King Kobold Revived wisoh-3

by Christopher Stasheff

  “Bairns do understand more than we think,” Brom rumbled, “if we are but open with them.” He frowned at the peasants. “And what dost thou gape at, village fools? Hast never seen a babe afore?”

  The men gave a start and glanced at Rod guiltily; but the women sighed, and one of them said to Gwen, “Now, bless thee, lady! Praise Heaven mine were only common babes!”

  “Certes, they tried thee as sorely as ever mine try me,” Gwen answered, amused. “I have, after all, some powers to use in dealing with him. Yet bless thee for thy wishes, good-wife.”

  One of the guardsmen stepped into the tent. “Milords, His Majesty doth ask that thou attend upon him.”

  Brom looked up, frowning. “What coil’s this?”

  “Word hath flown from witch to witch, milord. A dragon ship doth sail toward Bourbon.”

  Half an hour later, while the main army was still striking its tents and packing up, the Flying Legion cantered up out of the valley and struck off toward the east. Rod rode at their head, with Toby the teenage warlock beside him. “I didn’t have time for the full report, Toby. Who spotted the beastmen?”

  “Matilda, milord. She and Marion, her sister, flew to the east to dwell within a cottage on a cliff-top that Lord Hapsburg built for them—all as His Majesty commanded.”

  Rod nodded. “And they take turns just sitting and listening for strange thoughts, right?”

  Toby nodded. “Even as His Majesty did command—an hour listening, then an hour doing other things, then an hour listening again.” He glanced at Rod out of the corner of his eye. “ ‘Twas thou who didst bid His Majesty so instruct us, was it not?”

  Rod frowned and shook his head. “What would I know about hearing thoughts, Toby? It was Gwen’s idea. So, who heard the beastman-thoughts—the one who was on duty, or both of them?”

  “The one who was ‘off-duty,’ Lord Warlock. She slept, and waked screaming.”

  “The one who slept?” Rod stared. Then he nodded slowly. “Well, I suppose it makes sense. Maybe her telepathic sensitivity gets a boost when she’s asleep.”

  “We do seem to have dreams that are not our own,” Toby admitted.

  “Really! Hm! Wish I’d known that—might’ve come in handy.”

  “Cannot Gwendylon hear thy thoughts when she doth sleep?” Toby asked carefully.

  Rod shook his head. “Neither asleep nor awake. I seem to be telepathically invisible.” His tone was carefully neutral, hiding his feelings nicely. He tried not to think about it; it made him feel inferior to Gwen. “What did Matilda dream?”

  “She dreamt that she pulled an oar aboard a dragon ship, and heard the chieftains speaking of old gods which they used to worship, and a new god which they worship now. Yet all of it was without words, and the new god seemed somehow monstrous, though there was no picture of it.”

  “Well, that’s not surprising. Haven’t you ever had that flash of thought, the whole concept suddenly clear, before you get around to putting it into words?”

  Toby frowned. “I have indeed, though I had not thought of it. And the thought Matilda heard lasted no longer than such a flash.”

  “Really?” Rod pricked up his mental ears. “Odd, that. Was there a strong emotion under it?”

  Toby nodded. “Very strong; a surge of fear and dread. The beastman’s soul, for a second, did clamor toward the sky and the old gods. Then he realized what he did, and the thought ended. Yet it was enough to waken Matilda, and waken her screaming.”

  “Small wonder; I’d wake up halfway out of the room. But it tells us a lot.”

  “Aye. It tells us beastmen draw near the eastern coast.”

  “Well, a bit more than that. It tells us the beastmen have a religion. So far, we didn’t even have any reason to think they had souls.”

  “I had not thought of that,” Toby admitted.

  “It also tells us that they’ve just had a conversion, and at least one of the converts wasn’t exactly wholehearted about it. Wonder who the new god is? And what kinds of methods his missionaries use…” Rod was remembering Constantine’s baptism and a new shirt, or death. “But more importantly, it tells us the beastmen’s thoughts can be heard when there are very strong emotions behind them—and gives us some reason to think they may be able to hide their thoughts deliberately.”

  Toby frowned. “Why, how is that?”

  “Because you said the thought ended just after the beast-man realized what he was doing. That means either that he deliberately hid his thoughts somehow, or that his thoughts can only be read when he’s at an emotional peak.”

