Warlock`s Last Ride

Eight

"WHAT DO YOU DO!" ALAIN CRIED. "ON YOUR feet, man!"

"Your man," Magnus said. "I swore fealty to your father ten years ago when he knighted me, and I swear it now to you, Prince of Gramarye. I am your man and will answer to your commands, no matter the cost to me. Call me at will; I swear my loyalty to you, by Oak, Ash, and Thorn."

They were all very still for a moment, staring at Magnus—and at Alain, for his gaze was locked with his subject's as the softness faded from his face, faded until he was deadly serious as he nodded. "I am your liege lord, and will provide for you and protect you at need. Rise, Sir Magnus."

Magnus stood up, tall and straight before his future king.

No one said it, but all of them realized that Magnus had committed himself to staying on Gramarye. Like it or not, he was home for good.

"THIS IS NOT the kind of issue to use as a plaything," Geoffrey said.

"Not a bit," Gregory agreed, "and Magnus knows that far too well to use it as a persuasive tool. He would not mock so solemn a ceremony or give a frivolous oath. He meant what he said."

The two brothers sat in the sitting room of Gregory's suite, alone together for a few minutes, the bottle that was their pretext for going aside sitting uncorked between them, their goblets half-full.

Geoffrey nodded. "Of course, that means that when Alain becomes king and Cordelia queen, Magnus will take orders from her."

"His kneeling was as much a declaration of that as of obedience to Alain," Gregory agreed, looking very thoughtful. "I think he meant to reassure us on that very point. It will stick in his craw; he will hate the taking of orders from his little sister, but he will do it. He is sincere in what he says; he will not try to command us."

"Perhaps," Geoffrey said, "but I think I had better make sure."

AS ROD RODE into the forest, he had the feeling of a huge weight lifting from his shoulders. The kingdom was no longer his care. "I'm a free wanderer again, Fess."

"Yes, and the best kind," the horse answered, "one who has a castle for a home whenever he wants it."

"Do I infer a charge of hypocrisy there?"

"More likely a statement that you are playing at resuming your youthful life," Fess said.

"Touché." Rod winced. "And there is the little problem of having dumped that load of responsibility on my boy."

"He is a grown man now, Rod, and equal to the task."

"And I'm not?" Rod said. "Well, I suppose I am a little over the hill."

"I am sure Magnus will call upon you if he has need of advice," Fess said complacently, "but having engineered revolutions on eight planets, I scarcely think he will."

"Yes, but this is his home world." Rod frowned with a trace of anxiety. "That might impair his objectivity."

"Not a bad thing, so long as it doesn't impair the clarity of his vision," Fess said. "Besides, giving him the charge was the only way you could be sure he wouldn't leave again."

"Well, I do want him around until I find Tir Nan Og," Rod admitted. "Something secure in knowing all your children are in shouting range when Christmas comes."

"You also have the young lady in mind, have you not?"

"Yes." Rod nodded, feeling part of the weight settle back on his shoulders. "They're so right for each other, but both bound and determined not to see it."

"They are ready for the final stages of working through their recovery, Rod."

"Been doing a little mind-peeking, have you?"

"I am not a telepath, Rod; though I can communicate with you and your offspring, I can broach no one else's mind. No, I have simply listened to every word that was said and remembered them all."

"And put them together into patterns the two of them thought they were hiding? I can't criticize that." Rod gazed off into the trees. "I know what maimed Magnus—but I wonder what trauma made Alea so shy of romance."

"Whatever it was, Rod, it taught her that men are not to be trusted—though Magnus seems to have taught her that he, at least, is."

"The exception that proves the rule—but she only needs one." Rod nodded. "Of course, she's still denying her own beauty—but nobody ever accused Magnus of being handsome. Not after he grew up, at least."

"Ugly men are no less apt than handsome ones, to fall in love with beautiful women."

"Or plain women with handsome men," Rod agreed, "not that that has anything to do with these two. Whatever is attracting them to one another, it's not physical beauty."

