Stasheff, Christopher - Rogue Wizard 7 - A Wizard and a Warlo

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A Wizard and a WarlordA Wizard and a Warlord

The Seventh Chronicle of Magnus D'Armand, Rogue Wizard

By Christopher Stasheff

ISBN: 0-812-24167-7

The transparent wall curved up to form a ceiling filled with the glory of a

million stars; below glowed the bank of screens that showed the views around the

ship. A smaller screen, set into the surface of the console in the center of the

room, lit the craggy features of the giant who sat poring over a database. He

was Magnus d'Armand, itinerant revolutionary, and the starlit room was the

bridge of his spaceship Herkimer.

"So there you are!"

Magnus braced himself even as he looked up; Alea was out for blood again. "Of

course."

She stood in the hatchway, fairly glowing with anger-tall, almost as tall as he,

with a face that some would have called angular but that he thought lovely. Even

in the loose light blue shipboard fatigues, her slender figure made his breath

catch.

She strode into the room, fairly sizzling with outrage. "What are you doing in

here? You're always in the lounge!"

"The press of work, I'm afraid." Magnus gestured at the screenful of data before

him. "It's time to start thinking about the planet we've picked for a landing."

"The one you picked! All I did was nod and agreenot that you would have paid

attention if I hadn't!" Magnus stared, hurt. "I would have chosen another

destination!"

Alea plowed right past the remark. "We're almost there. A little late to be

thinking about whether or not they need us, isn't it?"

Magnus bridled at her tone but fought to hide it. The adrenaline of battle sang

through his veins, and he hoped it didn't show in his eyes. "Yes, I've been

remiss. I'm afraid I've been enjoying your company too much to bother doing my

homework."

"Enjoying my company!" Alea's lip curled in scorn. "You know I'm a shrew and a

termagant-and I know it, too!"

"We do have some spirited discussions," Magnus admitted, "but they're enjoyable

in their way." He frowned. "Have you changed your mind, then? Is the visit not

worth our time?"

"Are there enough people to warrant it?" Alea countered. "Three huge continents,

but only the fourth one, the one that's almost small enough to call an island,

has been colonized."

"I don't think the worth of a people depends upon their number," Magnus said

gravely.

"But they're not exactly oppressed, are they?" Alea demanded. "Not from those

pictures you showed me! No one looks to be starving, no one's wearing rags-and

if there are oppressors, where do they live? We didn't see any castles, any

palaces just village after village of thatch-roofed cottages!"

"The pictures we saw when we started this trip were hundreds of years old,"

Magnus reminded her.

"A great deal may have changed. Those castles could be there now, and the people

groaning in toil."

"The orbital survey doesn't show any castles on hilltops," Alea snapped, "and

you did it yesterday. It shows only temples-and there aren't even any cities

around them."

"Well, some of the towns are rather large," Magnus. said, "and there's one of

them for every province, with villages around it."

"You're seeing provinces where they don't exist! It takes more than a river or a

mountain chain to make a political division."

"Still, I'd prefer to think of them as Neolithic city-. states."

"When your `cities' are scarcely more than large towns?" Alea said scornfully.

"Athens wasn't much more, by modern standards," Magnus said judiciously, "and it

governed the farms and villages all around it."

"Just because most of the land is cultivated doesn't mean the towns govern the

countryside. You might as well say the temples on top of those round hills rule

the farmers! After all, they build their houses round as the hills, don't they?"

Magnus stared at her. "What a remarkable insight! Here I'd put it down to

standard Neolithic architecture, but you're right! They're building the houses

in imitation of the holy hills!"

Alea made an impatient, dismissive gesture; she wasn't fishing for compliments

at the moment. "That's beside the point. What matters is that whatever form of

government those people have, it works for them! They're well fed and well

housed. Why wouldn't they be happy?"

"Because they might not be free," Magnus said: "If a girl has to marry whomever

the priests tell her and a boy can never leave the county in which he was born,

can they ever be content?"

"Yes, if the girl happens to love that man and the boy is happy where he is!"

