The Warlock Heretical (20 page)

"Ah." There was sympathy in Anho's gaze. "And art thou still so restless within thine heart?" Hoban turned away, flushing.

" Tis well thou hast come," Anho murmured, "for with thy striving spirit, thou must needs else have become a

drunk or a bandit."

"Leave off, Anho."

"I cannot now, Hoban, for the depth of thy feeling is of import here." Anho smiled. "Thou hast a need to feel that

the world is different because thou art in it, hast thou not?"

"Aye, and the sprouting of crops is not so great a difference, brother."

"Nay, for if thou didst not plow that field, surely another would." Anho's smile turned merry again. "Fear not,

brother! For the crops we raise in God's field can be nurtured only by those who have the gift of it!

Between us,

thou and I, we may sow the Word of God in many sinners and raise them to God's good harvest, eh?" Hoban looked up at his brother, a glint in his eye. "Mayhap we shall, my sib, mayhap that we shall."

"I doubt it not!" Anho clapped him on the shoulder again and turned away, leading. "Come, we shall show thee

the refectory, wherein thou shall feed, but not hugely; and the abbey, wherein thou shall pray at all hours, and far

more than thou mayest wish! This, Ihe dormitory, Ihou hasl already seen—-'lis where thou shall sleep, but not

long."

"Thou dost daunt me. Is the life so hard as that?"

"It is, brolher, it is. Yet thou art hard enough for it, I warrant." Anho turned, the glint in Ms eye now.

"Yet 'lis not

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hardship might deter such an one as thee, bul boredom. Come, let us give thee thy first lesson—with vespers."

12

Rod woke up to the sound of a bird trilling. He levered himself up onto one elbow, blinking around until things

came into focus. The trilling, it turned out, was coming not from a bird, but from his daughter Cordelia. She looked up brightly when she saw his head lift. "Good morn, Papa! Is't not a beautiful day?"

"If you say so," Rod grunted, pushing himself up to a sitting position. "But much as I like being away from it all,

sweetheart, I must admit that I prefer a civilized mattress."

Of course, he could have had one easily; there were self-inflating mattresses cached inside his spacer—but he

was apt enough to be in trouble for witchcraft, as it was. With the haunts running all around the countryside, the

mood of the peasants wasn't exactly conciliatory. He heaved a martyred sigh and rolled off his pallet, lifting his

cloak with him as he stood up, then shaking it out. "At least it's summer."

"Oh!" Cordelia looked up, eyes wide. "I should not have cared to have slept in the forest if 'twere winter, Papa."

"I wouldn't have, either," Rod agreed. "Get the fire going, would you? I'll be right back." By the time he returned from a call of nature, Cordelia had assembled twigs and tinder into a little cone, point up,

and was glaring at it. A wisp of smoke curled up; then it burst into

flames. Cordelia relaxed, looking up at her father happily. " Tis lit, Papa. On what shall we dine?" Well, it would be a good exercise. Rod frowned, his eyes losing focus as he concentrated on the thoughts all

about him: worms, raccoons, deer . . . there! An escaped hen who had just laid two more eggs. He deepened his

trance, feeling the flow of his esper powers, and thought of the eggs as being here, instead of there.
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Something popped; he felt a sudden weight in his hands. He looked down and saw four smooth white ovoids in

his cupped palms.

Somewhere in the forest a no-longer-domestic fowl looked up with a startled, and very indignant, squawk.

An hour later, the tinker and his daughter wandered into a circle of peasant huts glorified by the title of

"hamlet."

(The melancholy prince certainly would have objected, if he had known.) The two of them had faces bright and

cheery, pots and pans clattering, and minds wide open for the slightest thought about flying cooking ware,

hauntings, or other espers. But Rod didn't even have a chance to give his trade call; the peasants were already

gathered together in the circle of beaten earth that served for a common, gossiping furiously. Cordelia's eyes

widened. "Papa . . . ought not these men be in the fields?"

"By this time of day, they should." Rod frowned. "Something big must be going on. Maybe just the kind of

haunting we're looking for?"

