King Kobold revived-Warlock-2.5 (22 page)

“Yet ‘twas enow.”

Rod looked up; Brother Chillde stood near them, his eyes glowing. “Thy wife, milord, and her venerable crone held off the beastmen’s power long enow.”

“Long enough for what?”

“For King Tuan to retreat back up this slope with the remnant of his soldiers, far enough so that the beastmen durst not follow. Nay, they stayed below, and began to dig their graves.”

“Theirs or ours?” Rod grated. He surged to his feet, giving Gwen’s hand a last squeeze, and strode to the brow of the hill.

A hundred feet below, the river-mouth swept into a long, gentle curve—a bow; and the beastmen were stringing that bow. They were digging, but not graves—a rampart, a fortress-line. Already, it was almost complete. Rod looked down and swore; they’d have a hell of a time trying to dig the beastmen out of that!

Then he saw what lay on the near side of the rampart—a jumbled row of bloody bodies, in the royal
Page 106

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

colors.

Rod swore again. Then he spat out, “They had to be planning it. They just had to. Somebody had to have put the idea into Gwen’s mind—the idea to go see old Agatha; somebody had to have told that nutty preacher to attack Agatha’s cave right then. Right then, so I’d be pulled away and couldn’t be here! Damn!”

“Do not berate thyself so severely, Lord Warlock,” Tuan said wearily behind him. “ ‘Twas not thy absence that defeated us.”

“Oh?” Rod glared up at him. “Then what was it?”

Tuan sighed. “The power of their Kobold, like as not!”

“Not!” Rod whirled away to glare down at the beach. “Definitely ‘not’! That Kobold of theirs can’t be anything but a wooden idol, Tuan! It’s superstition, sheer superstition!”

“Have it as thou wilt.” Tuan shrugged his shoulders. “It was the beastmen’s Evil Eye, then. We did not think its power would be so great, yet it blasted our witches’ minds and froze our soldiers in their tracks. Then the beastmen slew them at their leisure.”

‘’ ‘Twas the lightning,‘’ Agatha grated in a hollow voice. Tuan turned toward her, frowning. “What goodly beldam is this, Lord War-lock? Our debt to her is great, yet I wot me not of her name.”

“That’s just ‘cause you haven’t been introduced. She’s, uh, well… she’s kinda famous, in her way.”

Agatha grimaced, squinting against a throbbing headache. “Temporize not, Lord Warlock. Be direct, e’en though it may seem evil. Majesty, I am called ‘An-gry Agatha.’ ” And she inclined her head in an attempt at a bow.

Tuan stared, and Rod suddenly realized that the King was young enough to have heard some nasty nursery tales himself. But Tuan was never short on cour-age; he forced a smile, took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and stepped up to the old lady. “I must needs thank thee, revered dame, for without thee, my men and I had been naught but butcher’s meat.”

Agatha peered up at him through narrowed eyes; then slowly she smiled. “Mine head doth split with agony, and I ache in every limb; yet would I do this service again for so handsome a thanking.” The smile faded. “Aye, or even with-out it; for I think that I have saved some lives this day, and my heart is glad within me.”

Tuan stood, gazing down at her for a moment.

Then he cleared his throat and turned to Rod. “What manner of hill-hag is this, Lord Warlock? I had thought the ancients ‘mongst the witches were all sour and bitter and hated all of humankind.”

“Not this one, it turns out,” Rod said slowly. “She just hated the way people treated her…”

“Oh, still thy prattle!” Agatha snapped. “I do hate all men, and all women, too, Majesty—unless I’m near them.”

Page 107

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Tuan turned back to her, nodding slowly with glowing eyes. “Now, God save thee! For hypocrisy such as thine would confound the very Devil! Praise Heaven thou wert here!”

“And curse me that I wasn’t!” Rod snapped, turning to glower down at the entrenched beastmen.

“Again thou hast said it!” Tuan cried, exasperated. “What ails thee, Lord Warlock? Why dost thou say that thou wert absent, when thou wert here in truth, and fought as bravely as any—aye, and more!”

Rod froze.

Then he whirled about. “What!”

“Thou wast here, indeed.” Tuan clamped his jaw shut. “Thou wert here, and the beastmen could not freeze thee.”

“I’ truth, they could not!” Brother Chillde cried, his face radiant. “Thou didst sweep across their line, Lord Warlock, like unto a very tempest, laying about thee with thy sword of flame. Five at a time thou didst grapple with, and con-quer! Their whole line thou didst confound and craze! And ’twas thou who didst give heart unto our soldiers, and didst prevent their retreat from becoming a rout.”

