Here be Monsters

by Christopher Stasheff

“They were only of witch-moss, I hope?” Cordelia asked.

  “Aye, and we turned them back into the jelly from which they’d come.”

  Quicksilver made a noise of disgust. “What a waste of a good chance for a fight!”

  “Aye, but quicker, I am sure. So when they were undone, you sought along their backtrail to discover the mist from which they’d come?”

  “Aye, and blundered into a bog for our pains.”

  Quicksilver grinned.

  Allouette blushed. “Your fiancés pulled us out.”

  Quicksilver and Cordelia exchanged a glance of surprise. “We have come faster than they, then.”

  “Either that, or they have gone astray in their search.” Quicksilver frowned. “Could they not track by thought?”

  “Not mine,” said Allouette. “The knock on the head those mountaineers gave me has sorely diminished my powers.”

  Quicksilver looked up in surprise; then a calculating look came into her eye and Allouette shuddered, knowing that the woman had cause to want revenge—not as much cause as Cordelia, but enough.

  “ ’Tis also possible that these mountaineers may have taken you closer to our route than to the men’s path,” Cordelia mused. “You were unconscious, were you not?”

  “Aye, for some hours.”

  “Time enough,” Quicksilver said drily. Then her face darkened. “What use had they for you?”

  “Only as a hostage,” Allouette assured them. “Indeed, they drank so heavily that I doubt they could have managed anything else.”

  “Drank?” The former outlaw’s eye kindled. “Did they talk while they were in their cups—perhaps to tell you why they had set upon you?”

  “They did as they were bade,” Allouette replied, “by a sorcerer named Zonploka.”

  Quicksilver frowned at Cordelia, who frowned back. “I have never heard that name.”

  “Nor I,” Cordelia confessed.

  “ ’Tis strange to me, too,” Allouette admitted, “but whoever he or she is, he has hoodwinked the mountaineers into thinking that they act for the good of their people. From what these raiders said, they wish to clear this county of peasants.”

  “Wherefore?” Quicksilver demanded.

  “As a staging area for the sorcerer’s army,” Allouette replied. “When it marches off, the sorcerer has promised the valley to the mountaineers, who believe their ancestors held it.”

  Quicksilver shrugged. “That may be so; it would not be the first time that peaceful people have been driven out by warlike and learned to become warriors in their turn.”

  “Perhaps,” said Cordelia, “but they are fools to think a conquering army will give up territory once they’ve gained it.”

  “That is so.” Quicksilver turned to Allouette, and there was an edge to her voice. “You who were chieftain of spies and assassins—would you yield what you had gained?”

  Anger surged in Allouette, but she contained it. “I am no such creature anymore—but villain or householder, I would fight to keep what is mine!”

  “Right and proper,” said Quicksilver, “but what if you had stolen it?”

  “ ‘What if’ indeed,” Allouette asked, “O bandits’ chieftain?”

  Quicksilver gave her a toothy grin. “Never in a thousand years yield what I had gained!”

  “Only a thousand?” Allouette retorted. Her stomach sank—she felt she was losing any chance of Quicksilver’s forgiveness—but her pride wouldn’t let her back down.

  Quicksilver only shrugged. “A hundred would do. I would not live to see it. Let my children fight for what I’d gained!”

  Allouette stared, amazed that the warrior hadn’t loosed a torrent of insults. Then she recovered and said, “I do not doubt that the brood of so redoubtable a dam would fight for every inch.”

  “What if it were not rightfully theirs?” Cordelia asked quietly.

  “Rightfully?” Quicksilver asked. “We speak of an army of conquest, lady! Wherefore would they speak of right or wrong?”

  Allouette nodded. “To those who come in conquest, ‘right’ means only their self-interest.”

  Cordelia shuddered. “Alas, poor land—and poor mountaineers, who shall be so rudely betrayed! We must discover who this Zonploka is, who has promised them and will betray them!”

  “Where shall we seek this foul sorcerer?” Allouette asked.

  “Why, where you were bound ere they kidnapped you,” Quicksilver answered, “in the mist that spawns monsters! Come, let us find their trail.”

