The Warlock's Last Ride (18 page)

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everything would be right when he came home to her. Life was good.

Good for his tenants, too, it seemed. The earth was green with the sprouts of the new crop, and children were driving the cows out to pasture.

But their parents were hurrying from their homes to the granary when they should have been out to the fields. Frowning, Geordie quickened his pace; what had gone wrong?

In minutes he was twisting his way through the throng of peasants inside the shadows of the barn, lit by stripes of sunlight where the boards failed to meet; Geordie's shadow walked long before him as he said, "Room, Willikin, there's a good lad … Good morn to you, Corin, and let me by …

The peasants opened a lane for him in the coolness and fragrance of the bam—but the aroma was wrong; instead of the richness of stored grain, he scented something sour, acrid.

" 'Tis the garnered grain, my lord," old Adam said. He lifted a hand, letting the kernels sift through his fingers— but only powder came out, and it was far darker than it should have been.

Geordie stared. "What rot has struck?"

Old Adam shrugged. "One I've never seen, my lord…"

"Don't call me that," Geordie said with the weariness of one who knows it will do no good. "My father was attainted."

"A lord you are by the way you walk and bear yourself toward others," the old man signed, "and there's naught the king can do or say that will change that."

The throng of men muttered assent for the fiftieth time, nodding agreement.

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"But if it will please you better, I'll call you squire," old Adam said, "for such you are, in the heed you pay your lands and the concern you give your people."

"Concerned I am," Geordie said with a frown, "for we've a summer to live through before the new crop comes. Is all the stored grain like this?"

"All, my lord," said burly, grizzled Tavus, "save for the last layer of kernels that cover it—and I'd not dare to eat of them."

"No, of course not." Geordie scowled, brain racing.

"What shall we eat, my lord?" one of the men asked, voice low and heavy.

"The first carrots and turnips will be grown in a few weeks," Geordie said. "We'll have to plant more. Till then, we shall have to manage off what we can scavenge in the forest."

The people muttered, for the forest was as all forests were—the property of the Crown and the hunting preserve of the nobility.

"There's no law against our gathering nuts and berries," Geordie called over their voices, "or anything else that grows from the earth there."

"But the keepers will think we are poaching, my l… squire," said Hobin.

"We'll all go gathering together, and I'll speak with the keepers for you," Geordie told them.

Relief washed over the people's faces, but the older ones still looked glum. "There can't be enough wild oats and squirrel's hoards to keep us until the harvest, squire."

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"True enough," Geordie said. "We'll have to stretch it with porridges and stews."

"Stews need meat, squire," Old Adam pointed out.

"So do you, all of you, even if it be only an ounce or two a week—and aye, even slaying so much as a badger is poaching, I know. Still, if the beasts come out of the wood, they're ours."

The peasants muttered their misgivings, and Hobin said, "Don't know what the keepers will say to that, squire."

"Let me worry about the keepers," Geordie said. "Take your children and go searching the hedgerows first—we'll certainly find there enough food for the day." He turned and stalked away.

The peasants watched him go, every face grooved with worry.

"What will he be doing, Adam?" Corin asked.

"What any good lord would do if his people starve," Adam said grimly, "feed them."

"The keepers will take him then!"

"That they will," said Adam, "and he's not noble no more. We'll have to keep a watch on that lad."

"Aye, and keep him from doing something foolish," Hobin agreed.

But they all knew how skilled a woodsman Geordie was, and wondered if they could find him to guard him if he didn't want to be found.

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GEOFFREY WAS STILL seething as he rode through the gatehouse. He dismounted in the courtyard and tossed the reins at a hostler running toward him, then strode up the stairs to the keep's double door. It was time to have it out with Magnus for once and for all.

He strode toward the stairway, and a footman came running. "Is there aught you wish, Sir Geoffrey?"

"Nay, unless you know where Sir Magnus is."

"Why—in his chamber, I should think."

Geoffrey started to say, "Yes, you should," but caught himself in time. He wasn't one to take out his bad temper on his subordinates. He gave the man a curt nod and a "thank you" instead, then all but ran up the stairs.

He had no need to knock at Magnus's door; it was wide open, and his brother was at work with pen and ink, on a table in front of the wide window.

"What have you there?" Geoffrey demanded as he came into the room.

Magnus looked up in surprize. "Some notes on Alea's homeland, brother." He laid aside his quill and leaned back in his chair. "You seem agitated."

"You might say that." Geoffrey shut the door with a bit more force than necessary.

Magnus raised his eyebrows at Geoffrey's anger—and at the obvious insistence on confidentiality.

"Sit down, why don't you, and tell me what has set you off this morning."

Geoffrey wasn't about to take even that much of an order. He strode up to Magnus's desk and
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demanded, "Do you know that the word is all over the town that you shall be master of us all, now that Papa has gone off wandering?"

"Is it really!" Magnus exclaimed. "No, I didn't know."

"It is not true, brother," Geoffrey snapped. "He may have won from you a promise to care for the people of this land, but he did not give you authority to command me!"

Twelve

"EVEN IF HE HAD, I WOULD NOT," MAGNUS TOLD him. "I have no right to command any of you."

That brought Geoffrey up short. He stared; then his eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"I have trouble enough of my own, trying to become used to my homeland again," Magnus said. "I am quite content to leave command of the army to you."

Geoffrey turned his head a little, eyeing Magnus sideways. "You, who have commanded legions?

You do not wish to command them again?"

"I never really commanded any army," Magnus corrected. "I may have advised those who did, but I did not myself command more than a company."

