King Kobold revived-Warlock-2.5 (6 page)

“Well, ‘tis time thou hast come! Here these goodfolk are near to surfeited with food and ale—and I sent for thee as soon as they did arrive.”

“Well, we’re never easy to find.” Rod stepped over to the table. “Who is this gentleman?”

“Sir Reginald De La Place, vassal to the Duke Loguire,” Brom explained. “He it is hath brought these peasants to us. Sir Reginald, this titled lout is Rod Gallowglass, Lord High Warlock.”

“Lord Warlock!” The knight jumped to his feet. “I am honored!”

“Glad to hear it,” Rod said, inclining his head. “My wife, the Lady Gwendy-lon.”

The knight bowed, and Gwen beamed.

“And these poor folk be victims.” Brom clapped the nearest peasant on the shoulder. “But a week agone, they had houses. What hast thou now, goodman?”

The peasant gulped his current mouthful. “Eh, we ha’ cottages again, mi-lord—or the half of us do, then.

‘Tis not so long, to build a wall of wattle.”

“And daub,” Brom amplified. “I ha’ seen our folk at work, Lord Warlock. They build a house in but a day. Yet there were a score of cottages in their vil-lage.”

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Rod noticed the apprehensive way the peasants were eyeing him. “It’s all just a rumor, folks. I’m not really a warlock—just a bad scholar who’s learned a few tricks.”

If anything, their apprehension deepened.

“Well, I tried,” Rod sighed. “Tell me, goodman—what did these beastmen look like?”

“Ah, terrible things they was, milord! Tall as houses, and horned like the moon!”

“And hairy,” the woman across from him added. “All over covered with hair, they was.”

“But not on their faces,” another woman chimed in. “Beardless, they was.”

“And they rode on a dragon,” the man said firmly. “A dragon it was—and it swam away with ‘em on its back!”

“Nay, ‘tweren’t a beast!” the first woman scoffed. “What would ye know about it? Ye was half dead with a cracked skull when they sailed away!” She turned to Rod. “We were blessed, milord. Seven of our menfolk dead, but he wasn’t one of ‘em.”

“All of ‘em hurted, though,” the woman next to her muttered , “and six bairns killed.”

Rod’s face darkened. “What were the dragons he was talking about, then?”

“Ships, milord! Only their ship! But the front of it was carved into a dragon’s head, and the stern was carved into a tail!”

“Dragon ships? Were they long and narrow?”

“The very thing!” the woman chortled. “Hast seen ‘em, then, milord?”

“Only in a history book—and those raiders did have beards. And not much body hair…”

“And horns, milord?”

“Helmets,” Rod explained, “helmets with horns on ‘em. At least, that’s what people thought they wore—but they didn’t really. Not in battle.”

“Can’t be the same ones, then,” the man said firmly.

“No,” Rod agreed, “I don’t think the originals could have sailed this far from their home ports. They were mighty sailors, but they did need water.”

“Then, why would these beastmen be dressed like to them, my lord?” Gwen wondered.

“Because somebody’s been telling ‘em stories. Speaking of which, do grannies tell folk tales about horned raiders in dragon ships?”

The peasants shook their heads, wide-eyed.

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“Well, it was a chance,” Rod sighed. “But if the grannies haven’t been telling tales, who has?”

“Didn’t look like just a ship in the moonlight, with them devils yellin’ and swingin’ their clubs,” the big peasant muttered, fingering his bandage gently.

“Of course not,” Rod agreed. “That’s why they carved it that way—to scare the…” His eyes lost focus.

“Wait a minute! Of course! That’s why whoever told ‘em about dragon ships and horned helmets… did tell ‘em! To help them scare poor people like you! After all, if it worked for the Vikings…”

“What are ‘vikings,’ milord?” one of the women asked timidly.

“The horned raiders I was telling you about.”

“Could they freeze people with a look?”

Rod shook his head. “No, of course not—though I suppose they wanted to. You mean these gorillas could?”

“Froze us near to stone,” the man growled. “One of ‘em looked me in the eye, and all of a sudden, his eyes seemed to pierce right through to the back of me head. I tried to move, but I couldn’t.”

“Ye was scared,” the second woman scoffed, “frighted stiff, like a babe with a snake.”

The man’s face reddened. “Was ye there on the green with us, woman? Did ye look into their eyes? Oh, aye, those glittering eyes frighted me—but I’ve been frighted in battle afore, when our young Lord Anselm fought the Queen… and… um…” He eyed Brom furtively.

