The Warlock Enraged-Warlock 4 (14 page)

"What churiishness is this," Gwen cried, "that armed men pursue a woman shorn of defense?"

"Don't blame 'em too hard," Rod snapped. "I don't think they're terribly much aware of what they're doing."

"Thou must needs aid her, my lord!"

"Yes," Rod agreed. "It isn't too hard to tell who the bad guys are, is it? Especially since we've seen their livery before. Ambush stations, kids."

"Magnus and Gregory, guard the left," Gwen instructed.

"Cordelia and Geoffrey, do thou ward the right. Flit toward them, as far as thou canst." She turned to Rod. "How wouldst thou have them fell their foes, husband?"

"One by one. Unhorse them." Rod felt a warm glow at her support.

Delia caught up her broomstick with a shout of glee.

"How shall we fell them. Mama?" Geoffrey grinned.

"Throw rocks at them?"

Gwen nodded. "Aye—but take thou also thy belts of rope, and discover how thou mayst make use of them." They all quickly untied the lengths of hemp that were lashed about their waists. "Mama," said Magnus, "I think that I could make the nails to disappear from the horses'

shoes."

Rod nodded slow approval. "I pity the poor horses—but they shouldn't be damaged. They will stop, though."

"Naught of these will avail against the knight," Gregory pointed out.

Rod gave him a wolfish grin. "He's mine."

"Begone from sight now, quickly!" Gwen clapped her hands.

The children dodged off the roadside into the underbrush, and disappeared.

Gwen hopped down from Fess's back, and caught her broomstick from its sling alongside the saddle. "Wilt thou need thine horse, my lord?"

"'Fraid so, dear. Can you manage without him?"

"Why, certes." She dimpled, and dropped him a quick curtsy. "Godspeed, husband." Then she turned away to dive into the underbrush after her children.

Rod sighed, jamming a foot into the stirrup. "Quite a woman I've got there, Fess."

"Sometimes I wonder if you truly appreciate her. Rod."

"Oh, I think I do." Rod swung up into the saddle and pulled on the reins. "We'd better imitate them. Off the road, Steel Stallion."

Fess trotted off the shoulder and down into the underbrush. "What did you have in mind for the knight. Rod?"

"About 120 volts. Got a spare battery?" Fess's answer was lost in the racket, as the coach thundered by them. Rod looked up at the mounted squad. "A hundred yards and closing. Got some cable?"

"Forward port compartment. Rod." A small door sprang open under Fess's withers.

Rod reached in and pulled out a length of wire. He drew out his dagger and stripped the insulation off in a few quick strokes. "Where do I plug it in?"

The horsehead turned back to look at him. "Simply place it in my mouth. Rod. I will route current to it. But are you certain this is ethical?"

"Is the sword he's carrying?" Rod shrugged. "A weapon is a weapon, Fess. And this one won't do him any permanent damage—I hope. Okay, now!"

They darted up out of the roadside as the squad pounded up. Rod swerved in alongside the knight. The helmet visor turned toward him, but the knight raised neither sword nor shield, no doubt flabbergasted at seeing a tinker riding up alongside him on a horse that would've done credit to a lord. Besides, what need was there to defend against a piece of rope?

Rod jabbed the end of the wire at him, and a fat blue spark snapped across the gap; then the wire was in contact with the armor, and the knight threw up his arms, stiffened. 100 Christopher Stasheff

Rod lashed out a kick, and the knight crashed off his horse into the dust of the road.

Someone gave a shout of horror, behind him. Rod whirled Fess around, then darted off to the side of the road before the sergeant could get his thoughts together enough to start a try for retribution.

Along the side of the road, three soldiers lay sprawled, one every hundred feet or so. Another four lined the verge on the far side. Some of the horses were grazing, very contentedly, next to their fallen masters. A few of the others, obviously more intelligent, were galloping away into the distance.

As Rod watched, a small figure exploded into existence right in front of one of the remaining riders. Startled, the horseman flinched back, and his mount reared, whinnying. Geoffrey lashed out a kick to the man's shoulder, and the soldier overbalanced, tipped, and fell. The child slapped the horse's rump, and the beast turned to gallop away with a whinny.

