The Warlock's Last Ride (17 page)

"Now that the Lord Warlock is off on his own, maybe he's more vulnerable."

Durer shook his head. "His children can teleport to him in an instant. No, we have to remove them first. Then we can take care of my old enemy." His eyes gleamed.

That gleam chilled Dierdre—and surprized her; usually the old man seemed so nice.

Durer turned back to the book, leafing through the pages and frowning. "Not much here from the traitor."

He meant Finister, the last Chief Agent before the one he had replaced.

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"She wasn't Chief Agent very long before she changed her name and turned her coat to marry the youngest Gallowglass." Dierdre's tone was sharp with spite.

Durer shook his head. "I don't know what possessed Chief Agent Lewis to appoint that witch as his successor just before he died."

On Gramarye, the term "witch" might have been merely descriptive, referring to someone with extra-sensory talents—but Durer chose to interpret it as an insult.

"I don't think he had much choice about it," the Home Agent said. "We all knew Finister was a powerful esper, but we had no idea how powerful."

Durer turned to her with a frown. "You mean she bewitched Lewis?"

"In more ways than one," the Home Agent said. "I'll admit he was using her for his own …

amusement… so she may have thought she was justified in using him in return."

"Using him in what way?"

"She projected a very beautiful and voluptuous image, but we're pretty sure she manipulated his emotions telepathically, too. Why else would he have given the order that she be his successor? And considering that he died the next day …"

"The autopsy?"

"Showed no reason for death—his heart simply stopped."

Even Durer felt a chill. "I take it this Finister was telekinetic, too?"

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"She had all the ESP talents except levitation and teleportation," the Home Agent confirmed.

"I'll have to meet her—with my most advanced weapons," Durer said with a smile.

Dierdre nodded. "You might want to consider a quiet little assassination for her before that."

"Oh, no! Our revenge on the Gallowglass heirs comes first," Durer said. "Then I shall have my own revenge on the young woman who usurped my office and betrayed our Cause." He gazed off into a dream future, his eyes kindling. "My revenge on this Finister-Allouette will be delicious and prolonged."

Dierdre stared at the look on his face and shuddered. How could she have ever thought this man was kindly?

Durer made a quick gesture that banished his vision. "When I'm satiated, I'll be generous and give her a quick death." He turned back to Dierdre, all business once more. "After all, she was Chief Agent once, no matter how briefly, nor what skulduggery she used to get the job. We do owe her some respect."

THE SUN WAS rising when Cordelia came out onto the battlements, where the servants had told her she could find Magnus. Sure enough, there he was, strolling along the eastern wall, stopping to chat briefly with each sentry, then standing still in the center of the parapet to watch the great orange disk rise.

Cordelia came up behind him. "How now, brother— have you become a Zoroastrian, that you must rise to pray to the light as it returns?"

Magnus looked down with a fond smile. "Not at all, sister. It is simply that it is beautiful, and a promise that some of the world, at least, is clean of humankind's more sordid doings."

Cordelia wondered what had happened to the cheerful, optimistic big brother of her youth, then reminded herself that two years' difference in age didn't mean much between adults. "You rise early only for this moment of contemplation?"

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"It would be worth it." Magnus turned back to look at the sun. "But I wake early without meaning to now. I've become accustomed to rising with the sun on my travels, and my body does it whether I wish it or not."

"This is your idea of sleeping late, is it?" Cordelia turned to gaze at the great glowing ball, too. She let a few minutes pass, steeling herself to confrontation, then asked, "And do you mean to become the sun to us stay-at-homes, expecting us all to revolve around you?"

Magnus's shoulders shrugged with a stifled laugh. "Scarcely."

"I mean it, brother." Cordelia's voice gained steel. "You have little knowledge of what has passed on this world in this last ten years. You are in no position to give orders, no matter what Papa has said—and neither Alain nor I would obey you if you did!"

"Dad did not say to give orders."

Cordelia's eyes widened in surprize.

"He told me to take care of the land and people of Gramarye," Magnus went on. "He did not say that I had to command a cadre of officers in the doing of it."

"Surely you do not think you can answer every challenge alone!"

"If there is an emergency to which I must respond, Alea may choose to come with me."

"Well… so shall I, if it comes to that." Cordelia turned to look at the sun again. "But that is a matter of choosing, Magnus, not of responding to order."

Magnus nodded. "It will be your choice, Cordelia, not mine."
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Cordelia snapped a sharp glance up at him, frowning. "Do I hear overtones of emotional blackmail in that?"

"If you do, they are of your own making." Magnus smiled down at her, amused. "You may infer them, but I do not imply them."

Cordelia stared at him a moment, frowning. Then she said, "So you will go kiting off on the spur of the moment to answer some fancied challenge and expect Alea, and the rest of us, to come chasing after you "

"I shall not expect that." Magnus locked gazes with her. "I shall not expect anything."

Cordelia frowned, trying to puzzle him out. "Do you think you can meet all threats alone?"

"Not really. But I have no right to command anyone who has not elected me to the task. I have authority only over myself, so I shall go to meet every challenge by myself."

"Is it thus that you overthrew governments as you careered through the stars?"

"No," Magnus said. "I began alone, truly enough—on Melange, and again on Midgard. On all other planets, I had Dirk Dulaine, then Alea, for companions, and redoubtable they were, I assure you."

"And the two of you were proof against all encounters?" Cordelia didn't try to keep the skepticism out of her voice.

"Not alone, no." Magnus turned to gaze at the sun again. "We generally found a local refugee or two to advise us, then gradually built up groups of disaffected people and found some way for them to communicate with one another. Twice there was some event, some unusually harsh burst of arrogance from the local lords that triggered an uprising, and we rose with them and made sure of their victory. More often, we put the individual cells of resistance on the road to eventual victory and left them to grow and flourish."

