King Kobold revived-Warlock-2.5 (15 page)

“The futurian totalitarian,” Fess murmured through the earphone implanted in Rod’s mastoid, right behind his ear, “and the futurian anarchists.”

“But you know my devious mind,” Rod went on, ostensibly to Tuan. “I al-ways have to wonder if there’s a villain behind the villain.”

Tuan smiled, almost fondly. “If this suspicion will aid thee to guard us as thou hast in the past, why, mayst thou ever see a bear behind each bush!”

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“Well, not a bear—but I usually do see trouble bruin.”

“Optimists have more fun, milord,” Yorick reminded him.

“Yeah, because pessimists have made things safe for ‘em. And how do we make things safe when we never know where the enemy’s gonna strike next?”

Yorick shrugged. “Mughorck can only field a thousand men. Just put five hundred soldiers every place they might hit.”

“Every place?” Rod asked with a sardonic smile. “We’ve got three thousand miles of coastline, and we’d need those five hundred soldiers at least every ten miles. Besides, five hundred wouldn’t do it—not when the enemy can freeze ‘em in their tracks. We’d need at least a couple of thousand at each station.”

Yorick shrugged. “So, what’s the problem?”

Rod felt anger rise, then remembered that Neanderthals couldn’t manipulate symbols—including simple multiplication. “That’d be about six hundred thou-sand men, and we’ve…”

Yorick stopped him with a raised palm. “Uh… I have a little trouble with anything more than twenty. If it goes past my fingers and toes…”

“Just take my word for it; it’s a lot more men than we have available. Medie-val technology doesn’t exactly encourage massive populations.”

“Oh.” Yorick seemed crestfallen. Then he brightened. “But you could post sentries.”

“Sure—and we did. But there’s still the problem of getting the army to where the raiders are in time to meet them.”

“It can’t be all that hard!”

Rod took a deep breath. “Look—we have to move at least as many men as your whole village.”

“What for—to fight just a lousy thousand?”

“I don’t think you realize just how much of an advantage that Evil Eye gives your men,” Rod said sourly.

“Not all that much. I mean, one man can only freeze one other man. Maybe two, if he pushes it—but not very well.”

Rod stared at him for a moment.

Then he said, “One boatload of your men held a small army of ours totally frozen.”

“What!?”

Rod nodded. “That’d be about, uh, two hands of my men for every one of yours.”

Yorick stared at his outspread fingers and shook his head. “Can’t be. No way. At all.”

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Rod gazed at him, then shrugged his shoulders. “Apparently, somebody found a way to do it.” He remembered what Gwen had said about the lightning.

“Then figure out a way to undo it,” Yorick said promptly. “You Flatfaces are good at that kind of thing. We can show you how the Freeze—what’d you call it, the Evil Eye?—we can show you how it works.”

“That might help…”

“Sure it will! You gotta be able to figure out something from that!”

“Oh, I do, do I? How come?”

“Because,” Yorick said, grinning, “you can manipulate symbols.”

Rod opened his mouth to answer—but he couldn’t really think of anything, so he closed it again. That’s what set him apart from ordinary men. He just smiled weakly and said, “Manipulating symbols doesn’t always produce mira-cles, Yorick.”

“I’ll take a chance on it. You just tell us what we can do, and we’ll do it.”

“Might they not be of some value with our force?” Tuan inquired. Rod turned to him, frowning. “Fighting side by side with our soldiers? They’d get chopped up in the first battle by our own men.”

“Not if we were to employ them to slip ahead of our main force to reconnoi-tre the enemy’s forces. Let us train them in the use of longbow, crossbow, and lance, and send them ahead to wreak havoc ere we arrive.”

Rod shook his head. “The nearest knight would charge them in a second. They’re not exactly inconspicuous, you know.” Suddenly his eyes widened; he grinned. “Oh!”

“Oh?” Tuan said warily.

“Yeah. If they stand out too much to do any good here—then we should use them someplace where they won’t!”

Tuan’s face slowly cleared into a beatific smile. “Aye, certes! Train them well, and send them back to Beastland. Then they can attack this Mughorck’s men un-beknownst!”

“Well, not quite. Just because they all look alike to us doesn’t mean they look alike to one another. But they could hide out in the bush and recruit some others from among the disaffected, and…”

“Aye! Build up a small army!”

“Well, I wasn’t thinking on that scale…”

“Couldn’t manage an army.” Yorick shook his head. “Fifty men, though, I might be able to get—but that’s fifty, tops.” He glanced back at his colleagues, then up at Rod. “That’s all our hands together—right?”

