Stasheff, Christopher - Rogue Wizard 9 - A Wizard In a Feud

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A Wizard In a FeudA Wizard In a Feud

The Ninth Chronicle of Magnus D'Armand, Rogue Wizard

By Christopher Stasheff

ISBN: 0-812-54152-9

"Magnus, we have an emergency."

Magnus d'Armand looked up at the source of the calm voice. There was nothing

there, of course-only a woodland scene in a gilded frame; the loudspeakers were

hidden. "What sort of emergency, Herkimer?"

Across the expanse of thick, dark red carpet, Aiea looked up from the scrolling

print in front of her padded velvet armchair. She wore lounging pajamas of silk

that only emphasized her height; there was no need to minimize it when her

companion was nearly seven feet tall himself. She had a long, bony face framed

in long, lustrous dark hair.

Magnus glanced at her, then glanced away to hide the admiration in his eyes-he

was still unsure as to the nature of the heartbreak that had made her so wary of

men and he was determined not to alarm her. She did seem to be past the worst of

it, though there were still moments of hostility in her manner, and she still

seemed too quick to argue minor points. But he was determined to prove himself a

good friend and reliable companion-and safe. He mustn't let her see how much he

was aware of the generous curves in that long figure or how exquisite he thought

the bone structure of her face. Besides, he had memories of his own, reasons to

avoid intimacy.

Fortunately, the ship's computer distracted him with its answer. "There is a

malfunction in my central processing unit, Magnus."

Magnus stiffened and saw the look of alarm on Alea's face. Amazing that a woman

of a medieval society had learned so much of modern technology in two short

years! "How serious is the malfunction, Herkimer?"

"There is no way to tell, Magnus. It has resisted my standard diagnostic

programs. It will require extended analysis."

"We'd better plan for the worst," Alea said. "Any breakdown in the computer

could threaten the life-support systems."

"Yes, and at any moment." Magnus frowned. "What functions are impaired,

Herkimer?"

"Only memory so far, Magnus. I attempted to retrieve records of our last

expedition but could not even bring up the name of the planet."

"It was Oldeira, and we limited the power of magiciandespots by introducing

Taoism," Alea told him.

"Datum entered," Herkimer acknowledged, then immediately said, "I could not even

bring up the name of the planet." Magnus's and Alea's gazes met with alarm. "The

memory sector is so corrupted that it can't even hold new data!" she exclaimed.

"And if Herkimer can't diagnose it, there's no way to tell whether or not it

will spread to other functions," Magnus said. "If he forgets the rate at which

he's supposed to be feeding us air or gets the nitrogen-oxygen proportions

wrong, we could wind up having a very sound sleep indeed."

"We have to land!"

"Let's hope we can." Magnus raised his, voice again. "Can you initiate a scan

for livable planets, Herkimer?"

"Scanning," the computer responded. A few seconds later, it said, "There is a

G-4 star less than a light-year distant."

"That's the same stellar type as Terra's sun," Alea said. "Does it have any

planets, Herkimer?"

"Three," the computer answered, "with an asteroid belt between the second and

the third, which is a gas giant."

"Tidal forces tore a fourth planet apart." Magnus nodded. "Or prevented it from

ever forming," Alea countered. "How about the other two, Herkimer? Is either of

them hospitable to Terran-based life?"

"One is very compatible," the computer answered. "In fact, it is so close a

match to Terra that I deduce it has been terra formed."

"Lost Colony!" Alea cried.

"There is no, record of a Terran colony at this location," Herkimer

acknowledged.

"Land on that planet," Magnus told him. "It will keep us alive if anything goes

wrong."

"Shore leave!" Alea's eyes lit. "Four months aboard ship is too long."

Magnus caught his breath; she seemed to glow in her eagerness, more vibrant,

more alive than any woman he had known. He wondered why he found her so much

more beautiful now than when he had first met her hiding in the forests of

Midgard. He decided that it must be the effects of good nutrition and decent

living conditions. He wrenched his mind back to the problem at hand and said,

"There may be people there, too. Time for me to become Gar Pike again."

