The Warlock Enraged

by Christopher Stasheff

  Rod frowned.

  Simon lifted his head with a jolt and gave it a quick shake. “Nay, pardon! My mind wanders. Had it not been for thee, these liveried bandits would have stripped me bare—and sin’ that there were no shillings for them to find…”

  Rod’s mouth thinned and hardened. “They probably would have stripped you down to your skin, then used their knives to look for pockets.”

  “I do not doubt it.” Simon turned toward the soldiers. “Yet ‘tis not their doing. They labor under a wicked enchantment. Come, we must attend to them.” And he turned away, to kneel down by one of the troopers, leaving Rod with a puzzled frown. That had been rather abrupt—and, polite though he was, Simon had very obviously been trying to change the subject. What had he suddenly seen in Rod, that had so offended him? “Odd victim we have, here,” he muttered.

  “Odd indeed,” Fess agreed. “To judge by his vocabulary and bearing, one would think him too well-qualified to be a road wanderer.”

  Rod lifted his head slowly. “Interesting point…Well, let’s give him a hand.” He lashed the reins around the top bar of the cart and swung down to the ground.

  Simon was kneeling by the sergeant, hand on the man’s shoulder, but still holding to his staff with the other. He stared into the man’s face, frowning, head cocked to the side, as though he were listening. Rod started to ask, then saw the abstracted glaze in Simon’s eyes, and managed to shut his mouth in time to keep the words in. He’d seen that same look in Gwen’s face too many times to mistake it—especially since he’d seen it in all his children’s faces, too, now and then—especially Gregory’s. Exactly what was going on, Rod didn’t know—but it was certainly something psionic.

  The sergeant’s eyes opened. He blinked, scowling against pain, then sat up, massaging his throat. “What hast thou…” Then his eyes widened in horror. “Nay, I! what have I done to thee?”

  Rod relaxed, reassured. The sergeant had his conscience back.

  The man’s eyes lost focus as he took a quick tour back through memory. “I have… nay, I have oppressed… I have murdered! Eh, poor folk!” He squeezed his eyes shut, face clenched in pain. “I have seen these hands cut down fleeing peasants, then steal what few coins they had! I have heard mine own voice curse at villagers, and hale forth their sons to serve in the sorcerer’s army! I have…”

  “Done naught.” Simon spoke sternly, but without anger, his voice pitched and hardened to pierce the sergeant’s remorse. “Be of good cheer, Auncient—for thou didst labor under enchantment. Whilst thy mind slumbered, ensorceled, thy body moved at the bidding of another. His commands were laid in thee, and thy body remembered, and governed its actions by his orders. Whatsoe’er thou dost recall thine hands doing, or thy voice crying, ‘twas not thine own doing, but Alfar’s.”

  The sergeant looked up, hope rising in his gaze.

  Rod held his face carefully impassive. Interesting, very interesting, that Simon knew the nature of the spell. Even more interesting, that he could break it.

  Which meant, of course, that he was a telepath. And which meant that the startled look he had given Rod, was because he saw a man before him, but didn’t sense a mind to go with it. Rod could understand his amazement; he’d felt the same way a few times, himself…

  It also raised the interesting question of how Simon had escaped Alfar’s dragnet. Or did the sorcerer routinely leave witches and warlocks free to roam about the countryside, even though they hadn’t signed up with him? Somehow, Rod doubted it.

  The sergeant gave Simon a glance up from the depths of despair. “What nonsense dost thou speak? When could so vile a spell have been laid upon me?”

  “Why, I cannot tell,” the traveler answered, “for I was not there. Yet, think—‘twas in all likelihood hard after a battle, when thou hadst been taken prisoner.”

  The sergeant’s eyes widened, and he turned away, but he was not seeing the roadside, nor the trees. “Aye, the battle… Our gallant Duke led us against the sorcerer’s vile army, and they fought poorly, advancing on us with pikes lowered, but with their gazes fixed. ‘Twas daunting, for their pikes never varied, nor the even tread of their feet; but our Duke cried, ‘Why, they are puppets! And they can do only what their master wills, when he pulls their string. Onward, brave hearts—for he cannot govern a thousand separate fights!’ And he lowered his lance, charging straight toward the foe. We took heart with a shout and followed, and ‘twas even as he said, for we had but to sidestep the pikes. Though the men behind them sought to follow, we could move faster, and step through to stab and cut. Thus the sorcerer’s army began to give ground—not through retreat, but through being forced back bodily.

