Forward the Mage

by Eric Flint

  "Bah!" oathed the mage. "Do you seek to excuse your disobedience with obedience?"

  Zulkeh thrust the book into Shelyid's hands.

  "Read this, unworthy wretch!—and proceed to fashion the sack according to its instructions."

  "Yes, master," sighed the dwarf, seating himself on his stool.

  Shelyid quickly read through the first chapters, in which was recounted the history and habits of the rare guthfish of Grotum. Therein he learned that the fabled fish had once—or so, at least, was the legend—swallowed the entire universe when it was tiny and disgorged it back out when it was huge. He was then introduced to the lore of the guthfish hide itself, its many attributes and curious characteristics, which included the fact that it was not only the strongest and most elastic material known to exist, that it could not only conform to whatever object or objects it encompassed, but that, in addition, it possessed the strange power of infinite expansion—this last property being apparently magical, since it could be analyzed by the use of any mathematical formula known to man, including several which were mutually contradictory.

  The last chapter contained instructions for fashioning the guthfish hide into a useful sack. This Shelyid read carefully, noting that the hide could only be cut with a singularity (left drawer, upper cabinet), could only be sewn with a needle made from the square root of -1 (middle shelf, small box under the curious amulet from Obpont), and could only be stitched with superstring thread made from the Theory of Everything, of which, needless to say, the wizard had a vast amount stored on spools scattered all over the abandoned death house.

  After reading the last chapter twice, Shelyid took up the box and examined it. The following was written on the front of the box:

  GENUINE GUTHFISH HIDE

  100% Pure and Undiluted!

  Large Economy Size!!

  Use It For Everything!!!

  Fits Anything!!!!

  WARNING: Studies by pettifogging government agencies and alarmist environmental fanatics have indicated that guthfish hide is toxic to the health of some people. Further study, however, by sober and reputable industrial scientists has shown that such people are not worth a damn and would be better off dead anyway. Symptoms may include the onset of bad nerves, pox, palsy, jitters, quivers, tremors, convulsions, paroxysms, fevers, the staggers, the jerks, shortness of breath, frequent and uncontrolled excretion, irregularities of the pulse, lockjaw, ague, fidgets, timorousness and a general feeling of social inferiority, these, of course, the classic symptoms of that most dread of nervous conditions, hysteria follicularia. Use at your own risk.

  Shelyid also read this label carefully, especially the warning. Having done so, he spoke to his master.

  "But, master," whined the dwarf, "it says here that this stuff can cause—"

  "Diminutive cretin!" oathed Zulkeh. "The warning applies solely to individuals who aren't worth a damn anyway." The mage glowered. "And while there is mounting evidence that you fit this criteria perfectly, you already suffer from the classic symptoms of hysteria follicularia—so where is the harm that can befall you?"

  Unable to counter this impeccable line of reasoning, the reluctant gnome opened the box and drew out the contents. Several things became apparent. First, the guthfish hide seemed infinitely large, for there seemed no end to the number of folds Shelyid could open. Then, once the dwarf had unfolded the thing to a sufficient size for the sack required, he saw that the shape of the hide itself seemed to suggest the very sack into which it would be made. Finally, it was either utterly colorless or colored in every shade of the rainbow—it was impossible to tell.

  Quickly assembling the required tools and supplies, Shelyid launched himself into the making of the sack. All afternoon he labored, stretching and trimming, shaping and fitting, adjusting and improving. Under his fingers (the which seemed less clumsy and more adept than before) a huge sack soon emerged, the interior divided and subdivided into numerous compartments and regions, the exterior liberally bestowed with divers pockets and pouches. At last, all was ready.

  Shelyid proudly announced to the wizard: "Master, I've finished the sack."

  "Bah!" oathed Zulkeh, not looking up from the tome he was examining. "Do you seek to excuse your indolence with diligence? See to the packing of my possessions—for even as you dawdle, time wanes!"

  It was the work of many hours for Shelyid to collect, categorize, store, restore, arrange, rearrange and pack and repack the sack, fitting each tome, artifact, talisman, scroll and all else carefully therein. When everything was complete, just before sunrise, he fell into an exhausted slumber. Only to be awakened, just after sunrise, by his master.

