The Warlock's Last Ride (7 page)

"I shall try to forgive her," Alea said, tight-lipped, "as Gar has—though I think not in his heart."

"He cannot, until his heart is healed," Gwen said sadly. "You must see to that for me, damsel, for I no longer have the strength."

Alea caught the meaning the old woman did not say— that she would not be here to do it. Still, the charge alarmed her. "I cannot finish your work for you, milady!"
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"No, but you can finish your own." Gwen's hand stirred on the coverlet, reaching for Alea's. Almost against her will, Alea took it. There was some quality about this dying woman, some gentle authority that compelled obedience— almost like her own mother…

Alea purged the thought and said, "I can finish my own work, lady, but not yours."

" Tis work that only you can do," Gwen contradicted, then added, "I ask only that you finish what you have begun."

Alea frowned. "What have I begun?"

'To do for him what he has done for you," Gwen said simply.

Alea fought down unreasoning alarm to answer. "He has given me much of healing, aye, but he has done it by treating me as an equal, by teaching me what he knows."

"Only that?" Gwen asked, her voice a bare whisper.

Alea knew what the old woman was asking but refused to say it. "He has been a friend, a stalwart friend, and has given me some feeling of worth again, by …" She bit the words off.

"By treating you as though you are precious to him?" Gwen's head stirred in a faint nod. "Have you given him to know the same?"

"Surely he must…"

But the old woman's head stirred again, from side to side. "Men have to be told, damsel, or they will deny what they see and hear."

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Well, Alea had to admit the truth of that. "A friend," she argued, "a precious friend, and nothing more."

"Go where your heart tells you," the old woman whispered, "or you shall never know the fullness of happiness."

"My heart tells me nothing," Alea snapped.

"Only because you will not hearken to it." The old eyes closed; Gwen sighed faintly. "You must learn to listen."

Alea felt anger and defiance at the order, but could not bear to speak it to a dying woman. Gwen knew her thoughts, though; a faint smile touched her lips, and her eyelids flickered in a knowing look, then closed again.

"Who tells me I must?" Alea challenged.

"Destiny," Gwen breathed, then relaxed so completely as to say without words, Forgive me, but I am very tired and must rest now.

How had Alea known that?

Perhaps Magnus's lessons in telepathy had worked better than she knew—or perhaps this old esper's mere presence increased the strength of Alea's talents. Either way, she knew the time for silence when she saw it—but she wasn't about to leave this new-found friend, either. She sat by the bed, the old woman's hand in her own, clinging to her for strength and warmth in the few hours left before Gwen should be taken from her.

AS MAGNUS CLOSED the door, he whispered to his father, "Why is she not in the most modern hospital on Terra?"

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"Because her poor body won't take the acceleration of liftoff," Rod said sadly. "That's the opinion of the two best physicians in Gramarye."

Magnus frowned, puzzled for a moment, then asked with a touch of mockery, "You mean Cordelia and Gregory?"

"Yes, but Brother Aesculapius came from the monastery and confirmed the diagnosis," Rod said.

"So did the Mother Superior of the Order of Cassettes."

"I thought Sister Paterna Testa refused that title."

"She did, but the convent's official now, so she has to be, too." Rod shook his head. "Under the circumstances, I'll trust her diagnosis more than his."

"What? A woman who specializes in psychiatric disorders?" Magnus's frown turned dangerous.

"You don't mean…" Then he caught the implications of his own words and lifted his head, eyes widening in horror. "It's her nervous system!"

"That's part of it," Rod agreed, "but it's really her whole body. She's just wearing out, son."

"How can that be!"

"Because she's a quarter elven," Rod answered, and waited.

Magnus's mind spun furiously through the chain of facts, trying to catch up with what his father had spent months absorbing. Yes, he knew his grandfather (who would never admit to the relationship but had been the darling of his childhood anyway) was half-elven, so his daughter was a quarter of the Old Blood—which in Gramarye, meant one-fourth witch moss, the strange local substance that could be molded by the thoughts of a projective telepath. Some unwitting telekinetic long ago had told tales of the Wee Folk, and blobs of fungus in the nearby forest had pulled together, shaped themselves into a form that could stand and walk, then turned more and more into an elf, one who could beget its own kind, one
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who had …

"Genes!" Magnus stared at his father. "The elves can reproduce, so their fashioning must have worked on so deep a level that the telesensitive fungus even formed chains of DNA!"

"Yes," Rod said softly, "and when that re-creation interacted with real human genes, it only modified them so that they became extremely long-lived…"

"But the elves live forever! Then should not mother…" Magnus's voice trailed off as a terrible suspicion occurred to him.

Rod watched him carefully, saw the realization in his eyes, and nodded. "When the witch-moss genes are outnumbered two to one, it seems they eventually break down. You might say they become overwhelmed by reality."

Magnus gazed at him, mind still reeling through possibilities. Then he said, "But couldn't Cordelia…

I mean, if the genes have become faulty, couldn't she …"

"Remake them?" Rod nodded. "We thought of that— but by the time we did, the elven DNA had deteriorated so much that we couldn't be sure what they had been like."

"Then copy the human ones!" But Magnus had begun realizing the result before he finished the sentence.

Again, Rod nodded. "Which human ones—her mother's, or her grandmother's? In either event, what emerges might be viable, but it wouldn't be your mother."

"No, I see." Magnus's gaze wandered. "So her choice is to die, or to live, but not as herself."

"And you can be the one who tracks down a philosopher to ask how that's different from dying." Rod shook his head. "For me, all I know is that I'm losing the woman I love—but at least she gave me
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fair warning."

"As though she had any choice!"

"Didn't she?" Rod locked gazes with his son, and for a moment, his eyes burned with his old fatherly authority. "You think it's an accident that she was still alive when you landed?"

