The Warlock Enraged

7

Rod steered the tottering horses off the road and into the meadow near Gwen, holding up the Duchess with his left arm. As he pulled them to a halt, she raised her head, looking about, then crowded closer to him. “The soldiers…”

Rod turned, and saw all the soldiers gathered in a knot under a low tree. Most of them held their heads in their hands. Some had lifted their gazes and were looking around, blinking, their faces drawn and uncertain. The knight lay by them with his helmet off. Gwen knelt over him.

“Don’t worry,” Rod said, trying to sound reassuring. “They feel as though they’ve just awakened from a bad dream. They’re on your side again.” He jumped down from the box. “Just stay there.”

She did, huddling into herself—and not looking at all reassured.

Rod sighed, and thought sharply, Cordelia!

The little girl leaped up halfway across the meadow and looked around. She located her father and jumped on her broomstick, zooming straight over to him. “Aye, Papa?”

Rod noticed the Duchess staring. Well, at least she was distracted. “Cordelia, this lady needs…”

But Cordelia was staring past him, toward the windows of the coach, and a delighted grin curved on her lips. “Children!”

Rod turned, surprised.

Two little faces filled one of the windows, looking about with frank curiosity.

Cordelia skipped past Rod, hands behind her back. The Duchess’s children watched her warily. Cordelia stopped right below them and cocked her head to the side. “I am hight Cordelia.”

They didn’t answer; they just stared.

Rod touched her shoulder. “They’ve been having some bad scares lately, honey.”

The elder boy looked up in indignation. “Was not scared!”

“Yeah, sure, you were calm as a mill pond. Just go easy, honey.”

“Oh, Papa!” she said, exasperated. “Can they not see I wish them no harm?” Before he could answer, she whirled away to the Duchess. “May I play with them?”

The Duchess stared down at her. Then, slowly, she said, “Why… an they wish it… certes.”

That they would wish it, Rod did not doubt; he knew his daughter. Already, the two boys were watching her with marked interest.

“Oh, good!” Cordelia spun back to the children. “I have brothers, too. Thou mayst play with them also, an thou dost wish it.”

The two boys still looked wary, but Cordelia’s friendliness was infectious. The younger opened the coach door, and stepped out. “I,” he said, “am Gaston.”

Rod turned away, quite certain the Duchess’s attention would be fully occupied for a while, and went over to his wife.

As he came up, she sat back on her heels, gazing down at the knight and shaking her head. Instantly, Rod was alert. “What’s the matter? Is the hypnosis too strong?”

Gwen shook her head again. “I have broke the spell, my lord. Yet I can bring him no closer to life than this.”

Rod turned, staring down at the knight. He saw a lined face and bald head, with a fringe of gray hair. His skin was gray, and covered with a sheen of sweat. Guilt swept through Rod. He knelt beside the knight. “But it was only 120 volts! Only fifteen amperes! And I only hit him with it for a few seconds!”

Gwen shook her head. “It may have as easily been the fall, my lord. His heart had stopped, and I labored to make it begin to beat again.”

“Heart attack?” Rod took a closer look at the knight. “He’s middle-aged—and he’s let himself sag out of shape.” He shook his head, looking up at Gwen. “There was no way I could tell that. He had his helmet on, and the visor was down.”

“In truth, thou couldst not,” she agreed, “and anything thou hadst done to stop him, might have hurt him this badly.” She lifted her eyes, gazing into his. “Yet, my lord, I misdoubt me an ‘twas any action of thine that did strike him down. He had ridden too many miles in harness.”

Rod nodded slowly. “Whoever sent him out to lead a troop in full armor, at his age, must’ve seen him only as a thing, not a person. Who…? No, cancel that. Of course—who else? Alfar.”

“We will tend him, milady.”

Gwen looked up, and saw the sergeant kneeling across from her.

“Sir Verin is old, but dear to us,” the soldier explained. “How he came to this pass, we know not. We will tend him.” He lifted his head, showing haunted eyes. “Lady—what have our bodies done, the whiles our souls slept?”

“Naught that is any fault of thine.” She touched his hand, smiling gently. “Trouble not thine heart.”

Geoffrey darted up beside her. “Mama! There are children! May we go play?”

Gwen looked up, startled. “Why…”

“We’ve got company,” Rod explained.

