Free King Kobold revived-Warlock-2.5 by Christopher Stasheff Page B

pained frown. She took one look and grasped the situation.
    The beastmen growled to one another, softly at first, but gaining volume and anger. They began to waddle back up the beach, their low, ugly rumble filling the air. Gwen’s eyes narrowed, and the beastmen’s clubs exploded into flame. They howled, hurling their clubs after the Gramarye soldiers, turned, and ran. Gwen glared after them. Then her head began to tremble, and she collapsed again.
    “Retreat!” Rod snapped. Fess pivoted and raced back up the beach after the soldiers. They came to rest high in the rocks atop the cliff, behind the long, sloping beach. “You did well,” Rod assured the soldiers. “No one could have done bet-ter.”
    One of the men spread his hands helplessly. “How can we fight an enemy who can freeze us in our tracks, milord?”
    Rod dismounted and lifted Gwen down tenderly. “I think my wife’s given us the basic idea. I’ll work it out with her when she comes to.” He knelt, lowering Gwen to the ground behind two boulders, cradling her head and shoulders against his chest. He winced at a sudden pain in his arm and remembered a club hitting him there. He remembered a few other blows, too, now that he thought about it. With the adrenaline of battle beginning to wear off, the bruises were be-ginning to hurt. With surprise, he noticed a bright crimson streak across his chest—one of the ax-blows had come closer than he’d realized. When he under-stood just how close, he began to get the shakes. He clamped down on them sternly; there’d be time for that later. “What’re they doing, men?”
    “They begin to feel brave again, milord.” One of the soldiers was lying among the seaward rocks, peering out between two boulders. “They are stepping away from their dragon.”
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    “Any sign of the villagers?”
    “None, milord. All fled in time.”
    Rod nodded. “Well, it’s a shame about the village, but they can rebuild it.”
    “ ‘Tis not destroyed yet, milord.”
    “Yet,” Rod echoed. “There’s a wineskin in my saddlebag, boys. Pass it around.”
    A soldier leaped and wrenched the wineskin out. He squirted a long streak into his mouth, then passed it to his comrade.
    “Toby!” Rod yelled. Nothing happened.
    Gwen stirred in Rod’s arms, squinting against a raging headache, looked up, saw Rod, and relaxed, nestling against his chest, closing her eyes. “I am safe.”
    “Praise Heaven,” Rod breathed.
    “What doth hap, my lord?”
    “We lost, darling. You came up with a good idea, but they outnumbered you.”
    She shook her head, then winced at the pain it brought. “Nay, my lord. ‘Twas the lightning.”
    “Lightning?” Even through his exhaustion, Rod felt something inside him sit up and take notice. “Well…”
    “Milord,” the sentry called, “fire blossoms in the village.”
    Rod nodded with a grimace. “Whole place’ll be one big torch in a few min-utes. The beastmen won’t find much to pick there, though. Peasants don’t own much—and what they do have they can carry.”
    “There is the granary, milord,” one of the locals pointed out, “and the smoke-house.”
    Rod shrugged. “So they’ll have a picnic on the way home. Don’t worry, lad—the King and Queen will send you food for the winter. Grain they could’ve had for the asking.” He looked down at Gwen. “Can you find Toby, darling?”
    Gwen nodded and closed her eyes, then winced. Rod felt a stab of guilt—but he needed the young warlock.
    Air slammed outward with a soft explosion, and Toby stood before him. “Mi-lord Warlock?”
    One of the soldiers stared, then turned away, muttering and crossing himself. Rod pretended not to notice. “Feel up to some action again?”
    “Assuredly, an’ thou dost wish it, milord.” Toby’s knees were shaking with exhaustion. Page 39
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