One Quest, Hold the Dragons

by Greg Costikyan

  "Yes, yes, but do get on with it," said Jasper.

  The baron read the runes incised in the wall about the window, refreshing his memory of the scrying spell. Like his brother, he was no collegiate adept, but any nobleman was expected to have a certain capacity for magic. He had always keenly felt the lack of deeper knowledge, in fact, which was why he had insisted that his son attend university. Panting between syllables, Barthold read the spell.

  He walked carefully about until the road toward Urf Durfal came into view. Then he slowly moved his head to bring sections of it into focus, mile by mile, down the mountain and toward the barony's border.

  "Well?" said Jasper, the point of green light hanging expectantly above Barthold's shoulder.

  "Settle down, damn it," said the baron. There was nothing down the Durfalian way. He moved to the opposite window and began to survey the eastern road, down toward Hamsterburg. Several moments passed.

  "Hold on," he said.

  "What is it?" demanded Jasper.

  "How very odd," said the baron.

  Jasper made a noise indicative of exasperated inquiry.

  Barthold said, "Come here." The light flew directly toward him. "Take careful note of where I stand," said the baron. "I shall move aside; take up my position, and read the spell you see on the window above you."

  The baron moved; Jasper read the spell. After a moment, he said, "Well?"

  "Don't you see it?"

  "I have an excellent view of a small pond and a beaver. I hadn't known they had orange teeth; why is that, do you think?"

  The baron studied Jasper's position. "Move about a bit, until the road comes into focus."

  Experimentally, Jasper flew in slight circles, until he said, "Oh. I see what you mean."

  Down there on the road, perhaps a half dozen miles from the castle, was the wagon, apparently abandoned. The horses that had drawn it were out of the traces, tied to nearby trees, cropping quietly at the brush on the roadside verge.

  "Where could he have gone?" wondered Jasper.

  "An excellent question," said Barthold.

  "I don't suppose the statue is still there," said Jasper.

  "You'd better go have a look," said Barthold.

  Jasper flew out the window toward his companions, who waited expectantly in the courtyard below, already mounted.

  Nick poked his head out of the wagon. "It's gone," he reported.

  Sidney sighed; she had expected as much. Jasper flitted about, apparently mumbling some kind of spell, perhaps hoping to pick up the traces of Broderick's presence. Baron Barthold sat his horse patiently, looking rather tired. Timaeus disconsolately thumbed weed into his pipe, while Kraki merely looked bored.

  Beatrice, who had been kneeling in the vegetation along the verge, rose to her feet. "Look here," she said, sweeping a hand to indicate the brush around her.

  "Ah, yes," said Timaeus. "Weeds. Goldenrod, isn't it? And are those lupines? Is there anything in particular we're supposed to be seeing?"

  "Look at the color," said Beatrice.

  They were silent for a moment. "It's a lighter green,"said Nick. It was true; a swath of the vegetation was lighter in color than the weeds around it.

  "Quite so," said Beatrice, nodding. "It is the light green of early spring, of new shoots putting forth. Why this should be, I cannot say."

  "Hmm," said Timaeus thoughtfully, tamping his pipe. "Suppose one were to haul a heavy object through the wood—"

  "How?" demanded Jasper.

  "How should I know? Suppose they had some great draft horse—"

  "A damned great draft horse," said Jasper. "Stantius must weigh a ton."

  "Do shut up until I'm finished, there's a good man," said Timaeus irritably. "Suppose they were to drag it through the woods; it would leave an unmistakable trail, would it not?"

  "Assuredly," said Beatrice.

  "Suppose then that a nature mage was among them, who might order the vegetation to grow behind, to cover the evidence of their passage. Would not such vegetation be lighter in color, as are new-grown plants in the early spring?"

  "Interesting," said Jasper. "But if Broderick had such a wizard as an ally, why did he not summon the mage to help him defend Biddleburg Castle against us?"

  "Maybe the wizard wasn't an ally," said Nick. "Maybe Broderick was ambushed."

  "By whom?" asked Sidney.

  "Who can say?" said Timaeus.

  "Well," said Jasper after a brief silence. "Look here, My Lord Barthold; I presume that Sir Broderick's personal effects remain at Biddleburg Castle?"

  "I assume so," said Barthold. "If I were Broddy, and I'd just escaped from the dungeon, I wouldn't go skulking about in search of the odd pair of socks before running away."

  "Good," said Jasper briskly. "Then let's find those socks, and I shall use the same spell to trace the baleful Broderick that I used to locate the beauteous Beatrice. Shall we return to the castle?"

  Sidney sighed. "Might as well," she said. "It looks like this is going to be a long pursuit; we'd better get some supplies together."

  "Damn," said Nick as they saddled up. "I wish we knew where Vic was."

  "True," said Timaeus, wheeling his horse. "His absence is disturbing. Given the fact that his wits are only intermittently keen, it may be he's forgotten our whole enterprise."

  "It's not that," said Nick, clucking his mare into motion. "It's-I always figured Vic would save our bacon, if push came to shove."

  "Beg pardon?" said Timaeus.

