The Warlock is Missing (23 page)

"Yet how can he, a man of common birth, stand against a belted knight?" a man in the crowd called.

"Because his rank is royal!" the boy called back. "He is the King's reeve, for all the shire! And if he doth now bid the nobles cease their brawling, can any say him nay?"

The rumble agreed, gaining heart.

"Come follow me, and I shall lead thee to him!" cried the lad. "Come join the Shire-Reeve, and fight 'gainst those who do oppress thee!"

"This swells too greatly," muttered a baritone by Magnus's knee. "We must spoke his wheels." A second later, a voice from the middle of the mob called, "How dost thou know where thou mayest find him?" The men in that location looked around, startled, but the boy answered,

"We know that he doth quarter in the town of Belmead. We've but to go, and attend his pleasure!"

"And will he welcome us?" called a voice from another part of the crowd, "or will he think we come against him?"

Again, men turned to look, but the imitation Geoffrey answered, "How could he think thus? Assuredly he'll welcome thee!" >

"How couldst thou know?" cried another disembodied voice from a third quarter. "What lad art thou, to speak thus?"

The boy reddened. "I am the High Warlock's son, as I have told thee! Dost thou doubt my word?" And he turned to call out over the crowd, "Can any call me false?"

"Aye!" Geoffrey cried. "I call thee false!" And he sprang into the air, arrowing straight toward the wagon, landing straight and tall, turning to look out over the crowd proudly, then turning further, to glare at the imposter.

The boy stared, thunderstruck. So did the crowd, confronted by two Geoffreys—and indeed, the imposter was Geoffrey's exact double, matching him inch for inch and feature for feature. A frightened murmur began.

"How sayest thou now, O false one?" Geoffrey demanded. "Tell us thy
true
name!"

The boy's chin lifted. "I am Geoffrey Gallowglass, the High Warlock's son! And who art
thou
, who doth dare to walk in my semblance?"

"Thou liest, rogue!" Geoffrey shouted. "How durst thou claim my place?"

"Thy charges shall avail thee naught," the double answered, "for 'tis plain to any I am the true Gallowglass!"

A shriek of rage pierced the air, and Cordelia shot over the heads of the crowd on her broomstick, leaping down to the wagon and crying, "Thou liest, rogue! This is my brother, Geoffrey Gallowglass! And I am his sister, the High Warlock's daughter Cordelia!"

A double explosion cracked, and Magnus stood behind her with Gregory at his hip. "She speaks good sooth! And I am Magnus, the High Warlock's eldest!"

"And I his youngest!" Gregory piped. "We all now tell thee, goodfolk, that thou hast been deceived!"

"Even so!" Magnus shouted to the crowd, and clapped the real Geoffrey on the shoulder. "
This
is my brother, the true Geoffrey Gallowglass! He whom thou hast followed is a false and lying knave!"

Geoffrey cast them all a brief, warm look of gratitude, while the imposter stared, appalled. But he recovered quickly and cried aloud, "They all conspire against me! Why, these four are no more brothers and sister than I am a cockerel! Their claim is false, for I am the true Warlock's child!"

A fearful mutter swept through the crowd, as Cordelia howled in anger and leaped at the boy. Her brothers caught her and held her back, though, and Magnus said evenly, "Nay," then cried aloud for the crowd, "Nay, thou hast no need to claw him with thy nails! Thou art a witch; thou hast but to mink him ill!"

Cordelia's eyes glittered, and the boy said quickly, "Oh, aye, belike thou art truly witch-brats! Indeed, I saw thee fly —but that's no proof that thou art the High Warlock's brood!"

"What proof hast
thou
?" Geoffrey retorted.

"Why, this!" and the boy rose five feet into the air, smoothly and easily. A rumble of awe and fear rose from the crowd.

"What proof is that?" Geoffrey sneered, rising up to match him, but Gregory murmured to Magnus, "Ah, then! He is, at the least, truly a warlock!"

" 'Tis the only aspect of him that is true," Magnus growled back.

"Show other proof," Geoffrey taunted, "that I may match and best thee!"

The boy reddened, and disappeared with a bang. Its echo sounded from across the common, and everyone whirled, to see him standing on the roof of a cottage. "Match this an thou canst!" he cried.

"What warlock cannot?" Geoffrey retorted. Air boomed in to fill the space where he'd been, then blasted atop the cottage next to the one on which the young warlock stood, as Geoffrey appeared next to its chimney.

