The boys broke into broad smiles, and Cordelia sat up in Rod’s arms and clapped her hands together. Rod set her down, set his fists on his hips, and surveyed his children with a stern eye. “You do realize what’s going on back there, don’t you?”
They all nodded, and Magnus said, “Aye, Papa.” Geoffrey explained, “Alfar doth prepare the town for conquest.”
Rod nodded, his gaze on his second son. “How will he take them?”
The boy shrugged. “In peace. He will march in, and they will acclaim him as their friend and master, and bow to him—and all of this without a ever a drop of blood shed.”
There was a definite note of admiration in his voice. Rod shook his head. “Good analysis—but be careful, son. Don’t start thinking that ability implies goodness.”
“Oh, nay, Papa! Ne’er could I think so! He is a worthy enemy—but that’s just to say, he would not be worthy an he were not able; but he would not be an enemy were he not evil.”
Rod took a deep breath and stilled, with his mouth open, before he said, “We-e-e-ll… there are enemies who might not be really evil—they’d just be trying to get the same thing you’re trying to get.”
But Geoffrey shook his head firmly. “Nay, Papa. Such be rivals, not enemies.”
Rod stilled with his mouth open again. Then he shrugged. “Okay—as long as you make the distinction.” He took a deep breath, looking around at his family. “So. I think we’ve got a better idea, now, about how Alfar works. First he takes over most of the population with long-range hypnosis. Then he sends his minions in to intimidate anybody who didn’t hypnotize easily.”
“There be such, Papa?” Cordelia asked in surprise.
Rod nodded. “Oh, yes, dear. That particular kind of magic isn’t exactly foolproof; there’ll always be a few people who aren’t terribly open to letting somebody else take over their minds—I hope.”
“And there be those who will not bow to him from fear, either,” Geoffrey said stoutly.
“Oh, yes. And if any of those happen to be knights, or lords, and march against him with their men-at-arms—by the time they get to Alfar, he’ll have most of the soldiers convinced they don’t want to win.”
“Aye. Tis the way of it.” Geoffrey looked up at his father with a glow of pride.
“Thanks, son.” Rod smiled, amused. “Just adding things up.” Then his smile faded. “But what the heck kind of projective telepath does he have, that can reach out over a hundred miles to hypnotize a whole village?”
They set up camp, with trenches for beds and pine boughs for mattresses. The kids rolled up in their blankets, and were instantly asleep—at least, as far as Rod could see.
He didn’t trust them. “What child is this who, laid to rest, sleeps?” he asked Gwen.
She gazed off into space for a moment, listening with her mind. He decided to try it, himself, so he closed his eyes and blanked his mind, envying the ease with which she did it. After a few seconds, he began to hear the children’s low, excited, mental conversation. He rolled his eyes up in exasperation and started to get up—but Gwen caught his arm. “Nay, my lord. Let them speak with one another, I prithee; ‘twill lull them to sleep.”
“Well…” Rod glanced back at her.
“Yet what will lull us?” she murmured.
He stared down at her, drinking in her beauty. Her femininity hit him with physical force, and he dropped back down beside her, one arm spread out in return invitation. “I’m sure I’ll think of something, dear—but it takes some creativity, when the kids are watching.”
She turned her head to the side, watching him out of the corners of her eyes. “Their lids are closed.”
“But not their minds.” Rod pressed a finger over her lips. “Hush up, temptress, or I’ll put you back in your teapot.”
“And what wilt thou do with me, once thou hast me there?” she purred, nestling up against him.
The contact sent a current coursing through him. His breath hissed in. “I said a teapot, not a pumpkin shell!” He reached out to caress her gently, and it was her turn to gasp. He breathed into her ear, “Just wait till they fall asleep…”
“Beshrew me! But they have only now waked from several hours’ rest!” Gwen gazed up at him forlornly. “Hmm!” Rod frowned. “Hadn’t thought of that…”
“Aye di me!” Gwen sighed, snuggling a little closer. “E’en so, the comfort of thy presence will aid me greatly, my lord.”
“Fine—now that you’ve made sure I won’t sleep!”
“Yet must not a husbandman be ever vigilant?” she murmured.
“Yeah—waiting for my chance!” He rested his cheek against her head. “Now I know why they call you a witch…”
“Papa-a-a-a!”
Rod waked instantly; there’d been tears in that little voice. He opened his eyes and saw Gregory leaning over him clutching his arm, shaking him. “Papa, Papa!” Tears were running down the little boy’s cheeks. Rod reached up an arm to snake around him and pull him down, cradling him against his side. The little body stayed stiff, resisting comfort. Rod crooned, “What’s the matter, little fella? Bad dream?”
Gregory gulped, and nodded.
“What was it about?”
“Nasty man,” Gregory sniffled.
“Nasty?” For some reason, Rod was suddenly on his guard. “What was he doing?”
“He did creep upon us.” Gregory looked up at his father, eyes wide. “Creeping up, to hurl things at us.”
Rod stared into his eyes for a second, then began to pat his back gently. “Don’t worry about it. Even if the nasty man did sneak up on us, your brothers and sister would gang up on him before he could do much damage.” He smiled, and saw a tentative, quivering lift at the comers of Gregory’s mouth. He tousled the boy’s hair and turned to look at his wife. He saw a large pair of eyes staring back at him. “Kind of thought you’d wake up, if one of the kids had a problem.”
“I did hear him,” Gwen said softly. “I did see his dream. And, my lord…”
Rod couldn’t help feeling that being on his guard was just the thing for the occasion. “What’s wrong?”
“Gregory’s mind would not conjure up so mild a phantasm, nor one so threatening.”
The tension was building inside Rod. Anger began to boil up under it. Rod tried to hold it down, reminding himself that he and Gwen could probably handle any attempt to hurt them. But the mere thought that anyone would dare to attack his children, to plant nightmares in their sleeping minds…!
Magnus, Cordelia, and Geoffrey suddenly sat bolt-upright. “Papa,” Cordelia gasped, “what dost thou?”
“Is it that bad already? I’m trying to hold my temper.”
“Thou dost amazingly.” Magnus blinked the sleep out of his eyes and leaned closer, on hands and knees, to peer at his father. “In truth, thou dost amazingly. I would never guess thy rage, to look at thee. Papa, what…”
The night seemed to thicken a few feet away from the children. Something hazy appeared, coalesced, hardened, and shot to earth, slamming into the ground a few feet from Magnus’s hand. His head snapped around; he stared at a six-inch rock. Cordelia’s gaze was riveted to it, too, in horror; but Geoffrey leaped to his feet. “Ambush!”
The night thickened again, just over Magnus’s head. Something hazy appeared…
… and began to coalesce…
“Heads up!” Rod dove for his son. His shoulder knocked Magnus sprawling, and a foot-thick rock crashed down, grazing Rod’s hip. He bellowed with pain—and anger at the monster who dared attack his children. His full rage cut loose.
“Ware!” Magnus cried. The children were already looking up, as their father had bade them, so they saw the rocks materializing—two, three, all plummeting to earth as they became real.
“Dodge ball!” Magnus shouted. Instantly, he and his brothers and sister were bounding and bobbing back and forth, Cordelia weaving an aerial dance that would’ve given a computer tracker a blown fuse, the boys appearing and disappearing here, there, yonder, like signal lights in a storm. Through their flickering pavane, Magnus called in suppressed rage, “Art thou hurted, Papa?”