Forward the Mage

by Eric Flint

  For his part, Ignace spoke just once, saying: "Boy, I thought my pop was bad, before he died. And he had the excuse of being a drunk."

  At length the biographical project came to an end. There followed a minute's silence, which was broken by Greyboar.

  "There's one thing in all this puzzles me." He looked at Zulkeh and said: "I've had the dubious privilege of carrying that weight of the world's sins you call a sack. I doubt you could even pick it up, much less move with it. So who was supposed to carry your sack? After you'd sold the kid into slavery, I mean?"

  Zulkeh frowned, stroked his beard.

  "Actually," he began. Stopped. Then: "Well, that is to say, actually." Stopped. Then: "I confess I had not considered the point. No doubt I should have engaged a porter."

  "You'd have needed to hire a crew of teamsters, more like," grunted Greyboar. The strangler shook his head. "What a genius. He tries to sell his apprentice into slavery so he can get enough money to go on saving the world, but in order to save the world he needs his sack, so he'd have to use the money to hire people to carry the sack the apprentice was already carrying all by himself for—what was it?—a shilling a year and, in good times, maybe the odd meal once a day." A snort. "You always hear about absent-minded professors—but!"

  Then he rose, stretched his muscles. This awesome action was perhaps not done unconsciously, for the strangler proceeded to say to Les Six:

  "Boys, you'll have to be forgetting about lynchings and such. There's better ways to handle the situation, and besides, in case you hadn't noticed, Shelyid's making it pretty plain he'll stand by the mage. What're you going to do? Restrain the kid while you string up Zulkeh? Shelyid might be harder to restrain that you think—he's a lot stronger than he looks, and I'm telling you, the lad's got the making of a chokester. Besides, the snarl might be hanging around, lurking in the shadows like."

  A moment followed, in which the united glare of Les Six was met by the strangler's calm stare. Les Six looked away. Greyboar then turned to the wizard.

  "Now, as to you: I hope you've got plenty of money, because you'll need to be hiring some idiots to carry your sack. The kid'll be staying here."

  At this last statement, Zulkeh raised his head, began to protest. But the sight of Greyboar's face stopped him. And it was odd, how the strangler's gaze could have this effect upon people. For there was not a hint of anger, not a trace of a clenched jaw, not a blink of an eye, not even the slightest flush on the cheeks. Just—impossible to describe!

  Of course, in the time to come, the wizard would describe it often.

  " 'Destiny's Glime,' 'tis called in Begfat," he would explain to a rapt audience. "In the Crapaude, le Visage Impitoyable, or simply 'l'Implacable; in the bustling streets of Ozar proper, 'tis 'the Mirror of Mortality,' but in the slower-paced Ozarine as a whole, 'the Mirror of Imminent Mortality'; in the mystic land of Sundhjab it has many names: most common among warriors is the terse 'Kismet,' but the higher castes prefer 'the Contemplation of the Endless Round of the Wheel,' which is shortened by the fellah classes to 'the Window on Infinite Pain'; in Grotum itself, these elaborate terms are discarded in favor of the simple 'Basilisk.' But"—here he would wag his finger solemnly—"I have personally experienced the phenomenon, and I can assure you that none of these names—though they each capture some aspect of its essence—approaches in exactitude the phrase which is universal in Greyboar's own homeland of Sfinctria, I speak, of course, of 'the Time to Reconsider.' "

  But we leap ahead of our tale. Greyboar continued to speak as follows:

  "Magrit, you can put the kid up, at least for a while. Your place is plenty big enough, and I'm sure Shelyid'll be helpful around the house."

  "Hell, I'll take him on as my apprentice. Won't be able to teach him all that high-falutin' stuff, but he'll get a lot more practical education. And if it turns out the kid decides he doesn't really want to be a warlock"—here she looked pointedly at Les Six—"I'm sure the lads here can set him up in a suitable trade."

  " 'Tis a certainty!" boomed the first.

  "Any one of a hundred!" cried the second.

  "The possibilities are endless," added the third, "shoemaker, baker, turner, drayer, forgeman, welder, blacksmith, ironmonger—"

  " 'Course these'll be but the means to pay the rent," interrupted the fourth.

  "While the lad learns his true and proper profession," explained the fifth.

  "The art of insurrection," concluded the sixth.

  "Here's to the new comrade!" bellowed Les Six in unison, rising to their feet, clenched fists held high like hams in a smokehouse.

  Then Ignace spoke.

  "Before you all start planning out the kid's life," he snarled, "why don't you ask Shelyid what he wants?" Surprised, all stared at the agent. The little redhead's face was flushed and angry. "You all remind me of my aunts and uncles!" he shrilled. "'Do this, Ignace! Do that, Ignace! You'll make a right proper little whatever, Ignace!'" He glared furiously. "Poor guy'll wind up like I did—take to the streets just to get away from it all."

