Warlock`s Last Ride

Twenty-Two

"ALAS. THAT MY HUSBAND MUST LEARN OF IT thus!" Tears flowed down Rowena's cheeks. "But I am sure of it—I shall bear a babe in seven months' time! Must I birth an orphan?"

"Oh, my love! Geordie started for her, but the guards yanked him back. He turned on them with savage fury, bound hands or no, but one of them caught him in a wrestling hold, and he could only struggle and curse.

"I grieve for you," Diarmid said solemnly, "but so long as I am duke of Loguire, neither you nor your child shall want for anything. Go back to your estate, lady, and tend your babe."

She stood and turned away, sobbing, to Anselm, who embraced her and cried over her head, "Heartless prince! Can you show no mercy even to your own cousin?"

"It is because he is my cousin, my lord, that I dare make no exception to the law," Diarmid returned. "Shall the people say that there is one law for the common folk and another for the Crown and its relatives? Surely not! There must be justice for all!

"Justice, yes." Rod mounted the stairs, saying, "But sometimes the law must be tempered with mercy to yield justice."

"Gallowglass!" Anselm cried in anger and despair, and Rowena look up in horror to discover that her traveling companion had been her family's arch-enemy.

"Lord Warlock!" Relief washed over Diarmid's face but was quickly hidden. "How come you here?"

'To plead the cause of justice, Lord Duke." The relief Rod had seen in Diarmid's face reminded him how very young the man really was. "The forest laws are well and good, since they keep the deer from all being killed, and allow only enough hunting so that they don't gobble up their food supply and starve—but is not this enforcement too rigid? Is not the whole purpose of maintaining the deer herds so that they are there to feed hungry people if they are needed?"

"A sound rationale," Diarmid said thoughtfully. "History tells us the Forest Laws were made only to save the deer as sport for the great lords—but you give them far greater purpose, Lord Warlock."

Anselm stared, unable to believe Rod was pleading his family's cause—but Geordie stared, stunned, and Rowena looked at him with a sudden wild hope.

"Surely that purpose should be considered here," Rod said. "Is sport for the few more important than the lives of peasants?"

The crowd began to mutter, and the soldiers shifted uneasily.

Rod pressed the point. "Is the law more important than good governance?"

"The law is the key to good governance, my lord." Diarmid frowned, puzzled.

"Then good governance is the purpose?"

Diarmid lifted his head slowly, beginning to understand Rod's direction. "Aye, Lord Warlock, good governance is the purpose of the law."

"Then it is a purpose the law must serve." He turned to Rowena. "Lady, has your husband ever failed in his duty?"

"Never, my lord!" Rowena said fervently. "He has always been diligent and just in his care of his peasants! He is ever about the estates assuring that all is well! The welfare of his people has ever been his constant concern!"

"Even to making her quarrel with him," growled one of her guards, in a voice too loud to be a mistake.

Diarmid turned to the man—and to the whole dozen of her escort. "Surely a wife will speak well of a husband she loves—but what of his retainers?" He saw the man's furtive glance at Anselm and sharpened his tone. "Come, man, you've naught to fear! You shall have a place in my own retinue; you and your family shall have cottages on my estates to shield you from the anger of Sir Anselm! If there is anything to be said against Squire Geordie, speak!"

"Not one word!" the grizzled peasant cried. "Not one word is there to be said against him, my lord, and everything for him!"

"Aye!" cried a younger man. "He is beside us even at the plow to be sure the furrow is straight! He marches out with the sowers to broadcast the seed!"

"Aye!" cried another. "When the harvest comes, he is ever beside us with scythe and flail! If a plowman is sick, it is he who sneezes!"

"We would follow Geordie to the death, my lord." The old peasant made it half a threat. "Call him to battle, and we will follow him all, man and boy, because we know that our welfare is his concern."

"It is for our sakes he is here!" cried the youngest. "When the grain rotted in the bin, he swore we would not starve though it cost him his life! I pray you, my lord, let it not do so!"

Now Anselm shook off the man who was whispering in his ear and stepped forward. "My son has always been an excellent steward of the land and governor of his people, Lord Diarmid. If it is justice you seek, you should reward him for his diligence and care, not take his life!"

"There's truth in what he says, my lord." Rod turned to Diarmid. "People are more important than deer."

