The Warlock Unlocked

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A soft tinkling sounded.

The whole company stilled.

Reed pipes overlaid the tinkling; a flute underscored them.

Rod turned to Gwen. “I think we’ve got company.”

“Godmother!” Elidor cried.

They turned to watch as he scooted over the grass to the wealth of woman beneath the firefly canopy. He leaped into her lap, arms outflung, and she gathered him in, pressing him against her more-than-ample bosom, resting her cheek on his head and crooning softly to him.

“Ever feel superfluous?” Rod asked.

“And never was so glad to feel so,” Gwen affirmed. “Yet I think there is some business for us here. Come, my lord.” She gathered her children’s hands, and marched forward.

Rod sighed, caught Magnus’s shoulder, and limped after her, while Father Al did a fast fade.

Gwen dropped a curtsey, and Cordelia imitated her. The boys bowed, and Rod bent forward as much as he could.

The Grand Duchess noticed. “Does it pain thee so greatly, High Warlock?”

Elidor looked up, startled.

“Not that High Warlock,” Rod assured him. “And, well, I’ve felt this way before, Your Grace—say, the day after the first time I went horse-back riding. It won’t last, will it?”

“Nay; ‘tis only soreness,” she assured him. “Yet trust me, ‘tis suffering well-endured; though hast given him good rescue, as I knew thou wouldst.”

“I’m glad somebody did. Well, you’ve got him safe, now—so, if you’ll forgive us, we’ll be on our way. Come on, kids.”

The Grand Duchess looked up, startled. “Thou wilt not take him to Lord Kern?”

Gwen caught Rod’s sleeve. “Assuredly, an thou wishest it…”

“Uh, Gwen…”

“…yet will the royal lad not be safer with his godmother?” Gwen finished.

The Grand Duchess smiled sadly. “Safer, aye; but he’ll not die ‘mongst mortal men—both sides need him. And duty doth summon him.”

Elidor clung to her, and buried his face in her bosom.

“Nay, sweet chick,” she crooned softly, “thou dost know that I speak aright. Nay, nay, I would liefer keep thee all thy life beside me—but therein would I wrong mine old friends, the King and Queen thy parents, who bade me see that thou wouldst grow into a King; and the folk of thy land, who need thee grown. And lastly would I wrong thee, for I’d abort thy destiny. Come now, sweet chuck, bear up; sit tall, and give thyself a kingly bearing.”

Slowly, the little boy sat up, sniffling. He looked at her forlornly, but she pinched his cheek gently, smiling sadly, and he smiled in spite of himself, sitting up more firmly. Then he turned to face the Gallowglasses, straightening and lifting his chin, once again a Prince.

“See thou, he is to be a King of men,” the Grand Duchess said, low, “and therefore must he learn what men are, and not from written words alone. He must live and grow among them, good and bad alike, that when he comes to be a king, he’ll recognize them both, and know their governance.”

Gwen nodded sadly. “And therefore canst thou not keep him here, to hide him from the troubles of these times. But might thee not, at least, conduct him to Lord Kern?”

The Grand Duchess sighed. “I would I could; but know this of us faery folk: we are bound to our earthly haunts. Some among us, like myself, can claim demesnes of miles’ width, and freely move within them; but few indeed are they who move wherever they please, and to none of those would I entrust this lad—or any folk, of whom I cared.”

“But you would trust us.” Rod could feel it coming.

The Grand Duchess nodded.

Gwen looked up at him, pleading.

“Oh, all right!” Rod clapped his hands. “Keeping track of children is mostly your job, anyway. Sure, Your Grace, we’ll take him along.”

The children cheered.

Elidor looked surprised; then he smiled, a slow, shy smile.

Magnus ran forward, caught Elidor’s arm, and yanked him off the Grand Duchess’s lap. “We’ll keep thee close, coz! Yet mark thou, stay within mine eye this time!”

“I will stay near,” Elidor promised.

“As near as one of mine own.” Gwen gathered him in.

“Of course,” Rod said, “it would help if we had someone to point us on our way.”

“Elidor will show you.” The Grand Duchess was clasping her hands tightly, and her smile seemed a little strained. “He hath conned his charts, and doth know the shape of every track and pathway in his land.”

“Well, that’ll help,” Rod said dubiously, “but real hills and lakes don’t match a map all that well. It’d be better to have someone who’s been there, too.”

The Grand Duchess shook her head firmly. “The sprites cannot leave their lands or waters, as I’ve told thee.”

“Tell us, then,” Gwen asked, “what we must do to see him safely to Lord Kern.”

The Grand Duchess nodded, her eyes lighting. “Thou must first rid the Tower of Gonkroma of its Redcap.”