The Warlock Enraged-Warlock 4 (30 page)

"Don't worry, I did." Rod smiled sourly. "Even right now, with you right next to me, I can't read your mind. Not a whisper."

"Be done with thy deception!" Alfar blazed. "Only a warlock of great power could cloak his thoughts so completely that he seems not even to exist!" Rod shrugged. "Have it your way. But would that mighty warlock be able to read minds when his own was closed off?"

Alfar stared.

Then he lifted his head slowly, nodding. "Well, then." And, "Thou wilt, at least, not deny that thou art Tuan's spy."

"King Tuan, to you! But I agree, that much is pretty obvious."

"Most excellent! Thou canst now tell to Tuan every smallest detail of my dungeon—if ever thou dost set eyes upon him again."

For all his bravado, a shiver of apprehension shook Rod. He ignored it. "Tuan already knows all he needs."

"Indeed?" Alfar's eyes glittered. "And what is that?"

"That you've taken over the duchy, by casting a spell over all the people—and that you'll attack him, if he doesn't obliterate you first."

"Will he, now! Fascinating! And how much else doth he know?"

Rod shrugged. "None of your concern—but do let it worry you."

Alfar stood rigid, the color draining from his face. Then he whirled, knife whipping out to prick Simon's throat. "Again I will demand of thee—what information hath Tuan?"

His gaze locked with Rod's. Simon paled, but his eyes held only calm and understanding, without the slightest trace of fear.

Rod sighed, and capitulated. "He knows your whole career, from the first peasant you intimidated, up to your battle with Duke Bourbon."

"Ah," Alfar breathed. "But he knoweth not the outcome. Doth he?"

"No," Rod admitted, "but it was a pretty clear guess."

"'Twas the Duchess, was it not? She did escape my hunters. Indeed, my spies in Tudor's county, and in Runny mede, attacked her, but were repulsed by puissant magics." His gaze hardened. "Magics wielded by a woman and four children."

Inwardly, Rod went limp with relief, hearing his family's safety confirmed. But outwardly, he only permitted himself a small smile.

"Yet thou wouldst know of that, wouldst thou not?" Alfar breathed. "Thou didst dispatch them on that errand, didst thou not?"

Rod looked at the drop of blood rising from the point of the dagger, considered his options, and decided honesty wouldn't hurt. "It was my idea, yes."

Alfar's breath hissed out in triumph. "Then 'twas thy wife and bairns who did accompany the Duchess and her brats, whilst yet they did live!"

Alarm shrilled through Rod. Did the bastard mean his family was dead? And the anger heaved up, rising. Oblivious, Alfar was still speaking. "And thou art he who's called Rod Gallowglass, art thou not?"

"Yes. I'm the High Warlock." Rod's eyes narrowed, reddening. Simon stared, poleaxed.

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Alfar's lips were parted, his eyes glittering. "How didst thou do it? Tell me the manner of it! How didst thou cease to be, to the mind, the whiles thou wert apparent to the eye?"

"You should know," Rod grated. "Weren't you eavesdropping?"

"Every minute, I assure thee. I held thy trace the whiles thou didst buy a can and didst drive out to the road. Then, of a sudden, there were no thoughts but a peasant's."

"Quite a range you've got there."

"More than thirty leagues. How didst thou cloak thy thoughts?"

"I didn't—not then." Rod throttled the rage down to a slow bum, keeping his mind in control, floating on top of the emotion. "I just started thinking like a peasant." Alfar stared.

Then he frowned. "Then thou dost counterfeit most excellently."

"I had some acting lessons." And they were coming in handy, helping him keep the rage under control. "I didn't pull the real disappearing act until I was across the border." Privately, he found it interesting that Alfar could have been so thoroughly deceived. Either he wasn't very good at reading thoughts in depth, or Rod was even better at believing himself to be somebody fictitious than he had thought.

"Ah, 'twas then? Tell me the manner of it." But his knife hand was trembling.

Nonetheless, Simon was staring at Rod, not Alfar, and with awe, not fear.

And he'd been friendly to Rod, and he was an innocent bystander...

Rod shrugged. "I withdrew, that's all. Pulled back into my shell. Decided nobody was worth my trouble." Alfar stared at him.

