Christopher Stasheff - Warlock 12 - Warlock And Son

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Warlock And Son – Warlock 12

By Christopher Stasheff

ISBN: 0-441-87314-6

"By your leave, my father, I cannot agree," Magnus said. Rod stared, a morsel of

meat halfway to his mouth on the tip of his knife. "Agree? What's there to agree

about? The Duke of Loguire is building up his army! That's a matter of fact, not

opinion!"

"Aye." Geoffrey laid down his spoon, scowling at his brother. "Dost say the

King's agent lie? Then hie thee to the South thyself and witness with thine own

eyes!"

"I do not doubt the report," Magnus said. "I cannot agree that 'tis a threat."

Rod frowned. "Why?" He ignored the alarm and warning plea in his wife's eyes and

pressed on. "You know Duke Anselm fronted as the figurehead in a rebellion

twenty-five years ago. Frankly, I think his brother was a fool to let him

inherit when their father died, even if Tuan is king."

"Surely that was for Their Majesties to decide, not thyself."

"Unfortunately, yes-and I think my worries are proving true. Anselm's planning

to rebel again."

"That," Magnus said, "is opinion-and 'tis there that I cannot agree."

"Why, thou great loon!" Geoffrey erupted. "Dost think he gathers soldiers only

to play with them?"

"Frankly," Magnus said, "yes. And thou, younger brother, art ill-equipped to

judge the workings of a man's mind."

"Save in matters of war!"

"But not in matters of play," brother Gregory pointed out. "In that, I think

Magnus hath insight in a fashion-for this Duke Anselm hath ever sought to make

his daydreams gain substance by warping the real world into their semblance,

hath he not?"

It still unnerved Rod to hear such perceptive comments coming from one so young,

even though Gregory had crossed the border into adolescence, being thirteen. He

tried to think up something to say that would take the sting out of his son's

precociousness, but he wasn't having much luck.

Neither was Geoffrey. He stared, startled speechless, but Cordelia said, "Thou

art right in that, Gregory-but Geoffrey is right to be wary, for Duke Anselm

ever hath been eaten within by the worm of Envy, from all that Mother and Father

have said of him. Whiles his father lived, he burned to become Duke-and now that

he hath the title, he doth choke on his own gall at seeing his younger brother

in place above him, on the throne. Nay, he may indeed seek to' take what his

brother hath, by force of arms."

"Why, how is this?" Magnus turned on her. "Thou, too? I had thought the lass of

quick compassion would see more to pity, and less to fear, in this man."

"Why, so I do," Cordelia said, "but if I have a gift for reading the hearts of

people, I have also the gift of seeing their curdled bitterness."

"I think we may leave him to his royal brother," Gwen began, but Rod shook his

head. "Tuan has a good heart, but he always assumes the best of people. That's

why he's always so surprised when they turn nasty-especially his own brother."

"Yet Queen Catharine surely can see the malice within him," Magnus protested.

"Does she ever see anything else?" Rod held up a hand to forestall protest. "No,

I take that back. I'm sure she does see the occasional virtue-but I highly doubt

that her royal spouse will listen to her."

"As some husbands ought," Gwen said darkly. "Yet he cannot act without her

concurrence, Magnus."

"Right." Rod stabbed the air with his knife for emphasis. "Which nicely

paralyzes the Crown while Anselm builds up his forces."

"But he may not intend war!" Magnus protested. "Must thou hang him for murder

ere he hath lifted a dagger?"

"He shall hang himself, soon enough," Geoffrey assured him.

"I doubt not that he will show sign of his intent," Gregory qualified. "He is

small of mind and heart, and will be guided by his counsellors."

"And they are more eaten by envy than he," Cordelia said. "They burn to plunge

our world into chaos."

"Why, thou art all leagued against me!" Magnus shot to his feet, sending his

chair clattering. "Thou wilt not so much as hear me out, wilt thou? Very well,

have delight in thy converse, then-the dissenting voice will be silent as its

owner doth depart!" And he strode out of the chamber.

The family stared at one another in shock as his boots rang on the flagstones,

fading. A servant's voice rose in query, but Magnus virtually snarled in answer,

and the door of the keep boomed shut behind him.

Then Gwen and Cordelia were on their feet. "Quickly! We must to him, ere he hath

passed out 'neath the portcullis!" Gwen stopped, staring at her husband. "Wilt

thou not go !"

"No." Rod's eyes had taken on a faraway look. "I think not."

"But his soul is in turmoil, Father!" Cordelia protested. "Turmoil indeed."

Gregory looked up at Rod, frowning. "Whence cometh such an outburst, Papa?"

"Why, for that his younger siblings have spoken back at him," Geoffrey said,

with a hint of contempt.

"No," Rod mused, "I think it goes a bit deeper than that."

"Then since thou art the fount of wisdom in such matters, thou must needs go to

calm him!" Gwen said, exasperated. "Dost thou say this is a young man's

heartache? And wilt thou not then follow him to assuage it?"

