by Frank Tuttle
"Take away the light," said a voice."Take it away."
"Where is my friend?" said Mallara."The shimmer. What have you done with him?"
"Take it away!"
The barrier shook. Mallara whispered, raised the staff. The weeds and the leaning walls and the ring of trees were suddenly touched with fire. Mallara waited until the screaming stopped and lowered the staff.
"Where is the shimmer?" she said.
"I will bring it back," whimpered the voice."Here. Now. Take away the light."
Mallara shook her head."No."
The barrier hissed softly before Mallara, as though being gently prodded with expert, cautious fingers. The sorceress stared ahead, her gaze calm, her mind racing. I was right, then -- the well is the door. But the door to what? A tomb of the Old Ones? The crypt of an Elvish sorcerer?
Or something else -- something sunlight would not kill?
A dim shadow fell on the glistening flagstone walkway just outside the barrier. Above it, a darkening in the air grew solid.
Mallara whispered to the staff. The goblin-clock scurried to hide behind her ankles; she could feel it peeking around her right shin. Her staff grew ice-cold and threatened to freeze to her skin, but Mallara held tight to it.
The shadows coalesced. Mallara saw hints of light within it, and then the outlines of a face. Golden eyes -- wide, luminous, sad eyes -- met hers, and grew larger.
It smiled.
Mallara's Word came out in a desperate rasp. The eyes and the half formed face vanished as the barrier turned opaque. A fusillade of enraged blows fell against the shield.
Mallara coaxed a tangle of lightning from the staff, soothed it with a low, soft, Word, and sent it roaming across the shell of magic that enveloped her. Another Word silenced the thunder that fell against the barrier.
The milky white of the barrier rippled directly in front of Mallara. A blurred face appeared, leering and snarling, golden eyes gone mad and alight with rage. It smiled, revealing two rows of wet, curving fangs.
"Feeble," it said."Soft. Weak. Tear and rip and shred and -- "
The roaming skein of lightning bunched and hurled itself full in the grinning face.
Mallara's Word held back some of the thunder -- but what did leak through was enough to rattle her teeth and knock the breath from her. The flash left spots dancing before her eyes -- but the face was gone.
After a moment, the pounding resumed.
Mallara leaned on her staff, pulled a glowing glass wand from the air, and concentrated on holding the barrier together against the more subtle attack begun just before the face appeared.
"Sunrise in two hours and thirty-seven minutes," said the goblin-clock. The barrier shook. A sound like stones cracking rose up despite Mallara's wards of silence.
The glass wand began to pulse, flashing a ruddy red in time with Mallara's heart. Tiny pinpoints of light began to sparkle along the barrier, dancing and darting like fireflies in a tempest.
Mallara began to speak, and soon her Words ran together like the lyrics of some grim, discordant song.
"Sunrise in fourteen minutes," said the clock.
The blows, the lights, the faint touches of an old, dark magic -- all of ceased. Mallara held her barrier together, bracing it against a massive, final explosion of fury.
Her heartbeats raced by. For the first time since the storm broke, she began to be aware of her own sensations -- her ragged breathing, her hammering pulse, the sharp, fresh aches in her arms and neck. She thought of Burn, and clenched her jaw. I haven't the time to grieve, she thought. Not until the sun is up.
"Mistress," said a voice, from just beyond the barrier."It's Burn. Let me in."
Mallara nearly dropped her staff.
"I'm hurt," said the voice."It caught me, in the air. Please, Mistress. Open a portal. It's coming.
"Please."
"I will not cry," whispered Mallara."I will not."
"Please!" said the voice."It's here! Let me in!"
Mallara lifted her staff and hurled a gout of white-hot flame through the barrier. Something on the other side howled.
"I am a Sorceress," said Mallara, her voice shaking and hoarse."Not a hedge-witch to be misled with childish pranks. My friend would never beg -- not even for his life."
"Oh, he begged," said the voice."He begged and begged and begged, until the end." Then the blows began anew, and with them a wet snarling, as of a pack of wolves.
Mallara wiped away a tear, and countered the snarls with Words of her own.
"Two minutes until sunrise," said the goblin-clock.
