Realms of Magic a-3

by R. A. Salvatore

  "He's a natural," said Tuka. "Innate ability."

  "Show us, then."

  "Whatever it is, I got it," said Wiglaf. "Step aside." He tried to stand but failed, and sat back down hard.

  "He's in no shape to cast spells right now, good people," Tuka said. "He has just had an exhausting experience, the likes of which would fell an ordinary man, and he deserves a chance to rest. But hear me. You shall have your proof. Tomorrow, you will judge this amazing spellcaster for yourself. Because the mighty Wiglaf is going to favor us all with a demonstration of his power, before your very eyes, tomorrow at sunrise. Right, Wiglaf?"

  "Sure," giggled the new center of attention.

  "Just one thing," Tuka went on. "If you want a demonstration, you'll have to pay."

  "Magic is serious. Magicians aren't entertainers," said one Ale amp; Hearty regular.

  "This one is unique," said Tuka. "One gold piece per cus tomer. Tickets go on sale as soon as we can make them."

  The dawn came misty and gray, but Tuka had managed to gather more than a hundred villagers in a glade near the town, and Sasha had dutifully collected the admission fee from each without once having to touch her weapon. The business had gone so well because even though there were skeptics in the crowd, nobody wanted to be the one to miss the big show and have to hear of it secondhand if he was wrong. This was the greatest thing to hit town in

  "Ladies and gentlemen," intoned Tuka, clapping his hands for quiet. "You've heard about his exploits. Now meet him in person. Would you welcome a prestidigitatious prodigy… that lord of legerdemain… the mighty mage… Wiglaf… EVERTONGUE!"

  The applause was muted but present as the berobed Wiglaf appeared. He was steady on his feet, but moving with much greater deliberation today. The crowd arranged itself in a circle around him.

  Wiglaf still wasn't sure what had happened the night before, but he knew in his heart that the robe had helped him. He had felt it from the first moment he put it on. Somehow, it had brought forth his innate magic abilities and multiplied them manyfold. He had never heard of a more impressive display of burning hands… and there were plenty more spells where that came from! Even his powers of memorization had improved, as a quick look at the old mage's private stock of spells had shown this morning. Most importantly, Wiglaf felt confidence for the first time in his magical career. He had been vindicated. It was easy. Only a fool would waste his time with endless conjugation when he could be out there speaking the language. And Wiglaf was about to talk the talk.

  "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I'd like to begin by showing you one of the most beautiful of magical sights," he said. "If you will all look up at the sky…" He produced some phosphorous from his pocket and made the motions to bring forth a harmless display of dancing lights.

  Later, many would swear that they saw the intricate signs on Wiglaf s robe begin to dance and shift. They would say that one large sigil in particular, just above Wiglaf s heart, took on a crimson sheen and softly pulsated. But in truth, nearly everyone had followed the young mage's advice and was instead searching the sky, waiting for the magic to begin, ready to ooo and ahh. What they actually saw would be the spark for hearty ale-soaked conversation for years to come.

  There was a rapid series of dull popping sounds, like fireworks heard from a great distance. Then into the sky rushed a torrent of vegetables.

  Shooting upward at rapid speed were heads of lettuce, ears of corn, stalks of celery, hundreds upon hundreds of cabbages, kumquats, beets, okra, eggplant, radishes, cauliflower, tomatoes, artichokes, carrots, parsley, spinach, kale, peas, basil, cucumbers, turnips, rutabagas, squash, broccoli, peppers, beans, asparagus, sprouts, green onions, white onions, red onions, yellow onions-all manner of produce, some varieties quite new to the region. A cornucopia of sensible dining was streaking heavenward in a thick stream and finally disappearing well beyond tree level with inverted POP sounds.

  A yelp of shock caused them to turn away from the ludicrous sight and look back at Wiglaf. The spellcaster was as entranced as they were, still extending his fingers in a heroic conjuror's pose, but now ruining the effect by gaping with slack-jawed disbelief as the perishables poured into the sky before him.

  "Quick, get the baskets and a ladder!" howled an onlooker, and the crowd erupted in laughter. Wiglaf dropped his hands in confusion, and the edibles vanished as quickly as they had come. His forehead began to glisten with sweat.

