The Warlock in Spite of Himself

"Nay!" Tom rasped, a sickening parody of his former bellow. "Fools, let him be! Do y'not see! He stopped the blood!"

He sank back as the grasping hands hesitated, then loosened. Rod limped back to him, bruised on face and body, rubbing the worst of them—his scarcely-healed shoulder.

He sank to one knee by the gasping hilk of a man, face still wrenched with pain. The stink of cauterized flesh filled his head.

Tom forced his eyes open a fraction and tried to grin. " 'Twas… well meant… master. Two minutes ago, it… might ha' saved me."

Rod jerked off his cloak, balled it up, thrust it under Tom's head. "Lie back and rest," he growled through a tight throat. "You're a healthy hunk, you'll make it. You haven't lost all that much blood."

"Nay," Tom panted," too much… lost. And the… body's shock…"

His face twisted with a spasm of pain. Rod turned away to Fess, slapped the reset switch and fumbled in one of the horse's hidden pockets for an ampul.

He limped back to Tom, slapped the ampul against the burned flesh.

Tom relaxed with a huge sigh as the anesthetic took hold. "My thanks, master," he murmured weakly. "That hast given me, at least, painless death."

"Don't talk that way." Rod's face was frozen. "There's many a roll in the hay for you yet."

"Nay, master." Tom shook his head, closing his eyes. "My time is nigh."

"You're not going to die. You'll leave me in your debt if you do. I won't have it."

"A pox on what thou wilt or wilt not!" Tom spat, with a touch of life again. "I am not thine to command or deny now, lordling. He who now hath me in thrall is far more puissant than thou, and will one day command thee also."

He sagged back on the pillow, heaving gasps of air.

Rod knelt silent by his side.

Tom's remaining hand groped over his belly to catch Rod's forearm. "Aye, thou'rt now in my debt, though 'twas not of my choice."

"Not your choice?" Rod scowled. "What are you talking about? You saved my life!"

"Aye, and thereby lost my own. But I would never ha' done so with a clear head."

"Clear head?"

"Aye. In battle, one sees and one does, whatever comes first to mind. 'Twas thee, or living my life longer to serve the House of Clovis; and in the heat of the battle I chose thee, in my folly!"

He was silent a moment, breathing hoarsely; then his hands tightened again. "Yet while I die, thou wilt live in my debt! And what thou canst not pay to me, thou must pay to my people."

Rod tried to draw his hand back. "No!"

"Aye!" Tom's eyes flew wide, glaring, angry. " 'Tis the payment I demand! Thy life for mine, thy life spent here on Gramarye, to work for the good of my people!"

"I'm not my own master…"

"Nay, thou art." Tom sank back, weary. "Thou art, and if thou knowest it not, thou'rt true fool."

"The price is too high, Tom. My death in battle, yes, gladly. But living here, all my days, I cannot. I too serve a dream…"

" 'Twas my choice, also," Tom sighed, "the dream or the man. Nay, then, choose what thou wilt."

"I'm under a geas…"

"Then my geas also is on thee, freeing thee from the other. Thou must serve me and mine now…"

The dying face darkened. "I had thought I knew what was best for them… but now, as all darkens about me…"

He heaved up suddenly, body wracked with a spasm, coughing blood. Rod threw his arms about the big man, holding him up.

The spasm passed. Tom clutched weakly at Rod's arm, gasping. "Nay, then… thy mind is… clearer… thou must decide…"

"Be still," Rod pleaded, trying to lower him again. "Don't waste what little life is left—"

"Nay!" Tom clutched at him. "Let me speak! Es-pers… Tribunal… they'll make it… work…We…fightthem…here…inthe…"

"Be still," Rod pleaded. "Save your breath, I know what you're saying."

Tom craned his neck to look up at him. "You…?"

Rod nodded. "Yes. You told me the last little bit I needed, just now. Now lie down."

Tom sagged in his arms. Rod lowered him gently, letting his head rest in the blood-soaked cape.

Tom lay panting. "Tell me… I must know… if you know…"

"Yes, I know," Rod murmured. "The DDT will win out. You can only fight it back here. And you fight each other as well."

"Aye." Tom nodded, a barely perceptible movement. "Thou… must decide… now… and… master…"

He mumbled, too soft to hear, and labored for another breath, eyes opening, anxious.

Rod bent forward, putting his ear to Tom's lips.

"Don't die for…a dream…"

Rod frowned. "I don't understand."

He waited, then said, "What do you mean,Tom?"

There was no answer.

Rod straightened slowly, looking down at the vacant eyes, the loose mouth.

He touched the base of the throat, the jugular.

He let his fingertips rest there long minutes, then slowly reached up to close the man's eyes.

He stood, slowly, and turned away, his eyes not seeing.

Then, slowly, his eyes focused. He looked around at the staring, pathetic beggars, their eyes fixed on the huge body.

A slight, slender shape stepped hesitantly into the ring. "M-master Gallowglass?"

Rod turned, saw, and stepped forward as the beggars began to move in, to kneel by Tom's body.

Rod moved away from them, head hanging heavily.

He raised his eyes. "What is it, Toby?"

"Milord…" Toby's face was strangely tragic in its confusion as he looked at the group of beggars, disturbed without knowing why. "Mlord, they… They cry for quarter, milord. Shall we give it them?"

"Quarter? Oh, yes. They want to surrender." Rod nodded, closing his eyes.

He turned and looked at the group of beggars. "Oh, I don't know. What does Brom say?

