The Warlock Heretical (33 page)

the elves, as I told them of his walks with thee in a garden ringed by Cold Iron. This I did, and naught more!"

"'Tis enough to have destroyed him!" the Archbishop raged. "How durst thou speak of temptation! How durst

thou claim loyalty to an heretic and a corrupted Church as thy defense!"

"Thou hast asked." Hoban's face was hard, hiding the dread he felt. "And I have answered with truth."

"As I shall pronounce thy doom!" the Archbishop shouted, his face livid. "Thou art guilty of treason to thine

Archbishop and this Order! And thou hast aided in the death of a monk!"

He glared around at the assembly. "Doth any speak in his defense?" His glare dared them to say a word. But slowly, quaking, Anho rose.

The Archbishop stared, furious, but grated out, "Speak,

Brother Anho!"

"I plead ..." Anho croaked. "I beg thy mercy for my birth-brother and . . . friend!"

"Bethink thee what thou dost say." The Archbishop's voice was like a glacier pushing up gravel.

"He may have done foolishly," Anho said, gaining courage, "he may have committed vile sin. Yet he did believe,

with the whole of his heart, that what he did was right!"

"Why! How canst thou know this of him!"

"Why, for that I have known this man from his birth," Anho declared. "I have dined with him, worked with him,

rejoiced with him, wept with him. I know him as well as a man can know another—and never have I seen the

smallest part of malice in him, nor of deceit. He is a plain, blunt, honest man, who hath no understanding of

churchmen's casuistry, nor any liking for it. He doth believe as he was bred to believe." The Archbiship's eyes burned, but he made no comment.

"There is this, too," Anho said, less stridently, "as my teachers here have shown me: that no mortal who
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doth

claim to be a man of God, ought ever take the life of another, for any cause but defense of his own life." The Archbishop reddened, remembering that he had been one of the teachers who had so maintained.

"Well

enough, then," he said, "thine eloquence hath saved thy brother's life; he shall but be flogged twenty strokes, and

shall dwell henceforth in a bare and barred cell, alone and in solitude, and shall have naught but bread for his

food and water for his drink. But thou shah ne'er more be chamberlain of mine, nor hold any office save work in

the fields!"

"Thou art gracious, my lord." Anho bowed, and his voice trembled. "Gracious and merciful! And I thank thee

with all of mine heart!"

"The more fool thou, then," the Archbishop snapped, and gestured to several burly monks who stood by. "Go,

take this fellow away, and his brother with him! Take him, and lock him in our darkest cell, and never let me see

him more!"

The monks were silent as the warders led Hoban and Anho away, and many felt their hearts sink in sympathy.

Then they sat in silence, for the Archbishop sat before them, chin on his breast, brooding. Finally he raised his head and croaked, "Well enough, then. Now shall thou—"

"My Lord Archbishop!" A monk came running into the hall.

The Archbishop whirled. "What . . . Brother Lyman! What dost thou from thy post by the gate!" But a severe young man came following in Brother Lymanjs wake, resplendent in an embroidered doublet and

scarlet hose, a scroll in his hand.

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A murmur sprang up throughout the hall. The Archbishop's face froze. "How came this man here?"

"My lord ... I had thought . . . thou wouldst wish ..."

"Naught were to enter!" the Archbishop stormed, but the young man spoke in a calm tone that nonetheless

carried throughout the hall. "I am an herald of Tuan and Catharine, monarchs of Gramarye, come to summon

thee to audience with the Right Reverend Morris McGee, Father-General of the Order of St. Vidicon of Cathode."

The hall was instantly silent.

The Archbishop stared at the courier. Then he stretched out a hand. "Give me!" The herald stepped forward and placed the scroll in his hand. The Archbishop broke the seal, unrolled it, and

read. As he did, his face turned white. He set the scroll in his lap with a trembling hand and said, "The insignia of

our Order is there, pressed in wax—yet it must needs be forgery! The Father-General bides on distant, storied

Terra, and hath never come unto Gramarye!"

