The Warlock in Spite of Himself - Warlock 01 (37 page)

'No fear,' said Tuan, without taking his eyes from the crowd. 'Yet let it work a while.'

The muttering rose sharply. Here and there a man shouted, angry shouts, fists waved at Tuan where he stood on the balcony rail. Tuan flung up his arms again, shouting, 'But I say you are men!'

The crowd quieted, staring.

'There are others who slander you; but I call you men!' Then, looking from face to face: 'And who will gainsay me?'

For a moment, they were quiet; then someone called, 'None, Tuan!' and another answered, 'None!'

'None!' called the several, and 'None!' called the many, till 'None!'

roared the crowd.

'Will you prove you are men?' Tuan shouted.

'Aye!' the crowd bellowed.

'Will you fight?' Tuan howled, shaking a fist.

'Aye!' they cried, crowding closer with blood-thirst. Tuan's hands shot out waist-high, palms down, fingers spread. The crowd stilled.

His voice was hushed, chanting. 'You were born to filth and the scabs of disease!'

'Aye,' they muttered.

'You were born to the sweat of your joints, and the ache of your back in hard labor!'

'Aye!'

'You were born to the slack, empty belly and the want of a home!'

'Aye!'

'Who filled your bellies? Who gave you a roof for your head in this very house?'

'You did!'

'Who gave you a fortress?'

'You did!'

'Who?'

'You!'

'Tell me the name!'

'Tuan Loguire!' they shrieked.

'Aye!' Tuan's hands went out again; he stood crouched, eye afire.

'This was the misery I took from you. But who gave it to you at birth?

Who is it has beaten you down, century upon century, from father to son, age upon age to the time of your remotest grandfathers?'

The crowd muttered, uncertain. 'The peasants?'

'Nay,' the crowd answered.

'Was it the soldiers?'

'Aye!' they shouted, come to life again.

'And who rules the soldiers?'

'The nobles!'

Rod winced at the hate they packed into the word.

'Aye! 'Twas the nobles!' Tuan shouted, thrusting upward with his fist, and the crowd howled.

He let pandemonium reign for a few moments, then threw up his arms again.

Then his hands dropped down to belt-level again, he fell into the crouch.

'Who!' he demanded, and the drum throbbed behind him. 'Who! Who alone of all the high-born took your part? Who gave you food when you cried for it, heard your petitions? Who sent judges among you, to give you justice instead of a nobleman's whim?'

His fist thrust upward with his whole body behind it, 'The Queen!'

'The Queen!' they echoed him.

'She, shut her ears to the noblemen, that she might hear your cries!'

'Aye!'

'She hath shed tears for you!'

'Aye!'

'Yet,' cried the hunchback, 'she cast you out, our Tuan Loguire!'

Tuan smiled sourly. 'Did she? Or did she send me among you!' He threw up his arms, and they roared like an avalanche.

'It is the Queen who has given you your birthright again!'

'Aye!'

'Are you men?' Tuan shouted.

'We are!'

'Will you fight?'

'We will fight! We will fight!'

'Will you fight the noblemen?'

'Aye!'

'Will you fight for your Queen?'

'Aye!'

'Will you fight the noblemen for Catharine your Queen?'

'Aye! Ayeayeayeaye!'

Then the noise of the crowd covered all. The people leaped and shouted; men caught women and swung them about.

'Have you weapons?' Tuan shouted.

'Aye!' A thousand daggers leaped upward, gleaming.

'Catch up your packs, fill them with journeybread! Burst out of this house, through the south gate of the city! The Queen will give you food, give you tents! So run you all to the South, south along the great highway to Breden Plain, there to wait for the noblemen!

'Go to it!' he shouted. 'Go now! For the Queen!'

'For the Queen.'

Tuan flipped his hand; the drum boomed loud and fast. 'Hunting call'

Tuan snapped in aside to Rod.

Rod flourished the trumpet to his lips and began the quick bubbling notes.

'Go!' Tuan roared.

The people broke, to their rooms, to the armory. In ten minutes' time they had caught up packs, staffs, and knives.

'It is done!' Tuan leaped down off the rail to the balcony floor.

'They'll ha' run down to Breden Plain in two days!' He grinned, slapping Big Tom's shoulders. 'We ha' done it, Tom!'

Tom roared his laughter and threw his arms about Tuan in a bear-hug.

