Here be Monsters

by Christopher Stasheff

  “With my horse,” the woman insisted, “three years old, and as sweet a filly as you will find in the land. It may be she shall not do for a warhorse, but she shall pull your cart with a right good will.”

  “But she is your livelihood!” Allouette protested. “I cannot take—”

  Cordelia’s hand on her arm stopped her. “We may send the beast back when we have found a new mount for me,” she told Allouette, “with a present to thank the woman and her neighbors.”

  Allouette looked up, saw Cordelia’s smile, and understood—it was a chance to give something to the peasants without making them feel it was charity, and to give them a chance to begin practicing the kindness that would stop at least one door through which the real monsters might enter. She returned the smile slowly, then turned back to the peasants. “I would dearly love to lie down while I travel,” she admitted. “Thank you for your kindness, friends. We shall appreciate the loan of your horse and cart, appreciate it most strongly.”

  The people cheered.

  So, half an hour later, a stolid little mare pulled a cart between two tall horses. Allouette lay back, half-sitting, against a cushion of pine boughs and looked up at Cordelia. “Thank you for interceding, lady. It would have been most rude of me to refuse their gift—but I could not bear the thought of such poor folk losing goods of such great worth to them.”

  “Or of their regretting their generosity later,” Cordelia agreed. “It was the least I could do for one who spared me the pain of a broken leg—especially if it had not healed straightly.”

  “I am glad I could make some return for your kindness.” Allouette looked down, blushing. “Indeed, I—I was quite overwhelmed by your protecting of me—me, who was your enemy, who sought to steal your lovers and heap humiliation upon you!”

  “That is in the past now.” Quicksilver’s tone was unusually gentle as she reached down to take Allouette’s hand.

  “Aye.” Cordelia took her other hand. “We are comrades in arms, and you have proven yourself so this day.”

  Tears poured down Allouette’s cheeks. “Your kindness stabs me to the heart! I deserve it not!”

  “So that is what made you so fierce in our defense!” Quicksilver cried. “Lady, did you feel you needed to prove worthy of our friendship?”

  “I did, and ever shall!”

  “There is no need,” Cordelia said gently, “for you have shown yourself to be a most valiant friend this day, shown that our interests are yours now.”

  “And yours are ours,” Quicksilver agreed. “I for one believe that I am far safer with you beside me to aid in the fight, than if I stand alone.”

  “You . . . you trust me, then?” Allouette asked with wide and wondering eyes.

  “I do,” Quicksilver answered, “for you have proved trustworthy this day.”

  “Indeed.” Cordelia smiled. “If you had meant us any harm, lady, you had only to turn and ride away, leaving us to battle the monster by ourselves.”

  “But you have been kind to me! In spite of all I have done to you and your fiancés, all I tried to do, you have guarded my back on this venture and fought by my side!”

  “Exactly,” Cordelia said, smiling. “It is today that matters now, not last month or last year. Recover your strength, lady, for it is our shield and our dagger, and we would be sorely weakened by the loss of you.”

  “After all,” Quicksilver said, all business again, “we may have sent Big Ears packing, but its masters will surely send against us another monster more horrible still.”

  Allouette shuddered but said, “You do not think it was made of witch-moss, then?”

  “No, oddly.” Cordelia frowned. “I tried to take it apart, but there was no response at all. Whatever its substance, it is as impervious to thought as real flesh and blood.”

  The three women were silent, each coming to the logical conclusion but not wanting to say it. It was Quicksilver who faced it first. “If it is real, we do not simply face some telekinetic crafter who seeks to make his own army of horrors.”

  Allouette frowned up at them. “You do not think the mists that disgorged the first of these monsters actually hide the gateway to some other world, do you?”

  “If so,” Quicksilver said grimly, “it is a world impoverished, for its creatures are most hungry for our riches.”

  “Or for our blood and bones,” Cordelia said darkly, “unless Big Ears’ threat was pure cruelty.”

  “Greed or hunger, it matters not,” said Quicksilver. “All we need to know is that they seek to despoil Gramarye, slay or enslave its people, and take the land for themselves.”

