Christopher Stasheff - King Kobold Revived

“Father Chillde,” Rod said slowly.

The monk looked up, then smiled sadly. “I fear I have come too late, Milord Gallowglass. At least I may be of some service now.”

“We appreciate it, of course—but the chaplain doesn’t have to come into battle.”

The sad smile stayed. “There are two ways of thinking of that, milord.”

Nice to know they had a dedicated one—and his mere presence was definitely a comfort to the soldiers. Him, and the wine.

“They move back toward their ships,” the sentry reported.

“There will be much work for me when they have gone,” the priest said sadly.

Rod shook his head. “I don’t think so, Father. From what I saw during battle, they didn’t leave any wounded.”

The priest’s mouth pressed thin. “ ‘Tis to be lamented. But there will be other work, more’s the pity.”

Rod turned toward him, frowning. “What…? Oh. Yeah—the Last Rites.” He turned back toward the beach. “But it won’t just be our dead down there, Father. How about the beastmen? Think they have souls?”

“Why—I had not thought of it,” the priest said, surprised. “But is there reason to think they would not?”

One of the soldiers growled a reply.

The monk shook his head. “Nay, goodman. I ha’ known Christian men to do worse—much worse.”

“I would, could I but get one of them alone,” another soldier snarled.

“There—do you see?” The priest spread his hands. “Still, souls or none, I misdoubt me an they be Christian.”

“They called upon their false god at the battle’s beginning, did they not?”

“Was that the burden of their chant?” another soldier wondered. “ ‘Go Bald,’ was it not?”

“Something of the sort,” the first growled.

Rod frowned; he’d heard ‘Cobalt,’ himself. Well, each interpreted it according to words he knew. What did it really mean, though? He shrugged; it could be some sort of heathen god, at that.

“They have boarded their ship,” the sentry called. “They are launching… they turn…”

“May I build a fire now?” Father Chillde asked.

Rod shrugged. “Please do, Father—if you can find shelter for it and anything dry enough to burn.” He turned to the young warlock. “Sure you feel up to it, Toby?”

The esper nodded, coming to his feet. He was looking a little better, having rested. “I will start them, at least. When I’ve learned the trick of following a ship without being seen, I’ll call another of our band and teach it to him.”

Rod nodded. “See you soon, then, Toby.”

“Thou shalt, Lord Warlock.” Toby sprang into the air. The soldiers stared after him, gasping, as he soared up and up, then arrowed away over the waves. A few crossed themselves, muttering quick prayers.

“There is no need for that,” Father Chillde said sharply. “He is naught but a man, like to yourselves, though somewhat younger and with a rare gift. But he is not proof ‘gainst arrows or spears; if you would pray, beseech God for his safety.”

Rod stared at the chubby priest, surprised. Then he nodded his head in slow approval.

“He has gone through the clouds,” the sentry reported.

Rod nodded. “Wise, once he’s figured out which way they’re headed. He’ll probably drop down for a quick peek now and then, just to check on them.”

“They have crossed the bar,” the sentry reported. “They stand out to sea.”

Rod sighed and came to his feet, cradling Gwen in his arms. “It’s over, men. Let’s go.”

Below them, on the beach, the village smoldered.

“Nay, my lord. ‘Twas the lightning, I am certain of it!” Gwen spoke calmly, but her chin was a little more prominent than usual.

“Lightning!” Queen Catharine cried. She threw her hands in the air. “Why not the thunder, then? Or the wind, or the rain? Lightning, i’ sooth!”

“Nay, Majesty—hear her out.” Tuan touched her arm gently, restraining—but Rod noticed he’d become awfully formal all of a sudden.

“ ‘Majesty,’ indeed!” Catharine stormed, turning on him. “What wouldst thou, mine husband? To blame it on the lightning! Nay, ‘twas these beastmen only—themselves, and no more! They are vile sorcerers, and the spawn of Hell!”

“You may have a point there,” Rod admitted. “We’re not really disagreeing, you see—we’re just getting into the how of their sorcering.”

“Why, by peering into thine eye,” Catharine shrieked, whirling back on him. “Lightning, forsooth! Was it at lightning that thy soldiers stared?”

“Nay, certes,” Gwen said wearily. “ ‘Tis true, when they stared at the beastmen’s eyes, then could the beastmen cast their spell. And ’tis a foul spell!” She shuddered. “I had some taste of it when I sought to lift it. ‘Tis a vile thing that doth fascinate with ugliness!”

“ ‘Fascinate’ is the term,” Rod agreed. “They focused all the soldiers’ attention on one single point—the beastmen’s pupils. Then…”

“Then they could spare no attention for fighting?” Tuan nodded heavily. “Vile, indeed, that will not even allow a soldier the chance of defense.”

Catharine rounded on Gwen. “Hast thou never encountered a spell like to this before?”

“There are tales of it,” Gwen said slowly, “of the Evil Eye. I, though, have never found it in life.”

“I have,” Rod said slowly, “though it was a milder version.”

Tuan frowned. “When?”

“In prefligh… uh, in apprenticeship,” Rod hedged, “when I was being trained in the, uh”—he took a deep breath and gave up on honesty—“in the wizardry I use. This particular form of magic was called ‘hypnotism,’ but it looked a lot like this Evil Eye. It came to the same thing in the long run; it’s just that they had to do it much more slowly.”

“Aye, therein is it most phenomenal.” Tuan frowned. “How can they fascinate so quickly?”

“Therein I have some experience,” Gwen said slowly. “ ‘Tis a matter of throwing one’s thoughts into another’s mind.”

Fess’s voice murmured in Rod’s ear, “Your wife is describing projective telepathy, Rod.”

“Scientific terminology is wonderful,” Rod growled. “It lets skeptics believe in magic. In fact, it transforms them into instant authorities.”

Catharine turned on him, glowering. “Of whom dost thou speak, sirrah?”

Not you , Rod thought, remembering the rumors that the Queen had a touch of ‘witch-power’ herself. Aloud, he said, “ To whom is more the point—and the problem is that the beastmen do it to whomever they want. I think we’ve got a pretty good idea of how they do it now—but how do we fight back?”

“Why, as we did.” Gwen looked up in surprise.

Rod frowned down at her. “ ‘We’?” He felt a chill trickle down his back.

“Toby and I,” Gwen explained. “What we did was even as thou didst say, mine husband—we cast our thoughts into the soldiers’ minds and made them see what the glowing point at which they stared was in truth—naught but a pair of tiny eyes. We made them see again the face around the eyes, and the body ‘neath the face.”

“Yeah,” Rod said with a curt nod. “Then they stepped up the strength of their Evil Eye and knocked you both out.”

But Gwen shook her head. “Not ‘they,’ milord. ‘Twas the lightning.”

Catharine threw up her hands in despair and whirled away.

“Lightning or not, they did knock you out,” Rod growled, “and you’ll pardon me, but I didn’t like the look of it.”

Gwen spread her hands. “What wouldst thou, my lord? There were but Toby and myself—and we acted at the same moment, but not in concert.”