King Kobold revived-Warlock-2.5 (14 page)

“Right.” Yorick bobbed his head. “Decided we couldn’t be safe anywhere on Earth, in fact—so he brought us here. Or to Anderland, anyway.” He jerked his head toward the west. “Over that way.”

“The mainland,” Rod translated. “Just—brought you.”

“Right.”

“How!?”

“I dunno.” The Neanderthal shrugged. “He just took us to this great big square thing and marched us through, and… here we were!” He grinned. “Just like that!”

“Just like that.” It was strange, Rod reflected, how drastically Yorick’s IQ could change when he wanted it to. From the sound of it, the Neanderthals had walked through a time machine. Dread gnawed at Rod’s belly—was this Eagle one of the futurian totalitarians who had staged the rebellion two years ago? Or one of the futurian anarchists, who had tried to stage a coup d’etat?

Or somebody else from the future, trying to horn in on Gramarye?

Why not? If there were two time-traveling organizations, why not a third? Or a fourth? Or a fifth? Just how many time machines were hidden away on this planet, anyway? Could Gramarye be that important?

But it could be, he admitted silently to himself. He’d learned from a renegade Futurian that Gramarye
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would eventually become a democracy, and would sup-ply the telepaths that were vital to the survival of an interstellar democracy. That meant that the futurian anarchists and totalitarians were doomed to failure—unless they could subvert Gramarye into dictatorship, or anarchy. The planet was a nexus, a pivotal element in the history of humanity—and if it was the pivot, Rod was its bearing. The Eagle was obviously a futurian—but from which side? Rod certainly wasn’t going to find out from Yorick. He could try, of course—but the Neander-thal was likely to turn into a clam. Rod decided not to press the point—let Yorick finish talking; just sit back and listen. That way, Rod would at least learn every-thing the Neanderthal was willing to say. First get the basic information; then dig for the details. Rod forced a grin and said, “At least you were safe from Flat-faces… I mean, Cro-Magnons.”

“We sure were. In fact, things were really hunky-dory, for a while. We chased out the dinosaurs, except for the ones who couldn’t run fast enough…”

“How’d you handle them?”

“With a knife and fork. Not bad, with enough seasoning. Especially if you grind ‘em up and sprinkle it on top of some cornbread, with some cheese sauce.”

“I, uh, think we can, uh, delay that tangent.” Rod swallowed hard against a queasy stomach. “But I’m sure the regimental cook would love to hear your reci-pes.” There was a gagging sound from the soldiers behind him, and Tuan swal-lowed heavily. Rod changed the subject. “After you took care of the wildlife, I assume you cleared the underbrush?”

“And the overbrush; made great little houses. Then we put in a crop and practiced fishing while we watched it grow.”

“Catch anything?”

“Just coelacanths, but they’re not half bad with a little…”

“How about the farming?” Rod said quickly.

“Couldn’t be better. Grew real fast, too, and real big; nice soil you’ve got here.”

“A regular Garden of Eden,” Rod said drily. “Who was the snake?”

“A bright-eyed boy, eager to make good.”

Rod had been getting bored, but he suddenly gained interest. “A boy?”

“Well, okay, so he was about forty. And the brightness in his eye was pure greed—but you couldn’t call him grown-up, really. Still couldn’t tell the differ-ence between reality and fantasy. He decided he was a magician and a priest all rolled into one, and went around telling everybody they should worship the Elder God.”

Rod frowned. “Who is the ‘Elder God’?”

“ ‘What’ would be more like it. Nobody’s ever seen it, mind you…”

“That’s the way it is with most gods.”

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“Really? From all the stories I hear, it’s just the other way around. But this shaman drew pictures of him for us; it was a huge bloated grotesque thing, with snakes for hair and little fires for eyes. Called him the Kobold.” Yorick shud-dered. “Gives me the creeps, just to think about it.”

“Not the type to inspire confidence,” Rod agreed. “And he was hoping to win converts with this thing?”

Yorick nodded. “Didn’t get ‘em, though—at least, until his buddy Atylem got lost at sea.”

“His buddy got lost. This made people think his god was true?”

“No, it was because Atylem came back.”

“Oh—the Slain and Risen One.”

