The Warlock's Last Ride Read online

  "How could you doubt me so?" Gregory rose, staring deeply into her eyes. "How could you doubt me when you have only given me cause to love you more?"

  Still Allouette stood frozen, eyes darting from one to the other. Then belief and relief broke through her anger, and she fell sobbing into Gregory's arms.

  He soothed her and caressed her, murmuring, "Nay, sweet love, 'tis done, and the monsters shall be banished from your sight. Never again shall they rise to hurt you. Nay, my jo, my dear, my precious, be sure that I love you with a love that shall never vary, never swerve, for I know you for what you truly are, and 'tis for that I do love you."

  His brothers and sisters looked on, beaming fondly—but Alea whirled and ran from the chamber.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Magnus stood staring after Alea, stunned, then started after her, walking quickly, even now careful not to come too close too quickly.

  He came out into the courtyard just in time to see her run into the stable. Knowing she was unlikely to leave, he followed slowly and came in carefully, searching about him in the gloom, then following the sound of weeping.

  He found her leaning against the post between two empty stalls, head on her arms and weeping with the deep, racking sobs of true heartbreak. Magnus came up as near as he dared, then asked gently, "Why do you weep, companion of my bosom? Surely you cannot think that anything Allouette said in a moment of despair might be true!"

  "But it is, it all is!" Alea groaned. "Go away, Gar! Let me be miserable in peace!"

  "I cannot leave you sunken in lies."

  "Lies?" Alea whirled to face him, face blotched, eyes red and swollen, tears still running down her cheeks. "She told only truth! I've always known I was awkward and gawky, too ugly for any man to love!"

  "That is not true, not a word of it!" Magnus still dared move no closer, but he reached out. "But your feeling that way means that every word Allouette spoke went straight to that most vulnerable point in your heart."

  "You can't deny that I'm awkward and gawky!"

  "You are the soul of grace and deftness," Magnus countered. "Your movements in battle are a symphony; every step on the road or in the forest is sheer poetry. Oh yes, I deny most heartily that you are in any way awkward—but I can believe that you were, back in your teens."

  Alea's eyes widened. Suddenly conscious of them, she made a quick swipe at her tears. "I'm far too tall to be graceful!"

  "You're the perfect height," Magnus contradicted, then amended himself. "Well, perhaps an inch too short."

  "Don't mock me, Gar!"

  "I wouldn't dream of it." Magnus stared steadily into her eyes. "You want truth, and that is all I'm giving you—or honesty, at least; truth as I see it."

  "You can't really believe I'm beautiful!"

  "I've believed it since the first day I saw you," he said, "covered with briar scratches and smudged with dirt, your hair wild with two days' flight through a forest. I believed it then, but I knew it two days later, when you were clean and neat, and I thought I had never seen so beautiful a woman in my life!"

  "All right, maybe I'm plain, not ugly—but you can't expect me to believe you find me beautiful!" Hope had crept into her voice, though.

  "You must believe it," he said, "for it is true—believe that in my eyes, at least, you are beautiful." At last he stepped closer, lifting a hand to touch her cheek but not quite daring. "Come, you know you've caught me looking at you with admiration time and again—the times you caught me by surprise when you turned to look at me, and I hadn't been quite quick enough to look away."

  "With admiration, yes." Her heart was pounding with hope that she tried to thrust down. "But desire? Never!"

  "You've never caught me at it, no," Magnus said. "I hid it well, knowing you would see it as the worst sort of betrayal."

  Alea stared at him, startled, then said, "For the first few years, yes, that was true—but not anymore!"

  "I could not take that chance, though, don't you see," Magnus said, "could not take the chance of frightening you and hurting you and undoing all the progress you had made toward healing. So as to being repressed and frustrated, I most certainly am—but I will continue to be so, as long as that is what you need from me."

  Alea only stared at him, wondering how so intelligent and sensitive a man could be so stupid, then said, "That's not what I need from you any longer. I need the final stage of healing now."

  Magnus's eyes glowed; he stepped closer, but he only asked, "What could have wounded you so badly that it has taken so long to heal?"

