Stasheff, Christopher - Warlock 3 - The Warlock wandering

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file:///F|/rah/Christopher%20Stasheff/Stasheff,%20Christipher%20-%20Warlock%203%20-%20The%20Warlock%20Wandering%20(1).txt

"NAY, PAPA! I AM too old to need one to guide and ward

me!"

Rod shook his head. "When you're fifteen, maybe—

maybe. But even then, you won't be old enough to take

care of an eight-year-old little brother—nor a ten-year-old,

for that matter. Not to mention a thirteen-year-old sister."

"I am ten already!" The little girl jammed her fists on

her hips and glared up at him with a jutting chin.

Rod turned to her, suppressing a smile, but Gwen was

already chiding gently. "Mayhap when thou art fourteen

years aged, my sweet, and thy brother Magnus is sixteen,

I'll dare leave the others in thy charge. Yet now..." She

turned to Big Brother. "... thou art but twelve."

" Tis a worthy age," Magnus declared. "Assuredly might

I care for myself." He turned back to Rod. "Many another

boy of my age doth already aid his father in plowing, and..."

"Other boys your age are pages, and taking squire lessons

from the local knight." Rod nodded. "But in both cases,

please notice the presence of an adult—and those boys

aren't taking care of little brothers and sisters!"

"Enough of such chatter!" A foot and a half of elf stepped

up beside Rod's knee, arms akimbo, frowning up at the

four children. "Be still and heed me, or 'twill be much the

worse for thee!"

Rod had a fleeting vision of coming home to four little

frogs in nightshirts and nightcaps. The children fell silent.

Glowering and truculent, but silent. Even though the small-

4 Christopher Stasheff

est of them was twice Puck's size, they all knew that the

elf's idea of fun could be more devastating than their par-

ents' notion of punishment.

"Thy parents do wish to take an evening to themselves,"

the Puck rumbled, "to think of naught but one another's

company. The coming-together that this allows them is as

much to thy benefit as to theirs—and well thou knowest

that they could not thus rejoice in one another's company,

an they were continually concerned over what mishaps might

befall thee. Yet my biding with thee will allow them as-

surance sufficient to ease their minds from care, for the

space of an evening."

By this time, four sets of eyes were cast toward the

ground. Cordelia was drawing imaginary circles with her

toe. Rod didn't say anything, but he eyed the elf with re-

newed respect.

"Bid them good night, then," Puck. commanded, "and

assure them thou wilt cheerfully bide in my care till they

return."

Reluctantly, and with ill grace, the children came up,

one by one, for a quick peck on the cheek and a perfunctory

hug, for Cordelia and Gregory, and a manly handshake, for

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Magnus and Geoffrey (but with a peck on the cheek for

Mama).

"Go thy ways, now," Puck said to Rod and Gwen, "and

concern thyselves not with the fates of thy children. I war-

rant their safety, though a full score of knights ride against

them—for a legion of elves shall defend!"

"Not to mention that you, yourself, could easily confound

a dozen." Rod bowed in acknowledgement. "I thank you,

Puck."

"Bless thee, Robin." Gwen hid a smile.

Puck winced. "I prithee, lady! Be mindful of my sen-

sibilities!"

"'Tis myself who doth bless thee," Gwen assured him.

"I did not invoke any Other. Yet do I thank thee, too. Sprite."

"'Tis ever my pleasure." Puck doffed his cap with a

THE WARLOCK WANDERING 5

flourish, and bowed. "Ever, when the lady's so beauteous.

Go thy ways, now, free of care—and hasten, ere the gloam-

ing surrenders to Night!"

They followed his advice. Rod closed the door behind

them, and they walked five steps down the path, counting

under their breaths. Then, "Six," Rod said, and, "seven..."

On cue, four small faces filled the window behind them,

with cries of "God e'en!" "Good night. Mama!" "Well betide

thee!"

Rod grinned, and Gwen answered with a pursed smile.

They waved, then turned and strode off down the path.

"We're lucky," Rod reminded her.

"Indeed." Gwen sighed. "But 'twill be pleasant to have

some few hours to ourselves once more."

They wandered into the twilit forest, with his arm about

her, she with a dreamy, contented smile, he just contented.

"And wither wilt thou carry me away, my lord?" she

murmured.

Rod smiled down at her. "I ran into a little old lady who

was trying to haul some firewood home on her back—and

having very rough going, stumbling and cursing, and need-

ing to put it down every ten feet or so. So I let her ride

Fess, and I carried the wood as far as the crossroads where

her son was going to meet her. She thanked me a lot and,

favor for favor, took me on a short detour and showed me

a little glade with a beautiful mini-pond." He heaved a sigh.

"I swear I never knew there was something so pretty, so

close to home—except, of course, the ones who are in it."

She looked up at him, amused; but he saw the dreaminess

behind the smile, and shook a finger at her. "Now, don't

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you dare try to tell me it's just like the days when we were

courting! We only got to know each other in the middle of

a minor civil war." ^

"Aye; yet did I bethink me of the days thereafter."

"Right after the war, we got married."

She snuggled her head up against his chest. "'Tis what

I did mind me of."

6 Christopher Stasheff

Rod stared at her for a moment. Then he smiled, and

rested his cheek against her head.

Suddenly the woodland path opened out. The branches

swung away, and they found themselves gazing at a perfect

pool, its waters like a gem. Terraced rocks came down to

its edge, festooned with flowers. Branches arched over it

like a sheltering dome. *

Gwen drew in a breath. "Oh, 'tis beautiful!"

Then she saw the unicorn.

