"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, lady," Puck said with a smile.
"Spymaster." Alea frowned. "Don't tell me you have word of a rebellion already?"
"I do indeed," Puck said, and turned to Magnus. "Men from all over the land are indeed trooping toward Runnymede, their scythes and flails over their shoulders. It is as it was the year before you were born, wizard."
"Let us hope we can detour them before it comes to battle, then," Magnus said.
"So many in company will not be deterred long by any of my pranks," Puck said grimly.
"No, but there are other ways. See if the Wee Folk can learn who the leaders are, will you, Puck?"
"We shall have you a list ere long," Puck said, "but I think you would be wiser simply to track their movements and prepare for battle "
"I would never argue with the oldest of the Old Things," Magnus said slowly, "but I must try persuasion first."
"You will pit yourself against masters."
"Oh, he's no mean adept himself," Alea said.
Puck turned to her in surprise. "I hope you speak from your own experience, lady!"
Alea stared at him a moment, then dropped her gaze, blushing again. "I'm afraid not—but I've certainly witnessed his efforts. The man could charm a pitful of snakes!"
"Let us hope," Puck said darkly, "that he can charm a field full of angry peasants."
AFTER SUPPER THAT evening and before the usual entertainments began, Magnus was able to take Cordelia aside for a few minutes' talk. After listening to a glowing report on the baby princess's progress, he said, "Let us hope she will remain so bright and sunny even if she has a little brother."
"What, one for Alain, and one for me?" Cordelia smiled, amused. "I hope we shall have more children than two!"
"Yes, I've always thought four was the right number, myself."
"Because there were four of us? Still, I would have liked to have had a sister—as now I do!"
"Quicksilver certainly seems to be completely in sympathy with you," Magnus said, amused.
Cordelia started to speak of Allouette but caught herself in time.
"You have another brother now, too," Magnus reminded her, "though I suspect you rarely see Diarmid."
"Rarely indeed, since he was sent to administer the duchy," Cordelia said. "Still, he is pleasant enough when he is here, once you grow accustomed to his quiet ways."
"Surely you are accustomed already, having grown up with Gregory." Magnus frowned. "Or is Diarmid more quiet than ever these days?"
"If we saw him, we well might find him so," Cordelia said, "for I understand he has to judge his first capital case and is rather upset about it."
"Surely it would give him an excuse to delve into some other old books!"
"Perhaps," Cordelia said, "but the verdict seems clear enough, and I doubt that any moldy old volumes will show him any excuse to pardon the young man. He was caught poaching, after all—more than one of the royal deer—and Diarmid is not looking forward to carrying out the sentence. Still, he knows that, as duke, he must witness the hanging."
"The poor fellow!"
"Which," Cordelia asked, "Diarmid or the felon?"
"Both. I trust Diarmid can postpone the matter for some months."
"Alas, he cannot," Cordelia said. "The young man must hang in four days." She shuddered and looked away, then brightened. "Look, the jugglers are about to begin! Let us watch and think of happier events!"
Magnus went with her, thinking furiously how he could manage to travel to Loguire to plead the young poacher's case while he was trying to find a way to forestall a peasant rebellion.
THE CLEARING WAS wide enough for Rod to see a few stars between the tree-tops. He had pitched his tent in the center, the better to see anyone—or anything—approaching. So far, though, the night had been quiet, only the chirring of insects around him and, in the woods, the odd howl or shriek of the night-hunters or their quarry.
Rod plucked his harp, gazing into the campfire and letting his thoughts wander as he tried to pin down the cause of his vague unease. It could just be a quirk in his brain chemistry, of course, but he doubted that. Better to rale out events in the kingdom—but he couldn't think what they would be. He reviewed recent happenings, then let them sort themselves at the back of his mind while he tried an old folk song; maybe the odd correlation would make itself if he didn't try to work it out by logic.
"As I was a-walking one morning in May, To hear the birds whistle, see …"
He broke off, alerted by some change in the night's sounds. Whoever was coming was very good—Rod couldn't hear his steps at all, only track him by insects falling silent around him, then starting their concert again when he was past. Rod opened his mind to scan and was doubly alerted by emptiness, the lack of mental activity of a shielded mind.
Strumming, he turned to his left just a little and made out the silhouette blocking the stars, a silhouette in the shape of a head. Whoever it was, he or she was very tall. He smiled, letting the strings fall silent. Sure enough, the voice came out of the darkness: "A new song, Dad."
"New to you, yes, son. I don't suppose I've played it since you were a toddler."
Gwen sitting on a blanket spread over meadow grass with a picnic basket beside her, arms outstretched to the tow-headed toddler who was having great fun being obstinate about coming to her…
Rod winced at the pain of the memory of happiness and put it aside, sure he could recall it when he wanted. He concentrated on the living son who was here, allaying the ache of longing for the wife who wasn't. "Your stalking has improved; you're excellent now."
"I can't be, if you knew I was there." Magnus stepped into the firelight.
"Ah, well, you forget that I'm an excellent sentry." Rod moved over on the log. "Sit down and have a bite." He nodded toward the kettle of stew that hung near the fire.
"Thank you." Magnus took a bowl from Rod's pack and ladled it full, then brought it back to sit beside his father, toying with the spoon, then sampling the food and nodding approval.
Rod smiled, amused; he knew his own culinary limitations. "Someone taught you good manners."
Gwen, thirty-two and smiling as she showed her little boy how to hold his spoon, while his baby sister napped in her cradle ...
The deep voice of the grown Magnus pulled him from the memory. "I just happened to be in the neighborhood."
Rod gazed at the huge dark man who had somehow grown out of that blond two-foot toddler and blinked his eyes clear. "Yes, I understand you have friends living down this way."
"Kin, actually." Magnus turned his gaze to the fire, frowning. "I suppose they are, now that Cordelia's married."
"Kin?" Rod frowned, then remembered Alain's uncle and smiled. "Well, the king may be your sister's father-in-law, but I'm not sure that makes his brother Anselm your uncle-in-law."
"A relative of an old family friend, then?"
"Yes, but I'm sure his feelings toward me aren't friendly."
"Because you were the key to defeating his rebellion? Or because you counselled mercy for him?"
"Both." Rod looked more closely at his son. "Not that you were coming to visit him—or is there trouble in the south?"
"There's trouble in all quarters of the land, Dad," Magnus sighed, "but only vague mutters of discontent—nothing I can really pin down."
So he needed to talk about threats to the Crown. Rod felt oddly flattered, even though it was a little disappointing that his son hadn't sought him out simply for company.
On the other hand, it was nice to know Magnus hadn't come to check up on his delusional parent.