Warlock and Son wisoh-12 Read online

  "Mayhap," said a voice at his elbow, and he looked down to discover Gregory-no, Vidor, he remembered. "Yet be mindful, she came a long and twining road to seek thee first."

  "Yet doth not care if she doth find him instead," Magnus grated. Then realization swept him; his eyes widened. "Yet she could not, could she? He held aloof; he was beyond her power! Cold Iron protected him, and thy father's spells!"

  "More my mother's," Vidor returned. "And he could hold aloof from the Faerie Folk, so long as he knew they would ever welcome him." He looked up at his brother sadly. "Yet when he realized thou wast here in his place, and the Faerie Queen no longer burned to possess him, then was he cast into despair, for the final road that he might take for solace in this world had closed to him."

  "And therefore did he batter at the portal, and enter by force, where before he had resisted the temptation of the invitation," Magnus concluded.

  Then he whirled toward the gyrating couple, howling, "Yet I wish it too! Where now shall I turn for nepenthe!" Albertus broke off from the kiss, looking up at him with a cold and implacable glare; his voice started as a groan that rose to speech, and Magnus trembled with dread as he heard the words of the old incantation: "What dost thou here, what dost thou here? Seekest thou mine end? Thou art not to be taking my place, my place here in my world; for these, these are mine, and get thee gone, get thee gone to thine own place and time, get thee hence!"

  The maelstrom seized Magnus, whipping him about and away with the cry of despair on his lips, the cry that there was no Faerie Queen in his own reality. But the Void swallowed up his words as the power of the young warlock's mind unleashed the tension of the warp in space-time that his mind had twisted, and in its unleashing spun Magnus about and about, stars blurred to streaks, a roaring of white noise in his ears, filling all of creation....

  Then it diminished, and the whirling slowed, stopped; the roaring faded away to a hiss of static, and was gone. Dizzy and nauseous, Magnus clung to the surface that had come up beneath him, found his fingers were clenched into grass, saw the streaks coalescing again into lights ...

  The lights of the stars of Gramarye.

  Trembling, he lifted his hands carefully, most carefully, but found that he still remained on Earth-and relief at his escape welled up in him, but clashed against sorrow at losing the magical kingdom. He lowered his eyes ...

  And saw his clothes.

  They lay in a heap near him, sword and dagger glinting in the moonlight. Of course; if Albertus had banished him as not belonging to Tir Chlis, his clothes would have been banished, also.

  Which meant ...

  Looking down, Magnus discovered he was quite naked. Of course; the coat of the even cloth, and the velvet shoes, had remained in their own proper place. Albertus wore them now, without a doubt, and wore them in Magnus's place by the Faerie Queen....

  In the balance, he wasn't sure he was glad of it.

  But he shivered in the night's chill, and reached out to take up the clothing of this mundane world.

  He had pulled on his breeches when he finally realized he was not alone.

  Turning about, he saw his little brother sitting there beneath the Eildon tree, eyes closed, legs folded, back ramrod straight.

  Suddenly, Magnus understood a great deal. He pulled on his doublet and said softly, "Wake now, Gregory. Ope thine eyes, little brother. I am well; I am come home again."

  Eyelids fluttered; the teenager looked up, staring, a little wild-eyed. Then he reached out, touching his brother's arm. "Thou art loosed!"

  "Aye." Magnus patted the hand gently. "Thou hast given me rescue, my brother. I am free." In a few years, he might be happy about it. "Thou hast quite ably held ope one end of the road that could bring me back. Yet how didst thou know where I'd gone?"

  "I sought with my mind, as I do every night," Gregory answered. Magnus nodded; he had long known that his little brother could not sleep unless he knew where every member of his family was-the legacy, no doubt, of his babyhood abandonment by his parents and siblings, when they had all been kidnapped to Tir Chlis.

  "I sought," Gregory explained, "and could not find thee."

  "Surely thou hast not kept vigil ever since!"

  "It hath not been so long as that," Gregory assured him, gaze drifting. "Nay, and this trance hath restored me even as sleep doth."

  "And how didst thou track me?"

  "Why, I knew where thou wert yestere'en, so I went to the marge of the stream and touched soil and rock, till I found traces of thee."

