King Kobold Revived

“So I’ll duck. Upward and onward, Steel Steed! Ho, and away!”

“You forgot the ‘horse and hattock,’ ” Fess reminded.

Fess swept down the road to the south in the easy, tireless, rocking-chair gait possible only to electric horses. Rod sat back in the saddle and enjoyed the ride.

“Of course,” he was saying, “it’s possible this revivalist is just what he seemed to be, nothing more—just a neurotic, unordained religious nut. But somehow I find myself able to doubt it.”

“Coincidence is possible,” Fess agreed, “though scarcely probable.”

“Especially since his activities are weakening the war effort very nicely—nicely for the beastmen, that is. And why else would he start operating at just this particular time? He must have begun preaching a week or two before Catharine began recruiting; otherwise we would have had at least a few volunteers.”

“We may assume, then, that there is some correlation between the two phenomena—the war and the preacher,” Fess opined.

“Correlation, Hell! He’s working for ‘em, Fess! How else could you explain it?”

“I do not have an alternate theory prepared,” the robot admitted. “Nonetheless, the probability of direct collusion is extremely low.”

“Oh, come off it!”

“Examine the data, Rod. The Neanderthals and the preacher are separated by approximately a hundred miles of ocean. Moreover, there is no physiological resemblance apparent from the reports we have received.”

“A point,” Rod admitted. “Still, I say…”

“Pardon the interruption,” Fess said suddenly, “but… you are aware that I am using radar…”

“I should hope so, when we’re going sixty miles an hour!”

“Two flying objects have just passed overhead.”

Rod’s stomach sank. “Just a couple of birds, right?”

“I’m afraid not, Rod.”

Rod darted a glance at the sky. There they were, already dwindling in the distance—two broomsticks, with women attached. “They didn’t!”

“I fear they did, Rod. I estimate their equivalent ground speed in excess of one hundred miles per hour. And, of course, they can fly in a direct, straight line.”

“They’re go

“I trust not, since she will need to be able to concentrate all her powers in fighting the Evil Eye.”

“Yeah… I’d forgotten about that. Well!” Rod sighed and sat back. “That’s a relief!”

“I should think it would cause greater anxiety, Rod.” Fess actually sounded puzzled.

“No—because she’ll probably settle down wherever the Royal Witchforce is stationed—and Tuan’ll have ‘em very well guarded.” Rod gri

“Then did the Foemen fall upon us in endless waves. Their long ships were myriad, a plague of Dragons clawing up out of the ocean onto the beach, vomiting forth beastmen in their thousands. Tall, they were, and fanged, with their heads beneath their shoulders, and Murder in their eyes. Our doughty soldiers blanched and fell back; but the King exhorted them, and they held their places. Then did the High Warlock rise up before them, and Thunder smote the air, and Lightning blasted the ground about him. In a voice like unto a trumpet, he swore unto the soldiers that his Witches would ward the Evil Eye away from them; therefore he bade them march forth to meet and best the foemen, for the sakes of their Wives and Daughters and Sweethearts. Courage flowed from him to the heart of every soldier, and they began their march.

But the beastmen then had formed their line, and the lightning glittered from their shields and helms. They roared with bestial Lust and set forth against King Tuan’s army.

With a shout, the soldiers charged; yet each beastman caught the eyes of two among them, or mayhap three, then half a dozen, and froze them where they stood. Then did the beastmen laugh—a hideous, grating Noise—and ‘gan to stride forward to make Slaughter.

But the High Warlock cried out to his Witchfolk there on the hill from whence they watched the battle, and they joined hands in prayer, speeding forth the greatest of their Powers, grappling with the beastmen’s darkling Strength, and freeing the minds of all the soldiers from its Spell. The army then cried out in anger, striding forth with pikes upraised; but Thunder crashed, and Lightning smote the land, leaping up into the beastmen’s eyes, to freeze the soldiers there again within their tracks; and on their hill, the Witchfolk lay in a swoon, like unto Death—for the power of the demon Kobold had seared their minds.

And the beastmen grunted laughter and swung huge war axes, laying low the soldiers of the King.

The High Warlock cried out then in his Rage, and did ride down upon them on his steed of Night, laying about him with a sword of Fire, hewing through the beastmen’s line; while his wife and an ancient Hag of the Hills did hear his cry, and sped unto the battle. There they joined hands, and bent their heads in prayer, and did betwixt them what all the King’s Witchfolk together had done—grappled with the Kobold’s power, and lifted its spell from off our soldiers’ minds. Yet too many amongst them had fallen already; they could defend themselves but little more.

Then did the High Warlock again charge the beastmen’s line, chanting high his ancient War Song, and the soldiers heard it and took heart. They gave ground then, step by step, and laid waste such beastmen as were foolhardy enough to come nigh them; thus King Tuan brought them away from that cursed beach whereon so many of their Comrades did lie slain; thus he brought them up into the hills—battered, bruised, yet an army still—and bade them rest themselves and bind their wounds, assuring them their Time would come again.

And the High Warlock turned unto his wife upon the Hill, to consider how they might yet confound the beast-men; and they left the monsters to number their dead, and dig themselves deep Holes to hide in.”

—Chillde’s Chronicles of the Reign of Tuan and Catharine

Fess trotted up to the crest of the hill, and Rod stared down at the most miserable collection of teenage warlocks and witches he’d ever seen. They lay or sat on the ground, heads hanging, huddling inside blankets. Brother Chillde wove his way among them, handing out steaming mugs. Rod wondered what was in them—and wondered even more if the Lord Abbot knew that Brother Chillde was actually helping witchfolk. The little monk seemed, to say the least, unorthodox.

Then Rod realized that one of the blanketed ones was his wife.

“Gwen!” He leaped off Fess’s back, darting down to kneel by her side. “Are you… did you…” He gave up on words and gathered her into his arms, pressing her against his chest. “You feel okay___”

“I am well enough, my lord,” she said wearily; but she didn’t try to pull away. “Thou shouldst have greater care for these poor children—and for poor old Agatha.”

“Have care for thyself, if thou must,” spat the old crone. “I am nearly restored to full energy.” But she seemed just as droopy as the kids.

“What happened?” Rod grated.

Gwen pushed a little away from him, shaking her head. “I scarce do know. When we came, Toby and all his witchlings and warlocks lay senseless on the ground, and our soldiers stood like statues on the beach. The beastmen passed among them, making merry slaughter. Therefore did Agatha and I join hands to pool our power against the beastmen’s Evil Eye—and, oh, my lord!” She shuddered. “It was as though we heaved our shoulders up under a blackened cloud that lay upon us like unto some great, soft…” She groped for words. “ ‘Twas like the belly of a gross fat man, pushing down upon us—dark and stifling. Seemly it could soak up all the force that we could throw unto it; yet we heaved up under, Agatha and I; we did lift it off our soldiers’ minds so that they could, at least, defend themselves—though scarcely more; they were sorely outnumbered. Then lightning rent the sky, and that huge, dark bank fell down upon us, smothering.” She shook her head, eyes closed. “ ‘Tis all that I remember.”