“Uh, skip the family history, Fess.”
“But, Rod, it is a vital portion of the child’s heritage; he should…”
“Well, save it until he learns to talk, then.”
“As you wish.” The mechanical voice somehow managed a sigh. “In that case, it is my duty to inform you that you will shortly be receiving company, Rod.”
Rod stilled, cocking an eyebrow at his horse. “What do you see?”
“Nothing, Rod; but I detect the sounds characteristic of bipedal locomotion of a small being conveying itself through long grass.”
“Oh.” Rod relaxed. “An elf coming through the meadow. Well, they’re always welcome.”
An eighteen-inch body burst out of the grass at the cave-mouth.
Rod grinned. “Welcome, merry wanderer of the night.”
“Puck!” Gwen squealed. She turned to their guest. “Assuredly, thou art most…”
She stopped, seeing the look on the elf’s face.
Rod had sobered too. “What’s right, Puck?”
“Naught,” said the elf grimly. “Rod Gallowglass, thou must needs come, and right quickly, to the King!”
“Oh, I must, must I? What’s so urgent all of a sudden? What’s all the panic about?”
“Beastmen!” The elf gasped for breath. “They have raided the seacoast at the Duchy of Loguire!”
The Royal Guard rode south, with the King at their head.
A lone rider sat his grazing horse at the side of the road, playing a pipe with a low and mournful sound.
Tuan frowned, and said to the knight beside him, “What ails yon fellow? Is he so bemused by his own music that he doth not see armed horsemen approaching?”
“And can he not see thy crown?” the knight responded, dutifully putting into words what his sovereign was thinking. “I shall waken him, Majesty.” He kicked his horse’s sides and cantered ahead.
“Ho, fellow! Dost thou not see His Majesty approacheth?”
The rider looked up. “Why, so he does! Say, isn’t that a handy coincidence? I was just thinking about him.”
The knight stared, then backed his horse away. “Thou’rt the High Warlock!”
“ ‘High’?” Rod frowned. “Not a word of truth in it. Totally sober, good knight—haven’t even thought about intoxicants since last Friday!”
The knight frowned, irritation overcoming awe. “Eh, thou’rt as unmannerly as a churl! Know that the King hath created thee High Warlock!‘’
“ ‘‘Tis even so,” the King confirmed, drawing rein beside them. Then, rather unwillingly, “Well met, Lord High Warlock—for this poor Isle of Gramarye doth lie in need of thine art, and thy wisdom.”
Rod inclined his head. “I am ever obedient to my adoptive homeland’s call. But why do I get a high title out of it? I’d come just as quickly without it.”
“ ‘Tis thy due, is it not?” Tuan’s lips pressed thin. “And it describes thy place aptly. Folk fight better when they know from whom to take orders, and to whom to give them.”
“An understatement,” Rod admitted. “You’ve gotta have a clear flow chart if you want to get anything done. Very true, Your Majesty; I should’ve known better than to question you.”
Tuan’s eyebrows lifted. “Pleasantly said; I would not have expected it of you.”
“Oh, you should have.” Rod grinned. “I always give respect where it’s due.”
“And withhold it where ‘tis not?” Tuan frowned. “Am I, then, so rarely worthy of respect?”
Rod’s grin widened. “Only when you try to use authority you don’t have—which doesn’t happen very often, now that you’re a king. And, of course, when you back someone who’s in the wrong.”
Tuan’s frown darkened. “When have I done such?”
“Just before you got my knee in your groin. But I must admit that the Queen isn’t trying to play God anymore.”
Tuan flushed, turning away from Rod.
“And, of course, you were trying to be her champion, and laying down the law.” Rod ignored the danger signals. “Which you had no right to do—at the time. Still don’t, really.”
“Have I not?” Tuan snapped, whirling to face Rod. “I am now King!”
“Which means that you’re supposed to be foremost among your peers. It doesn’t make you a superior breed—and doesn’t give you the right to make laws if your barons are against them.”
“You cannot truly believe that I would do so.”