"They look alike, and both work magic!" someone in the crowd cried. "How can we tell which one is true?"

"Why," Cordelia answered proudly, "by their moving lifeless objects! For the High Warlock's lads, alone of all the warlocks in Gramarye, can move things other than themselves!"

The fake paled, but he bounced back instantly, sneering at Geoffrey, "Dost need a lass to speak for thee?"

"Why," Geoffrey retorted, "art thou envious because thou hast no sister?"

"Thou liest, rogue!" the imposter shouted. "My sister bides at home!"

"For such a fib, thou shouldst be caned," Geoffrey snapped, and a quarterstaff wrenched itself out of the hands of a peasant who shrank back with an oath. The stick shot spinning straight toward the false Geoffrey. The boy saw it coming and leaped into the air; the stick passed under him, and he turned to Geoffrey with a taunting laugh.

"Wherefore didst thou move thyself, rather than the staff?" Geoffrey demanded.

The boy frowned. "It did not please me to do so!"

"Then thy pleasures must change," Geoffrey said, with a sour smile. " 'Ware, from thy back!"

The imposter spun about, just in time to see the whirling staff make a great half circle and come spinning back at him. He howled, throwing himself flat on the rooftop, and the staff passed over him. As he scrambled to his hands and knees, it paused and lashed one quick spank across his bottom. He went sprawling with a cry of rage, but Geoffrey's yell of accusation was louder. "
Now
wherefore didst thou not seize the stick with thy mind?"

The imposter stood up slowly, glaring in fury, but made no answer.

"Thou didst not because thou
canst
not!" Geoffrey cried. "I am the true Geoffrey Gallowglass!"

"Thou art the true liar!" the boy shouted back. "Thou didst move that staff no more than I did! 'Twas thy tame witch who did move it for thee!"

Cordelia howled in indignation, but Gregory said reasonably, "Whether my brother be the true Geoffrey or not,
thou
must needs be false—for all Gramarye doth know that the High Warlock's sons can move things with their minds. And thou canst not!"

The crowd rumbled in excitement, but the boy shouted, "'Tis a lie!
No
warlock can move things by thought! If thou sayest the High Warlock's sons can, then do it thyself!"

"Why, that I shall," the six-year-old lisped, and Cordelia floated gently up into the air. She squawked in fury and whirled, trying to reach her little brother, but Magnus cried, "Aye! All know a witch cannot make herself fly! 'Tis why she doth sit on a broomstick and make it to move!
Now
wilt thou say my sister doth this trick for her brother?"

The imposter's face darkened in fury. "Even as thou dost say—'tis a girl's trick! What lad would practice it, save he who is womanish at heart?"

"Thou insolent rogue!" Geoffrey shouted in fury. "Match
this
'girl's game,' an thou canst!"

An unseen hand seemed to snatch up the imposter and send him tumbling through the air toward Cordelia. He howled in anger and terror, but Cordelia cried, "I wish him not! Have thy rogue back!" And the spinning imposter suddenly reversed, flying back toward Geoffrey.

"Nay, keep him!" he retorted, and the boy-ball halted a foot from Geoffrey's head, then shot back toward Cordelia. The imposter wailed and, at the top of his arc, disappeared with a bang.

"Out upon him!" Magnus called, but Geoffrey disappeared with a gunshot-crack before he finished the phrase.

The crowd burst into a fury of excited, fearful noise.

Gregory's eyes lost focus. "He hath found the imposter!"

"How could he fail to?" Cordelia said, with an impish smile. "Is't for naught thou hast spent so many hours at play with flit-tag?"

"They will cry to burn witches next, an we do not appease them," Magnus said in an undertone.

Cordelia nodded. "Do so, and quickly!"

Magnus stared. "
1
? How shall I quiet this mob?"

Cordelia shrugged. "Thou art the eldest."

Magnus favored her with a murderous glare, then looked about in a frantic search for aid.

Aid was sitting in the corner of the wagon, leg propped over folded knee. "Speak to them," he advised, "and tell them the true end of the Shire-Reeve's actions. They will credit thee, for thou art the High Warlock's son."

Magnus stared at the elf, and swallowed. "Yet what shall I say to them?"

"It shall come to thee," Puck assured him, "and should it not, I shall give thee words."