  Magnus's eyes widened; he had not known Gregory shared his own mixed blessing of psychometry, the ability to "read" the residue of emotions left in inanimate objects. "So thou didst track me by the echoes of my feelings? Eh! Little brother! I would not have had thee share mine agonies so!"

  "I could bear it." But the paleness of the youth's face made clear how deeply the experience had shaken him. "Yet I was grieved to find thee so sorely wounded in thine heart, and shocked to find..." He broke off, looking away.

  "Shocked to learn that even I, the eldest, might feel I had failed?" Magnus asked softly. "Shocked that even I might feel my life had been to no purpose?" He cast about for something reassuring to say, but could only manage, "All men feel so at some time or another, little brother. Being eldest, and accustomed to command and achievement, doth not make me immune." And, with a shock, he realized that was true.

  "I had not known," Gregory muttered.

  Magnus nodded. "Big brothers, too, are human, my lad." And some, he reflected, were more human than others. "But how thou couldst perceive thyself as failing, when thou dost succeed in aught thou dost attempt-!"

  "I have not suceeded in the finding of love," Magnus reminded him.

  "Thou art young yet," Gregory returned, which was quite something, coming from a thirteen-year-old.

  "Gramercy; I had feared I was ancient. And I have not succeeded in the world of Faerie, as I doubt not thou hast perceived. Nay, I have made a fool of myself."

  "Yet thou didst succeed!" Gregory looked up, surprised. "Didst thou not know? Thou and thy co-walker succeeded, where one alone would not have!"

  "Succeeded?" Magnus frowned. "Why, how is this? Succeeded, in bringing him into the Faerie Queen's clutches, when by himself, he would have been able to resist her blandishments?"

  "Not forever," Gregory said firmly. "If his despair was a match for thine own, his resolve would have crumbled, and he would have gone to the Queen-aye, and that ere long, too."

  Magnus had to admit that Gregory was probably rightbut, then, he usually was.

  "Yet by himself," Gregory went on, "he would ne'er ha' been more than a servant. Nay, she would have dandled him after her endlessly, he ever hoping for some sign of favor, ever yearning for the ecstasies she promised-yet would never have attained to them, for the game to her was to see how deeply she could bind him by his own desires, with the least satisfaction."

  "Must the Faerie Folk ever be playing games?"

  "Aye. What else shall they do with their interminable lives? They have no need to labor, they have no duties to occupy them. What else shall save them from dying of boredom, save games of one sort or another?"

  Magnus was amazed all over again, not at how much his brother knew-he was getting used to that-but at the depth of his understanding.

  "Yet thou, by thine appearance and imminent departure, won through to her," Gregory explained. "She could see that the force of Albertus's resentment, of his will to banish thee, was stronger than thy desire to stay-so she took the only means she knew, to increase thy desire."

  "And his." Magnus stiffened in a moment of insight. "She could not lose thereby, could she? For the action that inflamed my passion, inflamed his also, till it burst the bonds of his reserve and made him abandon all else in his need for her."

  "Even so," Gregory agreed. He started to say something else, then caught himself.

  "I am a cat's-paw, eh?" Magnus's mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. "Thou dost th
ink that she but made use of me, as a tool to win the other whom she truly wished."

  "Nay, not so," Gregory quickly assured him. "She would have been as glad to have thee as him."

  "Why, what tolerance!" Magnus said, with a hard laugh. "How gracious, to accept either one! How open-minded of her! Yet I think she would rather have had him, brother, for he was of her world."

  "Mayhap." Gregory frowned.

  "And so." Magnus pulled on his boots and stood, buckling on his sword belt. "So he hath gone to the elven kind, and is lost. Doubly lost, tenfold lost, for winning the favors of the Queen's body; the ecstasy she brings him will have him ever panting after her for another favor."

  "Aye; and she must give them," Gregory said, "or his desire will curdle into hatred, and he'll storm away from her."

  "I doubt it not. So she will bed him now and again, ever in time to keep him from turning away, and will hold him all his days--or till she tires of him." He turned a bleak gaze upon his little brother. "How then? How then, when he is cast out of Elfland? Will he not despair, and seek death?"

