Warlock's Last Ride wisoh-13

by Christopher Stasheff

"The King and Queen of Gramarye, Rod—your lifelong friends, once they forgave you for the manner in which you brought them together."

  Rod frowned, trying to remember, then shook his head. Movement at the corner of his eye distracted him, but when he looked, all he saw was blowing snow. "Why did we come to Terra, Fess? Mom and Dad are going to be worried sick."

  The robot was silent a moment; then it said, "We are two hundred thirty-seven light-years from Terra, Rod, on a planet named Gramarye."

  "We are?" Rod looked around at the mass of green needles. "Funny—it looks just like Terra."

  "That is because it has been terraformed, Rod."

  "Terraformed?" Rod frowned. "Seems I remember that, from a book I read—what? Last year?"

  "You read Terraforming Earth when you were thirteen, Rod."

  "Well, I can't be much older than that now, can I?" Rod frowned at the back of the horse's head. "How did we get here?"

  "By spaceship, Rod. You were on an exploratory mission for SCENT and found Gramarye."

  "What's Gramarye?" Yes, there was movement at the corner of his eye, but again, when Rod turned to look, there was only blowing snow. "Who's that guy in the long white robe, Fess, and why does he go away whenever I look at him?"

  "He is no doubt a figment of your imagination, Rod."

  "Who's a figment of imagination?"

  "Rod—can you not even remember what you said only moments ago?"

  "I don't know, Fess." Rod pulled up on the reins and slid off the horse's back, "I only know that I'm awfully tired. I'll just lie down and take a nap."

  "No, Rod, not in the snow! You will die of cold!"

  "No, I'll just sleep for a little while." Rod shivered but knew the cold would go away—it always did when he got into bed.

  "Rod, get up! You will die of hypothermia, you know that!"

  "What's hypoth … whatever?" Rod closed his eyes and rested his head on some fallen boughs. "Just half an hour. Wake me up, okay?"

  "I will waken you now! Rod, get up! Remember who you are!"

  "Yeah, yeah, I'm Rodney d'Armand, I know, I've got to keep up the family name." Rod snuggled down, hands under his head. "I'll do it after I wake up. Right now, the cold's gone away and I'm beginning to feel warm again. G'night, Fess."

  "You are beginning to feel warm because you have begun to freeze! Rod, no! You must rise now!"

  Rod only grumbled and burrowed deeper into the soft stuff beneath him. His eyelids fluttered, and he saw a face hovering over him, an elongated white face, all white, beard, hair, skin, with a gloating smile that bothered Rod, but he couldn't remember why. It didn't matter, though. It wouldn't keep him from sleeping. He closed his eyes firmly, telling himself he had to wake up in time for dinner or Mama would be very upset. Biting cold touched the center of his forehead, making him shiver, but it too warmed, and he nestled down into the soft, cocooning darkness.

  Twenty-Seven

  SOMEWHERE IN THE DISTANCE A VOICE WAS calling, "Magnus! Cordelia! Geoffrey! Gregory! Come! Your father needs you! Elves! Wherever you are, come out and waken him! Call for help!" That voice didn't matter, though, not when sleep was so close.

  Then tiny little pains broke out all over Rod's body. He sat straight up, saying, "Robert, cut that out! Why did I have to have a big broth …" He broke off, looking at the foot-high people all about him. "Who're you?"

  "Elves come to keep you awake," said one, "and do not dare to seek sleep again, or we will pinch you sorely."

  "That's not nice." Rod shivered. "It's cold."

  "This will warm you," said a deep voice, and sure enough, something warm and soft settled around Rod's shoulders. Looking down, he saw it was dark brown fur. He rubbed it, delighting in the feel, then looked up to see a man who stood as high as Rod—except that Rod was sitting. The man was very muscular, wearing a dark green doublet and brown hose under a cloak that looked very warm. There were streaks of gray in his hair under the bowl of his fur hat. "Waken, Rod Gallowglass," he boomed, and touched Rod's forehead with a forefinger.

  "I am awake." Rod swatted at the forefinger, then froze. "I am Rod Gallowglass!" He looked about him. "A snowdrift! I was about to go to sleep in a snowdrift!" He looked up at the little man. "Thanks, Brom."

  "You will never lack for friends, Rod Gallowglass." Brom smiled. "What brought you to seek sleep in snow?"

