“Or wherever he’s hiding.” Yorick nodded. “Sounds like a great idea.”

“Then, it’s a deal.” Rod held out a hand—carefully, it must be admitted.

Yorick frowned at Rod’s hand for a moment. Then he grinned. “Oh, yeah! Now I remember!” He grabbed Rod’s hand in both of his and pumped it enthusiastically. “Allies, huh?”

“Allies,” Rod confirmed. “By the way, ally…”

“Anything, milord,” Yorick said expansively.

“Viking gear.”

“Huh?”

“Viking gear,” Rod said again. He was glad to see the phrase had meant absolutely nothing to the Neanderthal. “Your shaman’s raiders came decked out in Viking gear—you know, horned helmets, round shields…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what Vikings were,” Yorick said in annoyance. “Dragon ships too?”

Rod nodded. “Any idea why?”

“Well, nothing very deep—but I’ll bet it scared hell out of the locals.”

Rod stared at him for a second.

“Makes sense, if you’re trying to adapt terrorism to a medieval culture,” Yorick explained.

“Too much sense,” Rod agreed. “Come on, let’s get back to Runnymede—we’ve got to start a military academy for you.”

The train headed northward with a squad of spearmen leading; then Rod and Tuan; then the Neanderthals, à la carte—or à la wagon, anyway, commandeered from the nearest farmer (the Neanderthals had never even thought of riding horses; eating, maybe… ); and well-surrounded by spearmen and archers. The soldiers and the beastmen eyed each other warily through the whole trip.

“I hope your wife doesn’t mind surprise guests,” Rod cautioned Tuan.

“I am certain she will be as hospitable as she ever is,” Tuan replied.

“That’s what I was afraid of…”

“Come, Lord Warlock! Certes, thou’lt not deny my gentle wife’s goodness!”

“Or your good wife’s gentleness,” Rod echoed. “We’ll just have to hope these cavemen know what a bed and a chair are.”

“I doubt not we’ll have to teach them the uses of many articles within our castle,” Tuan sighed, “save, perhaps, their captain Yorick. He doth seem to have acquired a great deal of knowledge ere this.”

“Oh, yeah! He’s a regular wise guy! But I’m not so much worried about what he’s learned, as who he learned it from.”

Tuan glanced at him keenly. “Dost thou speak of the Eagle?”

“I dost,” Rod confirmed. “That’d you get out of our little cross-examination?‘’

“I was cross that we had so little opportunity to examine. The fellow hath a deliberate knack for turning any question to the answer he doth wish to give.”

“Nicely put,” Rod said judiciously. It was also unusually perceptive, for Tuan. “But I think I did figure out a few items he didn’t mean to tell us. What did you hear between his bursts?”

Tuan shrugged. “I did learn that the Eagle is a wizard.”

“Yeah, that was pretty obvious—only I’d say he was my kind of wizard. He does his magic by science, not by, uh, talent.”

Tuan frowned, concerned. “How much of this ‘science’ hath he taught to Yorick?”

“None. He couldn’t have; it depends on mathematics. The basic concepts, maybe—but that’s not enough to really do anything with. He has taught Yorick some history, though, or the big lug wouldn’t’ve known what the Vikings were. Which makes me nervous—what else did the Eagle teach Yorick, and the rest of his people, for that matter?”

Tuan waved away the issue. “I shall not concern myself with such matters, Lord Warlock. These beastmen, after all, cannot have sufficient intelligence to trouble us—not these five alone—when they cannot truly learn our language.”

“I… wouldn’t… quite… say… that…” Rod took a deep breath. “I will admit that not being able to encode and analyze does limit their ability to solve problems. But they’ve got as much gray matter between their ears as you and I do.”

Tuan turned to him, frowning. “Canst thou truly believe that they may be as intelligent as thyself or myself?”

“I truly can—though I have to admit, it’s probably a very strange sort of intelligence.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the group of Neanderthals. The spearmen surrounding them happened to lean toward the outside at that moment, affording Rod a glimpse of Yorick’s face. He turned back to the front. “Very strange.”

Gwen snuggled up to him afterward and murmured, “Thou hast not been away so long as that, my lord.”

“So now I need a reason?” Rod gave her an arch look.

“No more than thou ever hast,” she purred, burrowing her head into the hollow between his shoulder and his jaw.

Suddenly Rod stiffened. “Whazzat?”

“Hm?” Gwen lifted her head, listening for a moment. Then she smiled up at him. “ ‘Twas naught but a tree branch creaking without, my lord.”

“Oh.” Rod relaxed. “Thought it was the baby… You sure he’s snug in his crib?”

“Who may say, with an infant warlock?” Gwen sighed. “He may in truth be here—yet he might as easily be a thousand miles distant.” She was still for a moment, as though she were listening again; then she relaxed with a smile. “Nay, I hear his dream. He is in his crib indeed, my lord.”

“And he won’t float out, with that lid on it.” Rod smiled. “Who would ever have thought I’d have a lighter-than-air son?”

“Dost thou disclaim thine own relative?”

Rod rolled over. “That comment, my dear, deserves…” He jerked bolt-upright. “Feel that?”

“Nay,” she said petulantly, “though I wish to.”

“No, no! Not that! I meant that puff of wind.”

“Of wind?” Gwen frowned. “Aye, there was…” Then her eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Rod swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled on his robe. “There’s a warlock within.” He raised his voice, calling, “Name yourself!”

For answer, there was a knock on the front of the cave.

“Of all the asinine hours of the night to have company calling,” Rod grumbled as he stamped down the narrow flight of stairs to the big main room.

A figure stood silhouetted against the night sky in the cave mouth, knocking.

“Wait a minute.” Rod frowned. “We don’t have a door. What’re you knocking on?”

“I know not,” the shadow answered, “yet ‘tis wood, and ‘tis near.”

“It’s a trunk,” Rod growled. “Toby?”

“Aye, Lord Warlock. How didst thou know of mine arrival?”

“When you teleported in you displaced a lot of air. I felt the breeze.” Rod came up to the young warlock with a scowl. “What’s so important that I have to be called out at this time of night? I just got back! Have our, ah, ‘guests’ escaped?”

“Nay, Lord Warlock. They are snug in their dunge… ah, guest room. Still, His Majesty summons thee.”

“What’s the matter? Did the cook leave the garlic out of the soup again? I keep telling him this isn’t vampire country!”

“Nay,” Toby said, his face solemn. “ ‘Tis the Queen. She is distraught.”

The guard saw Rod coming, and stepped through the door ahead of him. Rod stamped to a halt, chafing at the bit. He could hear the sentry murmuring; then the door swung open. Rod stepped through—and almost slammed into Tuan. The young King held him off with a palm, then lifted a finger to his lips. He nodded his head toward the interior of the room. Rod looked and saw Catharine seated in a chair by the hearth, firelight flickering on her face. Her eyes reflected the flames, but they were cold, in a face of granite. As he watched she bent forward, took a stick from the hearth, and broke it. “Swine, dog, and offal!” She spat. “All the land knows the Queen for a half-witch, and this motley half-monk hath bile to say…” She hurled the broken stick into the fire, and the flames filled her eyes as she swore, “May he choke on the cup of his own gall and die!”

Rod murmured to Tuan, “What’s got her so upset?”

“She rode out about the countryside, with heralds before her and guardsmen after, to summon all who might have any smallest touch of witch-power within them to come to the Royal Coven at Runnymede.”