Warlock and Son (26 page)

"Eagle, wherefore dost thou pursue this falcon? Knowest thou not that he is not thine ordained prey?"

"He hath stole from me! An he doth take my food, he shall become it!"

"Why, how is this?" Magnus turned to frown at the falcon. "What hast thou Wen?" Looking more closely, he saw a mouse in the falcon's claws.

"Only the small warm one."

"So small a morsel?" Magnus turned back to the eagle. "It should be beneath thy notice!"

"Should or not, 'tis mine! I stooped upon it, and this upstart did swoop betwixt me and it!"

"Game doth belong to him who doth seize it first!"

"Then thou art my prey!" The eagle stretched its wings. "Give over thy claim!" Magnus thought sternly, and brought more of the dried meat out of his saddlebag. "Give over thy claim against the falcon, and thou shalt have this!" The eagle eyed the meat with interest. "What beast is that?"

"'Tis the flesh of a deer, which are too great to be game for thee."

"Give me!"

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Magnus tossed a scrap of pemmican toward the eagle. The wicked beak snatched the morsel out of the air; it disappeared. The eagle nodded. "'Tis good. More of that, and I'll give over pursuit." Magnus brought out a larger piece of meat as he nodded at the falcon. "Begone!"

"I shall!" The smaller bird winged away. "I shall repay thee at need!" Magnus tossed the large scrap to the eagle, who caught it and rose into the air on thundering wings, then soared away. Magnus shook his head. "Let us go, Fess."

But the eagle banked and circled about, winging back toward them, but stalling, swooping lazily in the breeze, turning to stay near. "Name thyself, rider! For thine actions are well done, and not of the common sort. Wherefore comest thou here?"

"I am Magnus Gallowglass," the young man answered, trying to follow the bird's sliding movements, "and I seek the Green Witch of the West."

"Then gather such of the mistletoe as ye may find," the eagle called, its voice eerie in the moonlight. "Bear the berries with ye, that they may give ye guidance!" It wheeled away from him, crying, "Then up, even to the clouds! And find the channel of the stream that died!"

"Why, how shall I know such a channel?" Magnus called, but the eagle only gave a long and tearing cry as it turned back to him. Remembering his manners, Magnus came alive long enough to snatch another bit of dried meat from his saddlebags, and tossed it up. The eagle dipped in flight to catch it, then circled away, crying, "Fare thee well, mortal man! Persevere! And if thou shouldst have need of me, why, call!" The night swallowed it up.

"At the least, it seems, she hath deemed me worthy of her care," Magnus muttered, "or her guardians have. Come, Fess-I must ride by an oak, to gather berries."

Fess went ahead, secretly delighted that Magnus was showing so much sign of life. He even summoned the energy to clamber up standing on Fess's saddle, holding onto the tree's limbs for balance-he, who should have been as surefooted as a mountain goat!and cut down several bunches of berries. He cradled them in his arm as he carefully lowered himself back to the saddle, muttering, "What shall I do with these?"

"I doubt not their use shall become apparent, Magnus. The road leads upward. Are you settled?"

"As well as I may be," Magnus grumbled. He gripped the horse's side with his knees and caught the reins with his free hand. "Away, Fess."

Up they rode, higher and higher. There was water somewhere, certainly; they passed small rills, purling across the path at intervals. They even passed a small marsh, where several of the streamlets pooled, and went by the dried stalks of rushes that rattled in the breeze. Then mist closed about them, chill and clammy. Magnus clung to the horse. "Canst thou tell thy way by radar, Fess?"

"Yes, Magnus, but I must go slowly. There is a limit to both range and definition; I cannot be certain of the condition of the path."

Then rock walls closed about them; even through the mist, Magnus could tell he was surrounded by
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stone, from the echoing of Fess's hoofbeats. "We are come into the pass, are we not?"

"We are, Magnus. And the signs of erosion are there-this was indeed a river's channel once." The mist lightened, and thinned; Magnus could see the layers of rock to either side, glinting with flecks of micaand the mouth of the pass before them. "Where there was a river, there may be a lake, may there not?"

"Yes, Magnus. Of more importance is that a former channel may indicate the river's course has changed-which would produce the oxbow lake your father spoke of."

"Even so." Magnus nodded. "Let us see what lies beyond the pass." They came out into the false dawn, the whole land half-lit by the eerie, sourceless light-and the land fell away before them, sloping down to a flat yet restless surface: the curving lake, ruffled by the wind. Magnus felt tension bring him to full alertness. "What shall I do now?"

"Use the mistletoe," Fess suggested.

"In what manner?"

The robot was silent, searching its memory, correlating. "The ancients who used mistletoe in their worship threw gifts to their gods in their forms as objects of nature. Think of this Green Witch as a river spirit; your gift is the mistletoe."

Magnus nodded and slipped out of the saddle. "Bide thee here, then, for I must pace down to the water's edge."

"I shall-but I shall come quickly if you call, Magnus."

"Do, I prithee." The young warlock hefted his rowan shield, cupping the berries in the crook of his arm, and broke off a bunch. He marched slowly down to the bank, then threw the mistletoe into the water, crying, "Maid of the Lake, I cry thy mercy!"

The water lay still.

Magnus was just beginning to think he had failed, and to see the whole night's ride as a senseless charade, when ... Water burst upward into a fountain, and a woman rose from the lake. Magnus stared, for this was not the crabbed old crone he had expected, nor even a woman in the fullness of maturity, but a girl younger than he, at least to the eye, clad only in the long, dark hair that fell about her shoulders, past her breasts and down her hips. He felt a pain within him, a sudden wrenching; her beauty took his breath.

Then she was out of the water, speeding across the waves to the shore, plunging away from him into the night. Magnus, jolted from his trance, cried, "Fess!"

"Here, Magnus." The great black horse was beside him in an instant. Magnus dropped the mistletoe and leaped astride. "Chase her, Fess! I have come too far, have waited too long, am too sorely in need to be denied!"

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Fess bolted off after the fleeing form, rejoicing that Magnus seemed once again fully alive. For a wonder, she ran more quickly than the horse. Or perhaps no wonder, after all-she was a magic worker. Magnus rode entranced by the sight of the long, perfect legs flashing in the moonlight, of the glorious mane that swirled about her as she ran, cloaking her far better than a gown. Magnus focused his thoughts in a summons. "Fox and eagle! Falcon! I cry thine aid, in return for mine! Turn this woman from her path!"

And they were there, so quickly that they must have been following, the eagle and falcon flying straight at the lass's face, the fox leaping up to yap at her ankles. She faltered, halted, trying to fend them off-and Fess caught up to her. She turned, alarmed, as the horse swerved around in front of her, and her hair billowed about her, cloaking her in night. Magnus felt his heart seize up and his breath choke off at the perfection of her form, the curve of paleness that showed beneath her hair. He was not even aware that the eagle, falcon, and fox had melted away as suddenly as they had come. The maid retreated a step. "Sir, wherefore comest thou so unseemly upon me?" Breath came again, and Magnus protested, "Maiden, I would not impose upon thee for the world-but my heart's blood doth drain within me, and only thou canst aid me." Somehow, though, the pain of his heart already seemed lessened.

She stared, wide-eyed, then made a sudden gesture as though she were spreading a veil over herself, and she stood before him in a gown of rich crimson, a golden chain lying about her hips to form a Y, its long end hanging down before her. "Nay, good sir, there is no need for that sword that hangs at thine hip, nor for the shield of rowan that hides thee!"

"The shield, milady, wards my heart."

"If thou dost hope for cure from me, thou must needs let that sundered organ ope to me." She advanced a step, holding out a hand. "Come, lay down thy shield."

Somehow, Magnus found himself standing on the ground; dimly, he remembered dismounting. Her hand seemed to wield the strength of a giant; he let the shield swing down by his side and drop from nerveless fingers.

"Come, then." She stretched out her hand, and he caught it. Slowly, step by step, they went back down to the water, where she took up the bunches of mistletoe he had brought. "Thine offering, kind sir-and thy cure." She took him by the hand and led him into the lake. "Trust in me," she said softly, "or I can avail thee naught."

Eyes fixed on her, he followed with mechanical steps; he did not think he could have resisted if he had tried. The waters closed over his head.

Fess watched, waiting, poised to dash in and pull a drowning man from the lake-but before the three-minute limit had passed, he saw, by the pre-dawn light, the maiden and the youth climbing up from the water onto an island that stood well out from shore, with a small hill on it. The woman turned to the hill, and a door opened in its side. She led the wounded warlock in, and closed the door behind. Fess dropped his systems into standby mode, satisfied that his master's son was temporarily safe, at least physically. He could only await developments now.

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The developments, to Magnus, were delightful and wondrous. The Maid of the Lake took his doublet from him, then made a poultice of the mistletoe and bound it round his chest, over the left nipple. Then she conducted him to a downy feather bed, an acre wide it seemed, that lay in another chamber, lit by the fire in a grate. "Lay thee down, sir knight," she murmured, and helped him, supporting him enough so that his fall was controlled, and his body unhurt as his mind drifted into oblivion. He was dimly aware of gentle hands pulling off the rest of his clothing, then of nothing else.

He dreamed--of nothing concrete, of no pictures or signs, with only fleeting images that blew through his mind, commanding attention for a few moments, then gone: the milkmaid who had tried to bind him under her spell, the wenches of the Floating World, the witch in the tower, the beautiful woman who had left him to mourn by the lakeside. With each there was pain, at first poignant, then eased; and with each memory, the pain became sharper. At thought of the merciless beauty, the pain seemed almost unbearable, then subsided, then was, miraculously, gone. Her face receded into a shifting, swirling series of colors and amorphous forms; delightful aromas that filled his head, constantly changing; the most delightful of sensations against his skin, so pleasant they seemed almost sinful-but that could not be, for there could be no sin in dreams. They came, after all, without his will, even in spite of his will. So there was no sin in treasuring the delicate sensations, the exquisite pleasures, the waves of delight that built and built to a shuddering ecstasy ...

And the long, silken slide into velvet oblivion.

Sunlight touched his eyelids; scarlet enveloped him. He opened his eyes and found that he lay in the huge feather bed, with sunlight streaming in through a high window, almost directly overhead. He lay still, musing and remembering....

He turned, startled.

She lay beside him, the most beautiful face he had ever beheld, full lips curving sweetly, huge eyes watching him with merriment-and beneath it, concern. "Art thou well, wizard?" At her words, the wariness left him; he went limp with relief-and realized that he felt whole and filled, far more healthy than he had been in an age. "Aye, milady. More well than ever I have been in my life."

"I am pleased to hear it," she murmured, and levered herself up, moving closer, lips covering his in a long, lingering, and loving kiss. She took her head away, looking at him with a secretive smile, then laughed and rolled away, gathering a robe about her as she rose, and stepped away through an archway.

"Come, sir! The day is full, and thou art sound."

With amazement, Magnus realized it was true. The faerie child was only a memory now, with the reflection of pain; his humiliation by the hag in the tower seemed inconsequential. Joy welled up within him, and a feeling of wonderful, immense freedom. "I shall not die after all! I can never thank thee enough, maid!"

But she had gone out where she could not hear him, leaving him to dress, and to ponder how she could have healed him so thoroughly and with such ecstasy, and still be the Maid of the Lake. Fess was glad to see him, but tactful enough not to say anything while the maid was present. "Mount," she instructed, and Magnus swung up into the saddle. She saw the question in his eyes, and lifted a finger to press against his tips, forestalling the words. "Thou mayest not stay by me, nor ever come hither again, unless thou art so badly wounded as thou wast but now-and that thou'lt not be, for I've taught thy heart,
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and the deepest part of thy mind, how to heal themselves, if they will."

"Can I find no way to thank thee?" Magnus protested. "Thou art a warlock, and a puissant one, I wot. Thou knowest now the manner of healing I've given thee. If thou wouldst show me thanks, do thou to other wounded souls as I have done to thee, healing and mending the hurts that none can see."