Warlock and Son

by Christopher Stasheff

  "Hold fast, Rod." Fess half-reared, striking out with a hoof.

  The snake almost sneered-until the steel hoof caught it sharply in the face with a soggy crunch. The serpent reared back, hiss rising almost to a shriek, then struck in rage.

  But Fess had given Rod just time enough to think up the appropriate response. He wasn't the world's best crafter, but he could manage something simple, and had: he had pulled together the witch-moss at the bottom of the stairs. It now shot toward him, powered by his son's telekinesis-a twenty-foot trident with tines eighteen inches apart. It arced down, catching the snake just behind the head, slamming it down against the stone of the stair. It couldn't pierce the rock-there was a limit to the hardness witch-moss could be formed to-and the center tine bent against the serpent's scales; but the top of the handle bent, too, against the ceiling, pushing like a living thing, and the snake thrashed about, hissing in fury but unable to lift its head against the force of the spear. The whole stairwell resounded with the noise of the giant's thrashing-but it could do no damage; the walls of the spiral held it too closely.

  Now that it was immobilized, Rod could devote himself to its demise. The stairwell itself seemed to become dim, the snake brighter, as he concentrated all his attention on it, thinking of it as just a huge doughy mass. He felt another mind warring with his, striving to keep the snake in its current form, but he had expected that, and bore down all the harder-with the strength of two minds, one distinct and alien from the Gramarye gene pool and mindset, the other a hybrid with ferocious strength. The witch's power crumbled, and so did the snake; it softened more and more, losing its color and becoming the grayish-pink amorphous mass that was witch-moss in its natural form.

  Not enough. Rod knew that if he left it raw, the witch could easily re-craft it into the snake, or something even more dangerous, as soon as he and Magnus stopped paying attention to it. He thought of something small and harmless, lots of somethings-and the doughy mass separated into thousands of small curly objects that lightened in color as they hardened. Rod rode on up the stair, through drifts of macaroni that lined both walls. Stray bits of pasta crunched under Fess's hooves, but didn't impede him at all.

  "Not too slippery, is it?" Rod asked.

  "Not when it is uncooked, Rod, no." The robot-horse climbed on up the stair and out into the chamber at the topA chamber hung with scarlet brocades and filled with cushions, downy, tempting-and the most voluptuous wench Rod had ever seen, sloe-eyed and full-lipped, clad only in a swath of gauze about her hips, accentuating that which it concealed. Golden hair tumbled down over her shoulders, parted in the middle to reveal the high curves of full, naked breasts. The houri gave him a heavy-lidded, inviting smile, and murmured in a husky voice, "Dally with me, brave stalwart."

  "No, thanks. I've got a wife at home." Suddenly, Rod was more glad than ever that he had married Gwen; even without being there, she protected him. "And she looks good even without projecting, illusions." He glared at the houri, and her outline began to shimmer.

  "Nay!" she screeched, and a bolt of pure energy, hatred whetted by anger and fear, stabbed out at Rod.

  An answering bolt shot out from him, sped not by himself, but by Magnus; Rod kept concentrating on seeing the woman as she really was. The two bolts met in the air with an explosion that made his ears ring, and distracted the witch just long enough for Rod to finish locking her mind into seeing only what was truly there. She screamed in anguish, arms coming up to cover her nakedness, body curving in on itself in shame; then she uncoiled, hate stronger in her than any other emotion, and leaped at Rod, fingers hooked to claw.

  He was amazed how high she could jump-her fingers nearly touched his eyes before he stiff-armed her, jarring her aside but catching one wrist and hauling up on it. Her feet hit the floor, but the single arm was still outstretched. She screamed, more in rage than in pain, and flailed about with her free arm, but Rod held her with her back to Fess's side. She twisted, trying to get at his leg and groin, but her arm wouldn't turn that far, and she howled in pain. Rod slipped down off the horse to catch her other hand and pulled it behind her back, pinning her forearms together with one hand while he reached in his saddlebag and brought out rope. He bound her wrists together with three quick loops, braced himself against her thrashing as he tied the knot, then let go and shoved her away. She fell sprawling, an obscene, scrawny lump of naked flesh, screaming curses. Rod caught up a silk scarf from among the cushions and bound it around her head. She still screamed into the gag, but at least he couldn't make out the words-not that he needed to; the images her mind was projecting were enough to make him shudder.

