“I thank thee, milord,” the priest said, not managing to hide his relief.
The Count inclined his head. Then, slowly, he turned to Rod; and he spoke softly, but his words cut like fire. “ ‘Twas ungentlemanly of thee, Lord Warlock, to come, unannounced and disguised, into mine household.”
Rod met his gaze, despite the shame that permeated him. He’d lost his head in fear and panic, and aimed at the wrong enemy—and now, to top it off, the Count was right.
How dare he be!
It worked; he summoned up enough indignation to raise his chin. “Deeply do I regret the need for such deception, milord Count—but need there was.”
“What?” The Count frowned. “Need to wake mine ancestors from their sleep?”
Rod answered frown for frown. “Be mindful, milord—that raising was no work of ours. ‘Twas the doing of a vile wi—uh, sorceress.”
“Aye.” The Count seemed embarrassed. “ ‘Tis even so, milord; I had forgot.”
“But the witch would not ha’ been here,” Geoffrey whispered, “had we not been.”
“Shut up, kid,” Rod muttered.
“I prithee, judge not all us witches by her,” Gwen pleaded. “There be only a few such wicked ones. And, as thou hast seen, ever will they flee the might of the Royal Coven.”
The peasants didn’t seem all that much reassured.
“Make no mistake,” Rod advised. “The Tyrant Sorcerer, Alfar, does send his agents out to prepare his conquests—and, as you’ve seen, he has come this far to the South already.” He turned back to Count Drulane. “That is why we have come in disguise—to learn all we can of Alfar’s doings.”
The Count gazed at him for several seconds, then nodded slowly. “Aye, I am captain enough to understand the need of that.”
“I thank you for your understanding,” Rod gave him a slight bow. “But we must not trouble your keep further this night. The witch has fled, and we have learned all that we can.” Especially now that our cover’s blown. “We will thank you for your hospitality, and take our leave.”
The count returned the bow, not quite managing to hide his relief.
Rod smiled, turned, and marched toward the door.
Magnus blinked, then jumped to follow his father, shoulders squared and chin high.
The other children looked about them, startled, then hurried after Magnus, with Gwen shooing them along.
The peasants pressed back, making way for them.
Rod stopped by Fess and reached under the saddle for the reset switch. He threw it, and the robot’s head came up slowly. Rod caught the reins and led the black horse away with them.
They came out into the open air, and Geoffrey heaved a sigh of relief.
“Clean!” Cordelia gasped.
Rod was silent for two paces; then he nodded. “Yes. You did want to sleep outdoors, didn’t you?”
“Crickets be more musical than snores,” Magnus assured him.
“And if I must needs sleep with animals, I had liefer they be large enough to see clearly.” Gwen brushed at her skirts. “Faugh!”
“No argument there,” Rod assured her. “Come on; we’ll just go a quarter-mile or so past the gate, and bed down for the rest of the night.”
They passed through the gatehouse, across the drawbridge, and out into the night.
After a few paces, Rod let a sigh explode out. “Now! Next time you disagree with me, Gregory, please wait until we’re alone! Because you never know, I might be right.”
“Yes, Papa,” the little boy said, in a little voice.
Rod frowned. “I don’t mean to be hard, son—but there’s a very good chance that, if that witch hadn’t been there to harry us, there might’ve been another one of Alfar’s crew, to try to spy out the territory and spread rumors that’d worry the folk. I mean, all that worried dinner-table talk was probably genuine—but it is strangely convenient for Alfar, isn’t it?”
Gregory was silent.
To cover his guilt feelings, Rod turned to Fess, muttering, “Recovered, Circuit Rider?”
“Nearly,” answered the robot’s voice. “I had never encountered convincing evidence of the existence of a medium, before this night.”
“Well, maybe you still haven’t,” Rod mused.
“Who hath not what?” Magnus looked up with a frown. “Oh! Thou didst speak with Fess.” He nodded, satisfied; the children had long ago learned that they could not hear Fess’s thoughts, unless he wanted them to.
“Mayhap he still hath not what?” Cordelia asked.
“Seen a medium,” Rod explained, “a person who can talk to ghosts, or make them appear.”
“Oh.” Cordelia nodded. “Thou speakest aright, Papa. He hath not.”
“Oh, really? Those ghosts looked genuine, to me.”
“They were not,” Magnus assured him. “They had no greater thought than a mirror.”
Rod frowned. “Odd simile.”
“Yet ‘tis apt,” Gwen affirmed. “They had no true thoughts of their own; they mimicked what was there laid down for them.”
“Laid down?” Rod still frowned. “By whom?”
“By the witch,” Magnus explained. “She did call up the memories laid in the stones, and throw them out to us.”
Rod stared. After a few seconds, he said, “What?”
“Some witches there be, milord,” Gwen explained, “who can lay a hand on a ring, and gain the full sense of the person who wore it, even to the pattern of his or her thoughts.”
Rod gazed off into space. “Yeah… I think I’ve heard of that. They call it ‘psychometry,’ don’t they?”
Gwen shrugged. “I know not, my lord; such are the words of thy folk, not ours.”
“Tis all one,” Cordelia added.
“Thanks for the lesson,” Rod said sourly. “But how did you know about this, Magnus?”
The boy reddened. “I did not wish to trouble thee, Papa…”
“Oh, really?” Rod looked the question at Gwen; she shook her head. “Didn’t want to worry Mama either, I gather. Which is fine, until we find out about it. From now on, we’ll always be worried—that you’ve discovered a new way to use your power, and are trying dangerous experiments without letting us know.”
Magnus looked up, startled. “I had not meant…”
“I know. So don’t. Worry me, son—that’s what I’m here for.” For a second, he wondered if that was truer than he knew.
Magnus sighed. “Well enough, then. I have found thoughts in things people have used, Papa.”
Rod nodded. “Let Mama be near next time you experiment with it, okay? So much for the ‘calling up’ part. I take it the ‘throwing out’ is talking about projective telepathy?”
“By that,” Gwen explained to the children, “he doth mean a witch or warlock who can send their thoughts out to folk who have not witch power.”
“Oh!” Cordelia nodded. “Such she was, Papa. What she saw in her mind, she could make others see, also.”
Rod nodded. “So we weren’t seeing real ghosts—just reflections of the memories ‘recorded’ in the rocks of that hall… uh, Gwen?”
“Aye, my lord?”
“Remember those ghosts we met, way back when, in Castle Loguire?”
“Aye, my lord. Mayhap they were, at first, raised in just such a manner.”
“Why the ‘at first’?”
“Why, for that they endured after the witch who raised them—long after, by accounts.”
“Oh, yeah.” Rod nodded. “That’s right—that castle was supposed to have been haunted for a century or two, wasn’t it?” He glared at the sudden gleam in Magnus’s eye. “Don’t go trying any surprise visits. Those ghosts weren’t harmless.”
“Save for thy father.” Gwen couldn’t resist it.
Rod gave her a glower. “That was diplomacy, not necromancy. And, come to think of it, this witch of Alfar’s wasn’t too bad at persuasion, herself.”
“Aye,” Gwen agreed. “Her words, when we had unmasked her, were meant more for Count Drulane and his folk, than they were for us.”
“Trying to boil up all the old fears of witches, to boost their Reign of Terror,” Rod growled. “Never mind what the peasants might do to the witches in the rest of the kingdom.”