“And his younger brother, who is now our King,” Brom growled. “None will fault thee for that, goodman. What choice hadst thou? When thy lord summons thee to fight, thou must needs fight. Yet, in that battle, did fear freeze thee?”

“Nay, good my lord!” The peasant shook his head. “I swung my pike the harder for it. Yet when that grisly monster’s eyes pierced my brain, I sought to strike in wild anger—but mine arm would not answer!

I strained, I tugged at it with all my will, but it would not…” He broke off with a shudder. “Lord in Heaven save me! May I never live through such a moment again! To not be able to budge, yet see that huge club swinging down at me…” He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, shaking his head.

“Softly, now.” Rod clapped him on the shoulder. “You did bravely, goodman. You did all that a man could do.”

“ ‘Twas the Evil Eye,” the man muttered. “ ‘Twas witch-craft.”

Rod turned to Gwen with a questioning gaze.

“There are tales of it,” she answered slowly, “of witches and warlocks who could freeze folk with a glance. Yet I never have met one with such a power.”

“And you know most of the witches in Gramarye.” Rod turned back to the peasant, nodding. “So our enemy is something new, in more ways than one. But if it had not been for yourself, goodman, we would not have known that. My deepest thanks.”

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“At your lordship’s service.” The big peasant recovered a bit, and managed to smile up at Rod. “

‘Twas… ’twas real, then?”

“Is the lump on your head real?” Rod retorted. “Then, the club that made it certainly was, and so was the beastman who swung it. As to the Evil Eye—well, when a battle-tried veteran freezes, it couldn’t very well be anything else.” Not on this world, anyway, he thought.

“Thank ye, milord.” The peasant smiled up at him.

“Don’t worry. I would’ve frozen too.” Rod clapped him on the shoulder again, and turned to Gwen.

“Know any counter-spells?”

Her lips parted to answer as she spread her hands—and suddenly there was a baby in them, kicking and crowing, “Mama! Found you, Mama! Found you!”

Gwen stared, startled. Then a delighted grin curved her lips, and she hugged the child close to her. “Hast thou indeed, thou naughty babe! Come, didst thou seek thy mother through thy mind only?”

“Huh!” The baby nodded, very pleased with himself.

“A telepathic tracker?” Rod was staring too. “My son’s a headhunter?”

“ ‘Tis a head I’ll be having, though not his,” Brom growled. “Whose charge was this bairn? Hobgoblin!”

Something small popped through the door and scurried over to Brom. “Par-don, King of Shadows!” It was a miniature man about a foot and a half tall, heavy in the shoulders and deep in the voice. “The elf-wives’ powers have waned; the babe lost interest in their games, and their spells could not hold him.”

“Then, they must con new charms, and hold him by delight alone,” Brom growled. “Though ‘tis true, I know of nothing that could hold this bairn when he doth not wish it.”

“Naughty babe!” Gwen reproved Magnus. He gurgled happily in reply.

“At least, when he had ‘scaped I found him in the half of a minute,” the elf pointed out.

“ ‘Tis true, and any who would wish to harm him would fare ill against thee,” Brom admitted. “Yet bid them hold him better, Robin.”

“Naughty child!” Gwen scolded. “Though glad I am to see thee, yet must thou know thy mother hath a task which must be done. I cannot be with thee now, my sweet, much though I wish to. Come, hie thee back to thy nurse, and bide until I call thee.”

“Uh-uh!” The baby scowled, and shook his head.

“Magnus,” Gwen began, in a tone that implied a nuclear bomb (or, at least, a tactical warhead) was about to explode.

But Brom interrupted. “Nay then, manikin! Hast never heard of bogeymen?”

The child stared down at him in blue-eyed wonder.

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“Never?” Brom rumbled. “Ah, woefully dost thou neglect this child’s educa-tion if he ha’ not yet heard of childhood’s horror!”

“Well, that’s kinda the point,” Rod answered, nettled. “I see absolutely no point in scaring kids half to death and giving them dread of perfectly ordinary things. If I tell him to be good, he’s got to do it simply because he believes in me.”

