The warlock insane (28 page)

"What happened to thecastle ofBrume ?"

"Is that what thou didst see?" Geoffrey asked, amazed. "We saw naught but a log house, with a palisade of sharpened stakes."

' 'That was enough for my subconscious to build a horror-show castle," Rod explained. Gwen was riding beside him on a Fess-drawn sleigh, heading south on a winter road, escorted by a self-propelled sled with four children aboard.

Rod asked, "How about the sorcerer, Brume?"

"Ah. He, my husband, was real enough," Gwen said, "though his powers were no more than those of any other warlock of Gramarye. Stronger, yes, but no more numerous."

"Yet he did have henchmen," Geoffrey said darkly, "and queerly clad were they."

"Aye." Cordelia frowned. "They went all in black, even to hiding their faces amidst black scarves, and slashed at thee with swords of strange design, and keen-edged stars which they hurled." Rod recognized the descriptions and nodded. "My mind just didn't see anything draped in black, just as the Oriental theater intended. Less seen, less guilt. Tell me—how many of them did I kill?"

"Only one," Geoffrey said, wooden-faced. "Mama lulled the rest to sleep."

"Where are they?"

"Taken, by a squadron of guards," Gwen assured him.

"Guards? How come there just happened to be…" Then Rod turned to her, understanding dawning.

"They've been following me ever since I went berserk, haven't they?"

"Aye," Gwen admitted, "though somewhat tardily, for we knew thou wouldst not wish to be seen."

"So all the bandits are headed for Tuan's dungeon?"

"Even so, with the squadron of guardsmen who did follow thee."
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"And the sorcerer will wake to find himself bound with silver," said Magnus, "in the midst of a dozen warlocks and witches."

Rod wondered if even that would hold him. "Tell Tuan to make the trial short."

"If he doth feel need of a trial at all. A dozen peasants have cried mercy, and blamed him for their subversion— and Granny Ban did gush forth all her tale when we came upon her, so glad was she to be delivered."

"Yeah, from me." Rod felt guilt weigh him down. "Was she innocent?"

"She was sore affrighted, Papa," Cordelia explained, "yet unhurt." Rod's mouth tightened with chagrin. "Thank Heaven I had a vestige of self-control—Heaven, and Fess. So I scared an innocent old lady half to death?"

"Well, not so innocent as all that," Magnus hedged.

Rod turned, eyes widening. "The stew was drugged?"

"There were vegetables of witch-moss in't," Gwen confirmed, "though there may be truth in her claim that she knew not what they were."

"She had been terrified by men she did speak of as bandits," Geoffrey explained, "foul villains, who did bid her feed thee so, under pain of death!"

"And the one of them," said Magnus, "did come clad in a red robe, with a bald head."

"Brume himself, huh? Well, there's evidence, anyway. So she didn't really want to do it."

"It may be so," Gwen said carefully. "Her neighbors speak well of her, at the least. All do bless her for her cures and midwifing."

"And she did rejoice that thou hadst caught her out," Cordelia added, "so that she had not slain thee."

"What did the bandits do to her?"

"Naught; the Crown's men did take her first, and I misdoubt me an ever a woman was so glad to see a dungeon," said Gwen. "There will be no danger to her now, sin that we have ta'en Brume and his henchmen."

"Been busy, haven't you? Not that I've left you much choice. How about Modwis?"

"He is a true leprechaun," Gregory explained, "who doth dwell in this wood. The King of the Elves bade him watch o'er thee, and he was sore distressed when he woke from his enchanted sleep in Brume's keep, to find thee gone."

"So that's why he seemed to dwindle away." Rod frowned. "What was this reparation you spoke of?

Was his guarding me a sort of punishment?"

"Nay; 'twas a chance to redeem himself. The Wee Folks have laws, too, husband, and Modwis slew a
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man without leave of the Elfin King.''

Rod stared. "Modwis? Sentimental, good-hearted Modwis? What had the man done?" Gwen glanced at the children. "That which we may speak of at another time; yet I think he may have told thee some part of it."

Rod nodded; he remembered Modwis saying something about a damsel, and another wicked sorcerer named Gormlin—but apparently, Gwen didn't want to be specific in front of the children. "So the man he killed was a real villain?"

