The Warlock is Missing

Chapter 17

They meant to go straight home. They tried to go straight home. This time, they did everything they could to go straight home.

Could they help it if they were ambushed?

One minute they were walking down the path; the next, something huge and dark dropped over them with a roar.

"Geoffrey, defend!" Magnus cried, striking—out but the thing just flapped where he hit it.

"Have at thee, villain!" His brother threshed about, but the darkness tangled itself about him. Cordelia screamed, and Gregory bawled—and all of them fought to lift whatever the foul-smelling thing was, with their thoughts.

But nothing happened.

Outside, Fess's battle cry tore the air, underscored by the sound of meaty impacts. Something bellowed, and someone shrieked, then something big struck the ground with a metallic crash. Then the bellow sounded in full rage, and hoofbeats galloped away with a defiant, fading, whinnying scream.

"Praise Heaven!" Cordelia said. "My unicorn, at least, hath saved herself from whatever foul monsters have set upon us!"

"But Fess!" Gregory bleated. "What of gallant Fess?"

For a moment, they all listened frantically, searching for Fess's presence with their minds.

"He is disabled," Magnus said, and all of them felt terror seize them. What could be so mighty as to put the robot out of action so quickly?

There was one being who had done it before…

The huge voice roared with victory now, and something squeezed all around them, jamming the four of them up against each other. Then the dark foul-smelling thing yanked their feet out from under them and swung them high in the air, jumbling and knocking against one another, feet up, heads down. They couldn't see a thing, and they all screamed and yelled.

The roar turned into words. "We have them! And their guardian beast lies slain! We have them!"

"So I see," wheezed a crackling old voice, and the sound of it chilled the children. "Hold that sack tightly closed, Groghat! Let them not escape!"

"Nay, Lontar! Fear not—I'll not chance it!"

"But thou didst enchant him!" Cordelia cried to Magnus. "He cannot so much as think of injuring us, or any folk, without pain!"

Lontar's voice gave a high, shrill laugh. "But I do not hurt thee, foolish child! 'Tis Groghat who doth so!"

"And do gladly, for children who cozened me and gave me pain," the giant grumbled. "Do thou prevent them from disappearing, Lontar!"

"Oh, the lass cannot disappear, at the least," a feminine voice said impatiently. "That power's proper only to warlocks."

"Indeed," Lontar's voice wheezed. "And hast thou not noticed, Phebe, that these lads can move objects by thinking at them?"

"Nay, I had not," Phebe answered, her tone surly. "Hold them fast, Lontar!"

"Oh, be easy in thine heart." Lontar cackled. "This spell is new, but 'tis mighty. They'll not be able to use any witch-power they own, the whiles I hold them with my mind. Yet be sure thou dost keep the lads in check, when we loose them in their dungeon."

"I'll answer for the two larger ones," Phebe said, with certainty. "Yet the smallest… I ken not. Even babes have never been proof against me, so long as they were male—yet this one scarcely doth notice."

"Well, between us three, I warrant we can contain them all," Lontar chortled. "'Tis well we chanced upon one another. What we could not do singly, we may surely do together."

"I would we had done more with that horned horse," Phebe said bitterly. "She hath gored mine hand to the bone! Aid me in winding this bandage, Lontar… Ow! Pest upon her, that she would not let me approach!"

"Having certain powers doth preclude others," Lontar creaked. "Yet I will be pleased with those I do own, for they have brought mine enemies into my grasp. Now these meddling babes shall be forever made still!"

A chill ran down Magnus's back.

'Tis the peasant wench, the sorcerer, and the giant, combined against us, Cordelia thought, terrified. Is't true what he doth say? Have we no powers left?

We still can hear thoughts, at the least. Even Geoffrey was on the verge of panic. Yet for the rest of it…1 do seek, even now, to catch and hold this giant's foot with my mind—yet naught doth occur!

And I essay to disappear—most heartily, I assure thee! Gregory thought. Yet 'tis even as thou dost say; I bide!

Our thoughts do not move. Magnus fought hard against a rising panic.

Magnus—what shall we do? Cordelia's thoughts wailed.

