The Warlock in Spite of Himself

Brom scowled. "But how is it this world alone, of all the ones you speak of, hath witches?"

"Because the men who brought life to the land, your ancestors, who dropped from the skies, selected only those persons who had at least a trace of witch-power in them, to come here. They didn't know they had it, it was too little, and hidden too deeply, to be seen; but as the generations rolled and they married one another again and again, that little bit grew and grew, until at last a witch was born."

"And when was that?" Brom smiled tolerantly.

"When the elves appeared. Also the banshees, werewolves, and other supernatural fauna. Because there's a strange substance on this planet, called witch-moss, that shapes itself to the forms a witch thinks of. If the witch thinks of an elf, the moss turns into an elf."

Brom paled. "Dost thou say…"

"Don't feel bad about it, Brom," Rod said quickly. "All men were once just pulsing blobs floating in the sea; it's just that in your remote ancestor's case, the process was speeded up a trifle, through the witches. And it was your first ancestor, not you; my guess is that the critter formed out of the moss is such a perfect copy, it can breed true—and even cross-breed with mortal men."

He leaned back and sighed. "Be proud, Brom. You and your people are the only ones who can claim to be real native citizens."

Brom was silent a long moment; then he growled, "Aye, then, this is our land. And what wouldst thou do with it, warlock from the skies?"

"Do?" Rod cocked an eye. "Only what you yourself are trying to do, Brom, through the reforms you've suggested to Catharine. Equality before the law, isn't that your aim?"

"It is, aye."

" Well, it's mine, too. And my job is to show you the least bloody road to it, which job I have just finished."

He scowled, suddenly brooding.

Brom studied him. Gwendylon touched his head, stroking the hair, worried.

Rod looked up at her and tried to smile.

He turned to Brom. "That's why I fought for Catharine, you see: because she protects the witches, and because she's a reformer; and so is Tuan, thank Heaven.

"And that's why the councillors and the Mocker fought against her."

Brom scowled. "I am old, Rod Gallowglass. Show me."

Rod looked up at the stars again. "Someday the Tribunal will govern all the stars you can see, and a lot more that you can't. And almost all the people who live on those worlds will be witches, because they'll have the blood of Gramarye flowing in their veins.

"How's that for a laurel wreath, Brom? 'Father to a Galaxy…'

"But some people won't be witches. And because they're not, they'll hate the witches, and their government, more violently than you can imagine. That kind is called a fanatic.

"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.

"Catharine," 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-grandchildren ."

"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, levita-tion, 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 like 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 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."

HeHurned 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 veryifying expedition."

Rod nodded, mouth twisting back with bitterness. "Send 'em. Goon."

"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 onGramarye! 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."

"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."