The Warlock's Last Ride Read online

On the battlements, Cordelia sagged with relief. "My love is safe!" Then she straightened, turning to her brother and clapping her arm about his waist. "Now, leaping wizard!"

  On his other side, Allouette seized hold of him, too. Gregory threw an arm about each and teleported. The women heard two thundercracks—one for the implosion of air rushing into the space where they had stood, another from the explosion of the air they displaced as they arrived. Dizzy for a moment, they clung to Gregory and to one another, then looked up and saw a nightmare bearing down on them, a horribly distorted cow with talons instead of hooves and barbed horns that glinted with poison.

  Rod seemed to have inherited some of his son's talents, but teleporting wasn't one of them. He had to ride to the riverbank—but he had a steed with a tireless gait. Robots do break down occasionally, but Fess was in excellent repair.

  "Okay, slow down, we're coming to the top of the sea-cliff."

  "It is thirty-six meters away, Rod." Nonetheless, Fess did begin to slow. He went up the last few yards to the brink of the cliff at a trot and stopped.

  Rod stared down in horror. Horns, whelks, talons, saber-teeth, tentacles—horribly distorted creatures filled the meadow, parodies of animal forms, some combining two or three beasts, some part animal and part human. More poured out of the mist, rushing up the slope of the beach toward the grass at its crest. Thankfully, the rising sun was already beginning to burn away the fog.

  That thought brought Rod out of his paralysis. Scanning the plain, he saw his son standing on the grass at the top of the beach with Alea beside him. Anger and fear shot through him. "Elves! Isn't there an elf around?"

  "Here, Lord Warlock."

  Rod looked down, staring in amazement at fifty elves who appeared from the grass, one standing head and shoulders above the rest. "Puck! I might have known you'd be onto this. Quick! Knock them over!"

  "We cannot." The elf's face was taut with strain, sweat trickling from his brow as he glared at the monsters. "Fierce magic protects them; all our power is brushed aside."

  "Then feed your power into Magnus! Added to his and Alea's, it might be enough to make the difference."

  "We have tried, Lord Warlock."

  Startled, Rod whipped his gaze to the other side of his horse and saw Brom O'Berin. "Save your grandson, Brom! He doesn't have the good sense to leave this alone and wait for the army!"

  "Only magic can prevail against this horde," Brom said, tight-lipped, "and that which gives power to them is too alien from ours."

  "Maybe Magnus…"

  "We cannot send our power into him," Brom said, never taking his eyes from the man who was his grandson. "He has been too long from the soil of Gramarye. We cannot feed him."

  "I can!" Rod cried. "I'm his father! He has my genes in him no matter where he goes, and they're not made of the substance of Gramarye! Funnel power into me, and I'll channel it to him!"

  Brom stared at him a moment, then gave a taut nod. "Come down."

  Rod dismounted and knelt in the grass. Brom seized his right hand, Puck his left, and the psi power of hundreds of elves coursed through him, almost making him faint—but he held on to consciousness, waited until his system adjusted to the flow of energy, then stared at his son, reaching out mind to mind, and channeled the flow of psi power into Magnus, adding all of his own, bringing it up from the very depths of his being.

  Magnus reeled with the sudden influx of power thrilling through him; he could only think, So this is how a high-voltage line feels! Alea looked up in alarm, thrust her shoulder under his arm as he staggered and held him up. Magnus steadied and straightened, still feeling so full of psi energy that he must burst. Steady on his feet, he glared at the manticore that charged up at him and thrust Alea behind him. They had fought back-to-back many times before; her staff came up even as she pressed her shoulders against his, still feeding her psi power into him, but ready to defend.

  She hadn't anticipated a living mace, a monster the size of a truck but bristling with spikes, with a curved and gleaming horn thrusting from its nose. The nightmare charged her, lowering its head to aim the glittering point at Alea's heart.

  The peasants cavorted around Geoffrey, quaffing long drafts of ale and singing ballads praising the Crown. Geoffrey raised his mug with them, forcing laughter as he went from group to group to raise his mug in a toast. Finally he stumbled out of the crowd—and found Quicksilver waiting for him, hands on hips, with a huge warhorse behind her. "There is small time! Can you not move more quickly?"

