The Warlock Unlocked wisoh-4

by Christopher Stasheff

  “I believe ‘tis as they planned,” Gwen murmured.

  “You bet it is! And in the middle of all of that is my baby!”

  “Peace, mine husband,” Gwen soothed. “We do come nigh Lord Kern; quite soon enough, we shall return to our own time and place; sweet chuck, doubt it not! Then shalt thou make all things well.”

  “You’ve got more faith in me than I do,” Rod grated—but he was calming down a bit. “But maybe you’re right. Okay, darling—you go ‘talk’ to baby; reassure him, tell him we’re still with him, at least in spirit—and our bodies will be joining him, as soon as they can.”

  “I will,” she murmured, and leaned against his shoulder, eyes glazed. He sat as still as he could, gazing out at the stream, his thoughts in turmoil, worry about his baby son alternating with stewing about the war, and ways to avert it. He sorted through a dozen different plans for information he could send back to Fess through Gwen’s telepathy, that might brake the conflict—but none of them could work. If he were there in person, his stature as High Warlock, and as the architect of the Crown’s previous victories over the lords and the mob, would turn the balance; both sides would listen to what he said and, to some extent, would back off due to sheer intimidation. But that required his personal presence; there wasn’t much string-pulling he could do, without at least being on the puppet stage.

  But the scheming did dissipate the adrenalin; that, and maybe some spillover from Gwen’s comforting of Gregory. He began to feel more relaxed. Then he glanced at his sleeping children, and let the warmth and security of the family seep in to calm him. He put his arm around Gwen, resting his cheek on her head.

  “ ‘Tis faded,” she murmured. “Yet I think I left him comforted.”

  “Me, too. You seem to have a wonderful effect on males.”

  Gwen smiled. “I would thou hadst thought of that ere we left the village.”

  Rod frowned. “Why?”

  “For that we could ha’ stayed the night there—and mayhap found a chamber to ourselves.” She looked up at him, eyes wide; and he felt himself being drawn down into them, down, down… He let himself go, but only as far as her lips. Still, it was a very long, and very satisfying, kiss.

  Unfortunately, it was also very stimulating.

  He pulled himself out of the kiss with a sigh. “Well, when we find Lord Kern, maybe he’ll spare us a room for the night—alone.”

  “Aye.” She smiled sadly. “Till then, we must needs bide in patience.” She let go, and lay back, rolling her blanket around her. “Good night, husband—and wake me if thine eyelids droop.”

  He’d rather have waked for other reasons, but he only said, “I will. ‘Night, love,” and caressed her hair.

  She smiled contentedly, and wriggled under his touch, then lay still.

  The whole night was still. He sat beside the dwindling fire, watching the woods and thinking long thoughts. When the moon had set, he woke Father Al, and rolled up in his own blanket.

  Then a small earthquake rocked him. He looked up blearily, frowning; he’d just managed to doze off…

  “Lord Gallowglass, we’ve got company,” Father Al informed him, “and it wishes to speak to you.”

  “ ‘It?’ ” Rod scrambled out of his blanket.

  “Yes. In fact, it ducked back down under water at sight of me; it just barely had time to call for ‘the wizard.’ ”

  “I thought there were supposed to be fewer interruptions, at night.” Rod glanced toward the east. “Hm. Not all that much ‘night’ any more, is it? Well, I’ll take the call.” He went over to the stream, and called out, “This is the wizard speaking.”

  A splash, and a gush of water, and a great, green, round head on a huge pair of shoulders, with a red cocked hat on its head (a feather in it, yet!) popped out of the stream. It was covered with scales; its nose was long, sharp, and red at the tip; it had little pig’s eyes, and was covered with green scales. It held up a webbed hand, and grinned. “Good morn to thee, wizard!”

  Rod squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a shake, then looked up again. “Uh—good morning.”

  “Aye, I’m real.” The water-man grinned. “Thou’st never seen a Merrow afore?”

  “ ‘Fraid not, I wasn’t quite ready for it. Uh—don’t you find that stream a little confining?”

