Christopher Stasheff - Warlock's Last Ride

Rod shivered, wiping at the spot of chill. "Serves me right for going out without a hat!" He frowned. "I do have a hat, don't I?"

"At home, Rod. Not here."

"Home? Where's that?" Rod's face cleared. "Oh yes, Maxima! But that must be an awfully long way away, Fess."

"Very far indeed, Rod—but Castle Gallowglass is only a few days' ride."

"Castle Gallowglass? What's that?"

"The castle where you lived with Gwendylon and your children, Rod."

"Children?" Rod frowned at the mantle of evergreen in front of him, then shook his head. "Don't remember any chil…" He broke off as a vague picture flitted though his mind, an image of a golden-haired laughing toddler shooting through the air while a red-headed woman held up her arms to catch him—but the vision faded and he shook his head. "I'm not old enough to many."

"You were forty-nine when Catharine and Tuan insisted you occupy the castle for them."

"Who are Catharine and Tuan?"

"The King and Queen of Gramarye, Rod—your lifelong friends, once they forgave you for the manner in which you brought them together."

Rod frowned, trying to remember, then shook his head. Movement at the corner of his eye distracted him, but when he looked, all he saw was blowing snow. "Why did we come to Terra, Fess? Mom and Dad are going to be worried sick."

The robot was silent a moment; then it said, "We are two hundred thirty-seven light-years from Terra, Rod, on a planet named Gramarye."

"We are?" Rod looked around at the mass of green needles. "Funny—it looks just like Terra."

"That is because it has been terraformed, Rod."

"Terraformed?" Rod frowned. "Seems I remember that, from a book I read—what? Last year?"

"You read Terraforming Earth when you were thirteen, Rod."

"Well, I can't be much older than that now, can I?" Rod frowned at the back of the horse's head. "How did we get here?"

"By spaceship, Rod. You were on an exploratory mission for SCENT and found Gramarye."

"What's Gramarye?" Yes, there was movement at the corner of his eye, but again, when Rod turned to look, there was only blowing snow. "Who's that guy in the long white robe, Fess, and why does he go away whenever I look at him?"

"He is no doubt a figment of your imagination, Rod."

"Who's a figment of imagination?"

"Rod—can you not even remember what you said only moments ago?"

"I don't know, Fess." Rod pulled up on the reins and slid off the horse's back, "I only know that I'm awfully tired. I'll just lie down and take a nap."

"No, Rod, not in the snow! You will die of cold!"

"No, I'll just sleep for a little while." Rod shivered but knew the cold would go away—it always did when he got into bed.

"Rod, get up! You will die of hypothermia, you know that!"

"What's hypoth … whatever?" Rod closed his eyes and rested his head on some fallen boughs. "Just half an hour. Wake me up, okay?"

"I will waken you now! Rod, get up! Remember who you are!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm Rodney d'Armand, I know, I've got to keep up the family name." Rod snuggled down, hands under his head. "I'll do it after I wake up. Right now, the cold's gone away and I'm beginning to feel warm again. G'night, Fess."

"You are beginning to feel warm because you have begun to freeze! Rod, no! You must rise now!"

Rod only grumbled and burrowed deeper into the soft stuff beneath him. His eyelids fluttered, and he saw a face hovering over him, an elongated white face, all white, beard, hair, skin, with a gloating smile that bothered Rod, but he couldn't remember why. It didn't matter, though. It wouldn't keep him from sleeping. He closed his eyes firmly, telling himself he had to wake up in time for dinner or Mama would be very upset. Biting cold touched the center of his forehead, making him shiver, but it too warmed, and he nestled down into the soft, cocooning darkness.

SOMEWHERE IN THE DISTANCE A VOICE WAS calling, "Magnus! Cordelia! Geoffrey! Gregory! Come! Your father needs you! Elves! Wherever you are, come out and waken him! Call for help!" That voice didn't matter, though, not when sleep was so close.

Then tiny little pains broke out all over Rod's body. He sat straight up, saying, "Robert, cut that out! Why did I have to have a big broth …" He broke off, looking at the foot-high people all about him. "Who're you?"

"Elves come to keep you awake," said one, "and do not dare to seek sleep again, or we will pinch you sorely."

"That's not nice." Rod shivered. "It's cold."

"This will warm you," said a deep voice, and sure enough, something warm and soft settled around Rod's shoulders. Looking down, he saw it was dark brown fur. He rubbed it, delighting in the feel, then looked up to see a man who stood as high as Rod—except that Rod was sitting. The man was very muscular, wearing a dark green doublet and brown hose under a cloak that looked very warm. There were streaks of gray in his hair under the bowl of his fur hat. "Waken, Rod Gallowglass," he boomed, and touched Rod's forehead with a forefinger.

"I am awake." Rod swatted at the forefinger, then froze. "I am Rod Gallowglass!" He looked about him. "A snowdrift! I was about to go to sleep in a snowdrift!" He looked up at the little man. "Thanks, Brom."

"You will never lack for friends, Rod Gallowglass." Brom smiled. "What brought you to seek sleep in snow?"

"I don't remember." Rod pressed a hand to his forehead. "Yes, that's just it—I didn't remember, didn't remember anything." But he did now and looked up round-eyed. "A man, ten feet tall at least, made of snow, but drifting and blowing like a curtain in the wind! He touched my forehead and I started forgetting things!"

"Father Frost," Brom said grimly. "He comes as the year ages—but he is early."

"No, this pocket of evergreens has aged faster than the rest of the country." Rod shivered. "So have I. It's the frost of age that touched me, not of the year." He looked up at Fess, pulling the fur robe closely around him. 'Thanks for calling for help."

"I rejoice that there was help at hand, Rod."

"We will always be close at hand," piped an elf.

"Be sure that they will," said Brom O'Berin, King of the Elves. "On your feet, Lord Warlock, or you will freeze sitting!"

Rod tried to rise but almost fell back, his legs refusing to straighten—but Brom levered him up somehow, and Fess stepped close so that Rod was able to lean on him as he began to force his legs to move, walking in place. "What did Father Frost do to me, Brom?"

"Froze your memories," said the elven king, "froze the flow of thought so that the ones you treasure could not rise."

Rod nodded. "And you thawed them?"

"Yes, but that will do little good if you stay in this freezing vale." Brom made a stirrup of his hands. "Mount and ride!"

Slowly and with great difficulty, Rod managed to lift his left foot and place it in that stirrup. Brom heaved, and it was even harder to swing the right leg high enough to clear the saddle, but an elf on Fess's hindquarters caught Rod's foot and pushed it over his head, then leaped down as Rod landed in his saddle. He looked down, holding out a hand. "Thanks, Brom—again. Seems I always have something to thank you for." His face tightened. "Especially Gwen."

"Ah, you have remembered your love," Brom said softly. "Let that memory warm you, warlock—but not here. Ride, and rejoin the world of the living." He reached up to swat Fess's hindquarters, raising a resounding BONG!

"High-quality alloy," Rod explained. "Rings just like a bell."

"I am sure Brom knew that, Rod."

Rod looked ahead at Fess. "Yeah, it was his idea of a joke." He looked back at the elven king but saw only a snowdrift churned by dozens of miniature feet. He shivered, as a sudden gust bit through the fur robe, and turned back to Fess. "They've disappeared again."