"Surely you don't think there will be anybody looking for Magnus d'Armand on a

retrograde colony that's not even on the charts!"

"You can never tell where SCENT may have an agent," Mag nus answered. "There are

disadvantages to having a price on your head, especially when the organization

who's offering that price counts you as a turncoat and rogue."

"Disadvantages?" Alea asked sourly. "What advantage could there be, to being a

wanted man?"

"That depends on who is doing the wanting." Magnus met her gaze for an instant

before he turned away. "Let's go check our packs."

Herkimer's landing orbit took him over the daylit side of the planet three

times-more than enough for him to spy on the locals with his electron telescope,

and to fabricate copies of what he saw there. So, by the time he hovered over

the middle of the dark side and landed the great golden disk that was their

spaceship, Gar and Alea were decked out in broad-brimmed hats, loose shirts and

trousers, and Black Watch plaid jackets.

"I just hope none of the locals wear this pattern," Alea said as they went down

the gangway.

"If they do, we'll see if we can buy some other ones." Gar felt the gold nuggets

in his pocket, currency on virtually any world. He hiked his pack a little

higher on his shoulders and looked down at the unwieldy form of the flintlock

rifle cradled in his arm. "Herkimer, are you sure this is how these people carry

their weapons? I should think they'd be in danger of blowing away their own

feet!"

"It is customary not to cock the hammer until you intend to fire, Magnus," the

computer's voice said from behind them. "We'll have to put in some target

practice as soon as there's light," Alea said nervously. "This has to be the

most clumsy weapon I've ever handled!"

"It must be effective," Magnus sighed. He frowned around at the forest bordering

their clearing. There was no moon, but the sky blazed with five times as many

stars as Terra's, and by their light he was able to make out a trail straggling

across the meadow and into the wood. "Let's go there." He pointed. "We don't

want people to find us in a meadow where the grass has been crushed flat by a

spaceship's downdraft."

"And keep our eyes open for renegade locals?" Alea asked. "Someone on the run,

always makes a good guide," Gar agreed. "That is, provided he's not on the run

for being a genuine criminal."

"Well, I do have to say that much for a planet where every body is trying to

kill everybody else," Alea said. "They're not likely to have slaves who are

trying to escape."

"No, but there might be someone who's been cut off from his own side." Gar

resettled his rifle, grimaced at its awkwardness, and said, "Let's go."

They started off into the night, Alea with a thrumming eagerness inside; she

still had not tired of seeing strange places and new peoples.

"Magnus," Herkimer's voice said behind them. They turned to look, surprised.

"What is it, Herkimer?" Gar asked.

"I have remembered all the information about the planet Oldeira," the computer

answered. "The CPU malfunction seems to have repaired itself."

Magnus frowned. "I don't like the sound of that. Something that can appear that

suddenly and disappear even more suddenly is very untrustworthy. Go up to orbit

and make sure of the diagnosis. When you find out what caused the problem, let

us know."

Alea breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment, she'd been afraid she'd have to go

back to her gilded prison. The caress of the night wind on her cheek seemed even

sweeter.

"I shall do as you say," Herkimer said, "as soon as you are out of range of my

sensors."

"Good idea," Gar said. "Let me know how you're doing."

"I shall," the computer said. "Good hunting."

Its infrared sensors watched as its humans crossed the meadow and disappeared

into the trees. It waited a moment longer.

Actually, it waited quite a few moments, enough to make up several minutes,

enough for a huge-headed, stumpy-legged, catlike alien to waddle down the

gangway and follow the humans into the forest. Herkimer wasn't aware of the

delay, though, since Evanescent used her projective telepathy to make him forget

everything from the moment the alien appeared in his field of vision until she

vanished into the shadows beneath the trees.

The time wasn't forgotten so much as edited out-and this time, the alien

remembered to reset Herkimer's clock so that the spaceship wouldn't know it had

lingered more than a few seconds longer than it had to.

