Christopher Stasheff - The Warlock Unlocked

Then he whirled up his pike and charged them, bellowing. They howled in fear and ran. Redcap followed them to the brow of the hill and stood, glowering down, breathing heavily, watching as they tripped over their fallen comrades and went rolling, scrambling back to their feet, then running on down the hill and over the meadow to the shelter of nearby trees.

Redcap tossed his head and turned back to his tower.

“What do we do now?” Father Al asked.

“Let me.” Magnus suddenly disappeared.

“Magnus—NO!” Rod and Gwen shouted together, and the broomstick went into a power dive.

Redcap whirled, looking up at the shout—so they had a great view as Magnus appeared in front of the monster, holding up its missing tooth. Redcap just stared at it, frozen, wide-eyed. Then he began to tremble.

“My father comes, with the priest,” Magnus warned. “Begone, foul monster, and never come near human places again!”

Redcap threw back his head with a shriek of dismay, and disappeared.

Cordelia shot past Gwen on her broomstick, and darted through the tower doorway.

“Cordelia! Thou knowest not what may dwell there!” Gwen cried, and shot after her.

Rod leaped off five feet above ground and landed running. He jumped up against the side of the tower to brake his momentum, and rebounded to face his son.

Magnus was calmly picking up something from the spot where Redcap had been standing. He held it up for his father to see—another long, nicked tooth.

“Well—it worked out okay.” Rod stepped up to his boy and caught him against his hip in a bruising hug. “But don’t do something like that again, son—please! I could swear you took five years off my life, and your mother’s! What would’ve happened if you’d been wrong? If the sight of his own tooth hadn’t banished him?”

“But it did,” Magnus’s voice said, muffled.

Rod sighed. “And I’ll admit, I’ll never question your hunches—but couldn’t you learn to?”

Cordelia appeared in the tower doorway. “Papa! Come quickly!”

Rod ran.

He braked to a halt beside Gwen, saw an infant wrapped in her arms. He sighed and relaxed, the ebb of adrenalin leaving him weak. “ This is an emergency?”

She turned an unfocused, faraway gaze up to him. “ ‘Tis Gregory.”

Rod stared down at the baby. Dark hair, big grey eyes—and that look. That solemn, solemn look. “But—it can’t be! Not here!”

But it made sense—almost. If someone had thrown Gregory through the Gate, Redcap would have sensed he was Rod and Gwen’s baby, and have gone after him in revenge!

“The child is not.” Gwen’s voice was remote. “ ‘Tis almost more like him than himself—yet ‘tis not him; I would know.”

“Then what…?”

“His thoughts.” Her eyes searched for his face, but stayed far away. “This child carries Gregory’s thoughts.”

Of course! That was why they’d been able to hear Gregory’s thoughts twice before—and why the second contact was clearer; they been further northwest, closer to this child!

“It could happen,” Father Al said quietly. “In another universe, there could be a child that exactly corresponds to your own. And your Gregory has been searching, yearning outward, achingly, with every iota of his tiny strength—enough for his thoughts to resonate through another mind, exactly like his own. Then, once this child was stolen from his parents, his mind would do the same—and their thoughts would meld, so that Gregory’s would become much more clear.”

“So their minds form a link between universes?”

Father Al nodded. “If the two individuals are analogs of one another.”

“Words come,” Gwen said suddenly. “ ‘Tis Fess… ‘… attempted to turn off the transmitter and close the Gate, but I prevented them, and remanded them to King Tuan; they are in his prison. They admit to being futurian anarchists, but nothing more; and King Tuan, in accordance with your joint policies, continues to resist Queen Catharine’s insistence on using torture. Brom O’Berin summoned Yorick…’ ”

Father Al started.

Rod cocked an eyebrow at him.

“ ‘… Yorick, who identified the device as not being a time machine, and brought Dr. McAran, who tentatively identifies it as a mechanism allowing travel between alternate universes. He is currently working at fever-pitch, attempting to construct such a device of his own. He attempted to dismantle this one, but I would not permit him to turn it off. So, if you can endure, help should be forthcoming—eventually. Meanwhile, in your absence, the Church and Crown have moved toward war. The Abbot has issued a formal declaration that the Crown encroaches so far upon the authority of the Church that all folk of good conscience should resist their King and Queen as tyrants. He has absolved the barons from their oaths of fealty, and summoned them to attack Their Majesties in force. Four Southern barons have answered his call, with all their knights and men. Three Northern lords have brought their armies to Tuan. The other five lords claim the conflict is no concern of theirs, but is only between the Church and Crown; they therefore stand neutral.’ ”

“Ready to jump in and take over when the other barons have torn each other, and the Crown, apart,” Rod growled.

There was time for it; Gwen had paused, eyes glazed, lips parted, waiting. Now she spoke again. “ ‘FCC robot number 651919, transmitting on human-thought frequency, near the Gate through which the Gallowglass family disappeared, in an attempt to contact them. Though I think it extremely unlikely that the Gate will re-transmit my signal into another universe, I must attempt it. Situation report: The agents responsible for your exile attempted to turn off the transmitter and close the Gate…’ ” She blinked, eyes focusing again. “He repeats himself.”

Rod nodded. “Faithful old Fess, standing twenty-four-hour watch at the Gate, trying somehow to reach us. He probably doesn’t even realize Gregory’s his transmission link. Just keeps repeating the message over and over, hoping against hope—and updating the situation report, of course.”

Father Al nodded. “I was wondering when you’d get around to confirming that your horse was a robot.”

Rod jerked his head impatiently. “No point in giving away information, is there? Though I might as well have; you do a very nice job of putting together comments I’ve dropped here and there.” He turned to Gwen. “Did you reassure him?”

She nodded. “As well as I could—that we still do live, and will come home.”

“But not when.” Rod’s mouth tightened. “Well, you do have to at least try to be honest with a child.” He looked up. “And with ourselves. The situation at home just keeps getting worse, and here we stick!”

“Thou didst say, husband, that even should it come to open war, our babe will not be endangered.”

“Yeah, probably not—but even two percent sounds like too high a probability, when we’re talking about our own baby! Come on, Gwen, let’s get out of here and return this infant to his rightful parents, so we can get busy collecting the favor his father owes us—a quick burst of magic that’ll send us back to Gramarye. If he can do it. Let’s go.” He turned away to the doorway, looking about him, frowning. “Magnus and Geoff and Elidor stayed outside, eh?”

He stepped through the doorway, and saw his sons lying unconscious at the feet of soldiers dressed in the Duke’s livery.

Then something exploded on the back of his head, and he just had time for one quick thought, before the stars wiped out the scene:

Of course. The Duke kept some forces in reserve for an ambush, just in case we did show up…