“Well, no, not you,” Rod admitted. “Catharine, however…”
“Rarely is the Queen not swayed by my counsel,” Tuan grated. “What we do, we do in concert.”
“Then you both agree on marching south to fight the beastmen?”
Tuan managed to stay with the change of topic. “We have discussed it; and, aye, we are agreed. I do not say we take joy in the prospect.”
“Well, say it,” Rod invited. “Or are you really going to tell me you don’t like being out in the field again?”
Tuan stared, taken aback. Then he grinned sheepishly. “In truth, my heart doth lift as I gaze upon open fields and feel harness on my back. I will own, ‘tis good to be out from chambers and councils.’‘
Rod nodded. “That’s what I expected; you’re a born general. Still can’t understand how you manage to be a good king, too.”
Tuan shrugged impatiently. “ ‘Tis like to the order of battle, save that the ’troops’ one doth command are reeves and bailiffs.”
“But it does require a totally different library of knowledge.”
“That, Catharine hath,” Tuan said very honestly. “I need only to steady her judgment, and issue her commands in such wise that they shall not arouse rebellion.”
Which was true, Rod reflected; half of the offense Catharine gave was due to the way she said things, rather than what she said. “Well, you’ve just earned my respect again.”
Tuan frowned. “For what? For kingship?”
“No, for candor. But now the burden of monarchy moves back into your field of knowledge, Majesty. What do you propose to do about these raiders?”
“Go to where they have been, expecting that they will strike again, and not far from where they struck first,” Tuan answered. “When the bee findeth a flower filled with nectar, doth he not return to that place to find other flowers nearby?”
“Yes, and usually with more bees. I notice you brought a few stingers of your own.”
Tuan glanced back at the army behind him. “The beastmen should be hard put to best these stout hearts.”
“From the report I had, it’s not their hearts that’re in danger.” Rod turned Fess, falling in alongside Tuan. The King kicked his heels into his horse’s ribs, and the column began to move south again. Tuan nodded. “Thou dost speak of the Evil Eye.”
“I doth,” Rod agreed. “How much faith do you put in that part of the report?”
Tuan shrugged. “ ‘Tis wisest to believe it true, and guard against it as best we may.” He pinned Rod with a stare. “What charm is there against it?”
Rod shrugged. “Beats me; I’ve never run into it before. Haven’t the slightest idea how it works. For all I know, they might just be so ugly that you freeze in horror when you look at ‘em.”
Tuan shook his head firmly. “Nay. If the report is true, ‘tis magic, not simple fear.”
“Well, ‘disgust’ was more of what I had in mind. And, of course, the report itself might not be too accurate. Who’d it come from, anyway?”
“Mothers and grand-folk who were fleeing as they saw. And three of the footmen still live, though with grievous wounds; they have not spoken much, but what little they have said confirms the report, that ‘twas the Eye that froze them.”
“Not exactly ideal spying conditions, in either case,” Rod mused, “and not enough information to work up anything to counter it. Still, it does seem that they have to look you in the eye to freeze you; so pass the word to look at their hands, their hats, their teeth—anything but their eyes.�
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“Well, ‘tis better than naught,” Tuan sighed. “But I would thou couldst find a better remedy, Lord Warlock. A soldier is hard put to avoid his enemy’s eyes, in the melee.”
“Well, it’s the best I can do, for the moment,” Rod grumped. “I’ll try to get some firsthand experience if they attack again. Then maybe I…”
“Nay.” Tuan drew up sharply and looked Rod in the eye. “Thou must learn this to thy sorrow, Lord Gallowglass, as I have had to: thou art now of too great worth to be risked in the melee. Thou must needs stand apart, with me, on high ground, to aid in the directing of the battle.”
With a sinking heart, Rod knew Tuan was right; an army did fight better when it had overall direction. “Your Majesty is of course always right. I’ll stay out of it as long as you do.”
Tuan eyed him skeptically. “Do not think that will aid thee. I have gained in patience.‘’
He wasn’t doing so badly in perceptiveness, either; three years ago, he would’ve missed the sarcasm. “All of this assumes, however, that we have time to pick our ground before the fighting starts.”
