Barnabas had brought three heaps of what looked like large black kites. Blade gathered that Barnabas had fetched them from the store in the University. “What are they?” he asked.
“Leathery-winged avians,” Barnabas said cheerfully. “They don’t have to look real. They attack in the dark. Your father not back yet? Then I hope you know how to animate the things. There are three Pilgrim Parties over in the coastal hills needing to be attacked tonight. I’d help if I could, but I haven’t nearly finished the base camp yet.”
He departed in his usual cheerful clap of noise, leaving Kit and Blade staring glumly at the kites.
“Well,” Kit said at length, “we’d better get busy.”
They spent the next three hours trying to animate the kites. Kit once or twice got the things two feet into the air and sort of flapping. Blade could not move them at all. They seemed to need a magic that was quite different from any Blade could do. Don suggested tying them to some of the magic reins and towing them through the air, but when Shona sacrificed more of her robe and Don tried it, the things behaved exactly like kites and simply soared. Nothing would persuade them to look as if they were attacking anything. The soldiers inside the dome of magic pointed and laughed and jeered. Then they chanted again. This time it was “Got no food. Got no food.”
“It’s entirely their own fault for refusing to come out,” Shona said. “They could have been nearly to the food in the next camp by now. Take no notice. What do we do about these avians?”
“Get the wizards guiding the tours to animate them?” Blade suggested. “If three of us each take a pile and explain—”
They decided to do that. Kit stayed behind, sitting by the entrance to the camp with his head bent, glowering at the soldiers. Don and Shona set off straightaway, Don flapping laboriously with a pile of kites clutched in his front talons, Shona with her pile balanced in front of Beauty’s saddle. Blade stayed to milk the Friendly Cows and feed the dogs and set off an hour or so before sunset with his arms wrapped around the third awkward bundle of kites.
He came to what he was sure was the right place in the hills. Finn was in charge of this Pilgrim Party, and Blade translocated to home on Finn. Blade was rather excited, to tell the truth, at the thought that at last he might see some of the Pilgrims all this fuss was about. He set down the bundle of kites, sat on a rock, and waited. And waited. There was a big red sunset. Blade watched it. When the light was almost gone, he began wondering if this was the right place after all. It was pretty well dark when he heard someone coming slithering and scrambling down the hillside above him.
Blade stood up. “Over here!” he called.
“Oh, there you are. I was hunting all over,” said Finn. “Sorry about this. Blasted tourists insisted on getting as far as they could. We’re camped on the crest up there, a good couple of miles away. Got the avians?”
“Yes,” said Blade. He gave Finn the careful explanation that he hoped Don and Shona were giving to the other Wizard Guides around now. Derk had been called north to a dragon. He had sent Blade with the kites and asked Finn to animate them.
“I suppose I could,” Finn agreed, grudgingly. “Hard work after a day walking, but I suppose the things only have to swoop a bit and terrify people. Let’s have a look.”
Blade led him by feel to the pile of kites. It was quite dark by then. Finn conjured up a little ball of clear blue witchlight, making Blade acutely envious. He wished someone had taught him how to do that. Wistfully he watched Finn loose the ball of light to hover over the pile of kites, so that Finn could see to pick one up and turn its leathery shape over, muttering. Finn stopped muttering after a while and held the kite close under the floating light. “This has got some damn queer spell on it,” he said. “I can’t make it do a thing. Didn’t your father give you a word to activate the spell at all?”
“No,” said Blade.
“Or even tell you what sort of spell?” demanded Finn.
“No,” Blade said again, wishing now he had thought of a way to say Barnabas had brought them the kites.
“Well, I can’t work it,” Finn said. He combed his fingers angrily through his long gray beard. “Now what do we do?”
“We’d better skip them,” Blade said. “I’ll take them away again. The Pilgrims don’t know they’re supposed to be attacked tonight by avians, do they?”
“I daren’t skip them!” Finn said. His blue-lit face was horrified. “I don’t know what the Pilgrims know, but I know one of them reports to Mr. Chesney at the end of the tour. I’ve seen her taking notes. I’ll be in real trouble if I skip anything!”
“Oh,” said Blade. “All right. Give me another hour. Wait here.”
“What are they supposed to think I’m doing here?” Finn demanded.
“Meditating,” Blade said, and translocated away from what he saw was going to become a long and useless argument. He went to Derkholm again, in another set of translocations, landing goodness knew where in the dark, until around moonrise he finally arrived home, somewhere near the paddock. Big Hen promptly began cackling. “Shut up,” Blade said to her. “Please.” He felt his way along the fences to Derk’s workshop and, by the growing moonlight, managed to find one of the big wicker hampers Derk sometimes used for taking pigs across country in. A blue ball of witchlight would have been a great help, he thought, as he heaved the hamper down the path beside the cages and the pens. Big Hen cackled again as he went by. And now the geese woke up and shouted Big Hen down. “Be quiet,” Blade said to them. “I’ve come to talk to you. Shut up and listen.”
The geese understood Blade perfectly. They just did not use human speech themselves. The noise from them died down, although there was one final sound from the rear, the sound of a goose sarcastically wondering when anything from a human was worth listening to.
“This,” said Blade. “You know you always want to peck people. How would some of you like to go and fly at some people tonight and really peck bits off them and scare them properly?”
There were thoughtful, wistful croonings from the geese. It was a nice idea. But people never let them do that. Blade didn’t mean it. The noises grew harsher. There had to be a catch.
“Yes, there is a catch,” Blade told them. “The people have swords, and they’ll try to hurt you back. You’ll have to be really quick and cunning to hurt them without getting hurt yourselves. Come on. Who’s clever enough to hurt humans? I want six volunteers.” He opened the gate of the pen. He dumped the hamper on its side just beyond and opened the lid with an inviting creak. “Anyone volunteering just step in this hamper.”
The geese thought about it, with sarcastic little nasal yodels. Blade could dimly see their white heads turning to one another, discussing it. Then one goose stepped forward.
“Blade!” said Callette, at that crucial moment, almost invisible in the dark. The goose stopped dead. “What are you doing? I thought
it was thieves.”