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“Right.” Rod fought down a grin. “But put ‘em in the right place, at the right time…”

“Aye, fifty men who know the lay of the land.” Tuan’s eyes kindled. “ ‘Twould be well done indeed, Master Beastman.”

“ ‘Yorick’ is good enough,” the Neanderthal said with a careless wave of his hand. “Fifty, I think I could get. Yeah. We could hide out in the jungle on the other side of the cliffs from the village. no more than fifty, though. Most of the men have wives and children. That makes a man cautious.”

Rod nodded toward the other Neanderthals. “How about your guys?”

Yorick shook his head. “All bachelors. We wondered why the Eagle didn’t choose any of the married men for his cadre—and I don’t mind telling you, some of the ladies were pretty upset about it.”

“Don’t worry—it was nothing compared to how they would’ve squawked the first time their husbands had to work late.” Rod thought of Gwen with a gush of gratitude. “So they thought Eagle was a misogynist?”

“No; he turned handsprings anytime anyone married. And if one of the Inner Circle got spliced, he was even happier. Kicked ‘em into the Outer Circle, of course—but he always said the guy was being promoted, to husbandry.”

“Odd way to look at it.” Rod mulled it over. “Maybe accurate, though…”

“It is a job, all by itself,” Yorick agreed. “But the lack of dependents sure came in handy when we had to leave town in a hurry.”

“Think the Eagle had that in mind all along?”

“I’m sure of it—now. So, we’ll get bachelors for this guerrilla force, for you—but what do you want us to do with them?”

“Thou must needs assault them from their rear, whilst we storm in from the ocean,” Tuan answered.

“Then, mayhap, we can bring thine Eagle from his aerie.”

“Or wherever he’s hiding.” Yorick nodded. “Sounds like a great idea.”

“Then, it’s a deal.” Rod held out a hand—carefully, it must be admitted. Yorick frowned at Rod’s hand for a moment. Then he grinned. “Oh, yeah! Now I remember!” He grabbed Rod’s hand in both of his and pumped it enthu-siastically. “Allies, huh?”

“Allies,” Rod confirmed. “By the way, ally…”

“Anything, milord,” Yorick said expansively.

“Viking gear.”

“Huh?”

“Viking gear,” Rod said again. He was glad to see the phrase had meant abso-lutely nothing to the
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Neanderthal. “Your shaman’s raiders came decked out in Viking gear—you know, horned helmets, round shields…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what Vikings were,” Yorick said in annoyance. “Dragon ships too?”

Rod nodded. “Any idea why?”

“Well, nothing very deep—but I’ll bet it scared hell out of the locals.”

Rod stared at him for a second.

“Makes sense, if you’re trying to adapt terrorism to a medieval culture,” Yo-rick explained.

“Too much sense,” Rod agreed. “Come on, let’s get back to Runnymede—we’ve got to start a military academy for you.”

The train headed northward with a squad of spearmen leading; then Rod and Tuan; then the Neanderthals, à la carte—or à la wagon, anyway, commandeered from the nearest farmer (the Neanderthals had never even thought of riding horses; eating, maybe… ); and well-surrounded by spearmen and archers. The soldiers and the beastmen eyed each other warily through the whole trip.

“I hope your wife doesn’t mind surprise guests,” Rod cautioned Tuan.

“I am certain she will be as hospitable as she ever is,” Tuan replied.

“That’s what I was afraid of…”

“Come, Lord Warlock! Certes, thou’lt not deny my gentle wife’s goodness!”

“Or your good wife’s gentleness,” Rod echoed. “We’ll just have to hope these cavemen know what a bed and a chair are.”

“I doubt not we’ll have to teach them the uses of many articles within our cas-tle,” Tuan sighed, “save, perhaps, their captain Yorick. He doth seem to have ac-quired a great deal of knowledge ere this.”

“Oh, yeah! He’s a regular wise guy! But I’m not so much worried about what he’s learned, as who he learned it from.”

Tuan glanced at him keenly. “Dost thou speak of the Eagle?”

“I dost,” Rod confirmed. “That’d you get out of our little cross-examination?‘’

“I was cross that we had so little opportunity to examine. The fellow hath a deliberate knack for turning any question to the answer he doth wish to give.”

“Nicely put,” Rod said judiciously. It was also unusually perceptive, for Tuan. “But I think I did figure out a few items he didn’t mean to tell us. What did you hear between his bursts?”

Tuan shrugged. “I did learn that the Eagle is a wizard.”

