The determined group was in agreement that the Tylwyth Teg had to get to the catapults - what else might these creatures of Tir na n'Og think with their beautiful forest being despoiled right before their eyes? Kelsey and two of the other older elfs spoke of gathering as many warriors as they could spare to launch a full-out attack through the Connacht lines.
They were desperate, and, by Gary's estimation, so was their plan. How many elfs would die for the sake of stopping those catapults? And if the cost to the Tylwyth Teg was high, what would stop Kinnemore from simply constructing new ones? Gary told Kelsey and the others just that, and though, to their credit, none of them responded with the "Have you got a better idea?" cliche, resourceful Gary did indeed have a better plan. "Our targets are the catapults," he explained. "And only the catapults. There's no reason to fight Kinnemore's men all the way to them."
"We have no time to flank the long lines," Kelsey interjected. Despite the fact that Kelsey was the sole elf voicing any doubts, he alone among the gathering was listening intently to Gary's ideas. The young man from Real-earth had proved his worth and his ability to improvise several times over the last two adventures. Gary Leger was the one who had devised the plan that allowed them to escape from imprisonment on Ceridwen's isle; Gary Leger was the one who had figured out a way to beat the dreaded dragon.
"No need to go around," Gary calmly and confidently explained.
"You mean to walk right through the enemy?" another elf, a noble-looking, black-haired creature by the name of TinTamarra, asked skeptically. Thinking he had solved Gary's puzzle, TinTamarra turned a suspicious eye, a green eye that seemed to burn with inner fires, on Mickey. "The leprechaun is good with tricks, but he cannot fool so large a concentration of men, not when they are lined in battle trenches, expecting danger." "Mickey's role will be minor," Gary assured the elf. "But those two" - he pointed to two of the men who had sworn fealty to the memory of Cedric Donigarten - "will perform the deception."
Every elf in the clearing wore a sour expression - every elf except for Kelsey, who was beginning to catch on. "Prisoners?" he asked, and Gary nodded, understanding that Kelsey was not referring to the captured Connacht soldiers.
"Caught by the men," Gary answered. "Caught by those two soldiers and by the wearer of Donigarten's armor."
"Kinnemore, or at least Prince Geldion, knows your allegiance to Kelsenellenelvial," TinTamarra put in. Gary was shaking his head before the dark-haired elf even finished. "The Prince knows only that I accompanied Kelsenellenellenell . . . Kelsey on the quest to reforge the spear and in the matter of defeating Robert. If Kinnemore is as close to Ceridwen as everybody says, then he likely knows that it was I who banished her to her island, but also that it was I who released her from her bondage. Even more, by the King's own words, it was said that I came along only to steal the armor and spear and make for Bretaigne, for my own purposes and without the blessings of the Tylwyth Teg. They don't know my true allegiance, and I would bet that they'll be thrilled to learn, and eager to believe, that I have come to join their cause."
It sounded somewhat reasonable, but more than a little dangerous, and most of the elfs were shaking their heads as they whispered among themselves.
"Perhaps it would be best if you remained behind," Kelsey offered at length to Gary. "I, and two or three of my kin will go, along with the two Connacht soldiers. If we get through to the catapults, they'll not fire again against Tir na n'Og."
"I'm thinking it's a bit more believable if ye take the lad," Mickey interjected, drawing the attention of all in the field. "It'll take more than a trick to make Kinnemore's men - who've battled the Tylwyth Teg these last few days and heared tales of elfish warriors all their lives - believe that the two o' them catched any of ye. But if Gary Leger's along, and the men say he helped, it'll look more believable. He's wearing Donigarten's armor, after all, and has been named as the one who beat the dragon."
Kelsey stared hard at Gary, trying to determine which was the better reasoning.
"It's my plan," Gary said with a smile, and Kelsey appreciated that loyalty, appreciated that Gary would be so willing, even eager, to undertake such a dangerous venture for the sake of Tir na n'Og.
