Grip of the Shadow Plague

Seth hesitated. Kendra elbowed him. He shook his head. "No. I won’t do that. If I did, I really would be a coward. All I take back is saying my grandfather mismanaged the preserve. You’re right that we were pretending to flatter you."

With a ring of metal, Broadhoof unsheathed an enormous sword. Kendra had not previously noticed the scabbard hanging at his side. The centaur held the blade aloft.

"This brings me no pleasure," Broadhoof growled broodingly.

"I have a better idea," Seth said. "If you lead the diversion tomorrow, and I come back alive, I’ll duel with you. Then you can satisfy your honor the right way."

Kendra thought the centaur appeared relieved. He spoke briefly with Cloudwing.

"Very well," Broadhoof said. "You have accomplished your aim, though not without a price. Tomorrow we will spearhead your diversion. The day afterward, at dawn, we settle the matter of your impudence."

Kendra seized Seth’s hand. This time he allowed her to conduct him away. She waited to speak until they were far from the centaurs. "What’s the matter with you?" It required all of her control to resist screaming the words.

"I got them to help us," Seth said.

"You knew they were arrogant, you knew they might not help, but you insisted on insulting them! Not only is getting yourself killed a bad idea, it hurts our chances of saving Fablehaven!"

"But I’m not dead," he said, patting his torso as if shocked to find himself intact.

"You should be. And you probably will be."

"Not for two days."

"Don’t speak so soon. We haven’t told Grandma and Grandpa what happened yet."

"Don’t tell them," Seth pleaded, suddenly desperate. "Things are bad enough. I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t tell."

Kendra threw up her hands. "Now you beg."

"If you tell, they won’t let me go to the manor, but they’ll need me. Also, they’ll worry needlessly. They’ll lose focus and make mistakes. Listen. You can tell them eventually. You can make me look as stupid as you want. Just wait until after we raid the manor."

The reasoning behind his plea made some sense. "All right," Kendra consented. "I’ll wait until tomorrow afternoon."

His grin tempted her to change her mind.

Chapter Eighteen

The Old Manor

Alone, Kendra leaned against the smooth gazebo railing watching dozens of creatures take up positions around the field. Dryads and hamadryads clustered around indentations where the hedge was penetrable. Doren led a band of satyrs to the main gap by the path. Groups of fairies patrolled the air in glittering formations. Broadhoof and Cloudwing took up positions in the center of the field near Hugo and the cart.

Not all of the creatures were participating. The majority of the fairies flitted about the trellises of the boardwalk, playing among the blossoms. The dwarfs had unanimously taken refuge in their tents, having complained to Grandpa that running was not their strong suit. The more animal-like creatures had gone into hiding. Many satyrs and nymphs observed the proceedings from other gazebos.

Even in the shade, the midday heat was uncomfortable. Kendra limply fanned herself with one hand. She could not see Seth, Grandma, Warren, or Dale. They had collapsed a tent, and lay hidden beneath it in the bed of the cart. Grandpa stood in the front of the cart, supervising the final preparations, hands on his hips.

Kendra had kept her word and refrained from telling anyone about Seth’s agreement with Broadhoof. Grandma and Grandpa had been overjoyed to hear that the centaurs would assist with the diversion. Kendra had done her best to appear equally pleased.

Grandpa raised a handkerchief in the air, waved it briefly, and then let it fall. As the silky square fluttered to the ground, Cloudwing reared, equine muscles churning beneath his silver fur. He clutched a huge bow in one hand, and across his broad back hung a quiver of arrows the size of javelins. Broadhoof unsheathed his tremendous sword with a flourish, the burnished blade catching the sunlight.

Together the centaurs raced across the grass toward the gap in the hedge, blurred hooves flinging up tufts of turf, galloping with such fluid speed that Kendra found herself breathless. Shoulder to shoulder they charged through the gap, stampeding over the dark satyrs who sought to impede their passage.

With a victorious shout, twenty satyrs detached themselves from the hedge at either side of the gap and followed the centaurs through, spreading out in all directions. A few hamadryads ran with them. While the satyrs were quick and nimble, the nymphs put them to shame, seeming more to fly than to run, effortlessly outdistancing any pursuers.

Kendra smiled to herself. No smitten satyr would ever chase down a hamadryad who did not wish to be caught!

Around the field, dryads and satyrs snuck through hidden openings in the hedge, often on hands and knees. Fairies flew over the hedge wall, angling skyward as their shadowy sisters gave chase. The satyrs watching from the boardwalk whistled, stamped, and shouted huzzahs. Many naiads surfaced, heads dripping, eyes wide as they observed the tumult.

Amid the commotion, Hugo charged forward, towing the cart. Grandpa had hidden himself under the tent with the others. Kendra held her breath as the hulking golem stormed through the gap in the hedge unmolested and the cart rumbled out of sight.

After the cart passed through the main gap, a few tall dryads followed, splitting off in different directions, their flowing robes and long hair trailing behind. Satyrs and hamadryads began returning under the hedge and through the gap. Some laughed; others appeared flustered.

Kendra glanced back at the naiads, their weedy hair glossed with slime, their wet faces surprisingly fragile and young for beings whose favorite pastime was drowning humans. Kendra locked eyes with one of them and waved. In response, they all hastily plunged under the water.

Over the next several minutes, more fairies, satyrs, and dryads returned. As they reentered the field, they were welcomed by embraces from friends. Most then turned to anxiously await the arrival of other loved ones.

More minutes passed, and arrivals grew sparse. Running hard, flanks lathered, the centaurs galloped through the gap, forcing a cluster of dark fairies to abandon their pursuit. Only two arrows remained in Cloudwing’s quiver.

Less than a minute later, dodging and fighting several dark satyrs, Doren reappeared in the gap, leading a desperate knot of satyrs. Shoving opponents aside, a half dozen satyrs stumbled through the gap into the arms of friends.

Kendra saw a familiar figure standing at the threshold of the field. Verl, snowy fur matted with dirt, chest and shoulders marred by bites and scratches, strained to take a step forward. He had won through to the field, but his eyes widened with panic as an unseen barrier prevented his entry. Kendra saw his childish face begin to contort into a more goatlike countenance, watched his white fur begin to darken. Bleating black satyrs hauled him down from behind, piling on him. Moments later, when Verl arose, he had the head of a goat and fur as black as sable.