The Warlock Enraged-Warlock 4 (13 page)

"But how're you so sure?" Rod asked Geoffrey.

"Because we tried to hale him out, and he would not come."

Rod stared. Then he took a deep breath and said, delicately, "Little chancey, wasn't it?"

"Nay. We sought to bring him to Mama." Gwen's eyes gleamed. Rod glanced at her, and turned back to the boys with a shudder. "That's what put us into Limbo?"

"Where?" Magnus frowned. "Oh! Thou dost speak of the Void!"

Rod didn't like the familiarity with which he spoke of it. "Been there before, have you?"

Magnus caught the look, and realized its significance.

"Nay, not so often..... 'Tis only that..."

"Spells go awry sometimes. Papa," Geoffrey explained.

"Assuredly thou must needs realize that."

"That," Rod said tightly, "is why you're supposed to wait till Mama can supervise."

"She did, the first time."

"First... time?"

"Peace, husband." Gwen touched his arm. "'Tis naught so dangerous as that."

"Aye," Magnus said quickly. "When thou dost arrive in that place that is not a place, thou hast but to think of where thou dost wish to be, and lo! Thou art there indeed!"

"I'll try to remember that," Rod said grimly. He noticed that Cordelia was managing to hold her tongue, but she looked chartreuse with envy. He caught her hand, and she squeezed back. "So," he said to Geoffrey, "how did we wind up in Limbo this time?"

"Why, because we wished to bear him to Mama, and he did not wish to go."

"I don't blame him, when she's in that mood. So you were trying to go, and he was trying to stay, so..."

"We went nowhere." Geoffrey nodded. "I saw, then, that we could not win, so I sought safety."

"What was so tough about it?" Rod frowned. "I thought you only needed to think yourselves home!"

"We did need some aid," Geoffrey admitted, and he reached out to clap his three-year-old brother on the shoul92 Christopher Stasheff der. "This one had followed us with his mind, where e'er we had gone. I had but to call out to him, and he helped pull us, and showed us the road to home."

"Yes..." Rod's gaze fastened on his youngest. "He's had some experience doing that."

Gregory looked totally blank.

"Not that he'd remember it," Rod explained. "He was a little young, at the time—eleven months old.

"But! Here you are, safe at home—praise Heaven!" He gathered them all into his arms, and squeezed. They gave mock yells of dismay, and Rod relaxed, looking down into their faces. "And now—you can go home." They let loose a squall that must've waked villagers for miles around.

"Nay, Papa, not so soon!"

"It was just beginning to be fun!"

"We're not ready. Papa!"

"Boys get to do all the fun stuff," Cordelia pouted. Geoffrey looked straight into Rod's eyes. "There is no danger. Papa."

"No danger!" Rod exploded. "You have a maverick warlock raining cannonballs on you, and you tell me there's no danger? You have a monster magus trying to conjure rock chunks into your bodies, and you tell me it's safe? You have a felon enchanter, straight from the glass house, throwing stones at you, and you tell me it's tame?"

"But we are whole," Magnus spread his hands. "Naught save a bruise or two."

"Chance! Sheer, freakish good fortune! You're just lucky that sorcerer was a lousy shot!"

"Yet we outnumber him. Papa!"

"He outweighs you! And that's just the human danger!

What's going to happen the next time you get into a tugof-war with one of those sorcerer interns? You might be stranded out in that void with no way to get home!"

"Surely not, Papa!" Geoffrey protested. '"Tis as I've said—thou hast but to think of..."

"Yeah, if you've got somebody tuned in to act as your safety line!"

"But Gregory..."

"Gregory might be with you!" Rod bawled.

"Yet that doth not afright me. Papa," the three-year-old cried. "That gray place doth please me! 'Tis comforting, and..."

"Makes you feel right at home, does it?" Rod felt a bitter stab of guilt. "You should; your mind spent enough time searching there, when you were a baby, trying to find out where Mama and I had gone."

"An thou sayest it. Therefore do I know my way. There is truly no dange-"

"Now I say NO!" Rod roared, slamming his fist into the turf. Pain shot up his forearm, but his rage shoved it aside.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, talking back to your father!" He snatched Magnus's collar, and yanked the boy's face up to his. "Think you're getting'big, do you?

Let me tell you, you will never be old enough to argue with me!" He threw Magnus back, and whirled to catch at Geoffrey. The six-year-old ducked aside, automatically bringing his arm up to block, managing to knock Rod's arm aside.

