Lords and Ladies

much as items strung together—scraps of fur, bronze plates, strings of brightly colored feathers. Blue and green tattoos covered most of their exposed skin. Several of them held drawn bows, the tips of their arrows following Granny’s every move.
    Their hair massed around their heads like a halo, thick with grease. And although their faces were indeed the most beautiful Diamanda had ever seen, it was beginning to creep over her that there was something subtly wrong, some quirk of expression that did not quite fit.
    “The only reason we’re still alive now is that we’re more fun alive than dead,” said Granny’s voice behind her.
    “You know you shouldn’t listen to the crabbed old woman,” said the Queen. “What can she offer?”
    “More than snow in summertime,” said Granny. “Look at their eyes. Look at their eyes.”
    The Queen dismounted.
    “Take my hand, child,” she said.
    Diamanda stuck out a hand gingerly.
    There was something about the eyes. It wasn’t the shape or the color. There was no evil glint. But there was…
    …a look. It was such a look that a microbe might encounter if it could see up from the bottom end of the microscope. It said: You are nothing. It said: You are flawed, you have no value. It said: You are animal. It said: Perhaps you may be a pet, or perhaps you may be a quarry. It said: And the choice is not yours.
    She tried to pull her hand away.
    “Get out of her mind, old crone.”
    Granny’s face was running with sweat.
    “I ain’t in her mind, elf. I’m keeping you out.”
    The Queen smiled. It was the most beautiful smile Diamanda had ever seen.
    “And you have some power, too. Amazing. I never thought you’d amount to anything, Esmerelda Weatherwax. But it’s no good here. Kill them both. But not at the same time. Let the other one watch.”
    She climbed on to her horse again, turned it around, and galloped off.
    Two of the elves dismounted, drawing thin bronze daggers from their belts.
    “Well, that’s about it, then,” said Granny Weatherwax, as the warriors approached. She dropped her voice.
    “When the time comes,” she said, “run.”
    “What time?”
    “You’ll know.”
    Granny fell to her knees as the elves approached.
    “Oh, deary me, oh spare my life, I am but a poor old woman and skinny also,” she said. “Oh spare my life, young sir. Oh lawks.”
    She curled up, sobbing. Diamanda looked at her in astonishment, not least at how anyone could expect to get away with something like that.
    Elves had been away from humans for a long time. The first elf reached her, hauled her up by her shoulder, and got a doubled-handed, bony-knuckled punch in an area that Nanny Ogg would be surprised that Esme Weatherwax even knew about.
    Diamanda was already running. Granny’s elbow caught the other elf in the chest as she set off after her.
    Behind her, she heard the merry laughter of the elves.
    Diamanda had been surprised at Granny’s old lady act. She was far more surprised when Granny drew level. But Granny had more to run away from.
    “They’ve got horses!”
    Granny nodded. And it’s true that horses go faster than people, but it’s not instantly obvious to everyone that this is only true over moderate distances. Over short distances a determined human can outrun a horse, because they’ve only got half as many legs to sort out.
    Granny reached over and gripped Diamanda’s arm.
    “Head for the gap between the Piper and the Drummer!”
    “Which ones are they?”
    “You don’t even know that? ”
    Humans can outrun a horse, indeed. It was preying on Granny Weatherwax’s mind that no one can outrun an arrow.
    Something whined past her ear.
    The circle of stones seemed as far away as ever.
    Nothing for it. It oughtn’t to be possible. She’d only ever tried it seriously when she was lying down, or at least when she had something to lean against.
    She tried it now…
    There were four elves chasing them. She didn’t even think about looking into their minds. But the horses…ah, the horses…
    They were carnivores, minds like an arrowhead.
    The rules of Borrowing were: you didn’t hurt, you just rode inside their heads, you didn’t involve the subject in any way…
    Well, not so much a rule , as such, more of a general guideline.
    A stone-tipped arrow went through her hat.
    Hardly really a guideline, even.
    In fact, not even—
    Oh, drat .
    She plunged into the lead horse’s mind, down through the layers of barely controlled madness