The Warlock Unlocked wisoh-4

by Christopher Stasheff

  Rod turned back to him with a happy sigh. Air whooshed behind him as Gwen swooped back up to the top of the mountain.

  “Some very interesting stratification, here.” Father Al pointed to the rockface. “At a guess, I’d say this was a seabed a few million years ago.”

  “I’m sure it was—and thank you for your delicacy, Father. Come on, let’s go meet the monster.”

  They strode down the rock ledge, Rod saying, “Now, I want this clear. I go in first, to draw his attention; then, while I’ve got him occupied, you sneak up behind and brain him with the stone.”

  “I think a touch will suffice,” Father Al murmured. “What happens if he knocks you over the ledge, and still turns around in time to brain me?”

  “Wear a crucifix, don’t you?”

  “Not ordinarily; but it’s a good thought.” Father Al pulled out a rosary and slipped it over his head. “Now! The crucifix will protect me—because he’ll have to look away from me to avoid seeing it.”

  Rod nodded. “Right.”

  “And since I’m protected, I should go in first.”

  Rod stopped dead.

  “You must admit, it’s more logical.”

  Rod sighed. “Well, I never did have too much luck against logic. All right, Father, you win. You first, into the lion’s den—but I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Your reference was to Daniel,” Father Al mused as they started up again. “I wonder—is your soul in as good a shape as his was?”

  Rod was quiet for a few paces. Then he admitted, “I was raised Roman Catholic…”

  “And how long has it been since you took the Sacraments?”

  Rod sighed. “My wedding, Father—nine years ago. And you’ve got a point—if a lion’s in there, I’d better be in top shape. Give me a few minutes to examine my conscience.”

  And they moved slowly toward Redcap, murmuring softly together.

  “Ego te absolvo,” Father Al said finally, making the sign of the Cross. “And I think you’re about to meet your penance.”

  They rounded a curve, and the Tower loomed over them.

  The ledge around the tower was strewn with human bones and a few skulls. That almost did Rod in, right there. The fear hit, suddenly and totally. He paused, letting it wash over and through him. The tidal wave passed, leaving that old, familiar, clutch-bellied, knee-jellied feeling; but he could cope with that. He glanced at Father Al; the priest looked to be feeling it, too. His face was drawn and pale, but his lips firmed with resolve. He unwrapped the altar stone and held it out with both hands. “Are we ready, then?… Good. ‘Then into the Valley of Death.’ ” And he strode forward before Rod could say anything, chanting:

  “ ‘He who digs a pit may fall into it, And he who breaks through a wall May be bitten by a serpent! He who moves stones may be hurt by them, And he who chops wood is in danger from it! If the iron becomes dull, Though at first he made easy progress, He must increase his efforts; But the craftsman Has the advantage of his skill!’ ”

  With a roar, the Redcap was on him.

  It bolted out of the tower, crusted with filth and crazed with hatred and loneliness—about five feet high; shoulders as wide as a barrel; greasy, grizzled hair flying about its shoulders, huge eyes afire with bloodlust. Its tunic and leggings were stiff with grease and covered with dirt; its iron boots rang on the stone and crunched through bone. It whirled a pikestaff high with one hand, like a hatchet; then its rusty edge sliced down at the priest.

  Then Redcap saw the altar stone, and clanked to a halt.

  They stood frozen for a moment, the priest holding out the stone like a shield, the monster glaring at it balefully. Rod drew his sword and came running. Father Al began to chant again:

  “ ‘… a live dog is better Than a dead lion. For the…’ ”

  Redcap roared and slashed out with his pikestaff.

  The flat of the blade slammed into Father Al’s side; he went flying, landed ten feet away, the altar stone jarring out of his hand. Redcap grabbed a small boulder, still roaring, and heaved it at the stone. It swerved aside at the last second, narrowly missing Father Al’s head.

  Then Rod leaped in, shouting, “ ‘Oh ye dry bones, now hear the word of the Lord!… I heard a noise; it was a rattling as the bones came together…” and lunging full-out for Redcap’s belly. The sword shot into the monster’s smock with a CLANK! that shocked through Rod’s arm and into his body. The blasted critter was made of rock!