  "Come, wretched gnome, arise and hoist the sack! You have wasted an entire day in your inefficiency. We must be off at once—for even as you rub the sleep from your eyes, time wanes!"

  Shelyid bent to hoist the burden over his shoulder. More accurately, Shelyid got down on his knees preparatory to burrowing under the enormous sack and hoisting the several-times-larger-than-himself object onto his entire diminutive person. But, at that moment, a thought seized him—or so, at least, one can surmise from his pale and distraught expression.

  "Wait! Wait!" he cried. "I forgot something!" And so saying, Shelyid charged from the room, ignoring his master's expressions of impatience and displeasure.

  Back into the catacombs plunged the dwarf, his little legs scurrying frantically. Down and down he went, into the lowest depths, arriving at last in a small and dark crypt. He went into a corner of the chamber and squatted, clucking softly.

  A moment later, a large and horrid-looking brown spider emerged from a hole. Shelyid extended his hand, onto which the hideous creature clambered. He raised the thing before his eyes. The arachnid stretched out a gruesome limb and touched the dwarf's nose.

  "Hullo," whispered Shelyid. Then he began to weep. The spider touched his nose several times with a motion which, were the idea not absurd, one would have called a caress.

  "I have to leave," choked Shelyid. Then, a few sobs later: "I'll miss you so much. You're the only friend I've ever had. What will I do without you?"

  He looked about the dank little grotto, not much more than a cave, actually.

  "My happiest times've been the times here with you." He sniffed. "Actually, been my only happy times."

  He stroked the monster. "I know I should enjoy the master's lectures, 'cause they're good for my brain and stuff." Wretched sniffles and snuffles. "It's hard to understand what th'master says, 'cause I'm so stupid. And then he gets impatient with me and he—well, he's sort of mean to me." More wretched sniffles and snuffles. "Real mean, actually."

  A great sob burst from the dwarf's chest. "Oh, what'll become of me? I'm just a dwarf. I'm just a stupid, ugly dwarf. I don't want to go off and have adventures! I'm no good for it. I'll get killed—eaten by ogres or something! Or maimed, or—" He stopped, overcome. Then: "Oh, and what's the difference? I guess I'm no good for anything, anyway. Might as well get eaten."

  He gazed down at the spider, great tears leaking down his hairy cheeks. He stroked the horrible creature again.

  "But I'll sure miss you," he whispered. "I sure will. If I come back, I mean, if I don't get eaten or whatever, I'll come see you right away. I promise." The spider touched his nose.

  A faint sound echoed in the room. It bore about it the aura of the voice of a most outraged sorcerer.

  "That's th'master. I gotta go, or I'll be beaten." He sniffled. "Probably be beaten, anyway. But I just had to see you once last time."

  He placed the monster back on the ground. "G'bye," he whispered, and fled from the chamber.

  CHAPTER VI.

  A Journey Begun. A Coach Ride. The Royal Palace. King Roy's Dream Redux. Calamities. A Tumultuous Departure. The Central Travel House of Goimr. The Wizard Inquires. A Commercial Philosophy Explained. A Purchase. "We're Off!"

  Thus it came to pass that wizard and servant abandoned the abandoned death house and set forth on their journey o
f renown.

  Their initial progress was slow. Shelyid, his diminutive figure buried under the enormous bundle on his back, from which protruded here and there the snouts, corners and extensions of sundry wizardrous objects too bizarre to describe, staggered to and fro, lurching with every step, careening wildly from house wall to house wall, from lamppost to trash bin, from corner to midstreet to gutter.

  "Shelyid!" spoke Zulkeh. "Cease this inefficient mode of travel! And take care lest you damage the items I have entrusted to your care."

  "But, master," whined the dwarf's voice from somewhere beneath the sack, "it's heavy. And I can't see."

  "Bah!" oathed Zulkeh. "Is the odyssey of science to be impeded by the physical frailties of such as you? Too long now, wretch, have you lolled about in the comfort of luxurious surroundings. The rigors of travel will do you good. It will improve your muscular tone, enhance your respiratory capacity, strengthen your stamina, harden your will, hone the edge of the blunt instrument that is your mind, and expose you to new knowledge and lore. Enough of this childish petulance! Make haste! For, even as I speak, time wanes."