“But… that’s impossible! I…”

“ ‘Tis even as he doth say, my lord.” Gwen’s voice was low, but it carried. “From this hilltop did I see thee far below; and ’twas thou who didst lead, even as this good friar saith.”

Rod stared at her, appalled. If she didn’t know him, who did?

Then he turned away, striding down the back of the hill.

“Hold, Lord Warlock! What dost thou seek?” Tuan hurried to keep pace with him.

“An on-the-spot witness,” Rod grated. “Even Gwen could be mistaken from a distance.”

He skidded to a stop beside a knot of soldiers who huddled under the protec-tion of a rocky overhang.

“You there, soldier!”

The soldier lifted his tousled blond head, holding a scrap of cloth to a long rent in his arm. Rod stared, amazed. Then he dropped to one knee, yanking the cloth off the wound. The soldier yelled, galvanized. Rod glanced up and felt his heart sink; surely that face belonged to a boy, not a man! He turned back to the wound, in-specting it. Then he looked up at Tuan. “Some brandywine.”

“ ‘Tis here,” the young soldier grated.

Rod looked down and saw a bottle. He poured a little on the cut and the sol-dier gasped, long and with a rattle, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. Rod tore open his doublet and tore a strip of cloth from his singlet. He held the wound closed and began to wrap the bandage around it. “There’s a lot of blood, but it’s really just a flesh wound. We’ll have to put some stitches in it later.” He looked up at the young ranker. “Know who I am?”

Page 108

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

“Aye,” the young man gasped. “Thou’rt the Lord High Warlock.”

Rod nodded. “Ever seen me before?”

“Why, certes! Thou didst stand beside me in the melee! Thou wert then no farther from me than thou art now!”

Rod stared up at him. Then he said, “Are you sure? I mean, absolutely sure?”

“Nay, be sure that I am! Had it not been for the sight of thee, I’d ha’ turned and fled!” Then his eyes widened and he glanced quickly at his companions, flushing; but they only nodded somber agreement.

“Take heart.” Tuan slapped his shoulder. “Any would have fled such a battle, an they could have.”

The young soldier looked up, finally realized the King himself stood near, and almost fainted. Rod grasped his shoulder. “You saw me, though. You really did see me.”

“Truly, my lord.” The young man’s eyes were wide. “I’ truth, I did.” He low-ered his eyes, frowning.

“And yet—’tis strange.”

“Strange?” Rod frowned. “Why?”

The young soldier bit his lip; then the words spilled out. “Thou didst seem taller in the battle—by a head or more! I could have sworn thou didst tower above all soldiers there! And thou didst seem to glow…”

Rod held his eyes for a moment longer.

Then he went back to wrapping the bandage. “Yeah, well, you know how it is during a battle. Everything seems bigger than it really is—especially a man on a horse.”

“Truth,” the young soldier admitted. “Thou wast astride.”

“Right.” Rod nodded. “Big roan horse.”

“Nay, milord.” The young soldier frowned. “Thy mount was black as jet.”

“Calm down, Rod,” Fess’s voice murmured, “you are beside yourself.”

“I am?” Rod looked around in a panic.

“It was a figure of speech,” the robot assured him. “Lower your anxiety level—you are quite definitely a singular personality.”

“I’d like to be sure of that.” Rod frowned down at the soldiers around him. He was walking through the camp, surveying what was left of Tuan’s army. Whether he’d been there during the battle or not, the mere sight of him was put-ting heart back into them. Personally, he felt sheepish, even guilty; but…

“Your presence is good for morale, Rod,” Fess murmured.

“I suppose,” Rod muttered. Privately, he wondered if he wasn’t “showing himself” to reassure himself
Page 109

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

that he was indeed himself. “I mean, the phenome-non is totally impossible, Fess. You do understand that, don’t you?”

Soldiers stared up at him in awe. Rod ground his teeth; he knew the rumor would fly through the camp that the Lord Warlock had been talking to his “fa-miliar.”

“Certainly, Rod. Attribute it to mass hysteria. During the battle, they needed the reassurance that the Lord High Warlock stood by them, to oppose the beast-men’s magic. Then one soldier, in the heat of the fight, mistook some other knight for yourself, and doubtless cried out, ‘Behold the High Warlock!’