Alea shot back. "Sometimes the priests do have insight, you know."

"Sometimes," Magnus agreed. "I can see you might think they're too well-off to

be worth a visit, but something bothers me about the setup. It's probably right,

but possibly wrong, very wrong. There have been civilizations before this that

nourished their people's bodies well but left their souls starving. These people

may be prosperous but miserable."

"Probably! May be! We're traveling a hundred light-years for something that's

possibly wrong! What if we get there and learn that everything's fine?"

"I'll rejoice," Magnus said. "But we might land and find the people in rags with

aristocrats lording it over them. Either way, someone should care enough to find

out what has happened to these people over the centuries."

"Why? What could we do about it? Even if we bring back word, who would care?"

"True, all the descendants of their relatives will have died long ago." Magnus

sighed. "And only historians would be interested. But I can't help worrying that

we may find them exploited unmercifully; as in so many other lost colonies. I'll

always regret not going there if I don't find out."

"If! If!" Alea threw up her hands in exasperation. "Are we to spend the rest of

our lives jaunting about the galaxy chasing an `if?"

"I know it seems a waste of our time and effort," Magnus said ruefully, "but

anything could have happened to them." He forced a smile. "They might even have

developed a shining Utopia with the answers to the questions that torture all

souls."

"It's the hunger that tortures the bellies and the brutality of the masters we

should be worrying about-and we've no reason to think these people have either!"

"That's true," Magnus agreed, "but we might find them living just as their

ancestors did. What if oppression has kept them from advancing?"

"What if advances are really steps backward?" Alea snapped. "From all those

books Herkimer has showed me, it seems every time your race made another leap in

progress, it cost them dearly by raising two problems for every one it solved."

It had become his race now, Magnus noted, though as far as he knew, she was

human, too. "Yes-what good does it do to save a mother and child at birth if

they die from starvation two years later? Still, if they've multiplied to the

point of overpopulation, we can at least show them some modern farming

techniques and boost their food production."

"If!" Alea stormed. "I can't waste my life waiting to find out if any of your

`ifs' are worth it!" She spun on her toe and stalked out.

Magnus slumped in his seat with a sigh. He had known she was spirited-that was

one of the qualities that had prompted him to invite her to leave her medieval

planet and join him in traveling from star to star trying to free the oppressed

peoples of the colony planets-but he hadn't expected her to be so turbulent.

"You don't suppose she really wants to turn back, do you, Herkimer?"

"No, Magnus," said the tranquil voice of the ship's computer. "I think she has

been confined too long in a limited space with only you for company."

"And I'm scarcely the most congenial of companions," Magnus said with a sardonic

smile.

"I would not have said that," the computer demurred, "and she does have her own

suite with electronic `windows' that will show her a very convincing illusion of

the landscape of her home-but it is only an illusion."

"So cabin fever strikes," Magnus said with a sigh.

"She only has to come out into the rest of the ship if she wants to, Magnus,"

the computer reminded. "Which she does every day," Magnus said, "and I suppose I

should feel complimented, though it's hard to believe you're likable when the

only other person you see rants and raves at you every time you see her."

"That has only begun this last month," Herkimer reminded, "and we have been

under way for three."

"True, true-and even though she's had the distractions of all your learning

programs, she must still find it hard to bear. I know I did on my first few

trips."

"Very true. Still, I think you should feel complimented that she feels safe in

venting her anger on you."

"Oh, I'm flattered past enduring," Magnus said sourly. "If she needs to do it,

though, I can at least be a good enough friend to let her."

"It could be that she wishes you to be more than a friend."

Magnus felt a thrill of alarm but hid it by saying, "I doubt that highly. I

think you guessed rightly when you said there might be some sort of emotional

trauma in her past."

"Actually, that was your guess, Magnus, along with the speculation that the hurt

may have been linked to sexual activity in some way."

"A jilting and a broken heart is most likely," Magnus mused. "She has told us

about the pain of her neighbors' betrayal when her parents died, but I think the

real agony of the spirit comes from some event she hasn't revealed."

