Funem Laksfalk had tears in his eyes at the end of the story. He said, “I will ride with you, Robert, and help you against your wicked uncle. Thus may I redeem my defeat.”
Later, Wolff reproached Kickaha for making up such a fantastic story, so detailed that he might easily be tripped up. Moreover, he did not like to deceive such a man as the Yidshe knight.
“Nonsense! You couldn’t tell him the whole truth, and it’s easier to make up a whole lie than a half-truth! Besides, look at how much he enjoyed his little cry! And, I am Kickaha, the kickaha, the tricky one, the maker of fantasies and of realities. I am the man whom boundaries cannot hold. I slip from one to another, in-again-out-again Finnegan. I seem to be killed, yet I pop up again, alive, grinning, and kicking! I am quicker than men who are stronger than me, and stronger than those who are quicker! I have few loyalties, but those are unshakable! I am the ladies’ darling wherever I go, and many are the tears shed after I slip through the night like a red-headed ghost! But tears cannot hold me any more than chains! Off I go, and where I will appear or what my name will be, few know! I am the Lord’s gadfly; he cannot sleep at nights because I elude his Eyes, the ravens, and his hunters, the gworl!”
Kickaha stopped and began laughing uproariously. Wolff had to grin back. Kickaha’s manner made it plain that he was poking fun at himself. However, he did half-believe it, and why should he not? What he said was not actually exaggeration.
This thought opened the way to a train of speculation that brought a frown to Wolff. Was it possible that Kickaha was the Lord himself in disguise? He
could be amusing himself by running with hare and hound both. What better entertainment for a Lord, a man who has to look far and deep for something new with which to stave off ennui? There were many unexplained things about him.
Wolff, searching Kickaha’s face for some clue to the mystery, felt his doubts evaporate. Surely that merry face was not the mask for a hideously cold being who toyed with lives. And then there was Kickaha’s undeniably Hoosier accent and idioms. Could a Lord master these?
Well, why not? Kickaha had evidently mastered other languages and dialects as well.
So it went in Wolff’s mind that long afternoon as they rode. But dinner and drink and good fellowship dispelled them so that, at bedtime, he had forgotten his doubts. The three had stopped at a tavern in the village of Gnazelschist and eaten heartily. Wolff and Kickaha devoured a roast suckling pig between them. Funem Laksfalk, although he shaved and had other liberal views of his religion, refused the taboo pork. He ate beef-although he knew it had not been slaughtered a la kosher. All three downed many steins of the excellent local dark beer, and during the drink-conversation Wolff told funem Laksfalk a somewhat edited story about their search for Chryseis-a noble quest indeed, they agreed, and then they all staggered off to bed.
In the morning, they took a shortcut through the hills which would save them three days’s time-if they got through. The road was rarely traveled, and with good reason, for outlaws and dragons frequented the area. They made good speed, saw no men-of-the-woods and only one dragon. The scaly monster scrambled up from a ditch a hundred yards ahead of them. It snorted and disappeared into the trees on the other side of the road, as eager as they to avoid a fight.
Coming down out of the hills to the main highway, Wolff said, “A ravens following us.”
“Yeah, I know it, but don’t get your neck hot. They’re all over the place. I doubt that it knows who we are. I sincerely hope it doesn’t.”
At noon of the following day, they entered the territory of the Komtur of Tregyln. More than twenty-four hours later, they arrived within sight of the castle of Tregyln, the Baron von Elgers’ seat of power. This was the largest castle Wolff had so far seen. It was built of black stone and was situated on top of a high hill a mile from the town of Tregyln.