Magnus gave him a long, steady look, then nodded. "I thank thee, Robin." He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and turned to the crowd, holding his hands up and crying, "Goodfolk, hearken! I beg thee, attend me! Give me a hearing, I pray!"

Here and there, a villager noticed and pointed, telling his neighbor, who turned, then elbowed the one next to him. One by one they quieted, until finally Magnus could make himself heard.

" 'Twas an evil young warlock who did lead thee," Magnus cried, "and the mark of his evilness was this: that he called for combat! It may seem he did not-—but be not deceived! If the Shire-Reeve fights the lords, 'twill be not one battle, but many! 'Twill be war—and the end of it will be, that the Shire-Reeve will battle the King!"

The crowd erupted into a fury of incredulous noise again, each man demanding of his neighbor if the charge could be true. This time Magnus just waited it out, fists on his hips, knowing they were thinking about the tightness of the Shire-Reeve now, not of the witch-folk.

Gregory tugged at Magnus's tunic. "Is't true, Magnus? Doth the Shire-Reeve truly mean to attack King Tuan?"

"I know not," Magnus confessed, "yet it doth seem likely, doth it not?"

Gregory nodded. "I see no other end to it. But doth the Shire-Reeve?"

That was enough for Magnus. If his baby brother said it was bound to happen, it was inevitable. He held up his hands, signaling for quiet again. When the crowd's babble had begun to slacken, he called out, "Good people, hear me!" and they quieted.

"He who we called brother," Magnus called out, "was the real Geoffrey Gallowglass, the true High Warlock's son! We are his brothers and sister; we are the High Warlock's brood! I tell thee, our mother and father would never approve of this Shire-Reeve's doings! Yet there is much unrest in this Isle of Gramarye at this time, and they cannot be everywhere at once to quiet it!" A neat turn around the facts, there. "Thus are we come to bear word to thee! Wait and watch, and guard thine own villages! Endure in patience and in loyalty to the King and Queen! Join not in the unrest, lest thou dost make it more furious still!"

He began to catch uneasy glances and, at the fringes of the crowd, people began to edge away.

It was the right idea, but he had to make sure he didn't make it sound like blame. "If thou art one of those who hast been cozened away from thine own village, I beg thee: Hasten! None can tell what mischief may be wreaked on thine house or crops whilst thou dost tarry. Go back, and swiftly! Guard thine own!"

Now even people in the center of the crowd began to glance around them, and the ones at the edges turned about and strode away, not caring who saw them. After all, the High Warlock's eldest had just told them they should do it, hadn't he?

Cordelia breathed a sigh of relief. "Well done, brother! Only now do I bethink me there could have been evil here!"

"Let it depart, also," Magnus said, frowning as he watched the crowd break up. "Gregory, seek! How fares our brother?"

Thunder split the peaceful air of the forest clearing, and Geoffrey looked about him, noting in an instant the debris of burned-out campfires, bones, rags, and vegetable garbage, registering the conclusion that he was in the peasant band's last campsite. It made sense—it was the nearest isolated location the imposter would have remembered, and been able to visualize well enough to teleport to.

Because he was there, of course, in the center of the clearing, with his back to Geoffrey. He whirled about, startled by the thunder-crack, and stared, appalled, at his double. "How didst thou know where to seek me!"

"Why," Geoffrey gloated, "what warlock of any real power would not?"

The boy went dead-white—but he was the kind who attacked when he was terrified. He caught up the nearest dead branch and leaped at Geoffrey.

Geoffrey sidestepped with a mocking laugh, jumped away, and caught up a tree branch of his own. The boy was on him in a second, but Geoffrey met his blow with a block and a counter. The imposter just barely caught it with the tip of his staff and swung a murderous double-handed blow at Geoffrey.

It was a mistake, for it left his whole side unguarded. Geoffrey simply leaped back, let the stick whip past him, then leaped in again, snapping his staff out in a quick, hard blow.

It caught the imposter on the side of the head, sending him spinning and down. Geoffrey stood, waiting for him to get up again, but he didn't.

Foreboding struck the young warrior. For all his belligerence, he himself had never killed, and had only once knocked someone out. Warily, he stepped around and knelt by his opponent's head, reaching down to touch the throat, alert for the boy to jump up and attack—but the imposter stayed still, eyes closed. Geoffrey felt the strong, steady beat of the boy's pulse through the artery, and sat back with a sigh of relief, which turned into a frown.
Now
what was he supposed to do?