"Nevertheless, 'twas his hand gave it me," the herald answered.

"And 'tis thy tongue shall bear him his answer! That I declare him a false, prating imposter, a pawn of unscrupulous Tuan Loguire! Nay, tell him I shall meet him indeed—with an army at my back!" Tuan and Catharine stood atop the gate tower, looking down into the outer bailey. It was chaos within order, men

sitting by tents burnishing their weapons, horses picketed against the south wall, auncients and knights coming

and going between the various bands, distinct in their liveries.

"At the least," Catharine said, "not a one of thine own thralls failed to come at thy call." Tuan nodded. "They are brave and good men, and their loyalty warms mine heart. And our household guard hath

done well in their welcoming, in but one day bringing the levies to think of themselves as one in spirit."
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" Tis not a one of thine own soldiers should not be an auncient, my lord."

"Truth." Tuan smiled. "Yet do not let them know it, I prithee. They are of the King's Guard; 'tis enough honor for

them."

Sir Maris limped up to them, bowing. "The couriers are returned, Majesties." Tuan's smile vanished; he was taut in a moment. "Their reports?"

"Di Medici, Stuart, Marshall, and Borgia are gone, as our spies had foretold; we doubt not they are with the

Archbishop."

"There was never cause to doubt our intelligence from Ruddigore. And the rest?"

"Ruddigore sends word that his troops already hold the Plain of Despard, betwixt the Crag Mountains and the

Ducat River; the Archbishop and Di Medici shall not strike through to Runnymede without cost. Yet he doth call

upon thee as his liege to come quickly, for the enemy could obliterate him."

"Why, so we shall," Tuan said, his face grim. "How does my. father?"

"Thy good sire is already afield, marching through Durandal Pass to join with Ruddigore."

"How blessed am I in my parentage!" Tuan cried, and Catharine gripped his arm more tightly. "And the others?"

"All send word that they march, Majesty; their men were summoned and provisioned, and but awaited thy call."

"We gain more than lust for preferment," Catharine said, her eyes glowing. "Here are no boot-licking sycophants,

but men who desire our rule!"

Tuan nodded, restraining a grin. "They have come to think they are better with us than without us, or I misjudge.

Mayhap these past years have not passed in vain. Send word, good Sir Maris! Tell all my vassals of my pleasure,

and bid them meet me at Despard Plain. There shall we mass to ride to the abbey!"

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With Hoban's arm around his neck, Anno stumbled into the darkened cell. Only starlight showed them its

confines, scarcely four feet wide and ten long, with but one narrow window at the end wall; but Anho had been

guiding his brother from the whipping post through totally dark hallways, and could see the narrow cot well

enough. He guided Hoban there, then stumbled as he helped him to lie down, and Hoban landed hard. A moan

escaped his clenched teeth.

"Regrets, regrets!" Tears wetted Anho's cheeks as he knelt by the pallet and pulled a small earthen pot from his

sleeve. "I had not meant to drop thee, brother!"

" 'Tis I must beg thy pardon, for so spoiling thy chances here," Hoban gasped.

"What—my post as chamberlain?" Anho shook his head. "I care naught. I came here to become a parish priest,

brother, not a monk. 'Twas the Archbishop—Abbot then—bade me to the cloister, and I was no more joyous in it

than the rest of the friars; they did not think me fit, nor do I. Brace thy nerve, now, for the apothecary was

merciful and did bring thee salve the whiles they did whip thee—and, oh! brother! That beast of a monk who did

lash thee!"

"He did but as he was bid, brother, and was true to his lord, even as I was," Hoban gasped. "Nay, I of all men

could scarce complain . . . Aieee!"

"I had warned thee," Anho said with tears in his eyes. "In minutes, though, it will lessen the pain. . . . Oh, dear

Lord!" He threw his head back, gazing up toward heaven. "I give thee thanks from all that I am, for the life of my

brother! Each day will I offer a rosary, all the years of my life, in thanks!"
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" Tis a hard vow," Hoban muttered. "I had not known I was so dear to thee."