  "I figured, if we got into deep trouble, he'd always bail us out," Nick explained. "After all, he's got the power of a dozen mages. Even if he isn't altogether there, in mortal danger he'd probably snap to."

  "Our own private deus ex machina," said Timaeus. "A nice thought."

  "Doesn't matter anyway," said Sidney shortly. "He isn't here."

  They rode onward.

  The socks were brown, worn, and quite odoriferous. They hung below the point of green light; despite Jasper's near invisibility, one got the impression he was keeping them as distant from his invisible nose as he was able.

  "I hadn't meant socks in the literal sense," complained Jasper. "I meant it in a metaphorical way. Anything associated sufficiently intimately with the man himself will do.

  Timaeus chortled. "You'd be hard put to find anything more intimately associated with Broderick," he pointed out. "They are imbued with his very, ah, essence."

  "Yes, well, essence, in the sense that a perfume is an essence," said Jasper. "Not essence in the sense of unique character—"

  "I'd say they capture Uncle's unique character quite well, actually," said Bertram from his sedan chair, to which his broken legs confined him. "His morals stink; so do his socks. His welcome has worn thin; so have the heels."

  "Can't ask for better similarity between spell object and target than that," said Timaeus complacently.

  "All right, all right," grumbled Jasper. "Here goes." He chanted his spell.

  "Anything?" asked Sidney when he was done.

  "Yes, actually," said Jasper. "He's-this way." The green light flew in a straight line toward one end of the chamber.

  Beatrice watched it, then glanced out the tower window. "East by southeast, I make it," she said. They bent over the map on the table.

  "Are you sure?" said Sidney incredulously, looking up at Jasper.

  "This direction, all right," said Jasper. "No mistake. Unless someone else has been wearing these things." "Scant chance of that," said Bertram. "I found them balled up in his boots."

  "You can't have gotten the spell wrong?" Sidney said.

  "I have not," Jasper replied.

  Timaeus peered over Sidney's shoulder at the map. "But you have him striking straight across trackless wilderness," he said.

  "The wildwood," agreed Beatrice.

  "Leagues and leagues of it," said Sidney, a finger tracing the route.

  "Very well," said Jasper. "Let us gather provisions, and go.

  "But how coul
d he possibly carry the statue through—" said Nick.

  "How should I know?" said Jasper. "We'll ask him when we find him."

  "You'd best leave your horses," said Beatrice. "That's mountainous terrain; the vegetation is quite dense, and there's little forage. They'd just slow you down."

  "Oh, bloody wonderful," said Timaeus. "Hiking over hill and dale, up and down mountains and through leechinfested swamps. I'm not exactly the hardened wilderness explorer, you know."

  "You think maybe you can save the world by sitting in an armchair and sipping brandy before the fire?" demanded Sidney. "If you aren't willing to face a little hardship, why did you embark on this damned quest?"

  "Why shouldn't one be able to save the world while sipping brandy before the fire?" asked Timaeus. "What is it about quests that involves dire peril and travail? Who arranges these things, anyhow?" .

  "Ask Vic when you see him," said Sidney. "He seems to be the expert on quests."

  "All very well for you to say," complained Timaeus. "Not that we've got a chance of success without Vic, you know. What are we going to do if we reach Arst-KaraMorn without him? Knock on the Dark Lord's door and say, `Please sir, release the spirit of Stantius Human-King so the forces of freedom can beat your nasty orcs and things, and we can all go home?' Vincianus is the only one who has the slightest idea how to—"

  "I swear to all the gods," said Sidney, "I can't imagine how I ever got hooked up with such a whiner. We've got to go after Broderick; we don't have any choice. Come or not, see if I give a damn."

  "Oh, I'm coming, I'm coming," said Timaeus unhappily. "But I don't have to like it. I don't suppose you'd come, Lady Beatrice? We could use a woodswise companion."

  "See here, Timaeus," said Bertram, slightly alarmed. "You won't be taking my betrothed away, will you?"

  "I'm sorry," said Beatrice. "I'm needed here. The barony—"

  "Yes, yes," said Jasper. "But it would be useful to have someone who knows the woods. Could a member of the Band perhaps be persuaded to join us?"

  Beatrice thought for a moment. "Frer Mortise, I think," she said.

  They stood in the castle courtyard in the new day's light, the sky still rosy, the air a little chill. Timaeus picked up his pack uneasily. "This must weigh five stone," he said.

  'Two, two and a half," said Sidney, bustling about and making sure the last of the supplies were packed away. "Kraki, help him get it on, will you?"

  "Sure," said Kraki genially, slinging his own pack easily over one shoulder. "Turn around. Put arms back. Here ve go."

  Timaeus did as requested, extending his arms awkwardly behind him.

  "Oopsy-daisy," said Kraki, looping the straps over Timaeus's shoulders and letting the pack go. Timaeus staggered under the weight. "Good heavens," he grumbled.

  "Chin up," said Jasper, zipping about.

  "I don't see you with a pack," said Timaeus.

  "Couldn't fly," said Jasper. "Limit to the weight I can carry.f9

  "Very convenient," said Timaeus.

