The Spell-Bound Scholar (11 page)

With a shock, Cordelia realized he had begun to concentrate on slowing Moraga's breathing. She seized his arm to distract him and cried, "Then a pox upon logic! Emotion, too, is a part of truth!"

"When that emotion is the product of scheming and manipulation?" Gregory shook his head. "There is no truth in that—and when you have done with emotion, what is left but logic?"

"Intuition!" Cordelia cried. "The back of the mind assembling a host of facts to present a thought that will then stand the test of reason—and my intuition tells me that this is wrong, that by slaying her you would do grave harm to yourself!"

Gregory's eyes lit with a furtive gleam of hope. "If to myself, then perhaps to others. I pray you, sweet sister, dredge those facts up from the back of your mind to the front. Tell them me, so that my logic may yield."

Cordelia breathed a massive sigh of relief, then realized

that she was trembling. She hid it by clenching her fists and stiffening her body, summoning the self-possession she would need to persuade this gentle brother who had suddenly turned into a remorseless killer. Well, not remorseless, perhaps— indeed, he would feel remorse for the rest of his life. But he would nonetheless kill her.

She took a deep breath and said, "I am appalled that I should have need. You yourself, brother—have you no heart, no conscience that may tell you what mine do?''

"Aye, I have," he returned, "but if reason contradicts the impulse of conscience, I must choose the course of reason. Even now Conscience tells me not to strike a woman in cold blood, but Reason shows me that she merits death and, moreover, will find a way to strike at us again if I let her live."

"But you cannot know that!" Cordelia cried. "She might become sincerely penitent, might truly become your loyal friend!"

Gregory frowned at his big sister. "Do you truly think she does not merit death?"

Then he saw in her eyes that it was not what the woman deserved that concerned Cordelia, but her sudden fear of what her little brother had become. Gregory gazed at her, sadness weighing down his heart. "I am nothing more than I ever have been, sister," he said softly. "It is only this occasion that has made you see it."

The trembling took her again. "The Gregory I have known would always seek the course of mercy! Why death, Gregory? Why not some lesser punishment?" Then a happy thought struck her, and her hand tightened on his arm. "Would it not suffice for her to dwell forever in a prison from which she could not escape?"

"Aye, it would." Gregory gave her a sad smile. "But this is a woman of commanding presence, Cordelia, or she would never have risen to authority among her own band. Come, you know how intelligent and resourceful she is, and how unscrupulous. Do you truly think there is a jailer whom she could not bend to her will or a prison from which she could not escape?"

Cordelia stared at the ground, fists clenched, thinking fran-

tically. Surely the woman was a snake and a backstabber, surely she deserved to suffer, but death? Surely not, surely it would be evil to deprive her of life, especially when she was so young, had so much of life left, so many joys to come....

Inspiration struck, and she smiled at her brother in triumph.

'Aye, she could escape from any prison—save one in which she wished to stay."

Gregory stared. Then he frowned and said slowly, "She deserves to suffer for what she has done—but aye, I would be content if you could invent a prison that gave her so much joy that she wished to dwell there forever. How could you craft such a thing?"

"I cannot build a prison, but I can craft witch-moss," Cordelia said. "Let us find a huge mass of that fungus and fashion from it Moraga's ideal man."

Gregory frowned, searching her face, not understanding. Then comprehension dawned and his eyes widened. "Of course! If we search her mind to discover all she wants in a man, then make a construct that embodies those qualities, even all its contradictions and paradoxes, she might become so besotted with him that she would be content to stay with him all her days!"

"Even so," Cordelia said, beaming. "Of course, we would plant it in his mind to take her away to some hidden valley where they might celebrate their love forever..." She stopped at the twist of pain in her brother's face.

It smoothed instantly, though, and he said, "Continue. This scheme might march, and a human life is worth the trouble."

And the pain, Cordelia thought, and her heart flowed with love and pity for the lad. She did continue, though. "We would, of course, enclose that valley with an enchanted, invisible wall and ask the elves to set sentries about it night and day."

"In case she does discover her imprisonment? But if she does, elves or no elves, she will one day escape."

"I doubt that highly," said Cordelia, "but I doubt even more that she would ever realize that wall existed. If the construct were truly her ideal mate, she would never tire of her

dalliance with him and would never wish to stray far from his side."

Hope warred with hurt in Gregory's heart. Reason told him that after the novelty of being in love wore off, Finister would take up where she had left off. He warned his sister, "Ideal or not, she would tire of him and manage to escape, though she might come back. What damage could she do while she were loose, Cordelia? Surely she would strive to achieve the anarchists' goals and, even more certainly, her own. She would continue to disturb the peace, seek to assassinate the monarch, slay people whenever they were in her way or could not be controlled, and generally wreak havoc."

