The warlock insane (8 page)

"They conquered," Rod said, remembering, "but their own lands were devastated in the process, for Dardinel and Constantine fought like demons, to protect fair Lucina."

"Aye, and though they died, they sold their lives dearly. Agramant and Rodomont held dominion, but then began to vie for power.''

"And their armies were too weak to both guard their castles and maintain law and order—and there were many, many soldiers who had fled defeat, and were desperate for food and shelter. So banditry became rife."

"Then the contest of diplomacy failed, for Rodomont thought himself strong enough to conquer Agramant."

"But he was wrong."

"Aye; they were evenly matched, and tore one another to bits. Thus the Golden Age ended, and the Four Kingdoms sank into the barbarism from which they had risen." Rod sighed, gazing off into space, his head ringing with the shouting and cries of great battles, with the thunder of hooves and the clash of weapons. He was shocked to feel tears in his eyes. "Can it not live again, Grandfather?"

"Aye—every time we tell its tale. I have begun it for you this time, my grandson. You are now on the verge of its greatest of days, for the knight Beaubras has but now set forth on his quest, and the Rainbow
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Crystal is yet to be found."

"Yet to be found?" Rod whirled, eyes widening. "But that means that Ordale hasn't come forth to show him the Faerie World yet—andOlympia still waits at the crest ofMount Stehr ! It's all still to come—the glory, the wonder, the enchantment!"

"Aye, all yet to come." The old man nodded, his eyes aglow. "And we have talked away the night, my grandson, and the east is burgeoning with the sun. The hour is come when poor, tenuous ghosts, wandering here and there, must troop home to churchyards."

"No!" Rod cried in a panic. "Don't go! We have so much still to talk about!"

"All that truly matters has been said." The count had risen and was backing away. "The history of Granclarte, and the good it sought to bring."

"But I need you! I can't be without you!"

"Nor will you be." Mist was rising from the clearing, all about the old man. "I am within your heart and your mind, Rodney—you cannot be without me. None can take me from you."

"But what of Granclarte?" Rod cried. "How will it endure without you?"

"Through you, mine heir. I bequeath it to you, root, stock, and branch. Let it rise again, Rodney. Let it grow, let it ever grow." And his voice was fading now, as his outline softened and his substance blurred into the mist, suffused with the golden light of dawn. "The night has gone, and the day comes—your day, my grandson, and your realm now. Live in it; fare well in it.

"Farewell…"

Rod stood, petrified, scalp prickling, seeing the ghost diffuse and fade, hearing his voice dwindle, speaking again, but so softly that it might have been the cry of a distant songbird: "Farewell…" Then it was the cry of a bird, far away, calling, summoning…

Rod turned away from the clearing in the glory of the newly risen sun and plodded back through the forest, his heart leaden, but his soul exalted.

"He was there, Fess," he said softly. "He was really there."

"So I judged, from the words I heard you say, Rod," the great black horse answered. "It is inspiring." But he didn't sound joyous. Rod frowned, peering closely, then understood, with a surge of sympathy.

"Hard on you, isn't it, Old Heart, to be reminded of your former master?"

"Robots do not grieve, Rod."

"Nor computers delight. Sure." Rod swung up into the saddle again. "But how could the time pass so quickly all of a sudden?"

"It did not really, Rod. The passage of time was no faster than in the evening."
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"It just felt like it." Rod shook his head. "Well, then, I'm safe in a way, Fess. I'm in Granclarte."

"Yes, Rod, safe in many ways—but remember the perils the good knight confronted."

"How could I forget them?" Rod replied. "But how did I come to be here, Fess? Why did I go crazy so suddenly?"

"I have given you my best answer," the robot said softly. "You must find your own now."

"I think I have." Rod nodded. "Yes, I think I have."

"In your grandfather's stories?" The robot sounded surprised.

"Yes. After all, it makes sense, doesn't it? The knight Beaubras, I mean. He's just beginning his quest now. He must have sent for me, must have called me here. There must be some way in which I can help him."

The robot was quiet for a second, evaluating the statement. Then it said, "Beaubras rode alone, Rod."

"Yes, but there were mighty deeds wrought by other knights in other places, and their accomplishments helped him find the Rainbow Crystal, Fess. Maybe he needed one more." Rod's eyes glittered. "Just think—somewhere in this magic land, the knight Beaubras is riding his good steed Balincet, right this minute!"