"He goes," Kelsey announced, and there were a few grumbles, but no elf spoke openly against the trusted elf- lord.
Just a few minutes later, Gary, Kelsey, Mickey, two other elfs including TinTamarra, and the two soldiers left the field. On Mickey's suggestion that it would add credibility both to the illusion and to Gary's stature, and reasoning that it would allow them to travel more easily, Kelsey called one of the magnificent white-coated Tir na n'Og horses for Gary.
Magnificent indeed did the wear of Donigarten's armor look, sitting tall upon that steed! And, of course, with the mount, Gary could more than keep up with the others.
Another benefit of Mickey's plan, one that the leprechaun didn't bother to mention, was that he too, cuddled in his customary nook at the base of the steed's neck, might enjoy the comfort of a ride.
They left Tir na n'Og in a line, Gary at the head, the four "captured" Tylwyth Teg behind him, and the two armed soldiers behind them. Gary appreciated how great a leap of faith Kelsey, and particularly the other two elfs, were making at this point, to allow armed Connacht soldiers at their backs. Their trust was a wonderful thing, Gary decided, and he was confident that they would not be betrayed.
The group was surrounded immediately when they neared the Connacht line. Mickey's illusion at this point was a simple one, the leprechaun merely masking the fact that Kelsey and the other two elfs carried weapons and were not nearly as wounded as they appeared.
"What is this about?" the field commander of the Connacht forces demanded, bypassing Gary and speaking to one of the traitorous soldiers. More than once he looked suspiciously at Gary Leger; by all previous accounts, the stranger from Bretaigne was no friend to Kinnemore's throne.
"It is about prisoners," Gary answered boldly. He swung his mount about and walked it right before the field commander, demanding an audience.
The man eyed him dangerously. "I was speaking to . . ." he began, but Gary, sitting tall on the shining white stallion, looking magnificent indeed in his unrivaled armor and holding the legendary spear, cut him short. "You will address me!" Gary growled. "It was I who saved your pitiful soldiers, and I who captured the three Tylwyth Teg."
"And left a dozen more lyin' dead in the woods," one of the traitorous soldiers unexpectedly replied. In truth, the man had not spoken at all; the words had been thrown by an invisible Mickey McMickey, still nestled comfortably in the crook between Gary's saddle and his mount's strong neck.
The field commander continued to eye Gary suspiciously, unblinking. "It is rumored that you are allied with Tir na n'Og," he remarked and looked to his bristling soldiers, standing ready a short distance away. "Would you prefer that I was?" Gary asked. "You impertinent insect! How many weeks will you lie here in the mud, while those wretched Tylwyth Teg dance free under the stars? Have you no desire for order?" The man seemed truly perplexed, as Gary had hoped, but if he was convinced then of Gary's friendship, he did not show it.
"Stand your men aside and let us pass," Gary demanded.
The field commander straightened and narrowed his eyes. "Prisoners are to be kept in a barn to the east, not behind the line to the south," he said.
"These prisoners are not to be 'kept' at all!" Gary roared back. Mickey crinkled his brow at that one, though, of course, nobody saw the movement. Kelsey too seemed concerned, for Gary was obviously improvising, trying to wriggle around the soldier's unexpected declaration. Next to Kelsey, TinTamarra closed his hand tightly about the hilt of his masked sword, ready for trouble.
"I have a surprise for the defenders of the forest," Gary went on, and he put so wicked a glare over Kelsey and the other elfs that they, for an instant, honestly wondered if he was betraying them. "Let us see how the elfish morale holds up when the living, screaming missiles crash in!"
The field commander swayed, overwhelmed by the unexpected announcement, and several of his soldiers began whispering and smiling at the devilish plan.
"By whose order?" the obviously shaken field commander asked.
"By my order!" Gary yelled at him. "By order of the dragonslayer, of the knight who defeated Redarm on the field of honor, and who now plans to take that fool's place by Prince Geldion's side.
