Their hair massed around their heads like a halo, thick with grease. And although their faces were indeed the most beautiful Diamanda had ever seen, it was beginning to creep over her that there was something subtly wrong, some quirk of expression that did not quite fit.
“The only reason we’re still alive now is that we’re more fun alive than dead,” said Granny’s voice behind her.
“You know you shouldn’t listen to the crabbed old woman,” said the Queen. “What can she offer?”
“More than snow in summertime,” said Granny. “Look at their eyes. Look at their eyes.”
The Queen dismounted.
“Take my hand, child,” she said.
Diamanda stuck out a hand gingerly. There was something about the eyes. It wasn’t the shape or the colour. There was no evil glint. But there was . . .
. . . a look. It was such a look that a microbe might encounter if it could see up from the bottom end of the microscope. It said: You are nothing. It said: You are flawed, you have no value. It said: You are animal. It said: Perhaps you may be a pet, or perhaps you may be a quarry. It said:
And the choice is not yours.
She tried to pull her hand away.
“Get out of her mind, old crone.”
Granny’s face was running with sweat.
“I ain’t in her mind, elf. I’m keeping you out.”
The Queen smiled. It was the most beautiful smile Diamanda had ever seen.
“And you have some power, too. Amazing. I never thought you’d amount to anything, Esmerelda Weatherwax. But it’s no good here. Kill them both. But not at the same time. Let the other one watch.”
She climbed on to her horse again, turned it around, and galloped off.
Two of the elves dismounted, drawing thin bronze daggers from their belts.
“Well, that’s about it, then,” said Granny Weatherwax, as the warriors approached. She dropped her voice.
“When the time comes,” she said, “run.”
“What time?”
“You’ll know.”
Granny fell to her knees as the elves approached.
“Oh, deary me, oh spare my life, I am but a poor old woman and skinny also,” she said. “Oh spare my life, young sir. Oh lawks.”
She curled up, sobbing. Diamanda looked at her in astonishment, not least at how anyone could expect to get away with something like that.
Elves had been away from humans for a long time. The first elf reached her, hauled her up by her shoulder, and got a doubled-handed, bony-knuckled punch in an area that Nanny Ogg would be surprised that Esme Weatherwax even knew about.
Diamanda was already running. Granny’s elbow caught the other elf in the chest as she set off after her.
Behind her, she heard the merry laughter of the elves.
Diamanda had been surprised at Granny’s old lady act. She was far more surprised when Granny drew level. But Granny had more to run away from.
“They’ve got horses!”
Granny nodded. And it’s true that horses go faster than people, but it’s not instantly obvious to everyone that this is only true over moderate distances. Over short distances a determined human can outrun a horse, because they’ve only got half as many legs to sort out.
Granny reached over and gripped Diamanda’s arm.
“Head for the gap between the Piper and the Drummer!”
“Which ones are they?”
“You don’t even know that?”
Humans can outrun a horse, indeed. It was preying on Granny Weatherwax’s mind that no one can outrun an arrow.
Something whined past her ear.
The circle of stones seemed as far away as ever.
Nothing for it. It oughtn’t to be possible. She’d only ever tried it seriously when she was lying down, or at least when she had something to lean against.
She tried it now . . .
There were four elves chasing them. She didn’t even think about looking into their minds. But the horses . . . ah, the horses . . .
They were carnivores, minds like an arrowhead.
The rules of Borrowing were: you didn’t hurt, you just rode inside their heads, you didn’t involve the subject in any way . . .
Well, not so much a rule, as such, more of a general guideline.
A stone-tipped arrow went through her hat.
Hardly really a guideline, even.
In fact, not even-
Oh, drat.
She plunged into the lead horse’s mind, down through the layers of barely controlled madness which is what is inside even a normal horse’s brain. For a moment she looked out through its bloodshot eyes at her own figure, staggering through the snow. For a moment she was trying to control six legs at once, two of them in a separate body.
In terms of difficulty, playing one tune on a musical instrument and singing a totally different one[20] was a stroll in the country by comparison.
She knew she couldn’t do it for more than a few seconds before total confusion overwhelmed mind and body. But a second was all she needed. She let the confusion arise, dumped it in its entirety in the horse’s mind, and withdrew sharply, picking up control of her own body as it began to fall.
There was one horrible moment in the horse’s head.
It wasn’t sure what it was, or how it had got there. More importantly, it didn’t know how many legs it had. There was a choice of two or four, or possibly even six. It compromised on three.
Granny heard it scream and collapse noisily, by the sound of things taking a couple of others with it.
“Hah!”
She risked a look sideways at Diamanda.
Who wasn’t there.
She was in the snow some way back, trying with difficulty to get to her feet. The face she turned to Granny was as pale as the snow.
There was an arrow sticking out of her shoulder.
Granny darted back, grabbed the girl and hauled her upright.
“Come on! Nearly there!”
“Can’t r’n . . . c’ld . . .”
Diamanda slumped forward. Granny caught her before she hit the snow and, with a grunt of effort, slung her over her shoulder.
A few more steps, and all she had to do was fall forward . . .
A clawed hand snatched at her dress . . .
And three figures fell, rolling over and over in the summer bracken.
The elf was first to its feet, looking around in dazed triumph. It already had a long copper knife in its hand.
It focused on Granny, who had landed on her back. She could smell the rankness of it as it raised the knife, and she sought desperately for a way into its head . . .
Something flashed past her vision.
A length of rope had caught the elf’s neck, and went tight as something swished through the air. The creature stared in horror as a flatiron whirred a few feet away from its face and swung past its ear, winding around and around with increasing speed but a decreasing orbital radius until it connected heavily with the back of the elf’s head, lifting it off its feet and dropping it heavily on the turf.
Nanny Ogg appeared in Granny’s vision.
“Cor, it doesn’t half whiff, don’t it?” she said. “You can smell elves a mile off.”
Granny scrambled upright.
There was nothing but grass inside the circle. No snow, no elves.
She turned to Diamanda. So did Nanny. The girl was lying unconscious.
“Elf-shot,” said Granny.
“Oh, bugger.”
“The point’s still in there.”
Nanny scratched her head.
“I could probably get the point out, no problem,” she said, “but I don’t know about the poison . . . we could tie a tourniquet around the affected part.”
“Hah! Her neck’d be favourite, then.”
Granny sat down with her chin on her knees. Her shoulders ached.
“Got to get me breath back,” she said.
Images swam in the forefront of her mind. Here it came again. She knew there were such things as alternative futures, after all, that’s what the future meant. But she’d never heard of alternative pasts. She could remember having just gone through the stones, if she concentrated. But she could remember other things. She could remember being in bed in her own house, but that was it, it was a house, not a cottage, but she was her, they were her own memories. . . she had a nagging feeling that she was asleep, right now . . .
Dully, she tried to focus on Nanny Ogg. There was something comfortingly solid about Gytha Ogg.
Nanny had produced a penknife.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Going to put it out of its misery, Esme.”
“Doesn’t look miserable to me.”
Nanny Ogg’s eyes gleamed speculatively.
“Could soon arrange that, Esme.”
“Don’t go torturing it just because it’s lying down, Gytha.”
“Damn well ain’t waiting for it to stand up again, Esme.”
“Gytha.”
“Well, they used to carry off babies. I ain’t having that again. The thought of someone carrying off our Pewsey-“