The Warlock Heretical by Christopher Stasheff Page B
Authors: Christopher Stasheff
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Fantasy, Science Fiction - General, Fiction - Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fantastic fiction, Gallowglass; Rod (Fictitious character)
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"The nurture of the poor folk
hath ever been our concern."
"May it ever be so," Rod said piously.
"It shall." The Lord Abbot rose with the dignity of an iceberg. "In that, thou hast my pledge. Wouldst thou have
more of me?"
It was a challenge, and Rod knew when to stop pushing. "I thank you, milord. You have given me all I could
have expected."
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And he had, of course—a bad sense of foreboding. Rod tried not to show it as he bowed to the Abbot, who
returned a brusque nod as Brother Alfonso stepped to open the door. Rod glanced at the man as he stepped out,
and he froze at the sight of the secretary's small, triumphant smile. Rod slowly nodded. "It has been instructive to
make your acquaintance, Brother Alfonso."
"It shall be more so," the man purred.
Not exactly auspicious, Rod thought—especially since, as he followed a novice down to the gatehouse, he
realized that
the Abbot hadn't once referred to Rod as "Lord Warlock," or even just "milord."
The Comte d'Auguste strode into the hall with the band of noble hunters behind him, flushed and grinning, but
empty-handed. "Ho, stay-at-homes!" he cried. "Thou hast missed a brave ride!"
The four remaining noble hostages looked up from their gaming. "We have not missed it at all." The Comte
Ghibelli gave D'Auguste a jaundiced glance.
Sir Basingstoke, heir to the Baronet of Ruddigore, drawled, "Let him be, Ghibelli, Their excitement in the chase
doth allow them to forget that they are, in truth, but prisoners of the Crown, held to assure their fathers'
obedience." He shook his
dice cup and rolled.
"1 had liefer be a hostage than have a headless sire." D'Auguste dropped down into an hourglass chair, caught up
the ewer of wine, and poured himself a full cup. " 'Twas my father's choice, and I approve it. Yet 'tis a pleasant
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enough captivity—thou canst not deny we are accorded the freedom of guests."
"Aye, to hunt with a dozen of King Tuan's knights about us." Ghibelli turned back to his chessboard.
"And I note
that thou, noble son of Bourbon, hast come home empty-handed." "What matter if the wolf hath fled?" The
Viscount Llangol-len, son of Earl Tudor, dropped down beside D'Auguste and caught up the pitcher of wine. "I
doubt not he shall lie low this night, and avoid the haunts of mortal folk."
"We shall have him on the morrow." Count Graz sat down
across from him and reached for the pitcher. "Leave off,
Llangollen! Thou canst not drink more than thy cup will hold!"
"Mayhap, yet I may attempt it." Llangollen grinned.
"Thou, like all Hapsburgs, dost ever seek to take all the wine for thyself."
"Thou art so besotted with sport that thou carest naught for thine heritage," Ghibelli snarled. "Dost'a not see?
'Twas not the gray wolf thou didst chase, but the wild goose!" Maggiore, scion of Savoy, turned with blood in his eye, reaching over his shoulder to touch an arrow in his
quiver. "I've enough of the gray goose about me to mend the ill manners of the Medici!"
Ghibelli's eyes sparked fire at the reference to his father. He started out of his seat.
"Peace, milord." D'Auguste reached out to stay Maggiore's hand while his gaze met Ghibelli's. "And where was
this goose of thine hatched?"
"Why, in the brain of Tuan Loguire," Ghibelli said, "which is to say, in the head of his wife. What! Art thou so
befuddled with pleasures thou dost fail to see that this round of hunts, games, and balls is but a curtain to Page 50
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dazzle
thine eyes, the whiles Their Majesties do strip thee of thy birthright?" Graz flushed and started to answer, but D'Auguste laid a hand on his arm. "To answer briefly and to the point—
our birthrights are the ruling of our demesnes, which our fathers have still in hand; and the
hath ever been our concern."
"May it ever be so," Rod said piously.
"It shall." The Lord Abbot rose with the dignity of an iceberg. "In that, thou hast my pledge. Wouldst thou have
more of me?"
It was a challenge, and Rod knew when to stop pushing. "I thank you, milord. You have given me all I could
have expected."
Page 48
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
And he had, of course—a bad sense of foreboding. Rod tried not to show it as he bowed to the Abbot, who
returned a brusque nod as Brother Alfonso stepped to open the door. Rod glanced at the man as he stepped out,
and he froze at the sight of the secretary's small, triumphant smile. Rod slowly nodded. "It has been instructive to
make your acquaintance, Brother Alfonso."
"It shall be more so," the man purred.
Not exactly auspicious, Rod thought—especially since, as he followed a novice down to the gatehouse, he
realized that
the Abbot hadn't once referred to Rod as "Lord Warlock," or even just "milord."
The Comte d'Auguste strode into the hall with the band of noble hunters behind him, flushed and grinning, but
empty-handed. "Ho, stay-at-homes!" he cried. "Thou hast missed a brave ride!"
The four remaining noble hostages looked up from their gaming. "We have not missed it at all." The Comte
Ghibelli gave D'Auguste a jaundiced glance.
Sir Basingstoke, heir to the Baronet of Ruddigore, drawled, "Let him be, Ghibelli, Their excitement in the chase
doth allow them to forget that they are, in truth, but prisoners of the Crown, held to assure their fathers'
obedience." He shook his
dice cup and rolled.
"1 had liefer be a hostage than have a headless sire." D'Auguste dropped down into an hourglass chair, caught up
the ewer of wine, and poured himself a full cup. " 'Twas my father's choice, and I approve it. Yet 'tis a pleasant
Page 49
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
enough captivity—thou canst not deny we are accorded the freedom of guests."
"Aye, to hunt with a dozen of King Tuan's knights about us." Ghibelli turned back to his chessboard.
"And I note
that thou, noble son of Bourbon, hast come home empty-handed." "What matter if the wolf hath fled?" The
Viscount Llangol-len, son of Earl Tudor, dropped down beside D'Auguste and caught up the pitcher of wine. "I
doubt not he shall lie low this night, and avoid the haunts of mortal folk."
"We shall have him on the morrow." Count Graz sat down
across from him and reached for the pitcher. "Leave off,
Llangollen! Thou canst not drink more than thy cup will hold!"
"Mayhap, yet I may attempt it." Llangollen grinned.
"Thou, like all Hapsburgs, dost ever seek to take all the wine for thyself."
"Thou art so besotted with sport that thou carest naught for thine heritage," Ghibelli snarled. "Dost'a not see?
'Twas not the gray wolf thou didst chase, but the wild goose!" Maggiore, scion of Savoy, turned with blood in his eye, reaching over his shoulder to touch an arrow in his
quiver. "I've enough of the gray goose about me to mend the ill manners of the Medici!"
Ghibelli's eyes sparked fire at the reference to his father. He started out of his seat.
"Peace, milord." D'Auguste reached out to stay Maggiore's hand while his gaze met Ghibelli's. "And where was
this goose of thine hatched?"
"Why, in the brain of Tuan Loguire," Ghibelli said, "which is to say, in the head of his wife. What! Art thou so
befuddled with pleasures thou dost fail to see that this round of hunts, games, and balls is but a curtain to Page 50
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
dazzle
thine eyes, the whiles Their Majesties do strip thee of thy birthright?" Graz flushed and started to answer, but D'Auguste laid a hand on his arm. "To answer briefly and to the point—
our birthrights are the ruling of our demesnes, which our fathers have still in hand; and the
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