A short while later, the parents sat around a hasty campfire while the children played nearby. The Duchess sat, shivering in spite of the sun’s midday warmth. Gwen had fetched a blanket from Fess’s pack and wrapped it around her, but the poor lady still shivered with reaction. She gazed at the children, who were winding up a raucous game of tag. “Ah, bless them! Poor mites.” Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “They know not the meaning of what hath happed.”

“Thou hast not told them, then?” Gwen said softly.

The Duchess shook her head. “They know what they have seen, and no more.” She looked up at Rod, a hard stare. “And I will not tell them until I know.”

Rod stared back, and nodded slowly. “Why not? Your husband could still be alive. It’s even possible that he’s well.”

The Duchess nodded slowly, maintaining the glare. But she couldn’t hold it long, and her head dropped.

Nearby, the children collapsed in a panting tangle.

“Nay, but tell!” Cordelia cajoled. “Didst thou truly see the evil sorcerer?”

“Nay,” said the youngest; and “We saw naught,” said the eldest. “Naught save the inside of our keep. Mother penned us there, and would not even let us go so far as the window.”

“Yet thou didst come in a coach,” Magnus reminded. “Didst thou see naught then?”

The boys shook their heads, and the youngest said, “We knew only that Mother bade us follow her down to the courtyard, and placed us in the coach. Through the gate house, we heard the clash of arms afar off; yet she drew the curtains closely, and bade us open them not.”

The oldest added, “We could hear the rumble of the wheels echoing about us, and knew that we passed through the gatehouse. Then the portcullis did crash down behind us, and the noises of war began to grow nearer.”

Geoffrey’s eyes glinted.

“Then they began to grow fainter, till they were lost behind us,” the eldest went on, “and we heard naught but the grating of the coach’s wheels.”

The youngest nodded. “When at last we did part the curtains, there was naught to see but summer fields and groves.”

The Duchess pressed her face into her hands, and her shoulders shook with more than shivering. Gwen tucked the blanket more tightly around her, murmuring soothing inanities. She glanced at Rod and nodded toward the children.

Rod took the cue. “Uh, kids—could you maybe change the subject?”

“Eh?” Cordelia looked up and took in the situation at a glance. “Oh!” She was instantly contrite. “We are sorry, Papa.” She turned to the other children, catching the hands of the Duchess’s sons. “Come, let us play at tracking.”

The fatuous look they gave her boded well for her teen-aged future, and ill for Rod’s coming peace of mind. But they darted away, calling to one another, and Magnus hid his face against a large tree, and began to count.

The Duchess lifted her head, turning it from side to side in wonder. “They so quickly forget such ill!”

“Well, yes—but you haven’t really told them the bad parts,” Rod said judiciously. “For all they know, their father’s winning the battle. And can you really say he didn’t?”

“Nay,” she said, as though it were forced from her. “Yet I did not flee till I looked down from the battlements, and saw that the melee had begun to go against him—even as we had feared.” Then she buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders heaved with sobbing. Gwen clucked over her, comforting, and Rod had the good taste to keep quiet until the Duchess had regained some measure of control over herself. She lifted her head, gazing out over the meadow with unseeing eyes. “When first the reeves began to bring us tales of villages suborned, we dismissed them with laughter. Who could come to rule a village, whiles its knight stood by to shield it? Yet the first tale was followed by a second, and a second by a third, then a fourth, then a fifth—and ever was it the same: that a sorcerer had made the people bow to him. Then it was a witch who forced the homage, with the sorcerer’s power supporting her; then a warlock.”

“How’d they do it?” Rod asked. “Did the reeves know?”

The Duchess shook her head. “They had heard only rumors of dire threats, and of barns bursting into flame, and kine that sickened and fell. Yet for the greater part, there had been only surliness and complaining from the peasants, complaining that swelled louder and louder. Then the witch or warlock stepped amongst them, and they turned with joyful will to bow to him or her, and the sorcerer whose power lay ‘neath. My lord did bid one of his knights to ride about his own estates, and visit the villages therein. The knight returned, and spoke of peasant mobs that howled in fury, brandishing scythes and mattocks, and hurling stones. When he charged, they broke and ran; yet when he turned away, eftsoons they gathered all against him once again.” Her mouth hardened. “Thus were they bid, I doubt not.”

“Sudden, rabid loyalty.” Rod glanced at Gwen. “Would you say they didn’t really seem to be themselves? The peasants, I mean.”

“Nay, assuredly not!” The Duchess shuddered. “They were as unlike what they had been, as May time is from winter. Such reports angered milord, but not greatly. They angered his vassal, the Baron de Gratecieux, far more; for, look you, the greater part of Milord Duke’s revenues was yielded to him by his counts, who gained theirs from their barons. Yet the barons gain theirs from their knights.”

