Warlock and Son

Now it was Rod's turn to be confounded. "Why not?"

"For that thou hast said thyself that the bulk of these people are content with this form of government, and the monks would surely unseat this bishop. Worse!" His eyes widened at a sudden, horrible thought. "When they sought to, the bishop would claim that he is the Abbot's peer, and would set his people to warring 'gainst the monks!"

"Then they would leave, and come back with soldiers." Rod nodded, face grim. "Yes, there is that little problem. But I can't let him go on tyrannizing these people, can I?"

"Dost thou not truly believe the self-determination thou dost preach?"

"Not as thoroughly as you do, apparently-but, yes, I still think I do. On the other hand, there's the little matter of his brutalizing the ones who don't agree with him."

"Like that poor wreck of a father we saw yestermorn?"

"Well, yes, I was kind of thinking of him. But there was that boy at the school, and that girl Hester from the tavern, whom he's obviously in love with."

Magnus's face hardened. "And where there are so many as that, there may well be more. Yet should not the majority rule?"

Rod opened his mouth to answer, but realized the implications, and left his mouth open while he did some quick rethinking.

Magnus watched, managing to keep his face politely grave.

"Yes," Rod said finally, "but that doesn't mean the majority have the right to act as tyrants over the minorities."

"The tyranny of the majority." Magnus nodded. "Thou hast spoke of that before, and Fess hath taught me of it. Alexis de Tocqueville, was it not?"

"Still is-and I suspect Fess also taught you the counter to it." He certainly had taught Rod, repeatedly.

"Aye-that such tyranny is balanced by the individual's rights inborn. Yet those who dislike this bishop's rule are free to leave, are they not?"

"I certainly didn't get that impression, from that funeral sermon-if you can call that diatribe a sermon."

"I did not," Magnus murmured.

"I know-I did. But maybe we should talk to the object of that sermon, before we make any firm conclusions about the rightness of this nasty little theocracy they've got here."

"'Tis most assuredly a theocracy, as the word hath come to be used-a rule by the priests," Magnus countered. "But it most assuredly is not what the word doth mean literally-a government by God."

"No-the proper term is hierarchy, rule by the sacred-but that has come to mean only a social status-order." Rod shook his head in amazement. "And people say semantics doesn't matter! Come on, son, let's find that bereaved parent!"

Magnus halted. "By your leave, my father, I find I've little stomach for that."

"Why?" Rod looked up. "Don't want to put your ideas to the test?"

"Mayhap," Magnus admitted, though it galled him. "Yet I find this whole village quite distasteful."

"Sickening, even?" Rod looked up at him keenly. "Then do something about it. Stand up for what you believe."

"And seek to impose mine own views upon them?" Magnus shook his head. "I have not that right."

Rod smiled, starting the quick gibe, then caught himself and frowned, thinking. He finally found a good alternative. "Would you, if you had been born as one of them?"

Magnus looked up, startled, then turned thoughtful, nodding. "Mayhap. If I were one of them, I would have the right of dissent, would I not?"

"Yes, if they acknowledge that right."

Magnus swept his hand wide in a dismissive gesture. "Acknowledge or not, the right is there. It is simply that if they do not honor it, there may be some fighting."

"Or some torture," Rod said grimly, "if there are more of them than of you."

"Such a consideration should not weigh . . ."

"How can you fight the system if you're dead?"

"A point," Magnus admitted, then stood frowning in thought.

Rod sighed and shook his head. "Whatever the right of it, you're not ready to act if you don't know what you believe. I'm not about to leave these people in the lurch, though."

Magnus looked up in alarm. "Thou didst give me thy word!"

"I know. That's the problem." Rod looked up, almost imploring the young man to understand. "If I were sure most of them liked this government, you see, I could just help the malcontents escape, and let it be-but I don't know that."

"And therefore thou must needs stay until thou dost?"

"Yes, or until I'm sure the majority really don't want the priests' rule, in which case I'll be free to do what I can to oust them."

Magnus stared, shocked and outraged. Then he reddened, and anger began to build.

"Oh, all right, all right!" Rod turned away in disgust. "I gave you my word. I'll tell you what-" He turned back to Magnus. "How about, before I actually do anything, I talk over the evidence with you, okay? Then, when you've made up your mind, we'll decide what to do together."

"If I can make up my mind, dost thou mean?" Magnus was redirecting his anger.

"Now, I didn't say that." Rod held up a hand.

"Nay, but thou hast thought it. Belike thou wouldst like me to step aside and let thee do as thou wilt."

Rod frowned up at him. "That sounds like my line, doesn't it?"

Magnus stared at him, anger piling up over hurt. Then, without a word, he yanked his horse's head about and rode off into the forest.

Rod watched him go, then turned away with a sinking heart. "Blew that one, didn't I?" he said to Fess.

"I think you made your point, Rod," the robot-horse replied.

"Yeah. I won the argument and lost the boy's respect, right?"

"I do not truly think so," Fess said slowly. "In fact, I think you may have caused him to lose respect for himself."

"Oh, no." Rod squeezed his eyes shut. "That is definitely not what I wanted." He looked up and heaved a sigh. "But what could I do? I have to stand up for what I believe in, too, don't I?"

"Principles can be frustrating, Rod, can they not?" Fess murmured.

"They sure can-especially when they're my own, coming back at me. Come on, Fess, let's go."

7

Magnus rode among the trees, trying to stave off a feeling of guilt. What made it worse was not knowing whether he was feeling guilty about abandoning the people of Wealdbinde to their fate, or about betraying his father-or both.

And, of course, there was the girl, Hester. She certainly was no raving beauty, but was pretty enough, and there was something about her that wouldn't let go of his mind. Had he deserted her, too?

Then he remembered Neil Aginson, and decided that perhaps he had not.

"Women are ever a trial," someone sighed.

Magnus looked up, jolted out of his reverie, and saw the ragpicker ambling down the trail beside Magnus's horse. "What, art thou come again?" Magnus demanded. "Get thee gone!"

"In good time. Twice now have I offered thee invulnerability for thine heart, and twice hast thou refused it-though in both cases, thou shortly thereafter hadst need of it."

"I will not take it," Magnus snapped.

"Be sure." The ragpicker grinned up at him, displaying several missing teeth. " 'Twill cost thee naught to take it, yet may cost thee dearly to tell me nay."

"Then I shall pay the price of obstinacy!" Magnus grated. "Begone, fellow! I've no use for thee!"

"Yet thou hast, or thou wouldst not be so strenuous in thy denial."

"Can I never be rid of thee?" Magnus drew his dagger, and the ragpicker laughed. "Steel cannot harm me, youngling."

"Nay, but this can." Magnus unscrewed the top of the hilt and shook out the little yellow-handled screwdriver with the image of St. Vidicon carved into it. He brandished it toward the ragpicker. "Agent of Chaos, get thee hence!"

"Thou shalt rue this denial!" The ragpicker began to flicker, like an image poorly received on a video screen. "Thou hast the wrong Agency, also . . ."

"Begone!"

And the ragpicker vanished.

Magnus slid the screwdriver back into the handle of the dagger and sheathed it with trembling fingers. He drew a long, shaky breath, telling himself that he was a fool to be so upset by the apparition.