"You do very well not to pry," the computer said a trifle primly. "Take it as a

compliment, Magnus-that she trusts you enough to let her anger show."

"And confuses me with the man who hurt her?"

"In some way and at some level-possibly."

Alea stalked into her sitting room, wishing there had been a door to slam

instead of a panel that hissed shut behind her. She threw herself down on the

sofa, arms folded, ankles crossed, and seethed in silence. What was wrong with

the man? Wasn't she important to him? Certainly he wasn't in love with her.

Anger spurred again, all the stronger to hide the tinge of panic the thought

evoked. If Magnus wasn't in love with her, why had he invited her to leave her

home planet and travel with him?

Because you had nowhere else to go, came the answer, and with it, her own brand

of self-honesty kicked in. There had been no future for her on Midgard, she had

to admit. Then, too, Magnus had never even hinted that he saw her as anything

but a friend-and who could, when she was so tall and ungainly and plain?

Resentment surged again-what right did he have to tear her away from her

homeland if he saw her as nothing more than a traveling companion?

Still, he had only extended the invitation; it was she who had leaped to accept

it. She had been excited at the prospect of seeing new worlds-and still was. The

thought of the planet they were approaching stirred that excitement again. True

enough, it didn't seem all that different from her home planet of Midgard, not

in the pictures, except that everyone on this new world of Brigante seemed to be

more or less the same size, and their villages were smaller-with no sign of

slavery, nor of battles.

It sounded rather dull, in fact; but after the constant dangers of her homeland,

she could do with a little tranquility. Of course, she'd had plenty of that on

the spaceship in the last three months, but to have it under an open sky and

with a variety of new people-that would be thrilling! Not that she had any fault

to find with Magnus, of course, except that he was always so quiet and so

serious! Anger stirred again, but with it came a mental picture of him, tall and

broad., a baulk of muscle taller even than herself, with the sharp-eyed look of

an eagle-though with eyes that could turn gentle with concern and tenderness in

an instant, brown eyes, larger than those of most men, in a face with a broad,

high forehead, prominent cheekbones, straight nose, and surprisingly full lips.

It seemed a sensual face, one made for passion.

Something within her churned at the thought. Angrily, she banished it for the

nonsense it was; if Magnus had been made for passion, why was he so distant and

withdrawn so often? Certainly he didn't find her attractive, probably didn't

even see her as a woman-and she felt obscurely relieved at the thought. He would

do for a traveling companion, and a very good one, but would she really want him

to be anything more?

Yes, cried something within her, but another element bridled at the thought. She

banished them both-Magnus was only a friend and shield-mate to her, as she was

to him. He would take her to strange, exotic places and do his best to keep her

safe there, as she would do to him. Bare is the back without brother behind it,

she thought, and at last she had a brotherand if he had only a sister-at-arms,

well, she would see to it that she was a better shield than any man could have

been!

Not that there looked to be any need of shields or swords on Brigante; she had

never seen a more peaceable-looking people in her life. She didn't really mind

Magnus's choice in worlds to visit-anything strange and new was bound to be

fascinating. But she did mind the fact that he had done the choosing, even

though he had asked her opinion. Still, she had to admit that she hadn't

objected; the world might not have been in trouble, bur it had sounded

interesting.

But she would have liked to have seen some sign of passion in him! Rail as she

might, she only evoked that compassionate, gentle gaze of his, almost

frightening in its intensity. For a moment, she imagined that intensity in an

ardent lover's gaze, his sensual face burning with desire-and shuddered. No, she

did not want that, not again, neither from him nor from any other man, The joy

and the ecstasy were not worth the pain of being cast aside.

Still, he could show some sign of emotion.

"You don't think she really wants to change destinations, then?"

"Not when we have come so far, Magnus. If nothing else, I am certain she would

like a few days to revel in the great outdoors with no walls about her and only

the sky for ceiling."

"There is that," Magnus admitted. "I could do with a little shore leave myself.