"Mayhap." Cordelia's eyes glazed, but she shook her head. "I cannot make out one separate thought, Papa, 'tis

such a jumble."

"Well, then, we'll go back to the old-fashioned method." Rod stepped up and tapped a villager on the shoulder.

"Ho, countryman! What coil hath bred such a storm of talk?"

"Why, hast thou not heard?" The villager looked up, startled, then saw a tinker, and his nose wrinkled with

disdain. "What, a tinker who knoweth not the happenings? Nay, then, I'll tell thee the news! The Archbishop—

the Abbot that was, if thou hast heard it not—hath issued a new proclamation." Rod felt his guard going up as though it were an invisible shield that surrounded him in a globe. "What doth he

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now declare?"

"Why, that anyone who doth not declare his allegiance to the Church of Gramarye must needs be an heretic!"

Cordelia stared, appalled, but Rod only stood, his face immobile. Then he said, "An heretic."

"Aye." The peasant grinned. "And will thereupon be declared excommunicated." Rod couldn't make out any separate thought any more easily than Cordelia could, but he could feel the emotions

boiling up around him—excited, enthusiastic, and verging on violence. "Thou art all of the Church of Gramarye,

then?"

"Aye, for our lord, Count Florenzo, doth adhere to his lord, the Duke di Medici, who doth follow the Archbishop." But the peasant was frowning now, the presence of strangers on such a day finally registering. A

few of his neighbors noticed his frown and turned to stare at Rod and Cordelia. In a few minutes the whole

common had fallen silent, gazes fixed on the two strangers. Cordelia felt their hostility, and pressed up against

her father.

A broad, stocky peasant with grizzled hair pushed his way through to them. "I am declared warden of this

village, tinker. Say what manner of man thou art."

Rod answered, "An heretic."

"I had thought they would hang thee, Papa."

"Burned at the stake, dear—that's the punishment for heresy. But I have the distinct opinion that it's very badly

overdone."

"Praise Heaven we were not!"

"Yes, I shouldn't have let myself get carried away like that. Good thing that housewife needed a new cooking

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pot."

"Aye, and that 'twas the castle's pot boy come down to bring the news." Cordelia shook her head.

"What great

good luck that his cook did need two saucepans and a griddle. Yet who would ha' thought she'd buy them from

an heretic?"

"Yes, well, even in this society practical matters have to be taken care of before you can get to such incidentals

as preserving the True Faith. But it was a nice excuse to get away from that mob before they decided to get back

to religious issues." He glanced at the castle behind him. "Although I will admit, it's the first time I ever heard of

a tinker not staying for a bite and a bowl after a sale."

"Well, we are back on the road again." Cordelia breathed a sigh of relief. "I have gained new understanding,

Papa."

"What?" Rod looked up, alert for trouble in his daughter's emotions. "About the pack instinct? The urge to turn

on the misfit?"

"Nay, about why Mama doth worry when thou dost take to the road alone." Rod was just deciding to take umbrage at the remark when an elf popped out of a clump of bayberry.

"Lord

Warlock!"

"Ssh!" Rod gave a quick, frantic look around, but there didn't seem to be any peasants nearby. He relaxed.

"Listen, around here I'm Owen the tinker, okay?"

"As thou wilt have it, Lord Warlock. I bring word from His Elfin Majesty."

"What, from Brom?" Rod frowned. "What is it—Catharine and Tuan getting touchy?"

"In a manner of speaking. The new Archbishop hath proclaimed—"
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"That anyone who isn't with him is against him. Yes, we heard. Don't tell me Their Majesties are seriously

wondering which side of the fence they should jump to!"

"Nay, but they do wish thy counsel."

"Again?" Rod cried, exasperated. "Look, I'm not the only high-powered witch around here—and Cordelia and I

are on a top-secret spy mission! Well, it was secret."

"Surely it cannot be more important than—"

"Oh, yeah? Look, if we don't finish this job, and fast, the ghosties and cobblies will take over Gramarye!"

