The Spell-Bound Scholar Read online

  With thanks to

  Finister's advocate,

  Genevieve Stasheff,

  who thought Finister could

  be reformed

  ROTE TO TIJE REffBER

  The author is very much aware that the events in this book are extremely unlikely, if not downright impossible. Nonetheless, science fiction has always been the domain of the Worlds of If, and it is legitimate for an SF book to say, "If only..."

  Besides, this book is really science fantasy, and fantasy has always dealt with magic bringing about things that can't really happen.

  PR0L0QOE

  Twenty-five years ago, a secret agent named Rod Gallowglass landed on the lost colony planet of Gramarye, determined to turn it into a democracy. That was the purpose of his organization, SCENT, the Society for the Conversion of Extraterrestrial Nascent Totalitarianisms—to sniff out the lost colonies and bring all the colonial planets back within the umbrella of the interstellar democracy that had begun on Earth. But Rod discovered that Gramarye wasn't your average lost colony—about one out of ten people was a telepath, tel-ekinetic, and/or other form of esper. That was much, much higher than the average in the rest of the Terran Sphere—but still rare on Gramarye, and since the planet was medieval, the rest of the people thought the espers were witches. Rod, though, knew that they would be the perfect solution to the communication problems that were beginning to trouble the interstellar democracy for which he worked.

  He wasn't the only one to realize Gramarye's value, though—so did the totalitarian and anarchists from the future, who had failed to overthrow the interstellar democracy because of the "interference" of the descendants of Grama-rye's "witches." They sent secret agents back to the past— Rod's present—to try to overthrow the monarchy and take over the planet before it could develop a democratic government of its own and join the interstellar democratic federation.

  With the help of an attractive witch named Gwendylon, Rod managed to fight off the futurians. Then he achieved the even more remarkable (to him) feat of marrying Gwendylon. He was equally amazed by his four children. Rod and Gwen had their share of trials, but between them, they managed to raise all four (and each other) to maturity.

  Christopher Stasheff

  Not that the futurians gave up, of course. They kept trying to overthrow the government, and when Rod and his family foiled them at every turn, they changed their goal into overthrowing the Gallowglasses, preferably by killing them. When that didn't work either, they changed their tactics: They raised Gramarye witch-orphans to become fanatical totalitarian or anarchists and set them to neutralizing the Gallowglass threat. The only one to be even marginally successful was Finister, a very powerful (and beautiful) young projective esper—she was able to make those around her see in her an appearance completely different from her natural one, and with a talent that amounted to instant hypnotism, was even able to make others see themselves as having changed form—say, into toads. She managed to give the eldest Gallowglass child, Magnus, enough harrowing near-sexual experiences to make him lose all interest in sex (thereby assuring that he wouldn't have any descendants to interfere with the future anarchists) and leave Gramarye, to go wandering around the Terran Sphere overthrowing oppressive governments.

  On the strength of that success (and her ability to influence, then assassinate, her top boss), she became Chief Agent of the anarchists of Gramarye. She then set about thwarting Cordelia's romances by becoming her rival to both her suitors. Prince Alain, however, loved Cordelia so much that he was able to resist Finister's blandishments and, after a crash course in being romantic (provided by Cordelia's younger brother Geoffrey), wooed and won the Gallowglass daughter.

  Smarting from defeat, Finister tried to recoup her self-esteem by attempting to snare and marry the third Gallowglass child, Geoffrey; she would, of course, make sure he did not reproduce. However, she ran into tough and unexpected competition—a spectacular female bandit who called herself Quicksilver.

  Finister disguised herself as Moraga, a plain young witch whose heart had been broken by a greedy knight who had wooed and won her, used her to make him a fortune, then spurned her. Finister discovered this, had Moraga kidnapped and imprisoned, then assumed her appearance by use of projective telepathy. As Moraga, she challenged the local knight,

  The Spell-Bound Scholar

  shire-reeve, and count by conquering a few villages on their respective domains. The elves, who had always liked Moraga, were alarmed by her personality change and her probable fate (death, for a traitor and rebel). They asked Geoffrey Gallow-glass to intervene, and he did.

