"Do so," Catharine advised. "We shall repeat this ceremony with greater pomp, but it shall not change his nobility." To Geordie, she said, "You shall bring your wife to meet us as soon as you may."
"Majesty," Geordie said with a gulp, "I will."
"There is another matter to consider, Mother," Diarmid said.
"Yes, my son?" Catharine frowned.
"He has proven his courage but also his concern for his people," Diarmid said. "Might I suggest he should have a title greater than knight?"
"Indeed!" Catharine said. "And whose estates should he hold—yours?"
"Exactly," Diarmid said.
Catharine stared, stunned.
Tuan smiled. "You really do wish to spend your days among your books, do you not?"
"Administering a duchy takes so much time," Diarmid complained.
"Be sure, sir, that I shall not let you fritter your time away!" Catharine said indignantly.
"Still," Tuan said, "there are other positions than duke that our Diarmid could fulfill, but that few others can."
"Majesties—I did not come here seeking preferment," Geordie protested.
"No, you came to serve your Queen," Catharine said, "and so you shall." She turned to Anselm with a frown. "I cannot restore an attainted traitor, even one who has proven his loyalty—but I can restore the son to the rank that should have been his by birth." She turned to Geordie. "Kneel again, sir."
Stunned, Geordie knelt.
Catharine stepped forward to lay her hand on her nephew's head. "Henceforth be as true and loyal to both Crown and people as you have proven yourself this day— but next time you think the law unjust, appeal to your Queen!" She lifted her hand. "Rise, Duke of Loguire."
As Geordie stood, wide-eyed and amazed, Anselm stammered, "Majesty … I assure you, I had never expected …"
"A simple 'thank you' would suffice, Anselm," Tuan said, with a grin.
Anselm swallowed any other words he had been about to say. "Majesties, from the depths of my heart, I thank you!"
"But I cannot steal my kinsman's title, nor his lands!" Geordie turned to Diarmid. "How would you feel if I did, cousin?"
"Relieved," the former duke told him. "Vastly relieved."
EVERGREENS CLOSED AROUND Rod as he rode into the forest, closing off sight of the sun—but since it was midday, enough light filtered through to let him see quite well. It was eerie and lonely; Rod shivered and hoped he and Fess could plough through to oak and ash again. He frowned as he looked around.
Then he saw a white speck drifting down. He blinked his eyes, not believing what they showed him—but sure enough, there was another and another. "Fess, I have to be mistaken—but I could swear I'm seeing snowflakes."
"You are not mistaken, Rod."
"But how can that be? It's barely October!"
"An early snowfall, perhaps? I know that the land slopes upward as we come to the western duchies; we are already at four thousand feet."
Rod shivered and told himself it was because of the cold. He blew on his hands and reached for his gloves—but stopped; had he seen movement? "Fess? Did you see something move?"
"Only the snowflakes, Rod."
"I could have sworn I saw something larger." He looked down to pull on his left glove—and froze; there it was, at the corner of his eye, and if he kept his gaze on his hands, he could see it. It was tricky, focusing his gaze on his hands while he focused his attention on the moving thing, but he managed it. It might have been only a cloud of flakes that he saw, sinuous and wavering on the wind—but there was a face atop them, indistinct as though made of drifting particles, a face with snow-white hair, eyebrows, and beard, a ghostly white, translucent face atop long flowing robes, but an arm separated from the blowing curtain of snow, a long and bony hand reached out toward Rod. He cried out and ducked, but the hand followed him and the forefinger touched his forehead.
Rod shivered, wiping at the spot of chill. "Serves me right for going out without a hat!" He frowned. "I do have a hat, don't I?"
"At home, Rod. Not here."
"Home? Where's that?" Rod's face cleared. "Oh yes, Maxima! But that must be an awfully long way away, Fess."
"Very far indeed, Rod—but Castle Gallowglass is only a few days' ride."
"Castle Gallowglass? What's that?"
"The castle where you lived with Gwendylon and your children, Rod."
"Children?" Rod frowned at the mantle of evergreen in front of him, then shook his head. "Don't remember any chil…" He broke off as a vague picture flitted though his mind, an image of a golden-haired laughing toddler shooting through the air while a red-headed woman held up her arms to catch him—but the vision faded and he shook his head. "I'm not old enough to many."
"You were forty-nine when Catharine and Tuan insisted you occupy the castle for them."
"Who are Catharine and Tuan?"
"The King and Queen of Gramarye, Rod—your lifelong friends, once they forgave you for the manner in which you brought them together."
Rod frowned, trying to remember, then shook his head. Movement at the corner of his eye distracted him, but when he looked, all he saw was blowing snow. "Why did we come to Terra, Fess? Mom and Dad are going to be worried sick."
The robot was silent a moment; then it said, "We are two hundred thirty-seven light-years from Terra, Rod, on a planet named Gramarye."
"We are?" Rod looked around at the mass of green needles. "Funny—it looks just like Terra."
"That is because it has been terraformed, Rod."
"Terraformed?" Rod frowned. "Seems I remember that, from a book I read—what? Last year?"
"You read Terraforming Earth when you were thirteen, Rod."
"Well, I can't be much older than that now, can I?" Rod frowned at the back of the horse's head. "How did we get here?"
"By spaceship, Rod. You were on an exploratory mission for SCENT and found Gramarye."
"What's Gramarye?" Yes, there was movement at the corner of his eye, but again, when Rod turned to look, there was only blowing snow. "Who's that guy in the long white robe, Fess, and why does he go away whenever I look at him?"
"He is no doubt a figment of your imagination, Rod."
"Who's a figment of imagination?"
"Rod—can you not even remember what you said only moments ago?"
"I don't know, Fess." Rod pulled up on the reins and slid off the horse's back, "I only know that I'm awfully tired. I'll just lie down and take a nap."
"No, Rod, not in the snow! You will die of cold!"
"No, I'll just sleep for a little while." Rod shivered but knew the cold would go away—it always did when he got into bed.
"Rod, get up! You will die of hypothermia, you know that!"
"What's hypoth … whatever?" Rod closed his eyes and rested his head on some fallen boughs. "Just half an hour. Wake me up, okay?"
"I will waken you now! Rod, get up! Remember who you are!"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm Rodney d'Armand, I know, I've got to keep up the family name." Rod snuggled down, hands under his head. "I'll do it after I wake up. Right now, the cold's gone away and I'm beginning to feel warm again. G'night, Fess."
"You are beginning to feel warm because you have begun to freeze! Rod, no! You must rise now!"
Rod only grumbled and burrowed deeper into the soft stuff beneath him. His eyelids fluttered, and he saw a face hovering over him, an elongated white face, all white, beard, hair, skin, with a gloating smile that bothered Rod, but he couldn't remember why. It didn't matter, though. It wouldn't keep him from sleeping. He closed his eyes firmly, telling himself he had to wake up in time for dinner or Mama would be very upset. Biting cold touched the center of his forehead, making him shiver, but it too warmed, and he nestled down into the soft, cocooning darkness.
Twenty-Seven
SOMEWHERE IN THE DISTANCE A VOICE WAS calling, "Magnus! Cordelia! Geoffrey! Gregory! Come! Your father needs you! Elves! Wherever you are, come out and waken him! Call for help!" That voice didn't matter, though, not when sleep was so close.