The Warlock's Last Ride

by Christopher Stasheff

  Diru's face burned, but he burned hotter within, standing there in the middle of a ring of mocking laughter and realizing how they had laid their trap, and how eagerly he had fallen into it. It had all been a joke, a great big joke, to see Diru make a fool of himself—the beginning of the Harvest Festival merriment. He could see it all—it had been Lenar or Hirol who had thought of it, but Ria had been quick to agree, since she wanted so badly to be part of Lenar's circle—all the girls did, and this had been her chance. Then they had told all the other young people about their wonderful jest, one destined to be famous in the village for a lifetime—how pretty Ria made a fool out of ugly Diru!

  Wordless, he turned and blundered his way out of the circle, the laughter of mockery filling his ears. He stalked away, but they kept pace with him for a hundred yards as the anger within him swelled and swelled—but he knew what would happen if he lashed out, for the boys had given him beatings enough before. In misery, he waded through that torrent of laughter until the trees enfolded him with their blessed coolness and the sounds of merriment began to fade behind him. There was little point in following him into the woods, of course. One last taunt came behind him: "Oh, leave him alone! He's gone to propose to that bear we told him about."

  And one last burst of laughter.

  Diru ploughed ahead toward the depth of the woods, not really knowing where he was going or why, filled with misery and rage. Some day he would have his revenge, on Ria and Lenar and Hirol and Acker—on all of them, the adults who had always sneered at him, the youths who had mocked him since childhood. How, he had no idea, but he would have revenge!

  Then the idea struck, and he froze, staring off into the trees, realizing just how he could have that revenge—and not a year or more from now, but tomorrow! He set off through the woods again, but with a sense of purpose now, going as quickly as he could toward the river.

  They rode into the town square, a rough circle perhaps a hundred feet across, surrounded by half-timbered three-story houses, each with a shop of some sort on the ground floor—but all were shut, and the townsfolk glum as they gathered around the scaffold set in the center of the square, its raw wood rough and uneven. At its left end rose a set of bleachers, separated from the scaffold by ten feet of space and fifty men-at-arms, their spears bristling—but their liveries were not those of Loguire. They matched the rich colors of the robes of the men who sat on the board seats, fine clothing of satins and velvets that displayed their wealth and power, and the swords at their sides proclaimed not only their military training, but also their readiness to use them to start a war if they didn't like the verdict.

  Rod drew breath, chilled as he realized a rebellion could break out right here—or a civil war; he saw a dozen knights sitting on their horses at the far end of the scaffold with a score of men-at-arms behind them and many more sprinkled throughout the crowd. The judge had taken military precautions, but his own armed force wasn't going to prevent a battle. Only clear thought and keen judgement could do that.

  Between the judge's high chair at the one end of the scaffold and Anselm and his allies at the other, stood the gallows. The late afternoon sunlight glistened on the golden chain hanging from it.

  Rod stared. "I hadn't known we had come to witness Geordie's execution!"

  "Nor had I." Rowena slipped off her horse's back; several of her guards leaped down to help her, but she was already climbing the rough stairs. "I must plead for him!" She almost ran to the young man who sat in the seat of judgement and threw herself to her knees, head bowed—but Rod took one look at that young man and knew how slim her chances were. Diarmid Loguire was supremely logical, and prided himself on his ability to banish emotion in his consideration of a problem.

  Rod felt a chill wind blow that did not stir the leaves of the surrounding trees and had nothing to do with the weather. If clear thinking and sound judgement were all that could prevent a war from beginning here, they could all be in deep trouble. Rod had faith in Diarmid's ability to think clearly, but he wasn't so sure about his sense of judgement. Diarmid was not a people person.

  Quickly, Rod scanned the others who stood on the platform. Nearest him stood three older men, all looking grim. In their center was a lean, clean-shaven, gray-headed man with a bitter face. Rod recognized him—the King's elder brother Anselm, attainted for treason, demoted to the rank of squire, and doomed to live out his life in obscurity. Rod had heard that Anselm had wed and would have loved to have met his wife, to see the amazing woman who had married a man doomed to a life of shame. She must have really loved him.

