August never took his eyes off the statue. Never moved a muscle, even as Sam's fingers worked the knots at his wrists.

Dorothea's voice tumbled in fear. "Sam, don't do this, please, I trust you but he has a way of getting into your head, please Sam." She was breathing hard, shifting on Sam's shoulder, debating just how far she was willing to go to stop this.

The bushes at the statue's feet hissed and rustled; something moved quick beneath them. Dorothea could hear the distinct sound of claws scrabbling against stone, and she went quiet.

August was still, breathing through his teeth, even after his hands were free. The moment the hilt of his sword touched his palm, he dragged a breath into his lungs, surged forward and threw the weight of his body into a swing of the blade.

A creature jumped from the bushes -- it was shaped like a man but was white as a ghost, with huge hollow eyes and a mouth like a lamprey, a horrible skeleton with bloodless skin. It appeared only for an instant, then dove into the ditch; August's blade swung harmlessly through the air where it had been. Dorothea screamed. The forest echoed with a chorus of clicking and creaking voices, trembling all around them.

"We're cut off from the others," August breathed, preparing his sword again -- and indeed, the dwarves were nowhere to be seen, even though they could see the path as it stretched on through the lush forest. The clicking grew louder, the sound enveloped them. The bushes rustled again. Three, then four of them, hidden beneath the leaves. Sticks cracked. Claws skittered.

"But they're just stories..." Dorothea whispered, her eyes blown wide.

"They're your father's soldiers, Princess," August hissed. "This is what happens to men who wage war on the fairies."