The Warlock is Missing (13 page)

The soldiers trooped through patches of moonlight into a larger clearing nearby and brought the children up to a knot of horsemen. At their head sat a man in full armor, on a huge mount. As the soldiers came up, he lifted his visor. "Well done, Auncient."

"I thank you, Milord." The auncient touched his forelock in respect. "'Twas easily done, of course."

"What was that scream, and the shouting that followed it?"

"A war-horse sprang upon us—but he froze of a sudden, as though he'd been cursed." The auncient crossed himself. "Are there sorcerers in this wood, Milord?"

" 'Tis no matter, an they side with us." The nobleman was frowning down at the children. "What wast thou about, babes in the woods? How came ye here alone?"

A soldier shoved Magnus. He glared up at the nobleman. "We search for our parents."

A fist slammed into his ear, shooting pain with a loud crack. Through the ringing that followed it, he heard the auncient growl, "Speak with respect! Thou dost address the Count of Drosz!"

Magnus fought hard to control his temper and keep from hurling the knight off his horse with an unseen hand. It helped to promise himself that someday, the auncient would pay for that box on the ear—but it helped more to wonder at the nobleman's identity. "Drosz? But we are in the County of Glynn!"

"Well enough," Drosz said, with a grim smile. "He doth know his place in the countryside, if not in his rank."

"Wherefore hast thou come?" Geoffrey's gag had been removed, too.

"Why, to conquer Glynn's county." Drosz turned to Geoffrey with a contemptuous smile. "Why else would a nobleman be abroad in another's demesne?"

"But thy county is within Duke Hapsburg's lands, and we stand now within Earl Tudor's feif! Will not thy Duke bid thee hold, ere thou canst come to Glynn's castle?"

Drosz laughed. "Nay, foolish bairn! I am Hapsburg's vas-sal. Thus any land that I seize will enlarge his demesne!"

"Yet Tudor must needs then declare war on Duke Haps-burg," Geoffrey pointed out.

"And if he doth?" The count shrugged. "What matter?"

"Why, there will be battle!" Cordelia cried.

The count nodded. "There will."

The children stared at him, unnerved.
He cares not a whit if he doth plunge two whole provinces into civil war
! Cordelia thought.

Aye, not a whit
. Magnus glowered up at the count.
Surely he doth know the death and suffering he will cause
!

That matters naught, to him
, Geoffrey explained.
Naught, against the prospect of glory and power
. Aloud, he said, "Surely Glynn left a home guard. Doth none oppose thee?"

"None," the count confirmed. "'Tis as though he hath disappeared from the face of the earth, and his family with him; and his knights, not knowing what to do, have lain down their arms."

Geoffrey stared, outraged. "Assuredly he would have given commands to defend!"

"Defend what? He is gone, and his wife and bairns with him! His knights have none to turn to for direction—and they have not the rank to deny another nobleman's commands. Nay, they do not oppose me, save one or two." He dismissed them with a wave of his gauntlet—which he had probably done.

"Then thou art master of this county, also," Magnus said. "Why hast thou wasted time seizing mere children?"

"Credit me with some sense, young one." The count's smile was brittle. "There's not a nobleman in the land that doth not know the faces of the High Warlock's children."

The children were silent. The count chuckled, gloating,

looking from one little face to another.

"Then!" Magnus spoke with anger. "Then an thou dost know our rank, wherefore hast thou permitted thy minion to strike me!"

"Why, for that thou art my prisoners now, and subject to me." The count lounged back in his saddle with a toothy grin.

Magnus's eyes narrowed. He wondered if the nobleman was only stupid, or really so rude and arrogant as to treat another nobleman's children with contempt. "Well, then, we are thy prisoners." But the tone of his voice did not really acknowledge it. "What purpose can we serve in thy conquest?"

"Why, thou art hostages, ignorant child! And while I do hold thee, neither Earl Tudor, nor Duke Hapsburg, nor even King Tuan himself will dare to attack me, for fear of the powers of the High Warlock's brood!"

