Warlock and Son (25 page)

Rod lifted his son's arm and slipped it through the straps inside the shield.

"The rowan shield doth ward thy body," Gwen intoned, looking deeply into Magnus's eyes. "The spell that is linked to it doth ward thine heart. Walk, my son-the witch's compulsion can no longer hold thee." Magnus stood stone-still. Then, finally, his brow creased in a frown, and he took a single step. "I can move," he said, as though it were a puzzle, then took another step, turning his back on the water. "Away from the lake, I can step!"

"Thou canst," Gwen assured him.

The young man's shoulders sagged. "It boots little, Mother. My heart doth pulse out its blood within me; I bleed, and am sick in my soul."

"Even so," Gwen said softly, "and therefore must thou go to seek aid from one more skilled than I. There is a witch of green, a witch in the West who doth dwell by a curving lake, who can give thee healing that I cannot."

But Magnus shook his head. "Not even the waters of Life can lift me out from this slough of despond." Gwen nodded. "This is a wound within, and even clear water cannot cleanse it. I ken not the way to make the dying grow again. None but this Western Witch can make thee whole again."
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"Come on, son." Rod took his arm and turned him toward the horses. "Let's mount and be away." But Gwen stopped him with a touch. "Nay. Thou art not wounded; the Green Witch will not let him approach if thou art with him, nor none of her sentries will guide him."

"You don't mean he has to go alone! In this condition?"

"Even so," Gwen said, her voice iron. "'Tis the pity of my life that I must watch his pain and leave him to wander in solitude-but he must seek this healing by himself, husband. We may not company him in this quest."

Rod's face hardened; he felt the inner rebellion hot and stabbing; but he knew his wife was right. He caught his son's arm and turned away. "Well, at least we can see that you have the best guide possible. Down, Fess-I don't think he can get his foot in the stirrup, just now."

"It would seem unlikely." The great black horse knelt. In a daze, Magnus let his father guide one foot up and over the horse's back; then Fess rose slowly, and the young giant settled into the saddle. Now Gwen went over to her son, reaching up to clasp his hands and looking up at him with eyes that, for the first time, betrayed the depth of her concern. "Godspeed, my son. Seek thou the Maid of the West.".

"I feel as though I do yet bleed within, Mother," the young giant said faintly.

"There's none but the Western Witch can save thine heart's blood. Go well, my son-and quickly."

"Gramercy, Mother." For a moment, his gloved hand rested on hers, then reached down to catch his father's. "I thank thee, Father. Wish me well."

"I do," Rod said fervently. "I always will."

12

The sun had set, and the sky was filled with a pearly light that darkened to gloaming all about him as Magnus rode out of the little valley. Actually, Fess carried him; he was so sunk in despondency that he let the horse bear him where it would, totally passive, with scarcely enough will left to hold on and bear up his shield. Five hundred years of experience with humans had taught Fess when there was some point in trying to get them talking, and when it was less than useless, so he let the young man drift, only speaking to ask his choice whenever they came to a crossroads or a fork in the way. Every time, Magnus roused himself, frowned about, and said only, "I care naught. Go as thou dost think best," which was exactly what Fess had expected, of course-but it did provide an excuse to bring the young man out of his stupor for a few minutes every now and then. Fess was concerned that Magnus not be left undisturbed long enough to retreat so far within that he might never come out.

After a while, he came to a small dirt road, wide enough to justify trotting. The jouncing roused Magnus to grab at the pommel, then clasp with his knees and straighten a bit.

"Fess! Canst thou not go more smoothly? I had near to fallen!"
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"I shall canter, Magnus." He speeded up, and the ride smoothed out. Magnus grumbled, but held on; though he drifted back into apathy, his stupor was not so deep.

Fess could have gone as smoothly as a rocking chair, at any gait, of course; but the diversion had worked.

Then they came to a greater diversion, which demanded real thought of the young man; for as they rode up to the crest of a ridge, they saw a gaunt old tree, stunted and twisted, devoid of leaves-and in its branches slept a huge black bird, its head tucked under its wing. But as they rode under the limb on which it perched, that head came out, fixing Magnus with a baleful yellow eye that seemed to glow in the deepening gloom, and the bird cried, "Carrion!"

