The warlock insane by Christopher Stasheff Page A

as he thought Long ! at his dagger. It sprouted amazingly, shooting out like a switchblade.
    Behind him, Coupetou rang like an alarm bell, and Modwis underscored its melody with a percussion of dull thuds as he laid about him with an iron club.
    Rod thought Hard ! and his sword's edge glittered like a diamond.
    In fact, it was diamond, as the next bandit found out when Rod sidestepped and chopped right through his club. The "man" stared at the sheared stub in surprise, and Rod scored a line across the air directly above his head.
    The bandit screamed and fell back, but his mate with the sword stepped in—and toppled as Modwis straightened up, holding the bandit's ankle. Rod didn't pause to debate points of chivalry—he chopped while he could. The blade clanged and rebounded, vibrating so hard it stung his hands. Bright green lined the air above it and the bandit screamed like a factory whistle, rolling to his feet and pelting back toward the forest. His mate with the stub of club joined him, and Rod started to run after them, then thought of confronting them on their home territory, and slowed to a halt. He turned back, and saw right away that Beaubras and Modwis had done considerably better than he had. Two bandits lay writhing on the ground; another gave one last shudder, and lay still. All three were growing hazy around the edges, but the dead bandit was the first whose form blurred completely, then re-formed into an eight-foot monster, wide in the shoulders and chest, absurdly short in the legs, that looked somehow like a turnip—with arms five feet long, muscled like steel cables, and hands that had claws, not fingernails. Rod stared, appalled. He had had the temerity to fight a thing like that !
    He looked up quickly—and, sure enough, the other two bandits had turned into the same type of monster. They thrashed about on the ground, moaning and howling.
    "We must aid them." Beaubras took a flask of brandy from his saddlebag. Modwis nodded, and found a roll of bandage in his own saddlebag.
    Rod felt very much at a loss. He disguised it with protest. "Wait a minute! We were just trying to chop these things into pieces!"
    "Only for that they sought to injure us, Lord Gallow-glass." Beaubras looked up, then went back to trying to wipe up ichor and pour in brandy.
    Rod couldn't help thinking that the brandy would do more good in the creature's mouth—especially since it roared at the burning of the alcohol and slammed a huge fist at the knight, who adroitly stepped back. "I bid thee hold thy peace, poor creature. The brandy doth sting, aye, but 'twill prevent infection." How considerate of Grandfather to construct theland ofGranclarte with a rudimentary, but accurate, knowledge of medicine! "Look, I hate to sound like a heel, but wouldn't it be a bit more practical to put them out of their misery?"
    Beaubras stared, appalled. "Only they themselves can do that, Lord Gallowglass, by repenting of their Page 59
    Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    evil ways and turning to God."
    "Revenge," one of the fallen monsters snarled. "Kill slow!"
    "Well, not slowly." Rod fingered his sword. "I have a little mercy, after all." The knight protested, and even Modwis paled. "Thou canst not mean to do it, Lord Gallowglass!"
    "No, I can, actually. Look at it this way—these aren't civilized beings you're dealing with, or even ones that can be civilized. They're sadistic monsters who enjoy nothing so much as watching people suffer. Heal 'em, and they'll come right back to attack us—and if not us, then the next traveler who comes down this road."
    "We must do our Christian duty," the knight responded sternly, "no matter the cost!"
    "With respect, Sir Knight, it won't be us who have to pay that cost."
    "If we treat them with mercy, Lord Gallowglass, they may give mercy in their own steads," Modwis explained.
    "Fat chance!"
    "He doth speak truth." Beaubras frowned. "Works of charity may ope the