Chapter 11

Alexander suspected that the appearance of the old woman was some sort of trick; how had she gotten out here, anyway? She didn't look as if she could travel six feet, much less limp her way into the middle of the wood! She might be the bait for a trap, or something in disguise, and if he stopped for her, the trap would be sprung. All he could think of was that if he charged her, she'd get out of his way, and whatever magic the Sorcerer had been hexing him with might be broken. Then she'd shouted "You!" and he'd been stupid enough to stop and turn to look back at her. Then he knew, the moment that he saw the old hag pointing a stick at him, that he had been right. Someone had been working magic against him—but it had been her, not some Sorcerer working for King Stancia! But he didn't even have a chance to duck, much less do anything about her, before she shouted out something else. Something about being as arrogant and rude as an ass— And in the next moment, he was engulfed in more pain than he had ever felt in his entire life put together. It felt as if his bones were melting and his insides turning to water; he tried to cry out, but his very voice changed, and he felt himself falling off his horse and hitting the ground on all fours, and—

Well, he really didn't know what it felt like then, for there were no words to describe how it seemed as if he was made of warm wax, and a pair of giant hands was remolding him.

Remolding even his head. His eyes felt as if they were going to pop out of their sockets, his mouth like something had hold of his teeth and lips and was stretching his face, and his ears—well, they burned and hurt past all reason. Then as if that wasn't enough, he began to itch.

Finally, as quickly as it had come upon him, the pain left him. But it left him dazed and very confused, because now, although he could see exceedingly well to either side, and somehow actually see behind his head, he couldn't see much of anything that was straight ahead of him.

And when he tried to stand up—he couldn't.

And when he looked down at his feet, he saw four hooves.

Four hooves?

The old hag! What she'd said! "You are as stubborn as an ass! So BE one!"

He blinked. He stared. The sight did not change. Four hooves—and if he craned his head around, he saw a round, barrel-shaped body covered with grey hair, and a tufted tail.

If his legs hadn't been locked at the knees, he'd have fallen to the ground. If his throat hadn't been choked with despair, he'd have howled.

She'd done more than confuse his path. She'd turned him into an animal.

He scarcely noticed that the old hag had come up to him, until it was too late, and she had some sort of fiendish torture device made of his own rope around his neck and nose. Too late, he tried to fight her, and finally, when after the third time she choked off his breathing until he began to black out, he gave up.

He allowed her to drag him into the shelter of some bushes, and watched with even greater despair as she hobbled him so he couldn't move. Then she went back to the crossroads.

So this is what happened to Octavian? he thought, dully. He could not imagine why; what enemy had managed to set a Witch on his family? Had the business with Stancia and the Glass Mountain all been a ruse to lure them into this cursed forest and her clutches? I wonder what she turned Octavian into....

Oh, bloody hell! What if she'd turned him into a bug, or a frog! What if he'd trampled his own brother? He tried to fight the hobbles, and all he did was nearly fall over; his horses stared at him down their long noses with astonishment, as if they couldn't imagine what he was doing or why he was there. He tried to fight the ropes around his neck, but the Witch had tied them cunningly; if he fought them, they choked him and only when he hung his head in resignation did they relax and let him breathe.

I have to warn Julian— That was his thought, but it came too late, for Julian rode into the clearing on his handsome black palfrey just as he realized the danger, and Alexander couldn't get the breath even to bray a warning.

"Kind sir?" whined the old hag, both hands outstretched. "They've turned me out as too old to work, kind sir, and—"

And Julian, soft, foolish Julian, was out of his saddle in a moment, helping the old witch to her rock, fussing over her as if she was his own grandmother. He ran to get water for her, then rummaged through his saddlebags.

She's going to kill him! Or worse than kill him! He tried and tried, but he couldn't get free, his balance wasn't right and he kept falling to his knees—he kept blacking out from lack of air!