  "She dare not enrage him too greatly," Gegory pointed out, "for he is a mortal who can wield Cold Iron, and a wizard, who doth know the ways in which to wield it most shrewdly 'gainst the elven kind. Nay, if 'tis as much his desire that holds him, as her own, then she must needs quench his yearning when her own doth lapse."

  Magnus frowned down at him. "Dost thou know this of thyself?"

  "Nay; I had it of Vidor. Such liasons are naught new, in Tir Chlis. They endure seven years-or at the least, 'tis seven years till the one enthralled returns again to mortal kind."

  "Time may run at different rates within the Faerie's spells." Magnus nodded. "So he is gone from his enemies for that long. How will the land fare without him?"

  "His father, his mother, and Vdor endure," Gregory reminded him. "They may mourn his loss, but will preserve his inheritance."

  "If he doth wish to take it up."

  "He will," Gregory said, with some certainty. "The Faerie-taken return to waste away, or with greater zest for life-and I think that Albertus is not the kind to pine."

  Looking within himself, Magnus had to agree. He would survive out of sheer stubbornness, if nothing else-but he was equally likely to stay alive just out of anger. He nodded. "He will live, and thrive. Thou sayest he will have greater appetite for life?"

  "Aye; Faerie will drain him or fill him to bursting, the one or the other. And he will return with knowledge of elven magics, added to his own."

  Magnus shuddered at the thought. "He will be a most puissant wizard."

  "Aye, in the future-and for now, he is happy. Or if not happy, at least living in delight."

  Magnus wondered at his brother's distinction, but decided he didn't want to hear it explained.

  8

  Rod looked up, then looked up again, wide-eyed. Sure enough, that was Magnus, riding into the village square. But why the look of cold determination? What had happened to his son in the forest?

  Somehow, he didn't think he should ask. The lad would tell him, if and when he was ready.

  But there were some things he could say. He stepped toward the young man, waving. "Good to see you back, son! Changed your mind?"

  "Resolved it, rather." Magnus dismounted and stood beside him. "We must have some purpose in living, must we not? And if we have none, we must make it." He glanced around to be sure no one was near, and lowered his voice. "Folk have the right to leave this place, if they wish it. Let us see if there are any we should aid."

  Rod grinned and slapped Magnus on the shoulder while he wondered at the boy's words. But there would be time enough to puzzle them out later. For now, mending fences was more important. "I don't know about you, but it's been a while since I've eaten. Let's go find a tankard of ale and something to munch."

  Magnus glanced up at the sun. "Aye; 'tis noon. I find I could surround a flagon."

  "Just take the ale out of it first, okay?"

  They found the tavern, got a tankard each and some sausage, that being all the tavernkeeper had on hand. He served them himself, since Hester was still in school. Rod watched Magnus keenly for signs of regret, but didn't spot more than a sardonic twist of the lips.

  They had no sooner begun to eat than a shadow darkened the doorway, and the grizzled peasant Roble came in, walking heavily, face pale and grim. He leaned on the counter and said, "Corin! A stoup of ale, an it please thee!"

  Corin did a double take, then shied away as though he were looking at an unclean spirit. "It pleaseth me not, Roble! For I cannot o'erlook the sins thou hast committed in leading thy son to take his own life."

  "'Twas not I who pushed him thither, but His Grace the bishop!"

  "Blasphemy!" Corin gasped. "I cannot serve thee, Roble, when thou wilt not confess to thy sins! Look no more upon me!"

  "Since when was it blasphemy to criticize a priest?" Magnus murmured to Rod.

  "Since that priest decided it was," Rod murmured back. "Hush, son, and listen."

  Roble narrowed his eyes. "I will look most shrewdly upon thee, till thou dost give me mine stoup of ale."

  Corin's face set itself into grim lines. He turned away to dust and polish.

  Roble stood and glowered at him.

  Corin's shoulders squared, and he went on bustling about, then turned away and went out to the kitchen.

  Roble sagged and lowered his eyes.

  Magnus glanced at Rod, then stood and stepped over to the bar. He leaned across and hooked a tankard off its peg. He beckoned to Roble, who looked up in surprise, then followed him back to the table, where Rod and Magnus were each pouring half their tankards into the empty one.

