Wistril Compleat

by Frank Tuttle

  "Fetch me more wine, Master of Kauph!" bellowed the Baron. "Fetch us all more wine, that we might be more comfortable within the mighty walls of your splendid abode! Go, and be quick about it!"

  "Apprentice," said Wistril.

  Kern rose, ignoring the glares and grumbles about him, deftly stepping past the elbows and forks that sought out his sides as he passed.

  Wistril passed through the Great Hall door, which now hung lopsided and loose on a single squeaking hinge , and Kern followed quickly after.

  Late that night, after the last of the Baron's bellows had sounded, and the last of his men had stumbled drunkenly up to their beds, Kern sought out Wistril in his study. Finding the wizard seated calmly at his massive desk, Kern crossed Oomish carpet and wearily sought out his own desk and chair.

  The study, unlike the rest of Kauph, was unmarked by the new glamour of poverty and decay that marked every room. Wistril's desk shone in the candle-light, its polished ironwood top unblemished; the brass goblin-clock whirled away on the corner, carefully marking off the seconds with small, precise clicks. Kern squinted through the shadows, and found that Wistril's face was once again his own, untouched by soil or sores.

  "Have our guests retired?" asked the wizard.

  "If falling to the floor in a wine-sotted stupor is retiring, then they have done so mightily," said Kern. He yawned and stretched, weary from his night of wine-pouring and beef-fetching.

  "Were you abused beyond tolerance?" asked Wistril.

  "They were more interested in drinking your wine and eating your meat than in abusing your humble, fleet-footed apprentice," said Kern. "So the only injury done was to my pride."

  Wistril shrugged. "Pride must often make deference to stealth," he said.

  Kern groaned. "It's usually my pride that makes the deference," he said. "Might I expect to defer again tomorrow?"

  "Indeed," said Wistril. He met Kern's inquisitive stare with a grim half-smile. "The wizard," he said. "Has that creature retired, as well?"

  "He went first," said Kern.

  "The wine," said Wistril, lifting his hands and putting them before him, finger-tip to finger-tip. "Did the wizard partake?"

  "Not a drop, Master," said Kern, who frowned. "Why? Was there something in the wine?"

  "Incaution," said Wistril, his gaze far away. "Incaution, and imprecision. I reckon yonder wizard cannot partake of either, even for a moment."

  "He mumbled and he stared," said Kern. "Turned his head a lot, too. He either had bees in his hood, or he was hearing things we weren't," said Kern. He shook his head and pushed back his hair, then rested his chin in his hands. "But he certainly had no trouble dispelling your glamour, Master," he said. "Though I was surprised to find a second one beneath it."

  "Let this be a lesson to you, Apprentice," said Wistril. "Deception wears many masks. Take care to remove them all, should you undertake to see the face of truth."

  "How long do you think it will take what's-his-name to start tugging away at this mask, Master?" asked Kern. "And why make us look like beggars? Baron Bully and his lads will run roughshod over us, now that they think you're a hedge-wizard and Kauph is a ruin."

  "The Baron came here seeking an enemy," said Wistril, waggling a finger at Kern. "He came to spy us out, to test out mettle. Now that he thinks us mere peasants, he will likely drink our beer and loot our kitchens, but that will be the extent of his predations," said the wizard. "A poor man's door is seldom worth breaking down."

  "Unless you just enjoy the sound of the wood breaking," muttered Kern.

  "Indeed," said Wistril. "Still. I believe this Baron will move on, in a day or three," said Wistril. "Until then, we must accompany the glamour of poverty with an even less pleasant glamour, Apprentice. I must feign cowardice, and you foolishness. I have instructed the bulk of the staff to remain hidden, until this ordeal is done," he said.

  "I hope 'tis done quickly," said Kern.

  "As do I," replied Wistril. The goblin-clock clicked and spun. "Nevertheless, while we wait, I have need of one of the haunts," said Wistril. "Preferably an old, experienced specter given to patience and craft."

  Kern lifted an eyebrow. "There's Lord Essraven," he said. "Spry old chap. He's troubling the Baron's sleep, even as we speak."

  "Fetch him on the morrow," said Wistril. "Say nothing more than that I wish to see him. In fact, Apprentice," said Wistril, leaning into the candle-light, "say nothing concerning the remaining glamour or our plans outside of this room. Here, we may meet and speak unseen, protected by spells no mumbling necromancer could penetrate."

