The Warlock Enraged Read online

  They did not, of course; they saw only that their father’s face had mellowed to its usual careworn warmth, and leaped to hug him in relief. “Papa!” Magnus cried, and “Daddy!” Geoffrey piped; Cordelia only clung to his arm and sobbed, while Gregory hugged the other arm, and looked up gravely. “Daddy, thou hast come back again.”

  Rod looked into the sober gaze of his youngest, and somehow suspected that the child wasn’t just talking about his coming through the door.

  “Oh, Papa,” Cordelia sniffled, “I do like thee so much better when thou’rt Papa, than when thou’rt Lord Kern!”

  Rod felt a chill along his spine, but he clasped her shoulder and pressed her against his hip. “I don’t blame you, dear. I’m sure his children feel the same way.” He looked up over the children’s heads, at Puck. “Thanks, Robin.”

  “Now, there’s a fair word!” Puck grinned. “Yet I misdoubt me an thou wilt have more such; for there’s one who doth attend thee.” He jerked his head toward the kitchen.

  “A messenger?” Rod looked up, frowning. “Waiting inside the house?… Toby!”

  A dapper gentleman in his mid-twenties came into the room, running a finger over a neatly trimmed mustache. Hose clung to well-turned calves, and his doublet was resplendent with embroidery. “Hail, Lord Warlock!”

  Gwen’s face blossomed with a smile, and even Rod had to fight a grin, faking a groan. “Hail, harbinger! What’s the disaster?”

  “Nay, for once, the King doth summon thee whiles it’s yet a minor matter.”

  “Minor.” The single word was loaded with skepticism. Rod turned to Gwen. “Why does that worry me more than his saying, ‘Emergency?’ ”

  “ ‘Tis naught but experience,” Gwen assured him. “Shall I ‘company thee?”

  “I’d appreciate it,” Rod sighed. “If it’s a ‘minor’ matter, that means social amenities first—and you know how Catharine and I don’t get along.”

  “Indeed I do.” Gwen looked quite pleased with herself. Catharine the Queen may have spread her net for Rod, but it was Gwen who had caught him.

  Not that Catharine had done badly, of course. King Tuan Loguire had spent his youth as Gramarye’s most eligible bachelor—and it must be admitted that Rod had been a very unknown quantity.

  Still was, in some ways. Why else would Gwendylon, most powerful witch in circulation, continue to be interested in him?

  Rod looked up at Puck. “Would you mind, Merry Wanderer?”

  The elf sighed and spread his arms. “What is time to an immortal? Nay, go about the King’s business!”

  “Thanks, sprite.” Rod turned back to Gwen. “Your broom, or mine?”

  Gwen bent over the hanging cradle swathed in yards of cloth-of-gold, and her face softened into a tender smile. “Oh, he is dear!”

  Queen Catharine beamed down at the baby. She was a slender blonde with large blue eyes and a very small chin. “I thank thee for thy praise… I am proud.”

  “As thou shouldst be.” Gwen straightened, looking up at her husband with a misty gaze.

  Rod looked around, hoping she was gazing at someone else. On second thought, maybe not…

  Catharine raised a finger to her lips and moved slightly toward the door. Rod and Gwen followed, leaving the child to its nanny, two chambermaids, and two guards.

  Another two stood on either side of the outer doorway, under the eagle eye of the proud father. One reached out to close the door softly behind them. Rod looked up at King Tuan, and nodded. “No worries about the succession now.”

  “Aye.” Gwen beamed. “Two princes are a great blessing.”

  “Well I can think of a few kings who would’ve argued with that.” Rod smiled, amused. “Still, I must admit they’re outnumbered by the kings who’ve been glad of the support of their younger brothers.”

  “As I trust our Alain shall be.” Tuan turned away. “Come, let us pass into the solar.” He paced down the hall and into another chamber with a wall of clerestory windows. Rod followed, with the two ladies chattering behind him. He reminded himself that he and Gwen were being signally honored; none of the royal couple’s other subjects had ever been invited into their majesties’ private apartments.

  On the other hand, if Gwen had been the kind to brag, they might not have been invited in, either.