Rod froze, eyes bulging, staring down at the boy, rigid as a board, white with rage, nostrils pinching in. Geoffrey flinched away. "Papa—I did not mean..."

"I know what you meant!" Rod strode forward. "I know damned well what you..."

But he bumped into something, and Gwen's eyes were looking directly into his. Her voice bored through his fury, droning, demanding, "Come out! I know thee. Rod Gallowglass, born Rodney d'Armand. I know thee for my lover and husband, and know that thou art there, beneath this beastliness that overcomes thee. Come out. Rod Gallowglass! Let not this shell of anger overwhelm and overmaster thee. Ever hast thou been a caring husband, and a gentle father to my children. Thou art of Gramarye, not Tir Chlis! Thou art my treasure, and my children thy gems!

Husband, turn! Come out to me, Rod Gallowglass!" Rod stared at her, fury mounting higher, but held by the truth of her words. An evil spell... He shuddered, and his rage fell into slivers, and ebbed. He sagged, his knees giving way for a moment, and stumbled—and Magnus was there beside him, shoulder under his father's arm, staring up at Rod in fright and concern.

95

94 Christopher Stasheff ; Concern for his father's safety—even after Rod had been so cruel! This son could not only forgive—he could even I run to help! Remorse charged his anguish, and made him i harsh. He recovered his balance and stood, stiffening. "Thank '

you." But he clasped the boy's shoulder firmly. Magnus winced, but stood steadfast.

Rod held the boy's shoulders with both hands, but his gaze held Owen's. "That was foolish, you know. Very risky. Likely to get you slugged."

Answering anger flared in her eyes—flared, and was smothered. "'Twas worth the risk, my lord." He gave her a brief, tight nod. "Yes. Thank you. Very much." He shook his head. "Don't do it again. It won't work, again. When it hits me, just.. .go. Anywhere, as fast as you can. Just go."

"That, also, would be foolish," she cried, almost in despair. "If we do flee, thou wilt pursue—and then thou wilt not hear, no matter what appeal I plead."

He stared at her, immobile.

Finally, he closed his eyes, clenching his fists so tightly that they hurt. He took three slow, deep, even breaths, then looked up at her and said, "But you must. Not when I'm angry—no, you're right, that would be dangerous." He forced himself to say it: "For both of us." It left an astringent taste behind. "But now. Now. It's getting too wild up here. Alfar and his henchmen aren't playing games. They're too dangerous. I'm too dangerous. And if I don't hurt the children, he will." She stared at him for a long moment. The children were very silent.

Then, slowly, Gwen said, "An thou dost wish it, my lord, we will go. Yet I prithee, think again—for we are safer if we are with thee, as thou'lt be. For then can we ward one another's backs. Yet if we are apart from thee—

if we dwell back in Runny mede—then may thine enemies seek to strike at thee by hurting us—and thou wilt not be by us, to defend."

It was an excuse. It was a rationalization. It was specious and hollow, and Rod knew it.

But he was scared. He was very scared of what might happen, inside him, if he started arguing with her. He was afraid for her, afraid for the children....

But he was also afraid for them if Alfar ever realized that none of his henchmen could handle the Gallowglasses alone. When he did, he'd probably do the sensible thing—

gang up on them, all his sorcerers together. And the children were powerful espers already, but they were still children. But he was more afraid of what might happen to them, if he lost his temper again.

Abruptly, he bowed his head. "All right. Stay." The children cheered.

Their raucous clamor bounced off Rod's ears. He stood in the midst of the rain of their sound, swearing under his breath that he would not let his temper turn against them again.

He was still swearing the next day, inside his head, and searching frantically for a way to ensure their safety. Other than sending them home—he wasn't going to argue with them about that, again. Arguments turned into rages.

"Wilt thou not ride now, my lord?" Gwen sat up on Fess's saddle, with Cordelia in front of her.

Rod shook his head, mute, and plowed on.

The children glanced at their mother, then back at him, and followed him silently.

Around the curve ahead of them, a husky peasant and his equally husky wife came into view, with five children trudging wearily beside them—wearily, even though it was early in the morning. The husband pushed a handcart piled high with sacks and household belongings.

"More refugees," Rod grated. "How many is that, Delia?"

"Fourteen, Papa."

Rod nodded. "Fourteen in how long?"

"An hour and a half. Papa," Gregory answered, glancing at the sun.

