The Warlock Unlocked wisoh-4

by Christopher Stasheff

  “He is; yet Duke Foidin lives in fear of him; it seems he is most powerful in magic.”

  “But not powerful enough to take the spirit at the pass?”

  Gwen shook her head. “And is too wise to try. Repute names that spirit most powerful.”

  “Must be a natural hazard.” Rod had a fleeting vision of a high pass with tall, sheer cliffs on either side, heaped high with permanent snow. An army doesn’t move without a lot of noise; an avalanche… “Still, Duke Foidin no doubt lives in dread of Lord Kern’s finding a way to fly his whole army in. Does he really think we’d work for him?”

  “He doubts it; though what had he to lose in trying? Yet he’s not overly assured by ‘our’ victory o’er the Each Uisge; he doth not trust good folk.”

  “Wise, in view of his character.”

  “Yet even if we’ll not labour for him, he doth want us.” Gwen’s face clouded. “For what purpose, I cannot say; ‘twas too deeply buried, and too dark.”

  “Hm.” Rod frowned. “That’s strange; I was expecting something straightforward, like a bit of sadism. Still, with that man, I suppose nothing’d be straightforward. I’d almost think that’s true of this whole land.”

  “What land is that, Rod?” Gwen’s voice was small.

  Rod shrugged irritably. “Who knows? We don’t exactly have enough data to go on, yet. It looks like Gramarye—but if it is, we’ve got to be way far in the future—at least a thousand years, at a guess.”

  “There would be more witches,” Gwen said softly.

  Rod nodded. “Yes, there would. And where’d the Each Uisge come from, and the Crodh Mara? Same place as the Gramarye elves, werewolves, and ghosts, I suppose—but that would mean they’d have risen from latent telepaths thinking about them. And there weren’t any legends about them in Gramarye—were there?”

  “I had never heard of them.”

  “None had ever told us of them,” Magnus agreed.

  “And the elves have told you darn near every folk-tale Gramarye holds. But a thousand years is time for a lot of new tales to crop up… Oh, come on! There’s no point in talking about it; we’re just guessing. Let’s wait until we have some hard information.”

  “Such as, mine husband?”

  “The year, for openers—but I don’t feel like asking anyone here; there’s no point letting them know just how much we don’t know, other than to excuse our lack of local knowledge. We don’t even know enough to know whose side we’re on.”

  “Elidor’s,” Magnus said promptly.

  “He is the rightful sovereign,” Gwen agreed.

  “Fine—but who’s on his side? Lord Kern?”

  Magnus nodded. “He slipped away from the Duke’s men, and was fleeing in hopes of reaching Lord Kern, for protection. This was in his mind whilst the Duke did whip him.”

  Rod nodded. “If only he hadn’t stopped to play with the pretty horsey, hm?”

  “He did not play, Papa! He knew he stood no chance without a mount!”

  “Really?” Rod looked up. “Then he’s got more sense than I pegged him as having.”

  Magnus nodded. “Thou hast told me I have ‘roots of wisdom,’ Papa; so hath he.”

  “We must defend him,” Gwen said quietly.

  “We cannot leave him to that Duke!” Cordelia said stoutly.

  Rod sighed and capitulated. “All right, all right! We’ll take him with us!”

  They cheered.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ow! Cur… I mean, confound it!” Father Al fell back onto a grassy hummock, catching his poor bruised foot in both hands. It was the third time he’d stubbed it; Gramarye had uncommonly sharp rocks. They couldn’t poke holes through his boots, but they could, and did, mash the toes inside.

  He sighed, and rested his ankle over the opposite thigh, massaging it. He’d been hiking for six hours, he guessed—the sky to the east was beginning to lighten with dawn. And all that time, he’d been wandering around, trying to navigate by the occasional glimpse of a star between the bushy trees, hoping he was heading away from the monastery, and not around in a circle back toward it. He had no idea where he was going, really—all that mattered right now was putting as much distance as possible between himself and his too-willing hosts before daybreak. They’d given him one of their brown, hooded robes, but it was torn by thorns in a dozen places; his face and hands were similarly scratched, and he could’ve sworn he’d heard snickering laughter following him through the underbrush from time to time. All in all, he’d had better nights.