"They are, Lord Warlock." Diarmid was beginning to show a touch of excitement which, for him, was amazing. "But by your own argument, if we do not enforce the Forest Laws, how shall we feed our people with game in time of famine?"

"It is because famine looms that Geordie has slain deer to feed his people," Rod countered. "But money will serve to buy food as well as a bow and arrow will. Might I suggest a fine—say, a thousand pieces of gold?"

The lords gasped in horror and began to talk furiously among themselves.

"Very wise, Lord Warlock." Diarmid nodded slowly. "A fine that would build a manor house—or feed fifty villages through a hungry winter! Yes, so high a fine would make even a duke think twice about hunting out of season, and would surely deter any lesser lord."

"I shall give you all I possess!" cried Rowena. "All my dowry, land, and jewels worth a hundred gold pieces!"

"Rowena, no!" Geordie cried.

"What use is a dowry without a husband?" she retorted, and turned back to Diarmid. "I can offer no more than that!"

"I can!" One of the earls shot to his feet. "I offer one hundred pounds and ten!"

"And I a hundred and fifteen!" A baron leaped up beside him.

"A hundred and twenty!"

"A hundred and thirty!"

Rod stood, amazed, as the auction mentality took hold. Diarmid only nodded, keeping mental score, and when the bidding stopped, called out, "That is eight hundred fifty, my lords, but not enough!"

"Then I shall offer a hundred and fifty of gold!" Anselm cried. "Remember, my lord, you said it would go to feed the hungry!"

"And so it shall!" Diarmid stood up. "I shall lock it in a separate coffer and shall open it as soon as Squire Geordie's folk find themselves short of bread!" He turned to the assembled noblemen. "My lords, I thank you! May we all show as much generosity and care for our fellows as you have shown today!"

The lords stared at one another; charity had certainly been the farthest thing from their minds when they set out on this trip.

Diarmid turned to advance on Geordie, drawing his dagger. Voices shouted in anger, but Diarmid only stepped behind Geordie and severed his bonds. Geordie raised his hands, rubbing his wrists in amazement, and the shouting died. Then Diarmid reached up, shook the chain to unhook it, caught it as it fell, and handed it to Geordie. "Use this to buy food for your people—and if they are ever in need again, tell your duke rather than taking up your bow!"

Rowena ran to throw her arms about her husband, and the crowd cheered.

In the midst of the shouting, Anselm stepped up to Rod with his hand on his sword. "If my son had been slain, Lord Warlock, I would have rebelled—and this time, I swear, I would have torn down my overweening little brother and his arrogant Queen!"

"Even though they sent you a judge who had sense enough to see that Geordie was an invaluable asset?" Rod asked.

" 'Tis not Diarmid who saw sense, but you who showed it to him!"

"Why, thank, you, Sir Anselm," Rod said slowly.

Anselm stared, realizing that he had paid Rod a compliment. Then he recovered and demanded, "There may be truth in that—but rumor says you have left your post to wander the land as a doddering knight-errant! Who shall temper the Crown's justice now, if the Lord Warlock has left his position to roam at his pleasure?"

"Why, my son Magnus," Rod told him, "though I doubt he'll be needed. Alain embodies all the mercy the Crown will ever need. No matter what you may think of your relatives, Sir Anselm, your nephew has a positive genius for sound judgement."

"Perhaps once he is King," Anselm allowed, brooding, "but that could be twenty years or more. Who shall temper the Queen's judgement until then? Surely she will not listen to her own son!"

Rod could have pointed out that Tuan had always been the voice of moderation that had kept Catharine from turning into a tyrant, but he knew Anselm's resentment of his brother's mercy and position were so intense as to only make him erupt in anger—so he said instead, "She may not listen to her own son, Sir Anselm, but she will listen to mine. It's time for us to start trusting the children we've worked so hard to raise wisely and well. Don't you trust your own boy?"

"Aye!" Anselm said fiercely. "There's none better in all the land!"

"But quite a few just as good," Rod countered. 'Trust your own boy, Sir Anselm—but trust mine as well. After all, Geordie will."

"HE DIDN'T LOOK convinced," Rod told Diarmid as they watched Anselm ride away beside his son and daughter-in-law. The grandfather-to-be was leading a riderless palfrey, because Geordie and Rowena, for some strange reason, had decided to share one horse.

