by Frank Tuttle
Wistril nodded. "I trust you are aware that I was agency to your freedom?"
"Oh, verily," said the jinni. "I saw your shades flitting about. Saw them fly, heard them whisper." It laughed again, and Kern felt like ice was being drawn down his back at the sound of it.
"Clever. Most clever. Clever enough to make me consider that you knew the manner of my binding, Wizard," said the jinni, leaning close. The brief toothy smile returned.
"Clever enough that you might know my name?"
"I know it," said Wistril. "I know it, unpleasant though it is."
"Speak it to me, then," said the jinni. "Speak it, lest I peel away your skin and rub you in salt."
"I shall not," said Wistril. "Not now. Not ever. I am not a fool," he added. "Nor do I wish to share your late captor's fate."
"Say it, or I crack your bones lengthwise and suck out the marrow where you stand."
Wistril tilted his head.
"I will not," he said, mildly.
"Say it!" thundered the jinni. "Speak my name! Speak it, or I shall pluck out your eyes!"
"Enough," said Wistril. He scowled, and waggled his finger at the darkness. "There are children present."
To Kern's amazement, the whirling darkness shrank.
"I shall not speak your name," said Wistril. "Not now, not ever. Your binding is broken; your name is your own. Good day, farewell, and begone."
The jinni roared, and Kern leaped for the edge of the table, and as Wistril looked serenely into the face of the darkness the jinni rose up, swelling and roaring.
Pandemonium fell upon the Hall. In an instant a clamor and a rush for the doors surged through the room. Kern caught a single glimpse of the Lady Emmerbee, struggling to reach Wistril, before Genner caught her by the wrist and dragged her struggling and kicking through the doors and out of the Hall.
The jinni's roaring shadow swelled further, its howl reached a deafening crescendo, and then, just as Kern braced himself for a blow, the sight and sound and shadow of the thing vanished, plunging the Hall into silence.
"Good riddance," said Wistril.
Kern leaped upon the table and sought out Wistril, who watched the exodus from the Hall and nodded at Kern's approach.
"You ignored my directive concerning the wands," said Wistril.
"I delayed," said Kern. "I did not ignore." He lifted an eyebrow, cocked his head.
"What happened to the spell in the wands?" he asked.
"The jinni happened," said Wistril. "The wands vanished because the jinni snatched them from your grasp."
"And the spell?" asked Kern.
"Snuffed out like a candle-flame," replied Wistril. Kern saw the wizard suppress a shudder. "Truly a formidable being, in some respects."
"All that business with its name -- were you expecting that, Master?" asked Kern.
Wistril let out a breath. "I was hoping for it," he said. "My research into jinnis and their bindings revealed little," he said. "A single footnote, in fact, concerning the Law of Names. From this I surmised that once the jinni was unbound from the Carthrop that it could only meddle with those foolish enough to invoke its name," he said. He shook his head. "Thank Horat's Encompassing Bestiary and Reference Thaumaturgical," he added. "It received faint praise from the College review board, but without it we would surely have perished."
Kern stepped into an empty chair and then down onto the floor, and Wistril followed him.
"The Carthrop wizard is gone, then," said Kern.
"Most unpleasantly, I fear," said Wistril. "He had no time to order the jinni to direct unpleasantness against us, before it was upon him," he added. "Eye-plucking. Bah. I may well have overestimated its intelligence."
"And the Baron?" asked Kern. "What of him, and his army?" Kern had a brief unpleasant premonition of a long wintry siege, of gnawing on cold biscuits and dodging wobbling arrows in the courtyard.
Wistril smiled, a thin tight smile. "I bespoke his fate earlier," he said. "But here. See."
The mirror on the table flashed, and within the glass a scene took shape.
Kern saw the trampled expanse just beyond Kauph's walls. Distant in the glass, he saw scores of men fleeing, their heads barely visible above the slight rise in the road just before the bridge. One of the armored heads sported a long purple feather, bedraggled and broken at the tip, but bobbing quickly away nonetheless. Above it darted the wumpus cat, which circled and dived and clawed with feline glee.
