by K. B. Bogen
His head jerked up as he came partially to his senses.
“Must have been walking in my sleep,” he muttered, looking around, dazed.
He realized vaguely that he was headed toward a definite goal. Only he had no idea what that goal was. His feet did, though, and they were carrying him there without consulting his brain first.
“This is not a good idea, Erwyn. You’re going to get yourself into trouble.” Somehow, the mumbled comment didn’t cheer him as much as it used to.
He tried to break stride, force his feet out of rhythm. When that didn’t work, he tried to trip himself on a convenient root. No luck. His feet stepped over it without a hitch. It was the first time he’d ever had any difficulty tripping over something.
He was a prisoner in his own body and it seemed to work better without him.
I certainly hope this isn’t a permanent condition, he thought. A tight knot of fear began forming in the pit of his stomach.
He looked at the trees. There wasn’t even anything he could use for a landmark when he got out of this mess. If he got out of this mess. Every tree looked the same: long, straight trunks and silver-green leaves. Identical.
The knot in his stomach shot upward, turning into a ripple of panic that began at the base of his neck. He could tell it started there because the hairs were standing on end.
What if there were no way out? What if the forest were enchanted and ...
Enchantments. Sorcery. He’d spent six years training to work magic. There had to be some way to break the forest’s spell, if only he would think of one. But he just couldn’t think.
Then again, not being able to think never stopped him before.
“Calm down,” he told himself. “You’re supposed to know how to handle these things. Think of something!”
“Right. Think of something when I can’t even think. Neat trick.”
He’d heard somewhere that the first sign you’re going crazy is when you start talking to yourself. The second sign is when you start answering back.
Okay, so he was crazy. No one ever accused him of being normal.
Erwyn laughed at his private joke. The laughter helped. His fear evaporated, along with the spell that held him. Most of it, anyway.
He still felt a slight pull onward, though not as strong as before. He could resist it. But should he?
Not knowing what else to do, he continued deeper into the forest. He didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that he was kind of curious about the whole situation.
“Hello, Erwyn.”
The pull that brought him stopped.
So did Erwyn.
He looked around, trying to see who spoke.
“Uh ... hello,” he finally said to the air.
The owner of the voice didn’t seem inclined to show up in person. The only thing Erwyn knew for certain was that it was definitely female. Soft, beautiful, lilting, almost like a song. In fact, he felt chills when he heard it. He wondered briefly if the disembodied voice had a body to match.
Wait a minute! That was totally unlike him. And that meant the voice had something to do with the spell which had led him there. The charm’s hold on him relaxed a little more.
He waited, more or less patiently, but nothing else happened. The voice remained silent. Since he couldn’t seem to move on his own, yet, he decided to check out his surroundings.
He stood in a small open space in the trees. The ground was smooth and cleared of leaves. At the center of the clearing sat a large stone.
The stone was almost perfectly round and very flat on top. The sun found its way through the trees and shafts of light illuminated the rock. Tiny motes of dust danced in the beams.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” the voice finally spoke again.
The glowing particles gathered together, getting brighter.
“Sure, whatever you say,” Erwyn replied, shading his eyes against the glare. Maybe he should just find the nearest exit now and save himself trouble in the future. Except for one problem: forests don’t have exits and his feet still wouldn’t work. The path out seemed to have disappeared, too.
The voice had come from the light, and it was a good bet it belonged to whomever, or whatever, had been jerking him around like a puppet. A way out would have been really handy.
At last the light dimmed and Erwyn lowered his hand, but neglected to shut his mouth.
Beside the stone stood a lady like no other Erwyn had ever seen. Of course, he hadn’t seen too many ladies recently. Only sorcerer’s apprentices, and they all tended to look alike after a while. Even the girls.
The lady had long golden hair, an oval face, and emerald green eyes. A close-fitting blue dress girded with a chain of flowers covered her tall, slim figure.
All right, so she was beautiful. Erwyn still didn’t like being dragged around like a life-sized doll and he suspected her of being the culprit. He shut his mouth.
The lady gestured and he felt a sudden urge to sink to one knee in front of her. He took a couple of jerky steps toward the stone. Then his brain took over.
Why should he kneel to this woman? Good manners didn’t need to be forced. Besides, he’d already sworn allegiance to his father. King Alizar’n would be royally roiled if Erwyn changed sides all of a sudden, enchantment notwithstanding.
With all the willpower he could muster, Erwyn remained standing a few feet in front of the woman. He faced her, waiting ... for what, he had no idea.
Finally she spoke, her voice sending shivers up his spine. “You have come, then, my champion.” She smiled as though nothing unusual had happened.
It was pretty unusual to Erwyn, though. He stared at her, raising his eyebrows for emphasis. “Champion? What are you talking about?”
Something snapped like an invisible string, making him take an involuntary step backward. The path seemed to have reappeared, too. Her hold on him had finally been completely broken. For the moment.
“I have waited for you, knowing you would come.” She smiled again and tossed her hair over her shoulder.
Erwyn thought he heard the muted sound of tiny bells when she moved.