  “Yes,” said Cordelia, “and there are espers among them, reaching through the portal to this world with their minds and crafting witch-moss monsters to frighten the people.”

  “What use is there in such a campaign of terror?” Quicksilver asked. “It will only make our people fight with greater ferocity.”

  “Not all, warrior,” Cordelia said darkly. “See what it has done to this one village—terrified them so badly that they have not only lost the will to fight, but even seek to befriend the monsters at any cost in hopes of appeasing them!”

  Quicksilver’s nose wrinkled with disgust. “As though they would be appeased by an offer of hospitality!”

  “Aye,” said Cordelia,

  “Offer hospitality?” Allouette cried. “That is the reason for the sendings!”

  Quicksilver and Cordelia turned to stare at her. “How is that?”

  “Have you never heard that vampires cannot enter a house unless they are invited?” Allouette asked.

  “True,” Cordelia said slowly, “but we have seen no vampires among them.”

  “Even so, these spirits must suffer the same limitation,” Allouette explained.

  “But our folk need not know they extend the invitation,” Quicksilver objected. “They need only do evil deeds; that is all the invitation Zonploka needs.”

  “Is not this killing and roasting of so many poor helpless creatures evil enough?” Allouette countered. “It is not as though they were slain for food or clothing or any other useful purpose, after all! They were slain only out of wanton cruelty! Nay, the masters of these evil monsters seek not to enter a mere house, but our whole world!”

  “But if that is so,” said Cordelia, shocked, “our stopping this village’s Taghairm is surely only a pebble in a gravel pit!”

  “Meaning that some other village will take up where these have left off.” Quicksilver’s brows drew down, glowering.

  “Aye!” Allouette cried. “Surely every villager in Gramarye is dreaming these nightmares, and every knight and lord too!”

  “You have the right of it,” Cordelia agreed. “Other villages will try to curry favor with the invaders by performing the Taghairm or some other ritual to invite them in.”

  Allouette shuddered and spoke with iron resolution. “We must find some way to seal this portal for good and all, ladies, and that right quickly, before some fool tears it off its hinges, unable ever to close it again!”

  Quicksilver and Cordelia stared at her, suddenly seeing not the gentle and reticent companion of their journey, but once again the Chief Agent who had commanded a small army of spies and assassins. Then Quicksilver grinned. “I rejoice that you are on our side now, lady! Aye, let us seek the mists that hide this portal and bind it with stout bars of Cold Iron that shall never be opened again!”

  They set off down the woodland path with renewed determination—but Quicksilver pulled up her horse with a look of alarm and held up a hand to halt her companions.

  “What worries you?” Cordelia asked, then realized the answer. “The birds are silent!”

  “Someone lies in ambush nearby,” Quicksilver hissed.

  “It is there!” Allouette pointed, eyes wide. “See how that bush shakes ever so slightly?”

  “Aye, and not a breath of wind stirring.” Quicksilver drew her sword. “Whoever seeks to surprise us shall have a most unpleas
ant shock of his own.”

  But Cordelia was gazing off into space wide-eyed, with the vacant look that meant a telepathic reconnaissance. She held up a hand. “No, warrior! It is—”

  But she was too late. With a banshee howl, Quicksilver charged the underbrush, slashing with her sword and crying, “Who bears arms against me shall lose them!”

  CHAPTER

  15

  Another blade shot up from the trees to parry her blow as its owner called, “Alas, lady, for then could I not embrace you!”

  Quicksilver froze, sword high against his, staring into the grinning face of her beloved. But the grin softened into a wondering smile as Geoffrey moved his horse close enough to turn the sword bind into a corps a corps, left arm encircling Quicksilver’s waist, lips claiming hers.

  Cordelia stared in surprise, then looked a little miffed. “Shall she have such bounty, and I none?”

  “Never!” said another voice.

  Turning wide-eyed, she saw Alain riding out of the grove to catch her up in his arms.

  Gregory, however, was more circumspect. He rode up to bring his horse next to the cart where Allouette reclined. He asked gravely, “Beloved, how fare you?”