  And, of course, there was old Duke Loguire. But that was different; he came under the alias of “Grandpa.” And Brom O’Brien; but the Lord Privy Councillor would, of course, have access to the privy chambers.

  On the other hand, Rod tried not to be too conscious of the honor. After all, he had known Tuan when the young King was an outlaw; exiled for courting Catharine; and hiding out in the worst part of town, as King of the Beggars—and unwitting party to the forming of a civil war. “As long as they grow up friends,” he reminded Tuan, “or as much as two brothers can.”

  “Aye—and if their friendship doth endure.” A shadow crossed Tuan’s face, and Rod guessed he was remembering his own elder brother, Anselm, who had rebelled against their father, and against Queen Catharine.

  “Then must we take great care to ensure their friendship.” Catharine hooked her arm through Tuan’s. “Yet I misdoubt me, my lord, an our guests did come to speak of children only.”

  “I’m sure it’s a more pleasant subject than whatever he had in mind,” Rod said quickly.

  “And ‘twould have been cause enow, I do assure thee,” Gwen added.

  Catharine answered with a silvery laugh. “For thou and I, mayhap—but I misdoubt me an ‘twould interest our husbands overlong.”

  “Do not judge us so harshly,” Tuan protested. “Yet I must own that there are matters of policy to be discussed.” He sighed, and turned away to a desk that stood beneath the broad windows, with a map beside it on a floor stand. “Come, Lord Warlock—let us take up less pleasant matters.”

  Rod came over, rather reassured; Tuan certainly didn’t seem to feel any urgency.

  The young King tapped the map, on the Duchy of Romanov. “Here lies our mutual interest of the hour.”

  “Well, as long as it’s only an hour. What’s our bear of a Duke up to?”

  “Tis not His Grace,” Tuan said slowly.

  Rod perked up; this was becoming more interesting. “Something original would be welcome. Frankly, I’ve been getting a bit bored with the petty rebellions of your twelve great lords.”

  “Art thou so? I assure thee,” Tuan said grimly, “I have never found them tedious.”

  “What is it, then? One of his petty barons gathering arms and men?”

  “I would it were; of that, I’ve some experience. This, though, is a matter of another sort; for the rumors speak of foul magics.”

  “Rumors?” Rod looked up from the map. “Not reports from agents?”

  “I have some spies in the North,” Tuan acknowledged, “yet they only speak of these same rumors, not of events which they themselves have witnessed.”

  Rod frowned. “Haven’t any of them tried to track the rumor to its source?”

  Tuan shrugged. “None of those who’ve sent word. Yet I’ve several who have sent me no reports, and mine emissaries cannot find them.”

  “Not a good sign.” Rod’s frown darkened. “They might have ridden off to check, and been taken.”

  “Or worse,” Tuan agreed, “for the rumors speak of a malignant magus, a dark and brooding power, who doth send his minions everywhere throughout the North Country.”

  “Worrisome, but not a problem—as long as all they do is spy. I take it they don’t.”

  “Not if rumor speaks truly. These minions, look you, are sorcerers in their own right; and with the power they own, added to that which they gather from their sorcerer-lord, they defeat the local knights ere they can even come to battle. Then the sorcerers enthrall the knights, with their wives and children, too, and take up lordship over all the serfs and peasants of that district.”

  “Not too good a deal for the knights and their families,” Rod mused, “but
probably not much of a difference, to the serfs and peasants. After all, they’re used to taking orders—what difference does it make who’s giving them?”

  “Great difference, if the first master was gentle, and the second was harsh,” Tuan retorted. His face was grim. “And reports speak of actions more than harsh, from these new masters. These sorcerers are evil.”

  “And, of course, the peasants can’t do much, against magic.” Rod frowned. “Not much chance of fighting back.”

  Tuan shuddered. “Perish the thought! For peasants must never resist orders, but only obey them, as is their divinely appointed role.”

  What made Rod’s blood run cold was that Tuan didn’t say it grimly or primly, or pompously, or with the pious air of self-justification. No, he said it very matter-of-factly, as though it were as much a part of the world as rocks and trees and running water, and no one could even think of debating it. How could you argue about the existence of a rock? Especially if it had fallen on your toe…

  That was where the real danger lay, of course—not in the opinions people held, but in the concepts they knew to be true—especially when they weren’t.

