Wizard’s Bane w-1

by Rick Cook

  This time there were no invisible hands to help him so Wiz dressed himself, struggling with the unfamiliar fastenings.

  Not bad, he thought, surveying the result in a full-length mirror. He looked like a real swashbuckler, lean rather than skinny.

  Moira was waiting for him when he emerged. If Wiz looked good in his borrowed clothes, Moira was breathtaking. She wore a gown of emerald green velvet, cut low and caught tight at the waist, with full-length sleeves that flared sharply from elbow to wrist. Her hair was a flaming mane about her face, held in place with silver pins set with opals. Wiz could only stare.

  "Do you like it?" she asked somewhat shyly. "I’ve never had a dress like this."

  "It’s gorgeous," said Wiz when he finally got his lower jaw under control. "You’re gorgeous."

  "Thank you, Sparrow," she dropped him a mock curtsey. Then she became serious. "Now watch yourself. Be respectful and above all, be courteous. Elves place great store on courtesy and there are very few mortals who have shared Duke Aelric’s table."

  Wiz nodded dumbly and moved toward her. She moved away with fluid grace.

  "Shall we go?"

  "Is it time?"

  Moira only smiled and opened the door. Their guide was waiting for them. He bowed so low his forehead almost touched the floor and led them off.

  Again their way took them down empty corridors and magnificent halls, all bathed in the soft dim light. At length the little man brought them down a stair as subtly curved and carefully proportioned as a sea shell, to a great bronze door. The door swung open at their approach. The creature bowed to the floor and motioned them within.

  Their host awaited them inside the door.

  "My Lady. My Lord." He had changed his red tunic for a tight-fitting outfit of silver-gray velvet. Silver glinted at his neck and wrists and a silver band set with a fiery blue opal held back his white hair. He was fully as magnificent as he had been when they first saw him, but now the effect was less barbaric, more civilized.

  He bowed to them and Wiz bowed back as best he could. Then the duke took Moira’s arm in his and led them to the table.

  The odd half-light made it impossible for Wiz to judge the size of the room. The far walls were lost in the dimness, but Wiz didn’t feel dwarfed. The floor was elaborately patterned parquetry and the table was draped in snow-white linen. Softly glowing balls of light hung above the table. They danced gently in an unfelt breeze and the ripple and play of the light was like candlelight on the table and diners.

  Invisible pipers played a high reedy tune in the background, at once medieval and modern, like soft progressive jazz performed on recorders.

  The duke seated Wiz on his left and Moira on his right.

  "You seemed to have created an uncommon stir among the mortals," Aelric observed to Moira as they sat down.

  "It was not intentional, Lord."

  "And you were the object of a Grand Summoning," he said to Wiz.

  "Yes, Lord. Uh, it wasn’t my idea."

  "No doubt," Aelric said equitably.

  The elf duke was a perfect host, charming, gracious and witty. He made Moira laugh and dimple without arousing more than a twinge of jealousy in Wiz and contrived to make Wiz feel more at ease than he had since he arrived on this world. Only once did Moira bring the talk back to the circumstances which led them beneath the elf hill this night.

  "Lord, why did you aid us?"

  Aelric smiled, just a hint of a smile. "Let us say we find your pursuers an annoyance. Trolls and such like are uneasy neighbors and were they to find that which they seek they might be encouraged to tarry."

  "We thank you for your service."

  "The pleasure was mine, Lady," he said with an easy smile and again changed the subject.

  For all his charm, Wiz could not warm to their host. There was malice there, Wiz thought, as he listened to the flow of the elf duke’s talk. The casual malice of a cat with a mouse. There was alien, and underneath it was boredom. Would it be boring to live forever? Yes, in the end it would be, no matter how rich, how powerful or how skilled you were.

  The food was rich and varied. The portions were small but there were many dishes and each plate was brought forth as carefully arranged as if by a master designer. Most of it was unidentifiable. But it was all delicious.

  Once Wiz had been taken to one of the fanciest restaurants in San Francisco as part of a dog-and-pony show for a client. The meal had been very much like this. Excellent food, beautifully presented in magnificent surroundings. Except this was better on all counts.

