“So.” Rod steadied his gaze on the chubby, gently-smiling face. “You think he might’ve inherited it from both sides.”

Father Uwell spread his hands. “What can I say? It’s possible—but three bytes of data are scarcely a full meal.”

“About what I expected.” Rod nodded. “So. Keep on observing, and hope for the best, eh?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Oh, not at all! Me, mind? Just because we’re hiking through unknown territory, where there might be an enemy on every side? Just because we’ve got supernatural beasties with long, sharp teeth coming out of roadside pools? No, I don’t mind at all, Father—but you should. I mean, it’s not exactly going to be a church picnic, if you’ll pardon the phrase.”

“Certainly,” the priest said, smiling. “And as to the danger—well, we’ll have to take it as it comes, eh?”

“Sure will.” Rod couldn’t help smiling; there was something very likeable about this brown-robe. Not to mention reassuring; it never hurt to have another adult male in the party, even if he wasn’t exactly a warrior. “But there might be a way to limit that. You just came in from Gramarye, you say.”

Father Uwell nodded.

“Is the door still open?”

The priest blinked. “Why, as far as I know, it was never shut.”

“What!!?!”

Father Uwell nodded. “I understand there’s been quite a loss of game in the area, and several peasants are complaining about missing livestock. No other people have ‘fallen in,’ though. There’s a great black horse on patrol there, and he won’t let anyone near.”

“Fess!” Rod slapped his thigh. “He’s still standing there, waiting for us to come out!”

“Trying to figure out how to get you out, I think. At least, that’s the only reason he let me past.”

Rod frowned. “You don’t mean he talked to you.”

“No, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had. I came to your house, and, not finding you home, I set out to the woods nearby, with Puck for a guide. As I went toward the pond, your horse galloped up to block me. I dodged to the side, but he dodged with me. I ducked under his belly, but he sat on me. I tried to vault over him, and he swivelled around so that I jumped off exactly where I’d jumped on. I finally decided I was dealing with an unusual specimen.”

Rod nodded. “You should only know how unusual.”

“I have some idea; when I struck him, he clanged. So I tried to reason with him.

“He eventually escorted me to the point at which you’d disappeared. I walked ahead—and found myself surrounded by silver leaves! I whirled about, and found myself facing a great white-trunked tree with a big ‘X’ carved on it. I tried to step back into it, but I thumped roundly against the bark and sat back on my cassock. I fancy I must have looked rather ridiculous.”

“So did I,” Rod said grimly. “Don’t worry about it, Father. So. The gate’s still open, but it only works one-way, eh?”

The priest nodded. “It would require a transmitter on this end, I fancy.”

Rod’s head snapped up, staring.

Then he hit his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Of course! What’s the matter with me? They just set up a transmitter, and didn’t worry about who was going to stumble in here, as long as all of us did!” He shook his head, feeling the anger boil. “Can you believe how callous those futurians are? What do they care if a hundred peasants get torn away from their families, just so long as they get the ones they’re after!”

“I take it you have enemies,” Father Uwell said carefully.

“You might say that, yes.” Rod smiled sardonically. “Enemies with time machines—so I was thinking of Doc Angus’s time machine, which can pass any amount of material, and which can pull you back out of whenever it lands you. I forgot that the man at the controls has to want to pull you back.”

“Which your enemies obviously don’t,” Father Uwell agreed. “So they gave you a one-way ticket here, you might say.”

“You might, yes. So getting home will be something of a problem, won’t it? Well, you’re welcome to poke around in my subconscious all you want, Father, if that’ll help get us out of here—but frankly, I can’t offer much hope.”

“We’ll worry about that when the time comes,” the priest said, with a faint smile. “But how were you planning to get home?”

Rod looked at Gwen. “Well, at the moment, our best bet looks to be one Lord Kern, who’s got the title of High Warlock.”

“Your title.” Father Uwell frowned. “Interesting.”

“Is it? But it seems that magic works, here; I’m sure you’ll find Lord Kern oodles of fun, if we ever get to him. There are definitely faery folk here, I’ll tell you that—we just escaped from a bunch of them. They had some interesting tricks, too.”

“Really?” Father Uwell’s eyes fairly glowed. “You must tell me about them—when you have time. But as to Lord Kern—how do you plan to persuade him to help you?”

Rod shrugged. “I expect Gwen and I’ll have to fight on his side in a little war, first, to earn it—unless he’s, grateful enough just for our helping his child-King ward escape to him. Father Uwell, meet His Majesty, King Elidor…” He turned toward the boy—and frowned. “Elidor? Gwen, where did he go?”

“Elidor…?” Gwen’s eyes slowly came back into focus.

“Oh! I’m sorry, dear!” Rod’s mouth tightened in self-anger. “I didn’t mean to break you off from Gregory. I didn’t know you were still in contact.”

“I was not.” Gwen bowed her head, forlorn. “I but sat in reverie, some while after the touch of him faded…” She straightened up, forcing a smile. “I must bear it; surely his touch will come again. What didst thou wish, mine husband?”

“Elidor. Where’d he go?”

“Elidor?” Gwen glanced about quickly. “My heaven, I had forgot! Elidor! Where…”

“Mama!”

It was small, bald, and wizened, with great luminous eyes and pointed ears. Its mouth was wide, with loose, rubbery lips, and its nose was long and pointed. It wore a rusty-brown tunic and bias-hosen, with cross-gartered sandals.

Gwen screamed, clasping her hand over her mouth.

Rod’s eyes bulged; all he could manage was a hoarse, strangled caw.

The noise woke the children. They sat bolt-upright, eyes wide and staring, darting glances about for the danger.

Then they saw the kobold.

Cordelia screamed, and flew into her mother’s arms, burying her head in Gwen’s breast and sobbing. Geoffrey darted to her, too, bawling his head off.

But Big Brother Magnus clamped his jaws shut around a neigh of terror, plastered his back against a tree, then drew his sword and advanced slowly, pale and trembling.

Rod snapped out of his horrified daze and leaped to Magnus’s side, catching his sword-hand. “No, son! Touch him with cold iron, and we’ll never see him again!”

“Good,” Magnus grated. “I have small liking, to gaze upon such an horror. I beg thee, free my hand, Papa.”

“I said no!” Rod barked. “That’s not just an average haunt who happened by, son—it’s a changeling!”

Magnus’s gaze shot up to Rod’s, appalled. “A what?”

“A changeling. Theofrin’s faeries must’ve been following us, waiting for their chance—and while you three were asleep, and Gwen was preoccupied with Gregory’s thoughts, and I was talking with Father Al…” His lips tightened, again in self-anger. “…no one was watching Elidor; so they kidnapped him, and left this thing in its place.” He took a quick glance at his own three, to reassure himself they were all there. They were, thank Heaven.

“We must not afright it,” Gwen said grimly.

“Your wife is right,” Father Al murmured, stepping behind a tree. “We must not scare it away, and the sight of me might do just that. I see you know what a changeling is. Do you know that it holds a correspondence to the child who was kidnapped?”

Rod scowled. “You mean you can use it to work a spell that’ll recover Elidor?”