The Warlock Heretical (34 page)

Rod nodded, nightmares?"

"I don't suppose you could put in a few

The Archbishop came into his study with quick strides and quick glances, his agitation plain for anyone to see.

One of the glances fell on Lady Mayrose, who sat reading at a desk, head bent over a book, the sun striking a

halo from the burnished gold of her hair. The Archbishop stopped, feeling a moment's awe at her beauty, and the

beginnings of peace. She looked up with a radiant smile, then saw the look on his face and stared, appalled.

"Milord Archbishop! I had not thought thou wouldst object if I—"
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"Nay, nay!" The Archbishop waved the notion away. "I delight to see thee, milady!"

She relaxed a little. "Then what doth trouble thee, my lord?"

"Ah, 'tis the reports of our . . . 'scouts,' I believe the word is. Men who ride out to espy the enemy's troops." He

turned away, wringing his hands. "And, oh! I had not thought the King would bring so many against us!" Behind his back, Lady Mayrose's eyes narrowed.

"They will break our poor troops, they will maul them! And even should our forces prevail, there will have been

so much slaughter! Oh, sweet Heaven!" He buried his face in his hands. "Can there truly be right in this course I

have taken? Can the supremacy of the Church in Gramarye truly be worth the shedding of so much innocent

blood?"

"My lord!" the lady cried. "I am appalled that thou canst doubt!" The Archbishop looked up, surprised.

"When the King doth come against thee with so vast a force?" Lady Mayrose hurried toward him. "How canst

thou think this battle to be any doing of thine? Tis only because the rule of kings is so godless that such bloodshed doth happen! Nay, but think!" She caught his hands between her own. "This battle will end battles!

When the King hath knelt to thee and acknowledged the rule of God, there will be no more wars, no more spilled

blood!"

" Yet how if . . ." the Archbishop swallowed. "How if the King be slain?"

"Why, then, 'tis thou must rule! The lords have acknowledged thy guidance already, have they not? Who else

should govern, save the Church!"

The Archbishop stood immobile for a moment; then a gleam came into his eye. Lady Mayrose saw it, and waxed poetic. " Tis thy duty to thy fellow man to press forward in this holy
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and

righteous cause! Nay, 'tis thy duty, above all, to thy God, to be bloody, bold, and resolute!" She let the wrath

grow, knowing how beautiful she was when she was angry. "Laugh to scorn the power of man! Thou wilt

prevail, thou must prevail, for thou art God's voice in this kingdom!"

"Thou art the very soul of courage," the Archbishop breathed, clasping her hands tightly and gazing into her

eyes. "Nay, 'tis even as thou dost say! We shall press forward; we

shall prevail! And when the rule of God hath triumphed, all men of Gramarye, for a thousand years, shall bless

thy name!"

She blushed and lowered her eyes (she did it so well!). "If I but strengthen thine arm, my lord, I care not for the

opinion of men."

"Yet I must."

There was something about the way he said it that made her look up again, her heart beating wildly in her breast,

and she saw the look of deadly seriousness in his eyes. "I must tell thee of this latest rule that I have proclaimed,"

he said, low, but with total conviction. "Since the tyranny of Rome be ended for we of Gramarye, we need not

abide by those precepts of theirs that have been for so long absurd! Men must not demand interest for the lending

of money; men must not give hugely to the Church, in expectation of fewer years in Purgatory—and clergy must

be free to marry!"

She stood. She had heard of this, but hearing it now from his lips, she was galvanized by the achievement of her

purpose.

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"There is no true reason why priests should not wed and father children," the Archbishop affirmed, "least of all

we of St. Vidicon! I have writ, I have had it proclaimed!"

He was silent, staring into her eyes, and she thought her heart must burst, or she must swoon. Then he said, "Wilt thou wed me? Wilt thou be my wife?"

Tuan scented the dawn wind and turned toward the sunrise. "At the least we've a fair day for our battle, Lord

Warlock."