  The girl who served them was human. Wiz wondered if she was Lothar’s daughter. But she was so quick and efficient and so quiet and downcast she was gone before he could ask the question. Probably not a good thing to ask anyway, he decided uncomfortably.

  They had gone through a half a dozen courses of meats, vegetables, sweets and savories when the duke reached out to lay a gentle hand on Moira’s wrist, interrupting the story she was telling.

  Aelric frowned. "Your pardon Lady, Lord. But it seems we have a caller asking for you."

  Wiz froze, his spoon halfway to his mouth.

  Aelric listened and then said into the air. "You may speak."

  A hazy shimmering began to congeal in the center of the hall but the elf prince raised his hand. "I said you may speak. None enters here unbidden." The half-shadow dissipated until only a little shimmer remained.

  "You have two mortals here," wailed a voice, high, thin and reedy with all the despair in the universe.

  "What is within this hill is not the business of outsiders."

  "You have two mortals," the voice repeated. "We want them."

  "Your wants are no concern of mine," Aelric said in a bored tone. "Now speak on matters of interest or begone."

  "My master will reward you well," crooned the voice.

  The elf duke cocked his head and arched his brows. "It might be of interest to know what your master has that he possibly believes I should want. But not tonight. Say you further?"

  "My master offers double what the Council offers for the mortals."

  Aelric frowned. "I have no part in mortal quarrels," he said sharply. "What I do, I do because it pleases me and for no other reason. Those who are here stay here and those outside stay outside."

  "My master is powerful," the voice wailed. "He is powerful and determined. Give us the mortals."

  "Your master is a mortal," Aelric responded. "That is limit enough on his power."

  "Will you duel him by magic?" the voice asked.

  "Perhaps some other time. Now I am at meat. And you grow tedious."

  The voice changed. It deepened and became louder. "GIVE THEM TO US," it roared. "GIVE THEM OR WE SHALL KICK THIS HILL DOWN ABOUT YOUR EARS."

  Aelric yawned elaborately. "Tedious indeed," he said. "Now be off with you." He lifted a hand languidly and gestured.

  "GIVE US the mortaaalllls…" The voice lessened and died like a train whistle down a tunnel.

  Aelric turned to Wiz and Moira and smiled sweetly. "Uncouth creatures. Now, you were saying?"

  "Forgive me, Lord," Wiz broke in, "but aren’t you afraid he will do something?"

  Aelric gave Wiz a look that froze his bones and cleaved his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

  "Forgive him, Lord," said Moira quickly. "He is from far away and is unused to our ways. Please forgive him," she begged. "Please."

  Aelric cocked his head and stared at Wiz. "Far away indeed, Lady. Very well, but teach him manners." Then his expression softened.

  "Know, infant, that this place has stood for aeons and on. It was builded by magic on a foundation of magic and it would take more magic than a mortal could learn in a puny lifetime to touch it or any of mine."

  "Yes, Lord," said Wiz, very subdued.

  The rest of dinner passed off without incident. Aelric was again the gracious host, diverting and ever attentive to his guests’ needs. By the time the last sweets had been removed with nuts in golden bowls
and the wine brought forth in crystal flagons, Wiz was almost relaxed.

  Almost. He regarded the elf prince in the same light as a friendly lion—magnificent, unsettling and not at all someone you wanted to spend time with.

  At last Moira yawned delicately behind her hand and Aelric took that as a sign that the dinner was over.

  "I should not keep you," he said with a charming smile. "You have had a long day already and several—interesting—days before that. May you rest well."

  "Thank you, Lord." Moira returned the smile. "And thank you again for your hospitality." She extended her hand and the elf lord raised it to his lips.

  "You are more than welcome. Thank you for gracing my table." He turned to Wiz. "And thank you, Lord. It was a privilege to meet someone from so far away."

  Wiz bowed as best he could.

  "You do not know why you were Summoned then?" Aelric said suddenly.

  "Beg pardon?" Wiz asked, confused by this turn of the conversation. "Ah, no Lord."