  “Aye, but we go where we must. I am sent with word for thee.”

  “What word?”

  “Word of the Redcap thou’st routed from the Tower of Gonkroma.”

  Rod shuddered. “I’m not really interested in where that critter is, thank you.”

  “Then thou’st wish to know where it ha’ been—or so says the Grand Duchess.” The Merrow rolled an eye at him. “The fellow appeared out of nowhere, struck away guards, and stole a yearling child away.”

  Rod stared, electrified.

  Gwen rolled over and sat up sleepily. “What moves, husband?” Then she caught sight of the Merrow; her eyes widened.

  So did his, and his grin turned toward a leer.

  “Good morrow,” Gwen said graciously.

  “No, good Merrow,” Rod corrected. “At least, he’d better be.” He let his hand rest on his dagger-hilt.

  The Merrow held up both webbed hands and bowed its head. “Ha’ no fear o’ me. I am nothing if not willing, and seek nought else in return. I only seek to discharge my message, nought more.”

  “What message?” Gwen frowned up at Rod.

  “It seems Redcap wanted revenge,” Rod said slowly. “He’s stolen an infant, and disappeared.”

  Gwen gasped.

  “I know,” Rod said grimly, “but we’ve got to get home; we’ve lost enough time playing Good Samaritans. I mean, I feel sorry for the kid and its parents, but…” He ran down under Gwen’s glare.

  “Be shamed,” she said severely. “The child would rest securely, had we not routed Redcap.” She turned to the Merrow. “Who sent thee?”

  “The Grand Duchess.”

  “Then tell her we will seek out Redcap, and have the child back.”

  The Merrow looked questioningly at Rod.

  “All right, all right!” Rod threw up his hands. “I know when I’m beaten, between you and my conscience! Might be the same thing, come to think of it… All right, Monsieur. We’ll do it. And if I know the Grand Duchess, she’s got thorough information about the specifics. Who’s the child?”

  “Whose? Why, Lord Kern’s, of course.”

  Rod and Gwen both stared.

  Then Rod said slowly, “Does Duke Foidin know about this?”

  “Aye. A troop of his men doth race hotfoot to seize the child—though, knowing Redcap’s repute, I misdoubt me that they make quite so much speed as they might.”

  “I don’t blame ‘em,” Rod said grimly. “But if they succeed, Foidin will have the best hostage he could hope for. He might even be able to make Kern surrender. Who told Foidin about the kidnapping?”

  “Eorl Theofrin, who knew from a gazing-crystal, belike.”

  “Theofrin?” Rod frowned. “Why would he suddenly be helping the Duke?”

  “For the enmity he bears thee.” The Merrow grinned.

  Rod just watched him for a minute, trying to figure it out. Then he gave up. “All right, I’ll ask the obvious question: How does telling Foidin about the kidnapping help Theofrin hurt me?”

  The Merrow spread his hands. “I know not, milord.”

  “ ‘Tis a trap, mine husband,” Gwen said softly.

  Rod nodded. “They must be figuring we’ll run to the kid’s rescue—and they’re right. Then the troops come in, and capture the kid with us. Well, I think we can have a little surprise waiting for them.”

  “But do we guess aright?”

  “We’ll know when we get there.” Rod slapped his scabbard. “If we see a battle in progress when we get there, we’ve guessed wrong—in which case, we’ll puzzle it out later. Did the Grand Duchess say where Redcap’s hiding?”

  “Aye.” The Merrow nodded. “He ha’ fo
und an auld tower, at Dun Kap Weir.”

  “Yonder.” Elidor pointed down at a ruined tower atop a mound in the middle of a plain. “ ‘Tis Dun Kap Weir. Foul deeds were done there, long years ago.”

  “Of course.” Rod smiled sardonically. “What other kind of lair would Redcap choose? I don’t like this coming east again, back into the Duke’s country.”

  “We are warned against his troops,” Gwen reminded him. “Hai! They are there!”

  Rod peered down over her shoulder, at a battle raging in front of the tower. A dozen foot soldiers fought frantically, shouting, pikes flashing in the early sunlight. Underneath their clamor was roaring.