"Here, old mother," Julian said, gently putting half a loaf of bread in her hands and closing her hands around it. "It's all I have—I wish I had more, but if you'll bide just a bit, I'll see what I can hunt for you—"

"Ah, nay, good sir—you're too kind, too kind—" the old woman said, sounding absolutely delighted, and of course, she would, she'd just gotten all of Julian's provisions off him, and he was a terrible hunter—

Oh, Julian, Julian! he thought in despair, waiting for that stick to come out, for Julian to be turned into something horrid. It was a plot, that was what it was. It was all a plot by Stancia or that Sorcerer or both, to strip Kohlstania of its heirs and send their father into despair. There probably wasn't a Quest—there never had been a Quest—

"Now, then, old mother, just you wait," Julian was saying, with that good-natured grin on his face that drove his father mad. "You'll have a good meal, and I'll put you up on Morgana here, and we'll all go on into Fleurberg together."

Now he froze, eyes bulging with fear, but unable to understand what was going on. She hadn't done anything to him. Why hadn't she turned him into something? Nothing was happening as he'd thought! He stared at them through the underbrush, feeling his upside-down world flipping for a second time.

The old hag was hiding her face in her hands, and for a moment, Alexander hoped again.

Was her conscience overcoming her? Was she going to let Julian go?

But then something—odd—happened. She seemed to shimmer all over, as if she was caught in a heat-haze, and then—

Then she changed.

Her clothing was what he saw first; it— un-aged. Somehow, all in a moment, it got newer.

The fading, the frayed bits, they all went away, and as her clothing changed, she began to stand straighter, that old-lady hump on her back vanished, her hair went from straggling and grey to golden and curling and her face—

Well, she certainly wasn't an old hag anymore!

Julian stared, too, gape-mouthed, as the handsome young woman lifted her head and looked him over boldly with a twinkle in her eye. "You are certainly an improvement over your brothers," she said.

She lifted the stick and made a tiny gesture, and the peasant's clothing she was wearing transformed again, this time into something pink and satiny and shining, a gown his own mother would not have been ashamed to wear, and there were diamonds at her throat and wrists and ears, and the stick in her hand was now a long, slender, ivory-white wand.

Alexander stared and stared, blinking in disbelief. So, too, did Julian.

What's going on here?

There was something about the way the woman looked—it tickled the back of his mind, something he remembered from a long time ago. From a distant part of his memory, he heard a voice he'd thought he'd forgotten, a woman's voice, speaking softly. "Once upon a time, there was a lovely princess who was guarded by her Fairy Godmother...."

Julian, poor fool, stood there with his mouth dropping open. Not that Alexander was in much better case.

She's got to be an Elven Queen. But why ambush us? Why go through all of this to intercept us?

Finally— "Are you—one of the—" Julian stumbled over the words, not surprisingly, as they didn't come readily to one from Kohlstania "—one of the Fair Folk?"

She laughed; there she did not resemble a fine lady of a lofty court at all. It was a hearty laugh, and rang around the clearing; it didn't tinkle like a tiny silver bell, nor did she hide her mouth behind her hand when she laughed.

"No, Julian, but I am a Fairy Godmother. And your kindness and courtesy to an old woman shall have its reward. I am here to help you on your Quest."

She's here to help us? Alexander could hardly believe his ears. Fine help she's been to me!

And what did she do with Octavian?

But then, from somewhere deep inside, perhaps the same place as that memory, came another set of thoughts. When you thought she was nothing but an old peasant woman, you would have dismissed her as something less than the dirt in your path. And you tried to run her down the moment you thought she might be a threat, without waiting to see what she would do or answering her cry for aid. You seem to have forgotten all those knightly vows you took, and you haven't exactly proved yourself worthy of help. Have you ?

He felt his ears flattening against his head, and he gritted his teeth. I am a Prince of the blood! Why should I care about some stupid old base born woman? Julian bleats about the peasantry all the time, and this is where his concern leads him! Let her family take care of her, or let her go to the poorhouse where decent people won't be bothered by such as her!

Isn't that why we built the things?

