"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.
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.
Chapter Eleven
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."
"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!"
"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?"