Magnus stared back at him, chilled. Then he said slowly, "She waited for me."

Rod nodded, not taking his gaze from his son's.

Magnus broke the lock and turned away, feeling numb. "Have I made her linger in agony, then?"

"No, she doesn't seem to be in any pain," Rod said, "just very tired—and that can be taken care of by long and frequent naps. Always terrifies me, though, because I never know for sure if she'll awaken

…" His gaze wandered to the bedroom door. "She's been conscious for an awfully long time, now …"

Magnus gazed off into space, his mind touching Alea's. "No. She's sleeping again, and Alea won't let go of her hand for a second."

"I know how she feels." Rod's smile could almost have been one of fondness. "You choose your companions well, son. Come on, though—we'd better relieve her." He went back to Gwen's chamber.

Magnus followed, knowing that his father was in a rush to take his wife's other hand.

THE DOOR OPENED—and Alea looked up to see a dwarf enter. She stared, because he had the head and upper body of a big man, but very short arms and legs.

He met her glance with a grave nod. "God e'en, damsel."
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Alea realized her rudeness and gave herself a shake. "Good evening, sir. I am Alea, Magnus's battle-companion."

"Road companion too, if Gregory's report holds true." The little man sat down opposite her. "I am Brom O'Berin, long a friend of this family."

"I am honored, sir."

"I, too." But Brom looked down at the sleeping woman, and his face creased in lines of guilt. "My fault," he muttered.

Alea frowned. "How can that be?"

Brom glanced at her in irritation. "Because her whole life is my fault!"

Five

NOW ALEA DID STARE AT HIM, REMEMBERING ALL Magnus had said about his mother—only a sentence here and there, but Alea had remembered them all and put them together. "If that is so," she said slowly, "she must also thank you for a very happy life and four wonderful children."

The little man stared at her, amazed, then slowly nodded. "There is truth in that—and aye, I may have had something to do with her meeting a good man. Who charmed your tongue, damsel?"

Alea blushed and looked down at Gwen. "It must have been you, sir, for left to myself I am sharp-tongued and shrewish."

"A shrew who digs toward the truth, then."

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The door opened again, and they looked up to see Rod coming into the room. He gave her a reassuring smile and Brom a bob of his head; the little man stood, leaving the chair for him. With a nod of thanks, Rod sat opposite Alea, taking Gwen's other hand. "Thank you for watching, damsel."

"My pleasure." Alea caught her breath at the irony of the word.

Rod smiled, seeming to understand. "A pity you couldn't have come a few years ago—but you were just meeting Magnus then, weren't you?"

Alea nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Rod glanced at her keenly. "How long since you've slept?"

"Oh …" Alea counted backward in her head. "Eighteen hours."

"Better find a bedroom," Rod advised, then when she started to object, "We may need you later. I can't watch her the clock around by myself."

Flattered, Alea relinquished Gwen's hand. "Good night to you, then."

"And to you." Rod's smile was far warmer than a stranger should see. "See if you can get that big lug in the hall to lie down, too."

Alea couldn't help smiling. "He usually recognizes good advice."

"Gets that from his mother." Rod nodded sagely. "Sleep well."

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"And you, sir." Alea turned away.

The dwarf laid a fatherly hand on Rod's shoulder. "Be of stout heart, lad. Her life has been good because of you."

Rod stared at him, then smiled sadly. "Wish I could be sure of that."

"You have always been slow to believe truth."

"Only when it comes to myself," Rod said, "but thanks, Brom."

"It is your due," the little man said, and turned to go with Alea. "If you begin to doze off, lad, call for another to watch in your stead."

Rod's voice stopped Alea at the door. "Damsel, by what name does my son call himself when he's planetside?"

"That depends on whether or not he thinks he's made a mistake," Alea answered. "Why? Did you change your name for each mission?"

Rod nodded. "I always tried to fit in with the local culture—that's why I chose the name

'Gallowglass' when I landed here." He smiled. "Never thought I'd use it for the rest of my life. What's Magnus's nom de guerre?"

"Gar Pike," she answered.

Rod gazed at her a moment, then nodded. "Appropriate."

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Somehow, Alea knew he wasn't thinking of the fish. "His real name … it is d'Armand?"

"No, that's my real name." Rod still smiled. "His is 'Gallowglass.' Does he go by 'd'Armand' now?"

"Only if I press him."

"Do that more often," Rod advised. "Good night."

Alea stepped through the door, closed it softly behind her—and stared as the dwarf went over to Magnus, patting his hand and murmuring in a reassuring tone. Then Alea realized she was being rude and transferred her gaze to the young giant.

He looked up with a grave smile. "Your Majesty, this is Alea, my companion."

"We have met," the little man told Magnus.

Magnus nodded as though that made no difference. "Alea, this is Brom O'Berin, King of the Elves—and my grandfather."

The dwarf's head snapped back. "How didst thou know!"

"We figured it out before I was twelve," Magnus told him, amused.

"The Puck told you!"

"No, but he didn't deny it when we asked him." Magnus shrugged. "It made sense. Why else would you have visited so often? Especially on holidays …"

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"Never tell thy mother!"

Magnus's smile faltered. "Wrong phrase just now, Your Majesty. Besides, she figured it out long ago."

Brom stared, amazed. "How many years?"

"I think it had something to do with the look on your face the first time you saw me," Magnus said.

"You were only twenty minutes old then!"

"Yes, but I saw the way you looked at Gregory when he was born, and I can imagine how much stronger it was the first time."

The conversation had allowed Alea time enough to recover from the shock. She curtsied as she said, "I am honored to meet Your Majesty."

"Most excellently done," Brom said with approval, "and you must never do it again, for no mortals know me by that title—save those in this house, of course. To all others, I am only the queen's jester."