The Warlock Heretical (35 page)

fixing him with a whetted gaze. "Have we proved well enough that the locals can't resolve their own dispute?"

"Yes, damn it!" Rod snapped. "Oh . . . sorry, Father."

"Think nothing of it I would like to dam the stream of this quarrel, myself." McGee turned toward the rebel line.

"In fact, I think I will . . . Ho!" He kicked his horse and galloped out into the space between the armies „

"What the— Come backl" Then Rod covered his face with his hand and moaned.

"What doth the Father-General?" Tuan stared, flabbergasted. "Hath he gone mad?"

"No, Your Majesty—only enraged."

"You impious renegade!" McGee was shouting as he galloped. "You Judas goat!" The Archbishop whirled, startled, then saw the monk's robe and paled. On a hillock at the rear the Lady Mayrose paled, too, and

kicked her palfrey into motion, charging down into the troops, shouting, "Make way! Let me through! I must

come to him, ere all is lost!"

The troops made way for her out of sheer surprise.

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The Archbishop gulped air.

"Wilt thou so let a monk upbraid thee?" Di Medici demanded. "Come, milord! Thou wilt let thine authority be

rent asunder! Thou must needs rebuke him!"

The Archbishop closed his mouth, jaw firming, and galloped out to McGee. "False priest, give way!

Who art

thou to chastise thine Archbishop?"

"Thou knowest full well who I am!" McGee roared in anger. "I am Morris McGee, Father-General of the Order

of St. Vidicon of Cathode! Kneel to thy senior, false prelate!" His voice carried very well—to both armies. Every man, knight or peasant, stared, his jaw gaping.

"He hath done it!" Tuan cried. "He hath made all understand the falseness of this schism!" But the Archbishop countered. "Thou art an imposter, false man! Belike thou art not even a priest! None have

ever seen the Father-General of the Order; never hath he come to Gramarye!"

"Yet now he hath!" McGee thrust a fist at the Archbishop, and a circlet on his ring finger flared in the sunlight.

"Here is my ring and my seal!"

Only the Archbishop could see the narrow band of copper with the integrated-circuit chip in its tiny alligator-clip

setting; but the knights in the front lines of both armies saw the blood drain from his face. " Tis the very signet,"

he whispered, "the ring made by sainted Vidicon himself! Oft have I gazed upon its impression in our books and

our seal!"

The King's men didn't know what was going on, but they got the impression that things were going well. They

cheered.

Their yell rang in Di Medici's ears with the sound of crumbling victory. He looked about him in desperation,

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thinking to ride out in force, but saw the doubt in his soldiers' faces and knew they would fold when the King's

knights charged. As a last hope, he turned to the platoon of monks. "Up, men of cloisters! Thy master's beset!

Come, follow me to his succor!"

The monks looked at one another, then back at the two clerics in mid-field. They didn't move.

"I shall impale any man who doth not march!" Di Medici shouted, and his sword hissed out of its sheath. The monks eyed it with dread. Then Father Rigori stepped forward, and one after another, the others followed.

The Lady Mayrose galloped past them up to the Archbishop's side, and drew rein. "Be mindful, my lord! Of all

the iniquities of the Roman Church! Of the corruption the Pope doth allow!"

"The Holy Father cannot enforce the commandments," Father McGee bellowed in answer, "for Christ said,

'Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's!'"

"The Pope doth allow usury!"

"The Church hath never approved more than moderate interest!" McGee insisted.

"He doth sell indulgences!"

"The Holy Father hath said that only prayer and good works—faith, hope, and charity—will hasten our journey

to Heaven!"

Di Medici towered over him on a rearing horse. McGee spared him a single contemptuous glance, then turned

back to glare at the Archbishop.

"Come, knights!" Di Medici bellowed, livid. "Come, my lords Florenzo and Perdito! School me these prating

shave-pates, and bring them to heel!"

"Be still!" both clergymen bellowed, turning on him, and back in the line, the counts gave him only
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apprehensive

looks in answer.