“Ah.” Tuan turned back to the south and began riding again. “That is thy part.”
“Oh?” Rod eyed him warily. “Am I supposed to magically transport this whole army to the ground you choose?”
“Nay. Thou’rt to secure us warning that raiders come, far enough in advance that we may ride to the place they will attack, and be there before them.”
“Oh.” Rod’s lips held the shape of the letter after it was gone. “That’s all I’ve got to do, huh? Mind telling me how? Am I supposed to set sentries pacing a mile offshore?”
“Aye, if thou canst derive a spell that will prevent them from sinking.”
“Oh, nothing easier! It’s called ‘rowboats.’ ” Rod frowned. “Hold on, now. That almost sounds sensible.”
“Aye, it doth.” Tuan turned to him. “A line of sentries in small craft just beyond the horizon, to watch for a mast. But how will they sound the alarm?”
“They could row.”
“The beastmen will row more quickly; there do be more of them, and they will be aided by wind. Would they not overtake thy sentry and slay him?”
“True.” Rod frowned. “Well, how about if the sentry was a warlock? Then he could telep… uh, conjure himself ashore, and leave them an empty rowboat.”
“A likely thought.” Tuan nodded. “But thy warlocks hear thoughts. Could not he raise the alarm more quickly if there were another of the witch-folk ashore, listening for his thoughts?”
“True. That would be quicker, and… wait a minute!” Rod struck his forehead with the heel of his hand. “What’s the matter with me? Sorry, Your Majesty; I’m slow today. Why bother putting the warlock in the boat? Why not just have him stay ashore and listen for approaching beastman thoughts?”
“Nay, certes!” Tuan squeezed his eyes shut. “Did I truly need a High Warlock to tell me this? Where are my wits?”
There was a good chance he’d left them back at the royal castle in Runnymede, but Rod didn’t think it was politic to say so. Besides, Tuan could’ve replied that Rod’s brains currently had long red hair and a figure worth killing for.
Then the King opened his eyes, with doubt in them. “Yet art thou certain they do think?”
“That is a distinct possibility. Maybe if I go to the western coast and shout, ‘Cogito, ergo sum,’ they’ll all disappear.”
“Is that a mighty spell?”
“No, just wishful thinking; I’m putting Descartes before the horse.” There was a short, nasty buzzing in Rod’s ear; Fess didn’t think much of his sense of humor. “Seriously, though, Your Majesty, that shouldn’t be a problem. Anything alive and moving under its own power has some sort of neurological activity. I’ve got one young witch who can read an earthworm’s thoughts, and they don’t even have any.”
“But can they hear thoughts far enough away to give us time to set our battle line where they mean to land?”
“Don’t worry about that one, either. I had another young lady listen to the thoughts of one of the dino… uh, ‘terrible lizard’ giants over on the mainland, once. She wasn’t herself again for three days…”
“Then thou hast thy sentry-force made.”
Rod frowned. “Yeah, but I just had another nasty thought. How come none of the witches ever heard beastman thoughts before?”
That stopped Tuan, too. He frowned and thought it over for a few seconds. Then he looked up with a bright smile. “Mayhap because they were not there?”
Rod sat still for a moment. Then he sighed and shrugged. “Why not? On Gramarye, anyway.” There was a local variety of fungus that was very sensitive. Not that its feelings could be hurt or anything; but if a projective telepath thought at it hard enough, it would turn into whatever the projective was thinking about. Yes, it was very possible that the beastmen hadn’t been there before. All it would take was an old granny, one who didn’t know her own strength, telling horror stories to amuse the children…
He didn’t think he wanted to meet that granny. “Say, uh, Your Majesty… what happens when our sentries do find them?”
“Why, then we ride against them with steel and fire,” Tuan said grimly.
“Yes, but—Gramarye is a moderately big island. What if they strike someplace where our army isn’t?”
“As they have indeed done.” Tuan nodded. “Well, I have commanded each of the seacoast lords to muster a force of worthy size, and keep it ever ready. E’en so, the best of barons’ forces can only hold them till my armies come; if it can do more, I have more than beastmen to worry me.”
