"Belike they only sought to trouble my people," Sir Reginald said, then clamped his jaw against pain.

"It will fade eventually," Rod told him, "as the wound heals. Then it will begin to itch most abominably, but you mustn't scratch it… So that's why you didn't bring any men-at-arms; you were afraid of looking foolish if all you found was a boar."

"Aye," Sir Reginald gasped. "Yet when I found a boar dead and saw the wound in its shoulder, I knew there were strangers in the wood." He frowned, focusing on Rod. "What manner of outlaws are these, who seek to stir up even happy peasants against their lords?"

"Ones who will never stop causing trouble, I fear," Rod sighed, "but whom I think I…"

The nurse came in, holding a squalling bundle in her arms—and Sir Reginald's relief and sudden awe and massive urge to protect nearly bowled Rod over. He came around to put an arm under the young knight and lift him up to sit so that the nurse could put the baby into his arms, saying, "Here is your daughter, Sir Knight."

"She is beautiful," Sir Reginald said, huge-eyed, and held the baby as though she were made of glass, then looked up at the nurse with anxiety. "My lady . .."

"She is quite well, though weak from her ordeal—and immensely happy," the nurse told him.

"I must go to her!"

"That's not impossible," Rod said, "but it will be painful."

"The devil with the pain!"

"Where it belongs, no doubt," Rod agreed. "Very well, then—up with you."

But the knight still clung to the baby.

The nurse reached down for her, saying in a tone that would brook no argument, "You may not have her long, for she needs her mother." She lifted the child out of his arms and turned away—which was just as well, since Sir Reginald emerged from his bed naked and Rod had to call a man-at-arms to fetch a robe while he steadied the knight on his feet.

HE RODE AWAY an hour later, basking in the reflected glow of the young couple's joy and love—but as the leaves closed about him, he remembered the "outlaws" and frowned. "We'll have to be ready for attack, Fess."

"I always am, Rod," the robot replied.

Of course, Fess was epileptic, as much as an electronic brain could be, so he couldn't fight for more than a few minutes without having a seizure—but Rod could be sure no one could take him by surprise while Fess was near.

"I think I recognize the modus operandi," Rod mused, "the jolly boys from VETO."

"Their rhetoric does have the ring of the totalitarians," Fess agreed, "and their fondness for stirring up peasant rebellions."

"Or trying to," Rod said. "Catharine and Tuan have ruled with the best interests of all their people at heart, so VETO'S agents are going to have to stir up discontent before they can exploit it. Y'know, this almost sounds like the work of my old enemy the Mocker."

"Not impossible, Rod, considering that he was a time traveller. Indeed, as I remember, we heard nothing of him after he escaped from the royal dungeons again."

"You mean he could have jumped forward in time to this moment?" Rod frowned. "Why now, though?"

"His organization has been in decline since its last defeat," Fess pointed out. "It could be a last desperate measure."

"I suppose his bosses could have sent him off to the fourteenth century, or some such time, in disgrace," Rod said, frowning, "and be calling him back because they don't have any better guesses—but why now?"

They rode a moment in silence. Then Rod said, "You're thinking it's because of me, aren't you? Because I've retired."

"The idea has some merit," Fess agreed. 'The totalitarians have been suspiciously inactive for ten years. They could have realized that you and your family are insuperable obstacles."

"Yes, because we combine medieval loyalty with tremendous psi power and modern knowledge." Rod frowned and forced the next words out even though they tore at him. "But with Gwen gone …"

"Half your strength went with her," Fess agreed, "not only in her own ESP talent, but also in her influence with others."

"Yes, starting with her own children but expanding to Queen Catharine and the Royal Witchforce." Rod turned somber as memories rose around him. "And I suppose my retiring doesn't help any."

"They could think they see a moment of weakness and the opportunity that accompanies it, yes."

"If that's so, then they don't know my kids," Rod said, grinning, then frowned again. "Though it will take Magnus a while to re-establish his own influence, and expand it…"

"You know he will not seek to command his siblings, Rod."

"Yes. He did when he was seventeen, but he seems to have learned a bit on his travels—mostly that manipulation is far more effective than bossing," Rod said, "especially considering his training as a secret agent."

"Your central office did give you some difficulty about his resignation, as I recall."

"They called it a defection." Rod smiled at the memory. "I pointed out that he couldn't have defected because he hadn't joined the other side—and he hadn't."

"But that made him a loose cannon, a wildcard, and in some ways a greater threat than a turncoat."

"Which he certainly proved to be." Rod nodded. "It was just good luck that he never landed on a SCENT planet again—good luck for them."

"Now he has, though, Rod."

"Yes, well, he was born and reared here," Rod said, "which I think gives him a somewhat stronger claim than my old organization can have. But he will need some time to consolidate his position."

The robot was silent a moment, choosing his words carefully. Then he said, "It will take you some time to find Tir Nan Og, Rod."

"Yes, and if I manage to bump into some VETO cells and wreck their games, that should take some of the pressure off Magnus." Rod sighed. "Well, I suppose Gwen will forgive me if she has to wait a little longer."

"But she would not forgive you if you abandoned your children before they could manage by themselves."

"No, she wouldn't, would she? Well, let's see what we can find in the wildwood, shall we?"

"Whatever awaits, you will find it more easily if you make some noise."

"Or let it find me, huh? Okay, I can take a hint." Rod pulled out his harp. "Though I do take umbrage at your calling it 'noise.'"

"I was not necessarily speaking of your attempts at singing, Rod."

"Attempts, huh?" Rod gave a snort of mock indignation and began to pluck at the strings.

The birds braced themselves for a quick retreat.

THE ANARCHISTS' BASE was modest, as manor houses go, but was nonetheless respectable by the standards of the gentry, in case any of the noblemen who were their targets ever found it. A person coming from that big tranquil-seeming ivy-covered house would be acceptable in polite society, for she would be a lady or he a knight. Even a duke would talk with such a person, though he might not make her his friend.

Of course, the agents who worked and visited there had elaborate safeguards in place to make sure none of the lords ever discovered the estate.

One of the Home Agents knocked at the door of the solar, then opened it. An old-seeming man was seated at a table in the fan of sunlight from the tall windows behind him. He looked up as the Home Agent came in. "News, Dierdre?"

"Yes, Chief." Dierdre handed the old man a scroll of paper.

The Chief Agent took it, broke the seal, and unrolled it. He stared.

"What is it, Chief?"

"A letter from my old enemy the Mocker." The Chief Agent looked up. "He proposes a temporary alliance."