"Bring them!" Gary instructed the two traitors, and he walked his steed forward, and, to his ultimate relief, the Connacht ranks parted.
"You may tell Prince Geldion that I await his presence at the catapults." Gary boldly called to the field commander. "Tell him to hurry, before I change my mindset and my loyalty!"
Kelsey and the other elfs could hardly believe how easily Gary had played on the man's fears. The other two looked to Kelsey for some explanation, and the elf-lord smiled and nodded, convinced again of this one's resourcefulness. Truly, the bluff had been perfect, as had the lie about launching living elfs from the catapults. "Ye got a set on ye, not to doubt," Mickey praised when the group of seven moved beyond the ranks, not a word of dispute filtering from the soldiers they had left behind.
"A set?" Gary asked, not understanding.
"A set to make a heeland bull cry for envy!" Mickey laughed.
Gary chuckled and did not reply, not even to tell Mickey that, in truth, he had nearly wet his pants. They came in sight of the catapult batteries a short while later, two of the war engines sitting low behind a ridge, each manned by a crew of half a dozen soldiers. Even as the companions watched, mesmerized by the workings, the closest catapult fired, the flaming pitch ball soaring high into the air towards Tir na n'Og. On the second catapult, the men strained at a heavy crank, bending down the great beam.
"Hold!" Gary cried to them, kicking his mount out ahead of the others. "Hold and clear that basket!" Twelve curious expressions turned on the armored man, the man from Bretaigne, they thought.
Gary walked his shining white steed down at a slow and comfortable pace, formulating his lies as he went. He meant to keep up the facade that they would launch the elfish prisoners into Tir na n'Og, to break the morale of the Tylwyth Teg. If the deception worked, Gary and his friends would be within the enemy ranks before the soldiers ever suspected anything amiss. If the deception worked, the fight might be relatively painless, the catapults quickly taken out of action.
Kelsey and the other proud elfs, watching the first pitch ball soar towards their precious forest home, watching the second catapult readied for another strike, had no more patience for deception and intricate plans. Gary was halfway to the enemy then, with more than one of the Connacht soldiers holding a weapon, when a volley of arrows raced in.
Gary's eyes widened in surprise. He heard the charge of Kelsey and the two other elfs (and of the two men, as well) coming behind him, and searched for some way to calm things back down, to put the situation back under control.
It had already gone past that, the young man realized. Two of the Connacht men lay in pools of blood, and the fight was on.
Gary kicked his steed into a run just as Kelsey came up even with him. Lifting his great bow, Kelsey skidded to a stop, and Gary charged on, screaming wildly. His scream changed in timbre as he saw one of the Connacht soldiers raise a loaded crossbow his way. But Kelsey saw the man, too, and the elf's arrow took him down before he could fire the crossbow.
The soldiers scattered before Gary's pounding charge. Another went down, an arrow in his side, and then a fifth, catching an arrow in the back as he scrambled to get over the bulk of the catapult.
Gary's mind raced frantically as he tried to pick out a target, looking from one fleeing group to another. A quick turn of his horse would have put him in line with one nearby man, would have allowed him to easily run the man down.
Gary missed the opportunity, and truly had little heart for killing these pitiful soldiers. He realized his best target a moment later, when he heard again the ominous clicking sound of the catapult bending to ready. "Use all of your magic!" Gary cried aloud.
Throw well, young sprout! came the sentient spear's telepathic reply, the weapon reading Gary's thoughts and in complete agreement with the plan.
Gary lifted the spear in one hand as he came around the front of the closest catapult. He had to shift suddenly, though, when a form leaped out at him from the wooden base of the great war machine. The man crashed against Gary squarely, and Gary tightened his legs about his horse's flanks, just barely managing to hold his seat. One of the reins slipped from his grasp, and Mickey came visible holding tightly to it, hanging from the side of the horse's neck, his curly-toed shoes kicking frantically in the air. Gary let go the reins altogether, forced to hook his arm under the shoulder of his thrashing adversary.
