by Frank Tuttle
"Always," said Kern. From the trees a hundred paces away came a quiet, stealthy crackling of dry leaves. Kern rose.
"There, Master," he said, pointing. "There!"
The largest serpent flowed into the clearing, halted, and lifted its feathered head a man-height off the ground. The head swiveled, pausing only briefly on Wistril and Kern before turning back to the forest and trilling out a bird-like chirp.
Three much smaller serpents tumbled out of the shadows in a writhing tangle. The largest serpent made a very human sighing noise and tapped the wrestling sea-serpents with the tip of her tail.
The small serpents separated and raced for the lake. The big one cast her eyes back toward Wistril and Kern, hissed, and followed the others beneath the waters.
Wistril stared, open mouthed. Kern lifted an eyebrow. "Flummery, you said," said Kern. "Or was it flotsam? I forget."
"Serpentia Giganticus Aquatica," said Wistril at last. "Extinct since the last Ice Age. Here, in my lake."
"Serpentia Giganticus Aquatica," said Kern. "Big water snakes."
"They are neither snakes nor truly aquatic," said Wistril. "The feathered manes -- the obvious nurturing behavior -- high heavens!" Wistril rubbed his palms together. "I must have my equipment," he said. "Books. Pen and paper. A decent chair. There is work to be done here, apprentice. These specimens must be studied."
Kern frowned. Through the trees, he could see a torch bobbing closer, and another, and another.
"Master," he said. "You'd better do some fast talking, or you'll be studying skinned carcasses." Kern pointed toward the torches. "Nobody from Dervanny would be out following your specimens." The torches reached the last line of pines. "Those must be the hunters the villagers were talking about hiring."
Wistril squinted and bristled. "Hunters?" Wistril shook his forefinger at Kern. "The serpentia are not to be harassed, apprentice. "Not harassed, not hunted, and certainly not clubbed and skinned."
Seven men, counted Kern. And eight, nine, ten. Kern hoped Sir Knobby was out rounding up the other fellows, and they were out rounding up clubs.
Wistril glared, rose from his bench, and hefted his staff.
"Master," said Kern, but Wistril stamped off toward the hunters.
"You there," bellowed the fat wizard. "You men. Come here at once."
Kern rolled his eyes and trotted off after Wistril.
The hunters sauntered forward. Kern caught sight of swords at their sides, and at least two of them had long steel-tipped spears with barbed hooks at the end.
Wistril stamped ahead. The ends of his staff began to sputter and trail wisps of smoke.
Sir Knobby dropped, quiet as a shadow, from the air beside Kern. "Stay close," said Kern. "And keep an eye on the biggest one. If trouble starts, he's the one to whack, or I'm an elf."
Sir Knobby nodded.
Wistril trundled into the hunter's flickering circle of torchlight. Both parties halted; Sir Knobby and Kern moved to flank Wistril, while a single hunter stepped out ahead of his comrades and shoved the sharpened end of his torch down into the ground.
Kern knew without asking that he was the man the villagers called the Grizzly. He looks like a bear, thought Kern -- a clumsily shaved and none too happy bear, but a scarred, angry bear nonetheless.
"You must be Mister Grizzly," said Kern.
The Grizzly snorted. "Fat one is the wizard," he said. Then he spat. "Got no use for wizards."
Wistril, too, took a step forward. "I am Wistril of Kauph," he said. "And I, sir, have no use for you." The top end of Wistril's staff began to crackle and hiss. "This Lake lies on land deeded to Kauph seven hundred years ago," said Wistril. "I claim Kingdom Law. I revoke your right to entry. Begone, and take your hirelings with you. You shall do no hunting here."
The Grizzly's small, dark eyes, all but hidden by hair and beard, narrowed in a humorless smile. "Lake is yours, wizard," he said. "But not the ridge or the north half of the valley. Plenty of hunting there. Plenty."
The end of Wistril's staff flared an angry red.
"You're one of them White Chair wizards," said the Grizzly. Again, he spat, this time just beside the tip of Wistril's right boot. "You took that Oath," said the Grizzly. "Oath of Peace, ain't it?" He grunted laughter, nodded at Wistril's staff. "You can't use magic on me. Not a White Chair wizard. White Chairs got to just sit back and watch." Yellow teeth shone suddenly through tangled beard. "Tell you what, White Chair. I'll bring you the heads, when I'm done. Got no use for the heads. Heads, guts, and wizards. No use at all."