  “Where?” Cordelia spread her hands. “We cannot know if they bore Allouette toward those mists, or far from their track.”

  “We can,” said Quicksilver, “if we capture one and ask him.” She caressed her sword’s pommel. “Let us track these mountaineers, ladies, and while we journey, think of arguments that might persuade them to yield up what they know.”

  Cordelia glanced at the sword hilt with a jaundiced eye. “We shall, if you leave the persuading to us.”

  “But stand behind us as we ask,” Allouette said with a vindictive smile. “Our arguments may prove all the more effective for your presence.”

  “So that it be our questions that be keen and not her sword,” Cordelia said quickly, then turned to scan the mountainside and point toward a stunted tree. “As memory serves, yonder they went.”

  Quicksilver glanced at the ground and the tracks of running feet, and nodded. “Your memory serves you well.” She put fingers to her lips and blew a shrill whistle. A neighing answered them; two horses came trotting out of the trees.

  Allouette stared. “How have I robbed you of your mounts during battle?”

  “Because surprise was more important than being mounted,” Quicksilver explained, “and our horses would have drawn the mountaineers’ attention. You shall have to ride behind me, lady. Up and after them!”

  “I could not impose so.” Allouette wasn’t at all happy about sharing a horse with a woman who had doubts about her, but told herself that surely it must be a good sign for Quicksilver to trust the former spy behind her back. Nonetheless, she frowned in concentration for a moment.

  A whinny that was surely filled with relief answered her, then galloping hoofbeats, and her own horse came pounding across the grass to her.

  “She lost track of me among the mountaineers’ scents,” Allouette explained, “and I am only now recovered enough to summon her.”

  “Besides, you were somewhat distracted,” Quicksilver said drily. “Well, then, damsel, mount and ride.”

  They set off uphill, and Allouette noticed with chagrin that the other women were careful to stay beside her, not letting her fall behind. She sighed and hoped it was out of concern for her wound.

  After a few minutes, Allouette looked up at the sky with a frown.

  “What troubles you?’ Quicksilver demanded.

  “That we travel southeast,” Allouette said, “when the trail that I took with Gregory was northwest.”

  Quicksilver frowned, musing. “There is sense in that, if the mountaineers came from the place where they ambushed you.”

  “It is, is it not?” Allouette sighed. “Well, we must backtrack before we can turn and go forward again. I had hoped they had taken me back to their lair.”

  “Perhaps they had,” Cordelia said, “but their lair lies near to where they ambushed you.”

  “Then why would they have brought me here?”

  The three women were silent, looking at one another and at the scenery around them, trying to puzzle out the question. Then Cordelia hazarded a guess. “Could they have been taking you to meet their master in the mists?”

  “Likely enough,” Quicksilver snapped.

  Allouette shuddered. “I must thank you even more for your kind rescue, damsels. I had rather not meet this Zonploka—nay, not until I know something more about him.”

  “Wise,” Quicksilver acknowledged. “Well, let us follow their trail back to their lair if we must, and seize one who lags behind.”
>
  They set off again.

  An hour later they came to a meadow, but one most thoroughly torn up in its center. Allouette looked about her as though scenting the winds. “It was here! It was here they set upon us!”

  Quicksilver looked about, nodding. “Close enough to the trees for cover but with open space in which to fight. Their chieftain’s not a complete fool, at least.”

  “But where,” Cordelia asked, “are our men?”

  The women looked about, puzzling over the matter. Then Quicksilver scowled at the ground and began to prowl the site of the skirmish. “There! ’Tis the mark of Geoffrey’s boot—I would know it anywhere!”

  “Gregory’s should be much like it.” Cordelia came to stand beside her. “We have all the same cobbler . . . There!” She pointed. “There stood Gregory, and from the flattened grass he struck well . . .”

  “But Geoffrey stepped here behind him,” Quicksilver said, “and struck another villain, like as not. A pox upon it! I can tell almost nothing from this fray!”

  “The ground is too much chewed up,” Cordelia agreed.

