"I've heard of you," breathed Bram. "You're brownies, aren't you? I wasn't sure if you really existed."

All three creatures crossed their small arms stiffly. "If I'm not mistaken, that name is also used to describe chocolate cake," said the one wearing a slate-blue cap and mantle. "It makes us sound like a bit of fluff, not at all serious or worthwhile. We'd as soon you called us 'milk' or 'fruit,' if you insist upon naming us after foodstuffs."

Bram put up his hands defensively. "Tell me what you call yourselves, and I will never use that other word again."

"We call ourselves tuatha dundarael." The creature saw Bram's eyes open wide. "If that's too difficult for you, you may use the shortened form, tuatha-pronounced 'too-a-ha.'"

"Tuatha," Bram repeated deliberately, looking relieved. He stood and walked around the three tuatha, peering closely at the small, soft-featured beings. "Where are your wings?"

The blue-mantled tuatha man gave a slight sigh. "Those would be pixies. While also faerie folk, they wear silly, curly-toed shoes like court jesters and, as a rule, come out only at night."

Bram raised his eyebrows and took in the darkened sky. "You can see why I was confused."

The tuatha regarded him through one slow, lazy blink. "Not really."

Bram coughed self-consciously. "I'm sorry, 1 didn't catch your names. I'm Bram," he said, extending a hand.

"Yes." The blue-capped being ignored Bram's hand and put a tiny palm to his chest. "1 am called Thistledown."

He gestured to his companion in the snug red hat. "This is Burdock." The second diminutive creature bowed his head.

Thistledown waved to the last tuatha, a young female wearing a long yellow wool stocking cap and a decorative gold sash from one shoulder to the opposite hip. Her face was rosy and clean. "She is Milkweed." The blush in her cheeks darkened to wine, and she averted her eyes from Bram's.

"Why don't they talk?" the nobleman asked.

"Because I am the speaker in this troop," explained Thistledown matter-of-factly. "Burdock is the pathfinder. Milkweed is the nchantmentcrafter. King Weador assigned us three to you when he heard you speaking here."

"King Weador?" Bram repeated dully. "I don't understand what you mean, 'assigned you.' "

Thistledown turned to Milkweed, who turned to Burdock, who turned back to Thistledown. Three small sets of shoulders lifted in shrugs. "It's what we do, we tuatha. We attach ourselves, so to speak, to humans of high moral standards."

Bram leaned back and crossed his arms. "I have high moral standards, have I?"

"And a natural earth magical ability," said Thistledown, as if he hadn't been interrupted.

"I do have a way with plants," agreed Bram.

Thistledown's eyebrows were drawn down in annoyance. "Watch that pride, or we'll have to leave," he threatened, while Milkweed and Burdock settled their shoulders as if preparing to disappear behind their speaker.

"I'm sorry," Bram said quickly. "I didn't mean to…" His voice trailed off awkwardly. He dropped back down by the fire and folded large hands around his knees, preparing to listen rather than get further into trouble by speaking.

Thistledown seemed mollified. "We perform small services in exchange for a mug of milk, a little bread, that sort of thing."

The nobleman looked at his wet belongings by the fire and said, "I'd be happy to share my foodstuffs with you." He fished around in his small pack. "I've been eating snow for water, but I have plenty of apples, carrots, and peanuts, and a half-loaf of bread-"

"We're not here to eat your food," interrupted Thistledown. "We've long partaken of the bounty of your gardens."

Bram straightened up in surprise. "You know my fields?"

All three tuatha beamed. "We tuatha have been working at night to help you return those weed patches into workable plots."

Bram's face lit with sudden understanding. "I've wondered some mornings about finding gleaming pitchforks and shovels when I left dirty ones in the garden the night before," he breathed. Bram leaned back from the fire. "So how long have you been helping me?"

Thistledown leaned toward Burdock. "Time has no meaning for us," he announced at length. "We have aided you longer ago than yesterday, but less than we will have tomorrow. This is the first time Burdock, Milkweed and I have been sent as a troop to aid you."

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Bram blinked. "How many tuatha are there?"

Thistledown turned again to his companions before speaking. "1 daresay we tuatha outnumber you humans."

"I'm surprised, then, that I never saw even one of you before," observed Bram.

"We did not want you to see us until now," Thistledown said simply. "We live in the faerie realm, beyond human sight. In this place where earthly magic once flourished, your thoughts were particularly resonant in our realm. That is why King Weador sent us to give you aid."

Bram used the toe of a new boot to nudge the un- burned ends of a log into the flames. "Unless you have a ship and a full crew," he said, "I can't see that you can do anything to help me get to Wayreth."

"You could be there in no time if you took the faerie road," suggested Thistledown.

Bram waited for the tuatha man to explain, but as usual, Thistledown stared at him expectantly "What's a faerie road?" the nobleman asked at length.

Once again, Thistledown conferred with his colleagues. "Burdock reminds me that the faerie road is like time. It looks different to every human who traverses it, and decidedly different to you than it does to us tuatha. It will magically allow you to travel great distances in a matter of heartbeats."

Thistledown turned to Milkweed, who dug into a pouch and extracted a small object she then pressed into the speaker's waiting palm.

"Here's your coin," said Thistledown. A gold coin of unfamiliar design glinted brightly in the light of the white moon.

Bram stared at the gold piece in Thistledown's palm. "I don't understand. Why are you paying me?"

The tuatha man flipped the coin in his small, pale hand. 'This is milled faerie gold, the coin of our realm," he explained. "Only those invited to Wayreth may find its twin towers; the coin will serve as invitation. In addition, it will offer you protection in the faerie land, but only if you keep the coin with you and never stray from the main road."

"What happens if I step from that path or lose the coin?"

"You'll either be struck dead or kept hostage in some horrible fashion," Thistledown responded promptly.

"What if I meet up with bandits along the way and it's stolen from me?"

"The bandit who touches it without your leave will be struck dead."

"Hmmm." Bram stroked his chin thoughtfully. "What if I choose to spend it along the way for food, or I simply lose it, or I give it up to save my life?"

"Dead, dead, and dead."

Bram pursed his lips in dismay. "1 should risk my life on this road?"

Thistledown looked east toward the cliff that overlooked Hillfort. "Only you can decide which of your options is the greater risk to you or the villagers for whom you feel a duty. I can assure you that you will be perfectly safe on the faerie road //you bide my warn- ings."

Bram looked toward Hillfort and knew the answer he must give. "How do I get to this faerie road?" he asked. "Is it far?"

"As near as here." Thistledown reached over to touch a finger, light as a feather, cool as running water, to Bram's right temple. "You have but to take the coin and speak aloud the name of your destination. A road will appear before you."

Bram stood, collected his belt and small pouch, then reached for the golden coin in Thistledown's hand. To his surprise, the tuatha man drew his own hand back.

"Remember," he admonished, "neither stray from the main road, nor give away the coin while in the faerie realm. Only the third fork to the left will take you to Wayreth."