No offense, Herkimeryour accommodations are luxurious and very comforting, but I

think she may have had her fill of easy living for the time being."

"Certainly a passenger aboard. this ship lives better than the most wealthy

landowner on Midgard," Herkimer said, "though without as much space."

"Still, it's more room than in her parents' house." Magnus frowned, still

puzzling over the riddle that was Alea. "I really can't think of any way in

which I might have offended her-other than in being me, that is.. ." '

"You might also remember," Herkimer said judiciously, "that though you may not

be the cause of her anger, you are the only target available at the moment."

Magnus digested that idea for a few minutes, then nodded slowly. "Yes, shore

leave might be a good idea.".

"Assuredly she should find better ways of expressing her anger," Herkimer said,

"and probably will, given time."

"Meanwhile, though, I'm going to have to grin and bear it, eh?"

"You must persevere in the patience you have just demonstrated, yes." Herkimer

was silent for a few minutes, then added, "You may also wish to consider the

possibility that she may have been inadvertently testing you, trying to drive

you away in hopes that you will stay."

"Then she'll know that she's safe in trusting me further?"

"With her more tender emotions, yes. In either case, her anger only means that

she needs your sympathy and emotional support more than ever."

"She shall have it, then," Magnus said with conviction. "Of course; it would be

nice to know that it will end someday..."

"We cannot be sure of that," Herkimer said, "and ,someday' may be years away-but

yes, I think there will be an end to this constant anger. You should at least

have a temporary respite with the distractions of a planet-side mission."

"I deserve a break?" Magnus smiled. "Well, I could use one. Still, I can

sympathize."

The phrase called up vivid memories that he would prefer stayed buried. Magnus

pushed them to the back of his mind by turning to the orbital survey of their

destination planet. "Well, if Alea and I are going to be traveling companions,

let's study the world on which we're going, to journey. Have you been able to

find anything more about the history of their colonizing?"

"No, Magnus. I have cross-indexed, correlated, even searched a list of key

words, but have found only that notation, and a brief and somewhat sarcastic

news item about a society of neo-pagans departing from Terra to establish their

own notion of Utopia on a distant planet."

"Did the reporter wish them well?"

"In a manner of speaking. He was of the opinion that Terra would be better off

without such borderline lunatics."

"Because they did not embrace one of the major religions?"

"No, Magnus, because they embraced any religion at all."

"That reporter must have had a rather broad definition of lunatics."

"He claimed that it was technically accurate in their case, since they did

worship a moon-goddess."

"Well, we'll find out soon enough how sincere they were, and whether or not

their descendants accepted those beliefs. How long till we drop into orbit

around the planet, Herkimer?"

"Seven hours and thirty-six minutes, Magnus. You might want to pack some'

supplies and change to your local wardrobe."

Magnus didn't ask where it had come from; he knew Herkimer would have fabricated

clothing based on images from the orbital survey, and that he would find a

complete ensemble hanging in his wardrobe. "Tell Alea, would you? I don't think

she'd appreciate hearing it from me just now."

Alea came to join him at the air. lock saying, "You could have told me yourself,

you know." Magnus looked up at her in surprise. "I didn't think you wanted to

hear my voice if you didn't have to."

"Oh, don't be silly," Alea scoffed. "Of course I want to talk with you." Her

eyes were bright; she fairly glowed with eagerness. "What do you think they'll

be like? Tall? Short? Anything like us?"

Magnus smiled, relieved at her change of mood. "I think they'll have two arms,

two legs, and one head each."

She gave him a glare but was too excited to do it well. "They can't be as tall

as we are, can they?"

"Well, they can, of course," Magnus said, "but they may also be much shorter. We

don't have any way of judging size there-not by the height of their houses.

They'll have built them to their own scale. We can be fairly sure, though, that

they'll speak some variation of Terran Standard speech."

"Do all the colonies speak that way?"

"Most, though there are a few that deliberately revived an older language. The

general rule is: the closer the dialect is to Terran Standard, the more rigid

its government."

Alea frowned. "Then my peo-the Midgarders must have spoken an almost pure form."

