The Warlock Rock

by Christopher Stasheff

  A great black horse seemed to rise up out of the ground behind her, rearing up.

  Geoffrey grinned, and pointed over her shoulder. "Beware!"

  "Dost thou think me a bairn, to be caught with so ancient a ruse?" Arachne spat, just before a steel hoof cracked into her head. A stunned look came over her face; then her eyes rolled up, and she slumped to the ground.

  "Aye," Geoffrey answered her, then looked up at Fess. "Many thanks, old ruse. How ancient art thou?"

  "Five hundred thirty-one years, ten months, three days, four hours, and fifty-one minutes, Geoffrey."

  "Yet who doth count?" Magnus murmured as he fought his way loose of the net.

  "Terran standard, of course," Fess added.

  Geoffrey nudged Arachne with a toe. "Mayhap we should bind her?"

  "Do, with her own net," Magnus agreed. Geoffrey nodded and knelt to start packaging the harridan while Magnus turned to peel the other net off Cordelia. She sat up with a shaky moan. "I thank thee, brothers. Tis long since I have been so frighted."

  "She left the shoes as bait for her trap," Gregory informed her.

  "I believe I might have guessed that, brother."

  Geoffrey shrugged. "Guessed or not, thou wert snared."

  "Oh, 'twas I alone, was't?"

  "Your brothers were caught because they sought to aid you, Cordelia," Fess reminded her.

  She hung her head. "Aye, I know. Oh, brothers! I was so afeard thou wouldst be trapped because of me!"

  "Aye, yet 'twas we caught the trapper." Magnus squeezed her around the shoulders. "We could not allow her to harm our fair only sister, could we?"

  "Nay!" Geoffrey's brows drew down, hiding his eyes. "None may touch thee whiles we live! For thou art our sister!"

  "As thou art my brother." Cordelia leaped forward and caught Geoffrey in a bear hug, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. He shrank back with a cry of dismay, but she only beamed at him. "And none shall touch thee without my leave!"

  If this boded ill for all their future courtships, Fess alone took note of it. However, he only said, "Perhaps it is time to rejoin your parents, children."

  They whirled on him, dismayed, erupting into a chorus of frantic denials. "There is no danger, Fess!"

  "We are more than equal to any peril!"

  " 'Tis not even twilight yet!"

  "We have not found the information we seek!"

  "I would say we have found ample data," Fess contradicted. "We now need time to sift it, organize it, and deduce its implications."

  'Ample, mayhap, yet not complete!" Gregory's chin jutted. "Wouldst thou have us build hypotheses when we've less than full evidence?"

  Fess stood still and silent.

  "And there is that other poor lass!" Cordelia said.

  The robot-horse's head turned to her. "Which other juvenile female?"

  "The one that Arachne hath already sold to the man in the cave! Are we to turn our backs upon her?"

  "Nay!" Geoffrey cried. "We must free her!"

  "There could be danger there, children," Fess said slowly.

  "Pooh! From one mere man, 'gainst four witch-children? Yet an he doth prove more puissant than we expect, thou mayest step in and smite him!"

  "Provided I do not have a seizure…"

  "There's small enough chance of that," Magnus said quickly, ever alert for egos needing bolstering. "Yet there's smaller chance of need of thy strong hoof."

  "An thou dost doubt," Gregory suggested, "ask Papa."

  Fess heaved a burst of static. "Very well, I shall contact him." He turned toward the northeast, opening his mouth to form a parabolic dish, and shifted to radio frequency. Rod. Father Warlock—this is Fess. Tutor to progenitor—come in, Rod.

  Receiving. Rod's signal was weak; the transmitter imbedded in his maxillary was broadcast, not directional.

  We have encountered a potentially dangerous situation, Rod. It could imperil the children.

  I doubt it, Rod answered. Still, it must be one hell of a situation, to give you pause.

  No, only hooves.

  Are you developing a sense of humor? If you are, I'll have to see about having it upgraded.

  Certainly not. Purely coincidental, I assure you. Fess was suddenly aware of having been caught in an error, which caused a logic-loop almost equivalent to an emotion. It was simply a failure to distinguish between homonyms; I experienced a delay in interpreting contextual references. I assure you it will not happen again.

  Oh, I don't mind. Just be a little more deft, will you?

