“Thank Heaven,” Rod sighed. “I don’t think they’d be very easy to send home, just now.”
“Your children have become intrigued.”
“Children, my eye! It’s Gwen I’m worried about—her dander’s up!”
Fess was silent.
Rod frowned at the lack of response; then his mouth tightened. “All right, what am I missing?”
The robot hesitated, then answered, “I don’t think they trust you out alone, Rod.”
3
We’re getting pretty close to the Romanov border now, aren’t we?”
“Aye, my lord. Tis mayhap a day’s journey further.” Gwen was holding up bravely, but she did seem tired.
Rod frowned. “Look—they know we’re coming; there’s no point in keeping our disguise. Why’re we still walking?”
“To save fright, Papa,” Gregory looked down at his father, from his seat on Fess’s pack. “If the good peasant folk see us flying north, they would surely take alarm.”
Rod stared at his youngest for a moment, then turned to Gwen. “How old did you say he was? Three, going on what?”
But Gwen frowned suddenly, and held up a hand. “Hist!”
Rod frowned back. “The same to you.”
“Nay, nay, my lord! ‘Tis danger! Good folk come, but flee toward us in full terror!”
Rod’s face went neutral. “What’s chasing them?”
Gwen shook her head. “I cannot tell. ‘Tis human, for I sense the presence—yet there’s a blank where minds should be.”
Rod noted the plural. “All right, let’s prepare for the worst.” He put two fingers to his mouth, and blasted out a shrill whistle.
Like tandem firecrackers, Magnus and Geoffrey popped out of nowhere, and Cordelia swooped down to hover behind them. “Why didst thou not but think for us, Papa?” Magnus inquired.
“Because we’re up against an enemy that can hear thoughts farther than whistles. All right, kids, we’ve got to set up an ambush. I want each of you high up in a tree, doing your best imitation of a section of bark. Your mother and I’ll take the ground. When the enemy shows up, hit ‘em with everything you’ve got.”
“What enemy, Papa?”
“Listen for yourself. Mama says it’s human, but nothing more.”
All four children went glassy-eyed for a moment, then came out of their trances with one simultaneous shudder. “ ‘Tis horrible,” Cordelia whispered. “‘Tis there, but—‘tis not!”
“You’ll know it when you see it,” Rod said grimly, “and just in case you don’t, I’ll think ‘Havoc!’ as loudly as I can. Now, scoot!”
They disappeared with three pops and a whoosh. Looking up, Rod spotted three treetops suddenly swaying against the wind, and saw Cordelia soar into a fourth. “Which side of the road do you want, dear?”
Gwen shrugged. “Both sides are alike to me, my lord.”
“What do you think you are, a candidate? Okay, you disappear to the east, and I’ll fade into the left. I keep trying, anyway.”
Gwen nodded, and squeezed his hand quickly before she sped off the road. Leaves closed behind her. Rod stayed a moment, staring north and wondering; then he turned to the underbrush, muttering, “Head north about ten yards, Fess.”
The robot sprang into a gallop, and almost immediately turned off the road onto Rod’s side.
The leaves closed behind him, and Rod turned to face the roadway, peering through foliage. He knelt, and let his body settle, breathing in a careful rhythm, watching the dust settle.
Then, around the curve of the roadway, they came—a dozen dusty peasants with small backpacks and haunted faces. They kept glancing back over their shoulders. The tallest of them suddenly called out, jerked to a halt. The others hurried back to him, calling over their shoulders to their wives, “Go! Flee!” But the women hesitated, glancing longingly at the road south, then back at their husbands. The men turned their backs and faced north, toward the enemy, each holding a quarterstaff at guard position, slantwise across his body. The women stared at them, horrified.
Then, with a wail, one young wife turned, hugging her baby, and hurried away southward. The others stared after her; then, one by one, they began to shoo their children away down the road.
Then the men-at-arms strode into sight.
Rod tensed, thinking, “Ready!” with all his force.
They wore brown leggings with dark green coats down to midthigh, and steel helmets. Each carried a pike, and a saffron badge gleamed on every breast. It was definitely a uniform, and one Rod had never seen before.
The soldiers saw the peasants, gave a shout, and charged, pikes dropping down level.
Rod thought the word with all his might, as he muttered it to Fess: “Havoc!”
He couldn’t have timed it better. Fess leaped out of the underbrush and reared, with a whinnying scream, just as the last soldiers passed him. They whirled about, alarmed, as did most of their mates—and Rod leaped up on the roadway between peasants and soldiers, sword flickering out to stab through a shoulder, then leaping back out to dart at another footman even as the first screamed, staggering backward. Two soldiers in the middle of the band shot into the air with howls of terror, and slammed back down onto their mates, as a shower of rocks struck steel helmets hard enough to stagger soldiers, and send them reeling to the ground.
Rod threw himself into a full lunge, skewering a third soldier’s thigh, as he shouted to the peasants, “Now! Here’s your chance! Fall on ‘em, and beat the hell out of ‘em!”
Then a pike-butt crashed into his chin and he spun backward, vision darkening and shot through with sparks; but a roar filled his ears and, as his sight cleared, he saw the peasant men slamming into the soldiers, staves rising and falling with a rhythm of mayhem.
Rod gasped, and staggered back toward them; there was no need for killing!
Then another thought nudged through: they needed prisoners, for information.
He blundered in among the peasants, took one quick glance at the remains of the melee, and gasped, “Stop! There’s no need… They don’t deserve…”
“Thou hast not seen what they’ve done,” the peasant next to him growled.
“No, but I intend to find out! Look! They’re all down, and some of ‘em may be dead already! Stand back, and leave them to me!”
A rough hand grasped his shoulder and spun him around. “I’ truth? And who art thou to command, thou who hast not lost blood to these wolves?”
Rod’s eyes narrowed. He straightened slowly, and knocked the man’s hand away with a sudden chop. It was ridiculous, and really shouldn’t have made any difference to anybody—but it would work; it’d get their cooperation. “I am the High Warlock, Rod Gallowglass, and it is due to my magic and my family’s, that you men stand here victorious, instead of sprawling as buzzard’s meat!”
He didn’t have to add the threat; the man’s eyes widened, and he dropped to one knee. “Your pardon, Lord! I… I had not meant…”
“No, of course you didn’t. How could you tell, when I’m dressed as a tinker?” Rod looked around to find all the peasants kneeling. “All right, that’s enough! Are you men or pawns, that you must kneel? Rise, and bind these animals for me!”
“On the instant, milord!” The peasants leaped to their feet, and turned to begin lashing up the soldiers with their own belts and garters. Rod caught the belligerent one by the shoulder. “How are you called?”
Apprehension washed his face, and he tugged at his forelock. “Grathum, an it please thee, milord.”
Rod shrugged. “Whether or not it pleases you, is a bit more important. Grathum, go after the women, and tell them the good news, will you?”
The man stared, realization sinking in. “At once, your lordship!” And he sped away.
Rod surveyed the knot-tying party and, satisfied everything was well under way with the minimum of vengeful brutality, glanced up at the trees and thought, Wonderful, children! I’m a very proud daddy!
The branches waved slightly in answer. Rod could have bent his mind to it, and read their thoughts in return; but it still involved major effort for him, and he couldn’t spare the concentration just now. But he turned toward the underbrush, and thought, Thanks, dear. It was nice to see you throwing somebody else’s weight around for a change.