  He yanked her to her feet and shoved her before him. "You can walk down those steps, or you can roll-but down them you go."

  She balked at the top, but felt the rage within him that was at least equal to her own, and stumbled away down the steps, still screaming into her gag. Beside them, heaps of macaroni stirred and softened, but Rod locked them into their own forms again, and she gave up the attempt. Instead, she tried to fill his mind with pornographic visions. When she found him immune, she unleashed lurid imaginings of the tortures she would have loved to visit on him.

  "Not bad," Rod grunted. "I'll have to try that on somebody sometime. On the other hand, why put it off?"

  The visions stopped.

  The witch stumbled out of the tower door and fell rolling in the grass.

  "Not far enough," Rod snapped. He yanked on the rope, just enough to remind her that he still held her leash. The strands bit into her wrists, and she screamed in rage, but scrambled to her feet and stumbled away in front of him.

  He brought her to a halt before the tree where Magnus lay. "Remove the spell, hag! Turn him back into a man!"

  The witch slowly lifted her head, venomous eyes seeking his, malice twisting her features. The vicious thoughts reeking from her were clear: this much she could still deny him, this much pain she could still cause-and she would. Then a picture opened in Rod's mind, of Magnus standing beside him, restored to his proper form as the witch strode away free, and the two of them turned to leave her.

  "No deal," Rod snapped. "If you won't do it the easy way, I have someone who will." He focused his thoughts, sending out a single, sharp appeal.

  A rush of wind, a stir of whispering overhead, and a graceful figure drifted down in the moonlight, poised on a broomstick, to land directly in front of Rod. The maiden hopped off, frowning at the witch, then turned to Rod with sudden anger. "How now, my father! Hast thou taken to shaming and binding helpless old women in thine age?"

  Rod had been braced for anything; still, he found it in him to resent the crack about age. But he stifled it and said, "She's helpless only because Magnus and I have bound her mind as well as her hands, Cordelia. Before we did, though, she played games with your brother." He nodded toward the tree.

  Cordelia turned, and the snake shrank back, but not before she had seen its face. Instantly, she was all compassion. "Oh, Magnus! What hath she done to thee!" She dropped to her knees by the snake, hands outstretched-but her brother shrank back farther, looking up at her wild-eyed. Cordelia looked into his eyes, and stilled.

  Then she whirled, up to her feet and at the crone. "Thou hag, thou monster! Thou hast maimed his soul as well as his mind! 'Tis his heart thou hast bound, as much as his body!" Her eyes narrowed.

  The witch screamed, going rigid, eyes wide, staring back at the maiden-but Cordelia advanced, face cold, hands rising, nails glinting in the moonlight. The witch thrashed, trying to break free, but Rod held her-until suddenly, her eyes rolled up, and her head lolled. Cordelia nodded with grim satisfaction. "I know the manner of it now, how she bent his mind."

  "I think you may have hurt her a little," Rod pointed out. "I take it she didn't want to let you know."

  "Nay, but I did not wait upon her humor-and if she hath taken some pain from it, I fear I am not contrite." She turned away to her brother.

  Rod smiled after her, watching her kneel
by the snake, pride upwelling.

  Cordelia lifted a hand, but the snake coiled away from her. "Why, how is this, my brother?" she asked, her voice soft, gentle. "I am as I ever was--only thy little sister, thy playfellow of childhood days."

  Magnus looked a little reassured, but he glanced at her from toe to head, and stayed back.

  "Ah, she hath maimed thee indeed!" Cordelia cried. "But gaze into mine eyes, brother, and try to trust! I love thee, for thou art of the same bone and blood as I. Thou hast done naught to regret, though thou wert sorely tempted, and the only blame that could attach to thee is that thou didst not tear that witch asunder when first thou didst see her!"

  Magnus thawed enough to answer, mind to mind. I could not, without proof of wrongdoing.

  "And indeed I should have been wroth with thee an thou hadst! But now I am not wroth, but proud! Nay, I see thy fear-but thou dost know me, and know I will be as good as my word! None shall know of this night's doings by my lips, brother; I shall never speak a word of thy misadventure, nor of the warping that the old witch wrought. Trust a little, brother, only a little, and ope thy mind to me for moments!"