  "Drink." Magnus set the stoup in front of him. "We are not of the village."

  Roble looked them slowly up and down, with suspicion but also with relief, then growled, "I will-and bless thee, strangers." His lips quirked with a mirthless smile. "If the blessing of a sinner and an outcast will do aught for thee."

  "I certainly can't cite anyone else for being a sinner," Rod rejoined, "and the blessing of a father should certainly . . ." But Roble was sinking again. "I am parent no longer. Call me not `father,' goodman."

  The innkeeper came bustling back out and jarred to a halt, staring at them, shocked. Then he remembered that he wasn't supposed to even see Roble, and turned away.

  Magnus decided to press his luck. He stepped over to the counter, calling, "Ho, goodman! Fill the bowl again, if thou wilt!"

  Corin turned to stare at him, then let a slow smile show. "Aye, stranger." He refilled Magnus's tankard, took down a new one and filled it, too. "For thy father." Then he turned away quickly, back to the kitchen.

  "So," Magnus murmured, sitting, "he hath some fellowfeeling after all."

  "Corin was ever a good-heart," Roble allowed. "Dost say thou art this man's son?"

  "I have that honor."

  Rod looked up in pleased surprise.

  "'Tis a holy bond," Roble growled. He turned to Rod. "Rejoice in him."

  "Good advice," Rod said slowly. "I do."

  "I'll give thee better: leave this village, and quickly. The bishop will be angered with thee for thy mercy to me, as will his curate, his acolytes, and his nuns-and what they hate, all the folk will hate. An thou dost gain the enmity of the clergy, thou dost gain the hatred of all the town-which thou wilt, by naught but thy converse with me, for such hath been declared to be a sin."

  "Whatever the priests tell them is Gospel, huh? Well, I think we'll take our chances. Being from out of town can be a big help."

  "Such conduct is odd," Magnus pointed out, "for they who preach Charity."

  Roble shrugged. "There are virtues, and other virtues. For all their preaching, they will tell thee quickly that obedience is of greater import than charity."

  "Obedience?" Rod frowned up at Magnus. "I don't remember that as being one of the cardinal virtues."

  " 'Tis an aspect of Faith, goodman-for if one hath Faith, one doth obey
God's Word."

  "And God's Word is whatever the priest tells you it is?"

  "Aye, and he doth say Faith is the greatest virtue of all." Magnus shook his head and quoted softly, " `For there abide these three: Faith, Hope, and Charity-but the greatest of these is Charity.' "

  Roble looked up, startled. "Whose words are these?"

  "Saint Paul's, from the first of his Epistles to the Corinthians."

  "The priest hath not read us that from the pulpit."

  "And you're not taught to read for yourself?"

  "Nay. Only they who are learned can correctly interpret God's Word. None others should read."

  Rod jerked his head toward the outside. "I take it those boys we saw this morning are being taught their letters?"

  "The acolytes? Aye. They have been chosen for their intelligence and faith."

  Which probably translated as their fanaticism and willingness to do whatever the priest said, Rod imagined. "They're giving up a lot. Your neigh ... fellow villagers tell me the priests and nuns really live very chaste lives."

  "Aye," Roble admitted, "that they do. I ha' ne'er seen so much as a gleam in a priest's eye; they are consumed with devotion. Each hath a small house by the church, though the bishop's is larger than the others, and none ever enter those houses save the one who doth dwell there. Nay, they are pure in their zeal."

  "If zeal is enough to make a man good. Yes. Of course, sparing someone else's feelings might be a factor in spiritual quality, too."

  "Charity, aye-but it doth take second place, or third, when there is the matter of protecting all other souls from heresy--or thine own, from thine own error."

  Magnus frowned. "Dost thou believe this of thyself?" Roble's mouth hardened. "Nay. 'Twas that which drove my boy Ranulf mad with grief-for he had a mind that sought sense, mind you, and would protest to the nuns, even when he was a child, that the Holy Ghost would not be separately named if He did not truly exist, or that Christ could not be any more a son of God than any others of us if He was not in some sense God Himself."

  Rod whistled. "That must have gone over like a whirling skillet."

  "A most bright lad," Magnus murmured.