"Aye," said Gwen. "No elf could truly blame him— yet he had broke their Law."

"So he undertook the dangerous task of escorting a mad warlock, to win his way back from exile. Lord knows he deserved it. Nice to know he was real, if not really as I saw him."

"But where did Modwis get such good information? No, strike that—the elves always do have all the answers, don't they? And you say you found the old lady who sold us the chestnuts?" Gwen said grimly, "We have learned that the Lord Mayor ofRunnymede did go homeward with his wife just before us, and did not see her by the roadside."

"No wonder nobody else started seeing things! Nobody else ate them—except you five; but a witch-moss chestnut wouldn't bother you't"

The children exchanged startled glances and backed their sled off a little. Gwen stilled. "How couldst thou know that?"

"Sheer deduction." Rod felt the heat on his face, and hoped he wasn't blushing. "How did you confirm it?"

"The warlock Toby did track her thoughts, and we did seize her basket. When Gregory did make the chestnuts turn to apricocks, we knew them for what they were." Rod nodded. "What did you do with the old lady?"

"Call her not a lady," Gwen said with asperity, "and her age owed more to skill with paint, than to years. Nay, she doth abide in a dungeon cell, awaiting thy testimony, and judgment."

"So she came by just for us?"

"Solely," Gwen said sourly.

"I never did like special treatment," Rod groused.

"Thou wilt have to abide it, for some time," Cordelia informed him. "Thou hast fearfully abused thy body, Papa."

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you let it get out of balance with your mind," Rod answered.

"Don't worry, though—I'll rest."

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Cordelia and Gwen exchanged looks.

"We rejoice that thy mind, at least, is healed," Gregory intervened. Rod frowned. "Well, don't be too sure of that, son. Once something like this gets into your body, it may never get out. For all I know, I might have a relapse. If I start talking about demons, duck."

"Of demons, at least, thou hast no need to be anxious," Gwen assured him. "Those thou didst see came from the twisted mind of the the sorcerer Brume."

"Give the fellow his due," Geoffrey said. "He is a thought-caster of amazing strength."

"He is a top-notch projective," Rod agreed.

"He did cast into thy mind only the embodiments of the terrors and rages that did fill his soul." Rod nodded. "Just as the monsters I saw were really only projections of my own secret fears." Geoffrey started. "Hast thou so many fears, then, Papa?"

"Oh, yes," Rod said softly. "Oh, yes—though I usually keep them locked away in the dungeons of my mind. It is nice to know that the only reason they were able to get out was that someone fed me the wrong chemical—but that has its bad side, too." Rod winced; the worst of the nausea and headache was gone, but there was still enough left to make him wish for a Dramamine.

"Thou must not be so anxious," Gwen scolded. "Thy bairns and I shall handle thee with such care, thou wilt think thou art made of porcelain."

"Well, if I get too bad, you can always send me back to the Mother Superior," Rod said with a smile.

"Say, why do you suppose she looked so horrified when I told her I'd put in a good word for her with the abbot?"

Gwen smiled, amused. "She did take me aside, and beg me to dissuade thee. She doth fear that the good they do would be sorely diminished an folk did know of them, the more so since the abbot might disagree with them as to the nature of their mission."

"Oh? And just what do they see their mission as being, pray tell?"

"They have taken it upon themselves to aid in keeping all of Gramarye from madness," Gwen explained,

"by discovering the worst of the monsters that do haunt people's nighttimes, and taking action against them."

"What kind of action?"

"Prayers, most often—yet their prayers do seem to be most singularly effective."

"I'll bet they are," Rod said. "A bunch of projectives and telekinetics, focusing their powers on a common goal by means of communal meditation? I'll just bet they're effective!"

"I rejoice that they are, my lord, so that they were able to heal thee."
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Rod looked up at her in astonishment. "You mean it wasn't just an accident that I wandered toward their gates?"

"I can get you a really good deal on favorable accidents," somebody said. Rod looked up, and saw the debonair devil leaning against a tree just ahead of them. Rod smiled. "No, thanks. I can make my own."

Then he made a circle of his forefinger and thumb and let the forefinger shoot out as though he were flicking away a fly.

And the devil disappeared.

The End

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