"Yes, and for once the family didn't come along for the trip!" Rod answered, with fervent relief. Across the plain the rebel army was dousing campfires and folding tents. "They pull themselves into battle

order," Tuan observed. "How fare our men, Lord Counselor?"

"All gear is stowed; they now drink each his measure of brandywine," Brom answered. "The battle line doth

form, Majesty."

"This is really fascinating," McGee said, looking all about him with a bright eye. "I've never seen a knights' battle

before!"

"If God doth will it, thou wilt not see one today, Father." Tuan called out, "Ho! Sir Maris!" The seneschal came riding up. "Majesty?"

"Take thou the truce flag, and ride out to signal for parley!

'Twill be the Duke di Medici and the Archbishop for their side, I doubt not, so it shall be myself and the Lord

Warlock will meet them!"

"If thou dost wish it, Majesty," Sir Maris sighed, "though 'tis to no purpose." But he turned his horse and went for

the white banner.

"May I come along?" McGee said hesitantly. "If they have a clergyman present, you really ought to have one,

too."

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"Sorry, Father. As the local field representative of the Society for the Prevention of Nascent Totalitarianisms, I

have to insist that you help avoid cultural contamination here."

"By not letting them know I'm from Terra, you mean? Well, I suppose Father Uwell did keep his origin relatively

secret."

"Really. He only intervened at the last second. Even then he only told the Lord Abbot who he was." Rod shook

his head. "We have to let the locals solve their disputes by themselves, Father, or we'll give them a national

inferiority complex."

"But by that argument," said McGee, with a keen glance, "shouldn't you retire from the lists, too?" Rod started to answer, then bit down on his own logic coming back at him. "Not the same case, Father. I'm a

local."

"Then you must be the only local who was born and raised on an asteroid far, far away. Come, Lord Warlock—

by what virtue can you claim citizenship?"

"By virtue of a wife and four children, all homegrown," Rod snapped. "Keep out of it, Father. Okay?" And he rode out to battle, doing a mental double take at his own phrasing. Was there a truth in there he'd been

trying to avoid?

Under the circumstances, the Duke and the Archbishop were a welcome distraction, even though the nobleman

wore a vindictive, gloating smile. Rod frowned and subvocalized, "Di Medici is outnumbered three to two here,

Fess, and a quarter of his men are monks. What's he looking so cocksure about?"

"Perhaps he is thinking of the Archbishop's witch force, Rod. There is no reason why they should confine

themselves to bogus haunting."

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That hit Rod with a mental blow that rocked him, and for a moment his heart sank. Then he remembered Toby

and the Royal Coven. High Warlock to Low! Gallowglass to Toby! Come in, Toby!

He strained his senses, letting Fess take care of getting to the parley, so Toby's thought fairly blasted. We attend,

Lord Warlock.

Thank Heaven! Send the crew down here to Despard Plain, will you? The Archbishop's about to pull some

rabbits out of his hat, and we need you to stuff them back in!

The greater number of us are here already, Lord Warlock; thy wife did advise it. Yet we left a home guard.

Rod felt his face flush with chagrin. "She was one step ahead of me again, Fess." Then he grinned.

"Wow! What

a woman!"

"You mature, Rod," the robot observed.

"Yeah. Someday I might even be big enough for her." Thanks, Toby. Just hold yourselves ready, okay?

And ask

Gwen to send for a babysitter.

As thou wilt have it, Lord Warlock.

Then Fess was drawing up, and the Archbishop and duke were five feet away; there was no more time for tactics.

Rod inclined his head. "Your Graces."

"Lord Warlock," the Archbishop said in his most noncommittal tone. Rod glanced at the Archbishop's gleaming plate armor. "If you don't mind my saying so, milord, your mitre looks

a little out of place on that rig."

The Archbishop flushed. "Is't so rare for a cleric to defend himself?"