  "He's got a point," rumbled Greyboar. He looked over to Shelyid, who was still standing next to the mage. Zulkeh remained in his chair, his head bent.

  "Well, Shelyid?" asked the strangler.

  The dwarf's face was a study in uncertainty. Uncertainty but, it soon became clear, not confusion. He placed a hesitant hand on the shoulder of the wizard.

  "Well, actually," said the dwarf, "I'd really rather stay with the master. If he's willing, of course."

  The faces around him filled with surprise.

  "We've been together a long time," explained Shelyid, "ever since I was—well, found in a basket. I don't know where I was born, or who my parents are, so the master's really been my only family. Until I went on this trip, I didn't even have any friends—well, I had one, but—well, never mind."

  Seeing that his words were not having much effect, the dwarf hurried on: "And besides, it's not been as bad as you all make it out to be. Sure and the master thrashed me a lot, and he's impatient with me, and maybe I think I'm not really as stupid as he always says, but the truth is I actually learn a lot and this trip's been really exciting even though I didn't want to go and I only went because he made me but it really has turned out just like he said it would, I really have gotten better—really, I can tell! I'm stronger and smarter, and I made a bunch of new friends and before in my whole life I only had one and it—well." He fell silent for a moment, then said: "I miss—well. But it'll be so nice when I get back! I'll be able to tell—" Again, a moment's silence. Then, quietly: "It's my secret."

  When the dwarf spoke again his voice was filled with a quite unusual firmness. "I want to stay with the master. The reasons may not make any sense to anyone else, but they're good reasons to me. It's not always fun, being the master's apprentice. Truth to tell, it's not any fun at all. But it's best for me. I don't want to be just a wretched little dwarf. I'm tired of it. But even though the master treats me bad, well, I don't know any better way to learn what I have to learn."

  He looked around the room. All visible faces were blank in expression. The wizard's head was still bent. Wolfgang's face remained invisible in the darkness of his corner.

  "You all think I'm crazy," muttered Shelyid, "but I know what's the right thing to do."

  "Of course you do, boy!" boomed Wolfgang's voice. Everyone jumped.

  "What a fright you gave me!" exclaimed Magrit. "I'd forgotten you were even here!" She gazed at the lunatic quizzically. "You've been silent as a clam. Not like you, at all."

  Wolfgang pulled his chair into the light.

  "As the mage would say—'bah!' You sane types have an altogether irrational faith in the power of speech. Babble, now, there's a useful skill!"

  He gazed about the room, beaming like an idiot.

  "I think the boy's quite right! Not stupid at all! Of course he should go with the wizard! Where else would he learn the things he's learned? Why, think about it! A mere sprout, and he's
already sown confusion and havoc! Fed a high and mighty Crud to a snarl! Which of you had accomplished such mad deeds at such an early age? Not to mention stealing a great relic!"

  "Oh!" gasped Shelyid. "The Rap Sheet! We haven't even looked at it! We've wasted all this time talking about me!" He grasped the sleeve of the mage's robe and tugged vigorously. "We should look at the Rap Sheet, master—it'll tell you who your enemies are!"

  Zulkeh's head lifted a bit. His face, it could now be seen, was pale and drawn.

  "Later, Shelyid," said the mage. "It will keep. At the moment, there are more important things to deal with." He gazed down at the dwarf's hand, still resting upon his sleeve.

  "You are firm in your resolve?" he asked. "To remain as my apprentice?"

  "Oh yes, master!" cried Shelyid.

  "Be not so quick, Shelyid. The road I must travel, though its exact route remains uncertain, will undoubtedly take me to distant and perilous lands. 'Twill be long, perhaps very long, before we shall return to Goimr."

  "Oh, I'm not afraid!"

  The wizard shook his head. "That is not my meaning." He snorted. " 'Tis certain that the timid gnome who left Goimr is no longer timid! Rash, yes. Foolhardy, yes. But certainly not lacking in courage."

  He paused, took a deep breath. "I raise the question of our return to Goimr because, listening to your earlier words, I was struck by your references—three of them, if I am not mistaken—to the friend left behind, the one you so look forward to seeing again and telling of your adventures. Your 'secret,' you called it."

  Zulkeh raised his eyes to Shelyid's face. "You are referring to the spider in the lower catacombs."

  The dwarf's mouth fell open. "You know?"

  "Certainly. Only a fool could have missed your expeditions to the lower levels. After a few such, I became curious. I followed and observed you with the spider."