Rod nodded. “So a knight’s village resisting payments is a little more serious to the baron than to his duke.”

The Duchess nodded too. “He did implore Milord Duke for arms and men, which my lord did give him gladly. Then rode the Baron ‘gainst the sorcerer.”

She fell silent. Rod waited.

When she didn’t go on, Rod asked, “What happened?”

The Duchess shuddered. “Eh, such reports as we had were horrible, in truth! The Baron’s force did meet with a host of magics—fell creatures that did pounce from the air, fireballs and rocks that appeared among them, hurtling; arrows that sped without bows or archers, and war-axes and maces that struck without a hand to bear them. Then peasant mobs did charge upon them, howling and striking with their sickles. Yet far worst of all was a creeping fear, a sense of horror that overcame the Baron’s soldiers, till they broke and ran, screaming hoarsely in their terror.”

Rod met Gwen’s eyes, and her words sounded in his ears alone: I count a witch-moss crafter, and the warlock who doth hurl stones ‘mongst us; and there be witches who do make the weapons fly. Yet what’s this creeping horror?

Rod could only shake his head. He looked down at the Duchess again. “What happened to the Baron?”

The Duchess shuddered. “He came not home; yet in later battles, he has been seen—leading such soldiers as lived, against the sorcerer’s foes.”

Rod caught Gwen’s eye again; she nodded. Well, they’d met that compulsive hypnosis already. “How many of the soldiers survived?”

“There were, mayhap, half a dozen that lived to flee, of the threescore that marched to battle.”

Rod whistled softly. “Six out of sixty? This sorcerer’s efficient, isn’t he? How many of the defeated ones were following Baron de Gratecieux in the next battle?”

The Duchess shrugged. “From the report we had—mayhap twoscore.”

“Forty out of sixty, captured and brainwashed?” Rod shuddered. “But some got away—the six you mentioned.”

“Aye. But a warlock pursued them. One only bore word to us; we know not what happened to the other five.”

“It’s a fair guess, though.” Rod frowned. “So right from the beginning, Alfar’s made a point of trying to keep word from leaking out.” Somehow, that didn’t smack of the medieval mind. “You say you learned this afterwards?”

The Duchess nodded. “It took that lone soldier a week and a day to win home to us.”

“A lot can happen in a week.”

“So it did. The sorcerer and his coven marched against the Castle Gratecieux; most of the household acclaimed Alfar their suzerain. The Baroness and some loyal few objected, and fought to close the gates. They could not prevail, though, and those who did acclaim the sorcerer their lord, did ope’ the gate, lower the drawbridge, and raise the portcullis.”

Rod shrugged. “Well, if they could make whole villages switch allegiance, why not a castleful?”

“What did the sorcerer to the Baroness?” Gwen asked, eyes wide.

The Duchess squeezed her eyes shut. “She doth rest in the dungeon, with her children—though the eldest was wounded in the brawling.”

Gwen’s face hardened.

“How did you learn this?” Rod tried to sound gentle.

“Servants in Gratecieux’s castle have cousins in my kitchens.”

“Servants’ network.” Rod nodded. “So Alfar just took over the castle. Of course, he went on to take over the rest of the manor.”

“Such villages as did not already bow to him, aye. They fell to his sway one by one. At last, the other barons did take alarm, and did band together to declare war upon him.”

“Bad tactics.” Rod shook his head. “The hell with the declaration; they should’ve just gone in, and mopped him up.”

The Duchess stared, scandalized.

“Just an idea,” Rod said quickly.

The Duchess shook her head. “Twould have availed them naught. They fought a sorcerer.”

Rod lifted his head slowly, eyes widening, nostrils flaring. He turned to Gwen. “So he’s got people thinking they can’t win, before they even march. They’re half defeated before they begin fighting.”

“Mayhap,” the Duchess said, in a dull voice, “yet with great ease did he defeat the barons. A score of sorcerer’s soldiers did grapple with the barons’ outriders, on the left flank. The scouts cried for a rescue, and soldiers ran to aid them. The sorcerer’s men withdrew; yet no sooner had they vanished into the forest, than another band attacked the vanguard of the right flank. Again soldiers ran to bring aid, and again the sorcerer’s men withdrew; and, with greater confidence, the barons’ men marched ahead.”