  "Let us hope I can!" Geoffrey went around the equine barrier that would block him from the sight of the party.

  "We, you mean!" Quicksilver was right behind him and threw her arm around his waist.

  "I fear you may be injured." But Geoffrey wrapped an arm around her shoulders a second before he teleported with a bang.

  The warhorse stamped nervously and whinnied his disapproval.

  The blast of their arrival echoed in their ears; they found themselves on the bank near the river-mist they had entered once before—and saw a beast that looked rather like a rhinoceros, only bristling with spikes all about and with a very sharp horn, trotting wide around Magnus to get at Alea.

  "Upon it!" Quicksilver cried, and dashed to help her new friend.

  Two swords stabbed the beast's flanks.

  With a feeling she was doomed, Alea set the butt of her staff in the earth, aiming the tip toward the horned monster who hurtled toward her—but at the last second, it screamed and swerved, whirling about. She stared, disbelieving her own eyes—then saw the streaks of dark blood on its flanks just before she heard a muffled explosion, and the beast stumbled and fell to show her Geoffrey and Quicksilver, swords bare and bloodied. Alea gave a glad cry. Grinning, Quicksilver leaped to stand by her side, sword ready for whatever might come.

  Geoffrey stepped up back-to-back with her, beside his brother, just as the manticore's head disappeared in a cloud of mist. Geoffrey turned his glare on the giant snake with knife-like fangs, coiled to spring at them. It exploded. "No time for finesse," he snapped, then turned to see a scaly tail whipping toward him with a spike on the end. He ducked; as it flashed by overhead, he swung his sword up high to chop it off. Its owner shrieked like a steam whistle, but the tumbling tail slashed Magnus's shoulder on its way to the ground.

  There were more scaly ropes coming toward them; a snake-headed woman with four spider-legs whipped a tentacle at Geoffrey as he straightened.

  "He is mine!" Quicksilver snapped, and chopped with her own sword. The tentacle went flying as its owner screamed, but another slapped around Quicksilver's ankles. Still screaming, the monster jerked, sending Quicksilver tumbling to the ground, where a spider-leg reached with a dripping talon.

  Geoffrey chopped it off, then swung his sword in a figure-eight; the monster didn't stay to find out where it would strike but backed off quickly. She had distracted Geoffrey long enough, though; a feathered monster struck from above, laying open Geoffrey's forehead, then reaching for his eyes. Quicksilver sprang to her feet and skewered the bird, then swung her sword snapping out in a line; the carcass flew off to strike the next attacker in the face.

  They were all around now, a solid wall of fangs, tentacles, and talons. Alea struck again and again with her staff even as she channeled her psi power into Magnus; claws laid open her arm, and her grip weakened, but she didn't even look, only swung her staff all the harder, straight between the monster's eyes. It exploded, and she knew Magnus was still fighting with his mind.

  High above, on a sea-cliff, Allouette, Gregory, and Cordelia held hands, merging their power as they glared down at the beach. Halfway across it, a line of fire leaped up, and most of the monsters shied away in terror. A few jumped through, though, and charged blazing and shrieking into the melee around Magnus and Alea—and there were certainly enough horrendous shapes crowding in about them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Puck appeared with a pop among trees that lined the river, where the cat-
headed alien watched the battle with detached amusement. "If you truly have the power you boast of, Catface, use it now! Send it to those who can use it well!"

  I did not boast, Evanescent protested, but I shall send my power to the woman.

  A sudden burst of strength filled Alea, making her stagger, but she straightened and used some of that amazing new power to make the monster who swung its mace-tipped tail at her explode before she channeled the rest to Magnus.

  A force far stronger than anything he had ever felt charged Magnus; he reeled, dizzy with power for a moment—just as an explosion rocked the giant human-headed ants at his left. Gregory stood there, arms around his sister and his wife. They staggered, catching their balance, then lashed out at the surrounding horde with psi power, making bodies explode and tentacles strike at their owners. Even so, they couldn't fend off all the fangs and stings and horns; they were soon bleeding in several places each, but they fought on with their minds, winnowing the horde. As soon as they felled one monster, though, another thrust through in its place.

