King Kobold Revived

“And the beastmen know they can be beaten.” Brother Chillde nodded. “ ‘Tis a vast transformation, Lord Warlock.”

“Yes.” Rod glowered down at the camp. “Nasty. But vast.”

“Okay.” Rod propped his feet up on a camp stool and took a gulp from a flagon of ale. Then he wiped his mouth and looked up at Gwen and Agatha. “I’m braced. Tell me how you think it worked.”

They sat inside a large tent next to Tuan’s, the nucleus of a village that grew every hour around the King’s Army.

“We’ve got them bottled up for the moment,” Rod went on, “though it’s just a bluff. Our raids are keeping them scared to come out because of our ‘magic’—but as soon as they realize we can’t fight the Evil Eye past the first thunderclap, they’ll come boiling out like hailstones.”

The tassels fringing the tent doorway stirred. Rod noted it absently; a breeze would be welcome—it was going to be a hot, muggy day.

“We must needs have more witches,” Gwen said firmly.

Rod stared at her, appalled. “Don’t tell me you’re going to go recruiting among the hill-hags again! Uh—present company excepted, of course.”

“Certes.” Agatha glared. The standing cup at her elbow rocked gently. Rod glanced at it, frowning; surely the breeze wasn’t that strong. In fact, he couldn’t even feel it…

Then his gaze snapped back to Agatha’s face. “Must what?”

“Persuade that foul ancient, Galen, to join his force here with ours,” Agatha snapped. “Dost thou not hearken? For, an thou dost not, why do I speak?”

“To come up with any idea that crosses your mind, no matter how asinine.” Rod gave her his most charming smile. “It’s called ‘brainstorming.’ ”

“Indeed, a storm must ha’ struck thy brain, if thou canst not see the truth of what I say!”

The bowl of fruit on the table rocked. He frowned at it, tensing. Maybe a small earthquake coming…?

He pulled his thoughts together and turned back to Agatha. “I’ll admit we really need Galen. But how’re you going to persuade him to join us?”

“There must needs be a way.” Gwen frowned, pursing her lips.

An apple shot out of the bowl into the air. Rod rocked back in his chair, almost overturning it. “Hey!” Then he slammed the chair forward, sitting upright, frowning at Gwen, hurt. “Come on, dear! We’re talking serious business!”

But Gwen was staring at the apple hanging in the air; an orange jumped up to join it. “My lord, I did not…”

“Oh.” Rod turned an exasperated glare on Agatha. “I might have known. This’s all just a joke to you, isn’t it?”

Her head pulled back, offended. “What dost thou mean to say, Lord Warlock?”

A pear shot out of the bowl to join the apple and the orange. They began to revolve, up and around, in an intricate pattern.

Rod glanced up at them, his mouth tightening, then back to Agatha. “All right, all right! So we know you can juggle—the hard way, no hands! Now get your mind back to the problem, okay?”

“I?” Agatha glanced at the spi

Rod just stared at her.

Then he said carefully, “But Gwen said she wasn’t doing it—and she wouldn’t lie, would she?”

Agatha turned her head away, disgusted, and ended looking at Gwen. “How canst thou bear to live with one so slow to see?”

“Hey, now!” Rod frowned. “Can we keep the insults down to a minimum, here? What am I supposed to be seeing?”

“That if I have not done it, and she hath not done it, then there must needs be another who doth do it,” Agatha explained.

“Another?” Rod stared up at the fruit, his eyes widening as he understood. He felt his hackles trying to rise. “You mean…”

“My son.” Agatha nodded. “Mine unborn son.” She waved a hand toward the spi

“Uh… yeah.” Rod turned back to the two ladies, trying very hard to ignore the fruit bobbing above him. “Galen. Right. Well, as I see it, he’s a true isolate, a real, bona fide, died-in-the-haircloth hermit. Personally, I can’t think of a single thing that could persuade him to join us.”

“I fear thou mayest have the truth of it,” Gwen sighed. “Certes, I would not say that he is amenable.”

Air popped and a baby was sitting in her lap, clapping his hands. “Momma, Momma! Pa’y cake! Pa’y cake!”

Gwen stiffened, startled. Then a delighted smile spread over her face. “My bo

Rod threw up his hands and turned away. “Why bother trying? Forget the work! C’mere, son—let’s play catch.”

The baby chortled with glee and bounced out of Gwen’s lap, sailing over to Rod. He caught the boy and tossed him back to Gwen.

“Nay, husband.” She caught Magnus and lowered him to the ground, suddenly becoming prim. “ ‘Tis even as thou sayest—we have matters of great moment in train here. Back to thine elf-nurse, child.”

Magnus thrust out his lip in a pout. “Wa

Rod bent a stern glance on his son. “Can you be quiet?”

The baby nodded gleefully.

Gwen gave an exasperated sigh and turned away. “Husband, thou wilt have him believing he can obtain aught he doth wish!”

“But just one bit of noise, mind you!” Rod leveled a forefinger at the baby. “You get in the way just one little bit, and home you go!”

The baby positively glowed. He bobbed his head like a bouncing ball.

“Okay—go play.” Rod leaned back in his chair again. “Now. Assuming Galen can’t be persuaded—what do we do?”

Agatha shrugged. “Nay, if he will not be persuaded, I can not see that we can do aught.”

“Just the words of encouragement I needed,” Rod growled. “Let’s try another tack. Other veterans. Any other magical hermits hiding out in the forests?”

“Magnus, thou didst promise,” Gwen warned.

Agatha frowned, looking up at the tent roof. “Mayhap old Elida… She is bitter but, I think, hath a good heart withal. And old Anselm…” She dropped her eyes to Rod, shaking her head. “Nay, in him ‘tis not bitterness alone that doth work, but fear also. There is, perhaps, old Elida, Lord Warlock—but I think…”

“Magnus,” Gwen warned.

Rod glanced over at his son, frowning. The baby ignored Gwen and went on happily with what he had been doing—juggling. But it was a very odd sort of juggling; he was tossing the balls about five feet in front of him, and they were bouncing back like boomerangs.

Rod turned to Gwen. “What’s he doing?”

“Fire and fury!” Agatha exploded. “Wilt thou not leave the bairn to his play? He doth not intrude; he maketh no coil, nor doth he cry out! He doth but play at toss-and-catch with my son Harold, and is quiet withal! He maketh no bother; leave the poor child be!”

Rod swung about, staring at her. “He’s doing what?”

“Playing toss-and-catch,” Agatha frowned. “There’s naught so strange in that.”

“But,” Gwen said in a tiny voice, “his playmate ca

“Not by us,” Rod said slowly. “But, apparently, Magnus sees him very well indeed.”

Agatha’s brows knitted. “What dost thou mean?”

“How else would he know where to throw the ball?” Rod turned to Agatha, his eyes narrowing. “Can you see your son Harold?”

“Nay, I ca

“I was kinda wonderin’ about that.” Rod’s gaze returned to his son. “But I thought you said Harold was an unborn spirit.”

“Summat of the sort, aye.”

“Then, how can Magnus see him?” Gwen lifted her head, her eyes widening.

“I did not say he had not been born,” Agatha hedged. She stared at the bouncing fruit, her gaze sharpening. “Yet I ha’ ne’er been able to see my son aforetimes.”