  "A little comedy to start the show!" Tuka said forcefully. A few audience members applauded weakly. "Go on!" he stage-whispered to Wiglaf.

  "Uh, well, yes," said the shaken wizard. "Er, okay. Magic-using is more than just, uh, dazzling beauty." A stifled laugh in the crowd became a snort and then a hacking cough. "It's also essential in a tight situation. If a magician knows what he's doing, he can outleap the strongest fighter." Sasha blanched at the reference. "Stand back, folks, and 111 show you."

  In his mind, Wiglaf went over the incantation for the spell that would allow him to jump thirty feet in the air. Then he'd softly feather fall back to the ground and shut them up for good. He bent his knees and crouched, ready to spring. "Watch closely. Here… we… go!"

  He mumbled and uncoiled.

  A five-foot pit irised open beneath his feet.

  For an instant, he hung suspended. Then he shrieked and disappeared into it with a clump.

  They saw his hands first. With an effort, he clambered out.

  "We'll try another one," he snarled.

  People were clapping each other on the back, doubled over with laughter. Others were losing interest and starting to heckle.

  He tried to conjure a magical light and found himself staggering out of a cone of darkness, unable to see or hear. He tried to generate a blinding spray of colors and levitated a poor woman into the air; she was saved from a nasty fall only because her husband held onto her legs for dear life as they rose past his head. He tried to raise an acorn to ten times its size and nothing happened-but later that afternoon, the owner of the adjacent farm was surprised to discover his prize hen proudly strutting around an egg two feet long. He tried to erase some writing from a scroll and gave himself a hotfoot. He tried to enlarge the fire from a torch and teleported a cow up a tree.

  With each grandiose failure, both the laughter and the grumbling grew louder. But it wasn't until he tried to mend a volunteer's hem through the force of his will, and the force of his will pulled down thirty people's pants, that the Amazing Wiglaf Show finally turned ugly.

  Wiglaf was devastated. He had never been so miserable. Last night he had been the most important man in town.

  But today people only pointed and laughed-or pointed and cursed, depending on their degree of participation in his ultimate, showstopping feat. He felt ridiculous. The sight of Tuka, Sasha, and Fenzig returning all the money had been bad enough, but many people in the long refund line had also shaken their hands and thanked them for a wonderful time. Wiglaf was the town clown, and as he sat alone at the Ale amp; Hearty, he had plenty of time to think about it.

  Maybe the robe had helped focus his magical power. So what? What good did that do when he didn't know enough about magic to wield it in the first place? He should have stayed in Calimport. He should have stayed a baker. He should have stayed in his mother's womb, where it was nice and safe.

  "Buy a girl a drink, magic man?" It was Sasha.

  "I'm broke, remember? Not even the bartender wants to be seen with me."

  "Tough day, huh? Oh, well, I'm not the kind of girl who gets drinks bought for her, anyway." She smiled grimly and sat. "Listen, Wiglaf, I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time. I just didn't believe you were really a magician."

  "I'm not. Just a student who didn't even have the sense to keep on studying."

  "Maybe you're finally learning something."

  "This robe. It… changed me. But whatever it did was an illusion. A fake. It's like… I took something that wasn't mine. I took a reputation I didn't deserve. An ability I hadn't develop
ed. I called myself a magician and insulted everybody who really is one." Wiglaf s eyes became animated again, and his voice rose. "And I know what I'm going to do about it right now. I'm taking this robe back, if I have to fight ten packs of dogs to do it."

  Sasha's smile revealed a perfect set of teeth. "I'm very glad to hear you say that, Wigla-"

  "WIGLAF!"

  It was Tuka, rushing in from outside, opening the door on a piercingly loud animal roar. The air rushing into the tavern felt like a hot summer day, and the sky they could see through the door had turned from morning's overcast to a bright yellow.

  Sky… yellow?

  "Wiglaf! Sasha! If you've got weapons, get out here now!"

