There were quite a few, not too far from the lakeside-the whole region was on the decline. He found a rowan, thumped it to make sure rot hadn't set in, and took out the dagger with the ruby in the pommel. Rod set it for a threecentimeter depth and starting carving. Ruby light lanced out but only for the preset three centimeters. Rod pressed it slowly against the log, then drew it carefully across, then down, back, and up to meet the first line. He stepped away, eyeing the curved rectangle, nodded, and set the laser for two feet. He took his time burning through the log at each end, then cutting horizontally, following the lines he'd first made. He turned off the laser, lifted out a section of cylinder, and laid it face-down. Then he turned on the laser and began carving away the inside.
He came back to Gwen, holding up a shield that looked like a curved rectangle, a section out of the wall of a tube. She was still intent on her work within Magnus's mind, so Rod sat down with shield and laser and passed the time by cutting straps from his emergency leather supply and attaching them to the shield, then carving symbols into the face of the wood. It had been the easiest and quickest kind of shield to make, but it had come out resembling those the Roman legionaries had carried-so he outlined a pair of Roman eagles, then burned away wood to leave the eagles in basrelief. He eyed it critically, added the letters SPQR, and put the dagger back in its sheath. He looked up just as Gwen was rising-slowly and stiffly; she'd been kneeling quite a while. Rod jumped to offer his arm; she took it, flashed him a grateful smile, then saw the shield. "Ah!" she breathed. "Well crafted, husband! Hale him up, now."
Easier said than done; Magnus was still well over two hundred pounds of bone and muscle. But if he didn't help, neither did he resist, and Rod managed to get him to his knees. Then, with his muscle and Gwen's telekinesis, they wrestled the young man to his feet. "Give him the shield." Gwen's face was taut with strain.
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."
"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!"
"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."