"Now I have lived most truly and completely," Gwen said softly. "What greater joy could life hold for me than this?"
Rod hoped it was his imagination that gave the words a very final ring.
Finally a dot of light in the dome of the bridge grew brighter than all the others, finally it swelled into a little circle, and Alea knew they were coming home—at least, to Magnus's home; she doubted it could ever be hers, or would need to be. As the disk swelled, Magnus grew even more tense; he began to snap at her if she said the wrong thing. She managed to stifle the retorts that rose to her lips, telling herself that he would be able to relax when the trauma of his homecoming was over, that he would be sorry for the things he had said. She throttled her anger at his not even seeming to notice her, so preoccupied was he with meeting the family he had left ten years before, and though she adamantly resisted the temptation to read his mind, she could tell his thoughts anyway:
How would they have changed, the family he had deserted? How betrayed had they felt by his leaving? Was there still any welcome there for him, any love? He had told her many times that "You can't go home again," and she had believed him—so what must it be like for him now, coming back when he knew that the home he remembered was lost in the mists of the past?
Then, in the perpetual evening gloom of the lounge, Magnus looked up at her, his eyes suddenly focusing on her, and warned, "Gregory says we're clear to land—on the night side, of course, so that we won't frighten the peasants."
"Our usual approach." Alea dared to try a smile.
Magnus stared at her a moment, then smiled in return with a warmth that surprised her and reached out to catch her hand, and something melted within her.
Then he let go and turned his eyes forward to the viewscreen where the huge cloud-streaked disk floated, and advised her, "Better web in."
The arm of the lounge chair popped open, the anchor rod rising up. Alea pulled it across her body and pressed it against the back, where it fastened and clung with a grip that couldn't be shaken even if the ship were smashed to filings. She could feel the pressure of descent, feel that pressure lift as Herkimer countered it with artificial gravity, felt the tug-of-war of natural forces against synthetic ones, as the huge disk on the screen expanded past its edges and was somehow no longer in front of them, but below, rivers and mountain chains streaking past, the night rolling across to engulf them, then only the glint of moonlight reflected off clouds until daylight rolled in to dispel darkness. Now as they raced across the surface of the planet, she could make out the patchwork of fields and relaxed into the familiar feeling of approach on a medieval planet, forgetting for the moment the tension that would come on their landing, of meeting people Magnus knew, but who might have grown and changed into strangers.
Night rolled across the screen again, but this time there were lights here and there from towns, lights that disappeared as night deepened, and when daylight came back, she could make out roads threading from one cluster of roofs to another. They drifted across the screen much more slowly as the starship shed its speed, slowing until it might land without churning up a whole forest. When night came a third time, she could see individual houses very clearly, barns, and even the dots that were cattle in the fields. A dark blot on the screen became treetops silvered by moonlight that drifted so slowly they scarcely seemed to move, then suddenly swelled and went racing by, the speed seeming greater as the ship swooped lower, and Alea's heart rose into her throat, as it always did, the primitive peasant within her unable to believe that they would not fall out of the sky and slam into the earth, to be squashed like flies. Her whole body tensed, pushing against the webbing as though she could slow the ship by her own strength, even as she scolded herself for a foolish barbarian.
Then the racing treetops began to slow, ceasing to be a blur and becoming individual masses again, a mass that opened into a huge ragged circle of a clearing with the silver trail of a river down one side, a circle that seemed to float into sight, then to swell so much that the trees drifted out of view at the edges, that the cluster of dots at the top of the screen grew into people who swam out off the bottom in their own turn. Then there was a jolt, ever so slight, and the dark mass below resolved into individual grass stems, unmoving, and Magnus was releasing his webbing, was rising to his full height, tense and braced, saying, "We're home," and turning toward the airlock as though he were about to face an army.
CHAPTER TWO
Alea was out of her webbing in an instant and by his side, matching him step for step as he paced toward the airlock. As they stepped in, she snatched up the two staves that leaned against the wall and pressed the longer into his hand.
