OMG, Ben thought. Maybe they do!
All of the Gnomes, even Shoopdiesel, were looking decidedly pleased by the unexpected appearance of the regurgitated meat lumps, thumping each other on the back and talking excitedly about raising children and the joys of fatherhood, ignoring what to Ben seemed a clear indication that they were losing touch with reality.
Finally, he shouted anew, “How can they be your children! They’re pieces of undigested pet!”
The Gnomes ignored him completely, chatting and laughing among themselves, now engaged in nudging the little creatures about with the toes of their boots. The baby meat lumps seemed to like this, scrambling away and then racing back, frolicking about the throne room like puppies. At one point the commander of his guards caught his eye and silently beseeched him for directions. But he had no directions to give, and he simply motioned the guards away. Throwing out new parents and their newborn children, no matter how odd the species and the circumstances, seemed heartless.
At least the Gnomes weren’t fighting anymore.
Finally, Questor appeared, his multicolored robes and bright sashes flashing brightly, his white hair and beard looking windblown. The moment he saw the babies, he threw up his hands and rushed over, dropping to his knees to join the G’Home Gnomes in playing with the little creatures. Ben wanted to rush over and drag him away but settled for exercising patience instead. When it appeared that patience wasn’t going to be enough, he shouted at Questor to get over there and tell him what he was dealing with.
“You’re my Court Wizard, for cat’s sake! What are these things?”
Questor smiled benignly. “I have no idea. But they are rather cute, aren’t they?”
Having witnessed the manner of their birth, Ben was not inclined to agree. But that wasn’t the point. Cute or not, it troubled him that no one knew what they were. So he filled in Questor on the backstory and asked if any of what he said raised red flags or unearthed buried skeletons.
“Not a one,” the other admitted. “But perhaps the squabble over pets is ended. There are enough there for everyone to take a handful. So they can all go home and stop bothering you, High Lord.”
A fine idea. All for it.
“Clear everyone out,” Ben ordered the guards, knowing a favorable opportunity when he saw one. “Parents and puppies outside, and then point one and all in any direction but this one! See that they have an escort for the first mile.”
He took time to congratulate the G’Home Gnomes and clap them on their backs while surreptitiously herding them towards the doors leading out.
“But mighty High Lord!” Filip exclaimed at one point, turning back. “I want the chocolate one, and Shoopdiesel wants him too! Make him give it to me!”
Ben patted him on the head and leaned down. “If you fail to settle this between yourselves, I will take the pets away from you and keep them for myself! I will not let you keep even one of them, no matter how much you beg and plead! Are you hearing me?”
Filip started to say something and then thought better of it. Instead, he nodded, tight-lipped and red-faced, and raced away, catching up to the others and trying to snatch the chocolate one from the guards, practically knocking down Shoopdiesel in the process. The pushing, shoving, and arguing continued as they continued along the hall and disappeared from view.
“I hope that’s the end of this business,” Ben muttered to himself, thoroughly sick of having to deal with it.
Questor Thews came up beside him, stroking his white beard and nodding in satisfaction. “I think we can safely say that the matter is settled, High Lord. We should not have to hear anything more about the Gnomes or those little creatures, whatever they are.”
Ben Holiday nodded. He was inclined to agree.
They were both wrong.
* * * * *
Another week passed. A week of relative peace and quiet. A week without a fresh appearance by Filip, Sot, Shoopdiesel, or any of their new family. Word filtered back that by agreement Shoopdiesel had gotten to keep the chocolate baby pet while Filip had been allowed to name the whole pet family. Not surprisingly, he decided to name them after himself. He called them Filipians.
So for seven days the G’Home Gnomes and the Filipians hovered on the fringes of Ben’s thoughts, but no word of further disturbances regarding any of them intruded on his personal or professional life.
On day eight, things changed.