It stepped out of the shadows at the edge of the pond to

lower its dainty muzzle to the still water, drinking.

Rod held his breath, but even under the spell of the

moment, his mind automatically registered the fact that the

water must be extremely pure, if a unicorn was willing to

drink it.

Then the silver beast lifted its head, to look directly at

them.

Gwen gasped in wonder. Then, slowly, she moved around

the pool, entranced.

Rod followed right behind her, scarcely daring to breathe.

As Gwen drew close, the unicorn stepped back. Gwen

hesitated.

"Sorry, dear," Rod murmured.

"I will never regret," she answered softly. "But, my lord,

there is not only wariness in those eyes—there is imploring.

Could it need our aid?"

"Sought us out, you mean?" Rod frowned—then stiff-

ened, as alarm bells went off in the back of his mind.

"Gwen—even on Gramarye, unicorns don't exist..."

Gwen shook her head. "Be mindful of witch-moss, my

lord. On Gramarye, aught that an old aunt may imagine the

whiles she doth tell a tale, can come into being, an she be

a witch unknowing."

But Rod didn't answer. He was gazing about him with

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every sense open, alert for the slightest thing out of place,

his awareness widening to encompass the whole of the glen,

the patterns of light that the sunset painted on the shrubbery,

THE WARLOCK WANDERING 7

the rustling of leaves, the whisper of leather, and the slight

chink of metal behind him...

He whirled about, sword whipping out; the pike smashed

past his shoulder and into the ground. "Look out!" he cried,

but even as Gwen turned, another cudgel cracked into her

skull. She crumpled, and Rod howled with rage, full ber-

serker madness. The glade about him seemed to darken with

the hue of blood. He bellowed as he leaped forward, chop-

ping with a sword that burst into flame. His opponent leaped

back, eyes alight and wary, but without fear.

His buddies closed in from three sides. Rod knew there

was one behind him, too, and he let a glance of his rage

dart backward. Flame burst, and somebody screamed. Rod

parried a blow from the center man while he glared at the

thug to his left. The man slammed back against a tree and

slumped to the ground, but the man to his right stepped in,

and swung down hard. A crack echoed through Rod's head,

filling the world with pain. Through the red mist, he felt

himself swaying. He swung his arm with the movement,

slashing, and the thug fell back with a howl, a red line

beginning to widen across his cheek. But Rod had forgotten

his back; rope hissed and burned across his neck, and yanked

his feet out from under him. A soft body plummeted against

him, knocking the breath out of him. Then they were drag-

ging, bumping, over rough ground, and he realized, dazed,

that the body was Gwen. He howled and slashed at the net

around them, but his sword caught in the ropes. He tugged

at it in fury, hearing somebody call, "We have them! Now—

heave! Two meters more!"

Rod struggled frantically to get his feet under him. What-

ever lay at the end of those two meters, he wasn't going to

like.

Then, through the mesh, he saw it—a jury-rigged thing

of telescoping legs, framing a triangular arch that showed

only a blaze of sunlight, harsh on his eyes. He recognized

the transdimensional gate that had taken himself and his

8 Christopher Stasheff

family to the alternate universe of Tir Chlis, and he bellowed

in rage and panic, channeling every ounce of it at the

gadget....

He was an instant too late. The net cut into his back,

heaved up, and shot through, just as the contraption behind

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him burst into flame.

Sickened, he struggled against the ropes, got his feet

under him, and surged up to stand. He thrashed the net off

him, and whirled about, wild-eyed.

In every direction, as far as he could see, grassland swept

away to the horizon. The air was filled with the fragrance

of growth, and the sunshine enveloped him with warmth.

It wasn't very far up—which was easy to tell, because the

land was flat as a chessboard. He turned, staring, amazed

at the silence, all the more vivid for the few faint bird-calls

and the murmurings of insects. The land rolled up behind

the net, up and up to a high ridge. Everywhere, everywhere

was grass, waist-high.

It wasn't Gramarye.

Rod glared about him, powerless to do anything about

it. They'd been very neatly caught, he and his wife....

Fury transformed into horror. The ambush had been ad-

mirably planned; they'd knocked Gwen out in the first few

moments. But how far out? He dropped to one knee, clawing

the net away from her, cradling her head in the crook of an

elbow, patting her face, caressing it, slapping very gently.

"Gwen! Come to! Wake up—please! Are you there? Wake

up!" He poised his mouth in front of her lips, felt for breath,

and relaxed with a sigh. She was alive. Everything else was

secondary—she was alive!

Belatedly, he remembered his psi powers—not surpris-

ing, since he'd only had them for a year or two. He stilled,

listening closely with his mind—and heard her dream. He

smiled, insinuating himself into it, asking her to wake, to

speak to him—and she did.

"Nay, I am well now," she murmured. '"Twas but a

moment's discomfort...."

THE WARLOCK WANDERING 9

"A little more than that, I think." Gently, Rod probed

the side of her head. She was still; then, suddenly, she

gasped. Rod nodded. "Goose egg already—well, a rob-

in's—but it'll be a goose egg."

She reached up to touch the spot tenderly, then winced.

"What did hap, my lord? I mind me thou didst turn, with

a war-cry..."

"A gang of thugs jumped us. They knocked you out on

the first swing—and they had me outnumbered. Caught us

up in a net, and dragged us through a dimensional gate."

She smiled. "A net? Nay, I must needs think they did

find thy skill too great for them."

"Why, thank you." Rod smiled down at her. "Of course,

there's also the possibility they were under orders not to kill

us—and fighting is more difficult when you have to knock

somebody out, but not kill him."

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