And all his fellows, in the gloom of a lightning-lit battle, also imagined that they saw you.”

Rod nodded, a little reassured. “Just a case of mistaken identity.”

“Lord Warlock?”

“Um?” Rod turned, looked down at a grizzled old sergeant who sat in the mud. “What’s the matter, ancient?”

“My boys hunger, Lord Warlock.” The ancient gestured to a dozen men in their young twenties, who huddled near him. “Will there be food?”

Rod stared down at him.

After a moment, he said, “Yeah. It’ll just take a little while. Rough terrain, and wagons—you know.”

The ancient’s face relaxed. “Aye, milord.”

As Rod turned away, he heard a soldier say, “Surely he will not.” The man beside him shrugged. “A king is a king. What knows he of a common man-at-arms? What matters it to him if we are slain and frozen?”

“To King Tuan, it matters greatly,” the other said indignantly. “Dost not re-call that he was King of Beggars ere he was King of Gramarye?”

“Still… he is a lord’s son…” But the other seemed to doubt his own prejudice. “How could a lordling care for the fate of common men!‘’

“Assuredly thou’lt not believe he wastes his soldiers’ lives?”

“And wherefore should I not?”

“Because he is a most excellent general, if for no reason other!” the first cried, exasperated. “He’ll not send us to our deaths unheeding; he is too good a soldier! For how shall he win a battle if he has too small an army?”

His mate looked thoughtful.

“He’ll husband us as charily as any merchant spends his gold.” The first sol-dier leaned back against a hillock. “Nay, he’ll not send us ‘gainst the foe if he doth not believe that most of us will live, and triumph.”

The other soldier smiled. “Mayhap thou hast the truth of it—for what is a general that hath no army?”

Page 110

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Rod didn’t wait for the answer; he wandered on, amazed by Tuan’s men. They weren’t particularly worried about the Evil Eye. Dinner, yes; being sent against the beastmen with the odds against them, yes; but, magic? No. Not if Tuan waited till he had the proper counterspell. “Put the average Terran in here,”

he muttered, “put him against an Evil Eye that really works, and he’d run so fast you wouldn’t see his tracks. But the way these guys take it, you’d think it was nothing but a new kind of crossbow.”

“It is little more, to them,” Fess’s voice murmured behind his ear. He stood atop the cliff, far above, watching Rod walk through the camp. “They have grown up with magic, Rod—as did their fathers, and their grandfathers, and their ancestors—for twenty-five generations. The phenomena do not frighten them—only the possibility that the enemy’s magic might prove stronger.”

“True.” Rod pursed his lips, nodding. Looking up, he saw Brother Chillde winding a bandage around an older soldier’s head. The man winced, but bore the pain philosophically. Rod noticed several other scars; no doubt the man was used to the process. Rod stepped up to the monk. “You’re all over the field, good friar.”

Brother Chillde smiled up at him. “I do what I may, Lord Warlock.” His smile didn’t have quite the same glow it had had earlier.

“And a blessing it is for the men—but you’re only human, Brother. You need some rest yourself.”

The monk shrugged, irritated. “These poor souls do need mine aid far more, milord. ‘Twill be time enough for rest when the wounded rest as easily as they may.” He sighed and straightened, eyeing the bandaged head. “I’ve eased the passing of those who had no hope, what little I could. ‘Tis time to think of the liv-ing.” He looked up at Rod. “And to do what we can to ensure that they remain alive.‘’

“Yes,” Rod said slowly, “the King and I were thinking along the same lines.”

“Indeed!” Brother Chillde perked up visibly. “I am certain thou dost ever do so—yet what manner of aiding dost thou have a-mind?”

The idea crystallized. “Witches—more of ‘em. We managed to talk one of the older witches into joining us this time.”

“Aye.” Brother Chillde looked up at the hilltop. “And I did see that she and thy wife, alone, did hold off the beast-men’s Evil Eye the whiles our soldiers did retreat. Indeed, I wrote it in my book whilst yet the battle raged.”

Rod was sure he had—in fact, that’s why he’d told the monk. He seemed to be the only medieval equivalent to a journalist available, there being no minstrels handy. Brother Chillde turned back to Rod. “Thy wife must needs be exceeding powerful.‘’

Rod nodded. “Makes for an interesting marriage.”

Brother Chillde smiled, amused, and the old soldier chuckled. Then the monk raised an eyebrow. “And this venerable witch who did accompany her—she, too, must have powers extraordinary.”