The Warlock in Spite of Himself

Rod frowned. "What do you mean, uses ?"

Big Tom held up a hand. "Do not ask, master. If Tuan has need of them, let him have them. This lad knows his craft; I ha' ne'er seen, and but rarely heard, of any man who could so sway the mob."

He turned and leaped down the stairs, checked for heartbeats in the fallen men, bound up the one that still lived, and dragged them all under the balcony. Then he caught up the their lieutenant from the hearth, slung him over a shoulder.

"Tom!" Tuan called, and the big man looked up.

"Bring that horn that hangs o'er the mantle, and the drum beside it!" Tuan called.

Tom nodded and took down the battered, curled hunting horn from its nail and plucked one of the rude drums—nothing more than an empty cask with hide stretched over each end—from its place on the mantle.

Rod frowned, perplexed. "What do you want the drum and bugle for?"

Tuan grinned. "Canst play at the horn?"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly qualify for first chair in the Philharmonic, but…"

"Thou'lt do," said Tuan, eyes dancing.

Big Tom bounded back up the stairs with the Mocker's lieutenant over one shoulder and the trumpet and drum over the other.

He dropped the instruments and laid the bound man by his companions.

He straightened, fists on hips, grinning. "Halloa, my masters! What would you have us do with 'em, lordling?"

"Do thou take the drum," said Tuan, "and when I give the word, hang these four from the balcony rail, but not by their necks. Tis far more to our credit we've taken them living."

Rod cocked an eyebrow. "Not that old wheeze about being powerful enough to be merciful?"

He didn't hear the answer, because Tom started pounding the drum. The tenor throbbing filled the room.

Rod caught up the horn.

Tuan grinned, jumped up on the rail, stood with feet wide apart and arms folded. "Summon them, Master Gallowglass," he shouted.

Rod set the mouthpiece to his lips and blew "Reveille."

It sounded rather weird on a hunting horn, but it had its effect. Before he was halfway through with the second chorus, the hall had filled with beggars, muggers, lame, one-armed, thieves and cutpurses and murderers .

Their muttering, surf and wind before a storm, filled the hall as an undercurrent to the drum and horn. They were fresh-woken, bleary-eyed and fuzzy-brained, hurling a thousand incredulous questions at one another, shaken and cowed to see Tuan, whom they had jailed, standing tall and proud in the hall he'd been exiled from.

He should fear them; he should have feared to return; and if he had come back, it should have been as a thief in the night, skulking and secret.

Yet here he stood, free in their eyes, summoning them to him with bugle and drum—and where was the Mocker?

They were shaken, and more than a little afraid. Men who had never been taught how to think now faced the unthinkable.

Rod ended with a flourish, and flipped the trumpet away from his lips, whirling it in a flashing circle to land belldown at his hip.

Big Tom gave the drum a last final boom.

Tuan held his hand out to Tom and began clicking his fingers very softly.

The drum spoke again, throbbing, insistent, but very soft.

Rod looked up at Tuan, who was grinning, arms akimbo, a royal elf come into his kingdom. He looked down at the audience, shaken and fearful, staring, mouths agape, at the lordly, commanding figure above them.

Rod had to admit it was a great way to open a speech.

Tuan flung up his arms, and the hall stilled, except for the low-pitched throb of Tom's drum.

"You cast me out!" Tuan shouted.

The mob shrank back on itself, muttering, fearful.

"Cast out, thrown to exile!" Tuan called. "You had turned your eyes from me, turned away from me, thought never to look upon me!"

The muttering grew, began to take a surly, desperate quality.

"Was I not banished?" Tuan called, then, "Be still!" he snapped.

And, miraculously, the room stilled.

He leveled an accusing forefinger at the crowd and growled, "Was I not banished?"

This time there werea few muttered "Ayes."

"Was I not?"

The mutter of "Ayes" grew.

"Was I not?"

"Aye!" rolled across the heads of the crowd.

"Did you not call me traitor?"

"Aye," the crowd growled again.

"Yet here I stand," Tuan cried, "strong and free, and master again of the House of Clovis!"

Nobody disputed it.

"And where are the real traitors, who would ha' seen you all torn to bits in hopeless battle?The traitors, who ha' turned this House to a jail in my absence? Where are they now, to dispute my mastership?"

He rested his hands on his hips while the crowd took up the question in its own ranks, and Tom quickly lashed ten feet of thread to the Mocker's bonds, lashing the other end to a railing-pillar. As the mutters of "Where?" and "The Mocker!" began to grow, he served the three lieutenants likewise.

Tuan let the mutters swell and grow; then, just as they hit their peak, he gave Tom the signal.

Tom and Rod threw the bound men over, where they hung two on each side of Tuan. The Mocker had regained consciousness; he began writhing and kicking at die end of his rope.

A shocked silence filled the hall.

Tuan grinned and folded his arms.

The crowd roared, like one huge, savage beast, and pressed forward. The front ranks began to jump at the dangling feet. Obscene epithets, cursing the Mocker and his men, blasted from the packed floor.

"Behold!" Tuan shouted, throwing up his arms, and the crowd fell silent. "Behold them, the traitors who once you called masters! Behold them, the traitors, the thieves who took from you all the liberty I had gained for you!"

Big Tom was grinning, eyes glowing and fixed on the young lord, swaying to the rhythm of the boy's words.

For, truly, the lad seemed twelve feet tall now.

"Were you not born without masters?" Tuan shouted.

"Aye!" the crowd roared at him.

"You were born to freedom!" Tuan bellowed. "The freedom of outlawry and poverty, aye, but born free!"

Then, "Were you not born wild?" he fairly shrieked; and:

"Aye!" the crowd shrieked in response, "Aye, aye! Aye !"

"Did I steal your freedom from you?"

"Nay, nay!"

A twisted hunchback with a patch over his eye shouted, "Nay, Tuan! You gave us more!"

The crowd clamored.

Tuan crossed his arms again, grinning, letting the acclamation run its course.

When it had just passed his peak, he threw up his arms again, and shouted. "Did I tell you?"

Silence fell.

"Did I tell you that you must have my permission for a night's loving?"

"Nay!" they roared back, both sexes united for a change.

"And never I will!"

They cheered.

Tuan grinned, and bowed his head in thanks, almost shyly.

"And yet!" Tuan's voice dropped down low, surly, angry. He hunched forward, one fist clenched, shaking at the audience. "When I came back to your halls this dark eventide, what did I find?" His voice rose, building . "You had let these base knaves steal away all I had given you!"

The crowd roared.

Tuan flicked his left hand: Tom struck the drum with a boom that cut the crowd short.

"Nay, more!" Tuan cried. His forefinger jabbed out at the crowd, his eyes seeking hot individual faces. His voice was cold, now, and measured. "I found that in your base cowardice you had let them steal from you even that liberty you were born with!"

The crowd murmured, frightened, unsure. The front ranks shrank back.

"Even your birthright you had let them steal from you!"

The murmuring was a wave of fright at the contempt in the silver tongue.

"You would let them take from you even bed-freedom!"

He flicked his hand; the drum boomed.

"And you call yourselves men!" Tuan laughed, harsh and contemptuous.