  Unwittingly, Rod had given Fess a directive. The robot's memory adjusted his program accordingly; Fess would now, obediently, make every pun he could—except the really bad ones, if he could distinguish them. Executed. Which is how you may wish to treat the woman the children have just vanquished.

  Oh? Rod's voice tightened; Fess could almost hear the adrenaline shooting through his veins. What'd she do to them?

  She trapped them, and intended to sell them to a man who lives in a cave.

  Draw her and quarter her. Fury in Rod's voice, then sudden brooding. On the other hand, is there anything left to draw?

  Oh yes, Rod. Your children have been well trained; they avoid serious injury whenever possible, and shy at the thought of killing. She is merely unconscious—and it was myself who struck the blow, not one of them.

  As long as she's out of commission. So what's the danger?

  The woman—Arachne, she calls herself-—has already sold at least one young girl to this man in the cave.

  And the kids want to free her? Well, I can't really argue with that. Just make sure there's something left of the man for the bailiffs to bring in, will you?

  I shall take every precaution, Rod. Fess sighed. You are not concerned for the children's safety, then?

  What, with only one nut to crack? The only problem is that he might get mean enough so that they can't be gentle. If that happens, you knock him out first, okay?

  As you say, Rod, Fess acknowledged reluctantly. Yet there is still the possibility that I might have a seizure before I could intervene.

  Oh, all right! Rod sighed. I'll ask Gwen to call for a contingent of elves to shadow you, unobtrusively. Think that will be enough protection?

  I had more in mind a command to rejoin you…

  There was a pause. Fess suspected Rod was discussing the situation with Gwen. When he gave answer, it confirmed the notion.

  No. Categorically. We can't insulate them completely from the world, Fess. If there's evil out there, they've got to learn something about it, firsthand.

  Perhaps that experience should not be too vivid, Rod.

  There's no reason to think it will be, from what you've said so far. Especially with you for protection, and a squad of Little People.

  That should be adequate, Fess admitted, capitulating. I do not think they will be able to complete this mission before dark, though.

  Of course they will, if they fly! Don't let 'em take too long with this slavemaster, okay?

  Even as you say, Rod. Over and out.

  Over and out. Good luck, Old Iron.

  Fess turned to the children. "Your parents have no objection—they only ask that you exercise all due caution."

  The children cheered.

  "Where is the cave?" Geoffrey demanded.

  "We must seek that from Arachne's mind," Gregory answered.

  The topic of conversation moaned.

  "She wakes." Geoffrey dropped to one knee beside the harridan, hand on his dagger. "Speak, monster! Give answer!"

  "Not so roughly." Cordelia knelt by the woman's other side. " 'Tis flowers bring bees, not nettles."

  "Then beware their stings," Geoffrey growled.

  "I shall." Cordelia reached out to pat Arachne's cheek. "Waken, woman! We have questions for thee."

  Arachne's eyelids fluttered, then cracked open, squinting painfully.

  "Aye, thy head doth ache, doth it not?" Cordelia said, with sympathy. "Yet rejoice—thy pat
e's not broke, though 'twas a hard hoof that felled thee."

  Arachne rolled her head to peer at the great black horse, who was cropping grass for appearance's sake. "Whence came that beast?"

  "He was by us throughout. Thou wouldst have seen him an thou hadst paid heed," Geoffrey sneered.

  Arachne turned her head to glare at him.

  Behind her, Gregory said, "There is no sense of greater room within mine head, nor any sign that she doth hear our thoughts."

  Arachne's gaze darted up; she craned her neck, trying to see. "What creature is that, which doth speak of hearing thoughts?"

  " 'Tis but a small warlock," Cordelia soothed, "my brother."

  "Thy brother!" Arachne stared, horrified. "Then thou art…"

  "A witch." Cordelia nodded. "And thou, we find, art not. Whence, then, didst thou gain the dancing shoes?"

  "I have told thee—I found them by a music-rock." White showed all around Arachne's eyes, and Geoffrey nodded, satisfied. She is too much affrighted to speak falsely.

  She is terrified, Cordelia thought, rebuking; and aloud, "How didst thou learn their power?"

  "Why, I put them on, and began to dance."

  Cordelia glanced at Arachne's large feet. "How couldst thou pull on shoes so small?"

