King Kobold revived-Warlock-2.5 (4 page)

“Perish the thought!” Rod took Magnus and tossed him up in the air. “He’ll have his work cut out for him right here.”

Magnus squealed with delight and floated on up toward the roof. Rod executed a high jump that would have done credit to a pole-vaulter and snagged his errant son.

“Besides, he may not even want to join SCENT—who knows?”

Rod was an agent of the Society for the Conversion of Extraterrestrial Nascent Totalitarianisms, the subversive wing of the multi-planet Decentralized Democ-ratic Tribunal, the first and only human interstellar government in history not to be based on Terra. The Senate met by electronic communications; the Executive resided on a starship which was usually to be found between planets. Nonethe-less, it was the most efficient democratic government yet established. SCENT was the organization responsible for bringing the Lost Colonies of earlier Terrestrial empires back into the fold. Rod was on permanent assignment to Gramarye, a planet that had been colonized by mystics, romantics, and escap-ists. The culture was medieval, the people superstitious—and a small percentage of the population had “witch-powers.”

Consequently, the DDT in general, and SCENT in particular, were immensely interested in Gramarye; for the “witches” and “warlocks” were espers. Some had one set of psi powers and some had another—but all were telepaths to some de-gree. And, since the efficiency (and, consequently, the viability) of a democracy varies directly with the speed of its communications, and since telepathic
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com-munication was instantaneous, the DDT treasured its only colony of espers very highly. So Rod had been assigned to guard the planet, and to carefully nudge its po-litical system onto the road that would eventually lead to democracy and full membership in the DDT.

“Hey, Fess,” Rod called.

The great black horse grazing in the meadow outside the cave lifted its head to look at its master. Its voice sounded through a small earphone buried in Rod’s mastoid bone. “Yes, Rod?”

Rod snorted. “What’re you cropping grass for? Who ever heard of a robot burning hydrocarbons?”

“One must keep up appearances, Rod,” Fess reproved him.

“Next thing I know, you’ll be keeping up with the Joneses! Listen, bolt-head—it’s an occasion! The kid pulled his first telekinesis stunt today!”

“Telekinesis? I had thought that was a sex-linked female trait, Rod.”

“Well, all of a sudden it ain’t.” He put the baby in the playpen and clamped the cover down before Magnus had a chance to drift out. “How about that, Fess? This kid’s gonna be a champion!”

“It will be my great pleasure to serve him,” the robot murmured, “as I have served his forebears for five hundred years, since the days of the first D’Armand, who founded…”

“Uh, skip the family history, Fess.”

“But, Rod, it is a vital portion of the child’s heritage; he should…”

“Well, save it until he learns to talk, then.”

“As you wish.” The mechanical voice somehow managed a sigh. “In that case, it is my duty to inform you that you will shortly be receiving company, Rod.”

Rod stilled, cocking an eyebrow at his horse. “What do you see?”

“Nothing, Rod; but I detect the sounds characteristic of bipedal locomotion of a small being conveying itself through long grass.”

“Oh.” Rod relaxed. “An elf coming through the meadow. Well, they’re al-ways welcome.”

An eighteen-inch body burst out of the grass at the cave-mouth. Rod grinned. “Welcome, merry wanderer of the night.”

“Puck!” Gwen squealed. She turned to their guest. “Assuredly, thou art most…”

She stopped, seeing the look on the elf’s face.

Rod had sobered too. “What’s right, Puck?”

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“Naught,” said the elf grimly. “Rod Gallowglass, thou must needs come, and right quickly, to the King!”

“Oh, I must, must I? What’s so urgent all of a sudden? What’s all the panic about?”

“Beastmen!” The elf gasped for breath. “They have raided the seacoast at the Duchy of Loguire!”

The Royal Guard rode south, with the King at their head.

A lone rider sat his grazing horse at the side of the road, playing a pipe with a low and mournful sound. Tuan frowned, and said to the knight beside him, “What ails yon fellow? Is he so bemused by his own music that he doth not see armed horsemen approach-ing?”

“And can he not see thy crown?” the knight responded, dutifully putting into words what his sovereign was thinking. “I shall waken him, Majesty.” He kicked his horse’s sides and cantered ahead.

“Ho, fellow! Dost thou not see His Majesty approacheth?”