  “Why, that is so!” Toby looked up at Rod wide-eyed.

  Rod squirmed; he hated hero worship, especially when it was directed at him. It made a man feel so responsible… “Of the two, I’d guess they can hide their thoughts. There must’ve been some sort of strong emotion in them when they sacked the Loguire coast, but no witches heard them.”

  “But would not a one of them have let slip a thought in the heat of battle?”

  Rod nodded. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? So maybe it’s the other way around; maybe their thoughts can only be read when they’re pushing them out. That surge of thought Matilda picked up sounds like a prayer—and a prayer is deliberately aimed away from yourself; you’re trying to reach someone else with that kind of thought.”

  “Then, let us be glad there is one strong believer amongst them.”

  “Yes, and that the old gods happened to be out of sight at the moment and needed a strong push behind a prayer if it was going to reach them.”

  “But how could a god be in sight?” Toby looked puzzled. “They are naught but dreams.”

  “Point well-taken,” Rod admitted, “but the beastmen might not know that yet. Especially if they’ve got an idol… Hm! Now you’ve got me wondering…”

  “About what, Lord Warlock?”

  “About their new god. I wonder just how new he is? What he wants his worshippers to do?”

  Toby’s eyes suddenly lost focus. “Lord Warlock… word from Marion… the dragon ship hath shown no sign of turning in toward shore. It sails on past Bourbon…” He frowned a second in concentration, probably his equivalent of, “Acknowledged; that’s a copy,” then turned back to Rod. “The beastmen sail on, northward.”

  “Then, we’ll head north too. Sergeant!” Rod called back over his shoulder. “Turn left at the next crossroad!” He turned back to Toby. “Send word to His Majesty.”

  “Aye, Lord Warlock.” Toby’s eyes lost focus again. Rod watched him in silence for a few minutes, till the young warlock’s eyes cleared again. He turned to Rod with a half-smile. “His Majesty turns the main army northward. He is quite pleased with his new way of sending messages betwixt the parts of an army.‘’

  “I should think he would be. Any medieval commander would’ve given his right arm for an advantage like that. You know, Toby, when this is all over I’ll bet His Majesty tries to set up a permanent witch-and-warlock network—only for royal messages, of course.”

  Toby frowned. “That is not wholly a happy thought, Lord Warlock.”

  “No, neither for you, nor for the general population. Though you must admit it would guarantee you full employment.”

  “Fuller than I wish, I doubt not.”

  “Well, that’s a point. It is nice to be able to keep the workday down to eight hours—and it’s even nicer to have some choice as to whether or not you’re going to take the job in the first place. No, it’s okay for an emergency, but we definitely shouldn’t encourage this kind of thing during peacetime.”

  “Save for thy messages, of course,” Toby said with his tongue in his cheek.

  “Well, of course. But that’s a different case, isn’t it? I mean, I’m almost a member of the tribe.”

  “By marriage,” Toby agreed. “Aye, when all’s said and done, thou art a warlock.”

  Rod opened his mouth to deny it, thought what would happen if he did, and closed his mouth again.

  The su
n was only a red glow behind Rod’s right shoulder as he rode down the winding road toward the Romanov beach. “No faster than a trot, Sergeant! Let these folk by! We’re here to defend them, not trample them!”

  Peasants thronged the road, with huge packs on their backs and handcarts behind them, hauling their few household goods. Rod swore. “They’d take their whole cottages if they could! Well, at least they’re not stampeding. Here’s the real evidence of the good you’ve done, Toby.”

  “How so, Lord Warlock?” Toby reined his horse over to let the peasants pass by.

  “Because they’ve got time to evacuate, thanks to the Magic Early Warning system. They even had time to pack up before they started fleeing!”

  The Flying Legion swerved over to the side of the road, single file, following Rod’s and Toby’s example. The peasants, seeing them coming, struggled to compress their ranks and leave room for them.

  “God save the High Warlock and his legion!” a voice yelled, and the whole flowing crowd joined in a ragged cheer. The soldiers grinned and sat a little straighter in the saddle.

  “Always nice to be appreciated,” Rod observed. Toby smiled, amused.