Then he frowned. "Canst say no more than that?" Rod shrugged. "Details. Techniques. Remembering times in my past when I wanted to get away from people, and letting the feeling grow. None of it could teach you how to do it. The first time, it just happens."

Alfar watched him, eyes narrowed.

Then he straightened, sliding the knife back into its sheath,

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and Simon almost collapsed with a sigh of relief. Rod felt a little relief, too, but the anger countered it.

"Tis even as I've thought," Alfar said, with grim satisfaction. "From aught I've heard of thee, thy chivalry exceeds thy sense."

"Would you care to explain that?" Rod's voice was velvet.

"Why, 'tis plainly seen! Would a sensible captain risk his own pain, or mayhap even life, on a perilous mission?

Nay! He would send a spy, and let the underling be racked and torn! But thou, who dost pride thyself on thine honor..." he made the word an obscenity, "... wouldst rather waste thine hours spying out the enemy thyself!"

Now Rod understood the man—and he didn't bother

hiding his contempt. "Just sit back in Runnymede and read through intelligence reports, huh?"

"That would be wise." Alfar stood, arms akimbo, smirking down at him. "Or dost thou truly believe thou couldst accomplish more in thine own person?"

Rod studied the sorcerer—cocky stance, chip on the shoulder, the whole arrogant air (and didn't overlook the menace, or the sadistic glitter at the back of the eye) and wondered why he didn't feel more fear. He did know, though, that he'd better not let Alfar know that.

So he stuck his chin out just that little bit farther, and made his tone defiant. "I only know this: by the time I realized that it was really dangerous, it was too much a hazard to let anyone else go in my place."

"How gallant." Alfar's scorn was withering.

"It seems I was right." Rod held his gaze on Alfar's eyes.

"If you could catch onto me, you could catch onto anybody I might send. How'd you see through my disguise?" A slow smile spread over Alfar's face. He lifted his head, chest swelling, and stepped toward Rod, almost strutting.

"I did sense danger when my spies sent word that the High Warlock did journey northward. Yet sin' that thou didst come with thy wife and bairns, it might well have been naught but a pleasure jaunt. Naetheless, he did note that thou hadst but lately spoken with Tuan and Catharine." Rod shrugged. "I do that all the time." But his interest was piqued. "So your man couldn't eavesdrop on my con-278 Christopher Stasheff versation with Their Majesties, huh?"

Alfar flushed, glowering.

"Well." Rod leaned back against the wall. "Nice to know my wife's noise-shield works so well."

"Is that how thou dost manage it!" Alfar's eyes gleamed.

"In truth, their thoughts are well-nigh impossible to single out from all that buzzing hum of thoughts that doth surround them." He nodded, with a calculating look. "Thy wife hath talent."

Rod quailed at the threat his tone implied—especially since Gwen hadn't held a shield around the royal couple.

"Just be glad I sent her back."

"Mayhap I had ought to be. Mayhap 'tis fitting that what my lieutenants could not accomplish, mine actions could."

"'Lieutenants?'" Rod stared in disbelief, then let a slow smile grow. "You mean that lousy marksman was one of your best?"

Alfar's gaze darkened. "'Twas purposely done. I bade him discourage thee, not slay thee or thine."

"Wise." Rod nodded. "If you had, I'd've broken off the spy mission right there, and shot back to Runnymede to tell Tuan to call out the army. But you did a great job of warning us you were there."

"Aye—and did secure a gauge of the range and strength of thy powers, and thy wife's and bairns'. Wherefore did I send mine other lieutenants to afright thee a second, then a third time, that I might leam thy pattern of attack, and its weaknesses. Nay, if thy wife and baims had come north farther, I would have known well how to deal with them." The chill had settled around Rod's backbone, and wasn't leaving. "I did have some notion that it was getting a little too thick. So when the Duchess and her boys came along, I took advantage of the excuse to send my family back South, to safety."

Alfar nodded. "And went on northward thyself. Then thou didst stop by a farmstead, where thou didst buy a horsecart and peasant garb—and my man lost trace of thee, the whiles thou didst don thy smock and buskins." Very interesting! Rod hadn't gone invisible until he'd crossed the border, "Let me guess: that's when you decided you'd better get involved on the personal level."

Alfar nodded. "Even as thou hadst, I did don peasant garb, and took the southward road, afoot and unguarded." He smiled, amused, as though to say. Why would Alfar need guards?