Bide, and hope. And Magnus did—he hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. We've faced worse. It was a lie, but no one called him on it. Then inspiration struck, and he thought, Be mindful—the Puck is yet free!

By the time they came out of the trees, Gregory had wormed a hole in the side of the bag. "I see a tower," he reported.

"What is its aspect?" Magnus called.

'"'Tis overgrown with mosses and ivy, and is hung with rusty chains. Old horseshoes are secured over the doorways and windows, and there's a deal of rusty nails and broken sickles and such hung about it."

"Cold Iron." Magnus's heart sank. "'Tis proof 'gainst the Wee Folk; even Puck may not enter there."

"What will they do with us?" Cordelia moaned.

"This sack is heavy, even for a giant, when 'tis carried so far," Groghat grunted. "Wherefore do we take them to thine home, Lontar? Why not slay them where we found them?"

"What—only slay them, and leave them?" Lontar giggled. "Nay, foolish giant! Wherefore ought we to waste them?"

"Waste them?" Phebe sounded uncertain suddenly. "Why, for what wouldst thou have them at home?"

"Why, for dinner!" Lontar's voice had a gloating sound that made the children shiver. "Hast thou never noticed, Phebe, that the youngest are the most tender? Nay, 'tis rarely that one hath opportunity for such!… Ahhh!" He shrieked. "Eh-h-h-h, the pain! Yet my revenge upon them is worth it!"

Magnus felt his stomach sink. / never thought the old man so enjoyed hurting folk, that he would be willing to suffer such pain, he thought.

With the stab of pain past, Lontar began to boast. "Why, I mind me that I once cast a curse upon a wench who spurned me, so that, henceforth, she would seek to feed upon any who did thereafter seek to befriend her!"

'Tis even as we thought—'tis he did enchant old Phagia! Cordelia thought, horrified.

Then he hath the blood of many upon his head, already. Geoffrey felt anger rising. It helped hide the growing fear; he felt better. We need have no qualm at seeking our freedom by whatever means we may!

But Lontar heard their thoughts. "Indeed," he crowed. "And how shalt thou accomplish it?"

The dim light filtering through the sides of the hot, stuffy bag faded and was gone. "We have come into thy fortress," Groghat boomed. "Where shall we bind them?"

"Yonder," Lontar said.

Groghat muttered, and the children heard his feet gritting on stone, felt the bag jounce as he climbed stairs—and climbed, and climbed, and climbed…

Finally, rusty hinges groaned, and the bag shifted topsyturvy. Howling in fright, the children tumbled out. They remembered Papa's lessons and tucked in their chins, so that their heads were at least a little protected as they slammed into the stone floor. The sudden light seemed horribly bright after the darkness of the bag, and they squinted, looking about—to see the old wizard standing in the doorway cackling, with Phebe beside him, looking very somber now, and unsure. Groghat was there behind them, stooping to peer into the room.

Lontar had put on his wizard's robe—dark blue, soiled and greasy, but with the gold of the embroidered signs of the zodiac still gleaming through. His tall, pointed cap, with golden stars and crescent moons upon it, came up to Groghat's chest.

"I'll come for thee anon," Lontar crooned, "when I've heated my cauldron. Enjoy what little time is left to thee whilst thou may. I have given thee my proudest room." He elbowed Phebe aside with a crow of triumph and slammed the door. A rusty bolt ground home.

The children turned to look at the "proudest room," and shuddered. The floor was carpeted in dust, the corners festooned with old cobwebs. The narrow windows let in only a little light, but enough to show piles of rotted cloth here and there. Cordelia took a stick and poked at one of the piles, then pulled back with a shudder. "'Tis rotted cloth—but in garments!"

"Grown-up's garments?" Gregory asked hopefully.

Cordelia shook her head. "Nay. Small garments—children's."

Magnus felt anger growing. He glared at the pitiful pile, then frowned at the thin rod in Cordelia's hand. "What manner of stick is that?… Why, 'tis a switch!"

Cordelia dropped it with a sound of disgust, and wiped her hand on her skirt.

"We should not have restored his heart," Geoffrey said darkly. "He deserved death."

"For once, I fear I must own that thou didst have the right of it," Magnus admitted. "Yet that's past and gone; what remains is our lives. How shall we break free from here, brother?"