  A hand caught Rod’s shin. He looked down into a wrinkled, yellow-eyed face rough with beard stubble. “Drive them away, Lord Warlock! Why can ye not keep ‘em from comin’?”

  “Off wi’ ye, now!” The man behind him gave the old whiner a shove. “Here’s men goin’ ‘t’ mortal danger, and you’d ask ‘em to hurry!” Rod smiled his thanks, and the younger man grinned back. “Save your worship!” He hurried on.

  “There will ever be such, will there not?” Toby said quietly.

  Rod nodded. “ ‘Save us, save us! And please arrange hotel accommodations while you’re doing it!’ But there’ll always be the ones behind them too, who tell ‘em to shut up and let us get on about our business.”

  They struggled on through the crowd. The peasants streamed by, and they came out onto the beach while the sky still glowed with dusk. A hundred nervous men looked up at the sound of hoofbeats, and raised a frantic cheer. Rod grinned and waved, muttering under his breath, “Gallop, Fess. Make it look good. Pick out their officer and stop on a penny next to him.”

  The black steel horse leapt into a gallop and thundered around in a curve, pulling up beside a cloaked horseman in plate armor. “Hail, Sir Knight! I am Rod Gallowglass, Lord High Warlock, and these men are His Majesty’s Flying Legion.”

  “Thou art well come indeed!” cried the knight. “Now, praised be King Tuan for your coming!” Which was pretty good, considering that only three years ago this man must’ve been riding behind his lord, Duke Romanov, against the royal army, such as it had been. “I am Sir Styenkov.”

  “We’re just reinforcements,” Rod assured. “I don’t want to upset your battle plan; we’ll just fall in beside you. What’d you planned?”

  “What could I, with only an hundred?” The knight spread his hands helplessly. “ ‘Tis all that Their Majesties allow us to keep under arms—God save them, ’tis generous to allow even that! But what can they do? Draw up in a line, and wait.”

  “I suppose so. But I’ve got two hundred more behind me. And yours are veterans, aren’t they?”

  Styenkov nodded. “All fought in the rebellion, aye. They are not like to break and flee.”

  “Then draw ‘em back up the beach as far as you can, and let ‘em wait. There’s only one dragon ship; at least, the witches haven’t said anything about there being more than one.” He frowned at the thought. “Hm. I’ve been careless. Toby!”

  “Aye, Lord Warlock.”

  “Has anyone done a flyby on the raiders? Actually flown over them, to see how many there are?”

  Toby’s eyes lost focus for a minute; then they cleared, and he shook his head. “Nay, milord. None ha’ thought to do so.”

  “Then do it, okay?”

  “Aye, milord!” Toby sprang up into the air like a javelin trying for a new record, and disappeared into the low-hanging clouds. Sir Styenkov stared after him, open-mouthed. Rod turned to follow his gaze. “Hm. Yeah, that could be a problem, couldn’t it?”

  “Only for the beastmen! What fabulous force hast thou assembled, Lord Warlock?”

  “Oh, you mean Toby? No, he’s the only one with me; the rest are normal. Picked veterans, every one of ‘em, but normal.” Rod wondered how true that could be of any native of Gramarye. “No, I was talking about the clouds.”

  “Oh.” For the first time, Styenkov seemed to notice the overcast. “Aye, those clouds look sullen. Well, I’ve fought in rain aforetimes.”

  “Me too, and it was a thoroughly nasty business. Still, we can’t exactly send out an emissary and ask the beastmen to come back on a clear day, can we? But we might manage a different kind of surprise for them. If you pull your men way back, Sir Styenkov, and mine hide behind those rocks, over there”—he gestured toward an outcrop over to his left—“and behind that shrubbery”—he pointed to a line of trees on the right, that grew down almost to the water’s edge.

  Sir Styenkov’s eyes lighted. “Then the beastmen will charge up to hack at my men, and yours may close upon them, like to the jaws of a vise!”

  “Before they get to your men,” Rod added. “Though, of course, when they see this beach with good cover at each side, they might smell a trap and decide to go look for easier game.”

  “I would not object to that…”

  A gust of wind fanned Rod’s cheek, and Toby said, “There is only the one of them, Lord Warlock.”

  Sir Styenkov nearly swallowed his beard.