The soldier's arm whipped across, his small axe slamming hard into Gary's chest. Cedric's armor turned the brunt of the blow and Gary heaved the man across his lap, laying him out straight over the saddle. They fumbled and struggled, and Gary freed up his arm just as the stubborn man started to rise, trying to pivot and bring his axe to bear once more.
Gary's metal-plated sleeve slammed hard against the back of the soldier's head, and he fell limp across the saddle. Gary grabbed him by the seat of his breeches and heaved him all the way over, then took up the reins again, and the spear, and turned his attention back to the catapult.
The great bending beam was only a few yards away by then, and Gary had no time to consider the implications of his actions, no time to consider that he would then be weaponless in the midst of armed enemies. He ignored Mickey's continuing cries for help for the moment, and hurled the spear. Its enchanted tip flashed like a lightning stroke as it hit, and then bit deeply into the neck of the bent beam. Energy surged from the powerful weapon, and cracks widened along the side of the beam.
The crew manning the weapon had no way of understanding the extent of the spear's damage, though, and they fired the catapult. The beam broke apart under the sudden jolt, the flaming ball lifting straight into the air, perhaps a dozen feet, then falling right back down, squarely into the framework of the disabled war machine.
Gary grabbed hard at the reins, reached desperately for Mickey, and swung his mount sharply to the side, smiling in grim satisfaction. That smile melted into horror as one man, covered with flames from the splattering pitch, ran screaming out from the other side of the catapult.
As he passed behind the bulky machine, Gary's horrified expression became one of fear. He pulled Mickey in close to him and tugged hard on the reins, and the Tir na n'Og steed responded by rearing onto its back legs at the same instant that the two crossbowmen fired. The evasive movement saved Gary's life, and Mickey's, but the horse, intercepting both bolts, was not so fortunate. The beast came back down to all four hooves, then continued down, headlong, throwing its riders straight to the ground.
Gary's breath blew away as he hit and started to roll, and that momentum was abruptly halted as his horse came all the way over, slamming against his twisted back. A blinding flash of pain exploded along the side of the man's neck and down the side of his back. The horse rolled right off him an instant later, lying dead on its side on the ground before him.
Only Gary's right arm came to his mental call that he had to get up and get out of there. He propped himself out of the muddy grass on his elbow and looked back to his left - to see his shoulder far out of place, far to the back of where it should have been. Waves of pain rolled out of that shoulder, washed over the fallen young man, and left him bathed in thick sweat. He stared incredulously at his twisted limb for many seconds, then looked beyond it, to Mickey, sitting on the grass and straightening his tam-o'-shanter.
A moment later, Gary felt the curious tickle of grass sticking through the slits in his helmet as he lay facedown on the field.
All six of the men on the first catapult, and one of the second crew, were downed by arrows before Kelsey and his kin got near the machine. Those losses, plus the man Gary had beaten and thrown from his saddle and the one who had died covered in fiery pitch, left only three soldiers remaining.
Three soldiers against three Tylwyth Teg.
Kelsey intercepted one, a large man wielding a two-headed axe, right beside Gary, the man apparently of a mind to finish Gary off. He swiped his axe across at Kelsey instead, but the elf nimbly jumped back out of range, the heavy weapon cutting the air an inch from Kelsey's sucked-in belly. Kelsey came forward a quick step, then retreated again as the axe came across in a furious backhand cut.
The action repeated, across and back, again, and then a third time, and with each swing, the growling soldier advanced a step, forcing Kelsey back. The man thought that he had the elf in trouble, thought he could back Kelsey all the way to the other catapult, where he would catch the elf, where he would cut the skinny elf in half.
But his swings were inevitably slowing, his arms fast tiring under the weight of the heavy weapon. Kelsey acted the part of a troubled adversary, feigning fear, even looking back nervously over his shoulder more than once. He had the man's measure, though, and only allowed the facade to continue because each swing slowed a bit more, ensured his victory a bit more.
