The Warlock In Spite of Himself

by Christopher Stasheff

  Rod frowned. "What's so great about his face? Probably pretty ugly."

  Tom gave a toothy grin. " 'twould be excellent fine to tell my children, good master, if I should live long enough to sire them. No mortal has yet looked upon the faces of the royalty of the Elves, though they are said to be aged past believing. They are…uh… ah…mammon!"

  Tom's head lolled forward; he began to snore.

  Two other snores answered him. Turning, Rod saw the Loguires, chins on their chests, sleeping blissfully.

  Rod stared.

  A metal bar dropped from the window and bounced on the floor. The ends were sheered through.

  Rod whistled. This Prince of the Elves might be old, but he certainly wasn't languishing — not if he could still cut through inch-thick iron with nothing but a cold chisel and a mallet.

  The third bar fell down. There was a scrabbling sound, and the squat broad form shot through the window and leaped to the floor.

  Rod stared, squeezed his eyes shut, and shook his head. Then he looked again, and understood why Tom and the Loguires had suddenly dozed off.

  He swallowed, fought for composure, and smiled. "Well met, Brom O'Berin."

  "At your service." The little man bowed, smiling maliciously. "I owe you a rap on the head, Master Gallowglass, for the way that you spoke to the Queen: a rap on the head, or great thanks, I know not which."

  He turned to the window and called softly in a strange, fluid tongue. The cold chisel arced through the air and fell to his feet. He reached up and caught the hammer as it dropped.

  "Now, them" He dropped to his knees and pressed Rod's forearm flat against the floor. "Stir not, or thou'lt have a gouge out of thy wristbone." He set the chisel against the first link of chain and tapped lightly with the hammer. The link fell off, sheared through. Brom grunted and moved to Rod's other side.

  "Thou'lt wear bracelets when I've done," he grumbled, "but no chains. The manacles must wait till we're at the castle smithy."

  "Uh… that's pretty hard bronze you've got there," Rod ventured, watching the chisel slide through the iron.

  "Most hard," Brom agreed, attacking the ankle chains. "An old recipe, known long in my family."

  "Uh… in your family?"

  "Aye." Brom looked up. "There were elves in lost Greece, too, Rod Gallowglass. Didst thou not know?"

  Rod didst not; but he didn't figure this was the time to mention it.

  He stood up, free of the chains at least, and watched Brom cutting the others loose. The Prince of the Elves bit explained a lot about Brom: his size and bulk, for one thing.

  "Never knew you were royalty, Brom."

  "Hm?" Brom looked back over his shoulder. "I would have thought thou'd have guessed it. Why else am I named as I am?"

  He turned back to his work. Rod frowned. Name? What did that have to do with anything? Brom? O'Berin? He couldn't see the connection.

  "There, the last," said Brom, cutting through Big Tom's foot shackle. "Do thou now lend me aid of thine shoulder, Master Gallowglass."

  He jumped back out through the window. Rod got a shoulder in Tom's midriff and, staggering, somehow manhandled him over to the window as a rope flew through.

  Rod tied it under Tom's arms, threw the loose end out, and called "Heave!"

  He heard Brom grunt, and marveled again at the little man's-muscles as Big Tom moved jerkily up the wall, still snoring happily.

  What with the barebelly and the muscles, and the minimal size of the window, Big Tom was a tight fit.

  "Why don't you just wake him and let him shove himself out?" Rod grunted as he shoved at Tom's ample rear.

  "I have no wish for my office to be known among mortals," came Brom's muffled reply.

  The window now framed only Tom's sizable posterior and sequoia shanks. Rod eyed the former, weighing the merits of a well-placed kick, and decided against it.

  "So why'd you let me stay awake?" he grunted as he pushed.

  "One amongst you must needs aid me with the others," answered Brom, but Rod had a notion that wasn't quite the whole story.

  He left off the questions, however, until his cellmates were deposited on the ground outside the window. Tuan's shoulders had proved even more of an obstacle than Tom's belly; they had to back him up, feed his hands through in front of his head, while Rod wondered fleetingly about brachiator ancestry.

  Then Brom hauled Rod out, muttering something about the fish being undersized these days. Rod snarled a return compliment as he gained his feet, then bowed double, putting his head on Brom's level.

  "And what's that for?" Brom growled.

