The warlock insane (14 page)

As for Rod, he was feeling too sick to even wonder where Modwis had found the rope. His stomach was churning, and his head was rent with a stabbing pain. He turned away, hands trembling too much to even sheathe his sword, and held on to a tree, hoping the world would stop whirling.

"Rod," said Fess's voice, "are you ill?"

"Yes," Rod croaked, "and I deserve it. I would have run that ogre through if you and Beaubras hadn't prevented me, Fess."

"But you have relented, and it will live long enough for the foresters to find it and bring troops. You have done well, after all, Rod."

"But why do I feel so… ill, all of a sudden?" Rod let himself slide down to the forest floor, leaning against the trunk. "My pulse is hammering, my head is splitting… Look, Fess! I'm shaking all over!"

"It will pass, Rod."

"You… sure about that?"

The great black horsehead dipped down, nuzzling Rod's neck. "Your temperature is elevated, and your pulse is erratic. Your blood pressure is high. But there is no cause for concern if these symptoms do not persist."

"I'll… take your word… for it…" Rod swallowed. "But… why, Fess? So suddenly…"

"It could be an adrenaline reaction, Rod. You are feeling the effects of exposure, you know, and your body is weakening."

That was a horrifying thought. "What do I… need to do?"

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"Come in out of the rain, Rod—or the snow, in this case."

"I… can't. Not till I'm sure I'm… safe. To be around, I mean."

"I appreciate the double entendre, Rod. I assure you that you do need shelter, though."

"But not just my body! Where'd that… homicidal fear come from? That's why I can't come in!" Fess was quiet a moment, then said, "You are aware that you have always had an element of paranoia in your personality, Rod."

"An element, yeah, a streak—but what's letting it run wild and take over? I mean, if I had some warning, I could deal with it, maybe, but… No, don't give me any of that 'chemical analysis' business again—especially since it might be true!" There was a little anger now, born of indignation, and it was helping, his pulse was beginning to steady, but his head still felt as though it were built around live coals…

"You need proper medical facilities, Rod."

"Well, medical facilities mean medical people." Rod clawed at the tree. "And the condition I'm in, I'm likely to think they've turned into monsters, and go berserk. No, I have to weather it as well as I can, Fess. Please! I'm just going to have to, that's all!" Rod staggered to his feet and turned back to Beaubras and Modwis, who stood by, watching him with concern. "I'm—all right, guys. Just a… bad spell, there."

"Let thine heart be at peace," the knight assured him. "Thou hast done aright."

"Because the ogre may not be as evil as I see it, yes. At the least, it deserves a trial by somebody objective—which I am definitely not, right now."

"Thou art wise to see it so," Modwis rumbled.

"Wise, and gracious," Beaubras murmured. "I must commend thee for thy chivalry."

"Thanks—but it's really just chronic self-doubt. Right now, I can't really believe in my own good judgement."

"Then believe in me," Beaubras returned, and Rod said, "I do. I always have." Then he wondered what he'd meant by that.

High Dudgeon was high indeed. It stood atop a cliff that thrust out from the foothills in a sort of peninsula, surrounded by lowlands instead of water, connected to the hills by a narrow causeway. The cliffsides rose a sheer hundred feet from the fields below, and the keep soared straight up from the edges of the cliff.

They, however, were still in the mountains, just coming out of the pass above. Beaubras pointed at the causeway. "We may work our way down to their bridge unseen. Then, though, we must charge directly,
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and quite quickly, too, ere they can lower the portcullis, or send a party of monster footmen out to grapple with us."

"Where shall we grapple with them, then?" Modwis rumbled. "For certes, thou dost not wish to avoid this conflict."

"Nay, assuredly not." Beaubras grinned. "As to where, I care not, so long as 'tis within the castle."

"Well, it won't be," Rod said with complete certainty. "That causeway is a good three quarters of a mile if it's an inch. If they keep any kind of watch at all, they'll have plenty of time to drop the portcullis. Then they can sit there and laugh at us—or throw rocks, more likely."

"Naught can stand 'gainst courage and valor, Lord Gallowglass!"

"Yeah, but anything can stand against stupidity. With respect, Sir Beaubras, we might do better to consider a more indirect approach."

