The Warlock Rock (2 page)

Catharine thawed a little, and there was a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes. She didn't ask to whom she and her people were important; she and her husband had wormed as much of that as they could from the Lord Warlock, and Catharine wasn't sure she wanted to know any more. But Tuan was another matter. "Who are the 'they' she doth speak of?"

"Why, the ones who raised the zombies," Rod hedged.

"And who did that, Papa?" Gregory asked.

"Nice question." Rod looked down at his youngest, trying not to let his exasperation show. "Got any ideas, Gregory?"

"A sorcerer," said Diarmid.

"Fair guess." Rod nodded. " Whichsorcerer?"

Gregory shook his head. "We do not know enough to guess, Papa."

"Then," said Catharine, "I prithee, go learn."

"Because the Queen said, 'Go learn,' that's why." Rod tightened the cinch on Fess's saddle.

"It seems to me, Rod, that you take virtually any excuse to go on a journey these days." Rod picked up the great black horse's voice through an earphone imbedded in his mastoid process. Of course, he could have heard the robot without it, now that Fess had figured out how to transmit in the family telepathic mode—but the earphone didn't demand any concentration.

"Well, true," Rod conceded, "so long as Their Majesties are paying expenses." He grinned wickedly.

"Sometimes even if they're not. But it cuts down on the explanations when it's official."

"Still, you are pursuing a manifestation that resembled walking corpses. Do you truly think it is safe to bring the children along?"

Rod stopped with the saddlebags over his arm and ticked off points on his fingers. "One: There was absolutely no sign of violence from the cold ones. In fact, they seemed remarkably good-natured. Two: None of my children showed much in the way of fear at the sight of them. Three: Do you really think we could get them to stay behind, if we tried?"

"Not unless Gwen did"—the horse sighed—"and she does seem to have her mind set on the expedition."

"And if she thinks it's safe enough for them to go, then it's safe."

"I concede the point." Fess sighed, again. "Still, as the children's tutor, I must protest this interruption in their studies."

"Who said anything about stopping the homework? I'm sure you can find time for a lecture or two." Rod
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slung the saddlebags over Fess's back, led him out of the stable, and turned back to close and bolt the door.

"There is small need for that, Lord Warlock," said a small voice from the tussock of grass beside the building. "We shall ward thy cot and barn well in thine absence." Rod inclined his head gravely toward the tussock. "I thank you, brownie. Simply a matter of responsible behavior—I shouldn't task you any more than is necessary. Oh, and I left the bowl of milk inside."

"We ha' known of it," the invisible manikin replied. "Godspeed, Lord Warlock."

"I thank you, Wee Folk," Rod called out, then turned away to join his wife and children, where they waited with their packs.

Gwen looked askance at him, then turned to watch the children. Rod didn't need to read her mind to know she was wondering about the wisdom of letting Fess try to lecture about mathematics when the children had clearly decided they were on holiday. For his part, Rod was beginning to think it wasn't such a hot idea, either, especially from the degree of ruddiness in Geoffrey's countenance.

"Such a deal of parabolas and hyperbolas and tangents!" the boy finally exploded. "What matter they to a warrior?"

"They will matter greatly," Fess responded, "if you lay siege to a castle." Geoffrey stared at him. "How?"

"Excellent question. How do you aim a catapult, Geoffrey?"

"Thou dost point it at the castle, and loose!" The boy spread his hands.

"And if the rock falls short of the wall?"

Geoffrey expanded, delighted to talk about something he knew. "Thou dost bring the catapult closer."

"But the castle's archers will make pincushions of your men if you come too close," Fess pointed out.

"Why, then," Geoffrey said, disgusted, "one doth make a stronger catapult."

"Good enough. But let us say that you make it too strong, and the rock sails over the castle wall and into the bailey."

" 'Twill do some damage…"

"But it will not breach the wall. You could tilt it, though."

"Catapults do not tilt." Geoffrey scowled, suspecting a trick.

"Then you must invent one that does."

