The Warlock's Last Ride Read online

  "Of course," Anselm said impatiently. "He can fight as well as any knight—or any peasant, as our father taught us, Tuan." He forced a smile. "Perhaps I should not have taught him skill with the bow."

  "Then he would have slain his deer with a sling," Tuan said. "He has certainly proved himself worthy of the title."

  "He has proved his courage in battle this day," Catharine said with a smile, and caught Tuan's hand.

  "Aye," Tuan agreed. "Running into the midst of the fray to defend your own was indeed a brave act."

  "But all there were my own!"

  "Well spoken," the Queen said, and gave her husband a meaningful glance. Tuan nodded and turned back to his nephew, drawing his sword.

  "How now, brother!" Anselm cried, his hand on his own hilt.

  "You stand as his sponsor, do you not?" Tuan asked.

  "His sponsor? What…?"

  "I am sure he does," Diarmid said, "and so do I."

  "Then kneel, Squire George."

  Geordie winced but had the good sense not to protest the use of his full name as he knelt.

  Tuan touched his left shoulder with the flat of the blade, then arced it over his head to touch the right as he said, "I hereby dub thee knight." Then he lifted the sword and stepped in to give his nephew a clout that rocked his head.

  Through the ringing in his ears, Geordie heard his king say, "Rise, Sir George, and be as loyal as you have been, loyal to both man and master forever more."

  Geordie stood, dazed, and Anselm stammered, "Brother… my Queen… I had not thought…"

  "Do so," Catharine advised. "We shall repeat this ceremony with greater pomp, but it shall not change his nobility." To Geordie, she said, "You shall bring your wife to meet us as soon as you may."

  "Majesty," Geordie said with a gulp, "I will."

  "There is another matter to consider, Mother," Diarmid said.

  "Yes, my son?" Catharine frowned.

  "He has proven his courage but also his concern for his people," Diarmid said. "Might I suggest he should have a title greater than knight?"

  "Indeed!" Catharine said. "And whose estates should he hold—yours?"

  "Exactly," Diarmid said.

  Catharine stared, stunned.

  Tuan smiled. "You really do wish to spend your days among your books, do you not?"

  "Administering a duchy takes so much time," Diarmid complained.

  "Be sure, sir, that I shall not let you fritter your time away!" Catharine said indignantly.

  "Still," Tuan said, "there are other positions than duke that our Diarmid could fulfill, but that few others can."

  "Majesties—I did not come here seeking preferment," Geordie protested.

  "No, you came to serve your Queen," Catharine said, "and so you shall." She turned to Anselm with a frown. "I cannot restore an attainted traitor, even one who has proven his loyalty—but I can restore the son to the rank that should have been his by birth." She turned to Geordie. "Kneel again, sir."

  Stunned, Geordie knelt.

  Catharine stepped forward to lay her hand on her nephew's head. "Henceforth be as true and loyal to both Crown and people as you have proven yourself this day—but next time you think the law unjust, appeal to your Queen!" She lifted her hand. "Rise, Duke of Loguire."

  As Geordie stood, wide-eyed and amazed, Anselm stammered, "Majesty… I assure you, I had never expected…"

  "A simple 'thank you' would suffice, Anselm," Tuan said, with a grin.

  Anselm swallowed any other words he had been about to say. "Majesties, from the depths of my heart, I thank you!"

  "But I cannot steal my kinsman's title, nor his lands!" Geordie turned to Diarmid. "How would you feel if I did, cousin?"

  "Relieved," the former duke told him. "Vastly relieved."

  Evergreens closed around Rod as he rode into the forest, closing off sight of the sun—but since it was midday, enough light filtered through to let him see quite well. It was eerie and lonely; Rod shivered and hoped he and Fess could plough through to oak and ash again. He frowned as he looked around.

  Then he saw a white speck drifting down. He blinked his eyes, not believing what they showed him—but sure enough, there was another and another. "Fess, I have to be mistaken—but I could swear I'm seeing snowflakes."

  "You are not mistaken, Rod."

  "But how can that be? It's barely October!"

  "An early snowfall, perhaps? I know that the land slopes upward as we come to the western duchies; we are already at four thousand feet."

