The branches waved slightly in answer. Rod could have bent his mind to it, and read their thoughts in return; but it still involved major effort for him, and he couldn’t spare the concentration just now. But he turned toward the underbrush, and thought, Thanks, dear. It was nice to see you throwing somebody else’s weight around for a change.
“As long as ‘tis not thine, my lord? Thou art most surely welcome!”
Rod looked up, startled—that was her voice, not her mind. Gwen came marching up, with the women and children behind her. Grathum hurried on ahead, face one big apology. “ ‘Ere I could come unto them, milord, thy wife had brought word, and begun their progress back.”
She had obviously run the message on her broomstick; the wives were herding their children silently, with covert glances at her, and the children were staring wide-eyed.
Rod turned back to Grathum. “Any more of these apes likely to be following you?”
The peasant shook his head. “Nay, milord—none that we know of. There were more bands—but they chased after others who fled. Only these followed the high road, when we who escaped to it so far as this, were so few.”
“ ‘Others who fled?’ ” Rod frowned, setting his fists on his hips. “Let’s try it from the beginning. What happened, Grathum? Start back before you knew anything was wrong.”
“Before…?” The peasant stared at him. “Tis some months agone, milord!”
“We’ve got time.” Rod nodded toward the north. “Just in case you’re worried, I’ve got sentries out.”
Grathum darted quick looks about him, then back at Rod, fearfully. Rod found it unpleasant, but right now, it was useful. “Several months back,” he prompted, “before you knew anything was wrong.”
“Aye, milord,” Grathum said, with a grimace. He heaved a sigh, and began. “Well, then! ‘Twas April, and we were shackling our oxen to the plows for the planting, and a fellow hailed me from the roadway. I misliked his look—he was a scrawny wight, with a sly look about him—but I’d no reason to say him nay, so I pulled in my ox and strode up to the hedge, to have words with him.
“ ‘Whose land is this?’ he did ask me; and I answered, ‘Why, o’ course, ‘tis the Duke of Romanov’s; but my master, Sir Ewing, holds it enfeoffed from him.’
“ ‘Nay,’ quoth this wight, ‘ ‘tis not his now, but the Lord Sorcerer Alfar’s—and I hold it enfeoffed from him.‘
“Well! At this I became angered. ‘Nay, assuredly thou dost not,’ I cried. ‘An thou dost speak such treason, no man would blame me!’ And I drew back my fist, to smite him.”
Rod’s mouth tightened. That sort of fit in with his overall impression of Grathum’s personality. “And what’d he do about it?”
“Why! He was gone ere I could strike—disappeared! And appeared again ten feet away, on my side of the fence! Ah, I assure thee, then fear did seize my bowels—but I ran for him anyway, with a roar of anger. Yet up he drifted into the air, hauling a thick wand out from his cloak, and struck down at me with it. I made to catch it, but ever did he seem to know where I would grasp next, and ever was his stick elsewhere; and thus did he batter me about the head and shoulders, till I fell down in a swoon. When I came to my senses, he stood over me, crowing, ‘Rejoice that I spared thee, and used only a wooden rod—nor tossed a ball of fire at thee, nor conjured a hedgehog into thy belly!’… Could he do such, milord?”
“I doubt it highly,” Rod said, with a dry smile. “Go on with your story.”
Grathum shrugged. “There’s little more to tell of that broil. ‘Be mindful,’ quoth he, ‘that thou dost serve me now, not that sluggard Sir Ewing.’ The hot blood rushed to my face, to hear my lord so addressed; but he saw it, and struck me with the wand again. I did ward the blow, but he was behind me on the instant, and struck me from the other side—and I could not ward myself, for that the arm that should have done it, was beneath me. ‘Be mindful,’ quoth he again, ‘and fear not Sir Ewing’s retribution; ere the harvest comes, he’ll not be by to trouble thee further.’ Then he grinned like to a broad saw, and vanished in a crack of thunder.”
Rod noted that all this junior wizard seemed to have done, was teleport and levitate—but he had used them to give him an advantage in a fight!
“This worm of a warlock was fully lacking in honor,” Gwen ground out, at his elbow.
“Totally unethical,” Rod agreed, “and, therefore, totally self-defeating, in the end. If witches and warlocks went around behaving like that, the mobs would be out after them in an instant—and how long could they last then?”
“Forever,” Grathum said promptly, “or so this Lord Sorcerer and his sorcery-knights do believe. They fear no force, milord, whether it come from peasants or knights.”
The fright in his tone caught at Rod. He frowned. “You sound as though you’re talking from experience. What happened?” Then he lifted his head as he realized what someone like Grathum might have done. “You did report this little incident to Sir Ewing, didn’t you?”
“I did.” Grathum bit his lip. “And I wish that I had not—though it would have made little difference, for each and every other plowman on Sir Ewing’s estates told him likewise.”
“The same warlock in each case?”
“Aye; his name, he said, was Melkanth. And there was no report of him, from any other manor; yet each had been so visited by a different warlock or witch. Naetheless, ‘twas our Sir Ewing who did rise up in anger and, with his dozen men-at-arms, rode forth to seek out this Melkanth.”
Rod clamped his jaw. “I take it Sir Ewing found him.”
Grathum spread his hands. “We cannot think otherwise; for he did not come back. Yet his men-at-arms did; but they wore this livery thou seest on those who pursued us.” He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder at the heap of bound soldiers. “Aye, they came back, these men that we’d known since childhood; they came back, and told us that Sir Ewing was no more, and that we served His Honor Warlock Melkanth now.”
Rod stared, and Gwen caught at his arm. That jarred Rod back into contact with reality; he cleared his throat, and asked, “Anything odd about ‘em? The way they looked?”
“Aye.” Grathum tapped next to his eye. “Twas here, milord—in their gazes. Though I could not say to thee what ‘twas that was odd.”
“But it was wrong, whatever it was.” Rod nodded. “What’d the soldiers do? Stay around to make sure you kept plowing?”
“Nay; they but told us we labored for Melkanth now, and bade us speak not of this that had happed, not to any knight nor lord; yet they did not say we could not speak to other peasant folk.”
“So the rumor ran?”
“Aye. It ran from peasant to peasant, till it had come closer by several manors to our lord, Count Novgor.”
Rod kept the frown. “I take it he’s vassal to Duke Romanov.”
“Aye, milord. The Count called up his levies—but scarce more than a dozen knights answered his call; for the others had all marched forth to battle the warlocks who challenged them.”
“Oh, really! I take it rumor hadn’t run fast enough.”
Grathum shrugged. “I think that it had, milord; but such news only angered our good knights, and each marched out to meet the warlock who claimed his land, thinking his force surely equal to the task.”
“But it wasn’t.” Rod’s lips were thin. “Because they went out one knight at a time; but I’ll bet each one of them ran into this Lord Sorcerer and all his minions, together.”
Grathum’s face darkened. “Could it be so?”
Rod tossed his head impatiently. “You peasants have got to stop believing everything you’re told, Grathum, and start trying to find out a few facts on your own!… Oh, don’t look at me like that, I’m as sane as you are! What happened to Count Novgor and his understrength army?”
Grathum shook his head. “We know not, milord—for fear overtook us, and we saw that, if the sorcerer won, we would be enslaved to fell magic, and our wives and bairns with us. Nay, then we common folk packed what we could carry and sin’ that we would not have the chance to fight, fled instead, through the pasture lanes to the roadway, and down the roadway to the High Road.”