The Grizzly wrenched his torch from the ground, laughed, and led his men away.
Sir Knobby looked sideways at Kern. "Hoot?" he said.
"Hoot," said Kern. Sir Knobby spread his wings, leaped, and was gone.
Wistril turned. "Not a word, Apprentice," he said. "Not a word."
"I don't have one," said Kern.
"Indeed. A rare and happy occurrence." Wistril mumbled a word and his staff ceased to glow. "While you are thus dumbstruck, pray use the mirror to return to Kauph. Gather blankets. Have the staff prepare my tent. I shall also require Jot's Bestiary, the complete Encyclopedia Fantastica, and my spyglass."
"Yes, Master. Anything else?"
Wistril closed his eyes and sighed. "Yes," he said. "The staff. Bring them as well."
"The staff?" Kern frowned. "The entire staff? Gargoyles, phantoms, Cook, and all?"
"That is what I said," snapped Wistril. "Set the wards on the castle and bring the staff. All. Here."
Wide-eyed, Kern nodded. "Yes sir."
"And bring me a sword."
Kern shrugged. "You don't have a sword."
"Then find me a sword!" roared the fat wizard. "Wrench the ore from the earth and smelt it yourself if you must but fetch me a sword!"
"Yes sir."
"Go!"
Kern saluted, turned, and raced for the mirror. He took a single look back before charging through the glass.
Wistril stood by the water's edge. The trio of small serpentia poked their heads above the water and made small chirping noises at the fat wizard.
Kern shook his head, stepped into the mirror, and stepped out in the south tower basement. A pair of sleepy-looking gargoyles holding rusty maces leaped to attention when Kern's boots scuffed the stones.
"Scrape the rust off those pig-stickers, gentlemen," said Kern. "And round up the rest of the crew. We're going off to war. The honor of Kauph has been bedraggled and besmirched."
"Hoot?"
"I mean it," said Kern. "The Master has been threatened. He's in danger even as we speak. We are all to gear up and fall out via this mirror. I'm going to round up the spooks and set the wards. I want everyone else out by dinner time. Is that clear?"
Two trumpet-blast hoots sounded.
"Good," said Kern. "Get started." Kern headed for the tower door, the gargoyles at his heels.
First, the study, Kern thought, for the books. Then to the store-room, and then -- a sword.
Not a rusted, bent cast-off such as the ones crossed over the mantel of the study fireplace. And certainly not that relic of a blade gripped by the suit of armor decorating the landing of the Great Hall stairs; the blade falls off the hilt every time it's dusted.
Kern ticked off all the contents of Castle Kauph as he walked, room by room, chamber by chamber -- there were swords enough, but not a one suited for actual swordplay.
Wistril's bellowed orders rang out in Kern's mind. "Bring me a sword!" shouted the wizard. "Forge it yourself if you must, but fetch me a sword!"
Kern snapped his fingers. "Master," he said, "I might do just that."
Wistril marched ponderously up and down the ranks of gargoyles lined up along the Lake's grassy shore. Occasionally the wizard would stop and inspect a freshly-sharpened pitchfork or test the edge of a well-worn axe.
"Excellent," he said, now and then. "You do our house honor."
More gargoyles joined the ranks via the mirror with each moment. The biggest f
ellows squeezed through the mirror frame with some difficulty; a few landed sprawling on the grass, obviously pushed hard from behind after becoming stuck in the glass.
Wistril's army grew. Kitchen implements and hastily made staves joined the field as weapons. Sir Knobby and a dozen of the oldest, largest, and most ferocious-looking gargoyles wielded the entirety of Castle Kauph's ornamental weaponry.
Kern popped through the mirror, saluted Sir Knobby, and broke into a trot to catch up with Wistril. Sir Knobby waved his mace in return; Kern smiled but hoped the Grizzly and his band would fail to notice the mends and patches on the maces, halberds, and pikes.
"Master," said Kern, panting. "Here's your sword."
"It will suffice," said Wistril, unsheathing the long, straight blade and re-sheathing it after a brief glance. "Apprentice. The phantoms. Are they briefed and ready?"
Kern grinned. "They're ready," he said. "Come sunset, Lake Ovinshoon becomes the single most haunted site in all the Nine Fair Kingdoms."
