Warlock's Last Ride

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 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. "Good e'en, damsel."

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."

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."

"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."

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 …"

"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."