"Oh, aye, and they did not follow your advice to the letter!"

"More often than not," Magnus admitted.

"Do not think I shall, brother!"

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"I do not," Magnus said, and spread his hands. "I may have a gift for warfare, Geoffrey, but you have a positive genius for it. I know my own limitations."

"But Papa made you promise to care for the people," Geoffrey protested. "You gave him your word you would ward Gramarye from its enemies."

"So I shall—but our old adversaries of SPITE and VETO are not often countered by force of arms."

Geoffrey lifted his head slowly as understanding sank in, lifted until he looked down his nose at his brother. "So you shall be commander in chief; you shall retain civil command! You think to tell the generals where to go and when!"

"No," Magnus said. "That authority is Queen Catharine's and will someday be Alain's."

"But King Tuan cozens the queen into wise deployments, as you think to cozen your brother-in-law Alain."

"Cordelia would have my head if I even tried," Magnus said. "Indeed, she is all the advisor that Alain will really need."

Geoffrey scowled at him, trying to puzzle out what he was not saying. "And if Alain asks your opinion?"

"I shall give it to him honestly," Magnus said, "but I shall wait to be asked."

"And shall not cozen him into asking?" Geoffrey asked sourly, then answered his own question.

"Cordelia will know it if you do!"

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"She will indeed," Magnus agreed, "and will counter me most effectively. No, if Alain asks my advice, it will be his doing, not mine."

"With Cordelia's approval." Geoffrey frowned. "You do not think he will ask your advice, do you?"

"Oh, I think he may ask," Magnus said, "but he will make his own decisions. Alain has as much a genius for good judgement as you have for warfare."

Geoffrey stared in surprize; then his brow furrowed in thought as he studied the careful neutrality of his brother's face. "I had not thought of it in those terms " he admitted, "but I have realized his good sense and given my word to heed his commands when he becomes king."

Magnus nodded. "As have I."

They were silent as Geoffrey absorbed the implications of that simple statement.

Then he sat down, crossing his legs, eyes narrowing again. "So you do not mean to command your sibs or manipulate the Crown. What then do you plan to do in this land? Sit here and write your memoirs, and rot for the rest of your life?"

"Well, not for all of it," Magnus said, "and I suspect there will be problems enough arising that I can lend a hand in solving—but for the moment, perhaps even for a year, a long rest sounds very attractive."

"I thought you'd had ample time to rest between the stars."

"So had I," Magnus said frankly, "but I find, now that I am here where I grew up, and suddenly have no responsibility, an amazing lassitude has taken me."

"Depression?" Geoffrey's voice sharpened with concern.
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"No, it is very pleasant, actually," Magnus said, "rather like a waking sleep."

"Then beware of dreams."

"Well cautioned." Magnus nodded. "I find myself mulling over the events of the past ten years, trying to make sense of them."

Geoffrey's frown deepened; he didn't understand.

"Is there a purpose to my life?" Magnus asked. "Perhaps even only a pattern? You have no need to ask yourself that question—you have Quicksilver, after all, and a blind man could see that she is all the purpose you need, at least for the present."

Geoffrey was reluctant to admit that. "A battle now and then would be pleasant."

"And I've seen you drilling the troops to be ready for it." Magnus nodded. "After all, you must always be prepared to fight off an attack, must you not?"

Geoffrey finally smiled. "Enemies do not usually send warning."

"No, the honorable old custom of declaring war seems to have fallen into disuse," Magnus agreed.

"Somehow I feel sure you will have all the opportunity you need to practice your profession."

"Well, it would be better for all that I did not," Geoffrey said with a sigh, "so I am seeing to building a tournament circuit that will keep men in fighting trim even should peace prevail—and may leach from them the need for war."

"For which we both devoutly hope," Magnus said, "but it certainly answers your need for purpose."
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"Well, Papa has handed you one, whether you like it or not." Geoffrey was surprized to realize the truth of what he said.

'True, brother—but like yourself, I must wait for the opportunity and hope it does not come."

"Perhaps it would be well if it did not, at least for a year or so, if you are as much in need of rest as you say."

Magnus nodded. "Of rest, and of trying to understand the land of my birth."

"What is there to understand?" Geoffrey frowned. "We are a most simple nation, when all's said and done."

"But I have not been here to hear it said, nor to watch it done," Magnus pointed out. "Believe it or not, brother, it will take me some time, and considerable study of the recent history of Gramarye, before I have the feel of my native planet again."

"Surely you cannot have become so much an alien!" Geoffrey protested.

"I keep thinking I have not; I look about me at familiar sights, hear familiar sounds, walk through a peaceful town and think all is as it was when I was a youth," Magnus said. "Then something will happen, someone nearby will speak of some event that I know nothing about or of some public figure whom I've never heard of, and I realize all over again that the land has become strange to me."

Geoffrey frowned, still not understanding. "Gramarye could never be strange."

"More than you know, brother," Magnus sighed. "Thomas Wolfe was right in saying 'You can't go home again.'"

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Geoffrey's frown deepened. "You are home."

"Yes, but in the years I've been gone, home has changed, and I have changed, and it will take some time for me to find myself a new place and become a part of the kingdom again."

Geoffrey decided that, all in all, Magnus finding a new place, rather than trying to bull his way into his old one, might not be a bad thing. "How shall you find that place, then?"

"By approaching Gramarye the way I approached any planet on which I landed—as a new world, one which I'll have to study before I try to do anything. I've always taken a few months to get the feel of a place and learn the basics of its culture before I ever thought of any kind of action."