  They tore out of the tavern, and Wiglaf s confusion instantly dissipated. In this day full of unwanted sights, this was by far the worst. A mammoth red dragon was just pulling out of an aerial attack run into the town square, yellow flames pouring from its gigantic maw. Twenty or thirty villagers brandished weapons against the beast; some threw spears or loosed arrows, but those who knew how to fight were few, and the monster was large. One building was already on fire. Wiglaf was nearly bowled over by the heated backwash from the dragon's flight. It snorted as it climbed for another pass, and a tree caught fire like a matchstick. Silhouetted against the gray sky, the dragon flew up in a wide arc to launch another attack.

  "Find someplace to hide! Take cover! Take cover!" Tuka screamed.

  A woman ran to Wiglaf and clenched his robe, shrieking with terror. "Magic-user! Do something! Help us! I have children! DO SOMETHING!" Maybe she hadn't seen the demonstration this morning. Maybe she was so afraid that she was willing to believe anything. But she was trying to grasp at the only thing she could see: Wiglaf s magic. She really thought he could help.

  "Wiglaf, let's go!" Sasha shouted. She pulled the woman off him. "Go now!" She tugged at his robe.

  The dragon turned in the sky, straightened, and headed back.

  "No!" Wiglaf pulled himself free. "Get away, Sasha. I have to try."

  "With what? This is no dog! It'll kill you!"

  "I have to try."

  "You idiot!" Sasha pulled the still-screaming woman out of the square, leaving Wiglaf alone to face the monster, which was picking up speed and dropping altitude to find the perfect flamethrowing angle.

  Wiglaf could trust only one spell: burning hands, the one he'd used against the dogs. The way it had roared out of his fingertips last night, the flame had almost matched a dragon's intensity. Maybe if he fought fire with fire, the beast would act like most animals and retreat.

  He took a deep breath, planted his feet, spread his fingers, and joined his thumbs. The dragon noticed the lone unmoving figure as it continued to accelerate. It adjusted its approach angle. Now it was coming straight for' Wiglaf-and inhaling.

  His knees felt like pudding as he watched the monster approach, and his voice was shaking as he began the incantation, but Wiglaf did not move. He stood his ground and faced the beast as it screamed forward. He managed to get the words out-and sighed with relief when magical force crackled toward his fingertips, and he stood with teeth clenched and eyes flashing as adrenalin pumped through him.

  He aimed his burning hands at the dragon, and from them poured a spray of vegetables.

  The first few bushels that struck the dragon actually did some physical damage before vanishing on impact, such was the speed of its attack run. They smacked painfully at its scaly hide and, as Wiglaf adjusted his aim before he could register what he was dispensing, worried its eyes and nose. The confusion was the important thing. The dragon spit flamelessly and blinked its eyes again and again. Still the veggies came, slowing its forward motion until it was almost hovering.

  Wiglaf finally regained his senses enough to understand, but realized his outrageous spell was the only thing holding the creature at bay.

  He held his arms firmly forward.

  On and on, the dragon was pelted with representatives of every single member of a major food group, until it shook its head and finally took a breath to eradicate this problem once and for all.

  Wiglaf knew he couldn't hold out for long now that the great creature had drawn a bead on him, but there was no other choice. He was a dead man, yes. But if he stopped casting, there would be nothing standing in the dragon's way. He would not run. At least he would give some people the chance to take cover, to save themselves. At least he would end his life in dignity and service. Wiglaf let a deep sigh escape him, then closed his eyes in determination and waited for the end to come.

  He heard some mumbling behind him. An instant later, the stream of vegetables was joined by a stream of flame.

  Now the dragon was faced with a gargantuan gout of fire aimed at its head, not to mention that the foodstuffs tasking its eyes and nose were now roasting hot-and, Wiglaf noticed, smelling delicious on the way up. There comes a time when every creature, no matter how large or small, meek or fierce, wise or wanton, has finally reached its limit of pain, tolerance, and plain exasperation. At the business end of a torrent of steaming, stinging vegetables, the miserable dragon finally gave up, and swiftly flew away.

  A shaken Wiglaf dropped his hands and turned to meet his benefactor.

  The belcher. The lockpicker.

  Fenzig was a magic-user.

  Fenzig balled his hands into fists, and the fire disappeared instantly and utterly. He extended his fingers again, blew on them as if to cool them off, and winked. Then he smacked his hands sharply together. Then again. And again.