His siblings looked up at him, startled at the notion of hope. Then they came alive. Geoffrey sprang to his feet and ran to the window. He jumped up, levering himself onto the sill. "'Tis a clear drop down, Magnus—naught to support a climb. Eh, if we could fly, 'twould be easily done!" Experimentally, 'he thought of floating, pushing away against the floor—but he didn't even feel lighter.

Magnus shook his head. "Whatever manner of binding Lontar hath done on our powers, 'tis thorough. Can any of thee do aught?"

Cordelia cast about, and dashed over to a corner with a glad cry. She caught up an old stick, sweeping the cobwebs off it with distaste, and held it out flat in her hands. The straws had almost completely rotted away, but it was a broomstick. She closed her eyes, concentrating furiously— but the stick stayed obstinately still. She threw it from her in frustration. "It doth naught!"

"Nor can any of us," Magnus said glumly. "Alas! What shall we do?" He slumped down, sitting cross-legged, head bowed, dejected.

Geoffrey dashed to him, clasping his arm. "Do not dare to despair! Fight, brother! There must be a way to life!"

Gregory sniffled and burst into tears. Cordelia dashed to him and hugged him against her. He buried his head in her skirts, crying.

"Do thou not!" Geoffrey insisted. "Weeping avails us naught! Gregory, think!"

"If only Vidor were here!" Gregory wailed. "He would know what to do! His magic's not like ours—it hath not our limits! It doth work by words and by symbols, not by thought only! Assuredly, Vidor would know how to defeat this vile sorcerer!"

Magnus's head came up. "What dost thou say?"

"He said Vidor would know!" Cordelia snapped, glaring at Magnus.

"Aye, I did hear him!" Magnus ran to his little brother, whirling him about and grasping his shoulders. "Gregory, think! Our other powers have been bound, but not our thought-hearing! Canst thou make thy Vidor to hear thee?"

Gregory looked up, wide-eyed, sniffling. "Why, mayhap I can—yet what good…" Then his face lit; he smiled. "Aye, certes! He may be able to tell us what magic will defeat this vile Lontar!"

Cordelia beamed at Magnus—but for cheering up Gregory, not for saving them.

Gregory plumped down cross-legged, back ramrod-straight, and closed his eyes.

His brothers and sister watched him in silence. Geoffrey looked fair to bursting, but he kept silent.

Finally Gregory opened his eyes. "Vidor saith that he is too little to attempt any such battle—and that his Papa cannot aid, because he can only reach our world through our Papa's mind."

"And he is not here." Magnus scowled in fury. "Confound! How may they aid?"

"Vidor," Gregory said, "hath an older brother."

They were all silent, staring.

"How much older?" Magnus asked finally.

"Seven years. He's of an age with thee, Magnus."

Big brother knelt there, staring at him.

""'Tis our one chance, my sib," Geoffrey said, his voice low. "Thou must needs open thy mind to this…" He turned to Gregory. "What is his name?"

"Albertus," Gregory answered.

"…this Albertus." Geoffrey turned back to Magnus. "Hast thou the courage?"

Magnus swung about at him, glaring. "Mind thy manners, bairn! Still thyself, and behold!" He dropped down beside Gregory, cross-legged, back straight, imitating his little brother. "Is it thus?"

"Aye," Gregory agreed eagerly. "Now close thine eyes…" He closed his own. "Wait… I've told Vidor, he doth summon Albertus… Attend…"

They waited—and waited. Cordelia bit back the urge to scream with impatience.

"Albertus comes," Gregory said finally. "Vidor doth summon his father, also… Ah, we've good fortune! His father's not far distant! Lord Kern comes… Albertus is nearly here! Now, Magnus, close thine eyes!" i

"I have already," Big Brother said impatiently. "What now, lad?"

"Open thy mind… widely… Let all thy body and mind go loose… Nay, Magnus, I know 'tis most difficult, but thou must needs forget what doth hap, and let thy mind drift… Now… follow me. Let thy mind blow where mine doth…"

They were silent, eyes closed. Cordelia and Geoffrey held their breaths.

They heard footsteps on the stairs.