"It had drifted a bit they had worked in quite a few words from old German-but

it was very easy to understand. It was interesting that the dwarves and giants

had thicker accents than the Midgarders, though."

"Well, yes." Alea kept the frown, thinking. "Their governments weren't anywhere

nearly as strict, after all."

Magnus replied, "By that rule, I suppose these people should have developed a

dialect that's halfway to being a new language. Neolithic societies didn't

usually have central governments, after all."

"I thought the Sumerians and the Egyptians were Neolithic."

"They were, but they don't seem to be the model's these colonists used," Magnus

said with a smile tight with irony. "They seem to have been more inclined to the

practices of Native American and prehistoric Northern European cultures."

"Didn't like cities, I suppose," Alea said, "but I can't blame them-those

pictures you showed me of a real city were enough to make me shudder."

"They have their disadvantages," Magnus admitted. "Great fun if you're rich, I

understand, but I wouldn't know personally."

Alea stared at him, "You have a ship like this and you don't think you're rich?"

"It's my only asset," Magnus explained. "I'm what they call `cash poor.' "

Herkimer's voice intruded. "Atmospheric testing complete. The oxygen-nitrogen

mixture is quite breathable, though a little thinner than my shipboard

atmosphere, and has no organisms that are likely to resist your broadband

inoculations."

"Then we can go out?" Alea asked, eagerness barely restrained.

"You can." The air lock door slid open. "Enjoy your stay. "

She waited impatiently for the local air to replace the ship's-in spite of his

assurances, Herkimer didn't want to risk contamination of their only possible

refuge. Magnus looked down at her fondly, remembering his own early excitement

at visiting strange worlds.

"Should I call you `Gar' again, now that we'll be ashore?" Alea asked.

"That would be wise," Gar agreed. "There's only a slight risk that there might

be agents from an advanced society among these people, but I'd rather not take

the chance that anyone here has heard of Magnus d'Armand."

Alea thought he was being silly-since he had been Gar Pike on six separate.

planets now and started some sort of revolution on each of them, the chances

seemed greater that rival agents would have heard of Gar than of Magnus. Still,

it was his choice. "There shouldn't be any problem with my using my own name,

should there?"

"No," Magnus agreed. "I don't think anyone is tying the name Alea Larsdatter to

rebellion and turbulence yet."

Alea was about to ask about that "yet" when the door slid open before her. With

a shout of joy, she ran down the ramp into the fragrant spring night and the

calf-high grass, swinging her traveler's staff end over end and whirling about

in an impromptu dance of joy at being outside again.

Gar followed more slowly, smiling with pleasure at . her delight.

Alea spun to a halt, hands on her hips, eyes flashing, teeth bared in a grin.

"What monster shall we hunt, Gar Pike?"

"Why, whatever we find." Gar returned her grin. "A dictator or tyrant will do,

though I'd rather have a corrupt king. Let us walk the night road and listen

with our minds to the people in that little village half a mile away. Perhaps

their dreams will tell us what sort of government rules this world."

"I could use the practice." Alea pivoted to stand by his side, chin high, smile

tight with amusement. "After all, you've only just taught me how to read minds."

"You've only just learned," Gar corrected. "It's not the sort of thing one can

teach-either you have the talent, or you don't."

"Still, it was good of you to let me practice on you. I wonder if I'll be able

to read anyone else's mind yet."

"Oh, I think so." Gar felt the familiar half sickness, . half elation at the

thought that she might be so bonded to him as to be able to read only his own

mind. He pushed the thought down into the depths from which it had come-he

wanted a companion, not a lover.

He straightened, eyes losing focus as his mind opened to others' thoughts.

"Let's listen here. See if you can pick up any thoughts from the village."

Alea straightened and stilled, too, letting her thoughts drift, stray, die down,

and yield to those of the others on this planet. "Dreams," she said after a

while, "a jumble of images that make no sense.... Well, no, that one makes

sense, though I doubt any living woman was ever built like that ... and a woman

who misses her husband badly, though I doubt he was ever so handsome; what

happened to him, I wonder?"