  Tuka and Sasha ran toward them, making the same hand motions, and before long everyone in the square was applauding as well.

  "You!" Wiglaf recoiled in shock. This is your robe. You let me take it away."

  "We've been expecting you," said the man the others had called Fenzig, drawing close to Wiglaf for privacy, "ever since your teacher told me you had resigned."

  "M-My teach…"

  "Magicians who form friendships are a close fraternity, boy. Your former instructor thinks you have great potential, despite your laziness, and one day you might convince me of that as well. He thought you needed a sterner taskmaster-but first I had to get your attention. I trust I have it now."

  "You were wonderful, magic man," said Sasha as she arrived.

  "So this was all an act? You three together?"

  "Nobody told the dragon about it," panted Tuka. "I thought we were gone. I really did."

  "You stopped it, Wiglaf," Sasha said. "Your magic. Your courage."

  "I couldn't have done it without-" He looked up into a face that had grown infinitely wiser in the last few moments; a face that would impart great knowledge in the coming years, now that he was ready to receive it. "-my master?"

  "I'll take my robe back now," said the mage. "And in exchange, I'll show you how to do that little stunt whenever you want. Invent a spell yourself. Well call it… cast vegetables."

  Wiglaf s new life began when he slipped off… this robe.

  "This very one?" asked the young apprentice. "You're telling me this is the robe that undid Wiglaf?"

  "It's a robe of wild magic," the old man said. "As you could easily tell if you recognized this sigil. See? A warning. To anyone experienced in reading it, it says, 'wild magic, dum-dum. Makes spellcasting completely unpredictable. Only one of its kind. Tends to favor the caster if he really needs help, but that is Mystra's munificence, at least that's how the story goes. I have no idea who actually fashioned this thing, and I would never try to make one. This robe is completely useless except for one purpose: reminding younglings like you that there is no quick substitute for listening to ancient ones like me, and learning what we assign."

  "That's a terrific story," said the lad.

  "Be thankful that you learned this lesson by hearing a story, and not the way Wiglaf had to. But keep it learned, all the same. Now let's begin by working with components. A simple alteration. Fetch me some vegetables and chop them up, boy."

  The apprentice looked u
p in wonder. The truth had struck him. "For cast vegetables, sir?"

  The master's stern expression was still in place, but his eyes were twinkling.

  Of course-how else could the old man have known what Wiglafwas thinking?

  "Later, my lad, later. These are for a stew. To go with whatever Sasha's managed to hunt for us today."

  A WORM TOO SOFT…

  J. Robert King

  The stone was as big as an ogre's head, as green as dragon bile, and as clear as Evermead. Unlike most emeralds, though, this one wasn't cut along fracture lines, but perfectly spherical and smooth. On its satin belly I saw myself, all six-foot-three of me dwarfed into a six-and-three-sixteenths-inch doll, my hawk-nose warped to match in size my brawny chest. I saw, too, my slim, demure hostess curved beside me, watching me as I watched the rock.

  Now that Olivia Verdlar, proprietor of the Stranded Tern and owner of this peerless rock, had gotten an eyeful of me, I hoped she, too, knew why she'd flown me out from Waterdeep-pegasus-back, no less.

  "Impressive," I said, and leaned away from the enormous stone.

  She slid back into my line of sight. Impressive, indeed. Her green eyes matched the rock, hue and luster, and her dark hair and slim figure were the ideal setting for such gems. Knowing the power of those eyes, she knew she didn't have to say a word in response.

  I'd been drawn off by worse wenches, so I bit: "You say it came from the crop of a great green…?" The word dragon hovered behind my question, but it didn't need to be spoken. After all, the rock had been christened "the Dragon's Pearl."

  She nodded, and that slight motion sent an ally-ally-oxenfree down past her hips. "It's one of a hundred gem-stones that got polished in the thing's belly. Seems Xantrithicus the Greedy didn't trust his hoard to a cave, preferring to hold it in his gut." She made a gesture toward her own slim waist, knowing I'd look there. I did. "Seems that way his spendthrift mate, Tarith the Green, couldn't even get two coppers to rub together."