Cordelia opened her mouth to scream, but Geoffrey clapped a hand over it. She clenched her fists, fighting hard to keep silent, to keep from breaking her brothers' concentration.

"Now, 'tis time!" Lontar called from the other side of the door.

"I like this not," said Phebe's voice.

"Thou wilt be party to it, or thou shalt join with them! Groghat, seize her!… Aieee! Mine head! The pain… Nay! Mind me not—but seize her! Yüü!"

There were sounds of a struggle; Phebe screamed.

"Ah, now," Lontar panted, "thou'rt decided. 'Tis well. One way or another, lass, thou shalt join us for dinner…"

The key groaned in the lock.

Geoffrey whirled, catching up the broomstick and leaping to his feet, stick raised to guard, jumping in front of his sister.

"I have him, Father," Magnus said suddenly. His voice sounded different, somehow—a little deeper, a little more resonant. "His mind doth meld with mine."

The door groaned open. Lontar stepped into the room, giggling; spittle drooled from his lip, and his eyes were wild.

Gregory opened his eyes, turned to look, and grasped Magnus's hand. "Lend him thine eyes, brother!"

"What! Wilt thou fight me, then?" Lontar pointed at Geoffrey, cackling. "Good, good! Exercise doth make a good appetite! Yet I think thou art too tough and stringy—I'll start with another!" He stepped forward, cackling and reaching out toward Cordelia. "Aieee!" His head whipsnapped at the sudden pain, but he squinted against it and came on toward her in spite of it.

Magnus turned slowly, opening his eyes and frowning. He saw Lontar and stretched out his arm, forefinger pointing.

"Ah! The biggest doth see me, then!" Lontar crowed. "Art ready to bathe, lad? The water is hot, and oiled with onions and carrots! Yet thou, too, art like to be tough; we'll start with the smallest! Yi-eeee!" He winced at the pain, but turned toward Gregory anyway.

A bolt of pure energy spat from Magnus's finger with a sound like a gunshot. It struck Lontar square in the chest. The old sorcerer screamed once, falling backward. His whole body heaved; then he lay still.

Phebe and Groghat stared, horrified.

Geoffrey disappeared with a thunder-crack.

Groghat came to his senses, knocked Phebe aside, and charged into the room, roaring.

Cordelia narrowed her eyes, glaring at him. A horde of old nails and scrap iron shot in through the window and crashed into Groghat's face. He howled, batting the stuff aside—but thunder cracked, and Geoffrey appeared on his shoulders. He jammed the broomstick across Groghat's throat and hauled back.

The giant made a gargling sound, eyes bulging, and grasped at the stick—but as he did, his feet shot out from under him, and he slammed down onto the floor with a crash that shook the whole chamber. A lump of old iron slammed into his temple, and he collapsed, unconscious.

Geoffrey turned on Phebe, his eyes narrowed.

She shrank back against the wall, horrified—then remembered herself. She managed a tremulous smile, and stepped away from the wall, eyelids drooping. "Nay, then! Hast thou come for me, young man?"

A wave of attraction seemed to roll out from her, fascinating, binding.

Geoffrey hesitated.

"Have at thee, hag!" Cordelia screamed, and a length of old chain lashed Phebe, wrapping itself around her throat. She gave a horrified scream that choked off into a gurgle—and the broomstick wrenched itself out of Geoffrey's hands to crash into her skull. Her eyes rolled up, and she folded.

Geoffrey drew a long, shuddering breath. "Sister—I thank thee! Remember it well, for I'll say it but rarely."

"'Tis wondrous as 'tis," she returned, and stepped over to Groghat. "Doth he truly sleep?"

Geoffrey stepped over with her, peering down. "Aye, well and soundly. Aid me, sister—roll him over."

Together, frowning, they stared at the giant. His body shook, heaved—and pitched over. "One apiece," Cordelia said tightly, and the giant's hands yanked up behind his back. A length of old chain shot out and whipped about his wrists; then Cordelia glared at two links. They glowed cherry-red, then yellow—then darkened again.

"Well welded," Geoffrey approved. " 'Twas on the outside links, and 'twas so quickly done that he's not even burned."

"More's the pity," Magnus grunted.

They spun about, surprised. "Eh!" Geoffrey said. "Thou art come back to us, art thou?"

