Stasheff, Christopher - Warlock 01 - The Warlock in Spite of Himself by Stasheff Christopher

Author:Stasheff, Christopher [Stasheff, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: magic, witches, warlock, warlocks
Publisher: Phoenix Pick
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

There was this to be said for a roll in the hay: it had sapped enough of Big Tom’s vitality so that he wasn’t singing any more. Probably still humming, to be sure; but he was riding far enough ahead so Rod couldn’t hear him.

Rod rode in silence, unable to rid his mind of flaming hair and emerald eyes. So he cursed at the vision, under his breath; but it seemed to his aloof self that the cursing lacked something—vehemence, perhaps. Certainly sincerity. It was, his aloof self accused, a very halfhearted attempt at malediction.

Rod had to admit it was. He was still feeling very much at one with creation. At the moment, he couldn’t have been angry with his executioner.…And that worried him.

“Fess.”

“Yes, Rod?” The voice seemed a little more inside his head than usual.

“Fess, I don’t feel right.”

The robot paused; then, “How do you feel, Rod?”

There was something about the way Fess had said that…Rod glanced sharply at the pseudo-horse head. “Fess, are you laughing at me?”

“Laughing?”

“Yes, laughing. You heard me. Chuckling in your beard.”

“This body is not equipped with a beard.”

“Cut the comedy and answer the question.”

With something like a sigh, the robot said, “Rod, I must remind you that I am only a machine. I am incapable of emotions.…I was merely noting discrepancies, Rod.”

“Oh, were you!” Rod growled. “What discrepancies, may I ask?”

“In this instance, the discrepancy between what a man really is and what he wishes to believe of himself.”

Rod’s upper lip turned under and pressed against his teeth. “Just what do I wish to believe?”

“That you are not emotionally dependent upon this peasant woman.”

“Her name is Gwendylon.”

“With Gwendylon. With any woman, for that matter. You wish to believe that you are emotionally independent, that you no longer enjoy what you call ‘being in love.’”

“I enjoy love very much, thank you!”

“That is a very different thing,” the robot murmured, “than being in love.”

“Damn it, I wasn’t taking about making love!”

“Neither was I.”

Rod’s lips pressed into a thin white line. “You’re talking about emotional intoxication. And if that’s what you mean—no, I am not in love. I have no desire to be in love. And if I have any say in the matter, I will never be in love again!”

“Precisely what I said you wished to believe,” mused the robot.

Rod ground his teeth and waited for the surge of anger to pass. “Now what’s the truth about me?”

“That you are in love.”

“Damn it, a man’s either in love, or he’s not, and he damn well knows which.”

“Agreed; but he may not be willing to admit it.”

“Look,” Rod snapped, “I’ve been in love before, and I know what it’s like. It’s…well…”

“Go on,” the robot prodded.

“Well, it’s like”—Rod lifted his head and looked out at the countryside—“you know the world’s there, and you know it’s real; but you don’t give a damn, ’cause you know for a certainty that you’re the center of the world, the most important thing in it.”

“Have you felt that way recently?” Fess murmured.

“Well…yes, damn it.

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