Then it was up and gone, rising on pressor beams until it was safe to use

atmospheric drive. Up it spun into the stars, a disk of darkness against the

splendor of the heavens, until it rose out of the shadow of the planet into the

light of the sun and seemed one more star itself.

Gar and Alea didn't see, of course. They were already under the canopy of

leaves, searching for a smaller clearing where they could pitch camp and light a

fire.

Evanescent, though, found the nearest thicket and bedded down. She had no need

to shadow her humans; she could follow their thoughts and find them whenever she

wanted. Not that she intended to let them get too far ahead, of course. She

wanted to stay close enough to get in on the fun.

Magnus and Alea kindled a fire and settled down for the night. Gar claimed first

watch, but Alea was too excited to sleep. After half an hour of trying, she gave

up and came to join him by the fire.

"What do you make of their clothing?" she asked Gar.

"I'd guess it's homemade versions of what was everyday wear on Terra, from back

when their ancestors left to colonize this planet," he answered. "Probably

looser to give more freedom of movement-after all, most of the city people did

their work at desks, and when they did want to work out, they wore special

exercise suits."

"Even the broad-brimmed hats?"

Magnus shrugged. "They're practical-keep the sun out of your eyes and the rain

out of your face. Their coats, though, those are what interest me."

"Why?" Alea asked. "Their being hip length shows it doesn't get terribly cold,

but that's about all-unless you mean the patterns."

"I do," Gar said. "It's as good as livery to show which side you're on."

"Yes, I suppose when you're fighting people your own size, you do need some way

to tell friends from enemies." Alea came from a normal-sized people whose

hereditary enemies were giants and dwarves. "Those sort of patterns look easy

for weavers to make. I'm surprised there are so many variations, though."

"A people called Scots wove such plaids on old Earth," Gar mused. "They called

them 'tartans.' When their history became fashionable, people pretended every

clan had invented its own tartan."

"They didn't really, though?"

"It wasn't cast in iron," Magnus said, "nothing to prevent one clan from using

cloth with a dozen different patterns-or none. Still, these people seem to have

heard of the idea."

"They might," Alea said, "or they might have invented it on their own. It would

be a natural thing for a weaver to hit upon, after all-bright, attractive, and

not terribly difficult."

"That's true," Gar said thoughtfully. "I suppose these people don't have to be

descended from Scots at all."

Alea frowned, looking closely at him. "There's another reason you think so,

isn't there?"

Magnus sighed. "The Scots had a reputation for feuding, and that would explain

all those skirmishes we saw on the screen as we orbited the planet."

"Feuding? What tribal society didn't?" Alea demanded. "I've been reading your

history books. All your peoples had feuds before they settled down to farming.

Some kept it going after that, too."

"Yes, and it's bad enough when people only have swords and axes," Magnus said.

"These people, though, all have rifles."

"Appalling." Alea shuddered. "Absolutely appalling number of casualties. Thank

Thor they take so long to reload!"

"Maybe we just came along when they happened to be at war," Gar said. "Maybe it

doesn't really go on all the time."

"We can hope," Alea said darkly. "After all, if it does go on all the time, what

can we do to stop it?"

"Oh, we'll think of something," Gar said softly.

Alea gave him a sharp look; his face had turned dreamy, and she could hear his

thoughts clicking into place. If he couldn't start a revolution this time, he'd

settle for bringing peace. Somehow, she had a notion that this trip wouldn't be

wasted.

Gar yielded the watch to her, slept four hours, then took up his vigil

again-which was just as well, because the excitement had finally worn off, and

Alea managed a few hours' sleep.

"A nap is better anyway," she told him over their breakfast of journeybread and

coffee. "We'd only been awake ten hours when we landed."

"It will take a day or two to turn our inner rhythms around," Gar agreed. "Well,

let's see what this planet holds, shall we?" They drowned and buried the fire,

then went off down lanes of fir trees with very little underbrush to impede

them. The sun hadn't risen yet, and the forest was still filled with gloom-light

enough to see where they were going, but dark enough to be dusk more than day.

"What's that glow in the air ahead?" Alea asked.