  "What if he's better than you think he is, Master?" asked Kern.

  "Then we are undone," said Wistril. He glanced at the goblin-clock, frowned, and snapped his fingers. His favorite scrying glass appeared on the desk before him, and made a face.

  "Behave," snapped the wizard, at the glass. Then he turned his eyes toward Kern. "Go, apprentice," he said. "Rest. The morrow shall be trying, and one wrong word could bring all those swords down on our heads."

  Kern rose. "I'll limit myself to 'Yes sir' and 'no sir,'" he said. "And I'll send you a haunt after breakfast."

  "Excellent," said Wistril. He waved his hand over the glass, and a silvery light grew from a spark deep within it.

  Kern passed by it and stole a glance into the glassy depths. A sigil rose and spun, taking the shape of a broken sword and a rearing lion, but then Wistril glared and Kern hurried past, wondering just who the Master was calling, this late at night.

  Kern counted the days, naming each after the most unpleasant incident that occurred upon it. First came The Day the Baron Kicked Me in the Shins, then came The Day the Baron's Men Set Fire to Wistril's Schooner, and finally The Day the Baron Rode His Horse Into the Great Hall and Drank the Very Last of Wistril's Good Upland Beer.

  The nights belonged to restless sleep, and the haunts. Kern lay awake for hours, grinning at the shrieks and the moans and sound of the Baron's men shouting and cursing and striking at the walls with their swords. Midway through the second night, the Baron had bellowed at his wizard to banish the haunts, but Kern heard them again just before dawn, and he knew they would return with the sunset.

  Kern barely saw Wistril, whose absence was a source of hilarity for the Baron and his men. "I may make you Lord of Kauph, sirrah," said the Baron one evening to Kern. "At least you'll fetch a man a flagon of ale when called. Where's that mighty wizard of yours hiding, these days? In the root-cellar, is he?" He propped his boots upon Wistril's Great Hall table, and his brutish officers roared. "Or is he holding court in the privy?"

  Kern had just smiled and nodded and bowed, until the Baron shoved him away and joined his officers in another of their seemingly endless bouts of drinking, bellowing, and dicing.

  Beyond the walls, the Baron's soldiers fared little different, though they were forbidden to partake of Wistril's cellars or his table. Instead, they sent a contingent of ruffians down into Dervanny; later that day, the band returned, bearing innkeeper Fergot's own wagon and a dozen barrels of the Laughing Horse's name-sake ale. There was meat aboard the wagon, too -- meat that Kern was sure the men had simply torn from hooks in Fergot's smoke-house, probably, thought Kern, while the old man clenched his fists and watched.

  "Send a letter, secretly, by Sir Knobby," said Wistril, when Kern relayed the Baron's men's banditry to the wizard. "Tell the Mayor that I shall bear the cost of any damage, and buy any goods they steal," said Wistril. "Warn him that any attempt to meet force with force will only result in bloodshed to the villagers," he added. "Remind him that these are not soldiers, bound by law, but brigands, driven by hunger."

  "I'll send the letter," said Kern. And then, before he could say another word, Wistril's door shut, and Kern was alone in the empty hallway, standing beside a bright ray of sun that shone through a hole in the roof above.

  "Ale!" shouted the Baron, "Ale-boy!"

  Kern glared at Wistril's door, and hurried away.

  Kern count
ed beer-barrels and frowned. "Only four left," he said, in disgust. "The Master will have a conniption fit."

  "I shall have no such thing," said a voice in the air, beside Kern. He jumped and started, but was alone in the East Tower store room.

  "We may speak freely, for a time," said Wistril.

  Kern looked warily about. "Very well, Master," he said. "What shall we speak about?"

  "The shade of Lord Essraven has been most ingenious," said Wistril. "I now know the secret of the Baron's wizard's powers. Also, I have ascertained the location of the Lady Emmerbee."

  Kern nodded. "Is she heading this way?" he asked, in a whisper. "Because we simply cannot host a wedding on the good Baron's leavings."

  "There will be no wedding," said Wistril. "And we shall soon command our own House, once again." Kern could not see Wistril's disdainful pout, but he could hear it in his voice. "These are not to be wasted upon the Baron and his hirelings," he said. "You shall inform him that the larder of Kauph is empty. You shall feed him flour-cakes and tepid water, tonight, and if he is to have breakfast he will provide it for himself," said the wizard.