  He sighed, and pushed himself to his feet, wincing as the bruised left one hit the ground. Enough hiking; time to try to find a place to hole up for the day…

  There was a flutter of cloth, and a thump. He whirled toward it, sudden fear clutching his throat.

  She was a teenager, with fair skin and huge, luminous eyes, and lustrous brown hair that fell down to her waist from a mob-cap. A tightly-laced bodice joined a loose blouse to a full, brightly-colored skirt…

  … And she sat astride a broomstick that hovered three feet off the ground.

  Father Al gawked. Then he remembered his manners and gathered his composure. “Ah… good morning.”

  “Good… good morning, good friar.” She seemed shy, almost fearful, but resolved. “May… may I be of aid to thee?”

  “Why… I do stand in need of direction,” Father Al answered. “But… forgive me, maiden, for I have been apart from this world almost since birth, and never before have I seen a maid ride a broomstick. I have heard of it, certes, but never have seen it.”

  The girl gave a sudden, delighted peal of laughter, and relaxed visibly. “Why, ‘tis nothing, good friar, a mere nothing! Eh, they do keep ye close in cloisters, do they not?”

  “Close indeed. Tell me, maiden—how did you learn the trick of that?”

  “Learn?” The girl’s smile stretched into a delighted grin. “Why, ‘twas little enough to learn, good friar—I but stare at a thing, and wish it to move, and it doth!”

  Telekinesis, Father Al thought giddily, and she treats it as a commonplace. “Hast thou always had this… talent?”

  “Aye, as long as I can remember.” A shadow darkened her face. “And before, too, I think; for the good folk who reared me told me that they found me cast away in a field, at a year’s age. I cannot but think that the mother who bore me was afrighted by seeing childish playthings move about her babe, seemingly of their own accord, and therefore cast me out naked into the fields, to live or die as I saw fit.”

  Inborn, Father Al noted, even as his heart was saddened by her history. Prejudice and persecution—was this the lot of these poor, Talented people? And if it was, what had it done to their souls? “Ill done, Ill done!” He shook his head, scowling. “What Christian woman could do such a thing?”

  “Why, any,” the girl said, with a sad smile. “Indeed, I cannot blame her; belike she thought I was possessed by a demon.”

  Father Al shook his head in exasperation. “So little do these poor country people know of their Faith!”

  “Oh, there have been dark tales,” the girl said somberly, “and some truth to them, I know. There do be those harsh souls possessed of witch-power who have taken to worshipping Satan, Father—I have met one myself, and was fortunate to escape with mine life! Yet they are few, and seldom band together.”

  “Pray Heaven ‘twill never be otherwise!” And Father Al noted that most of these ‘witches’ were not Satanists, which pretty well assured that their Talent was psionic. “Thine own charity shows the goodness of thine own sort, maiden—thy charity in seeking to aid a poor, benighted traveller; for I’d wager thou knew I had lost mine way.”

  “Why, indeed,” the girl said, “for I heard it in thy thoughts.”

  “Indeed, indeed.” Father Al nodded. “I had heard of it, yet ‘tis hard to credit when one doth first encounter it.” In fact, his brain whirled; a born telepath, able to read thoughts clearly, not just to receive fuzzy impressions! And that without t
raining! “Are there many like thee, maiden?”

  “Nay, not so many—scarce a thousand.”

  “Ah.” Father Al smiled sadly. “Yet I doubt me not that Holy Matrimony and God shall swell thy numbers.” And up till now, there had only been two real telepaths in the whole Terran Sphere!

  “May I aid thee in thy journey, Father? Whither art thou bound?”

  “To find the High Warlock, maiden.”

  The girl giggled. “Why, his home is half the way across the kingdom, good friar! ‘Twill take thee a week or more of journeying!”

  Father Al sagged. “Oh, no… uh, nay! ‘Tis a matter of some import, and I mind me there is need for haste!”

  The girl hesitated, then said shyly, “If ‘tis truly so, good friar, I could carry thee thither upon my broom…”

  “Couldst thou indeed! Now bless thee, maiden, for a true, good Christian!”

  She fairly seemed to glow. “Oh, ‘tis naught; I could carry two of thee with little effort. Yet I must needs caution thee, good friar, ‘tis like to disconcert thee summat…”

  “I care not!” Father Al ran around behind her and leaped astride the stick. “What matter comfort, when a soul’s welfare is at stake? Nay, then, let’s be gone!”