The voice in the back of his head—snickered. Nastily. Ah. I see. So long as you don't have to look at "such as her," you needn't concern yourself Is that it?

Of course it was—but somehow, that felt like exactly the wrong answer. And he didn't know why.

The woman who was calling herself a Fairy Godmother made a tiny gesture with the wand.

As Alexander watched her with his ears still flattened against his skull, beside him in the bushes something moved, snakelike.

His attention was distracted, away from the woman, to the horses. And as he stared, the reins of both horses came un-knotted from where they'd been tied.

They moved as if they were alive, or as if there was someone actually undoing the knots.

But that wasn't the least of it, oh no. Before his very eyes, they changed color. The bay became a grey, and the packhorse a dapple; the armor packed onto the latter simply vanished altogether, and the shield with it.

She gestured again, and the two horses tossed their heads to free the reins and ambled out into the clearing as if she had called them.

And then, as calmly as if the horses and their burdens were her property to give away, she handed the reins over to Julian. "Here is all you will need for the physical tests you will face," she said, as Alexander nearly choked, his fear for his brother turning to outrage at her high-handed behavior. "But it will take more than strength to win the Princess, it will take cunning."

Julian bent his head to her, as humbly as if she was some sort of Queen, instead of a thief and a trickster. "Tell me," he begged. "What must I do?"

The next half hour was the worst period in all of Alexander's life, as he watched and listened, unable to move, speak, or interfere in any way, while that infernal woman coached his younger brother through everything he needed to win through the trials and get King Stancia's daughter and throne. Not that some of it made any real sense—some babble about freeing trapped foxes, rescuing baby hawks, feeding ants—

But that didn't matter. She was cheating, helping Julian, and why? Because he'd stopped to help a worthless old woman! Where was the sense in that?

She'd stolen his gear too, and given it to an idiot who didn't have the sense not to leave without the proper equipment! The more he watched and listened, the angrier he got, until he was nearly faint with rage and trembling in every limb.

Of all the Questers that Elena had ever tested, this one was probably the best. He was even better-looking in person, with the animation of a good intellect in his eyes, and a ready smile on his lips. Like his brother, Alexander, he was clean-shaven and long-haired, but somehow (and perhaps it was the faint air of untidiness about him, the lack of perfection in his dress) she got the impression that Julian was not given to much thought about how he looked. To tell the truth, his horse was better groomed than he was; his brown doublet was just a bit faded, and someone else probably would have given it to a servant by now. His linen was clean, but it was clear that he hadn't changed his shirt before he left. And his breeches, of soft doeskin, were made for use, not for looks.

Everything he said was intelligent and to the point. Prince Julian was a fine, considerate young man—but more than that, he was much cleverer than his brothers and father gave him credit for.

That was borne out in his conversation.

"Have you done something with Octavian and Alexander?" he asked, quietly, when he accepted the reins of the two horses that Prince Alexander had brought with him. By the tone of his voice, it wasn't exactly a question; he knew, he just wanted it confirmed. "I can't imagine them getting past you, you see—"

He didn't quite accuse her, but he clearly remembered the sorts of things that Godmothers did. Which was more than his brothers had.

She raised an eyebrow. "I'll tell you that they're as safe as I could make them," she said, finally, "but that they won't be competing with you for Stancia's daughter, and neither of them will be seeing Kohlstania for a while."

"Ah," he replied, and grimaced, and for a moment, those fine, dark eyes were shadowed.

"Alexander has always been kind to me. And I don't wish any harm even on Octavian."

Hmm. "Even" on Octavian? Some bullying there, I suspect. Well, if that's the sort of fellow Octavian is, he won't be seeing home next month.

"I'll keep my eye on Alexander then," she promised, repressing a little smile. Oh, she would be doing that, all right.

