Magnus plowed his head into Gwen’s bosom, wailing in terror. “There, love—‘tis gone,” she assured him, “or will be in a moment…” And she glared at the diminutive monster, eyes narrowing. It took one step, and its leg turned into mush.

“It’s a beastman,” Rod whispered, “a vicious parody of a Neanderthal.”

Another step, and the model beastman turned into a ball again.

“But the kid didn’t see any of the battles!” Rod protested. “How could he…”

“My lord,” Gwen grated, “it will not hold its shape unless I force it. Another mind fights me for the forming of it.”

“Then, get rid of it—fast! You never know, it might find another one like it, and breed true!”

“Done,” Gwen snapped.

The witch moss turned into a ball so smooth that it gleamed, then shot off the deck and far, far away, heading for the horizon.

Gwen turned her attention back to Magnus. “There, there, child! ‘Twas no fault of thine; ‘twas some mean and heartless person who crafted thy ball thus, to afright a babe!” She looked up at Rod with murder in her eyes. “Who would ha’ done such a thing?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll find out.” Rod was feeling in a mayhem mood himself. He glanced quickly about the decks, even up into the rigging, trying to find anyone gazing at them—but there were only two sailors in sight, and neither was even looking in their direction.

But Brother Chillde still scribbled in his book.

Rod stared. No. It couldn’t be.

But…

He stepped over to Brother Chillde again, lightly, almost on tiptoe, and craned his neck to peer over the monk’s shoulder at the words he was writing.

“… Huge they were,” the manuscript read, “with arms that hung down to their knees, and fangs that sank below their chins. Their eyes were maddened bits of red, more suited to a swine than a man, in a head like unto a ball, but too small for so great a body. Their sole weapon was a huge and murderous ax, and with it they quested always, seeking for living things to slay.”

 

“Thou knowest not what thou dost ask,” Puck cried. “Ever was I made for battle, Rod Gallowglass! Hast thou any comprehension of the opportunities for mischief that occur when men do war?”

“Very much,” Rod answered grimly. “Look, I know it’s a hardship to stay out of the fighting—but you’ve got to think of the good of the whole of Gramarye, not just of your own excitement.”

“Who says I must?” the elf demanded with a truculent scowl.

“I,” answered Brom O’Berin; and Puck took one look at his sovereign’s face and shrank back.

“Well, then, so I must,” he sighed. “But wherefore must it be I? Are there no other elves who can execute so simple a task?”

“None,” Rod said with absolute certainty. “It only seems simple to you. I can think of a few other elves who might be able to bring it off—but you’re the only one I’m sure of.”

Puck visibly swelled with self-importance.

“You’re the only one,” Rod pressed on, “who has the imagination, and the gift of gab, to pull this off.”

“Thou wilt do it,” Brom commanded sternly, “else thou wilt answer to me, hobgoblin, when the battle’s ended.”

“Ah, then, I shall,” Puck sighed—but preened himself, too. “E’en so, Warlock—I ken not why the monk will need one to detail to him what doth occur when he hath two eyes to see with.”

“Yes, well, that’s the first thing you’ll have to arrange, isn’t it? Some way of making his eyes unusable for the duration of the battle. Nothing permanent,” Rod added hastily, seeing the gleam in Puck’s eye.

“Well-a-day,” the elf sighed, “so be it. We shall benight him only for an hour or two. But what purpose doth that serve, when I am but to tell to him what doth occur?”

“But you’re not,” Rod contradicted. “You’re supposed to tell him what isn’t happening.”

“What word is this?” Puck stared. “Do I hear aright? 1 am to say, ‘Nay, be of good cheer! It doth not rain, nor doth the moon shine! The soldiers do not shake the beastmen’s hands in friendship, nor do they lose a foot of land!’ What foolery is this?”

“Not quite what I had in mind, that’s for sure.” Rod fought a smile. “Don’t be so negative, Puck. Think of it like this: ‘Our brave, heroic line doth advance, and the murderous mass of craven beastmen stumble toward them with mayhem in their eyes! They catch our soldiers’ gazes, and our goodmen freeze, terror-stricken by the Evil Eye! But the witch-folk wrench them free, and the High Warlock doth rise up, a gleaming paragon on a giant steed of jet, to call them onward! Inspired by his valor, our soldier-men take heart; they shout with anger and do charge the foe!’ ”

Puck gave him a jaundiced eye. “Thou’rt not slow to trumpet thine own virtues, art thou?”

“Well, not when it’s warranted,” Rod said, abashed. “And in this case, it’s downright vital. Brother Chillde won’t believe anything less of me, Puck—and, whatever other effect you achieve, you’ve got to make him believe what you tell him, totally.”

Air boomed outward, and Toby stood before them. “Lord Warlock, thou’rt wanted on the poop deck.”

“From the poop deck?” Rod raised an eyebrow in surprised sarcasm. “All that way? Gee, Toby, I hope you didn’t tire yourself out.”

The young warlock reddened. “I know thou dost enjoin us, Lord Warlock, to not appear and disappear, or fly, when simple walking will be nearly as fast…”

“Darn right I do. Totally aside from what it does to your fitness and your character, there’s the little matter of its effects on the non-psi majority.”

“I did forget,” Toby sighed. “When great events are in train, such matters seem of slight import.”

“That’s why you need to make normal conduct a habit. But what great event’s in train now?”

“I am!” the young warlock cried in exasperation. “I have but now returned from bearing word of our arrival to Master Yorick and his band! Wilt thou not come attend to me?”

“Oh!” Rod bolted off his stool, feeling like a pompous idiot. “What an ass I am!”

Puck perked up and opened his mouth.

“Just a figure of speech,” Rod said quickly. “But accurate. Here I am, catechizing you about details, when you’ve just finished a hazardous mission! My deepest apologies, Toby—and I’m glad to see you’re back intact. And, of course, you can’t report to me here—you’ve got to say it the first time where the King can hear it.”

“No offense, milord,” Toby said with a grin. He stepped over to the door and held it open. “And, since thou canst not transport thyself from place to place, I’ll company thee on foot.”

“I, too,” Brom growled. “I must hear what progress this grinning ape hath made.”

The door slammed behind them, leaving Puck alone to mutter imprecations to himself.

 

“Welcome, Lord Warlock,” Tuan said quietly, as the door closed behind them, “and thou, too, Lord Brom.” His eyes glittered. “Now! May we hear this warlock’s tale?”

Toby looked around at the glowing eyes, all fixed upon him, and succumbed to sudden embarrassment. “Where… what shall I tell?”

“Everything that happened,” Rod suggested, “starting from the beginning.”

Toby heaved a sigh. “Well, then! I listened for the beast-men’s thoughts, and felt a mind belaboring with emptiness. This did resemble the ‘sound of one hand clapping’ that the High Warlock had told me of, so I drifted toward where it seemed the loudest, and looked down. I was far past the beast-men’s village, and the feelings of their thoughts had thinned; but now I felt the thrust of several minds, mayhap threescore. Yet all I saw were treetops.”

Rod nodded. “They hid well. What then?”

“I listened close, till the un-clapping mind had begun to think of other matters—yet, even there, no inkling-thought of treachery did come. Therefore did I drift down into a treetop and clambered down into their midst, the less to afright them.”

Tuan smiled thinly. “That might somewhat lessen their startlement, I wot—yet not abundantly. What said they when they beheld thee?”