  Arachne reddened, embarrassed, but Gregory said, "I doubt me not an they fit their size to the wearer."

  Arachne's eyes rolled up again in fear.

  Cordelia nodded. " 'Tis of a piece with their magic. Yet how didst thou take them off?"

  "Why, I tired, and fell," Arachne said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  "She hath not the endurance of youth, I wot," Geoffrey said grimly. "And thou didst then think to use them to trap maidens?"

  "Well, young lasses, at least." The old woman frowned. "Such a one came by, donned the shoes, and capered right merrily. When she began to tire, I flung my net and caught her."

  "Wherefore? Didst thou know this cave-dwelling gentleman already?"

  "Aye, for I'd seen him about of nights, gaunt in the moonlight."

  Cordelia wondered what the woman had been doing out in the woods at night.

  Belike she did seek to learn magic, Magnus's thought answered her, and, failing, is the more in awe of we who have it.

  The more sin that we are so young, Gregory agreed.

  "And what had this proud gentleman done, to make thee think he would buy a girl?"

  "Why, for that I saw him stalk a lass who dallied in a clearing, to meet a lover. He fell upon her and carried her away to his cave—and thus I learned where he dwelled."

  Cordelia felt a chill envelop her back. What manner of man was this, who went out hunting maidens by night?

  'Tis an evil one, certainly. Geoffrey's thoughts were grim. He will also be twisted and warped in his soul, I doubt not.

  We must rid the forest of him, Magnus agreed.

  "What did he to the lass?" Cordelia demanded.

  "Naught of great harm that I could see," Arachne answered, "for I went to look the next day, and saw her sitting by the cave-mouth; yet she was drawn and pale."

  "And did not seek to escape?" Magnus frowned.

  "Nay—so he could not greatly have hurt her, could he?"

  "Either that, or he hurt her vastly, yet in her soul, not her body," Magnus said gravely. "What, monster! Thou hast seen what he hath done, and yet thou didst sell a young lass to him?"

  "Aye." Arachne's jaw jutted out. "For I saw no great harm, seest thou, and he paid me in gold."

  "And gold is worth the vitality of a lass?" Geoffrey spat. "Nay, then! Let us sell thee to the headsman, and take gold for thy pate!"

  Arachne's eyes widened in alarm.

  "She doth know she hath done wrongly," Gregory pointed out.

  "She doth that." Magnus frowned, bending over to glare down at the harridan. "Where lieth his cave, hag?"

  "Why, to the west and north, hard by the dark pool before the cliffs," Arachne stammered, shaken by the look on Magnus's face. "Thou… thou wilt not seek him out?"

  " 'Tis our affair," Geoffrey answered her, "as art thou still, I fear." He looked up at Magnus. "What shall we do with her, brother?"

  Arachne cried out in alarm. "Assuredly thou wilt not hurt me!"

  "Wherefore not?" Geoffrey retorted. "Wouldst thou have scrupled to hurt my sister?"

  "I—I did not know she was a witch!"

  "Which is to say, thou didst not know that she could hurt thee." Geoffrey turned away in disgust. "Whate'er we do, brother, 'twill not be excessive."

  "Yet I scruple to hurt her," Magnus said slowly. "Are we to be no better than she, brother?"

  Arachne went limp with relief.

  "Shall we take her to the bailiff, then?" Gregory asked.

  "Why, what evidence shall we offer of her misdeeds?" Geoffrey demanded.

  "Only our word of what she hath said," Magnus said sadly, "and 'tis the word of young ones 'gainst that of a woman grown. Nay, we must seek other justice to which to hand her."

  Arachne stiffened again, eyes widening.

  Geoffrey frowned. "What justice can that be?"

  "Why, that of the land itself." Magnus turned his head and called, "By Oak, Ash and Thorn! An thou canst hear me, proud Robin, please come!"

  Arachne stared at him, her foreboding deepening; but Magnus only held his stance, frozen, waiting, and his siblings watched him in silence.

  Then leaves parted, and Puck stepped forth. "Wherefore dost thou call me, Warlock's Child?"

  "I cry thy justice upon this woman, Robin."

  Puck's head swivelled around; he stared at the harridan. Then his eyes narrowed. "Aye, we have seen her aforetime, yet her offenses were never so great as she yearned for them to be. What hath she now done, that thou dost think her worth our concern?"