  "For belting," Rod answered. "You owe me a rap on the head, remember?"

  The dwarf chuckled, clapped him on the shoulder. "Nay, lad; you did only that which I should ha' done myself years ago; but I had never the heart. But come now, we must away."

  Brom caught up Tuan's midsection. The gnomes took his shoulders and feet, and bore him away toward the ruined fountain in the center of the courtyard.

  More gnomes materialized out of the stonework and tucked their shoulders under Big Tom.

  Rod shook his head wonderingly, and stooped to sling Loguire over a shoulder.

  Brom fumbled with a stone at the fountain's base and pulled it away to disclose the dark mouth of a small tunnel three feet in diameter.

  Rod tapped Brom on the shoulder. "Wouldn't this be a little easier if we woke them first?"

  Brom stared, scandalized; then his face darkened. "We go to Elfland, Master Gallowglass! And no mortal may journey there and remember it!"

  "I have."

  "Well, truth," Brom admitted, turning back to the Tuan problem, "but then thou'rt not so mortal as some. Thou'rt a warlock." He disappeared into the burrow.

  Rod started to reply, then thought better of it. He contented himself with a few grunted remarks about discrimination and a report to the Human Rights Commission as he lugged Loguire into the tunnel.

  Two gnomes started to swing the stone back into place, but Rod stopped them with an upraised hand.

  "Fess," he murmured, looking at the stable, "we're on our way. Get out of that hole and meet me at the castle."

  There was a moment's silence; then a crash and the sound of splintering wood came from the stables. The door crashed open, and the great black horse came trotting out into the morning sunlight, head held high, mane streaming.

  Heads popped out of slit-windows in the inn as a bleary-eyed hostler came stumbling out of the stable in Fess's wake, screaming for the horse to stop.

  "Come on, get moving!" Rod growled, but instead, Fess stopped and looked back over his shoulder at the hostler.

  The youth came running up, shouting, one hand outstretched to grab Fess's bridle.

  A great, blue electric spark crackled from Fess's hide to the youth's hand.

  The hostler screamed and fell backward, nursing his hand and moaning as he rolled on the cobbles. Fess was off in a swirl and a clatter of hooves.

  "Show-off," Rod growled as the horse disappeared. "Not at all, Rod," came the horse's quiet answer. "Merely providing an instructive object lesson — at low amperage, it shook him up but didn't hurt him — and enhancing your reputation as a warlock."

  Rod shook his head slowly. "As if it needed enhancing!"

  "Why, Master Gallowglass," one of the gnomes chuckled in a voice strongly reminiscent of a rusty can opener, "wouldst thou have us believe thou'rt not a warlock?"

  "Yes! Uh, that is, I, uh…" Rod glanced back at the tunnel. "Warlock? Of course I'm a warlock! Till we get through Elfland, anyway. Shall we go, boys?"

  Chapter 29

  Not so very much later, they sat around the fire in the Queen's council chamber. Catharine had apologized profusely to Loguire, pointedly ignoring Tuan the while; and, the amenities over, reverted to type.

  Tuan sat to the left of the fireplace, eyes fixed in brooding on the flames.

  Catharine sat in the angle of the room, as far from Tuan as possible, with a heavy
oak table and Brom O'Berin carefully interposed between.

  ".. and that is full standing in the South, my Queen," said Loguire, gnarled hands twisting as he wound up his report, which had abounded in nuances of intrigue that Rod couldn't follow at all. "I am no longer duke; and the rebel lords march already."

  Catharine stirred. "Thou shalt be Duke Loguire again," she stated coldly, "when we have beaten these traitors!"

  Loguire smiled sadly. "They shall not be easily beaten, Catharine."

  ""Your Majesty"!" she snapped.

  ""Catharine"!" Rod barked.

  She glared at him.

  He glared back.

  Catharine turned haughtily away. "What am I, Brom?"

  ""Your Majesty," " Brom answered with the ghost of a smile. "But to your uncle, and to his son, your cousin, you must needs be Catharine."

  Rod fought down a smile as Catharine sank back in her chair, staring aghast at Brom.

  She composed herself, and gave Brom the best et too, Brute? look in her repertoire. "I had thought you were for me, Brom O'Berin."

  "Why, so I am," Brom smiled, "and so is this gyrfalcon, here" — he jerked a thumb toward Rod — "if you would but see it."

