"Didst thou escape the witch, then?"
"Didst thou not find her?"
"I found her," Rod said quietly. "Oh, yes, I found herdidn't we, son?"
Magnus clamped his jaw shut, and managed a grim nod. The men looked up, startled, glancing covertly from father to son and back again, realizing that there was a resemblance after all. "And thy son?"
"I couldn't have defeated her without his strength," Rod assured them.
"Then thou hast triumphed!"
"The witch is dead?"
"The Wee Folk have taken her," Rod replied.
"They did not seem overly fond of her," Magnus added. "I doubt me not that if she is not dead, she doth wish she were."
The peasants muttered to one another in fright, making the sign of the Cross-whether at the mention of the Wee Folk, or of the hag, Rod didn't know. Certainly the combination would be enough to make a saint take precautions.
The women came running up then, children in tow, and the men had to turn to give them the news while the wives tried to shush the babes. Magnus took advantage of the interruption to lean over to Rod and mutter, "Neatly done, Dad. Thou didst not lie."
"No, but I sure made one hell of a false impression, eh? Well, that happens. Thanks for your help, son."
Magnus started to answer, then remembered his own prevarication, and had the grace to blush.
One of the older peasants turned back to Rod. "We can only thank thee from the bottoms of our hearts, sir knight. The witch hath beset us, long and sorely."
"Why, how is this?" Magnus demanded, suddenly alert. "Have you no lord to protect you?"
"From a witch like to her?" The peasant shook his head with a grim frown. "Even he did fear this vile hag, young sir, as did his father before him. He came once each year to show himself, so that we might know he was our lord, and his bailiff came but once a month, with armed men behind him, to take his tax. Yet sin that they would do no more, the hag too required tax of us-tribute, she called it, in cloth, grain, meat, and other goods."
"Money, too," said another man. "When we had it." Magnus frowned. "And if thou didst not pay?"
"Then would she make our cows go dry, keep the rain from our crops . . ."
"Or bring far too much of it," another peasant said. "In truth, she hath brought flood."
Or taken the credit for it, Rod reflected sourly. "I can see that would be reason enough to pay."
"Oh, there were better!" cried a wife. "She would make the men no longer wish to lie with their wives, or would make us women barren."
Several men reddened with embarrassment and looked daggers at her, but she was staring up at Rod in righteous indignation and didn't notice. Rod nodded; he could believe that these events, at least, were really the hag's doing.
"Her worst deeds thou hast seen, I doubt not," the first peasant said grimly, "and she would do it, whether or not we paid our tribute."
The woman nodded. "Our sons."
"Now and again," another peasant said, "she would beguile away some young man to use as a toy. Whene'er one of our youths failed to come home at day's end, 'twas cause for mourning, for we knew we'd not see him again."
Magnus scowled. "She let none go free when she had done with them?"
"There were one or two. Elber, dost thou hear?" Another woman elbowed a middle-aged man who stood among them but seemed not to be paying attention. He jumped at the contact, turned to her, and said, "Eh?" His face was completely vacant.
"Thus would they come home," the woman said with contempt, "those few that were seen again. Not the lad himself, but his hollow husk."
Magnus stared at the man's empty gaze, and shuddered. "Well, she won't bother you again," Rod said firmly. "You might consider cutting down the Cold Iron that's hanging over her doorway, so the Little People can get in and decontaminate the tower. You'll find she doesn't demand tribute again, and I doubt you'll ever find any trace of her." The peasants cheered, and the woman in front called, "Bless thee, valiant knight!"
"I can use it," Rod returned. "Don't forget, though-your baron will probably be paying much closer attention to you now. His taxes will still need to be paid."
They looked at one another, startled; they hadn't thought it through that far. Magnus stared, too, then began to look angry.
Time for a quick exit. "Make the best of it," Rod advised. "Good luck." He turned Fess away toward the forest.
A unanimous cry of protest rose from the crowd, and they ran after him. "Wilt thou not stay, that we may honor thee?" the headman cried.
"Thanks, but I have other tasks to see to." Rod smiled and waved. Magnus glanced at him, then at the peasants, back to Rod, then back at the peasants again. He forced a smile and waved, too, then rode after Rod.
As the leaves closed about them, he demanded, "Wherefore didst thou not stay? I am a-hungered, and bone weary. Art thou not, also?"
"I am," Rod agreed, "but we can camp in the forest."
"Wherefore, when we could have soft hay upon which to spread our cloaks, and hot food for the asking?"
"Because it would come with a price tag," Rod said. "'Tis a price we have already paid!"
"Yes, but I saw the looks on some of their facescalculating looks. I wouldn't put it past them to ask us to get rid of the local lord."
"Well ... mayhap we should!" Magnus said stoutly. "These folk do but exchange one tyrant for another!"
"How do you know their baron is a tyrant?"
Magnus tossed his head in impatience. "What matter? He could be-and if he could, their form of government is wrong! Thou didst teach me-thou, and Fess in the classroom-that folk should be free to choose their own ruler, and the manner of his ruling!"
"Self-determination. Did you teach him that, Fess?"
"Yes, Rod, as per your instructions."
"Which I learned from your curriculum in the first place." Rod managed a sardonic smile. "Kind of ironic, when you think about it-a bunch of aristocrats, all diehard liberals, and all totally convinced the people should rule themselves. Maybe that's because there weren't any `people.' "
"Aye-thou hast said thy home, Maxima, had naught but aristocrats."
"Well, that's what they called themselves. After five hundred years, I suppose they had the right to-but when there's nobody there to rule, the term kind of loses meaning."
"They were, at least, noble."
"I'd have to agree," Rod said judiciously, "or that their ancestors were. Of course, they chose their own form of government-and it was, at least functionally, a democracy."
"The House of Lords, ruling none but lords?" Magnus smiled, without mirth. "Yet an thy folk could choose their own form of government, wherefore ought not these peasants?"
"They do have that right. Enforcing it is another matter. And remember-their right of self-determination is limited by their interaction with their neighbors. If the next village chooses a different form of government, and the two systems clash and disrupt one another, both have to remember the other's rights."
"They would have to agree together." Magnus frowned. "And where we must think of one village, we must think of a dozen."
Rod nodded. "Or a hundred, or a thousand-or the whole Isle of Gramarye."
"Why not say `the whole of the Terran Sphere'?"
"Because they don't have much contact with the other planets yet-and what little they do have, they're not aware of."
"But when the day comes that they do, what then?"
"By then, if all goes as I'm planning, they should have a functioning democracy, in place and well oiled by at least a hundred years of experience. They'll be ready to become part of the larger democracy that governs the Terran Sphere."
"The Decentralized Democratic Tribunal." Magnus frowned. "Thy life's work-preparing them for their place in it. For my countrymen could wreak havoc untold on the rest of the human worlds, could they not?"
"Oh, yes," Rod said softly. "The only collection of espers in the known galaxy? You bet they could."
"And who art thou to tell us we must not gain dominion where we may?"