The Warlock is Missing wisoh-7

by Christopher Stasheff

  "He who we called brother," Magnus called out, "was the real Geoffrey Gallowglass, the true High Warlock's son! We are his brothers and sister; we are the High Warlock's brood! I tell thee, our mother and father would never approve of this Shire-Reeve's doings! Yet there is much unrest in this Isle of Gramarye at this time, and they cannot be everywhere at once to quiet it!" A neat turn around the facts, there. "Thus are we come to bear word to thee! Wait and watch, and guard thine own villages! Endure in patience and in loyalty to the King and Queen! Join not in the unrest, lest thou dost make it more furious still!"

  He began to catch uneasy glances and, at the fringes of the crowd, people began to edge away.

  It was the right idea, but he had to make sure he didn't make it sound like blame. "If thou art one of those who hast been cozened away from thine own village, I beg thee: Hasten! None can tell what mischief may be wreaked on thine house or crops whilst thou dost tarry. Go back, and swiftly! Guard thine own!"

  Now even people in the center of the crowd began to glance around them, and the ones at the edges turned about and strode away, not caring who saw them. After all, the High Warlock's eldest had just told them they should do it, hadn't he?

  Cordelia breathed a sigh of relief. "Well done, brother! Only now do I bethink me there could have been evil here!"

  "Let it depart, also," Magnus said, frowning as he watched the crowd break up. "Gregory, seek! How fares our brother?"

  Thunder split the peaceful air of the forest clearing, and Geoffrey looked about him, noting in an instant the debris of burned-out campfires, bones, rags, and vegetable garbage, registering the conclusion that he was in the peasant band's last campsite. It made sense—it was the nearest isolated location the imposter would have remembered, and been able to visualize well enough to teleport to.

  Because he was there, of course, in the center of the clearing, with his back to Geoffrey. He whirled about, startled by the thunder-crack, and stared, appalled, at his double. "How didst thou know where to seek me!"

  "Why," Geoffrey gloated, "what warlock of any real power would not?"

  The boy went dead-white—but he was the kind who attacked when he was terrified. He caught up the nearest dead branch and leaped at Geoffrey.

  Geoffrey sidestepped with a mocking laugh, jumped away, and caught up a tree branch of his own. The boy was on him in a second, but Geoffrey met his blow with a block and a counter. The imposter just barely caught it with the tip of his staff and swung a murderous double-handed blow at Geoffrey.

  It was a mistake, for it left his whole side unguarded. Geoffrey simply leaped back, let the stick whip past him, then leaped in again, snapping his staff out in a quick, hard blow.

  It caught the imposter on the side of the head, sending him spinning and down. Geoffrey stood, waiting for him to get up again, but he didn't.

  Foreboding struck the young warrior. For all his belligerence, he himself had never killed, and had only once knocked someone out. Warily, he stepped around and knelt by his opponent's head, reaching down to touch the throat, alert for the boy to jump up and attack—but the imposter stayed still, eyes closed. Geoffrey felt the strong, steady beat of the boy's pulse through the artery, and sat back with a sigh of relief, which turned into a frown. Now what was he supposed to do?

  "He hath fought the imposter, and knocked him senseless," Gregory reported. "He asks our aid."

  "And certes, he shall have it," Magnus answered, "Sister, do thou, an it please thee, fly aloft o'er the forest, and spy out his place." He closed his eyes, concentrating on Geoffrey's thoughts.

  "I have it." Cordelia had bees mind-listening, too. "'Tis a half-day's walk to the north, not far from the High Way. I shall see thee there anon." And with no more ado, she hopped on her broomstick and swooped up into the sky.

  "I thank thee," Magnus called after her, then paused to frown a moment in concentration. Fess! There is a clearing toward the north, where these peasants did pass the night! Wilt thoufind it, an thou canst, and meet with us therein?

  I shall, Magnus, the horse's thoughts answered. I have no doubt I will find it.

  Magnus relaxed a little. The imposter might present him with a difficult decision, and he had a notion he was going to need all the advice he could get. He turned to Gregory. "Now, lad! Let the semblance of this clearing fill thy mind."

  They both closed their eyes, letting themselves see through Geoffrey's eyes. A second later, thunder cracked around them; the clearing solidified, and was real.

