The guardsmen scrambled to their feet. “Majesty!” The Captain inclined his head. “What dost thou abroad so late o’ night?”

Elidor frowned. “I am thy King! Art thou so ill-bred as not to know the proper form of greeting? Uncover, knaves, and bow!”

Rod held his breath.

The soldiers glanced at the Captain, whose eyes were locked with Elidor’s. But the boy-King held his chin high, glance not wavering an inch. Finally, the Captain nodded.

The guardsmen slowly removed their helmets and bowed.

Their pikes leaped to life, slamming down on the backs of their heads with the flats of their blades. They slumped to the floor with a clatter.

All except the Captain; he didn’t have a pike near. He snapped upright, terror filling his face as he stared at his men.

Then the terror turned to rage.

Rod leaped forward.

“Why, what sorcery is this?” the Captain snarled, coming for Elidor and drawing his sword.

The boy stepped back, paling—and Rod shot through the door and slammed into the Captain. He went down with a clatter and a “ whuff,” the wind knocked out of him; but his sword writhed around, the point dancing in Rod’s face. Rod yanked the sword to one side, rolling the man half-over, and dived in behind him, arm snaking around the Captain’s throat. He caught the larynx in his elbow, and squeezed. The Captain kicked and struggled, but Rod had a knee in his back, so all he could do was thrash about.

But Elidor was loose. He darted over to pluck the Captain’s helmet, yanked his dagger out, and clubbed down with all his strength, just the way he’d seen Rod do. The Captain heaved, and relaxed with a sigh.

Rod let go and scrambled out. “Well done, Your Majesty! You’ve got the makings of a King, all right.”

“There’s more to that than battle,” the boy said, frowning.

“Yes, such as wisdom, and knowledge. But a lot of it’s the ability to think fast, and the willingness to act, and you’ve got those. And style and courage—and you’ve just demonstrated those, too.” Rod clapped him on the shoulder, and the boy seemed to visibly expand. “Come on, Your Majesty. I wouldn’t say the rest of our party is dying to find out what happened, but they’ll be vastly reassured to actually see us intact.” He ushered the boy out the door.

“Six down and three to go,” he whispered as they came up to Gwen and the children in the alcove.

Gwen nodded. “ ‘Twas well thou followed Elidor. Well, if thou wilt hide thee near the porter, I think I can distract him for thee.”

Rod set his palms against his buttocks and leaned back, stretching. “Okay, but give me a minute. I’m beginning to feel it, too.”

A few minutes later, he waited just outside the doorway leading to the giant windlass that controlled the drawbridge. The porter paced the floor inside, humming to himself—trying to stay awake, probably.

Suddenly the rope that held the windlass slipped loose, and the ratchet chattered as the great drum began to turn.

The porter shouted and leaped for the crank-handle.

Rod leaped for the porter, plucked off his helmet, and clubbed him.

A few minutes later, he rejoined Gwen. “All secure. I take it I should run back there and drop the bridge.”

“Aye, and raise the portcullis. Yet attend a moment.” She turned to Magnus. “Son?”

Magnus was gazing off into space. A few seconds later, he relaxed and turned to her. “The sentries on the towers are asleep.”

Gwen nodded at Rod.

He sighed, and trudged back to the windlass. Being a telepath must certainly save a lot of hiking.

The portcullis rose, the drawbridge fell, and Rod almost did, too. He straightened up, aching in every joint; it was getting to be a long day.

“My lord?” Gwen’s head poked around the doorway. “Wilt thou join us?”

“Coming,” he grumbled, and shuffled toward the doorway. How could she still look so fresh and cheery?

They went across the drawbridge, as fast as Geoffrey and Rod could manage. Fifty feet from the castle, Gwen stopped the party, and shooed them into the shadow of a big rock. She ducked her head around it, staring back at the castle. Curious, Rod peeked around the other side. He saw the drawbridge slowly rise.

Startled, he darted a glance at Gwen. A wrinkle showed between her eyebrows; her lower lip was caught between her teeth. She was showing the strain—and so she should! That slab of wood had to weigh half a ton!

Cordelia was watching alertly, glancing from Gwen to the drawbridge and back. Finally, Gwen nodded, and Cordelia’s face screwed up tight for a second. Then Gwen relaxed with a sigh. “Well done; thou hast indeed secured the winch. Now slip the ratchet on the portcullis, sweeting—yet not altogether; thou dost not wish it to come a-crashing down.”

Cordelia frowned darkly for a few minutes, staring at the castle; then Rod heard a muted, deep-toned clang. Cordelia looked up at her mother, and nodded. “ ‘Tis down.”

“Well done.” Gwen patted Cordelia’s shoulder, and the little girl beamed. Mama turned to Magnus. “Now wake the sentries, that they may think they’ve only dozed, and that nothing is amiss.”

Magnus gazed off into space a moment—it was a long moment, for he was tiring—then looked up at Gwen and nodded.

“Well enough.” Gwen nodded, satisfied. “ ‘Twill be at least an hour ere the others awake, and we’ll be long gone; let them search.” She turned to Rod. “Yet we had best lose no time.”

“Agreed,” Rod affirmed. “Make sure the sentries are looking the other way for a few minutes, will you? Otherwise, they can’t help seeing us on this slope.”

“Hmf.” Gwen frowned. “I had forgot that. Well…” She held the frown for a few minutes, then nodded. “They think they hear voices calling, towards the north. Lose no time.”

Rod nodded, and darted out across the slope, swinging Geoffrey up to his shoulders. The family followed. A hundred yards farther on and fifty feet lower, they stopped, panting, in the shade of a huge oak tree, sentinel for a crop of woodland.

“Whither away?” Gwen demanded.

Rod caught his breath and pointed southwest. “That way, toward the grove where we came in. After all that talk about the High Warlock’s holdout in the northeast, they’ll expect us to head for him. They won’t think we’ve got any reason for going back.”

“Have we?”

Rod shrugged. “Not that I know of—except that I don’t like travelling in totally unfamiliar territory at night, especially when I’m on the run.”

Gwen nodded. “ ‘Tis as wise a course as aught else. Follow Father, children.”

 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Father Al clung to the broomstick for dear life, knuckles white and forearms aching with the strain. At first, flight on so slender a craft had been a heady, delightful thing, almost like flying under his own power; but the sun had risen, and he’d happened to glance down. The world whizzed by below, treetops reaching up to snag at his robe. His stomach had turned over, then done its best to shinny up his backbone to safety. Since then, the ride had been a qualified nightmare. He just hoped the tears in his eyes were due only to the wind.

“Yon, ”the girl called back to him, “ahead, and below!”

He craned his neck to see over her shoulder. About a hundred meters ahead, a large cottage nestled within a grove, a half-timbered house with a thatched roof, and two outbuildings behind it. Then the ground was rushing up at them, and Father Al clung to the broomstick as he clung to his hope of Heaven, commanding his body to relax. His body didn’t listen. The world rolled upward past them, then suddenly rolled back down. He clamped his jaw and swallowed, hard, just barely managing to keep his stomach from using his tongue as a springboard.