Free The Warlock Enraged-Warlock 4 by Christopher Stasheff Page B

higher. "Speak with respect to thy betters, feeble ghost! Or from this place I shall banish thee, to leave thy wraith wailing in the void between worlds!" The ghost stared a moment, with the empty darkness of its eyes. Then its face creased, and broke open, and laughter spilled out—harsh, mocking laughter, that all the ghosts echoed, ringing from one to another, clamoring and sounding like brazen gongs, until all the Great Hall rang with it, while spectral fingers pointed at Rod.
    And the rage built to fill him, striving to master him; but he held himself rigid against it and, in a last attempt to avoid it, cried, "Fess! To me, now! In the great hall!"
    "Why, then, mannikin, work thy will!" the ghost sneered.
    "Hale me down, and grind me under! Work thy wonders!
    Show us this power thou canst employ, against ghosts!" Steel hooves rang on stone, and the great black horse 58 Christopher Stasheff
    charged into the hall, rearing to a halt bare inches from a peasant couple, who scrambled away in panic.
    Arendel turned his wrathful gaze on Fess, staring in outraged anger. "What beast is this thou dost summon! Hast thou no shred of courtesy within thee, that thou wouldst bring thine horse into a lord's hall?"
    "Fess," Rod bellowed in agony, "What are they?"
    "Rrr... Rrrodd... th-they awwrr..." Suddenly, Fess's whole body heaved in one great convulsion, neck whiplashing; then his head plummeted down to swing between his fetlocks. He stood spraddle-legged, each knee locked stiff.
    "Seizure," Rod snapped. "They're real!" Arendel stared in disbelief for a moment; then he threw back his head, and his laughter rocked the hall. "Elf-shot!
    He summons his great aid, his model of all that is powerful and perfect—and 'tis elf-shot!" And his merriment rolled forth, to batter against Rod's ears.
    Then Rod's own natural fury broke loose, his indignation that anyone should mock disability, make a joke of the truest companion he had known from earliest memory—and that fury poured into the building rage to boil it over the dam of Rod's willed control. The red haze enveloped him, and the icy, insane clarity stilled his thoughts, ringing one clear idea: Ghosts could be exorcised. Rod bent his brows, eyes narrowing, and a thunderclap exploded through the hall, crashing outward from a short, balding man wearing spectacles and a green chasuble over a white robe. He blinked about him, stupefied. "I was ... What... How..."
    "Welcome, Father," Rod breathed, in a voice of dry ice. The priest blinked, seeking Rod out with watery eyes.
    "But I was even now saying Matins, in the monastery chapel!
    How came I here?"
    "Through my magic," Rod grated, "in response to the ill manners of this churlish dead lord! Exorcise him. Father—for his soul's barred from Heaven whiles he lingers here!"
    The ghost roared with rage, and his fellows all echoed him, with screechings and roarings that made the priest wince and cry, '"Tis a foretaste of Hell!"
    "Banish them," Rod cried, "ere they linger to damn themselves!"

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    The priest's face firmed with resolve. '"Tis even as thou sayest." And he held up one palm toward the ghosts while he fumbled in a pocket with the other, beginning a sonorous Latin prayer.
    Lord Arendel shrieked, and disappeared.
    With a wave of wailing despair, the other ghosts faded. In the sudden, soft darkness, Magnus cried, "There!
    Against the eastern wall! Nay, stop her, seize her! Mother, a light, I prithee!"
    Sudden light slashed the darkness—a warm, yellow glow from a great ball of fire that hung just below the ceiling, and Magnus and Geoffrey were diving toward a woman in a blue, hooded cloak, who hauled out a broomstick and leaped onto it, soaring up through the air to leave them in a wake of mocking laughter. Magnus shouted in anger, and banked to follow her, but she arrowed straight toward the window, which was opened wide to the summer's night. She trilled laughter, crying, "Fools! Dost not know the witches are