  "She hath stolen a woman-child," Magnus answered, "and sold her for gold to a gentleman who doth dwell in a cave."

  Puck's face turned to flint. "We know of him; 'tis a vampire." Slowly, he turned to Arachne. "And thou hast sold him a maiden?"

  She looked into the elf's eyes, and screamed.

  Chapter Nine

  For Rod and Gwen, it had been a slow journey, since they had to wait for the rocks to absorb enough witch-moss to split. A few times they cheated by rolling a fragment of stone into the nearest patch of the fungus. The children were well out of sight before they had gone more than a hundred yards.

  So the sun was setting as they backtracked a flying stone out of a small woodlot into a meadow. Before them, dimly seen in the dusk, another line of trees loomed.

  "We must give the poor wee thing a chance." Gwen nudged the stone toward a crop of grass webbed with fungus.

  But Rod heard a sound, and turned back to look. "Gwen…"

  "Aye, milord?"

  "We're, uh… being followed."

  Gwen turned to look, and stifled a shriek.

  It was at least as big as a pony, but it had a long, bushy tail and a shaggy gray coat.

  "Grandma, what big teeth you have," Rod murmured.

  It was a wolf, dancing toward them on pads the size of platters.

  "Fight, or fly?" Gwen readied her broomstick—as a quarterstaff.

  "Go, but I think we can stay on the ground." Rod nodded at the huge beast. "It can't go very fast, that way."

  The wolf's paws were weaving in the steps of an intricate dance. It was surprisingly graceful, but it took two steps backward for every three forward.

  "True," Gwen agreed. "Let us move toward the far wood, my lord, for there may we entrap it, if we see need."

  "Good point." Rod moved with her, with quick glances back over his shoulder. "Uh… it's not working."

  Gwen turned to look, and saw that the wolf had speeded up its dance. It was stepping closer to them with every measure. "Let us walk as swiftly as we may—the wood is better for us."

  "Anything you say." Rod was beginning to feel the old, atavistic dread of teeth that go clash in the night. As much t
o reassure himself as her, he said, "We can wipe it out any time we want to, of course."

  "Certes." Gwen frowned. "Yet I am loath to do so, for 'tis a living being, even as we are."

  "Living," Rod agreed, "but dangerous to sheep and small peasants. We can't really leave a thing like that around to roam the countryside, Gwen."

  "Mayhap it can be tamed," she offered.

  Rod shook his head. "Whether it was generated by imagination or genes, it was born to be wild. We're going to have to find some way to pull its teeth."

  Those teeth were coming entirely too close. The wolf's tongue lolled out between them, almost in a smile, and the great eyes glowed in the dusk.

  "First," Rod said through stiff lips, "I think we'd better go aloft. Ready?"

  Something shot over their heads, a flurry of night wings and a long, mournful, echoing call. The stepping wolf howled, dodged aside, then leaped up, jaws snapping, but the giant bird banked away. It came circling back, though,

  and the dancer had no attention to spare for its erstwhile quarry. The night-spirit cupped its wings and stretched its claws down, landing between the wolf and the humans—an owl eight feet tall, poising wings that seemed to stretch out forever as a shield for the tender ones at its back. Rod saw the gleam of a curved bill the size of his arm, and eyes the size of dinner plates that stared at the predator. A long cry filled the night again.

  "Who-o-o-o-o-o-o," the great bird called. "Who-o-o-o-o't"

  "Doth he mean to threaten?" Gwen asked.

  "Threat or comfort, it's music to my ears. But he can't really hold off that wolf, can he?"

  The four-footed dancer seemed to have come to the same conclusion. It crouched, snarling, readying itself for a leap.

  "Whol" the great owl exclaimed with a snap of its wings, and the wolf rocked back, startled for a moment.

  Before it could regain its poise, a sonorous gong-roll filled the night, and an awkward figure appeared, flapping long-sleeved arms for balance, teetering in front of the giant owl. It wore a tall, pointed cap painted in spirals of mauve and lavender, interspersed with stars and crescent moons, which also adorned its patchwork robe, five sizes too big. "Here now, here now, what's all this?" the small man said in a peevish tone. He looked up at the great owl through a huge pair of circular spectacles. "What did you call me for, Hoot?"