  "I don't remember." Rod pressed a hand to his forehead. "Yes, that's just it—I didn't remember, didn't remember anything." But he did now and looked up round-eyed. "A man, ten feet tall at least, made of snow, but drifting and blowing like a curtain in the wind! He touched my forehead and I started forgetting things!"

  "Father Frost," Brom said grimly. "He comes as the year ages—but he is early."

  "No, this pocket of evergreens has aged faster than the rest of the country." Rod shivered. "So have I. It's the frost of age that touched me, not of the year." He looked up at Fess, pulling the fur robe closely around him. 'Thanks for calling for help."

  "I rejoice that there was help at hand, Rod."

  "We will always be close at hand," piped an elf.

  "Be sure that they will," said Brom O'Berin, King of the Elves. "On your feet, Lord Warlock, or you will freeze sitting!"

  Rod tried to rise but almost fell back, his legs refusing to straighten—but Brom levered him up somehow, and Fess stepped close so that Rod was able to lean on him as he began to force his legs to move, walking in place. "What did Father Frost do to me, Brom?"

  "Froze your memories," said the elven king, "froze the flow of thought so that the ones you treasure could not rise."

  Rod nodded. "And you thawed them?"

  "Yes, but that will do little good if you stay in this freezing vale." Brom made a stirrup of his hands. "Mount and ride!"

  Slowly and with great difficulty, Rod managed to lift his left foot and place it in that stirrup. Brom heaved, and it was even harder to swing the right leg high enough to clear the saddle, but an elf on Fess's hindquarters caught Rod's foot and pushed it over his head, then leaped down as Rod landed in his saddle. He looked down, holding out a hand. "Thanks, Brom—again. Seems I always have something to thank you for." His face tightened. "Especially Gwen."

  "Ah, you have remembered your love," Brom said softly. "Let that memory warm you, warlock—but not here. Ride, and rejoin the world of the living." He reached up to swat Fess's hindquarters, raising a resounding BONG!

  "High-quality alloy," Rod explained. "Rings just like a bell."

  "I am sure Brom knew that, Rod."

  Rod looked ahead at Fess. "Yeah, it was his idea of a joke." He looked back at the elven king but saw only a snowdrift churned by dozens of miniature feet. He shivered, as a sudden gust bit through the fur robe, and turned back to Fess. "They've disappeared again."

  "Yes, Rod," Fess said, "but the elves will never be far from you."

  "I suppose that's good to know." Rod hunched his shoulders against another sudden gust. "I think Father Frost is still trying to get into my head, Fess. How fast can we get down where it's warm again?"

  ALEA WENT THROUGH the doorway first, waited for Magnus to clear it, then turned back, closed the door, and dropped the latch. With their suite secure to themselves alone, she turned back to her shield-mate and said, "You've done it again."

  Magnus turned, startled. "Done what?"

  "Succeeded," Alea said. "Done as your father asked— protected the people of Gramarye from three different threats, all in a matter of days."

  Magnus shook his head, still smiling. "It was Alain who turned a mob into a loyal crowd—though Geoffrey's support, and his knights and footmen, might have had something to do with it. It was Dad who showed Diarmid a way to spare Geordie's life and make peace with Anselm and his would-be rebels—and all of my siblings and their spouses who stood against that horde of monsters. Even then, it was Dad who lent that final surge of psionic strength that defeated them."

  "And you who drew them all to that riverbank, by going to fight t
he monsters single-handed—well, with your living shield."

  "That was not entirely by my choosing …"

  "If you had managed to leave without me, I would have raged at you through eternity! But you knew very well that once you leaped to confront the monsters, your family would follow to save you."

  "Not knew it," Magnus protested.

  "Don't split hairs with me! Knew or suspected, it came to the same. Besides, it was you who told Geoffrey the peasant army was on the march …"

  "He would have found out eventually …"

  "… you who saw to it that Gregory and Allouette and Cordelia stood ready to block the anarchists' espers …"

  "No one could have kept them away."

  "… you who drew word of Geordie's peril out of your sister…"

  "After you had told me of it."

  "… and you who told your father of Geordie and Rowena's danger."

  "He needed something to occupy him, to interest him in this world again."

  "Deceive someone else, if you must." Alea stepped close. "But don't try to hoodwink me—I've seen you do it on three planets! You arranged, you manipulated, you orchestrated—and you won!"

