“Aye, get thee hence,” Galen intoned, “for thy scheme hath failed! Get thee hence, and come not hither again!”
“Oh, all right!” Rod shuddered at the thought of another broomstick ride. “I was kinda hoping to catch the express…”
“Thou wilt come to joy in it, husband,” Gwen assured him, pushing past, “if thou canst but have faith in me.”
“Faith?” Rod bleated, wounded. “I trust you implicitly!”
“Then thou’lt assuredly not fear, for ‘tis my power that doth bear thee up.” Gwen flashed him an insouciant smile.
“All right, all right!” Rod held his hands up in surrender. “You win—I’ll get used to it. After you, beldam.”
Agatha hesitated a moment longer, trying to pierce Galen’s impenetrable stare with her whetted glance, but turned away in disgust. “Aye, let him remain here in dry rot, sin that he doth wish it!” She stormed past Rod, through the curtains, and up the stair.
Rod glanced back just before dropping the curtain, to gaze at Galen, standing frozen in the middle of his laboratory, staring off into space, alone, imprisoned within his own invisible wall.
Rod clung to the broomstick for dear life, telling himself sternly that he was not scared, that staring at the gray clouds over Gwen’s shoulder, hoping desperately for sight of Tuan’s tent, was just the result of boredom. But it didn’t work; his stomach didn’t unclench, and the only object ahead was Agatha, bobbing on her broomstick.
Then, suddenly, there was a dot in the sky two points off Agatha’s starboard bow. Rod stared, forgetting to be afraid. “Gwen—do you see what I see?”
“Aye, my lord. It doth wear a human aspect.”
It did indeed. As the dot loomed closer, it grew into a teenage boy in doublet and hose, waving his cap frantically.
“Human,” Rod agreed. “In fact, I think it’s Leonatus. Isn’t he a little young to be out teleporting alone?”
“He is sixteen now,” Gwen reminded. “Their ages do not stand still for us, my lord.”
“They don’t stand for much of anything, now that you mention it—and I suppose he is old enough to be a messenger. See how close you can come, Gwen; I think he wants to talk.”
Gwen swooped around the youth in a tight hairpin turn, considerably faster than Rod’s stomach did. “Hail, Leonatus!” she cried—which was lucky, because Rod was swallowing heavily at the moment. “How dost thou?” “Anxiously, fair Gwendylon,” the teenager answered. “Stormclouds lower o’er the bank of the Fleuve, and the beastmen form their battle-line!”
“I knew there was something in the air!” Rod cried. Ozone, probably. “Go tell your comrades to hold the fort, Leonatus! We’ll be there posthaste!” Especially since the post was currently air mail.
“Aye, my lord!” But the youth looked puzzled. “What is a ‘fort’?”
“A strong place,” Rod answered, “and the idea is to catch your enemy between it and a rock.”
“An thou dost say it, Lord Warlock.” Leonatus looked confused, but he said manfully, “I shall bear word to them,” and disappeared with a small thunderclap.
Rod muttered, “Fess, we’re coming in at full speed. Meet me at the cliff-top.”
“I am tethered, Rod,” the robot’s voice reminded him.
Rod shrugged. “So stretch it tight. When you’re at the end of your tether, snap it and join me.”
They dropped down to land at the witches’ tent, just as the first few drops of rain fell.
“How fare the young folk?” Agatha cried.
“Scared as hell,” Rod called back. “Will they ever be glad to see you!” He jumped off the broomstick and caught up his wife for a brief but very deep kiss.
“My lord!” She blushed prettily. “I had scarcely expected…”
“Just needed a little reminder of what I’ve got to come home to.” Rod gave her a quick squeeze. “Good luck, darling.” Then he whirled and pounded away through the drizzle.
He halted at the edge of the cliff-top by the river, staring down. He was just in time to see the first wave of beastmen spill over their earthworks and lope away up the river valley, shields high and battle-axes swinging. Rod frowned, looking around for the Gramarye army. Where was it?
There, just barely visible through the drizzle, was a dark, churning mass, moving away upstream.
“Fess!”
“Here, Rod.”
Rod whirled—and saw the great black horsehead just two feet behind him. He jumped back, startled—then remembered the sheer drop behind him and skittered forward to slam foot into stirrup and swing up onto the robot-horse’s back. “How’d you get here so fast?”
“I do have radar.” Fess’s tone was mild reproof. “Shall we go, Rod? You are needed upstream.”
“Of course!” And, as the great black horse sprang into a canter, “What’s going on?”
“Good tactics.” The robot’s tone was one of respect, even admiration. He cantered down the slope, murmuring, “Perhaps Tuan should explain it to you himself.”
Rod scarcely had time to protest before they had caught up with the army. Everything was roaring confusion—the clanging clash of steel, the tramping squelch of boots in ground that had already begun to turn to mud, the bawling of sergeants’ orders, and the whinnies of the knights’ horses. Rod looked all about him everywhere, but saw no sign of panic. Sure, here and there the younger faces were filled with dread and the older ones were locked in grim determination and the army as a whole was moving steadily away from the beastmen—but it was definitely a retreat, and not a rout.
“Why?” Rod snapped.
“Tuan has ordered it,” Fess answered, “and wisely, in my opinion.”
“Take me to him!”
They found the King at the rear, for once, since that was the part of the army closest to the enemy. “They fall back on the left flank!” he bawled. “Bid Sir Maris speed them; for stragglers will surely become corpses!”
The courier nodded and darted away through the rain.
“Hail, sovereign lord!” Rod called.
Tuan looked up, and his face lit with relief. “Lord Warlock! Praise Heaven thou’rt come!”
“Serves you right for inviting me. Why the retreat, Tuan?”
“Assuredly thou dost jest, Lord Warlock! Dost thou not feel the rain upon thee? We cannot stand against them when lightning may strike!”
“But if we don’t,” Rod pointed out, “they’ll just keep marching as long as it rains.”
Tuan nodded. “The thought had occurred to me.”
“Uh—this could be a good way to lose a kingdom…”
“Of this, too, I am mindful. Therefore, we shall turn and stand—but not until they are certain we’re routed.”
Rod lifted his head slowly, eyes widening. Then he grinned. “I should’ve known better than to question your judgment on tactics! But will they really believe we’d just flat-out run, when we’ve been fighting back for so long?”
“They’ll expect some show of resistance, surely,” Tuan agreed. “Therefore wilt thou and the Flying Legion ride out against them.” He nodded toward the right flank. “They await thee, Lord Warlock.”
His commandos raised a cheer when they saw him, and he raised them with quick orders. A minute later, half of them faded into the grass and scrub growth that lined the riverbank. The other half, the ones with the hipboots, imitated Moses and drifted into the bullrushes.
Rod stayed with the landlubbers, easing silently back along the bankside till they reached a place where the beach widened, walled with a semicircle of trees, the spaces between them filled with brush. Ten minutes later, the first scouts from the beastman advance guard came up even with them. Rod waited until they were right in the middle of the semicircle, then whistled a good imitation of a whippoorwill. But the cry was a strange one to the beastmen, and something rang fowl. One Neanderthal looked up, startled, his mouth opening to cry the alarm—when a dozen Gramarye commandos hit him and his mates.