“King,” she said, “we offer our services. We are a humble army, but what we lack in arms we make up for in number. We have five hundred strong here, farmers and ranchers, and all very able with a scythe and pitchfork. If you’ll march with us, I think we should make a formidable force.”
Brendan’s face had softened in the presence of the Mystic. His hand fell away from the pommel of his sword, and he bowed deeply to the old woman. “If you’ll have us,” he said, “we’d be honored.”
“No need to bow, King,” Iphigenia said, blushing. “I understand your people’s creed.” She turned to face the gathered farmers. “People of North Wood, listen close. Today, on this bridge, an alliance has been struck—albeit temporary. Today, we march with the bandits of Wildwood for our common good. We go as allies.” Turning to Sterling the fox: “Now, I would appreciate it, for the sake of our enterprise, if you would shake hands in good faith with the Bandit King.”
The fox grumbled something under his breath before turning to Brendan. “Very well,” he said. “If it’s for the ‘good of our enterprise.’” He held out his paw. Brendan took it readily and shook it. When a few shakes had transpired, the fox jerked his paw away and nodded gravely. “It is done.”
“Okay, bandits,” Brendan said loudly. “We march with the North Wooders.”
Prue saw Iphigenia exhale a deep breath. She reached over and grabbed Prue’s hand, saying, “Our little plan is working. Let’s hope our good fortune holds out.”
Prue smiled. “Let’s do.”
Curtis sidled up next to Prue and reached out his hand. “Hi,” he said earnestly. “I’m Curtis. I’m Prue’s friend. I’m a bandit, too.”
Iphigenia turned to Curtis and began to smile politely when a look of surprise appeared on her face. “Well, that’s quite a coincidence.”
Prue and Curtis exchanged glances. “What’s a coincidence?” asked Curtis.
“Another half-breed,” explained Iphigenia, gripping his hand. “Having only ever seen a few in my lifetime, it’s quite remarkable to meet two in the span of a day.”
Prue was speechless. Curtis looked back and forth between Prue and the Mystic. “What does that mean, half-breed?” he asked.
Iphigenia reached up and patted him on the cheek. “No time for idle chitchat,” she said, turning away into the crowd of farmers. “We have work to do.”
The long wooden suspension bridge creaked noisily as the army crossed over the creek’s ravine, and Alexandra’s horse whinnied, reluctant to set his hoof on the first boards of the bridge.
“Shhh,” quieted the Dowager, patting his thick neck. She urged him forward with a swift kick of her heels against his flank. The baby murmured in her arms. The crossing was slow; the bridge swayed under the weight of the line of bodies it supported. Once on the other side, Alexandra cantered the horse up the hill to monitor the rest of the army’s crossing. The cannon teams were forced to cross on their own, so great was the weight of their munitions. Groups of four soldiers apiece slowly pushed the great metal behemoths across the complaining boards of the suspension bridge.
Alexandra was impatient.
She glanced up at the gloomy sky. The sun was slowly approaching its highest point. Noon was only a few hours away. She eyed the ravine that the creek cut through the hillside.
“Captain!” she hollered. A coyote ran to her side. He wore a peaked miter cap, and his uniform was a deep scarlet. He saluted as he approached.
“Send a sentry team up the north side of the creek,” she commanded. “We should establish a perimeter on the north side of the Grove. I don’t want any surprises. I’ll need all my energies about me to weave the incantation.”
“Yes, Madam Governess,” replied the captain, and he jogged off to organize a troop.
Alexandra watched the last of the artillery team make their way gingerly to the other side of the bridge. When the army was amassed in the road, Alexandra called for their attention.
“Here’s where we leave the Road,” she commanded. “Into the woods. Follow me.”
“Of Woods Magic?” asked Curtis, still perplexed. “I just don’t know what that means!”
The conjoined armies of the bandits and the North Wood farmers marched in single file up the narrow, winding path that was the Hardesty game trail as it snaked along a steep hillside. Curtis walked close behind Prue and her bike, peppering her with questions.
“I’ve told you everything I know, Curtis,” said Prue. “It’s some-thing called Woods Magic. It just means that you, like, are kind of from here. Or something.”
“And you’re ‘of Woods Magic’ how?” he asked.
“I told you: Alexandra made it possible for my parents to have kids,” she said, exasperated. “So that makes me of Woods Magic. I guess.”
Curtis shook his head in disbelief. “I mean, I just don’t know how that would be possible. We didn’t even move here till I was five.”
“Search your brain,” offered Prue. “Do you have any strange relatives? Maybe one of them came from the Wood.”
“I guess my aunt Ruthie was always a little weird,” Curtis surmised. “She lives right on the edge of the Impassable Wilderness—the Wood—and she really keeps to herself. My parents say she’s just a little batty.”