'Whew!' Tuan gasped as Tom dropped him. He turned to Rod. 'Do you, friend Gallowglass, tell the Queen, and see that the word of it goes out to her soldiers. Tell her to send meat, tents, and ale, and right quickly. And do you hurl these lackeys' - his thumb jerked at the Mocker and his lieutenants - 'deep into the Queen's dungeon. Farewell!'

And he was bounding and leaping down the stairs.

'Hey, wait a minute!' Rod shouted, running to the rail. 'Where do you think you're going?'

'To Breden Plain!' Tuan shouted, stopping to look back up. 'I must guard my people, or they'll strip the countryside worse than any plague of locusts could do, and kill themselves off in a fight o'er the spoils. Do you tell Catharine of my' - he paused; a shadow crossed his face - 'loyalty.'

Then he was gone, leading the mob that boiled out the great front doors of the house, running before them in a wild, madcap dance. Rod and Tom exchanged one glance, then turned and ran for the stairs to the roof.

They watched from the rooftop as the chanting mob poured out the south gate. Somehow, by means of the chant, Tuan had gotten them moving in good order, almost marching.

'Do you think he needs any help?' Rod murmured.

Tom threw back his head and guffawed. 'Him, master? Nay, nay! Rather, help those who come up against him, with that army at his back!'

'But only one man, Tom! To lead two thousand misfits!'

'Canst doubt it, master, when thou hast seen his power? Or didst thou not see?'

'Oh. I saw.' Rod nodded, light-headed. 'There's more witchcraft in this land than I thought, Big Tom. Yes, I saw.'

'Waken the Queen, and beg of her that she join us here in her audience chamber!' Brom snapped at a hastily-wakened lady-in-waiting. 'Go!'

He slammed the door and turned to the fireplace, where Rod sat with a bleary-eyed Toby, rudely awakened after only an hour of sleep; the nightly party in the Witches' Tower had run a little late tonight. He held a steaming mug in his hand and a throb in his head.

'Assuredly,' he muttered thickly, 'we wish to aid the Queen in any manner we may; but what aid would we be in a battle?'

'Leave that to me.' Rod smiled. 'I'll find something for you to do. You just get the Queen's Witches down to Breden Plain.

'Three days hence.' Brom smiled. 'We march at dawn, and will be three days in our journey.'

Toby nodded, hazily. 'We shall be there, my masters. And now, with your leave...

He started to rise, gasped, and sank back in his chair, hand pressed to his head.

'Easy there, boy!' Rod grasped an elbow, steadying him. 'First hangover?'

'Oh, nay!' Toby looked up, blinking watery eyes. ''Tis but the first time I've been wakeful when the drunk turned to the hangover. If you'll pardon me, masters. . .'

The air slammed at their eardrums as it rushed in to fill the space where Toby had been.

'... yes,' Rod said. He shook his head and eyed Brom. 'Teleportative, too?'

Brom frowned. 'Tele-what?'

'Uh. . .' Rod closed his eyes a moment, cursing the slip of the tongue.

'I take it he's just gone back to bed.'

'Aye.'

'He can disappear from here and reappear there?'

'Quick as thought, aye.'

Rod nodded. 'That's what I thought. Well, it oughta come in handy.'

'What wilt thou have them do, Rod Gallowglass?'

'Oh, I dunno.' Rod waved his mug airily. 'Conjure up feathers inside the Southern knights' armor, maybe. Or something like that, good for a joke. They'll just die laughing."

'Thou knowest not what thou'lt be having them do, yet thou would bring them?'

'Yeah, I'm beginning to think a little witchcraft can come in handy at times.'

'Aye,' Brom smiled covertly. 'She hath saved your life twice over, hath she not?'

Rod swung about. 'She? Who? She who, huh? What're you talking about?'

'Why, Gwendylon!' Brom's smile absorbed mischief.

'Oh, yes! Uh - . . you know of her?' Rod raised a cautious eyebrow; then he smiled, relaxing. 'No, of course you'd know of her. I forget; she's on pretty good terms with the elves.'

'Aye, I know of her.' Brom's eyebrows pinched together. 'Nay, but tell me,' he said, almost anxiously, 'didst thou love her?'

'Love her?' Rod stared. 'What the hell business is that of yours?'

Brom waved a hand impatiently. 'Tis of concern to me; let it pass at that. Dost thou love her?'

'I won't let it pass at that!' Rod drew himself up with a look of offended honor.

'I am Prince of the Elves!' Brom snapped. 'Might I not have concern for the most powerful witch in all Gramarye?'

Rod stared, appalled. 'The most .. .what?'