  "Well then," said Duke Aelric with an odd, cold smile. "It will be interesting to see what becomes of you, Sparrow."

  "Thank you, Lord," Wiz replied, not sure whether he should be thanking the elf or not.

  "Then will we see you again, Lord?" Moira asked.

  "I doubt it," Duke Aelric said. "But it will be interesting nonetheless." Again the alien smile, like a rather sleepy cat examining a newly discovered plaything.

  "Lady, do you suppose he knows something about me?" Wiz asked as soon as they were back in their rooms.

  "He knew who we were," Moira said, yawning and stretching in a way that made her dress swell alarmingly and Wiz’s heart nearly stop.

  "I mean do you think he knows why Patrius brought me here?"

  "Who knows what an elf knows?"

  "Shouldn’t we ask him?"

  "Sparrow, if he knew and if he wanted us to know, he would tell us. It might be he was making sport of us. Elves are prone to such tricks. But I do know this. If he did not tell us there is no point in asking him."

  "But…"

  "But I am going to bed," Moira said firmly. "You may sit up and attempt to fathom the unfathomable if you wish."

  Wiz watched the door to Moira’s room close after her and then turned toward his room. He dropped his clothes on a chair in the corner and headed groggily for his own bed.

  I wonder if he really does know. Or if he’s just playing head games, Wiz thought dreamily as he drifted off to sleep.

  In the morning there were fresh packs in the main room. The clothes they had worn into the hill were waiting for them with all traces of travel stain gone. Somehow they had even restored the nap to the suede on Wiz’s running shoes. Moira’s cloak was clean and patched so expertly there was no sign it had ever been rent and tattered. There was a new cloak hanging next to Wiz’s pack to replace the one he had lost.

  Sitting on the table was a round loaf of brown bread, still warm from the oven, a slab of pale yellow cheese, a pitcher of brown ale and a bowl of white onions.

  "It appears we are to break our fast alone this morning," Moira said, pulling her chair closer to the table. She poured herself a tankard of ale and used her knife to hack off a chunk of cheese and a thick slice of bread. With the knife point she speared one of the onions and took a healthy bite.

  Although the idea of beer and onions for breakfast made Wiz a little queasy, he followed suit. In spite of his misgivings the combination was delicious. The cheese was sharp and tangy, the onions were mild and sweet and the ale refreshingly astringent on his tongue.

  "Doesn’t time run differently in these places?" Wiz asked Moira around a mouthful of bread and cheese.

  "Not if the elf lord does not will it so," she said. "He promised me when we entered that it would not."

  "So that’s what that greeting was all about!"

  "Just so. Albeit we had little enough choice should he have decided to make centuries pass like minutes."

  "I take it we’re going on this morning?"

  "I doubt Duke Aelric’s hospitality holds for more than a single night," said Moira, appropriating the heel of the loaf. "Besides, the sooner we reach our destination the better." She looked at the bread and sighed. "I wish we could carry bread like this on our journey. It is unusually good."

  "It’s baked by elves," Wiz said smiling.

  "Their servants morelike. What’s so funny?"

  "Never mind," Wiz chuckled. "I’m not even going to try to explain it to you." Then he turned serious. "What are the chances someone is going to be waiting for us outside?"

  "Small enough. Oh, they may watch the door we entered like cats at a mouse hole. But I do not think we will go out that same way. Not only time but space runs strangely in places the elves make their own."

  Wiz picked up the last crumb of cheese and popped it into his mouth. He let it melt away on his tongue savoring the bite and flavor. "Well, when do we leave?"

  "As soon as we gather our things," said Moira. She stood up from the table and fastened her cloak at her pale freckled throat with the turquoise and silver clasp. Wiz followed suit, throwing his cloak over his back.

  "Don’t we need to ring for someone to show us out?"

  "I doubt it," said Moira as she reached for the door handle. "If a guide is needed one will be waiting when we open the door."

  The door swung outward at her touch and brilliant morning sunlight flooded in. Instead of a marble corridor lined with travertine pillars the door opened into a sunny forest glade. An orange and brown butterfly flitted lazily above the deep green grass that ran to their threshold.