  Thus Moraga fought Geoffrey and Quicksilver as a plain, lumpen witch. They talked her into surrendering to them, promising her a fair trial and the chance of justice, by bringing the men who had wronged her to trial with her. She joined the party, and her background did indeed inspire pity in Geoffrey. Once near him, though, Finister exercised her shape-changing abilities, gradually becoming beautiful, voluptuous, and seductive. Geoffrey, however, had already fallen head over heels in love with Quicksilver.

  Geoffrey called in his little brother Gregory to help escort Quicksilver and Moraga to Castle Loguire for trial. Finister tried to work her wiles on Gregory but found that he was totally indifferent to sex or, indeed, anything having to do with emotion. Finally, Geoffrey left it to Gregory to defend "Moraga" in her trial before his old friend Duke Diarmid and his parents, Their Majesties Tuan and Catherine. She was pardoned but sentenced to see if she wanted to join the Royal Coven, and sent to Runnymede with Gregory as escort. Geoffrey, on the other hand, defended Quicksilver and managed to have her punishment limited to wandering the countryside with him looking for wrongs to right—whereupon he proposed, and she accepted.

  Finister was still determined to steal Geoffrey away from Quicksilver and Alain from Cordelia, but as long as she was on her way to Runnymede and away from the opportunity to do some serious fiance-stealing, she thought she might as well seize the chance to romantically enslave Gregory and kill him or, at least, his interest in sex and women. Since the latter was pretty low anyway, it wouldn't take much killing.

  ajaPTER -1-

  Duke Diarmid pronounced sentence and the witch Moraga rode away toward the north with no more guardian than the wizard Gregory.

  The morning was beautiful, and so was Moraga, Gregory noted in a detached, clinical way. Either she improved upon acquaintance or her attractiveness was subtle—she had looked quite plain, even dumpy, when his brother had first met her fighting a knight and his men single-handedly.

  Moraga chattered and smiled. 'The day is so beautiful, is it not, Master Gregory? I do so love the early morning! The day is crisp and new, the air so fresh as never again in the day! If only it could remain thus forever!"

  "It is indeed lovely," Gregory replied. He was bored with the conversation before it had begun but knew enough of manners to attempt to converse. He forced himself to look about him with a smile.

  A small smile, Moraga noted. Everything about him was small—his height, his hands, his muscles, his whole body! Or at least what she could see of it. His heart must have been small, too, for his anger was only irritation, his delight only appreciation, his disgust only disapproval. That hussy Quicksilver had stolen that bulk of muscle and appetite Geoffrey from her, leaving her only this wraith! She was tempted to tie him to his saddle so that he wouldn't blow away.

  No matter how brightly she chattered, she was seething inside. Her goal was to make sure none of the Gallowglass children reproduced, and she was only managing one out of four at the moment. Magnus she had effectively gelded, in emotions if not in body, but when she had tried to neutralize Cordelia by captivating her suitor, Crown Pri
nce Alain, that

  Christopher Stasheff

  grinning hulk Geoffrey had interfered and taught the royal idiot how to woo a lady, and his sister Cordelia was now engaged! To make it worse, Geoffrey was engaged himself to the female bandit Quicksilver, and she was left with this scrap of a man, this Gregory! Why, he seemed no more than a boy, a fuzz-cheeked stripling!

  On the other hand, he certainly wasn't going to be much of a problem. He was clearly the weakest of the four younger Gallowglasses, seeming almost fragile and far too bookish to be much of a fighter. Certainly she'd seen absolutely no sign of his being a lover; after all, she was in a position to know, and would have liked nothing better than setting brother against brother in jealousy over her—but Gregory had shown not the slightest reaction to her charms. She wondered whether it were his interest in study that had kept him from girls or his fear of women that had driven him to seek refuge in books. She had to admit he had shown as little fear as he had lust, though. Still, that was no doubt a matter of hiding both well. Finister did not doubt that Gregory would fall very hard for the first willing beauty to come along—though she might have to be a bit more than willing.