  “I guess they weren’t planning to ambush us,” Rod mused.

  Suddenly, two men went flying. They hit twenty feet downslope and lay still, among a score of their fellows.

  “What a fighter!” Rod shook his head in admiration. “Redcap against thirty soldiers, alone! Too bad he’s on the wrong side…”

  “Do not think of converting him,” Gwen said grimly.

  Five more soldiers went flying. The rest drew back, leaving an open half-circle; for a moment, the stunted ogre stood at bay, facing his enemies.

  Then he whirled up his pike and charged them, bellowing. They howled in fear and ran. Redcap followed them to the brow of the hill and stood, glowering down, breathing heavily, watching as they tripped over their fallen comrades and went rolling, scrambling back to their feet, then running on down the hill and over the meadow to the shelter of nearby trees.

  Redcap tossed his head and turned back to his tower.

  “What do we do now?” Father Al asked.

  “Let me.” Magnus suddenly disappeared.

  “Magnus—NO!” Rod and Gwen shouted together, and the broomstick went into a power dive.

  Redcap whirled, looking up at the shout—so they had a great view as Magnus appeared in front of the monster, holding up its missing tooth. Redcap just stared at it, frozen, wide-eyed. Then he began to tremble.

  “My father comes, with the priest,” Magnus warned. “Begone, foul monster, and never come near human places again!”

  Redcap threw back his head with a shriek of dismay, and disappeared.

  Cordelia shot past Gwen on her broomstick, and darted through the tower doorway.

  “Cordelia! Thou knowest not what may dwell there!” Gwen cried, and shot after her.

  Rod leaped off five feet above ground and landed running. He jumped up against the side of the tower to brake his momentum, and rebounded to face his son.

  Magnus was calmly picking up something from the spot where Redcap had been standing. He held it up for his father to see—another long, nicked tooth.

  “Well—it worked out okay.” Rod stepped up to his boy and caught him against his hip in a bruising hug. “But don’t do something like that again, son—please! I could swear you took five years off my life, and your mother’s! What would’ve happened if you’d been wrong? If the sight of his own tooth hadn’t banished him?”

  “But it did,” Magnus’s voice said, muffled.

  Rod sighed. “And I’ll admit, I’ll never question your hunches—but couldn’t you learn to?”

  Cordelia appeared in the tower doorway. “Papa! Come quickly!”

  Rod ran.

  He braked to a halt beside Gwen, saw an infant wrapped in her arms. He sighed and relaxed, the ebb of adrenalin leaving him weak. “This is an emergency?”

  She turned an unfocused, faraway gaze up to him. “ ‘Tis Gregory.”

  Rod stared down at the baby. Dark hair, big grey eyes—and that look. That solemn, solemn look. “But—it can’t be! Not here!”

  But it made sense—almost. If someone had thrown Gregory through the Gate, Redcap would have sensed he was Rod and Gwen’s baby, and have gone after him in revenge!

  “The child is not.” Gwen’s voice was remote. “ ‘Tis almost more like him than himself—yet ‘tis not him; I would know.”

  “Then what…?”

  “His thoughts.” Her eyes searched for his face, but stayed far away. “This child carries Gregory’s thoughts.”

  Of course! That was why they’d been able to hear Gregory’s thoughts twice before—and why the second contact was clearer; they been further northwest, closer to this child!

  “It could happen,” Father Al said quietly. “In another universe, there could be a child that exactly corresponds to your own. And your Gregory has been searching, yearning outward, achingly, with every iota of his tiny strength—enough for his thoughts to resonate through another mind, exactly like his own. Then, once this child was stolen from his parents, his mind would do the same—and their thoughts would meld, so that Gregory’s would become much more clear.”

  “So their minds form a link between universes?”

  Father Al nodded. “If the two individuals are analogs of one another.”

  “Words come,” Gwen said suddenly. “ ‘Tis Fess… ‘… attempted to turn off the transmitter and close the Gate, but I prevented them, and remanded them to King Tuan; they are in his prison. They admit to being futurian anarchists, but nothing more; and King Tuan, in accordance with your joint policies, continues to resist Queen Catharine’s insistence on using torture. Brom O’Berin summoned Yorick…’ ”

  Father Al started.