That jolted Magnus out of his trance. "What manner of bird art thou!"

"One that doth live by corrupted meats-and there is the scent of putrefaction about thee! What part of thee doth moulder?"

"None." Magnus frowned, thinking to tell the bird it would be carrion itself-but it was too much effort.

"Thou speakest false, for thine heart's begun to turn. 'Ware, warlock's son!" Magnus frowned up at the bird. His mind worked sluggishly, but thoughts did form. He fought to enunciate them. "Thou art of a witch's making, and no true bird."

"Art thou a true man?" the raven returned, "For I see thou art of the making of a warlock and a witch."

"Even so-yet how dost thou know?"

"For that my mistress hath told me. Krawwwwk!" The raven lapsed into cawing for a few seconds, while it dipped its head and raised a claw to scratch. Then it looked up at Magnus again and said,

"Wherefore dost thou ride by night?"

"For that I ride in haste, and must needs find the Maid of the West."

"Then art thou doomed to despair, for there's no such maid.
Krawk!
A wanton is she, and never pledged a troth to any man!"

"Why, how is this?" Magnus frowned. "I have been told that she doth ward herself closely, and is shy of mortal converse."

"The more fool she, young knight, and the more fool thou to seek her!
Awrrawwk!
Yet an thou must needs pursue thy folly, take thee ever the high road, and never the low! Yet far wiser wert thou to take instead the road thou hast come by! Begone!"

For a moment, Magnus was tempted to do just that-turn away, and go back to the tare his love had commanded him to watch. But before he could decide to do so, Fess lurched ahead, and Magnus had to catch at the saddlebow. After that, it was far too much effort to tell him to change directionbut Magnus did turn back to glare at the impertinent bird. Its head was under its wing again, though, totally oblivious to his displeasure.

Night closed down fully as Fess turned northward, following the ridge line. The change of direction
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brought Magnus briefly to his senses. "Though hast turned from the roadway."

"The road tended downward, Magnus, into the valley. That witch-moss construct of a raven told us to ever seek higher ground-and there are mountains ahead."

Magnus peered into the darkness. "I cannot see them."

"Nor can 1, Magnus-with visual senses. But radar shows a large mass looming ahead."

"Well." Magnus thought it over. "But how shall we come to her other sentries, then, if there is no road?"

"I suspect that the route to the curving lake is selected from a diminishing number of choices, and is known to all her constructs."

"And that the sentries are stationed at the places of those choices?" Magnus nodded. "Well, so." And he lapsed back into brooding-Fess obviously didn't need his notions.

They came out on a moor, the miles eaten away by Fess's tireless canter. Magnus rode through it, swaying in the saddle, so quiet that he might have been asleep-or dead. Fess rode on across the wasteland, sonar constantly probing the ground ahead, alert for bogs. At last he came to one he could not avoid-it stretched out to either side for at least a hundred yards. In fact, the path seemed to run right into it-but as they came up to the end of the track, Fess saw that it joined another path that ran to left and right. He slowed and stopped, considering alternatives. Roused by the cessation of motion, Magnus looked upand it was he, not Fess, who first saw the two flecks of brightness beside the clump of heather. "I am Magnus Gallowglass, and I go in need of the aid of the Green Witch of the West!" he called.

"To whom do you speak, Magnus?" Fess asked-but the young man had somehow come alive, more or less, and was dismounting. Alarmed, Fess followed closely.

Magnus knelt by the bushes and parted them. A fox lay panting on the ground. As Magnus pulled the leaves aside, it scrambled to its feet and tried to run-but its rear leg stretched out taut with a chink of metal, and the fox yipped in pain.