Rod resolved to take the first possible opportunity to demonstrate exactly why. Aloud, he said, "Why didn't you ride to the border first? You could have intercepted me there."

"Oh, I was certain I would discover thee as I went! Thou hadst, after all, no need to use aught but the High Road—

and good reason not to, for thou wouldst then have been most strikingly noticed, in byways where only villagers do journey. Yet long ere I encountered thee, I did come upon a troop of guardsmen, and something about them caught my notice. I did look deeply into their auncient's eyes and thoughts and, 'neath the surface, discovered that he was no longer spellbound! That, even though they wore my colors!" His smile was not pleasant. "I found occasion to journey with them, begging their protection and, as we walked, wove my spell about each one in turn. When only the auncient remained disenchanted, I bade his troopers seize him; so they did. Then did I pose him questions, the whiles I hearkened to the answers that rose within his mind, unspoken." Rod decided he'd better find a new interrogation technique; this one was obviously so easy to invent that it boded fair to becoming common.

"From his mind," Alfar went on, "I gained the image of the man who'd broke his spell...." He nodded toward Simon. "And I saw, to my surprise, that he was accompanied, by a most ill-favored, surly peasant." Rod straightened in indignation. "Hey, now!" Alfar smiled, satisfied that his barb had drawn blood.

"But 'twas easily seen that the spell-breaker must needs be the High Warlock. Why, he had so great a look of dignity!" Simon looked up, startled.

Alfar's eye glinted. "And his serving man had so churlish a look!"

But Rod wasn't about to bite on the same bait twice. He shrugged. "I won't argue. When it comes to churls, you should know what you're talking about."

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Alfar flushed, and dropped a hand to his dagger. Rod leaned back lazily. "What did you do with the soldiers?" He was tense, dreading the answer. Alfar shrugged. "What ought I to do? I enchanted the auncient too, and sent them on northward to rejoin mine army."

Rod lifted his head, surprised. "You didn't punish them?

No racks, no thumbscrews? No crash diets?"

Alfar looked equally surprised. "Dost thou punish an arrow that has fallen to earth, if thine enemy hath picked it up, and set it to his bowstring? Nay; thou dost catch it when he doth loose it at thee, and restore it to thy quiver. Oh, I sent them on northward. I did not wish to chance their beholding thee again—or, more's to the point, thy spellbreaker. But at the next guardpost, I showed my badge of authority..." He fingered the medallion on his breast.

"... and bade the soldiers disguise themselves as peasants, to wait in ambush where a country way joined the High Road. Then I summoned a lesser warlock to abide with them, in readiness to transmit orders to march, when he should receive a thought-code—Alfar's greatness, and why all witches ought to join with him." He smiled, vindictively. Rod knew better than to withhold ego-oil when the one with the inferiority complex held the knife. "So that's why the sudden diatribe, eh?"

"Certes." Alfar's eyes danced. "There's method in aught I do. Then did I march southward, my thoughts ranging ahead of myself, till I heard Simon's. I found a village warlock, then, and bade him lead his people out to chase me...."

"The little fat guy. But of course, you made sure all their rocks would miss, and they wouldn't catch you."

"Why, certes." Alfar grinned, enjoying the account of his own cleverness. "And as I had foreknown, thou couldst not forebear to save a poor weakling, beset by human wolves."

"Yes." Rod's mouth twisted with the sour taste of his own gullibility. "We fell right into it, didn't we? Just picked you up, and carried you right along."

"Thou wast, in truth, most gracious," Alfar said, with a

saccharine smile. "'Twas but a day's work to discover that

'twas Simon broke the spells, yet that he could do little more—and that thou must needs be the High Warlock."

"My natural greatness just shone through those peasant rags, huh?"

"Oh, indubitably. Yet 'twas more truthfully thy face."

"Naturally noble, eh?"

"Nay, only familiar. Mine agents had borne me pictures in their minds, more faithful than any painter could render. Oh, thou hast disguised thyself somewhat, with peasant's smock and grime; yet I know something of deception myself, and can look past surface features to those that underlie them. Yet I knew thee even ere I'd set eyes upon thy face; for thou wast there to mine eyes, but not to my mind, and only a most puissant warlock could shield himself so thoroughly." Rod shrugged. "I seem to have had that knack before I started doing any of what you call magic.... But, go on."