  "Only a careless, selfish lover." Alea tried to make light of it, but a sob caught in her throat. "Only a man who swore he loved me, told me his desire for me caused him physical pain, and begged me to assuage it. Flattered beyond words, I let him bed me—but when he had taken his pleasure, he called me a whore and went away, then never spoke to me again." She couldn't hold back the tears as she said it.

  His face all tender concern, Magnus held out his arms, and Alea stood rigid, then swayed into his embrace and let the sobs go.

  Magnus held her firmly, and when the weeping had slackened, he said, "Even after four years of my safekeeping and devotion, it still hurts you so badly."

  "Nowhere nearly as badly as it did." Alea looked up at him, wiping tears from her eyes. "But you—it's been ten years now, and the wounds Finister gave you still fester."

  "Well, yes." Magnus's embrace loosened; he stepped back a little, but still gazed into her eyes. "There was reason, though. She induced my love not just by allure, but by projective telepathy—total, abject devotion—then shamed me and humiliated me in every way she could. She even convinced me I was a snake doomed to crawl forever about the base of a tree, and I understand that I did just that, though everyone else saw a naked man curled about that trunk."

  Alea gasped in horror, hearing it again, but from his point of view. "How…?"

  "My father found me and called Cordelia, who was able to banish the worst of the spell—she's a strong projective herself. But the witch came back again to compel my love and shame me one final time, leaving me mired in a morass of depression. My father found me again and called my mother this time, who knew she must not cure me herself and sent me to the Green Witch, who healed the worst of my pain."

  "Healed the worst, but it has taken you ten years to heal the rest?" Alea gasped.

  "Yes—for the only true healing I could have was to fall in love with a woman who was absolutely trustworthy…" Magnus touched her face, ever so lightly. "…a woman who might disagree with me to my face but who would never speak against me behind my back, and would certainly never, ever humiliate me or shame me."

  His face was so near, but he was not, could not be, saying what she had so longed to hear. "It's too bad you couldn't fall in love with me, then," Alea said with a catch in her voice.

  "No," Magnus agreed, "I grew into love with you, instead."

  She stared at him, riveted, frozen, though her lips parted ever so slightly—and ever so slowly, he lowered his own lips over hers in a kiss that melted her and lasted far longer than either of them intended. They broke apart, gasping and staring at one another, wild-eyed—but when they had caught their breath and the wildness had faded from him a little, Magnus breathed, "Marry me, beautiful woman—I beg you to marry me, for if you don't, I'll live a lonely man all my life."

  "But—but there are a thousand women more beautiful than I am," she protested.

  "None," Magnus said, with total conviction, "and none who could even begin to understand me as you do. Will you marry me, for love?"

  "Yes," Alea said, in a voice so small that even she could scarcely hear it.

  Then Magnus lowered his lips to hers again, and the world went away for a while.

  EPILOGUE

  The organ pealed the "Wedding March," and Alea found herself walking down a rose-petal-strewn aisle on the arm of the King of Gramarye, in the cathedral of Runnymede, draped in white bunting and festooned with roses,
just as Gwendylon Gallowglass would have wished—and at the end of the aisle stood Magnus, resplendent in a gold-figured doublet, white-lined golden cape, and white hose, staring at her in awe, as though she were a goddess come to Earth—and she almost melted at the sight of him; she had never known he was truly handsome.

  Then King Tuan handed her to Magnus, the Abbot questioned them severely as to their realizing what they were getting into, and satisfied that they meant it, asked for their vows. She stared at Magnus as he swore lifelong love and loyalty, then found herself stammering as she repeated the same vow, felt his ring slip over her finger, then placed hers on his hand. The Abbot allowed them a kiss, and she meant it to be chaste, she really did, but three weeks of waiting in increasing tension welled up, and the only reason she finally broke away gasping was because cheering rang in her ears.

  Then the Abbot intoned his way through an interminable Mass, but Alea was only aware of the masculine presence that seemed to burn beside her. At last the Abbot blessed them one more time, and the trumpets blew, the organ crashed the first chords of the recessional, and she and Magnus found themselves pacing down the aisle, grinning into one another's eyes like a prize pair of idiots.