  Rod shivered and told himself it was because of the cold. He blew on his hands and reached for his gloves—but stopped; had he seen movement? "Fess? Did you see something move?"

  "Only the snowflakes, Rod."

  "I could have sworn I saw something larger." He looked down to pull on his left glove—and froze; there it was, at the corner of his eye, and if he kept his gaze on his hands, he could see it. It was tricky, focusing his gaze on his hands while he focused his attention on the moving thing, but he managed it. It might have been only a cloud of flakes that he saw, sinuous and wavering on the wind—but there was a face atop them, indistinct as though made of drifting particles, a face with snow-white hair, eyebrows, and beard, a ghostly white, translucent face atop long flowing robes, but an arm separated from the blowing curtain of snow, a long and bony hand reached out toward Rod. He cried out and ducked, but the hand followed him and the forefinger touched his forehead.

  Rod shivered, wiping at the spot of chill. "Serves me right for going out without a hat!" He frowned. "I do have a hat, don't I?"

  "At home, Rod. Not here."

  "Home? Where's that?" Rod's face cleared. "Oh yes, Maxima! But that must be an awfully long way away, Fess."

  "Very far indeed, Rod—but Castle Gallowglass is only a few days' ride."

  "Castle Gallowglass? What's that?"

  "The castle where you lived with Gwendylon and your children, Rod."

  "Children?" Rod frowned at the mantle of evergreen in front of him, then shook his head. "Don't remember any chil…" He broke off as a vague picture flitted though his mind, an image of a golden-haired laughing toddler shooting through the air while a red-headed woman held up her arms to catch him—but the vision faded and he shook his head. "I'm not old enough to marry."

  "You were forty-nine when Catharine and Tuan insisted you occupy the castle for them."

  "Who are Catharine and Tuan?"

  "The King and Queen of Gramarye, Rod—your lifelong friends, once they forgave you for the manner in which you brought them together."

  Rod frowned, trying to remember, then shook his head. Movement at the corner of his eye distracted him, but when he looked, all he saw was blowing snow. "Why did we come to Terra, Fess? Mom and Dad are going to be worried sick."

  The robot was silent a moment; then it said, "We are two hundred thirty-seven light-years from Terra, Rod, on a planet named Gramarye."

  "We are?" Rod looked around at the mass of green needles. "Funny—it looks just like Terra."

  "That is because it has been terraformed, Rod."

  "Terraformed?" Rod frowned. "Seems I remember that, from a book I read—what? Last year?"

  "You read Terraforming Earth when you were thirteen, Rod."

  "Well, I can't be much older than that now, can I?" Rod frowned at the back of the horse's head. "How did we get here?"

  "By spaceship, Rod. You were on an exploratory mission for SCENT and found Gramarye."

  "What's Gramarye?" Yes, there was movement at the corner of his eye, but again, when Rod turned to look, there was only blowing snow. "Who's that guy in the long white robe, Fess, and why does he go away whenever I look at him?"

  "He is no doubt a figment of your imagination, Rod."

  "Who's a figment of imagination?"

  "Rod—can you not even remember what you said only moments ago?"

  "I don't know, Fess." Rod pulled up on the reins and slid off the horse's back. "I only know that I'm awfully t
ired. I'll just lie down and take a nap."

  "No, Rod, not in the snow! You will die of cold!"

  "No, I'll just sleep for a little while." Rod shivered but knew the cold would go away—it always did when he got into bed.

  "Rod, get up! You will die of hypothermia, you know that!"

  "What's hypoth… whatever?" Rod closed his eyes and rested his head on some fallen boughs. "Just half an hour. Wake me up, okay?"

  "I will waken you now! Rod, get up! Remember who you are!"

  "Yeah, yeah, I'm Rodney d'Armand, I know, I've got to keep up the family name." Rod snuggled down, hands under his head. "I'll do it after I wake up. Right now, the cold's gone away and I'm beginning to feel warm again. G'night, Fess."

  "You are beginning to feel warm because you have begun to freeze! Rod, no! You must rise now!"