Ben was finishing up with a delegation of farmers from the Greensward who had come to lodge a complaint about unfair treatment at the hands of the Lords of the Greensward—a tricky proposition due to the fact that Landover still tolerated feudal laws in that part of the Kingdom—when Questor Thews appeared at the rear of the assemblage making frantic gestures to catch Ben’s attention. Excusing himself momentarily, Ben brought Questor forward.
The Court Wizard leaned close, keeping his voice low. “There is a problem, High Lord, that requires your immediately attention.”
“Tell me this doesn’t have anything to do with the G’Home Gnomes.”
Questor pursed his lips. “If I did so, I would be lying.”
Ben sighed. “All right. What is it?”
“The baby Filipians? They grew up. In the process, they seem to have found a way to multiply.” He glanced over his shoulder at the farmers, all of whom were leaning forward, trying to hear what he was saying. “There are rather a lot of them.”
“Multiply,” Ben repeated, an unpleasant picture entering his mind as he did so. “Sort of like before, perhaps?”
“Exactly like before.”
Ben felt like screaming. “You’re telling me Filip began eating his own children?”
Questor pursed his lips so hard they disappeared into his beard along with his mouth. “Not only Filip, but Shoopdiesel and Sot as well. Apparently they thought this was a good way to cut down on the population. And, of course, they were hungry. The babies, I am told, did not protest. They seemed rather eager to be eaten. Perhaps so they could multiply. Perhaps they knew what would happen. Perhaps this is an example of the circle of life. I don’t know. But now we have an entire forest full of Filipian babies, all of them running around without supervision, waiting for the inevitable, I imagine.”
Inevitable, indeed. Ben felt like ‘inevitable’ was the exact word when it came to G’Home Gnomes. “What do you suggest?”
Questor’s brows knitted like kissing caterpillars. “Round them up and dispose of them in some way.”
“Destroy them? We can’t do that!”
“Really? Then let me provide you with fresh incentive. The babies have taken to eating crops out of fields and vegetables out of gardens. Like locusts. They seem insatiable. If we don’t do something, we will have a riot on our hands. These farmers you are speaking to? Once they find out what is happening to their livelihood, they will be back with pitchforks and torches. I don’t think you should wait on that.”
Ben closed his eyes in dismay. Questor was right, of course. But there was something inherently wrong with what he was suggesting too. Still, they had to put a stop to this whole business before it got totally out of hand.
So he sent Questor off to make preparations and went back to his discussion with the Greensward farmers, hurrying them along with their litany of complaints and promising to do what he could to help improve their situation. It took some time to convince them he would be able to do anything, but in the end they agreed to wait and see.
By midday, he was riding out with Questor Thews and a small band of soldiers, headed for Longthorn Woods, where the G’Home Gnomes and the Filipians were currently ensconced. It was a warmer, sunnier day than when Filip and Sot had appeared in his bedroom and this whole business had begun. Ben took some measure of satisfaction in this pleasant change of weather, ready to find reassurance and comfort anywhere he could. He had thought about bringing Willow with them, but in the end had decided there was nothing she could do to help and she might be better off not knowing what was intended.<
br />
Bunion led the way, scurrying ahead eagerly, traveling much faster than any of the rest of the company, making sure the way was cleared of obstacles and potential dangers. The Kobold was so swift that when he reappeared it always seemed he came out of nowhere. It was so this morning, as they neared their destination and Bunion flashed into view with a Filipian baby clutched in his teeth.
Ben did not assume the worst, although those who did not know Kobolds might. Kobolds did not eat baby animals. They looked fierce and could be ferocious; but they were selective eaters. Mostly, they flashed their teeth when angry or threatened, which that was enough to ward off enemies or others intending to cause them harm. A show of one’s potential fate is sometimes enough to discourage the making of a bad decision.
Bunion dropped the little creature on the ground where it began scurrying around playfully, trying to climb onto the Kobold, possibly to get back into its mouth. Who knew? Bunion said something to Questor (Ben had not yet mastered the Kobold tongue sufficiently either to carry on or even understand a conversation) and went still.