"No, Rod, I think Magnus admires Alea for her character—courage and steadfastness, perhaps even compassion."

"Yes, but whether she knows it or not, she has her own kind of classical beauty, and I don't think Magnus is immune to it."

"I beg to differ, Rod. I do not think your son admits to the physical attraction he so obviously feels."

"Obvious to you, maybe," Rod countered, "not to some of us who don't notice the miniscule clues you seem to find. Okay, so there's some physical attraction between them, but I think most of what binds these two is shared danger that they've survived together."

"And in the process, learned that they can depend upon one another absolutely," Fess agreed.

"They have no doubt that they can count on one another when the chips are down." Rod nodded. "It's when the chips are up that they might have trouble."

"Perhaps, Rod, but that is no longer your concern."

"You kidding? The kids will always be my concern. However, I will admit there's nothing I can do about it right now." Rod shrugged the invisible weight off his shoulders and plucked another chord on his lap-harp. "I think I could manage another chorus of 'My Only Jo and Dearie-O.'"

"Why not?" Fess asked. "Only the wild things are listening."

"Look, I'm trying not to think about Magnus and Alea. At least the birds won't be critical." Rod began the rolling strum that underscored the words and began to sing, very softly and almost on key, "

'Thy cheeks are of the rose's hue, My only jo and dearie-o …"

Truly enough, the birds did not criticize. Some of them, however, did remember urgent business elsewhere and left the vicinity.

IT BEGAN AS a rather somber breakfast, and Alea noticed that Magnus pointedly did not take the chair at the end of the table. His brothers and sister must have noticed it, too, because they seemed to be very wary, poised and waiting for him to try to order them about. She had a notion of the shouting match that would ensue and braced herself for it. But Magnus said very little, only spreading preserves on a roll and cutting his meat, glance flicking from one face to another, seeming relaxed and alert. Alea wondered that his siblings failed to notice how tense he was underneath the calm exterior—but apparently they did not; there must have been some rule in this family of telepaths that they not read one another's minds the least little bit without invitation or dire necessity.

Gregory turned to Magnus, and the mildness of his voice belied the tension in his body. "I take it you do not approve of the care Cordelia and I gave our mother, Magnus."

Alea sensed the anger that surged through Magnus at Gregory's impudence and the reminder of their mother's death, but felt also the immense tide of guilt that welled beneath it. None of that showed in his face, though. He was calm and urbane as he answered, "You did all that you could, my sibs, save to talk her into going to an off-planet hospital, and I'm sure that was not for lack of trying."

Slowly, Gregory nodded. "Mama could be most stubborn when she wished."

Geoffrey watched all three like a cat about to pounce.

"Besides," Cordelia said sharply, "what could an off-planet hospital have done? They knew nothing of witch-moss."

Magnus nodded. "If they had even caught the deterioration of her genes, they would have had no idea what to do about it—and when she died, they would have fought to keep her body as a specimen for research."

Cordelia shuddered, and her brothers winced.

"No," Magnus said softly, "I cannot fault your care in the slightest, nor her determination."

Brother and sister looked up in surprise. Then Cordelia frowned. "Why this attitude of blaming, then? Whom do you censure?"

"Myself," Magnus said, "for not being here."

Instantly, Gregory relented. "You would have caused strife by your mere presence, brother. After all, you could not have accepted Papa's authority as easily as the rest of us."

Magnus frowned, unsure what he meant but quite sure he resented it.

Cordelia's voice was low. "Even as you say, you could have done no more than we—but you would have ranted at Papa to do something, anything, and wasted Mama's strength with your pleas."

Magnus sat immobile.

Silence stretched taut in the room. Geoffrey grasped the edge of the table as though to vault over it—but Magnus finally nodded. "Perhaps I would have."

Cordelia reached out to place her hand over his. "We missed you sorely, brother—but we all understood your need to seek your destiny."

