The Warlock's Last Ride (39 page)

Tuan laughed. "Then well met, Geordie." He turned to the stranger knight with a frown. "But what is this gift you have brought me?"

"I am maligned!" Sir Orgon cried. "I am hauled here against my will, for no greater crime than …"

"Incitement to treason," Anselm finished grimly. "This man requested sanctuary at my home, Maj…

brother, then sought to persuade me to lead another rebellion against you—and if the High Warlock had not spoken for my son, and your Diarmid not pardoned his poaching, I would have led the lords against you indeed!"

Catharine turned on him indignantly, but before she could speak, Tuan said, "Instead, you have brought the traitor to me—but what is this about poaching?" He turned to Geordie with a frown.

"The crops failed," Diarmid explained.

"My tenants would have starved in the winter!" Geordie protested. "I could not wait until their faces turned gaunt before I sought remedy—and why see them hungry when there was a forest full of game?"

"Then you should have asked your duke for permission to hunt," Tuan said. "I am sure he would have given it."

"Still, he broke the law," Anselm said, "but it was the Lord Warlock who convinced your son Diarmid that that law did not intend people's starvation."

"Of course it did not!" Catharine said indignantly. "It meant only that there should be deer for the lords to hunt."

"An unjust law," Sir Orgon cried, "but no reason to rebel."
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"That is not how he spoke when my son stood in chains," Anselm said grimly.

Tuan turned to the man impatiently. "We shall hear your case on the morrow. For now, I wish to talk with my brother. Guards! See this man accommodated in our finest dungeon!"

"I am a knight!" Sir Orgon protested.

"We shall discuss the truth of that statement tomorrow, too." Tuan nodded to the guards, and they hauled Sir Orgon away, protesting every inch of the way.

"So you pardoned your cousin," Tuan said.

"I was overwhelmingly relieved that the Lord Warlock gave me good reason," Diarmid said, "for I was caught between the evil of favoring a kinsman, and the greater evil of hanging him."

"So instead of hanging," Catharine said to Geordie, "you came to join us for battle—and played the peacemaker!"

"I could not see my own peasant folk slain only for asking justice, Your Majesty," Geordie answered, "but I would never have fought against you."

"Instead, you stood by your cousin and helped him turn a bloody battle into a celebration." Catharine nodded and turned to her younger son. "It is well you were able to mete out justice instead of blind adherence to the law."

"Thank you, Mother." Diarmid smiled. "I, though, must thank the Lord Warlock."

"So I shall, when next I see him." Catharine turned back to Geordie with a frown. "You hold your
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lands enfeoffed from your father?"

"I do," Geordie said, "though I think myself only his steward."

"Far more, surely!" Anselm protested.

"Well, I think I do the job well enough," Geordie said with a smile for his father, then to the Queen again, "My tenants, at least, call me 'squire.'"

"I am sure your father has given you the warlike training that title requires," Tuan said.

"Of course," Anselm said impatiently. "He can fight as well as any knight—or any peasant, as our father taught us, Tuan." He forced a smile. "Perhaps I should not have taught him skill with the bow."

"Then he would have slain his deer with a sling," Tuan said. "He has certainly proved himself worthy of the title."

"He has proved his courage in battle this day," Catharine said with a smile, and caught Tuan's hand.

"Aye," Tuan agreed. "Running into the midst of the fray to defend your own was indeed a brave act."

"But all there were my own!"

"Well spoken," the Queen said, and gave her husband a meaningful glance. Tuan nodded and turned back to his nephew, drawing his sword.

"How now, brother!" Anselm cried, his hand on his own hilt.
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"You stand as his sponsor, do you not?" Tuan asked.

"His sponsor? What… ?"

"I am sure he does," Diarmid said, "and so do I."

"Then kneel, Squire George."

Geordie winced but had the good sense not to protest the use of his full name as he knelt.

Tuan touched his left shoulder with the flat of the blade, then arced it over his head to touch the right as he said, "I hereby dub thee knight." Then he lifted the sword and stepped in to give his nephew a clout that rocked his head.

