He left Luke alone to go do what Luke was obviously dying to do, which was walk into the veiling trees of the forest and remove all the feathers from his hair. Elliot himself was not on any search-and-rescue feather mission. His hair was a trap made of ginger snakes, and he was living in proximity to a hundred harpies. It was time to embrace the unintentional feather headdress.
Podarge gave Elliot a wistful look as he met her near her nesting tree.
“I do apologise for yesterday’s misunderstanding,” she said.
“Heh,” said Elliot. “About that . . .”
He tried to work out a way to explain Luke’s joke that did not make Luke sound prejudiced against harpies. He gave up.
“No worries,” he said finally. “You know, when I go home I would love to keep in touch with you through letters. Would you be willing to write to me?”
Podarge looked worried.
“I really want to learn about aerial gardening through the seasons,” Elliot said, truthfully.
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” Podarge decided.
Elliot glowed. “Wonderful!”
Surely in one of those letters, he could manage to casually mention that he was single and fancy-free. And the letters meant they could get to know each other better. Project flying girlfriend might still be on.
“Now,” said Elliot. “Tell me—”
That was when a shadow blotted out the sun. Elliot realized, in a dark moment of revelation, that harpies did that on purpose: that they knew where to fly so they would cast a shadow over the camp and send a silent alarm.
Podarge was already in the air when the second, unnecessary alarm sounded. The harpy shouted: “Troll force in the woods!”
Elliot was aware of exactly how badly this could go, when the trolls saw the humans in the harpies’ territory and understood that an alliance was being drawn up. A troll sentry must have seen one of the troop, and if the harpies had not informed them the humans were coming, the trolls might be very angry indeed.
One of the spears landed in the ground beside Elliot, thick as a young tree with a pointy end. Elliot regarded it thoughtfully.
Then he ran to find Serene.
There were a lot of trolls, far more than would have been in even a group of sentries. This was planned. And, Elliot thought, weaving through the trees and out of sight: this was vicious. He could see the trolls, so much larger and stronger than humans, flinging members of his troop around like dolls. He thought the trolls were out to prove to the harpies how useless human allies would be.
The harpies were amazing, swooping down and plucking humans off the ground and out of the trolls’ reach. The humans, in turn, were adapting to being picked up and carried off fast. Elliot saw Natalie Lowlands grasped in a harpy’s talons and using her bow. With the harpies’ help, it was easier for humans to keep their distance from the trolls, so the trolls’ greater strength and reach mattered less.
Elliot was still keenly aware that he could be crushed at any moment. He was relieved and delighted to find Serene.
He was less relieved and delighted that she was out of arrows, whirling around and trying to stab three trolls at once.
“Elliot!” she called out. “Fear nothing! I will save you!”
“Um, is your hair actually soaked with blood?” Elliot asked, delicately.
Serene gave him a blank look, then stabbed a troll in the foot with a sharp tooth on the forest floor. Elliot suspected the tooth actually belonged to the poor troll in question. She danced backward as the troll bellowed in rage. “Not my blood.”
“Oh,” Elliot said doubtfully. “That’s cool, then.”
Another troll came at Serene, and Serene laughed a high, pure, joyous laugh. Elliot flattened himself against a tree. Serene looked so small, valiant and daring and utterly outmatched, blades flashing and hair swinging as she turned in the circle of trolls. The trolls were closing in, and Elliot did not know how to help her.
Then came a descent of gold from the trees. Elliot caught his breath.
It was Luke, and he was flying. He was a gilded waterfall of flash and feathers, and he carried Serene away.
This became a less spectacular moment when the trolls, robbed of their prey, turned their heads and noticed Elliot.
“Hi,” said Elliot, seeing one troll’s eyes narrow. “Hey? No?”
No sign of comprehension on any of the trolls’ faces.
“You know,” Elliot continued, edging around the tree. “I understand your point of view. I should have learned trollish sooner. I should not expect people to comprehend my language. This is all happening because of my poor judgement.”
The trolls advanced.
“Parlez-vous francais?” Elliot asked, and bit his lip. “I didn’t think so.”
He heard the scream of someone, a human badly hurt or dying, in the distance. Then he heard a far more welcome sound: the sound, above Elliot and descending, of wings.
Luke had barely landed before Elliot flung his arms around Luke’s neck. He held on while Luke ascended, which was a strange unsteady and wonderful feeling, mindful of the fact Luke had only started flying today.
“Don’t let me die. I’m brilliant and worth at least four soldiers, and you’ll need me when the battle’s over.”
“I won’t let you die,” Luke promised.
Elliot could feel Luke’s heart hammering, closer than the beat of wings in the wind. His own heart was going pretty fast. No more excuses: he was going to learn how to speak to trolls this year.
Luke dropped him, with care, at a point among the trees where Elliot could still hear the sounds of battle but could not see any of the combatants.
“Stay here where I can see you,” Luke said, absently palming the back of Elliot’s head. “I’ll be in the air. I’ll see if anyone approaches and I’ll deal with them. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I’m not an idiot,” said Elliot.
Luke’s eyes narrowed down to sapphire chips.
Elliot saluted and smirked at him. “I’ll do exactly what you say. I swear. Sir.”
Instead of ripping all his hair out, Luke flew away. Elliot mentally congratulated Luke on this choice.
Elliot waited outside the trees, listening to the sounds of battle, until they faded away. He had his usual special time of wondering whether everyone he cared about was dead, but he listened even harder and made out the sound of human voices, laughing and shouting with triumph, and the shriek of harpies dominating a victorious battlefield. Elliot made his way back to the campfire, where he was met by an anxious Serene.
“There you are,” she said, patting him down, searching for any sign of injury, as he cradled her blood-streaked face in his hands and studied her for any sign of the same. “You’re safe! And Luke’s safe. And we won!”
“Where’s Luke?”
“With the other harpies,” said Serene casually.
Elliot frowned. “I doubt he’s—er, doing what harpies usually do to the bodies of their enemies.”
Maybe he was, though. Maybe it was like flight: maybe it was instinct. Whatever the case, Elliot hoped that Luke was at least being polite to the harpies, because as long as Luke could keep it together, this treaty was made. The trolls had made a fatal mistake. There was nothing like a common enemy to unite people.
Serene felt this was the case, too.