  Then, of course, came the feasting, and the greeting of guests, and the circulating among them—so when at last the door of the bridal chamber closed behind them, she was stumbling with weariness—stumbling straight into Magnus's arms, and he held her up, but also held her tight against him.

  Alea stared up at him, riveted, frozen, though her lips parted ever so slightly—and ever so slowly, he lowered his own lips over hers in a kiss that began quite chastely. But the brushing of his lips electrified her, and she returned it with ardor, her own lips opening, and the feather touches of the tip of his tongue sent fire racing her veins, and her lips opened farther almost without her knowing. The kiss lasted and lasted as her blood grew hotter and hotter, banishing weariness. Finally Magnus lifted his head to catch his breath, gasped, and said, "You must be exhausted. We'll sleep in the same bed, but I'll leave you alone."

  "Don't you dare!" Alea snapped. "Not after that kiss!" And she pressed close for more.

  Magnus lowered his lips again, and kiss led to caress, and caress to undressing, then to more caresses that led to the final intimacy that had been so long delayed, an intimacy that loosed raging passion in them both, passion that built to wave after wave of ecstasy.

  In the woods beyond, Evanescent lay with her eyes closed, purring, as she read the amazement and joy of her two humans, and decided that living on Gramarye could make her choose to prolong her life indefinitely. Then her eyes opened, and she lent just a little more power, a little more energy, to a darkened corner of Magnus's mind.

  Alea and Magnus lay naked and stunned in the light of a single candle, gasping in the aftermath of passion, gazing at one another with wide and wondering eyes—but as they did, an image grew in the flickering shadows, a presence, one that only Magnus could see, for it came from the depths of his mind—a tubby red-nosed man in a fusty bottle-green tailcoat and battered top hat, who shook his head and sighed, then stepped forward.

  Magnus stared, then caught the blanket to pull it over himself and Alea.

  "What is it?" She darted a glance that followed his but saw nothing and turned back, caressing his face as she asked in a voice soft with concern, "What is it, love? What could affright you so?"

  But the rag-and-bone man dropped a bit of glittering metal into the hollow of her throat, then turned away, sighing and shaking his head, to disappear forever into the shadows from which he had come.

  "Tell me!" Alea seized Magnus's face in both hands, really alarmed for him now. "Whatever phantom assails you is my enemy too!"

  "But you have already defeated him." Magnus laughed softly as he relaxed beside her. "Fought off my old nemesis, and he has given you what he knew you already had."

  Alea frowned. "What riddle is this? What did I already have?"

  "Only a key," Magnus said, and kissed her again.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Christopher Stasheff spent his early childhood in Mount Vernon, New York, but spent the rest of his formative years in Ann Arbor, Michigan. He has always had difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality and has tried to compensate by teaching college. When teaching proved too real, he gave it up in favor of writing full time. He tried to pre-script his life, but couldn't understand why other people never get their lines right. This caused a fair amount of misunderstanding with his wife and four children. He wrote novels because it was the only way he could be the director, the designer, and all the actors too.

  More Kobo eBooks by Christopher Stasheff...

  Escape Velocity

  The Warlock's Grandfather

  The Warlock in Spite of Himself

  King Kobold Revived

  The Warlock Unlocked

  The Warlock Enraged

  The Warlock Wandering

  The Warlock Is Missing

  The Warlock Heretical

  The Warlock's Companion

  The Warlock Insane

  The Warlock Rock

  Warlock and Son

  The Warlock's Last Ride

  A Wizard in Absentia

  M'Lady Witch

  Here Be Monsters

  A Wizard in Absentia

  A Wizard in Mind

  A Wizard in Bedlam

  A Wizard in War

  A Wizard in Peace

  A Wizard in Chaos

  A Wizard in Midgard

  A Wizard and a Warlord

  A Wizard in the Way

  A Wizard in a Feud

  Her Majesty's Wizard

  The Oathbound Wizard

  The Witch Doctor

  The Secular Wizard

  My Son, the Wizard

  The Haunted Wizard

  The Crusading Wizard

  The Feline Wizard

  Saint Vidicon to the Rescue

  Mind Out of Time

  The Crafters (volume 1)

  The Crafters (volume 2)