The robot-horse sprang into a gallop. “Drumming your heels against my sides really serves no purpose, Rod.”
“Sure it does—keeping up appearances. You wouldn’t want people to know you weren’t a real horse, would you?”
“Surely you cannot be concerned about that with your own family. They all know my true nature.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got to stay in the habit. If I start trying to remember who knows about you and who doesn’t, I’ll start making little mistakes, and…”
“I understand,” the robot sighed. “The coach approaches, Rod.”
“Might be more accurate to say we approach the coach.”
“I was under the impression that you had become a Gramaryan, not a grammarian.”
Rod winced. “All right, already! I’ll go for the content, and stop worrying about the form.”
“Then you would make a very poor critic…”
“Oh, shut up and head off the coach.”
Fess swerved in front of the coach horses, and the animals reared, screaming with fright. The woman hit the brake with frantic strength, then lashed out with the whip at Rod.
“Hey!” He ducked, but too late; the lash cracked against the side of his head. The roadway tilted and circled, blurring; distantly, he heard the whip crack, again and again. Then the world levelled, and he began to see clearly. The familiar rage surged up in him. Appalled, he tried to remember her fear. The woman stood on the box, brandishing the whip for one more try.
Rod held up a palm. “Whoa! Hold it! I’m on your side!” He pointed to his chest. “No uniform. See?”
The woman hesitated, but anger and fear still held her eyes wide.
Rod was working hard to stifle a huge flood of anger of his own; his head ached abominably. “You wouldn’t hit a poor, wandering tinker, would you?”
“Aye, if he threatened me or mine.” But sanity began to return to the woman’s eyes. “And why would a poor tinker stop a noble Lady, if not to harm her?”
“To tell you, you can stop running!” Rod cried. “We knocked out your enemies!”
The woman stood frozen, but hope flared in her eyes.
Rod pointed back along the road. ‘Take a look, if you doubt me!”
She darted a quick glance back up the road, then glanced again. She turned back to him, joy beginning to flower in her face. Then her knees gave way, and she collapsed onto the box. “Praise Heaven! But how didst thou…”
“I had a little help,” Rod explained.
She was instantly on her guard again. “From whom?”
“My wife,” Rod explained, “and my children.”
She stared. Then weariness filled her face. “I see them; they pick the corpses of the soldiers. Do not lie to me, fellow. How could a tinker and his bairns and wife, fare against an armored knight and a dozen soldiers?” She hefted the whip again.
“Now, hold on!” Rod felt his anger mounting again, too. He took a deep breath, and tried to remember that the poor woman had been chased for most of the night—probably. “My wife and kids aren’t robbing bodies—they’re trying to break the enchantments that bind living men. Unconscious, but living—I hope. You see, we’re not quite what we seem to be.”
“Indeed,” she hissed between her teeth, and forced herself to her feet again, swinging the whip up. “So I had thought!”
“Not that way! This tinker outfit is just a disguise!” Rod straightened in the saddle, squaring his shoulders. “I am Rodney Gallowglass, Lord High Warlock of Gramarye—and that woman back there is the Lady Gwendylon.”
She stared. Then her lips parted, and she whispered, “Give me a sign.”
“A sign?” Exasperated, Rod bit down on his irritation and forced himself to imagine just how paranoid he’d be feeling in her place. He took another deep breath, expelled it. “Oh, all right!” Rod closed his eyes and let his mind go blank, concentrating. His usual haze of needs and responsibilities seemed to ebb and clear, till he could hear his children’s voices, as though they were right next to him. He singled out the one who looked least threatening and thought, Gregory! Come here!
Air popped outward, and Gregory floated next to his shoulder. “Aye, Papa?”
The woman stared.
Then her knees gave way again, and she sat down, nodding weakly. “Aye. Thou art the High Warlock.”
“Papa?” Gregory cocked his head to the side, frowning up at his father. “Why didst thou call?”
“For what you just did, son.”
The child stared. “What did I?”
“You proved I’m what I said I was.” He turned back to the woman. “And whom have I the pleasure of addressing?”
Now it was her turn to pull herself together and remember her dignity. “I am Elyena, Duchess of Romanov.”
7
Rod steered the tottering horses off the road and into the meadow near Gwen, holding up the Duchess with his left arm. As he pulled them to a halt, she raised her head, looking about, then crowded closer to him. “The soldiers…”
Rod turned, and saw all the soldiers gathered in a knot under a low tree. Most of them held their heads in their hands. Some had lifted their gazes and were looking around, blinking, their faces drawn and uncertain. The knight lay by them with his helmet off. Gwen knelt over him.
“Don’t worry,” Rod said, trying to sound reassuring. “They feel as though they’ve just awakened from a bad dream. They’re on your side again.” He jumped down from the box. “Just stay there.”
She did, huddling into herself—and not looking at all reassured.
Rod sighed, and thought sharply, Cordelia!
The little girl leaped up halfway across the meadow and looked around. She located her father and jumped on her broomstick, zooming straight over to him. “Aye, Papa?”
Rod noticed the Duchess staring. Well, at least she was distracted. “Cordelia, this lady needs…”
But Cordelia was staring past him, toward the windows of the coach, and a delighted grin curved on her lips. “Children!”
Rod turned, surprised.
Two little faces filled one of the windows, looking about with frank curiosity.
Cordelia skipped past Rod, hands behind her back. The Duchess’s children watched her warily. Cordelia stopped right below them and cocked her head to the side. “I am hight Cordelia.”
They didn’t answer; they just stared.
Rod touched her shoulder. “They’ve been having some bad scares lately, honey.”
The elder boy looked up in indignation. “Was not scared!”
“Yeah, sure, you were calm as a mill pond. Just go easy, honey.”
“Oh, Papa!” she said, exasperated. “Can they not see I wish them no harm?” Before he could answer, she whirled away to the Duchess. “May I play with them?”
The Duchess stared down at her. Then, slowly, she said, “Why… an they wish it… certes.”
That they would wish it, Rod did not doubt; he knew his daughter. Already, the two boys were watching her with marked interest.
“Oh, good!” Cordelia spun back to the children. “I have brothers, too. Thou mayst play with them also, an thou dost wish it.”
The two boys still looked wary, but Cordelia’s friendliness was infectious. The younger opened the coach door, and stepped out. “I,” he said, “am Gaston.”
Rod turned away, quite certain the Duchess’s attention would be fully occupied for a while, and went over to his wife.
As he came up, she sat back on her heels, gazing down at the knight and shaking her head. Instantly, Rod was alert. “What’s the matter? Is the hypnosis too strong?”
Gwen shook her head again. “I have broke the spell, my lord. Yet I can bring him no closer to life than this.”
Rod turned, staring down at the knight. He saw a lined face and bald head, with a fringe of gray hair. His skin was gray, and covered with a sheen of sweat. Guilt swept through Rod. He knelt beside the knight. “But it was only 120 volts! Only fifteen amperes! And I only hit him with it for a few seconds!”