Even hearing the story, Rod felt a chill. “Too much confidence.”

The Duchess nodded, and bit her lip. “When they came within sight of Castle Gratecieux, a wave of soldiers broke upon them from the forest. At t’ other side of the road, rocks began to appear, with thunder-crashes, and also from that side came a swarm of thrown stones—yet no one was there to throw them. The soldiers recoiled upon themselves, then stood to fight; yet they fell in droves. Three of the five barons fought to the last with their men, and were lost. The other two rallied mayhap a score, and retreated. The sorcerer’s army pressed them hard, but well did they defend themselves. Naetheless, a half of the men fell, and one of the barons with them. The other half won through to the High Road, whereupon they could turn and flee, faster than the sorcerer’s men could follow. A warlock followed them, and rocks appeared all about them; yet he grew careless and, of a sudden, an archer whirled and let fly. The arrow pierced the warlock, and he tumbled from the sky, screaming. Then away rode the baron and his poor remnant—and thus was the word brought to us. And I assure thee, mine husband did honor that archer.”

“So should we all,” Rod said. “It always helps, having a demonstration that your enemy can be beaten. Didn’t your husband take these rumors of danger seriously before then?”

“Nay, not truly. He could not begin to believe that a band of peasants could be any true danger to armored knights and soldiers, even though they were witches. Yet when the Baron Marole stood before him and told him the account of his last battle, my lord did rise in wrath. He summoned up his knights and men, and did send his fleetest courier south, to bear word of all that had happed to Their Royal Majesties.”

Rod frowned. “He sent a messenger? How long ago?”

The Duchess shrugged. “Five days agone.”

Rod shook his head. “He should have been in Runnymede before we left.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes widening, haunted. “He did not come.”

“No,” Rod answered, “he didn’t.”

The Duchess dropped her gaze. “Alas, poor wight! Need we guess at what hath happed?”

“No, I think it’s pretty obvious.” Rod gazed north along the road. “In fact, he might even have dressed himself as a peasant, in hopes he’d be overlooked. In any case, he’s probably the reason Alfar sent his new army out to cut down refugees.”

“Refugees?” The Duchess looked up, frowning. “What are these?”

“Poor folk, who flee the ravages of war,” Gwen explained.

Rod nodded. “Usually because their homes have been destroyed. In this case, though, the only ones who’ve been heading south are the ones who realized what was coming, and got out while they could.”

“You’ve seen such folk, then?”

Rod nodded. “A few. I’d say we’ve been running into one every mile or so.”

The Duchess shook her head slowly. “I marvel that they ‘scaped the sorcerer’s soldiers!”

“They started early enough, I guess—but I’m sure the soldiers caught up with plenty of other bands. And, of course, we did manage to, ah, interfere, when a squad of men-at-arms was trying to stop a family we bumped into.”

The Duchess studied his face. “What had this family seen?”

“Not a darn thing—but they’d heard rumors.”

“And were wise enough to heed them.” The Duchess’s mouth hardened. “Yet will Their Royal Majesties send an army north, after naught but rumor?”

Rod shook his head. “Not a chance.”

She frowned. “Yet how is it thou dost…” Then she broke off, eyes widening in surprise, then hope. “Yet thou dost come, thou!”

Rod answered with a sardonic smile. “Quick-witted, I see. And yes, the King sent us—to find out the truth of the rumors.”

“And thou dost lead thy wife and bairns into so vile a brew of foulness?” the Duchess cried. She turned on Gwen. “Oh lady, nay! If thou dost thy children love, spare them this horror!”

Gwen looked up at Rod, startled.

Like a gentleman, Rod declined the unexpected advantage. He only said, “Well… you’ll understand that my wife and children are a bit better equipped to deal with evil witches than most might be—so they’re not really in so great a danger.”

It earned him a look of warmth from Gwen, but the Duchess cried, “Danger enow! Lord Warlock, do not let them go! Thou dost not comprehend the might of this fell sorcerer!”

“We’ve had a taste of it.”

“Then let that taste make thee lose thine appetite! A fullness of his work will sicken thy soul! ‘Tis one thing to see a mere squadron of his victims, such as these poor folk…” She waved toward the soldiers. “Yet when thou dost see them come against thee by the hundreds, thine heart shall shrink in horror! Tis not that his magic is so fell—’tis the purely evil malice of his soul!”

Rod’s eyes gleamed. “You’ve seen him yourself, then?”