  Rod only grumbled and burrowed deeper into the soft stuff beneath him. His eyelids fluttered, and he saw a face hovering over him, an elongated white face, all white, beard, hair, skin, with a gloating smile that bothered Rod, but he couldn't remember why. It didn't matter, though. It wouldn't keep him from sleeping. He closed his eyes firmly, telling himself he had to wake up in time for dinner or Mama would be very upset. Biting cold touched the center of his forehead, making him shiver, but it too warmed, and he nestled down into the soft, cocooning darkness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Somewhere in the distance a voice was calling, "Magnus! Cordelia! Geoffrey! Gregory! Come! Your father needs you! Elves! Wherever you are, come out and waken him! Call for help!" That voice didn't matter, though, not when sleep was so close.

  Then tiny little pains broke out all over Rod's body. He sat straight up, saying, "Robert, cut that out! Why did I have to have a big broth…" He broke off, looking at the foot-high people all about him. "Who're you?"

  "Elves come to keep you awake," said one, "and do not dare to seek sleep again, or we will pinch you sorely."

  "That's not nice." Rod shivered. "It's cold."

  "This will warm you," said a deep voice, and sure enough, something warm and soft settled around Rod's shoulders. Looking down, he saw it was dark brown fur. He rubbed it, delighting in the feel, then looked up to see a man who stood as high as Rod—except that Rod was sitting. The man was very muscular, wearing a dark green doublet and brown hose under a cloak that looked very warm. There were streaks of gray in his hair under the bowl of his fur hat. "Waken, Rod Gallowglass," he boomed, and touched Rod's forehead with a forefinger.

  "I am awake." Rod swatted at the forefinger, then froze. "I am Rod Gallowglass!" He looked about him. "A snowdrift! I was about to go to sleep in a snowdrift!" He looked up at the little man. "Thanks, Brom."

  "You will never lack for friends, Rod Gallowglass." Brom smiled. "What brought you to seek sleep in snow?"

  "I don't remember." Rod pressed a hand to his forehead. "Yes, that's just it—I didn't remember, didn't remember anything." But he did now and looked up round-eyed. "A man, ten feet tall at least, made of snow, but drifting and blowing like a curtain in the wind! He touched my forehead and I started forgetting things!"

  "Father Frost," Brom said grimly. "He comes as the year ages—but he is early."

  "No, this pocket of evergreens has aged faster than the rest of the country." Rod shivered. "So have I. It's the frost of age that touched me, not of the year." He looked up at Fess, pulling the fur robe closely around him. "Thanks for calling for help."

  "I rejoice that there was help at hand, Rod."

  "We will always be close at hand," piped an elf.

  "Be sure that they will," said Brom O'Berin, King of the Elves. "On your feet, Lord Warlock, or you will freeze sitting!"

  Rod tried to rise but almost fell back, his legs refusing to straighten—but Brom levered him up somehow, and Fess stepped close so that Rod was able to lean on him as he began to force his legs to move, walking in place. "What did Father Frost do to me, Brom?"

  "Froze your memories," said the elven king, "froze the flow of thought so that the ones you treasure could not rise."

  Rod nodded. "And you thawed them?"

  "Yes, but that will do little good if you stay in this freezing vale." Brom made a stirrup of his hands. "Mount and ride!"

  Slowly and with great difficulty, Rod managed to lift his left foot and place it in that stirrup. Brom heaved, and it was even harder to swing the right leg high enough to clear the saddle, but an elf on Fess's hindquarters caught Rod's foot and pushed it over his head, then leaped down as Rod landed in his saddle. He looked down, holding out a hand. "Thanks, Brom—again. Seems I always have something to thank you for." His face tightened. "Especially Gwen."

  "Ah, you have remembered your love," Brom said softly. "Let that memory warm you, warlock—but not here. Ride, and rejoin the world of the living." He reached up to swat Fess's hindquarters, raising a resounding BONG!

  "High-quality alloy," Rod explained. "Rings just like a bell."

  "I am sure Brom knew that, Rod."

  Rod looked ahead at Fess. "Yeah, it was his idea of a joke." He looked back at the elven king but saw only a snowdrift churned by dozens of miniature feet. He shivered, as a sudden gust bit through the fur robe, and turned back to Fess. "They've disappeared again."

  "Yes, Rod," Fess said, "but the elves will never be far from you."

