—except that something breathed hot, stinking breath into his ear and laughed a horrible, whispery laugh.
Then the screams began. Those were his men screaming—the men in the flanking
"So I was right." El felt a tiny thrill of satisfaction at that, which Tear immediately buried.
Another pixie darted in and shrilled, "They're coming!"
"We already know," El said.
"You knew?"
El nodded, but Widdershins interrupted "Weed was waiting in a different part of the forest, El. Weed, what did you see?"
The second pixie said, "Men, perhaps twenty, coming around from the southeast."
"Oh!" El looked from the first pixie to the second, and her eyes went round "Nearly forty men. That's a lot."
She glanced over at Widdershins, who shrugged "To be expected."
"Do we have enough Folk waiting to beat them?"
"Beat them? The plan was never to beat them, missy."
"But we're going to have to beat them—fight them into the ground and take them prisoners. My plan can't hope to work—look at me! I look ridiculous."
"To yourself, and," the hint of a smile twitched across his face and was gone, "to the Folk, perhaps—but you won't to the people you need to convince. You're going to have to trust me; you're going to have to trust all of us."
El shook her head, but mounted up. Outside the stables, she began to hear the low moans and eerie howls of her advance troops. "I hope I can," she muttered. She couldn't help but wonder how seriously the Folk would take her signature scratched on a promissory note, once things got nasty—or if they would consider what she promised in exchange for their help good enough.
Something was definitely going on.
The prince, traveling with the soldiers who crept through the night toward the house along the main path, had just decided the blonde girl's stories of bogles had been, like her story of brothers, designed to frighten him off. He and his men were already within a longbow shot of the house, and nothing untoward had happened.
Then the wind died, and the normal nighttime sounds with it. In the stillness and the hush, he heard leaves rustling, and then something howled. His men stopped and drew weapons. Without the creaking of saddles and the soft clank of armor, he could near another sound—a low, steady, garbled whispering.
"What was that?" the soldiers muttered among themselves.
"Nothing," the prince said. "Dogs. And the leaves on the trees. Keep moving." He hadn't bothered to relay the story the girl had told him about the forest—he didn't want his orders questioned.
The men started forward, but his captain dropped back to his side long enough to say, "I believe I heard men in the undergrowth up ahead. That sounded like whispering to me, not leaves rustling. I fear we may be riding into an ambush."
The prince frowned. "We're heading to a house where one sick girl is all alone."
"Then why did we bring all these men?"
"Because I want to convince her that we're holding her mother and sisters hostage, and that she wants to give me her land. I don't want her to try any—"
He broke off in midsentence, as he noticed that pairs of glowing red orbs surrounded him and his soldiers, just above their heads. He pointed them out to the captain. "Do you see those?"
"Yes." The captain did not sound enthused, exactly. In fact, his voice squeaked out the word, with the tiniest quaver at the end.
"Do you know what they… are?"
"No."
They drew closer, those floating spheres—and the prince had a bad moment when he noticed that they
blinked. Then another, when he realized the lowest of them was easily twelve feet off the ground. He began to believe he could make out the hulking, hairy shapes attached to those eyes. "Bogles," he whispered.
His men packed in around him, riding close and slow. He shuddered as something warm and wet licked along the back of his neck. He jerked around in the saddle, but nothing was there—except that something breathed hot, stinking breath into his ear and laughed a horrible, whispery laugh.
Then the screams began. Those were his men screaming—the men in the flanking
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