  Enough of planning; time for action. She adjusted her projection of her physical appearance, making the face and body a bit thinner in the right places, the eyes a bit larger, the lips a bit more full, the nose a little shorter. Then she turned to him with a lazy, inviting smile and said, "The day grows warm and the road long, Sir Gregory. Might we not dismount and rest awhile?" She made the word "rest" as suggestive as possible.

  Gregory registered that not at all, only turned to incline his head politely. 'There is only an hour or two of daylight left, damsel. Let us remain in our saddles a while longer; then we shall camp for the night." He turned back to the road before them, his lips in a slight smile, his gaze becoming abstracted again.

  Irritated but shrewd, Moraga kept her smile in place, making it even more sultry. "As you please, my lord."

  The lunk didn't even react to her emphasis on the word "please!" Really, he was useless as a man, a stick, a stone,

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  nothing more! If she hadn't been assigned to slay or geld him, she would have ridden away and never bothered with him again.

  But he was her assignment, and she had already failed with his brother and sister. In fact, she had only partially succeeded with Magnus! He still lived, and the Green Witch had halfway undone all her work; Finister had locked Magnus's heart in a box of gold, but the vixen had let him know there was a key! If she couldn't at least maim his youngest brother, the weakest of the four, she would indeed be a poor excuse for a femme fatale. It was a matter of professional pride, a challenge that had to be met.

  Finister didn't acknowledge that it was very much a matter of personal pride, too.

  That didn't mean she wouldn't have to be careful. On the way to Castle Loguire, she had learned that Gregory's magic more than made up for the strength his body lacked. Still, she knew her own forte to be projective telepathy and that her talent was so powerful that she was able to hypnotize people into seeing her in whatever form was convenient, from sultry temptress to baleful hag—even into believing they themselves were no longer human. She was one of the few who could change a prince into a frog, at least in his own eyes, and had even spellbound the High Warlock's redoubtable eldest, the wizard Magnus, into believing he was a snake.

  Of course, most men had such raging sex drives that they were eager to believe whatever she cast upon them. It would be interesting to see if she could rouse enough lust in Gregory to make him succumb to her hypnotic charms, even as his brother had. So far she was doing well—he didn't seem to question her being the plain, lumpen witch Moraga. She wondered idly if the elves had found what was left of the real Moraga yet—not that it made much difference. If she could captivate Gregory, all the warnings in the world would do him no good.

  If.

  She rallied her wiles for another attempt. "There is no need

  Christopher Stashcff

  for us to hurry, sir wizard. The royal witches will not expect us on any definite day."

  4 That is true." Gregory came back out of the clouds instantly, turning to her politely—but not completely; she could see in his eyes that he was still turning over a mathematical problem in the back of his mind. "Accordingly, if I discover the presence of that for which I seek, I shall beg your leave to turn aside and investigate."

  That startled her; then it angered her. Even if she had only been Moraga, she would have been an esper powerful enough to be his sole concern on this journey, and as the assassin who had maimed his eldest brother and attempted to kill both his other brother and his sister, she certainly was worth his undivided attention. 4 'What do you seek?'' She kept her voice level, even managed to sound mildly interested. "What is it that is so vital as to be deserving of your time?"

  The sarcasm was lost on Gregory; he answered gravely, 4 4 A site of power, a place in the land that resonates so strongly with my mind as to enhance my natural abilities."

  Moraga had seen some of his natural abilities. The idea of their being enhanced turned her spine into an icicle. "What.. . what would you do if you found such a place?"

  "Settle for twenty years or so to study aspects of psi 'magic' that no one else has investigated."

  Moraga simply stared at him in disbelief. For a wizard of such ability to find a means of multiplying his power, then use it for no other purpose than research? Unthinkable!