The rider looked up. “Why, so he does! Say, isn’t that a handy coincidence? I was just thinking about him.”

The knight stared, then backed his horse away. “Thou’rt the High Warlock!”

“ ‘High’?” Rod frowned. “Not a word of truth in it. Totally sober, good knight—haven’t even thought about intoxicants since last Friday!”

The knight frowned, irritation overcoming awe. “Eh, thou’rt as unmannerly as a churl! Know that the King hath created thee High Warlock!‘’

“ ‘‘Tis even so,” the King confirmed, drawing rein beside them. Then, rather unwillingly, “Well met, Lord High Warlock—for this poor Isle of Gramarye doth lie in need of thine art, and thy wisdom.”

Rod inclined his head. “I am ever obedient to my adoptive homeland’s call. But why do I get a high title out of it? I’d come just as quickly without it.”

“ ‘Tis thy due, is it not?” Tuan’s lips pressed thin. “And it describes thy place aptly. Folk fight better when they know from whom to take orders, and to whom to give them.”

“An understatement,” Rod admitted. “You’ve gotta have a clear flow chart if you want to get anything done. Very true, Your Majesty; I should’ve known bet-ter than to question you.”

Tuan’s eyebrows lifted. “Pleasantly said; I would not have expected it of you.”

“Oh, you should have.” Rod grinned. “I always give respect where it’s due.”

“And withhold it where ‘tis not?” Tuan frowned. “Am I, then, so rarely wor-thy of respect?”

Rod’s grin widened. “Only when you try to use authority you don’t have—which doesn’t happen very often, now that you’re a king. And, of course, when you back someone who’s in the wrong.”

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Tuan’s frown darkened. “When have I done such?”

“Just before you got my knee in your groin. But I must admit that the Queen isn’t trying to play God anymore.”

Tuan flushed, turning away from Rod.

“And, of course, you were trying to be her champion, and laying down the law.” Rod ignored the danger signals. “Which you had no right to do—at the time. Still don’t, really.”

“Have I not?” Tuan snapped, whirling to face Rod. “I am now King!”

“Which means that you’re supposed to be foremost among your peers. It doesn’t make you a superior breed—and doesn’t give you the right to make laws if your barons are against them.”

“You cannot truly believe that I would do so.”

“Well, no, not you,” Rod admitted. “Catharine, however…”

“Rarely is the Queen not swayed by my counsel,” Tuan grated. “What we do, we do in concert.”

“Then you both agree on marching south to fight the beastmen?”

Tuan managed to stay with the change of topic. “We have discussed it; and, aye, we are agreed. I do not say we take joy in the prospect.”

“Well, say it,” Rod invited. “Or are you really going to tell me you don’t like being out in the field again?”

Tuan stared, taken aback. Then he grinned sheepishly. “In truth, my heart doth lift as I gaze upon open fields and feel harness on my back. I will own, ‘tis good to be out from chambers and councils.’‘

Rod nodded. “That’s what I expected; you’re a born general. Still can’t under-stand how you manage to be a good king, too.”

Tuan shrugged impatiently. “ ‘Tis like to the order of battle, save that the ’troops’ one doth command are reeves and bailiffs.”

“But it does require a totally different library of knowledge.”

“That, Catharine hath,” Tuan said very honestly. “I need only to steady her judgment, and issue her commands in such wise that they shall not arouse rebel-lion.”

Which was true, Rod reflected; half of the offense Catharine gave was due to the way she said things, rather than what she said. “Well, you’ve just earned my respect again.”

Tuan frowned. “For what? For kingship?”

“No, for candor. But now the burden of monarchy moves back into your field of knowledge, Majesty. What do you propose to do about these raiders?”

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“Go to where they have been, expecting that they will strike again, and not far from where they struck first,” Tuan answered. “When the bee findeth a flower filled with nectar, doth he not return to that place to find other flowers nearby?”

“Yes, and usually with more bees. I notice you brought a few stingers of your own.”

Tuan glanced back at the army behind him. “The beastmen should be hard put to best these stout hearts.”

“From the report I had, it’s not their hearts that’re in danger.” Rod turned Fess, falling in alongside Tuan. The King kicked his heels into his horse’s ribs, and the column began to move south again. Tuan nodded.