“Not really. Atylem had been out fishing, see, and he hadn’t come back. But finally he did, two weeks later—and he said he’d found a whole new land five days across the water. And it was just chock-full of Flatfaces!”

“Oh.” Rod lifted his head slowly, eyes losing focus. “So. Your people decided the Eagle was wrong, eh?”

“You’re quick, milord.”

“And that meant the Kobold was right.”

Yorick nodded. “Doesn’t really make sense, does it?”

Rod shrugged. “That’s the way people think. I mean, we’re talking about public opinion, not logic.”

“Sure.” Yorick spread his hands. “Put yourself in their place. Why would the Eagle bring you so close to your old enemies if he were really powerful and wise?”

“But they were all the way across the water,” Rod said reasonably, “a day’s journey.”

“That’s what we all said.” Yorick nodded toward his friends. “We were Ea-gle’s leadership cadre, you see. I was his right-hand man—and Gachol over there was his left-hand.”

“And the rest were the fingers?”

“You got it. Anyway, we all said the Flatfaces couldn’t bother us much—not with all that water to cross. But one day we looked up, and there was a Flatface floating in the sky.”

Rod stiffened, galvanized. Toby, on his spy mission! But hadn’t Yorick left something out? A little matter of a raid?

But the Neanderthal plowed on. “Well! The fat was in the fire, I can tell you! That shaman—Mughorck was his name—he was out and about the village be-fore the Flatface was out of the sky, shouting about how Eagle had betrayed us and now the Flatfaces were gonna come over like a ton of devilfish and knock us all into the gizzard!”

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“Didn’t anybody argue with him?”

“A few of us did try to point out that one Flatface does not an army make—nor a navy, for that matter. But, I mean, this Flatface was flying! Everybody was panicking. Some of them were so scared, they actually started digging them-selves holes to crawl into! I mean, they were talking magic, and they were talking sorcery—and Eagle had made a big point of telling them that he wasn’t magical, and he wasn’t a sorcerer. Not that anybody believed him, of course, but…”

“But it laid the egg of doubt,” Rod inferred. “I should be so lucky!”

The apeman frowned. “How’s that again?”

“Uh, nothing,” Rod said hastily. “I take it the people began to believe him, at just the wrongest time?”

“Right. After all, there was Mughorck the shaman, running around telling people that he was magical, and was a sorcerer—and that his god, the Kobold, could make them strong enough to defeat the Flatfaces, and, well… people don’t think too clearly when they’re scared stiff. First thing you knew, everybody was yelling and shouting that the shaman was right, and the Kobold had to be a true god, after all.”

“Didn’t you begin to get the feeling that the climate was turning unhealthy?”

“Just about then, yeah. We”—Yorick jerked his head toward his compan-ions—“began to feel the wind shifting. So we headed up to the High Cave, to tell the Eagle to fly.”

“I hope he listened to you.”

“Listened! He was ahead of us—as usual. He had our knapsacks all packed. While we were slinging our packs onto our backs, he slapped our bows into our hands. Then he told us to disappear into the jungle and build a raft.”

“Raft?” Rod frowned.

Yorick nodded. “We had some really thick trees, with really thick bark, and they floated really well. He told us not to worry about where we were going—just to paddle it out into the ocean and hang on. Oh, and he told us to bring plenty of food and lots of drinking water, ‘cause we might be on that raft for a long time.”

“Without a sail or oars, it must’ve been.” Rod noted silently that the Eagle, whether or not he was a wizard, obviously knew the odd bit about science—which he should have, if he’d been running a time machine. It seemed that he knew about the Beastland-Gramarye current. “Did he tell you where’d you’d land?”

“Yeah—the Land of the Flatfaces. But he told us not to worry about it, be-cause these Flatfaces were good people, like him.” He clapped his hand over his mouth, eyes wide. The slip, Rod decided, had been a little too obvious. “Didn’t you want me to know he was good?”

“Uh… yeah.” Yorick took his hand away, bobbing his head eagerly, grinning. “Yeah, sure. That he was good, that’s all.”

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“Thought so. I mean, you couldn’t’ve been worried about letting me know he was a Flatface—that’s been pretty obvious all along.”

“Oh.” Yorick’s face fell. “You guys are good at manipulating symbols, aren’t you?”