She took note of the angle of the sunlight across the clearing; in fact, the clearing was entirely in shadow at the moment and it wouldn't be long until sunset. She needed to get him on his way, and soon. He probably wouldn't make it out of Phaelin's Wood tonight, but at least now he'd have the gear for a night in the forest. "Never mind them, Julian. It's you who will be needing help, all right? Now, before you ever get to the Glass Mountain, you'll probably encounter several tests like mine. Perhaps there will be a trapped fox that you will need to free—perhaps you will have to rescue a young hawk or eagle and return it to its nest—perhaps you will have to save an ant colony from flooding. I can't tell you what it will be, but I can give you this."

She handed him a tiny, red glass vial that contained, in part, some of the dragon's blood that she herself had once drunk. This, however, was not the straight, undiluted stuff. This was a potion, created by her, which would last no longer than it took to finish the trials.

Being able to converse with animals could cause a great deal of trouble. It was not a gift given lightly, and few deserved or needed to be burdened with it for very long.

"When you are a mile or two down the road, stop and drink this," she told him. "When it takes effect, you'll be able to speak with the animals for several days. At some point, you'll get the chance to save the lives of one or more wild creatures, and by doing so, you'll earn the right to their help later in the tasks. Now, when you get to the Glass Mountain, the first task you'll encounter will be to find a way to get past a lion without fighting him."

She did not actually give him the answers; that would be for him to work out for himself. That was why it was a trial. And every other Quester who got past the initial test of kindness and courtesy would be getting the same sort of advice, so it wasn't as if they weren't all on the same footing. There was no guarantee that Julian would be the one to win the Princess, though she had a good feeling about him.

No, this was just a way of making sure that the best Questers were not only the ones that actually made it to the testing, but were properly equipped when they arrived. And she had to admit that it tickled her to use the arrogant Alexander's equipment to outfit the quiet and considerate Julian.

After about a half an hour of coaching, he was as ready as he was ever going to be.

"Time to go," she said, and he mounted onto the warhorse. He looked back uncertainly at his palfrey; there was no way that he was going to be able to manage three horses, and he knew it.

"I'll take care of Morgana," she promised, then hesitated, and decided to add one more little bit of advice. It wasn't exactly the sort of thing that went with The Tradition—but it was still good advice. "Prince Julian, in the future, you do not need to be quite so generous."

He blinked at her. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well! When someone begs you for food, for instance, as I did—it is quite generous of you to say, 'I have food and I'll share it with you,' and quite unnecessary to do what you did and give it all to me. The former is noble-minded and generous; the latter is daft." She gave him a long and level look. "Not everyone you meet is going to be a Fairy Godmother."

"Oh," he said, and "Ah," and colored up. "I—do things without thinking, sometimes."

"Well, if you want to win King Stancia's daughter, you'd better practice thinking first and acting second. Now, good luck and godspeed," she told him, and she sent him off down the path, into whatever The Tradition had in store for him. He rode off into the shadows under the trees as the air in the clearing cooled noticeably, and the sky in the west turned to red and gold.

At least, if he failed this Quest, the worst that would happen to him was to be sent home. Too many of these things ended up with Questers dead.

She had difficulty with her conscience over those, never mind that the reward in the end was a good one, the point was that there was only one reward and that failure was fatal. She always warned the ones she sent on, too, and some of them even turned back. Not enough, though.

Did Bella ever have trouble sleeping at night after testing Questers? Does anyone else? she wondered. It wasn't the sort of thing you brought up at the little Godmother gatherings that happened at christenings and weddings.

She let the illusion of her court gown fall once the lad was gone; no point in looking overdressed out here, and she didn't feel the need to impress Alexander. Well, with Julian safely out of the way, there were only two things to be dealt with. Julian's palfrey, which he had left in her hands—and Julian's brother.

The horse first; she was easiest.

For a moment, Elena toyed with the idea of keeping her. She was a beautiful creature, with a fine, arched neck, flowing mane and tail, and a broad forehead. But while Elena did not own a horse at the moment and presumably Alexander would learn his lessons and be gone so that they would not even have him to do the chores, this was not the sort of beast that was of any real use to her. She needed a carthorse, not a palfrey.