On the other side of the road, a length of rope shot flying through the air like a winged serpent, and wrapped itself around another soldier's neck. He grabbed at it with both hands, then suddenly jolted backward, and slammed down onto the road, still struggling with the coil. With a guncrack, Magnus appeared beside him, stick in hand. He swung downward, and the soldier went limp. The rope uncoiled and flew off to look for a new victim. Pocket thunder made a boomlet, and Magnus disappeared.

Rod winced. "Bloodthirsty brood I've got, here."

"They are only doing as you told them. Rod—and taught them."

"Maybe I'd better revise the curriculum."

"Do not be overly hasty," the robot murmured. "That soldier still breathes."

"I hope it's widespread. Well, back to work." Rod turned the horse back onto the road—and saw all the soldiers lying in the dust, unconscious. Already, Gwen knelt by the nearest, gazing intently at his face. Cordelia arrowed in to land beside her, and the boys began to appear, like serial thunder.

"They work fast, too," Rod muttered. He trotted up beTHE WARLOCK ENRAGED 101

side the family grouping, and leaned down to touch Magnus on the shoulder. The boy's head snapped up in surprise. He saw his father, and relaxed, with a sigh of relief.

"You did wonderfully." Rod beamed with pride. "All of you. But keep an eye on the soldiers, son. A few of them might come to while you're still trying to overhaul their minds."

Magnus nodded, glowing with his father's praise. "I will ward them well. Papa."

"Stout fellow. I should be back before they wake up—

but, just in case." He straightened up, turning Fess southward.

"Wither goest thou, Papa?"

"To tell that lady she can stop panicking." Rod kicked his heels against Fess's sides. "Follow that coach." The robot-horse sprang into a gallop. "Drumming your heels against my sides really serves no purpose, Rod."

"Sure it does—keeping up appearances. You wouldn't want people to know you weren't a real horse, would you?"

"Surely you cannot be concerned about that with your own family. They all know my true nature."

"Yeah, but I've got to stay in the habit. If I start trying to remember who knows about you and who doesn't, I'll start making little mistakes, and..."

"I understand," the robot sighed. "The coach approaches, Rod."

"Might be more accurate to say we approach the coach."

"I was under the impression that you had become a Gramaryan, not a grammarian."

Rod winced. "All right, already! I'll go for the content, and stop worrying about the form."

"Then you would make a very poor critic...."

"Oh, shut up and head off the coach."

Fess swerved in front of the coach horses, and the animals reared, screaming with fright. The woman hit the brake with frantic strength, then lashed out with the whip at Rod.

"Hey!" He ducked, but too late; the lash cracked against the side of his head. The roadway tilted and circled, blurring; distantly, he heard the whip crack, again and again. Then the world levelled, and he began to see clearly. The familiar 702 Christopher Stasheff

rage surged up in him. Appalled, he tried to remember her fear. The woman stood on the box, brandishing the whip for one more try.

Rod held up a palm. "Whoa! Hold it! I'm on your side!" He pointed to his chest. "No uniform. See?" The woman hesitated, but anger and fear still held her eyes wide.

Rod was working hard to stifle a huge flood of anger of his own; his head ached abominably. "You wouldn't hit a poor, wandering tinker, would you?"

"Aye, if he threatened me or mine." But sanity began to return to the woman's eyes. "And why would a poor tinker stop a noble Lady, if not to harm her?"

"To tell you, you can stop running!" Rod cried. "We knocked out your enemies!"

The woman stood frozen, but hope flared in her eyes. Rod pointed back along the road. "Take a look, if you doubt me!"

She darted a quick glance back up the road, then glanced again. She turned back to him, joy beginning to flower in her face. Then her knees gave way, and she collapsed onto the box. "Praise Heaven! But how didst thou..."

"I had a little help," Rod explained.

She was instantly on her guard again. "From whom?"

"My wife," Rod explained, "and my children." She stared. Then weariness filled her face. "I see them; they pick the corpses of the soldiers. Do not lie to me, fellow. How could a tinker and his bairns and wife, fare against an armored knight and a dozen soldiers?" She hefted the whip again.

"Now, hold on!" Rod felt his anger mounting again, too. He took a deep breath, and tried to remember that the poor woman had been chased for most of the night—probably.

"My wife and kids aren't robbing bodies—they're trying to break the enchantments that bind living men. Unconscious, but living—I hope. You see, we're not quite what we seem to be."