Beaubras turned, frowning at the impatience in Rod's tone. "Thou has ne'er spoke in such fashion to me aforetime, Lord Gallowglass. I must needs think thou dost know more of this craft than thou dost tell."

"What—invading a castle? Well, I've been in on it once or twice, and I've found that courage and valor are no excuse for not using common sense."

"Why, how wouldst thou come within, then? That keep is impregnable!"

"An interesting hypothesis," Rod said, nodding, "but you can always attack any hypothesis by questioning the assumptions on which it's based, Sir Knight."

"And on what is this castle based?"

"Why, on the cliff," Modwis rumbled.

"Exactly." Rod pointed. "And unless my eyes deceive me, Sir Beaubras, I see a crack in that foundation."

The knight and dwarf looked and, sure enough, there was an irregular line zigzagging down the side of the cliff.

" 'Tis but a hairline," Beaubras protested.

"Aye, but is not the whole castle only a child's toy, from this distance?" Modwis asked. "From the ground nearby, that hairline might be a crevasse."

"Assuredly, they who built the keep would have known of it!"

"And decided to build, anyway." Rod nodded. "So either their escalier doesn't go all the way to the top, or it's just as strongly guarded as the gate. This way, though, they can't see us approaching—at least, not if we wait for nightfall."

Sir Beaubras looked dubious, but he shook his head with a sigh and dismounted. "Thou art haply in error, Lord Gallowglass, yet if thou hast the right of it, thou dost offer a more sure road to my lady than
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the more obvious. Come, pitch our tents again! An we are going to work o' night, we must sleep while we may."

It was times like this that Rod was glad Beaubras wore black armor and rode a black horse. The lowland lay still and dark; even an overcast obligingly hid the moon. But high above them, the keep of High Dudgeon glittered with late light. Snatches of song and laughter drifted down to them.

"Even their laughter sounds nasty," Rod muttered.

"None can rejoice with a light heart in such a place," Modwis agreed. "They must ever be probing to discern at whom they may sneer, and to whom they must bow— ever, for this ranking may change at any moment."

" 'Tis at Lady Aggravated whim," Sir Beaubras agreed. "Who shall be Queen of the Hill an she is overthrown?"

"Let's try the experiment, shall we?" Rod said. "As soon as we can get up there. Let's see, now—where is the base of that crack in the cliff?"

"Off to your right, Rod, and around the bend of the rock face," Fess answered. "My light amplification is boosted to maximum, but the contrast is causing difficulties." Rod sighed. "Ah, wouldn't it be nice if we could see sentries in the dark." Beaubras gave him a peculiar look, but Fess answered, "I have activated my infrared receptors, too, Rod. At this moment, there are only traces of small animals."

"Around this way," Rod instructed the knight. "It winds down around the corner.''

It wasn't exactly a crevasse, but it was certainly wider than a man, spiraling down the cliff face and into the ground, its shadows darker than the granite.

"Canst thou not give us light, wizard?" Beaubras hissed. Rod glanced up. The castle walls blended into the rock without the slightest trace of an overhang, but they were only thirty feet away, and the chances of a sentry looking straight down from the battlements were small. "It's worth the risk." Rod drew his dagger, twisted the pommel, and pointed it at the crack. Nothing happened.

"Why dost thou wait?"

"I'd, uh, like to be a lot closer before I show a light," Rod improvised, wondering frantically what had gone wrong. He was sure he had recharged the batteries.

Batteries.

He was in a magical realm, and batteries weren't magic. They didn't work here. However, his own magic did. He cupped a palm and frowned at it, imagining a ball of light in his hand.
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The fox fire glowed to life.

Modwis caught his breath, and Beaubras murmured in wonder, "Thou art a wizard."

"More than I know, apparently." Rod turned the will-o'-the-wisp toward the crack, cupping his other hand behind it to keep the back-glow from dazzling his eyes.

He wondered why Fess made no comment. Ordinarily, any new phenomenon was enough to send the robot into a tizzy. But the great black horse only paced slowly toward the gouge in the rock, and Rod thrust the ball of light in, looking about.

The crack was about three feet wide, and perhaps ten feet deep.

"That's why the builders didn't worry," Rod murmured. "It doesn't go deep enough to weaken the support."