Magnus gave her a weary smile and nodded. "How ironic it will be if it turns out that destiny is here!"

Cordelia glanced at Alea but as quickly glanced away and said, "It could not have been, if you had not brought it home with you."

Magnus frowned, not understanding, but Geoffrey laughed softly. 'Perhaps Papa is right—that your years of helping people rid themselves of tyrants and learning how to govern themselves have equipped you to ward the people of your homeland—even when that warding is simply to watch and do nothing."

This time it was Magnus who glanced at Alea; she managed a tremulous smile for him. He took that smile and gave it to his brothers and sister as he said, "Yes. I have, at least, learned some patience between the stars."

They all laughed then, and began to discuss the gossip of the day as they ate. They seemed to relax more and more as the meal went on, even beginning to trade quips.

"We shall have to see elf-sentries posted throughout the kingdom," Gregory said.

Cordelia laughed, a light and skipping sound. "They are already there, brother, all over. We have but to tell them what to watch for."

Geoffrey turned to Magnus, and there was an edge to his voice as he asked, "How think you we should deal with Papa's wandering, brother?"

Alea could feel Magnus's urge to give an order and the effort it cost him to bite it back. "I think he is no danger to himself or anyone else, Geoffrey, and is old enough to take care of himself. If I am wrong, I have no doubt the elves are capable of dealing with any difficulties until one of us can arrive."

"Surely they already know to keep watch over the Lord Warlock," Gregory agreed.

"Yes, and to pass word of his misadventures back to the Puck," Cordelia seconded.

Alea frowned. Had they so little faith in their father as that?

Then she remembered what Magnus had said about Rod's earlier spell of mental illness, about his children's agreement that he had slipped a cog during the funeral, and thought there might be no disrespect in their concern.

Then she found room to wonder what "the Puck" was.

Geoffrey noticed Magnus's silence, and his voice took on a challenging note again as he asked, "What think you, brother?"

Again, the urge to command and the effort it cost to quell that urge. Alea wondered if she were feeling Magnus's emotions with him or simply reading them from microscopic tremors in the muscles of the face she knew so well, perhaps better than his brothers or sister did.

No matter which—she knew his feelings, as his sibs apparently did not. They saw only the smooth, bland face he showed the public—and her own heart cried out at the wrongness of it. To have to guard oneself from one's sibs! If she had ever had a brother or sister, she would have treasured them dearly, made them confidants of her innermost secrets, as she had always longed to do! That was what brotherhood and sisterhood meant!

Wasn't it?

Magnus met Geoffrey's gaze, then slowly shook his head. "I think I have been away a long time, brother, and that much has changed while I have been gone."

"Surely not." Cordelia frowned. "Unless you think that I have aged!"

Magnus laughed softly. "Grown up, rather. When I left, you were still a teenager."

Cordelia stared in surprise, then laughed with him.

Geoffrey shook his head. "What could Mama and Papa have been thinking, letting you go off on your own at such a young age?"

"I don't remember that I gave them much choice," Magnus said slowly.

Cordelia frowned at the willfulness in his tone. "Perhaps, but they did not have to be so encouraging!"

"Ah, but by encouraging, they made sure that I left with Fess to watch over me." Magnus raised a finger. "They saw me off with every advantage I could have—including my old tutor who, I doubt not, sent daily reports on my well-being and who was quite capable of defending me from any mess I might have worked my way into."

"Yes, but Fess was home before his messages arrived," Gregory pointed out. "His starship travels much faster than a tachyon beam, and he did not stay with you long."

"Not physically, no," Magnus said, "but when our cousins gave me Herkimer, Fess gave him a download of our complete family history before he left."

The others stared, then broke into laughter.

Magnus smiled, a small but satisfied curve of the lips.

"You didn't tell me that!" Alea protested.

Magnus shrugged. "I hadn't even thought of it again, until this conversation reminded me."