"Is there an overtone of grief to the thought?" Gar asked.

"Not really, only longing."

"Can you work into her dreams a wondering as to where he is?"

Alea stared up at him. "Is that right to do?"

"Not really," Gar said, "though there's no harm in listening to the thoughts

people let slip, if they're not too personal."

"I skipped past those three-though this one is a bit more personal, in its way."

"Then let it pass, too," Gar said, "but work into someone else's dream a picture

of a wanderer coming into the town."

Alea frowned. "That still seems like meddling."

"It is, but no more so than guiding a conversation toward information you want

revealed."

"I suppose that's true," Alea allowed, and formed a mental picture of Gar

walking into the village, his staff rising and falling. She was careful to

imagine him a bit shorter than he was.

The dreamer's reaction startled her-a surge of delight, of anticipation,

wondering what goods the peddler carried in his pack. Needles, perhaps, and

sugar from the north, a few spices, seeds for strange varieties of maize and

soybeans, pictures of exotic farm tools for the smith to make, and news, word of

what passed in the rest of the world, perhaps even a new fable....

"He certainly isn't afraid of a wanderer, this dreamer," Alea said. "It doesn't

occur to him that a traveler could be anything but a peddler."

"Not even a minstrel? Sounds like a dull land," Gar said. "Let me try it on

another dreamer." He frowned a moment, then said, "Another ... another.. ." He

turned back to Alea. "It's even as you say. Apparently peddlers are the only

wanderers they know of."

"Let me try another possibility." Alea chose a teenage girl and worked a quartet

of young men and women into her dream, entering the village with laughter and

cries of greeting. . . "Well! I made the wanderers young and the whole village

turned out in welcome. Apparently young folk are expected to wander and see a

bit of the world."

"How do the younger locals react to them?"

"With flirtation," Alea said immediately. "I wonder how many of those young

wanderers return home, and how many settle down in a village they discover in

their travels."

"A good way of mixing the gene pool and avoiding inbreeding." Gar nodded

approval. "Still, I would assume you and I are a little old for a Wandejahr."

"Speak for yourself, mine has just begun," Alea said. "But I do think the

villagers would see us that way, so peddlers we'll be." She plucked up her nerve

and demanded, "Husband and wife?"

"Or brother and sister, if anyone asks," Gar said. "For all we know, they may

not see anything unusual in a man and a woman choosing to travel together. Was

your band of young wanderers all of one gender?"

"No, I was careful to make them evenly split."

"We'll let experience teach us, then." Gar turned back to the spaceship. "Let's

go collect a couple of packs of trade goods."

Packs they already had, for they had used them on Midgard. Alea told Herkimer

what sort of trade goods her dreamer had wanted and the computer fabricated them

in minutes, then added a few that had proved popular down the centuries-ribbons

and beads, knives and pots, small bars of copper and tin.

"Do you play a musical instrument?" Gar asked. "Why?" Alea looked up at him with

a frown that cleared quickly. "Oh! The villagers' hunger for news and stories. I

suppose peddlers here would have to be minstrels, too, wouldn't they?"

"It would probably give us an edge," Gar agreed. "I can manage a flute." For a

moment, Alea's eyes filled with tears at the memory of the lovely pipe with its

inlaid flowers that the magistrate had taken from her when her mother and father

had died. He had given it, along with herself, to the neighbors who had hated

her parents. She thrust the thought to the back of her mind with impatience;

there was no time to muse about such things now.

Equipped with everything they could think of, Gar and Alea went forth to conquer

the retail trade. Gar turned back at the foot of the ramp and said, "Up and

away, Herkimer."

The ramp slid back into the ship and the air lock hatch hissed shut as the

computer's external loudspeaker asked, "Shall I stay in geostationary orbit,

Magnus?"

"Please do," Gar said. "We have our communicators if we need them, but we may

need you to relay." He didn't say that they might also need to have the ship

drop down and save them from a real predicament-it was an outside possibility,

and there was no need to alarm Alea unduly.

