Rod was quiet for a few paces. Then he admitted, “I was raised Roman Catholic…”
“And how long has it been since you took the Sacraments?”
Rod sighed. “My wedding, Father—nine years ago. And you’ve got a point—if a lion’s in there, I’d better be in top shape. Give me a few minutes to examine my conscience.”
And they moved slowly toward Redcap, murmuring softly together.
“Ego te absolvo,” Father Al said finally, making the sign of the Cross. “And I think you’re about to meet your penance.”
They rounded a curve, and the Tower loomed over them.
The ledge around the tower was strewn with human bones and a few skulls. That almost did Rod in, right there. The fear hit, suddenly and totally. He paused, letting it wash over and through him. The tidal wave passed, leaving that old, familiar, clutch-bellied, knee-jellied feeling; but he could cope with that. He glanced at Father Al; the priest looked to be feeling it, too. His face was drawn and pale, but his lips firmed with resolve. He unwrapped the altar stone and held it out with both hands. “Are we ready, then?… Good. ‘Then into the Valley of Death.’ ” And he strode forward before Rod could say anything, chanting:
“ ‘He who digs a pit may fall into it, And he who breaks through a wall May be bitten by a serpent! He who moves stones may be hurt by them, And he who chops wood is in danger from it! If the iron becomes dull, Though at first he made easy progress, He must increase his efforts; But the craftsman Has the advantage of his skill!’ ”
With a roar, the Redcap was on him.
It bolted out of the tower, crusted with filth and crazed with hatred and loneliness—about five feet high; shoulders as wide as a barrel; greasy, grizzled hair flying about its shoulders, huge eyes afire with bloodlust. Its tunic and leggings were stiff with grease and covered with dirt; its iron boots rang on the stone and crunched through bone. It whirled a pikestaff high with one hand, like a hatchet; then its rusty edge sliced down at the priest.
Then Redcap saw the altar stone, and clanked to a halt.
They stood frozen for a moment, the priest holding out the stone like a shield, the monster glaring at it balefully. Rod drew his sword and came running. Father Al began to chant again:
“ ‘… a live dog is better Than a dead lion. For the…’ ”
Redcap roared and slashed out with his pikestaff.
The flat of the blade slammed into Father Al’s side; he went flying, landed ten feet away, the altar stone jarring out of his hand. Redcap grabbed a small boulder, still roaring, and heaved it at the stone. It swerved aside at the last second, narrowly missing Father Al’s head.
Then Rod leaped in, shouting, “ ‘Oh ye dry bones, now hear the word of the Lord!… I heard a noise; it was a rattling as the bones came together…” and lunging full-out for Redcap’s belly. The sword shot into the monster’s smock with a CLANK! that shocked through Rod’s arm and into his body. The blasted critter was made of rock!
Redcap brayed laughter and swatted out at Rod backhanded. Pain flared through Rod’s side, and the cliff and tower tumbled past him. Then, with a crack that exploded through him, he stopped, and got a close-up view of a rock wall sliding upward past him. He realized he was sliding down the cliff face and turned, frantically, as he jolted to a stop on the ledge. He was just in time to see two small figures appear right next to Redcap, inside his guard, and start chopping at his legs with small swords. “Boys, no!” he tried to yell, “Get back to your mother!” but it came out more like a chorus from a frog-pond. He could scarcely hear it himself, anyway; Redcap was roaring loudly as he reached down toward the mites…
A boulder slammed into the back of his head.
Redcap jolted forward, and tripped over Magnus, went sprawling. Small rocks bombarded him; then a boulder crashed down, just as he was getting up to his hands and knees. It crashed into his back, flattening him again.
Magnus and Geoffrey ran to finish him off.
Panic surged as Rod scrambled to his feet, lashing over him like a coating of fire. He had to get his boys out of there! He stumbled forward as Redcap heaved mightily, shaking the rock off his back, and rolled to his feet just in time for the boys to carom off his legs. He laughed wickedly, and bent toward them, then straightened suddenly and reached up to catch a boulder. He swung around following its inertia, and hurled it back up toward the mountaintop.
The bastard! If he’d hit Gwen or Cordelia… Boiling rage surged up in Rod, seeming almost to come from somewhere outside himself, flaming hatred at a monster who dared injure his child! He slammed into the back of Redcap’s knees, and pain howled through his shoulder; then a small mountain crashed down on his back. Dimly, he heard Magnus howl, and fought his head up just in time to see Father Al, on hands and knees, reach out toward Redcap, who lay fallen backward across Rod. The stone was in the priest’s hand; it touched the monster’s forehead. Redcap howled, his body bucking in agony—
And disappeared.
Rod stared, not believing.
Then the whole scene turned dim; stars shot through it, a cascade of stars, leaving darkness in their wake…
“…three broken ribs. That nosebleed is stopped? Then the flow’s from his mouth.”
“Oh, Father! His lung…?”
“Pierced? Could…”
The sound faded out, then faded in again. “…shoulder’s broken, and the collarbone. How…” Roaring came up like the surf, then faded. “…on his feet again?”
“His back is broke?”
“No, but I think there’re cracked vertebrae.”
Rod felt awfully sorry for the poor slob they were talking about. Who, he wondered?
Then an inspiration hit: Look. Just open the eyes, take a look.
Who was that, crying in the background?
Trouble was, there was this sandbag on each eyelid. And pain, that blasted pain, all through him! But he could do it; he’d done tougher things. He just fought a giant, hadn’t he? A five-foot giant…
“Please, Magnus, staunch thy tears, and comfort thy sister and brother! Elidor, canst not help with Geoffrey? I must work!”
Agony seared through his shoulder. His eyes snapped open, and he bawled like a dogie who’d bumped a branding iron.
A lovely face hovered over him, framed with flaming hair. “He wakes! Husband! Dost hear me?”
Reason returned for an afterthought: Gwen was trying to mend his shoulder telekinetically. “Stop… please… Pain…”
“It will take time.” She nodded, tense-lipped. “But it must be done. Oh, Rod! So many wounds…”
“It won’t work; there’re too many, and it’ll take too long.” Father Al’s face slid into view as Gwen’s slid out. “High Warlock! Hear me! Wish, as you’ve never wished before! Wish, with all your might, all your being, for your body to be whole again, completely mended, as it was before you ever were wounded!”
“I do,” Rod croaked. Now that the priest mentioned it, he did! Oh, how he wished! If anything could stop this agony, let it happen! He wished, fervently, for total health, for an unmarked body, for the wounds to go away, and never come back…!
And the helping spirit was there again, sliding inside, up, and all through him, kindly, reassuring, healing, absorbing the hurt…
Then it was gone—and so was the pain.
Rod stared, unbelieving.
Then he lifted his head, slowly, and looked down at his body. He was covered with blood, and his clothing was torn to rags—but the blood was still, there was nothing new running. And he felt well. In fact, he felt wonderful.
“Uh… Gwen…”
“Aye, husband.” She was there, her hand cradling his head.
“Just to be on the safe side, I’d better not move. Check the shoulder, will you?”
He felt her fingers probing—rather pleasant sensation, really. In fact, more than pleasant…