Warlock’s Last Ride

by Christopher Stasheff

  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.

  Twenty-Three

  "WELL, SO DO I." ALEA SAID. "IT WAS ALLOUETTE, I've learned that much—but I don't know how she hurt him, don't really understand how she could have cut him so deeply." She scowled, anger gathering. "I don't think I can ever forgive her for that!"

  "Don't be sure," Rod pleaded. "It wasn't the Allouette we know now that scarred him. The woman you've met still has to be distracted from hating herself for her crimes."

  "I'll agree with her every word," Alea said bitterly. "How could Cordelia and Geoffrey forgive her? How could Gregory fall in love with a woman who could do that to a man?"

  "Because he didn't have much choice." Rod turned away to gaze at the fire. "Of course, they all think they know what Allouette did, but Gregory was too young to understand. Even Geoffrey didn't, though I'm sure he thought he did. Cordelia, though, she was old enough to know. In fact, it was she who helped patch him up."

  "But she won't talk about it," Alea said. "She won't violate his confidence, she told me. That means you're the only one who knows Magnus well enough to tell me what I need to know, and who might be willing."

  "He won't tell you himself?" Rod's brow creased with sadness. "There was a time when he was very open."

  "Was there really?" Alea stared into his eyes with an intensity that was almost frightening. "When he was a boy? Tell me of him!"

  Rod studied her a few minutes, then smiled with nostalgia as he looked away. "He was bright and quick, though always with that exaggerated sense of responsibility that comes with being the eldest…".

  "There must have been a time when he wasn't eldest," Alea pressed. "Cordelia is three years younger than he, isn't she? What was he like when he was an only child?"

  "Bold." Rod smiled back over the years. "A sunny disposition, always happy, somewhat mischievous—and very bold. It never occurred to him to be afraid." He turned to her, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. "He was blond then, you know—golden-haired."

  "No." Alea stared wide-eyed, drinking in every bit of information. "How could he have grown to be black-haired?"

  "That was the result of a little family trip we took," Rod said, "an excursion into a land of faery, where magic really worked, and where we discovered that we each had an analog, a person very much like us fulfilling a role very much like the ones we hold here on Gramarye."

  "This is only a story, isn't it?" Alea asked.

  "No, it's quite a bit more." Rod told her how three-year-old Geoffrey had been kidnapped through a dimensional gate and how the whole family had gone after him and how, years later when all four children were in a predicament that went beyond even their powers, Magnus had reached out to that alternate self and borrowed bis talents—but had gained more than he expected, for his hair had turned black, as his analogue's was, and his sunny nature had developed a somber side that was usually hidden but surfaced when he was distracted.

  "Too fanciful to believe," Alea breathed, but Rod could see in her face that she did.

  "I came back from it with a temper that was absolutely vile," Rod admitted. "It took years for me to expunge it— and that, only with Gwen's help."

  "Is that what Magnus meant when he said you were cured when he was cursed?" Alea asked.

  "Did he say that?" Rod asked in surprise, then, "Yes, I can see how he would. Not then, of course—years later. I'd lapsed into mental illness, you see—the aftereffects of an attempt at poisoning, but it's past now …"

  Alea remembered what Magnus had told her and reserved her own opinion on the issue.

  "I've always felt very guilty about that." Rod stared into the fire. "If I hadn't gone crazy just then, if I could have been more patient and understanding, maybe I could have protected him…" His voice trailed off; his stare intensified.

  Alea saw his pain and reached forward to rest her hand on his in sympathy. "You can't blame yourself for being ill," she said softly.

  "No. No, I can't, can I?" Rod turned to her with a bleak smile. "Or if I can, I shouldn't. But the timing was absolutely deplorable—a cursed coincidence, if you will."

  The word struck an alarm inside Alea. She stiffened and said, "Magnus told me that you taught him to be wary of coincidence."

  Rod stared at her.

  After a minute, he turned back to the fire, nodding. "Yes, I did teach him that. Should have remembered it myself. Odd that I didn't see it till now—but the female viper who hurt him might very easily have reached into my mind and kicked off the madness again, to keep me from helping him."

  "Who was that female viper?" Alea demanded, and when Rod sat silent, looking guilty, she said, "It was Allouette, wasn't it?"

  "Her name was 'Finister' then," Rod told her, "almost a different person. 'Allouette' is the name her real mother had given her, before she was kidnapped—only a baby." He turned to her with a very earnest gaze, covering her hand with his own. "You mustn't blame her for what she did—she does enough of that herself. She'd been reared by a pair of emotional assassins who brainwashed her into paranoia, crushed her self-esteem, twisted her natural goodness into a thirst for blood and for mayhem, and left her an emotional cripple. Curing her was the hardest job Gwen ever tackled—but also her proudest accomplishment, next to the children she'd reared herself."

