The warlock insane (15 page)

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They were halfway up when the kobold hit.

It came hopping and leaping down the stair toward them, whooping and giggling with glee, a bat-eared, snub-nosed, fang-toothed obscenity with gorilla's arms and talons for fingers.

" 'Tis a thing of evil!" Beaubras gasped, and his sword snickered out. Rod braced himself to keep from falling back against the knight, fervently reminding himself that anything in here, the lord of the keep must have known a way to guard against !

Then the kobold was on him, all teeth and claws, ripping a huge gash in Rod's cheek, another in his side. Rod cried out as fear flared though him, and the knight's sword thrust past him, skewering the kobold neatly—but it only gibbered and cackled, and clawed up Rod's chest as it strove to reach Beaubras. Anger followed the fright, a searing anger that revealed, in sudden clarity, the impossibility that a member of the elfin kind could be pierced with Cold Iron and not even feel it—and could have claws that could rend but, now that Rod thought of it, brought no pain, nor blood. Suddenly, Rod knew what he was facing, though how it had been made, he couldn't guess.

Beaubras bellowed, slashing, and Rod just barely managed to grab the knight's arm, throwing his own weight back against the cliff, as Beaubras thrust too hard and jolted toward the drop. His weight hauled at Rod, then swung back, while Rod glared at the kobold, willing it away, willing it to appear as it really was…

And a huge moth battered Modwis with its wings, upon which were two great ovals suggesting evil-looking eyes. But only the moth was there; the kobold was gone. With an oath, the dwarf swatted the insect away. It bumbled on down the rock face, bouncing off the cliff, then turned, arrowing back toward the will-o'-the-wisp that floated where Rod had left it.

"I thank thee, Lord Gallowglass," the dwarf gasped, "though how thou didst banish that fell sprite, I know not."

"Easy—it was never really there." Rod took a deep breath to stop his voice from trembling. "Whoever built this castle laid a very thorough illusion-spell on this stair. He knew the counterspell, of course, but no intruder would. Almost did its job, too." '

"It would have," said Beaubras, "hadst thou not been with us."

"And I would be decorating the floor of this shaft now if you hadn't speared that spider for me. Hey, maybe the three of us will make it, after all. Want to take the lead, Modwis? The next monster should be yours."

"By thy leave, I'll decline the honor."

"Yeah, it would be a little tough to squeeze past us on this stair. Next monster ought to be in about another twenty feet, gents, if they keep on coming regularly. All ready?"

"Lead on," Beaubras grunted.

Rod toiled upward, trying to look jaunty.

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But the attack didn't come, and didn't come, and Rod found himself going more and more slowly, sweat running down his sides, waiting and waiting.

Then, suddenly, the sides of the shaft were gone. Hardly able to believe it, Rod stepped out into a large open space. He stepped aside—carefully, but there were no more stairs—to let Beaubras out. The knight stepped up, muttering, and Modwis followed. Rod thought of more light, and the fox fire brightened. He held it up high, turning slowly. The crack of night sky was gone; they were in some kind of cave.

"We made it," Rod whispered, not quite believing it. "We're inside the keep—and nothing else attacked us."

"Not fully inside yet." Modwis pointed.

Light winked off faceted surfaces. Rod stepped closer, frowning, and saw a large oaken door set in the rock wall, fastened with a large, gleaming steel lock.

" 'Tis enchanted 'gainst rust," Beaubras murmured in wonder.

"Makes sense, if they only want to use the key every dozen years or so." Rod frowned though, and stepped closer to investigate—steel made stainless by any means struck a warning note within him. But it wasn't the lock he needed to guard against, for, as he bent down to investigate, something flickered through the light, pain seared his calf, and Modwis shouted, kicking and stabbing at something beside Rod, before the light dimmed, and Rod felt himself tumbling into the shaft, down and down, into darkness.

Rod seemed to have an affinity for dungeons; if there was one around, sooner or later, he'd wind up in it. It was a convenient place for baring the soul, not necessarily his. In this case, he found out where he was after he got the aftertaste out of his mouth. The medicine hit him like a jolt of electricity, wrinkling his tongue with the intensity of its sourness and blowing off the back of his head. He levered himself up far enough to free a hand to feel his scalp, reassuring himself it was still there, and perforce opened his eyes.

