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into Romanov this night. Papa?" Magnus asked.
"Not if I can help it. That's one border crossing I want to make in daylight."
"There are surprises enough, under the sun," Gwen agreed. "We need not those of the moon, also." Cordelia shrugged. "We know the range of witch-powers. What new thing could they smite us withal?"
"An we knew of it," Gwen advised her, "'twould not be surprise."
50 Christopher Stasheff
"Besides," Rod said thoughtfully, "I don't like what your Mama said, about that depth-hypnosis not having any feel of the mind that did it."
The children all stared up at him. Magnus voiced for them. "What dost thou think it may be. Papa?" But Rod shook his head. "There are too many factors we don't know about."
"We do know that the Tyrant Sorcerer is aged," Gregory piped up.
The others stared at him. "What makes thee say so?" Cordelia demanded.
"I heard the soldier speak thus, when he told Papa of the battle with Count Novgor."
"Such as it was." Rod searched his memory, and realized Gregory was right. But it was such a slight reference! And
"venerable" didn't necessarily mean "old." He glanced at Gwen, and found her eyes on him. He turned back to Gregory.
"Very good, son. What else do we know?"
"That he has gathered other witches and warlocks about him!" Cordelia said quickly.
"That they are younger than he," Magnus added, "for Grathum did not mention age when he spoke of the warlock Melkanth."
"He did not say Melkanth was young, though," Gregory objected, "and neither he nor the soldier said aught of the other sorcery folk."
Magnus clamped his jaw, and reddened. "Other than that there were more than a few of them—and enough to defeat a dozen armed men!"
"Well, he did use the plural," Rod temporized, "and Grathum and Arlinson both probably would've mentioned it, if they'd been old."
Magnus glanced up at his father gratefully.
"Still..." Rod glanced at Gregory, whose face was darkening into obstinacy. "... that is something we've guessed, not something we know. We've got to be ready to change that opinion in a hurry."
Gregory's expression lightened.
"We know there is a crafter of witch-moss among them," Gwen said slowly, "and I would presume 'tis the one we met with two nights agone."
THE WARLOCK ENRAGED 51
"Probably," Rod agreed, "and at least one of their witches is good enough at telekinesis, to come up with fireballs."
"That doth take skill," noted Gwen, who could light both a match and a bam a mile off.
"And a projective who can manage a quick hypnotic trance that's good enough to hold a dozen demoralized soldiers," Rod mused. "Presumably, that's the tyrant himself."
"Thou dost guess. Papa," Gregory reminded. Rod grinned. "Good boy! You caught it."
"And one among them can plan the use of all these powers, in such wise as to easily defeat an armed force," Geoffrey said suddenly.
Rod nodded. "Good point—and easy to miss. What was their strategy?"
"To gobble up first the peasants, then the knights," Geoffrey's eyes glowed. "They began with the small and built them into strength, then used them to catch something larger. They should therefore attack Duke Romanov and, after him, some others of the Great Lords—Hapsburg and Tudor, most likely, sin' that they are nearest neighbors. Then they might chance attack on the King and Queen, sin' that they'll have the Royal Lands encircled—or, if they doubt their own strength, they might swallow up Bourbon, DiMedici, and Gloucester ere they do essay King Tuan." The family was silent, staring at the six-year-old. Rod reflected that this was the child who hadn't wanted to leam how to read, until Rod had told him the letters were marching. "That's very good," he said softly, "very good—especially since there wasn't much information to go on. And I did say strategy, when I really meant tactics."
"Oh! The winning of that one battle?" Geoffrey shrugged.
"They sent witch-moss monsters against the armed band, to busy them and afright them. Then, the
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