The elf frowned. "Thy point doth have weight—"

"Yeah, a ton or two! Look, tell them they don't really need me—they've got Gwen right there! Just get her a

babysitter!"

"I rejoice in thy presence, Lady Gallowglass." Tuan looked distinctly unhappy. " 'Tis good of thee to come at our

need."

"Pay him no heed." Catharine clasped Tuan's forearm and patted it. "These men are of the opinion that only they

can understand matters of urgency."

"I comprehend." Gwen smiled, amused. "He had as lief mine husband did come." She held up her hand to

forestall Tuan's protest. "Nay, deny it not, Majesty, though 'tis good of thee to attempt it; and to ease thine heart,

I shall tell the Lord

Warlock straightaway whatsoe'er we discuss here, and tell thee directly his opinion on it." Tuan relaxed visibly. "I thank thee."

"And she is as wise in statecraft as she is tactful." Catharine stepped over to the gleaming walnut table before the

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great clerestory windows. "Come sit with us, Lady Gallowglass. There are many matters of which I wish to

speak with thee."

"I cry Thy Majesty's mercy." Gwen slid gracefully into an hourglass-shaped chair and looked around her. "Thy

solar doth ever gladden my heart."

"Gramercy, Lady Gallowglass." Catharine sat by her. "Yet 'twas not of my making."

"Nay, but the choice of draperies and carpets was thine." Gwen leaned forward. "As are thy concerns. Which

matter doth trouble thee most—the children's discovery of a witch-spy?"

"That is foremost, aye." Catharine frowned. "I must own that if thy husband hath the right of it—that the new

Archbishop doth use witches—it doth trouble me deeply. We must raise our children by the Church, Lady

Gallowglass, or their souls will be lost and they will lack all sense of lightness." Gwen nodded. "Yet how can they know right from wrong if the Church itself doth act in contradiction to its own

teachings? Aye, Majesty, this troubles me also. We can have no harmony within our homes if there is no order in

the Church."

" 'Tis of the harmony within the kingdom that I am more greatly concerned." Tuan wasn't disguising his impatience very well.

" Tis all one." Gwen turned to him. "As 'tis within our households, Majesty, so it is within thine. And if thine

house is larger than mine, it rests nonetheless on the foundation of the Church."

"Yet that foundation is broken now," Catharine whispered. But Gwen shook her head. "I think not. This our Church hath been shaken, yet 'tis not yet sundered."

"I would say that it is," Tuan contradicted. "For look you, how can it be whole when the Church of Gramarye

hath broke with Rome, and the Abbot hath declared himself to be Archbishop?"
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"There have ever been many bishops within the Church of

Rome, Majesty, or I misunderstand my Bible quite. And the breach may yet be healed."

"How may it be so?" Catharine demanded.

"Why, by adhering to the Church of Rome. Thereby may there be a break within the Order of St. Vidicon, but

'twill be plain to all that the Church doth rest intact."

"And folk will see that this quondam Archbishop is but a fragment?" Tuan's eyes widened. "Well said, milady!

Yet how may we make this plain?"

"By declaring thine adherence to Rome, Majesty."

"But the Archbishop will then call up what troops he may, and march to war!" Catharine cried.

"Will he not do that presently? Think, Majesty—he hath made such proclamation as must make thee declare for

him, or be counted heretics and thereby be excommunicated."

" 'Tis so." Tuan nodded heavily. "Whether by our declaration or his, we will be aligned with Rome."

"The fiend!" Catharine said, hotly.

"Say, rather, 'the fox.' Yet thus mayest thou oust him from his burrow."

"The metaphor is apt." Tuan nodded. "Ay di me! If only there were some way of making clear to all the folk that

the Abbot hath sundered his own order! For then would they comprehend, even the peasant folk, that

'tis the

Abbot who hath broken away, not the Church!"

"Thou hast the means to hand," Catharine reminded him. "Thou hast these monks who have builded themselves a

new chapter house, hard by our door."