" Tis not a knight's view," Beaubras pointed out.

"No." But Rod was peering downward, his attention caught by the lower depths. "I, uh, don't see any bottom here…"

Fess looked down, too, opening his mouth. A bat suddenly fell spinning down the shaft, its ears dazzled by the supersonic the robot had just emitted. "Sonar indicates bottom at fifty feet, Rod."

"Don't the riverboat captains wish they'd had you," Rod muttered. To Beaubras, he said, "It goes down for another fifty feet. Think the face is rough enough to climb?" The knight, with a full load of armor, looked up into the gloom, frowning.

"There is a stairway," Modwis rumbled.

Rod looked—and, sure enough, what he had mistaken for natural irregularities were indeed a set of rough-hewn, uneven steps. He felt his scalp prickle. "What is this, an invitation to dinner?" He wondered who was supposed to be the main course.

But Beaubras shook his head, smiling again. "Nay, Lord Gallowglass. 'Tis the postern gate. No knight would build a castle that had only one door.''

Rod relaxed a little. "But if the castle-builder knew about it, it will be strongly defended." f'Aye, yet only with such wards as he could render harmless—and what one man can knit, another can unravel. My misgivings are answered; it is naught that valor and courage cannot meet." He swung down from his horse and clanked toward the cliff. "Come, gentles! Let us walk!" Rod stared. Then he glanced back at the knight's horse, jumped down, and caught up with Beaubras.

"Aren't you going to tether your mount?"

"Nay. He will hide himself, and come at my whistle."

Talk about training.

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Beaubras smiled. "Wherefore dost thou not tether thy beast, Lord Gallowglass?"

"Oh, he'll, uh, come at my whistle, too." Rod took time for a quick glance back at Fess.

"I shall, Rod," the robot assured him, "and the portcullis cannot keep me out. Call at the first indication of need."

"Thanks, Old Iron." Rod turned back to Beaubras with a grin, just as Modwis caught up. "Shall we go?" They stepped onto the rock face, lit by Rod's will-o'-the wisp. He tried to ignore the flat denial his stomach was giving him—it felt as though he were trying to walk up the side of the cliff like a fly, stairway or no. His skin crawled at the thought of the fifty-foot drop just an inch away—it might not look all that bad, but it was enough to kill. It would be more than enough, as they climbed higher. "Uh, you might want to look for handholds, gentlemen." He suited the action to the word, finding a narrow cleft with his fingertips. "Just in case."

"In which case, Lord Gallowglass?" Modwis called up.

Black on black, leathery wings and putrid smell, flapping in Rod's face. He swallowed a cry of fright, emitting only a choked yelp as his body swung back, and he clawed frantically at the cliff face. Then it was gone, and he had to haul himself in while his stomach did backflips.

"Thou hadst but to say," Modwis rumbled. "We do comprehend words."

"Well, you know how it is, actions speak louder, and all that." Rod drew a trembling hand across his brow, removed a fine sheen of sweat, and trudged on up, clawing for fingerholds as he went. Then it was all over his face, clutching at his arms and chest, unseen but grasping. The ghost light revealed a vast many-legged monster running toward his eyes. Rod gasped and jerked back. " 'Ware!" Metal hissed behind him, and Beaubras's sword tip probed past his shoulder. Cobwebs gathered in faint traceries on the metal, and the monster jolted, then swung aside. Perspective returned, and the vast obscenity was suddenly reduced to an ordinary spider, though a very large one, the size of Rod's palm. It scuttled away toward the top of its web, but the sword tip slashed through it, and it tumbled into the abyss.

"It was just a spider," Rod said in faint protest.

" 'Twas as deadly as the greatest dragon," Modwis answered. " 'Twas a Death's-Scythe spider, with venom that can fell an ox in a minute."

Rod went limp with aftereffects. Apparently there were a lot of things about Grandfather's kingdom that he hadn't known.

He wondered if Grandfather had.

"We must press on," Beaubras murmured. "Yet 'ware these beasts, Master Gallowglass—if there is one, there may be many."

"Inspiring thought." Rod hoped he'd hidden the quaver in his voice. He pulled himself together and groped on up the stair, holding his fox fire higher.