The Warlock In Spite of Himself

by Christopher Stasheff

  "And they'll go for any system of government, any, as long as it isn't democracy. And they'll fight democracy with every breath in their bodies."

  "If it is to be as you say," growled Brom, "these men will lose; for how could they fight so many worlds?"

  "They can't," Rod answered, "unless they kill it before it's born."

  "But how shall they do that? For to kill the witch in the womb, they must come to the womb, here to Gramarye, and try to…why…to slay…"

  Brom stared, horrified.

  "Catherine," Rod finished for him, nodding sourly. "Right, Brom. The councillors and the leader cadre of the House of Clovis are somebody's great-great-fifty-times-great-grand children."

  "But how could that be?" Brom gasped. "What man can visit his ancestors?"

  "They can. They've got a thing called a time machine. There's one of them hidden somewhere in the House of Clovis, and another in the haunted tunnels of the Castle Loguire.

  "So guard those four men in your dungeon very carefully, Brom. They might have a few surprises in store."

  "Be assured that I will!"

  "And the councillors are all dead." Rod leaned back, eyes closing. "Which nicely wraps up the report. Send it home, Fess. Oh, and corroborative material: a description of the time machine, and descriptions of the witches" main tricks — you know, telekinesis, levitation, telepor—"

  "I do know, Rod," the robot's voice reminded him.

  "Umph. Some self-effacing retainer you are. Well, send it home."

  The warp transmitter deep within Fess's basketball brain spat a two-second squeal at the stars.

  All was silent a moment then Gwendylon said, hesitantly, "My lord?"

  Rod lifted an eyelid and smiled. "You shouldn't call me that. But I like it."

  She smiled, shyly. "My lord, you ha' finished your work here…"

  Rod's face darkened.

  He turned away, glowering down at the earth.

  "Where will you go now, Rod Warlock?" Brom murmured.

  "Oh, cut it out!" Rod snapped.

  He turned away again, sullen. "I'm not a warlock," he growled. "I'm an agent from a very advanced technology, and as such have a bag of tricks you wouldn't believe, but they're all cold iron and its breed. I haven't a witch trick to my name, and I certainly don't have the tiniest shred of witch power."

  He lifted his eyes to the stars again. "I'm not a warlock, not the slightest bit, not so much as the meanest of your peasants. I don't belong here."

  He felt a tearing in him as he said it.

  "I don't belong here. I belong out there, chasing a dream." He looked down at the earth and said heavily, "The men of the Tribunal will tell Fess, and Fess will tell me. I'll go where they send me."

  Brom was very quiet for a moment.

  Then he plucked a blade of grass and tore it between his fingers. "You are not your own master, Rod Gallowglass?"

  "I chose this life," Rod growled. "I take orders, yes, but I do it voluntarily."

  "A point," Brom admitted, "but a weak one. By choice or not by choice, thou'rt still enslaved."

  "Yes," Rod admitted. "But some must give up their freedom, so that their children may have it."

  But it didn't even sound convincing to him.

  Brom gusted a sigh and slapped his thighs, standing. He gazed at Rod, his eyes weary and old.

  "If thou must go, thou must go; a geas is a thing no man can deny. Go on to the stars, Rod Gallowglass, but be mindful: if ever thou seekest a haven, 'tis here."

  He turned and strode away, down the hillside. Gwendylon sat quietly beside him, clasping his hand. "Tell me," she said after a little while, "is it only one dream that takes you away from me?"

  "Yes. Oh, yes." Rod's hand tightened on hers. "You sort of blotted out any other dreams."

  She turned, smiling tremulously, tears glittering on her lashes. "Then may not I accompany you to the stars, good my lord?"

  Rod clamped down on her hand, throat tightening. "I wish that you could; but you'd wither and die there, like an uprooted flower. You belong here, where they need you. I belong there. It's as simple as that."

  "No." She shook her "head sadly. "You go not for belonging, but for a geas. But, good my lord" — she turned, tears flowing now — "is not my geas as strong as your dream?"

  "Look," he said tightly, "try to understand. A man has to have a dream. That's the difference between animals and man, a dream. And a man who's lost his dream is something less than a man, and worthy of no woman. How could I dare claim you if I wasn't a man?

  "A man has to prove his worth to himself, before he can claim a woman, and the dream is the proof. As long as he's working for it, he's got a right to her, because he's worth something. I could stay here and be very, very happy with you. But in my depths I'd know I didn't deserve you. Because I'd be a drone, a male with no purpose. How could I father children if I knew their mother was more valuable to the world than I am?"

  "Then it wouldst be thou who wouldst wither and die?" she murmured.

  Rod nodded.

  "But the geas, my lord, if not mine alone, is not Big Tom's geas added to it, and the old Duke Loguire's enough to balance the geas of the stars?"

  Rod sat rigid.

  "They bade you watch over their people," she murmured. "And what would become of them, lord, if these fiends from tomorrow come again? As surely they will, if they hate as deep as thou say."

  Rod nodded, very slowly.

  "And what of the Dream then, my lord?" she murmured. Rod sat rock-still for a moment.

  "Fess," he said quietly.

  "Yes, Rod?"

  "Fess, send them my resignation."

  "Your what?"

  "My resignation!" Rod snapped. "And hurry it up!"

  "But, Rod, your duty… the honor of your house…"

  "Oh, stuff it! The councillors might be back, Fess, even if we smash the time machines. They did it once, they can do it again. Send it!"

  Fess obediently beeped at the stars.

  Then, slowly, Rod's head lolled forward.

  "My lord?" Gwendylon gasped.

  Rod raised a hand weakly. "I'm all right. I've done the right thing, and the one that'll make me happiest. For the first time in my life, I'm working on my own.

  "And that's it. I've cut myself off. They're not backing me anymore — the house, the clan, Big Brother watching over me …"

  "Thou hast a house here, lord," she murmured.

  "I know, I know. And in a little while this'll pass" and I'll be happier than I ever have been. But now…"

  He looked up at her, smiled weakly. "I'll be all right."

  "Rod," Fess murmured.

  He lifted his head. "Yes, Fess?"

  "They have replied, Rod."

  Rod tensed. "Read it."

  "Report accepted. Request send coordinates for verifying expedition."

  Rod nodded, mouth twisting back with bitterness. "Send "em. Go on."

  "Request you reconsider resignation. Accept permanent assignment planet Gramarye guard against further infiltration-subversion."

  Rod straightened, staring. "What?"

  "They would like to make your chosen position official, Rod," the robot replied.

  "What is it, my lord?"

  "They want me to stay on," Rod answered mechanically. He turned to her, life replacing the stunned look. "They want me to stay on!"

  "Stay on where, my lord?" she asked, catching the first traces of his enthusiasm.

  "Stay on here!" he bellowed, jumping to his feet and flinging his arm wide to include the whole planet. "Here on Gramarye! As an agent! Gwen, I'm free! And I'm home!"

  He dropped to his knees, spinning to face her, hands biting into her shoulders.

  "I love you!" he bellowed. "Marry me!"

  "At once and forever, my lord!" she cried, clasping his face in her hands, and the tears poured.

  He grabbed for her, but she held him off with a palm over his lips. "Nay, my lord. Only a warlock may kiss a witch."<
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  "All right, I'm a warlock, I'm a warlock! Just kiss me, will you?"

  She did.

  He locked his hands in the small of her back, grinning. "Hey," he said, "is it true, what they say about farm girls?"

  "Aye, my lord." She lowered her eyes and began unbuttoning his doublet. "You'll never be rid of me now."

  The End