"Probably a rotten tree gone phosphorescent," Gar said, and changed course

toward the luminous cloud. They'd only gone another dozen steps before he

stopped dead, staring. "It can't be!"

Alea's eyes were wider than his. "It is!"

The cloud moved toward them with the angry hum of a dozen wings. The foot high

humanoids hovered before them, six-foot spans of gauzy wings forming a

semicircular wall around the humans, some with arms folded, some with hands on

hips, but all with fists, their faces glowing with anger.

"Why come you hither, mortals?" the foremost demanded. "Your mind what madness

fills?"

They looked as humans might have if they had evolved from flying cats, very

small cats with very large wings. Pointed ears poked out of flowing manes atop

their heads, the only hair on their bodies. Their eyes were large with vertical

pupils, noses small and triangular, mouths lipless. Below the leaves and flowers

that served them as clothing, their legs hung flexed by powerful thighs and

calves.

"Know you not that the deep forests are ours?" the leader demanded. "Are not the

rolling meadows and the woodlands enough for you?"

"Actually, we're strangers who don't know our way," Alea said. "We have traveled

far, and didn't know your customs."

"Traveled far! Whence upon this world can you have come and not known of us?"

"Your ancestors crowded into this land unasked," another fairy said, eyes bright

with anger. "Ours were loathe to wreak ill upon others, so they retreated from

the coming of the strangers, then retreated again-but when the human folk began

to bring their golden sickles deep within our forests in search of the oaks and

mistletoe whose seed they had themselves brought, we cried 'Enough!' and taught

them our anger."

"Have you no teachers," the first fairy asked, "that you have not learned what

harm the wrath of the fair folk can bring?"

"I have heard a few stories, yes," Gar said slowly.

"And do you intend as much harm to us as others of your kind have wreaked upon

one another?"

"We most surely do not!" Alea said indignantly. "What of your mate?" another

fairy demanded. Alea colored. "He is not my mate!"

"It is as she says," Gar said with a sigh. "Nonetheless, I intend no harm to

your kind either."

"But to your own?"

"I never intend harm, no," Gar said carefully.

The leader frowned. "Surely you do not say that you do harm without intending

it!"

"When I am attacked, I defend myself-and when I see others oppressed, I defend

them," Gar explained.

"So say all your kind," spat another fairy. "Nonetheless, they lie in wait for

their enemies and strike them dead with their stinking smoke-tubes! What manner

of defense is this-to ward yourself before they can think to strike you? Can you

truly call that-"

"Softly, Cailleach," the leader said in an undertone.

Gar held his face steady to hide his recognition of the word. "Cailleach" meant

"hag," and the third fairy was indeed more pale than the others, its skin

wrinkled, but it bore no other signs of age-nor of gender, come to that.

"Her point is well taken, though," the leader said. "What assurance can you give

that you will not 'defend' yourselves against us before we strike?"

"Their assurances would be meaningless, Ichorba," Cailleach snapped. "What they

say when they are only two to our twenty, and what they will do if they come

upon one of us alone, may not be..." Her head snapped up; she looked off to her

right with a puzzled frown.

So did the rest of the troupe-except Ichorba. "So you have a guardian spirit."

He was silent a moment, pupils dilating, then shrinking again. "You are

avouched."

Then they were gone in a flurry of huge gauzy wings, shooting up among the limbs

of the trees, darting into coverts, a few gliding away between trunks, their

glow lighting a long avenue between trees.

Gar and Alea stood silent a moment, staring after them, dumbfounded. Then Alea

breathed a sigh and said, "Well! All praise to our guardian spirit! Who is it,

Gar?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," Gar said. "Unless it's Herkimer-but I've never

known him to be telepathic."

"I didn't hear any thoughts."

"Neither did I, but the fair folk certainly did." Gar started forward again but

held his staff in both hands, keenly alert. "It would seem we've been adopted by

a local intelligent life-form."

"That would explain it," Alea said dubiously, "and would explain why the fair

folk accepted its vouching for us. After all, I would guess they're native to

this planet, too."

