The Warlock in Spite of Himself - Warlock 01 (40 page)

'Aye. In battle, one sees and one does, whatever comes first to mind. Twas thee, or living my life longer to serve the House of Clovis; and in the heat of the battle I chose thee, in my folly!'

He was silent a moment, breathing hoarsely, then his hand tightened again. 'Yet while I die, thou wilt live in my debt! And what thou canst not pay to me, thou must pay to my people.'

Rod tried to draw his hand back. 'No!'

'Aye!' Tom's eyes flew wide, glaring, angrily. ''Tis the payment I demand! Thy life for mine, thy life spent here on Gramarye, to work for the good of my people!'

'I'm not my own master...'

'Nay, thou art.' Tom sank back, weary. 'Thou art, and if thou knowest it not, thou'rt true fool.'

'The price is too high, Tom. My death in battle, yes, gladly. But living here, all my days, I cannot. I too serve a dream

''Twas my choice, also,' Tom sighed, 'the dream or the man. Nay, then, choose what thou wilt.'

'I'm under a geas . . .'

'Then my geas also is on thee, freeing thee from the other. Thou must serve me and mine now....

The dying face darkened. 'I had thought I knew what was best for them. . . but now, as all darkens about me...'

He heaved up suddenly, body wracked with a spasm, coughing blood. Rod threw his arms about the big man, holding him up. The spasm passed. Tom clutched weakly at Rod's arm, gasping. 'Nay, then. . . thy mind is. . . clearer. . . thou must decide . . .'

'Be still,' Rod pleaded, trying to lower him again. 'Don't waste what little life is left-'

'Nay!' Tom clutched at him. 'Let me speak! Espers Tribunal. . . they'll make it. . . work... We... fight them... here.. .inthe. ..'

'Be still,' Rod pleaded. 'Save your breath, I know what you're saying.'

Tom craned his neck to look up at him. 'You. . .?'

Rod nodded. 'Yes. You told me the last little bit I needed, Just now. Now lie down.'

Tom sagged in his arms. Rod lowered him gently, letting his head rest on the blood-soaked cape.

Tom lay panting. 'Tell me . . . I must know. . . if you know. . .'

'Yes, I know,' Rod murmured. 'The DDT will win out. You can only fight it back here. And you fight each other as well.'

'Aye.' Tom nodded, a barely perceptible movement. 'Thou must decide. . . now. . . and. . . master...'

He mumbled, too soft to hear, and labored for another breath, eyes opening, anxious.

Rod bent forward, putting his ear to Tom's lips.

'Don't die for. . . a dream. . .'

Rod frowned. 'I don't understand.'

He waited, then said, 'What do you mean, Tom?'

There was no answer.

Rod straightened slowly, looking down at the vacant eyes, the loose mouth.

He touched the base of the throat, the jugular.

He let his fingertips rest there long minutes, then slowly reached up to close the man's eyes.

He stood, slowly, and turned away, his eyes not seeing. Then, slowly, his eyes focused. He looked around at the stating, pathetic beggars, their eyes fixed on the huge body.

A slight, slender shape stepped hesitantly into the ring. 'M-master Gallowglass?'

Rod turned, saw, and stepped forward as the beggars began to move in, to kneel by Tom's body.

'Milord. . .' Toby's face was strangely tragic in its confusion as he looked at the group of beggars, disturbed without knowing why. 'Milord, they.. . They cry for quarter, milord. Shall we give it them?'

'Quarter? Oh, yes. They want to surrender.' Rod nodded, closing his eyes.

He turned and looked at the group of beggars. 'Oh, I don't know. What does Brom say?'

'My lord O'Berin says, aye, grant it them, but the Queen says nay. The Lords Loguire are with Brom.'

'And still the Queen says nay.' Rod nodded, bitterness tightening his mouth. 'And they want me to break the deadlock, is that it?'

'Aye, milord.'

The circle of beggars parted a little. Rod saw Tom's waxen, still face. He turned to Toby. 'Hell, yes. Give 'em quarter.'

The sun had sunk behind the hills, leaving the sky a pale rose, darkening to the east.

The twelve Great Lords stood, bound in chains, before Catharine. Near her sat Loguire and Tuan, Brom and Sir Mans. Rod stood a little distance away, leaning back against Fess, arms folded, chin sunk on his breast.

The old Duke Loguire's head was also bowed, deep misery in his eyes, for his son Anselm stood a pace in advance of the rest of the lords, directly before the Queen.