Alea's thoughts whirled, wondering how she could contact Herkimer for a complete account of Magnus's childhood and adolescence.

"How like Fess!" Geoffrey said. "The mother hen to the end."

"And does Herkimer remind you to carry your umbrella and wear a cloak in autumn?" Cordelia asked.

"No," Alea said, "I do that," then bit her tongue, wondering what she was doing intruding.

But the family laughed all the louder, and Quicksilver nodded. "Well done, damsel! Keep on!"

"I do think my brother needs a great deal of reminding," Cordelia said. "He never was overly careful to look after himself."

Magnus managed another small smile, but Alea could tell how much it cost him and tried not to shrink back in her chair. Then she reminded herself that if Magnus was really displeased, he could manage by himself—but was surprised at the surge of panic the thought brought.

The moment passed, and Magnus gave a fair imitation of actually enjoying her presence. "It was very lonely, after Dirk jumped ship and before Alea came."

"Yes, Gregory mentioned this friend Dirk." Cordelia frowned. "What was he like?"

Alea tried to hide her curiosity. She had wondered often about Dirk Dulaine and how close his relationship to Magnus had been.

Magnus shrugged. "Only another disillusioned, discontented bachelor like myself, sister."

Allouette was the one who seemed to shrink this time, but it was Quicksilver who said, "Then I suspect you whiled away the time between planets by discussing the perfidies of women."

"No, strangely." Magnus gazed off into space, mulling over a problem. "I suppose there was a tacit agreement not to discuss our attempts at romance. Besides, Dirk had a great deal more cause to be disillusioned than I had."

"How so?" Gregory asked, and Allouette stared in surprise, then was quick to look away.

Quicksilver turned to Gregory with a frown. "Did Magnus never mention this Dirk when you shared thoughts over light-years?"

Gregory shook his head. "There was little time and much to discuss." He scowled at Magnus. "You never did say much about your adventures, brother—only wanted to hear all that had happened at home."

"Of course," Magnus said. "Exiles always do."

"Say 'expatriates,' rather," Geoffrey corrected. "You left by your own choice. Certainly it was never ours!"

No resentment showed in Magnus's face, but Alea could feel it.

"And you did not think your own escapades were important?" Quicksilver demanded.

"Not to me." Magnus shrugged. "I already knew how they came out."

His siblings laughed, but Alea did not—she'd had altogether too much of Magnus's unwillingness to share his memories.

"Well, they are of interest to us," Alain said, "of great interest. Therefore tell us why this Dirk was disillusioned."

"Because he had devoted his life to helping free his people," Magnus said, "and had sacrificed all normal experiences to that goal. He never mentioned having fallen in love before we met, for example."

"That does not mean he did not," Allouette said.

"No, but it means he never tried to act upon it," Magnus answered. "He was only in his twenties, but he had been studying and working to free his people since he was eleven."

"As the two of you finally did," Gregory said.

"We did—and he found those very people had no place for him. He had lived off-planet, in the modern world, learning the skills he needed as a revolutionary." Magnus shook his head. "Learning—and working in the shipping line that amassed the wealth needed to fight the lords of Melange, his home world. The vast majority of his people had stayed planet-bound, downtrodden serfs with no education and no concept of the modern world."

"He came home and found it was no home for him," Allouette whispered, wide-eyed.

For once, Alea agreed with the witch. "Appalling, and most unjust! Surely there were others of his kind, though."

"Yes, and they all realized the most important work they could do for Melange was to keep up contact with the outside world," Magnus said, "to keep the supply of modern medicines and interstellar money flowing in."

"They were exiled for life!" Gregory exclaimed.

Magnus nodded. "Either that, or bound to the life of a common peasant—very hard for a man to accept, when he has lived in glittering cities and piloted a starship."

"No wonder he left his home to wander with you," Cordelia said.

"Yes, but even less wonder that when he fell in love, he was willing to stay on his lady's planet and make her home his," Magnus said.