  The snake was still; then, slowly, he brought his head forward.

  Cordelia touched his forehead, lightly as a feather, and her eyes glazed as her mind worked with his. Then, as Rod watched, the snake uncoiled, slithered away from the tree, and lifted its head until it hung poised two feet off the ground. Its form fluxed and flowed-and Magnus sat there cross-legged, naked but whole, his face ashen.

  "Thou art restored!" Cordelia whirled up to her feet again, modestly turning her back on her naked brother. "Father, thy mantle!"

  Rod whipped his cloak off, letting the witch fall, and reached down to help his son to his feet. Magnus towered over him, so the cloak was very short as Rod reached up to settle it around his shoulders-but it came to mid-thigh, and had slits for his arms.

  Cordelia whirled back, throwing her arms around him. "Praise Heaven thou art come back to us!" Then she shuddered, and began to cry.

  Magnus stood immobile a moment, then reached an arm around her shoulders and pressed his sister against his chest.

  Another minute, and he found his voice. "I am well, sister, I am well-thanks to thee. Nay, I praise all the saints that thou wert born a sister to me!"

  "Yet thou art not fully healed." Cordelia looked up at him, eyes filled with tears. "There are scars there yet, brotherand thou hadst not given me leave, so I did not linger to mend. Nay, I know not if I could have, so deeply did she wound thee."

  "Peace, sister-'twas not her alone, but many, and in many bouts."

  "But these are wounds that only women give!" Cordelia's tears dried instantly under the heat of anger and indignation. "Nay, how could they have used thee so!"

  "Thou hast seen some among them," Magnus said softly. "The milkmaid who sought to entrap us, when Mother and Father were gone-the maids of the floating world, when we followed the sounding rocks.. ."

  "Aye, I remember." The anger was gone, and Cordelia lifted a hesitant hand to her brother's cheek. "But I did not guess they had hurt thee so. Ah, Magnus! Have I misjudged thee all these years, then? Is there so tender a heart as that, under this warrior's hide?"

  Magnus blushed, and let her go. "Thou hast given thy word thou wilt not reveal what thou hast learned this night. . . ."

  "And most surely I will not! Oh, my poor brother!" Cordelia flung her arms about him protectively, though her head scarcely came to his breastbone. "Would I could undo the hurt so many lasses have given, that I could give such grace as to o'erbalance their cruelty-for I am a woman, too!"

  " 'Tis not thy place." Magnus's arm came up again, embracing, comforting. "I must heal myself, must I not? Nay, sister, 'twas not thy doing, and thou must not hurt for me."

  "How can I do otherwise!"

  "Why, by being the bright and bonny lass of sunlight and good cheer that thou hast ever been." Magnus's lips touched her forehead briefly, vagrant as a wind. "Only be thyself, and thou shalt do as much as any can to heal me, and more." He held her away from himself and smiled down. "God willing, I shall do as much for thee as thou hast for me, though my province is warding, not healing."

  Cordelia looked up in alarm.

  Magnus laughed softly and squeezed her shoulder. "Nay, fear not, good sister-I'll not ward thee so closely as that! Nay, I shall not defend unless thou dost ask."

  She smiled again, and joined his laughter.

  Rod smiled too, and stepped forth. "If you two don't mind, I really don't think we should hang around." Cordelia looked up, saw the witch unconscious on the grass, and nodded. "But what shall we do with her?"

  "I think we might leave her to natural forces." Rod turned to the trees and called out:

  By oak and ash, By earth and flood! Come forth, all Who live by wood!

  The night was still a moment, and the witch's eyes flew open wide, flicking from one side to the other. The whites showed all around her irises, bloodshot. She began to tremble.

  Then the long grass stirred, and a foot-high figure stepped forth. Another joined it; more came from the underbrush. Then a branch moved aside, and an eighteen-inch figure stepped out, broad-shouldered and large-headed. Its face tilted up to the light, and it grinned. "I had thought if thou hadst come this way, there might be summat of a stir."

  The witch moaned.

  "Right as always." Rod smiled slowly. "How nice to see you, Puck."

  "Is it truly? What hast thou in store for me?"