"They certainly don't look like Terran imports." Gar nodded. "Five centuries of

evolution can't make all that great a change."

"Extra limbs would take considerably longer to grow," Alea agreed. "Their remote

ancestor must have had six limbs for them to have been able to free two for

wings."

"We'll have to keep an eye on the local wildlife," Gar said, "that is, assuming

it hasn't all been exterminated by the birds and beasts the colonists brought

with them."

"That's been known to happen." Alea had been cramming history, Terran and

colonial. "Placental mammals wiped out most of the marsupials in Australia."

"I don't think these are mammals," Gar said. "At least, I didn't see any

evidence of mammary glands."

Alea shrugged. "Nature is under no obligation to produce the same life-forms on

every planet. For all we know, they lay eggs."

"Or reproduce by fission." Gar nodded. "No matter how they do, though, they're

clearly native. We're the aliens here."

"Yes, and they're not too happy about it," Alea said grimly. "Do you think their

ancestors really did retreat to make room for the colonists?"

"I suspect there was some fighting that their legends have conveniently

forgotten," Gar said, echoing her grimness, "or maybe even outright

extermination. Still, they could be remembering accurately that they didn't

start fighting until people started invading their final sanctuary. By the way,

what did you think about the Earthlings coming into the deep woods to search for

oaks and mistletoe?"

"With golden sickles? They sound like Druids," Alea answered.

"They could well be," Gar said. "Maybe the original colonists were neo-Druids,

looking for a place to set up a Celtic world."

"Not much chance of that back on Earth anymore," Alea agreed.

"Of course, we don't carry golden sickles," Gar said, "but I can see that the

fair folk might have become nervous about any Earthlings coming into their

domain."

"Serves us right for landing in the deep woods! And we thought it would keep

people from noticing us."

"It did," Gar said. "Human people, anyway."

"Those fairy folk were as human as any of us," Alea said flatly. "From now on,

we should talk about our own kind as Earthlings."

"That's fair enough."

"No, they are."

"Well, no, they didn't actually say they were fairies," Gar pointed out. "Still,

if we hear Earthlings use the word, we'll know we're up against something more

than superstition. I wonder what kind of trouble they thought they could make?"

"We'll have to ask to hear the local version of fairy tales," Alea said, "when

we find some people-Earthlings, I mean."

"At any rate, we won't have to worry about the fairies making trouble for us,"

Gar said.

"Yes, since they seem to trust our guardian, whatever that is."

"That is something we can worry about," Gar said. "When and where did we acquire

a guardian spirit?"

"And how?" Alea shrugged. "Maybe we have an aura of good intentions about us."

"Intentions, yes," Gar said with a wry smile. "I'm not always so sure about my

accomplishments."

Alea glanced up at him with a frown. It wasn't the first time she'd heard him

make disparaging comments about himself. How could so valiant and gentle a man

not think well of himself? More to the point, how did it affect the way he dealt

with her? She decided she'd have to work on it.

The fairies must have been overly sensitive, or the forests not as extensive as

they had once been, for they came out of the trees to find the sun newly risen.

A broad meadow stretched before them. They followed a deer track to a river;

they knew it was a deer track because they saw a doe with two fawns.

"More immigrants." Gar nodded toward the animals. "Druids would have brought

deer, I suppose," Alea agreed. They followed the river for an hour before they

came to a dirt road, tilting downward to the shallows. "Roads mean people," Alea

said. "Which way?"

Gar shrugged. "One is as good as another, and I don't feel like getting my feet

wet."

They followed the road up the riverbank, under trees vivid with falling leaves

of red and gold, between fields guarded by split rail fences, raw with the

stubble of harvest and dotted with the upside down cones of corn shocks.

"Fall here, I'd guess," Alea said. "They do seem to be good farmers."

"And herders." Alea pointed her staff at some cows wandering out of a grove to

graze in a field off to their right.

"All we need now are their owners," Gar said. "You've found them," said a deep

gravelly voice.