"Yes," Rod said, "but not right away. He needs a little while to cool off. If I

came after him right now, he'd snarl at me and head for the tall timber."

"Doth he not do so already?" Cordelia countered.

"Yes," Rod said, "but he'll come back. If I go after him before he's ready to

talk, he might go and stay."

Geoffrey looked up at him, frowning. "Why, how is this, my father? What malaise

of the soul hath stricken my brother?"

"One that I remember all too well," Rod answered. "It has something to do with

being ready to take on the world on your own, but not seeing your way clear to

leaving home to take a try at it."

"Thou wilt not tell him to leave!" Gwen cried in alarm. "No," Rod said, "but I'm

not going to tell him he has to stay, either." He picked up his knife again and

cut another gobbet of meat. "One way or another, I think I have time to finish

my dinner."

He had a notion it might be a while before he saw another one.

He found his son by the bank of the river, beneath a gilded canopy of autumn

leaves, his mount tethered nearby. Rod reined in Fess and muttered to the

robot-horse, "Stay near, okay?" Fess only nodded by way of answer, honoring

Magnus's mood with silence. Rod dismounted and stepped quietly over to his son,

who was staring into the swirling eddies and watching the fallen leaves drift

away.

"Feeling like one of those leaves yourself?" Rod asked softly.

Magnus looked up, startled. Then he relaxed a little, into a brooding wariness,

but confessed, "Aye. My life is like to that, is it not? Bearing me where it

will, the stream of events carrying me along to a destination I wot not of, and

would not choose if I did."

"Maybe," Rod said slowly, daring to sit on the fallen log beside him. "But you

need to be able to control your progress in that stream, don't you? Or at least

be able to choose your own river."

Magnus looked up, surprised. "Thou hast stood in my shoes before, hast thou

not?"

"Yes, but for just the reverse reasons. I'm the second son of a second son, so I

had no place in the world I was reared in-but I couldn't get away, either."

"Whereas I cannot get away because I am the heir," Magnus said with bitterness.

"No," Rod said. "That doesn't have to bind you. You won't do any good in my

office if you don't believe in it and want it. Besides, you have two brothers to

take up the burden if you don't want its privileges."

Magnus stared at him, shocked and, yes, hurt. "Dost thou cast me out, then?"

Rod sighed; the boy was in one of those moods where you couldn't say anything

right to him. And, yes, still very much a boy in his heart, though he was a man

in his body and skills and mind. Twenty-one was old enough to be grown, too

young to be mature.

At least, it was since he'd been held at home all this time. A peasant of his

age would have had a wife and two babies already-and the responsibilities that

went with them. He might be tied down, but he'd have taken those first vital

steps toward real maturity.

"No," Rod said, "I'm not saying you should go-and I'd rather you stayed here,

much rather. But that's for my sake, not yours. I'm only saying you can go if

you feel the need."

Magnus answered with a sardonic smile. "Why, surely, sir. And could you not say

the same for yourself?"

Rod bit back the automatic answer-that it was Magnus himself who held his father

to Gramarye, along with his sister and brothers and, most of all, his mother.

His mother, whose beauty and sweetness made Rod want to stay, even now as she

passed fifty, and who made the allure of the rest of the galaxy seem trivial by

comparison. He studied his son's face, debating what his response should be ...

... and it came to him in a flash of inspiration. "You've got a point there." He

rose. "I can go, can't I?" His teeth showed in a slow, wolfish smile. "I can go

kiyodling off wherever I want, if I feel the need. Thanks, son-I think I will."

He turned away to Fess, mounted, and rode off into the night while Magnus stared

after him, thunderstruck.

Then anger surged, and the younger man thrust himself to his feet, mouthing

imprecations, and hurried off after his father. He didn't doubt for a second

that the old man knew exactly what he had done, or what he was doing.

0 ..

They rode through a dark evergreen forest, dimmed even further by the lowering

thunderheads over the treetops, and by the dying of the day. Magnus rode behind,

unable to hear the conversation between his father and the robot-horse he rode,

since they communicated by radio waves, not telepathy. Rod had a microphone

implanted in his upper jaw, just above his front teeth, and an earphone behind

his ear, in his mastoid process. Fess's transmission gear, of course, was built

in.

Then, too, they might not be saying anything-and Magnus didn't really think they

were chuckling over the way he was following after them. Even so, he seethed

inside. There was a great deal of resentment within him, and Magnus didn't try

to pretend it wasn't there. What right did his father have, to go dragging him

off at a moment's notice?

Of course, Magnus hadn't really been giving up much-he hadn't had any

interesting projects going. In fact, he'd been half out of his mind with boredom

and frustration, feeling that his whole life was going to be wasted in the back

of beyond, with no great deeds to do nor any great loves to win. He still felt

that way-but it was annoying to have his father pull him along in his wake,

anyway. It was his duty as the eldest son to ride after his father and watch

over himnot to mention anyone else he might encounter.

For a moment, it occurred to Magnus that perhaps only he knew this was his duty,

that maybe no one else thought it was, and that it might in fact not be, that he

could just sit back and let his father wander off on his own, this time.