  “Nearly starved,” Allouette answered in a suddenly throaty voice, “starved for the feel of your arm about me!”

  “And I near to die of a thirst that only your lips can assuage,” Gregory whispered, and leaned down to drink deeply.

  Finally each couple broke apart and, with glances of longing, nonetheless turned to the others. “Dearly though I would love to seek a bower with my beloved,” Geoffrey said, “I fear there may not be time for us to indulge in the joy of meeting.”

  “And great it is,” Quicksilver said, squeezing his hand. “I would never have thought I could be so delighted by your touch when we have only been parted three days!”

  “Ah, but it was three days filled with danger,” Allouette pointed out.

  “It was indeed.” Geoffrey turned to her, all concern. “But what dangers have you suffered, my flower?”

  Quicksilver smiled, amused. “Nothing that the three of us together could not deal with, kind sir. Cordelia and I were somewhat affronted by your gadding off to adventure without us, so we took horse and followed your trail.”

  “It gave out in the swamp, I doubt not,” Geoffrey said, already looking worried.

  “It did, so we cast about for a trail of thought and read Allouette’s awakening with a splitting headache. As her memories returned, I discovered she had been kidnapped, so we rode toward her thoughts and soon found the mountaineers’ trail . . .”

  “My deepest thanks, sister and warrior,” Gregory said with heartfelt emotion.

  Allouette squeezed his hand and said, “They burst out of the forest like avenging Furies and freed me in minutes. We rode away, but discovered a barguest hard upon our trail . . .”

  “A barguest!” Alain paled.

  “It was no true predictor, but a sham that was easily chased,” Cordelia assured him, then went on to give details.

  So for the next half hour, each trio told of the monsters they had encountered. The men were outraged by the ganconer’s imitation of them, and Gregory said nothing when hearing of the selkie’s advances but seemed to swell with the intensity of his anger. Allouette, fairly glowing, only touched his hand, turning the sunshine of her smile upon him, and most of the anger seemed to drain away.

  The women were horrified in their turn by the men’s adventures; Quicksilver held tightly to Geoffrey’s hand, as though to remind herself that he was there, alive, and well, as he told of their encounter with the afanc. When they had each brought their account up to that current hour, they sat staring at one another—somewhere during the narration they had all dismounted and sat on the ground in a circle. Then Alain took a breath and said, “None of us thinks that such a plague of monsters can be coincidence.”

  “Never, surely!” Cordelia answered. “And both parties have heard of the monsters’ masters, and of Zonploka.”

  “But who—or what—is Zonploka?” Gregory asked. “A group of evil sorcerers? One evil sorcerer? A place? An army?”

  “Not an army,” Quicksilver replied, “for one told you that it commanded armies.”

  “A person, then, and Zonploka is a name.” Alain nodded. “But are these monsters of his making, or his minions’?”

  “That matters not,” Cordelia told him, “any more than it would matter whether you could say, if you commanded a general to march against a rebel lord, that the battle that ensued would be his doing more than yours.”

  Alain shuddered. “I hope I shall never have to do such a thing! But each of my ancestors has in his turn, even my mother! Thank Heaven she had my father’s support, and that of your parents!”

  “As you shall have ours,” Geoffrey assured him, “beginning with this current matter.”

  “I thank you, my friends.” Alain beamed around at them, then frowned. “Yet should I send for that army now?”

  “What could they do?’ Allouette shrugged. “There is not even a squadron of monsters for them to fight, let alone an army.”

  “But the peasants have dreamed of a foul and fell army about to march through the mists!”

  “Definitely a portal to another world,” Gregory said, scowling, and turned to Allouette. “But you say they cannot come unless they are invited?”

  “Aye,” she answered, “and this Zonploka, or his minions, are sending dreams and cobbling nightmares of witch-moss, to affright the peasants into rituals of just such invitation.”

  “Or to turning upon one another with cruelty that is as good as an invitation.” Gregory nodded heavily. “You had the right of it in that, chieftain.”