  "What if he wants to complain about the hospitality?" asked Kern. "Shall I send him up to your rooms?"

  "You shall tell him I have gone," said Wistril. "Indeed, earlier I send a fetch sneaking down the road," he said. "It appeared to be me, with a sack slung over my shoulder, and a stolen pair of boots upon my feet," he said.

  "Did the wizard see?" asked Kern.

  "He saw," said Wistril. "Now then. Do as I have said."

  "I shall," said Kern. "I just hope the Baron doesn't decide to park his boots under your table for the winter, once he learns you've fled in disgrace," he added.

  "He will not. He is leaving at first light, heading for Ollabat, where his wizard has located the Lady Emmerbee," he said. "Kauph vanquished, the Lady in his grasp. Bah. He will be gone, Apprentice, and after airing the Towers and restocking the larder, we will be none the worse. Other Houses have not fared so well, when faced with the good Baron's presence."

  Kern nodded. "And your fiancée?" he asked. "What if the Baron finds her at Ollabat?"

  "Apprentice!" said Wistril, his voice nearly at a bellow, until Kern made frantic shushing noises and the wizard's tone grew calmer. "I am not such a craven fiend that I would trade the safety of a woman for the departure of a rude houseguest. I have managed to speak briefly with the Lady herself; the Baron will arrive, to find her fled, and the tracks shall lead him north toward Novin," said the wizard. "All the while, of course, the lady shall turn south, and make for the Sea."

  "You have been busy," said Kern. "And I didn't mean..."

  "Yes, yes, we are both perhaps both sorely tried," said the wizard. Kern heard another voice whisper, and the wizard spoke again.

  "I must go," he said. "Do as I have said."

  Kern nodded. And then he was alone, except for the four untapped ale-kegs and a rat he fervently hoped was merely part of Wistril's remaining glamour.

  "All empty," he said, aloud. "Alas. No feasting tonight."

  A shadow flew quickly past, and when it was gone the bare-tailed, red-eyed rat looked Kern in the eye and winked before scurrying off into the shadows.

  Kern put out the wall-lamp and felt his way quickly for the door.

  Kern awoke. He heard men cursing and the Baron bellowing and horses neighing. When he smelled smoke waft up through his window, he leaped from his bed and raced for his door, only to be met by Sir Knobby and Wistril.

  "Master," said Kern, as softly as he could. "They've set us afire!"

  "Yes," said Wistril. "Specifically, they've stacked beer-barrels at the foot of the South Tower and ignited them. Oh, and they broke most of the furniture and tossed it on the heap, as well," said Wistril.

  Kern struggled to hitch up his pants. "And?" He said. "Are we to stand here and let it burn?"

  Wistril shrugged. "The South Tower was in need of a thorough cleaning," he said. "I fear I have let it become a haven for rubbish. If the Baron's men are inclined to haul it out and burn it, well, so be it."

  "And the rest of the keep?"

  "Is quite safe, I assure you," said Wistril. He glanced past Kern and toward his bedroom window. "See? They depart!"

  Kern hurried to the window, and peeked through it.

  The Baron and his mounted officers wheeled and galloped through Wistril's courtyard. The Baron bellowed and threw the two torches he bore, as did half a dozen of his men. Then he rode toward the open, sagging gate, and with a final contemptuous kick at one of Wistril's herb-filled window boxes, he charged through the gate and bade his men follow.

  Smoke billowed and rose behind them, and a harsh, growing crackling filled the air.

  Wistril waited a moment, until the last of the hoof beats died away. Then he lifted his hands, and closed his eyes, and a shadow, like that of a fast cloud on a sunny day, passed over the keep and the courtyard and the billowing towers of smoke.

  And when the shadow passed, Kauph was whole again. The walls were straight and strong, and the Towers, while they neither soared nor brooded, were sturdy and whole and, Kern noted with intense relief, notably lacking any engulfing sheets of fire.

  The billowing smoke, though it continued to rise, did so silently and without heat or sound. The burning barrels at the base of the South Tower were extinguished so suddenly and completely they neither smoked nor sparked; indeed, the only signs of any distress lay in Wistril's trampled rose-garden, the wreck of a single gazebo, and the charred ruin of the schooner, of which only the mast and part of the rudder remained.

