"So pretty soon, nobody was willing to stand up to her? But you had to know what she was doing, or you wouldn't all have fled!"

Silence fell; neighbors looked uneasily at one another. "It was not her lies that chased us, squire," one of the old men said. "It was the word that ran through the town, that the queen had sent soldiers to the south and they would ride through our village—and everybody knows what soldiers do."

"But you never dreamed it was Raven who started the rumors." Rod looked about him, frowning. "Where are your able-bodied men?"

"Some of us are able-bodied yet," a graybeard growled, and the other grandfathers chorused agreement.

"That you may be, but you're not of an age to join the queen's army," Rod explained. "Did your sons hide in the deep woods to be sure the soldiers wouldn't try to put them in livery?"

The silence became distinctly uneasy. Villagers glanced at one another; none met Rod's gaze.

"Worse than that?" Rod frowned. "Wherever they've gone, they've been chased by lies! Tell me!"

"She told us how badly our knight was treating us, that Raven," one of the women said, "and railed at our menfolk that they couldn't be worth their salt if they let Sir Aethelred bully them about and live in his big house while we had only cottages."

"Before that, none ever thought it bullying for Sir Aethelred to tell us what to plant in which field," an old man said sourly.

"But when Raven said it again and again and again, some of them must have believed her," a white-haired woman said.

"It was her telling them they had to prove their worth to their wives and sweethearts by marching on Sir Aethelred," another woman said, "and they wouldn't believe us when we denied it."

"They began to talk of it among themselves," the older woman said, "and when they were sure we were well-settled in the woods here, they went off to brace Sir Aethelred and demand that he share our burdens and we share his wealth!"

"Even though they knew Raven lied about everything else." Rod shook his head. "Thanks for letting me know, good people." He mounted again.

"And thank you for bringing back our bits and pieces, squire," an old man said, "but where do you mean to go now?"

'To finish what I began," Rod said. "I'm going to find your men and tell them Raven's gone and they can go home!"

In spite of the chorus of protests, he rode off into the trees.

DIRU STUMBLED; HIS mattock nearly fell off his shoulder. The boy behind him laughed. "Wake up, Diru! Are you still dreaming?"

Diru shuddered at the reminder. He had slept very little the night before, for whenever he had, he had dreamed of the horrors the minstrel had described—a giant cat with tufted ears and very long, sharp teeth; a shapeless, quivering mound of white jelly that absorbed anything it touched; a giant beaver with teeth like cleavers and maddened burning eyes; and many others, all wheedling, all telling him that no one liked him, but they would be his friends if only they could come to visit. He might have believed them if the minstrel hadn't told the villagers in song what had happened to the ones who had invited the monsters in when last they had been importuning people for an invitation. Every time he had fallen asleep, those dreams had come, until he paced the floor to stay awake, starting at every creak of the old hut and shuddering at the thought of what prowled outside in the night.

"That minstrel gave us a good time, at least," one young man said.

"Yes," said an older, "once he was done trying to scare us with his tales of the Mist Monsters."

Another father nodded sagely. "I've dreamed of such horrors myself, telling me that they're really good neighbors and cajoling me to invite them in."

"Fat chance, after that minstrel's warning."

"It's boring," a young woman complained, "always the same warnings over and over. 'Don't invite the monsters in, don't invite the monsters in!'"

"And don't believe they're nice and friendly, even though they look so horrid," another young woman agreed.

An older woman frowned. "It's good advice, younglings! If they do come back, we'll be their meat!"

"Oh, everyone knows that, Auntie," the first girl said impatiently.

"Yes." Diru shuddered again. "Nobody would be foolish enough to invite horrors like that, in their dreams or awake."

"Oh, so you know everything, do you, Diru?" the first young woman snapped.

"Aye, tell us something we don't know, Diru!" the second young man jibed.

"Sure, Diru knows all about monsters." The first young man grinned. 'Takes one to know one, after all."

Diru's face burned.

"Oh look, he's gone all red again," the first young woman said with a giggle.

Thankfully, the huts rose just ahead. "Good night," Diru mumbled, and went into his.

His mother looked up from the pot she was stirring by the hearth. "How was the reaping today, dear?"

"Good enough for everyone else," Diru snapped as he put down his rake.

"Oh, dear," his mother sighed. "I do wish you could get along with the others your age."

"I wish they'd try to get along with me! Maybe I'll be better if I can get some sleep." Dim bulled through the curtain that separated his pallet from the rest of the hut and threw himself down, hoping he wouldn't dream.

He didn't, for he didn't sleep. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was the taunting faces of the other young men and women. All he could feel was anger and shame— and hatred for his tormentors. It was almost enough to make a fellow wish the monsters would come back and gobble them all up!

THE NEXT DAY, Rod came to the top of a ridge, as the sun was nearing the horizon, and looked down to see a channel between the forest trees that marked a stream. Rivers made for easier travel in forest lands, so he wasn't terribly surprised to see men walking there, or at least the tops of their heads. What did surprise him was their number. This wasn't just the hundred men from one village—it was a thousand at least. Rod frowned. "How many villages did it take to send this many men?"

"Between five and fifty, Rod."

"Pretty broad range." Rod dismounted. "Well, if I'm going to talk to them, I'd better not look too affluent." He pulled the flat-folded tunic and leggins out of his saddlebag; he never travelled without a disguise ready. Some of the ideas from his training as a secret agent had stayed with him.

With Fess shadowing him deeper in the trees, Rod melted in with the mass of men who moved down the forest trail. He asked no questions, only kept his ears open. The other men paid no attention; apparently they were all used to strangers joining them as they marched along. Few of them could have known one another before they had joined this mob.

As they went, they talked. "I don't know—seems to me the lords ain't all that bad. Our squire wasn't, leastways."

"If you think that," growled the man next to him, "why be you here?"

"Seemed like all the other lords were rotten, when that peddler were talkin' 'bout them," the first said. "Once we was on the march with you lot, though, he went off to peddle his wares somewhere else, and it didn't seem so good an idea any more."

"You're fed, ain't you?" asked another man. "And the wife ain't here to scold or the squire to buckle you into the traces and set you to plowing or hoeing."

"Well, there's that," the first man admitted. " Tis a holiday, like…"

"Then take the good while it lasts, and quit whinin'," the second said.

Rod slowed, falling back to hear similar grumbling from other peasants. He wandered through the crowd, listening for word of the villagers he'd come to find, but hearing only misgivings and doubts. Whenever several men began to share those second thoughts, though, some other man always showed up to remind them of their grievances. Rod realized that there were a hundred agents or more working this crowd, keeping them motivated and on the road.