Questor gave Ben a look. “He says there are hundreds more waiting up ahead, running about like little rodents. In point of fact, there might even be thousands. He saw no sign of the Gnomes.”
“Probably off looking for some other form of trouble to get into.” Ben made a face. “Why do we have so few men with us? Don’t we need something closer to an entire army to get these Filipians under control?”
Questor shook his head. “More men would just get in the way. Besides, trying to round up these little creatures by hand would take days. There are far too many of them. Magic will do the job more quickly and efficiently. I have something in mind.”
Right away, Ben was worried. But he could tell by the way his Court Wizard spoke and the set of his jaw as he did so that there would be no arguing him out of it. There was nothing to do but hope that whatever Questor Thews had planned, it would work out better than it usually did.
His concerns were magnified when they reached Longtooth and saw how many Filipians the over-hungry G’Home Gnome breeders had produced. They were everywhere, running about through the trees, climbing over logs, grassy hummocks, deadwood, and themselves. They had not yet blanketed the ground, but they were getting frighteningly close. It appeared as if the entire forest was carpeted with romping Filipians.
Ben climbed down off his horse and stood looking at what must have been thousands of small bodies. How many Filipian pets had the G’Home Gnomes managed to eat to reproduce like this?
The answer was provided moments later by the reappearance of Bunion, who had disappeared back into the woods and now re-emerged dragging a decidedly miserable Filip behind him. Filip wriggled and moaned, but it was probably more from overeating than mistreatment.
Bunion tossed him down at Ben Holiday’s feet, and the unfortunate Gnome cried out in a plaintive voice, “Mighty High Lord! I don’t feel so good.”
“No wonder,” Ben said. “You appear to have eaten hundreds of your offspring.”
Filip nodded sadly. “They just taste so good. I can’t seem to stop.”
“So now you have created hundreds more. All because you can’t control your appetite. Do you intend to eat yourself to death? Because right now, I would not be troubled by that.”
Shoopdiesel and Sot staggered out of the trees, equally fattened by Filipian pets. Neither spoke, both moaning as they clutched their distended bellies.
Ben was beyond disgusted. No one had ever told him he would have problems of this sort. It was bad enough having to deal with the witch Nightshade and the dragon Strabo and the Lords of the Greensward and the once-fairy of the Lake Country and all the rest of Landover’s odd denizens without having to be plagued by G’Home Gnomes and Filipians too.
“Questor,” he said quietly. “Will you please use whatever magic you’ve prepared and put an end to all this.”
“No, great High Lord!” Filip exclaimed.
“No, mighty High Lord,” Sot pleaded.
No, Shoopdiesel indicated wordlessly, using unmistakable gestures in place of words.
But Questor was already voicing the required spell. The air darkened to twilight and thickened with heavy mist; the temperature dropped precipitously and the sky filled with black clouds and lightning that streaked from horizon to horizon in jagged bolts. It was an impressive display, made all the more so by the fact that it was Questor Thews who was making it all happen. Ben found himself stepping back in trepidation, worried about where it was all going to lead.
“ARRRAZZZ MANTLE BOT!” shouted the wizard.
A whirlwind swept into the woods, scattering leaves and twigs and debris everywhere. Ben had to shield his eyes against its force, but he was able to discern large numbers of squirming, thrashing bodies flying through the air, picked up and swept away on the back of the wind. One might have thought the world was coming to an end and the souls of the departed were being lifted Heavenward—save for the fact that the things flying about were clearly Filipians.
The maelstrom of bodies and debris continued whirling as both king and attendants ducked frantically and in some cases fell to the ground, covering their heads in dismay, none of them even a little reassured by the fact that it was Questor Thews exercising the magic in play. But finally the wind died away, the skies cleared and things went back to the way they had been before.
Except for one thing.