Through the ringing in his ears, Geordie heard his king say, "Rise, Sir George, and be as loyal as you have been, loyal to both man and master forever more."

Geordie stood, dazed, and Anselm stammered, "Brother … my Queen … I had not thought…"

"Do so," Catharine advised. "We shall repeat this ceremony with greater pomp, but it shall not change his nobility." To Geordie, she said, "You shall bring your wife to meet us as soon as you may."

"Majesty," Geordie said with a gulp, "I will."

"There is another matter to consider, Mother," Diarmid said.

"Yes, my son?" Catharine frowned.

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"He has proven his courage but also his concern for his people," Diarmid said. "Might I suggest he should have a title greater than knight?"

"Indeed!" Catharine said. "And whose estates should he hold—yours?"

"Exactly," Diarmid said.

Catharine stared, stunned.

Tuan smiled. "You really do wish to spend your days among your books, do you not?"

"Administering a duchy takes so much time," Diarmid complained.

"Be sure, sir, that I shall not let you fritter your time away!" Catharine said indignantly.

"Still," Tuan said, "there are other positions than duke that our Diarmid could fulfill, but that few others can."

"Majesties—I did not come here seeking preferment," Geordie protested.

"No, you came to serve your Queen," Catharine said, "and so you shall." She turned to Anselm with a frown. "I cannot restore an attainted traitor, even one who has proven his loyalty—but I can restore the son to the rank that should have been his by birth." She turned to Geordie. "Kneel again, sir."

Stunned, Geordie knelt.

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Catharine stepped forward to lay her hand on her nephew's head. "Henceforth be as true and loyal to both Crown and people as you have proven yourself this day— but next time you think the law unjust, appeal to your Queen!" She lifted her hand. "Rise, Duke of Loguire."

As Geordie stood, wide-eyed and amazed, Anselm stammered, "Majesty … I assure you, I had never expected …"

"A simple 'thank you' would suffice, Anselm," Tuan said, with a grin.

Anselm swallowed any other words he had been about to say. "Majesties, from the depths of my heart, I thank you!"

"But I cannot steal my kinsman's title, nor his lands!" Geordie turned to Diarmid. "How would you feel if I did, cousin?"

"Relieved," the former duke told him. "Vastly relieved."

EVERGREENS CLOSED AROUND Rod as he rode into the forest, closing off sight of the sun—but since it was midday, enough light filtered through to let him see quite well. It was eerie and lonely; Rod shivered and hoped he and Fess could plough through to oak and ash again. He frowned as he looked around.

Then he saw a white speck drifting down. He blinked his eyes, not believing what they showed him—but sure enough, there was another and another. "Fess, I have to be mistaken—but I could swear I'm seeing snowflakes."

"You are not mistaken, Rod."

"But how can that be? It's barely October!"

"An early snowfall, perhaps? I know that the land slopes upward as we come to the western
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duchies; we are already at four thousand feet."

Rod shivered and told himself it was because of the cold. He blew on his hands and reached for his gloves—but stopped; had he seen movement? "Fess? Did you see something move?"

"Only the snowflakes, Rod."

"I could have sworn I saw something larger." He looked down to pull on his left glove—and froze; there it was, at the corner of his eye, and if he kept his gaze on his hands, he could see it. It was tricky, focusing his gaze on his hands while he focused his attention on the moving thing, but he managed it. It might have been only a cloud of flakes that he saw, sinuous and wavering on the wind—but there was a face atop them, indistinct as though made of drifting particles, a face with snow-white hair, eyebrows, and beard, a ghostly white, translucent face atop long flowing robes, but an arm separated from the blowing curtain of snow, a long and bony hand reached out toward Rod. He cried out and ducked, but the hand followed him and the forefinger touched his forehead.

Rod shivered, wiping at the spot of chill. "Serves me right for going out without a hat!" He frowned.

"I do have a hat, don't I?"