  "We all won."

  "Yes, especially the folk of this planet! You have set another people more firmly than ever on the road to their own form of government."

  "My father's form of government, rather," Magnus said with his sardonic smile.

  "Not any more," Alea said. "You protected them from the enemies who tried to conquer and subvert them, but you didn't try to lead them down your own road. You left them free to choose their own way."

  "Yes," Magnus said, "and by some coincidence, that turned out to be the way Dad chose for them thirty years ago."

  "Was it?" Alea demanded. "Or did he, too, only leave them free to work out their own system?"

  Magnus was still, eyes widening. Then slowly, he nodded. "Perhaps," he said softly. "Perhaps he did." Then the sardonic smile came back. "Even so, he knew what he was doing, knew it very well."

  She heard the bitterness in his voice, stepped even closer, said softly, "He's proud of you, Magnus. You've done what you said you would, and not a jot more."

  "Yes, I have, haven't I?" He looked into her eyes, and the sardonic smile turned rueful. "Whether I wanted to or not, I've proved myself to be a true son of the old agent!"

  ALLOUETTE CAME DOWN the hall toward the chamber she shared with Gregory while they were in the royal castle. As she placed her hand on the latch, a steward came up to her, stopping and bowing with an ingratiating smile. "My lady?"

  Allouette frowned, repelled by the man's obsequiousness. "What would you, goodman?"

  "A word of warning." The serving man straightened, and the ingratiating smile turned mocking.

  Fear and anger chilled Allouette; she scowled. "Why should I need warning?"

  "So that your husband does not learn the truth about you," the man said. "I am Durer."

  Alouette frowned, puzzled, then remembered that before she was born, Durer had been the chief of a mission whose palace revolution had failed.

  Durer saw the recognition in her widening eyes and laughed softly. "Yes, when my commanders learned that the High Warlock had … retired, and become disabled by grief, they sent me into the future to this time, to finish what I had begun."

  "So you are unaware what passed in the thirty years since you left." Allouette hid her gathering anger.

  "Oh, I know the history, never fear!" Durer said. "I know that you became Chief Agent, for example—far too young, and that you used the post only to contract a noble marriage for yourself and turn on your own organization! Tell me, what would happen if your husband learned all that you had done?"

  Allouette felt a chill strike to her heart.

  "And he will learn, be sure of that," Durer said softly, but with a sneer nonetheless. "He will learn that you slept with whomever you were commanded to corrupt—and whomever would gain you advantage in your frantic desire for power. He will learn of your murders and subversions, of your seductions and betrayals. Do you think he will still love you after that?"

  "What would you have me do?" Allouette asked through lips gone wooden.

  "A minor invitation," Durer said breezily. "Only family hospitality. Find some excuse to invite all the Gallowglass brats and their spouses—yes, even the Heir Apparent, most especially the Crown Prince! Find some excuse for gathering them in the Great Hall at Castle Gallowglass. That is all you need do—nothing more than you ordinarily might."

  "What will happen then?" Every word seemed leaden.

  "Oh, you need not concern yourself with that!" Durer told her. "What hostess would ever think of unpleasantness? No, simply gather your guests—I shall see to the rest!"

  Allouette's skin crawled at the menace in his tone, but she understood instantly what she must do. "When am I to execute this plan?"

  "Oh, there is no rush." Durer waved the question away. "As soon as you can, that is all—and when you have set a date, tell Maud the scullery maid. Even twenty-four hours' notice will be enough." His voice sank into a threatening tone. "But do not wait overlong, or your husband shall learn all."

  "As you say." Allouette turned away. "I shall do it. Now leave me."

  Durer made a mocking bow and retreated.

  Allouette opened the door, went in, then closed it forcefully and leaned back against it, trembling. A torrent of thoughts spilled through her mind, but one emerged clearly—that no matter what she did or did not do now, her marriage was over.

  AS THEY RODE out of the forest onto the uplands, Rod was saying, "So I've done one more thing to help out people in a predicament and kept the country on track while I did it. Feels good, Fess."

  "You seem to have solved predicaments for several people, Rod, not only Geordie and his wife."

  "Yes—I pulled Anselm back from the brink of rebellion and helped save a few thousands peasants and soldiers from civil war by doing it." Rod nodded. "Not a bad day's work, Fess—or a bad life's work, either."