  Behind Anselm and his colleagues stood a dozen men-at-arms in his livery. Rod felt his scalp prickle.

  Then, looking toward the center of the platform, he saw a young man standing bare-chested with his hands tied behind his back, beneath the golden chain—a black-haired young man who was amazingly handsome. That must be Geordie, and suddenly Rod could see why Rowena had been attracted to him. Anselm's wife must have been a very unusual woman indeed, one who could have married much better than an attainted nobleman who could give her no better life than any yeoman could—for she must have been radiantly beautiful. Geordie certainly didn't get his looks from his dowdy father.

  "Mercy, kind judge!" Rowena threw her veil back, looking up at Diarmid with wide eyes that glistened with tears, giving him the full benefit of her astounding beauty. "Have mercy on my husband, I beg you!"

  There was a stir and a murmur among the lords behind Anselm—and another to answer it, among the men-at-arms, even from the knights and troopers behind Diarmid. In fact, the whole crowd seemed to breathe as every man sighed with admiration and longing. Lady Rowena's beauty moved them all, and her tragic tears and vulnerability made every man there long to leap to her defense.

  Every man except Diarmid. With a quick glance, Rod saw the young man's eyes widen, saw his hands tighten on the arms of the great chair—but his voice was cool and calm as he said, "Milady, he has broken the law."

  "My love, do not humiliate yourself before this heartless man!" Geordie cried as though his own heart would break.

  Diarmid's eyes narrowed; his hands tightened further.

  "There is no shame in pleading for my husband's life!" Rowena cried. "O kind judge, give him any punishment but death!"

  "I would the law allowed it," Diarmid said in a far more sympathetic voice than Rod had ever heard from him. "I would I could give him back to you, but the law is clear, and he has himself admitted to poaching sixteen of the Crown's deer."

  "Deer that should have been his!" Anselm cried, as though the words were torn from him. "The great lords have always had the privilege of hunting in the royal forests, and it is Geordie who should have been duke of Loguire, not his mealy-mouthed cousin."

  "So he would have, if you had not robbed him of his place by your treason." Diarmid lifted his head to give his uncle a stony glare, and his guards took their pikes in both hands.

  The men beside Anselm leaned in to mutter angrily to him, and the lords behind him loosened their swords in their sheathes—but they glanced at the knights behind the young duke, who seemed to strain forward; they glanced again at the guards beside Diarmid, the others who stood to either side of Geordie, and the thirty more who stood below the scaffold, pikes and halberds ready—and Anselm could only clench his fists in impotent fury.

  Diarmid turned back to Rowena. "He has stolen sixteen of the Crown's royal deer, and must be hanged for any one of them. This is the law, and he has admitted his crime. I cannot pardon Geordie."

  Anselm cried out in anguish and gripped the hilt of his sword, and the man at his side leaned in to mutter more urgently—but the attainted lord only stood trembling.

  "Kind lord, can you not remit the law?" Rowena cried.

  "If laws are cast aside, the kingdom shall fall into chaos and all shall suffer," Diarmid told her.

  "I am with child!" Rowena cried.

  Anselm groaned, and Geordie let out a cry of his own.

 
; CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  "Alas, that my husband must learn of it thus!" Tears flowed down Rowena's cheeks. "But I am sure of it—I shall bear a babe in seven months' time! Must I birth an orphan?"

  "Oh, my love!" Geordie started for her, but the guards yanked him back. He turned on them with savage fury, bound hands or no, but one of them caught him in a wrestling hold, and he could only struggle and curse.

  "I grieve for you," Diarmid said solemnly, "but so long as I am duke of Loguire, neither you nor your child shall want for anything. Go back to your estate, lady, and tend your babe."

  She stood and turned away, sobbing, to Anselm, who embraced her and cried over her head, "Heartless prince! Can you show no mercy even to your own cousin?"

  "It is because he is my cousin, my lord, that I dare make no exception to the law," Diarmid returned. "Shall the people say that there is one law for the common folk and another for the Crown and its relatives? Surely not! There must be justice for all!"

  "Justice, yes." Rod mounted the stairs, saying, "But sometimes the law must be tempered with mercy to yield justice."