  "Shut the gates," said Wistril, and two dozen gargoyles sprang from hiding among the towers and walls and rushed to close the gates. "Close them, and lock them, and let us all gather in the Great Hall for refreshment," he said. He lifted his voice, and more gargoyles appeared, seeming to Kern to step out of the stones themselves. "You have borne hardship without complaint, and peril without flinching," said the wizard. "I commend you, and I honor you, and most of all I thank you," he said. He turned to Kern, and motioned him toward the door. "To the Great Hall, Apprentice," he said. "We have but four barrels of beer and a brace of ducks, but all shall partake this night."

  Kern bowed, and made for the stairs. As he turned at his door, he realized that Sir Knobby had remained at the window, his bat-ears fanned out, his eyes alert and narrowed.

  "What is it?" asked Kern. "They're gone, aren't they?"

  Sir Knobby nodded affirmative, and shrugged, and turned away from the window. But Kern saw worry in his eyes, and when Wistril was out of sight he fell in step beside Sir Knobby and whispered to him. "If you'd feel better about having half a dozen of the lads at each end of the road tonight, I'm sure that Master wouldn't mind," he said. "But let's not mention it and spoil the evening. Agreed?"

  Sir Knobby hooted softly, and scurried away to fetch his fellows, and soon Wistril was bellowing for Kern to hurry before the ale was gone.

  Four barrels of beer hadn't lasted long, and Kern was glad of it. Soon, he and Wistril made for the study, where they sat at their desks in the dark and listened as the goblin-clock ticked and a cool breeze blew in past the empty window-frames.

  "All right," said Kern, after a time. "You're dying to gloat, Master. So tell me. What was the source of the Baron's wizard's power?" he asked, careful not to pronounce the name in Wistril's presence. "And how did you find the Lady to warn her?"

  Wistril settled back in his chair and smiled. "He is hardly a wizard," he said. "There is no word for it in Oomish, or Kingdom, save perhaps sorcerer," he said.

  "Sorcerer?" asked Kern. "You mean he traffics with beings of darkness?"

  "Worse," said Wistril. He shook his head in disgust. "He has no power of his own, Apprentice. None at all, save a single name. The name of a being called a jinni," said the wizard. "A being so malign and powerful only a fool would dare summon it, much less bind it to him. But the Baron's wizard is a fool, and doomed, for he has done just that.
"

  "I've never heard of a jinni," said Kern. "What is it?"

  "It is old and cunning and malicious," said Wistril. "And powerful. It could tear these walls to shreds, and swallow all my magics, were it to be loosed upon us," he said. "It is not of this world, Apprentice, because this world could never hold it," he added. "And one day, it shall devour that fool, and spit his bones through its teeth."

  Kern nodded. "We had that sleeping in our guest room?" he asked.

  "We did," said Wistril. "You see why I allowed the Baron's abuses to continue without challenge," he said. "A word to his sorcerer, and Kauph would have been no more."

  Kern recalled the man's black eyes, and shuddered. "Fine," he said. "I'm glad the Baron's bed wasn't too lumpy." He frowned. "If this jinni is so powerful, how does a mumbler like what's-his-name control it?" he asked.

  "At first, I could not say," said Wistril. "I watched him, that first night we dined. Soon, I perceived the winged monstrosity that flitted close about him. I divined something of its nature -- but it was not until good Lord Essraven became our spy that I knew the wizard's secret."

  Kern sighed. "Which is?"

  "The jinni hovers close about its master," said Wistril. "Seven times a day, it brings itself close, and whispers in his ear. 'What is my name, by which I am bound?' it says. 'What is my name?'"

  "And he has to answer," said Kern. "Or else."

  "Or else indeed," said Wistril. "One does not speak the name of a jinni lightly. Each utterance of each syllable causes intense and lingering pain; each speaking of the word wrenches another bit of life from the speaker. But speak it he must. For if he stumbles, if he stutters, if he misses the most subtle nuance, the least inflection -- if he does that, Apprentice, he is lost. Lost, and doomed, for the jinni is no longer bound to him. And an unbound jinni bent on vengeance?" Wistril shrugged. "What would drive a man to enter into such a thing, knowing the inevitable end to it?"

  Kern shook his head. "I'm less interested in his fate than ours, Master," said Kern. "Are you sure they won't be back?"