"Indeed," she hissed between her teeth, and forced her-self to her feet again, swinging the whip up. "So I had thought!"

"Not that way! This tinker outfit is just a disguise!" Rod

straightened in the saddle, squaring his shoulders. "I am Rodney Gallowglass, Lord High Warlock of Gramarye—

and that woman back there is the Lady Gwendylon." She stared. Then her lips parted, and she whispered,

"Give me a sign."

"A sign?" Exasperated, Rod bit down on his irritation and forced himself to imagine just how paranoid he'd be feeling in her place. He took another deep breath, expelled it. "Oh, all right!" Rod closed his eyes and let his mind go blank, concentrating. His usual haze of needs and responsibilities seemed to ebb and clear, till he could hear his children's voices, as though they were right next to him. He singled out the one who looked least threatening and thought, Gregory! Come here!

Air popped outward, and Gregory floated next to his shoulder. "Aye, Papa?"

The woman stared.

Then her knees gave way again, and she sat down, nodding weakly. "Aye. Thou art the High Warlock."

"Papa?" Gregory cocked his head to the side, frowning up at his father. "Why didst thou call?"

"For what you just did, son."

The child stared. "What did I?"

"You proved I'm what I said I was." He turned back to the woman. "And whom have I the pleasure of addressing?" Now it was her turn to pull herself together and remember her dignity. "I am Elyena, Duchess of Romanov." 7

Rod steered the tottering horses off the road and into the meadow near Gwen, holding up the Duchess with his left arm. As he pulled them to a halt, she raised her head, looking about, then crowded closer to him. "The soldiers..." Rod turned, and saw all the soldiers gathered in a knot under a low tree. Most of them held their heads in their hands. Some had lifted their gazes and were looking around, blinking, their faces drawn and uncertain. The knight lay by them with his helmet off. Gwen knelt over him.

"Don't worry," Rod said, trying to sound reassuring.

"They feel as though they've just awakened from a bad dream. They're on your side again." He jumped down from the box. "Just stay there."

She did, huddling into herself—and not looking at all reassured.

Rod sighed, and thought sharply, Cordelia!

The little girl leaped up halfway across the meadow and looked around. She located her father and jumped on her broomstick, zooming straight over to him. "Aye, Papa?" Rod noticed the Duchess staring. Well, at least she was distracted. "Cordelia, this lady needs..." But Cordelia was staring past him, toward the windows 104

of the coach, and a delighted grin curved on her lips. "Children!" Rod turned, suprised.

Two little faces filled one of the windows, looking about with frank curiousity.

Cordelia skipped past Rod, hands behind her back. The Duchess's children watched her warily. Cordelia stopped right below them and cocked her head to the side. "I am hight Cordelia."

They didn't answer; they just stared.

Rod touched her shoulder. "They've been having some bad scares lately, honey."

The elder boy looked up in indignation. "Was not scared!"

"Yeah, sure, you were calm as a mill pond. Just go easy, honey."

"Oh, Papa!" she said, exasperated. "Can they not see I wish them no harm?" Before he could answer, she whirled away to the Duchess. "May I play with them?" The Duchess stared down at her. Then, slowly, she said,

"Why... an they wish it... certes."

That they would wish it. Rod did not doubt; he knew his daughter. Already, the two boys were watching her with marked interest.

"Oh, good!" Cordelia spun back to the children. "I have brothers, too. Thou mayst play with them also, an thou dost wish it."

The two boys still looked wary, but Cordelia's friendliness was infectious. The younger opened the coach door, and stepped out. "I," he said, "am Gaston." Rod turned away, quite certain the Duchess's attention would be fully occupied for a while, and went over to his wife.

As he came up, she sat back on her heels, gazing down at the knight and shaking her head. Instantly, Rod was alert.

"What's the matter? Is the hypnosis too strong?" Gwen shook her head again. "I have broke the spell, my lord. Yet I can bring him no closer to life than this." Rod turned, staring down at the knight. He saw a lined face and bald head, with a fringe of gray hair. His skin was gray, and covered with a sheen of sweat. Guilt swept through 706 Christopher Stasheff

Rod. He knelt beside the knight. "But it was only 120 volts!

Only fifteen amperes! And I only hit him with it for a few seconds!"