Warlock and Son

Cristopher Stasheff Warlock and Son Warlock in Spite of Himself - 12

1

"By your leave, my father, I cannot agree," Magnus said. Rod stared, a morsel of meat halfway to his mouth on the tip of his knife. "Agree? What's there to agree about? The Duke of Loguire is building up his army! That's a matter of fact, not opinion!"

"Aye." Geoffrey laid down his spoon, scowling at his brother. "Dost say the King's agent lie? Then hie thee to the South thyself and witness with thine own eyes!"

"I do not doubt the report," Magnus said. "I cannot agree that 'tis a threat."

Rod frowned. "Why?" He ignored the alarm and warning plea in his wife's eyes and pressed on. "You know Duke Anselm fronted as the figurehead in a rebellion twenty-five years ago. Frankly, I think his brother was a fool to let him inherit when their father died, even if Tuan is king."

"Surely that was for Their Majesties to decide, not thyself."

"Unfortunately, yes-and I think my worries are proving true. Anselm's planning to rebel again."

"That," Magnus said, "is opinion-and 'tis there that I cannot agree."

"Why, thou great loon!" Geoffrey erupted. "Dost think he gathers soldiers only to play with them?"

"Frankly," Magnus said, "yes. And thou, younger brother, art ill-equipped to judge the workings of a man's mind."

"Save in matters of war!"

"But not in matters of play," brother Gregory pointed out. "In that, I think Magnus hath insight in a fashion-for this Duke Anselm hath ever sought to make his daydreams gain substance by warping the real world into their semblance, hath he not?"

It still unnerved Rod to hear such perceptive comments coming from one so young, even though Gregory had crossed the border into adolescence, being thirteen. He tried to think up something to say that would take the sting out of his son's precociousness, but he wasn't having much luck.

Neither was Geoffrey. He stared, startled speechless, but Cordelia said, "Thou art right in that, Gregory-but Geoffrey is right to be wary, for Duke Anselm ever hath been eaten within by the worm of Envy, from all that Mother and Father have said of him. Whiles his father lived, he burned to become Duke-and now that he hath the title, he doth choke on his own gall at seeing his younger brother in place above him, on the throne. Nay, he may indeed seek to' take what his brother hath, by force of arms."

"Why, how is this?" Magnus turned on her. "Thou, too? I had thought the lass of quick compassion would see more to pity, and less to fear, in this man."

"Why, so I do," Cordelia said, "but if I have a gift for reading the hearts of people, I have also the gift of seeing their curdled bitterness."

"I think we may leave him to his royal brother," Gwen began, but Rod shook his head. "Tuan has a good heart, but he always assumes the best of people. That's why he's always so surprised when they turn nasty-especially his own brother."

"Yet Queen Catharine surely can see the malice within him," Magnus protested.

"Does she ever see anything else?" Rod held up a hand to forestall protest. "No, I take that back. I'm sure she does see the occasional virtue-but I highly doubt that her royal spouse will listen to her."

"As some husbands ought," Gwen said darkly. "Yet he cannot act without her concurrence, Magnus."

"Right." Rod stabbed the air with his knife for emphasis. "Which nicely paralyzes the Crown while Anselm builds up his forces."

"But he may not intend war!" Magnus protested. "Must thou hang him for murder ere he hath lifted a dagger?"

"He shall hang himself, soon enough," Geoffrey assured him.

"I doubt not that he will show sign of his intent," Gregory qualified. "He is small of mind and heart, and will be guided by his counsellors."

"And they are more eaten by envy than he," Cordelia said. "They burn to plunge our world into chaos."

"Why, thou art all leagued against me!" Magnus shot to his feet, sending his chair clattering. "Thou wilt not so much as hear me out, wilt thou? Very well, have delight in thy converse, then-the dissenting voice will be silent as its owner doth depart!" And he strode out of the chamber.

The family stared at one another in shock as his boots rang on the flagstones, fading. A servant's voice rose in query, but Magnus virtually snarled in answer, and the door of the keep boomed shut behind him.

Then Gwen and Cordelia were on their feet. "Quickly! We must to him, ere he hath passed out 'neath the portcullis!" Gwen stopped, staring at her husband. "Wilt thou not go !"

"No." Rod's eyes had taken on a faraway look. "I think not."

"But his soul is in turmoil, Father!" Cordelia protested. "Turmoil indeed." Gregory looked up at Rod, frowning. "Whence cometh such an outburst, Papa?"

"Why, for that his younger siblings have spoken back at him," Geoffrey said, with a hint of contempt.

"No," Rod mused, "I think it goes a bit deeper than that."

"Then since thou art the fount of wisdom in such matters, thou must needs go to calm him!" Gwen said, exasperated. "Dost thou say this is a young man's heartache? And wilt thou not then follow him to assuage it?"

"Yes," Rod said, "but not right away. He needs a little while to cool off. If I came after him right now, he'd snarl at me and head for the tall timber."

"Doth he not do so already?" Cordelia countered.

"Yes," Rod said, "but he'll come back. If I go after him before he's ready to talk, he might go and stay."

Geoffrey looked up at him, frowning. "Why, how is this, my father? What malaise of the soul hath stricken my brother?"

"One that I remember all too well," Rod answered. "It has something to do with being ready to take on the world on your own, but not seeing your way clear to leaving home to take a try at it."

"Thou wilt not tell him to leave!" Gwen cried in alarm. "No," Rod said, "but I'm not going to tell him he has to stay, either." He picked up his knife again and cut another gobbet of meat. "One way or another, I think I have time to finish my dinner."

He had a notion it might be a while before he saw another one.

He found his son by the bank of the river, beneath a gilded canopy of autumn leaves, his mount tethered nearby. Rod reined in Fess and muttered to the robot-horse, "Stay near, okay?" Fess only nodded by way of answer, honoring Magnus's mood with silence. Rod dismounted and stepped quietly over to his son, who was staring into the swirling eddies and watching the fallen leaves drift away.

"Feeling like one of those leaves yourself?" Rod asked softly.

Magnus looked up, startled. Then he relaxed a little, into a brooding wariness, but confessed, "Aye. My life is like to that, is it not? Bearing me where it will, the stream of events carrying me along to a destination I wot not of, and would not choose if I did."

"Maybe," Rod said slowly, daring to sit on the fallen log beside him. "But you need to be able to control your progress in that stream, don't you? Or at least be able to choose your own river."

Magnus looked up, surprised. "Thou hast stood in my shoes before, hast thou not?"

"Yes, but for just the reverse reasons. I'm the second son of a second son, so I had no place in the world I was reared in-but I couldn't get away, either."

"Whereas I cannot get away because I am the heir," Magnus said with bitterness.

"No," Rod said. "That doesn't have to bind you. You won't do any good in my office if you don't believe in it and want it. Besides, you have two brothers to take up the burden if you don't want its privileges."

Magnus stared at him, shocked and, yes, hurt. "Dost thou cast me out, then?"

Rod sighed; the boy was in one of those moods where you couldn't say anything right to him. And, yes, still very much a boy in his heart, though he was a man in his body and skills and mind. Twenty-one was old enough to be grown, too young to be mature.

At least, it was since he'd been held at home all this time. A peasant of his age would have had a wife and two babies already-and the responsibilities that went with them. He might be tied down, but he'd have taken those first vital steps toward real maturity.