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Cordelia stared, appalled. "You shall never know whether you condemned them to defeat or assured them of victory?"

"I don't suppose we'll ever have it confirmed," Magnus acknowledged, "but we never left until the crisis had passed and the machinery was in place to guarantee their eventual triumph. It is better, after all, for a system of government to grow rather than be grafted; it has a stronger chance of survival."

Cordelia frowned, searching his profile. "There is no need for revolution here, brother."

"No," Magnus agreed, "though SPITE and VETO may still foment discord and attempt upheavals, each in its own style. If they do, I shall do all in my power to thwart them, for I've no more wish to see totalitarians impose a dictatorship on our people than for Dad to foist on them a democracy that would be wrong for them."

"But democracy is not wrong for them!"

Magnus turned to her, amused. "Is it the future queen who speaks?"

Cordelia's lips pressed thin. "A constitutional monarchy can become a form of democracy, Magnus. You know that!"

"Yes, I do." Magnus met her eyes again. "Sharing power between a parliament and the crown is a way-station on the road to democracy, and I have no wish to block that road. In fact, I'll do all I can to make sure it is open for the people to travel." He frowned, suddenly intense. "But it must be a living thing, this democracy—it cannot be a corpse animated like a puppet. And to live, it must grow of its own and take what form is natural to it."

Taken aback by his intensity, Cordelia said, "That is all I wish, brother."

"And Alain?" he demanded, still intent.

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"He, too," Cordelia said. "How could you think otherwise?"

"Because I have little knowledge of what has passed here these last ten years." Magnus relaxed and turned to face the sun, now risen. "Little knowledge, and I shall not be foolish enough to try to act without it. Be sure, sister, I shall go my own way and trouble no one—unless armed conflict arises."

"No one?" Cordelia frowned.

Magnus shrugged. "I may wander about the land to catch the temper of the people and tell a few stories—tales of heroes who overthrew despots, or of peacemakers who reconciled warring factions—but nothing more."

Cordelia, however, was sharper than most Magnus had dealt with. "Building your cells again?"

Magnus turned to her, smiling with pleasure. "You have lost none of your quickness, I see. Yes, I may plant cells throughout this land—but they shall all respect the Crown and the commonweal."

"The will of the people, and the burdens they bear in common?" Reluctantly, Cordelia said, "I cannot quarrel with that."

Magnus nodded, turning to the east again, but without speaking.

Watching his face, Cordelia saw that he was really gazing at the mist rising from the meadow. After a few minutes she said, "Magnus … when Alain becomes king and I queen…"

"I hope to be first to kneel to you at your coronation— and be sure that I shall obey my sovereigns in every order they may give."

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"Unless it goes against your conscience."

"I cannot conceive of that," Magnus said—with no delay.

Cordelia knew by that sign that he had given the matter careful thought. The implication, of course, was that if she and Alain ever did become tyrants, Magnus would fight them tooth and claw—and she had no illusions as to just how formidable an enemy he could be. However, she couldn't conceive of either herself or Alain turning into despots either, so she felt warmed by her brother's pledge of loyalty. She stood beside him, watching the mist burn off in the sun's heat, and after a while, she slipped her hand into his.

GEOFFREY ALWAYS LIKED coming down to town. Oh, the castle on the hill was a fine place to live, after his parents' renovations, but it could still be socially claustrophobic to be around the same people day after day—and always being surrounded by walls went against the grain of a man who was in his element when he was in field and forest. So, if there were no fields or forests close at hand, the town on the lower slopes of the castle hill would do nicely as a change of scene.

He reined in as he came to a tavern, jumped down, and beckoned to a hostler standing near. "Hold my horse, lad, and there will be coin for you when I come out."

The hostler came over and took the reins. "Does he need currying, my lord?"

"Only 'sir,'" Geoffrey corrected. "I am a knight who hopes never to be a lord."

"Oh, aye—for now that your elder brother is back, it is he who will inherit the title, will he not?"

Geoffrey looked more closely at the man, frowning. He hadn't realized the townsfolk followed the goings-on at the castle so closely. "The title is not hereditary, goodman. It was bestowed on my father only for his lifetime."

The hostler nodded, stroking the horse's neck. "Yet surely your brother-in-law will raise one of you to the title when your father passes away—and as surely, it will be the eldest."
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"There is no promise of either." Geoffrey's frown deepened. "Nor any cause to expect it."

The man feigned surprize. "You do not mean it could be you who would be raised to lordship!"

Frankly, Geoffrey had never thought about the issue, but he was nettled by the man's bland assumption. "It could be. If there is war, I may well earn the honor in battle."

The man grinned, showing yellowed teeth, one broken. "Come, my lord! All the land knows that it is your brother who will command, now that he has come home!"

"Then all the land knows falsehood!" Geoffrey snatched the reins back and mounted again. "My brother gives me no orders, nor do I take them from him!"

"Surely, Sir Knight." But the hostler's smile said he knew better than to believe so obvious an untruth.

Really angry now, Geoffrey turned his horse toward the road back to the castle.

"But the tavern, my lord! Your pint of ale!"

"Drink it yourself!" Geoffrey slipped a coin from his purse and tossed it back over his shoulder.

The hostler let it lie in the dust, grinning as he watched Geoffrey ride back up to the castle.

GEORDIE WALKED OUT under the early sun, enjoying the coolness of the morning and the feeling of cleanliness that always came with dawn. Long shadows striped the land, dew clung to the grass, and his tenants were already abroad. Geordie drew in a deep breath and rejoiced. He was young, in his mid-twenties, with half his father's estate to manage and, most importantly of all, a beautiful, intelligent, spirited wife, and they were very much in love. No matter what went wrong in the world,
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