The Iron Tempest by Ron Miller Page B

She gave the cowed sorcerer a shove and he fell to the ground like a collapsing house of cards. The man seemed as small, light and feeble as a child. As he rolled over to face her, she placed a foot on his chest and raised her sword with every intention of dispatching him then and there, but, upon seeing the face of her imminent victim, she held her hand, amazed to discover that she was in possession of not a mighty warrior but a very small, elderly man who was shaking with fear in his oversized brunia with a sound like a baby’s rattle. His face, as wrinkled and red as a newborn babe’s, was surrounded by a straggling wreath of yellow-stained white hair and a wispy beard. He didn’t appear to have a tooth in his head. She had seen bodies dessicated by years of desert air that looked younger and healthier than this formidable wizard.
    “Go ahead and kill me, young knight,” he squealed petulantly. “Go ahead and finish me off—kill me, for the love of Allah! What are you waiting for? Lop off my head! Disembowel me! Gut me like a catfish! Spill my steaming entrails over your feet!”
    Oddly, the more the old man encouraged her to complete her sworn task, the less inclined she felt to accept his invitation. Instead, she told him to shut up; she then bound him tightly in his own chain. Propping him in the shade of a boulder, she asked him what his intentions had been in building the uncanny castle and inhabiting it with kidnappees.
    “I didn’t mean any harm by it,” Atalante whined, tears dripping from his matted whiskers.
    “Oh?” Bradamant asked doubtfully. “And what do you consider harmful, if not that? And what do you need a steel castle for? Are you asking me to believe you’re nothing more than a common bandit?”
    “No, no! It was love, not greed, that made me a brigand. Love for the life of an uncommon young knight.”
    “A knight ?” Was he, she wondered with a frisson of revulsion, a practitioner of the Greek vice?
    “Yes. One who was in mortal peril! The thread of his life was at its final inch! I had discovered by means of my magic that, left to pursue his life unhindered, he would certainly die. And worse, although born a true Muslim he’d be murdered as a Christian, Allah forbid.”
    “And who is this wonderful knight?” she asked, though she had little doubt what the answer would be.
    “His name is Rashid and nowhere between the two poles does there exist a youth more noble or worthy.”
    Bradamant couldn’t agree more, but only said: “I still don’t understand your interest in him.”
    “I raised him from an infant—that’s my interest!—and loved him as though he were my own flesh and blood. Unfortunately, his thirst for ever greater honor, his unequaled prowess at arms and his own irresistible destiny encouraged him to enter the service of King Agramant.”
    “So to protect him you built this castle and trapped him in it? You think he’d prefer prison to honorable death?”
    “But it’s a beautiful castle! It really is. You should see it. I’ve stocked it with everything he could possibly desire, including every knight and lady who passed within my influence so that he’d not want for decent company.”
    “I’m overwhelmed by your thoughtfulness.”
    “There’s no need to be sarcastic, young sir. As I said, my motives were the best, whatever you may think of my methods. Not only did I consider Rashid’s every amenity, I took no fewer pains regarding the comfort of my other guests. I’ve scoured the earth to bring to this place every pleasure, every luxury, every pastime that could possibly be desired. No one wants for the slightest, rarest delicacy, the finest music, the most philosphical conversation, the sublimist songs, the most moving poetry, the most delicious food, the scarcest wines, the most beautiful women, the handsomest men . . . whatever their hearts’ desired—except, of course, their freedom. But what of that? I really don’t think you’ll hear many