Lords and Ladies

three elves stepped out from under the trees before she’d even lost sight of the castle.
    The middle one grinned.
    “Good evening, girl,” it said. “My name is Lord Lankin, and you will curtsy when you talk to me.”
    The tone suggested that there was absolutely no possibility that she would disobey. She felt her muscles strain to comply.
    Queen Ynci wouldn’t have obeyed…
    “I happen to be practically the queen,” she said.
    It was the first time she’d looked an elf in the face when she was in any condition to notice details. This one was currently wearing high cheekbones and hair tied in a ponytail; it wore odds and ends of rags and lace and fur, confident in the knowledge that anything would look good on an elf.
    It wrinkled its perfect nose at her.
    “There is only one Queen in Lancre,” it said. “And you are, most definitely, not her.”
    Magrat tried to concentrate.
    “Where is she, then?” she said.
    The other two raised their bows.
    “You are looking for the Queen? Then we will take you to her,” Lankin stated. “And, lady, should you be inclined to make use of that nasty iron bow there are more archers hidden in the trees.”
    There was indeed a rustling in the trees on one side of the track, but it was followed by a thump. The elves looked disconcerted.
    “Get out of my way,” said Magrat.
    “I think you have a very wrong idea,” said the elf. Its smile widened, but vanished when there was another sylvan crash from the other side of the track.
    “We felt you coming all the way up the track,” said the elf. “The brave girl off to rescue her lover! Oh, the romance! Take her.”
    A shadow rose up behind the two armed elves, took a head in either hand, and banged them together.
    The shadow stepped forward over their bodies and, as Lankin turned, caught it with one roundarm punch that picked it up and slammed it into a tree.
    Magrat drew her sword.
    Whatever this was, it looked worse than elves. It was muddy and hairy and almost troll-like in its build, and it reached out for the bridle with an arm that seemed to extend forever. She raised the sword—
    “Oook?”
    “Put the sword down, please , miss!”
    The voice came from somewhere behind her, but it sounded human and worried. Elves never sounded worried.
    “Who are you?” she said, without turning around. The monster in front of her gave her a big, yellow-toothed grin.
    “Um, I’m Ponder Stibbons. A wizard. And he’s a wizard, too.”
    “He’s got no clothes on!”
    “I could get him to have a bath, if you like,” said Ponder, slightly hysterically. “He always puts on an old green dressing gown when he’s had a bath.”
    Magrat relaxed a bit. No one who sounded like that could be much of a threat, except to themselves.
    “Whose side are you on, Mr. Wizard?”
    “How many are there?”
    “Oook?”
    “When I get off this horse,” said Magrat, “it’ll bolt. So can you ask your…friend to let go of the bridle? He’ll be hurt.”
    “Oook?”
    “Um. Probably not.”
    Magrat slid off. The horse, relieved of the presence of iron, bolted. For about two yards.
    “Oook.”
    The horse was struggling to get back on its feet.
    Magrat blinked.
    “Um, he’s just a bit annoyed at the moment,” said Ponder. “One of the…elves…shot him with an arrow.”
    “But they do that to control people!”
    “Um. He’s not a person.”
    “Oook!”
    “Genetically, I mean.”
    Magrat had met wizards before. Occasionally one visited Lancre, although they didn’t stay very long. There was something about the presence of Granny Weatherwax that made them move on.
    They didn’t look like Ponder Stibbons. He’d lost most of his robe and, of his hat, only the brim remained. Most of his face was covered in mud, and there was a multicolored bruise over one eye.
    “Did they do that to you?”
    “Well, the mud and the torn clothes is just from, you know, the forest. And we’ve run into—”
    “Ook.”
    “— over elves a few times. But this is when the Librarian hit me.”
    “Oook.”
    “Thank goodness,” Ponder added. “Knocked me cold. Otherwise I’d be like the others.”
    A foreboding of a conversation to come swept over Magrat.
    “What others?” she snapped.
    “Are you alone?”
    “What others?”
    “Have you any idea what’s been happening?”
    Magrat thought about the castle, and the town.
    “I might be able to hazard a guess,” she said.
    Ponder shook his head.
    “It’s worse than that,” he