The Warlock Heretical

by Christopher Stasheff

  "All gear is stowed; they now drink each his measure of brandy wine," Brom answered. "The battle line doth form, Majesty."

  "This is really fascinating," McGee said, looking all about him with a bright eye. "I've never seen a knights' battle before!"

  "If God doth will it, thou wilt not see one today, Father." Tuan called out, "Ho! Sir Maris!"

  The seneschal came riding up. "Majesty?"

  "Take thou the truce flag, and ride out to signal for parley!

  'Twill be the Duke di Medici and the Archbishop for their side, I doubt not, so it shall be myself and the Lord Warlock will meet them!"

  "If thou dost wish it, Majesty," Sir Marts sighed, "though 'tis to no purpose." But he turned his horse and went for the white banner.

  "May I come along?" McGee said hesitantly. "If they have a clergyman present, you really ought to have one, too."

  "Sorry, Father. As the local field representative of the Society for the Prevention of Nascent Totalitarianisms, I have to insist that you help avoid cultural contamination here."

  "By not letting them know I'm from Terra, you mean? Well, I suppose Father Uwell did keep his origin relatively secret."

  "Really. He only intervened at the last second. Even then he only told the Lord Abbot who he was." Rod shook his head. "We have to let the locals solve their disputes by themselves, Father, or we'll give them a national inferiority complex."

  "But by that argument," said McGee, with a keen glance, "shouldn't you retire from the lists, too?"

  Rod started to answer, then bit down on his own logic coming back at him. "Not the same case, Father. I'm a local."

  "Then you must be the only local who was born and raised on an asteroid far, far away. Come, Lord Warlock—by what virtue can you claim citizenship?"

  "By virtue of a wife and four children, all homegrown," Rod snapped. "Keep out of it, Father. Okay?"

  And he rode out to battle, doing a mental double take at his own phrasing. Was there a truth in there he'd been trying to avoid?

  Under the circumstances, the Duke and the Archbishop were a welcome distraction, even though the nobleman wore a vindictive, gloating smile. Rod frowned and subvocalized, "Di Medici is outnumbered three to two here, Fess, and a quarter of his men are monks. What's he looking so cocksure about?"

  "Perhaps he is thinking of the Archbishop's witch force, Rod. There is no reason why they should confine themselves to bogus haunting."

  That hit Rod with a mental blow that rocked him, and for a moment his heart sank. Then he remembered Toby and the Royal Coven. High Warlock to Low! Gallowglass to Toby.' Come in, Toby!

  He strained his senses, letting Fess take care of getting to the parley, so Toby's thought fairly blasted. We attend, Lord Warlock.

  Thank Heaven! Send the crew down here to Despard Plain, will you? The Archbishop's about to pull some rabbits out of his hat, and we need you to stuff them back in!

  The greater number of us are here already, Lord Warlock; thy wife did advise it. Yet we left a home guard.

  Rod felt his face flush with chagrin. "She was one step ahead of me again, Fess." Then he grinned. "Wow! What a woman!"

  "You mature, Rod," the robot observed.

  "Yeah. Someday I might even be big enough for her." Thanks, Toby. Just hold yourselves ready, okay? And ask Gwen to send for a babysitter.

  As thou wilt have it, Lord Warlock.

  Then Fess was drawing up, and the Archbishop and duke were five feet away; there was no more time for tactics. Rod inclined his head. "Your Graces."

  "Lord Warlock," the Archbishop said in his most noncommittal tone.

  Rod glanced at the Archbishop's gleaming plate armor. "If you don't mind my saying so, milord, your mitre looks a little out of place on that rig."

  The Archbishop flushed. "Is't so rare for a cleric to defend himself?"

  "I just didn't expect a man of the cloth to go in for such a close weave. And weren't you supposed to be carrying a crozier?"

  The Archbishop hefted his mace, his face grim. "I doubt not this shall serve me better in this day's work."

  "Odd-looking sacramental, if you ask me."

  "I did not." The Archbishop's face darkened. "Know, Lord Warlock, that Our Lord said only, 'Those who live by the sword will die by the sword.' Even if we extend his words to all edged weapons, men of God are still free to carry those that have no sharpness."

  Rod took a deep breath, trying to stifle his outrage, holding back a comment about the spirit of the law versus its letter; and while he was stymied, Tuan managed to get in a word.