The barrier shook and rang and shed fire in sheets. Every strand of power strained against the next. Hostile magic roamed the sphere, probing, testing, bringing force to bear on the smallest flaw.
"One minute," said the clock.
The attack intensified, became a single torrential explosion of power. The ends of Mallara's staff glowed bright red and dripped molten iron. The glass wand drooped and smoked. All about her, the air sparked and hissed, alive with minuscule skeins of brilliant lightning.
A small bell rang, and the goblin-clock did a tiny dance.
"Sunrise."
At once, the pounding stopped. There was a long, despairing wails, a brightness against the barrier, and then silence.
The wand fell from Mallara's left hand. She fell to her knees and crouched, gasping. The fallen wand became a puddle on the ground.
The barrier wobbled. Bulges and dents whirled across the face of it. Mallara grew dizzy watching and turned her eyes to the ground.
"One minute past sunrise," said the goblin-clock.
Mallara rose to her feet. Every bone, every muscle, every joint ached and burned. Her head throbbed and swam; she looked upon the failing barrier once more, only to find her eyes couldn't follow the flaws in its surface.
Wearily, she raised her staff, the Word that would banish the barrier forming on her cracked, bloody lips.
A fist-sized blur darted through a rend in the barrier.
"The clock," said the shimmer."It got through to the clock. The sun isn't up yet!"
Mallara stared. Her staff went cold.
"The barrier is failing," said Burn, his voice faint, his movements erratic."Mistress -- "
Mallara thrust the staff against the barrier and croaked out a Word. The barrier shook, reeling under a blow from outside meant to shatter it like so much glass.
Mallara held on, until the throbbing in her head grew louder and stronger than the roar from the barrier. A flash blinded her, and she felt the staff fall from her hands, and she realized she was falling with it just as the darkness took her.
"Mistress?"
Mallara stirred. That hurt, so she was still until she drifted away again. But the voice spoke again, and again, waking her each time she found comfort in oblivion.
"Mistress!" shouted the voice, from -- inside? -- her right ear."Wake UP!"
Mallara woke. There was a sound like an egg frying, and a familiar voice muttered curses. Mallara groaned, and opened her eyes.
She lay face-down on the cracked stone walkway, surrounded by smoking mounds of scorched earth and a ring of charred, limb-less tree-trunks. A fat afternoon sun shone down, unconcerned by the devastation. A cool breeze rushed south, it skirts filled with wisps of smoke.
Around her, in a ragged circle, lay dozens of charred vampire-flies. Another fell smoking to join the rest while Mallara watched.
"Four hundred and ninety-three," muttered the shimmer, who darted closer."Ah, you're awake. Get up and do something before the bugs finish what Yellow Face started."
Mallara rolled over.
"That's it," said Burn."Now sit up and look victorious before the Mayor and his telescope arrive. You'll never collect our fee stretched out like that."
Mallara sat up. Her head reeled, memories a whirlwind. Drink, she thought. Water first.
"The well opened into a cave," said Burn."That's where it caught me. I hid -- but when it left an
d I found my way back up, I hit your wards. Took me all night to wiggle past." Burn's voice fell to a whisper."You ought to say something to the clock," he said."Poor thing -- it didn't mean to trick you."
Mallara drained the canteen. When she was done, she put it down, picked up the goblin clock, and brushed soot from its bright glass face."No shame," she said, her voice a dry rasp."I'm very proud. Of both of you."
Burn darted near, an angry buzzing in his midst."They lied to us, Mistress," he said."That was a shadow-wight, or worse -- one with plenty of history behind it. I say our fee ought to double, triple, and triple again."
Mallara wiped soot from her brow."A pact is a pact," she said."You know that. We'll take the fees we asked, and no more. Then we'll rest. I expect out services will be required again, very soon."
Burn's buzzing intensified."Our services?" he said."What services?"
"It seems the villagers are going to have a problem with hornets," said Mallara."Angry hornets. Big ones."
"That isn't fair," said Burn."I'll get started right away."
The shimmer vanished.
Mallara smiled. The sun on her face was warm and bright. Birds sang, albeit from a safe distance. She closed her eyes and listened to bird-song until her head ceased pounding.