Out of the woods stepped three people in broad-brimmed hats and loose trousers,

their coats in grids of green and yellow. Three more like them rose from a ditch

on the other side of the road. This close, Gar and Alea could see that some wore

close-cropped beards without mustaches, while others were smooth-faced. Some of

the beardless ones were clearly young men, others were clearly women.

All carried long flintlock rifles, every one of which seemed to be aimed at

himself and Alea.

"That's a tartan I don't know," said the eldest, a graybeard. "Where are you

from, strangers, and what's your clan?"

They both knew that the truth was best. "I'm a Pike from Maxima, and my

companion is a Larsdatter," Gar told him. "Never heard of 'em." The man eyed him

with suspicion. "Where's this Maxima?"

"Far away," Gar told him. "Very far away."

"Sure must be," a young man said. "We've never heard of it!"

"You leave the talking to those who're grown enough to have some wisdom;

Jethro," the graybeard said, never taking his eyes from Gar and Alea.

"Oh, all right, Uncle Isaac," Jethro said, but he still glowered at Gar.

"He's got a point, though," said Uncle Isaac. "You must've come hundreds of

miles."

"You understand me well," Gar said, nodding. "I can't go home until I've found

what I'm looking for."

"Oh." Jethro lowered his rifle. "We understand about wander years."

"Don't usually send our young folks off without full guard, though," Uncle Isaac

said suspiciously.

"It was my choice," Gar said evenly, "and mine not to come home, if misfortune

befell me."

Gun barrels lowered amid exclamations of distress and sympathy.

"What was it, then, lad?" one young woman asked, eyes wide. "What hurt-"

"His business and none other's!" said an older woman. "Ours not to pry,

youngling."

The young woman clamped her jaw shut, but her eyes burned with resentment.

"What of her, then?" A young man gave Alea a weighing glance that turned to a

gleam.

"Indeed," said Uncle Isaac. "What of you, young woman?"

"I am the last of my clan," Alea said stiffly.

The clansfolk stared, and several voices murmured with sympathy.

"Ah well, no wonder you're far from your birthplace, then!" said a woman whose

hair was streaked with gray.

"You come home with us and get some food in your bellies," said another woman

with lustrous brown hair and only a few lines in her face. "Poor lass, you must

be near starved."

"She's skinny enough," said the young man with the hot eyes.

Gar turned to him with a smile that became a grin.

"Keep your eyes to yourself and your own, Eli," the grayhaired woman snapped.

"As you say, Aunt Martha," the young man said reluctantly. "I do say! No call

for you to go looking elsewhere, with your Aura Lee to come home to." Aunt

Martha stepped forward, reaching out to Alea. "You come on along now, child.

We'll make you a pallet, and if it's on the floor, at least it will be indoors

and by a firel How long's it been since you slept with a roof over your head?"

"Her neighbors surely weren't about to take her in," one young woman said to

another in a low voice.

"Aye, staying near when your clan is killed is inviting death," her friend

agreed.

"Sure is," Jethro said. "It's the same as being outlawed." Expressions turned

startled, then wary. Rifle barrels rose again.

"Jethro, I told you to leave the talking to those as have some sense!" Uncle

Isaac blustered.

"Sole survivor's only an outlaw if she's close to home," the brown-haired woman

told Jethro scornfully.

"Well, she's a woman, though," Jethro grumbled. "Why hasn't she married into

another clan? If she's journeyed so far, she's had plenty of chances."

"Maybe none of 'em any more comely than you, though!" a young woman said,

wrinkling her nose.

"Right enough, Sukey," the brown-haired woman said, and to Jethro, "Could be she

didn't fall in love, you know."

"Oh, didn't she?" Jethro jerked his head at Gar. "Why's she traveling with him,

then?"

"Because she can trust me," Gar told him, "and it's safer to travel with a

partner. But romance? Look at me, lad. Is this the kind of face to win a woman's

love?"

Jethro locked glares with him-so Gar didn't see the longing look Alea gave him,

quickly masked, nor the kindling glances of the younger clanswomen.

"No," Jethro said with a contemptuous sneer. "Only a mother could love that

face."

