"Didst thou say we are naught but things of play?" taunted a girl not much older than Cordelia. "What more should we wish to be? Thou art but jealous for that thou hast so little of thine own!"
"What I have is mine own!" Cordelia answered hotly. "What! Wouldst thou give thyselves to boys who see thee as naught but toys?"
A long, scandalized gasp raked along the line of dancers. Then the girls' faces hardened, and they stepped forward.
"What a foul mouth thou hast!" a smaller boy snapped at Gregory. "We must stop it for thee!" And he caught up a fistful of dirt.
"Stand away!" Geoffrey leaped in front of his little brother, glaring. "Thou shalt not touch him!"
"Then we shall bury thee!" the hulking youth cried and, with a roar, several of the boys leaped at Geoffrey.
"Thou hast spoke too much now," Lalaina grated, glaring at Cordelia. "Have at thee, wench!"
Magnus leaped up beside his brothers, catching two of the boys by their collars and hurling them at the hulking youth, while Geoffrey dispatched the third with a left jab and a quick right cross.
"Thoul't not touch my brothers whilst I can stand!" snapped Magnus.
"Why, then, we shall hale thee down!" the hulking youth bellowed. "Out upon him, lads!"
With a roar, the boys all leaped at Magnus.
With one unified scream, the girls leaped on Cordelia.
"Repel them!" Magnus shouted, catching his brothers' hands, and Gregory caught Cordelia's. Their faces turned to stone with strain, and the air about them glimmered a split second before the girls and boys fell upon them with the howl of a wolf-pack…
… and slammed into an invisible wall.
They bounced back, crashing to the ground with howls of surprise and fright—but Lalaina screeched, "They are witches!"
"Then we should fly," Magnus grated, tight-lipped. "Away, my sibs!"
And the word ran through the mob like a trace of gunpowder: "Witches! Witches! Witches!"
"Then we shall burn them!" cried the hulking boy, and the crowd answered with a roar.
But the Gallowglasses had already disappeared down the woodland path and around the bend, so the pursuing mob careened into a great black horse, with a bong like a boxful of bolts in a belfry. They recoiled, yammering and clamoring, and ducked under, around, and over as the great horse danced about, maneuvering to make it harder for them—but they all twisted past somehow, and sprang after their quarry, howling in full voice.
"We must go aloft," Magnus panted.
"There is no space!" Cordelia answered, tears in her eyes. "There are too many branches, all too low!"
The pack rounded the bend, saw them, and burst into wild yelling.
Then out of the roadside brush sprang slavering jaws with furious barking, red-rimmed eyes above and sharp claws below, leaping and growling and snapping, and the mob screeched to a halt in sheer shock with howls of panic.
"Throw!" Cordelia cried. Her brothers skidded to a stop, whirled about to look, and every loose stick around leaped up spinning to shoot whirling at the mob. The pack stood for a second, wavering; then the first stick struck, and they turned about with a woeful yell, fleeing in panic.
Magnus and Geoffrey stood tense, unbelieving, but Cordelia and Gregory collapsed with a sigh. "I shall never trust a crowd of folk again," Gregory croaked.
"Nor ever did, I wot," Geoffrey answered. "Mayhap thou hadst the right of it, small brother."
The dog turned and came up to them, wagging its tail. It was a tall, rangy beast with long ears, drooping eyes, and jowls; but the eyes were all friendliness now, and guileless. It sat down in front of Geoffrey, cocked its head to the side, and barked.
In spite of himself, the third Gallowglass began to grin.
"And who art thou, who hast come so timely to help us?" Magnus stepped forward, still wary, but opening his mind to the dog's.
The dog barked again, and both boys read its feelings. "It did like us the moment it saw us," Gregory said, grinning widely now. "What! Wouldst thou be my friend?"
The dog barked and wagged its tail.
"Mama will never allow it," Cordelia warned.
"Wouldst thou sleep in the stables?" Magnus asked.
The dog nodded, panting and still wagging its tail.
"There is another tenant in that room," Gregory reminded.
Right on cue, the great black horse came round the bend toward the children.
Cordelia scrambled to her feet. "Do they rally, Fess?"
"They do not," the horse told her. "In fact, as soon as you were out of sight, they seemed to forget you; and when they had calmed for a minute or two, they began to dance again. They have gone on their way, and one would think they had never seen you."
"Praise Heaven for that!" Cordelia sighed. "Mayhap this nepenthe of music hath its uses!"
"But how did you rout them, children? I trust you did no irreparable harm…"
"We only threw sticks," Magnus assured him, "few of which struck. But the greatest work was done by this stalwart." Gingerly, he placed a hand on the dog's head. "He sprang upon them so suddenly that the surprise itself did rout them."
"Then he is a friend in deed." Fess came closer, and the dog stretched its nose up at him, sniffing. Then it sneezed, and stared up at him indignantly.
"There is no deceiving a large nasal cavity." The horse sighed. "He knows I am no true equine."
"Can I take him home, Fess?" Geoffrey asked.
The robot horse stood immobile for a moment, then said, "You may bring him, Geoffrey—but whether you may keep him is for your parents to say."
The dog's tail beat the ground furiously.
"Papa could not turn away a valiant ally," Geoffrey protested.
"I suspect you may be right—though I refuse to commit myself on the issue. Bid him stay here, and he may join us when we return home."
Geoffrey dropped to one knee, holding the dog by the sides of its head and staring into its eyes. The animal panted up at him eagerly. Concentrating, Geoffrey projected into the dog's mind a picture of him watching the four children and the horse walking away, and the dog shut his mouth, staring. Then Geoffrey made the picture darken into night, then lighten with dawn, fill to midday, and darken to night again; then, on the second dawn, the children and the horse came in sight again. The dream-Geoffrey reached down to pet the dog, and the final picture showed the four children, the horse, and the dog walking away together.
The dog whined, and Geoffrey read in his mind a succession of pictures of him leaping and snapping at five wolves until he drove them away, while the four children cowered behind the horse; of the dog barking furiously at a band of robbers, who turned tail and ran; and of the dog taking on a huge bear single-handed, biting and clawing and howling until finally the bear lay dead, and the children crowded around with petting and cries of admiration.
"Brother," Geoffrey said, "he doth…"
"I have seen; he doth wish to protect us from all the hazards of the forest, for he doth believe himself to be twenty times more powerful than any canine could be." Magnus knelt down beside the beast, shaking his head sadly. "Thou canst not do such great deeds, for thou art nothing but a hound, dog. And we may not take thee with us now, for we know not to what we go, and cannot halt for another member of our party."
The animal's head drooped, and his tail flopped still.
"Nay, 'tis not so bad as that," Geoffrey protested, rubbing the dog's head and scratching behind its ears. "Thou art a most wonderful beast indeed, and I do long to have thee for my companion all the years of my youth!"
The dog lifted its head with a hopeful look.
"Canst thou not bide here in patience?" Geoffrey asked. "Then, when we return, we shall take thee to our home. Wilt thou so serve me?"