“Forty out of sixty, captured and brainwashed?” Rod shuddered. “But some got away—the six you mentioned.”

“Aye. But a warlock pursued them. One only bore word to us; we know not what happened to the other five.”

“It’s a fair guess, though.” Rod frowned. “So right from the beginning, Alfar’s made a point of trying to keep word from leaking out.” Somehow, that didn’t smack of the medieval mind. “You say you learned this afterwards?”

The Duchess nodded. “It took that lone soldier a week and a day to win home to us.”

“A lot can happen in a week.”

“So it did. The sorcerer and his coven marched against the Castle Gratecieux; most of the household acclaimed Alfar their suzerain. The Baroness and some loyal few objected, and fought to close the gates. They could not prevail, though, and those who did acclaim the sorcerer their lord, did ope’ the gate, lower the drawbridge, and raise the portcullis.”

Rod shrugged. “Well, if they could make whole villages switch allegiance, why not a castleful?”

“What did the sorcerer to the Baroness?” Gwen asked, eyes wide.

The Duchess squeezed her eyes shut. “She doth rest in the dungeon, with her children—though the eldest was wounded in the brawling.”

Gwen’s face hardened.

“How did you learn this?” Rod tried to sound gentle.

“Servants in Gratecieux’s castle have cousins in my kitchens.”

“Servants’ network.” Rod nodded. “So Alfar just took over the castle. Of course, he went on to take over the rest of the manor.”

“Such villages as did not already bow to him, aye. They fell to his sway one by one. At last, the other barons did take alarm, and did band together to declare war upon him.”

“Bad tactics.” Rod shook his head. “The hell with the declaration; they should’ve just gone in, and mopped him up.”

The Duchess stared, scandalized.

“Just an idea,” Rod said quickly.

The Duchess shook her head. “Twould have availed them naught. They fought a sorcerer.”

Rod lifted his head slowly, eyes widening, nostrils flaring. He turned to Gwen. “So he’s got people thinking they can’t win, before they even march. They’re half defeated before they begin fighting.”

“Mayhap,” the Duchess said, in a dull voice, “yet with great ease did he defeat the barons. A score of sorcerer’s soldiers did grapple with the barons’ outriders, on the left flank. The scouts cried for a rescue, and soldiers ran to aid them. The sorcerer’s men withdrew; yet no sooner had they vanished into the forest, than another band attacked the vanguard of the right flank. Again soldiers ran to bring aid, and again the sorcerer’s men withdrew; and, with greater confidence, the barons’ men marched ahead.”

Even hearing the story, Rod felt a chill. “Too much confidence.”

The Duchess nodded, and bit her lip. “When they came within sight of Castle Gratecieux, a wave of soldiers broke upon them from the forest. At t’ other side of the road, rocks began to appear, with thunder-crashes, and also from that side came a swarm of thrown stones—yet no one was there to throw them. The soldiers recoiled upon themselves, then stood to fight; yet they fell in droves. Three of the five barons fought to the last with their men, and were lost. The other two rallied mayhap a score, and retreated. The sorcerer’s army pressed them hard, but well did they defend themselves. Naetheless, a half of the men fell, and one of the barons with them. The other half won through to the High Road, whereupon they could turn and flee, faster than the sorcerer’s men could follow. A warlock followed them, and rocks appeared all about them; yet he grew careless and, of a sudden, an archer whirled and let fly. The arrow pierced the warlock, and he tumbled from the sky, screaming. Then away rode the baron and his poor remnant—and thus was the word brought to us. And I assure thee, mine husband did honor that archer.”

“So should we all,” Rod said. “It always helps, having a demonstration that your enemy can be beaten. Didn’t your husband take these rumors of danger seriously before then?”

“Nay, not truly. He could not begin to believe that a band of peasants could be any true danger to armored knights and soldiers, even though they were witches. Yet when the Baron Marole stood before him and told him the account of his last battle, my lord did rise in wrath. He summoned up his knights and men, and did send his fleetest courier south, to bear word of all that had happed to Their Royal Majesties.”

Rod frowned. “He sent a messenger? How long ago?”

The Duchess shrugged. “Five days agone.”

Rod shook his head. “He should have been in Runnymede before we left.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes widening, haunted. “He did not come.”

“No,” Rod answered, “he didn’t.”

The Duchess dropped her gaze. “Alas, poor wight! Need we guess at what hath happed?”

“No, I think it’s pretty obvious.” Rod gazed north along the road. “In fact, he might even have dressed himself as a peasant, in hopes he’d be overlooked. In any case, he’s probably the reason Alfar sent his new army out to cut down refugees.”

“Refugees?” The Duchess looked up, frowning. “What are these?”

“Poor folk, who flee the ravages of war,” Gwen explained.

Rod nodded. “Usually because their homes have been destroyed. In this case, though, the only ones who’ve been heading south are the ones who realized what was coming, and got out while they could.”

“You’ve seen such folk, then?”

Rod nodded. “A few. I’d say we’ve been running into one every mile or so.”

The Duchess shook her head slowly. “I marvel that they ‘scaped the sorcerer’s soldiers!”

“They started early enough, I guess—but I’m sure the soldiers caught up with plenty of other bands. And, of course, we did manage to, ah, interfere, when a squad of men-at-arms was trying to stop a family we bumped into.”

The Duchess studied his face. “What had this family seen?”

“Not a darn thing—but they’d heard rumors.”

“And were wise enough to heed them.” The Duchess’s mouth hardened. “Yet will Their Royal Majesties send an army north, after naught but rumor?”

Rod shook his head. “Not a chance.”

She frowned. “Yet how is it thou dost…” Then she broke off, eyes widening in surprise, then hope. “Yet thou dost come, thou!”

Rod answered with a sardonic smile. “Quick-witted, I see. And yes, the King sent us—to find out the truth of the rumors.”

“And thou dost lead thy wife and bairns into so vile a brew of foulness?” the Duchess cried. She turned on Gwen. “Oh lady, nay! If thou dost thy children love, spare them this horror!”

Gwen looked up at Rod, startled.

Like a gentleman, Rod declined the unexpected advantage. He only said, “Well… you’ll understand that my wife and children are a bit better equipped to deal with evil witches than most might be—so they’re not really in so great a danger.”

It earned him a look of warmth from Gwen, but the Duchess cried, “Danger enow! Lord Warlock, do not let them go! Thou dost not comprehend the might of this fell sorcerer!”

“We’ve had a taste of it.”

“Then let that taste make thee lose thine appetite! A fullness of his work will sicken thy soul! ‘Tis one thing to see a mere squadron of his victims, such as these poor folk…” She waved toward the soldiers. “Yet when thou dost see them come against thee by the hundreds, thine heart shall shrink in horror! Tis not that his magic is so fell—’tis the purely evil malice of his soul!”

Rod’s eyes gleamed. “You’ve seen him yourself, then?”

She dropped her eyes. “Aye, though only from a distance. ‘Twas enow.” She shuddered. “I could feel his hatred washing o’er me, as though I stood ‘neath a cloudburst of dirtied water. Methought that I should ne’er again feel clean!”

“But how could the Duke let you come so near the battle!”

“He fought against it, I assure thee—yet the battle did come nigh to me. For when he had dispatched the courier southwards, and his knights had come up with all their men, he donned his armor and rode forth to meet the sorcerer.”