  Quicksilver nodded thanks, unsure whether her old bandit title was a compliment or not.

  “Then how can we stop the plague of monsters?” Cordelia asked.

  “The answer is plain, though we do not wish it,” Allouette said reluctantly. “We must stop the crafters who make them.”

  “But Zonploka will only recruit more crafters,” Cordelia objected.

  “Thus we come to it,” Geoffrey said grimly, “as we all really knew we must, sooner or later.”

  “Aye,” Alain agreed. “The only cure is to stop Zonploka.”

  Cordelia looked up at him, surprised that he had thought the matter through for himself.

  “He has been a man of surprises on this quest, our prince,” Geoffrey told her with a wry smile. “He has the right of it, too. If we wait for Zonploka to bring the war to us, it will be too late—certainly too late to prevent great loss of life.”

  “If his army is anything like the nightmares he sends, it will also be too late to defend ourselves,” Gregory said grimly.

  “Well enough, then,” said Alain. “Where shall we find this Zonploka? And how shall we fight him?”

  “We came to the river and saw nothing,” Gregory said slowly, “but we did not wait for evening.”

  “Or morning!” Allouette cried. “Of course! It is not that the mist hides the portal—it is the portal!”

  “Then let us go back to the river, camp there, and wait for dawn,” Alain proposed. “How, though, shall we fight so powerful a sorcerer, aye, and one with lesser magicians at his command?”

  “By magic.” Gregory tuned to Allouette. “We must ponder long and hard, my love, to discover some spells that may counteract the worst Zonploka may throw at us.”

  “First we should ponder what magics he may work against us,” Allouette said.

  “Aye, and what manner of soldiers we shall confront,” Alain said to Geoffrey, “for surely he shall be well guarded.”

  “We faced a giant cat that was well nigh a demon,” Cordelia said with a shudder, “and you faced a giant and bloodthirsty beaver.”

  “I should not wish to confront a barguest if it sought to wreak death, not merely foretell it,” Quicksilver said with a frown, “and there may be worse there.” She turned to Geoffre
y. “How shall we meet them?”

  “Back to back,” he answered, grinning, “serving as one another’s shields, as we have done before.”

  She gazed into his eyes a minute before she smiled.

  “If we need to fight, that is surely the way,” Alain agreed. “Still, it would do no harm to discuss the issue with the sorcerer first.”

  “Oh, aye,” Geoffrey scoffed, “give him time to call up a small army to bait us.”

  “Yet we might find other places better suited to his interest, and save fighting for all of us,” Alain pointed out, and grinned as Geoffrey subsided muttering. “I know, my friend, that you do not desire to avoid a fight—but I must ask myself how many people would die in it.”

  “Surely you do not think Zonploka can be talked into abandoning this conquest,” Geoffrey objected.

  “Why not, if we can show him it will cost him gravely in soldiers and gear, and can find him another place that will cost nothing?”

  “Would you send him to murder some other folk, then sir?” Cordelia cried. “Fie, fie!”

  “Exactly, my lady.” Alain inclined his head toward her. “His monsters would be a plague in any land—but on this world of Gramarye, only this great island has been made fit for human folk to live on.”

  The other three stared at him, beginning to understand. “The rest of the planet is desert and swamp,” said Gregory. “Who shall you send his monsters to raven—the dinosaurs, or the giant insects?”

  “Are the deserts truly filled with giant insects?” Alain asked, interested.

  “Giant insects, small reptiles, and many varieties of snakes,” Gregory answered.

  “Not large enough to satisfy his monsters, I would guess,” Alain said regretfully. “No, I suspect he would rather have the swamps, that his bloodthirsty minions may feast upon dinosaurs.”

  “He would rather have Gramarye,” Quicksilver pointed out, “for our folk are more likely to be easy meat than a tyrannosaurus.”

  “Not for creatures that fear Cold Iron,” Alain reminded her. “Indeed, even if they do not, a score of giant cats such as this Big Ears you speak of will find even a tyrannosaurus less dangerous than fifty determined yeomen with bows and pikes.”