Catharine held her head high, eyes shining with triumph and pride, face flushed with the joy of her power.

Rod looked at her and felt a twist of disgust in his belly; her arrogance had returned with her victory.

At a sign from Brom O'Berin, two heralds blew a flourish. The trumpets whirled away from their lips, and a third herald stepped forward, loosening a scroll.

'Be it known to all by these presents, that on this day the miscreant vassal, Anselm, son of Loguire, did rise in most vicious rebellion against Catharine, Queen of Gramarye, and is therefore liable to the judgment of the Crown, even unto death, for the crime of high treason!'

He rolled the scroll and slapped it to his side. 'Who speaks in defense of Anselm, chief of the rebels?'

There was a silence.

Then old Loguire rose.

He bowed gravely to Catharine. She returned his courtesy with a glare, astonished and angry.

'Naught can be said in defense of a rebel,' Loguire rumbled. 'Yet for a man who, in the haste of hot blood, rises to avenge what he may consider to be insults to his father and house, much may be said; for, though his actions were rash and, aye, even treacherous, still he was moved by honor, and filial piety. Moreover, having seen the outcome of rash action, and being under the tutelage of his duke and his father, might well again realize his true loyalties and duties to his sovereign.'

Catharine smiled; her voice was syrup and honey. 'You would then, milord, have me enlarge this man, upon whose head must be laid the deaths of some several thousand, once again to your protection and discipline; to you who have, as this day has proved, failed once already in these duties?'

Loguire winced.

'Nay, good milord!' she snapped, face paling, lips drawing thin. 'Thou hast fostered rebels against me before, and now seek to do it again!'

Loguire's face hardened.

Tuan half-bolted from his chair, flushed with anger. She turned to him with a haughty, imperious look. 'Has milord of the beggars aught to say?'

Tuan fought for calm, grinding his teeth. He straightened and bowed gravely. 'My Queen, father and son have this day battled valiantly for you. Will you not, therefore, grant us the life of our son and our brother?'

Catherine's face paled further, eyes narrowing.

'I thank my father and brother,' said Anselm, in a clear, level voice.

'Be still!' Catharine fairly shrieked, turning on him. 'Treacherous, villainous, thrice-hated dog!'

Rage came into the Loguires' eyes; still they held themselves silent. Catherine sat back in her chair, gasping. clasping the arms tight, that her hands might not tremble. 'Thou wilt speak when I ask thee, traitor,' she snapped. 'Till then, hold thy peace!'

'I will not hold my peace! Thou canst not hurt me more; I will have my say! Thou, vile Queen, hast determined I shall die, and nothing will sway thee! Why, then, slay me!' he shouted. 'The penalty for treason is death! I had known much before I rebelled; slay me and be done with it!'

Catharine sat back, relaxing a trifle. 'He is sentenced by his own mouth,' she said. 'It is the law of the land that a rebel shall...'

'The law of the land is the Queen,' rumbled Brom. 'If she says a traitor shall live he shall live.'

She spun on him, stating in horror. 'Wilt thou, too, betray me? Will not one of my generals stand beside me this day?'

'Oh, be done with it!' Rod stormed, looming up over the throne. 'No, not one of your generals will support you now, and it seems to me that might give you some slight hint you're in the wrong. But oh, no, not the Queen! Why hold a trial? You've already decided he'll die!' He turned away and spat. 'Come on, get this farce of a trial over with,'

he growled.

'Thou too?' she gasped. 'Wilt thou also defend a traitor, one who hath caused death to three thousand...'

'You have caused the death of three thousand,' Rod bellowed. 'A noble man of low birth lies dead in that field, his right side torn away, the birds pecking at him, and why? To defend a willful child who sits on a throne, not worth the life of a beggar! A child who is so poor a queen she gave birth to rebellion!'

Catharine cowered back in her throne, trembling. 'Be still!' she gasped. 'Was it I who rebelled?'

'Who was it gave the nobles cause to rebel by too-hasty reforms and too-lofty manner? Cause, Catharine, cause! There is no rebellion without it; and who but the Queen has given it?'

'Be still, oh be still!' The back of her hand to her mouth, as though she would scream. 'You may not speak so to a Queen!'

Rod looked down at the cowering Queen. His face twisted with disgust. He turned away. 'Ah, I'm sick to the belly! Let them live; there has been too much death this day already. Let them live. They'll be loyal, without their councillors to needle them. Let them live, let them all live. They're schooled now, even if you're not.'