  Catharine favored Rod with a cold glance. "A gyrfalcon, aye." Her voice hardened. "And what of the poppinjay?"

  Tuan's head shot up as though he'd been slapped. He stared at her, appalled, eyes wide with hurt.

  Then his mouth tightened, and a crease appeared between his eyebrows.

  Some day, Rod thought, she will push him just a little too far, and that may be the luckiest day of her life — if she lives through it.

  "I am for you," Tuan breathed. "Even now, Catharine my Queen."

  She smiled, smug and contemptuous. "Aye, I had known you would be."

  Oh, bitch! Rod thought, his fist tightening. Bitch!

  Catharine noticed the silent motions of his lips.

  She smiled archly. "What words do you mumble there, sirrah?"

  "Oh, ah, just running through a breath-exercise my old voice-and-diction coach taught me." Rod leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. "But about the rebels, Queenie dear, just what do you propose to do about them?"

  "We shall march south," she snapped, "and meet them on Breden Plain!"

  "Nay!" Loguire bolted from his chair. "Their force is ten to our one, if not more!"

  Catharine glared at her uncle, the corners of her mouth curled into tight little hooks. "We shall not stay to be found like a rat in a crevice!"

  "Then," said Rod, "you will lose."

  She looked down her nose at him (no mean trick, when she was seated and he was standing). "There is naught of dishonor in that, Master Gallowglass."

  Rod struck his forehead and rolled his eyes up. "What else ought I do?" she sneered. "Prepare for a siege?"

  "Well, now that you mention it," said Rod, "yes."

  "There is this, too," Tuan put in, his voice flat. "Who shall guard your back 'gainst the House of Clovis?"

  Her lip curled. "Beggars!"

  "Beggars and cutthroats," Rod reminded her. "With very sharp knives."

  "Shall the Queen fear a beggar?" she snapped. "Nay! They are dust at my feet!"

  "That which crawls in the dust at your feet is a snake," Brom rumbled, "and its fangs are sharpened, and poisonous.

  She caught her lip between her teeth and lowered her eyes, uncertain, then she lifted her chin again, and glared at Tuan.

  "So you have armed them against me, and beaten them into an army, "ruled and ordered and forged them into a dagger for my back! Most bravely well done, King of Vagabonds!"

  Rod's head snapped up. He stared. He turned his head slowly toward Tuan, a strange light in his eyes.

  "I will march," said Catharine. "Will you march at my side, my Lord Loguire?"

  The old lord bent his head slowly in affirmation. "You play the fool, Catharine, and will die; but I will die with you."

  Her composure wavered for a moment; her eyes moistened.

  She turned briskly to Brom. "And you, Brom O'Berin?"

  The dwarf spread his hands. "Your father's watchdog, milady, and yours."

  She smiled fondly.

  Then her eyes snapped hard as she looked at Tuan. "Speak, Tuan Loguire."

  The youth raised his eyes, very slowly, to the fires. "It is strange," he murmured, "at but twenty-two years of age, to look back over so very short a time, and see so much folly."

  Rod heard a choked gasp from Catharine.

  Tuan slapped his thigh. "Well, then, 'tis done; and if I have lived in folly, I might as well die in it."

  He turned, his eyes gentle, brooding. "I shall die with you, Catharine."

  Her face was ashen. "Folly…" she whispered.

  "He knows not what wisdom he speaks," Brom growled. He looked over Tuan's shoulder at Rod. "What say you to folly, Rod Gallowglass?"

  Rod's eyes slowly focused on Brom's. ""Wise fool, brave fool,"" he murmured.

  Brom frowned. "How say you?"

  "I say that we may yet live through this!" Rod grinned, eyes kindling. "Ho, King of the Vagabonds!" He slapped Tuan's shoulder. "If the Mocker and his henchmen were gone, could you sway the beggars to fight for the Queen?"

  Tuan's face came alive again. "Aye, assuredly, were they gone!"

  Rod's lips pulled back in a savage grin. "They shall be."

  Chapter 30

  The moon was riding high when Rod, Tuan, and Tom darted from the shadow of the tottering wall to the shadow of the ruined fountain in the courtyard of the House of Clovis.

  "Thou wouldst make most excellent burglars, thou," growled Big Tom. "I might ha' heard thee a league or three away."

