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suddenly rippled. Rod stared.
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Gwen saw his look of disgust and said quickly, "Be not concerned, my lord. Tis
naught but witch moss with which, I doubt me not, he hath been toying."
"Oh." Rod knew the substance well; it was a variety of fungus that had the
peculiar property of responding to the thoughts of projective telepaths. Rod had a
strong suspicion that it had contributed to the development of elves, werewolves,
and other supernatural creatures around the Gra-marye landscape. "When did he
begin to play with& "
He broke off, because the ball was changing in the child's hand and Magnus
was staring at it in surprise. It stretched itself up, flattening and dwindling
toward the bottom, where it divided in half lengthwise for half its height, and-
two pieces broke loose at the sides. The top formed itself into a smaller ball, and
dents and lines began to define the form.
"What doth he make?" Gwen whispered.
"I'm afraid to guess." But Rod knew, with a sickening cer-tainty, what he was
going to see.
And he was right for the lump finished its transformation and swung up a
wicked-looking war ax, opening a gash of a mouth to reveal canines that would
have done credit to a saber-toothed tiger. Its piggy eyes reddened with insane
blood-lust, and it began to shamble up Magnus's arm.
The child shrieked and hurled it as far away from him as he could. It landed on
the deck, caving in one side; but that side bulged out into its former form as it
pulled itself to its feet and shambled off down the deck, looking for something to
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ravish.
Magnus plowed his head into Gwen's bosom, wailing in terror. "There, love 'tis
gone," she assured him, "or will be in a moment& " And she glared at the
diminutive monster, eyes narrowing. It took one step, and its leg turned into
mush.
"It's a beastman," Rod whispered, "a vicious parody of a Neanderthal."
Another step, and the model beastman turned into a ball again.
"But the kid didn't see any of the battles!" Rod protested. "How could he& "
"My lord," Gwen grated, "it will not hold its shape unless I force it. Another
mind fights me for the forming of it."
"Then, get rid of it fast! You never know, it might find another one like it, and
breed true!"
"Done," Gwen snapped.
The witch moss turned into a ball so smooth that it gleamed, then shot off the
deck and far, far away, heading for the horizon.
Gwen turned her attention back to Magnus. "There, there, child! 'Twas no fault
of thine; 'twas some mean and heartless person who crafted thy ball thus, to
afright a babe!" She looked up at Rod with murder in her eyes. "Who would ha'
done such a thing?"
"I don't know, but I'll find out." Rod was feeling in a mayhem mood himself. He
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glanced quickly about the decks, even up into the rigging, trying to find anyone
gazing at them but there were only two sailors in sight, and neither was even
looking in their direction.
But Brother Chillde still scribbled in his book.
Rod stared. No. It couldn't be.
But&
He stepped over to Brother Chillde again, lightly, almost on tiptoe, and craned
his neck to peer over the monk's shoulder at the words he was writing.
"& Huge they were," the manuscript read, "with arms that hung down to their
knees, and fangs that sank below their chins. Their eyes were maddened bits of
red, more suited to a swine than a man, in a head like unto a ball, but too small
for so great a body. Their sole weapon was a huge and murderous ax, and with it
they quested always, seeking for living things to slay."
"Thou knowest not what thou dost ask," Puck cried. "Ever was I made for battle,
Rod Gallowglass! Hast thou any comprehension of the opportunities for
mischief that occur when men do war?"
"Very much," Rod answered grimly. "Look, I know it's a hardship to stay out of
the fighting but you've got to think of the good of the whole of Gramarye, not
just of your own excitement."
"Who says I must?" the elf demanded with a truculent scowl.
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"I," answered Brom O'Berin; and Puck took one look at his sovereign's face and
shrank back.
"Well, then, so I must," he sighed. "But wherefore must it be I? Are there no
other elves who can execute so simple a task?"
"None," Rod said with absolute certainty. "It only seems simple to you. I can
think of a few other elves who might be able to bring it off but you're the only
one I'm sure of."
Puck visibly swelled with self-importance.
"You're the only one," Rod pressed on, "who has the imagination, and the gift of
gab, to pull this off."
"Thou wilt do it," Brom commanded sternly, "else thou wilt answer to me,
hobgoblin, when the battle's ended."
"Ah, then, I shall," Puck sighed but preened himself, too. "E'en so, Warlock I
ken not why the monk will need one to detail to him what doth occur when he
hath two eyes to see with."
"Yes, well, that's the first thing you'll have to arrange, isn't it? Some way of
making his eyes unusable for the duration of the battle. Nothing permanent,"
Rod added hastily, seeing the gleam in Puck's eye.
"Well-a-day," the elf sighed, "so be it. We shall benight him only for an hour or
two. But what purpose doth that serve, when I am but to tell to him what doth
occur?"
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"But you're not," Rod contradicted. "You're supposed to tell him what isn't
happening."
"What word is this?" Puck stared. "Do I hear aright? 1 am to say, 'Nay, be of [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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