Christopher Stasheff - The Warlock is Missing

Magnus frowned at him. "I have not heard of this. What name had he?"

"I do not know," Geoffrey confessed, "nor did Papa. Yet he seemed certain that there was such an one."

"Mayhap thou hast heard of this, Robin?" Cordelia asked.

"As much as Geoffrey hath," Puck said, "yet no more. Thy father seeks some philosopher, some writer of ill-formed ideas, whose thoughts these foes of governance do adhere to. He doth give no orders, seest thou, but doth suggest some actions."

"Yet Papa doth not know ?" Gregory inferred. "He doth but guess?"

"Nay; 'tis something more than that," Puck said. "He's certain that this philosopher exists, but only doth think the others follow his words."

Geoffrey shook his head, frowning. "I misdoubt me of it. No band of men can take any action an they have no commander. Their deeds would lack coherence; each would do what the others have done. There would be only repetition of the same work, in many places."

Magnus nodded slowly. "Now that I bethink me of it, their actions may bespeak just that."

"Hold!" Puck stiffened. "Here comes one hot-foot!"

Summer and Fall popped up, wide-eyed. "An elf hath told us, and we have gone to see! His words are true!"

"What words are those?" Cordelia asked.

" 'Tis a band of peasants," Fall explained. "They do march along the King's High Way, bearing scythes and brandishing sickles—and a boy doth march before them!"

Cordelia was puzzled. "Before them? Doth not his mother keep him close?"

"Nay, nay!" Summer protested. "The lad doth lead!"

The children stared.

Then Geoffrey scowled. "Can this be true? That a whole band of grown folk would allow a mere boy to lead them?"

"Quite true," Fall assured him, "for the lad who leads them claims to be thyself."

The children stared, thunderstruck.

Then Magnus found his voice. "How can this be? Could a peasant lad have such audacity?"

"Nay!" Geoffrey cried, "for who would credit him? What proof could he offer?"

"The best, for one whose claim is false," Summer answered. "He is the spit and image of thyself."

Geoffrey stood rigid, the color draining from his face. Cordelia saw, and took a step backward before she realized what she was doing.

Then the boy erupted. "The louse and recreant! The vile bit of vermin! How durst he? How could this overweening rogue have the gall and bile to present himself as me ? Nay, take me to him straightaway, that I may carve his gizzard for his tombstone!"

But the two fairies stepped backward, appalled by his wrath.

"Wilt thou not, then?" Geoffrey shouted. "Nay, I must…"

"Throttle thy wrath!" Magnus snapped, and Geoffrey whirled to face him, crouching for a leap; but his brother said, more calmly, "What warrior will confront another in hot blood?" and Geoffrey froze. He stared at Magnus for a moment, then answered, quite reasonably, "Why, he who shall lose."

Magnus nodded. '"'Tis even as our father hath said, and we've seen the truth of it in himself. Nay, then, brother, be mindful—a rogue who would claim to be thee must needs be competent at battle. Thou must needs have thy wits about thee when thou dost face him."

"Even so," Gregory breathed.

Geoffrey stood, gazing at him for a minute; then he nodded, and slowly straightened up, relaxing—but every muscle held a tension that still bespoke firmly-bridled anger. "I thank thee brother. I am myself again." He turned to Summer and Fall. "My apologies, sweet sprites, for such unseemly wrath."

"'Tis warranted." But Fall still stared at him, her eyes huge.

"Wilt thou take me to him now?" Geoffrey asked.

The fairies nodded, and turned away wordlessly, running lightly down the path.

Geoffrey's mouth tightened in chagrin, and he launched himself into the air to follow them.

His brothers wafted after him. Cordelia's unicorn kept pace.

"I have ne'er seen him so angered," Cordelia murmured to Magnus.

"I do not wonder at it," he answered. "But we must watch him closely, sister, or he'll rend that whole peasant band apart."

Magnus halted them with a raised hand. "'Ware, my sibs! I mislike this!"

Beside him, Geoffrey nodded. " 'Tis not natural."

A hundred yards away, the village stood, a handful of houses circling a common—but with not one single person in sight.

"Where have the goodfolk gone?" Cordelia wondered.

"To follow my fetch," Geoffrey grated, "or to attend him."

"'Tis the latter." Magnus pointed. "Seest thou not the flash of color, here and there, between the cottages?"

His brothers and sister peered at the village.

"I do," Fess said, "and I have magnified the image. There are people there, many of them—but their backs are toward us, and only one voice speaks."

"Cordelia," Magnus said, with total certainty, "bid thy unicorn bide in the forest till we come. And thou, Fess, must also wait in hiding."

Cordelia's face clouded up, but Fess spoke first. "I am loathe to leave you, as you know, Magnus. Why do you wish me to wait?"

"For that the safest way to come upon them is to slip into the crowd, and worm our ways to the fore. Thus may we discover whether this double of Geoffrey's is any true threat or not, and if he is, may we thus take him unawares. Therefore I pray thee, hide and wait."

"Well enough, then, I shall," Fess said slowly. "But I will hide nearby, and listen at maximum amplification. If you have need of me, you have but to call."

"Be assured that we shall," Geoffrey said, his face taut.

Cordelia slipped off the unicorn's back and turned to stroke the velvet nose. "I must bid thee await me, beauteous one." Tears glistened in her eyes. "Oh, but thou wilt not flee from me, wilt thou? Thou wilt attend?"

The unicorn nodded; Magnus could have sworn the beast had understood his sister's words. He knew better, of course —Cordelia was a protective telepath, as they all were; it was her thoughts the unicorn understood, though the sounds may have helped. She tossed her head and turned away, trotting off toward the shelter of the trees.

"Come, then," Magnus said. "Cordelia, take thou the eastern point with Gregory. Geoffrey will take the center, and I the western edge. We shall meet in the front and center."

The others nodded, tight-lipped, and they spread out as they approached the village. Fess accompanied them, but stopped behind one of the cottages, waiting, head high, ears pricked, as the children silently infiltrated the crowd.

The "crowd" consisted of perhaps a hundred people, only a few dozen of whom, to judge by their carrying scythes and pitchforks, had come in off the road with the juvenile rabble-rouser. But he was doing his level best to convert the other threescore to his cause; as the children stepped in between grown-ups at the back of the mob, they heard him telling atrocity stories.

"Thus they have done to a village not ten miles hence!" the boy cried. "Wilt thou suffer them to so serve thy wives and bairns?"

The crowd in front of him rumbled angrily. Scythes and pitchforks waved.

"Nay, thou wilt not!" The boy stood on a wagon, where they could all see him—but he failed to notice the four children who slipped in from the space between two cottages. "Thou wilt not suffer bandits to rend thy village—nor wilt thou suffer the lords to amuse themselves by warring in thy fields, and trampling thine hard-grown com!"

The mob rumbled uncertainly; apparently they hadn't heard this line before. Bandits were one thing, but lords were entirely another.

"Thou wilt?" the boy cried, surprised. "Then I mistook thee quite! I had thought thou wert men!"

An ugly mutter answered him, and one man at the front cried. " 'Tis well enough for thee to say it, lad—thou hast not seen the lordlings fight! Thou hast not seen how their armor doth turn our pike blades, nor how their swords reap peasant soldiers!"