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 learn thy pattern of attack, and its weaknesses. Nay, if thy wife and bairns 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.”
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 spell-breaker. 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.”
“Pay heed!” Alfar held up a forefinger. “Even then, I offered thee thine opportunity to join with me and mine! And only when thou didst refuse, and that with such force that I knew thou couldst not be persuaded, did I seize thee.” His gaze intensified, locked on Rod’s eyes. “E’en now, an thou dost wish to join with me, I will rejoice, and welcome thee!”
“Providing, of course, that I can prove I mean it.”
“Of course. What use art thou, if I cannot rely on thee to the uttermost?” His eyes glittered, and his mouth quivered with suppressed glee. “Indeed, I’ve even now the means to insure thy loyalty.”
Dread shot through Rod and, hard after it, anger. He throttled it down and growled, “What means?”
“Thou hast no need to know. Thou dost not, after all, wish to ally thy fortunes with mine.”
The rage surged up, and Rod let it rise. “I’ll grind your head under my heel, if I can ever find a forked stick big enough to hold your neck down!”
Alfar went white, and sprang at Rod, his knife slipping out. Fear shot through Rod, like a spark to gunpowder and the anger exploded, shooting through his every vein and nerve, smashing out of him in reaction.