She dropped her eyes. “Aye, though only from a distance. ‘Twas enow.” She shuddered. “I could feel his hatred washing o’er me, as though I stood ‘neath a cloudburst of dirtied water. Methought that I should ne’er again feel clean!”

“But how could the Duke let you come so near the battle!”

“He fought against it, I assure thee—yet the battle did come nigh to me. For when he had dispatched the courier southwards, and his knights had come up with all their men, he donned his armor and rode forth to meet the sorcerer.”

Rod nodded. “Sounds right. I never would’ve accused Duke Romanov of hesitating—or of the slightest bit of uncertainty.”

“Error, though?” The Duchess looked up, with a sardonic smile. “I know mine husband, Lord Warlock. Dearly though I love him, I cannot help but be aware of his rashness. Yet in this matter, I believe, even full caution would have impelled him to battle—for ‘twas fight or flee, look you, and, as Duke, he could not flee—for he was sworn to the protection of his people. Twas his duty, then, to fight—and if he must needs fight, ‘twas best to fight just then, when the sorcerer and his forces were newly come from battle, and would therefore be weakened with battle losses.”

“But strengthened with the men he’d captured.” Rod frowned. “Or didn’t you realize…” He gazed at her, and let the words gel in his mouth.

“What?” She frowned.

Rod cleared his throat, and shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, uh… where he recruited his men from. His army, I mean.”

“Ah.” She smiled bitterly. “From those he had defeated, dost thou mean? Aye, that word was brought to us with the news of Baron Gratecieux’s lost battle. The soldier who came back, did tell us of old friends he’d seen who, he knew, had fought in the train of one of Gratecieux’s vassal knights.”

“Well, at least it’s not a surprise now,” Rod sighed. “I suppose it would take Alfar a little while to process his new recruits…”

“To bind them under his spell?” The Duchess shook her head. “I know not. I know only that my lord did march out toward the castle that had been Gratecieux’s—and I went up to the highest turret, to see them go.”

Rod lifted his head a little. “Could you see all the way to Gratecieux’s castle?”

“Aye; his towers are taller even than those of Their Royal Majesties. We can see only the battlements—yet we can see that much. Not that I had need to.”

Rod frowned. “You mean they didn’t even get that far?”

The Duchess nodded. “The sorcerer had marched out to meet him. Even when my lord set out, the sorcerer’s forces already stood, drawn up and waiting, by a ravine midway betwixt the two castles. ‘Tis as though he knew aforetime of my lord’s coming.”

“He did,” Rod growled. “All witches and warlocks here are mind readers.”

The Duchess looked up, surprised. Then her mouth tightened in exasperation. “Aye, certes. And I knew it. I had but to think—and I did not.”

“It matters not,” Gwen said quickly.

“Truth. What aid could I provide?” The Duchess spread her hands helplessly. “I could but watch. Yet though the sorcerer had magics, my lord the Duke had guile.”

“Oh, really? You mean he managed to escape the ambush?”

“Aye, and drew them onto ground of his choosing. For they waited on the road, look you, with a wooded slope to the left, and a bank strewn with boulders on the right.”

Rod nodded. “Good ambush country. What’d your husband do about the roadblock?”

“He saw it afar off, and marched his force off the road ere the slopes had begun to enfold it. Out into the open plain they went, and away toward Castle Gratecieux.”

“Oh, nice.” Rod grinned. “Go knock on the door while the army’s out waiting for you.” His opinion of Duke Romanov went up a notch. No matter; it had plenty of room.

“The sorcerer did not appreciate his wisdom,” the Duchess assured Rod. “He marched his men posthaste out into the plain, to once again block my lord’s path, and more men than had bestrode the road, burst from the trees and rock.”

“Of course. Your husband knows an ambush point when he sees one—and it is nice to be proven right now and then, isn’t it?”

The Duchess exchanged a wifely glance with Gwen.

Rod hurried. “I gather they did manage to cut him off.”

“They did indeed; yet my lord’s troops were drawn up in battle array, and fresh, whiles the sorcerer’s straggled hard from a chase. Then they met, with a fearful clash of arms and a howling of men, that I could hear clearly over the leagues. And, at first, my lord’s forces bore back the sorcerer’s. Little could I see from my tower; but the coil of men did move away, and therefore did I know that the sorcerer retreated, and my lord did follow.”

“Delightful! But I take it that didn’t last?”

