"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.
Chapter Six
Modwis propped Rod on a bench by the fire with a mug of ale while he clanged and pottered about the stove. It was noisy enough for Rod to have a quiet discussion with Fess.
"So what do you think, Iron Id? Was it a setup, or what?"
"There was certainly some element of hallucination involved, Rod," Fess answered, his tone cautious.
Rod frowned. "Care to expand on that?"
"No."
Rod pressed his lips thin. "All right, I'm making it an order. What did you see?"
Fess sighed. "The person you perceive as a dwarf, Rod, is in fact a leprechaun."
"Leprechaun! Who—Kelly?"
"No, Rod—a stranger. He seems to speak truly when he says his name is 'Modwis.' "
"Not terribly Irish."
"Neither is Kelly's last name."
Alarm bells rang. "So what have I got now? Brom assigning me a baby-sitter?"
"There is no evidence of prior arrangement," the robot answered. "The elf was indeed snared in a silver chain when you found him."
"Who would do such a dirty trick? No, strike that— anyone who wanted a crock of gold. But why wasn't the trapper there to watch his snare?"
"Perhaps he fled at your approach."
"Do I look that bad?"
Fess was silent, and Rod decided not to press the point. "How about the attack of the chains?"
"I saw only ground vines, Rod—but they were green, which is odd for winter, and they did entangle both you and Modwis."
"Odd, to say the least." Rod said. "Maybe the trapper is a telekinetic, and didn't run all that far away?"
"That is possible…"
"Or it's possible that Modwis staged the whole thing." Rod began to feel prickles of suspicion along the back of his scalp.
"The leprechaun might have some psi power, yes."
Rod grimaced, beginning to wonder if the robot was humoring him.
"Be careful not to drink too much of the ale, Rod," Fess cautioned. "You have not eaten in some time."
That, at least, was reassuring.
Then the time for speculation was done, because Modwis set a platter heaped with eggs and meats and a basket of rolls on the table. Rod returned to more important matters.
Modwis's hospitality was cozy, but lavish—if Rod had eaten everything offered, he would have been comatose. But strangely, he found that his appetite vanished with a few bites, leaving him edgy and nervous. "It was very good," he said. "Thanks for the hospitality, Modwis, but I need to get back on the road again."
The dwarf peered at him. "How long is't sin thou hast slept?"
Rod considered, and decided that the question wasn't relevant. "I couldn't stand to sleep right now. Thanks, but I'll be off."
(Come to think of it, he was.)
Without a word, the dwarf carried the dishes to the door, gave a fluting birdcall, swept the crumbs off, scoured the plates with sand, and removed a pack from the wall. He put the dishes in it, then wrapped up each of the items of food from the table. He scraped more crumbs into his hand from the table, walked to the door and tossed them out, shouldered his pack, and took down a large iron key from a hook on the wall. Then he bowed Rod out the door.
Rod suddenly realized what the ceremony meant. "Hey, wait a minute! We don't have to look for Gormlin—and you don't have to come along!"