The Warlock is Missing

The key groaned in the lock.

Geoffrey whirled, catching up the broomstick and leaping to his feet, stick raised to guard, jumping in front of his sister.

"I have him, Father," Magnus said suddenly. His voice sounded different, somehow—a little deeper, a little more resonant. "His mind doth meld with mine."

The door groaned open. Lontar stepped into the room, giggling; spittle drooled from his lip, and his eyes were wild.

Gregory opened his eyes, turned to look, and grasped Magnus's hand. "Lend him thine eyes, brother!"

"What! Wilt thou fight me, then?" Lontar pointed at Geoffrey, cackling. "Good, good! Exercise doth make a good appetite! Yet I think thou art too tough and stringy—I'll start with another!" He stepped forward, cackling and reaching out toward Cordelia. "Aieee!" His head whipsnapped at the sudden pain, but he squinted against it and came on toward her in spite of it.

Magnus turned slowly, opening his eyes and frowning. He saw Lontar and stretched out his arm, forefinger pointing.

"Ah! The biggest doth see me, then!" Lontar crowed. "Art ready to bathe, lad? The water is hot, and oiled with onions and carrots! Yet thou, too, art like to be tough; we'll start with the smallest! Yi-eeee!" He winced at the pain, but turned toward Gregory anyway.

A bolt of pure energy spat from Magnus's finger with a sound like a gunshot. It struck Lontar square in the chest. The old sorcerer screamed once, falling backward. His whole body heaved; then he lay still.

Phebe and Groghat stared, horrified.

Geoffrey disappeared with a thunder-crack.

Groghat came to his senses, knocked Phebe aside, and charged into the room, roaring.

Cordelia narrowed her eyes, glaring at him. A horde of old nails and scrap iron shot in through the window and crashed into Groghat's face. He howled, batting the stuff aside—but thunder cracked, and Geoffrey appeared on his shoulders. He jammed the broomstick across Groghat's throat and hauled back.

The giant made a gargling sound, eyes bulging, and grasped at the stick—but as he did, his feet shot out from under him, and he slammed down onto the floor with a crash that shook the whole chamber. A lump of old iron slammed into his temple, and he collapsed, unconscious.

Geoffrey turned on Phebe, his eyes narrowed.

She shrank back against the wall, horrified—then remembered herself. She managed a tremulous smile, and stepped away from the wall, eyelids drooping. "Nay, then! Hast thou come for me, young man?"

A wave of attraction seemed to roll out from her, fascinating, binding.

Geoffrey hesitated.

"Have at thee, hag!" Cordelia screamed, and a length of old chain lashed Phebe, wrapping itself around her throat. She gave a horrified scream that choked off into a gurgle—and the broomstick wrenched itself out of Geoffrey's hands to crash into her skull. Her eyes rolled up, and she folded.

Geoffrey drew a long, shuddering breath. "Sister—I thank thee! Remember it well, for I'll say it but rarely."

"'Tis wondrous as 'tis," she returned, and stepped over to Groghat. "Doth he truly sleep?"

Geoffrey stepped over with her, peering down. "Aye, well and soundly. Aid me, sister—roll him over."

Together, frowning, they stared at the giant. His body shook, heaved—and pitched over. "One apiece," Cordelia said tightly, and the giant's hands yanked up behind his back. A length of old chain shot out and whipped about his wrists; then Cordelia glared at two links. They glowed cherry-red, then yellow—then darkened again.

"Well welded," Geoffrey approved. " 'Twas on the outside links, and 'twas so quickly done that he's not even burned."

"More's the pity," Magnus grunted.

They spun about, surprised. "Eh!" Geoffrey said. "Thou art come back to us, art thou?"

"Aye," his brother said, "and I gave Lord Kern great thanks for the power he lent us, and Albertus thanks for conducting it to me."

"And great thanks to Vidor," Gregory piped, "for bethinking him that his elder brother might be able to blend his mind with thine, and for summoning him."

"Aye. I thanked him, too." Magnus looked down at Gregory. "If ever they need our aid, lad, we must turn to them instantly."

"Aye, without fail," Gregory agreed. "Yet, Magnus, their Papa did say he was glad of the chance to repay our Papa for his good aid."

"'Tis not a balance of good deeds, but a chain," Magnus averred. He turned to his brother and sister, saw the unconscious bodies, and grunted, "Thou hast worked well, here."

"We had need to find summat with which to pass the time, while certain parties were abstracted," Geoffrey said, trying for nonchalance.

"Whiles we, of course, did play," Magnus responded. He rose, with difficulty. "Eh! But my joints ache!" He stepped over to Lontar and knelt beside him, placing a hand on the vein in his neck.

"Thou'lt not start his heart again!" Geoffrey protested.

"Nay." Magnus drew back his hand in disgust. "There's no need."

"He yet lives?" Geoffrey cried in dismay.

"And he called thee tough and stringy," Cordelia snorted.

Geoffrey looked about at the three, at a loss for once. "What… what are we to do with them?"

The brothers and sister exchanged a blank look.

"We ca

"Aye, but 'tis not for us to say they must die, neither," Magnus answered.

They stared at one another in silence.

Then Geoffrey crowed, "I have it! We shall let Mama and Papa decide!"

"Oh, excellent, brother," Magnus scoffed, "most excellent! Aye, we'll bid Mama and Papa come here in judgment—as soon as we find them!"

"Oh, nay! We know they'll come home, soon or late—so we'll take these vile villains there, to await them!"

Cordelia and Magnus stared at him, floored by the sheer audacity of the plan.

Then Cordelia giggled.

Magnus gri

"Aye," Geoffrey agreed, picking up another length of rusty chain. "And who knows? Mayhap Lontar will die on the way!"

Puck and Kelly stared, unbelieving, as the children came out of the doorway at the base of the tower. Then Puck turned to Summer. "To the King, straight away! Tell him they are safe, that he need not come! Scat!"

Summer flew off, casting an indignant look backward at him.

It was wasted; Puck and Kelly were already shooting over the floor of the clearing, straight toward the children.

"Magnus! Cordelia! Geoffrey! Gregory! By Oak, Ash and Thorn! Ye are safe!"

Cordelia managed a smile. "Aye, praise all saints!"

"We could not come to thine aid, for there was so great a deal of Cold Iron hung about that tower!"

"That foul, fell felon," Kelly howled, "who's so craven that he must needs drape his house in all that we dread! 'Tis naught but what ye should look for, from such vile fellows as…"

He broke off, staring at the procession of unconscious bodies that floated out of the tower behind the children.

"Eh!" Puck gasped. "How hast thou taken these trussed-up fowls?"

"With great difficulty," Magnus assured him, "and only with the aid of some folk who were not there."

"Not there? How is this?" Puck's gaze sharpened with keen suspicion as he looked up at Magnus. Then he stared. "Lad! Thine hair!"

"What of it?" Magnus put a hand to his head, suddenly self-conscious. "'Tis yet there!"

But his brothers and Cordelia were staring, too. "We had not noticed, in all the turmoil," she said, "yet now…"

"What is it?"

"I ha' known thee since before thou wast born," Puck avowed, "and ever was thine hair as golden as the crown of a king!"

"Wilt thou not tell me?" Magnus exploded.

"Gregory," Cordelia said, "thy friend Vidor—what color is the hair of his older brother?"