"The First Estate bids thee retire!" the Archbishop bellowed in full fury. "Godly matters are past thy comprehension!"

Di Medici gave him a long, narrow stare, then nodded and turned his horse away—and with a sinking heart, the

Archbishop realized that, no matter what the outcome of this battle would be, he had lost Di Medici forever.

He turned back to save what little he could. "Rome cares naught for Gramarye, and would issue commands

without understanding!"

"The Pope is so deeply concerned for thy nation, that he sent Father Uwell on an emergency mission, and told

him to bring back as much knowledge about Gramarye as he could," McGee shouted back, "and now hath sent

me, to issue directives based on understanding!"

Lady Mayrose clasped the Archbishop's armored fingers

tightly. "But think, my lord! If Rome is right, you cannot have mel" The Archbishop stiffened, alarm inflaming his face. Then he looked about him in desperation, and for the first

time realized that his horse stood surrounded by his own monks. "Father Rigori!" he cried in glad relief.

"Brother

Hasty! All my brothers and sons! Seize this imposter!"

But Father McGee bent a stern eye on them, and they turned to meet his gaze.

"Wilt thou not heed me!" the Archbishop raged. "Seize him!" Slowly McGee raised his fist, and all the brothers could see his ring.

"Thou hast sworn obedience!" the Archbishop shouted in desperation. "I command thee by thine own vows!"

"We are sworn to the Order, milord," Rigori answered, wooden-faced, "and therefore to the
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Father-General. Our

loyalty to him must supersede our fealty to thee."

And slowly he knelt, bowing his head. In a slow wave, the others followed his example.

"Thou hast never truly believed my doctrines," the Archbishop whispered, ashen-faced. "In thine heart of hearts

thou hast ever wished to be loyal to Rome and to the Crown, but did lack the courage to say it!" Rigori kept his head bowed, and did not deny it.

"Cowards!" Lady Mayrose wailed. "If thou shall not bring down the imposter, I shall!" She yanked the mace

from the Archbishop's limp fingers and turned, swinging it high to strike the Father-General. A shriek like an avenging angel's split the air, and a small figure on a broomstick shot down out of the sky. The

mace jerked itself back in Lady Mayrose's hands, almost pulling her off her horse, then spun down toward her

head. She screamed, wrestling with it, trying to hold its cruel barbs away from her face, and the Archbishop

shouted in fright, leaping to her aid, catching at the mace.

"Vile temptress!" the little witch screamed, circling ten feet overhead. "Vice and seductress!" But above her a bigger witch dipped down, riding sidesaddle, calling "Lord counts! Good knights! Wilt thou let

such a serpent writhe free? Nay! Catch her and bind her!"

Her voice was compelling with more than mere overtones.

The counts finally shouted and leaped forward in the relief of action, and a dozen knights charged with them to

wrest the Lady Mayrose from the Archbishop's arms. He roared, finally charged with anger again, catching the

mace from her hands and whirling it down at the nearest knight.

Geoffrey appeared with a gunshot crack, floating in midair, one hand upheld, and the mace bounced off an

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invisible shield about him as he shouted, "Wouldst thou attack, then? Thou, who hast preached the word of

Christ? Thou, who dost dare to instruct knights and dukes? Thou corrupter of Gospels! Thou renegade cleric!

Thou most unworthy of the cloth thou dost wear!"

In panic the Archbishop rained blow after blow at the boy, but Geoffrey parried them all in sheer reflex. A man-at-arms laughed in disbelief. Then another did, and another, and soon the whole field roared in hilarity at

the ridiculous spectacle of the dreaded Archbishop, balked by a boy. Di Medici bellowed in dead-end despair and charged out.

'The hell you do!" Rod roared. "Now, Fess!"

The great black horse screamed and leaped toward the duke.