  Redcap brayed laughter and swatted out at Rod backhanded. Pain flared through Rod’s side, and the cliff and tower tumbled past him. Then, with a crack that exploded through him, he stopped, and got a close-up view of a rock wall sliding upward past him. He realized he was sliding down the cliff face and turned, frantically, as he jolted to a stop on the ledge. He was just in time to see two small figures appear right next to Redcap, inside his guard, and start chopping at his legs with small swords. “Boys, no!” he tried to yell, “Get back to your mother!” but it came out more like a chorus from a frog-pond. He could scarcely hear it himself, anyway; Redcap was roaring loudly as he reached down toward the mites…

  A boulder slammed into the back of his head.

  Redcap jolted forward, and tripped over Magnus, went sprawling. Small rocks bombarded him; then a boulder crashed down, just as he was getting up to his hands and knees. It crashed into his back, flattening him again.

  Magnus and Geoffrey ran to finish him off.

  Panic surged as Rod scrambled to his feet, lashing over him like a coating of fire. He had to get his boys out of there! He stumbled forward as Redcap heaved mightily, shaking the rock off his back, and rolled to his feet just in time for the boys to carom off his legs. He laughed wickedly, and bent toward them, then straightened suddenly and reached up to catch a boulder. He swung around following its inertia, and hurled it back up toward the mountaintop.

  The bastard! If he’d hit Gwen or Cordelia… Boiling rage surged up in Rod, seeming almost to come from somewhere outside himself, flaming hatred at a monster who dared injure his child! He slammed into the back of Redcap’s knees, and pain howled through his shoulder; then a small mountain crashed down on his back. Dimly, he heard Magnus howl, and fought his head up just in time to see Father Al, on hands and knees, reach out toward Redcap, who lay fallen backward across Rod. The stone was in the priest’s hand; it touched the monster’s forehead. Redcap howled, his body bucking in agony—

  And disappeared.

  Rod stared, not believing.

  Then the whole scene turned dim; stars shot through it, a cascade of stars, leaving darkness in their wake…

  “…three broken ribs. That nosebleed is stopped? Then the flow’s from his mouth.”

  “Oh, Father! His lung…?”

  “Pierced? Could…”

  The sound faded out, then faded in again. “…shoulder’s broken, and the collarbone. How…” Roaring came up like the surf, then faded. “…on his feet again?”

  “His back is broke?”

  “No, but I think there’re cracked vertebrae.”

  Rod felt awfully sorry for the poor slob they were talking about. Who, he wondered?

  Then an inspiration hit: Look. Just open the eyes, take a look.

  Who was that, crying in the background?

  Trouble was, there was this sandbag on each eyelid. And pain, that blasted pain, all through him! But he could do it; he’d done tougher things. He just fought a giant, hadn’t he? A five-foot giant…

  “Please, Magnus, staunch thy tears, and comfort thy sister and brother! Elidor, canst not help with Geoffrey? I must work!”

  Agony seared through his shoulder. His eyes snapped open, and he bawled like a dogie who’d bumped a branding iron.

  A lovely face hovered over him, framed with flaming hair. “He wakes! Husband! Dost hear me?”

  Reason returned for an afterthought: Gwen was trying to mend his shoulder telekinetically. “Stop… please… Pain…”

  “It will take ti
me.” She nodded, tense-lipped. “But it must be done. Oh, Rod! So many wounds…”

  “It won’t work; there’re too many, and it’ll take too long.” Father Al’s face slid into view as Gwen’s slid out. “High Warlock! Hear me! Wish, as you’ve never wished before! Wish, with all your might, all your being, for your body to be whole again, completely mended, as it was before you ever were wounded!”

  “I do,” Rod croaked. Now that the priest mentioned it, he did! Oh, how he wished! If anything could stop this agony, let it happen! He wished, fervently, for total health, for an unmarked body, for the wounds to go away, and never come back…!

  And the helping spirit was there again, sliding inside, up, and all through him, kindly, reassuring, healing, absorbing the hurt…

  Then it was gone—and so was the pain.

  Rod stared, unbelieving.

  Then he lifted his head, slowly, and looked down at his body. He was covered with blood, and his clothing was torn to rags—but the blood was still, there was nothing new running. And he felt well. In fact, he felt wonderful.

  “Uh… Gwen…”

  “Aye, husband.” She was there, her hand cradling his head.

  “Just to be on the safe side, I’d better not move. Check the shoulder, will you?”

