Tuan smiled with irony as heavy as the rusty chains on his body, and lifted a hand in greeting, chain jangling with the movement. "Welcome."
Rod turned his eyes away, looking about him. The old Duke sat against the next wall, chained beside his son. "Cold welcome, RodGallowglass," the old lord mumbled, face heavy and brooding. "It is scant safety your serving-man has brought me to."
Treachery! Rod should have known better than to trust Tom. "Big Tom, you… !"
"Here, master."
Rod looked, turning; Big Tom sat against the far wall, chained like the rest of them.
Tom smiled sadly, bent a reproachful, bloodhound-eyed look on his master. "I had thought you would free us, master. Yet here art thou, chained one amongst us."
Rod scowled, looked down at his wrist, A rusty, thick iron band circled it. It had mates on his ankle and other wrist.
He looked up at Tom, smiled, and raised his hand, giving the chain a shake. "Ever hear tell that stone walls don't make a prison?"
"Who spoke those words was a fool," said Tom bitterly, from the shadows.
Rod lifted his eyes to the small, barred window set high in the wall. It was the only light in the room, a chamber perhaps ten feet wide by fifteen long, with a ten foot high ceiling, all moss-grown, rotting stone, floored with moldering straw.
The only decoration was a skeleton, held together by mummified ligament, chained to the wall like themselves.
Rod eyed the silent partner warily. "Not such great housekeepers, are they? They could at least have lugged the bones into the nether room."
He turned to the window again. "Fess," he mumbled, low enough so the others couldn't make out the words. "Fess, where are you?"
"In the most filthy, broken-down stable I've ever seen," the robot answered, "along with five of the sorriest nags outside of a glue factory. I think we're supposed to be the cavalry of the House of Clovis, Rod."
Rod chuckled softly. "Any mice with large green eyes running around, Fess?"
"No, Rod, but there is a wren perched on my head."
Rod grinned. "Ask her if she has any power over cold iron."
"How am I to speak with her, Rod?"
"Broadcast on human thought-wave frequency, of course! She's a telepath, you idiot savant!"
"Rod, I strongly resent the derogatory connotions of references to my abilities in areas in which I am not programmed to—"
"All right, all right, I'm sorry, I repent! You're a genius, a prodigy, an Einstein, an Urth! Just ask her, will you?"
There was a pause; then Rod heard a faint series of chirpings in the background.
"What's the chirping, Fess?"
"Gwendylon, Rod. She reacted significantly to the novel experience of telepathy with a horse."
"You mean she almost fell off her perch. But did she say anything?"
"Of course, Rod. She says that now she is certain you're a warlock."
Rod groaned and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "Look, get her back to business, will you? Can she get us out of these chains and cut the bars on our window?"
There was another pause; then Fess answered, "She says she has no power over cold iron, Rod, nor has any witch or elf that she knows. She suggests a blacksmith, but fears it is impractical."
"Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus… Well, tell her I' in glad she hasn't lost her sense of humor. And ask her how the hell she's going to get us out of here!"
" She says there is no need for hard language, Rod."
"You didn't have to transmit me literally, you bumblebrain!"
"And she thinks that the Prince of the Elves may be able to free you. She thinks he will come, but he is some short distance away, so it may be a while."
"I thought she said elves couldn't handle cold iron!"
There was another pause; then Fess said, "She says that the Prince of the Elves is not quite an elf, Rod, being but half of the Old Blood."
"Only half… Wait a minute!" Rod scowled. "You mean he's a half-breed between elf and mortal?"
"Precisely, Rod."
Rod tried to imagine how an eighteen-inch elf and a six-foot mortal could have a child; his brain reeled.
"She departs now, Rod, to summon him, and will return as quickly as she may, but will be a while. She bids you be of stout heart."
"If my heart were any stouter, it'd be positively obese! Give her my… No, just tell her I thank her, Fess."
He seemed to hear a faint sigh behind his ear, and the robot said, with a touch of resignation, "I'll tell her, Rod."
"Thanks, Fess. Stay lively."
Rod turned back to his prison. The Loguires were both plastered against the wall, looking at him strangely.
"He speaks to thin air," murmured Tuan. "Certes, the man is possessed!"
"Seems to me I've heard that before," Rod mused, "and the air in here is anything but thin."
"Still," muttered Loguire, " 'tis the act of one crazed!"
Big Tom rumbled a laugh. "Not so, my lords. This man speaks with spirits."
Rod smiled bleakly. "How come so cheerful all of a sudden, Big Tom?"
The big man stretched, chains clashing. "I had thought for a moment they had beaten you, master. Now I know 'twas fool thinking."
"Don't be so sure, Tom. Cold iron is a tough spell to break."
"Nay, master." Tom's eyelids drooped lazily. "Thou'It find a way to it, I warrant."
He clasped his hands over his belly, leaned his head back against the wall.
Rod smiled as Tom began snoring. He looked at the Loguires and jerked his head toward Tom. "There's confidence for you. While I work things out, he takes a nap."
"Let us hope 'tis a faith warranted," saidTuan. He eyed Rod dubiously.
"Let's," Rod echoed grimly.
He nodded at the Duke. "Been renewing acquaintance?"
Loguire smiled. "I rejoice to see my son again, though I had lief it were more open welcome."
Tuan frowned at his hands. "It is sad news he hath brought me, Rod Gallowglass, most sad and sorrowful." He looked at Rod, bright anger in his face. "I had known my brother hateful and ambitious, but I had not thought he would sink into treason."
"Oh, don't be too hard on the poor boy." Rod leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes wearily. "Durer's got him spellbound. And if his magic came so close on the father, how could it fail on the son?"
"Aye," Tuan agreed darkly. "Myself had fallen like prey to the Mocker."
"Oh?" Rod opened one eye. "You've realized that, have you?"
"Oh, aye! A most excellent villain is that! He will bow him most humbly before you, while his henchman is slitting your purse—and thus hath he served me!"
Rod pursed his lips. "He's the one who gave you the idea for organizing the beggars?"
"Aye." Tuan nodded heavily. "I had first thought only to provide them relief from hunger and chill; but his word in my ear made me think of an army, for defense of the Queen. And I had seen and heard in the South that which led me to think such an army might well be needed."
The old Duke made a choking sound.
"Pardon, my father," said Tuan, bowing his head, "but I knew even thou couldst not check them forever. But I had not thought"—and his voice hardened—" 'twduld be treason from Anselm."
Rod twisted, feeling decidedly uncomfortable. "Well, as I said, you shouldn't blame him too much. After all, he did try to keep Durer from killing your father."
He stretched his legs and crossed them. "So when the Mocker learned that the South was up in arms, he decided it was time to assert his rightful authority and overthrow the Queen. Right?"
"Aye." Tuan's lips tightened as though he had his first taste of straight vermouth. "When I spoke against, saying that 'twas our time to defend the Queen, he called me traitor, and"—he frowned, words coming very hard—"one of the beggars would ha' slain me. But the Mocker would not hear of it; no, he threw me here without food or fire."
He looked up at Rod, frowning. "Which is most truly strange, Rod Gallowglass. Would not you ha' thought he would ha' killed me himself?"
"No." Rod closed his eyes, shaking his head. "He needs somebody to be figurehead king after they've pulled down Catharine."
"Nay, not a king," Tuan said, brooding. "He cries that we shall ne'er have a king more, but only a sort of chieftain, raised by acclaim of the people."