King Kobold revived-Warlock-2.5 (2 page)

“Then did Loguire summon all the Lords of the Realm, and they came to him at his castle in the South, that he might counsel them to withhold their power yet awhile; but being met, they brewed their Treason

‘gainst him.

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“And there were witches in the land, and warlocks too; and word did go from mouth to mouth, the Rumor that speaks more loudly than the heralds, that the Queen had welcomed to her keep all witchfolk who did wish her protection, and there they held wild Revels through the night, for many were the Good Folk who had sought to burn them; and folk began to murmur that the Queen herself had something of witchcraft in her.

“And the High Warlock did befriend the witches, even Gwendylon, most powerful among them, and she was young, and comely, and he spoke to her of Love.

“And Lord Tuan came by night unto the town of Runnymede, that he might be near unto the Queen, though she despised him, and he came unto the beggars, and sought Sanctuary amongst them; and he taught them Governance, and they made him King among them. Yet the one among them whom Lord Tuan most trusted, he who held the purse and was called ‘the Mocker,’ bethought himself of Lord Tuan’s mock crown.

“Then, when all the Lords were met at Loguire’s demesne in the South, and Anselm with them, they did stand against Loguire’s face and refute his leader-ship, raising up young Anselm to the Dukedom in his father’s stead; and one Durer, erstwhile Loguire’s councillor, drew blade against him. Then did the High Warlock by High Magic snuff out all the lamps and torches, so that Loguire’s hall lay all in darkness, for his Hall lay underground, and had no windows. And the High Warlock conjured up the ghosts that dwelt within that keep, and they did pass amongst the folk within that hall, and all were sore afeared, aye, even those great Lords that there were met; and the Warlock stole the Duke Loguire away, and brought him secretly unto the Queen at Runnymede.

“Then did the Lords summon up their armies, and all did march against the Queen. But the High Warlock spake unto the Elves that dwelt within that land, and they did swear to fight beside him, and the Witches also. And the High War-lock called up young Tuan Loguire, and he marched forth with all his beggars; and thus they came to Breden Plain: a Queen, a Warlock, and a dwarf, with an army made of witches, elves, and beggars.

“Then, under the Sun, the Lords charged out in bold array, but their horses sank into the Earth, for elves had mined it; and they hurled their spears and ar-rows ‘gainst the Queen, but witches turned their shafts, and they fell back amongst the Armies of the Lords, and there did grievous harm. Then did Lord Tuan lead his beggars forth, and his father beside him, to finish what the witches had begun, and all the Field fell into melee. And the giant Tom rose up amidst that churning mass, and hewed a path unto the Lords and all their Councillors, and the beggars followed, and did beat down all those men-at-arms and Council-lors, and made prisoners of the Lords; but the giant Tom did, in that carnage, perish, and the Warlock mourned him, and the beggars also.

“Then would the Queen have slain the Lords, or chained them into Servitude, but the Warlock spoke against it, and the Queen gazed upon his lowering brow, and knew fear. But Tuan Loguire stood beside her, and faced against the War-lock, and cried that all should be as the Queen had said; but the Warlock felled him with a most foul blow, and struck the Queen in remonstrance, and rode away upon his charmed steed, that no mortal mount could near; yet Lord Tuan in his agony shot forth a bolt that struck the Warlock as he fled.

“Then did Queen Catharine cry Lord Tuan as the Staff of her strength and the Guard of her honor, and spoke to him of love, and gave him the Lords to do with as he wished. Then did Lord Tuan free them, but with their heirs as hostages, and he took their armies for the Crown. And he did take Queen Catharine unto the altar, and became our King thereby, and reigned with Catharine the Queen.
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“But the Warlock sought out the witch Gwendylon, and she did draw Lord Tuan’s bolt from out him, and enchanted the wound so that it did no harm; and the Warlock spoke to her of love, and brought her to the altar.

“And the Lords went back to their demesnes, and there ruled Justly, for the King’s Eye was upon them, and all was peaceful in the land of Gramarye, and contentment returned unto its folk.

“So matters stood for two years and more, and men began to trust their Lords once more, and to look kindly upon their fellows again.

“Then the night wind blew wailing and keening from the southern shore, and the sounds of War…”

—Chillde’s Chronicles of the Reign of Tuan and Catharine

“According to the records, the planet was colonized by a crackpot group who dressed up in armor and held tournaments for fun; they called themselves the ‘Romantic Émigrés.’ This kind of group acted as a selective mechanism, attract-ing people with latent psi powers. Put them all together on one planet and let them inbreed for a few centuries, and you get espers—which is what they’ve got here. Only a small percentage of the population, of course, but I have grounds for believing the rest are latents. They think they’re normal, though, and call the es-pers ‘witches’ if they’re female, and ’warlocks’ if they’re male.

“What’s worse, there’s a native fungus that reacts to projective telepaths; the locals call it ‘witch moss,’

because if the right kind of ‘witch’ thinks hard at it, it turns into whatever she’s thinking about. So the ones who don’t know they’re witches sit around telling fairy tales to their children, and, first thing you know, the landscape is filled with elves and ghosts and werewolves—I’ll show you my bites sometime.