She heard the Mayor and his retinue long before they emerged from the trees and entered the smoldering meadow. Mallara allowed them to survey the ruins for a moment before she rose and turned to meet them.
"Welcome, gentlemen," said the Sorceress, a wide grin on her sooty face."I've been expecting you. But before we discuss my payment -- which one of you owns the telescope?"
THE ASKING AND THE VOW
by Frank Tuttle
"My name is Mallara," said the short, red-haired woman in the dusty linen breeches and the oft-patched blue cloak."I am an agent of the Crown, on the Crown's business. Step aside and let me pass."
"She means it, numb-skull," came a male voice from a blur in the air above Mallara's right shoulder."We've been ten days on the road from Arbor. No inns, no beds, no baths. Sorceress Mallara is about to lose her temper." The voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper."She does frogs when she's mad, soldier. But she doesn't do them well. Something about the mouth -- she never gets it right, even if she turns you back. It isn't pretty." The shimmering in the air darkened."Not pretty at all."
The soldier at the gate swallowed."Orders," he said."No one gets in Tillith after dark." The soldier's too-large iron helm fell down over his eyes, and he pushed it quickly back up."There's a Troll on the Square, ma'am," he said, to Mallara."A Troll!"
Mallara counted silently to ten."I came, as an agent of the Crown, to see this Troll of yours." Mallara thumped her iron-shod traveling staff on the road, and a long ribbon of yellow fire climbed quickly up the shaft and coiled about the head."It's late, and I'm tired. So you can either step aside or start catching your supper with the end of your tongue."
The shimmering in the air chuckled."That's if you end up with a tongue, son," said the shimmer."And if it's in your mouth."
Mallara fixed the guard in a weary green-eyed glare.
A bullfrog croaked, out in the night.
The soldier coughed and leaped aside, shoving Tillith's wobbly gate-pole open as he moved."Welcome to Tillith," he said."Do try the sausages at the Dancing Hound."
Mallara threw back her cloak and brushed past the guard. Her traveling staff -- moody, as usual -- spat a tiny hissing bolt of lightning at the guard as Mallara passed.
"Really, Burn," Mallara said to the shimmering air, when the guard was out of earshot."Frogs?"
Burn bobbed closer."Just say 'frog' and you instantly evoke every fairy tale these bumpkins ever heard," he said."That makes 'em stop and think." Burn snickered."And then we just walk on by, don't we?"
Mallara rolled her eyes. I could have asked for a cat, she thought. A nice quiet cat.
"Go find me this Troll, Burn," she said aloud."Hurry."
Burn zipped away, down Tillith's wide, empty main street. Mallara followed, walking slowly, reveling in the cool evening air and the promise of a long hot bath at the Dancing Hound.
Tillith rose up about her, lit only by a half-moon and a scattering of pitch-filled street-lights. Like dozens of other towns along the ancient road, Tillith was laid out in a straight line along both sides of the granite pavers that once linked the Old Kingdom from sea to sea. Gone were the towers and keeps; instead, neat stone and timber structures flanked the road -- here a general store, here a tavern, a barrel-maker's, a stable -- each structure itself flanked by narrow modern streets made of smooth black cobble-stones.
The night-time curfew left Tillith's streets empty and her buildings quiet, though Mallara could see light behind most window-shutters and hear laughter and the clink of glasses from a nearby tavern.
The air smelled of horses and wood-smoke; Mallara's stomach began to grumble audibly at the scent of a fresh-baked apple pie cooling on a nearby windowsill.
"Trolls in Tillith," muttered Mallara aloud. She smiled."Dragons and kraken, too, no doubt."
Burn buzzed suddenly down out of the night.
"Mistress," squeaked the shimmer, "It's a Troll. Not a bear or an ogre or a hairy man in a fur hat. A Troll!"
Mallara poked a finger into Burn's blurry volume of air."A Troll," she said."Primus Sapiens. Here, tonight, in Tillith."
"Mistress," said Burn, "It's a Troll. Six blocks ahead, on the town square. Standing right under the courthouse clock-tower."