Di Medici saw him coming and turned to meet him, sword flashing out. Rod parried one cut and slammed into him, body to body, and Fess's unyielding form staggered the duke's

charger. He swayed in the saddle, and Rod twisted him around, the duke's throat in the crook of the Lord

Warlock's arm. " 'The Lord has given him into my hand!'" Rod roared. "Yield, my lord, yield! All who follow

this traitorous duke, lay down your arms, or he dies!"

One by one the knights threw down their swords, and the men-at-arms, grinning, dropped their pikes. Except, that is, for the knights who had finally managed to drag the Lady Mayrose down off her horse, to bind

her arms as she screamed and screamed, cursing them in more vile language than ever they had heard from a

lady—and too loudly for them to have heard the Lord Warlock.

The mace slipped from the Archbishop's exhausted fingers.

"Down on your knees!" McGee thundered. "Repent while you can!" Ashen-faced, the Archbishop slid from his horse, stood a moment, then toppled in a dead faint.

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Panting, Rod looked up over Di Medici's squirming shoulder, and saw Tuan sitting his horse with one knee,

hooked around the pommel, wearing the broadest smile he owned.

Rod scowled. "You could at least have helped out a little, Your Majesty!"

"Wherefore, Lord Warlock?" the King asked, all innocence. "Thou and thy bairns did so well of thine own!"

20

The rays of the afternoon sun slanted in through the high windows of the Great Hall, gilding the ranks of the

assembled noblemen and their knights. The King and Queen sat framed in purple draperies under a silken canopy

above their thrones.

Before them, in a clean tunic and hose, was Hoban, trying to stand tall and proud, but more terrified than he had

ever been before the Archbishop and all his monks.

"Know ye all," cried a leather-lunged herald, "that this good man, hight Hoban, did bravely go into the monastery

of St. Vidicon, knowing his peril, yet determined to discover the news that Their Majesties did need. He sent to

them intelligence that did bring the traitor Alfonso into their hands, and thereby did strongly abet their victory at

Despard Plain. In recognition thereof, Their Majesties do bestow upon him the honor of the Order of the Wheel!"

The chamber burst into murmuring, for the order was the highest that could be awarded a member of the Fourth

Estate. Tuan nodded to Sir Maris, who stepped forward to place a chain over Hoban's head. Hoban stared down

in amazement at the medallion hanging on his breast.

The herald blew a blast, and the courtiers fell silent. Catharine lifted her head and called out, "In further recogni tion of thy worth, good Hoban, we raise thee now from thy

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bond to the land, and declare thee henceforth a yeoman, with the surname Bravura!" The crowd's murmur was much louder, but very much approving. Hoban turned beet red. "Majesty ... I am not

worthy—"

Tuan silenced him with a lifted palm, then signed to the herald, who blew another blast. The courtiers quieted

again, and Tuan said, "We grant to thee ten acres of land, to have and to hold for thyself and all of thy line, as

long as it shall endure—ten acres within the County of Schicci, formerly of the demesne of Di Medici, but now

within the estates of the Lord High Warlock!"

Hoban nearly fainted from shock, and the crowd burst into a roaring hubbub. It was fitting that the traitor's lands

should be awarded to a loyal man, but it was the first sign of the Crown's justice.

"My lord, 'tis far from our cottage, o'er the mountains!" Gwen said into his ear.

"I know, dear," Rod said glumly, "but I don't think this is quite the time to tell him I hate the idea of being a

landlord."

Hoban was being conducted from Their Majesties' presence by a footman, and he needed the help—he was so

dazed, he scarcely knew where he was going. Tuan let the hubbub grow, then slacken, before he nodded to Sir

Maris again. The seneschal beckoned to some guardsmen, and they stood aside as a train of knights escorted the

Due Di Medici and his supporters in to face the thrones, their heads held high in spite of the load of chains that

weighted them. They lined up, and if looks could have killed, Tuan and Catharine would have been dead that

instant.

Catharine returned glare for glare, but Tuan only held his face hard against their hatred as he stood.
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The room grew very quiet.