She sighed with regret though; she couldn't ride, but she couldn't help thinking about how nice it would be to be able to. She toyed, just a moment, with the image of herself in an elegant riding habit, the sort she had seen the Sorceress Lilliana wearing, riding along the green-shadowed paths of the forest. Ah, she could see it, the palfrey's mane and tail shivering and rippling with every step, she could feel it, a freedom like flying through the air when the Little Humpback Horse pulled the cart—

Silly. When would I have the time to learn to ride properly? Besides, there's a Traditional use for Julian's horse, and I need to cement the path to it. Nothing like doing the job right, and getting the whole family in one go. She turned her attention towards the pretty black mare and put herself in the right frame of mind to talk to it.

"I want you to go home," she told the palfrey, which flicked its ears forward to listen to her, two liquid-brown eyes gazing into hers.

"Why?" the mare asked.

"Because home is where the food is," Elena replied, knowing what every horse is most concerned with, at bottom.

The palfrey licked her lips. "The oats," she said, longingly. "My stall. My manger."

"That's right. You need to go home," Elena seconded. Then she used just a touch of magic to reinforce her command. "Go straight home, as fast as you can, and do not allow anyone to touch you until you are in your stall."

The mare tossed her head as the magic geas settled over her; Elena made her stay while she cut the reins away from her halter so that she wouldn't get hung up on them anywhere—and so that anyone who tried to catch her would not have anything to hold onto. Then she stood back, and the mare was off like an arrow, cantering back down the path she had just come on.

She would arrive back at the castle with cut reins, without Julian, and in a lather. All of these things combined should manage to raise a great cloud of alarm and guilt in even the King of Kohlstania, who would discover that there was no more word of them after they had entered the Wood. With good luck and The Tradition on her side, King Henrick would learn that there are things more important than one's ambition—things like one's children. When Octavian returned, he would be welcomed back with tears of relief and the warmth that he probably had not felt since he was a child. And that would reinforce the lessons of humility he had learned. "Behold, my son who was lost to me is returned!" she thought, and smiled. It would even be good for King Henrick—who would spend his last days as a beloved King as well as a strong one.

But that was for the future, and now that she had put it all in motion, it was out of her hands.

So much for the horse. Now for the ass.

Overhead, the sky was growing dark, and in the far east there the first few stars were coming out, pale diamond-dust against the velvet blue. Not only was it time to get home, but she and the ass both needed to be out of these woods quickly. She would be safe enough, but it was going to get cold, and she didn't want to try to negotiate the path in the dark. As for Alexander—asses didn't see well in the dark. Even if she could get him moving, which was debatable, he'd be stumbling over every little stone and root. She sauntered back to where she had left Alexander tied up, and was not particularly surprised to find she was being glared at out of a pair of eyes nearly red with rage.

His ears were back, his teeth were bared, and his neck was stretched out towards her. Now, unlike a real ass, Alexander probably wouldn't bite her; it simply wouldn't occur to him to do so.

But he was angry enough that he might, and besides, he was certainly likely to try to step on her or kick her. "A good thing that I hobbled you, I think," she said, regarding him thoughtfully.

"However, this does present a problem; how to get you home with me."

"Let me go!" brayed the ass, angrily. "Witch! Slut! Traitor! Let me go!"

"Oh, no," she said, amused in spite of herself. "First of all, you brought this on yourself, so don't blame me, blame your own behavior. For your information, I'm not a Witch, I'm a Godmother, and I am charged with seeing to it that virtue is rewarded and—now how shall I put this?—" She regarded him with a raised eyebrow. "Hmm—nasty little boys who behave like cruel, rude brats get their comeuppance."

The ass nearly burst with anger at being called a "nasty little boy."