“Pray he doth; if this bairn ceased to believe in me, I might cease to be!” Brom growled. “Yet what robbery is this, to take from him one of childhood’s most de-licious thrills—the dread of the horrible monster that he knows, at heart’s bot-tom, doth not truly live? The bogeymen, child, are huge, shambling things, all covered with hair, with tiny glowing eyes, and long, sharply pointed teeth!”

Magnus cuddled back against Gwen with a delighted squall.

“ ‘Tis true!” Brom held up a forefinger. “Vile things are they, that do seek to harm both children and parents! And thy mother and father must needs sally forth against them, to drive them from this land for good and all—yet they can-not go if they are not sure that thou art safe.”

Magnus stared at Brom wide-eyed, beginning to understand.

“So hie thee back to thy nurses!” Brom clapped his hands.

“Hie thee hence, and bide with them till thy mother doth summon thee! Bide thee with thy nurses in safety, that thy mother and father may chase the bogey-men from this land!”

Magnus looked up at Gwen out of the corner of his eyes. “Baby come too?”

“I fear not,” Gwen said firmly, holding him up under the arms so that she could look directly into his eyes. “Thou must needs do as thine Uncle Brom…”

Rod was the only one who noticed the shadow pass over Brom’s face.

“… as thine Uncle Brom doth say, and flit back to Elfland, to thy nurses, there to bide whiles thy father and I do chase these monsters. Yet I’ll summon thee whene’er I may, to play awhile. Now, wilt thou go?”

The baby glowered at her, then nodded reluctantly.

“Good babe!” Gwen kissed him. “Now, hie thee hence!”

Magnus looked up at Rod. He reached out to squeeze a chubby hand—then found himself holding empty air. Magnus had disappeared.

“Bairns do understand more than we think,” Brom rumbled, “if we are but open with them.” He frowned at the peasants. “And what dost thou gape at, vil-lage fools? Hast never seen a babe afore?”

The men gave a start and glanced at Rod guiltily; but the women sighed, and one of them said to Gwen,

“Now, bless thee, lady! Praise Heaven mine were only common babes!”

“Certes, they tried thee as sorely as ever mine try me,” Gwen answered, amused. “I have, after all, some powers to use in dealing with him. Yet bless thee for thy wishes, good-wife.”

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One of the guardsmen stepped into the tent. “Milords, His Majesty doth ask that thou attend upon him.”

Brom looked up, frowning. “What coil’s this?”

“Word hath flown from witch to witch, milord. A dragon ship doth sail to-ward Bourbon.”

Half an hour later, while the main army was still striking its tents and pack-ing up, the Flying Legion cantered up out of the valley and struck off toward the east. Rod rode at their head, with Toby the teenage warlock beside him. “I didn’t have time for the full report, Toby. Who spotted the beastmen?”

“Matilda, milord. She and Marion, her sister, flew to the east to dwell within a cottage on a cliff-top that Lord Hapsburg built for them—all as His Majesty commanded.”

Rod nodded. “And they take turns just sitting and listening for strange thoughts, right?”

Toby nodded. “Even as His Majesty did command—an hour listening, then an hour doing other things, then an hour listening again.” He glanced at Rod out of the corner of his eye. “ ‘Twas thou who didst bid His Majesty so instruct us, was it not?”

Rod frowned and shook his head. “What would I know about hearing thoughts, Toby? It was Gwen’s idea. So, who heard the beastman-thoughts—the one who was on duty, or both of them?”

“The one who was ‘off-duty,’ Lord Warlock. She slept, and waked scream-ing.”

“The one who slept?” Rod stared. Then he nodded slowly. “Well, I suppose it makes sense. Maybe her telepathic sensitivity gets a boost when she’s asleep.”

“We do seem to have dreams that are not our own,” Toby admitted.

“Really! Hm! Wish I’d known that—might’ve come in handy.”

“Cannot Gwendylon hear thy thoughts when she doth sleep?” Toby asked carefully. Rod shook his head. “Neither asleep nor awake. I seem to be telepathically invisible.” His tone was carefully neutral, hiding his feelings nicely. He tried not to think about it; it made him feel inferior to Gwen.

“What did Matilda dream?”

“She dreamt that she pulled an oar aboard a dragon ship, and heard the chief-tains speaking of old gods which they used to worship, and a new god which they worship now. Yet all of it was without words, and the new god seemed somehow monstrous, though there was no picture of it.”

“Well, that’s not surprising. Haven’t you ever had that flash of thought, the whole concept suddenly clear, before you get around to putting it into words?”