Closer in the glass lay the ruins of the Baron's army. Wagons lay smashed and strewn about, their contents spilled and scattered across the hard, rocky ground.
Swords lay scattered amid the wreckage, twisted and broken, as did arrows and armor and bundles and casks. Kern even made out the tattered standard of House Carthrop, which lay abandoned in the dust, the cloth ripped to dirty shreds.
"How, Master?" asked Kern.
Wistril pointed to a shattered wagon with the smoldering head of his staff. "Soon after I learned the jinni's name," he said, "I translated it into an old form of Oomish rune-writing. I changed a single character, instructed Lord Essraven and a few of the smaller gargoyles in its drawing, and sent them quietly out among our Carthrop friend's encampment," he said. "There, they went about writing the name on various items of armament and gear."
Kern frowned. "How did Lord Essraven write anything?" he said. "Spooks can't hold pens."
"True," said Wistril. "The haunts traced the runes with their fingers, and left cold metal in their wake. The morning dew formed the characters. Ah, and the spells you formed. Some of them formed odd characters on bits of armor and clothing, while others spoke names in the air. Perhaps the jinni, in its state of agitation, mistook these for parts of its name, as well." Wistril shrugged. "I suppose that the jinni, once unbound from the unfortunate Herthmore, felt bound to investigate so many near-portrayals of its name."
Kern surveyed the scene, and shook his head. "I'm surprised any of them survived," he said.
"Had the jinni found his whole name, written true, none would have," said Wistril. He nodded at the glass. "An idea I entertained, but ultimately rejected. Let the Law and the houses he has injured hunt down and punish this outlaw Carthrop," he said. "I have spoken to both the High House and various lesser houses concerning the Baron's whereabouts and recent activities," said Wistril. "Even if he evades the villagers at the foot of the mountain, he shall soon face wrath from every side." The rotund wizard thumped his staff down once on the floor. "Put your feet on my tables, will you? Bah. We are done with him."
Kern nodded. "I don't see any, um, remains," he said.
"No," replied Wistril. Kern saw something like a shudder run across Wistril's stout frame. "Be glad of what you do not see, and gladder still that you nothing of the wizard Herthmore's fate," he said. "I fear the glass will never be the same."
"Wistril!" cried the Lady Emmerbee, who appeared in the still-packed Great Hall doors and began to shoulder her way back into the Hall. "Lord Kauph! Are you unharmed?"
"I suffer from nothing worse than thirst, Lady," said Wistril. "Apprentice. Tend to that," he said, with a dismissive wave at the debris in the mirror. "The Lady and I have sundry matters to discuss."
And with that, Wistril turned and was gone, the Lady Emmerbee on his arm. Kern righted a fallen chair, took a single step toward them, and suddenly recalled the Lady's frantic plea to Wistril, just before he'd touched the useless wands.
Husband. She'd called Wistril husband.
Kern dived for the door, but the Hall beyond was empty.
"Hoot," said Sir Knobby, who appeared at his side, and laid long clawed fingers gently on his shoulder. "Hoot."
Kern sighed, and nodded, and together with Sir Knobby he turned toward the west and sought out the courtyard and the gates and the silent field of wreckage beyond.
"Just tell me this," said Kern, fuming, to Sir Knobby. "Was it a nice wedding?"
The gargoyle pulled back his lips and laughed and Kern threw up his hands and stampe
d for the gates.
Kern pretended to write a letter and watched Wistril instead. A plate of food--not just any food, but Cook's best soufflé, nearly six hours in the making--sat cooling and untouched on Wistril's desk. A glass of Upland beer sat beside the soufflé, growing warm and losing its head and Wistril hadn't moved a hand toward either.
Instead, the wizard wrote. Another letter to the missus, thought Kern, with a smile.
Or perhaps yet another revision to the paper they planned to submit jointly to the Review -- "On the Secondary Magnetic Effects of Large-scale Persistent Spellworks Upon the Flight Patterns of Wyverns, Minor Griffins, and Sundry Other Migratory Winged Species," Kern noted. Ah, the poetry of love.
