CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

They camped that night by a mountain stream. When the trout had been eaten and the bones buried, and the children and Father Al lay bundled up in blankets the villagers had been only too glad to contribute, Gwen cozied up to Rod with her eyes on the campfire. “Thou dost lead us northwest now, husband.”

Rod shrugged. “Why not? Somehow, I think we’d better keep moving—and we are trying to get to Lord Kern. Though why, I don’t know,” he added as an afterthought. “We could just sit back now, and wait for him to come to us.”

“Indeed. He will likely march down through the pass with all his army, to rend Duke Foidin from the seat of power.” Her eyes strayed to the sleeping children. “There should be one more amongst them, husband.”

“There should.” Rod felt the aching longing for his baby. “But remember, dear—he’s safer where he is…”

“Would I could be sure of it, with King and Abbot like to rend the land with civil war.” Her eyes lost focus; suddenly, she stiffened. “I do hear his thoughts again!”

“Whose! Gregory’s?”

“Aye.” She clutched Rod’s forearm, gazing off into space. “Aye, ‘tis the touch of his mind. Oh, my bairn!… He seems alive and well. Be comforted, sweeting; thy mother and thy father strive to rejoin thee, as certainly as thou seekest us!… His touch is stronger now, mine husband.”

Stronger? Rod frowned. Why should that be? The two universes couldn’t have come closer together!

“And Fess—his words begin!” Gwen frowned, concentrating. “Still, I cannot quite discern the words. Summat there is, about Dr. McAran, and the crafting of weird engine… and the Crown and Church; the Southern barons do declare they cannot, in all good conscience, fight against their Holy Mother Church… The Northern barons have sent men and knights to Tuan… And the Abbot hath sent out a call to all the nobles, summoning them with men and arms, to fight against the tyranny he doth say doth threaten Holy Mother Church!”

Rod groaned. “They’re shaping up to start a civil war for sure! Of course, the Southern lords see this as their big chance to break their oaths of fealty to Tuan with some moral justification, and without losing the support of their people!”

“Yet they have not declared allegiance to the Abbot, nor defiance to the Crown,” Gwen said hopefully.

“Only because the Abbot just got around to issuing the call to arms! Mark my words, Gwen, there’re futurian agents showing their hands in this. Someone’s gotten to the Abbot—why else would he turn around to nullify his agreement with Tuan, before he’d even arrived home at his monastery? One of his entourage is a totalitarian agent, and talked him into it on the road! The totalitarians would love to have the Church take over the government; a medieval theocracy could turn into a very tight police state, if it were given a few modern techniques! And the anarchists are probably advising the lords again—they’d love to see the barons band together under the Church’s banner, just long enough to topple the monarchy, then fall to bickering between themselves until the whole country fell into warlordism!” He slammed a fist into his palm. “Damn! And I’m stuck here, where I can’t fight ‘em!”

“I believe ‘tis as they planned,” Gwen murmured.

“You bet it is! And in the middle of all of that is my baby!”

“Peace, mine husband,” Gwen soothed. “We do come nigh Lord Kern; quite soon enough, we shall return to our own time and place; sweet chuck, doubt it not! Then shalt thou make all things well.”

“You’ve got more faith in me than I do,” Rod grated—but he was calming down a bit. “But maybe you’re right. Okay, darling—you go ‘talk’ to baby; reassure him, tell him we’re still with him, at least in spirit—and our bodies will be joining him, as soon as they can.”

“I will,” she murmured, and leaned against his shoulder, eyes glazed. He sat as still as he could, gazing out at the stream, his thoughts in turmoil, worry about his baby son alternating with stewing about the war, and ways to avert it. He sorted through a dozen different plans for information he could send back to Fess through Gwen’s telepathy, that might brake the conflict—but none of them could work. If he were there in person, his stature as High Warlock, and as the architect of the Crown’s previous victories over the lords and the mob, would turn the balance; both sides would listen to what he said and, to some extent, would back off due to sheer intimidation. But that required his personal presence; there wasn’t much string-pulling he could do, without at least being on the puppet stage.

But the scheming did dissipate the adrenalin; that, and maybe some spillover from Gwen’s comforting of Gregory. He began to feel more relaxed. Then he glanced at his sleeping children, and let the warmth and security of the family seep in to calm him. He put his arm around Gwen, resting his cheek on her head.

“ ‘Tis faded,” she murmured. “Yet I think I left him comforted.”

“Me, too. You seem to have a wonderful effect on males.”

Gwen smiled. “I would thou hadst thought of that ere we left the village.”

Rod frowned. “Why?”

“For that we could ha’ stayed the night there—and mayhap found a chamber to ourselves.” She looked up at him, eyes wide; and he felt himself being drawn down into them, down, down… He let himself go, but only as far as her lips. Still, it was a very long, and very satisfying, kiss.

Unfortunately, it was also very stimulating.

He pulled himself out of the kiss with a sigh. “Well, when we find Lord Kern, maybe he’ll spare us a room for the night—alone.”

“Aye.” She smiled sadly. “Till then, we must needs bide in patience.” She let go, and lay back, rolling her blanket around her. “Good night, husband—and wake me if thine eyelids droop.”

He’d rather have waked for other reasons, but he only said, “I will. ‘Night, love,” and caressed her hair.

She smiled contentedly, and wriggled under his touch, then lay still.

The whole night was still. He sat beside the dwindling fire, watching the woods and thinking long thoughts. When the moon had set, he woke Father Al, and rolled up in his own blanket.

Then a small earthquake rocked him. He looked up blearily, frowning; he’d just managed to doze off…

“Lord Gallowglass, we’ve got company,” Father Al informed him, “and it wishes to speak to you.”

“ ‘It?’ ” Rod scrambled out of his blanket.

“Yes. In fact, it ducked back down under water at sight of me; it just barely had time to call for ‘the wizard.’ ”

“I thought there were supposed to be fewer interruptions, at night.” Rod glanced toward the east. “Hm. Not all that much ‘night’ any more, is it? Well, I’ll take the call.” He went over to the stream, and called out, “This is the wizard speaking.”

A splash, and a gush of water, and a great, green, round head on a huge pair of shoulders, with a red cocked hat on its head (a feather in it, yet!) popped out of the stream. It was covered with scales; its nose was long, sharp, and red at the tip; it had little pig’s eyes, and was covered with green scales. It held up a webbed hand, and grinned. “Good morn to thee, wizard!”

Rod squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a shake, then looked up again. “Uh—good morning.”

“Aye, I’m real.” The water-man grinned. “Thou’st never seen a Merrow afore?”

“ ‘Fraid not, I wasn’t quite ready for it. Uh—don’t you find that stream a little confining?”

“Aye, but we go where we must. I am sent with word for thee.”

“What word?”

“Word of the Redcap thou’st routed from the Tower of Gonkroma.”

Rod shuddered. “I’m not really interested in where that critter is, thank you.”

“Then thou’st wish to know where it ha’ been—or so says the Grand Duchess.” The Merrow rolled an eye at him. “The fellow appeared out of nowhere, struck away guards, and stole a yearling child away.”