The ogre howled and fell back, clasping at its collarbone.
"Back, quickly!" Modwis tugged at Rod.
"But… but…" The scene swam in front of him, but Rod remembered priorities. "The countess…"
"She is freed, and safe! Quickly, back through the gate!"
Rod turned, startled. Sure enough, the stake was empty, and the flames were dead.
He didn't ask—he yielded and backed in through the gate.
The ogre roared and charged.
Flame exploded, filling the gateway.
The ogre scrabbled to a stop, and the trolls fell back, muttering fearfully.
Rod had a second to think. What was he supposed to do when the hallucinations hit again? And who had told him…Oh, yes, Saint John. And he was supposed to remember opening the vial, that was right. He closed his eyes for a second, and the vision was there, clear and vivid, a huge pile of test tubes, and one of them right under his nose, its fumes wreathing his head…
"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."