The Warlock Unlocked

“We can but try, Rod.”

“Then let’s get going.” Rod headed toward the door, calling back to Gwen, “Sorry, dear—the boss just called.”

Gwen jolted out of her stupor. “Oh, aye! I shall hold di

“I hope we’ll be done by then.” In fact, if they weren’t, they’d probably be in the middle of a battle. He bolted out the door, not a moment too soon, with the great black horse on his heels. Clear of the doorway, he swung aboard, and kicked his heels into Fess’s sides.

Something jolted behind him. He looked back to see Father Al riding Fess’s rump. “From what little I heard in that one-sided conversation, I thought I had better come along.”

Rod shrugged. “Suit yourself, Father—but hold on tight; this ride’s going to make a broomstick look cozy!”

Fess galloped over the meadow, extruding jet engines from his flanks, leaped into the air, and roared away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

There they are.” Rod pointed downward.

Ahead and below, the trees gave way to a plain. In its center, two long lines of armored knights faced each other, two hundred yards apart. As Rod watched, the two lines seemed to lean forward, then began to move. The horses broke into a trot, then a canter…

“Hold on! They can’t start, now that we’re almost there! Buzz ‘em, Fess! And make all the noise you can!”

The great black horse stooped like a falcon, and the engines’ roar suddenly increased by half. Father Al gasped and held on for dear life.

The black horse shot down the alley between the two lines of charging knights, five feet above the plain, jets racketing. Horses screamed, rearing back and throwing their riders. Other knights reined in their mounts with oaths of dread. Behind them, the soldiers roared with panic and turned about, trying to scramble over each other to get away from the roaring spirit.

Fess climbed up, circling. Rod looked back over his shoulder with a nod of satisfaction. “That oughta do it. It’ll take ‘em a while to straighten out that mess.” He felt a certain smug pleasure at the thought that, near the Abbot and near each baron, there must be a futurian agent who was gnashing his teeth in frustrated rage at the appearance of the High Warlock.

“We can’t do much good up here,” Father Al bellowed in his ear.

“Oh, I’d say we haven’t done too badly so far,” Rod yelled back. “But you’re right; the rest of it’s gotta be done on foot. Mechanization can only go just so far… Bring us in, Fess.”

The great black horse circled around, slowing, its engines lowering in pitch, then dove along the same path as its first run. Hooves jolted on the ground; shock absorbers built into his legs took up the impact. He landed at a full gallop, slowing to a canter, then a trot as he came up to the center of the line, and King Tuan.

Tuan snapped up his visor, staring in disbelief. Then a huge smile spread over his face, and he spurred his mount forward to grasp Rod by the shoulders. “Lord Gallowglass! Praise Heaven thou dost live! But how comes this? We had heard that thou wert witched away!”

Rod gri

“Who was that monk?” Tuan demanded. “And how wast thou ensnared in sorcery, with thy wife and bairns? Where hast thou been? How comest thou back? Nay, tell me who ensorcelled thee, who doth command those wretches in my dungeons, and I will turn these knights and men upon him!”

Rod gri

“Thou dost not know how sorely we have needed thee. But what of the Lady Gwendylon and thy little ones?”

“Returned with me, and all well. As to the rest of it… Well, it’s quite a story, and I think it’d be a little easier to understand if I told it to you straight through, from begi

“It seems we must,” Tuan said reluctantly, “for there is this boiling coil to consider. Thou hast stopped the begi

“It’s worth a try, though, isn’t it? Reconciliation is always possible.”

“An thou sayest it, I will try.” Tuan shook his head. “But there have been harsh words spoke, Lord Warlock, and I fear it hath gone beyond all hope of healing.”

“You’re probably right—but I’d like a chance to prove it to myself.” Rod turned about. “Let’s call for a parley.”

But they would have to wait. Across the field, Father Al stood beside the Abbot’s horse, and the Abbot stared down at a parchment in his hand. Even across the distance, their voices carried.

“The Pope?” the Abbot cried, in shock and dismay. “Nay, but surely he is legend!”

“Thou knowest he is not,” Father Al replied, politely but firmly. “Thou dost know how long the line of Peter did persevere, and know within thee that some few centuries’ time would not obliterate it.”

The Abbot lowered the parchment with a shaking hand. “And yet I think it ca

“Thou hast seen it in thy books, Lord Abbot. Dost thou truly doubt its authenticity?”

They locked gazes for a moment; then the Abbot’s face clouded with doubt. “Nay, not truly so. Yet for five long centuries, the Vatican hath forgot our presence here. How is’t that, now, only now, do they deign to notice us, and then only to command?”

“This was a grievous omission,” Father Al admitted. “Yet, did the founder of this branch of our Order seek to notify the Vatican of his intentions, or his presence here? And canst thou truly say that thou, or any of thy predecessors, have attempted to renew the contact? And tell me not that thou couldst not have done so; I have met thy monks.”

The Abbot locked gazes with him, still trembling. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Nay, I must own there is omission on both sides. Yet how doth it chance now, when—interference is calamitous, that it doth come?”

Now Father Al’s face softened into rueful sympathy.

“Milord—thou art a Cathodean; thou dost know of Finagle.”

The Abbot folded. “Aye, certes, certes! ‘When the results will be most frustrating…’ Aye, aye.” He sighed, straightening in his saddle. “Well, we must adapt to these vicissitudes, so that we can turn perversity back upon itself, must we not? Therefore, tell to me, Father, what His Holiness doth, through thee, command.”

“If we might have converse aside, Milord?”

“If we must, we must.” The Abbot climbed down from his mount, his breastplate and helm suddenly incongruous atop a monk’s robe. They stepped out into the plain, between the two armies, muttering in low voices.

Tuan frowned. “Who is this shave-pate thou hast brought to our midst, Lord Warlock?”

“An honest man, and a goodly,” Rod said promptly. “If it weren’t for him, I’d still be… where I was. Or dead.”

Tuan nodded. “ ‘Tis warrant enough. Yet goodly or not, in this fell broil, thou canst not be assured that he will not now turn against thee.”

“No,” Rod said slowly, “I can’t.”

“As I thought.” Tuan squared his shoulders and sat straighter on his mount. “Well, we’ll learn it presently. They do come, to parley.” He touched his spurs to his horse’s side, and rode out to meet the Lord Abbot, who was pacing toward him. Fess trotted after him. Tuan swung down to stand beside the Abbot—a good touch, Rod thought. There was no hope of reconciliation if you insisted on looking down at your opponent. Accordingly, he dismounted, too.