  "We are come," Magnus informed Geoffrey.

  "And well come indeed," Geoffrey said heartily. "Now what shall we do with him?"

  "Why, let Gregory lull him to deeper sleep, of course." Magnus knelt down by the unconscious imposter. Gregory followed suit, dropping into tailor's seat and closing his eyes. Magnus stared at the face, so completely like his brother's, and felt with his mind as the imposter's breathing deepened and slowed.

  "He sleeps most soundly," Gregory said softly. "He will believe whatsoever thou sayest now, and answer whatsoever thou dost ask."

  Magnus started to speak, but caught himself and looked up at a hissing of air, as Cordelia brought her broomstick in for a landing near them. "Well met, sister," he said softly. "Here's one for thy questioning."

  Cordelia dropped down to kneel by the imposter, muttering, "Thou mightest do this thyself."

  "Aye," Magnus admitted, "yet not so well as thee." It was only partly flattery.

  Not that Cordelia was really about to object. Her face settled as she stared at the sleeping boy, her mind probing, asking, following question after question, drawing out seven years of information in a few minutes, at the speed of thought. Her brothers frowned down at the imposter, too, eavesdropping on his thoughts through Cordelia's mind.

  They were so intent on the account of the boy*s life that they did not see the huge black horse step quietly into the clearing, and move up behind them.

  Finally, Cordelia sat back with a sigh. "Thou hast heard. 'Tis indeed a woeful tale."

  "Aye." Gregory's eyes were wide and tragic. "Poor lad, to have never known mother or father!"

  "Slain by beastmen." Geoffrey regarded his rival with sympathy. "And himself only living by chance, hidden under the fold of a blanket."

  Magnus shook his head, scowling. "How cold were they who raised him! How unfeeling!"

  "Aye," Cordelia said softly, "yet he loved them, for they cared for his needs."

  "Therefore he sought ever to please them," Gregory finished, "and still doth."

  Geoffrey shook his head with finality. "There will be no shaking his loyalty to them. He will ever cleave to these enemies of our father's."

  "Yet how horrible, to set surgeons to changing his face!" Cordelia protested. "And not once, but thrice!"

  "Until he became the image of myself," Geoffrey said grimly, "and his own countenance was clean forgot."

  "They have taken away his face," Magnus said softly, "and taken away his sense of self with it. Yet they cannot take his soul."

  "I doubt not they would, an they could," Geoffrey said darkly.

  "They have allowed him a name, at least," Gregory sighed.

  "Bren." Geoffrey said the name slowly, feeling its texture on his tongue. "Odd, to know another name with my face."

  Suddenly, Gregory leaned forward with tears in his eyes. "Let us wake him, and tell him how vile are they who reared him! Oh! Let us bid him come home to our mother and father, and grow up with ones who care for him!"

  But Magnus stayed him with a hand on his chest, shaking his head with a very dark frown. "'Tis even as we've said—'twould avail us naught. He will never believe evil of his masters; he is loyal."

  "Yet what should we do with him?" Geoffrey said softly.

  They were all silent, none of them wishing to say it.

  "Thou shouldst slay him." Puck was there suddenly, gazing somberly about at each one of them.

  They stared at him in horror.

  "It would be
prudent," Fess admitted. "This child has been bred to mimic Geoffrey, and to oppose him. Further, he has been indoctrinated with beliefs which are the antithesis of your own. If he lives, he will one day be your enemy—and when he has grown, he may have acquired the skills and strategy to defeat you."

  "'Tis even as he saith," Puck agreed. "'Twould be best war-lore to now slay him."

  The children looked at one another in guilty foreboding. Even Geoffrey's face was haunted.

  "Yet thou wilt not, and therefore I rejoice," the elf went on. "To slay a sleeping child would twist thy souls to a course that could only end in devotion to evil. Nay, thou wilt let him live, and I'm glad of it."

  Fess nodded in approval. "I must agree. To slay him is the course of prudence—but to spare him is the course of wisdom."

  "Yet what shall we do with him, then?" Cordelia whispered.

  "Why, walk away, and leave him," the elf answered. "What else?"

  They were all silent.

  Then Magnus stood, slowly, and turned away.

