The disdain sleeted over her, tearing the planetary body of Magrat Garlick to pieces.
She'd never be any good. She'd never be beautiful, or intelligent, or strong. She'd never be anything at all.
Self-confidence? Confidence in what? The eyes of the Queen were all she could see. All she wanted to do was lose herself in them . . .
And the ablation of Magrat Garlick roared on, tearing at the strata of her soul. . . . . . exposing the core.
She bunched up a fist and hit the Queen between the eyes. There was a moment of terminal perplexity before the Queen screamed, and Magrat hit her again. Only one queen in a hive! Slash! Stab! They rolled over, landing in the mud. Magrat felt something sting her leg, but she ignored it. She took no notice of the noise around her, but she did find the battleaxe under her hand as the two of them landed in a peat puddle. The elf scrabbled at her but this time without strength, and Magrat managed to push herself to her knees and raise the axe -
-and then noticed the silence.
It flowed over the Queen's elves and Shawn Ogg's makeshift army as the glamour faded.
There was a figure silhouetted against the setting moon.
Its scent carried on the dawn breeze.
It smelled of lions' cages and leaf mold.
“He's back,” said Nanny Ogg. She glanced sideways and saw Ridcully, his face glowing, raising his crossbow.
“Put it down,” she said.
“Will you look at the horns on that thing-”
“Put it down.”
“But-”
“It'd go right through him. Look, you can see that tree through him. He's not really here. He can't get past the doorway. But he can send his thoughts.”
“But I can smell-”
“If he was really here, we wouldn't still be standing up.” The elves parted as the King walked through. His hind legs hadn't been designed for bipedal walking; the knees were the wrong way round and the hooves were overlarge.
It ignored them all and strutted slowly to the fallen Queen. Magrat pulled herself to her feet and hefted the axe uncertainly.
The Queen uncoiled, leaping up and raising her hands, her mouth framing the first words of some curse-
The King held out a hand, and said nothing.
Only Magrat heard it.
Something about meeting by moonlight, she said later.
And they awoke.
The sun was well over the Rim. People pulled themselves to their feet, staring at one another.
There was not an elf in sight.
Nanny Ogg was the first to speak. Witches can generally come to terms with what actually ('s, instead of insisting on what ought to be.
She looked up at the moors. “The first thing we do,” she said, “the first thing, is put back the stones.”
“The second thing,” corrected Magrat.
They both looked down at the still body of Granny Weatherwax. A few stray bees were flying disconsolate circles in the grass near her head.