"Now, just to complete your edification on this business of Stancia's daughter," she continued, really beginning to enjoy herself, "your brother Octavian is currently wandering in the woods, very nearly as ill-provisioned as your brother Julian was. He will continue to do so until he learns to treat all people with the same politeness that he would give to his equals, and to give them the consideration he would expect for himself." She tilted her head to the side and matched him glare for glare. She also tried not to laugh; the donkey looked absolutely ridiculous, trying to twist his face into an expression of affronted outrage. "Does that sound familiar? It should. I suspect he will be quite ragged—and very well acquainted with the kind of hunger, cold, and misery the poorest of the poor live with—by the time he mends his manners. And I suppose that you're wondering why I let him go his way still human? He only ignored the poor, starving old woman.

You attempted to run her down."

The ass's eyes flashed warningly. She feigned surprise. "What, you don't think there was anything particularly wrong with your behavior? I suppose you're under the impression that your birth gives you the right to trample whoever you please under your horse's hooves."

He looked for one moment as if he was about to say something; she didn't care to hear it.

"Well, your punishment is in my hands, my lad, and as it happens, I'm going to see to it that while you are not as well-acquainted with hunger and misery as your brother, you will learn all about the hard labor that turns your peasants old before their time. I told you; I need a donkey, and you will do. The main problem now is, how to get you home, since I doubt that you're going to cooperate of your own free will."

She crossed her arms over her chest, and tapped her cheek with the tip of her wand while she thought out loud. "I could put a spell of coercion on you, but you might hurt yourself trying to fight it." That was a distinct possibility, for as angry as he was, although she doubted he could break it, he might well wrench muscles or even break a bone trying to keep from obeying it.

Such things had happened in the past, because the sort of coercion spell that good magicians used only worked on the subject's body, and imperfectly at that. Now, the coercions used by practitioners of the Dark Arts were more insidious. They worked inside the subject's head. And sometimes, even when the spell had been lifted, the subject was never quite right again.

"I could blindfold you and ask the path to take us home," she continued. But if she did that the odds were good that he would fall off. He'd try to escape or try to hurt her, and he'd fall off, possibly hurting himself, certainly ending the magic right there. Then it would be all to do all over again, and most of it in the dark. Probably a bad choice.

Considering her options, she decided on a third. "On the whole, I believe I will see what magic and The Tradition have around us that might suit best."

In the time since Bella had turned over the position to her, Elena had learned something very interesting about The Tradition—which was that when it had no set path that it was trying to follow, it could be very helpful indeed. Apparently The Tradition always had to do something whenever magic was used, and if she merely used a very little magic to get its attention, she often got a very large benefit in return. Now this was more to Elena's liking, again, conserving magical power.

If she was not specific in how she wanted something done, it also tended to happen much more efficiently and faster than if she had been. The Tradition would bring whatever help she requested that was nearest and best suited to the task, and in the process of doing so, laid down a trace to follow at some other time, in some other place. She was, in effect, using The Tradition itself to build new paths. The more paths The Tradition had to choose from, the easier it would be to keep it to one she and other good magicians preferred.

So she released another thread of power, and sent it seeking, saying only, "I need some help in getting the pair of us to my home quickly, please," to the twilight air.

She saw the little wisp of glowing light waver uncertainly, like a thin stream of smoke from a pipe, for a moment. Then, suddenly, it compacted itself into a tight ball, and shot off into the east at tremendous speed.

So! That suggested that there would be an answer to her request very soon—

There was; so soon that she barely had time to finish that thought before she heard something large, very large, crashing and crunching its way through the forest towards them. It wasn't just twigs that were snapping out there, it was large branches.

And she had no idea what could be that big.

But she didn't go anywhere beyond the walls of her cottage without at least one talisman that would react to the presence of anything evil—really wicked, not merely "bad" as Octavian and Alexander had been—and whatever was coming was not making her talismans the least uneasy.

So she waited with anticipation, but no trepidation, to see what her magic had called to her side.

Now, Phaelin's Wood was a very old forest, and the trees were enormous, much taller than the tallest building that Elena had ever seen, and since becoming an Apprentice she had seen quite a bit. So she wasn't at all surprised that she couldn't actually see what was coming. What did surprise her was that when it stepped into the clearing, it—he—certainly stood as tall as, say, the average Town Hall.

