of the road, hurrying because it was an exposed place. As Willow spoke, a huge shadow fell across them, and at the same moment a sound like wind rushing before a thunderstorm enveloped them. Out of it swirled high-pitched laughter, tiny shrieks of perverse glee.
They froze. They looked up.
A stately eagle drifted over them. Mounted on it, his toes clenched in the feathers between its wings, was a person even smaller than the Nelwyns. He was dark brown except for spikey white hair and brilliant jade-green eyes. The slit of his mouth was twisted into a malicious grin, and as he passed them he pointed down, laughing wildly.
“A brownie !” Meegosh moaned. “Oh no! And look what he’s got !”
Willow had already seen, and the vision struck him cold. Gripped in the eagle’s claws was a familiar basket, and inside, wrapped in Kiaya’s little blanket, was the child.
“Behold Franjean!” the brownie piped. “Behold Franjean’s prize!”
“No!” Willow shouted. “Come back! Put her down!” He threw down his pack and tore wildly back across the meadow, smashing into rocks and bushes. He wanted only to be under the bird if the baby fell. But the eagle stayed just ahead of him. Fluttering the tips of its wings it glided on, toward a deep woods at the meadow’s edge. The brownie twisted on its back and thrust a bony finger at Willow, cackling. “Fool! Hurry, Peck fool, else you will miss the brownie feast!”
“Meegosh! Help me! We’ve got to get her!”
The eagle drifted low over the trees, disappearing.
“Come on, Meegosh!”
It was dark in the woods, so dark that Willow could see nothing as he raced out of the bright sunlight. He banged into a tree and reeled back, blinking. He heard nothing but the frantic rush of his own blood and the insane cackling of the brownie, up ahead.
“This way, Meegosh!”
A path led off to the right, toward the sound. They plunged along. Suddenly Meegosh cried out in pain, and in the same instant Willow felt sharp stings in his shoulder and neck. They burned like biting flies, but when he swatted and brushed at them he discovered they were actually tiny arrows, no bigger than his finger. Running, he pulled some out, but dozens more rained down on him, from the limbs of the great trees, from the scanty undergrowth, and with them came a maniacal chorus of shrieks, chortles, shouts, and cackles, as if Franjean had been magically and horribly transformed into hundreds of other brownies, all equally malicious. All around, Willow saw mean, sharp little faces in the shadows of the foliage. He saw bright and baleful green stares fixed on him. He saw tiny busy arms reaching into quivers, stringing bows, launching arrows.
“Hey! Ouch! Ow!” Meegosh shouted, and each cry brought delighted screams from the brownies. Some were jumping up and down on the larger branches, hooting.
“This way!” Willow shouted. They came to a fork in the path and he swung right, certain he heard Franjean’s laughter just ahead. But a black net of ropes and vines hung there, ready to drop. “Back! Back! The other way!”
Stinging darts struck home. Brownies whooped and jeered. Back and around the corner the Nelwyns raced. An open path stretched ahead. “Come on, Meegosh! We’ll soon be out of this. We can . . .”
Go up here and cut back, Willow meant to say, but he never had a chance. The broad path was a trap. Dug across it, cunningly concealed with moss and supple branches, lay a deep pit. The next thing Willow Ufgood knew, he had crashed through and was falling down, down into a cold, dark place. All the panic and confusion of the past few minutes became a spinning oval of light, and all the chattering of the brownies became Meegosh’s wild cry of alarm as he too tumbled into the pit.
And then Willow Ufgood knew nothing more.
V I
CHERLINDREA
“I ’m Franjean, King of the World!”
Someone was standing on Willow’s chest.
He tried to move and couldn’t. He ached in every joint and
They froze. They looked up.
A stately eagle drifted over them. Mounted on it, his toes clenched in the feathers between its wings, was a person even smaller than the Nelwyns. He was dark brown except for spikey white hair and brilliant jade-green eyes. The slit of his mouth was twisted into a malicious grin, and as he passed them he pointed down, laughing wildly.
“A brownie !” Meegosh moaned. “Oh no! And look what he’s got !”
Willow had already seen, and the vision struck him cold. Gripped in the eagle’s claws was a familiar basket, and inside, wrapped in Kiaya’s little blanket, was the child.
“Behold Franjean!” the brownie piped. “Behold Franjean’s prize!”
“No!” Willow shouted. “Come back! Put her down!” He threw down his pack and tore wildly back across the meadow, smashing into rocks and bushes. He wanted only to be under the bird if the baby fell. But the eagle stayed just ahead of him. Fluttering the tips of its wings it glided on, toward a deep woods at the meadow’s edge. The brownie twisted on its back and thrust a bony finger at Willow, cackling. “Fool! Hurry, Peck fool, else you will miss the brownie feast!”
“Meegosh! Help me! We’ve got to get her!”
The eagle drifted low over the trees, disappearing.
“Come on, Meegosh!”
It was dark in the woods, so dark that Willow could see nothing as he raced out of the bright sunlight. He banged into a tree and reeled back, blinking. He heard nothing but the frantic rush of his own blood and the insane cackling of the brownie, up ahead.
“This way, Meegosh!”
A path led off to the right, toward the sound. They plunged along. Suddenly Meegosh cried out in pain, and in the same instant Willow felt sharp stings in his shoulder and neck. They burned like biting flies, but when he swatted and brushed at them he discovered they were actually tiny arrows, no bigger than his finger. Running, he pulled some out, but dozens more rained down on him, from the limbs of the great trees, from the scanty undergrowth, and with them came a maniacal chorus of shrieks, chortles, shouts, and cackles, as if Franjean had been magically and horribly transformed into hundreds of other brownies, all equally malicious. All around, Willow saw mean, sharp little faces in the shadows of the foliage. He saw bright and baleful green stares fixed on him. He saw tiny busy arms reaching into quivers, stringing bows, launching arrows.
“Hey! Ouch! Ow!” Meegosh shouted, and each cry brought delighted screams from the brownies. Some were jumping up and down on the larger branches, hooting.
“This way!” Willow shouted. They came to a fork in the path and he swung right, certain he heard Franjean’s laughter just ahead. But a black net of ropes and vines hung there, ready to drop. “Back! Back! The other way!”
Stinging darts struck home. Brownies whooped and jeered. Back and around the corner the Nelwyns raced. An open path stretched ahead. “Come on, Meegosh! We’ll soon be out of this. We can . . .”
Go up here and cut back, Willow meant to say, but he never had a chance. The broad path was a trap. Dug across it, cunningly concealed with moss and supple branches, lay a deep pit. The next thing Willow Ufgood knew, he had crashed through and was falling down, down into a cold, dark place. All the panic and confusion of the past few minutes became a spinning oval of light, and all the chattering of the brownies became Meegosh’s wild cry of alarm as he too tumbled into the pit.
And then Willow Ufgood knew nothing more.
V I
CHERLINDREA
“I ’m Franjean, King of the World!”
Someone was standing on Willow’s chest.
He tried to move and couldn’t. He ached in every joint and
Similar Books