'This cannot be true!' Catharine gasped.

'It is not!' Tuan stepped forward, his hand going to his sword. 'The Queen gave cause, aye, but she did not make the rebellion.'

Catharine's eyes leaped up to him with a look of radiant gratitude.

'Speak truth,' Tuan went on, 'and you may chastise her. But when you charge her with that which she hath not done' - he shook his head slowly - 'I cannot let you speak.'

Rod ached to spit in his face.

Instead, he turned again to Catharine, who sat straight again, regaining her haughty look.

'Do not forget,' he said, 'that a queen who cannot control her own whims is a weak queen.'

She paled again, and 'Walk wary!' Tuan snapped.

Rage surged up in Rod, higher and higher as he stood rigid against it, till it broke some bond within him and drained away, leaving an icy calm and a great clarity, a clarity in which he saw what he must do and why.. . and what the consequences to himself must needs be. Catherine was almost smiling now, smug and haughty again, seeing Rod hesitate at Tuan's threat.

'Has more to say, sirrah?' she demanded, lifting her chin.

'Yes,' Rod said between his teeth. 'What kind of queen is it who betrays her own people?'

His hand whipped out and slapped her.

She screamed, falling back in the chair, and Tuan was on him, fist swinging square into Rod's face.

Rod ducked under the blow and grappled Tuan to him, shouting 'Fess!'

Tuan's fists slammed into his belly, trip-hammer blows; but Rod held on, seeing the other generals rushing up.

But Fess got there first.

Rod tried to forget what a nice, clean young kid Tuan was and drove his knee into Tuan's groin.

He let go and leaped to the saddle as Tuan fell, doubled with pain, rattling in his throat.

Fess spun and leaped over the heads of the approaching Guardsmen. He landed and stretched into a gallop. Rod heard Catharine screaming Tuan's name and grinned savagely.

Then his grin stretched into a silent scream as pain exploded in his wounded shoulder.

Turning, he saw the nook of a crossbow bolt sticking out of his shoulder.

And, beyond the bouncing shoulder, in the midst of the circle of Guardsmen around the throne, Catherine bending over Tuan. who knelt, still curled around his pain, with a Guardsman's crossbow dropping from his hand.

They came back to a hill overlooking the field as dusk gathered, having run a long circle through wood and field and waded a mile of stream to hide their trail.

Rod slumped out of the saddle as Fess came to the edge of a grove. He limped to a large tree and sat, leaning back against the trunk, hidden from eyes in the field below by the gathering gloom. He looked down over the glowing fires on the field, listening to the faint sounds of the victory merry-making.

He sighed and turned to the problem at hand, or more accurately, at shoulder. He opened his doublet and probed the shoulder gently, wincing with the pain that he felt even through the anesthetic he'd applied on the run.

The barbed bolt-head seemed buried just in front of collarbone and joint; by some miracle, it bad missed both bone and artery. There was a faint puff of air, like a miniature shockwave, and he looked up to see Gwendylon bending toward him, tears welling from her eyes. 'My lord, my lord! Art badly hurt?'

Rod smiled and reached up to pull her head down to his. He held her against him for a good, long time.

'Nay, then,' she said blushing as she drew away, 'I warrant thou'rt not so sorely wounded as I had feared.'

'Ah, lass, lass!' Rod leaned back, cradling her in his arm. 'I was lonely, on that ride.'

'I'd ha' come to you sooner, lord,' she said apologetically, 'but I must needs wait till you'd come to rest.

'Now to that shoulder.' She took on a brisk, almost businesslike air.

''Twill hurt some, my lord.'

Rod ground his teeth as she stripped the blood-soaked tunic off his shoulder. 'Bandages in the saddlebag,' he gritted as she finished. She turned to Fess, brought out the small metal box, frowned. What is this red cross here, my lord?'

'Just a symbol,' Rod wheezed. 'Means it's a, uh, healing kit.'

She knelt by his side again, very still.

Rod frowned, wondering what she was doing.

Then pain lanced him again, and he felt the bolt-head receding, withdrawing slowly along the channel it had cut on its way in, and, seemingly, all of its own accord.

Through a pain-blurred haze, a random thought burrowed: these witches were the answer to the surgeon's prayer.

The bolt-head eased itself past his skin, then suddenly whirled spinning through the air to smash itself against a stone.

'Thus,' she hissed, 'may I serve all who would harm thee, my lord.'

Rod shivered as he realized the extent of the power he'd been dallying with.