An old woman poked about in the underbrush, muttering to herself. She wore a shabby brown dress and a shawl, with a gray kerchief tied around her head.

The unicorn came to a halt. Magnus hopped down off Fess's back and stepped forward. "What have we here, Robin?"

"A hermit matron, belike," the elf answered.

"I doubt not 'tis a poor beldame who found her friends had died, and none still living in her village gave her welcome," Kelly said. "Thus came she here, to live alone. There are many such."

The old woman looked up at the sound of voices, frowning. "Who comes?"

Magnus waited for Puck to answer, but he didn't hear a word.

"'Tis four bairns!" the crone snapped. "What dost thou here? Begone, now! Shoo!"

Magnus looked down at Puck for advice, but the elf was gone. He looked around, surprised, to find that Kelly had disappeared, too.

Cordelia leaned over to murmur in Magnus's ear, "They do not wish grown-ups to see them."

"Wilt thou not mind thine elders?" the old woman cried. "Begone, I say!" She snatched up a stick and threw it at them.

The unicorn shied, but Magnus reached out and caught the stick, frowning. "We've done naught that ye should scold us so." Then he remembered his manners. "Good day, good-wife."

" 'Goodwife,' is it?" the old woman spat. "Nay, never was I wife, nor would be! How is it even bairns do think a woman must needs marry? Nay, not old Phagia! I had no need of men—nor of any person! And of children least of all! Begone, I say!"

"If I've offended, I regret," Magnus said.

"Do not say so," Geoffrey snapped. "Ye've done naught to give offense!"

"Aye." Cordelia said, puzzled. "Wherefore should she hate us so, at first sight?"

"Dost'a not hear me?" the old woman screeched. "Go!" And she began to wade through the underbrush toward them, catching up sticks to throw.

Without even thinking, Cordelia stared at a stick. It leaped up into the air and flew away.

Phagia watched it go, eyes widening. But they narrowed as she looked down at the children. "So 'tis witch-brats come upon me, eh? Well, I've tricks of my own at hand!"

Suddenly, sticks burst from the floor of the clearing all around the children and shot toward them.

"Catch!" Magnus cried, and the sticks sailed on up over the treetops as all four children thought at them at the same time.

Phagia turned ashen. "What manner of warlock-lings are these, that do catch things with their thoughts? Only witches may do so!"

"Nevertheless, that power's ours, come to us from our father," Magnus explained.

"And wilt thou, then, bedevil a poor old woman with this power of thy sire's?" Phagia spat. "Nay, then! Contend with this!"

Nuts suddenly rained down on them, as though a thousand manic squirrels had jumped in for target practice.

"Ouch! Oh!" Cordelia wrapped her arms around her head and ducked. Her brothers howled with dismay; the nuts hit hard.

"We must meet this all as one!" Magnus cried. 'Together, now! Up!"

The other children squeezed their eyes shut and joined their thoughts to his, and the rain of nuts backed upward, away, leaving a dome of clear air about them, as though the small missiles were bouncing off a huge, invisible umbrella.

"Wilt thou then band against me?" Phagia snarled. "Nay, I must teach thee manners! Avaunt!"

Flames leaped up about the children, roaring toward them, leaving a wake of char behind.

"Be mindful!" Magnus shouted. "Fire's but the heat of molecules in motion! Slow them, still them! Make them cool!"

All four children stared at the flames, thinking tranquil thoughts, slowing movement, spreading it over a much wider area, transferring energy throughout the floor of the clearing. The day seemed to grow a little warmer, but the fire died.

Phagia stared at the smouldering char, appalled.

Magnus heard Geoffrey's thoughts: Brother, leave her or subdue her. An we do neither, she shall attack again.

Magnus nodded. We might then injure her as we fought back—and Mama and Papa would be angered.

Nor should we leave her free to follow, Geoffrey added.

Magnus agreed. "Let us do what we must."

Phagia's head snapped up, fear suddenly contorting her features. She lifted a clawlike hand—but Cordelia stared at the crone's feet, and they shot out from under her, whipping up level with her shoulders. She screeched; then her face hardened with determination and her feet slowly moved downward.

Cordelia bit her lip, face tightening with strain, and the witch's feet moved upward again. She howled with rage, and they steadied.

Magnus glanced at a vine that had wrapped itself up high, around a tree. It uncoiled, whirling backwards around and around the trunk, then groping out toward Phagia. Geoffrey frowned at it, and the vine broke off near its root, then whipped about the witch five times, pinning her arms to her sides. Phagia shrieked with horror, then clamped her jaw shut and heaved at the vine with all the strength of an adult mind. Sweat beaded Geoffrey's forehead as he fought to keep the vine in place—but as he did, Gregory reached out with mental fingers to whip the ends into a square knot. Phagia screeched, but Geoffrey relaxed with a smile. "Well done, tadpole."

" 'Tis well thou didst teach me that knot last Friday," lisped little brother.

"A pox upon thee!" old Phagia raved. "Thou knaves, thou curmudgeons! Hast thou naught else to do, but thou must needs torment a poor old beldame?"

"We did naught to trouble thee," Geoffrey contradicted.

"Nor would we have, hadst thou not turned upon us." Cordelia spoke more gently, trying to balance Geoffrey's contrariness.

"Turned upon thee! Eh! Innocent children, thou knowest not what those words do mean! Turn upon thee! Nay! But wait till thou hast had all the folk of a village come to chase thee, hounding thee from out thine home to harry thee throughout the countryside! Wait till they have caught thee, and bound thee to a ducking-stool, to sink thee in deep water, deprive thee of thy breath! Wait till thou dost feel thy lungs clamoring for air, till thou canst no longer bear it and must breathe, yet know thou'lt suck water in if thou dost—then they hale thee up into the air, at the last second, screaming, 'Vile witch, confess!' And thou dost not, for whosoe'er it was that did the wrong they've found, it was not thou! Yet they will blame thee, aye! Doth a cow's udder run dry? 'Twas thou who caused it! Did a sheep then sicken? 'Twas thou who cursed it! Did a child fall from out a hayloft? 'Twas thou who tripped him! It must be thou, it needs be thou—for naught but thou art a witch!"

"But we have not, we shall not!" Cordelia cried, pale and trembling. "We never would!"

'Tell that to these gentle souls who have lashed thee to the ducking-stool, and now plunge thee deep again! And if thou dost hold fast, and never dost confess to deeds thou hast not

done, they'll take thee off to torture thee, with fire and steel, till the pain, the agony, and the sight of thine own blood do so afright thee that thou dost cry at last, ' 'Twas I! 'Twas naught but I! Say what thou wilt have me say, and I will speak it! Only leave off thy hurting of me!"

Ashen-faced, Cordelia had clapped her hands over Gregory's ears, but he waved her away impatiently. "I'll but hear her thoughts as she doth speak them!" He looked up at Magnus "Can it truly be as she doth say?"

His brother nodded, face set and grim. "Mama and Papa have told us that the witches are ill-treated. Yet they've only hinted at such horrors!"

"Thy bold bluff peasants will do more than hint," Phagia assured him. "At the last, they'll lash thy torn and bleeding carcass to a stake, and pile fagots about thy feet, bundles of sticks as high as thy legs, and thrust a torch within them! Then wilt thou truly scream, as flames mount up to sear thee!" And she turned away, sobbing.