The Warlock's Last Ride Read online

  "To your wife, not to you!" Anselm snapped. "We bring you a traitor who urged me to rebellion again. These last few days his exhortations have grown quite urgent, and I could not think why—but now I see." He turned on Sir Orgon. "You knew about this, didn't you? A peasant uprising, and you knew when it would happen, which is why you said there was little time left!"

  "If that is so, leave him to me," Catharine said in an executioner's voice.

  Sir Orgon looked at her and shuddered.

  "Does your son not have manners enough to greet his aunt, let alone his Queen?" Catharine demanded.

  Anselm bristled—but before he could answer, Geordie cried, "I see them! Dickon and Ned, two of mine own peasants!" And with no more ado, he was galloping down toward the meadow.

  Down, and in among the peasants, who parted in sheer astonishment, then closed around the rider with dark and angry shouts—but Geordie swung down from his horse and ran to his men. "Dickon! Ned! What do you here? Do you mean to lose your lives?"

  "Good day, squire." Dickon had the grace to look shame-faced. "When the guardsmen took you away, we were angered indeed by the duke's high-handedness. We heard men were marching to tear down this arrogant Queen and her supercilious sons, and we came seeking revenge for you."

  "Well, you no longer have need! The Lord Warlock pled my case, and that 'supercilious son' sent me back to care for you all as well as I may!" He spun to Alain. "Your Highness! No matter who else must be punished, I beg you spare these! They sought only justice for their squire, nothing more!"

  "You are loyal to this lordling?" one of the other peasants asked, incredulous.

  Dickon's face darkened; he took a firmer grip on his staff as he stepped up beside Geordie. "We will defend this man to our deaths."

  "Aye!" Ned stepped up on Geordie's other side. "Our squire and his lady have done all they can to see that we and our families are well fed and well housed! If we lack anything, 'tis only because he has no more money! Indeed, the duke's men arrested him for seeking food enough to take us through the winter, though he had to shoot the Queen's own deer to do it!"

  "This is the best reason I ever heard for poaching," Alain said.

  "But how is this?" asked another peasant. "You do not mean to say the lords can be our friends!"

  "I am no lord," Geordie said hotly, "for my father is attainted! I am only a squire!"

  "But he is a lord by rights!" Ned proclaimed. "A lord, and our friend!"

  "As I will be, too." Alain gazed at his cousin for a second, then smiled. "We are of one blood, after all, though we have never seen one another. Well met, Cousin Geordie."

  Geordie gazed back at him, then decided to smile, too. "And you, Cousin Alain."

  "How very touching," another peasant sneered, "reunion at long last—but they are lords nonetheless, and our enemies by nature!"

  All about Alain, confused talk sizzled—until a voice shrieked, "We have come for blood! We cannot leave with nothing to show for our pains!"

  "You shall have my blood if you wish it," Alain said gravely. "Choose your champion, and I shall fight him with his own weapons!"

  High atop the north tower, Alea hovered beside Magnus, worried about the tension evident in every line of his body. "You mustn't, Magnus! Mustn't interfere! There's no cause yet!"

  "My prince and childhood friend is surrounded by thousands of enemies," Magnus grated, "and you tell me there's no cause?"

  "Of course there isn't! You know he has the situation under control, no matter what it may look like! You've done something like it yourself! How many times have you gone among hundreds of enemies?"

  "Yes, but not to defy them!"

  "Neither does he! Interfere now, and they'll lose the faith in him that he's building! I know it's the most difficult thing in the world to do nothing, but that's what you must do!"

  "Unless they jump him," Magnus muttered, and almost wished they would.

  The mob roared around the two cousins, who stared, each marvelling that the other could be his kinsman. The ocean of sound washed about them until one voice pierced it: "Don't trust him! It's a trick!"

  "Is there none who dares fight me?" Alain called. "Surely there must be, or you would not have come! Find at least one!"