The great golden disk rose silently into the night, drifting upward, then

suddenly shooting away into the clouds. Gar and Alea watched it go. When it had

disappeared, Alea turned away, giving herself a shake and saying, "Three months

ago, I never would have believed such a sight."

"Six months ago," Gar countered, "I never would have believed in actual living

giants. Shall we see if the local folk believe in mixed peddlers?"

They had to wait a few hours for sunrise, of course. Gar brewed coffee, assuming

it would be their last taste for some time, but Alea was too excited for more

than a few sips. When false dawn came she looked up, listening, then nodded in

satisfaction. "They're up and about."

Gar nodded; they had both been reared in medieval societies, so it never

occurred to either of them that there was anything unusual with people waking at

first light. Gar had spent some time in modern cities and knew many people slept

later, but to him, they seemed the odd ones. He stood up and walked to the brow

of the hill and saw it was part of a long rise in the land. "We can see the

village from here."

Alea came to stand beside him and nodded. "Herkimer chose our landing site

well."

Gar noticed she didn't mention who had given Herkimer the criteria for the site.

To give Alea her due, she probably didn't notice, either.

They watched the people moving about their cottages for a while--going out to

milk the cow, slop the hogs, feed the chickens, and gather eggs. After a while,

Alea said, "There doesn't seem to be any pattern to who does which task."

"Pattern?" Then Gar understood what she meant. "No. Some of the milkers are men,

some are women. I wonder who's doing the cooking."

They were both quiet for a few minutes; then Alea guessed, "The old folk?"

"Seems possible," Gar allowed. "Come to think of it, I wonder how many teenagers

are doing those morning chores."

"Where I came from, you started grown-up work at twelve," Alea said. "Not all of

it, mind you-only men had the muscle to guide those heavy plows-but any teenage

boy could chop wood."

"Here, it seems that the girls do it, too." Gar nodded toward one long-skirted

figure who was wielding an ax.

"There's one who wishes she had done her chores before dinner!" Alea said.

"Well, let's see what kind of welcome they'll give travelers."

The welcome was rude and abrupt, though it might have been a bit better if they

had reached the village.

They managed to find a road by the simple expedient of going downhill and

following the sound of water; the trackway ran beside the river, as farmers'

roads often did. They had been following it for only ten minutes when Gar

stiffened.

"What's the matter?" Alea asked in alarm. "Company coming," Gar said, clipping

off the words. "Armed and looking for trouble. Hide, quickly!"

Alea turned toward the brush at the roadside, then realized he was standing

still and turned back. "Didn't you hear yourself? Come on!"

"Someone has to talk to them," Gar said, "or we'll never learn anything."

"Then I will." Alea came back.

"Believe me, companion, you have more to fear from them than I do," Gar said

grimly, "and I shall be stronger for-an ally in reserve when they think I'm

alone. Hide, I beg you, or I shall have to flee with you, and we'll lose this

chance for information."

"All right, be a fool if you must!" Alea said, exasperated, and turned to slip

in among the underbrush. Still, he had a point if they tried to harm him, she

could leap out and strike from behind. Her heart quailed at the thought, but

anyone who had fought wild dogs could summon the courage to fight wild men. Not

that it would do her much good, probably, but it might give him a chance.

There they came, six men riding, with crude wooden shields slung from their

saddlebows and spears in their hands. Alea shuddered at the sight of them; they

were rough-looking men, all dressed alike in brown leather jerkins and trousers,

several days overdue for a shave, and all glowering. They saw their quarry and

yelped like hounds on a scent, kicking their horses into gallops.

Gar stood, leaning on his staff and watching, apparently tranquil and

interested-but Alea knew that he was really putting no weight on the wood, that

the pose was only an apparently harmless way of having both hands on a weapon.

The riders drew rein with savage cries, surrounding him and grinning. It was

hard to gauge their height when they were mounted, but Alea could tell they were

much shorter than Gar.

"Well, here's a big enough catch!" said one. "You're meat for the general now,

fellow!"