And then there were the late nights at the scrying glass. Kern shook his head.
These Oomish folk are a complicated lot, and no mistake, he thought. First they get married. Then the Lady Emmerbee packs up and leaves. Now they can't let a day pass without a brace of letters and a round at the glass.
The wumpus cat -- the Lady's wumpus cat, now, thought Kern -- glided to a halt just above an open window and dropped lightly down on the sill, folding its wings with a snap and settling down to purr and fix Kern in a red-eyed glare. It wore a leather harness, to which was affixed a cloth pouch; it was this that bore the Lady's letters to and fro.
The wumpus cat extended a brace of claws with a barely audible snick and began to lick them clean, watching Kern all the while. Something in its gaze told Kern it was recalling nets and catching-sticks, so he stuck out his tongue and the cat looked smugly away.
It was only after a thorough round of badgering that Kern learned Oomish weddings never take place all at once. Wistril finally explained that while he and the Lady had indeed exchanged more vows just before the jinni appeared, there were still more vows, still more ceremonies to be spoken and completed before Kauph and Hohnserrat were truly joined in what he called "high marriage."
"And when will this take place?" Kern had asked.
Wistril had shrugged. "The Lady and I agree that our current situation is ideal, with no further ceremonies," said Wistril. "She will no longer be bedeviled by suitors, as she is simply wed to Kauph," he said. "The same holds, of course, for me."
"Simply wed?" asked Kern.
"It is a rough translation," said Wistril. "Suffice it to say that we are just married enough to turn the threat of higher matrimony away. Now be off, Apprentice. We both have work to do."
Kern had shrugged, and let the matter drop. Kauph seemed so empty now, with just the Master and the staff rattling about; I even miss old Genner, even if he did talk too much and sing off-key.
Kern put down his pen and watched Wistril write, and smiled to himself. Up all hours with the glass, he thought. I wonder if they'll settle down one day just to start an encyclopedia?
Sir Knobby stuck his head in the door. "Hoot," he said, in question.
Wistril, without looking up, motioned to Kern. "See to Sir Knobby, please," he said. "I must finish this passage."
Kern rose and followed Sir Knobby into the hall.
"Hoot?" said Sir Knobby. He walked to a tall, round-topped window, and pointed with a claw to House Kauph's makeshift wedding flag.
"Hoot?"
Kern pursed his lips. "Take it down," he said. "But leave the sheet on the lance. Wrap them both carefully. Hide it somewhere in the South Tower. Somewhere dry."
Sir Knobby nodded.
"Hoot?"
"Oh yes," said Kern. "I do believe that one day, the Master will have need of it again. Let's make sure we know where it is, shall we?"
Sir Knobby bared long fangs in a sly smile, saluted, and turned toward the walls of Kauph and Wistril's flapping wedding flag.
Other Tuttle Titles for your enjoyment!
The Markhat Series
The Mister Trophy
All the weary finder Markhat wanted was a cold beer at One-Eyed Eddie's. Instead, Markhat gets a case that will bring him face to fang with a dark House of crazed halfdead, a trio of vengeful Troll warriors, and Mama Hog's erratic backstreet magic. All that, and the possible resurgence of the Troll War.
All right there in his own none-too-quiet neighborhood.
It's beginning to look like Markhat will never enjoy that one last beer...
Dead Man's Rain
Can a haunted man help the dead find peace?
Markhat is a finder, making a living tracking down sons and fathers gone suddenly missing when an outbreak of peace left the Army abandoned where they stood. But now that ten years have passed since the Truce, all Markhat is finding is trouble.
This time, trouble comes in the form of a rich widow with a problem. Her dead husband keeps ambling from the grave to pay her household regular nocturnal visits. Markhat is skeptical of the widow's story but not of her coin.
But as a storm gathers and night falls, Markhat finds that darker things than even murder lurk amid the shadows of House Merlat.