  Moira looked over at Wiz, smiled slightly and shrugged. Wiz shrugged back. Then they adjusted their packs and set out under the warm morning sun.

  Six

  Hearts’ Ease

  The morning was bright and sunny. Instead of dark and sinister, the Wild Wood was fresh and green. There was almost nothing among the trees and ferns to remind them of the night before.

  Their path led out of the glade and back up the heavily wooded hill above the door. There was no hint or scent of danger, but still they moved along quickly.

  They climbed a series of forested ridges, each looking down on the tops of the trees in the valley below. At the top of the third ridge, Moira scanned the valley while Wiz sat puffing on a rocky outcrop.

  "There!" the hedge witch said, pointing. Below and off to one side a square stone tower stood rough and grey above the trees of the forest. About its base clustered outbuildings enclosed by a stockade of peeled logs.

  "Heart’s Ease," said Moira. "Our journey’s end." She shifted her pack as Wiz struggled to his feet and they headed off down the path.

  "Will we be safe here?" Wiz asked as the trail flattened out in the valley and he found he had breath for more than walking.

  "In daylight nothing dare come close," Moira told him. "Anything magic here would be immediately known to the Watchers. There are non-magic agents, of course, human and such, but…" she shrugged. "We are safe here as anywhere."

  "Thank God!" Wiz said fervently.

  Moira frowned. "Do not be so free with names of power."

  "I’m sorry," Wiz said contritely.

  The forest enclosed them until they were almost on top of the castle. The trees were as huge and hoary as anywhere in the Wild Wood, but they didn’t seem as threatening here.

  "It feels friendly," Wiz said wonderingly, aware for the first time how oppressive the Wild Wood had been at its most benign.

  "It is friendlier," Moira agreed. "The forest folk hereabouts are kindly disposed toward the inhabitants of Heart’s Ease. They watch over the place and those who live there." She shifted her pack with a swell and jiggle in her blouse that made Wiz’s heart catch. "Besides, this is a quiet zone. There is almost no magic here, for good or ill."

  Atros returned to his sleeping chamber fuming. It had been a long, frustrating evening. Damn those elves and their impudence! They had spirited his quarry out from his very gr
asp, humiliated him in front of the entire League and ruined his plans. His impromptu army disintegrated once they knew the elf duke guested the two they sought.

  So they had been making for the elf hill after all, the wizard thought as he stripped off his bearskin cloak by the light of a single lamp glowing magically in one corner. He did not understand it and he was too tired to really think upon it. Perhaps the one who had been Summoned was some strange kind of elf and not a man at all? True, Toth-Set-Ra’s scrying demon had called the Summoned a man, but demons could be wrong.

  Too many possibilities, he thought as he pulled his silken tunic over his head. For now sleep and in the morning . . . He moved toward the great canopied bed and then stopped. There was something, or someone, making an untidy lump under the sheets. He stepped back cautiously and possessed himself of his staff. He muttered a protective spell and then moved to the bed again. Reaching out with his staff, he flipped back the fine woolen coverlet and recoiled at what lay beneath.

  There on the gore-clotted sheets was a thing which had once been a man. His back was broken, his ribs were smashed, his arms and legs dislocated and cruelly contorted, and his head lay at an impossible angle. But worse, he had no skin. He had been so expertly flayed that even his nose remained in place. His pallid eyeballs stared up at the ceiling and his ivory white teeth seemed to smile out of the mass of bloody tissue that had been a face.

  Even in its present state, Atros had no difficulty identifying the body as Kar-Sher, Keeper of the Sea of Scrying.

  "Do you like my little present, Atros?" hissed a familiar, hateful voice. The dark-haired giant started and looked around. In the shadows behind the feebly glowing lamp a face took shape. The face of Toth-Set-Ra.

  "I told one I know what he was called," the wizard’s voice went on, soft and full of menace. "Not his true name, Atros, just what he was called. And you see the result."

  The old wizard cackled. "Oh, I did take his skin afterwards. I needed it, you see. It is amazing what you can do with the skin of a wizard, even a wizard who set himself so much above his station. A wizard who was such an inexpert plotter as this one."