  It hadn't been easy to persuade Big Tom to come along. Of course, Rod had started on the wrong tack; he'd assumed Tom's loyalties to the proletarian idea had died when he was clapped into irons. He'd clapped Tom on the back, saying, "How'd you like a chance to get back at your friends?"

  Tom bad scowled. "Get back at "em?"

  "Yeah. They booted you out, didn't they"? Threw you in the calaboose, didn't they? After your blood now, ain't they?"

  Tom chuckled, "Nay, master, not by half! Eh, no! They'd ha' freed me when the trouble was done!"

  "Oh." Rod scowled. "I see. Trained men are hard to come by."

  Tom's face darkened. "Thou seest too quick for my liking."

  "Well, be that as it may…" Rod slung an arm around the big man's shoulders, almost dislocating his arm in the process. "Uh, in that case… what did they lock you up for?"

  Tom shrugged. "Disagreement."

  "Ways and means, eh?"

  "Aye. They held for attacking Queen and nobles both at one time, though 'twould mean dividing of forces."

  "Sounds risky. What did you want to do?"

  "Why, to bring down the noblemen and their councillors first, under guise of loyalty to the throne. Then we might slowly woo all the land to the House of Clovis, and, secured by the people, pull down the Queen and Brom O'Berin with two blows of a knife."

  Rod swallowed and tried to remember that the man was on his side now. "Very neat." He slapped Tom on the back. "Spoken like a good little Bolshevik. How much does that way of doing things mean to you, Tom?"

  Big Tom gave him a long, calculating look. "What price were you minded of, master?"

  Rod grinned. "Shall we throw your four colleagues in the cell they'd reserved for you?"

  " 'Twould be pleasant," said Tom slowly. "What comes after, master?"

  "Why, then," said Rod, "the House of Clovis fights on the Queen's side, against the nobles. That gives you a better chance of beating the councillors and nobles; and afterward, you can follow through with your own plan."

  Tom nodded, slowly. "But will the beggars fight for the Queen?"

  "That, we leave to Tuan Loguire."

  Tom's face stretched into a huge grin. He threw back his head and roared, slapping Rod on the back.

  Rod picked himself up off the floor, hearing Big Tom ga
sp between spasms of laughter, "Eh, I should ha' thought of it, master! Aye, that boy will charm them! You know not the powers of that silver tongue, master. The lad could make a leopard believe it had no spots!"

  Rod held his peace, trying to remember if he'd seen a leopard on Gramarye, while he tried to rub the sore spot between his shoulders.

  "Thou'll twist thine arm loose that way." Tom grinned. He turned Rod around and began to massage his back. "Thou knowest, master, if together we bring down the councillors, 'twill be thy head, alongside Brom's and the Queen's, that I'll next be a-chasing."

  Rod closed his eyes, savoring the massage. "It oughta be a great fight. A little further to the left, Big Tom."

  So now they stood in the shadows of the fountain with Tuan between them, planning assault on the moldering heap of stone that stood across a moon-filled expanse of courtyard.

  Rod counted his pulse beats, wondering if his heart had really slowed that much, until Tom whispered, "No alarm. They ha' not seen us, good masters. Ready thyselves, now."

  Tom gathered himself, looking like a diesel semi that had decided to turn cat-burglar.

  "Now!" he growled, and ran.

  They charged lightly, quietly, through the seeming glare of the moonlight to the welcoming shadow of the walls, then flattened themselves against the stone, hearts thudding, breath held as they strained their ears for some sound of alarm.

  After a small eternity of three minutes, Big Tom loosed his breath in a great, gusty sigh.

  "Eh, then, lads!" he hissed. "Come along, now."

  They crept around the corner of the great dank stone pile. Big Tom splayed his fingers out wide, set his elbow at the corner of the wall, and marked the spot where his second finger ended. He put his other elbow against the mark.

  "Big Tom!" Rod called in an agonized whisper, "we don't have time for—"

  "Hsst!" Tuan's fingers clamped on Rod's shoulders. "Silence, I pray thee! He measures in cubits!"

  Rod shut up, feeling rather foolish.

  Tom made a few more measurements, which apparently resulted in his finding what he was looking for. He pulled a pry from the pouch at his belt and began to lever at the base of a three-foot block.

  Rod stared, uncomprehending. It would take all night and most of the next day to dig the block out. What was Tom trying to do?