  Back-to-back, the Gallowglass siblings and their spouses fought hundreds of monsters.

  Magnus recovered, looked about him, and realized that Alea and his siblings could hold off the enemy for the moment. His eyes lost focus as he concentrated on the mental world, sending a thought questing ahead through the mist, seeking the mind that had organized and supported this obscene army. It was almost as though a cable of pure malice stretched from the monsters back into the mist. Magnus followed it—but before he found its source, a bolt of mental energy rocked him. Another followed, driving him to his knees.

  A giant wolf burst through the line and leaped on the wizard, jaws gaping wide to engulf his head.

  Alea screamed in anger and jammed her staff into its maw, knocking the beast backward—but a huge paw flailed at her and dagger-claws shredded her gown, slashing lines of pain down her left side as the beast fell, knocking her to the ground with it. It scrambled to its feet, jaws reaching for Alea—but Quicksilver's sword pierced its heart and the beast fell again, this time for good.

  Anger and sullen determination made Magnus gather and concentrate the titanic power he held, building it into a mighty weapon of true force, but knowing with sickening certainty that it would not be enough—not quite enough.

  Then, suddenly, a jolt of power flowed into him—not so very much by itself, but enough and more than enough to equal and overcome the mind of malice that directed the horde of monsters about him. Magnus narrowed his eyes, reached way down deep within and found strength there that he had never known, brought that force up from the bottom of his being to strike back with every bit of power he possessed, every ounce of anger and rage and fear, directing at the unseen malignant mind all his longing for revenge, all the outrage at everything he'd suffered and not deserved.

  Something shrieked in anguish, some long trailing, dying, cry as the force opposing Magnus lessened. The shriek faded and was silent, and the cable of force uniting the monsters, dissolved.

  A keening cry of despair rose all about the Gallowglasses, piercing their heads with pain, immobilizing them for a moment. When they looked up, though, the monsters were backing away.

  Magnus lifted his head, eyes terrible with more power than he had ever known. He reached, lifted, and threw. The monsters exploded outward in a wave. Those farthest away turned to flee toward the mist, saw the line of flame separating them, and shied back screeching.

  Allouette lifted her head, and the fire died.

  The monsters raced for the mist, but their movements had slowed strangely, as though they fought their way through molasses.

  Still on his knees, Magnus whirled to Alea to find her struggling back to her knees. He stared at the blood flowing down her side, reached to staunch it, but she pushed his hand away. "Only a scratch, Gar, though a long one. Finish what needs to be done."

  Magnus stared at her a moment, then nodded and turned back to the fleeing remnants of the horde.

  "We could slay them all." Quicksilver lifted her sword, mayhem in her eyes.

  "Why slaughter even such abominations as these if we need not?" Gregory asked. "Send them home."

  Geoffrey nodded reluctantly. "That is the chivalrous course."

  Fire erupted from the beach again, right behind the last of the monsters. They trumpeted in panic and fled.

  Rocks shot from the ground nearby, striking at monsters on the other flank.

  Courses of rocks, sheets of flames, barrages of invisible stings—steadily they herded the monsters back into the mists.

  Magnus realized he could leave the mopping-up to his siblings and their spouses for the moment, and turned to scan the cliffs and trees, wondering where that titanic force had come from, that and the extra last jolt that had that saved himself and his sibs and given them victory. He saw no one standing under the trees, no one in the long grass—but when he lifted his gaze to the cliff-tops, he saw a solitary rider looking down at him. For a moment, their eyes met, and he knew his father.

  Then Rod gave a single nod and turned away. He disappeared from sight, and Magnus gazed after him, stunned that the man who begot him, the stranger to Gramarye, should have gained so much power in his old age.

  The party was in full swing, and it looked as though the peasants were going to make a night of it. Catharine and Tuan left their generals to watch over the field with ranks of soldiers encircling the celebrants and most of the off-duty troopers mingling with the peasants, helping keep the party merry. The king and queen went back into the castle, chatting as they went, marvelling over how well the day had ended and the wisdom their son had gained.

