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 glimpse ‘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!”