But how could a Neanderthal realize that words were symbols? His educa-tion was showing again. “So you built your raft and paddled out into the ocean—and the current brought you here.”

“Yeah.” Yorick eyed the wall of spearpoints that hedged him in. “And I don’t mind telling you that, for a while there, we thought maybe the Eagle had been wrong about you.”

Rod shrugged. “Can you blame them? Some of these men are locals; and your boys hit a village not far from here a few days ago. They turned it into toothpicks and meatloaf—and some of my soldiers had relatives there.”

“They what?” Yorick stared at him in stark horror. Then he whirled to his own men, pouring out a furious cascade of gutturals and barks. His companions’ heads came up; they stared in horror. Then their faces darkened with anger. They answered Yorick in growls of rage. He turned back to Rod. “I don’t mean to sound callous, milord—but are you sure about this?”

Rod nodded, fighting to keep his face expressionless. Yorick and his men were either actually surprised and shocked by the news—or very good actors. “They hit a village up north, too. I was there; I saw it. Most of the villagers got away, but they carved up my soldiers like hams at a family reunion.”

Yorick’s face worked for a moment; then he turned his head and spat. “That skinny, catbait Mughorck!

He’s got to be behind it somehow!”

“Didst thou, then, know nothing of this?” Tuan demanded.

Yorick shook his head. “No one in the village did.”

“There were five score of men at least aboard that long ship,” Tuan said. “Many in your village must have known of it.”

“If they did, they did a real good job of keeping the secret,” Yorick growled. Then he pursed his lips. “

‘Course, nobody really would’ve noticed, with that epidemic going on.”

“Epidemic?” Rod perked up his ears. “What kind?”

“Oh, nothing really serious, you understand—but enough so that people had to take to their beds for a week or two with chills and fever. You’ll understand we were a little preoccupied.”

“I’ll understand they were goldbricking,” Rod snapped. “This fever didn’t happen to affect only single men, did it?”

Yorick gazed off into space. “Now that you mention…”

“Simple, but effective,” Rod said to Tuan. “If anybody came knocking and didn’t get any answer, they’d figure the guy was sleeping, or too sick to want to be bothered.” He turned back to Yorick. “Nobody thought to stop in to check and see if they wanted anything, I suppose?”

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Yorick shrugged. “Thought, yes—but you don’t go into somebody’s house without being invited. We left food at the door every night, though—and it was always gone the next morning.”

“I’ll bet it was—and your shaman’s friends had extra rations.”

“You’ve got a point.” Yorick’s face was darkening. “But we never thought to check on the sick ones—we trusted each other. You don’t know how great it is, when you’ve been alone all your life, to suddenly have a whole bunch of people like yourself. And we wouldn’t stop in just to say hello when we were pretty sure the person was feeling rotten; nobody wanted to catch it.”

Rod nodded grimly. “Simple. Despicable, but simple.” He turned back to Tuan. “So we got hit with private enterprise—a bunch of buckoes out for their own good, without regard to how much harm it might do their neighbors.”

“So that louse Mughorck was sending out secret commando raids to get you Flatfaces angry,” Yorick growled. “No wonder you sent a spy.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Rod countered. His eyes narrowed. “Come to think of it, maybe you have.”

“Who, us?” Yorick stared, appalled. “Make sense, milord! This is like walking in on a hibernating cave bear and kicking him awake! Do you think we’d take a chance like this if we had any choice?”

“Yes,” Rod said slowly. “I don’t think you’re short on courage. But you wouldn’t be dumb enough to come walking in without a disguise, either—especially since at least one of you speaks good Terran English.”

Beside him, Tuan nodded heavily. “I think they are what they seem, Lord Warlock—good men who flee an evil one.”

“I’m afraid I’d have to say so too,” Rod sighed. “But speaking of good men—what happened to the Eagle?”

Yorick shrugged. “All he said was that he was going to hide.”

“And take his gadgets with him, I hope,” Rod said grimly. “The enemy has entirely too many time machines already.”

“ ‘Enemy’?” Tuan turned to him, frowning. “There is naught here but an up-start hungry for power, Lord Gallowglass.”

“Yeah, one who thinks Gramarye looks like a delicious dessert! If that’s not ‘the enemy,’ what is?”