" 'Tis caught in a trap." Magnus frowned, thinking it over-the elimination of local vermin was hardly his concern, and if he let the fox go, some nearby farmer might lose a few chickens. But the sight of a fellow creature in pain, entrapped as he was himself, stirred pity in Magnus, and he laid aside the shield to reach out, murmuring in soothing tones as he coaxed the fox back toward the trap just a little, then pressed the jaws open. The beast surged forward, running a few steps away, limping-but the limp grew less and less pronounced with every step till, after a run of perhaps twenty feet, it was moving normally. There it turned, receding, until it was only two bright sparks of eyes in a pool of shadow. Magnus frowned; it was odd behavior for a fox. "Surely, little friend, I will not hurt thee. Nay, go thy way, as I go mine." He turned to take up his shield and swing astride Fess again. But the bright sparks came closer, and the form became clear behind it, muted fire and flowing fur, and the fox came up to sit beside the warlock's horse, gazing up at him with unblinking eyes. "Wherefore wouldst thou seek the Green Witch, mortal? Thou dost show no wound!"
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Magnus stared, taken aback. Then he realized that he was seeing another of the Green Witch's sentries.

"I am not wounded, but ensorcelled, Sly One."

"And thou dost think the witch can unbind the spell that doth hold thee?"

"I pray she may," Magnus returned, "for an she doth not, I am doomed to pine away."

"We would not wish to see so fine a man as thou languishing," the fox returned. "Nay, go thou northward yet, for the right-hand track doth lead up higher."

"And what shall I discover thither?"

"Mayhap a wood, whose trees never shed their cover." The fox grinned, tongue licking its chops.

"Mayhap fat hens. An thou dost find such, save some for me." Magnus knew a hint when he heard one. With the ghost of a smile, he reached down into his saddlebags, found some of the dried meat his father always carried, and tossed it to the furry one. The fox leaped and caught it in midair.

" 'Ware," Magnus advised him. " 'Tis salt."

"Meat is meat," the fox muttered around the morsel. "I shall dine. Fare well, young mortal." And it turned, to tail back into the forest.

Smiling, Magnus rode on, then lapsed into a trance again. Around the bog Fess cantered, up the rising ground that left the moor behind, and into the foothills. Magnus jolted alert, every fiber thrumming danger.

"What! Where!"

"There is nothing, Magnus. Have you dreamed, perhaps?"

"Nay, Fess! 'Twas a rider who came upon us, all black as midnight, and his horse the deepest of shadows! His cloak spread out like wings, and his eyes were coals!"

"None have passed us, Magnus. None have come near. The only life that stirs is that of the small creatures of the night, such as badgers and hedgehogs."

"Yet I could swear 'twas he!" Magnus looked up at the moon and gasped. "He is there! Upon the face of the moon, 'tis his form!"

Fess looked up, registered that the markings of craters that had always been on the larger of Gramarye's two moons were as they had always been-but could see how a young man in a semi-trance might interpret those markings as the shape of a horse and rider. "Let us assume, then, that he was another of the witch's sentries. From which direction did he come?"

"From the left, ahead of us."

"Then let us investigate that direction." Fess bore to the left, off the track.

"Might he not be warning us of danger?"

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"Perhaps." Fess slowed to a trot, scanning everything ahead. "But I sense none."

"Is there sign of a pathway?"

The robot was silent for a few minutes, then said, "There are cairns of stones every few hundred yards, all piled in the same manner. Yes, I think there is some indication of direction." Then, suddenly, the ground rose up before them, and they broke out into a broad, dusty roadway, bone-white under the moon. Beyond the track, a valley lay in shadow, and in that shadow was an evergreen forest. Around its fringe grew a few young oaks, leafless now in the chill of autumn, but glinting here and there with vines of white berries.

As they paused, regarding the forest and the mountain behind it, a shadow swooped across them from behind. For a moment, the form of a winged bird was clear against the white dust; then a small falcon swooped upward and away. Hard behind it came an eagle, which flapped its great wings and rode an updraft, rising higher and faster than the falcon, but following unerringly. Magnus could see the game; the eagle would maneuver until it was just above the falcon, then pounce upon it. It was none of his affair, of course, but he couldn't help seeing himself in the smaller bird, and turned to glare at the eagle.

The predator faltered, then began to glide in a huge curve. Magnus spared a glance at the falcon, thinking a summoning thought at it too, and both birds, quite unwillingly, found themselves winging back toward the young man, impelled by the imperatives of his thoughts. They stretched their claws to light on branches of nearby but separate trees, one to each side of Magnus. He looked at them both sternly, and began a silent dialogue, mind to mind to mind, which, if it had been voiced, might have sounded somewhat like this: