“Save for thy messages, of course,” Toby said with his tongue in his cheek.

“Well, of course. But that’s a different case, isn’t it? I mean, I’m almost a member of the tribe.”

“By marriage,” Toby agreed. “Aye, when all’s said and done, thou art a warlock.”

Rod opened his mouth to deny it, thought what would happen if he did, and closed his mouth again.

The sun was only a red glow behind Rod’s right shoulder as he rode down the winding road toward the Romanov beach. “No faster than a trot, Sergeant! Let these folk by! We’re here to defend them, not trample them!”

Peasants thronged the road, with huge packs on their backs and handcarts behind them, hauling their few household goods. Rod swore. “They’d take their whole cottages if they could! Well, at least they’re not stampeding. Here’s the real evidence of the good you’ve done, Toby.”

“How so, Lord Warlock?” Toby reined his horse over to let the peasants pass by.

“Because they’ve got time to evacuate, thanks to the Magic Early Warning system. They even had time to pack up before they started fleeing!”

The Flying Legion swerved over to the side of the road, single file, following Rod’s and Toby’s example. The peasants, seeing them coming, struggled to compress their ranks and leave room for them.

“God save the High Warlock and his legion!” a voice yelled, and the whole flowing crowd joined in a ragged cheer. The soldiers grinned and sat a little straighter in the saddle.

“Always nice to be appreciated,” Rod observed. Toby smiled, amused.

A hand caught Rod’s shin. He looked down into a wrinkled, yellow-eyed face rough with beard stubble. “Drive them away, Lord Warlock! Why can ye not keep ‘em from comin’?”

“Off wi’ ye, now!” The man behind him gave the old whiner a shove. “Here’s men goin’ ‘t’ mortal danger, and you’d ask ‘em to hurry!” Rod smiled his thanks, and the younger man grinned back. “Save your worship!” He hurried on.

“There will ever be such, will there not?” Toby said quietly.

Rod nodded. “ ‘Save us, save us! And please arrange hotel accommodations while you’re doing it!’ But there’ll always be the ones behind them too, who tell ‘em to shut up and let us get on about our business.”

They struggled on through the crowd. The peasants streamed by, and they came out onto the beach while the sky still glowed with dusk. A hundred nervous men looked up at the sound of hoofbeats, and raised a frantic cheer. Rod grinned and waved, muttering under his breath, “Gallop, Fess. Make it look good. Pick out their officer and stop on a penny next to him.”

The black steel horse leapt into a gallop and thundered around in a curve, pulling up beside a cloaked horseman in plate armor. “Hail, Sir Knight! I am Rod Gallowglass, Lord High Warlock, and these men are His Majesty’s Flying Legion.”

“Thou art well come indeed!” cried the knight. “Now, praised be King Tuan for your coming!” Which was pretty good, considering that only three years ago this man must’ve been riding behind his lord, Duke Romanov, against the royal army, such as it had been. “I am Sir Styenkov.”

“We’re just reinforcements,” Rod assured. “I don’t want to upset your battle plan; we’ll just fall in beside you. What’d you planned?”

“What could I, with only an hundred?” The knight spread his hands helplessly. “ ‘Tis all that Their Majesties allow us to keep under arms—God save them, ’tis generous to allow even that! But what can they do? Draw up in a line, and wait.”

“I suppose so. But I’ve got two hundred more behind me. And yours are veterans, aren’t they?”

Styenkov nodded. “All fought in the rebellion, aye. They are not like to break and flee.”

“Then draw ‘em back up the beach as far as you can, and let ‘em wait. There’s only one dragon ship; at least, the witches haven’t said anything about there being more than one.” He frowned at the thought. “Hm. I’ve been careless. Toby!”

“Aye, Lord Warlock.”

“Has anyone done a flyby on the raiders? Actually flown over them, to see how many there are?”

Toby’s eyes lost focus for a minute; then they cleared, and he shook his head. “Nay, milord. None ha’ thought to do so.”

“Then do it, okay?”

“Aye, milord!” Toby sprang up into the air like a javelin trying for a new record, and disappeared into the low-hanging clouds. Sir Styenkov stared after him, open-mouthed. Rod turned to follow his gaze. “Hm. Yeah, that could be a problem, couldn’t it?”

“Only for the beastmen! What fabulous force hast thou assembled, Lord Warlock?”

“Oh, you mean Toby? No, he’s the only one with me; the rest are normal. Picked veterans, every one of ‘em, but normal.” Rod wondered how true that could be of any native of Gramarye. “No, I was talking about the clouds.”

“Oh.” For the first time, Styenkov seemed to notice the overcast. “Aye, those clouds look sullen. Well, I’ve fought in rain aforetimes.”

“Me too, and it was a thoroughly nasty business. Still, we can’t exactly send out an emissary and ask the beastmen to come back on a clear day, can we? But we might manage a different kind of surprise for them. If you pull your men way back, Sir Styenkov, and mine hide behind those rocks, over there”—he gestured toward an outcrop over to his left—“and behind that shrubbery”—he pointed to a line of trees on the right, that grew down almost to the water’s edge.

Sir Styenkov’s eyes lighted. “Then the beastmen will charge up to hack at my men, and yours may close upon them, like to the jaws of a vise!”

“Before they get to your men,” Rod added. “Though, of course, when they see this beach with good cover at each side, they might smell a trap and decide to go look for easier game.”

“I would not object to that…”

A gust of wind fanned Rod’s cheek, and Toby said, “There is only the one of them, Lord Warlock.”

Sir Styenkov nearly swallowed his beard.

“He has to fly out there because he doesn’t know where he’s going,” Rod explained. “But when he wants to come back he knows where it is, so he can teleport. It’s faster that way.” He turned to Toby. “How many men?”

“An hundred on deck. There may be more below—but I think not; their ship is small.”

“It would have been an even fight without us,” Rod observed. “Still, maybe my men can make things move a little faster, save a few lives, things like that.”

“Touching that.” Sir Styenkov scratched his nose. “Shall we take prisoners?”

“Huh?” Rod reflected that Sir Styenkov’s mood had certainly improved. “Take prisoners? Of course!”

Sir Styenkov nodded. “I had thought so. Thou dost need information, and wish to set them talking, dost thou not?”

“Well, that too,” Rod agreed. “But mostly, I want to find out if they can talk. How far off shore were they, Toby?”

“Mayhap half a mile, milord.”

“That sounds like time to get into position.” Rod strode off toward his troops, bawling, “Places, everyone!”

As he came up to the Flying Legion, he noticed the locals pulling back up the beach. Good; Sir Styenkov wasn’t too overconfident. “Sir Lionel! Sir Hampden!”

“Aye, milord,” his lieutenants answered in chorus.

“Sir Lionel, take your hundred over to that outcrop of rocks and hide them. Sir Hampden, take yours over to that line of trees. Charge out to fall upon the enemy when you hear the pipes.”

“Aye, milord!” And the two lieutenants turned away, bawling orders to their sergeants. The sergeants started bellowing before the lieutenants had quite finished, and the beach filled with yells and the tramp of troops. In five minutes, it was clear. Rod turned, grinning, to wave to Sir Styenkov; then he turned and loped across the beach to the rock outcrop.

The beach lay empty, waiting. Tiny drops began to fall, scarcely more than a mist. Sir Styenkov’s soldiers shifted nervously, muttering to one another. Rod heard a few whispers here and there among his own troops. “Hear any thoughts, Toby?”