"Ah, Jittle fool!" cried big brother, exasperated. "Dost not know that, of all the friends God gives us, those we are

born with are most precious? Yet 'fool' I said and 'fool' I meant, for daring to act against our holy Order and our

merciful Archbishop!"

"I know I have burdened thee for the rest of thy days," Hoban answered, muffled, "but I was afeard thou mightst

be caught betwixt the Archbishop and those of his monks who do

wish to be loyal to Rome. Yet here I have sprung about thee the very trap I did dread!"

"What, wilt thou berate thyself for doing what thou didst believe to be right? Oh, false man! Aye, I can believe

'twas concern for me that did bring thee here, as much as loyalty to thy King! Wilt thou tell me thou hast thereby

done wrongly? Or didst thou come here only for adventure?"

Hoban was silent a moment, then answered, "Nay. I came out of faith, brother. And I would do it again if there

was need, and no hazard to thee—for I do most truly believe in the Holy See and the Roman Church, though

many say they are but child's tales. If they are, then am I still a child. Yet I do believe even more shrewdly in

Their Majesties."

"Well, then, be still with this foolishness of remorse! Thou hast hurted me in no wise, but doth bear all the pain

thyself! Would I could share it with thee! Pride of place matters naught, 'gainst thy soul—and I see that if sin was

there, 'twas venial at worst. What matter advancement in the order!"

"If thou dost truly believe that," Hoban said with a wry grin, "thou art either a most lamentable excuse for a

monk, or a most holy one."

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"Most lamentable as a monk, belike—yet I am glad enough to be a good brother." 19

"Yon comes Romanov!"

Rod followed Tuan's pointing arm. Another barge had come into sight around a bend in the river, its deck filled

with men and horses.

"He was your enemy once." Rod smiled. "Nice to see him coming to support you, isn't it?"

"In truth, it is!" Tuan turned to look out over the plain with a happy sigh. "So were they all, all our enemies, save

my father! When Catharine did reign alone, we did defend her from their charge—thou and I, and our allies." His

face clouded. "Still, some stand against me."

"There seems to be hope that the younger generation won't, Your Majesty. You never know—you just may really

unite this country yet."

"Not if thou hast so poor a taste for kinging," Brom jibed by Tuan's belt. "For one who bore so long a face about

the dangers of war herein, thou art happy enough to be a-field!" Tuan grinned, straightening and squaring his shoulders. "I ever did feel more easy with harness on my back! And

my conscience, too, is easy, for it rests secure in knowing that I have done all I can to preserve the peace!"

"Maybe too much," Rod pointed out. "Couldn't we maybe have pulled off a little sneak attack before the Archbishop gathered his troops?" He saw the appalled looks on the others'

faces, and held up a palm to forestall their objections. "No, no, don't tell me—it wouldn't have been honorable."

"I must admit there's some value to that viewpoint, Lord Warlock," McGee said, "especially in a medieval

culture."

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"Yeah, well, it didn't do us too much good to kidnap the fly in the monastery's ointment, did it? Brother Alfonso

notwithstanding, the Archbishop's still gathering troops."

Tlian nodded. " Twas foolish, but I had hoped that, left to himself, he might repent and seek truce."

"Aye, 'tis odd." Brom scowled, "One would think he'd listen to his heart and his conscience, now that his evil

angel is gone."

"Maybe he is listening to his heart—and who says he has a conscience?" McGee braced him with a hand on his arm. "Charity, Lord Warlock, charity."

"Aw, can't I be a realist for once?"

Why stan now? Fess's voice said behind his ear.

Rod frowned. "Odd echoes on this hilltop. Of course, it could be that Milord Archbishop has a backup Vice to

tempt him. Could we ask Brother Alfonso about that?"

"Not unless thou dost wish to wake him," Brom rumbled, "which I would not countenance."

"Oh. He's really notwithstanding, huh?"

"Lying prone," Brom affirmed, "in sleep ensorcelled—and by at all times, to be certain that sleep with one sitting endures."