“Use it. First…”
A sudden shock shook Rod. “Hold it. It’s using me.”
“For what!”
“I don’t know… No, I do. It’s Lord Kern, and he’s not a telepath, but I’m getting the bottom level of what he’s going through. He just used me for a beacon, and he’s drawing on me in some way, to teleport a chunk of his army in…” He convulsed again. “Another chunk of infantry…Cavalry… archers… they’re all here now, very close by… Now he’s done with me.”
“Do you still have his power?”
Rod nodded.
“Wake your family.”
Rod didn’t try to slide into Geoff’s mind; he just willed him awake, pushing a bit of power into him to throw off the effects of the drug. The little boy yawned and stretched, and looked up at his father with a sleepy smile. Then his eyes shot wide open, and he scrambled to his feet.
Rod reached over to grasp his shoulder. “It’s okay, son. I’m still me. Now I’ve got to wake your brother and sister. Find them for me.”
Geoff gulped, paling, and squeezed his eyes shut. It was almost as though Rod could see the line of his thought, arrowing off through the stone wall. He turned his eyes that way, glaring up at the ceiling, pushing power out to his family and willing them awake.
“They awake.” Geoff’s voice was hushed and subdued. Father Al gathered him in.
“Are they chained?”
“No, Papa. They were asleep.”
“Then tell them to meet us at the stairwell. We’re going to find Elidor.”
“How, Papa?” Geoff held up his manacle.
Rod glared at the iron cuff, and it shattered. Geoff screamed and cowered back against Father Al. Rod glared at his other wrist, and the iron shattered again.
Slowly, Father Al held up his own wrists, side by side. The manacles shattered. Then Rod pushed his arms straight forward, and his manacles crumbled. He stood up, very slowly, keeping his body very straight; he felt as though his head were swollen, his face two feet in front of itself. “Guide me, Father. I can’t feel the floor.”
And he couldn’t—he could feel nothing but the tremendous, vibrating power that filled him, the towering rage that he fought to contain. He reached out to grasp the priest’s arm, and Father Al gasped. Rod lightened his hold, and the priest guided him slowly toward the door. Geoffrey followed, eyes huge.
They paused at the huge oaken panel. The lock erupted in a cloud of wood-dust; when it settled, they saw the lock twisted half-out of the door. Rod kicked it open and staggered out into the hall. Father Al scurried along, holding him up, bracing him. Rod’s head was beginning to ache now, with a savage throbbing. They moved toward the stairway.
There were a handful of guards at the iron gate. They looked up, saw Rod coming, stared, then caught up their pikes.
The iron gate suddenly wrenched itself out of shape, and the pikestaves exploded into flame. The soldiers shrieked and dropped their weapons, and spun toward the oaken door behind the gate—as it exploded into flame, too. They fell back, howling, as the center of the door blew out, scattering burning wood through the passage.
“I didn’t do that,” Rod croaked, “any of it.”
And Gwen stalked through the door, surrounded by flame, eyes burning in wrath, coming to claim her man. Magnus and Cordelia leaped up on each side of her, faces flint, hounds of war.
She saw him coming, and the anger hooded itself. She came to him, caught his arm. “Husband—what hath thee?”
“Power,” he croaked. “Lead me.”
Up the stairwell, then, and through the halls. Soldiers came running, shouting, pikes at the ready. A huge invisible fist slammed them back against the walls. Courtiers leaped out with swords arcing down; something spun them aside and threw them down. The family stepped over their bodies, advancing.
They climbed the Keep. On the last step, Magnus suddenly screamed in rage and disappeared. Geoff yelled and disappeared after him.
“Where’ve they gone?” Rod grated.
“To the King’s chamber!”, Gwen’s fingers tightened on his arm. “Hurry! Duke Foidin seeks to slay Elidor!”
Rod grabbed Cordelia’s arm and closed his eyes, swaying, concentrating. The ache pounded in his temples; blood roared in his ears and, behind it, a singing…
He felt a jolt, and opened his eyes.
He stood in a richly-furnished room, with an Oriental carpet and tapestried hangings. A huge, canopied bed stood against the far wall, with Elidor huddled against the headboard. Near it, under a tall slit of a window, stood a cradle.
The Duke stood before the bed with his sword drawn. Between it and Elidor, Geoff and Magnus wove like cobras, fencing madly against the Duke. He roared, laying about him with huge sweeps of his sword, maddened at not being able to touch them.
Elidor uncurled and plunged a hand under the featherbed, snatching out a dagger.
A huge blue face appeared at the window, and a blue arm with iron nails poked through, groping toward the cradle.
Cordelia shrieked, and the hag’s arm suddenly twisted. It bellowed, and Geoff looked up, startled, then whirled away to the cradle, to thrust up at the monster. With a howl of glee, it scooped him up. Geoff wailed, suddenly only a very frightened three-year-old, struggling madly.
“Aroint thee!” Gwen screamed, and the monster’s arm snapped down against the window ledge with a crack like a gunshot. The hag shrieked, but her hold on Geoffrey tightened; his face was reddening too much. Then the blue face fell back, and the hand yanked Geoffrey out of the window.
Rod leaped to the window and bent out, looking down.
Below him, the hag scuttled down the wall of the keep, like a spider, waving Geoffrey in the air. Rod’s eyes narrowed, and the cold rage that filled him left no room for pity. Suddenly, the hag’s arm twisted, and twisted again, ripping free from her shoulder. Her screams drilled through Rod’s head as she fell, turning over and over, to slam into the ground.
But her arm floated high in the air, with Geoffrey.
Then Gwen was beside Rod, staring at the huge blue hand. One by one, the fingers peeled back, opening, and Geoffrey floated up toward them, cradled by his mother’s thoughts, sobbing.
Rod didn’t stay to see the rest; his younger boy was safe, but the oldest wasn’t. He turned, deliberately, cold glare transferring to the Duke.
Duke Foidin still fought; but he fenced with a gloating grin, for Magnus was tiring. His parries were slower, his ripostes later. The Duke slashed at his head, and Magnus ducked—and tripped on the carpet’s edge, falling forward. The Duke roared with savage satisfaction and chopped down at Magnus.
His arm yanked back hard, slamming him against the wall; he screamed. Then he looked up into Rod’s eyes, and dread seeped into his face. Rod’s eyes narrowed, and the Duke’s body rocked with a sudden, muffled explosion. The color drained out of his face as his head tilted back, eyes rolling up; then he crumpled to the floor.
“What hast thou done?” Gwen murmured into the sudden silence.
“Exploded his heart,” Rod muttered.
A scream erupted from the cradle.
Gwen ran over to it, scooped up the baby. “There, there, now, love, shhh. ‘Tis well, ‘tis well; none here would hurt thee, and thy mother shall come presently to claim thee.” She looked up at Rod. “Praise Heaven we came!”
Father Al nodded. “The Duke’s sentries must have told him Lord Kern was virtually at his gate—so he tried to kill Elidor, in spite.”
“And would’ve gone on to kill the baby!” Suddenly, the anger soared up in Rod again, bulging him out, shaking him like a gale—and Father Al was there beside him, shaking his shoulders and crying, “The deed is done, the Duke’s dead! Elidor’s safe, the baby is safe, your children are safe! All the children are safe—and you are Lord Gallowglass, not Lord Kern! You are Rod Gallowglass, Rodney d’Armand, transported here from Gramarye, in another universe—and by science, not magic. You are Rod Gallowglass!”
Slowly, Rod felt the anger beginning to ebb, the Power to fade. It slackened, and was gone—and he tottered, his brain suddenly clouded; stars shot through the room.