"Perhaps, but he did not strike out," Diarmid said, and shuddered. "Till you mounted those stairs, I thought a rebellion would begin here and now!"

"One of the nastier little problems with being a duke," Rod commiserated. "In fact, Your Highness, I've always had the impression that you hated administration."

Diarmid laughed. "You know I would far rather spend the time with my books, Lord Warlock!"

"Yes, I do." Rod nodded. "Just like Gregory. But Geordie would rather be out and about the estates, checking to make sure his peasants are doing well and that everything is running smoothly."

"I wish I had some small share of that gift!" Diarmid sighed.

"Comes from his mother, probably. Just think, if Anselm hadn't rebelled, Geordie would be saddled with running the duchy of Loguire now, instead of you."

"More's the pity he is not!"

"Yes, but the law is a funny thing," Rod said, musing. "I know attainder is usually not only for the traitor, but for all his descendants as well—but an exception might be made, if there were cause to believe the son might be as loyal as the father was treasonous."

He waited.

After a few seconds, Diarmid nodded. "There is merit in what you say, Lord Warlock. I shall have to discuss it with my father."

He'd let Tuan discuss it with Catharine, though—after thirty years of moderating her harshness, Tuan had become a past master. Rod smiled. It might not be strictly according to the law for Geordie to become duke of Loguire, but it would surely be in the best interests of the people.

Including Diarmid.

"HOW COULD YOU!" Durer raged, pacing back and forth. "How could you let him stop it! We were on the verge of civil war, you could have seen it start right there, but no! You had to let that smooth-tongued villain talk you out of it!"

"I was doing all I could to goad Anselm Loguire to draw his sword," the agent protested, "but that blasted Gallowglass managed to pull the fuse on the bomb I had so carefully primed!"

"Blast Gallowglass! Blast him to bits! Draw and quarter him! Roast him over a slow fire!" Durer raged, then stopped dead, leaning on his desk, gasping for breath. Then, slowly, he raised his head. "We have to kill him. That's all. We have to—and be ready to rise the second he's dead!"

"We've been trying to kill him for thirty years," the agent protested.

"Yes, but now he's off on his own with none of his brats to protect him! Get a Home Agent, one of those Gramarye-born telepaths we've managed to raise and recruit! Surely one of them must be able to lay an illusion that will snare him! Get a telepath! Lay a trap! And when it closes, kill him where he stands!"

ROD SAT ON a fallen log by his campfire, plucking minor chords from his lap-harp and chanting (because he knew he couldn't stay on key) of a wanderer grown old searching for the woman he had seen once, then lost—but as he sang, he saw a low branch sway at the side of the clearing where there was no breeze and heard an owl call a challenge. Wondering why the elves hadn't warned him, he laid aside the harp and came to his feet, hand dropping to his dagger-hilt, and called, "Who lives?"

"A friend." The branch swung aside, and a tall young woman stepped into the firelight—very tall, more than six feet, with a staff even taller. "A friend seeking counsel."

Rod breathed a sigh of relief, then frowned. "The forest is scarcely safe for an attractive young woman. What in the name of heaven did you think you were doing, out alone in the woods at night?"

Alea's eyes flashed at the word "attractive," but softened amazingly as she smiled, seeming oddly pleased. "You need not worry for me, Lord Warlock. Your son has taught me well how to take care of myself."

"Has he really!" Rod smiled, proud all over again. Then he nodded at the staff. "I suppose you do at that. A healthy young woman doesn't really need an oaken pole to lean on."

"Not when I have Gar—I mean Magnus."

Rod laughed softly, then gazed up at her a moment in wonder. How had Magnus ever found a woman so right for him?

The same way Rod had, of course—by searching half the galaxy.

"I really am a friend," she said, "or would like to be."

Rod smiled and held out a hand. "Come sit beside me, friend, and share my fire." Then as an afterthought, "There's still tea in the kettle."

'Tea would be welcome." Alea came to sit by him. "The evening is brisk."

Rod took the second mug from his pack, filled it from the camp kettle, and set it in her hands. As he sat, he said, "You choose a strange place to look for advice—or have you lost your way?"

Alea was slow in answering, staring at the fire. "I thought I had, for several years—but it was really scarcely two months."

"Something horrible happened," Rod said with concern.