  But not for this bookworm. Moraga smiled with relief. "What a splendid task! And how delightful, to be able to do nothing but think and discover for so long!"

  "Do you truly think so?" Gregory looked at her with interest, the first interest he had shown.

  That gave Moraga an idea. She broadened her smile and let her eyelids droop, saying, "Of course. Who would not wish such a retirement from the world if they could have it?"

  "Even so!" Gregory said, pleased. Then, though, his eyes seemed to glaze and his gaze drifted away, as though a new thought had come into his mind.

  Moraga stifled a shout of frustration. The man was impos-

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  sible, so completely removed from the world that he seemed scarcely human! She turned to face the road again, hoping that the gentle swaying of her horse would calm her, but it did not. Site of power indeed! Gregory was not only a milksop with more brains than sense, he was also a credulous and superstitious fool as well as a virtual eunuch! What would she have to do to capture and maintain his interest—a complete seductive striptease?

  The idea was worth considering—but she suspected that she would have to spike his food with an aphrodisiac before even that would work.

  She closed her eyes in concentration a moment, mentally "listening" for Gregory's thoughts. The probe yielded nothing, as had her earlier attempts, only an impervious sense of nothingness inside Gregory's mind—he was psionically invisible. If she hadn't seen his intelligence and the strength of his psi powers for herself, she would have thought him a mental vegetable, even more insensitive than an ordinary human being. Knowing he was a powerful esper, though, she suspected that his psychic invisibility was quite deliberate, an excellently wrought shield.

  Perhaps she was wasting her time, perhaps her assignment was in vain—as far as she could tell, Gregory didn't have a sex drive! But she had to make sure, had to be absolutely certain he could not reproduce—though she couldn't for the life of her think of any woman who would want him.

  Besides, there was always the chance of an opportunity to kill him. When they stopped for the night, she would see about gathering hemlock or perhaps some belladonna.

  Of course, there was always the possibility of crawling into his bed in the middle of the night—but Gregory made even that impossible. They pitched camp and ate dinner, making idle talk—or at least Moraga made idle talk. Gregory listened politely, giving her his complete attention—well, almost complete—and as
king the occasional question to keep her talking. She willingly told him of Moraga's past—it was real enough, after all, and her telling of it was calculated to tenderize the hardest of hearts. Gregory, however, only listened, smiling with sympathy and making occasional comforting noises.

  Christopher Stasheff

  Moraga inched her way around the campfire, closer and closer to him as she told the tale, remodelling her face and form inch by inch until Moraga was really quite attractive, certainly voluptuous, and the telling was so masterful that she actually began to weep at the end of it. Any real man would have taken her in his arms to comfort her, and she could have turned the comforting into a kiss and the embrace into caressing—but Gregory only slipped a handkerchief from his sleeve and offered it to her, saying, "Let the tears flow, damsel. They will hurt nothing, but will lighten your heart. Certainly it has cause to be heavy, for you have been most abominably used."

  The phrase conjured up a brief vision from her own adolescence, but Finister clamped down on it instantly, shoving it back into the depths of her mind—one did not dare think openly in the presence of a skilled telepath. She took the square of silk, throttling her frustration, and sniffed, dabbing at her eyes in her most becoming pose. ' T—I thank you, Sir o Gregory. I had not meant to burden you with my sorrows." ^

  "A burden shared makes a lighter heart and a brighter fu- ^ ture, damsel," Gregory assured her. "If I can make amends S for some of the wrongs done by my sex, be sure that I shall." ^

  So appealing to him because of her own abuse had been C exactly the wrong approach to take; bound and determined g not to put her through even a reminder of such a violation oc again, Gregory forbore to lie down. When she had dried her tears, he said, "Sleep now, and let your dreams heal your heart, for you go to a place where your gifts shall be valued, and you shall have true friends among others of your own kind. Indeed, you shall discover for the first time that you have a kind, that you are not alone. Nay, lie down, damsel, and let slumber bear you away into sweet oblivion."