The Warlock in Spite of Himself

"Stealthy ways!" cried the dwarf. "Forsooth! Had you some pride in your calling, Sir Maris, you would thank me for showing you your own lack of vigilance!"

"Brom?" muttered Rod, staring "O'Berin?"

The dwarf turned to Rod, glowering. "Black Brom O'Berin, aye!"

"That's, uh, a combo of Dutch, Irish, and Russian, if I've got it right."

"What words of nonsense are these?" growled the dwarf.

"Nothing." Rod looked away, shaking his head. "I should have seen it coming. I should expect something else, on this crazy—uh… in Gramarye?"

The dwarf grinned, mischief in his eyes. "Nay, unless I mistake me, that hath the sound of a slur on the great land of Gramarye!"

"No, no! I didn't… I mean…" Rod paused, remembering that apologies were unbecoming for a fighting man in this culture.

He straightened, chin lifting. "All right," he said, "it was an insult, if you want it that way."

The dwarf gave a howl of glee and jumped to his feet on the rafter.

"You must fight him now, Gallowglass," SirMaris rumbled, "and you shall need every bit of your skill."

Rod stared at the Master of the Guard. Could the man be serious? A dwarf, give Rod a hard fight?

The dwarf chuckled deep in his throat and slipped off the beam. It was a twelve foot drop to the stone floor, more than three times Brom's height, but he hit the floor lightly, seeming almost to bounce, and wound up in a wrestler's crouch. He straightened and paced toward Rod, chuckling mischief.

There was a roar behind Rod, and Big Tom blundered forward. " Tis a trap, master!" he bellowed. "Witchcraft in this land, and he is the worst witch of all! None has ever beaten Black Brom! Yet I shall—"

Every soldier in the room descended on Big Tom in a shouting chaos of anger and outrage.

Rod stood a moment in shock. Then he dropped his staff and waded into the melee, hands flashing out in karate punches and chops. Soldiers dropped to the floor.

" Hold !" thundered Brom's voice.

Silence gelled.

Brom had somehow gotten up on the rafters again.

"My thanks, lads," the miniature Hercules growled. "But the big fellow meant no harm; let him go."

"No harm!" yelped half a dozen outraged voices.

Brom took a deep breath and sighed out, "Aye, no harm. He meant only defense of his master. And this Gallowglass meant only defense of his manservant. Stand away from them now; they're both blameless."

The soldiers reluctantly obeyed.

Rod slapped Tom on the shoulder and murmured, "Thanks, Big Tom. And don't worry about me; that Dutch Irishman is only a man, like you and me. And if he's a man, I can beat him."

The dwarf must have had very keen ears, for he bellowed, "Oh, can you, now? We'll see to that, my bawcock!"

"Eh, master!" Big Tom moaned, rolling his eyes. "You know not what you speak of. That elf is the devil's black own!"

"A warlock?" Rod snorted. "There ain't no such beasts."

Sir Maris stepped back among his men, ice-eyed and glowering. "Harm a hair of his head, and we'll flay you alive!"

"No fear," BromO'Berin chuckled. "Nofear, Gallowglass . Try all that you may to harm me. Be assured, you shall fail. Now look to yourself."

He jumped on the rafter, bellowed " Now !"

Rod dropped into a crouch, hands drawn back to chop.

Brom stood on the beam, fists on hips, great head nodding. "Aye, hold yourself ready. But"—his eyes lit with a malicious gleam; he chuckled—"Brom O'Berin is not a light man." He leaped from the rafter feet-first, straight at Rod's head.

Rod stepped back, startled at the suddenness of the dwarf's attack. Reflex took over; his hand swung up, palm upward, to catch Brom's heels and flip them up.

Then, expecting the dwarf to land flat on his back on the granite floor, Rod jumped forward to catch; but Brom spun through a somersault and landed bouncing on his feet.

He slapped Rod's hands away with a quick swipe. "A courtly gesture," he rumbled, "but a foolish one; your guard is down. Save gentleness for those who need it, man Gallowglass."

Rod stepped back, on guard again, and looked at the little man with dawning respect. "Seems I underestimated you, Master O'Berin."

"Call me not master!" the dwarf bellowed. "I'mno man's master; I'm naught but the Queen's fool!"

Rod nodded, slowly. "A fool."

He beckoned with both arms, and a savage grin. "Well enough then, wise fool."

Brom stood his ground a moment, measuring Rod with a scowl. He grunted, mouth snapping into a tight smile, and nodded.

He sprang, flipped in mid-air, feet heading straight for Rod's chin.

Rod swung a hand up to catch Brom's heels again, muttering, "I'd've thought you'd learn."

He shoved the dwarfs feet high; but this time Brom flipped his head up under Rod's chin. He had a very solid head.

Rod rolled with the punch, wrapping his arms tightly around Brom O'Berin's body in the process.

The dwarf shook with merriment. "How now?" he chortled. "Now that you've got me, what shall you do with me?"

Rod paused, panting.

It was a good question. If he relaxed his grip for a moment, he could be sure Brom would twist a kick into his belly. He could drop the little man, or throw him; but Brom had a tendency to bounce and would probably slam right into Rod's chin on the rebound.

Well, when in doubt, pin first and think later. Rod dropped to the floor, shoving Brom's body out at right angles to his own, catching the dwarf's knee and neck for a cradle hold.

But Brom moved just a little bit faster. His right arm snaked around Rod's left; he caught Rod's elbow in a vise-like grip and pulled.

Rod's back arched with the pain of the elbow lock. He now had a simple choice: let go with his left hand, or black out from pain.

Decisions, decisions!

Rod took a chance on his stamina; he tightened his hold on Brom's neck.

Brom grunted surprise. "Another man would have yelped his pain and leaped away from me, man Gal-lowglass."

Brom's knee doubled back; his foot shoved against Rod's chest, slid up under the chin, and kept on pushing.

Rod made a strangling noise; fire lanced the back of his neck as vertebrae ground together. The room darkened, filled with points of colored light.

"You must let hold of me now, Gallowglass," Brom murmured, "ere sight fails, and you sleep."

Did the damn half-pint always have to be right?

Rod tried a furious gurgle by way of reply; but the room was dimming at an alarmingly rapid rate, the points of light were becoming pin wheels, and a fast exit seemed indicated.

He dropped his hold, shoved against the floor with his arms, and came weaving to his feet, with a throaty chuckle filling his ears.

For Brom had kept his hold on Rod's arm and had wrapped his other hand in the throat of Rod's doublet, his weight dragging Rod back toward the floor.

Brom's feet touched the ground; he shoved, throwing Rod back.

Rod staggered, overbalanced, and fell, but habit took over again. He tucked in his chin, slapped the floor with his forearms, breaking his fall.

Brom howled with glee at seeing Rod still conscious, and leaped.

Rod caught what little breath remained to him and snapped in his feet. He caught Brom right in the stomach, grabbed a flailing arm, and shoved, letting the arm go.

Brom flipped head over heels, sailed twenty feet past Rod, and landed on the stone flags with a grunt of surprise. He landed on his feet, of course, and spun about with a bellow of laughter. "Very neat, lad, very neat! But not enough…"

Rod was on his feet again, panting and shaking his head. Brom hopped toward him, then sprang.

Rod ducked low, in a vain hope that Brom might be capable of missing once; but the little man's long arm lashed out to catch Rod across the throat, stumpy body swinging around to settle between Rod's shoulders.