Christopher Stasheff: The Warlock Enraged

That stung through; for ‘witch-moss’ was a fungus peculiar to this planet, telepathically sensitive. If a projective esper thought hard at a lump of it, it would turn into whatever he or she was thinking about.

Which meant there had to be a projective esper around.

Gwen was tugging at his arm, falling behind. “Softly, mine husband! Fall back, and wait! If this monster was made o’ purpose, ‘tis toward the purposer that these comes we’ve made from it do flee! Yet if that villain doth take sight of thee, he’ll flee ere we can seize him!”

“I’ll blast him into oxides,” Rod muttered, but sense began to poke through his battle-madness.

“A pile of dust cannot tell us what we wish to know!” Gwen cried, and, finally, Rod began to slow. The master who had made this monster, was nothing; what mattered was the one who’d pulled his strings. That was the ogre who’d threatened Rod’s children. “Black Annis eats babies,” he muttered, and the rage began to build again.

“Black Annis is an old wives’ tale!” Gwen’s voice whipped, and stung through to him. “In Tir Chlis she did truly live, mayhap, but not in Gramarye! Here, she’s only crafted out of witch-moss! Here, ‘tis a sorcerer who doth scorn babes!”

Rod halted, trembling, and nodded. “And it’s the sorcerer we’ve got to catch—yes! But to find him, we have to question the minion that sent the monster against us!” His lips pulled back against his teeth. “That questioning, I think I’ll enjoy!”

Gwen shuddered, and implored, “Hold thyself in check, I prithee! Knowledge is our goal, not joy in cruelty.”

“Just tell me where he is. Who’s spotting?… Oh. The kids.” He stilled, listening mentally for his children’s call—and muttering, “Fess, to me. When we need to ride, we’ll need full speed.”

The great black horse drummed up beside him, just as Cordelia’s cry came, “Here!”

Rod leaped astride Fess, and they tore off through the night. The robot’s radar probed the darkened landscape, and Fess hurdled fallen trunks and streams as though he rode a close-clipped steeplechase course. Gwen swooped above the trees; but Fess broke from cover as she began her downward strike.

Her target was a high-walled wagon with a roof. A woman stood in its open door, silhouetted by candlelight. She darted a glance at Gwen, then whirled, to stare first toward the north, and Cordelia, then toward the east, and Gregory, then toward Geoffrey, then Magnus. She darted back inside, slamming the door; but she reappeared at the driver’s seat, catching up the reins. Her horses lifted their heads and turned out into the meadow, pulling the caravan about…

And she stared, appalled, at the horde of rabbits who filled the meadow—and the great black horse who thundered up behind them.

Then both her arms snapped out straight, fingers pointing—The rabbits leaped together, melded, coalesced, metamorphosed—and a lion, wolf, and bear whirled about, to turn on Rod.

He howled in rage and glee as the blood-haze enfolded him again, obscuring all but the monsters. They were release; they were justification for lashing out with his power. He would blast them; then his path would be clear, to smear the woman over the meadow grass.

The wolf was gaunt, with eyes of fire, impossibly huge. The bear, shambling upright, had a human face; and the lion’s mane was flame, its teeth and claws were steel.

Rod hauled on the reins and Fess dug in his hooves, throwing his weight back, plowing up the meadow in his halt, as Rod rose in the stirrups, stiffened arm spearing out.

The wolf exploded.

Rod’s head pivoted deliberately.

The lion’s mane expanded, flame sweeping out to envelop its body. But the beast didn’t seem to notice; it bounded on toward Rod, roaring.

Rod’s eyebrows drew down, his brow furrowing.

The lion’s head whipped around in a full turn and whirled spinning away. Fess sidestepped, and the body hurtled on by, to collapse in a writhing heap.

Rod pivoted toward the bear, his sword hissing out of its sheath; then the beast was on him. A great paw slammed against the side of Rod’s head. For a moment, he was loose in space, the blackness shot with tiny sparks; then the earth slammed into his back, and his insides knotted, driving the breath out of him. But the blood-haze still filled his sight; he saw Fess rearing up to slam forehooves into the bear’s shoulder. It stumbled, but came on, manlike face contorted in a snarl.

Rod clenched his jaw, waiting for breath, and glared at his sword-blade. Flame shot down its tip, billowing outward as though it were a blowtorch with a three-foot blast.

The bear halted, and backed away, snarling.

Rod’s diaphragm unkinked, and he drew a labored breath, then thrust himself to his feet, staggering toward the bear.

It threw itself on him with a roar.

He swung aside, squinting against pain, glaring at it. It flared like magnesium; but it had barely begun its death-howl when its fires flickered, guttered, and went out. Where it had stood, only ashes sifted to the ground.

Rod stood alone in the darkness, swaying, as the haze that filled him darkened, faded, and retreated back within him. He began to realize that a breeze was blowing…

Fire.

He’d left a burning corpse. The breeze could spread that flame over all the meadow, and into the woods.

He swung toward the remains of the lion—and saw Gregory floating near it, ten feet away, staring at the charred hulk. Even as Rod watched, bits of it were breaking loose, and moving off through the meadow grass. He turned toward the bear, and saw Geoffrey turning it into a herd of toy horses, which galloped toward the wood.

“We cannot leave such large masses of witch-moss whole,” Gwen’s voice said softly behind him, “or the first old aunt, telling of a frightful tale, will bring it up unwittingly, in some horrible guise.”

“No.” The last of the anger ebbed, and remorse rushed in to fill its place. Rod spoke roughly to counter it. “Of course you couldn’t. What happened to the witch?”

“She fled,” Gwen said simply.

Rod nodded. “You couldn’t follow her.”

“We could not leave thee here, to fight unaided.” Cordelia clung to her mother, watching her father out of huge eyes.

“No.” Rod turned to watch his two youngest dismember the remains of what had been horrors. “On the other hand, if I hadn’t stayed to fight them, you could’ve just taken them apart, and still had time to follow her.”

Gwen didn’t answer.

“Where’s Magnus?” Rod sighed.

“He did follow the witch,” Cordelia answered.

Air blew outward with a bang, and Magnus stood beside them. Rod usually found his sons’ appearances and disappearances unnerving, but somehow, now, it seemed remote, inconsequential. “She got away?”

Magnus bowed his head. “She fled into the forest, and I could no longer see her from the air.”

Rod nodded. “And it would’ve been foolish for you to try to follow low enough for her to get at you. Of course, if I’d been following on Fess, it would’ve been another matter.”

Nobody answered.

He signed. “How about her thoughts?”

“They ceased.”

Gwen stared down at Magnus. “Ceased?” She looked up, eyes losing focus for a few seconds; then her gaze cleared, and she nodded affirmation. “Tis even as he saith. But how…?”

“Why not?” Rod shrugged. “I was telepathically invisible for years, remember? Sooner or later, somebody was bound to learn how to do that whenever they wanted.”

“My lord,” Gwen said softly, “I think there is more danger in these Northern witches, than we had thought.”

Rod nodded. “And, at a guess, they’re better mind readers than we gave them credit for—‘cause they certainly knew we were coming.”