  He felt her fingers probing—rather pleasant sensation, really. In fact, more than pleasant…

  “ ‘Tis whole, Rod.” There was wonder in her voice.

  He relaxed with a sigh, letting his head fall back. “Thank Heaven for that! Was there anything else wrong?”

  “Quite a bit,” Father Al admitted.

  The children had hushed.

  “Check it out, would you? I’d hate to move if I’m going to start hurting again.”

  “I will, husband.” He felt her fingers probing his side, his collarbone, his nose, rolling him a little to test his back.

  “Thou’rt whole, husband.” The wonder gave way to rejoicing. “Oh, thou’rt healed!”

  “Well, then, let’s get back into action.” He sat up and gathered her in. She clung to him as though he were a rock in the rapids, sobbing. “There, now—there, love,” he murmured. “I’m okay now. There, be a good girl, don’t cry, we’ll go find a haystack as soon as the kids’re asleep, and I’ll prove it.”

  She smiled up at him, blinking through her tears. “Well, if I’d any doubts, they’re resolved. Thou art healed.”

  “Papa!” shrieked three jubilant voices, and the kids piled onto him.

  He just barely managed to remain upright, patting and hugging. “There, now, children, don’t worry. Papa had a bad time, but he’s clear now… Gwen, watch Elidor, would you? We don’t want to lose him again… No, now, there, I’m all right!”

  “Aye,” Gwen breathed, eyes glowing. “Father Al hath cured him.”

  “No—he did,” the priest insisted. “I just told him what to do.”

  Rod stilled.

  Then he cleared the children gently out of his line of sight.

  “You mean I wrought that miracle cure?”

  “Well…” Father Al spread his hands. “We’d already established that what you wished, happened…”

  “Yes, we had,” Rod agreed. “Ready to try a hypothesis yet, Father?”

  “No-o-o-o,” the priest pursed his lips. “But I am getting closer…”

  “You and my robot,” Rod sighed, getting to his feet. “He never would state a hypothesis until it was established fact. Hey, I don’t even feel any of the aches from those faery pinches last night!”

  “Interesting,” Father Al breathed. “Have any old scars?”

  “Hm—that’s a thought.” Rod glanced at Gwen. “We’ll have to check that tonight, dear.”

  She blushed, and explained to the priest, “Some of them are where he cannot see them.”

  “I always did like a good Christian marriage,” Father Al agreed. “Well! If we’ve picked up all the pieces, can we get back to the chapel? I have an altar stone to return.”

  “Yeah, I don’t see any reason for hanging around here.” Rod surveyed the scene, turning grim. “Hey! What’re you doing, Magnus?”

  “Picking up pieces.” The boy straightened, holding up a long, sharp tooth. “Can I keep this for a trophy, Papa?”

  “What—the monster left a tooth behind?” Rod shuddered. “Why would you want to remember him, son?”

  “I do not know, Papa.” Magnus’s chin thrust out a little. “I only know that I think ‘twould be wise.”

  Rod frowned down at him. Then he said, “Well, I’ve learned that your hunches generally turn out to be worth having. Okay, take it along—but wrap it up tight, and swab it down with alcohol first chance you get.”

  “I will, Papa.” Magnus blossomed into a smile and pulled a rag from his wallet.

  It had been a handkerchief, once. Rod turned to Gwen. “Ready to go, dear?”

  “Aye.” She picked up her broomstick.

  “And I.” Father Al came up, tucking the wrapped altar stone under his arm. He looked up at the tower. “Whose army will garrison this place now, do you think—Duke Foidin’s, or Lord Kern’s?”

  “Whichever gets here fastest.” Rod turned away. “Frankly, Father, right now, I’d love to see the blasted thing fall apart.” He looked up sharply at the gleam in Magnus’s eye. “Don’t you dare!”

  They came out of the copse toward the back door of the church as the sun was setting. Rod looked around the town, frowning. “Little quiet, isn’t it?”

  “It is the hour for supper,” Gwen mused.

  “Well, it’s been a strange day all around.” Father Al knocked on the “rectory” door. “No doubt the good Father will explain.”

  The door opened a crack, showing an eye and a slice of beard. The eye widened, then so did the door. “Thou livest!”

  “Was there any doubt of it?” Father Al smiled and held out the altar stone. “We had a saint on our side!”