  “He has to fly out there because he doesn’t know where he’s going,” Rod explained. “But when he wants to come back he knows where it is, so he can teleport. It’s faster that way.” He turned to Toby. “How many men?”

  “An hundred on deck. There may be more below—but I think not; their ship is small.”

  “It would have been an even fight without us,” Rod observed. “Still, maybe my men can make things move a little faster, save a few lives, things like that.”

  “Touching that.” Sir Styenkov scratched his nose. “Shall we take prisoners?”

  “Huh?” Rod reflected that Sir Styenkov’s mood had certainly improved. “Take prisoners? Of course!”

  Sir Styenkov nodded. “I had thought so. Thou dost need information, and wish to set them talking, dost thou not?”

  “Well, that too,” Rod agreed. “But mostly, I want to find out if they can talk. How far off shore were they, Toby?”

  “Mayhap half a mile, milord.”

  “That sounds like time to get into position.” Rod strode off toward his troops, bawling, “Places, everyone!”

  As he came up to the Flying Legion, he noticed the locals pulling back up the beach. Good; Sir Styenkov wasn’t too overconfident. “Sir Lionel! Sir Hampden!”

  “Aye, milord,” his lieutenants answered in chorus.

  “Sir Lionel, take your hundred over to that outcrop of rocks and hide them. Sir Hampden, take yours over to that line of trees. Charge out to fall upon the enemy when you hear the pipes.”

  “Aye, milord!” And the two lieutenants turned away, bawling orders to their sergeants. The sergeants started bellowing before the lieutenants had quite finished, and the beach filled with yells and the tramp of troops. In five minutes, it was clear. Rod turned, grinning, to wave to Sir Styenkov; then he turned and loped across the beach to the rock outcrop.

  The beach lay empty, waiting. Tiny drops began to fall, scarcely more than a mist. Sir Styenkov’s soldiers shifted nervously, muttering to one another. Rod heard a few whispers here and there among his own troops. “Hear any thoughts, Toby?”

  “Nay, Lord Warlock.” Toby’s eyes were unfocused, watching the landscape of the mind rather than the world around him. “Whoever sent that one prayer, prays no longer.”

  “Then, there’s no way of telling how close they are. Can’t be long now, though.”

  In the distance, thunder rumbled
.

  Then it came, gliding out of the mist with muted splashing—a tall, gaunt serpent, mouth wide in a snarl, wicked horns probing from its forehead. Shadowy figures moved on its back.

  Rod held his breath.

  The dragon drove up onto the beach, slowing to a stop with the grinding of sand against wood. Beastmen began to drop off its back—squat, hulking, helmeted shapes, with round shields covering their torsos and heavy, double-bladed axes in their hands.

  Rod squinted, trying to make out details through the rain, but it was no use. He could scarcely see more than a silhouette.

  “Let me fight, Lord Warlock,” Toby hissed in his ear.

  Rod whirled, pressing a finger to his lips and shaking his head with a furious scowl. Confound the kid, did he want to give away the whole ambush? Rod could’ve sworn his lieutenants could’ve heard that whisper a hundred yards away in the tree line. He wished Toby could read his mind—but he had to settle for a glare and a head-shake. The lad’s juvenile male hormones were getting the better of him, urging him on to glory and an early funeral. Which was his own business—but Rod’s business was making sure Toby’d still be alive afterwards for his main assignment. Which would be more than dangerous enough.

  The young man stepped back, smoldering.

  Rod turned back to the beach just as the beastmen saw Styenkov’s soldiers. Whatever they yelled to each other was lost in a rumble of thunder, but they quickly scuttled into place, pulling themselves into a rough semblance of a line. Then they began to move forward slowly.

  One or two of Styenkov’s soldiers began to march toward the beastmen. He shouted them back into line. Good man. The rest of his men brandished their pikes, waiting for the enemy.

  The beastmen were halfway up the beach now. Rod could hear a low rumble as they called to one another. They were beginning to realize something was wrong; their tone was one of alarm, and their advance was grinding down to a halt. What was tipping Rod’s hand? He darted a glance at Styenkov’s soldiers, then looked again. Here and there, a man had straightened up a little, pike drooping—and stood frozen at a completely improbable angle. Rod realized they were the ones who had forgotten the standing order and had looked the enemy square in the eye. Now they were temporary statues, frozen by the Evil Eye.