The Warlock in Spite of Himself

"And?"

"And Ieyayasu was loyal until the old man died."

Big Tom's eyes were hooded; he could have been carved from wood.

He nodded, mouth tightening. "A calculated risk."

"Pretty high-falutin' language for a peasant."

Tom snarled and turned away. Rod stood a moment, looking after him. Then he smiled and followed.

They were almost back to the guard room when Tom laid a hand onRod's shoulder. Rod turned to face him.

"What are you?" Tom growled.

Rod smiled with one side of his mouth. "You mean who do I work for? Only myself, Big Tom."

"Nay." Tom shook his head. "I'll not believe that. But 'twas not what I asked."

Rod raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Oh. I mean what are you, you, yourself, what manner of man?"

Rod frowned. "Nothing so strange about me."

"Aye, there is. Thou wilt not kill a peasant out of hand."

Rod stared. "Oh?" He pursed his lips. "That's out of the ordinary?"

"Most surely. And thou'lt fight for a manservant. And trust him. And speak with him, more than commands. What arr thou, Rod Gallowglass?"

Rod shook his head and spread his hands in bewilderment. He laughed once, hollow. "A man. Just a man."

Tom eyed him for a long moment.

"Thou art," he said. "I am answered."

He turned away to the guard room door, flung it open.

"Master Gallowglass," said the page, "the Queen summons you."

One of life's greatest and least expensive treasures is false dawn. The world lies waiting for the sun, lit by a glowing sky, chill and fresh, filled with rippling bird song.

Big Tom took one long, deep breath of the morning air, filling his lungs with the innocence he had never known. "Eh, master!" he called back over his shoulder, "this is the world for a man!"

Rod answered with a feeble smile as Tom turned away, to ride on ahead of Rod, singing jubilantly and with gusto, though somewhat off-key.

Rod, unfortunately, was in no condition to appreciate the aesthetic qualities of the dawn, having had about three hours of sleep in the last forty-eight hours.

Then, too, there was Catharine.

The interview had been short and sour. She'd received him in her audience chamber, and had kept her eyes on the fire, not once looking at him. Her face had been cold, lips drawn tight against her teeth.

"I fear for my Uncle Loguire," she had said. "There are men about him who would rejoice to see his eldest son become the Duke."

Rod had answered in the same stiff, formal tone. "If he dies, you lose your strongest friend among the lords."

"I lose one who is dear to me," she snapped. "I care not for friendship among the lords; but I care greatly for my uncle."

And that, Rod reflected, was probably true—to her credit as a woman, and her detriment as a ruler.

"Do you," she resumed, "ride south this day to Loguire's demesne; and do you see that none bring harm to him."

And that, aside from a very formal leavetaking, had been that. Hell hath no stupidity like a woman scorned, Rod thought; she was sending her most competent bodyguard as far away as she could.

"Fess?"

"Yes, Rod?" The horse turned its head to look back at its rider. s

"Fess, I am without a doubt the prize booby ever hatched."

"You are a great man, Rod, from a line of great men."

"Oh yeah, I'm so great! Here I am, supposed to be turning this kingdom into a constitutional monarchy; and while I'm jauntily wandering southward, the councillors are tearing apart any possibility of a constitution, while the House of Clovis is on the verge of killing off the monarch!

"And here I ride south, with a manservant who would probably gleefully slip a knife between my ribs if his sense of duty got the upper hand over his conscience for half a minute.

"And what have I accomplished? I've established that the place is filled with ghosts, elves, witches, and a lot of other monsters that can't possibly exist; I've given you five or six seizures; and to top it all off, a beautiful woman propositioned me, and I refused! Oh, I'm so great it's unbelievable! If I were just a little bit more efficient, I'd have managed to botch the whole thing by now! Fess, wouldn't I be better off if I just gave up?"

The robot began to sing softly.

" I am a man of constant sorrow ,

I've seen trouble all my days…"

"Oh, shut up."

Dawn found them in the midst of hayfields, half-mown and dew-laden. Rod looked about him from the top of the rise, looking down on rolling farmland and tidy hedges, with here and there a clump of trees, dark against the rising sun.

"Big Tom!"

Tom turned in the saddle and looked back, then reined in his horse when he saw Rod had halted.

"Breakfast!" Rod called, dismounting. He ledFess off the road to a rock outcrop beneath a thicket of gorse. Tom shrugged and turned his mount.

Rod had the fire laid and kindled by the time Big Tom had hobbled his pony and turned it to graze. The big man stared in amazement as Rod unlimbered a frying pan and coffeepot, then turned away, shaking his head in wonder, and dried a place to sit on a log further down the slope. He sniffed at the scent of frying ham, sighed, and took out a pack of hardtack.

Rod looked up, frowning, and saw Big Tom sitting in wet grass with a biscuit and a skin of ale. He scowled and shouted.

"Hey!"

The shout caught Big Tom in mid-swig; he choked, spluttered, and looked up.

"Eh, master?"

"My food not good enough for you?"

Big Tom stared, open-mouthed.

"Come, on, come on!" Rod waved an arm impatiently. "And bring those biscuits with you; they'll go good fried in hamfat."

Big Tom opened and closed his mouth a few times, then nodded vaguely and stood up.

The water was boiling; Rod pried the lid off the coffeepot and threw in a handful of grounds. He looked up as Big Tom came to the fire, brow furrowed, staring.

Rod's mouth turned down at the corner. "Well, what're you looking at?Never saw a campfire before?"

"Thou bid me eat with my master!"

Rod scowled. "Is that some major miracle? Here, give a drag of that ale-skin, will you? That road gets dusty."

Tom nodded, eyes still fixed on Rod's, and held out the skin. Rod took a swig, looked up, and frowned. "What's the matter? Never saw a man take a drink? What am I, some alien monster?"

Tom's mouth closed; his eyes turned dark and brooding.

Then he grinned, laughed, and sat down on a rock. "Nay, master, nay. Thou'rt a rare good man, and that only. Nay, only that!"

Rod frowned. "Why, what's so rare about me?"

Tom threw two cakes of hardtack into the frying pan and looked up, grinning. "In this country, master, a gentleman does not take food with his servant."

"Oh, that!" Rod waved the objection away. "It's just you and me out here on the road, Big Tom. I don't have to put up with that nonsense."

"Aye," Big Tom chuckled. "A most wonderous rare man, as I said."

"And a fool, eh?" Rod served up two slices of ham on wooden saucers. "Guess we eat with our knives, Tom. Dig in."

They ate in silence, Rod scowling at his plate, Tom leaning back and looking out over the countryside.

They were at the head of a small valley, filled now with the morning mist, a trap for small sunbeams. The sun lurked over the hedges, and the mist was golden.

Tom grinned as he chewed and jerked his thumb toward the valley. " Tis the end of the rainbow, master."

"Hm?" Rod jerked his head up. He smiled sourly; it was, after all, more of a pot of gold then he'd had any right to expect.

Tom gave a rumbling belch and picked at his teeth with his dagger. "A golden mist, master, and mayhap golden girls within it."

Rod swallowed quickly and objected. "Oh, no! No tomcatting on the side of this trip, Big Tom! We've got to get down to the South and get down there fast!"