  "Gallowglass!" Anselm cried in anger and despair, and Rowena looked up in horror to discover that her traveling companion had been her family's arch-enemy.

  "Lord Warlock!" Relief washed over Diarmid's face but was quickly hidden. "How come you here?"

  "To plead the cause of justice, Lord Duke." The relief Rod had seen in Diarmid's face reminded him how very young the man really was. "The forest laws are well and good, since they keep the deer from all being killed, and allow only enough hunting so that they don't gobble up their food supply and starve—but is not this enforcement too rigid? Is not the whole purpose of maintaining the deer herds so that they are there to feed hungry people if they are needed?"

  "A sound rationale," Diarmid said thoughtfully. "History tells us the Forest Laws were made only to save the deer as sport for the great lords—but you give them far greater purpose, Lord Warlock."

  Anselm stared, unable to believe Rod was pleading his family's cause—but Geordie stared, stunned, and Rowena looked at him with a sudden wild hope.

  "Surely that purpose should be considered here," Rod said. "Is sport for the few more important than the lives of peasants?"

  The crowd began to mutter, and the soldiers shifted uneasily.

  Rod pressed the point. "Is the law more important than good governance?"

  "The law is the key to good governance, my lord." Diarmid frowned, puzzled.

  "Then good governance is the purpose?"

  Diarmid lifted his head slowly, beginning to understand Rod's direction. "Aye, Lord Warlock, good governance is the purpose of the law."

  "Then it is a purpose the law must serve." He turned to Rowena. "Lady, has your husband ever failed in his duty?"

  "Never, my lord!" Rowena said fervently. "He has always been diligent and just in his care of his peasants! He is ever about the estates assuring that all is well! The welfare of his people has ever been his constant concern!"

  "Even to making her quarrel with him," growled one of her guards, in a voice too loud to be a mistake.

  Diarmid turned to the man—and to the whole dozen of her escort. "Surely a wife will speak well of a husband she loves—but what of his retainers?" He saw the man's furtive glance at Anselm and sharpened his tone. "Come, man, you've naught to fear! You shall have a place in my own retinue; you and your family shall have cottages on my estates to shield you from the anger of Sir Anselm! If there is anything to be said against Squire Geordie, speak!"

  "Not one word!" the grizzled peasant cried. "Not one word is there to be said against him, my lord, and everything for him!"

  "Aye!" cried a younger man. "He is beside us even at the plow to be sure the furrow is straight! He marches out with the sowers to broadcast the seed!"

  "Aye!" cried another. "When the harvest comes, he is ever beside us with scythe and flail! If a plowman is sick, it is he who sneezes!"

  "We would follow Geordie to the death, my lord." The old peasant made it half a threat. "Call him to battle, and we will follow him all, man and boy, because we know that our welfare is his concern."

  "It is for our sakes he is here!" cried the youngest. "When the grain rotted in the bin, he swore we would not starve though it cost him his life! I pray you, my lord, let it not do so!"

  Now Anselm shook off the man who was whispering in his ear and stepped forward. "My son has always been an excellent steward of the land and governor of his people, Lord Diarmid. If it is justice you seek, you should reward him for his diligence and care, not take his life!"

  "There's truth in what he says, my lord." Rod turned to Diarmid. "People are more important than deer."

  "They are, Lord Warlock." Diarmid was beginning to show a touch of excitement which, for him, was amazing. "But by your own argument, if we do not enforce the Forest Laws, how shall we feed our people with game in time of famine?"

  "It is because famine looms that Geordie has slain deer to feed his people," Rod countered. "But money will serve to buy food as well as a bow and arrow will. Might I suggest a fine—say, a thousand pieces of gold?"

  The lords gasped in horror and began to talk furiously among themselves.

  "Very wise, Lord Warlock." Diarmid nodded slowly. "A fine that would build a manor house—or feed fifty villages through a hungry winter! Yes, so high a fine would make even a duke think twice about hunting out of season, and would surely deter any lesser lord."

  "I shall give you all I possess!" cried Rowena. "All my dowry, land, and jewels worth a hundred gold pieces!"