Hold the Dark
Quiet, hard-working seamstresses aren't the kind of woman that normally go missing even in a tough town like Rannit. Martha Hoobin's disappearance, though, quickly draws Markhat into a deadly struggle between a halfdead blood cult and the infamous military sorcerer known only as the Corpsemaster.
A powerful magical artifact may be Markhat's only hope of survival -- and the source of his own inescapable damnation.
The Cadaver Client
Being hired by a guilt-ridden ghost to make amends to the wife and child he abandoned right after the War was a first for Markhat. But as Markhat begins to search for the missing Mariss Sellway, he quickly discovers that even the dead keep secrets - secrets that may conceal murder. As Markhat's search leads him back in time and deeper into the dark, he wonders if the next grave he sees might well be his own…
Other Fantasy Titles by Frank
Wistril Compleat
All three of Wistril's magical misadventures are included in this complete compilation of cantrips and catastrophes!
Wistril Besieged --
Wizard Wistril's wants are simple -- four meals a day, a steady supply of honey-gold Upland beer, and above all else, peace and quiet. All but the latter are in plentiful supply at Castle Kauph. Despite secreting himself in the Wild, Wistril finds himself battling an army of relentless mercenaries while the entire population of the nearest village takes refuge in his home. Even Kern, Wistril's long-suffering, sharp-tongued apprentice, isn't sure whether the army or the houseguests will prove to be Wistril's undoing!
Wistril Afloat --
Wistril doesn't believe in lake monsters -- until they invade the lake that just happens to provide Wistril's favorite fish dinners. Faced with the choice of adjusting his menus or daring the wilderness around Lake Ovinshoon, Wistril and Kern soon have bigger problems than mere lake monsters on their hands. Because while Wistril wishes only to study the beasts, others wish to hunt them and skin them. Will Wistril's peaceful White Chair magics prevail against a ruthless band of wyvern-hunters who have only profit on their minds?
Wistril Betrothed --
If ever there was a determined bachelor, thought Kern, his name was surely Wistril. So when Wistril's wife-to-be shows up with a pursuing army on her heels, life at Castle Kauph is turned upside down. And when another suitor for Lady Emmerbee's hand arrives, with a dark and menacing wizard of his own in tow, it's up to Kern and the rest of Castle Kauph to get Wistril wed without losing his head!
Passing the Narrows
In this story of an alternate history, magic was as common as cannons in the American Civil War, leaving a defeated South in ruin. The safest way to travel from Memphis to Vicksburg is by riverboat -- and on certain moonless nights on the Yazoo River, even the safest way to travel is hardly safe at all...
On the Road
Being a female Sorceress with a bodiless but smart-mouthed assistant is trouble enough for anyone. But for Mallara, appointed by the Crown as Royal Sorceress to the Five Valleys, trouble is all in a day
's work.
Join Mallara and her quick-witted companion Burn the Shimmer as they take to the road to keep the peace! Featuring four Mallara and Burn short stories, this anthology is sure to amuse lovers of fantasy fiction.
In "The Ringed Round," Mallara must face a ring of vengeful stones and the trapped embodiment of an ancient harvest feast -- which may or may not be the friendly old sprite he appears to be!
"Night Stand" finds Mallara and Burn camped amid the ruins of a haunted villa for what the villagers swore was a routine Cleansing. But as night falls, the duo realize the villagers may have left out a detail or two concerning the true nature of the haunting.
Trolls haven't been seen about for decades -- but in "The Asking and the Vow," Sorceress Mallara comes face to face with not just a Troll, but with the weight of history itself.
Finally, Mallara and Burn arrive at a village besieged by a small but growing army of overly-helpful goblins. Every roof has been patched, every walk has been swept, every fence has been mended. But what will the goblins do next, when they've run out of chores? Join Mallara and Burn as they take on the task of patrolling the Five Valleys, and discover magic and mayhem with every turn of the road.
Frank's email address is [email protected]
Visit Frank's webpage at www.franktuttle.com
Curious about the Upland beer preferred by Wizard Wistril? Well, sample some of the magic yourself by visiting Upland Brewing Company of Bloomington, Indiana!