  "It is certainly worthwhile devoting your life to people, Rod."

  Rod smiled fondly at the back of the horse-head; Fess had deliberately misunderstood again. Then he frowned as the horse came to a stop. "What are you waiting for? We can make three more miles before sunset"

  "We could not, Rod—the sun is setting. Besides, there is no more land."

  "No more land?" Rod craned his neck, looking forward and down, and saw the turf end abruptly. Below it, he saw a blue and rippling expanse—then realized that those ripples were really waves; they were so far below that they seemed much smaller than they really were. "So." He sat back in his saddle. "We've come to the western coast of Gramarye."

  "We have, Rod. We stand atop the sea-cliffs."

  Rod looked into the setting sun—and saw a form emerging from its glare. He frowned, shading his eyes, trying to separate sun from object. "What's that coming toward us—a ship?"

  "It is far too large to be a ship, Rod."

  "No, nor tall enough either, not considering how wide it is."

  The object seemed to swell, separating itself from the sun-glare, and Rod stared. "Fess! It's a floating island!"

  "Surely only an illusion, Rod."

  "If it is, it's a mighty convincing one! It's not just floating, it's sailing—and its coming right at us!"

  It did indeed. The island loomed larger and larger, swelling till it filled half the horizon, then three-quarters, then blocked all of the western vista, becoming a whole land of its own, its cliffs crowned by a meadow of thyme and lavender. Behind it rose a forest—but surely no forest like this had ever existed, not in any world Rod had visited. The trunks of its trees were of silver and ivory and gold, and the leaves that adorned them were all the colors of the rainbow; the fruits that hung from them were crystals and gemstones. Birds fluttered among their leaves, birds of extravagant and gaudy plumage, like birds of paradise only far more various.

  And a human form moved
among those trees, moved and came forward, stepping through lavender as though it scarcely touched the earth, drifting closer and closer until it revealed itself as a woman.

  Rod stared, spellbound, and his heart began to ache.

  Then she was only thirty feet from him, for the island had drifted closer still until only a yard separated its cliffs from Gramarye's, and the woman paced closer still, smiling and reaching out toward Rod.

  "It's Gwen," Rod breathed. "It's Gwen as she was when I met her, Gwen not yet thirty!"

  "I see nothing, Rod," the robot's voice said in his ear.

  "I do, and that's all that matters! Fess, I've found it! I've found Tir Nan Og, the Land of Youth—and Gwen!"

  "Do not lose yourself in illusion, Rod. That has been your abiding struggle."

  "Fess, this is no illusion! She's there, she's real!"

  Gwen's smile was radiant.

  "Let's go!" Then Rod paused, frowning. "No, that's not right. Once I cross that gap, I can't come back. Not that I want to—but I have no right to take you with me."

  "Where you go, Rod, I will bear you."

  "But you don't belong to me, you belong to the family! Magnus should inherit you after I've left!" The heartache sharpened, and Rod pressed a hand to his chest. 'They'll have need of you, all the kids—and their children, too!"

  "They shall endure, Rod." Fess turned his head to look at his master. "If nothing else, Magnus has the computer Herkimer, who guides his ship—and has all my memories."

  Rod gave him a quizzical look. "You want to come with me, then?"

  "Gwen has been my friend, too, Rod, for thirty years— and the more my friend because she has made your life joyous."

  Rod smiled. "Then let's go see her."

  He gazed at Gwen and everything else seemed dim and unimportant; she was Tir Nan Og, a wonderland in which he could lose himself. His heart twisted as he gave the robot a nudge with his knees. Fess paced forward to step across the gap into Tir Nan Og, and Rod rode with him. For a moment, there was resistance that gave way, a searing pain in his chest, and a feeling as of a tearing veil; then Tir Nan Og was all about him, its colors even brighter now that he was a part of it, and Gwen was lifting her arms and he was swinging down from Fess's back and running the last few steps to sweep her up and whirl her about. As he did, he saw his hands, and they were unwrinkled and young again, as he knew his face and all his body were. Desire hammered hot and strong within him, and as Tir Nan Og once again moved away from the world of the living, he found her lips. They were soft on his, they tasted like the sweetest wine, and he drank deeply, as he would do forever.