“Yes, Papa,” the little boy said, in a little voice.

Rod frowned. “I don’t mean to be hard, son—but there’s a very good chance that, if that witch hadn’t been there to harry us, there might’ve been another one of Alfar’s crew, to try to spy out the territory and spread rumors that’d worry the folk. I mean, all that worried dinner-table talk was probably genuine—but it is strangely convenient for Alfar, isn’t it?”

Gregory was silent.

To cover his guilt feelings, Rod turned to Fess, muttering, “Recovered, Circuit Rider?”

“Nearly,” answered the robot’s voice. “I had never encountered convincing evidence of the existence of a medium, before this night.”

“Well, maybe you still haven’t,” Rod mused.

“Who hath not what?” Magnus looked up with a frown. “Oh! Thou didst speak with Fess.” He nodded, satisfied; the children had long ago learned that they could not hear Fess’s thoughts, unless he wanted them to.

“Mayhap he still hath not what?” Cordelia asked.

“Seen a medium,” Rod explained, “a person who can talk to ghosts, or make them appear.”

“Oh.” Cordelia nodded. “Thou speakest aright, Papa. He hath not.”

“Oh, really? Those ghosts looked genuine, to me.”

“They were not,” Magnus assured him. “They had no greater thought than a mirror.”

Rod frowned. “Odd simile.”

“Yet ‘tis apt,” Gwen affirmed. “They had no true thoughts of their own; they mimicked what was there laid down for them.”

“Laid down?” Rod still frowned. “By whom?”

“By the witch,” Magnus explained. “She did call up the memories laid in the stones, and throw them out to us.”

Rod stared. After a few seconds, he said, “What?”

“Some witches there be, milord,” Gwen explained, “who can lay a hand on a ring, and gain the full sense of the person who wore it, even to the pattern of his or her thoughts.”

Rod gazed off into space. “Yeah… I think I’ve heard of that. They call it ‘psychometry,’ don’t they?”

Gwen shrugged. “I know not, my lord; such are the words of thy folk, not ours.”

“Tis all one,” Cordelia added.

“Thanks for the lesson,” Rod said sourly. “But how did you know about this, Magnus?”

The boy reddened. “I did not wish to trouble thee, Papa…”

“Oh, really?” Rod looked the question at Gwen; she shook her head. “Didn’t want to worry Mama either, I gather. Which is fine, until we find out about it. From now on, we’ll always be worried—that you’ve discovered a new way to use your power, and are trying dangerous experiments without letting us know.”

Magnus looked up, startled. “I had not meant…”

“I know. So don’t. Worry me, son—that’s what I’m here for.” For a second, he wondered if that was truer than he knew.

Magnus sighed. “Well enough, then. I have found thoughts in things people have used, Papa.”

Rod nodded. “Let Mama be near next time you experiment with it, okay? So much for the ‘calling up’ part. I take it the ‘throwing out’ is talking about projective telepathy?”

“By that,” Gwen explained to the children, “he doth mean a witch or warlock who can send their thoughts out to folk who have not witch power.”

“Oh!” Cordelia nodded. “Such she was, Papa. What she saw in her mind, she could make others see, also.”

Rod nodded. “So we weren’t seeing real ghosts—just reflections of the memories ‘recorded’ in the rocks of that hall… uh, Gwen?”

“Aye, my lord?”

“Remember those ghosts we met, way back when, in Castle Loguire?”

“Aye, my lord. Mayhap they were, at first, raised in just such a manner.”

“Why the ‘at first’?”

“Why, for that they endured after the witch who raised them—long after, by accounts.”

“Oh, yeah.” Rod nodded. “That’s right—that castle was supposed to have been haunted for a century or two, wasn’t it?” He glared at the sudden gleam in Magnus’s eye. “Don’t go trying any surprise visits. Those ghosts weren’t harmless.”

“Save for thy father.” Gwen couldn’t resist it.

Rod gave her a glower. “That was diplomacy, not necromancy. And, come to think of it, this witch of Alfar’s wasn’t too bad at persuasion, herself.”

“Aye,” Gwen agreed. “Her words, when we had unmasked her, were meant more for Count Drulane and his folk, than they were for us.”

“Trying to boil up all the old fears of witches, to boost their Reign of Terror,” Rod growled. “Never mind what the peasants might do to the witches in the rest of the kingdom.”

“Nay, do mind it!” Gregory cried. “For if they take fright, and are hurted enough to become bitter and hateful, might they not flee to Alfar, and swell his strength?”

Rod thought about it, then slowly nodded. “I hate to admit it, son, but you’re right.” He turned a somber gaze on Gwen, then dropped his gaze to look at his children, one at a time.

“What thoughts dost thou engender, husband?” Gwen asked softly.

Rod lifted his gaze to her again. “This mission has definitely turned dangerous, darling. Time for you and the children to go home.”

The night was silent for a moment. Then: “ ‘Tis not fair!” Cordelia cried.

“Only now doth it gain interest!” Gregory protested.

“Nonetheless…” Rod began.

“Tis the tactics of magic!” Geoffrey cried. “Assuredly, Papa, thou’lt not deny me the chance to witness such!”

“You’re apt to get hurt!” Rod snapped. “And preventing that, is my main job in life!”

“Then wither wouldst thou be, without us?” Magnus demanded, catching at his sleeve.

“Lonely,” Rod snapped, “but effective. A lot more effective than if I’m worrying about you while I’m in the middle of a fight!”

“Yet thou hast no need to fear for us!” Cordelia cried.

“Send an army ‘gainst us, ere thou dost fear!” Geoffrey howled.

“Yeah.” Rod’s jaw tightened. “You’d just love to have an army to box with, wouldn’t you? Unfortunately, it just might have a stronger arm than you, and…”

“Husband.” Gwen’s low voice bored through his building anger. “Thou didst say, even now, that thou didst protect them.”

Rod’s head snapped up, indignation flaring. “Are you implying…?”

But Gwen was already talking to the children, rapidly. “Thy father has said there is danger in this; and if thou dost believe thyselves strong, only think—how wouldst thou fare if thou didst confront a grown warlock, at the height of his powers, an thou wert alone? If thou hadst been split away from thy brothers and sister—how then?”

Geoffrey started to answer.

Gwen pressed a hand over his mouth. “Nay, do think carefully ere thou dost speak! There is a thrill of pleasure in it, aye—but only till thou dost truly fear! Then all of thy joy in it doth die a-borning.” Her gaze came up to meet Rod’s. “ ‘Tis even as thy father doth know, for he hath been in peril. Nay, if he saith ‘tis dangerous, then assuredly the danger could strike deepest fear in thee, could kill thee.”

The children stared up at her gravely, thinking they understood.

“Yet, husband, be mindful.” Gwen looked straight into Rod’s eyes. “The foes Alfar hath sent against us thus far, have scarce begun to tax our powers. Were Alfar to send all his force against us, ‘twould be great danger, aye; but I misdoubt me an he would risk more than a moiety of his force, when he knoweth not the true depth or breadth of our power. Were he to send an army, in truth, we ought then to flee; yet if he sends only witches, the High Warlock and his family have little to fear.”

“Only enough to make it fun, eh?” Rod managed a harsh smile.

“I could not deny it,” Gwen admitted. “ ‘Tis but exercise, for a brood such as ours.”

“Yes…” Rod frowned. “He’s testing us, isn’t he?”

Geoffrey spun around, wide-eyed. “Papa! Wherefore did I not see that?”

“Experience,” Rod assured him. “But that means the attacks will become stronger, until he thinks he knows our limits. Then he’ll hit us with twice the force he thinks he needs, just to make sure.”