Despite his words, though, Cordelia could see that hope drowned out reason, and the pain of seeing Finister with another man would be far less than living with the guilt of executing her. "There might be some way to purge her of those desires."

Hope ebbed; Gregory gave her a sad and weary smile. "How might we do that? We speak of impulses inculcated throughout childhood, perhaps even inborn, probably so deeply ingrained that she is not fully aware of them. How can we purge her of such as that?"

Grasping at straws, Cordelia protested, "There must be some way! If telepaths cannot do it, who could? It only remains to learn more of the workings of the mind!"

Gregory stared, scandalized. "Do you speak of reaching into her mind to cure all the mental deformities that have made this damsel a ruthless killer?"

Cordelia looked down, abashed. "I know it goes against every telepath's rule of right and wrong—that we must never peer into others minds against their wishes, unless they are enemies and the danger they present is immediate—and that we may never meddle with their minds unless they attack and we act in self-defense." Her head snapped up; she glared into her little brother's eyes. "But Gregory, she is an enemy, and though the danger she presents is no longer immediate, it is sure and drastic! As to meddling with her mind to cure her homicidal ways, surely that is self-defense! There is no question that she will attack—only a doubt of when!"

Gregory showed not the slightest sign of scandal or disgust; he only looked thoughtful. "Such an outcome is most surely desirable, and I have been tempted to try it once myself."

Cordelia's hopes soared. "Why did you withhold?"

"Why, because of the very ethics of which you have spoken," Gregory said, "but more out of concern that I might make things worse instead of better, for I know so little of the mind."

"You know so little of the mind?" Cordelia stared. "You who have studied it all your life?"

"I have studied psi powers," Gregory clarified. "I know a great deal about that, though never enough. Of the rest of the mind's workings, I am ignorant."

Cordelia knew that Gregory had immense knowledge of people and the twists and turns of their thinking, but she could understand his feelings of incompetence—the mind was an amazingly complicated thing, after all. Nonetheless, she seized on his uncertainty. "Then it is only a matter of how to cure her, not of its lightness."

Gregory took his time answering that one. "True—but that 'how' is so complex as to make the task impossible, or at least too chancy to risk—is it not?"

"But it is only a matter of how, not of lightness!" Cordelia insisted. "You do not doubt that if we could cure her instead of killing her, we should!"

Again, Gregory was slow to answer. "We should if we could, that is true—but what if our efforts fail? What if she seems to be cured but is not?"

"We may still let her dwell in that prison she will not wish to leave! Between the two, it should be safe to let her live!"

"Perhaps," Gregory mused, "but if we could so cure Mor-aga, ought we not to spare every convicted murderer in like fashion?"

"We should," Cordelia agreed, "but I think medieval justice will be a long time accepting the idea. This Moraga, however, has not been given into the hands of that justice yet. She is our prisoner still, and if it was right of you to execute her without regard to the Queen's Justice, then it is surely our right to cure her instead!"

"Only if we can be sure she will be rendered as harmless as the dead." Gregory raised a palm to forestall his sister. "I know, I know—on this planet, the dead are not always harmless. Still, we can be sure of the lightness of our merciful course only if she becomes no more dangerous than a ghost. After all, dear sister, there may be some people who can never be cured, whose wickedness is born into them, or so deeply bred that they live for it and will never willingly leave off."

"That is possible," Cordelia allowed, "but I doubt that this Moraga is one of them. We know she is an agent of our bitter enemies, after all, and young enough so that she was probably raised by them, reared and trained to be a traitor and assassin. Is that not as much as to say she was warped and twisted in her growing?"

"Most likely," Gregory said with immense relief. "You have argued well, Cordelia. If we can cure her, we shall— and cure her or not, we shall do all we can to consign her to the happy prison of her ideal man, at least until we are sure it cannot hold her."

Cordelia breathed a massive sigh of relief. For a moment she swayed, almost unable to stand.

Gregory's arm steadied her. She looked up at him and was astounded to see his face woeful and gaunt with yearning. "But Cordelia—must we consign her to a witch-moss construct? Could I not become her ideal man as easily as some mind-built toy?"

That gave Cordelia pause, for all her instincts protested against the idea of letting her little brother remake himself to suit some she-wolf's whims. "There is danger in that, Gregory. Surely it is wrong for anyone to yield their identity to another person's will—wrong and impossible, for you are what you are, and no matter how you try to hide it and pretend to be otherwise, sooner or later it shall burst out in outrage."