  "Rowena, no!" Geordie cried.

  "What use is a dowry without a husband?" she retorted, and turned back to Diarmid. "I can offer no more than that!"

  "I can!" One of the earls shot to his feet. "I offer one hundred pounds and ten!"

  "And I a hundred and fifteen!" A baron leaped up beside him.

  "A hundred and twenty!"

  "A hundred and thirty!"

  Rod stood, amazed, as the auction mentality took hold. Diarmid only nodded, keeping mental score, and when the bidding stopped, called out, "That is eight hundred fifty, my lords, but not enough!"

  "Then I shall offer a hundred and fifty of gold!" Anselm cried. "Remember, my lord, you said it would go to feed the hungry!"

  "And so it shall!" Diarmid stood up. "I shall lock it in a separate coffer and shall open it as soon as Squire Geordie's folk find themselves short of bread!" He turned to the assembled noblemen. "My lords, I thank you! May we all show as much generosity and care for our fellows as you have shown today!"

  The lords stared at one another; charity had certainly been the farthest thing from their minds when they set out on this trip.

  Diarmid turned to advance on Geordie, drawing his dagger.

  Voices shouted in anger, but Diarmid only stepped behind Geordie and severed his bonds. Geordie raised his hands, rubbing his wrists in amazement, and the shouting died. Then Diarmid reached up, shook the chain to unhook it, caught it as it fell, and handed it to Geordie. "Use this to buy food for your people—and if they are ever in need again, tell your duke rather than taking up your bow!"

  Rowena ran to throw her arms about her husband, and the crowd cheered.

  In the midst of the shouting, Anselm stepped up to Rod with his hand on his sword. "If my son had been slain, Lord Warlock, I would have rebelled—and this time, I swear, I would have torn down my overweening little brother and his arrogant Queen!"

  "Even though they sent you a judge who had sense enough to see that Geordie was an invaluable asset?" Rod asked.

  " 'Tis not Diarmid who saw sense, but you who showed it to him!"

  "Why, thank you, Sir Anselm," Rod said slowly.

  Anselm stared, realizing that he had paid Rod a compliment. Then he recovered and demanded, "There may be truth in that—but rumor says you have left your post to wander the land as a doddering knight-errant! Who shall temper the Crown's justice now, if the Lord
Warlock has left his position to roam at his pleasure?"

  "Why, my son Magnus," Rod told him, "though I doubt he'll be needed. Alain embodies all the mercy the Crown will ever need. No matter what you may think of your relatives, Sir Anselm, your nephew has a positive genius for sound judgement."

  "Perhaps once he is King," Anselm allowed, brooding, "but that could be twenty years or more. Who shall temper the Queen's judgement until then? Surely she will not listen to her own son!"

  Rod could have pointed out that Tuan had always been the voice of moderation that had kept Catharine from turning into a tyrant, but he knew Anselm's resentment of his brother's mercy and position were so intense as to only make him erupt in anger—so he said instead, "She may not listen to her own son, Sir Anselm, but she will listen to mine. It's time for us to start trusting the children we've worked so hard to raise wisely and well. Don't you trust your own boy?"

  "Aye!" Anselm said fiercely. "There's none better in all the land!"

  "But quite a few just as good," Rod countered. "Trust your own boy, Sir Anselm—but trust mine as well. After all, Geordie will."

  "He didn't look convinced," Rod told Diarmid as they watched Anselm ride away beside his son and daughter-in-law. The grandfather-to-be was leading a riderless palfrey, because Geordie and Rowena, for some strange reason, had decided to share one horse.

  "Perhaps, but he did not strike out," Diarmid said, and shuddered. "Till you mounted those stairs, I thought a rebellion would begin here and now!"

  "One of the nastier little problems with being a duke," Rod commiserated. "In fact, Your Highness, I've always had the impression that you hated administration."

  Diarmid laughed. "You know I would far rather spend the time with my books, Lord Warlock!"

  "Yes, I do." Rod nodded. "Just like Gregory. But Geordie would rather be out and about the estates, checking to make sure his peasants are doing well and that everything is running smoothly."