“Though, perhaps the word ‘champion’ is a bit melodramatic.”
“Try ‘a bit premature.’”
Laughing, she beckoned to him. “Come, sit here with me.”
She gestured to the flat stone, then seated herself. The bells jingled again.
He watched her for a moment, acutely aware of a growing uneasiness within him. That tickly feeling started at the base of his neck again.
He wasn’t particularly fond of nasty surprises. This woman, while admittedly very beautiful, was an unknown quantity, and a magic-user to boot. Magical nasty surprises were the worst kind.
The lady clasped her hands and looked up at him expectantly.
Erwyn hesitated another second. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Who could be sure? With a shrug, he walked over and plopped down beside her.
“So what’s going on?” he asked, rubbing his left leg, which had developed a sudden cramp. He was more tense than he realized. Or maybe it was a leftover from his morning run.
“I need someone to perform a task for me, and I believe you are the man for the job.”
“I’d really rather not, if you don’t mind. You see, I’m in the midst of a ...”
“Journey. Yes, I know. I can see by your patch that you are a journeyman.” She lightly touched the puce and yellow Guild patch on his chest, then smoothed his cloak over it. “Still, I am in need of help, particularly the magical kind.”
“With an entrance like that, you need help from me?” Erwyn was incredulous, to say the least.
“It was pretty spectacular, but I needed to get your attention. You have to admit it worked.”
“Yeah, it worked all right. You got my attention, but I doubt
if I’m your ‘champion.’ As magic users go, I’m pretty limited. I barely made it into Apprentice School.”
“Trust me, you’ll be perfect.”
“I can’t agree with you there,” Erwyn sighed. “I know my basic spells pretty well. Setting protective wards, lighting fires, that sort of thing. But not much more. I’m afraid I wouldn’t make a very good champion.” Why was he telling her this stuff?
“Believe me, you are much more than you seem. And you are the right champion. I know, and I am always right about these things.”
“Assuming, just for the moment, that you are correct,” he sighed, martyrlike, “just what is it you want me to do?”
“Rescue a damsel in distress.”
“Ye gods, not that!” Erwyn jumped off the stone and away from the woman, stumbling as his leg cramped again. “I promised myself four uneventful years of traipsing around the world without actually doing anything. And I never go back on my word,” then added to himself, Not if I can help it.
“Oh, but you must! For my sake, if for no other reason.” Tears glistened in her eyes as she turned a stricken face toward him.
“Don’t you go trying your feminine wiles on me,” he exclaimed. “I’m immune, at least mostly. I am not going to rescue your damsel. No way. I hate damsels!”
“You’re not ...?” She arched an eyebrow at him.
“No, of course I’m not. I mean, I like girls in general. It’s just that I can’t stand damsels. Especially the kind who are in distress. Too gushy, too sweet. Ugh!” He shuddered.
“I’ll make it worth your while.” The tears stopped suddenly and a slow, sultry smile replaced them. She gazed at him through tear-dampened lashes.
“That won’t work, either.” Blushing, Erwyn backed a little farther from the lady and closer to the edge of the clearing.
“How about money? I have gold.”
“Well ... I could use some money about now,” Erwyn replied slowly.
He tapped his chin thoughtfully. Something wasn’t quite right. She was trying too hard.
Finally, he shook his head. “Nope, I don’t think so. It’s just not worth it.”
The lady sat back from the edge of the stone, shoulders slumping slightly. “What could I offer you to get you to do this little thing for me? What payment would you require? How can I persuade you to help me?”
“Offhand, I can’t think of a thing.”
Erwyn gazed at her for a while. What, exactly, would make damsel-rescuing worthwhile? Not much. Except, perhaps, information.
“Okay. For starters, you can tell me your name.”
She hesitated a few moments. Then, sighing heavily, she answered, “My name is ... Sharilan.” She watched him closely, as though looking for a reaction.
“Sharilan. That’s very pretty. I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to tell me.”
She smiled, relaxing visibly. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Erwyn looked at her with what he hoped was a compelling stare. “I would like to know why you want this particular damsel rescued. If you can give me a really good reason, maybe you can convince me to change my mind. But it had better be good!”
Sharilan sighed again. “I was afraid you would ask me that.” She rose and paced gracefully around the stone. “I guess if you’ve got to know, you’ve got to know.”
Sharilan’s Story
Rats! I Forgot the Popcorn!
“EVIL COMES IN MANY GUISES, SOME QUITE PLEASANT TO THE EYE. WHEN IN DOUBT, JUST SAY ‘NO.’” — Sorcerers’ Almanac, Section Five: On Things to Watch Out For.
“It all begins,” Sharilan began, “in a land far across the Azure Sea ...”
Years ago there were born to a poor woodcutter two daughters. One, named Sharilan, was as bright and sunny as a spring day. Her hair was as golden as sunlight, her eyes green as grass. She would sing and dance the day away, always with a smile on her face.
The other, Fenoria, was as unpredictable as a thunderstorm. One minute wild and excited was she, the next minute angry and threatening. Hair as black as a raven’s wing hung to her shoulders, and her eyes were dark as jet.
