Christopher Stasheff: The Warlock Enraged

“I’m sure it’s a more pleasant subject than whatever he had in mind,” Rod said quickly.

“And ‘twould have been cause enow, I do assure thee,” Gwen added.

Catharine answered with a silvery laugh. “For thou and I, mayhap—but I misdoubt me an ‘twould interest our husbands overlong.”

“Do not judge us so harshly,” Tuan protested. “Yet I must own that there are matters of policy to be discussed.” He sighed, and turned away to a desk that stood beneath the broad windows, with a map beside it on a floor stand. “Come, Lord Warlock—let us take up less pleasant matters.”

Rod came over, rather reassured; Tuan certainly didn’t seem to feel any urgency.

The young King tapped the map, on the Duchy of Romanov. “Here lies our mutual interest of the hour.”

“Well, as long as it’s only an hour. What’s our bear of a Duke up to?”

“Tis not His Grace,” Tuan said slowly.

Rod perked up; this was becoming more interesting. “Something original would be welcome. Frankly, I’ve been getting a bit bored with the petty rebellions of your twelve great lords.”

“Art thou so? I assure thee,” Tuan said grimly, “I have never found them tedious.”

“What is it, then? One of his petty barons gathering arms and men?”

“I would it were; of that, I’ve some experience. This, though, is a matter of another sort; for the rumors speak of foul magics.”

“Rumors?” Rod looked up from the map. “Not reports from agents?”

“I have some spies in the North,” Tuan acknowledged, “yet they only speak of these same rumors, not of events which they themselves have witnessed.”

Rod frowned. “Haven’t any of them tried to track the rumor to its source?”

Tuan shrugged. “None of those who’ve sent word. Yet I’ve several who have sent me no reports, and mine emissaries cannot find them.”

“Not a good sign.” Rod’s frown darkened. “They might have ridden off to check, and been taken.”

“Or worse,” Tuan agreed, “for the rumors speak of a malignant magus, a dark and brooding power, who doth send his minions everywhere throughout the North Country.”

“Worrisome, but not a problem—as long as all they do is spy. I take it they don’t.”

“Not if rumor speaks truly. These minions, look you, are sorcerers in their own right; and with the power they own, added to that which they gather from their sorcerer-lord, they defeat the local knights ere they can even come to battle. Then the sorcerers enthrall the knights, with their wives and children, too, and take up lordship over all the serfs and peasants of that district.”

“Not too good a deal for the knights and their families,” Rod mused, “but probably not much of a difference, to the serfs and peasants. After all, they’re used to taking orders—what difference does it make who’s giving them?”

“Great difference, if the first master was gentle, and the second was harsh,” Tuan retorted. His face was grim. “And reports speak of actions more than harsh, from these new masters. These sorcerers are evil.”

“And, of course, the peasants can’t do much, against magic.” Rod frowned. “Not much chance of fighting back.”

Tuan shuddered. “Perish the thought! For peasants must never resist orders, but only obey them, as is their divinely appointed role.”

What made Rod’s blood run cold was that Tuan didn’t say it grimly or primly, or pompously, or with the pious air of self-justification. No, he said it very matter-of-factly, as though it were as much a part of the world as rocks and trees and running water, and no one could even think of debating it. How could you argue about the existence of a rock? Especially if it had fallen on your toe…

That was where the real danger lay, of course—not in the opinions people held, but in the concepts they knew to be true—especially when they weren’t.

Rod shook off the mood. “So the chief sorcerer has been knocking off the local lordlings and taking over their holdings. How far has his power spread?”

“Rumor speaks of several baronets who have fallen ‘neath his sway,” Tuan said, brooding, “and even Duke Romanov, himself.”

“ Romanov ?” Rod stared, appalled. “One of the twelve great lords? How could he fall, without word of it reaching us?”

“I could accomplish it—and I am no wizard.” Tuan shrugged. “ ‘Tis simplicity—close a ring of iron around his castle under cover of night, then hurl an army ‘gainst his barbican, and siege machines against his towers. Invest the castle, and trust to thy ring of knights and men-at-arms to see that not a soul wins free to bear off word.”

Rod shuddered at Tuan’s sangfroid . “But he had a couple of esp—uh, witches, guesting in his tower!”

“More than ‘guesting,’ as I hear it,” Tuan answered, with a grim smile. “They were thoroughly loyal to Milord Duke, for he had saved them from the stake and embers. They’ve been of great service tending to the ill and injured and, I doubt not, gathering information for him.”

Rod frowned. “They must have been very discreet about it. We make it a practice, in the Royal Coven, not to pry into the minds of anyone except your enemies.”

“Or those who might become so,” Tuan amended. “Who’s to say his witches did more? Nay, once Catharine showed them the way of it, and thou and thy good wife did aid her in forming that band into a battle-weapon, all the lords did learn, and followed suit.”

“And Romanov’s witches couldn’t give him enough advance warning?” Rod pursed his lips. “This sorcerer is effective. But speaking of mental eavesdropping, that’s a way to check on the rumors. Did you ask any of the Royal Witchforce to try and read Romanov’s mind?”

“I did. They could not find him.”

“So.” Rod pursed his lips. “What minds did they hear, to the North?”

Tuan shrugged. “Only what should be. The plowman followed his oxen, the milkmaid coaxed her swain—naught was there to bring alarm, save that the warlock who listened, could not find the minds of any knights or barons.”

“How about vile thoughts, from evil sorcerers?”

Tuan turned his head slowly from side to side.

“So.” Rod’s gaze strayed back to the map. “On the face of it, nothing’s wrong; it’s just that the Duke of Romanov seems to have taken a vacation to parts unknown, with all his aristocratic retainers.”

“Thou dost see why I do suspect.”

Rod nodded. “Sounds fishy to me, too… not that I can’t understand why the noble Duke would want to take off for a while, though. I’ve been feeling a bit too much stress lately, myself… Gwen?” He turned, to find Gwen standing near. “Been listening?”

“I have.” She smiled. “And I do think thou dost make a great coil of naught.”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say we’re making a lot of fuss.” Rod locked gazes with Tuan. “Where’s the weeping and wailing? The yelling and hair-tearing?”

“Tis even as thou sayest,” Tuan turned to Gwen. “I do not see great danger here, Lady Gwendylon—only the abuse of witch-power, over those who have it not.”

“And witches ganging up on normals,” Rod added. “But that can all be cured by even more witches—from the good guys. After all, we have a vested interest in the public’s opinion of witches, dear.”

“In truth,” Gwen said firmly, “and we cannot have the folk afeard that witches will seek to govern by force of magic.”

“Of course not,” Rod murmured, “especially when every right-thinking individual knows it has to be done by force of arms.”

Tuan frowned. “How didst thou speak?”

“Uh, nothing.” Rod turned to Gwen. “How about it, dear? A family vacation, wandering toward the North?” When Gwen hesitated, he added, “I don’t really think there’s any danger—at least, none that you and I can’t handle between us.”