  “But something vile and huge struck at us from the sky with a scream and, of a sudden, the air was filled with flying rocks. Sheets of fire enveloped our army, and we cried out in fear. Daunted, we gave ground, and the sorcerer’s troops strode after, to follow.

  “Then, of a sudden, the man in front of me turned, with a strange look in his eye—eerie and fey. ‘Turn, man!’ I cried, and stabbed past him with my pike, knocking aside a blow that would have slain him. ‘Turn, and fight for thy Duke!’ ‘Nay,’ quoth he, ‘for what hath the duke done ever, save to take from us as much, and return as little, as he might? I shall fight for the sorcerer now!’ And he raised his pike to strike at me. Yet whatever spell held him, it had slowed him. I stared in horror at what I had heard him say, then saw his pike sweeping down at me. I struck it aside; but all about me, the Duke’s soldiers in the front of the army were turning to strike at their comrades behind. In an instant, I was hard put to defend myself—yet ‘twas from men of mine own livery! Distant behind them, I saw the Duke on his tall horse, surrounded by pikes; yet those at his back, that jabbed at his armor, were held by his own men! He turned, roaring in rage, and his sword chopped in a half circle, reaping pike-heads like corn; yet a dozen sprang up for every one that fell.

  “Then, of a sudden, there was a fellow who floated in midair, above the Duke, who dropped a noose about our lord and cast loops of rope to follow it, binding his arms to his sides. He roared in anger, but the warlock shot away from him, jerking him from his horse. He crashed down below the hedge of pikes, and I cried out in despair, striking out with my own pike, blocking the blades about me; yet a heaviness crept over me. I struggled against it and, praise Heaven, felt anger rise to counter; yet even so, the heaviness grew greater and greater. I scarce seemed to feel the pike in my hands. Then all darkened about me, as though I had fallen asleep.” Slowly, he lifted his head, looking up at Simon. “I recall no more of the battle.”

  Simon nodded. “Belike thou, in thy turn, didst turn upon thy comrades behind. Yet be of good cheer; for they, belike, fell also under the spell. What else dost thou recall?”

  “Why…” The soldier turned away again, his eyes glazing. “Only brief snatches. I am mindful of marching in the midst of a troop, a thousand strong or more. The sorcerer’s livery bounded its rim, with those of us who wore the Duke’s colors within; and in our center rode our great Duke himself, his helmet gone, a bloody rag tied about his head—and his arms bound behind him!” He squeezed his eyes shut, bowing his head. “Alas, my noble lord!”

  “Buck up!” Rod reached out to clasp the man’s shoulder. “At least he’s still alive.”

  “Aye, verily! For he did glare about him, cursing!” The sergeant’s eyes glittered. “Ah, gallant Duke! Him the spell could not entrap!”

  “He’s a strong-willed man,” Rod agreed. “What else do you remember?”

  “Why… coming home.” The sergeant’s mouth tightened. “Eh, but what manner of homecoming was this? For I saw an armed band haling milord Duke away to his own dungeons. Then, with wild cheering, all soldiers turned, to welcome the sorcerer Alfar as he rode through the gates in a gilded coach—and I, I was one of them!”

  “What did he look like?” Rod demanded.

  The sergeant shook his head. “I cannot truly say. ‘Twas naught but a brief g
limpse ‘twixt the curtains of a rolling coach, as he went by. A slight man, with a flowing beard and a velvet hat. No more could I tell thee.”

  Simon nodded. “And after that?”

  “After? Why—the guardroom. And those of us who wore the Duke’s livery had no weapons. Yet we played at dice, and quaffed wine, the whiles they who wore the sorcerer’s livery took us, one by one, away, and brought us back wearing Alfar’s colors.” His face worked; he spat.

  “What happened when you were taken away?” Rod asked gently.

  The sergeant shrugged. “I went willingly; wherefore not? The sorcerer was all-wise and good; assuredly his folk could not harm me!” His mouth tightened, as though he’d tasted bitterness. “They took me, one soldier on either side, their pikes in their hands, though there was no need for such.”