He saw Beaubras, unhelmed and anxious, frowning down at him. His face lightened with relief when he saw Rod's eyes. "So, then. Thou'it with us once again."

"So it would seem." Rod wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Pffah! What was that stuff?"

"A restorative potion. The wizard who gave it assured that it would raise me from any wound, no matter how grievous, provided only that I could still swallow."

"But after that, would you really want to? Though I

have to admit, it works like a charm." He frowned. "Wait a minute—it is a charm."
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"It hath restored thee most remarkably," Modwis rumbled.

"All right for you —you didn't have to take it. Wouldn't recommend it, would you, Beaubras?"

"I know not, friend," the knight said with a gentle smile. "I ha' ne'er tasted it."

"What!" Rod stared, appalled. "Your only dose of a magic restorative, and you gave it to me? What's going to happen when you're really badly hurt?"

"I will mend," the knight assured him. "I will ever have mine amulet."

"Oh, yes—the Astounding Amulet of Ambrosius." Beaubras wore a magic pendant that could turn into whatever charm he needed, to get him out of any bind that Grandfather had put him in. It had been Rory's standard deus ex machina , which Rod had always regarded with amused tolerance, once he had been taught about such things. All of a sudden, it didn't seem so lame an excuse, after all. Still, Rod felt like a robber. He opened his mouth to protest again, but Modwis laid a hand on his arm.

"Let it rest, Lord Gallowglass."

Rod locked gazes with him, and realized just how ungracious he was being. "I thank you deeply, Sir Knight," he said. "I stand in your debt."

"Then help me to rescue my lady," Beaubras enjoined him. Rod looked up, managing a crooked smile. Then he frowned around at the gloom, relieved only by the yellow glow coming in through the grille in the door. "We don't seem to have come up in the world."

"Not so," Beaubras assured him. "We have come into the keep. Our friend Modwis hath something of a gift with

Cold Iron and its intricacies, and hath managed most wondrously with the lock."

" 'Twas a gross old thing." There was too little light to tell, but Rod would have been willing to bet Modwis was flushed with pleasure at the compliment. " 'Twas quick enough work to turn it. In truth, the rust did withhold me longer than the mechanism."

Rod nodded slowly. "Very good, Master Modwis. Then the two of you hauled me in here, I take it?"

"The knight slew the serpent first," the dwarf rumbled.

Rod had a brief vision of a bisected carcass, and wondered whether it had been Beaubras's sword or his iron boot. "So. At least we're inside."

"Aye," said Modwis, "and with none the wiser, so far as we know."

"We have but to find the stair, and climb up to the hall," Beaubras assured him.

"Oh, is that all?" Rod levered himself to his feet cautiously, but was amazed to find not the slightest trace of headache or dizziness. "Say, that potion worked like magic!"
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"What else?" Modwis murmured.

"Poor choice of phrase," Rod admitted.

"Here is a better," Beaubras offered. " 'Onward and upward!' "

"I think I've heard that somewhere before—but never mind. Which way is up?"

"Well asked," Beaubras admitted. "There is naught but a barren hallway which doth stretch out before us."

"You can see that much?" Rod peered into the darkness. "You've got better eyes than I have!"

"Nay—I went forth to scout, whiles the knight did tend thee," Modwis explained. " 'Tis naught but a narrow hall of stone blocks, with another door at its end."

"Another door?"

"Aye. Who can say where it doth lead?"

"We can, as soon as we've gone through it. Think you can handle the lock on this one, too?" Modwis grinned. "Can an otter catch fish?"

"So I hear, though whenever they see me coming, they just play around."

"Then let us disport ourselves," Beaubras urged.

Modwis turned and strode to the door. He laid his palm over the keyhole, frowned in concentration, then muttered something under his breath and rotated his hand a quarter of an inch. The lock groaned like a ghost in mourning, then made a crack like a breaking stick. Modwis grinned and pulled the door open. He stepped aside and bowed them in. "Gentles, will you enter?"

"Don't mind if I do." Rod hurried to jump through the door ahead of Beaubras, expecting a booby trap. The steel-bound log slammed down directly behind him.

Beaubras stopped, staring in surprise.