"Of course, since he must have longed for a home of some sort," Gregory agreed.

"But it must have been very lonely for you," Quicksilver said.

Magnus nodded. "I was very glad to meet Alea."

Alea wasn't sure that was all that much a compliment under the circumstances, especially since Magnus did not reach out to her in the slightest way, not even to touch her hand when he said it—but she felt the fondness radiating from him, and under it, a desperate need so strong that it shocked her. Had it been there all along? She was amazed that none of his sibs seemed to notice—but perhaps they were all too polite to acknowledge it.

Or could Magnus somehow direct it only at her?

Or—stranger still, enough to make her heart flutter— was he even aware of the emotions that came to her?

THEY DISPERSED AFTER breakfast, each to his or her own duties—or if they had none, to leisure. For his part, Magnus opted to roam about the estate for a while, to visit the scenes of his youth. Alea recognized the excuse for what it was and came with him.

They wandered out through the gardens, Magnus telling her his memories of being a teenager there, Alea's gaze fastened to his face as she drank in every word—but when a row of lilacs screened them from the castle, he sank down on a bench and seemed to go limp.

Again, Alea knew how much it meant that he was willing to relax so much of his control with her, of the trust it proved—and the need for compassion. She sat beside him, hands in her lap, waiting.

Finally, Magnus said, "It's like walking a plank."

Alea waited, and when he said nothing further, asked, "Do you really feel they're all waiting for you to make one misstep?"

"Waiting for me to try to give an order, or to correct them or remind them how to behave, as I used to do when I was eighteen and Gregory twelve," Magnus said, "and ready to scold me or challenge me if I do, to prove they are grown and that I no longer have authority."

Alea frowned. "Perhaps it's because I've never had a sister—but isn't it obvious that you consider them your equals now?"

"I've read a book or two on the subject," Magnus sighed, "and apparently that isn't usually obvious to an older sib. I probably wouldn't have realized it myself if I hadn't read about it."

"But you have," Alea said. "Surely they have, too!"

"They haven't had empty hours weighing on them as they travelled between stars," Magnus said. "I gather their lives have been very full, every day." Sadness, bitterness, and envy showed in his face and were gone.

Alea felt it as a stab, that he still did not trust her enough to let such emotions show for more than an instant—but having seen him with his family, she realized how much even those flashes of feeling told about his confidence in her. Warmed by the thought, she said, 'Travel can be tedious, yes—but your life has been very full, too, whenever you've landed on a new planet."

"Full of events," Magnus said, "not relationships." He turned to her. "That has been my choice, though. I have no right to feel bitter about it."

"You have when your choice was determined by the events of your past." Alea felt her own anger begin. "When having feelings for someone only let them use you and humiliate you, of course you would choose not to let that happen again!"

Magnus gazed into her eyes, and for a moment, Alea felt she was shrinking, that his eyes were growing almost to encompass her—but he spoke and was only a man again, one with a very tender voice. "And you—was that not your case, too, attraction only a tool that let someone use you?"

Alea started to answer, but the words caught in her throat and she turned away. "That doesn't matter—what happed to me. That doesn't matter at all, now."

"It does to me." Magnus dared to let his hand rest on hers. "It matters most greatly to me."

He waited, and she trembled within, longing to spill out the story with the flood of emotions, of infatuation and pain and shame—but no, not yet, not when he had so much to contend with …

Not when she still didn't trust him enough.

After all, how could Magnus think she was important? She was only a gawky, homely girl grown into a woman with no talent or skill, a peasant from an insignificant town in the outlands of a planet no one could find on a star map.

When she did not speak, Magnus lifted his hand and sat back. Afraid she had hurt him, she darted a quick glance at him, but he seemed restored somehow, full of confidence again, his smile open and warm without the slightest trace of pity but a great deal of caring. "We are shield-mates, after all," he said. "I have trusted my life to you, and will again."