  “And wither did these two take thee?”

  “To the chamber of the Captain of the Watch; yet ‘twas not he who waited there within. And I would not have known the place, for ‘twas darkened, and filled with sweet aromas. A candle burned on a table, and they sat me in a chair beside it, the whiles the door closed behind. ‘Twas all dark then, and I could see that one sat across from me; yet I could not tell his face nor colors, for they were lost in shadow. ‘Sleep,’ he bade me, ‘sleep well. Thou hast fought hard; thou hast fought bravely. Thou hast earned thy reward of slumber.‘

  Thus he spake; and truly, mine eyes did close, and darkness folded about me, and ‘twas warm and comforting.“ He looked up, blinking. ”The rest, thou hast heard. I have but now waked from that slumber. What I remember, I recall as though ‘twere a dream.”

  “What was the dream?” Rod frowned, intent. “What happened after they hyp—, uh, put your mind to sleep?”

  The sergeant shrugged. “Naught. We lazed about the guardroom for a day, mayhap two, and all the talk was of the excellence of the sorcerer, and how well-suited to the duchy would be his rule.

  “Then, of a sudden, the captain cried, ‘To horse!’ and we ran for our weapons. ‘The peasant folk flee,’ cried he. ‘They have taken to the roads; southwards they wander, to bear treacherous words to Earl Tudor and King Loguire. Out upon them, barracks scum! Out upon them, and haul them back or slay them were they stand!’ And out we rushed, to horse and to road, and away to the South we thundered, galloping, seeking poor folk to slaughter.” He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his hand over his eyes. “Alas, poor souls! What guilt was theirs? Only that they sought to shield their wives and bairns from war and evil! What fault was theirs, that earned so harsh a reward?” He lifted his gaze to the traveler, and his eyes were wide and haunted. “For we found them, a single family; and we found a dozen such, one by one; and one by one, we slew them. Our swords whirled, cleaving through blood and bone, flinging wide a spray of crimson. Then, when all the corpses lay pooling all their scarlet gore together in a single pond, we did dismount, slit their purses, and search their bodies, to carry away what few coins they had hoarded, to bear back to Alfar the sorcerer.” He buried his face in his hands. “Ay me! How shall I live, with such pictures seared upon my brain?” He turned to Rod. “But we have plunder—aye, booty rich indeed! For every peasant family had a coin or two—and we have thirty shillings! A pound, and half again! Wealth indeed, to hale home to Alfar!” He threw back his head, and howled, “A curse upon the man, and all his minions! A curse upon one who could do such evil to his fellow man! And curses, too, upon the witches who do serve him—on all witches, for surely such evil lies in all their hearts!”

  “Nay, not so!” Simon spoke sternly. “Tis only this handful of miserable recreants who do evil to their fellow men! Belike they are unable to gain fellowship of other men and women, and blame their loneliness not on themselves, but on the other folk, who do not befriend them. I doubt me not an they do tell themselves the goodfolk envy them their magic, and therefore spurn all witches. Thus do they reason out some license for themselves to steal, and lord it over other folk.”

  Rod was impressed. He hadn’t expected such insight, in an average yeoman.

  Neither had the sergeant. He stared up at Simon, wide-eyed. “How well thou dost know them!”

  “As well I should.” Simon’s mouth tightened at the corners. “For I am myself a warlock. But!” He held up a palm, to stop the sergeant’s startled oath. “But like the greater number of my fellows, I have learned the ways of hiding all my powers, and deal with other folk as well as any man. I have had a wife who was not a witch. Together, we reared children who, though they had some Power, learned well to hide it, and have grown up in the liking of their fellows. We do not seek for power; we do not seek for wealth. We have already what we most care for—the good regard of others.”

  The sergeant’s mouth went crooked. “An thou hast so deep a regard for we humble common folk, why canst thou not ward us from these evil ones?”