  Rod nodded toward the lump of flesh on the grass. "Know anything about this one?"

  The hag moaned.

  Puck's eyes glinted in the moonlight like chips of ice. "Aye, we know of her. When she hath come forth, she hath used her magic to strike at the Wee Folk who dwell nearby. She hath hurled old nails to fend us off, and hath injured many and slain two."

  Rod nodded. "We'll leave her to you, then." He turned away, catching Magnus's and Cordelia's arms and moving toward the forest path. Cordelia stepped aside to catch up her broomstick before she came along-not quite quickly enough to escape hearing the hag scream with terror, a scream that was cut off in the middle. Cordelia shuddered and hurried on under the shelter of the bare branches. "Father..."

  "They're merciful, in their way," Rod said firmly. "You can be sure she won't have even a fraction of the pain she's given others."

  "Yet without trial . . ." Magnus said.

  Rod looked up, startled. "Don't tell me you think she could be innocent!"

  "Why, certes not!"

  "Well, then." Rod nodded. "Don't worry-the elves have their own form of due process. They won't even need you two as witnesses. And, son-the Wee Folk don't generally spread gossip. At least, not to mortal people."

  Magnus nodded, relaxing a little more. "Thou wilt say naught of this to my brothers?"

  "Of course not-nor to your mother, either."

  "Unless she doth ask," Magnus qualified.

  "Well, yes. But don't worry-she can keep a secret, too."

  "As to that--" Cordelia frowned. "Wherefore didst thou summon me, and not Mama?"

  Rod shook his head. "I don't `summon' your mother, Cordelia. I call for help, maybe, but I don't `summon.' And this is probably the last time I'll be able to call you that way."

  Cordelia studied him, pensive. "And 'tis therefore thou didst summon me, not her?"

  "Why, no." Rod looked up, surprised. "I called you because you're the best at healing, daughter. Your mother has trained you very well, and even though she may have more experience, you have so much talent that you've surpassed her-in that one area at least. Or so she says. Didn't you know?"

  4

  Cordelia flew off into the mists of false dawn after once more promising to tell no one of the night's adventures. Rod and Magnus managed to retrace the young man's trail and find his horse and clothing. Now, once more dressed and mounted, Magnus was recovering his self-confidence.

  They came down out of the trees as the sun was risin
g and the other son was remembering that he was supposed to be feeling aggrieved. "Thou didst follow me, didst thou not?"

  Rod started to answer, then caught himself with the denial still on his tongue. He had tried never to lie to his children, though there were times when he'd felt he'd had to. This wasn't one of them, however. "Yes, son, I did."

  "Why? Didst thou fear I was not equal to whate'er might rise against me? Dost thou think me yet a child?"

  "No," Rod said, relieved that it had been a double question. Answering the one of his choice, he said, "I know quite well that you're a man grown."

  "How, then, didst thou hap upon me when I was in such dire need?"

  "Because the peasants asked me." Rod gestured at the village. "Ask them, if you don't believe me."

  But there was no need to. The peasant men were coming out to their fields; they saw Rod and froze. Then they dropped their hoes and ran forward with glad cries.

  "'Tis the stranger-knight returned!"

  "He doth live! He hath prevailed!"

  "Praise Heaven thou art well, sir knight!"

  "I do." Rod smiled down at them. "I assure you, I do." The men cast apprehensive looks at Magnus, but turned back to Rod.

  "Didst thou escape the witch, then?"

  "Didst thou not find her?"

  "I found her," Rod said quietly. "Oh, yes, I found herdidn't we, son?"

  Magnus clamped his jaw shut, and managed a grim nod. The men looked up, startled, glancing covertly from father to son and back again, realizing that there was a resemblance after all. "And thy son?"

  "I couldn't have defeated her without his strength," Rod assured them.

  "Then thou hast triumphed!"

  "The witch is dead?"

  "The Wee Folk have taken her," Rod replied.

  "They did not seem overly fond of her," Magnus added. "I doubt me not that if she is not dead, she doth wish she were."

  The peasants muttered to one another in fright, making the sign of the Cross-whether at the mention of the Wee Folk, or of the hag, Rod didn't know. Certainly the combination would be enough to make a saint take precautions.