He was a giant, the first one that Elena had ever set eyes on.

I didn't know there were any giants in this Kingdom!

A very civilized giant he was, and clearly visible in the twilight, nicely clothed in a patchwork leather jerkin which had probably taken the hides of six or eight cattle to make, a canvas shirt which had probably been sewn from ships' sails, a good pair of woolen breeches likely made from blankets, and in place of boots— which obviously would have been very difficult to have made for one so large—heavy felt shoes with wooden soles. He was bearded, but his beard was neatly trimmed, and though his hair was a little wild, it did look as if he made an effort to keep it tended.

He looked around the clearing for a moment, and she helped him out by stepping out where he could see her. His gaze fell on her, and his face lit up with a smile.

"Ah, our Godmother! I wondered why I'd felt a summoning!" he said in a voice like a flood of warm, dark velvet. She smiled with delight in return; you couldn't not like someone who sounded like that. "How can I serve you, Godmother?"

"An exchange of services is in order, I think," she replied. "I've changed a fool into an ass, and I don't think he's going to cooperate in coming home with me, so I need a bit of help in bringing him along."

The giant laced his fingers together and pushed his hands outwards, cracking the joints, with a laugh. "Well, I'm your man for that! And if it's an exchange you're offering—well, I could use a new ram."

For some reason completely unfathomable to Elena—or any of the chroniclers of The Tradition that she had ever read— sheepherding was a Traditional occupation for giants, along with woodcutting. And as it happened, although this was not normally the case, Elena had a ram penned up in the old donkey paddock, given her by one of the women she'd made haying charms for. It was completely useless to her, and she'd been searching for something she could barter it for.

This was not unlikely coincidence; this was how, given free rein and the nudge of a little magical power, The Tradition worked for a Godmother who knew how to manipulate it. She needed a way to get Alexander home, he needed a ram, she had a ram, and a touch of magic and The Tradition put them together. It could have been a farmer passing through with an animal cart; it could have been one of the Fair Folk who could whisk them home in a breath. Anything would serve so long as she had something that the other wanted. This time, it was a giant who was nearest and fit the bill.

"Done!" she said, and to the giant's delight, spit in her hand to seal the bargain in the country way.

"They told me the Godmother who'd Apprenticed for our Bella was a right lass," he said, with that broad grin spreading across his face again. "And so you are, Godmother Elena. I'm Titch.

Howler Titchfen, in full, but mostly they call me Titch."

"And I'm pleased to meet you, Titch," she replied, almost giggling at the notion that anyone with so mellow a voice as this giant's would be called "Howler." "How do you propose to help me?"

"Let's see your wee donkey," he replied, and she led him in the gathering gloom to where Alexander was tied up.

The ass was petrified with fear. All four legs were rigid, and his eyes practically bulged out of his head. His ears were flat down against his back, and he shook so hard it was almost comical.

Evidently Alexander had never seen a giant before, either.

"I don't think this one's likely to give me much trouble, Godmother," Titch said, with a chuckle like thunder in the distance. "I reckon the easiest is to carry the two of you—him 'neath my arm, and you on my shoulder."

And so it was; Titch knelt down and offered her his hand to step up onto; from there she got into a comfortable sitting position on his shoulder and took a good hold of his hair. He seized the trembling ass with both hands and tucked Alexander under his arm, and away they went, back down the path to her cottage. Each one of Titch's strides covered a good thirty feet, so Elena reckoned that was probably how tall he was, since a man can usually stride the length of his own height when he's in a hurry. It was a very good thing that she no longer had any difficulties with heights, though.

The giant's hair was like strands of yarn, so it was easy to hold onto, and his broad shoulder made a surprisingly comfortable seat. He kept up a lively conversation with her as they walked, modulating his voice so as not to deafen her. She suspected that he must spend a reasonable amount of time around humans to be that sensitive about their needs, and a moment later, he confirmed that.