  Rod shook off the mood. “So the chief sorcerer has been knocking off the local lordlings and taking over their holdings. How far has his power spread?”

  “Rumor speaks of several baronets who have fallen ‘neath his sway,” Tuan said, brooding, “and even Duke Romanov, himself.”

  “Romanov?” Rod stared, appalled. “One of the twelve great lords? How could he fall, without word of it reaching us?”

  “I could accomplish it—and I am no wizard.” Tuan shrugged. “ ‘Tis simplicity—close a ring of iron around his castle under cover of night, then hurl an army ‘gainst his barbican, and siege machines against his towers. Invest the castle, and trust to thy ring of knights and men-at-arms to see that not a soul wins free to bear off word.”

  Rod shuddered at Tuan’s sangfroid. “But he had a couple of esp—uh, witches, guesting in his tower!”

  “More than ‘guesting,’ as I hear it,” Tuan answered, with a grim smile. “They were thoroughly loyal to Milord Duke, for he had saved them from the stake and embers. They’ve been of great service tending to the ill and injured and, I doubt not, gathering information for him.”

  Rod frowned. “They must have been very discreet about it. We make it a practice, in the Royal Coven, not to pry into the minds of anyone except your enemies.”

  “Or those who might become so,” Tuan amended. “Who’s to say his witches did more? Nay, once Catharine showed them the way of it, and thou and thy good wife did aid her in forming that band into a battle-weapon, all the lords did learn, and followed suit.”

  “And Romanov’s witches couldn’t give him enough advance warning?” Rod pursed his lips. “This sorcerer is effective. But speaking of mental eavesdropping, that’s a way to check on the rumors. Did you ask any of the Royal Witchforce to try and read Romanov’s mind?”

  “I did. They could not find him.”

  “So.” Rod pursed his lips. “What minds did they hear, to the North?”

  Tuan shrugged. “Only what should be. The plowman followed his oxen, the milkmaid coaxed her swain—naught was there to bring alarm, save that the warlock who listened, could not find the minds of any knights or barons.”

  “How about vile thoughts, from evil sorcerers?”

  Tuan turned his head slowly from side to side.

  “So.” Rod’s gaze strayed back to the map. “On the face of it, nothing’s wrong; it’s just that the Duke of Romanov seems to have taken a vacation to parts unknown, with all his aristocratic retainers.”

  “Thou dost see why I do suspect.”

  Rod nodded. “Sounds fishy to me, too… not that I can’t understand why the noble Duke would want to take off for a while, though. I’ve been feeling a bit too much stress lately, myself… Gwen?” He turned, to find Gwen standing near. “Been listening?”

  “I have.” She smiled. “And I do think thou dost make a great coil of naught.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly say we’re making a lot of fuss.” Rod locked gazes with Tuan. “Where’s the weeping and wailing? The yelling and hair-tearing?”

  “Tis even as thou sayest,” Tuan turned to Gwen. “I do not see great danger here, Lady Gwendylon—only the abuse of witch-power, over those who have it not.”

  “And witches ganging up on normals,” Rod added. “But that can all be cured by even more witches—from the good guys. After all, we have a vested interest in the public’s opinion of witches, dear.”

  “In truth,” Gwen said firmly, “and we cannot have the folk afeard that witches will seek to govern by force of magic.”

  “Of course not,” Rod murmured, “especially when every right-thinking individual knows it has to be done by force of arms.”

  Tuan frowned. “How didst thou speak?”

  “Uh, nothing.” Rod turned to Gwen. “How about it, dear? A family vacation, wandering toward the North?” When Gwen hesitated, he added, “I don’t really think there’s any danger—at least, none that you and I can’t handle between us.”

  “Nay, surely not,” Gwen agreed, but her brow was still furrowed.

  “What, then? The kids? I really don’t think they’ll mind.”

  “Oh, certes they will not! Yet hast thou considered the trials of shepherding our four upon the road?”

  “Sure.” Rod frowned. “We did it in Tir Chlis.”

  “I know,” Gwen sighed. “Well, an thou sayest ‘tis for the best, my husband, we shall essay it.”