  But the crowd churned about him, their noise incredulous—then died suddenly, and a channel opened as men pressed back. At the end of that channel stood a man like a wall, six and a half feet tall with shoulders like a bull's, arms thick as an ordinary man's leg. "I dare!" he bellowed, and shook a seven-foot staff. "This is my weapon! Do you dare to fight me, princeling? Do you dare shed your armor and fight me with nothing but a staff?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  At the city gate, Catharine turned in a fury. "Are you mad, Tuan? Our boy shall be slain!"

  "I doubt it," Tuan returned, but his own face was taut with strain. "There is far less chance of death by staff than by swords—and our lad is well-trained."

  "But if he were…"

  "Then Diarmid would never forgive his slayer," Tuan said, "and the peasants would have far more to fear when you die, from a King who seeks to avenge his brother's death."

  "They have not the wisdom to remember that!"

  "They shall have no need to." Tuan took off his gauntlets and took her hand. "We must risk his hurt in this, as we had to risk it when he rode off to help his friends. How can he ever be King if he cannot rely upon himself?"

  "But those were mere bandits and woodsrunners!"

  "Is this opponent any more?" Tuan stroked her hand. "Courage, my sweet. The boy is well-trained and has faced worse enemies than this—and amazingly, he has reduced this conflict from a battle between armies to a bout with a quarterstaff."

  Catharine stared at her son, stalking toward the huge peasant, and said, with a touch of awe, "So he has."

  Then, tense with worry, she sat holding her husband's hand fiercely as she watched her son step forth to an apparent slaughter.

  The sentry wasn't the only one by the southern river—a SPITE telepath stood within the forest border nearby. She heard the cacophony of the monsters invading and ran out of the trees—then froze, staring, horrified by the sight of the invading nightmares. She closed her eyes, shaking her head to free her from paralysis, and sent a thought north to Runnymede, to her fellow SPITE espers.

  One of those telepaths was in the midst of the peasant army, right by the Mocker's elbow. "They've done it, chief! The dupe has invited the monsters in!"

  "Then the telepaths will be too busy with them to help out in this battle."

  "I dare fight you," Alain told the strapping peasant, "and I am delighted to see that at least one of my subjects has the courage to stand against me."

  It was too much for Geoffrey. With a howl of anger, he charged the crowd. They pressed back with cries of alarm.

  The Mocker raised his voice, calling out, "Treachery! Charge him! Bury him! All of them, before they bury us all!" He knew his own psis would hobble any defenders, no matter how well armed.

  The peasants answered with a roar of anger, and as Geoffrey rode in among them, dozens of hands seized his horse's harness. The brave beast screamed, trying to rear, but the weight of many peasants held him down. More peasants pressed in, hands reaching for Geoffrey—but the blades that thrust at him slowed and stopped inches short of his sides.

  "Why can't they stab him?" the Mocker hissed. "What are our psis doing? Tell them to block the espers who are protecting him!"

  "We're trying, Chief," the man at his other side said, face taut with strain, "but the royal psis are fighting us for all they're worth. We're deadlocked!"

  "It's the Gallowglasses!" the Mocker hissed. "Why haven't they teleported south to fight the monsters?"

  "I thank you, Sir Geoffrey!" Alain called out. "I had need of a squire. Will you unbuckle my armor, then?"

  Geoffrey looked at the angry faces around him and swallowed. "Your highness, I shall."

  Men pressed back to leave room as the kni
ght slid down from his horse's back. He took a step or two away, then lifted his visor to look at them impatiently. "Well, will none of you help me doff my own armor? How can I assist my prince with this weight of tin about me?"

  The peasants stared in surprise. Then ten willing hands reached to help him unbuckle.

  "Do not trust him!" a voice shrilled. "He is a warlock! He shall fell you with a thought!"

  "I shall do no such thing!" Geoffrey shouted back in indignation. "I would be disgraced if I interfered in a duel!"

  "If not him, the prince's wife!" another voice cried. "The High Warlock's daughter, the Princess Cordelia! Surely she shall not stand patiently to watch her husband slain!"

  Geoffrey frowned, stilling, his gaze unfocused, and the men unbuckling him paused, staring in alarm at his face. Then his eyes came alive again; he gave them a curt not. "She gives her pledge that she too will withhold her power. She rages at me, but she will abide."