"Handsome is as handsome does, fool!" Sukey jibed. "Then you must've done ugly

work," Jethro told Gar. "Ugly indeed," Gar agreed, "as any fool could tell you."

Jethro's sneer vanished. "Why a fool?"

"Because it would take a fool to call him out," Uncle Isaac said, "a man that

size."

"Without a rifle?"

"Guns are for cowards." Gar lifted his staff. "Any man with real courage would

come at me with nothing more than this."

"There's truth in that, lad," Aunt Martha said slowly, "but there's folly, too.

If you're crossing a meadow and a Belinkun shoots at you, you'd best not go

chasing him with nothing but a stick or he'll shoot you dead."

"If he has time to reload," Gar said, his gaze locked with Jethro's.

"Them Belinkuns never goes out alone," Jethro said with scorn. "That's almost as

much folly as not carrying a rifle."

"Why, so it is," Gar said softly, "and now you'll understand why the young lady

travels with me even though we're not in love."

Jethro's face went slack with surprise at the argument's going full circle. The

young women laughed.

"He's got you there, Jethro!"

"He beat you by good sense!" Jethro reddened with embarrassment and anger.

"There's no losing when people manage to make one another understand," Gar said,

"only winning-on both sides." Jethro looked even more surprised at being offered

away to save face. Then he gave a bitter laugh. "Tell that to the Belinkun

clan!"

"Why, so I shall," Gar said, speaking softly again, "if you'll point me the way

and give me a safe-conduct through your lands."

The clan stared at him in surprise. Then Uncle Isaac laughed, stepping forward

to clap him on the shoulder. "I believe you'd do it, too! But it would be the

death of you, stranger; those Belinkuns are treacherous as snakes and twice as

deadly!"

"I've dealt with snakes before," Gar said evenly.

"Yes, but those snakes weren't carrying rifles."

Alea didn't realize she'd grown tense until she relaxed. She turned to the young

women, lifting an eyebrow in exasperation. "Now that the bulls have stopped

pawing the ground, maybe we can talk clearly to one another."

"I always did like to watch a good bullfight," Aunt Martha said with a grin. She

put an arm around Alea's shoulders. "You come home with us now, lass, and maybe

we can get the men to be civil long enough to eat dinner."

The travelers thought they were still among fields when a minor mob burst

caroling from a grove.

"Daddy! Did you shoot me a deer?"

"Mama, Mama! What's for dinner?"

"Uncle Silas, did you fight another bear?"

"Mommy, did you shoot me that new hat?"

"No, dear." The brown-haired woman ruffled a little boy's hair with a fond

smile. "The raccoons don't come out till night."

"They might have stepped out in the daylight just to oblige you," Jethro said,

"but this big galoot scared 'em away, he's so ugly."

The children saw the strangers and fell silent, their eyes growing round.

"Why, thank you, Jethro," Gar said with a smile. "It's nice to be given my due."

"He's a giant!" a little girl said.

"So's she!" A ten-year-old pointed to Alea.

"Molly," Aunt Martha said severely, "it's not polite to point." Molly stuck her

hands behind her back but kept staring. Alea smiled. "Don't worry, little one.

You're not the first to say it." She tried to ignore the bitterness of the

memories. "That's enough, now," Aunt Martha said. "You leave the guests alone

till they've had a chance to wash up and rest a little." She turned one of the

boys around and gave him a little push. "Go tell Great Grandma, now, and the

others."

"Sure, Gammy!" the boy cried, and took off. The juvenile score ran howling

behind him to spread the word to their contemporaries.

"They wander far," Alea said.

"Not so far as all that." Gammy beckoned and walked onward. They went down the

road another rod and turned into a lane. Alea stared; the roadside thicket had

hidden a four-foot - high wall of fieldstone. A gate of oak sheathed with brass

closed the lane, but it was open and a clansman stood by it grinning, his rifle

pointing at the ground. "Good hunting, folks?"

"Only these, Hiram." Uncle Isaac held up a brace of partridge. Another held up a

pair of rabbits and a third several more partridges. "And these." He nodded

toward Gar and Alea.