  Alea noticed he didn't mention his own role in that upbringing but was prudent enough not to ask why. "All right, I'll try not to blame Allouette, even though I can see how hard Magnus has to try not to. Why? What did she do to him?"

  "Promise you won't hold it against her."

  "I'll do my best," Alea said, "I'll try my hardest to be kind and understanding and not judge. I can promise not to take reven
ge, but I can't promise not to want to."

  Rod gazed into her eyes a minute, then gave a short nod. "Good enough. That's all I have any right to ask. Well, then, here's what she did." But he turned back to gaze into the fire as he told her of Allouette's gigantic capacity as a projective telepath, of her ability to make people who met her think they saw someone quite different—more beautiful or more ugly, depending on what she needed of the situation—and her talent of instant hypnotism, of bending her victim's mind to fall in love with her even at her ugliest. He told her of Finister's pose as the young unfaithful wife of an old knight, who enticed Magnus into her bedchamber and arranged for her "husband" to burst in upon them. Then he told of Finister's posing as the ugliest witch in the north country, of her compelling Magnus to fall in love with her anyway, of his resistance, and of her compulsion making him believe he was a snake bound forever to crawl around the base of a tree—then of Cordelia's breaking that spell and restoring her brother to humanity. He went on, telling of the wild, fey beauty who led Magnus on a wilder chase and, when he had fallen in love with her, leaving him cold, plunging him into despair, into a depression so deep that he couldn't even see that it wasn't real, couldn't wrestle his way out of it—but had, at his parents' urging, ridden to find the Green Witch, who had cured him of the worst of that depression, though she couldn't relieve him of the residual self-contempt deep within.

  "So the Green Witch left him in such condition that he could be healed, but wasn't yet," Alea said slowly.

  "That was beyond her," Rod said, "maybe because Magnus needed to let time dim the pain, or because he had to reach the emotional point at which he could realize, not just with his mind, but deep within, that those seemingly-different women were really only one in three disguises, and that not all women were like them."

  "That not all of us seek to enslave him or degrade him, you mean?"

  "That." Rod nodded. "And more."

  "Then you think he can still fall in love?"

  "Oh, yes," Rod said. "He was reared in a very warm and loving home, you see, even if he did have a father who might fly into a rage without warning. That was certainly enough to let love happen."

  "In spite of what he's been through?"

  "His ordeal will certainly make it harder for him to love again," Rod admitted, "especially since those experiences, as well as being the son of two exceptional people, has left him with low self-esteem. That doesn't mean he can't fall in love, though—it just means that it's going to take time— plenty of time with a woman he can trust who never turns on him no matter what kinds of opportunities she has."

  Alea sat very still.

  "Lost your temper with him a few times, did you?" Rod said softly.

  Alea tensed but managed a curt nod.

  "That wouldn't matter," Rod said, "so long as it was open and honest, not a matter of throwing every insult you could think of to try to hurt him, or accusing him of things he didn't do and making him try to guess what they were."

  "No," Alea said slowly. "I've been open, at least—confronted him squarely—though what I was quarrelling about wasn't always the real cause."

  Rod waited.

  "I wasn't really angry at him," she said in a voice so low he could hardly hear it, "but I didn't realize that then."

  "I expect he did," Rod said. "I wouldn't worry about fights like that—especially if they've passed."

  "Oh, yes," Alea said. "There were a few years when I was jumping on him every time I felt angry or scared—but there's less of that, now. Much less."

  "Because you know you don't have anything to fear from him?"

  She nodded—then said, irritated, "Except his ignoring me!"

  "I thought he talked with you all the time."

  "Well, yes—but only as a friend!"

  Rod waited.

  "You can't make somebody fall in love with you if the love's not there, though, can you?" Alea asked.

  "You mean if you're wrong for each other? If your chemistry doesn't react, if the magic doesn't happen?" Rod shook his head. "No—but I don't think that's the case with you two. I've seen how he leans on you now and then, seen the admiration in his eyes when he looks at you."

  "Admiration isn't enough!"

  "No," Rod said, "but it's a good clue that there's something more."

  This time it was Alea who waited, and when Rod didn't go on, she asked, "What else does it take to heal him?"

  "Devotion," Rod said. "Complete loyalty. His learning he can depend on you no matter what."

  "He's had that!"

  "Then wait."

  "How long?"

  Rod shrugged. "Shouldn't be much more than a year. He's home now; he has a lot to get used to—and meeting Allouette has probably made him freeze inside again."

