Rod was the only one who noticed the shadow pass over Brom’s face.

“… as thine Uncle Brom doth say, and flit back to Elfland, to thy nurses, there to bide whiles thy father and I do chase these monsters. Yet I’ll summon thee whene’er I may, to play awhile. Now, wilt thou go?”

The baby glowered at her, then nodded reluctantly.

“Good babe!” Gwen kissed him. “Now, hie thee hence!”

Magnus looked up at Rod. He reached out to squeeze a chubby hand—then found himself holding empty air. Magnus had disappeared.

“Bairns do understand more than we think,” Brom rumbled, “if we are but open with them.” He frowned at the peasants. “And what dost thou gape at, village fools? Hast never seen a babe afore?”

The men gave a start and glanced at Rod guiltily; but the women sighed, and one of them said to Gwen, “Now, bless thee, lady! Praise Heaven mine were only common babes!”

“Certes, they tried thee as sorely as ever mine try me,” Gwen answered, amused. “I have, after all, some powers to use in dealing with him. Yet bless thee for thy wishes, good-wife.”

One of the guardsmen stepped into the tent. “Milords, His Majesty doth ask that thou attend upon him.”

Brom looked up, frowning. “What coil’s this?”

“Word hath flown from witch to witch, milord. A dragon ship doth sail toward Bourbon.”

Half an hour later, while the main army was still striking its tents and packing up, the Flying Legion cantered up out of the valley and struck off toward the east. Rod rode at their head, with Toby the teenage warlock beside him. “I didn’t have time for the full report, Toby. Who spotted the beastmen?”

“Matilda, milord. She and Marion, her sister, flew to the east to dwell within a cottage on a cliff-top that Lord Hapsburg built for them—all as His Majesty commanded.”

Rod nodded. “And they take turns just sitting and listening for strange thoughts, right?”

Toby nodded. “Even as His Majesty did command—an hour listening, then an hour doing other things, then an hour listening again.” He glanced at Rod out of the corner of his eye. “ ‘Twas thou who didst bid His Majesty so instruct us, was it not?”

Rod frowned and shook his head. “What would I know about hearing thoughts, Toby? It was Gwen’s idea. So, who heard the beastman-thoughts—the one who was on duty, or both of them?”

“The one who was ‘off-duty,’ Lord Warlock. She slept, and waked screaming.”

“The one who slept?” Rod stared. Then he nodded slowly. “Well, I suppose it makes sense. Maybe her telepathic sensitivity gets a boost when she’s asleep.”

“We do seem to have dreams that are not our own,” Toby admitted.

“Really! Hm! Wish I’d known that—might’ve come in handy.”

“Cannot Gwendylon hear thy thoughts when she doth sleep?” Toby asked carefully.

Rod shook his head. “Neither asleep nor awake. I seem to be telepathically invisible.” His tone was carefully neutral, hiding his feelings nicely. He tried not to think about it; it made him feel inferior to Gwen. “What did Matilda dream?”

“She dreamt that she pulled an oar aboard a dragon ship, and heard the chieftains speaking of old gods which they used to worship, and a new god which they worship now. Yet all of it was without words, and the new god seemed somehow monstrous, though there was no picture of it.”

“Well, that’s not surprising. Haven’t you ever had that flash of thought, the whole concept suddenly clear, before you get around to putting it into words?”

Toby frowned. “I have indeed, though I had not thought of it. And the thought Matilda heard lasted no longer than such a flash.”

“Really?” Rod pricked up his mental ears. “Odd, that. Was there a strong emotion under it?”

Toby nodded. “Very strong; a surge of fear and dread. The beastman’s soul, for a second, did clamor toward the sky and the old gods. Then he realized what he did, and the thought ended. Yet it was enough to waken Matilda, and waken her screaming.”

“Small wonder; I’d wake up halfway out of the room. But it tells us a lot.”

“Aye. It tells us beastmen draw near the eastern coast.”

“Well, a bit more than that. It tells us the beastmen have a religion. So far, we didn’t even have any reason to think they had souls.”

“I had not thought of that,” Toby admitted.

“It also tells us that they’ve just had a conversion, and at least one of the converts wasn’t exactly wholehearted about it. Wonder who the new god is? And what kinds of methods his missionaries use…” Rod was remembering Constantine’s baptism and a new shirt, or death. “But more importantly, it tells us the beastmen’s thoughts can be heard when there are very strong emotions behind them—and gives us some reason to think they may be able to hide their thoughts deliberately.”

Toby frowned. “Why, how is that?”

“Because you said the thought ended just after the beast-man realized what he was doing. That means either that he deliberately hid his thoughts somehow, or that his thoughts can only be read when he’s at an emotional peak.”

“Why, that is so!” Toby looked up at Rod wide-eyed.

Rod squirmed; he hated hero worship, especially when it was directed at him. It made a man feel so responsible… “Of the two, I’d guess they can hide their thoughts. There must’ve been some sort of strong emotion in them when they sacked the Loguire coast, but no witches heard them.”

“But would not a one of them have let slip a thought in the heat of battle?”

Rod nodded. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? So maybe it’s the other way around; maybe their thoughts can only be read when they’re pushing them out. That surge of thought Matilda picked up sounds like a prayer—and a prayer is deliberately aimed away from yourself; you’re trying to reach someone else with that kind of thought.”

“Then, let us be glad there is one strong believer amongst them.”

“Yes, and that the old gods happened to be out of sight at the moment and needed a strong push behind a prayer if it was going to reach them.”

“But how could a god be in sight?” Toby looked puzzled. “They are naught but dreams.”

“Point well-taken,” Rod admitted, “but the beastmen might not know that yet. Especially if they’ve got an idol… Hm! Now you’ve got me wondering…”

“About what, Lord Warlock?”

“About their new god. I wonder just how new he is? What he wants his worshippers to do?”

Toby’s eyes suddenly lost focus. “Lord Warlock… word from Marion… the dragon ship hath shown no sign of turning in toward shore. It sails on past Bourbon…” He frowned a second in concentration, probably his equivalent of, “Acknowledged; that’s a copy,” then turned back to Rod. “The beastmen sail on, northward.”

“Then, we’ll head north too. Sergeant!” Rod called back over his shoulder. “Turn left at the next crossroad!” He turned back to Toby. “Send word to His Majesty.”

“Aye, Lord Warlock.” Toby’s eyes lost focus again. Rod watched him in silence for a few minutes, till the young warlock’s eyes cleared again. He turned to Rod with a half-smile. “His Majesty turns the main army northward. He is quite pleased with his new way of sending messages betwixt the parts of an army.‘’

“I should think he would be. Any medieval commander would’ve given his right arm for an advantage like that. You know, Toby, when this is all over I’ll bet His Majesty tries to set up a permanent witch-and-warlock network—only for royal messages, of course.”

Toby frowned. “That is not wholly a happy thought, Lord Warlock.”

“No, neither for you, nor for the general population. Though you must admit it would guarantee you full employment.”

“Fuller than I wish, I doubt not.”

“Well, that’s a point. It is nice to be able to keep the workday down to eight hours—and it’s even nicer to have some choice as to whether or not you’re going to take the job in the first place. No, it’s okay for an emergency, but we definitely shouldn’t encourage this kind of thing during peacetime.”