Christopher Stasheff - The Warlock Enraged

Gwen was silent, digesting that.

Rod shrugged, irritably. “Oh, sure, it’s possible this one sorceress has a hatred for tinkers, especially when they come in families—but, somehow, I doubt that. Conjuring up a Black Annis for the average wanderer is a bit elaborate, No, they’ve spotted us.”

He straightened his shoulders and clapped his hands. “All right, so much for our night’s adventure! Everybody back to bed.”

The children looked up, appalled.

“Don’t worry, Mommy’ll give you a sleep spell.” Gwen’s lullabies were effective projective telepathy; when she sang, “Sleep, my child,” they really did.

“My lord,” Gwen said softly, “if they do know of our presence…”

“We’d better post sentries. Yes.” Rod sat down cross-legged. “I’ll take first watch. I haven’t been sleeping well lately, anyway.”

When the night noises prevailed again, and the only child-sound was deep and even breathing, Rod said softly, “They’re being very good about it—but the fact is, I blew it.”

“But it is distinctly improbable that you could have caught the projective, in any event,” Fess’s voice answered him. “Banished her, certainly—possibly even destroyed her, though that certainly would have been quite dangerous. But attempting to immobilize an esper, without killing her, would be ten times more dangerous.”

Rod frowned. “Come to think of it, why didn’t she just hop the next broomstick?” He had a sudden, vivid vision of Gwen in an aerial dogfight, and shuddered.

“Why leave her caravan, if she did not have to?” Fess countered.

Rod winced. “ That hurts—that my rage hamstringed things so much that she didn’t even have to strain to get away!”

“Still, that is only a blow to your pride,” Fess reminded him. “The object was accomplished; the danger was banished.”

“Only temporarily,” Rod growled, “and the next time, it might banish us , if I let my rage block off my brain again.”

“That is possible,” Fess admitted. “And the danger must be considered greater, now that there is reason to believe the enemy knows your identities and direction.”

“And can guess our purpose,” Rod finished. “Yes, we can be sure they’ll attack again, and as soon as possible… Fess?”

“Yes, Rod?”

“Think it’s time yet to send Gwen and the kids home?”

The robot was silent for a moment; then he answered, “Analysis of available data does not indicate a degree of danger with which your family, as a unit, cannot cope.”

“Thank Heaven,” Rod sighed. “I don’t think they’d be very easy to send home, just now.”

“Your children have become intrigued.”

“Children, my eye! It’s Gwen I’m worried about—her dander’s up!”

Fess was silent.

Rod frowned at the lack of response; then his mouth tightened. “All right, what am I missing?”

The robot hesitated, then answered, “I don’t think they trust you out alone, Rod.”

We’re getting pretty close to the Romanov border now, aren’t we?”

“Aye, my lord. Tis mayhap a day’s journey further.” Gwen was holding up bravely, but she did seem tired.

Rod frowned. “Look—they know we’re coming; there’s no point in keeping our disguise. Why’re we still walking?”

“To save fright, Papa,” Gregory looked down at his father, from his seat on Fess’s pack. “If the good peasant folk see us flying north, they would surely take alarm.”

Rod stared at his youngest for a moment, then turned to Gwen. “How old did you say he was? Three, going on what ?”

But Gwen frowned suddenly, and held up a hand. “Hist!”

Rod frowned back. “The same to you.”

“Nay, nay, my lord! ‘Tis danger! Good folk come, but flee toward us in full terror!”

Rod’s face went neutral. “What’s chasing them?”

Gwen shook her head. “I cannot tell. ‘Tis human, for I sense the presence—yet there’s a blank where minds should be.”

Rod noted the plural. “All right, let’s prepare for the worst.” He put two fingers to his mouth, and blasted out a shrill whistle.

Like tandem firecrackers, Magnus and Geoffrey popped out of nowhere, and Cordelia swooped down to hover behind them. “Why didst thou not but think for us, Papa?” Magnus inquired.

“Because we’re up against an enemy that can hear thoughts farther than whistles. All right, kids, we’ve got to set up an ambush. I want each of you high up in a tree, doing your best imitation of a section of bark. Your mother and I’ll take the ground. When the enemy shows up, hit ‘em with everything you’ve got.”

“What enemy, Papa?”

“Listen for yourself. Mama says it’s human, but nothing more.”

All four children went glassy-eyed for a moment, then came out of their trances with one simultaneous shudder. “ ‘Tis horrible,” Cordelia whispered. “‘Tis there, but—‘tis not!”

“You’ll know it when you see it,” Rod said grimly, “and just in case you don’t, I’ll think ‘Havoc!’ as loudly as I can. Now, scoot!”

They disappeared with three pops and a whoosh. Looking up, Rod spotted three treetops suddenly swaying against the wind, and saw Cordelia soar into a fourth. “Which side of the road do you want, dear?”

Gwen shrugged. “Both sides are alike to me, my lord.”

“What do you think you are, a candidate? Okay, you disappear to the east, and I’ll fade into the left. I keep trying, anyway.”

Gwen nodded, and squeezed his hand quickly before she sped off the road. Leaves closed behind her. Rod stayed a moment, staring north and wondering; then he turned to the underbrush, muttering, “Head north about ten yards, Fess.”

The robot sprang into a gallop, and almost immediately turned off the road onto Rod’s side.

The leaves closed behind him, and Rod turned to face the roadway, peering through foliage. He knelt, and let his body settle, breathing in a careful rhythm, watching the dust settle.

Then, around the curve of the roadway, they came—a dozen dusty peasants with small backpacks and haunted faces. They kept glancing back over their shoulders. The tallest of them suddenly called out, jerked to a halt. The others hurried back to him, calling over their shoulders to their wives, “Go! Flee!” But the women hesitated, glancing longingly at the road south, then back at their husbands. The men turned their backs and faced north, toward the enemy, each holding a quarterstaff at guard position, slantwise across his body. The women stared at them, horrified.

Then, with a wail, one young wife turned, hugging her baby, and hurried away southward. The others stared after her; then, one by one, they began to shoo their children away down the road.

Then the men-at-arms strode into sight.

Rod tensed, thinking, “Ready!” with all his force.

They wore brown leggings with dark green coats down to midthigh, and steel helmets. Each carried a pike, and a saffron badge gleamed on every breast. It was definitely a uniform, and one Rod had never seen before.

The soldiers saw the peasants, gave a shout, and charged, pikes dropping down level.

Rod thought the word with all his might, as he muttered it to Fess: “Havoc!”

He couldn’t have timed it better. Fess leaped out of the underbrush and reared, with a whinnying scream, just as the last soldiers passed him. They whirled about, alarmed, as did most of their mates—and Rod leaped up on the roadway between peasants and soldiers, sword flickering out to stab through a shoulder, then leaping back out to dart at another footman even as the first screamed, staggering backward. Two soldiers in the middle of the band shot into the air with howls of terror, and slammed back down onto their mates, as a shower of rocks struck steel helmets hard enough to stagger soldiers, and send them reeling to the ground.