  “Let us seek at its edge, then.” Allouette began to prowl about the perimeter.

  “A good thought.” Quicksilver came to join her.

  “Here the mountaineers fled.” Cordelia pointed down at the ground. “ ’Tis a trampled mire save two whose prints are deeper, and therefore clear.”

  “They must have been the ones who carried me!” Allouette scowled downward. “Smaller feet—here Gregory stood . . . but what mean these ovals in the grass?”

  Quicksilver came to look. “Shins, lady. Your fiancé fell to his knees in his grief over your abduction.”

  Allouette looked up at her, startled, then down again to keep the glow within her from showing in her face. “Do you truly think so?”

  “I doubt it not,” Quicksilver assured her, then went back to prowling the edge of the morass. She stopped, pointing. “The heels are deeper. Cordelia, are these your fiancé’s boots?”

  Cordelia came to look and nodded. “Even such does the royal cobbler fashion. But where is he going?”

  “Hither and yon, I think,” Quicksilver said, exasperated, “and here are Geoffrey’s prints beside him. Let us trace their path.”

  “Gregory rose and came this way.” Allouette stepped toward them, eyes on the ground. “Why, he came to join the others!”

  “Now they all wander together,” said Quicksilver, and so did the three women, moving in a triangle toward the trees.

  Following the prints, they went in among the leaves. It was harder to follow the trail in the flickering shadows, but they managed, tracing its twists and turns until . . .

  “They have come back to the meadow!” Cordelia cried.

  “Odd indeed,” Quicksilver said, frowning. “Even more, for they turn and go back in among the leaves.”

  They followed the men’s footprints again. This time the winding route was longer, but its end was the same.

  “The meadow again!” Quicksilver cried in exasperation. “Can they not keep their minds on one single point?”

  Allouette said nothing, but her stomach sank, for the single point the men were presumably following was herself. The three were quiet for a few minutes, Allouette feeling her face set in the immobile mode that had hidden her feelings for so long, Quicksilver still prowling, scanning the ground as though the footprints could reveal the men’s thoughts, Cordelia scowling about her in deep thought. Allouette finally remembered to seek out Gregory’s thoughts, but she must not yet have recovered from the blow on the head, for she could find him nowhere. “Cordelia, would you seek for Gregory? I cannot yet hear with my mind.”

  “I have,” Cordelia said, her scowl deepening, “and I find him not. ’Tis most perplexing.”

  “But wherefore would he not . . .” Allouette bit off the cry.

  “Follow you?” Quicksilver asked. “He would, lady. The lad is so besotted that he is a mooncalf studying to be a lap-pup. Be sure that if he lives, he seeks you.”

  Allouette looked down again, but too late to hide her blush, or her smile. “But if he sought me, why did he not find me?”

  They were silent a moment longer, thinking the matter over, before Quicksilver delivered her verdict: “Something misled them.”

  “Aye,” said Cordelia. “There could be no other explanation.”

  “But what?” asked Allouette, eyes wide in amazement.

  CHAPTER

  5

  “What indeed?” Cordelia finally met her gaze.

  “It could not be a will o’ the wisp,” Quicksilver said, “or any other sort of marsh-fire, for they would recognize such things and avoid them.”

  “Or banish them,” Cordelia agreed. “No, something has clouded their minds quite thoroughly.”

  “What could so becloud a warlock’s mind?” Quicksilver’s brows drew down.

  “Only a spell that they knew not of,” Allouette answered.

  Quicksilver gave her a wary look. “How could such a thing be done, lady?”

  Allouette reddened, realizing that in Quicksilver’s mind she was the authority on underhanded tricks, sneaky strategies, and hidden betrayals. Well, she deserved that—and the cure that Gwendylon had begun in her did not remove her knowledge. “Cast an enchantment on him while he is distracted,” she said.

  “You mean while Gregory sits in meditation?”

  “No, even in that state he is aware of the world about him,” Allouette said impatiently. “It would have to be a charm laid upon him when he is in the midst of battle, or when he has discovered a new idea in study.”