  "You cannot trust him!" the voice screeched. "You cannot trust any lord!"

  Geoffrey stilled again, only his legs now armored. "Let him who would call me a liar come forth to meet me man to man, with our hands bare!"

  The crowd was still, waiting expectantly, but the owner of the voice was silent. Geoffrey nodded and leaned down to unbuckle his greaves. Then, clad in only shirt and hose, he went to help Alain. A speculative mummer ran through the crowd as Geoffrey unbuckled Alain's armor; he imagined quite a few bets were being placed among the peasants on the duel's outcome.

  A few minutes later, Alain, too, stood in only shirt and hose. He looked about him, calling, "Who will lend me a staff?"

  A dozen poles thrust at him. He tested one after another, nodding, and chose a stick of dark dense wood and inclined his head courteously to its owner. "I thank you." Then he stepped forward toward the big man with the seven-foot staff.

  Geoffrey swallowed and remembered his word.

  "There is no cause yet!" Allouette insisted. "I know it looks as though there is, but trust me, sister, this is truly a battle for men's minds, not their bodies—and your husband fights it like the expert he is!"

  "How would you know?" Cordelia asked through clenched teeth.

  "Because I was trained for this! Because I worked at it for five years! Trust me, sister—and trust him!"

  Watching the woman he loved, Gregory marvelled. She didn't seem to realize the contradiction—that Cordelia should trust her because she had been trained to be a subverter—but she was right.

  "If they harm one hair of his head," Cordelia said, "I shall burn their minds out where they stand!"

  "Wait for more than one hair," Gregory advised.

  "It is true." Allouette nodded. "He must let the big peasant strike him once, twice, or more, to win their respect!"

  "How shall I know when he is truly in danger?" Cordelia cried.

  "If they strike him down and he does not rally," Allouette explained. "So long as he rises again, he has them under his spell."

  "You know a lot about spells, do you not?" Cordelia snapped, and instantly regretted it.

  But Allouette seemed to take it as a mere statement of fact. "I do, so trust me in this. Withhold your might!"

  Far to the south, a telepathic sentry stood atop a cliff and saw a score of monsters burst from the morning mist over the river. They bounded straight for the young man who had called them. The sentry was only a telepath; she had no other mental powers to help protect the poor idiot who had trusted the monsters' promises and invited them in. She turned away with a shudder and, with all her strength, sent the mental alarm north to the rest of the Royal Witchforce. The monsters have broken out of the mist! The monsters are loose!

  In Runnymede, Cordelia stiffened with a gasp—and so did Allouette and Gregory.

  "I dare not go!" Cordelia wailed. "Not while my love is in danger!"

  "We dare not go either," Gregory said grimly, "while the Crown may need us. Pray the monsters do no harm before this is ended!"

  None of them believed that for an instant—but they knew they had to stay and watch.

  On the field below, Geoffrey stiffened with alarm, but knew even better than his siblings that he dared not disappear—especially among a crowd who feared witches.

  High in the north tower, though, Magnus's eyes widened. So did Alea's, the alarm blasting through her mind, too. Then Magnus's eyes lost focus, and she cried, "Not without me!" She seized his hand, wrapped his arm about her, and tucked hers as far about his waist as she could. His arm tightened about her, lifting; then an explosion echoed and the world disappeared in a sickening slide of colors that churned all about her. An instant later, the earth jarred up against her feet, and she clung to Magnus until the dizziness passed, sure that she would never again envy his ability to teleport.

  Then she looked up and saw the monsters bearing down on them.

  The big peasant jeered, "Will you stand there and wait all day, princeling? Have you the courage to strike the first blow?"

  "Marry, that I have," Alain answered, "for I will not have it said that you attacked your prince. Still, I admire the courage of any peasant who dares fight a belted knight, and would know the name of so valiant a fellow."

  "I am called Bjorn," the peasant returned, "and I must honor the courage of any man so little as you who dares stand against me!"