  The old priest took it gingerly, as though not quite believing it was real. “And the Redcap? Is he dead?”

  “Well, vanished, anyway.” Rod smiled. “I don’t think he’ll come back.”

  “Nay, they never return, once they’ve been routed; none of the faery folk do!” The old priest breathed a long, shaky sigh. “We heard thunder in the mountains, and hid our heads. I and half the parish are here, besieging Heaven with prayers for your safety.”

  “Well, that explains my quick recovery.” Rod locked gazes with Father Al. “I had reinforcements.”

  “A very intense field to draw from, nearby?” The priest pursed his lips. “Perhaps…”

  “Dost thou know what thou hast done?” the old priest burst out. “Caravans once did move through that pass above us—whole armies! None ha’ dared venture there for ten years, since the King’s army attempted, and lost!”

  Rod stared, his eyes growing huge. Then he stabbed his finger toward the mountain pass a few times, making noises in his throat.

  “Milord?” the old priest said humbly.

  “You mean…” Rod finally got his voice in gear. “You mean that was the monster that’s been blocking Lord Kern from coming out of the Northwest?”

  “Aye,” the old priest said, “ ‘twas, indeed.”

  Rod clasped his hands tight to stop the trembling, then had to clench his teeth to stop the chattering.

  The old priest blinked, bemused, then turned to Father Al. “Should I not ha’ told him?”

  “Oh, no, it’s all right, it’s all right!” Rod protested. “I’m just glad you didn’t tell me before we went up there…”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  They camped that night by a mountain stream. When the trout had been eaten and the bones buried, and the children and Father Al lay bundled up in blankets the villagers had been only too glad to contribute, Gwen cozied up to Rod with her eyes on the campfire. “Thou dost lead us northwest now, husband.”

  Rod shrugged. “Why not? Somehow, I think we’d better keep moving—and we are trying t
o get to Lord Kern. Though why, I don’t know,” he added as an afterthought. “We could just sit back now, and wait for him to come to us.”

  “Indeed. He will likely march down through the pass with all his army, to rend Duke Foidin from the seat of power.” Her eyes strayed to the sleeping children. “There should be one more amongst them, husband.”

  “There should.” Rod felt the aching longing for his baby. “But remember, dear—he’s safer where he is…”

  “Would I could be sure of it, with King and Abbot like to rend the land with civil war.” Her eyes lost focus; suddenly, she stiffened. “I do hear his thoughts again!”

  “Whose! Gregory’s?”

  “Aye.” She clutched Rod’s forearm, gazing off into space. “Aye, ‘tis the touch of his mind. Oh, my bairn!… He seems alive and well. Be comforted, sweeting; thy mother and thy father strive to rejoin thee, as certainly as thou seekest us!… His touch is stronger now, mine husband.”

  Stronger? Rod frowned. Why should that be? The two universes couldn’t have come closer together!

  “And Fess—his words begin!” Gwen frowned, concentrating. “Still, I cannot quite discern the words. Summat there is, about Dr. McAran, and the crafting of weird engine… and the Crown and Church; the Southern barons do declare they cannot, in all good conscience, fight against their Holy Mother Church… The Northern barons have sent men and knights to Tuan… And the Abbot hath sent out a call to all the nobles, summoning them with men and arms, to fight against the tyranny he doth say doth threaten Holy Mother Church!”

  Rod groaned. “They’re shaping up to start a civil war for sure! Of course, the Southern lords see this as their big chance to break their oaths of fealty to Tuan with some moral justification, and without losing the support of their people!”

  “Yet they have not declared allegiance to the Abbot, nor defiance to the Crown,” Gwen said hopefully.

  “Only because the Abbot just got around to issuing the call to arms! Mark my words, Gwen, there’re futurian agents showing their hands in this. Someone’s gotten to the Abbot—why else would he turn around to nullify his agreement with Tuan, before he’d even arrived home at his monastery? One of his entourage is a totalitarian agent, and talked him into it on the road! The totalitarians would love to have the Church take over the government; a medieval theocracy could turn into a very tight police state, if it were given a few modern techniques! And the anarchists are probably advising the lords again—they’d love to see the barons band together under the Church’s banner, just long enough to topple the monarchy, then fall to bickering between themselves until the whole country fell into warlordism!” He slammed a fist into his palm. “Damn! And I’m stuck here, where I can’t fight ‘em!”