  After a minute, Gregory too stood up, murmuring, "Wake when thou canst no longer hear our footsteps," and turned to follow Magnus.

  A moment later, Cordelia followed him.

  Finally, Geoffrey rose, face thunderous, and went after them.

  Puck heaved a sigh of relief and disappeared into the brush.

  As they went out of the clearing, Geoffrey said darkly, "This is unwise, brother. An we let him live, we allow a viper to flourish."

  "Yet he himself hath done no evil," Cordelia pleaded. "At the least, brother, let him grow up!"

  "Aye," Magnus agreed. "That much is the right of every child."

  "Well, I will be ruled by thee in this," Geoffrey grumbled. "Yet I prophesy, brother, that he will bring disaster upon our heads when we're grown!"

  Magnus walked on for a few paces, not answering. Then he said, "What sayest thou to that, Gregory?"

  "Geoffrey is right in this matter," Gregory answered. "We must begin to prepare ourselves for that battle."

  Chapter 15

  The children made their way through the forest, unnaturally quiet, the thought of the false Geoffrey weighing on all their minds.

  Suddenly, Fall popped up next to Cordelia's knee. "There's one who doth ask for thee."

  They all stared at her.

  Then Cordelia found her voice. "For me?"

  "For all of thee. He is of a size with thee, little lady, and hath wandered into the wood unaccompanied."

  "A boy?" Magnus and Geoffrey exchanged puzzled glances. "Who could be seeking us?"

  "What name hath he?" Cordelia asked.

  "His name is Alain, and he doth say he is a prince."

  "Alain!" Cordelia clapped her hands, and the boys grinned. "Oh, bring him! Bring him!"

  Fall smiled, relaxing. "Well, if thou dost know him. Elves unseen hath led him toward thee for a day now—he did first seek thee some leagues away, near Runnymede."

  The children looked at one another, wide-eyed. "Why, that cannot be far from the Royal Palace!"

  "'Tis even so," Fall agreed. "He did sit 'neath a pine, calling, 'Wee folk, come and aid!' And they saw 'twas but a child, so they came near, yet not too near, and showed themselves, asking, 'What aid dost thou seek?' And he bade the elves take him to thee. Yet they would not, without thy consent; for aught we knew, he might have been thine enemy."

  "Nay, he is our friend! Or as close to one as we have." Witch-children didn't find many playmates. "Wilt thou bring him to us?"

  "Assuredly, an thou dost ask it." Fall ducked away, and Summer followed her.

  "'Tis most dangerous for a prince to be abroad alone," Magnus said, frowning. "Doth he not know his father's ene-mies could seize him and hold him hostage, to threaten the King?"

  "Alain doth not think of such things," Geoffrey said, with some assurance; he'd spent enough time scrapping with the prince to know him pretty well.

  "Yet assuredly, his bodyguards do! How have they permitted him to wander by himself?"

  Geoffrey grinned. "I misdoubt me an they permitted him."

  None of the children wondered why Alain was looking for them. After all, who else did he have to play with? His own brother was smaller than Gregory.

  The boy came around a huge oak tree, following the two fairies who skipped before him. He wore a flat, round cap, leather breeches tucked into his boots, and a surcoat of stout green broadcloth; but the waistcoat beneath it was of gold brocade, and his shirt was of silk.

  "Alain!" Cordelia squealed.

  The prince looked up, saw her, and his face burst into a grin of delight. He ran toward them.The fairies dodged out of his way. He threw his arms around Cordelia, crying, "'Tis so good to see thee!" Then he whirled away to pump Magnus's hand. Geoffrey stepped up to throw him a companionable punch in the arm. Alain spun with a left hook that sent Geoffrey sprawling. He leaped up and waded in, fists clenched and grinning, but Magnus stepped between them. "Nay!"

  " 'Tis but in good friendship," Geoffrey protested.

  "Aye," Alain agreed. "How else do two warriors greet one another?"

  "With raised visors and courtly bows! Blows arouse tempers, and spoil friendships!"

  Geoffrey made a rude noise. Magnus glared at him.

  Gregory tugged at Alain's arm. "Where is Diarmid?"

  "At home, with our mother," Alain explained. "Father bade me also to bide with her, but I could not stand it."

  "Even so," Geoffrey sympathized. "'Tis hard, when battles are brewing."