Mallara halted."Burn," she said, "there hasn't been a confirmed Troll encounter anywhere in the Kingdom for five hundred years."
"Then walk with me," said Burn."Confirm one."
"Burn--"
"I'm serious, Mistress," said the shimmer."No mistake. No joke. Just a Troll. On our watch. What rare good fortune."
"Indeed," said Mallara. She curled and uncurled her toes inside her boots, stretched her back, and ran her fingers through the tangles of her hair."Go back, Burn," she said with a sigh."Sit on your Troll's head. Find me if it moves or speaks."
Burn made the buzzing noise Mallara called the "shimmer frown."
"I certainly will, your Fearlessness," said Burn."Where will you be?"
"Finding a Mayor," she said."Meet me at the Dancing Hound in the morning, if I haven't joined you before then."
"Better bring the black staff," said Burn."This Troll could keep bears in its pockets. It's that big."
Mallara shook her head."All I wanted was a bath and some supper," she said.
"The very stuff of epic heroism," said Burn."Good luck."
The shimmer hummed and was gone.
Mallara's traveling staff whispered a word of encouragement. Mallara forced a smile to her chapped lips, put a spring in her aching step, and marched off in search of the Dancing Hound.
"Good morning, Mistress," said Burn, from beyond Mallara's open second-story window."Did we sleep well?"
Mallara smiled a weary smile.
Burn sailed inside to hang over the remains of Mallara's breakfast. A knock sounded at Mallara's door.
"Come in," she said, turning in her chair. A tall, bald, red-faced man with an enormous black moustache ducked under the door-frame.
"Pardon my tardiness, Sorceress," said the man."But the Book--"
"Could not be found," said Mallara."I feared as much. But you will keep looking, won't you, Mayor?"
"Without halt," said the man.
"What's in this Book?" asked Burn. The Mayor cast his eyes about the room.
"That's Burn," said Mallara."Burn is a Shimmer, Mayor. Shimmers have no visible bodies -- just big voices. Burn, meet Mayor Homas Frick."
"Charmed," said Burn."What's in the Book?"
The Mayor tilted his head."Old stories," he said."The first Mayors started the book just after the sea road was laid."
Burn buzzed."I assume Trolls figure prominently in at least one chapter," he said.
The Mayor shrugged."There is an old story -- the Tale
of the Asking and the Vow. I never actually read it."
Burn darted quickly to rest just above the Mayor's pink scalp."The title says enough, I think," he said."The Trolls asked something, and somebody said yes." Burn sailed back toward the window."Better find that Book, Mayor. Soon."
Mayor Frick ran fingers through hair long departed."Madam Sorceress," he said to Mallara,"I won't even offer a pretense of haggling. I know what a threat that Troll represents. If you can end this peacefully -- well, you have but to name your price."
Burn whistled."Troll removals aren't cheap," he said."We usually charge --"
"We usually charge nothing," said Mallara."Averting disaster is the first duty of the Crown, Mayor. Burn and I will demand no fee."
Burn made strangled gasping noises.
"It's time we went to work, Mayor," said Mallara."Thank you for the room, and the meals, and the coffee. I trust we will be back in time for supper."
The Mayor rose."You do that, madam," he said."The Dancing Hound is at your service." The Mayor pushed his chair under the table."Is there anything else we can do for you?"
"Find me that Book," said Mallara. Then she too rose."Burn, let's go."
Mallara left the table, put out her hand, and spoke a word. A staff fell from a black slit in the air, and she caught it before the end struck the floor.
This staff was longer and thicker that her traveling staff. The shaft was midnight black, the ends capped with fine traceries of silver, the center carved with symbols that darted and moved if gazed at for more than a moment.
Mallara turned and was gone.
Burn buzzed."You haven't left anything out, have you, Mayor Frick?" said the shimmer, softly.
"Nothing," said the Mayor."Nothing at all."
"Good," said Burn."You're too tall to be a frog."
Burn sailed buzzing after his mistress.
Mallara halted a dozen steps from the motionless Troll, planted her staff by her right side, and racked her mind for something to say.
Her staff grew warm and whispered an inquiry -- what now, Sorceress? What now?
