The Warlock Insane

by Christopher Stasheff

  "Lord Gallowglass!" Modwis cried, and Rod looked up through the flame to see the ogre shrink and diminish, becoming Brume again. Behind him, only four bandits stood, and they were looking distinctly nervous.

  " Tis naught but illusion!" Brume shouted with contempt. "Walk boldly, and thou shalt not even feel the heat!"

  The bandits muttered to one another. They didn't look convinced.

  "See! I shall go to root out this vile warlock!" Brume called, and marched boldly into the flames.

  He made it through, all right, but he came out howling, beating at his burning robe. His men stared; then they turned tail and ran.

  But they skidded to a halt as they hit the treeline, then backed up slowly, their arms out and away from their sides—for a singing sword whipped figure eights in the air before them, and a firebrand and a ball of lightning drifted out of the wood on their flanks.

  Not that Rod saw any of that—he and Modwis were too busy beating out the flames on Brume's robe. When they had it down to a smolder, Rod looked up at the steeple— and, sure enough, the Mother Superior stood there, face stony, staring at the fire. Rod felt his stomach sink; apparently these nuns had something in common with the monks of Saint Vidicon, after all.

  Then Brume snarled and lashed out at him.

  Rod fell back, startled, but Brume scrambled up and thrust with his sword. Rod managed to bring his own blade up in time to parry—but just as he did, Modwis struck, and Brume's thrust went wide as he pitched forward. Rod rolled to the side, and the sorcerer landed, out cold.

  Rod knelt over him, staring, panting, unbelieving.

  Modwis, much more practically, unwound a coil of rope from his belt and started tying Brume up.

  "He's—he's a psi," Rod croaked. "The rope—won't do much good when he wakes up."

  "He shall not waken."

  Rod looked up, startled, to see his wife standing over them.

  "Thou hast done well," she said to the leprechaun. "I cannot give thee sufficient thanks."

  "The knowledge that I have aided thee and thine husband, lady, is thanks enough," Modwis muttered, clearly awed.

  "Yet we stand in thy debt," Gwen insisted, "and the enchantment that bound thee is broke now, is't not?"

  "It is," Modwis confirmed. "I have, at least, made reparation."

  "And brought down another villain betime." Gwen turned—just as the countess came in over the scorched threshold accompanied by Cordelia and Gregory, and Mother Paterna Testa approached from the chapel.

  First things first. "What of the bandits?" Gwen demanded.

  "They sleep, Mama," Cordelia assured her, "and will not waken, whiles Geoffrey doth guard them."

  "They had best not." Gwen's tone hinted at mayhem. "He doth know better than to let one awaken for sport, doth he not?"

  "Aye!" came a voice from the other side of the wall, clearly disappointed.

  The countess stared. "What manner of dame art thou, that hast the ordering of such terrors?"

  "Their mother," Gwen said shortly.

  "And my wife," Rod said, senselessly proud. He turned to the other Mother present. "I take it you and your sisters know a little bit more about magic than you led me to believe."

  "We are healers," Mother Paterna Testa said noncom-mittally, "and where there's power to heal, there's power to harm." With that, she knelt, lifted Brume's head, and poured the contents of a vial down his throat.

  "Do not wake him!" Modwis cried, alarmed.

  "I do not." The nun stood again. "The draught I've given will assure his sleep for a day and a night, at the least." She looked up at Gwen. "How didst thou come to be near when we had need of thee, lady?"

  "We had finished some business my husband bade us see to, in Runnymede," Gwen answered, "and mine eldest did cry for aid. We came quickly."

  "Aye, thou didst that!" said the Countess. "And I cannot thank thee enough, lady, for loosing me from that stake!"

  "Thou hast aided these good sisters, who did aid mine husband," Gwen returned. "An we could do more for thee, we would." She turned to the nuns. "And for thee, sisters."

  "We are glad to aid," said Mother Paterna Testa, but she turned to Rod with a frown. "Yet we bade thee rest."

  Rod shook his head. "I couldn't see an innocent lady burned for my sake."

  "Yet thou shouldst not have been able to lift thy sword," said the nun, "for the loss of blood, and need of rest. How hast thou raised thyself to fight?''

  "Sheer adrenaline," Rod answered, but even as he said it, he realized it had ebbed. His weakness suddenly hit him redoubled, and the lights went out again.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Remarkably, Rod's head felt totally clear, so clear that he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed how muzzy it had felt.

  "What happened to the castle of Brume?"

  "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."

  "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 h
ad 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 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 of Runnymede 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."

  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."

  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