Thousands of Filipians lay piled in mountainous heaps, all limp and unmoving, all immobile and seemingly lifeless.
“You’ve killed them!” Ben gasped, snatching at Questor’s robes.
“What?” The Court Wizard stared at him. “Killed them? No, no, High Lord! What do you think I am? A barbarian?”
Ben didn’t care to answer that question and simply stared at the piles of Filipians. “Well, this is all well and good, but what are you going to do with them once they wake up again?”
Questor rubbed his hands gleefully, a troubling eagerness reflected in his sudden smile. “Just you watch.”
A second bout of magic-wielding ensued with Questor gesturing and chanting. Only this time the air stayed calm and the sky stayed clear and there was no thunder and lightning. Instead, rainbows appeared at every quadrant of the horizon, huge and brilliant arcs spanning the color spectrum and suggesting sugarplums and candy canes and the like. Slowly the heaps of Filipians began to encapsulate themselves in vast cocoons that took on the appearance of giant wasps nests, a comparison Ben found unavoidable and decidedly unpleasant.
Questor finished and gave Ben a knowing look. “Patience, High Lord,” he said with a wink.
Ben waited. He had little choice. Long minutes passed and nothing happened. He began to grow uneasy, especially when he saw Questor frown in a way that suggested he was starting to become uneasy too.
More minutes passed. Endless minutes.
“Uh, Questor,” Ben said quietly.
Then abruptly the mounds of encapsulated Filipians began to quiver and shake, a clear indication that something was about to happen. Everyone, Questor included, took a cautionary step backward and more than a few blades and spear points were directed toward the mounds. Bunion, who was standing next to Ben, hissed loudly, showing all of his considerable teeth as he did so. There was no mistaking his feelings on the matter.
“Questor,” Ben said again, a little more urgently this time.
Yet when the mounds split apart, neither demons nor monsters emerged, but thousands upon thousands of butterflies in a colorful swarm of radiant wings. Fluttering in random flight paths, they were clustered in such droves as to turn the air about Ben and company into a dazzling kaleidoscope.
All too quickly, the patterns fragmented and then in seconds the butterflies disappeared into the nearby woods and were gone.
“There you are, High Lord,” Questor declared, clearly taking great delight in the shock and awe reflected on Ben’s face. “Problem solved. No one hurt, no one killed, and the world mad
e a slightly better place.”
Ben had to agree. It certainly appeared that way.
But, then, where Questor was concerned, appearances were often deceiving.
* * * * *
Torshak the Terrible was prowling the woods just north of Sterling Silver, searching for food or gold or trouble, all of which gave him great pleasure. Torshak was a Troll from the Jorgen Swamp, not all that far from the Fire Springs where Strabo the dragon made his home. He liked to brag that once upon a time there had been an encounter between the two, and it had not gone well for him. Although, if you considered the fate of so many others, apparently he had accomplished the impossible—he had escaped with his life.
But not, however, without souvenirs for his trouble, he was always quick to say, pointing out the ridged scars from claws and teeth and rippled flesh from burns that layered his mighty forearms and hands. He had been ill-used by the dragon, and one day he would make the beast pay. Didn’t matter that it was his fault—which it was, he admitted—for trespassing on forbidden ground and then attempting to remove healing stones from the fire ponds in which the dragon bathed. He had been attacked and forced to defend himself against a much larger aggressor, which was patently unfair.
Which was not, as it happened, even slightly true. He had received his burns as a result of his own carelessness in building a campfire while drinking and not because of a direct encounter with Strabo. But that was how he liked to tell it—that he faced down the dragon, fought him to a standstill, and escaped with his life. It made a much better story, really.
So he blamed the dragon for what had happened and still, to this very day, swore vengeance far and wide. At every opportunity he would say to anyone who would listen, “One day, there will be an accounting. No one trifles with Torshak the Terrible and gets away with it! No such fool escapes my wrath!”
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