"Wherefore?" Geoffrey protested. "What good would it do?"
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"Why not make a catapult, and show them?" Rod suggested. Whatever Fess's answer was, it was drowned out by Geoffrey's cheer. He and Gregory set about gathering sticks and creepers, and in ten minutes' time had lashed together a serviceable imitation of a catapult, while Cordelia and Magnus watched with indulgent smiles, trying not to look interested. Fess said, with resignation, "Load the catapult, Geoffrey. "

"Aye, Fess!" The boy snatched a three-inch pebble from the ground, placing it into the cup at the end of the catapult's throwing arm.

"Aim it at that large oak tree at the side of the road ahead," Fess instructed.

"'Tis the thickest for a rod's walk." Magnus grinned. "An thou canst not hit that, brother, I shall have to fetch thee an oliphant."

Geoffrey gave him a black glare, but before he could speak, Fess said, "I did not ask for your input, Magnus. Is your aim complete, Geoffrey?"

"Aye, Fess."

"Loose, then."

Geoffrey pushed the 'trigger,' and the arm slammed forward. The pebble shot up into the air.

"Notice that the path of the stone is a curve, children. In fact, if you watch closely, you will see that it is a curve with which you are familiar."

"Why, so 'tis," Geoffrey agreed. " Tis like to the path of an arrow, when the archer doth shoot at a distant target."

"It is indeed—and it is also a parabola. With the proper mathematics, one can calculate from the elevation, the angle, the length of the catapult's arm, and the tensile strength of its rope spring, exactly where that arc will end."

"And therefore where the rock will strike!" Geoffrey cried, his eyes lighting.

"Odd teaching method," Rod murmured to Gwen, "but for him, it works." Gwen shook her head in exasperation. "He will learn naught if it bears not on the waging of war." The stone smacked into the tree, and a reedy, distant voice said distinctly, "Ouch!" The children stood stock-still, staring.

Then they turned to one another, all talking at once.

"Didst thou say 'ouch'?"

"Nay, I did but watch. Didst thou?"

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"I never say 'ouch'!"

"I did not. Didst thou say 'ouch'?"

"Nay, for nothing struck me."

"Children!" Gwen said sternly, and they stilled on the instant, turning toward her. "Now—who did say

'ouch'?"

"The rock did," Gregory answered.

"That is impossible," Fess assured them. "Rocks cannot talk. They are inanimate."

"In Gramarye, Fess, aught can do anything," Magnus reminded him. Uncertainty underscored the robot's response, "You imply that the pebble in question is a false stone?"

"I do not, Fess. As thou hast taught us," Cordelia reminded, " wedo not imply— thoudost infer."

"I must admit your accuracy," Fess acknowledged. "The rock must have said 'ouch'." Rod was amazed at Fess's progress. "Time was when that would have given you a seizure." The children gave a cry of delight and shot off toward the stone.

"Stay back, children," Fess said, but they had already pelted across the stableyard to the tree. Fess boosted his amplification. "Stay back! We must assume it is dangerous, since we do not know what it is." Gwen frowned. "That is not needful, Fess."

"But advisable," Rod qualified, "and he has given an order." Geoffrey reached out a forefinger.

Gwen sighed, and called, Geoffrey! No !

Admittedly, she gave the call telepathically, which may have been why the boy yanked his finger back and gave her a wounded look. "It cannot hurt me, Mama."

"You cannot know that, any more than I can." Fess came up behind them and lowered his head, searching for a fallen stick. He found one and picked it up in his teeth. "No matter what it is, it can do far less damage to my body than to yours, since I am made of steel, and you are only made of flesh. Since it is apparently necessary to test this item, you must stand back." The children took a small step away.

"Giant step," Fess commanded.

The children sighed and complied.

"Three," Fess ordered.

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"There is no need," Cordelia huffed, but they did as he said, then held their breaths as Fess reached forward slowly.

In the silence, they became aware of faint strains of music, melodious, but very repetitious, and with a heavy bass rhythm.

Magnus lifted his head, looking about him. "Whence cometh that sound?"

"From the stone," Fess answered.

They stared at the rock and strained their ears. Sure enough, it was giving off music.

" 'Tis a most strange stone," Gregory breathed.

