The Warlock Enraged-Warlock 4 by Christopher Stasheff
Authors: Christopher Stasheff
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, adventure, Fantasy, Juvenile Fiction, Epic, Science Fiction - General, Science Fiction; Fantasy; & Magic, Fiction - Science Fiction, Fantastic fiction
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heard indignant gasps and muttering behind him, but he didn't turn to look. "Tell us the manner of it."
"'Tis easily said," the soldier answered, with full contempt. "He and his men marched forth to seek the warlock Melkanth. They took the old track through the forest, and in a meadow, they met him. But not Melkanth alone—his brother warlocks and sister witches, all four together, with their venerable Lord, the Sorcerer Alfar. Then did the warlocks and witches cause divers monsters to spring out upon Sir Ewing and his men, while the witches cast fireballs. A warlock appeared hard by Sir Ewing, in midair, to stab through his visor and hale him off his mount. Then would his soldiers have fled, but the Lord Sorcerer cried out a summoning, and all eyes turned toward him. With one glance, he held them all. Then did he explain to them who he was, and why he had come."
"I'll bite." Rod gave him a sour smile. "Who is he?"
"A man bom with Talent, and therefore noble by birth," the soldier answered tightly, "who hath come to free us all from the chains in which the twelve Lords, and their lackeys, do hold us bound."
"What chains are these?" Rod demanded. "Why do you need freeing?"
The soldier's mouth twisted with contempt. "The 'why'
of it matters not; only the fact of enslavement's of import."
"That, I can agree with—but not quite the way you meant it." Rod turned to his wife. "I call it hypnosis—instant style. What's your diagnosis?"
"The same, my lord," she said slowly. "'Tis like to the Evil Eye with which we dealt, these ten years gone." Rod winced. "Please! Don't remind me how long it's been." He submitted to a brief but intense wave of nostalgia, suddenly feeling again the days when he and Gwen had 42 Christopher Stasheff THE WARLOCK ENRAGED 43
only had to worry about one baby warlock. And, of course, a thousand or so marauding beastmen....
He shook off the mood. "Can you do anything about it?"
"Why... assuredly, my lord." Gwen stepped up to him, looking directly into his eyes. "But dost thou not wish to attempt it thyself?"
Rod shook his head, jaw clamped tight. "No, thanks. I managed to make it through this skirmish without rousing my temper—how, I'm not sure; but I'd just as soon not tempt fate. See what you can do with him, will you?"
"Gladly," she answered, and turned to stare into the soldier's eyes. After a minute, his lips writhed back from his teeth. Rod glanced quickly at the thongs that held his wrists, then down to his lashed ankles. His muscles strained against the leather, and it cut into his flesh, but there was no sign it might break. He looked back up at the soldier's face. It had paled, and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.
Suddenly, he stiffened, his eyes bulging, and his whole body shuddered so violently that it seemed it would fall apart. Then he went limp, darting panicked glances about him, panting as though he'd run a mile. "How... Who..." Gwen pressed her hands over her eyes and turned away. Rod looked from her to the soldier and back. Then he grabbed Grathum and shoved the soldier into his arms.
"Here! Hold him up!" He leaped after his wife, and caught her in his arms. "It's over, dear. It's not there anymore."
"Nay... I am well, husband," she muttered into his doublet. "Yet that was... distasteful."
"What? The feel of his mind?"
She nodded, mute,
"What was it?" Rod pressed. "The sense of wrongness?
The twisting of the mind that had hynotized him?"
"Nay—'twas the lack of it."
"Lack?"
"Aye." Gwen looked up into his eyes, a furrow between her eyebrows. "There was no trace of any other mind within his, my lord. Even with the beastmen's Evil Eye, there was ever the sense of some other presence behind it—but here, there was naught."
Rod frowned, puzzled. "You mean he was hypnotized and brainwashed, but whoever did it was so skillful, he didn't even leave a trace?"
Gwen was still; then she shrugged. "What else could it be?"
"But why take the trouble?" Rod mused. "I
"'Tis easily said," the soldier answered, with full contempt. "He and his men marched forth to seek the warlock Melkanth. They took the old track through the forest, and in a meadow, they met him. But not Melkanth alone—his brother warlocks and sister witches, all four together, with their venerable Lord, the Sorcerer Alfar. Then did the warlocks and witches cause divers monsters to spring out upon Sir Ewing and his men, while the witches cast fireballs. A warlock appeared hard by Sir Ewing, in midair, to stab through his visor and hale him off his mount. Then would his soldiers have fled, but the Lord Sorcerer cried out a summoning, and all eyes turned toward him. With one glance, he held them all. Then did he explain to them who he was, and why he had come."
"I'll bite." Rod gave him a sour smile. "Who is he?"
"A man bom with Talent, and therefore noble by birth," the soldier answered tightly, "who hath come to free us all from the chains in which the twelve Lords, and their lackeys, do hold us bound."
"What chains are these?" Rod demanded. "Why do you need freeing?"
The soldier's mouth twisted with contempt. "The 'why'
of it matters not; only the fact of enslavement's of import."
"That, I can agree with—but not quite the way you meant it." Rod turned to his wife. "I call it hypnosis—instant style. What's your diagnosis?"
"The same, my lord," she said slowly. "'Tis like to the Evil Eye with which we dealt, these ten years gone." Rod winced. "Please! Don't remind me how long it's been." He submitted to a brief but intense wave of nostalgia, suddenly feeling again the days when he and Gwen had 42 Christopher Stasheff THE WARLOCK ENRAGED 43
only had to worry about one baby warlock. And, of course, a thousand or so marauding beastmen....
He shook off the mood. "Can you do anything about it?"
"Why... assuredly, my lord." Gwen stepped up to him, looking directly into his eyes. "But dost thou not wish to attempt it thyself?"
Rod shook his head, jaw clamped tight. "No, thanks. I managed to make it through this skirmish without rousing my temper—how, I'm not sure; but I'd just as soon not tempt fate. See what you can do with him, will you?"
"Gladly," she answered, and turned to stare into the soldier's eyes. After a minute, his lips writhed back from his teeth. Rod glanced quickly at the thongs that held his wrists, then down to his lashed ankles. His muscles strained against the leather, and it cut into his flesh, but there was no sign it might break. He looked back up at the soldier's face. It had paled, and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.
Suddenly, he stiffened, his eyes bulging, and his whole body shuddered so violently that it seemed it would fall apart. Then he went limp, darting panicked glances about him, panting as though he'd run a mile. "How... Who..." Gwen pressed her hands over her eyes and turned away. Rod looked from her to the soldier and back. Then he grabbed Grathum and shoved the soldier into his arms.
"Here! Hold him up!" He leaped after his wife, and caught her in his arms. "It's over, dear. It's not there anymore."
"Nay... I am well, husband," she muttered into his doublet. "Yet that was... distasteful."
"What? The feel of his mind?"
She nodded, mute,
"What was it?" Rod pressed. "The sense of wrongness?
The twisting of the mind that had hynotized him?"
"Nay—'twas the lack of it."
"Lack?"
"Aye." Gwen looked up into his eyes, a furrow between her eyebrows. "There was no trace of any other mind within his, my lord. Even with the beastmen's Evil Eye, there was ever the sense of some other presence behind it—but here, there was naught."
Rod frowned, puzzled. "You mean he was hypnotized and brainwashed, but whoever did it was so skillful, he didn't even leave a trace?"
Gwen was still; then she shrugged. "What else could it be?"
"But why take the trouble?" Rod mused. "I
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