“Nay.” She spread her hands. “I cannot tell why, or what did hap to change the tide of battle. I only know that the coil began to grow again, and swelled far too quickly. Thus I knew that my husband’s forces did flee—in truth, that I did witness a rout. I stayed to see no more, but flew down to gather up my boys, and bundle them into the coach. I bade them keep the curtains close, and lie upon the floor; then turned I to old Peter, the groom, and I did cry, ‘The coachman hath gone to fight by my lord’s side! Up, old Peter, and aid us in our flight!’ Yet he did not stir; he only glowered up at me, and spat at my feet. ‘Not I,’ he growled. ‘Ne’er again shall I serve a lordling!’ ”

Rod didn’t speak, but flint struck steel in his gaze.

Gwen saw, and nodded. “Twas even so. The sorcerer’s spells had reached out to entrap his mind.”

“What did you do?” Rod asked the Duchess.

“I fled,” the Duchess said simply. “I did not stay to seek another coachman, lest old Peter’s surliness turn to malice. I had no wish to have spellbound creatures seek to drag me down. Nay, I sprang up on the box myself, and seized the whip. I attempted to crack it over the horses’ heads, but it only whistled past them; yet that was enow, and they trotted forward. Through the gates and over the drawbridge I drove, with my heart in my throat, for fear the team would seize the bits, and run wild away; yet they trotted obediently, and I found that I had moved in barely ample time. For even as my coach’s wheels roared onto the drawbridge, the portcullis shot down behind me with a crash, and the bridge beneath me began to tremble. As soon as I was clear, I did look back, and, surely, did see the bridge begin to rise.”

“Yet thou wast free!” Gwen breathed.

The Duchess shook her head. “Nay, not yet. For as I raced away from the castle, I did see my lord’s soldiers charging towards me with the sorcerer’s men-at-arms hot on their heels. I knew I must pass near to their flight ere I could win free to the southward road; I prayed that our faithful men, seeing me, would turn to fight, and gain us that last vital moment in which to escape. Yet were my hopes dashed, for as they came nigh me, fire kindled in their eyes, and a dozen of them ran to catch my horses’ reins, howling for my blood and my children’s heads—they, who but minutes before had fought in our defense!” She buried her face in her hands, sobbing.

Gwen wrapped an arm around her, and murmured, “They did not know. I have broke this spell from two bands of men now, and thus can tell thee how it is: Their minds are put to sleep, and the thoughts that float above that slumber are not theirs. The men themselves, who swore thee faith and served thee well, do keep the faith they swore! If they are waked, and learn what their bodies did while their minds slept, they will be heart-struck, even as these.” She nodded toward the soldiers gathered under the tree.

“Heart-struck, as am I!” the Duchess sobbed. “For when they are waked from their enchantment, what shall I say to them? ‘That scar upon thy cheek is my own doing, but I did not truly mean to do it?’ For, look thee, as they threw themselves at the horses’ bits, I struck out with the whip, and scored them wheresoe’er I might—on their hands, their arms, their chests or, aye, even their faces! And they fell back, then they fell back…“ Her voice dissolved into weeping again.

“You had no choice.” Rod’s voice was harsh.

“No choice, in truth!” Gwen cried. “Wouldst thou have let them drag thine horses to a halt, wrench open thy carriage, and drag out thy bairns, to take to Alfar?”

The Duchess shuddered. “Tis even as thou dost say.” She caught her breath, swallowed, and nodded. “ ‘Tis even so. I could not let them triumph.”

“But Alfar did?”

“Oh, aye, of that am I certain—and my lord doth lie in the sleep of death! Or, if I am blessed, only battered and bloody, but alive in a dungeon! Ah, how shall I look into his eyes again, if ever he is freed, if ever we do meet again? For which, pray Heaven! Yet what shall I say? For I was not there to hold his castle against his return!”

“He was probably in chains before he came anywhere near home.” Rod carefully didn’t mention the alternative. “If I know Duke Romanov, he probably didn’t even start the return trip.”

Gwen nodded. “All the land doth know that thy husband would sooner die than flee, milady. Belike they dragged him down fighting, and bore him away to prison.”

“Aye.” She took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders. “Aye, that is most likely. He would not have even known his men had fled. And they would seek to capture him, no matter the cost—would they not? For surely, an imprisoned Duke is a mighty weapon! Yet I did flee.”

“And thus he would have bade thee do!”

Rod nodded. “Yes, he would have. If he’d thought you might have stayed to fight against an enemy like that, he’d have been in a panic—and a less effective fighter for it; his fear for you would have shackled his sword arm.” He shook his head. “No, knowing that you’d do everything you could to get the children to safety, if he lost the battle, was all that gave him a clear enough mind to fight the battle.”