Rod shook his head. "That's real evil happening up there, children. People don't leave their homes for mild likes and dislikes—not even for hates. They flee because of fear."

"We do not fear. Papa," Magnus said stoutly.

"I know," Rod returned. "That's what worries me." 96 Christopher Stasheff

They plodded on toward the peasant family. Then Geoffrey took a chance and said, "The sorcerer's guards grow careless, Papa."

"Why?" Rod frowned. "You mean because they let these people pass?" He shook his head. "That's not where they're coming from. Here, I'll show you." He stepped over to the side of the road as the big peasant and his family came up. The man looked up at him, surprised, and scowled. Then weariness overcame him, and he relaxed, humbling himself to talk to someone who was below his station. "Hail, tinker!

Dost thou travel north, then?"

"Aye," Rod answered. "Poor folk must seek their living where they can. Why, what moves in the North?" The peasant shook his head. "We know only what Rumor speaks. We ourselves have not seen it."

Rod frowned. "So fearsome? What doth Rumor say?"

"That an evil sorcerer hath risen," the peasant answered.

"He hath overcome the Sire de Maladroit, the Baron de Gratecieux, and even the Count Lagorme."

Rod stared, incredulous. "Why? Who doth speak so?" Geoffrey looked unbelieving, too, at the idea that Alfar's men could have 1st someone slip out to bear word. The big peasant shrugged wearily. "Rumor flies, tinker—

and well thou shouldst know it, for 'tis thy tradesmen that do carry such tidings, more often than not."

"Is it that, then?" Rod's eyebrows lifted. "Only that a cousin told a neighbor, who told a gossip, who told an uncle, who told..."

"Aye, belike." The big peasant shrugged. "I know only what my god-sib Hugh son of Marl told unto me—and that the whiles he packed a barrow like to this, and set packs to the backs of his wife and sons. 'Whither comes this word?' quoth I; and spake he, 'From Piers Thatcher...'" Rod interrupted. "Lives he on the Count's estates?" The peasant shook his head. "Nay, nor on Gratecieux's, nor on Maladroit's. Yet he hath a cousin whose god-sib's nephew hath a brother-in-law whose cousin hath a niece who doth live hard by the good Count's manor—and thus the word doth run."

"Is't so?" Rod glanced back at Geoffrey, then back to the peasant, bobbing his head and tugging a forelock. "I

thank thee, goodman. We shall wend our way a little farther north—but we shall ponder well thy words."

"Do," the big peasant advised, "and turn back toward the South."

"These things are not certain," Gwen protested.

"Nay," the peasant's wife agreed. "Yet we have heard this word again and, aye, again, for all these months of spring. First Rumor spoke of the Sire—but then of the Baron, and now of the Count. If Rumor doth begin to speak of the Duke, belike we'll find we can not flee." She shook her head. "Nay, an thou lovest thy little ones, chance not the truth of Rumor."

"Mayhap thou hast the right of it," Gwen said, with a pensive frown. "I thank thee—and farewell."

"God be with thee, goodman." Rod tugged at his forelock again.

"God be," the man returned, and took up the handles of his cart again.

As the peasant and his family slogged away toward the South, Geoffrey spun toward his father and fairly exploded in a hissing whisper. "So easily. Papa! Is all the work of so many guards and sentries brought low so easily, by naught but gossip?"

"Indeed it is," Rod answered sourly. "Remember that when you command. The fence isn't made, that can stop a rumor."

Geoffrey threw up his hands in exasperation. "Then why mount a watch at all?"

"Proof." Rod grimaced. "If none of the lords have proof, they won't go to the expense of sending an army northward. After all, what did the King himself do, when he heard the unconfirmed word? Sent us!"

"All this, to hold back proof?"

Rod nodded. "Without that, anybody who wants to believe the news is false, can."

"Until the sorcerer and his minions overun them," the boy said darkly.

"Yes," Rod agreed, with a bleak smile. "That is the idea, isn't it?"

"Papa," said Cordelia, "I begin to fear."

"Good." Rod nodded. "Good."

98

Christopher Stasheff

Half an hour later, they saw a small coach in the distance, hurtling toward them. As it came closer, they saw that the horses were foaming and weary. But the woman who sat on the coachman's box flogged them on, with fearful glances over her shoulder at the troop of men-at-arms who galloped after her on small, tough Northern ponies, and the armored knight who thundered at their head on a huge, dark warhorse that would have made two of the ponies.