  As they came through their own huge portal, Catharine said, "How amazing to have seen your brother and his son! But where did they go?"

  "Here, Mother."

  Startled, Catharine turned from her husband—and saw her younger son standing with his uncle and cousin, and before them, the strange knight who stood with his hands bound.

  Catharine stopped, staring in surprise, but Tuan went past her, arms wide, a smile lighting his face. "Well met, brother! How wonderful, after so many years, to have you visit my home!"

  Taken aback, Anselm stared, then managed a small smile. "I could wish it were for a happier occasion, Majesty."

  "I too—but you did not attend my son's wedding, and I missed you sorely."

  "I am an attainted traitor, Your Majesty!"

  "Here at home, I am your brother Tuan and nothing else! Except, perhaps, your nephew's uncle." Tuan turned to Geordie and took his hand. "Welcome, George."

  Geordie winced. "Please, Uncle! I am called Geordie now, a name I heartily prefer."

  Tuan laughed. "Then well met, Geordie." He turned to the stranger knight with a frown. "But what is this gift you have brought me?"

  "I am maligned!" Sir Orgon cried. "I am hauled here against my will, for no greater crime than…"

  "Incitement to treason," Anselm finished grimly. "This man requested sanctuary at my home, Maj… brother, then sought to persuade me to lead another rebellion against you—and if the High Warlock had not spoken for my son, and your Diarmid not pardoned his poaching, I would have led the lords against you indeed!"

  Catharine turned on him indignantly, but before she could speak, Tuan said, "Instead, you have brought the traitor to me—but what is this about poaching?" He turned to Geordie with a frown.

  "The crops failed," Diarmid explained.

  "My tenants would have starved in the winter!" Geordie protested. "I could not wait until their faces turned gaunt before I sought remedy—and why see them hungry when there was a forest full of game?"

  "Then you should have asked your duke for permission to hunt," Tuan said. "I am sure he would have given it."

  "Still, he broke the law," Anselm said, "but it was the Lord Warlock who convinced your son Diarmid that that law did not intend people's starvation."

  "Of course it did not!" Catharine said indignantly. "It meant only that t
here should be deer left for the lords to hunt."

  "An unjust law," Sir Orgon cried, "but no reason to rebel."

  "That is not how he spoke when my son stood in chains," Anselm said grimly.

  Tuan turned to the man impatiently. "We shall hear your case on the morrow. For now, I wish to talk with my brother. Guards! See this man accommodated in our finest dungeon!"

  "I am a knight!" Sir Orgon protested.

  "We shall discuss the truth of that statement tomorrow, too." Tuan nodded to the guards, and they hauled Sir Orgon away, protesting every inch of the way.

  "So you pardoned your cousin?" Tuan asked his son.

  "Not quite," Diarmid hedged. "Given the exceptional circumstances, I commuted the death sentence to a hefty fine instead—and was overwhelmingly relieved that the Lord Warlock gave me good reason," Diarmid said, "for I was caught between the evil of favoring a kinsman, and the greater evil of hanging him."

  "So instead of hanging," Catharine said to Geordie, "you came to join us for battle—and played the peacemaker!"

  "I could not see my own peasant folk slain only for asking justice, Your Majesty," Geordie answered, "but I would never have fought against you."

  "Instead, you stood by your cousin and helped him turn a bloody battle into a celebration." Catharine nodded and turned to her younger son. "It is well you were able to mete out justice instead of blind adherence to the law."

  "Thank you, Mother." Diarmid smiled. "I, though, must thank the Lord Warlock."

  "So I shall, when next I see him." Catharine turned back to Geordie with a frown. "You hold your lands enfeoffed from your father?"

  "I do," Geordie said, "though I think myself only his steward."

  "Far more, surely!" Anselm protested.

  "Well, I think I do the job well enough," Geordie said with a smile for his father, then to the Queen again, "My tenants, at least, call me 'squire.' "

  "I am sure your father has given you the warlike training that title requires," Tuan said.