"My lord O'Berin says, aye, grant it them, but the Queen says nay. The Lords Loguire are with Brom."

"And still the Queen says nay." Rod nodded, bitterness tightening his mouth. "And they want me to break the deadlock, is that it?"

"Aye, milord."

The circle of beggars parted a little. Rod saw Tom's waxen, still face.

He turned back to Toby. "Hell, yes. Give 'em quarter."

The sun had sunk behind the hills, leaving the sky a pale rose, darkening to the east.

The twelve Great Lords stood, bound in chains, before Catharine.

Near her sat Loguire and Tuan, Brom and S ir Maris.

Rod stood a little distance away, leaning back against Fess, arms folded, chin sunk on his breast.

The old Duke Loguire's head was also bowed, deep misery in his eyes, for his son Anselm stood a pace in advance of the rest of the lords, directly before the Queen.

Catharine held her head high, eyes shining with triumph and pride, face flushed with the joy of her power.

Rod looked at her and felt a twist of disgust in his belly; her arrogance had returned with her victory.

At a sign from Brom O'Berin, two heralds blew a flourish. The trumpets whirled away from their lips, and a third herald stepped forward, loosening a scroll.

"Be it known to all by these presents, that on this day the miscreant vassal, Anselm, son of Loguire, did rise in most vicious rebellion against Catharine, Queen of Gramarye, and is threfore liable to the judgment of the Crown, even unto death, for the crime of high treason!"

He rolled the scroll and slapped it to his side. "Who speaks in defense of Anselm, chief of the rebels?"

There was a silence.

Then old Loguire rose.

He bowed gravely to Catharine. She returned his courtesy with a glare, astonished and angry.

"Naught can be said in defense of a rebel," Loguire rumbled. "Yet for a man who, in the haste of hot blood, rises to avenge what he may consider to be insults to his father and house, much may be said; for, though his actions were rash and, aye, even treacherous, still he was moved by honor, and filial piety. Moreover, having seen the outcomeof rash action, and being under the tutelage of his duke and his father, might well again realize his true loyalties and duties to his sovereign."

Catharine smiled; her voice was syrup and honey. "You would then, milord, have me enlarge this man, upon whose head must be laid the deaths of some several thousand, once again to your protection and discipline; to you who have, as this day has proved, failed once already in these duties?"

Loguire winced.

"Nay, good milord!" she snapped, face paling, lips drawing thin. "Thou hast fostered rebels against me before, and now seek to do it again!"

Loguire's face hardened.

Tuan half-bolted from his chair, flushed with anger.

She turned to him with a haughty, imperious look. "Has milord of the beggars aught to say?"

Tuan fought for calm, grinding his teeth. He straightened and bowed gravely. "My Queen, father and son have this day battled valiantly for you. Will you not, therefore, grant us the life of our son and our brother?"

Catharine's face paled further, eyes narrowing.

"I thank my father and brother," said Anselm, in a clear, level voice.

"Be still!" Catharine fairly shrieked, turning on him. "Treacherous, villainous, thrice-hated dog!"

Rage came into the Loguires' eyes; still they held themselves silent.

Catharine sat back in her chair, gasping, clasping the arms tight, that her hands might not tremble. "Thou wilt speak when I ask thee, traitor," she snapped. "Till then, hold thy peace!"

"I will not hold my peace! Thou canst not hurt me more; I will have my say! Thou, vile Queen, hast determined I shall die, and nothing will sway thee! Why, then, slay me!" he shouted. "The penalty for treason is death! I had known as much before I rebelled; slay me and be done with it!"

Catharine sat back, relaxing a trifle. "He is sentenced by his own mouth," she said. "It is the law of the land that a rebel shall die."

"The law of the land is the Queen," rumbled Brom. "If she says a traitor shall live he shall live."

She spun to him, staring in horror. "Wilt thou, too, betray me? Will not one of my generals stand beside me this day?"

"Oh, be done with it!" Rod stormed, looming up over the throne. "No, not one of your generals will support you now, and it seems to me that might give you some slight hint you're in the wrong. But oh, no, not the Queen! Why hold a trial? You've already decided he'll die!" He turned away and spat. "Come on, get this farce of a trial over with," he growled.

"Thou too?" she gasped. "Wilt thou also defend a traitor, one who hath caused death to three thousand.

" You have caused the death of three thousand," Rod bellowed. "A noble man of low birth lies dead in that field, his right side torn away, the birds pecking at him, and why?To defend a willful child who sits on a throne, not worth the life of a beggar! A child who is so poor a queen she gave birth to rebellion!"

Catharine cowered back in her throne, trembling. "Be still!" she gasped. "Was it I who rebelled?"

"Who was it gave the nobles cause to rebel by too-hasty reforms and too-lofty manner? Cause, Catharine, cause! There is no rebellion without it; and who but the Queen has given it?"

"Be still, oh be still!" The back of her hand to her mouth, as though she would scream. "You may not speak so to a Queen.!"

Rod looked down at the cowering Queen. His face twisted with disgust.

He turned away. "Ah, I'm sick to the belly! Let them live; there has been too much death this day already. Let them live. They'll be loyal, without their councillors to needle them. Let them live, let them alKlive. They're schooled now, even if you're not."

"This cannot be true!" Catharine gasped.

"It is not!" Tuan stepped forward, his hand going to his sword. "TheQueen gave cause, aye, but she did not make the rebellion."