  And with that the wizard resumed his progress, Shelyid caroming behind.

  But before our heroes had rounded the first corner, a great clattering of hooves and jingling of harness was heard to approach. Zulkeh stood to one side as a coach-and-four thundered down the narrow street accompanied by a mounted squad of the Goimr Royal Coachmen. Shelyid, unfortunately, bent double in concentration, failed to apprehend the approach of these worthies. He lurched into the center of the street just as they passed. Two of the riders were bowled over—horses and riders going asses over teacups—while the others frantically avoided the staggering dwarf and his pack. The coach skidded dangerously but came to a halt without upsetting.

  The coach door flew open and a courtier leapt out. He hurried up to the wizard.

  "Are you not the wizard Zulkeh?" he demanded. Then, not bothering to wait for a reply, he continued:

  "Excellent, excellent! I've just come from the palace—Chief Counselor Gerard sent me to bring you to the King. Please, please—get into the coach! We must hurry! The King is at his wits' end!"

  Even as the courtier spoke, the coach and four was brought up next to Zulkeh and Shelyid. A footman jumped down and opened the door. Alas, it soon became evident that Shelyid and his sack could not be crammed into the coach, the which was more of a dainty and elegant carriage than a sturdy means of transport. The courtier instantly called up the detachment of Royal Coachmen who helped Shelyid load the sack onto the rear of the coach. The vehicle settled deeply, with an ominous creaking and groaning.

  That done, Zulkeh and the courtier climbed into the coach. Shelyid made to follow them but was arrested by his master's fierce glare.

  "Wretched gnome! Have you forgotten your duty?"

  "No, master, the sack is loaded and tied," explained the dwarf, his legs fairly vibrating in relief from their burden.

  "Yes, but who will watch it?"

  So saying, Zulkeh slammed the door. Shelyid, with a shrug of resignation, found a perch on the top of the sack where he grabbed onto one of the straps as the coach rushed off down the street toward the palace.

  With a squad of Royal Coachmen to clear the streets, the coach careened unimpeded through various lanes and byways before it debouched onto a main thoroughfare, where it continued pell-mell toward the landing. It was but the work of a minute for the passengers to alight and, with the assistance of many hands, to transfer the sack onto a water taxi. The boat—now deep in the water—instantly departed for the royal isle. Once upon land, the courtier conducted them to Chief Counselor Gerard's chamber, hissing his anxiety and haste all the while.

  Gerard was equally agitated. "Egbert, what took you so long? King Roy has been screaming for the wizard. And you—Zulkeh! I warn you once again—say nothing to disturb King Roy! He is in a most unstable state."

  Zulkeh nodded curtly. He and Shelyid followed Gerard into the royal audience chamber. The King's cries of distress could be heard from a considerable distance. They grew positively clamorous upon the entrance of the mage.

  Indeed, King Roy was a shocking sight. In the two weeks which had elapsed since the last interview, he had aged twenty years. His hair was straggling and gray, tufts of it plucked out. His clothes were disheveled, his eyes were wild. He gave off the odor of a hunted roebuck.

  "Wizard! Tell me, what does it all mean? I must know, I must know!"

  "Your Highness, as I have previously explained, this matter is too deep for facile explication. In fact, I have but recently discovered that the import of your dream is considerably more complex, with many more hidden and obscure attributes than I had at first appreciated. Much additional study is required. Even at this moment I am undertaking a journey for—"

  "No! No! No! I must know, know, know! Now! Now! Now!" So shrieked King Roy, in a most unregal manner.

  "Your Majesty—please! There is no need for this unseemly distress. You may rest easy in your mind. For the magnitude of the danger which is so clearly indicated by your dream is such as to preclude the thought that a mere monarch might forestall its occurrence."

  "What?" cried the King. "But I must do something! What of my kingdom? My dynasty? My palace? My—why, even my royal person!"

  A look of surprise came upon Zulkeh's face. "It is, then, the meaning of this dream for your personal fortunes that concerns you?"

  "Of course! What does this dream mean for me? I must have an answer—and now! Do you hear? Now! Now! Now!"

