Free The Warlock Heretical by Christopher Stasheff

train, Brother Alfonso. Let my monks go forth."
    "So we didn't really accomplish anything. He effectively said he isn't about to budge an inch, and I said you
    weren't, either." Rod shrugged. "I might just as well not have gone."
    "Nay," Tuan disagreed. "Thou hast drawn from him a clear statement of his position and intentions."
    " 'Tis nigh to a declaration of war," Catharine said, tight-lipped.
    "Near the mark, yet short of it," Tuan agreed. "He hath threatened war, and our good Lord Warlock hath
    responded with reminders of our force. Yet he hath not summoned troops, nor have we."
    "Not yet, anyway. But I do think you ought to do so, Your Majesties." Rod felt a chill as he said it, and took a sip
    of wine to warm himself. He leaned back in his hourglass chair and tried to relax, relishing the warmth of the
    solar, even by night; for the brocaded curtains were drawn close over the windows to shut out the darkness, and
    the tapestries on the walls seemed to glow with the light from the fireplace. It was good to be here, good to be in
    Their Majesties' privy chambers again, with a whole castle between himself and the ambitious Abbot. It was
    good to be with a couple of people who, if not exactly friends, were at least old associates—and Tuan and he
    were, now, certainly shieldmates; they had shared the dangers of

    more than a few battles, and consequently trusted one another in a fundamental way that was as important as
    liking.
    Not that Rod didn't like the King. There were traces of silver in Tuan's blond hair now, and a few faint wrinkles
    in his brow—but the face was still open and honest. Tuan might not have learned guile with the years, but he had
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    certainly learned all about it—and about treachery and power-hunger, as well as s most of the other unpleasant
    characteristics of their species. I Underneath the weight of that knowledge, though, the King ' still believed
    that most people could learn to be good.
    Not so Catharine. She knew the jealousy and suspicion of her own nature too well to believe that anyone could
    ever be devoid of either. Her hair was still golden and her complexion still unblemished, though Rod suspected
    that might be due more to her skill with cosmetics than to nature. But the first few lines were beginning to show,
    and her body had thickened to maturity since he had first met her. Her temper had not slowed, though, nor her
    vehemence slackened. Still, Tuan's love had mellowed her—her tongue was no longer quite so sharp, and
    underneath her arrogance and imperiousness was the solid certainty of knowing she was loved. Rod sighed, envisioning a future age in which the three of them, and Gwen, would be old cronies together. It
    sounded very peaceful.
    "Be of good cheer, Lord Warlock," Catharine said softly.
    "We shall prevail."
    Rod turned to her in pleased surprise. Yes, she had matured. "We shall," Tuan agreed with full assurance, "yet
    we must not therefore grow careless or neglectful. There are ever troubles, Rod Gallowglass."
    "Won't there always be, as long as there are people?" Rod smiled. "After all, our species can't endure too much
    calm and harmony. But what were you thinking of?"
    " 'Tis our noble hostages," Catharine said with distaste. "What a band of gross fools they are! At least, some."
    "Only some." Tuan nodded, gazing at the fire. "D'Auguste has grown into a goodly young man, as have his
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    friends Llangollen and Chester. Maggiore and Basingstoke also have become men worthy of their station."
    "Well, that's five." Rod frowned. "How come you haven't demanded that Romanov send you a hostage?
    I know
    he didn't

    have any children when the lords rebelled against Catharine the first time, but he does now."
    "I would never bring such goodly, innocent lads to brush elbows with the likes of Ghibelli."