"They're coming behind us!" one of the traitors who had accompanied Kelsey's band cried from the platform of the still-intact catapult. Kelsey heard chopping begin, the two men going to work on the machine. The axe swiped across in front of the elf again, the growling man stubbornly coming on. But Kelsey had no more time for the game. The man reversed his grip, beginning the backhand, but suddenly the fierce elf was in his face, and the elf's fine sword was through his belly.
Kelsey caught the weakening swing of the axe in his free hand, eased the weapon, and then its wielder, to the ground.
Looking ahead, he saw TinTamarra take down a second soldier, near the burning catapult, and saw the third elf chasing the remaining enemy away.
But suddenly there came from behind Kelsey a ticking sound, almost like the pounding of a hailstorm, and he spun to see a shower of arrows descend over the intact catapult. One of the men got hit a dozen times, stumbled off and staggered a few steps and fell to the ground dead at Kelsey's feet. The other, after taking a grazing hit in one shoulder, used the great beam as a barrier and continued his chopping.
Kelsey looked back the other way, trying to formulate some plan for retreat. Could he get to Gary Leger? he wondered. Was Gary Leger even still alive? And where had Mickey gone off to?
Kelsey's whirling mind was stopped in place as he turned, as he focused on his kin who had run off in pursuit of the last enemy. The elf floundered on the field, squirming and turning. His body jerked as another arrow plowed into him, and then again.
He continued to squirm, continued to take wicked hits.
Kelsey looked beyond him, up to the crest of the rolling hill, where sat a line of Connacht cavalry.
A hand signal from the man in the middle - Kelsey recognized him as Prince Geldion - and the archers lowered their bows. Behind Kelsey, the wounded man stumbled down from the catapult.
"I am sorry," he began, for the catapult still appeared operational.
Kelsey cut the man short with a curt wave of his hand. There was no need for any apologies; both this man and his dead companion had proven themselves worthy, despite the failure.
A second figure, a giant of a man, rode up beside Geldion, and the horsemen began a slow and steady walk down the hillock, the Connacht ring closing tight about the companions.
Thirty yards away. Twenty.
"What tricks have you, leprechaun?" Kelsey whispered to Mickey, the sprite still sitting on the grass near the groaning Gary Leger.
"Even if I made it look like we'd escaped, we'd not get this one far," Mickey replied. "I'm thinkin' that ye're catched."
Kelsey did not miss Mickey's choice of words, did not miss the fact that the leprechaun had said that Kelsey and the others, but not the leprechaun, were apparently soon to be captured. The elf-lord was not surprised as Mickey faded away into nothingness.
A commotion started almost immediately to Kelsey's right, the Connacht horsemen jostling, one even swiping with his sword. The elf understood that Mickey was involved, probably making it appear as though Kelsey's band was trying to get out that way.
Kelsey looked to TinTamarra; was this the time for them to try to make their break?
The tall man seated next to Geldion raised his arm and called for calm.
"Hold tight your ranks!" Geldion called on cue. "This group is known for trickery. Hold tight your ranks, and do not let what you see deceive you!"
The tall man was King Kinnemore, Kelsey now realized, though he hadn't seen the man up so close in many years, and did not remember him as being quite so large, and did not remember his face as being so ... feral was the only word Kelsey could think of to describe Kinnemore's snarling features. Even viewing him on the platform in Dilna-marra, Kelsey hadn't realized quite how imposing a figure Kinnemore truly was. He towered over Geldion as the two made their way down, looked cleanly over his son's head as easily as if it had been a young boy sitting next to him.
Kinnemore closed his eyes as he did this, and then began turning his face deliberately from side to side. Kelsey's eyes widened with curiosity as he realized that the man was sniffing the air like some animal! The King's eyes widened soon after, and a smile broke out on his stern face. "There is a leprechaun about!" he declared.