"I just didn't expect a man of the cloth to go in for such a close weave. And weren't you supposed to be carrying a

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crozier?"

The Archbishop hefted his mace, his face grim. "I doubt not this shall serve me better in this day's work."

"Odd-looking sacramental, if you ask me."

"I did not." The Archbishop's face darkened. "Know, Lord Warlock, that Our Lord said only, 'Those who live by

the sword will die by the sword.' Even if we extend his words to all edged weapons, men of God are still free to

carry those that have no sharpness."

Rod took a deep breath, trying to stifle his outrage, holding back a comment about the spirit of the law versus its

letter; and while he was stymied, Tuan managed to get in a word.

"I am loathe to clash with arms in this quarrel, my lord,

since we both wish, foremost, the good of our people. Is there no means to peace left?"

"Why, dost thou now snivel?" Di Medici sneered. "I had not thought so ill of thee, Tuan Loguire." The King flushed and turned to the duke. "There is no shame in seeking to abide by God's word, milord, and

avoid slaying my neighbor." He turned back to the Archbishop. "Come, is there no path open?"

"Certes," said the Archbishop, stone-faced, "if thou dost recant thine heresy, and embrace the Church of Gramarye."

Tuan shook his head sadly. "That, milord, I cannot do; I would hold it sinful to desert the Church of Rome for

expedience."

"Yet 'tis an expedient argument for thee to refuse to be guided by me!" The Archbishop's eyes fired.

"Nay, I must

hold thee a traitor to the true Faith!"

Rod frowned; the man was behaving quite unlike himself. Was this the monster within that he had kept under

wraps all along? Or was there a more obvious reason? "One might speculate about the expediency of your own

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stand, milord. I have heard that your preachers have proclaimed your decision that the clergy may marry."

"Rome was ever wrong-headed in that belief!"

"Yet on the heels of that announcement came the news that you are engaged to the Lady Mayrose Reddering,"

Rod mused. "One could question your motives in this decision, milord, and gain the impression that you have

allowed the clergy to marry only as an excuse to satisfy your own lust."

"Lord Warlock!" Tuan hissed, and the Archbishop turned pale, face tensed. Before he could speak, Rod capped his insult. "And if your decisions are excuses for personal indulgence, your

whole schism is rampant hypocrisy."

"Enough!" the Archbishop shouted. He turned his horse away, calling back over his shoulder, "Thou shall see the

justice of my stand by my steel! Ward thee well!"

The duke watched him go with an amused smile, then turned back to give Tuan a mocking bow. "Most excellent

words of peace, milord." He turned to Rod. "Thou dost easily insult a man who doth lack the skill to defend his

honor, Lord Warlock. I will gladly be his champion. Come, wilt thou duel with me in sight of these armies?"

"As soon as the parley is over," Rod said, tight-lipped. "You lead the charge, and I'll meet you." The duke raised his eyebrows in gratified surprise, then bowed with a broad smile, spurred his horse, turning it as

it reared, and galloped away toward his own line.

Tuan turned away toward his knights, face somber. "And what hast thou gained hereby, Lord Warlock?"

"Some dumb mistakes on their part, I hope, Your Majesty. An angry general doesn't think too clearly." Tuan turned, then nodded slowly. "I should have known thou hadst reason. Yet I am saddened to lose this last

chance at peace."

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"Yeah, but you gave it your best shot. Your conscience is clear now—so go enjoy the battle!" Tuan stared at him, then slowly grinned. "Well, I must own there will be excitement ia it, at the least." He turned

back toward his men, head high, eyes glowing. "Come, Lord Warlock! If we must fight, let us do it well!" He

spurred his horse and broke into a canter.

Rod followed him, subvocalizing, Okay, so I let myself go. At least I couldn't have made things worse!

Let us only achieve victory as quickly as possible, Rod, Fess answered. The shorter the battle, the fewer the

dead.

Rod pulled up between the King, who was rattling off commands to his couriers, and Father McGee, who was