  "I am loathe to clash with arms in this quarrel, my lord, since we both wish, foremost, the good of our people. Is there no means to peace left?"

  "Why, dost thou now snivel?" Di Medici sneered. "I had not thought so ill of thee, Tuan Loguire."

  The King flushed and turned to the duke. "There is no shame in seeking to abide by God's word, milord, and avoid slaying my neighbor." He turned back to the Archbishop. "Come, is there no path open?"

  "Certes," said the Archbishop, stone-faced, "if thou dost recant thine heresy, and embrace the Church of Gramarye."

  Tuan shook his head sadly. "That, milord, I cannot do; I would hold it sinful to desert the Church of Rome for expedience."

  "Yet 'tis an expedient argument for thee to refuse to be guided by me!" The Archbishop's eyes fired. "Nay, I must hold thee a traitor to the true Faith!"

  Rod frowned; the man was behaving quite unlike himself. Was this the monster within that he had kept under wraps all along? Or was there a more obvious reason? "One might speculate about the expediency of your own stand, milord. I have heard that your preachers have proclaimed your decision that the clergy may marry."

  "Rome was ever wrong-headed in that belief!"

  "Yet on the heels of that announcement came the news that you are engaged to the Lady Mayrose Reddering," Rod mused. "One could question your motives in this decision, milord, and gain the impression that you have allowed the clergy to marry only as an excuse to satisfy your own lust."

  "Lord Warlock!" Tuan hissed, and the Archbishop turned pale, face tensed.

  Before he could speak, Rod capped his insult. "And if your decisions are excuses for personal indulgence, your whole schism is rampant hypocrisy."

  "Enough!" the Archbishop shouted. He turned his horse away, calling back over his shoulder, "Thou shalt see the justice of my stand by my steel! Ward thee well!"

  The duke watched him go with an amused smile, then turned back to give Tuan a mocking bow. "Most excellent words of peace, milord." He turned to Rod. "Thou dost easily insult a man who doth lack the skill to defend his honor, Lord Warlock. I will gladly be his champion. Come, wilt thou duel with me in sight of these armies?"

  "As soon as the parley is over," Rod said, tight-lipped. "You lead the charge, and I'll meet you."

  The duke raised his eyebrows in gratified surprise, then bowed with a broad smile, spurred his horse, turning it as it reared, and galloped away toward his own line.

  Tuan turned away toward his knights, face somber. "And what hast thou gained hereby, Lord Warlock?"

  "Some dumb mistakes on their part, I hope, Your Majesty. An angry general doesn't think too clearly."

  Tuan turned, then nodded slowly. "I should have known thou hadst reason. Yet I am saddened to lose this last chance at peace."

  "Yeah, but you gave it your best shot. Your conscience is clear now—so go enjoy the battle!"

  Tuan stared at him, then slowly grinned. "Well, I must own there will be excitement in it, at the least." He turned back toward his men, head high, eyes glowing. "Come, Lord Warlock! If we must fight, let us do it well!" He spurred his horse and broke into a canter.

  Rod followed him, subvocalizing, Okay, so I let myself go. At least I couldn't have made things worse!

  Let us only achieve victory as quickly as possible. Rod, Fess answered. The shorter the battle, the fewer the dead.

  Rod pulled up between the King, who was ra
ttling off commands to his couriers, and Father McGee, who was fixing him with a whetted gaze. "Have we proved well enough that the locals can't resolve their own dispute?"

  "Yes, damn it!" Rod snapped. "Oh… sorry, Father."

  "Think nothing of it. I would like to dam the stream of this quarrel, myself." McGee turned toward the rebel line. "In fact, I think I will… Ho!" He kicked his horse and galloped out into the space between the armies.

  "What the— Come backl" Then Rod covered his face with his hand and moaned.

  "What doth the Father-General?" Tuan stared, flabbergasted. "Hath he gone mad?"

  "No, Your Majesty—only enraged."

  "You impious renegade!" McGee was shouting as he galloped. "You Judas goat!"

  The Archbishop whirled, startled, then saw the monk's robe and paled.

  On a hillock at the rear the Lady Mayrose paled, too, and kicked her palfrey into motion, charging down into the troops, shouting, "Make way! Let me through! I must come to him, ere all is lost!"

  The troops made way for her out of sheer surprise.

  The Archbishop gulped air.

  "Wilt thou so let a monk upbraid thee?" Di Medici demanded. "Come, milord! Thou wilt let thine authority be rent asunder! Thou must needs rebuke him!"