"What could make a young woman lose her sense of direction so?"

Alea was silent, clearly torn.

"You don't have to answer," Rod said gently, "and don't worry, I won't read your mind. It doesn't come as naturally to me as it does to some others."

"Magnus doesn't either," she said quickly, "no matter how badly he wants to. He has never betrayed me for an instant, not in the slightest way."

She was silent, staring at the fire again. Rod decided she needed prompting. "You had expected him to betray you?"

"Everyone else had," she snapped. "There was …" Her words dried up.

"A seducer?" Rod said gently. "A young man who said he loved you but left you?"

She turned to him, glaring. "How did you know!"

"It's too common a story for young women," Rod said with a sigh. He turned away, admitting, "I tried it myself, once."

"Tried?" Alea was intent again. "It didn't work?"

"No," Rod said, "because I really had fallen in love with her. Took me a while to realize it, though."

"I can't understand anyone not realizing they were in love right away," Alea said.

"Can't you?" Rod looked directly into her eyes until she caught his meaning, then blushed and turned away.

"Not first love, though," Rod said softly. "You can ask yourself day and night, 'Is this love?' but it isn't. When it is, you know it—you find yourself saying, 'So this is love!' But if that love ends badly and hurts you terribly, something within you will equate love with hurt and deny romance forever after."

"Not 'forever,'" Alea said slowly. "For a long time, yes, but not forever."

"If you meet a man who's worthy of your love?" Rod smiled. 'Tell me, lady—how did he prove his worth?"

Alea sighed and tilted her head back. "By patience. Time and again I lost my temper with him, but he never yelled back at me, only nodded and looked very serious. Mind you, I'm not saying he didn't argue—but it was more a matter of trying to persuade me to explain myself, of seeking to understand what I meant."

Rod felt another surge of pride in his son but asked nonetheless, "When he understood, did he still argue?"

Alea sat still a moment, frowning and searching her memories. Then she said, "He usually ended up agreeing with me." Then, "I don't suppose we ever argued about anything really important. Looking back on it, I'd have to say those quarrels were really his explaining his ideas to me three different ways and telling me all his reasons for them—and once I understood why he wanted to do a thing, I found he always made sense. Well, almost always," she amended, "but the other time or two, I was willing to go along with him and let him find out for himself how mistaken he was."

Rod's smile fairly glowed. "But you didn't realize you loved him."

"No, just that he was my shield-companion" Alea turned to him with a frown. "You don't mean that kind of patience can only come from love!"

"Not always, no," Rod said, "but usually. How long did it take you to realize it?"

"Four years." Alea's gaze strayed back to the fire. "It was only a few months ago, really. We were on a planet where the colony had deteriorated into a set of warring clans. I realized that I wanted him to hold me, to kiss me, to …" She broke off, blushing. "I still wasn't willing to call it love, though. That didn't happen until his little brother… until Gregory sent him word that…" She remembered why Rod was out in this forest and changed her wording. "… That his mother was ill. He became so worried then, so sad and solemn, and I knew that it was no time to pick a fight, that all I could do for him was to be quiet and wait for him to talk—then listen." She frowned, puzzled by her own behavior. "I suppose that was the first time I'd been so worried about him that I only thought about his needs, not my own—and he had done it for me so many times!"

She was silent, staring at the fire. Rod sat and waited.

"Yes, that was the first time," Alea said. "Come to think of it, it was the first time I'd ever been sure that he was so preoccupied that I didn't need to be on my guard, that I let myself be really open to him. He was so vulnerable, hurting so badly, and it would have been so very wrong to do anything that might have wounded him then."

Rod waited again, but she stayed silent. At last he said, "So you finally caught a glimpse of him as he really is."

"Yes." Alea nodded. "The inner Magnus, the little boy inside the man, the very young man who'd been hurt so badly by love." She turned to Rod with a slight frown. "That's why I had to come find you, you see—to learn why Allouette hurt him and how the hurt could have stabbed so deeply that the boy inside would have been afraid to love again, no matter how fearless the man might have become."

Rod gazed at her a minute and longer, then closed his eyes and nodded. "There are others who know him well enough to tell you that."

"Not any longer," Alea said. "His brothers and sister told me that themselves. He's changed so much, they said, that they don't really feel they know him any more."

"But they do know who hurt him, and why," Rod said gently.