"Nay," Modwis said, "they warded well."

"Nice to be right about something now and then." Rod stooped to haul up the log, then frowned. "No, wait a minute. It's easier to climb over it, isn't it?"

"It is, in truth." Beaubras swung a leg over the log. "What is this gin, Lord Gallowglass?"

"We call it a 'deadfall,' where I come from."

"Aptly named," Beaubras judged. "Hadst thou not brought it down, I would have fallen dead indeed, beneath its weight."

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Rod had his doubts about that. There were things that could kill Beaubras, but a foot-thick log wasn't one of them.

On the other hand, Rod wasn't Beaubras, was he? Nice to know that the knight's apprehensions, at least, were normal.

Modwis vaulted over the log and trudged ahead. "Thy light, milord?"

"Huh? Oh!" Rod looked back at the fox fire and whistled. It rose into the air and bobbed over to him. Modwis stared at it for a moment. Then he said, "Yes," and cleared his throat. "Shall we climb?"

"By all means."

The dwarf started up the stairs, calling back over his shoulder, " 'Ware, gentlemen. An there be one trap, there may indeed be others."

But there were no more traps. Small wonder; the stairs were almost enough to finish Rod off by themselves. By the time he came to the top, he was panting and dragging feet that felt like lead—but Beaubras plodded steadily upward, not even noticing the extra hundred pounds in steel plate he was carrying. "Talk about fantasy," Rod muttered.

"What sayest thou, Lord Gallowglass?"

"Nothing worth hearing." Rod leaned against the stairhead and wheezed. "How… about this door…

Modwis?"

"We shall see." The dwarf stepped up and set his palm over the keyhole. He frowned, then shook his head. " 'Tis strange."

"What?" Rod was instantly on his guard. "Is it rigged?"

"There is naught linked to it, no. Yet there is no warding magic, either. I should have thought there would have been."

"Overconfidence?" Rod said, but he felt uneasy.

"There was magic enough in the cleft below," Beaubras pointed out. "I misdoubt me an the builder looked for any to come so far as we have, gentles."

"Good point," Rod admitted. "Who knows? Maybe this door is here to keep people /«."

"There is that," Modwis admitted. Then the lock groaned, and the door swung open. Candlelight assaulted their eyes, seeming as bright as noon on a chalk cliff after the glow of the will-o'-the-wisp. Music and laughter swirled about them, punctuated by voices in sneering badinage. Rod squinted against the light and made out a multitude of forms, gaily dressed in rich apparel, milling about a huge open space. Distant walls hung with glorious tapestries, lit by sconces and chandeliers. "We did it," he said, half to himself. "We actually made it. Gentlemen, we're in the Great Hall!"
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Then the draft blew his way, and he nearly keeled over from the thickness of the incense. It smelled as though the Buddhists and the Catholics were having a contest to see which of them was in better aroma with God. In his weakened condition, it hit him like a padded hammer. His eyes glazed and his knees buckled.

The steel chest of Beaubras held him up, and the knight murmured, "Courage, Lord Gallowglass. We must face whatever horrors the Lady Aggravate can conjure."

"I'll—adjust." Rod gasped. "I just hadn't expected the keep to be so odorous."

"Yet surely thou thyself did say that they who dwell in High Dudgeon are always incensed!"

"Yes, but I hadn't quite registered the notion emotionally. I'll manage." Rod pulled himself together and stood forth.

Actually, he stood second—Modwis had managed to push past him, so he was first in line when the guards attacked.

They seemed to materialize from each side of the portal, shouting and stabbing with pikes and halberds. Modwis's iron club whirled out, blocking desperately, and Beaubras shouldered past Rod, drawing his sword. Fear stabbed harder than the halberds, with anger right behind it; the adrenaline tightened Rod's sinews and pulled him back into fighting trim. He drew his own sword and plunged into the melee, hacking and slashing, but the only heads he managed to chop off were spear points. Beaubras's sword was a blur, and guardsmen fell back from his blade; their broken weapons littered the floor, and the circle around the companions widened as the guards retreated, step by step. Rod bellowed with joy and followed the knight, hewing mightily, with the fleeting hope that all he was really doing was stacking up kindling for the rest of the winter.