The Warlock Wandering
Christopher Stasheff
PART I
WOLMAR
"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 smallest of them was twice Puck's size, they all knew that the elf's idea of fun could be more devastating than their parents' 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 assurance 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 renewed 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 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 warrant 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 sensibilities!"
"'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 flourish, and bowed. "Ever, when the lady's so beauteous. Go thy ways, now, free of care—and hasten, ere the gloaming 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 needing 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 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."
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 stiffened, 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 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 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 berserker madness. The glade about him seemed to darken with the hue of blood. He bellowed as he leaped forward, chopping 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 dragging, 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!"