As Dad probably would have preferred.

Magnus shoved the thought aside and hunched his shoulders, leaning angrily into

the breeze that was freshening into a gale. No matter whose idea it was, he was

stuck with it.

Even if he was only a self-appointed guardian, the job still needed to be done.

Didn't it?

Rod risked a glance behind, and stifled a chuckle. "He's still coming, Fess."

"I gather he has not taken the point, Rod."

"Oh, yes he has-on the surface level. But then, he always has known his

responsibilities to the rest of the family. What he doesn't realize is that he's

old enough to lay those aside for a while."

"How long do you think it will take him to realize he is free to go if he wants

to, Rod?"

"A long time, Fess. My boy is nothing if not determined."

"Did you say `stubborn,' Rod?"

"Now, now, let's not season the conversational serial with synonyms. But I

expect it to take him an even longer while to admit to himself that he really

does want to go."

"He certainly seems to be of such a mind right now, Rod."

"Yes, but he hasn't really started thinking about it seriously yet."

A blast of wind slapped across Rod's face. He looked up, surprised that the day

had grown dark. "When did it start to rain?"

"Several hours ago, Rod, though never with great force. There are still only

occasional raindrops."

"Gusts of sleet, you mean." Rod shivered. "Next time I go stalking off in high

dudgeon, remind me to wait for good weather. How bad is it outside those pine

boughs above us, Fess?"

"A steady rain, I should say, from the sound-and not much more light than we

have here, under the canopy."

"Better make camp, then, while I can still see a little." Rod pulled off the

trail and dismounted. The ground was even, carpeted with last year's

needles-there wasn't much undergrowth in the pine forest; the dense canopy

overhead kept out the sunlight that would have encouraged scrub. Rod rotated his

shoulders to ease the stiffness, heaved a sigh, and plodded off into the night

to look for stones. He came back carrying two large rocks, and saw Magnus

rolling stones up to make a fire circle.

Rod stood a moment, taking the chance to watch his son unaware. It was still

something of a surprise to see Magnus's face atop that tall frame with all the

muscles-a sight that startled, but also filled Rod with pride. The boy had

turned out well, though darker in both mood and feature than Rod would ever have

guessed, from his bouncing blond baby. He stood six foot seven in his stocking

feet, and might still be growing. His black hair surmounted a face long and

lanternjawed, broad across the cheekbones but tapering sharply to a square chin,

with a wide, thin-lipped mouth and large, widely spaced, deepset indigo eyes. To

look at him looming, tall and wide, in the dusk, gave the stranger a chill of

wariness-until he saw the quirk of humor about the lips, the readiness to

sympathize. Not an ogre, no, but a gentle giant, whom no good person had any

cause to fear. Rod smiled, warmed by the thought, and looked directly into his

son's eyes as the young man looked up at him, taken unawaresand Rod saw a

smoldering resentment, dimmed now by surprise.

That jolted Rod. When had his boy become bitter? At what? Who had hurt him? For

a moment, the old anger shot through Rod; he would cheerfully have converted his

son's tormentor into spare parts and musical instruments, if he could just have

found him-but there was the old, secret dread that he might have been looking

for himself.

He choked the emotion down; it was probably groundless, anyway. "You don't have

to do that, son-I can still do my own hauling."

"Canst thou indeed?" Magnus favored him with a sardonic glower. "And am I any

the less bound to haul for thee? I, too, wish fire quickly!"

"Well, that's good sense, anyway." Rod set the stones down and straightened,

frowning. "But as to your being bound-no, you're not. You can pay the price of

waiting a few more minutes for a fire, but you don't have to help. Don't have to

follow me, for that matter, either."

"Oh, do I not?"

"No, as a matter of fact, you don't." Rod scowled, stung by Magnus's sarcasm.

"It was your choice to ride after me."

"Choice!" Magnus spat the word out as though it were an obscenity. "What choice

have I, when all's said and done? I am the eldest; if thou dost sally forth, I

must follow."

"Oh?" Rod pounced on it. "Who told you that?" And, before Magnus could answer,

he added, "Your mother?" Magnus reddened, but also looked away. "She said no

such word today."

"What-she gave you standing orders? A little old for it, aren't you?"

That stung; he could see the anger flare in Magnus's eyes. "A little old to be

biding at home, am I not? To still cling to her skirts-or thy house!"

"So go." Rod spread a hand toward the forest. "Nobody says you have to stay. The

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摘要：

WarlockAndSon–Warlock12 ByChristopherStasheff ISBN:0-441-87314-6 1"Byyourleave,myfather,Icannotagree,"Magnussaid.Rodstared,amorselofmeathalfwaytohismouthonthetipofhisknife."Agree?What'stheretoagreeabout?TheDukeofLoguireisbuildinguphisarmy!That'samatteroffact,notopinion!""Aye."Geoffreylaiddownh...

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Christopher Stasheff - Warlock 12 - Warlock And Son

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