  The Archbishop closed his mouth, jaw firming, and galloped out to McGee. "False priest, give way! Who art thou to chastise thine Archbishop?"

  "Thou knowest full well who I am!" McGee roared in anger. "I am Morris McGee, Father-General of the Order of St. Vidicon of Cathode! Kneel to thy senior, false prelate!"

  His voice carried very well—to both armies. Every man, knight or peasant, stared, his jaw gaping.

  "He hath done it!" Tuan cried. "He hath made all understand the falseness of this schism!"

  But the Archbishop countered. "Thou art an imposter, false man! Belike thou art not even a priest! None have ever seen the Father-General of the Order; never hath he come to Gramarye!"

  "Yet now he hath!" McGee thrust a fist at the Archbishop, and a circlet on his ring finger flared in the sunlight. "Here is my ring and my seal!"

  Only the Archbishop could see the narrow band of copper with the integrated-circuit chip in its tiny alligator-clip setting; but the knights in the front lines of both armies saw the blood drain from his face. " 'Tis the very signet," he whispered, "the ring made by sainted Vidicon himself! Oft have I gazed upon its impression in our books and our seal!"

  The King's men didn't know what was going on, but they got the impression that things were going well. They cheered.

  Their yell rang in Di Medici's ears with the sound of crumbling victory. He looked about him in desperation, thinking to ride out in force, but saw the doubt in his soldiers' faces and knew they would fold when the King's knights charged. As a last hope, he turned to the platoon of monks. "Up, men of cloisters! Thy master's beset! Come, follow me to his succor!"

  The monks looked at one another, then back at the two clerics in mid-field. They didn't move.

  "I shall impale any man who doth not march!" Di Medici shouted, and his sword hissed out of its sheath.

  The monks eyed it with dread. Then Father Rigori stepped forward, and one after another, the others followed.

  The Lady Mayrose galloped past them up to the Archbishop's side, and drew rein. "Be mindful, my lord! Of all the iniquities of the Roman Church! Of the corruption the Pope doth allow!"

  "The Holy Father cannot enforce the commandments," Father McGee bellowed in answer, "for Christ said, 'Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's!'"

  "The Pope doth allow usury!"

  "The Church hath never approved more than moderate interest!" McGee insisted.

  "He doth sell indulgences!"

  "The Holy Father hath said that only prayer and good works—faith, hope, and charity—will hasten our journey to Heaven!"

  Di Medici towered over him on a rearing horse. McGee spared him a single contemptuous glance, then turned back to glare at the Archbishop.

  "Come, knights!" Di Medici bellowed, livid. "Come, my lords Florenzo and Perdito! School me these prating shave-pates, and bring them to heel!"

  "Be still!" both clergymen bellowed, turning on him, and back in the line, the counts gave him only apprehensive looks in answer.

  "The First Estate bids thee retire!" the Archbishop bellowed in full fury. "Godly matters are past thy comprehension!"

  Di Medici gave him a long, narrow stare, then nodded and turned his horse away—and with a sinking heart, the Archbishop realized that, no matter what the outcome of this battle would be, he had lost Di Medici forever.

  He turned back to save what little he could. "Rome cares naught for Gramarye, and would issue commands without understanding!"

  "The Pope is so deeply concerned for thy nation, that he sent Father Uwell on an emergency mission, and told him to bring back as much knowledge about Gramarye as he could," McGee shouted back, "and now hath sent me, to issue directives based on understanding!"

  Lady Mayrose clasped the Archbishop's armored fingers tightly. "But think, my lord! If Rome is right, you cannot have mel"

  The Archbishop stiffened, alarm inflaming his face. Then he looked about him in desperation, and for the first time realized that his horse stood surrounded by his own monks. "Father Rigori!" he cried in glad relief. "Brother Hasty! All my brothers and sons! Seize this imposter!"

  But Father McGee bent a stern eye on them, and they turned to meet his gaze.

  "Wilt thou not heed me!" the Archbishop raged. "Seize him!"

  Slowly McGee raised his fist, and all the brothers could see his ring.

  "Thou hast sworn obedience!" the Archbishop shouted in desperation. "I command thee by thine own vows!"

  "We are sworn to the Order, milord," Rigori answered, wooden-faced, "and therefore to the Father-General. Our loyalty to him must supersede our fealty to thee."