Wistril nodded, made a motion. The sword and scabbard vanished.
The last of the gargoyles -- Cook, still gripping her long iron serving-ladle -- lurched through the mirror and hooted. Kern hurried to the glass, stuck his head into the South Tower foyer, and spoke the word of warding.
The image in the mirror of the South Tower vanished, replaced by reflections of Lake and sky and three neat ranks of gargoyles.
Kern withdrew his head and turned. "Cry panic!" he shouted. "And loose the hounds of battle. Kauph marches to war! To victory, brave soldiers! Victory for Kauph!"
On cue, three hundred and seventy gargoyles lifted their makeshift arms and emitted a deafening barrage of hoots.
Wistril scowled, but endured the cheer until it died. "To your posts," he said. "We shall dine in shifts."
The gargoyles broke ranks.
"We shall dine in shifts?" said Kern, shaking his head. "You've got to work on your eve-of-battle speeches, Master," he said. "We simple foot soldiers need something like 'death before dishonor' or 'might makes right.' You know -- something short and pithy to shout as we storm impenetrable ramparts or hurl ourselves boldly into the face of the invincible foe."
"Apprentice!"
Kern saluted. "Yes, sir," he said. "I'm off. Right away, sir." Kern turned on his heel and made for the supply tent. "We shall dine in shifts!" he cried.
Wistril sighed heavily, and Kern heard the wizard's hobnailed boots march away in the direction of the mess tent and Cook's clanking dinnerware.
Sir Knobby sidled up beside Kern. "Hoot?"
Kern nodded. Sir Knobby waved, and a dozen of the smallest gargoyles -- some no larger than Kern's hand -- wandered toward the trees, so they could take to the air unseen.
"Traps," repeated Kern.
Wistril bristled. "Are any of these fiendish contraptions set on Kauph land?"
"None, Master," said Kern. "They've been very careful to avoid a trespass. But they know the serpentia's favorite routes, and they've set traps all along them."
Wistril shoved aside his Encyclopedia Fantastica and rose to pace the narrow confines of his tent. "Cowards," he grumbled. "Unread ruffians."
"Heavily armed unread ruffians," said Kern.
"Indeed," sighed Wistril. "Very well. Arm twenty of the more agile gargoyles with saplings. Have them spring the traps. Urge them to exercise extreme caution and the utmost stealth."
"They're cutting the saplings now," said Kern.
"Excellent," said Wistril. The wizard yawned and stooped to pull up the tent-flap to peek out at the Lake. "Night will fall soon," he said. "I am eager to observe the serpentia again. The younglings seem quite unafraid."
"A little fear might serve them well," said Kern. "Us, too."
"Bah," said Wistril, lowering the flap and moving to collect his books.
"I hear things about this Grizzly, Master," said Kern. "I hear he has two hundred and fifty in his band. Mercenaries, all, who hunt wyverns and manticore in the slack times between border wars down south."
Wistril snorted. "This so-called Grizzly has barely eighty men," said Wistril. "Eighty men, thirty horses. The villagers paid forty crowns and promised the Grizzly he could keep the hides if the killed the monsters. Mercenaries. Nonsense."
Kern shrugged. "So we've got him outnumbered. But our staff -- they can clean house and tend a garden and Cook makes a first-rate soufflé, but, Master, can they fight?"
Wistril gathered his books and trundled toward the tent-flap. "I do not intend to test that, Apprentice," he said. "We have evicted the hunters from our land. We shall haunt the Lake. We shall spring his traps." Wistril paused. "Forty crowns will last only so long, spread amid such a gaggle of brigands," he said. "The money will run out and the Grizzly will move on, Apprentice. You will see."
"What if he's as stubborn as certain White Chair Wizards?" said Kern.
Wistril stamped out of the tent. Kern followed, gazing up and around at the darkening sky.
"Here they come," said Kern.
Wistril stacked his books on the bench set at the water's edge. "The serpentia?"
"The spooks!"
A long, shrill wail sounded faintly over the trees. Kern jumped and waved and whistled. "Over here, gents! Over here!"
Above, a ragged patch of darkness appeared, high and fast. The darkness slowed and thickened and spun, falling suddenly and then wheeling away to hover over the center of the Lake like a fat, lazy tornado spun whole out of cobwebs.