"And the wife says to me, Titch,' she says, 'Your old mam's getting creaky in her bones, and I'm not so young anymore. Can you find me a couple of human lasses and lads to help with the cleaning? They can get where I can't.' And Godmother Bella, she set us up with some lively folk that don't mind living off in the beyond. Said they was tenant farmers turned out by the lord for havin' sauce. 'Sauce away,' says I, 'I like a man who'll tell me what he thinks to me face!' and we get on as right as rain."

She hoped that Alexander was listening to this. It was the sort of thing he needed to hear. For here was a giant, a monster, giving help to humans who'd been dismissed, not because they hadn't done their work and done it well, but for speaking their minds. And furthermore, this same giant approved of men speaking their minds.

Then again, at this point, he had probably passed out from fear.

Before they were home, Elena learned all about Titch, his half-deaf old mother, his wife of thirty years, the four humans who helped them tend house and the herds and the sheep themselves.

Now, sheep don't live in forests, they live in grasslands, and Elena finally asked Titch what had brought him down into Phaelin's Wood.

"Oh," he replied, "That's no secret. Got a bargain with the Elves; when there's a storm I clear deadfall and leave it in four special places. Humans around about know where I leave it, and they go there for their firewood and stay out of the deep woods. So no trees get cut, and there's no one trampin' around where they shouldn't be. And I get deer when I get tired of mutton.

When I felt that tuggin', I thought 'twas maybe one of the Elves that wanted something."

By this time, the lights of the cottage were gleaming warmly through the trees, and Elena felt her stomach whisper a complaint that it had been too long since breakfast. And that made her offer—though not without trepidation, since she wasn't sure they had enough food to feed a giant—"Look, we're here! Would you care to stay for supper?"

Titch laughed. "Ah, no, thankee, Godmother. I'll be taking my ram and be on my way. The wee wife'll be in a taking if I spoil her meal by coming home late!"

And it appeared that Titch was no stranger to the cottage, for once he'd set Elena down at her door and the House-Elves came out to see who was there, there was a round of friendly greetings and banter before Alexander was put down in the stable with strong charms about him to keep him from running away. Then Titch collected his ram, tucked it under his arm, and was off, striding away under the stars.

"So," Lily said, hands on hips, looking at the ass, who was still shaking. The lantern in the stable shone down on him, and she had to admit that he made a very good ass; strong, well-muscled. "What's the tale behind this one?"

Elena told her, and Lily raised her eyebrows. "Well," she said judiciously, "I hope you know what you're getting into."

I don't, actually, she thought, but she wasn't going to admit that. "It's within The Tradition,"

she pointed out. "Oh, I know, it's a little grey to haul him home with me and make him work for a while, but I could hardly have left him out in the forest. He'd probably have gotten eaten by something. And it's not as if I've put some impossible conditions for him to meet on his state."

"Hmm," Lily replied, as they walked back towards the house. "That wasn't what I was thinking. I'm more thinking what's going to happen when you give him his days as a man. You'll have to do that, you know."

She nodded; she'd given thought to that herself. Only the most powerful of Sorcerers and Sorceresses—good or evil— could do a transformation on someone without the risk that the person transformed would lose himself in the creature. For anyone else, there was the need to allow the person time as himself, in human form, on a regular basis. "I'll have him hedged around, believe me," she replied as they stepped into the warm, fragrant kitchen. "He won't be able to even think about violence, or about running off—"

"That wasn't what I meant—ah, never mind," Lily replied, somewhat to Elena's puzzlement.

"We'll see what happens the first time he gets his day as a man."

"And in the meanwhile, we have an ass again," Robin said with great satisfaction. "Poor Dobbin was so old I was afraid to work him as much as we needed. I have plans for a great gathering of firewood tomorrow."

And Elena hid her smile behind a spoonful of soup. Tonight, the Prince of the Blood would be eating dry hay and drinking water. His only companions would be three cows. And in the morning, he would find himself roused at dawn and working harder than he ever had in his life until sunset.

She could hardly wait.