"After her!" Rod mounted and caught the reins. "We can't let a germ like that stay loose to spread a plague of lies."
Fess leaped into motion even as he said, "That wound must be attended to, Rod."
"It's only a scratch," Rod said impatiently. "It was the surprise that got me, that's all. Quick, Fess! If she makes it into the woods, we'll have lost her!"
But the billowing cloak steadied and spread wide even as the woman's form dwindled and lifted—and a huge raven soared up into the treetops, cawing in mockery.
Rod reined in, staring. "She must have been made of witch-moss after all!"
"Quickly, Rod! She is almost into the underbrush!"
"Underbrush? She's into the treetops! Didn't you just see her turn into a raven, Fess?"
"I saw nothing, Rod, except an old woman escaping— and she obviously is not as old as she pretended to be."
Rod looked down at the horse's head, frowning in puzzlement—then understood. "Of course! She's a projective telepath! She made me see something that didn't really happen—and I bit on it!"
"Whatever illusion she projected into your mind, Rod, it worked well enough to give her time to make good her escape."
"Yeah, it sure did, didn't it?" Rod said, chagrined. "Well, the least I can do is track the people who left this village to protect them from her—and tell them what she really is, so they won't believe her any more."
"You can still call in Toby and his friends from the Royal Witchforce, Rod."
"I suppose I can. They should be able to track her down—and even if they can't, they can leave a sentry here to nab her if she tries to come back. Come on, Fess—let's see if we can talk the villagers into taking their homes back."
Fess went toward the forest, saying, "There is the possibility that she is not the only one of her kind."
"A concerted campaign, you mean?" Rod frowned. "I do remember thinking that our old enemies had been too quiet lately."
"They may think that you are incapacitated, Rod, and no longer a threat."
"They're right, too," Rod said. "I've got my own work to do now—my very own, trying to find Gwen again. We'll leave the totalitarians to Magnus."
Fess was quiet for several paces, then said, "So you don't intend to mount a campaign to ferret out these agents?"
Rod shrugged. "As I said, I'll leave that to Magnus—the boy's more than capable of dealing with something like this. Of course, I won't ignore anybody I stumble across."
"Yes, it does fend off boredom, doesn't it?"
"Are you telling me I need a retirement project?" Rod looked at his old friend and robot with a jaundiced eye. "Why should I, when such interesting things keep presenting themselves? There, Fess—that's their trail, where the grass is just beginning to recover. Shouldn't take us too long to find them."
GEORDIE CAME INTO the village with his bow and quiver on his back and a basket in his hand. The peasants looked up and smiled their greeting. Old Liz leaned forward from her seat by the door of her daughter's cottage. "Good day, my lord."
"Squire," Geordie said automatically. "Where's your son-in-law, Goody Elizabeth?"
Old Liz leaned back chuckling. "Elizabeth, is it? 'Old Liz' was good enough for you when you were no higher than my waist."
Geordie grinned down at her. "I'm somewhat taller than you now. Where's Corin?"
"Out to the fields with the rest of the young ones, Squire, digging to see if any of last year's turnips were missed— don't know why they bother; anything there would be rotted by now."
"Or have sent up shoots." Geordie set the basket down by her feet. "Well, see if you can divide this up among the families, then. It will go well with the turnips."
Old Liz stared down at the basket, then back up at Geordie. "Why, thank 'ee, your worship! Thank 'ee very much!"
Other seniors came up, surprised and interested, all adding their thanks to Old Liz's.
"You're my people," Geordie told them. "I'll not see you starve. Dine well."
They bade him good day as he strode away, no doubt to take another basket to the North Village. Then they turned to examine his gift. Old Sal laid back the corners of the cloth that covered it and gasped. " 'Tis venison!"
They all exclaimed as they gathered around, for each knew the meat well—and had already used up that week's salt pork. Then the delight ebbed into concern, and they looked at one another with apprehension. Old Will it was who asked, "Where did he find it?"
"On the hoof, of course, and you know it well!" Old Liz told him. "Thank heaven the keepers did not find him!"
"Pray heaven he does not go hunting again! For they will catch him sooner or later!"
"Someone must tell him not to," Old Sal said. The others chorused agreement, all turning to look at Old Will.
"Aye," he said, as though the word had a bad taste. " 'Twas I who taught him to hunt, so it's for me to teach him not to. Well, I'll have a go."
RAVEN CAME SPIRALING down to the safe house in the nearest town aboard the sorriest excuse for a broom anyone had ever seen. The sentry came to his feet, staring. "Where did you find that piece of rubbish, Raven?"
"Had to improvise it from a tree branch and a few handfuls of grass," the woman snapped, "after the High Warlock chased me off."
The sentry stared—partly in alarm, partly because, even dishevelled and upset, Raven was still a marvelous figure of a woman. Crow's feet and smile lines couldn't hide her beauty. "How did he find out about your campaign?"
"Sheer bad luck—I hope." Raven limped toward the stairwell, pressing a hand to the small of her back.
"Broomsticks are even more uncomfortable than they used to be. Where's the boss?"
"In his office." The sentry held the door for her. "Good luck."
Raven went downstairs, dreading the encounter.
Her stomach sank when she saw the door was open; she didn't even have knocking to brace her. The Mocker looked up as she came in. "Failure!"
"Bad luck." Raven wished she could sit down. "I thought Gallowglass had crawled into a hole feeling sorry for himself."
"He's on the move again—the word came after you'd gone out." The Mocker glared. "Don't tell me you let him chase you off!"
" 'Let' isn't the word—he was going to clap me in an esper's prison." Raven shuddered at the thought of a team of telepaths watching her night and day, even though her cell would have been well-appointed and roomy.
"You ran!"
"Not much choice, Boss—and he figured out that I was laying the groundwork for a peasant revolt!"
"Fool!" the Mocker raged. "You tipped your hand! How could you be so stupid!"
Raven shrugged. "I didn't know who the intruder was until I saw him. Then it was too late to pretend I hadn't."
"You told him!"
"I tried to throw him off by telling him all the lords were tyrants," Raven said. She was feeling worse and worse about this report. "It didn't take him long to figure out the rest."
"So you fled! Where has he gone?"
"He said something about finding the peasants and telling them it was safe to come back."
"Finding them!" The mocker shot to his feet. "He'll see the children and old folk alone and go after the rest of them! He'll talk them out of marching against their lord!"
"Maybe he'll forget," Raven said weakly. "His mind isn't all there these days, they tell me."
"What if he doesn't forget?" The Mocker glared at her.
"The plan depends on hundreds of village bands joining up to march on Runnymede!"
"This is just one …"
"But he'll seek out more! Worse, he'll tell those brats of his, and they'll bring out an army of emissaries to meet the small bands before they can gather and talk them out of their grievances!"
"I can go talk them back into bitterness. Turn husband against wife, wife against husband, make the kids take sides, and they'll want someone to blame because their lives are going rotten. I can make them think they're worse off than ever."