  “Why, so they did,” Simon answered, “those warlocks and witches who had real power. I knew one crone who was a healer—many had she mended in both mind and body; and I have known warlocks, gentle men who did speak with those whose minds were laboring in confusion, or disarranged, and led them out into the light of sanity again. But I myself?” He shrugged. “My powers were never so great. I have known warlocks who can disappear, and appear again some miles distant, and I have heard of some who can make their thoughts be heard in others’ minds—aye, even those who are not witches. But I?” He shook his head, with a sad smile. “I am none of these. I have power, aye; yet it is weak and feeble—enough to prevent my being a man, like other men, yet not enough to make me a warlock like to other warlocks. Neither fish nor flesh, I know not where to nest. Oh, I can hear what others think if they are near to me—but that is all. I did not know I could do more…” his smile hardened, “…until Alfar did bind with his spell, boys from mine own village—and they did drop their hoes, and turn to march away toward his castle, for his army, I doubt not. I ran after one, and caught him by the arm. ‘Whither dost thou go?’ I cried; but he turned sneering to me, and raised his fist, to strike me away. Yet…” and Simon’s lips curved in a small smile, “…I have some skill in arms. I fended off his blow, and struck ere he could draw his fist again, and I did stretch the poor lad senseless upon the road. And whiles he lay thus, unwillingly in slumber, I knelt beside him, frantic in my need, crying out to him, ‘Wake! Dost’a not see thou art ensorceled?’ For this was my neighbor’s son, look you, who had been my children’s playfellow. I could not stand aside to let the sorcerer take him while breath yet passed within my lungs. With every grain of my poor, puny witch power, I did seek to reach and wake his slumbering mind, where it lay ‘neath Alfar’s spell.”

  The sergeant stared at him, round-eyed. “And did he waken?”

  Simon nodded, closing his eyes. “He did. Praise Heaven, for he did. And when his body likewise woke, he sat up bewildered, for he’d no notion how he’d come to be there, lying in the midroad, half a league from home. I took him back to his father; yet I bethought me that what I could do for one, I might so hap to do for others. Thus, when any boy from our village did gain that far-off gaze and wander toward the High Road in a trance, I followed, struck him down, and woke his mind; and when the spell began to wrap itself around my neighbors’ minds also, I waited till night fell, and they slumbered, then passed from house to house, standing against the wall and seeking to wake them from their enchantments. At length I fell ill from exhaustion—but my village held, alone free from the weird.

  “And so, at last—two days agone—a warlock came himself, a meager, pimply-faced lad, but with soldiers at his back. Then I could do naught; the boys all marched away; yet, at the least, their parents saw they were compelled.”

  “Yet did the warlock not seek thee out?”

  Simon shrugged. “He did attempt it; for with a whole village yet free-minded, he knew there must needs be a witch or warlock who had prevented it. Yet as I’ve told thee, my power’s weak; I can only hear thoughts. And that I was adept at hiding wh
at little force I had. I was careful not to think of witch powers, or spell breaking; I thought only of suspicion, and how much I did resent Alfar’s dominion.” He shook his head slowly. “He could not find me; for every mind in all that hamlet thought as I did.”

  “And this was but two days agone?” the sergeant cried.

  “Two days,” Simon confirmed.

  “Then ‘tis months that thou hast held thy neighbors’ minds ‘gainst Alfar’s spell!”

  “It is. Yet in all comely truth, ‘tis not till now that Alfar’s had soldiers to spare for such an errand.”

  “Aye.” The sergeant’s face hardened again. “Yet with the Duke captured, he could spare the men, and the time—for all present threats were laid.”

  “I doubt it not. Yet I assure thee, I did tremble with relief when that warlock passed from our village.

  “Then I bethought me that I’d cheated Death quite long enow. Nay, I reasoned that I’d done my part, and had escaped thus far more by luck than skill—and, in comely truth, my daughter doth draw near to her confinement. Accordingly, I sought the better part of valor, and turned my steps southward, hoping I might break from his evil-seized, ensorceled realm into the free air of Earl Tudor’s county.”

  He turned to Rod. “And I have come near—so near! Tis but a half day’s journey now, is’t not?”

  Rod nodded. “Guards at the border, though. You’d have trouble getting across.”

  Simon smiled, amused. “Not I.”

  “Aye.” The soldier gave him an appraising glance. “Thou hast something of the look of the wild stag about thee. I doubt not an thou couldst find thy freedom through the forest trails, where no sentry’s eye doth watch.”

  “Just so. Yet I think I must not go.”

  “Nay!” The sergeant leaned forward. “Go thou must! Make good thine escape whilst thou may!”

  “And if I do? Wilt thou?”