The Warlock Insane

Chapter Five

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 that?"

"It did not have the sound of an animal," Fess answered.

"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!"

"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 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 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."

"Well, whoever did it, I don't think he had my good in mind."

"Yet perchance did have ours. Yet I think it may be that he who laid the snares for me laid another sort for thee."

"I'm limed, then. Have any particular trapper in mind?"

"Aye." Modwis looked grim. "He dwells to the east, in a ruined castle perched high on a crag, and all the countryside about him abides in corruption and putrefaction. Vultures are his nightingales, and carrion jackals his dogs."

"Sounds like a real charmer. Does this nice guy have a name?"

"Gormlin is he called, though few dare say his name openly." Modwis glowered off to the east. "Yet I do, for I'm sworn to find his bane! Gormlin, an thou canst hear, do thy worst! For I'll yet find a means of bringing thy foul castle down on thy head!"

Modwis was silent, taut, as though expecting an answer. Rod found that he was, too, and shifted in his seat just to break the mood. "Any, uh, particular reason why you've got it in for him? Or do you just have an obsession about destroying evil?"

"There is that, but there is the other, too," Modwis growled. "There was a maiden, Rod Gallowglass, and though there was no chance that she might smile upon me, yet I ached to do all that I might to bring her happiness."

"And she was stolen away by Brume?"

"Aye, and none know her fate. I will tear that castle down stone by stone if I must, I shall free her or learn of her death! That, though it take all my life!"

"Valiantly said," Rod said softly. "Can I help?"

" 'Tis not thy coil, Rod Gallowglass."

"Maybe not," Rod said slowly, "but weren't you working your way up to telling me Gormlin might have been the one who brought me here?"

Modwis was silent.

"Or that someone else might have brought me here, to fight him?"

Reluctantly, Modwis nodded.

"So," Rod said, "if he brought me here, I have to persuade him to send me back, somehow—and if he didn't, the wizard who did might let me go when I've done what he brought me here for."

"Mayhap," Modwis said, "and 'mayhap' again and again, and thrice more. I can promise thee naught, Rod Gallowglass."

"That's okay—I can't, either." Rod shrugged. "Either way, sounds like a good way to see the country. Let's go."

Modwis whirled to stare at him, thunderstruck. "Art thou mad?"

"Frankly—yes."

"Assuredly, thou must needs be, an thou wilt speak so easily of marching down the throat of the dragon! How dost thou think to come alive to his walls?"

"I'll have to develop a plan of attack when I've seen his castle. As to getting there, well—I have this hobby, you see…"

"Summat to do with enchanted horses that can break ensorcelled silver?"

"Oh, you noticed Fess isn't the average stallion, eh? Yes, I had something like that in mind—he and I have a few weapons we're too modest to show. And some of mine never show at all—only their effects."

Modwis stared directly into his eyes. "Dost say thou art a sorcerer?"

"No, an esper. It isn't magic, but it sure looks like it."

"How doth it differ?"

"Well," Rod said, "I don't get my magic from evil."

"From God, then?"

Rod shrugged. "It's a talent I was born with. In itself, it's neither good nor bad."

" Tis in how thou dost use it, then?"

Rod nodded. "And for what purpose. Yes."

"And thou hast ne'er met one who could best thee, eh?" Modwis's voice was flat with sarcasm.

"I'm still alive, aren't I?"

Modwis turned thoughtful. "There is that."

"It's my most convincing argument. So what do you say? Feel like giving me a tour of the road to the east?"

Modwis grinned like a shark. "Aye, and right gladly! If we die, we die!"

"It wasn't really on my agenda—but if we have to go, do you suppose we could go with full stomachs? It's been a while since I ate."

"I have a small house, not far from here." Modwis turned back toward Fess's head. "Mystical horse, set forth! Turn to the south on this next branch of the trail, and we will come to a warm stable, and sweet hay!"

Fess dutifully took the next southward fork. After all, one had to keep up appearances.