"For the general what?" Gar asked, interested. The riders guffawed, and the

spokesman said, "General Malachi, that's what! What d' ye have in that pack

there?"

"Only the usual goods," Gar said, "ribbons and needles and the like."

"Girls' stuffs," one of the men sneered, but the leader said, "Off with it,

then, and hand it over!"

Gar shrugged out of the straps, changing his staff from one hand to another to

do so, then dropped it at his feet. He frowned at it for a few seconds as though

thinking it over, then looked up and said, "I don't think so."

Alea felt a thrill; he had taken off the pack to free him for a fight. It was a

good tactic, but what would happen if they stabbed at him?

"What did you say?" The leader's eyes narrowed. Alea was wondering the same.

What did the big galoot think he was doing? Didn't he know that kind of reaction

would incite them to use those spears? Yes, of course he . did. Though why on

earth he should be picking a fight with six mounted, armed men was more than she

could say-until she remembered how much he could do with his mind.

"Hand it over, the sergeant said!" one of the men snapped.

"I'd rather not," Gar said.

"Then we'll take it!" The loudmouth drew back his spear.

"No, hold." The leader held up a hand, eyes narrowing. "What kind of man would

talk back to six spears?"

"Someone who's big enough to carve up between us," another man grunted, leveling

his weapon. "And someone who's sure he can handle the lot of us," the sergeant

said. "He can't, of course, but I'd like to know why he thinks so."

"The lot of us?" the other man scoffed. "He can't handle one!" He jabbed at Gar

with his spear halfheartedly.

Gar whirled, the man yelped, and there was a loud crack.

Somehow Gar was standing with his back to a horse whose saddle was empty because

its rider was struggling with Gar's arm around his neck, holding him as a

shield.

"Yes, I thought it might be something like that," the leader said

conversationally. "Good moves, fellow, but you don't really think you can take

all six of us, do you?"

"I could have a lot of fun trying," Gar said with a grin.

The leader leaned back, looking down his nose at Gar with a weighing gaze. Then

he nodded slowly. "A fighter like that, with a size like yours, would be just

what the general wants. Gawn, take his pack."

One of the riders leaned down as his mount stepped forward and yanked at the

pack. His eyes widened at the weight but he managed to swing it up in front of

him anyway.

"There now," said the leader, "all this because you wouldn't give us your pack,

and here we have it anyway."

"Only for the moment," Gar said.

"A bit more than that, I think," the leader returned, "but I'm not here for a

few trinkets, I'm here recruiting. We'll let General Malachi bargain with you.

Off up that track, big man, or we'll leave you here looking like one of your

pincushions."

For a moment, Alea was afraid Gar was going to defy the man again-but he grinned

and let the rider loose. "All right, I'll meet your general. He sounds as though

he might be more of a match than this pollywog."

"Pollywog, am l?" the man husked, and coughed. "Don't worry, your throat will be

good as new within the hour," Gar assured him.

"You won't be, if I have anything to say about it! This pollywog has teeth!"

"Not until you've grown a bit."

The man mounted his horse, snarling, "This big enough for you?"

"Not really," Gar said. "Besides, I'll keep your tooth." He held up the spear.

The rider yanked a hatchet from his belt and swung it up.

"None of that!" the sergeant barked. "He's for the general! "

The rider froze, blood in his eye, then lowered his spear with a muttered

obscenity.

"You shouldn't say such things about yourself," Gar admonished. He turned to the

leader. "You take good care of your men."

"Meaning that even if we'd done for you, he wouldn't have seen the end of the

fight?" The leader grinned. "We'll see how your boasts work in battle. What's

your name, anyway?"

"Gar."

The leader didn't seem to notice the lack of a last name. "Well, Gar, I'm

Sergeant Router, and you don't have your pack to guard your back anymoreso what

say we all go to see General Malachi nice and friendly-like, eh?"

"Yes, I'd be very interested." Gar stepped forward into the middle of the group.

Most of the riders seemed a little taken aback at his sudden compliance, but

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