  The wizard made a soothing gesture. "Calm yourself, Sire. If 'tis only the personal import of the dream that you seek, the matter is simple, even commonplace. The mystery lies entirely in its deeper and more obscure elements."

  King Roy goggled. "You know, then, the meaning of this dream for myself?"

  "Certes!" spoke Zulkeh, his voice full of good cheer. "The problem in this regard is transparent. The grasping of the tongue is alone a sure sign, the forcible restraint of speech being, of course, the third of the seven great oneiric portents. I refer you, in this regard, to the classic exposition by Sigmund Laebmauntsforscynneweëld, The Interpretation of Auguries, as well as to his more specific examination of the fear of mutism, Tongue and Taboo, wherein the great scholar—"

  "A pox on your blithering pedantry!" shrieked King Roy. "What does the dream mean? For me! You hear? For me! Me! Answer, you wretched scholiast!"

  Stiffly, the wizard drew himself up. "Well, then! Your dream foretells the utter and complete destruction of your kingdom, your palace, your dynasty and your royal person. The destruction will naturally encompass the entire male line of your family down to three generations, including all collateral branches. Whether ruination will as well sweep into its train the female line of your family is a matter open to some doubt—for here there is much dispute among the savants. Sigmund would have it so, as would his famed relative Adler Laebmauntsforscynneweëld. But, as is well know, Piaget Sfondrati-Piccolomini advances the proposition that ruination portents apply only irregularly to the distaff line, this due to their childbearing functions, the which, as he is known for saying, provide certain immunities from calamitous events due to the providence-favored innocence of babes. As to this latter, I myself have formed as yet no firm opinion, for it seems that there is some question—"

  But the mage expounded no further. For at that very moment, King Roy—whose complexion had undergone in recent moments a marvelous display of the colors of the spectrum—sprang up and cried, "No!" (in a most undignified manner) and hurled himself to the floor.

  "But 'tis plain as day, Your Majesty," spoke Zulkeh to the writhing monarch, "the signs are unmistakable. For as I was saying, 'twas none other than Sigmund Laebmauntsforscynneweëld himself who enunciated that most basic principle of oneiromancy which holds that the seizure and immobilization of the tongue—"

  "Stop! Cease! Desist!" bellowed Gerard, advancing to the fore. "Did I not instruct you to quell King
Roy's fears? What have you done? Your mad babble has driven the King to this state! Fiend! Miscreant!"

  With this latest affront the mage's reserve broke, even as the stately dike shatters 'neath the blow of the mighty tidal bore. Smoke and lightning issued from his ears; his eyes blazed hotly forth.

  "Silence, ye witless sycophant! Abuse me not, lest I chastise you in my affront! Science is what it is, had you the sense to see it. And what boots it, the downfall of a King? This, a trifle, when far greater matters hang in the balance!"

  Then, even as the tide ebbs, so the wizard's wrath subsided. "But I forget me. To ask perception of such as you would be to drown in folly. I can tarry no longer. For I must tend to the greater matters of which I am now apprised."

  With that, the sorcerer turned and strode down the long audience chamber, Shelyid twinkling behind.

  Gerard cried out: "Stop these fiends, stop these criminals! Alarum! Alarum! Guards! Constables! Arrest these villains!"

  In an instant, the trample of many jackbooted feet was to be heard coming from the left. Moments later another thunder of boots was heard on the right. Two squads of Royal Guards and Royal Constabulary appeared in doorways on either side. The lieutenant of the Constabulary drew his sword and advanced into the audience chamber, but, before he took three steps, he was hailed by the captain of the Guard.

  "Lieutenant—halt! I must remind you that the Royal Guard—and the Royal Guard alone!—has jurisdiction within the walls of the palace."

  So saying, the captain of the Guard drew his own sword and charged after Zulkeh and Shelyid, who—the first preoccupied with thought, the latter with sack—continued their progress toward the far door. But the captain had not taken three steps of his own before the lieutenant of the Constabulary planted himself in the way. A lively discussion concerning legal jurisdiction ensued. The debate escalated in lockstep with the paces of our heroes, until, by the time the wizard and his apprentice were halfway down the long chamber, the entire Guard and Constabulary were hacking and hewing each other with a vigorous display of swordsmanship.