Christopher Stasheff - The Warlock is Missing

"I am not a baby," Alain said, glowering.

"Nay, thou art nine now, and fully come into childhood. Yet thou art the heir!"

"Yet I've a smaller brother at home!"

" 'Tis for thy father to place thee at risk, not for me!"

"But he'll never do so!"

"Nay, he will—when he doth believe thou art a strong enough fighter. Yet that waits till thou art sixteen, lad, or older."

"That is seven years!" Alain wailed.

"Enjoy them whilst thou may," Puck advised him, "and I shall see thou art alive to do so. Now go to safety!"

"Wherefore do they stay?" Alain pointed at the Gallow-glasses.

"For that they are in my care, and must stay where I do— and for that they've no parents to be sent home to. Fear not—I'll keep them as safe as thou wilt be."

"Oh, nay!" Geoffrey protested, but Alain bawled, "'Tis not fair!"

"Nay, but 'tis merciful. Go now to thy mother!"

"I'll not take him!" Kelly declared. "My place is here, with the witch-children!"

"Thy place is wheresoe'er the Hobgoblin doth send thee. What, elf! Wilt thou question the King of Elves?"

"He is not here," Kelly snapped.

"Nay, but he hath given this brood into my care—and wilt command as I do: that the Heir have guard to his parent!"

"'Tis thou dost say it, not he," Kelly grumbled; but he seemed wary now.

"Shall I ask it of him, then? Nay, thou canst reach to him as quickly as I! Shall we go? 'Tis but a matter of minutes, for elves."

Kelly glowered at him, but didn't speak.

Puck held his gaze level, fists on hips, waiting.

Finally, Kelly snapped, "Well enough, then! It shall be as thou dost say!"

Puck smiled. "Brave elf!" He turned back to Alain. "And wilt thou, too, be as worthy?"

"Where is the worth in retreat?" Alain burst out. "Wouldst thou have me flee from danger?"

"Aye, till thou art grown. What! Must I summon His Elfin Majesty to command thee, too?"

"He may not! I am Prince of Gramarye!"

"And he is a king, who may by right command a prince— yet his power's within himself, not his army, and can be wielded on the moment. Wilt thou go to thy home for safety,

or wilt thou be kept on a lily pad?"

"Thou canst not afright me thus!" Alain declared, but he looked less certain than he sounded. "Attempt it, then—and answer to my father for what thou hast done to the Royal Heir!"

Puck reddened, and his voice fell to a deadly quiet. "Wilt thou go, or must I send word to the Queen?"

"Mummy is fifty miles distant!" Alain wailed.

"Aye, yet thy father's but half a league onward—and so is his belt."

Alain glared at Puck for a moment longer, but finally could not hold it. He collapsed with a sigh. "Even so, then. I shall go."

Puck nodded, but showed no sign of victory. He turned to Kelly and said, "Guide him, elf. And see thou he doth come to his parent ere morn!"

When darkness enveloped the forest glade, Puck moved silently among the sleeping children, shaking them and murmuring, "Wake. The moon is up, as thou must be, also."

One by one, they sat up, stretching and yawning.

"I could sleep the night through," Geoffrey sighed.

"Do so, then!" said Magnus. "Puck and I will suffice to tend to this Shire-Reeve."

"Nay," Geoffrey said quickly. "I am fully awakened."

Cordelia lay nestled against the unicorn, who lay on her side, tummy against the girl's back. Now she sat up, blinking, cuddling Gregory against her. That meant the little boy had to sit up, too, but as soon as he did, his eyes sagged shut again.

"Do thy best to waken him," Puck advised. "Thou two must be most alert, when we do return."

Cordelia kissed Gregory on the forehead and gave him a little shake, murmuring, "Waken thou, mannikin." Little Brother lifted his head, blinking; then his eyelids closed, and so did hers. Cordelia shook her head and turned to Puck. "He shall be wakeful, when thou dost return."

Puck nodded and said, "Keep safe, then. Fairies do watch thee." He turned to Magnus and Geoffrey, "Let us go. I have been to the Shire-Reeve's tent already, and long did I wait till he ceased his work with parchments, and lay down to steep; yet now he doth slumber, and I've deepened his sleep with a spell."

Magnus nodded. "Aye, let us away."

Puck caught their hands and nodded. All three disappeared. With a boom, air rushed in to fill the space where they'd been.

Two young men stood guard at the door to the Shire-Reeve's tent. One had been a member of the Reeve's trained band of armed men for several years; the other was a raw recruit, a shepherd boy, who kept watching his veteran partner closely, trying to imitate him, holding his pitchfork the same way the constable held his pike.

Something exploded inside the tent. The two men whirled about, staring. They heard the Shire-Reeve cry out, then heard the explosion again. The two men stared at each other in alarm, then crashed together as they both tried to jam through the tent flap at the same time.

They tumbled in, weapons at the ready, staring about them wildly.

"Hold up the tent flap," the veteran barked.

The shepherd turned and yanked the flap high. Moonlight streamed in, enough to show them the Shire-Reeve's cot, empty.

In the forest glade, the two boys appeared with a thunder-crack, a full-grown man held horizontally between them. His feet dropped to the ground, and he thrashed his way upright, shaking off the boys' hands. "Witchcraft! Vile dwarves, who…"

He broke off, staring at the small figure confronting him, only as high as his knee, but with a very stony look on his face. "Thou, who dost nail up Cold Iron over every door, and dost never leave milk for the brownies," Puck grated, "wilt now face the Puck!"

While the Shire-Reeve stood silent for just that one moment, Cordelia, in the shadows, stared at the quarterstaff that lay hidden in the grass. It leaped up and cracked into the Shire-Reeve's head. He fell like a pole-axed steer.

The Shire-Reeve awoke, frowning against a splitting headache. He tried to sit up, but couldn't lift his arms to support himself. In sudden panic, he thrashed about, trying to move his hands and legs, but found they were lashed securely together, with the arms bound tightly to his sides. He looked about him, panting, wild-eyed, and saw four children of varying sizes, gazing down at him. A shadow moved behind them; he recognized it for a huge black warhorse with glowing eyes, and a chill ran down his back. Then something stepped up beside the horse into a patch of moonlight, and he saw a silver head with a long, straight horn spearing out from the forehead —and centering on him. The chill spread into his belly, and turned into dread.

"Look down," suggested a deep voice.

The Shire-Reeve did, and turned completely cold. There, in front of the children, stood a foot-and-a-half-high elf with blood in his eye.

"Be honored," the mannikin grated. "Few mortals ever do see the Puck."

The Shire-Reeve lay stiffly, panting, wide-eyed. Frantically, he strove to compose himself, to collect his thoughts.

"I know thee," Puck said. "Thou art Reginald, son of Turco, who was squire to Sir Bartolem—and thou dost call thyself 'squire' too, though thou hast no right to it, sin that thou hast never borne a knight's armor, nor cared for his horse."

The middle-sized boy started at that, then glared down at the man.

The Shire-Reeve nodded, trying to slow his breathing. He swallowed and said, "Aye." He swallowed again and said, "Then the Wee Folk are real."

As real as thou, but with a deal more sense," Puck said with sarcasm. " We do not make spectacles of ourselves, flaunting our power for all men to admire—or women, in thy case."

Reginald's face darkened. He was glad of the anger he felt; it helped restore him to himself.