  Rod cocked an eyebrow at him.

  “ ‘… Yorick, who identified the device as not being a time machine, and brought Dr. McAran, who tentatively identifies it as a mechanism allowing travel between alternate universes. He is currently working at fever-pitch, attempting to construct such a device of his own. He attempted to dismantle this one, but I would not permit him to turn it off. So, if you can endure, help should be forthcoming—eventually. Meanwhile, in your absence, the Church and Crown have moved toward war. The Abbot has issued a formal declaration that the Crown encroaches so far upon the authority of the Church that all folk of good conscience should resist their King and Queen as tyrants. He has absolved the barons from their oaths of fealty, and summoned them to attack Their Majesties in force. Four Southern barons have answered his call, with all their knights and men. Three Northern lords have brought their armies to Tuan. The other five lords claim the conflict is no concern of theirs, but is only between the Church and Crown; they therefore stand neutral.’ ”

  “Ready to jump in and take over when the other barons have torn each other, and the Crown, apart,” Rod growled.

  There was time for it; Gwen had paused, eyes glazed, lips parted, waiting. Now she spoke again. “ ‘FCC robot number 651919, transmitting on human-thought frequency, near the Gate through which the Gallowglass family disappeared, in an attempt to contact them. Though I think it extremely unlikely that the Gate will re-transmit my signal into another universe, I must attempt it. Situation report: The agents responsible for your exile attempted to turn off the transmitter and close the Gate…’ ” She blinked, eyes focusing again. “He repeats himself.”

  Rod nodded. “Faithful old Fess, standing twenty-four-hour watch at the Gate, trying somehow to reach us. He probably doesn’t even realize Gregory’s his transmission link. Just keeps repeating the message over and over, hoping against hope—and updating the situation report, of course.”

  Father Al nodded. “I was wondering when you’d get around to confirming that your horse was a robot.”

  Rod jerked his head impatiently. “No point in giving away information, is there? Though I might as well have; you do a very nice job of putting together comments I’ve dropped here and there.” He turned to Gwen. “Did you reassure him?”

  She nodded. “As well as I could—that we still do live, and will come home.”

  “But not when.” Rod’s mouth tightened. “Well, you do have to at least try to be honest with a child.” He looked up. “And with ourselves. The situation at home just keeps getting worse, and here we stick!”

  “Thou didst say, husband, that even should it come to open war, our babe will not be endangered.”r />
  “Yeah, probably not—but even two percent sounds like too high a probability, when we’re talking about our own baby! Come on, Gwen, let’s get out of here and return this infant to his rightful parents, so we can get busy collecting the favor his father owes us—a quick burst of magic that’ll send us back to Gramarye. If he can do it. Let’s go.” He turned away to the doorway, looking about him, frowning. “Magnus and Geoff and Elidor stayed outside, eh?”

  He stepped through the doorway, and saw his sons lying unconscious at the feet of soldiers dressed in the Duke’s livery.

  Then something exploded on the back of his head, and he just had time for one quick thought, before the stars wiped out the scene:

  Of course. The Duke kept some forces in reserve for an ambush, just in case we did show up…

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  When he saw the light of day again, it was golden-orange, and dim. Turning a head that seemed as large as an asteroid and rang at the slightest touch, he saw the reason for the dimness—a tiny window, barred, and up near the low ceiling. Turning his head again in spite of the pain, he saw walls of rough-hewn rock, damp and splotched with fungus.

  He levered himself up on his elbows. Consciousness tried to slide away again, but he hauled it back. Little Geoff huddled next to him, curled into a ball. Beyond him, Father Al sat gravely watching.

  They were both shackled to the wall by four-foot lengths of heavy chain.

  “Good afternoon, my friend,” the priest said softly.

  Geoff’s head snapped up. He saw Rod’s eyes open, and threw his arms around his neck. “Papa!” He began to cry.