  Alea turned to him with a frown. "You mean being home will thaw him?"

  "After he gets used to it," Rod said. "After he realizes, deep down, that Allouette isn't Finister, that everything Finister did was based on her illusion-spinning."

  "He has to learn what reality is again?"

  "Yes—and learn that he can turn to you to help figure it out."

  "So Magnus is only attracted to my reliability and ability to fight?"

  "That," Rod said, "and your concern for others. Magnus has told me of your nursing and teaching." He shook his head sadly, gazing into her eyes. "But lass, you're daft if you can't see that Magnus, at least, thinks you're beautiful. So do I, for that matter, and most other men you meet—but that doesn't matter, does it?"

  "Not a bit," Alea snapped, "because I don't believe it for a minute!"

  "Then believe how delighted Magnus was to meet a woman who didn't make him feel like a great lumbering oddity," Rod said. "Once you've thought about that, look down and see that your figure could set a young man dreaming."

  "I'm a beanpole!"

  "A beanpole with excellent curves," Rod corrected. "Not spectacular, maybe, but after what he's been through, Magnus would be repelled by the spectacular."

  "Perhaps," Alea said reluctantly, "but my face is dreadful! I look like a horse!"

  "Actually, your features are classical," Rod said, "with fine, strong bone structure."

  Alea glowed within, so she glowered without. "I'm not convinced!"

  "Magnus is," Rod countered. "You only need to see the truth of that."

  "And not pay attention to the truth about my appearance?" Alea asked bitterly.

  "You can't see that truth," Rod said simply. "Most of us are our own worst critics, after all. Besides, does it really matter what I think about your looks, or what Geoffrey thinks, or any handsome young man?"

  Alea stared at him a moment, then admitted, "No. I only care what Magnus thinks."

  "He'll let you know," Rod said, "sooner or later."

  Alea was quiet again, then said, "Quarreling won't work, will it?"

  "If he could understand it as a form of love-play, yes," Rod said. "If he could see it as a sort of game, the way Geoffrey does—but he can't."

  "Why not?"

  "He lost his sense of fun, somewhere along the way," Rod said sadly, "his sense of play. I understand it's something you have to learn as you grow up, and he did—but he lost it during his teens. I failed the boy there."

  Alea felt his pain, wanted to reach out to him—but all she could do was say, "It wasn't your doing."

  "No," Rod said, "but I failed to protect him from it."

  "You had to let him stand on his own some time," Alea said softly.

  Rod flashed her a smile. "Do as much for him as you're doing for me now, and the rest will take care of itself."

  Alea stared at him, then laughed—but she sobered quickly. "You mean love will take care of itself, if the magic's there within us, waiting to come out."

  Rod nodded. "And you can never know that until it happens."

  "IF it happens," she said darkly.

  "If," Rod admitted. He took her hand again, smiling. But you can clear the obstacles that hold it ba
ck."

  Alea stared into his eyes. Then, slowly, she smiled.

  "THIS TIME, YES, the Crown showed mercy," Sir Orgon said, "but only because the High Warlock happened by and lent his influence!"

  "Sir Orgon." Anselm fought for patience. "I have been listening to your cries of doom all the way home from Castle Loguire and all this long evening, and I grow very weary of them."

  They sat by the fire in the main room of Anselm's manor house, the walls in shadow, their barely-seen tapestries rippling. A bottle and two cups sat on a small table between them, untasted.

  "That arrogant prig Diarmid would have hanged your son in an instant!"

  "Remember that you speak of my nephew!"

  "Nephew or not, he would have hanged his cousin without a second thought and never have let it trouble his slumber in the slightest! My lord, you must call up all the lords who owe you fealty and march on the Crown while there is still time!"

  "I am no longer duke; none owe me fealty. Those whom I failed will certainly not rally to me now!"

  "But their sons will! Their sons are exasperated with this Queen and her high-handed government. They have nothing but contempt for her lapdog King …"

  "Sir Orgon," Anselm said between his teeth, "you talk of my brother."

  "Did he think of brotherhood when he sent his son to hang yours? My lord, you must rise now! The moment is now! Delay even a day longer to begin your march, and it will be too late!"

  'Too late for what?" Anselm turned to him with a frown.

  Twenty-Four

  SIR ORGON STARTED TO ANSWER, THEN CAUGHT himself.

  'Too late for what, Vice of Betrayal?" Anselm stood and stepped over to Sir Orgon's chair. 'Too late for other lords whom you have subverted? Too late for a mine you have dug beneath the castle?"

  Sir Orgon glared up at him.

  "Speak, worm of doubt!" Anselm seized the front of Sir Orgon's doublet and yanked him to his feet.