  Beatrice approached with a lanky, long-haired man. "This is Frer Mortise," she said cheerfully. He was pallid, painfully thin, and wore circular spectacles with lenses that were almost black. His garb was forest green and at his belt was a large silver sickle. He bore a gnarled wooden staff, and a pack at his back, like the others. He nodded in greeting.

  "What's your cult, Brother?" asked Timaeus.

  "Deeset," said Mortise, in a reedy, high-pitched voice. The moon goddess; nature-aligned, but with some fairly unpleasant traits. Her worshipers were mostly elves, women, and therianthropes. Sidney smiled.

  "Vhere is Nicky?" inquired Kraki.

  "Yes," said Timaeus, "where is he, Sidney?"

  "What am I, his keeper?" she said. "How the hell—"

  "Here he is," said Jasper.

  Nick approached, looking faintly uncomfortable. Behind him, one of the scullery maids trudged slowly, eyes red with recent tears. As Nick took up his pack, she burst into sobs again, turned, and ran back toward the kitchen door.

  "What are we waiting for?" Nick said. Beatrice was looking at him rather coldly; to his surprise, he blushed. "Ve go," said Kraki.

  And they departed.

  They climbed a rise, feet sinking into the leaf mold; oaks and chestnuts stood about them. Timaeus lagged behind, already puffing. Mortise strolled with him, quite at ease.

  "Wonderful day," said the cleric. Timaeus grunted.

  "Look," said Mortise, pointing to a large, shelf-like fungus growing from the bole of an elderly oak.

  Timaeus looked. "Edible?" he asked.

  "No," said Mortise. He reached up into a hollow in the tree and pulled out a squirrel. The little red creature chattered in rage and tried to bite the cleric's hand, but he held it too expertly.

  Mortise pulled his sickle from his belt, whacked off the creature's head, and sucked blood from the stump of itsneck. "Want some?" he asked, holding out the limp little body.

  "I'll pass, thanks," said Timaeus faintly.

  Sidney sprang for the brook's far bank. Her foot slipped on mud, and she went sprawling full-length into the water. Kraki, who had bounded over the brook with consummate ease, gave her a hand up. "Good thing varm day," said Kraki. "You dry out qvickly."

  "Yeah, I suppose," said Sidney, shaking her limbs. A little sandbar along the bank of the stream held a footprint of some kind-not the print of a human sole. Her attention captured, she examined it more closely. It was a hoofprint, rather horse-like but quite large.

  Mortise leapt lightly across the stream. He studied the print Sidney had found. "Unicorn," he said.

  "Unicorn?" said Sidney unbelievingly. They were rare and notoriously skittish.

  "Sure," said Mortise, and headed off into the woods.

  Timaeus came up, panting heavily. He splashed heedlessly . through the water and nearly ran into Sidney. He stopped and teetered for a moment under the weight of his pack.

  "Unicorn," said Sidney, nodding toward the hoofprint.

  He stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment; gradually, a glimmer of understanding penetrated fatiguedulled eyes. He glanced at the hoofprint. "Pshaw," he scoffed.

  "Mortise says it's a unicorn," she said.

  They camped in a pine grove on a gentle slope above a stream. Mortise had shown them how to pitch the tents, and had collected enough wood to start a blaze, something they all appreciated; the day had been warm, but the night sky was clear and their elevation was high. The temperature was rapidly dropping.

  Nick scanned the skies above them. He was acutely aware that dragons inhabited the Dzorzian Range. Vincianus had promised there wouldn't be any, not on this quest; but Vincianus wasn't around, and had probably forgotten his promise anyway. It would be just their luck if some dragon took it into its head to have them for dinner.

  They wouldn't have a prayer of defeating a dragon, not by force of arms; and, Nick realized uncomfortably, one of their two wizards would be useless against a wynn. Fireballs wouldn't faze a monster that belched fire after every meal.

  Timaeus sat on the needled ground by the fire, .leaning back against his pack, eyes half closed with fatigue, luxuriating in the warmth. A copper pot bubbled above the blaze, filled with skinned squirrel, mushrooms, and wild onions—Mortise's gleanings of the day.

  They heard the crash of a large beast in the woods. "Dragon!" shouted Nick, looking for someplace to hide. Everyone else leapt for weapons-except for Timaeus, who barely roused himself enough to look.

  It wasn't a dragon. An ogre walked into the circle of light cast by the fire. He stood a good ten feet tall. His hair was matted and filthy; he was clad in uncured deer hide, and a knife as long as Kraki's sword hung at his belt. In one hand was an enormous wooden bucket.

  "Die, foul vight!" shouted Kraki, hurtling toward the monster. His sword bit into the ogre's leggings, through deer hide and into the straw the monster had packed within them for warmth. It was doubtful the blade penetrated as far as the ogre's flesh.


  "Hey!" boomed the ogre. "Don't do dat." He kicked Kraki across the clearing. The barbarian tumbled, plowing through pine needles to smash into the trunk of a tree. Somehow, he managed to keep his grip on his sword.

  The monster upended his bucket over the fire, extinguishing the blaze and splashing Timaeus, who sprang to his feet, fatigue forgotten. "What is the meaning of this?" Timaeus shouted.