  And slowly he knelt, bowing his head. In a slow wave, the others followed his example.

  "Thou hast never truly believed my doctrines," the Archbishop whispered, ashen-faced. "In thine heart of hearts thou hast ever wished to be loyal to Rome and to the Crown, but did lack the courage to say it!"

  Rigori kept his head bowed, and did not deny it.

  "Cowards!" Lady Mayrose wailed. "If thou shalt not bring down the imposter, I shall!" She yanked the mace from the Archbishop's limp fingers and turned, swinging it high to strike the Father-General.

  A shriek like an avenging angel's split the air, and a small figure on a broomstick shot down out of the sky. The mace jerked itself back in Lady Mayrose's hands, almost pulling her off her horse, then spun down toward her head. She screamed, wrestling with it, trying to hold its cruel barbs away from her face, and the Archbishop shouted in fright, leaping to her aid, catching at the mace.

  "Vile temptress!" the little witch screamed, circling ten feet overhead. "Vice and seductress!"

  But above her a bigger witch dipped down, riding sidesaddle, calling "Lord counts! Good knights! Wilt thou let such a serpent writhe free? Nay! Catch her and bind her!"

  Her voice was compelling with more than mere overtones.

  The counts finally shouted and leaped forward in the relief of action, and a dozen knights charged with them to wrest the Lady Mayrose from the Archbishop's arms. He roared, finally charged with anger again, catching the mace from her hands and whirling it down at the nearest knight.

  Geoffrey appeared with a gunshot crack, floating in midair, one hand upheld, and the mace bounced off an invisible shield about him as he shouted, "Wouldst thou attack, then? Thou, who hast preached the word of Christ? Thou, who dost dare to instruct knights and dukes? Thou corrupter of Gospels! Thou renegade cleric! Thou most unworthy of the cloth thou dost wear!"

  In panic the Archbishop rained blow after blow at the boy, but Geoffrey parried them all in sheer reflex.

  A man-at-arms laughed in disbelief. Then another did, and another, and soon the whole field roared in hilarity at the ridiculous spectacl
e of the dreaded Archbishop, balked by a boy.

  Di Medici bellowed in dead-end despair and charged out.

  "The hell you do!" Rod roared. "Now, Fess!"

  The great black horse screamed and leaped toward the duke.

  Di Medici saw him coming and turned to meet him, sword flashing out.

  Rod parried one cut and slammed into him, body to body, and Fess's unyielding form staggered the duke's charger. He swayed in the saddle, and Rod twisted him around, the duke's throat in the crook of the Lord Warlock's arm. " 'The Lord has given him into my hand!'" Rod roared. "Yield, my lord, yield! All who follow this traitorous duke, lay down your arms, or he dies!"

  One by one the knights threw down their swords, and the men-at-arms, grinning, dropped their pikes.

  Except, that is, for the knights who had finally managed to drag the Lady Mayrose down off her horse, to bind her arms as she screamed and screamed, cursing them in more vile language than ever they had heard from a lady—and too loudly for them to have heard the Lord Warlock.

  The mace slipped from the Archbishop's exhausted fingers.

  "Down on your knees!" McGee thundered. "Repent while you can!"

  Ashen-faced, the Archbishop slid from his horse, stood a moment, then toppled in a dead faint.

  Panting, Rod looked up over Di Medici's squirming shoulder, and saw Tuan sitting his horse with one knee hooked around the pommel, wearing the broadest smile he owned.

  Rod scowled. "You could at least have helped out a little, Your Majesty!"

  "Wherefore, Lord Warlock?" the King asked, all innocence. "Thou and thy bairns did so well of thine own!"

  Chapter Twenty

  The rays of the afternoon sun slanted in through the high windows of the Great Hall, gilding the ranks of the assembled noblemen and their knights. The King and Queen sat framed in purple draperies under a silken canopy above their thrones.

  Before them, in a clean tunic and hose, was Hoban, trying to stand tall and proud, but more terrified than he had ever been before the Archbishop and all his monks.

  "Know ye all," cried a leather-lunged herald, "that this good man, hight Hoban, did bravely go into the monastery of St. Vidicon, knowing his peril, yet determined to discover the news that Their Majesties did need. He sent to them intelligence that did bring the traitor Alfonso into their hands, and thereby did strongly abet their victory at Despard Plain. In recognition thereof, Their Majesties do bestow upon him the honor of the Order of the Wheel!"