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“Yeah, that was pretty obvious—only I’d say he was my kind of wizard. He does his magic by science, not by, uh, talent.”

Tuan frowned, concerned. “How much of this ‘science’ hath he taught to Yo-rick?”

“None. He couldn’t have; it depends on mathematics. The basic concepts, maybe—but that’s not enough to really do anything with. He has taught Yorick some history, though, or the big lug wouldn’t’ve known what the Vikings were. Which makes me nervous—what else did the Eagle teach Yorick, and the rest of his people, for that matter?”

Tuan waved away the issue. “I shall not concern myself with such matters, Lord Warlock. These beastmen, after all, cannot have sufficient intelligence to trouble us—not these five alone—when they cannot truly learn our language.”

“I… wouldn’t… quite… say… that…” Rod took a deep breath. “I will admit that not being able to encode and analyze does limit their ability to solve prob-lems. But they’ve got as much gray matter between their ears as you and I do.”

Tuan turned to him, frowning. “Canst thou truly believe that they may be as intelligent as thyself or myself?”

“I truly can—though I have to admit, it’s probably a very strange sort of intel-ligence.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the group of Neanderthals. The spearmen surrounding them happened to lean toward the outside at that mo-ment, affording Rod a glimpse of Yorick’s face. He turned back to the front. “Very strange.”

Gwen snuggled up to him afterward and murmured, “Thou hast not been away so long as that, my lord.”

“So now I need a reason?” Rod gave her an arch look.

“No more than thou ever hast,” she purred, burrowing her head into the hol-low between his shoulder and his jaw.

Suddenly Rod stiffened. “Whazzat?”

“Hm?” Gwen lifted her head, listening for a moment. Then she smiled up at him. “ ‘Twas naught but a tree branch creaking without, my lord.”

“Oh.” Rod relaxed. “Thought it was the baby… You sure he’s snug in his crib?”

“Who may say, with an infant warlock?” Gwen sighed. “He may in truth be here—yet he might as easily be a thousand miles distant.” She was still for a moment, as though she were listening again; then she relaxed with a smile. “Nay, I hear his dream. He is in his crib indeed, my lord.”

“And he won’t float out, with that lid on it.” Rod smiled. “Who would ever have thought I’d have a lighter-than-air son?”

“Dost thou disclaim thine own relative?”

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Rod rolled over. “That comment, my dear, deserves…” He jerked bolt-upright. “Feel that?”

“Nay,” she said petulantly, “though I wish to.”

“No, no! Not that! I meant that puff of wind.”

“Of wind?” Gwen frowned. “Aye, there was…” Then her eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Rod swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled on his robe. “There’s a warlock within.”

He raised his voice, calling, “Name yourself!”

For answer, there was a knock on the front of the cave.

“Of all the asinine hours of the night to have company calling,” Rod grum-bled as he stamped down the narrow flight of stairs to the big main room.

A figure stood silhouetted against the night sky in the cave mouth, knocking.

“Wait a minute.” Rod frowned. “We don’t have a door. What’re you knock-ing on?”

“I know not,” the shadow answered, “yet ‘tis wood, and ‘tis near.”

“It’s a trunk,” Rod growled. “Toby?”

“Aye, Lord Warlock. How didst thou know of mine arrival?”

“When you teleported in you displaced a lot of air. I felt the breeze.” Rod came up to the young warlock with a scowl. “What’s so important that I have to be called out at this time of night? I just got back! Have our, ah, ‘guests’ es-caped?”

“Nay, Lord Warlock. They are snug in their dunge… ah, guest room. Still, His Majesty summons thee.”

“What’s the matter? Did the cook leave the garlic out of the soup again? I keep telling him this isn’t vampire country!”

“Nay,” Toby said, his face solemn. “ ‘Tis the Queen. She is distraught.”

The guard saw Rod coming, and stepped through the door ahead of him. Rod stamped to a halt, chafing at the bit. He could hear the sentry murmuring; then the door swung open. Rod stepped through—and almost slammed into Tuan. The young King held him off with a palm, then lifted a finger to his lips. He nodded his head toward the interior of the room. Rod looked and saw Catharine seated in a chair by the hearth, firelight flickering on her face. Her eyes reflected the flames, but they were cold, in a face of granite. As he watched she bent for-ward, took a stick from the hearth, and broke it. “Swine, dog, and offal!” She spat. “All the land knows the Queen for a half-witch, and this motley half-monk hath bile to say…” She hurled the broken stick into the fire, and the flames filled her eyes as she swore, “May he choke on the cup of his own gall and die!”