Fess was silent, weighing, planning for contingencies.

Lucidity pierced for a gritty moment. "Fess—I'm really far gone in delusion, aren't I?"

"There is always a way back, Rod," the robot said quietly.

"Yes." Rod nodded. "Yes, there is, isn't there?" He turned the horse's head toward the east. "And if it's always there, then it won't matter if we go a little farther in before we turn back out. Right, Fess? Yes, of course right. We'll give it a chance to wear off, at least. Shall we go?"

Dawn turned the winter forest into an enchanted realm of crystal trunks with glittering branches, a cathedral of ice carpeted with fleece.

"But then, it is an enchanted realm," Rod mused. "This is Granclarte." Fess maintained silence.

"Ow-w-w-w-w-oo!"

Rod reined in, startled. "What the hell was thatV

"It did not have the sound of an animal," Fess answered.
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"Then it's a man in trouble." Rod turned Fess's head toward the sound. It came again, and Rod shivered.

"If it's a man, he's more angry than hurt."

"Howling in rage?" Fess asked.

He was, and he was a man. But Rod stopped in amazement, because he was one of the few dwarfs Rod had ever seen in Gramarye, besides Brom O'Berin.

And Brom was half elven…

The dwarf glowered up at him. "Am I so rare a sight, then, that thou must needs stare at me?"

"Frankly, yes." Rod backpedaled quickly, trying to find a way to cover his rudeness. "Sorry. I'm Rod Gallowglass."

He waited for the reaction, but there wasn't any, other than a sardonic, "And I am Modwis the Smith. Now that we are met, wilt thou cease to gawk?"

"Sorry. It's just that you don't usually see people caught in their own traps."

" Tis not mine, dolt! Would a dwarf lay a trap like to this?"

"Like what?" Rod leaned forward, peering. "I can't even see what that thing is, much less how to undo it."

" 'Tis but a forester's snare, like any other." The dwarf leaned against a nearby tree trunk, lifting his right foot. A length of glitter stretched up from the snow to his ankle. "Yet 'tis laid with a silver chain, and mine efforts to part it have yielded naught. Were it Cold Iron, I'd have broke its links with scarce a thought—but over silver, I've no power."

Rod frowned: Brom alone, of the elf-folk, could handle Cold Iron with impunity—but he could work silver and gold, too.

"You are in Granclarte, Rod, not Gramarye." Fess might have read his thoughts. Rod lifted his head—that made sense. "Well, silver can't stand against steel." He dismounted and stepped over to Modwis.

"What dost thou mean to do!" the dwarf cried with alarm.

"Cut the chain off your ankle. Be careful, now."

"I'll not stir." The dwarf held his leg rock-steady, eyeing Rod strangely. Obviously, Modwis hadn't expected help. It made Rod wonder about his relations with other people. For that matter, why was the dwarf out here, alone, in the forest?

Not that it was any of Rod's business. He slipped the point of his dagger through a link, then twisted. The link bulged, thinned, then parted, and the chain fell off the dwarfs leg. He put his foot down with a sigh of relief. "A blessing on thee, now, for timely aid!"
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"My pleasure." Rod rose, sheathing his dagger and sizing up his new acquaintance. Modwis was about three feet tall, broad in the shoulder, chest, and hips. He had arms as thick as Rod's thighs, and thighs as thick as tree trunks. His long hair fell loose to his shoulders; it and his beard were ginger, sprinkled with gray. He wore buff-colored leggings, green boots and tunic, a red cloak, and a red cap with a fur brim. He carried a dagger the size of a short sword, with elaborate carving on the hilt and scabbard. He returned Rod's gaze with a frank stare, up and down.

Rod took the hint. "Who would set a silver snare?"

"One who wished to catch elf-folk, belike."

"Guess so… Hey !" Rod felt something clutch at his own ankle.

"What moves?"

"Something under the snow." Rod kicked out—and his leg jolted to a halt. A length of silver stretched up from the frost. "You didn't tell me there were more of them!"

"In truth, I did not know." Modwis caught up a broken branch, stepped toward Rod—and fell flat on his face. " 'Ware!"

"Don't worry, I will." Rod reached down to take Modwis's arm—and silver links shot round his wrist, pulling taut. "Not wary enough! Quick, get up—before they tie you down." Modwis was scrabbling, trying to push himself up—but silver chains held down his forearms. "I cannot!"