Magnus was silent, glaring at him. Then, just as Geoffrey started to speak, 'he said, "Thou mayest hold our bodies—but thou dost not command our powers."

The fist exploded against his ear again, and his head filled with the rough mocking laughter of the soldiers. Through the ringing, he heard the count gloating, "Thou wilt do as thou art bid, boy!"

Magnus just barely managed to hold onto his temper—and that, only because he could tell Geoffrey was about to erupt.
Nay
! he thought.
There are too many of them! We cannot fight a whole army alone
!

We cannot submit without fighting, either
! his brother thought back in boiling rage.

Geoffrey held himself in, but just barely. He glowered up at the Duke and thought,
But will there be another army? Will there truly
?

Never doubt it
, Magnus assured him; and,

Puck will see to it
, Gregory added.

As though he had overheard, one of the knights moved his horse up next to Count Drosz's mount and advised, "My lord, hear me, I implore thee! 'Tis known far and wide that the Wee Folk do hold these children under their especial care!"

"What! A grown man, and thou dost yet believe in the power of the Little People?" Drosz scoffed. "Assuredly, Lan-

gouste, thou must needs know that elves can be no threat to we who are clad in Cold Iron!"

Langouste glanced over his shoulder with apprehension. "My lord, I implore thee! Do not scoff at the power of the Wee Folk!"

"Power?" Drosz laughed and scooped something out of his saddlebag. He held it up for Sir Langouste to see. "Behold the bane of the Little People, and the counter to all of their powers—a handful of nails! Common nails! They cannot even stand against these! See!" And he whirled, hurling the sharp iron points into the underbrush. A scream tore from the thicket, and another, and another, a dozen or more, all about them. As they faded, the children saw the count was laughing.

"Nay, then," he assured his men, "'tis even as thou dost see. These elves must quail before armed might. Any man who wears Cold Iron need not shrink from them."

Cordelia stood trembling, wide-eyed with horror, and Geoffrey was quaking with rage. Gregory stood like a statue, staring at the count.

But the nobleman only smiled, and turned his horse toward a gap in the trees, calling "Ride!" and trotted off into the night.

His men threw the children across their horses' backs in front of their saddles, and followed the count; but they were pale, glancing at one another with wide, apprehensive eyes.

The horses' backs jolted into the children's stomachs, driv-ing the wind out of them with every step; they had to gasp for air between hoofbeats. They gritted their teeth and bore the pain, while their thoughts flickered back and forth.

He hath injured a dozen elves at least
, Cordelia thought, outraged,
and may have slain some
.

And he doth not respect his neighbor's demesne
, Geoffrey added.
He doth respect naught but force of arms
.

There may be good within him, but we have not seen it
, Magnus replied,
and that which we have seen is vile. Canst thou bethink thee of any cause to spare this count
?

We are agreed
, Magnus thought, with the weight of a judge's sentence.
We will await opportunity
.

They jolted on down the trail, gasping for snatches of

breath between hoofbeats, but every sense was wide open now, waiting for the opportunity. Trees blurred past on both sides, dark in the moonlight. Magnus turned his head, craning his neck to peer ahead, trying to see where they were going, but it was no use; the darkness was too complete in this leafy tunnel. Only scraps and patches of moonlight glinted through.

A roar shook the wood, and something huge and massive humped up from the forest floor right in front of the count. Red eyes burned through the darkness. Horses screamed and reared, throwing their riders, trying to turn, trying to gallop away; but they slammed into each other in the confines of the trail, in panic.

The count fought his bucking, twisting horse to a standstill, crying, "Stand and fight! For whatever it is, it cannot stand against Cold Iron! Dismount and draw your swords!"

The few soldiers who hadn't been thrown leaped down; their comrades struggled to their feet, drawing their blades and staggering after the count, tripping on tree roots and stumbling in holes, but charging toward the hulking, roaring shape.

It saw them coming and bellowed, lashing out at the count with a huge dark paw; claws like scimitars slashed past him. His mount screamed and pawed the air, twisting away.