The Duchess sat still, head bowed.

“Tis even as milord doth say,” Gwen murmured, “and thou dost know it to be true. Thou art thyself the daughter of noblemen.”

Slowly, then, the Duchess nodded. “Aye, ‘tis true. I have done naught but my duty.”

“And your lord will praise you for it,” Rod assured her. “Bewail his loss—but don’t bewail your own conduct. You know you did exactly as you should have.”

The Duchess sighed, straightening and poising her head.

“Indeed, ‘tis true—yet I did need to hear one speak it anew. I thank thee, Lady Gallowglass—and thou, Lord Warlock.” But her eyes were on Gwen’s when her sudden smile showed.

Rod heaved a sigh of relief. “I take it you’ve been driving without a rest.”

“Aye, the poor horses! Though I slowed to a walk as often as I dared—yet are the poor beasts near to foundering.”

“They lasted.” Rod turned to glance at the horses grazing. A couple had already dozed off. “It’s a wonder, though—they must’ve been going for a whole day and night.”

The Duchess nodded. “Less a few hours. We began our flight late in the afternoon.”

Gwen caught Rod’s eye, with a covert smile. He didn’t hear her thoughts, but he didn’t have to; they no doubt would’ve been something along the lines of: Subtle as a nuclear blast.

“Papa! PapaPapaPapaPapaPapa!”

Rod looked up, glad of the reprieve.

The children came pelting across the meadow—or at least, the Duchess’s two did. Rod’s brood behaved more like spears.

“Papa!” Javelin Geoffrey struck into him, and clung. Rod staggered back a step, caught his breath, and said, “Yes. What’s so important that it can’t wait a second?”

“Illaren’s papa!” Geoffrey crowed. “We saw him!”

Illaren, the elder of the Duchess’s children, nodded eagerly.

His mother sat galvanized.

“You what?” Rod caught his son under the shoulders and held him at arm’s length. “Now, be very careful what you say, son. Remember, you could hurt people’s feelings very badly, if you’re making a mistake… Now. You don’t mean to tell me you just saw Duke Romanov here, do you?”

“Oh, no, Papa!” Geoffrey cried in disgust; and Magnus exploded. “ ‘Twas last night, Papa—when we chased the warlock!”

“The nasty one, who threw rocks,” Gregory chimed in. “Art thou mindful, Papa, of when he took thee to the dungeon?”

“Yes, I remember.” Suddenly, vividly, in his mind’s eye, Rod saw the prisoner shackled to the wall again. “You mean… the man in chains…?”

“Aye! Wouldst thou not say, Papa, that he was…” He turned to Illaren, nose wrinkling. “How didst thou picture thy Father?”

“A great bear of a man,” Illaren supplied.

“Aye!” Geoffrey whirled back to Rod. “With hair of so dark a brown ‘twas near to black. And richly clad, with gilded armor!”

Rod nodded, faster and faster. “Yes… yes! Yes on the armor, too—what there was left of it, anyway.”

“But that is Father!” cried the younger boy.

“Art thou certain!” The Duchess came to her feet, staggering.

Geoffrey stilled, staring at her, eyes huge. “In truth, we are.”

“Dost thou truly mean…”

“They’re right.” Rod turned a grave face to her. “I didn’t recognize him, at the time—but I should have. It was your husband, my lady Duchess. I’m sure of it.”

She stood rigid, staring at him.

Then her eyes rolled up, and she collapsed.

Gwen stepped forward, and caught her in an expert grip. “Be not affrighted,” she assured the two boys. “Thy mother doth but swoon—and ‘tis from joy, not grief.”

“But Illaren’s papa is sorely hurted, Papa!” Magnus reminded Rod.

“Yes.” Rod fixed his eldest with an unwavering stare. “He was hurt—and imprisoned. Remember that.”

Magnus stared up at him, face unreadable.

“A Duke.” Rod’s tone was cold, measured. “With all his knights, with all his men-at-arms, with all his might, he was sorely wounded, captured, and imprisoned.” He turned his head slowly, surveying his children. “Against a power that could do that, what could four children do? And what would happen to them?”

“But we are witches!” Cordelia cried.

“Warlocks!” Geoffrey’s chin thrust forward.

“So,” Rod said, “are they.”

“They have come against us,” Geoffrey cried, “and we have triumphed!”