"Aye," his brother said, "and I gave Lord Kern great thanks for the power he lent us, and Albertus thanks for conducting it to me."

"And great thanks to Vidor," Gregory piped, "for bethinking him that his elder brother might be able to blend his mind with thine, and for summoning him."

"Aye. I thanked him, too." Magnus looked down at Gregory. "If ever they need our aid, lad, we must turn to them instantly."

"Aye, without fail," Gregory agreed. "Yet, Magnus, their Papa did say he was glad of the chance to repay our Papa for his good aid."

"'Tis not a balance of good deeds, but a chain," Magnus averred. He turned to his brother and sister, saw the unconscious bodies, and grunted, "Thou hast worked well, here."

"We had need to find summat with which to pass the time, while certain parties were abstracted," Geoffrey said, trying for nonchalance.

"Whiles we, of course, did play," Magnus responded. He rose, with difficulty. "Eh! But my joints ache!" He stepped over to Lontar and knelt beside him, placing a hand on the vein in his neck.

"Thou'lt not start his heart again!" Geoffrey protested.

"Nay." Magnus drew back his hand in disgust. "There's no need."

"He yet lives?" Geoffrey cried in dismay.

"And he called thee tough and stringy," Cordelia snorted.

Geoffrey looked about at the three, at a loss for once. "What… what are we to do with them?"

The brothers and sister exchanged a blank look.

"We cannot leave them to take up their evil again," Cordelia said.

"Aye, but 'tis not for us to say they must die, neither," Magnus answered.

They stared at one another in silence.

Then Geoffrey crowed, "I have it! We shall let Mama and Papa decide!"

"Oh, excellent, brother," Magnus scoffed, "most excellent! Aye, we'll bid Mama and Papa come here in judgment—as soon as we find them!"

"Oh, nay! We know they'll come home, soon or late—so we'll take these vile villains there, to await them!"

Cordelia and Magnus stared at him, floored by the sheer audacity of the plan.

Then Cordelia giggled.

Magnus grinned. "Wherefore not? 'Twill serve them well for going adventuring without us! Come, brother, let's bind them!"

"Aye," Geoffrey agreed, picking up another length of rusty chain. "And who knows? Mayhap Lontar will die on the way!"

Puck and Kelly stared, unbelieving, as the children came out of the doorway at the base of the tower. Then Puck turned to Summer. "To the King, straight away! Tell him they are safe, that he need not come! Scat!"

Summer flew off, casting an indignant look backward at him.

It was wasted; Puck and Kelly were already shooting over the floor of the clearing, straight toward the children.

"Magnus! Cordelia! Geoffrey! Gregory! By Oak, Ash and Thorn! Ye are safe!"

Cordelia managed a smile. "Aye, praise all saints!"

"We could not come to thine aid, for there was so great a deal of Cold Iron hung about that tower!"

"That foul, fell felon," Kelly howled, "who's so craven that he must needs drape his house in all that we dread! 'Tis naught but what ye should look for, from such vile fellows as…"

He broke off, staring at the procession of unconscious bodies that floated out of the tower behind the children.

"Eh!" Puck gasped. "How hast thou taken these trussed-up fowls?"

"With great difficulty," Magnus assured him, "and only with the aid of some folk who were not there."

"Not there? How is this?" Puck's gaze sharpened with keen suspicion as he looked up at Magnus. Then he stared. "Lad! Thine hair!"

"What of it?" Magnus put a hand to his head, suddenly self-conscious. "'Tis yet there!"

But his brothers and Cordelia were staring, too. "We had not noticed, in all the turmoil," she said, "yet now…"

"What is it?"

"I ha' known thee since before thou wast born," Puck avowed, "and ever was thine hair as golden as the crown of a king!"

"Wilt thou not tell me?" Magnus exploded.

"Gregory," Cordelia said, "thy friend Vidor—what color is the hair of his older brother?"

Magnus's eyes widened as he began to suspect.

Gregory looked up and blinked. "Black is the color of Albertus's hair, 'Delia."

"And of what hue is mine?" Magnus asked into the sudden silence.

"Black as jet," Cordelia whispered.

"Like the wings of a raven," Puck agreed.