"It… matters not… I shall… rise…"
And, with the promise on his lips, the knight faded from sight.
Rod stared, unbelieving.
Then he turned to console the lady—just in time to see the last faint wisp of her form, before it, too, vanished.
"Where he will go," Modwis whispered, "she will go"
"And you?" Rod reached out to touch the man, but didn't quite dare. "Will you fade away, too?"
"Nay, Lord Gallowglass. I may diminish, but I shall not cease."
But even with the words, he seemed to shrink, dwindling to a foot-high mannikin, and the whole hut seemed to grow more barren filled with dust and cobwebs, with gaps between the boards and holes in the roof. The rain had stopped, but coals still glowed on the hearth, giving off enough light for Rod to make out a form dressed in peasant garb with the handle of a knife sticking out of its belly—but the beard was neat and well trimmed, the hair was dark, and the form was stocky.
"Fess?" Rod whispered. "Who is this I've killed? Where's the old hermit?"
The door creaked open, and the robot filled the doorway. It looked, and nodded. "This man is indeed the one who admitted you, Rod. The old hermit was of your making, not his own. This hut shows signs of abandonment; I conjecture that the quondam peasant came only a few hours in advance of you."
"Quondam? He's not a real peasant? But… the dagger's real…"
"Yes, Rod, and he really did try to murder you in your sleep. If he died on his own knife, it is his doing more than yours."
The anger returned then, but nausea followed it. Rod lurched to his feet and stumbled out into the night, catching the saddle to hold himself up. Pain hammered through his head from one temple to the other, and he found that his hands were trembling. "Fess… I'm sick… very sick…"
"Yes, Rod. It seems to follow each spell of delusion."
"They're… getting worse."
"They are. You must lie down and rest."
"Not… here…"
"Then climb on, and I shall carry you to shelter." The robot knelt. Rod scrabbled into the saddle, lay down on the horse's neck, and held on for dear life. Carefully, Fess climbed to his feet and turned away into the darkness and mist.
Chapter Thirteen
According to an authority (i.e., a survivor) on Nile River black water disease, "The first day, you only think you're going to die. The second day, you wish you were."
Rod's malaise was something along that line, though it fortunately didn't last anywhere nearly as long. By sunrise, he was beginning to feel better, and when the sun rose, he had pretty much decided he was going to live. Of course, that didn't mean he was happy about it.
"The spells are getting worse," he muttered, "the paranoia and the aftereffects."
"You are still restraining your impulse toward violence very well," Fess contradicted, "though your physiological reactions are increasing in severity."
"But what is it?" Rod gasped. "It can't be something I ate—it's going on too long."
"That does not necessarily preclude the ingestion of a substance, Rod."
"If I did, it's one that really lasts. I don't know how much longer I can keep going, Fess."
"There is no particular reason why you should right now, Rod."
Rod jolted bolt upright. "You don't mean I should just sit down and die."
"Rod! Of course I mean no such thing! But it would be beneficial for you to lie down and sleep. You have not slept for twenty-five hours, now."
"A telling point." Rod suddenly realized his eyelids were drooping. "Maybe a few winks would help. Find me a cave, would you, Fess?"
Caves were not to be had, but Fess did find a fallen tree whose crown had caught in its neighbor's fork. Rod spread his cloak over a mound of leaves under the trunk as Fess began to drag brush to pile against it.
Suddenly, Rod stood straight. "Fess… somebody's on my trail."
The robot was still, then said, "I detect only animal life, Rod."
"Don't ask me how I know, but I do! I didn't say they were watching, but they will be!"
"Have you become precognitive, Rod?"
"Who knows? Anything can happen now! But they're on my trail, and they're going to catch up soon! Ambush stations!"
He disappeared into the brush. Reluctantly, Fess stepped away into the density of a thicket.
The forest was quiet. After a few minutes, birds began to chirp again.
Then a hand parted the brush along the trail, and someone pushed through. Others followed him.
Rod parted the leaves, but in the shadows of dawn, he could only make out three forms. He waited for them to pass, then slipped out onto the trail, sword in hand, and hooked an arm around the throat of the last person in line, yanking him off balance and lifting the sword.
The person gargled, flailing for balance, and Rod froze, realizing that the person was female. Then someone else shouted, "Papa, no!" and the ground slipped out from under his feet. He found he was floating, saw Gregory over the girl's shoulder, and realized he had almost stabbed his daughter. He dropped the sword as though it burned his fingers, let go of Cordelia, and thought Down! furiously. Rage kindled as his heels touched ground—slowly, as though he were sinking through molasses. "Damn it, let me down't What the deuce do you think you're doing following me!"
"Husband," Gwen protested, "we feared for thee!"
"Who asked you, blast it! Here I go freezing and starving, nearly being drugged and poisoned, just to stay far enough away from you to be sure I can't hurt you, and what do you do? You come sneaking after me without even telling me! Thank Heaven I realized in time!"
Geoffrey's lip quivered, but he maintained, "Thou hast enemies, Papa! We feared they might…"
"Well, they didn't!" Rod thawed a little. "Your concern is appreciated, but not your interference! I was fighting off murderous sneaks for ten years before I met any of you! Look, if you don't trust me to take care of myself, at least trust Fess!"
"Why, so we do," little Gregory said gravely. "Yet thou must needs own, Papa, that on Gramarye, thou hast had more enemies than e'er before."
The kid was right, and that just made it worse. The anger turned hot. "Yes, and I never know how many! Anyone I meet might be a futurian agent, any peasant, any knight, any forester! And how in Heaven's name am I going to be able to fight them off if my family won't at least do as I ask and stay out of itV
"We cannot," Gwen said simply. "We are of thee, as thou art of us!"
"And you! You have never given me a chance to see if I can handle my enemies on my own! Right from the first, you were in there interfering."
"Interfering!" Gwen paled.
But Magnus intervened. "Thou hast told us, Papa, that thy greatest strength is uniting folk to fight along with thee."
"Aye!" Cordelia cried. "Thou didst say thy first great achievement was in winning our mother to thy side!"
It was true, and Rod had virtually bragged of it—but that was not exactly what he wanted to hear at this moment in time. "I can handle them on my own, thank you! Look, just say I'm on leave of absence. It's enemies to myself I'm fighting now, not enemies to the whole kingdom!"
"They are one and the same." Gwen had begun to harden. "They seek thy death, so that they may work their will upon the kingdom."
"Well, they don't have a chance any more, do they? You folks are there to handle things if anything happens to me! And you can handle them, can't you? You can handle them just fine! You don't need me at all!"
"We shall ever need thee!" Cordelia protested, and Gregory threw his arms around Rod's waist, clinging like a leech.