  "Oh, aye, but an 'twere naught but that, I'd never have disobeyed him."

  "He is, after all, thy liege as well as thy father," Magnus agreed. "What matter's of great enough moment to bring thee out 'gainst his command?"

  "And why dost thou seek us?" Geoffrey crowded in. " 'Tis not as though 'twere playtime."

  "'Tis not, in truth," Alain agreed, "but I know not to whom else I may turn. I am greatly afeard for my father." Suddenly, he looked very serious, even somber. Nothing had changed in the way he stood, but the children were somehow reminded that he was a prince.

  "We can do but little," Magnus hedged. "We are not, after all, our parents."

  "Yet what power we do own, is thine!" Geoffrey avowed. "What moves, Highness? Wherefore is thy sire in such straits?"

  Alain looked from one to the other of them, and his eyes glowed with gratitude; but he said only, "The barons have risen in chaos, brawling and warring against one another like drunken serfs on a feast-day. Father hath marched out to pack them singly home."

  Geoffrey scowled, and Magnus asked, "Do their dukes naught to bring them to heel?"

  Alain shook his head. "And 'tis in my mind that they do let their vassals test the King for them, ere they do commit their own armies."

  "And their sons," Geoffrey reminded. "Thy father doth still hold the heirs of the twelve great lords as hostages, doth he not?"

  Alain wrinkled his nose. "Aye, and a noisome lot they are, forever swilling up ale and pestering the serving-wenches— and brawling amongst themselves."

  The children nodded, without saying anything; they had understood for some time that Alain's friendly feelings toward them had a lot to do with the quality of the only alternatives available. "The dukes act prudently, then," Geoffrey said, "yet mayhap not wisely."

  "Aye," Alain agreed. "This is their chance to gain Father's trust again, they who rebelled against him so long ago…"

  (It was thirteen years.)

  "… yet they will not. Nay, he'll never trust them more, when he hath won through." The prince's face darkened, and the children knew what he was thinking without reading his mind—if his father won.

  "But there's no question that thy father will win!" Geoffrey cried. "They are only counts. A King with a royal army should have little trouble with them!"

  "Aye," Alain agreed, "yet there's this upstart of a Shire-Reeve."

  The children stared.

  Then Magnus frowned. "Surely a Shire-Reeve cannot be grea
ter trouble than a count!"

  "This one may be," Alain said. "He hath gathered an army in but a few days' space."

  Geoffrey glanced at Magnus. "This must have begun ere our parents were taken."

  Alain stared. "I had heard thy parents were stolen, and it did grievously trouble Their Majesties—but how is't thou hadst already heard of the Shire-Reeve?"

  "We did meet with a peasant wench who did taunt a plow-boy 'til he did march off to join the Shire-Reeve," Magnus explained.

  "She did nearly bewitch Magnus and Geoffrey into a-joining with him, too," Gregory piped up.

  Geoffrey flushed and turned to swat his little brat, but Cordelia blocked his swing. "Aye, they would most gleefully have marched away with her!"

  "Praise Heaven they did not!" Alain went pale at the mere thought of the Shire-Reeve with the powers of Magnus and Geoffrey behind him.

  "Nay, praise Puck—for he did break her spell," Cordelia informed him. "Be sure, she was a witch of a sort." She turned to her brothers. "Do not regard me so darkly—there's no shame in being enchanted!"

  But Magnus said only, "There is," and turned back to Geoffrey. "I should not think a mob of plowboys would trouble thy father—they are raw, untrained in battle."

  "They have already fought with three counts, and have won," Alain said grimly, "and many soldiers from those defeated bands were eager to join with the Shire-Reeve. Nay, he hath an army as large as Father's now, though not so well-trained or experienced

  "And certes not so well led!" Geoffrey affirmed. It wasn't flattery—King Tuan was an excellent general.

  "My thanks," Alain said with a bow, "and I own, I would not be concerned were it but a matter of the Shire-Reeve—but five counts have marched up behind Father's army."

  Geoffrey stared; then he frowned. "'Tis odd that five should act together, when they have but lately been battling one another."

  "It is, in truth," Alain concurred. "Yet I have heard Father say that many of the noblemen have taken seneschals, whom he did not like, and I think they may have counseled their counts."