  In fact, he scarcely noticed when the broomstick left the ground.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Opening a lock was women’s work; it took telekinesis. The boys could make the lock disappear, but they couldn’t open it.

  “Let Cordelia attempt it. She must be trained, must she not?” Gwen ushered her daughter over to the door and set her in front of the lock. “Remember, sweeting, to ease the bolt gently; assuredly the Duke hath posted guards on us, and they must not hear the turn.”

  “Uh, just a sec.” Rod held up a hand. “We don’t know they’ve locked us in.”

  Gwen sighed, reached out, and tugged at the handle. The door didn’t budge. She nodded. “Gently, now, my daughter.”

  Rod took up a position just behind the door. Cordelia frowned at the lock, concentrating. Rod could just barely hear a minuscule grating as the lock turned, and the bolt slid back. Then Gwen stared, and the door shot open silently.

  Rod leaped out, caught the left-hand guard from behind with a forearm across the throat, and whacked his dagger-hilt on the man’s skull. He released his hold and whirled, wondering why the other guard wasn’t already over him…

  And saw the man down and out, with Geoff crawling out from between the guard’s ankles; Magnus standing over the man’s head, sheathing his dagger; and Gwen beaming fondly as she watched.

  Rod gawked.

  Then he shook his head, coming out of it. “How’d you keep him quiet?”

  “By holding the breath in his lungs,” Magnus explained. “Can I fetch Elidor now, Papa?”

  Rod rubbed his chin. “Well, I don’t know. You could teleport him away from whatever room he’s in—but are you sure you could make him appear right here?”

  Magnus frowned. “Fairly certain…”

  “ ‘Fairly’ isn’t good enough, son. You might materialize him inside a wall, or in between universes, for that matter.” Why did that thought hollow his stomach? “No, I think we’d better do this the old-fashioned way. Which way is he?”

  “Thither!” Magnus pointed toward the left, and upward.

  “Well, I think we’ll try the stairs. Let’s go.”

  “Ah, by your leave, Papa.” Gwen caught his sleeve. “If thou shouldst meet some guardsman, or even one lone courtier, ‘tis bound to cause some noise.”

  Rod turned back. “You have a better idea?”

  “Haply, I have.” Gwen turned to Cordelia. “Do thou lead us, child, skipping and singing. Be mindful, thou’rt seeking the garderobe, and have lost thy way.”

  Cordelia nodded eagerly, and set off.

  “Thus,” Gwen explained, “he who doth encounter her will make no outcry; ‘twill be a quiet chat.”

  “Even quieter, after we catch up with him.” Rod gazed after his daughter, fidgeting. “Can’t we get moving, dear? I don’t like letting her go out alone.”

  “Hold, till she hath turned the corner.” Gwen kept her hand on his forearm, watching Cordelia. The little girl reached the end of the hall and turned right, skipping and warbling. “Now! The hall is clear before her; let us go.”

  They went quickly, trying to match unseen Cordelia’s speed, wading through the darkness between torches. Near the end of the hall, Gwen stopped, with a gentle tug at Rod’s arm. The boys stopped, too, at a thought-cue from their mother. “She hath encountered a guardsman,” Gwen breathed. “Softly, now!”

  Rod strained his ears, and caught the conversation:

  “Whither goest, child?”

  “To the garderobe, sir! Canst tell me where it is?”

  “A ways, sweet lass, a ways! There was one near thy chambers.”

  Oh. So all the guards knew where they were quartered. Very interesting.

  “Was there, sir? None told us!”

  “He curses in his mind, and she has turned him!” Gwen hissed. “Go!”

  Rod padded around the corner on soft leather soles. Three torchlight-pools away, Cordelia stood facing him, hopping from foot to foot with her hands clasped behind her back. The guardsman stood, a hulking shadow, between the child and Rod, his back to Papa. Rod slipped his dagger out of its sheath and leaped forward.

  “Did not others, clad as I am, stand beside thy door to tell thee the way?”

  “Why, no, good sir!” Cordelia’s eyes were wide with innocence. “Should there have been?”

  “There should, indeed!” The guardsman began to turn. “Nay, let me lead thee b… Ungh!”

  He slumped to the floor. Rod sheathed his dagger.