Brom smiled sourly. 'Thou didst not know? Aye, Rod Gallowglass. Tis a most puissant wench thou hast grappled with. Therefore, do you tell me: dost thou love her?'

'Well, uh, I, uh ... I don't know!' Rod sat, cradling his head in his hands. 'I mean, uh, this is all so sudden, I, uh...'

'Nay, nay!' Brom growled impatiently. 'Surely thou must know if thou lovest!'

'Well, I mean, uh . . . well, no, I don't know! I mean, that's a subject that it's a little hard to be objective about, isn't it?'

'Thou dost not know?' Thunderclouds gathered in Brom's face.

'No, damn it, I don't!'

'Why, thou fool of a puling babe, thou mock of a man! Dost thou not know thine own heart?'

'Well, uh, there's the aortic ventricle, and, uh . . . '

'Then how am I to know if thou lovest her?' Brom thundered.

'How the hell should I know?' Rod shouted. 'Ask my horse!'

A quivering page thrust his head in, then came quivering into the room.

'My lords, her Majesty the Queen!'

Brom and Rod swung about, bowed.

Catharine entered, in a dressing gown of the royal purple, her loosened hair a pale, disordered cloud around her head. She looked very tired, and scarcely wakened.

'Well, milord's,' she snapped, seating herself by the fire, 'what great news is it makes you wake me at so slight an hour?'

Rod inclined his head toward the page. The boy paled, bowed, and left.

'The House of Clovis is up, into arms, and away,' Rod informed her. She stared, lips parting.

'They have boiled out of the south gate, and this very night run south toward Breden Plain.'

Catharine's eyes closed; she sank back in her chair with a sigh. 'May Heaven be praised!'

'And Tuan Loguire,' Rod murmured.

Her eyes opened, staring. 'Aye. And Tuan Loguire,' she said reluctantly. Rod turned away, running his hand over the mantle. 'They must be sent food and drink, so that they will not strip the countryside as they pass. And a courier must ride ahead to tell soldiers to let them pass.'

'Aye,' she said grudgingly, 'surely.'

Her eyes wandered to the fire. 'And yet it is strange, that they who have ever raised their voices in clamor against me, now should fight for me,' she murmured.

Rod looked at her, his smile tight and ironic.

'Tuan. . .' she murmured.

Brom cleared his throat and stumped forward, hands locked behind his back. 'And this very night,' he growled, 'have I spoken with the King of the Elves; all his legions are ours.'

She was her old self again, smiling sourly. 'Legions of elves, Brom O'Berin?'

'Oh, don't underestimate them.' Rod rubbed the back of his head, remembering a clout on the skull and a prisoned werewolf. 'And to top it off, we've got your own personal coven of witches...'

'and the most powerful witch in all Gramarye,' Brom interjected.

'Uh, yes, and her,' Rod agreed with a shish-kebab glance at Brom. 'All ready and eager to serve the only ruler in history who has protected witches.'

Catharine's eyes had slowly widened as she listened now her eyes took on a distant look, and wandered to the fire. 'We will win,' she murmured. 'We will win!'

'Well, uh, with all due respect to your Majesty, uh, it might be a trifle more correct to say we stand an even chance.'

Breden Plain was a delta, open to the south but closed on the north by the meeting of two rivers. A dense thicket of trees ran along each river, bordering the field. The field itself was tall grass and lavender.

Not that they could see much of it, Rod thought as he squatted by a campfire. A thick, chill mist covered the field; at least Rod, who had seen something of civilized smog, would have called it a mist but Tuan, chafing his hands across the fire from Rod, shook his head and muttered, 'A most dense and inclement fog, Master Gallowglass! 'Twill weigh heavily on the spirit of the troops!'

Rod cocked an eyebrow at him and listened to the sounds of revelry drifting over the field from the beggars' pickets. The witches were at it, too; the usual party had started at noon today, out of respect for the weather.

His shoulders shrugged with a snort of laughter. 'Well, don't let it worry you, Tuan. The precog - uh, witches, say it'll be a beautiful, sunny day, tomorrow.'

'And St. George be praised, we will not have to fight until then!' Tuan drew his cloak about him, shivering.

The latest word from Brom's miniature spies - whom Rod had immediately dubbed the Hobgoblin Associated Reconnaissance Korps - was that the Southern troops were just half a day away. Catharine had arrived with Brom and her army the preceding evening, and the beggars had been resting a full day already. They were, in fact, so primed and ready that Than was having a little trouble holding them in check; they were all for marching south and attacking the noblemen on the run.