Magnus stared down at it. "What would I want with this? I don't have to be ready to fight—I'm home!"
She didn't believe the middle part, couldn't when his whole stance belied it, but couldn't say that either.
"I'm not a cripple, you know," he told her. "I don't need something to lean on."
She didn't believe that either, but said only, "I do. You don't want to embarrass me, do you?"
Magnus looked surprised, barely started to mutter a denial before the outer door opened and the ramp stretched down before them, a silver gleam in the moonlight that showed the cluster of people moving up to its foot.
Magnus steeled himself, though she suspected only she would have noticed it, then seemed to relax completely and stepped out onto the bridge to his home—stepped faster and faster, until with a grin and cry of joy, he swept three of the people up in a bear hug.
Alea followed more slowly, giving him time, giving them time, hoping desperately that they would take his seeming affection in the spirit in which it was offered.
As she stepped off the ramp, one of the figures let go her stranglehold on Magnus's neck and managed to disentangle herself from his arm with a wide grin, staring up with shining eyes as she said, "Welcome home, brother."
She was petite, she was slender and shapely, she was beautiful, and Alea's heart sank. She's only his sister, she thought wildly, only Cordelia, his little sister. But now she knew the standard of beauty with which Magnus had grown up, knew it was everything she was not, and her heart sickened.
Then the other two stepped back from their brother's hug with equally wide grins, showing themselves to be two young men, one broad-shouldered and lean, the other slender and large-eyed but with an aura of power.
Magnus turned to the slighter one in the long robe, and Alea could see him restrain the words that came of themselves.
So did Gregory. He laughed. "Come, say it! 'How I have grown!' "
"I left you a stripling," Magnus said diplomatically, "and find you a man in full." He turned to the more muscular young man in doublet and hose. "And there is also somewhat more of you than there was when I left, Geoffrey."
"And of you." Geoffrey grinned up a foot at his older brother, his grin shading into a challenge. "Have you gained skill in fighting to equal it?"
A shadow darkened Magnus's face. "Many fights, brother, too many—though I cannot claim skill in their outcome."
Geoffrey stared in surprise, and there was a moment's awkward silence. Into it stepped a stocky young man, taller than Geoffrey but far shorter than Magnus, clasping Magnus's free hand in both of his own, saying, "Welcome indeed, brother-in-law."
But what was this? How could this great bulk of a man, this indomitable warrior, this Magnus, HER Magnus, be bowing and saying, "My liege."
The blond's face twisted in pain. "Not your king yet, thank Heaven, Magnus. Come, rise and be my friend as ever you have been."
So this was Prince Alain, Alea noted. She surveyed the other three, naming them with information learned only in the last few weeks. Gregory was not so slender as Magnus had led her to believe—ten years had worked wonders indeed. Geoffrey was every bit as she had imagined him, muscular and seeming to be leashed mayhem even here with his family—but Cordelia was far more beautiful than Magnus's description had led her to believe.
In desperation, she turned to the two young women who stood by watching, but there was no relief in the sight of the brothers' newly-wed wives. The redhead stirred impatiently, and her skirt swirled, parting and revealing a flash of hose-clad thigh—the warrior, then, dressed so that her skirts should not get in the way when she mounted a horse. That meant that the one whose hair seemed white in the moonlight was… Alea braced herself, trying to hold down a growing anger.
Magnus straightened and embraced his old friend the prince. Alea realized he had made his point with skills hard-won, but of diplomacy, not fighting. As he stepped back, Cordelia caught Alain's arm and pressed against his side, saying, "Aye, embrace him as your brother, Magnus, not your prince."
"Brothers-in-law, then," Magnus affirmed with a nod. "And, I understand, I am also an uncle?"
"Indeed!" Joy and pride lit Alain's face. "To the most beautiful child in all Gramarye!"
At Magnus's spread hands and questioning look, Cordelia merely laughed. "Come, brother, at this late hour? She's abed asleep in the nursery, with a nursemaid watching over her. Fear not, you shall meet your niece on the morrow."