  Alain took a step closer, smiling up at the man who stood a head taller than he and outweighed him by eighty pounds of muscle. "We fight with respect, then. Defend yourself!" He swung his staff like a baseball bat, up high and down at Bjorn's head.

  Bjorn laughed and swung his own staff to block. Alain's cracked against it and, on the rebound, swung at Bjorn's ankles. He dropped it to block, then chopped down in a short hard blow that glanced off the side of Alain's head.

  At the city gates, Catharine screamed.

  Alain staggered backward, shaking his head, and Bjorn followed, tight-lipped and plainly disliking his work, but swinging at Alain anyway.

  Somehow, the prince leaned aside at just the right moment, and the staff whistled past him. He gave his head one last shake and leaped high to swing a roundhouse blow at Bjorn.

  Too late, Bjorn recovered and lifted his staff, but Alain's blow cracked on his collarbone. He howled in pain and swung the butt of his staff at the prince's belly. Alain blocked both that and the next blow at his head, then gave ground, blocking every blow as Bjorn grew more and more angry, then swung a two-handed blow at his head. Alain ducked and, before Bjorn could recover, advanced on him with three-strike combinations. Now it was Bjorn who fell back, trying frantically to block—until he missed, and one swing connected. Alain's staff cracked squarely against Bjorn's skull, and the big man's eyes glazed.

  Alain leaped back.

  Bjorn began to lean from side to side, dazed but managing to hold his balance—barely. Alain could have struck him down with impunity. Instead, he thrust with the staff as though it were a lance and struck Bjorn's breastbone. The big man overbalanced and fell like a tree. He slammed into the ground, and Alain was at his side in an instant, dropping to one knee to feel for the pulse in the man's throat.

  The peasants held their breath.

  Then Alain looked up grinning. "He lives!"

  The peasants cheered and lifted him up bodily.

  Geoffrey forgot his pledge and dashed forward. Then he saw that Alain was sitting on the broad shoulders of two peasants, while the others danced about him, cheering and waving their flails and scythes in triumph. They bore the victor back to his parents, chanting a war song.

  Geoffrey started to run after them, then remembered and turned back to help Bjorn to his feet.

  The crowd bore the grinning Prince before the King and Queen, then suddenly fell silent, shocked by the enormity of what they had done. Into the silence, Alain cried, "They are a people of whom we may be proud, my liege! And the one who dared fight me is surely a hero!"

  "That he is," Tuan said gravely, then turned to the guardsman beside him.
"Bid the castle cooks bring out food and ale for all these men, that we may celebrate my son's victory!"

  The crowd stared, unable to believe they were to be rewarded, not punished. Then they let loose one massive cheer, and the dancing began again.

  In the midst of it, Alain managed to slip down off the shoulders of his bearers and turned to face the still-dazed peasant who came before him with one arm slung about Geoffrey's shoulders. "Bjorn," said the Prince, "you are an honorable man who has had the courage to stand before his Prince this day, and fought a fair fight, cleanly and honestly. Will you take service with me?"

  Bjorn blinked, coming out of his stupor. Then he bowed, albeit with Geoffrey steadying him. "Your highness," he said, "I shall."

  "Lend me a groat, will you?" Alain asked the nearest soldier. The man stared, then fished in his pouch and held out a coin. Alain took it and pressed it into Bjorn's hand. "You have taken my pay," he told the big peasant. "You are my man."

  "And you are my lord!" Bjorn grinned from ear to ear. "Hail, Prince of Gramarye!"

  There was a commotion at the gate and people pressed back to let through a wagon bearing the first three casks of ale. The peasants cheered and pressed forward.

  Alea saw Magnus standing poised for battle, glaring at the thousand monsters who raced to see who could be first to rip him open.

  For a moment, she stared in horror at the nightmare army, shrinking in terror—but beside her, Magnus stood at bay, the man who had given her back her life, and she mastered the fear as she had mastered every fear that she had faced since her parents had died, and stepped up beside Magnus, clasping his hand to give him what strength she could, turning toward the horde of horrors that bore down on them, knowing that if she was going to die, she would at least meet death by the side of the man she loved.