Christopher Stasheff: The Warlock Enraged

But the common soldiers who had allied with Alfar, could be left to the tender mercies of their erstwhile comrades—once Rod had made it clear that he expected them to, at least, survive. “So you found the deepest, darkest, dungeon, and locked them in it?”

“Aye, milord.” The auncient’s eyes glowed. “We loosed its sole tenant.” He turned toward the screens passage with a bow, and in limped the prisoner. His doublet and hose were torn, and crusted with dried blood; his face was smeared with dirt, and his hair matted. There was a great livid gash along the right-hand side of his face, scabbed over, that would leave a horrible scar; and he limped heavily, his limbs sodden with inactivity; but his back was straight, and his chin was high. Two knights were with him, blinking, dazed, as disoriented as any of the soldiers, but straight and proud. Simon followed after, looking perplexed.

Rod shoved himself to his feet, ignoring the searing protest from his wounded hip, and the auncient announced:

“Hail my lord, the Duke of Romanov!”

Rod stepped down from the dais to clasp his one-time enemy by the shoulders. “Praise Heaven you’re alive!”

“And thee, for this fair rescue!” The Duke inclined his head. “Well met, Lord Warlock! I, and all my line, shall ever be indebted to thee and thine!”

“Well, maybe more the ‘thine’ than the ‘thee.’ ” Rod glanced behind him at the children who sat, prim and proper, on the dais steps with their mother fairly glowing behind them. “When push came to shove, they had to haul my bacon out of the fire.”

“Then I thank thee mightily, Lady Gallowglass, and thee, brave children!” The Duke inclined his head again.

Blushing, they leaped to their feet and bowed.

When the Duke straightened, there was anxiety in his face. “Lord Warlock—my wife and bairns. Did they… escape?”

“They did, and my wife and children made sure they reached Runnymede safely.” Rod turned to Gwen. “Didn’t you?”

“Certes, my lord. We would not have turned aside from what we’d promised thee we’d do.”

“Yes—you never did promise to stay safe, did you? But Alfar mentioned something about a dire fate in store for you…”

“Indeed!” Gwen opened her eyes wider. “Then it was never taken out from storage. I wonder thou wast so merciful in thy dealings with him.”

“Well, I never did like lingering deaths.” But Rod couldn’t help feeling better about it all.

“He also implied that the Duchess and her boys didn’t stay safe…”

“False again,” Gwen said quickly, just as the Duke’s anguish was beginning to show anew. “We saw them to Runnymede, where they bide safely, in the care of Their Royal Majesties.”

“Yes… what are monarchs for?” But Rod noted the flash of shame that flitted across Romanov’s features—no doubt in memory of his rebellion.

“We played with them not three hours agone, Papa,” Geoffrey added.

The Duke heaved a sigh, relaxing. Then the father and host in him both took over. “Three hours? And thy children have not dined in that time?” He spun to the auncient. “Good Auncient, seek out the cooks! Rouse them from their dazes, and bid them bring meat and wine—and honeycakes.”

The children perked up most noticeably.

“Three hours agone.” The Duke turned back to the children with a frown. “Was this in Runnymede?”

The children nodded.

The Duke turned back to Rod. “How could they come to aid thee, then?”

“Nice question.” Rod turned to Gwen again. “It was rather dangerous here, dear. Just how close were you, while you were waiting for me to need you?”

“The lads were in Runnymede, my lord, even as thou hast but now heard,” Gwen answered. “They could bide there, sin’ that they may travel an hundred leagues in the bat of an eyelash.”

Rod had notion that their range was farther than that, much farther, but he didn’t deem it wise to say so—especially not where they could hear (or mind read).

“At the outset,” Gwen continued, “Cordelia and I did bide with them, for we could attend to thy thoughts e’en from that distance, and fly to thine aid if thou didst come near to danger. It did greatly trouble me, therefore, when thy thoughts did so abruptly cease.”

Cordelia nodded confirmation, her eyes huge. “She did weep, Papa.”

“Oh, no, darling!” Rod caught Gwen’s hands. “I didn’t mean to…”

“Nay, certes.” She smiled. “Yet thou wilt therefore comprehend my concern.”

Rod nodded slowly. “I’d say so, yes.”

“I therefore did leave the boys in care of Their Royal Majesties, and Brom O’Berin, and flew northward again. I took on the guise of an osprey…”

Rod rolled his eyes up. “I knew , when I saw that blasted fish-hawk that far inland, that I was in trouble!” Of course, he knew that Gwen couldn’t really shrink down to the size of a bird any more than a butterfly could play midwife to a giraffe. It was just a projective illusion, making people think that they saw a bird instead of a woman. “If I hadn’t shielded my thoughts, I probably would’ve seen through your spell!”

“An thou hadst not shielded thy thoughts, I would not have had to fly near enough to see thee,” Gwen retorted. “And though thou hadst disguised thyself, I knew thee, Rod Gallowglass.”

That, at least, was reassuring—in its way.

“Then,” Gwen finished, “ ‘twas but a matter of hearkening to the thoughts of that goodman who did ride beside thee.” Gwen turned to Simon. “I thank thee, Master Simon.”

The older man still looked confused, but he bowed anyway, smiling. “I was honored to be of service, milady—e’en though I knew it not.”

“And when thou wert taken,” Gwen went on, “I did summon Cordelia to me, to bide in waiting, in a deserted shepherd’s croft. Then, when thou didst burst forth from thy shield, I could not help but hear thy thoughts for myself.”

“Not that you were about to try to ignore them,” Rod murmured.

“Nay, certes!” Gwen cried in indignation. “Then, when thou didst come unto the tower chamber, I knew the moment of battle was nigh, and did summon Cordelia from her croft to fly to the tower; and when the unearthly device did cease to compel, and did commence to disenchant, I knew the time of battle had come. Then did I summon thy sons, that the family might be together once again.”

“Very homey,” Rod grinned. “And, though I was mighty glad to see you all, I don’t mind saying I’m even gladder to know the kids were safe, right down until the last moment.”

“Certes, my lord! I would not endanger them.”

Rod gave her the fish-eye. “What do you call that last little fracas we went through—homework?”

“Oh, nay! ‘Twas far too great a delight!” Geoffrey cried.

“Homework’s delight,” Gregory lisped.

“Papa!” Cordelia cried indignantly; and Magnus’s chin jutted out a quarter-inch further. “Twas scarce more than chores.”

“We’d fought each of them aforetime,” Geoffrey reminded him, “and knew their powers—save Alfar, and we left him to thee.”

“Nice to know you have confidence in me. But there could’ve been accidents…”

“So there may ever be, with bairns,” Gwen sighed. “Here, at least, they were under mine eye. Bethink thee, husband, what might chance an I were to leave them in the kitchen, untended.”

Rod shuddered. “You’ve made your point; please don’t try the experiment.” He turned to the Duke. “Ever begin to feel redundant?”

“Nay, Papa,” Magnus cried. “We could only aid thee in the ending of this campaign.”

“Truly,” Gregory said, round-eyed, “we knew not enough to bring the sorcerer to bay.”