"Had I arrived a few months earlier, I could have been here for her birth," Magnus sighed with regret, then frowned. "For that matter, a year earlier and I could have come in time for your weddings," Magnus said, chagrined. "But at least…"
There was an awkward silence as everyone else filled in the words he had cut off: At least Mother lived to see it. The gloom of the occasion settled over the delight in Magnus's homecoming. Then Cordelia forced a smile and said, "I am not quite so badly outnumbered any more, Magnus. You have three sisters now." She turned to the other two women. "She with the fiery hair and the temper to match is Quicksilver."
The redhead stepped forward to take Geoffrey's arm with a proprietorial manner but extended the other to Magnus. "Welcome, brother."
Magnus took the hand with a flourish and pressed a kiss to it. Quicksilver's eyes widened with surprise, and Geoffrey's darkened, but before he could protest, Magnus released the hand and stepped back to look them up and down with a growing smile. "Well-matched, I should say—and a handsome couple indeed. I hope you shall be blessed with daughters, for they shall be paragons of beauty."
"What, brother!" Geoffrey said indignantly. "Will you wish me no sons?"
"As many as your lady can manage, Geoffrey," Magnus assured him, "for I doubt not they will be as turbulent as they will be handsome."
Quicksilver smiled. "Let them be holy terrors! I think I can deal with half a dozen at least."
Geoffrey looked at her in surprise, but Gregory cleared his throat, and Magnus looked up, then seemed to become still within his body, his smile a little more firm, even rigid, and Alea wondered if any but she realized he was bracing himself.
"Brother," Gregory said gravely as he led forth the stunning vision with the cloud of golden hair, "meet my bride, Allouette."
She stepped forward hesitantly, very hesitantly, seeming almost ready to run, eyes wide with apprehension. "You need not speak to me if you do not wish. We have already met."
Witch! Alea clamped her lips shut to keep the word in. This was she, this was the tormentor of her Magnus, the one who had tortured his heart, who had humiliated and shamed him. Alea was glad she did not know how the woman had maimed him, for she was having trouble enough keeping herself from rushing forward to strike the she-wolf down where she stood.
"Met you? I never have." Magnus took her hand, albeit somewhat stiffly, and her fingers lay in his palm as though they were lifeless—but his smile, though fixed, was still in place, and he actually managed to summon some warmth into his eyes. "I never met you with no guise but your own, and I must say it is far more fair than any illusion you projected."
Allouette blushed and lowered her gaze, and Alea knew enough of men to realize that the gesture made her even more appealing—but Magnus seemed not to notice. Allouette looked up, looked him squarely in the face. "Gregory has told me that when logic dictated my death, yours was one of the voices that spoke for mercy. I thank you for my life."
"And I you, for giving my brother the happiness that I thought would never be his." But Magnus still stood stiffly.
The silence was brief but awkward.
Then Magnus raised his head, looking around the little group, and asked, "Our father… is he…"
"By Mama's beside," Cordelia told him. "Not even for your homecoming would he leave her now—but I know he is almost as anxious for sight of you as he is for each breath of hers. Come, brother."
She started to turn away, but Magnus caught her arm. "No, wait. You must all meet my shield-mate." He turned to Alea with a smile of relief, but his eyes were haunted, pleading. She stared at him in shock, not understanding, but he only said, "How have you managed to find a shadow to cloak you, even here?"
"By full-moon light, when there is so much of you to cast that shadow?" Alea demanded. "How hard could that be?" She stepped forward nonetheless, gripping her staff to keep her hands from shaking, looking from Geoffrey to Gregory to Cordelia, and pointedly not at the ladies. "I am Alea, whom he took in from charity."
"Say rather, from an instinct for self-preservation!" Magnus protested, and explained to his sibs, "She has saved my life a dozen times at least."
"And you mine," Alea retorted.
"Ah, then," Geoffrey said softly, "there is already a deep bond between you."