Alea could only stare at him, wondering at what he had said, but even more at what he had not.

"IT'S GOOD TO have you back, sir," the Home Agent for Savoy and Bourbon said with her most winning smile.

"And a sad thing that I have to be," the Mocker snapped. "A fine mess you amateurs have made of the planet while I've been gone."

The Home Agent lost her smile for a moment and bit back a retort—that the Mocker hadn't done so well himself, when it had been his job to organize a rebellion against the Crown. Oh, he'd organized it well enough, but when they were almost ready for battle, the Lord Warlock had led a commando raid of three, tied up the Mocker, and let that half-dunce Tuan Loguire steal the Mocker's whole army and turn it against the anarchists—not a bad idea in itself, but considering they'd been trying to overthrow the queen at the time, not the best either. The Mocker also seemed to forget that he had been removed from his command in disgrace, not promoted to a desk job in the coordinating office.

But she remembered her priorities—ingratiating with senior officers always came first—and forced the smile back into place, making it as dreamy as she could. "There have been a few setbacks," she admitted.

"Well, let's see about setting them forward," the Mocker said as they went in the door.

They came into a large panelled room occupied by a long table and decorated with pictures of the great dictators of history. When the Home Agent sat, all the chairs were filled except the one at the head of the table. The Mocker sat and let himself savor the feeling of triumph for a moment, of vindication. What mattered a failure he couldn't have prevented? But now that he knew what he was up against, he would clear it away in days! He would have his revenge!

Then he thrust down the emotion and turned to assessing the situation. He surveyed the faces around him—some expectant, some clearly hiding worry, some completely bland, more skillfully hiding their emotions.

He nodded and said, "Understand—for you, it's been thirty years since my last foray against the Gallowglass clan, but for me, it's been scarcely a month."

"We do understand that," said a portly, middle-aged man. "I was a young recruit in your peasant uprising."

The Mocker frowned. "Name?"

"Dalian," the man said.

The Mocker's face went neutral to hide the shock. "Yes. I remember you."

Dalian's face turned bitter. "I've toiled in the ranks for the decades you've been gone."

"And think you should have been appointed Chief, hey? But the job needs perspective, Agent, not just experience— and I toiled in the VETO ranks for thirty years before I was given this post. Would have overthrown the monarchy neatly, too, if it hadn't been for the interference of that backstabber Gallowglass!"

"It was the coalition he put together that was too much for your army," said a motherly woman in her forties, "mostly that witch Gwendylon."

"Yes, well, he's lost her now, hasn't he?" the Mocker said with bitter satisfaction. "And lost all the influence she brought with her."

"He's made some connections of his own," said a man who seemed young until you looked closely.

"Connections his wife made for him," the motherly woman returned, "who will stand by him out of loyalty to her memory."

"Let's find out just how far that loyalty goes, shall we?" the Mocker said. "Start by sending out agents disguised as forest outlaws, to circulate in the villages and remind the people how badly they're being exploited."

"We've tried that," a pretty older woman said. "Whenever we manage to build a movement and gather some steam, Gallowglass sends one of his brats to hypnotize the people into thinking they're well-treated."

"Gallowglass, or his wife?" the Mocker asked with a sour smile. "Send out the agents and tell them to be ready to fade into the greenwood quickly if Gallowglass does send in his goons—but I don't think he will."

Dalian frowned. "Why not?"

"I don't think he'll have the heart," the Mocker said, "not with his wife gone. Who did you lot think was really running this land, anyway?"

WHEN HE WOKE the next morning, Rod chewed a heel of bread while he cooked the eggs he had found the evening before, and with them the strip of jerky that had been soaking all night. Breakfast done, he saddled Fess and rode down the woodland path. They had not gone far before Fess lifted his head, nostrils spread wide.

Rod knew the robot-horse didn't have a sense of smell as such—just an ability to analyze air molecules and detect anything that shouldn't be there. "What's wrong?"

"The smell of blood," Fess said.