  “Or when he has found a few minutes alone with you, I’ll warrant,” Quicksilver said.

  Allouette paled. “You do not think that I would betray him now!”

  “I do not,” Quicksilver returned, “but I do think that you can distract him and hold his attention far better than anything save battle.”

  “Oh, study can—”

  “He would far rather study your lips and eyes than any book,” Cordelia said with asperity.

  “Well . . . there’s some truth to that.” Allouette tried to hide her smile, then lifted her head and said sharply, “But if any sought to enchant him while I was with him, I would know it and turn upon them!”

  Cordelia’s head snapped up. “Do you say that you are not as riveted to him as he to you?”

  “Even when we have time alone,” Allouette countered, “his well-being is my prime concern.”

  Cordelia studied her a moment, then nodded. “I believe you—and that is a wholesale conversion indeed.”

  “Why, because I sought his downfall?” Allouette asked sardonically. “Believe me, lady, that is all the more reason why I am determined to ward him now!”

  “I wish you all luck in doing so,” Cordelia answered. “Truly, if the two of you are each intent on the other’s well-being, it should be a thriving marriage.”

  Surprised, Allouette searched her face for signs of sarcasm or mockery, but there were none.

  “I do not think, though,” said Quicksilver, “that you were the cause of his distraction in this. Indeed, this confusion-spell was laid upon him as the moutaineers kidnapped you.”

  “Yes, that would hold his attention,” Cordelia agreed. “As to Alain and Geoffrey, battle of any kind would suffice to distract them.”

  “So some enchanter has clouded their minds unbeknownst and leads them about in circles,” Quicksilver concluded.

  “How certain a circle, think you?” Allouette asked. “Have we only to wait here ere they return once more?”

  Quicksilver studied the ground. “The tracks are too old; they returned only twice, and the most recent was hours ago. No, whatever malicious spirit leads them, it has taken them farther into the wildwood.”

  An awful thought struck Allouette. “Quickly, let us follow! It may be they travel toward the mountaineers’ home!”

  The other two looked up, astonished. Then Quicksilver said,
“That would be a good tactic, yes.”

  Cordelia’s eyes were frightened, but she said, “If they are merely befuddled, not led . . .”

  “They might still strike the mountaineers’ trail and follow it!” Allouette cried. “Especially since they seek me!”

  Cordelia paled, then nodded. “Yes, let us track them.” She turned away with renewed purpose.

  “Come, summon resolution!” Geoffrey clapped Gregory on the shoulder. “If you love the lass, trace their tracks and steal her back!”

  Gregory’s face hardened. He rose, taut and determined. “Even as you say. Come, let us follow in their wake.”

  He started forward, but Geoffrey caught his sleeve. “Softly, brother. They may be baiting a trap.”

  Gregory froze, then gave a single nod. “Lead on, sir knight.”

  Geoffrey took the lead. Alain, in prudence, fell in behind Gregory—if the scholar should do something rash, he intended to be handy to stop him.

  Geoffrey led them in among the trees but within sight of the furrow the mountaineers had ploughed in the grass. Up the hillside they went, and the trees closed over the grassland.

  Geoffrey stopped. “Ward me, gentlemen. I must walk in their steps now, for I shall not be able to see their tracks so far from the side.”

  “All should be well,” Alain said, “so long as we go deliberately and with all due care. After all, they cannot ambush a telepath.”

  Geoffrey gazed ahead, eyes losing focus for a few seconds; then he nodded. “They still flee. They have not yet thought to surprise us.”

  “Not the ones whose thoughts you read,” Alain reminded him. “There may be others who have learned to hide what they are thinking.”

  “That is somewhat sophisticated for a rough mountaineer,” Geoffrey said, “but so is their manner of ambush, or we’d not have fallen prey to it. Well, we shall walk warily.”

  Gregory tried reading the kidnappers’ thoughts too, and anger burned in his eyes when he heard them.

  “Do not deny them some feeling of triumph, brother,” Geoffrey said gently. “They shall not have it long.”

  “No, they shall not!” Gregory glared at the trees ahead as though he could see through them to the kidnappers.