"True," Gregory said, pleading, "but I do not speak of changing myself, only of learning what she truly wants and needs of a man, so that I can provide it to her."

"Surely you do not mean to make yourself her willing slave, to be ever at her beck and call, pathetically eager for her slightest nod of pleasure! No woman wants a man who so abases himself!"

"You see?" Gregory said. "Already you have told me one thing that women do not want in a man. You could tell me more, sister, and her mind could tell me the rest if we seek among her memories. It is only a matter of technique, of learning how to speak to her, how to woo—for surely I have never learned anything about courting a woman!"

"You think it is purely a matter of skill, as the song says?" Cordelia asked. "There is more, Gregory. It is not enough to act the part for her—either you are in essence what she wants in a man or you are not; there is no other way about it."

"True, I cannot be anybody but myself," Gregory agreed, "and to try would be only a living lie. But surely I can learn to become all that I can be and to discover how to let it show forth. Where is the wrongness in that, sister? After all, if I

am not to her liking, we can still forge the artificial construct, her ideal man."

Cordelia barely managed to bite back the retort that all ideal men were indeed only artificial constructs, but she put it aside; her brother's need was more immediate. He was so forlorn, his face so beseeching, that Cordelia found herself saying, "Let us discover what her ideal man is. Perhaps you are already he."

Gregory gave a mirthless, sardonic laugh. "I am scarcely a warrior bold!"

"It may be that she is not either, in her heart," Cordelia pointed out. "It may be that she is by nature a shy and retiring creature whom her tyrannical employers fashioned into a weapon as she grew." She shrugged. "Who can say?" Then she stepped back, surveying her little brother with a critical eye. "I shall tell you this, though—if you would become any woman's ideal man, you shall have to gain great brawn on that skinny frame, for most women do like a bit of muscle on a man."

Gregory's jaw firmed. "If that is what she shall want in me, I shall do it!"

"If you would do it at all, you must do it quickly," Cordelia warned, "and there may be great pain when 'tis done in a matter of days, no matter the magic that aids it."

"I can withstand it," Gregory said stoutly. "Who knows the doing of such things?"

"Whom should we call to heal the lass's mind?" Cordelia countered.

"Mother," Gregory replied.

It was handy being related to the wisest witch in the land. He closed his eyes for a second, sending out a silent appeal, then was surprised to feel an overwhelming sense of relief in answer.

So did Cordelia. They stared at one another, eyes widening; then she hastened to reassure her mother that she, too, was alive and well. Gwen informed them of the attacks on herself, Geoffrey, Alain, and their father, then told them that she would be with them straightaway.

Cordelia boiled over with wrath, pacing the grass. "The

gall of them, the duplicity, the malice! To separate us and strike at us all at the same minute, so that we could not come to aid one another! Whoever their captain is, he deserves to be hanged! We must seek him out, we must rake him over hot coals, we must see him drawn and quartered!"

" 'Twas not a man," Gregory said in a small voice. "It was Finister. I read that in her mind."

Cordelia whirled, staring, emotions churning in confusion. She had convicted the woman by her own tongue. She glanced down at Finister, seeming so innocent, so helpless, so vulnerable in her sleep, and found that even knowing the woman had meant to slay her whole family only a few minutes past, she still could not bring herself to become her executioner. "Gregory ... I spoke in haste, in the heat of an-ger.

"I know, sister," Gregory said gently, "but I did not. Your intentions may be excused, but what of mine?"

There was no ready answer to that. Cordelia tried, and found none.

"If we let her live," Gregory said, his voice low, gazing at the sleeping woman, "will she ever forgive me?"

Cordelia said quickly, "There is no need for her to know."

"There is every reason for her to know," Gregory countered, "if I am to hope for her love."

"There is some truth in that," Cordelia allowed, "but not if your love is all that keeps her alive."

Gregory frowned, thinking that one over. "Love cannot endure if it is founded on deceit."

"I have known of many loves that did," Cordelia said sourly.

Thus it went, back and forth, argument and counterargument, and Cordelia began to enjoy it thoroughly—it was the first time her brother had shown any interest in relationships outside his own family. She was almost sorry when their mother swooped out of the sky, skimming her broomstick low over the meadow, then hopping off beside them. She stared at the sleeping woman, frowning, puzzled. "Who is this wench, and how has she need of me?"

Cordelia and Gregory exchanged glances, each waiting for

the other to begin. At last Gregory said, "I have fallen in love with her, Mother."

"In love!" Gwen spun to him in surprise, then smiled broadly and embraced her youngest—only for a few seconds; then she held him off at arm's length. "It has been long in coming, my son. I rejoice for you."