The soldiers lurched and tripped on something that heaved upward against their feet. They cried out in fear and anger, tumbling down in a crashing clatter. A host of little forms rose among the tangled mass of men and struck downward with six-inch cudgels, right at the base of the skull between helmet and collar. Soldiers yelped and stiffened, then slumped, unconscious.

The count's horse bucked and plunged, trying to turn; but the count fought it, yanking on the reins, crying "Hold, cowardly beast! I'll not flee an enemy!"

"Brave man," boomed a voice without a body. "Thy cour-age doth thee credit—but no advantage."

And the count rose up from his saddle—up and up, so far that his horse was able to whirl about under him and bolt away from the horrible midnight ogre. The nobleman bellowed in rage just before he slammed into a huge tree trunk and slid downward toward its base. Even as he slid, he shook his head, trying to clear it, groping for his sword; but it hissed out of its sheath by itself. He jolted to the ground and immediately lurched up, trying to stagger to his feet—and dropped back

with a howl, clutching at his throat where his own sword's point had lanced him. He looked up, wide-eyed, and saw the blade floating in midair, its point circling right in front of his eyes. He shrank away and, finally, horror crept into his eyes.

The monster gave one last roar and shrank in on itself, disappearing.

For a brief moment, the trail was absolutely silent.

Then Puck's deep voice rumbled through the night. "Well done, children! Thou didst seize the moment, and gave excellent aid!"

"''Twas our pleasure." Geoffrey stood slowly, rubbing his wrists where the rope had bound them.

"Pleasure indeed." Cordelia glared at the count while an elf cut her bonds with a bronze knife. " 'Tis I who wielded his sword—and almost could I have wished he'd driven himself harder against it."

"That 'almost' is not enough. Who did lift him from his saddle?"

"Geoffrey and I." Magnus flexed his fingers, trying to restore circulation. "I wish we could have thrown him harder."

"Nay! Cease!" the count roared, jerking his arms forward; but the sword feinted at his eyes, and he froze with a shuddering gasp. Behind him, a rope yanked his wrists together and knotted itself tightly, while Gregory stared at it. Elves whipped rope around his ankles, then yanked on his wrists, and he fell with a howl.

"Take away thy thing of Cold Iron," Puck said with distaste, and Cordelia sent the sword spinning off among the trees. Geoffrey watched it go with longing, but said not a word.

"He is harmless now," Puck rumbled. "Again I thank thee, children; thou hast ably done thy part. Now leave us."

"What! Leave?"

"Nay, Puck! Wherefore?"

"We have helped to fell him, and we should have some say in…" But Magnus's voice trailed off as he stared at Puck's face. There was a hardness to the elf that he'd never seen before, and a glint at the back of the Old Thing's eyes that made him shudder and turn away. His brothers and sister saw it, too, and went with him.

"Forget not thy father's faithful servant," Puck rumbled, "thy father's and thine. Do not leave him to rust."

"Fess! Oh, aye!" The children exchanged looks of guilt and hurried back along the trail toward the place where the count's men had ambushed them.

They came upon the great black horse in a patch of moonlight, standing with his legs out stiffly and his head between his fetlocks. Magnus floated up and reached under the front of the saddle, pushing the lump that was the reset switch. He felt it move and, slowly, the robot lifted its head, blinking and looking around at the children, dazed. "Wwwhaat? Wwwherrrre…?"

"Bide thee." Cordelia laid a gentle hand on his nose. "Wait till thy mind hath cleared."

"Thou didst have a seizure," Magnus informed him. "Bide."

Fess was silent, looking from child to child as the haze cleared from his eyes. Finally he said, "Did the bandits capture you?"

"Aye, but we did escape," Gregory piped up.

"Or were rescued, more aptly," Magnus corrected.

"They were not bandits," Geoffrey added, "but soldiers of Count Drosz."

"Drosz?" Fess lifted his head. "What was his business here? This is not his demesne."

"Nay, but he did seek to seize it."

"Why did his men abduct you?"

The children glanced at one another, trying to find the right way to break the news to Fess.

"Did he seek to use you as hostages?" the robot demanded.

"He did," Magnus admitted.