Read Online The warlock insane by Christopher Stasheff - Free Book Online
Authors: Christopher Stasheff
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Fantasy fiction, Fantasy, Science Fiction - General, Fiction - Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy
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colors. Whoever he was, he was racked with shivers as he groped in the snow. At last, he brought up a small branch, knocked the snow off it, and threw it on the fire.
Page 38
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There had been enough light for Rod to see the boniness of the hand. There was no doubt that the man was old, quite old. Rod felt a surge of sympathy and stepped out into the clearing, kicking up the snow, bending to pick up fallen branches and sticks. "Here, Grandfather!" He stepped past the old man and knelt by the fire, holding one of the smaller sticks in the flame till it caught, then laying it carefully on the coals and setting a small branch over it. "We'll have it burning merrily in no time."
"It is good of you," the old man whispered, sitting back on a fallen tree.
"Glad to help. Glad of the warmth, too." Rod put a three-inch branch over the others, then turned to the oldster. "There you go, Grandfather."
He froze, staring.
"Thank you, Grandson." From under the hood, the old eyes glinted with amusement. "But then, you always were a generous, warmhearted boy. I am glad to see you have grown into so fine a man."
"Grandfather," Rod whispered again. "My real grandfather. " And it was—Count Rory d'Armand, in the flesh. Or seemingly.
"You can't be real." But Rod stretched out a hand anyway. "You died twenty-six years ago." Count Rory winced. "Hardly generous of you, my boy."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Grandfather! But how did you get here? I mean, Gramarye is light-years and light-years away from this solar system!"
"Why, I came with you, Rodney." The old eyes glowed into his. "In your genes—for surely, as long as you live, so does part of me. And in your heart and mind, too, I would like to think!"
"Oh, be sure of that! If the foundation of my personality is Mother and Father, you're the foundation of the foundation!"
"The sub-basement, eh?" Rory smiled, amused. "And all that I have thought and dreamed, Rodney—what of that?"
"I can't say 'all,' " Rod said honestly, "but a large part of it—yes. I think your ideals are within me, too—for they're embedded in the stories you told me, and those stories will always be with me."
"Ah. My stories, yes." The Count nodded, turning his gaze to the fire. "And if you live within my stories, then Rodney, you certainly can have no question as to how I came to be here."
"What?" Rod frowned. "I think I missed something."
"Why, I am Rory, Lord Chronicler." The old man lifted his gaze to Rod's again. "For surely we are in the realm of Granclarte."
Rod stared at him.
"Yes, surely," he said softly. "Why didn't I realize ^hat?" Page 39
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"Because you had not thought of it," the Lord Chronicler said, smiling. "Yet did I not tell you the tales of this magic kingdom would ever be your shield and your refuge?"
"Why, so they have been, in metaphor," Rod said slowly, "but I never thought they could be so, in actuality."
Rory tossed his head impatiently. "There is a sickness of the soul upon you, my boy, a darkness of the spirit. Where else could you shelter from that night, except in the Courts of Great Light?"
"Yes." Slowly, Rod sat down beside the old man, on the log. "God bless you, Grandfather, for giving my soul a shield against its own lances."
"Be not so sure they are its own, my boy, for you have many enemies, with many weapons. Yet do be sure that, in the realm of Granclarte, you shall find a magic guardian to shield you from any of them."
"I'll remember that," Rod said fervently. "But Grandfather, I've gone mad on Gramarye. How can I be in the realm of Granclarte?"
"Because you inherited it from me, Rodney, inherited it within your soul, just as your body inherited my genes. The events and ideals within its Chronicles are part of the sub-structure of your personality, of the way you see the universe around you. It is yours now—I bequeath it
Page 38
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
There had been enough light for Rod to see the boniness of the hand. There was no doubt that the man was old, quite old. Rod felt a surge of sympathy and stepped out into the clearing, kicking up the snow, bending to pick up fallen branches and sticks. "Here, Grandfather!" He stepped past the old man and knelt by the fire, holding one of the smaller sticks in the flame till it caught, then laying it carefully on the coals and setting a small branch over it. "We'll have it burning merrily in no time."
"It is good of you," the old man whispered, sitting back on a fallen tree.
"Glad to help. Glad of the warmth, too." Rod put a three-inch branch over the others, then turned to the oldster. "There you go, Grandfather."
He froze, staring.
"Thank you, Grandson." From under the hood, the old eyes glinted with amusement. "But then, you always were a generous, warmhearted boy. I am glad to see you have grown into so fine a man."
"Grandfather," Rod whispered again. "My real grandfather. " And it was—Count Rory d'Armand, in the flesh. Or seemingly.
"You can't be real." But Rod stretched out a hand anyway. "You died twenty-six years ago." Count Rory winced. "Hardly generous of you, my boy."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Grandfather! But how did you get here? I mean, Gramarye is light-years and light-years away from this solar system!"
"Why, I came with you, Rodney." The old eyes glowed into his. "In your genes—for surely, as long as you live, so does part of me. And in your heart and mind, too, I would like to think!"
"Oh, be sure of that! If the foundation of my personality is Mother and Father, you're the foundation of the foundation!"
"The sub-basement, eh?" Rory smiled, amused. "And all that I have thought and dreamed, Rodney—what of that?"
"I can't say 'all,' " Rod said honestly, "but a large part of it—yes. I think your ideals are within me, too—for they're embedded in the stories you told me, and those stories will always be with me."
"Ah. My stories, yes." The Count nodded, turning his gaze to the fire. "And if you live within my stories, then Rodney, you certainly can have no question as to how I came to be here."
"What?" Rod frowned. "I think I missed something."
"Why, I am Rory, Lord Chronicler." The old man lifted his gaze to Rod's again. "For surely we are in the realm of Granclarte."
Rod stared at him.
"Yes, surely," he said softly. "Why didn't I realize ^hat?" Page 39
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
"Because you had not thought of it," the Lord Chronicler said, smiling. "Yet did I not tell you the tales of this magic kingdom would ever be your shield and your refuge?"
"Why, so they have been, in metaphor," Rod said slowly, "but I never thought they could be so, in actuality."
Rory tossed his head impatiently. "There is a sickness of the soul upon you, my boy, a darkness of the spirit. Where else could you shelter from that night, except in the Courts of Great Light?"
"Yes." Slowly, Rod sat down beside the old man, on the log. "God bless you, Grandfather, for giving my soul a shield against its own lances."
"Be not so sure they are its own, my boy, for you have many enemies, with many weapons. Yet do be sure that, in the realm of Granclarte, you shall find a magic guardian to shield you from any of them."
"I'll remember that," Rod said fervently. "But Grandfather, I've gone mad on Gramarye. How can I be in the realm of Granclarte?"
"Because you inherited it from me, Rodney, inherited it within your soul, just as your body inherited my genes. The events and ideals within its Chronicles are part of the sub-structure of your personality, of the way you see the universe around you. It is yours now—I bequeath it
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