"Now how might he be knowing that?" the invisible Mickey, now perched on the base of the catapult behind Kelsey, quietly asked.
The Connacht ring tightened even more, the King and Geldion sitting no more than a dozen yards from Kelsey and TinTamarra, the two defensively flanking the fallen Gary Leger. Geldion smiled and whispered to his father when he came to recognize the elf-lord, long an adversary.
"I have lost one of my catapults," King Kinnemore announced a moment later. "In exchange for an elf-lord, another of the Tylwyth Teg, the stolen artifacts, and the pretender from Bretaigne. I'd call it a favorable trade. What say you, Kelsenellenelvial Gil-Ravadry?"
Kelsey held fast to his sword. He thought of grabbing for his bow, of trying to put another arrow into Kinnemore, or perhaps one into that wretched son of his. He had to admit that he wouldn't get near to readying the weapon, though. At least a dozen crossbows were trained upon him, and a dozen on TinTamarra and on the human traitor, as well.
"What say you?" Kinnemore demanded again. "Do you yield?"
Kelsey looked to his elfish kin and nodded, and both of them dropped their bloodstained swords to the grass. The soldiers rolled in about them. "A thousand gold pieces to the man who captures that leprechaun!" King Kinnemore asserted, and every soldier who was not assigned a specific task began a wild search of the area. The surviving raiders were bound by their wrists and ankles, Kelsey, TinTamarra, and Gary Leger together (though Gary was still far from cohesive). On Kinnemore's orders, the traitor was taken in a different direction, to the one working catapult.
"You sang a fine lie to walk through my ranks," the King explained to Kelsey, his face just an inch from the elf's and his smelly breath hot on Kelsey's face. "I do thank you for the idea."
Kelsey wasn't sure what the evil King was talking about, until Kinnemore ordered the catapult readied and the traitor placed in the basket.
A cry from the side stole everyone's attention a moment later, and a soldier ran in, holding a frantically kicking Mickey McMickey. "I got him! I got him!" the man shrieked, moving to stand before his King.
Kinnemore grabbed the kicking leprechaun from the soldier's hands. Again came the curious sniffing. "Smells like a mushroom to me!" Kinnemore roared, and he squeezed with all his considerable strength.
"Oh, begorra," the real Mickey, still invisible and still by the catapult, muttered under his breath. Kings were supposed to be better at seeing through illusions, but this guy was uncanny.
Another soldier came running in, making a similar proclarhation and holding a similarly kicking leprechaun. And then a third man cried out from across the way, and a fourth near the ruined catapult. Before King Kinnemore could sort it all out, a dozen men were standing before him, each holding a likeness of a very animated Mickey.
Prince Geldion couldn't bite back his chuckle - and Kinnemore promptly slapped him across the face, so hard that he tumbled to the ground. He sat there for a long while, staring unblinkingly at his surprising father. "Send him flying to Tir na n'Og!" the embarrassed King roared at his soldiers manning the working catapult. "Show the Tylwyth Teg, and our own ranks, how King Kinnemore deals with those who oppose him!" The poor man in the basket began a pitiful whining.
"Easy, lad," came a whisper from the invisible leprechaun who had secretly crawled in next to him.
Kelsey and TinTamarra, many of the Connacht soldiers, and even Prince Geldion gave a unified groan as the beam creaked into place and then launched with a great whoosh of air. The man's horrified scream diminished quickly as he flew away through the rain.
High over Tir na n'Og, arching down, the man felt a sudden drag, a sudden slowing, and Mickey, holding tight both to him and to an umbrella, came visible at his side.
"Easy, lad," the leprechaun said again. "I got ye."
Below Mickey's magical umbrella, they floated down slowly into the thick canopy of Tir na n'Og. By the time they got to the ground, they were both scratched and bruised in many places.
But far better off, in Mickey's estimation, than Kelsey, TinTamarra, and Gary Leger.