  "I suppose that's good to know." Rod hunched his shoulders against another sudden gust. "I think Father Frost is still trying to get into my head, Fess. How fast can we get down where it's warm again?"

  Alea went through the doorway first, waited for Magnus to clear it, then turned back, closed the door, and dropped the latch. With their suite secure to themselves alone, she turned back to her shield-mate and said, "You've done it again."

  Magnus turned, startled. "Done what?"

  "Succeeded," Alea said. "Done as your father asked—protected the people of Gramarye from three different threats, all in a matter of days."

  Magnus shook his head, still smiling. "It was Alain who turned a mob into a loyal crowd—though Geoffrey's support, and his knights and footmen, might have had something to do with it. It was Dad who showed Diarmid a way to spare Geordie's life and make peace with Anselm and his would-be rebels—and all of my siblings and their spouses who stood against that horde of monsters. Even then, it was Dad who lent that final surge of psionic strength that defeated them."

  "And you who drew them all to that riverbank, by going to fight the monsters single-handed—well, with your living shield."

  "That was not entirely by my choosing…"

  "If you had managed to leave without me, I would have raged at you through eternity! But you knew very well that once you leaped to confront the monsters, your family would follow to save you."

  "Not knew it," Magnus protested.

  "Don't split hairs with me! Knew or suspected, it came to the same. Besides, it was you who told Geoffrey the peasant army was on the march…"

  "He would have found out eventually…"

  "…you who saw to it that Gregory and Allouette and Cordelia stood ready to block the anarchists' espers…"

  "No one could have kept them away."

  "…you who drew word of Geordie's peril out of your sister…"

  "After you had told me of it."

  "…and you who told your father of Geordie and Rowena's danger."

  "He needed something to occupy him, to interest him in this world again."

  "Deceive someone else, if you must." Alea stepped close. "But don't try to hoodwink me—I've seen you do it on three planets! You arranged, you manipulated, you orchestrated—and you won!"

  "We all won."

  "Yes, especially the folk of this planet! You have set another people more firmly than ever on the road to their own form of government."

  "My father's form of government, rather," Magnus said with his sardonic smile.

  "Not any more," Alea said. "You protected them from the enemies who tried to conquer and subvert them, but you did
n't try to lead them down your own road. You left them free to choose their own way."

  "Yes," Magnus said, "and by some coincidence, that turned out to be the way Dad chose for them thirty years ago."

  "Was it?" Alea demanded. "Or did he, too, only leave them free to work out their own system?"

  Magnus was still, eyes widening. Then slowly, he nodded. "Perhaps," he said softly. "Perhaps he did." Then the sardonic smile came back. "Even so, he knew what he was doing, knew it very well."

  She heard the bitterness in his voice, stepped even closer, said softly, "He's proud of you, Magnus. You've done what you said you would, and not a jot more."

  "Yes, I have, haven't I?" He looked into her eyes, and the sardonic smile turned rueful. "Whether I wanted to or not, I've proved myself to be a true son of the old agent!"

  Allouette came down the hall toward the chamber she shared with Gregory while they were in the royal castle. As she placed her hand on the latch, a steward came up to her, stopping and bowing with an ingratiating smile. "My lady?"

  Allouette frowned, repelled by the man's obsequiousness. "What would you, goodman?"

  "A word of warning." The serving man straightened, and the ingratiating smile turned mocking.

  Fear and anger chilled Allouette; she scowled. "Why should I need warning?"

  "So that your husband does not learn the truth about you," the man said. "I am Durer."

  Alouette frowned, puzzled, then remembered that before she was born, Durer had been the chief of a mission whose palace revolution had failed.

  Durer saw the recognition in her widening eyes and laughed softly. "Yes, when my commanders learned that the High Warlock had… retired, and become disabled by grief, they sent me into the future to this time, to finish what I had begun."

  "So you are unaware what passed in the thirty years since you left." Allouette hid her gathering anger.

  "Oh, I know the history, never fear!" Durer said. "I know that you became Chief Agent, for example—far too young, and that you used the post only to contract a noble marriage for yourself and turn on your own organization! Tell me, what would happen if your husband learned all that you had done?"