  2

  Rod turned the key in the lock, pulled it out, set it in Gwen’s palm, and wrapped her hand around it. “Your office, O Lady of the House.” He studied her face for a second and added gently, “Don’t worry, dear. It’ll still be here when you get back.”

  “I know,” she sighed, “yet ‘tis never easy to leave it.”

  “I know.” Rod glanced back at the house. “I’ll get halfway down the road, and start wondering if I really did put out the fire on the hearth.”

  “And thou dost, but call it out, and an elf shall bear word to me,” Brom O’Berin rumbled beside them. “Mere minutes after thou hast uttered it, an elf shall spring out of the ingelnook to douse thy hearth—if it doth need.”

  “I thank thee, Brom,” Gwen said softly.

  The dwarf scowled, becoming more gruff. “Nay, have no fear for thine house. Elves shall guard it day and night. Ill shall fare the man who doth seek to enter.”

  Rod shuddered. “I pity the footpad Puck catches! So come on, dear—there’s nothing to worry about. Here, anyway. Time for the road.” He grasped her waist, and helped her leap to Fess’s saddle.

  “May we not fly, Papa?” Cordelia pouted. Her hands were clasped behind her back, and a broomstick stuck out from behind her shoulder.

  Rod smiled, and glanced at Gwen. She nodded, almost imperceptibly. He turned back to Cordelia. “As long as you stay near your mother and me—yes.”

  Cordelia gave a shout of joy and leaped onto her broom. Her brothers echoed her, drifting up into the air.

  “Move out, Old Iron,” Rod murmured, and the great black robot-horse ambled out toward the road. Rod fell into step beside him, and turned back to wave to Brom.

  “A holiday!” Geoffrey cried, swooping in front of him. “ ‘Tis ages since we had one!”

  “Yeah—about a year.” But Rod grinned; he seemed to feel a weight lifting off his shoulders. He caught Gwen’s hand and looked up at her. “Confess it, dear—don’t you feel a little more free?”

  She smiled down at him, brightening. “I do, my lord—though I’ve brought my lock and bars along.”

  “And I, my ball and chain.” Rod grinned. “Keep an eye on the links, will you?… Magnus! When I said, ‘Stay near,’ that meant altitude, too! Come down here right now!”

  The tinkers strolled into the village, gay and carefree, smudged and dirty. Their clothes were patched, and the pots and pans ha
nging from their horse’s pack made a horrible clattering.

  “This is rather demeaning, Rod,” Fess murmured. “Additionally, as I have noted, no real tinker family could afford a horse.”

  “Especially not one fit for a knight. I know,” Rod answered. “I’ll just tell them the last stop was a castle, and the lord of the demesne paid us in kind.”

  “Rod, I think you lack an accurate concept of the financial worth of a war-horse in medieval culture.”

  “Hey—they had a lot of pots.” Rod grinned down at his own primitive publicity agents. “Okay, kids, that’s enough. I think they know we’re here.”

  The four little Gallowglasses slowed their madcap dancing, and gave their pots and pans one last clanging whack with their wooden spoons. “You spoil all the fun, Papa,” Cordelia pouted as she handed him the cookware.

  “No, just most of it. Magnus? Geoff? Turn in your weapons, boys. Gregory, you, too—ah, a customer!”

  “Canst mend this firkin, fellow?” The housewife was plump, rosy-cheeked, and anxious.

  Rod took the little pot and whistled at the sight of the long, jagged crack in the cast iron. “How’d you manage that kind of break?”

  “My youngest dropped it,” the goodwife said impatiently. “Canst mend it?”

  “Yeah,” Rod said slowly, “but it’ll cost you a ha’penny.”

  The woman’s face blossomed in a smile. “I have one, and ‘twill be well worth it. Bless thee, fellow!”

  Which sounded a little odd, since “fellow” was a term of semicontempt; but Rod blithely took out a hammer and some charcoal, laid a small fire, and got busy faking. Magnus and Gregory crouched on either side of him, ostensibly watching.

  “This is the manner of the crafting of it, Gregory,” big brother Magnus said softly. “Let thy mind bear watch on mine. The metal’s made of grains so small thou canst not see them…”

  “Molecules,” Rod supplied.