“In this agent’s humble opinion, the place is a communications gold mine and the answer to the prayers of our noble Decentralized Democratic Tribunal. A democracy can’t survive if its territory gets too big for the speed of its communi-cations system, and the last projection I heard was that the DDT would hit criti-cal size in about a hundred fifty years. If I can turn this planet into a democracy, it’ll have just what the DDT needs—instantaneous communication over any dis-tance. All the guesswork I’ve read about telepathy says it’ll be instantaneous, re-gardless of distance, and what I’ve seen on this planet bears that out.

“But if the planet is vital to the success of democracy, it is equally vital for to-talitarians and anarchists to keep it away from the democrats—and they’re trying to do just that. The totalitarians are represented by a proletarian organization called the House of Clovis, which is trying to organize all the beggars and petty criminals, and doing a pretty good job of it, too. The anarchists are working on the noblemen; each of the twelve Great Lords has a councillor who is, I’m pretty sure, one of the anarchists.

“Where have they come from? Well, they might just have sneaked in from off-planet—but I’ve found at least one gizmo that can’t be anything but a time machine, and I’ve got good reason to believe there’re more.

“What upsets me about the place is the uncertainty factor. Given the local ge-netic makeup, and the telepathically sensitive fungus, virtually anything could happen—which means that, if I wait long enough, it probably will…”

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—Excerpt from Report on Beta Cassiopeiae Gamma (local name “Gramarye”), by Rodney d’Armand, Agent for Society for Conversion of Extra-terrestrial Nascent Totalitarianisms

The heavy clinging fog lay dense, nearly opaque, over the heaving sea. The rolling, endless crash of breakers against the headlands at the harbor’s mouth came muted and distant. High above, circling unseen, a bird called plaintive sentry cries. The dragon shouldered out of the swirling mist, its beaked, arrogant head held high. Four more like it loomed out of the fog at its back.

Round, bright-painted shields hung on their sides.

Oars speared out from the shields, lifting in unison and falling feathered to the waves. The dragon’s single wing was tightly furled around the crossbar lashed to the tall, single mast that thrust upward out of its back.

Squat, hulking, helmeted shapes prowled silently about the mast. The dragon had an eagle’s beak, and a tall, ribbed fin for a crest. Two long, straight horns probed out from its forehead.

The surf moaned on the shore as the dragon led its mates past the headland. The child screamed, howling for his mother, thrashing himself into a tangle with the thick fur blanket. Then the oil lamp was there, just a rag in a dish, but warm and safe, throwing its yellow glow upward on the mother’s weary, gentle face.

She gathered the quivering, sobbing little body into her arms, murmuring, “There now, love, there. Mama’s here. She won’t let him hurt you.”

She held the child tightly, rubbing his back until the sobbing ceased. “There now, Artur, there. What was it, darling?”

The child sniffled and lifted his head from her shoulder. “Bogeyman, Mama. Chasing me, and—he had a great big knife!”

Ethel’s mouth firmed. She hugged the child and glared at the lamp-flame. “The bogeymen are far across the sea, darling. They can’t come here.”

“But Carl says…”

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“I know, I know. Carl’s mama tells him the bogeyman will get him if he’s bad. But that’s just a silly story, darling, to frighten silly children. You’re not silly, are you?”

Artur was silent a while; then he murmured into the folds of his mother’s gown, “Uh… no, Mama…”

“Of course you’re not.” She patted his back, laid him down in the bed, and tucked the fur robe under his chin. “That’s my brave boy. We both know the bogeyman can’t hurt us, don’t we?”

“Yes, Mama,” the child said uncertainly.

“Sleep sweetly, darling,” the mother said, and closed the door softly behind her. The oil lamp set the shadows dancing softly on the walls. The child lay awake awhile, watching the slow ballet of light and dark.

He sighed, rolled over on his side. His eyes were closing as they strayed to the window. A huge misshapen face peered in, the eyes small and gleaming, the nose a glob of flesh, the mouth a gash framing great square, yellowed teeth. Shaggy brown hair splayed out from a gleaming, winged helmet. He grinned at the child, pig eyes dancing.

“Mama! Mamamamamamamama! Bogeyman!”

The bogeyman snarled and broke through the stout wooden wall with three blows of a great ironbound club.

The child screamed and ran, yanking and straining at the heavy bedroom door. The bogeyman clambered through the broken wall.

The door was flung wide; the mother stared in horror, clutching her child to her and screaming for her husband. She wheeled about and fled.

The bogeyman gave a deep, liquid chuckle, and followed.

In another cottage, a bogeyman seized a child by the ankles and swung his head against the wall. He lifted his huge club to fend off the father’s sword, then whirled the club into the father’s belly, swung it up to strike the father’s temple. Bone splintered; blood flowed. The mother backed away, screaming, as the beastman caught up the father’s fallen sword. He turned to the mother, knocked her aside with a careless, back-hand swipe of the club, and stove in the family strong-chest with one blow.