  Cordelia stared down at the guardsman. “Papa! Is he…” Then her face cleared with a smile. “Nay, I see; he but sleeps.”

  “Oh, he’ll have a headache in the morning, honey—but nothing worse.” Rod glanced back over his shoulder as Gwen and the boys came running up. “Well played, sweeting!” Gwen clasped Cordelia’s shoulders. “I could not ha’ done it better. On with thee, now!”

  Cordelia grinned, and skipped away, lilting the top part of a madrigal.

  “If this’s what she’s doing when she’s five,” Rod muttered to Gwen, “I’m not sure I want to see fifteen.”

  “If thou dost not, there are many lads who will,” Gwen reminded him uncharitably. “Come, my lord, let us go.”

  Five guardsmen, three courtiers, four varlets and a lady-in-waiting later, Gwen stopped them all at a corner. “There lie Elidor’s chambers,” she breathed in Rod’s ear. “Two guard the door, three keep watch in the antechamber, and a nursemaid sleeps on a pallet beside his bed.”

  Rod nodded; Foidin definitely wasn’t the sort to take chances. “This is why I took care of the ones we met en route—so Magnus’d be well-rested. How many can you handle, son?”

  “Four, at the least.” The boy frowned. “Beyond that, their sleep might be light.”

  Rod nodded. “That’ll do. Now, here’s a routine your mother and I used to run…”

  A few minutes later, Magnus frowned, concentrating; a minute later, there was a clatter and a pair of thumps, followed by a sigh in chorus, as the two door-guards sank into slumber. Rod peeked around the corner, saw them both sitting slouched against the wall, and nodded. “Okay, Geoff. Go to it!”

  The three-year-old trotted eagerly around the corner and knocked on the door. He waited, then knocked again. Finally a bolt shot back, and the door swung open, revealing a scowling guardsman. He saw Geoff, and stared.

  “Elidor come out ‘n’ play?” the little boy piped.

  The guardsman scowled. “Here, now! Where’d thou come from?” He grabbed, but Geoff jumped back. The guardsman jumped after him, and Geoff turned and scooted.

  He sailed around the corner under full steam, with the guardsman a foot behind him, bent double, hand reaching, and another guard right behind him. Rod and Gwen kicked thei
r feet out from under them, and they belly-flopped on cold stone with a shout. Magnus and Cordelia yanked their helmets off, and Rod and Gwen struck down with reversed daggers. A grace note of nasty double chunks! sounded, and the guardsmen twitched and lay still, goose eggs swelling on the backs of their heads.

  “They’ll sleep for an hour or two, at the least.” Gwen handed Magnus’s dagger back to him.

  “Hoarstane? Ambrine?” A hoarse voice called from around the corner.

  Everyone froze. Rod’s pulse beat high, with the hope that the third guard might follow the first two.

  Unfortunately, he was a little too wary. “Hoarstane!” he snapped again. There was silence; then the guardsman snarled again. Metal jangled as he turned away, and the door boomed shut; then a bolt snicked tight.

  “Back in, and the door locked.” Rod shook his head. “Well, we hadn’t expected any more. You said you could handle four, son?”

  Magnus nodded. “Without doubt.” His eyes lost focus; he became very still.

  Rod waited. And waited. Four, he reminded himself, were bound to take a little time.

  Finally Magnus relaxed and nodded. “All sleep, Papa.”

  “Okay. You go get Elidor ready, while we get the door open.”

  Magnus nodded, and disappeared.

  He’d started doing it when he was a baby, but Rod still found it unnerving. With people who were only friends, such as Toby, okay—but his own son was another matter. “Well, teamwork starts at home,” he sighed. “After you, ladies.”

  They tiptoed up to the door. Rod kept a firm hold on little Geoff’s hand, to make sure he didn’t try to teleport away to join Magnus. Gwen watched with fond pride as Cordelia stared at the lock, and they heard the sound of the bolt sliding back. The door swung open.

  They stepped into a scene out of “Sleeping Beauty.” The third guardsman sat slumped in a chair, chin on chest, snoring. Beyond him, a half-open door showed a nanny in a rocker, dozing over her needlework. Rod stepped forward and pushed the door the rest of the way open. Elidor looked up from belting on his sword. His hair was tousled, and his eyes bleary from slumber, red and puffy; Rod had a notion he’d cried himself to sleep.