“Yes—when there were six of us, and one of them. What’s going to happen if we meet all of them together?” He stared into Geoffrey’s eyes. “As the Duke did.”

“We will not go back!” Cordelia stamped her foot.

Rod stiffened, his face paling. “You… will… do… as… I… tell you!”

Magnus’s face darkened, and his mouth opened, but Gwen’s hand slid around to cover it. “Children.” Her voice was quiet, but all four stilled at the sound. Gwen looked directly into Rod’s eyes. “I gave thy father my promise.” “What promise?” Cordelia cried.

“That if he did insist, we would go home.” She raised a hand to still the instant tumult. “Now he doth insist.”

Rod nodded slowly, and let his gaze warm as he looked at her.

“But, Mama…”

“Hush,” she commanded, “for there is this, too—these horrors that the Duchess hath spoke of to me. Nay, children, ‘tis even as thy father hath said—there is danger in the North, horrible and rampant. ‘Tis no place for children.”

Cordelia whirled on her. “But you, Mama…”

“Must come with thee, to see thee safely home,” Gwen said, and her tone was iron. “Or dost thou truly say that I have but to bid thee ‘Go,’ and thou’lt return to Runnymede straightaway? That thou wouldst truly not seek to follow thy father, and myself, unseen?”

Cordelia clenched her fists and stamped her foot, glaring up at her mother with incipient mutiny, but she didn’t answer.

Gwen nodded slowly. “ ‘Tis even as I thought.” She lifted her gaze to Rod. “And there is this, too—I do not believe the Duchess and her sons are safe yet.”

Rod nodded. “Very true.”

Gwen nodded too, and turned back to the children. “We must needs guard them.”

“But the soldiers…”

“Did lately chase them,” Gwen reminded. “Who is to say the sorcerer’s power may not reach down from the North to ensnare them again, and turn them ‘gainst the Duchess and her boys?”

Illaren exchanged a quick, frightened look with his brother.

“But, Mama…” Geoffrey cried.

“Thou wilt do as thou art bid,” Gwen commanded, “and thou wilt do it presently. Thou, whose care is ever the ordering of battles—wilt thou truly deny that the course of wisdom is to guard this family, and take them to King Tuan, to bear witness?”

Geoffrey glowered back up at her, then said reluctantly, “Nay. Thou hast the right of it, Mama.”

“Doesn’t she always,” Rod muttered; but nobody seemed to hear him.

She turned to him. “We shall go, husband—even as thou dost wish.”

“But Papa won’t be safe!” Cordelia whirled to throw her arms around his midriff.

Rod hugged her to him, but shook his head. “I’ve faced danger without you before, children. There was even a time when I didn’t have your mother along to protect me.”

Magnus shook his head, eyes wide with alarm. “Never such danger as this, Papa. A vile, evil sorcerer, with a whole army of witches behind him!”

“I’ve gone into the middle of an army before—and I only had a dagger against all their swords, and worse. Much worse.”

“Yet these are witches!”

“Yes—and I’ve got more than a mental dagger, to use against them.” Rod held his son’s eyes with a grave stare. “I think I can match their sorcerer, spell for spell and power for power—and pull a few tricks he hasn’t even dreamed of, since he was a child.” He hauled Magnus in against him, too. “No, don’t worry about me this time. Some day, I’ll probably meet that enemy who’s just a little too much stronger than I am—but Alfar isn’t it. For all his powers and all his nastiness, he doesn’t really worry me that much.”

“Nor should he.”

Rod looked up to see his youngest son sitting cross-legged, apart from the huddle. “I think thou hast the right of it, Papa. I think this sorcerer’s arm is thickened more with fear, than with strength.”

“An that is so,” said Geoffrey, “thou must needs match him and, aye, e’en o’ermatch him, Papa.”

“Well.” Rod inclined his head gravely. “Thank you, my sons. Hearing you say it, makes me feel a lot better.” And, illogically, it did—and not just because his children had, when last came to last, become his cheering section. He had a strange respect for his two younger sons. He wondered if that was a good thing.

Apparently, Cordelia and Magnus felt the same way. They pried themselves away from Rod, and the eldest nodded. “If Gregory doth not foresee thy doom, Papa, it hath yet to run.”

“Yes.” Rod nodded. “Alfar’s not my Nemesis.” He turned back to Gregory. “What is?”

The child gazed off into space for a minute, his eyes losing focus. Then he looked at his father again, and answered, with total certainty, “Dreams.”