"At home, Rod. Not here."

"Home? Where's that?" Rod's face cleared. "Oh yes, Maxima! But that must be an awfully long way away, Fess."

"Very far indeed, Rod—but Castle Gallowglass is only a few days' ride."

"Castle Gallowglass? What's that?"

"The castle where you lived with Gwendylon and your children, Rod."

"Children?" Rod frowned at the mantle of evergreen in front of him, then shook his head. "Don't
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remember any chil…" He broke off as a vague picture flitted though his mind, an image of a golden-haired laughing toddler shooting through the air while a red-headed woman held up her arms to catch him—but the vision faded and he shook his head. "I'm not old enough to many."

"You were forty-nine when Catharine and Tuan insisted you occupy the castle for them."

"Who are Catharine and Tuan?"

"The King and Queen of Gramarye, Rod—your lifelong friends, once they forgave you for the manner in which you brought them together."

Rod frowned, trying to remember, then shook his head. Movement at the corner of his eye distracted him, but when he looked, all he saw was blowing snow. "Why did we come to Terra, Fess?

Mom and Dad are going to be worried sick."

The robot was silent a moment; then it said, "We are two hundred thirty-seven light-years from Terra, Rod, on a planet named Gramarye."

"We are?" Rod looked around at the mass of green needles. "Funny—it looks just like Terra."

"That is because it has been terraformed, Rod."

"Terraformed?" Rod frowned. "Seems I remember that, from a book I read—what? Last year?"

"You read Terraforming Earth when you were thirteen, Rod."

"Well, I can't be much older than that now, can I?" Rod frowned at the back of the horse's head.

"How did we get here?"

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"By spaceship, Rod. You were on an exploratory mission for SCENT and found Gramarye."

"What's Gramarye?" Yes, there was movement at the corner of his eye, but again, when Rod turned to look, there was only blowing snow. "Who's that guy in the long white robe, Fess, and why does he go away whenever I look at him?"

"He is no doubt a figment of your imagination, Rod."

"Who's a figment of imagination?"

"Rod—can you not even remember what you said only moments ago?"

"I don't know, Fess." Rod pulled up on the reins and slid off the horse's back, "I only know that I'm awfully tired. I'll just lie down and take a nap."

"No, Rod, not in the snow! You will die of cold!"

"No, I'll just sleep for a little while." Rod shivered but knew the cold would go away—it always did when he got into bed.

"Rod, get up! You will die of hypothermia, you know that!"

"What's hypoth … whatever?" Rod closed his eyes and rested his head on some fallen boughs.

"Just half an hour. Wake me up, okay?"

"I will waken you now! Rod, get up! Remember who you are!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm Rodney d'Armand, I know, I've got to keep up the family name." Rod snuggled down, hands under his head. "I'll do it after I wake up. Right now, the cold's gone away and I'm
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beginning to feel warm again. G'night, Fess."

"You are beginning to feel warm because you have begun to freeze! Rod, no! You must rise now!"

Rod only grumbled and burrowed deeper into the soft stuff beneath him. His eyelids fluttered, and he saw a face hovering over him, an elongated white face, all white, beard, hair, skin, with a gloating smile that bothered Rod, but he couldn't remember why. It didn't matter, though. It wouldn't keep him from sleeping. He closed his eyes firmly, telling himself he had to wake up in time for dinner or Mama would be very upset. Biting cold touched the center of his forehead, making him shiver, but it too warmed, and he nestled down into the soft, cocooning darkness.

Twenty-Seven

SOMEWHERE IN THE DISTANCE A VOICE WAS calling, "Magnus! Cordelia! Geoffrey!

Gregory! Come! Your father needs you! Elves! Wherever you are, come out and waken him! Call for help!" That voice didn't matter, though, not when sleep was so close.

Then tiny little pains broke out all over Rod's body. He sat straight up, saying, "Robert, cut that out!

Why did I have to have a big broth …" He broke off, looking at the foot-high people all about him.