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alarmed, as did most of their mates—and Rod leaped up on the roadway between peasants and soldiers, sword flickering out to stab through a shoulder, then leaping back out to dart at another footman even as the first screamed, staggering backward. Two soldiers in the middle of the band shot into the air with howls of terror, and slammed back down onto their mates, as a shower of rocks struck steel helmets hard enough to stagger soldiers, and send them reeling to the ground.
    Rod threw himself into a full lunge, skewering a third soldier's thigh, as he shouted to the peasants, "Now! Here's your chance! Fall on 'em, and beat the hell out of 'em!" Then a pike-butt crashed into his chin and he spun backward, vision darkening and shot through with sparks; but a roar filled his ears and, as his sight cleared, he saw the 34 Christopher Stasheff THE WARLOCK ENRAGED 35
    peasant men slamming into the soldiers, staves rising and falling with a rhythm of mayhem.
    Rod gasped, and staggered back toward them; there was no need for killing!
    Then another thought nudged through: they needed prisoners, for information. He blundered in among the peasants, took one quick glance at the remains of the melee, and gasped, "Stop!
    There's no need... They don't deserve..."
    "Thou hast not seen what they've done," the peasant next to him growled.
    "No, but I intend to find out! Look! They're all down, and some of 'em may be dead already! Stand back, and leave them to me!"
    A rough hand grasped his shoulder and spun him around.
    "I' truth? And who art thou to command, thou who hast not lost blood to these wolves?"
    Rod's eyes narrowed. He straightened slowly, and knocked the man's hand away with a sudden chop. It was ridiculous, and really shouldn't have made any difference to anybody—
    but it would work; it'd get their cooperation. "I am the High Warlock, Rod Gallowglass, and it is due to my magic and my family's, that you men stand here victorious, instead of sprawling as buzzard's meat!"
    He didn't have to add the threat; the man's eyes widened, and he dropped to one knee. "Your pardon. Lord! I... I had not meant..."
    "No, of course you didn't. How could you tell, when I'm dressed as a tinker?" Rod looked around to find all the peasants kneeling. "All right, that's enough! Are you men or pawns, that you must kneel? Rise, and bind these animals for me!"
    "On the instant, milord!" The peasants leaped to their feet, and turned to begin lashing up the soldiers with their own belts and garters. Rod caught the belligerent one by the shoulder. "How are you called?"
    Apprehension washed his face, and he tugged at his forelock. "Grathum, an it please thee, milord." Rod shrugged. "Whether or not it pleases you, is a bit more important. Grathum, go after the women, and tell them the good news, will you?"
    The man stared, realization sinking in. "At once, your lordship!" And he sped away.
    Rod surveyed the knot-tying party and, satisfied everything was well under way with the minimum of vengeful brutality, glanced up at the trees and thought. Wonderful, children! I'm a very proud daddy!
    The branches waved slightly in answer. Rod could have bent his mind to it, and read their thoughts in return; but it still involved major effort for him, and he couldn't spare the concentration just now. But he turned toward the underbrush, and thought. Thanks, dear. It was nice to see you throwing somebody else's weight around for a change.
    "As long as 'tis not thine, my lord? Thou art most surely welcome!"
    Rod looked up, startled—that was her voice, not her mind. Gwen came marching up, with the women and children behind her. Grathum hurried on ahead, face one big apology. "'Ere I could come unto them, milord, thy wife had brought word, and begun their progress back." She had obviously run the message on her broomstick; the wives were herding their children silently, with covert glances at her, and the children were staring wide-eyed. Rod turned back to Grathum. "Any more