The darkness seethed and boiled, spinning and billowing wide enough to cover three-quarters of the Lake in the space of ten heartbeats. Howls and shrieks, faint at first, grew in number and volume until reaching a crescendo that sounded of multitudes in torment.
"Nice touch," said Kern.
The ragged darkness exploded. Spinning off in all directions, the ghosts of Castle Kauph soared screaming over the waters and into the forest.
Kern watched the bushes Sir Knobby's areal spies had identified as hiding-places for the Grizzly's lookouts. Sudden movement caused leaves to shake; Kern distinctly saw at least one pair of boot-heels heading quickly away, a mob of gleeful phantoms in close pursuit.
"Observe," said Wistril, peering through his brass spyglass. "The serpentia emerge!"
Fifty feet out, the serpents broke water and made for shore just past Wistril's tent.
"A feathered crest!" hissed Wistril. "See, Apprentice, how the plumage extends from eyes to mid-back? A female. A female with young, just as I suspected."
The female serpentia perked up her head, turned her slitted glare toward Wistril and his spyglass, and whistled to her young.
"Fascinating, Master," said Kern. The serpentia whistled again, turned, and the serpents writhed into the forest and away.
Kern let out his breath in a whoosh. "Lucky us. A female sea-monster, with three hungry young mouths to feed. Remind me to put two knots in my tent flap tonight."
"Bah," said Wistril. "I have been observing the serpentia with a spell," he said. "As indicated by the fossil records, the serpentia eat only fish. The villagers and their precious goats are in no danger, Apprentice. Nor are you."
"You'll never convince the villagers of that, Master."
"I shall not try," said Wistril. The wizard folded his glass, made a chair appear with a mumble and a finger-twitch, and sat. "The young are molting, Apprentice. Shedding their skins. The female parent is leading them into the forest only to snag their old skins among the rocks and limbs. Once the molting is complete, these nocturnal jaunts will cease."
"For a time," said Kern. "Then what?"
Wistril spread pens and paper. "The Lake will only support a few such creatures for a year, perhaps two," he said. "They will surely move on when the supply of fish runs low. Imagine -- nomadic, nurturing, feathered reptiles!"
Kern tilted his head. "You're sure about this?"
"Confound it, Apprentice, I am as sure as a man with less than an hour of observation and a blatherskite helper could possibl
y be," he said. "I have notes to make. Attend the staff. Fetch me at midnight, and I will relieve you at watch."
"Yes, Master."
"And tell the staff, Apprentice," said Wistril, as he cast a small blob of lamp-less flame to hover over his table. "Tell the lads that if the hunters pursue the serpentia onto Kauphish soil I want the hunters repelled. With vigor. Is that clear?"
"Aye, Master," said Kern. "We shall dine in shifts!"
"Begone!" roared Wistril. "Confound it, begone!"
Kern sprinted grinning for the moonlit trees.
The brass goblin-clock in Wistril's tent croaked out midnight. Kern waited until the last grumbling note faded before lifting Wistril's tent flap.
"Master?" said Kern. "It's midnight. You told me to wake you."
Blankets stirred. "Urgh," said the wizard, from within the heap of covers.
Kern stepped inside. "We've had trouble, Master," he said. "One of the staff was injured springing a trap."
Wistril's bald head rose up, bleary-eyed. "My staff? Injured?" Blankets flew. Wistril leaped to his feet, clad only in a scowl and enormous yellow silk pajamas.
"Is the injury grievous?"
"No, Master. A nasty cut on his arm. We stopped the bleeding and applied a bandage. Cook is tending him now."
Wistril snatched up his pants. "I shall dress," he said. "And then we shall teach this unwashed furrier to trifle with the house of Kauph."
Kern turned his back. "I don't think we need to teach him trifling," he said. "He knows that already. That trap wasn't set for serpentia, Master. It was set for people sent out to spring serpentia traps. He knew we'd be out in the weeds, Master. He knew, and he was ready."
Wistril's cot creaked and groaned as he struggled with his leather pants. "This Grizzly was perhaps prepared for a nearsighted gargoyle with a stick," he said. "We shall see if he has made provisions for strong magic, aggressively applied."
Kern lifted an eyebrow and turned. "The Grizzly knows all about your Oath of Peace," he said. "He knows you can't use magic to turn his head into a turnip, even in self-defense. And you can't scare him with conjured monsters; he knows they're just tricks of light and shadow. "