"Then it requires most careful handling." Very gently, Fess prodded the stone with the stick. It giggled.

"It lives," Gregory gasped, eyes wide.

Rod and Gwen both stared. "What thing is this?" Gwen asked.

" 'Tis not dangerous, at the least." Geoffrey straightened up, relaxing.

"It would seem not." Reluctantly, Fess added, "Very well, children. You may touch it." They gave a minor cheer as Geoffrey stepped up, knelt, and prodded the stone with a forefinger.

"Stop that!" It giggled.

The children gawked. "It talks!"

"Of a certainty I talk," the pebble said. "Dost not thou?"

"Well… certes, I do," Gregory answered, "yet I am not a rock."

"Of course not," the pebble told him. "Thou art too soft."

"As art thou." Geoffrey picked up the stone and squeezed it. " 'Tis a soft rock." They all stared, startled. In the silence, they could hear the faint, endlessly repeating melody again, its strong bass chords thrumming.

"Cordelia," Fess said, "please stop nodding your head."

"I did not move it," she replied.

Gwen frowned. "Nay, daughter, thou didst."

Cordelia turned to her in surprise, and Fess interjected, "You simply were not aware of it."
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"Put me down," the stone protested. "Thou dost tickle."

"Give it me." Cordelia held out her hand, and Geoffrey gave her the pebble. The rock giggled again. She stroked it with a forefinger, and the giggling turned into a purr.

"Oh, 'tis delightful!" She stroked it again. "As though 'twere moss!"

"Moss." Gwen lifted her head. "Certes, my children. It must be a thing of witch-moss." Witch-moss was a type of fungus exclusive to Gramarye. It was telepathically sensitive; if a projective telepath thought at it, the witch-moss would take the form and color of anything the telepath visualized. It could even gain the power of speech and the ability to reproduce.

Magnus looked down at the stone, frowning. " Tis true—it must needs be of witch-moss. An it were aught else, how could it exist?"

"What doth it here?" Geoffrey demanded.

"I make music," the rock answered.

"What is the purpose of it?"

" 'Tis but entertainment," the rock assured him.

"An odd word is that. Where hast thou got it?"

"Why," said the rock, " 'twas ever within me, sin that I was made."

"If 'tis witch-moss, one must needs have crafted it." Gwen tilted her head, eyeing the stone. "Who made thee, rock?"

"Another rock," the stone answered.

Gregory looked up at Gwen, startled. "How could another rock have made it?"

"Oh, silly!" Cordelia said in her loftiest manner. "How do mothers and fathers make children?" Gregory just stared blankly at her, but Fess said, "I doubt it would be quite the same process, Cordelia. After all, the stone referred to only one other rock."

"Then 'tis a babe," Cordelia crowed with delight. "Oh! 'Tis darling! I am half a mind to take thee home with me, as a pet!"

"Do not dream of it," Gwen said instantly. "I've trials enough without music that will not stop in my house."

"It will stop when 'tis indoors." Cordelia turned to the rock. "Thou canst cease making music, canst thou not?"

"Nay," the rock answered. "I am filled with melody; it must come out."
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"Art thou never empty, then?" Gregory asked.

"Never," the stone answered firmly. "The music doth but grow and grow inside me, until I feel that I…

must… burst!" It bounced out of Cordelia's hand. She gave a wordless cry and grabbed for it, but Magnus caught her wrist. "Let me be !" she snapped, instantly furious. "I must have…" Then her eyes widened, and she stopped, staring, for the rock was rotating on the ground in front of them, hissing over the gauzy, iridescent film that coated the dead leaves under it. Just as suddenly, it stopped.

"How did it know when to turn, and when to stop?" Gregory whispered.

"It has responded to light," Fess pointed out. "Note that it now lies in a sunbeam. It is nearly noon; I believe you will find that it oriented itself by the angle of the sun above the horizon." Rod stiffened. What Gramarye esper could know about solar cells?

"Would it not rather orient at sunrise or sunset?" Magnus asked.

"No, because at noon, the sun is at its zenith, and its angle above the horizon indicates position north or south. The stone has positioned itself relative to the pole."