“Thou dost speak of the Evil Eye.”

“I doth,” Rod agreed. “How much faith do you put in that part of the re-port?”

Tuan shrugged. “ ‘Tis wisest to believe it true, and guard against it as best we may.” He pinned Rod with a stare. “What charm is there against it?”

Rod shrugged. “Beats me; I’ve never run into it before. Haven’t the slightest idea how it works. For all I know, they might just be so ugly that you freeze in horror when you look at ‘em.”

Tuan shook his head firmly. “Nay. If the report is true, ‘tis magic, not simple fear.”

“Well, ‘disgust’ was more of what I had in mind. And, of course, the report it-self might not be too accurate. Who’d it come from, anyway?”

“Mothers and grand-folk who were fleeing as they saw. And three of the footmen still live, though with grievous wounds; they have not spoken much, but what little they have said confirms the report, that

‘twas the Eye that froze them.”

“Not exactly ideal spying conditions, in either case,” Rod mused, “and not enough information to work up anything to counter it. Still, it does seem that they have to look you in the eye to freeze you; so pass the word to look at their hands, their hats, their teeth—anything but their eyes.”

“Well, ‘tis better than naught,” Tuan sighed. “But I would thou couldst find a better remedy, Lord Warlock. A soldier is hard put to avoid his enemy’s eyes, in the melee.”

“Well, it’s the best I can do, for the moment,” Rod grumped. “I’ll try to get some firsthand experience if they attack again. Then maybe I…”

“Nay.” Tuan drew up sharply and looked Rod in the eye. “Thou must learn this to thy sorrow, Lord Gallowglass, as I have had to: thou art now of too great worth to be risked in the melee. Thou must needs stand apart, with me, on high ground, to aid in the directing of the battle.”

With a sinking heart, Rod knew Tuan was right; an army did fight better when it had overall direction.

“Your Majesty is of course always right. I’ll stay out of it as long as you do.”

Tuan eyed him skeptically. “Do not think that will aid thee. I have gained in patience.‘’

He wasn’t doing so badly in perceptiveness, either; three years ago, he would’ve missed the sarcasm.

“All of this assumes, however, that we have time to pick our ground before the fighting starts.”

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“Ah.” Tuan turned back to the south and began riding again. “That is thy part.”

“Oh?” Rod eyed him warily. “Am I supposed to magically transport this whole army to the ground you choose?”

“Nay. Thou’rt to secure us warning that raiders come, far enough in advance that we may ride to the place they will attack, and be there before them.”

“Oh.” Rod’s lips held the shape of the letter after it was gone. “That’s all I’ve got to do, huh? Mind telling me how? Am I supposed to set sentries pacing a mile offshore?”

“Aye, if thou canst derive a spell that will prevent them from sinking.”

“Oh, nothing easier! It’s called ‘rowboats.’ ” Rod frowned. “Hold on, now. That almost sounds sensible.”

“Aye, it doth.” Tuan turned to him. “A line of sentries in small craft just be-yond the horizon, to watch for a mast. But how will they sound the alarm?”

“They could row.”

“The beastmen will row more quickly; there do be more of them, and they will be aided by wind. Would they not overtake thy sentry and slay him?”

“True.” Rod frowned. “Well, how about if the sentry was a warlock? Then he could telep… uh, conjure himself ashore, and leave them an empty rowboat.”

“A likely thought.” Tuan nodded. “But thy warlocks hear thoughts. Could not he raise the alarm more quickly if there were another of the witch-folk ashore, listening for his thoughts?”

“True. That would be quicker, and… wait a minute!” Rod struck his forehead with the heel of his hand.

“What’s the matter with me? Sorry, Your Majesty; I’m slow today. Why bother putting the warlock in the boat? Why not just have him stay ashore and listen for approaching beastman thoughts?”

“Nay, certes!” Tuan squeezed his eyes shut. “Did I truly need a High Warlock to tell me this? Where are my wits?”

There was a good chance he’d left them back at the royal castle in Runny-mede, but Rod didn’t think it was politic to say so. Besides, Tuan could’ve re-plied that Rod’s brains currently had long red hair and a figure worth killing for.

Then the King opened his eyes, with doubt in them. “Yet art thou certain they do think?”