It was a good point; a baron who could defeat a party of raiders was bound to think of taking on the royal army. “But it could take a while for your army to get there—say, a few days.”
“Indeed.” Tuan turned to him, frowning. “Canst thou not discover a spell to move mine army to the battlefield ere the beastmen come to it, High Warlock?”
“ ‘Fraid that’s beyond even my powers.” Rod had a brief, dizzying vision of Tuan’s knights and men-at-arms clustered onto huge antigravity plates, skimming over the countryside; but he manfully thrust it from him, remembering that technology comes in whole chunks, not just bits and pieces. If he taught them how to make antigrav plates, they’d figure out very quickly how to make automatic cannon and television chains—and how much chance would democracy have in a land whose king had the technology for totalitarianism, and whose people still thought loyalty was the supreme virtue? Right—about as much as a camel in a glacier. “But you don’t need magic to do it—just a complete force of horsemen.”
“Why, how is that?” Tuan looked worried; to him, “horseman” meant “knight.”
“Well, I know it sounds like heresy—but you don’t have to have just the captains mounted. Common soldiers can learn to ride too.”
Tuan stared, scandalized.
“Not on full-scale war-horses, of course,” Rod said quickly. “The rankers can ride ponies. They can go just as fast as the destriers on the long haul, where they keep it down to a canter, if they don’t wear much armor. And you can keep the whole force right there, in Runnymede, since it’s pretty close to being the center of the island. Then, when my witch-sentries send word, you can just yell, ‘Horse and hattock! Ho, and away!’ and they can be mounted up and gone in ten minutes. Then, if you keep alternating canter and trot and give each soldier a spare mount, they can be anywhere within Gramarye in two days.”
“And the beastmen could land within one.” Tuan scowled, chewing at his lip. “E’en so, the idea has merit. A thousand men would suffice; certes these beastmen will not bring more. Then I could keep five such forces, placed so that any one of them could be at the seacoast in either of two provinces in less than a day.” He turned a beaming smile on Rod. “I’ truth, ’twill succeed! And if the footmen must ride, what of it? When they come to the field, they can dismount and fight as they always have!”
And, Rod
realized with a sinking heart, the King would have discovered an excellent means of enforcing his will on the barons, whether they liked him or not. But what else could he do? Let bogeymen gobble up the taxpayers? “I think it’ll work, Your Majesty.”
“But a name! It must have a name!” Tuan’s eyes glowed with excitement. “They will fight better, these soldiers, if their force doth bear a name that may ring down the ages!”
Tuan was good at that—these little bits of nonsense that ultimately made a great deal of difference: honor, chivalry, things like that. Men fought harder for these intangibles than for cold cash, frequently. If Tuan said his men would fight harder if their regiment had a famous name, Rod wasn’t going to argue. “How about the Flying Legion?”
“Will this truly be an army, my lord?” Gwen stood beside him on the hillside, looking out over the little valley that had sprouted tents and horses.
“Only the vanguard,” Rod assured her. “Tuan’s still got his standing army of five thousand—and most of them are standing because they don’t know how to ride. Here we’re gathering a thousand good riders from all over the island, ones who already have some experience in war. Tuan’s going to recruit another five thousand pedestrians for the main force, though.”
Far below, a lieutenant shouted, and his squadron leaped into a gallop, charging down on another hapless unit with wicker swords.
Gwen watched and shuddered. “They are not terribly deft, my lord.”
“I said they were experienced, not talented.” Rod turned away and strolled along the flank of the hill, holding her hand. “Give ‘em a little training and practice, though, and you’ll never see a better troop of cavalry—I hope. Who’s this?” He stopped, scowling at a brown-robed figure with a neat round bald spot who sat cross-legged about fifty yards ahead of them, a huge book open in his lap. He had an inkhorn in his left hand, and a quill in his right.
“A good friar, it would seem,” Gwen answered. “Why art thou concerned, mine husband?”
“Because I don’t remember ordering any.” Rod strode up to the monk. “Good morning, Father.”
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