At least, it was since he'd been held at home all this time. A peasant of his age would have had a wife and two babies already-and the responsibilities that went with them. He might be tied down, but he'd have taken those first vital steps toward real maturity.

"No," Rod said, "I'm not saying you should go-and I'd rather you stayed here, much rather. But that's for my sake, not yours. I'm only saying you can go if you feel the need."

Magnus answered with a sardonic smile. "Why, surely, sir. And could you not say the same for yourself?"

Rod bit back the automatic answer-that it was Magnus himself who held his father to Gramarye, along with his sister and brothers and, most of all, his mother.

His mother, whose beauty and sweetness made Rod want to stay, even now as she passed fifty, and who made the allure of the rest of the galaxy seem trivial by comparison. He studied his son's face, debating what his response should be ...

... and it came to him in a flash of inspiration. "You've got a point there." He rose. "I can go, can't I?" His teeth showed in a slow, wolfish smile. "I can go kiyodling off wherever I want, if I feel the need. Thanks, son-I think I will."

He turned away to Fess, mounted, and rode off into the night while Magnus stared after him, thunderstruck.

Then anger surged, and the younger man thrust himself to his feet, mouthing imprecations, and hurried off after his father. He didn't doubt for a second that the old man knew exactly what he had done, or what he was doing.

0 ..

They rode through a dark evergreen forest, dimmed even further by the lowering thunderheads over the treetops, and by the dying of the day. Magnus rode behind, unable to hear the conversation between his father and the robot-horse he rode, since they communicated by radio waves, not telepathy. Rod had a microphone implanted in his upper jaw, just above his front teeth, and an earphone behind his ear, in his mastoid process. Fess's transmission gear, of course, was built in.

Then, too, they might not be saying anything-and Magnus didn't really think they were chuckling over the way he was following after them. Even so, he seethed inside. There was a great deal of resentment within him, and Magnus didn't try to pretend it wasn't there. What right did his father have, to go dragging him off at a moment's notice?

Of course, Magnus hadn't really been giving up much-he hadn't had any interesting projects going. In fact, he'd been half out of his mind with boredom and frustration, feeling that his whole life was going to be wasted in the back of beyond, with no great deeds to do nor any great loves to win. He still felt that way-but it was annoying to have his father pull him along in his wake, anyway. It was his duty as the eldest son to ride after his father and watch over himnot to mention anyone else he might encounter.

For a moment, it occurred to Magnus that perhaps only he knew this was his duty, that maybe no one else thought it was, and that it might in fact not be, that he could just sit back and let his father wander off on his own, this time.

As Dad probably would have preferred.

Magnus shoved the thought aside and hunched his shoulders, leaning angrily into the breeze that was freshening into a gale. No matter whose idea it was, he was stuck with it.

8

Even if he was only a self-appointed guardian, the job still needed to be done.

Didn't it?

Rod risked a glance behind, and stifled a chuckle. "He's still coming, Fess."

"I gather he has not taken the point, Rod."

"Oh, yes he has-on the surface level. But then, he always has known his responsibilities to the rest of the family. What he doesn't realize is that he's old enough to lay those aside for a while."

"How long do you think it will take him to realize he is free to go if he wants to, Rod?"

"A long time, Fess. My boy is nothing if not determined."

"Did you say `stubborn,' Rod?"

"Now, now, let's not season the conversational serial with synonyms. But I expect it to take him an even longer while to admit to himself that he really does want to go."

"He certainly seems to be of such a mind right now, Rod."

"Yes, but he hasn't really started thinking about it seriously yet."

A blast of wind slapped across Rod's face. He looked up, surprised that the day had grown dark. "When did it start to rain?"

"Several hours ago, Rod, though never with great force. There are still only occasional raindrops."

"Gusts of sleet, you mean." Rod shivered. "Next time I go stalking off in high dudgeon, remind me to wait for good weather. How bad is it outside those pine boughs above us, Fess?"

"A steady rain, I should say, from the sound-and not much more light than we have here, under the canopy."

"Better make camp, then, while I can still see a little." Rod pulled off the trail and dismounted. The ground was even, carpeted with last year's needles-there wasn't much undergrowth in the pine forest; the dense canopy overhead kept out the sunlight that would have encouraged scrub. Rod rotated his shoulders to ease the stiffness, heaved a sigh, and plodded off into the night to look for stones. He came back carrying two large rocks, and saw Magnus rolling stones up to make a fire circle.

Rod stood a moment, taking the chance to watch his son unaware. It was still something of a surprise to see Magnus's face atop that tall frame with all the muscles-a sight that startled, but also filled Rod with pride. The boy had turned out well, though darker in both mood and feature than Rod would ever have guessed, from his bouncing blond baby. He stood six foot seven in his stocking feet, and might still be growing. His black hair surmounted a face long and lanternjawed, broad across the cheekbones but tapering sharply to a square chin, with a wide, thin-lipped mouth and large, widely spaced, deepset indigo eyes. To look at him looming, tall and wide, in the dusk, gave the stranger a chill of wariness-until he saw the quirk of humor about the lips, the readiness to sympathize. Not an ogre, no, but a gentle giant, whom no good person had any cause to fear. Rod smiled, warmed by the thought, and looked directly into his son's eyes as the young man looked up at him, taken unawaresand Rod saw a smoldering resentment, dimmed now by surprise.

That jolted Rod. When had his boy become bitter? At what? Who had hurt him? For a moment, the old anger shot through Rod; he would cheerfully have converted his son's tormentor into spare parts and musical instruments, if he could just have found him-but there was the old, secret dread that he might have been looking for himself.

He choked the emotion down; it was probably groundless, anyway. "You don't have to do that, son-I can still do my own hauling."

"Canst thou indeed?" Magnus favored him with a sardonic glower. "And am I any the less bound to haul for thee? I, too, wish fire quickly!"

"Well, that's good sense, anyway." Rod set the stones down and straightened, frowning. "But as to your being bound-no, you're not. You can pay the price of waiting a few more minutes for a fire, but you don't have to help. Don't have to follow me, for that matter, either."

"Oh, do I not?"

"No, as a matter of fact, you don't." Rod scowled, stung by Magnus's sarcasm. "It was your choice to ride after me."

"Choice!" Magnus spat the word out as though it were an obscenity. "What choice have I, when all's said and done? I am the eldest; if thou dost sally forth, I must follow."

"Oh?" Rod pounced on it. "Who told you that?" And, before Magnus could answer, he added, "Your mother?" Magnus reddened, but also looked away. "She said no such word today."

"What-she gave you standing orders? A little old for it, aren't you?"

That stung; he could see the anger flare in Magnus's eyes. "A little old to be biding at home, am I not? To still cling to her skirts-or thy house!"