Alea turned to him in surprise. Already? What did he mean, already? But Quicksilver was nodding, and Alea met her gaze. They stared straight into one another's eyes for a moment, and warrior recognized warrior. No, more—each knew how important the other's honor was to her, and knew in that instant that they would be able to trust one another in battle for the rest of their lives, no matter how much they quarreled in peacetime.
For they would quarrel, Alea felt sure of that—they would quarrel as naturally and easily as fox and hound. But she would never quarrel with Allouette, for if she once began, she would tear the witch apart.
Quicksilver laughed, a low, melodious, and somehow very reassuring sound. She reached out for Alea's hand, saying, "Come, battle-woman, for I think we shall be comrades in arms, you and I."
Alea thawed and stepped forward to take the offered hand, feeling a smile grow that she hadn't known had started, and turned to walk with the warrior.
"That staff is ash, or I miss my guess," Quicksilver said. "Did you season it long, or find it already sound?"
"I chose it from a fallen tree," Alea answered, and the two of them were off comparing aspects of weapons. Cordelia followed with a barely cloaked smile and caught Allouette's hand through the crook of her elbow, patting the fingers in reassurance.
But Gregory turned to Magnus, his face becoming grave. "Come, brother. Our mother awaits."
While the Gallowglasses and their spouses had been distracted with greeting, it had been easy enough to distract them a little further, to project a thought assuring that they would only notice one another, not a strange animal, and certainly not an alien—so Evanescent, stowaway from a distant planet, with a huge globe of a head and a catlike body far too small for it, padded down the gangway and scooted into the shelter of the surrounding trees. Once hidden, she turned to direct a thought at the spaceship's computer, wiping a segment of its memory; it would never remember her dashing down the ramp. She had deadened the sensors along her route between the hold and the airlock so that the computer hadn't been aware of her exit, but it never hurt to make sure.
That done, she folded her stubby legs beneath her, settling down to watch the humans' reunion and tasting the welter of their emotions. She was a very powerful telepath, easily more powerful than either of her two humans, even more powerful than Gregory—a trait that had served her species well in its scramble up the evolutionary ladder. Telepathy had warned them when enemies were coming; teleportation and levitation had made it possible for them to flee; telekinesis had made it unnecessary for them t
o develop hands. So she watched the humans' antics with amusement, enjoying the richness of their feelings. What constant diversion they supplied! How strange and delightful were their angers and hatreds and loves and delights! How subtle were the shadings of one emotion into another, how delightfully paradoxical their ability to feel several different urges at once, how admirable their ability to control them!
Joy was dominant in this reunion, but beneath it lay unease, not from Allouette alone but from each of the Gallowglass siblings as well—unease that Magnus's homecoming might shift the balance they had worked out between themselves, shock and concern to see how much he had aged in ten years, distress at the obvious ordeals he had survived, a lurking worry that those trials had made his vast mental powers even stronger than when he had left—and mystification at the tall willowy woman he had brought with him.
Evanescent smiled, amused as always by human foibles. She tasted the change in mood and marvelled that the humans could become so somber simply at another's death, for her breed lost all interest in their sires and dams as soon as they were grown, barely mature. In turn, their mothers and fathers lost all interest in their offspring once they were past kittenhood. They wandered away from one another, and if they met a few months later, scarcely remembered who each other were.
So she lay watching, intrigued all over again by the strange emotions of these foolish people and wondering at their intensity. They cared so much, these silly two-legged creatures! Why did they let so many things matter to them so deeply? Didn't they know that life was brief, that nothing was of any real consequence when measured against the span of ages? She had probed the minds of her two and knew the answer—that they suspected how insignificant they were but refused to accept it and attacked life with all the greater determination.
She watched until the tallest one, the male whom she thought of as one of hers, turned to his spaceship and gave an order, whereupon the ramp slid back into the ship, the hatch closed, and the huge golden discus lifted silently from the earth, drifted up above the treetops, then shot away into the sky, dwindling to a dot, a point of light, then vanishing.
The Warlock's Last Ride Page 3