Both girls were beautiful, talented, and intelligent. And they loved their father and mother very dearly.
As different as the two girls were in looks and temperament, so they were different in desire. Sharilan wished nothing so much as to spend her life in the study of magic and science and art. Fenoria, however, wanted to find the right man, settle down, and start having the woodcutter’s grandchildren.
This division of interests earned the approval of both the woodcutter and his wife. As long as one of their daughters remained to give them the grandchildren they desired, and to take care of the two of them when they grew old, the other girl could do as she wished.
Time passed, as it always does, and the girls grew into very beautiful young women. Their plans had remained consistent, and now those plans were about to come to fruition.
Sharilan passed her childhood in diligent study of the arts and sciences, as well as those aspects of magic which were available to the people at large. When she entered her sixteenth year, she prepared to enter into an apprenticeship with a noted wise woman, who would lead her along the path she chose.
Fenoria learned to cook, clean, and sew, and to perform the myriad chores required of a good housewife. When she entered her sixteenth year, she prepared to marry the son of a prominent businessman, who would lead her down the aisle she chose.
Unfortunately for them both, someone else made other plans for the two of them. A powerful noble had fallen in love with Sharilan and plotted to make her his bride. Hubert, Baron of Gorlick, was a very wealthy man, with many powerful connections. When Sharilan, naturally, turned down his proposal, he purchased the aid of a notorious dark wizard.
With his purchased spells, the Baron locked poor Fenoria in a huge, empty castle. He surrounded the castle with a high wall of rose bushes with giant thorns. An evil, fire-breathing dragon stood guard over the castle, in case someone should manage to win through the thorny wall.
After imprisoning Fenoria, the Baron told Sharilan that her sister would stay imprisoned forever, or until Sharilan consented to become Baroness of Gorlick, whichever came first. Still Sharilan resisted. As long as Fenoria was unharmed, there was still hope. She would not give in to the Baron’s demands.
Outraged, Baron Hubert tried to hack his way into the castle to take his anger out on poor, innocent Fenoria. He failed.
No matter how hard he tried to cut through the bushes, he made no progress. The thorns and roses grew back as fast as he could cut them down.
Consulting once more with the wizard, Baron Hubert learned that nothing could harm Fenoria within her prison. He had, after all, only wanted some place to stash Fenoria until Sharilan relented. However hard he tried, the Baron would not be able to get through the wall of roses. So, after much screaming and hair-pulling, he purchased another set of spells from the wizard.
With the new spells, he imprisoned Sharilan within an enchanted rock in the middle of the Western Wood, where no human had ever before set foot. From time to time, the Baron would return to the stone to ask Sharilan to marry him. Always she said, “No.”
Unbeknownst to both the wizard and Baron Hubert, the woodcutter and his wife also consulted a wizard. The wizard they found was a kindly old man who had a fondness for cherry pie. So, in exchange for two cherry pies (and everything else the couple owned of any value), the old man managed to put a “rider” on the Baron’s second spell.
When Baron Hubert used his newly-purchased spell, the rider changed part of it. Sharilan would not be imprisoned in the rock permanently, unable to do anything on her own behalf.
Instead, once a year she would be able to leave the rock of her own volition, attract the attention of any passerby she could (by means of
an enhancement of her small assortment of spells), and try to recruit a champion to free her.
Moreover, the champion need only free one sister, and both would be freed. Unfortunately, there seemed to be a shortage of passersby in the Western Wood.
“So you see,” Sharilan continued, “since I know of no way to defeat the spell which holds me, it seems simpler to send someone to free Fenoria, which in turn will free me. And you’re the first person I’ve been able to find.” She batted her eyelids.
Erwyn looked at Sharilan for a few minutes before speaking.
“What a load of horse manure!”
“What do you mean by that? You ... you don’t believe me?” Sharilan looked shocked.
“Pardon my language, milady, but that has got to be the worst pile of crap anyone has made me listen to in years!” He rose indignantly, feeling his face flush.
“You’ve gone to all this trouble to lure me in here just to tell me that? It sounds like you’ve been reading too many fairy tales and have used pieces of the plots from all of them to make up a story. Forget it! I’m not your champion, I don’t like damsels, and I’m not going. I’ve half a mind to pack up my things and leave. In fact, I think I will.”
He paused, glaring at her, then picked up his pack. He turned to where the path continued through the woods, on the opposite side from where he had entered. He took two steps forward before Sharilan called out to him.
“Wait! All right, I’ll tell you the truth.”
Erwyn turned back toward her, allowing his pack to slide to the ground. He stood watching her, arms crossed over his chest.
“The truth is,” Sharilan sighed, “Fenoria pissed off some old witch, and if I can’t talk someone into freeing her, I’ll have to go home, get married, and try to pretend to be domestic for the rest of forever.”
For a moment, she looked thoroughly disgusted. Then she glanced up, pleading. “I can’t think of anything more boring than having some schmuck’s brats and taking care of my parents for the rest of my life. I love my parents but ... blech!”