"Big game indeed!" the gatekeeper said, grinning wider. "The tads told me you

were bringing a giant, but I didn't believe them."

"I prefer to think of myself as a bonus," Gar said.

"A bonus to any clan that has you, I'd says Can you shoot?" Gar shrugged. "Well

enough, I suppose, but I'd rather fight hand to hand."

"Well, then, I hope you don't meet any bears!" Hiram grinned and waved as they

went on through.

Alea halted with a gasp of surprise. "It's a manor house! I'd never have known

it was here."

"Of course not," Gammy said. "We wouldn't want the Belinkuns to be able to see

at a glance how many were home, would we?"

The clan's house was a great rambling three-story structure with wings added on

at each side, then at right angles, and finally forming a square, as generations

had toiled to make more living space. Even so, they had finally outgrown the

ancestral mansion, because smaller houses formed a semicircle in front of the

big one. The ground between was a luxuriant lawn landscaped with concentric beds

of flowers separated by graveled walks. Wherever the clan fought its battles, it

had managed to keep them away from home.

Their hosts led Gar and Alea up the widest gravel walk to the massive front door

of the mansion.

A blood-curdling shriek pierced the air.

Alea whirled to see a dozen children of various ages come hurtling around the

corner of the house. Another band sprang howling from the shade of a great old

willow. "Belinkuns!" several voices shouted. "Get 'em!"

The children leveled wooden rifles and shouted "Bang! Boom!" and other assorted

noises. Some spun about with harrowing cries and fell in very theatrical death

scenes. In two minutes, only two children were left standing on each side.

"No fair, Clay!" one girl called. "I shot you!"

"Can't have, Lizzy!" a boy called back. "Farlands always win, you know that."

Lizzy pouted but dutifully sank down and threw herself about in very loud death

throes. So did her compatriot. "Battle's over," one of the survivors declared.

The corpses jumped up, and Lizzy called, "I want to be a Farland this time!"

"Yeah, Clay!" a boy called. "Your turn to be a Belinkun!"

"Turnabout is fair, Clay," Jethro called.

Clay heaved a massive sigh and lifted his toy rifle. "Okay, I'm Hezekiah

Belinkun!"

"No, I'm Hezekiah," a tall girl said. "I'm the oldest."

"Hezekiah's a man, though," Clay objected.

"Well then, I'll be Great Gran Belinkun," the girl stated. "Okay, Hezekiah, call

up the clan! The sentries are telling us them Farlands are attacking!",

Alea stared, then exchanged a quick glance with Gar and saw the same horror in

his eyes as she felt in her heart. "Welcome to our house," Gammy said formally.

"Thank you," Gar said, his face a smooth mask again. He turned and scraped his

boot across a dull blade set beside the door, then scraped the other and went

into the house. Alea imitated his actions, wondering how he had known about the

boot-scraper, and followed him in.

The first thing that struck Alea was the number of children running around the

place. She would have thought that the mock battle she'd seen included all of

the younger generation, but there were at least that many more playing intricate

games with balls and tiny hoops, setting plates and forks on the long table in

the center of the hall, or roughhousing with a great old patient sheepdog who

lay near the hearth. Her amazement subsided a little and she had time to notice

the room itself. It was huge, with a ten-foot ceiling and wainscoting of a

golden wood. Between wainscot and ceiling, the plaster was whitewashed and hung

with a dozen or more pictures, portraits, and landscapes done with varying

degrees of skill, but all warm in tone and expressing a feeling of safety.

Alea realized that the clansfolk had fashioned a refuge, a retreat to give them

the feeling of a security they might not have had in real life.

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AWizardInaFeudAWizardInaFeudTheNinthChronicleofMagnusD'Armand,RogueWizardByChristopherStasheffISBN:0-812-54152-91"Magnus,wehaveanemergency."Magnusd'Armandlookedupatthesourceofthecalmvoice.Therewasnothingthere,ofcourse-onlyawoodlandsceneinagildedframe;theloudspeakerswerehidden."Whatsortofemergency,He...

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