"Why didn't you tell me—no, strike that. You weren't foolish enough to go reaching down, were you?"

"Nay, though I came near to falling when first the chain pulled at me. Nay ! Forfend!" More chains were snaking out of the snow to wrap around his chest and torso. Rod sliced the links holding his wrist, then severed the chain around his own ankle. "Well, Cold Iron works against them…"

"But thou canst not cut them more quickly than they rise against me! Nay, leave me! Save thyself!"

"I, uh, don't think that'll be necessary." Rod turned to his mount. "Fess?"

"Yes, Rod—my hooves are of steel." The horse strode into the patch of writhing chains. Silver strings snaked around his fetlocks—and parted, as the robot's strength snapped their links. He trampled carefully around Modwis's torso, one hoof to either side, standing over him. "Tell the gentleman to grasp the cinch."

"That's right, he can't hear you. Yo, Modwis! Reach up and grab the horse's belly band! That'll get your upper body out of range, at least."

Modwis lunged, and caught the strap under Fess's belly. "Yet what of my legs?"

"Oh, he's very precise." Rod watched as Fess kicked through the chains beside Modwis's hip and right
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side. "Now! Get your right leg up!"

Modwis kicked high, and Fess scythed the chains along his left. "Get ready—and hold tight !" Fess leaped away into the trees, Modwis hanging on for dear life. The horse landed, and Modwis scrambled free. "I thank thee, good folk!"

"Up!" Rod called. "Into the saddle! If there're any more near you…" But Modwis was already in the air, landing in the saddle in one clean bound. Fess turned back, and Modwis wrapped one hand in his mane, reaching out with the other. As they swept past, Rod caught Modwis's forearm and swung up behind him, onto Fess's rump. The horse cleared the patch of snares and slowed, turning back toward the glitter of broken links as he stopped.

"Nay, fear not," Modwis rumbled. "We are clear of them, and they cannot follow."

"Still," Rod said, "we can't be sure. Better make tracks, Steel Stud."

"Rod, you should not refer to biological impossibilities…"

"Okay, Manganese Mule! Just go!"

"Well, if you insist on being rude about it," Fess huffed, but he turned and trotted away down the trail. Modwis turned his head to look back at Rod. "I ken not who thou art, Rod Gallowglass, but thou art most assuredly well met. I thank thee, mortal, and thine horse."

"Always glad to help a fellow being in distress." Interesting that he wasn't known here, Rod thought—a relief, in a way. "Just return the favor to the next person in trouble you meet—if you can be sure it's not a scam. What were you doing out in the forest, anyway?"

"Gathering hazel branches, to make charcoal for mine forge. And thou?" Rod squirmed uncomfortably. "Deserting, I suppose you could say. Who do you think set those snares?"

"I've little doubt," Modwis returned. "It must needs be a sorcerer, for who else could hold sway over silver, to make it strike like a snake?"

Rod nodded. "Makes sense. I was kinda hoping chains didn't behave like that by themselves here."

"Here?" Modwis frowned. "Whence comest thou, mortal?"

"From another world," Rod explained. "It happens, now and then."

•

"An thou sayest it, I'll believe thee." But the frown deepened. "How didst thou come to Granclarte?"

"By magic—and not entirely reluctantly, I'll admit."

At that Modwis smiled. "Nay, surely—for who'd not wish to sojourn in Granclarte, an he could? Yet
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whom didst thou desert?"

"My wife and children," Rod answered honestly. "I've gone a little crazy, see, and I never know when I'm gonna turn mean—so I took myself off where I couldn't hurt them. Which is by way of serving you warning, too."

"Well, I am warned." The frown settled back into place. "And 'tis this madness which hath brought thee hither?"

Rod nodded.

"Then must I bless it, for thy coming was timely for me—yet I'd fain return thee to thy wife and babes. Assuming thou dost wish it." Modwis scowled. "Dost thou?" The question took Rod by surprise. He suppressed the natural assent, unsure whether it was genuine or conditioned. Instead, he pursed his lips, stared up at the forest canopy, and searched his feelings. "I do," he said slowly, "but I must admit I wouldn't mind taking my time about it." Modwis rumbled; Rod assumed it was amusement, but he couldn't tell through the whiskers. Either amusement or a nervous stomach. "Then let us seek a means of returning thee, for 'tis like to take long enough in the finding. Was the magic that brought thee here good or ill? There lies the nubbin."