  He raised his hand. "I did not eavesdrop! I departed the scene after no more than a minute, and never followed you again. 'Twas clear enough—well. I am not unaware of my inadequacy as a source of emotional comfort. To anyone, much less an orphan. Some happiness the spider's company seemed to give you, and I saw no harm in it. 'Twould have been sheer cruelty to intervene."

  The wizard paused, took another breath. "I am not cruel, Shelyid. Cold, yes. At times, I admit, even harsh. Perhaps other terms could be used—"

  "We shall assist!" cried the first.

  "The word 'callous' immediately springs to mind," mused the second.

  A single gesture from Greyboar brought silence.

  The pained look on Zulkeh's face faded, to be replaced by a frown.

  "Doubt me not on this, Shelyid," spoke the mage. "These—gentlemen—may mock, but if you travel with me you shall soon enough learn the meaning of true cruelty. Inkman gave you but a taste of it."

  "I never said you were cruel, master. I never even thought it." A guilty look crossed Shelyid's face. "I did say you were mean a few times." A look of greater guilt. "And I thought it a lot more times."

  "I will allow 'mean,' dwarf." The wizard sighed. "'Tis perhaps not far from the mark. But look you, Shelyid, we have drifted from the point. If you truly wish to see your friend again, you cannot accompany me. You must return to Goimr now. For she has not much longer to live. Certainly she will be dead before spring comes—and we are already well into autumn."

  "The spider's sick!" gasped Shelyid.

  "Nonsense!" snorted the mage. "A most hale and healthy arachnid! She has already lived to a ripe old age. Spiders do not live long, Shelyid. Your spider has done exceedingly well in that regard, actually."

  The dwarf fought tears. "I never knew. And I promised—it's a she? A female spider? I never actually knew which sex my friend was."

  "Bah!" oathed the mage. "Who cannot distinguish between the male and female arachnid is a—" His jaws clamped shut.

  "Amazing!" cried the fifth.

  "Who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks?" demanded the sixth.

  Another gesture from Greyboar stilled the round.

  After a moment, Shelyid spoke.

  "Well, it makes me feel better, knowing that she had a full life. And it's nice to know what sex she was, after all this time. Maybe you could teach me more about spiders, master."

  "Certainly!" spoke the mage. "A most fascinating breed, the arachnids! 'Pound for pound,' as your lowlifes would say, the fiercest predators in the animal kingdom. Moreover—" He stopped. "But let us save this for a later occasion. For the moment, we must resolve the issue before us. Do you still wish to remain with me, knowing what you now know?"

  Shelyid pondered the question for perhaps a minute, then nodded his head.

  "Yes, master. It's true I promised her, but there wouldn't be much point going back just to see her die. And I don't think she'd like it, anyway. Actually, I always knew she was pretty fierce, and I think she wouldn't like me, well, you know, fussing over her deathbed, and such. I'll sure miss her, though." A tear formed, but he wiped it away. "So I'll stay with you."

  Then the dwarf squared his shoulders, stepped back a pace, and stared the wizard straight in the eye.

  "But there's going to be some changes made!" he said shrilly.

  * * *

  The scene which followed is painful to relate. For the dwarf Shelyid not only behaved in a most reprehensible manner, insisting upon the most preposterous rights and privileges, but was shamelessly aided and abetted in this impudence by Les Six.

  Their brazen role began at once.

  "The lad needs a new contract!" cried the first.

  "A complete overhaul of his terms of employment!" exclaimed the second.

  "But he's a youth," moaned the third, "inexperienced at the negotiating table."

  "A pawn in the hands of the boss," wailed the fourth, "sure to be shackled in the exploiter's cunning twist of phrase and subtlety of clause."

  "Desperately in need of experienced counsel, lest he sign himself over to helotry," opined the fifth.

  "Stewards, to the fore!" bellowed the sixth. And with these words, Les Six pulled up their chairs, forming a semicircle around the mage.

  Zulkeh stared at the half-dozen great and grinning faces, much as a cornered fox examines the muzzles of the hounds.

  "Perhaps," said the mage, coughing, "we should first examine the great relic which we have—just this very night!—obtained in order to determine the nature of our enemies. Our enemies, gentlemen! Who are—perhaps this very moment!—closing in, their black hearts filled with—"

  "Do not concern yourself with the enemies of the future," counseled the first.

  "When you are surrounded by the enemies of the present," advised the second.

  Here Magrit intervened. "The Rap Sheet'll wait till tomorrow, Zulkeh. And whatever enemies we've got are so fuddled tonight they'll have a hard enough time finding their peckers to take a piss. No, you just concentrate on this business—it'll take you hours as it is. The rest of us can go to bed."

  And so saying, she strode out of the room, stopping along the way to take Wolfgang by the hand.

  "C'mon, tall and handsome, let's get laid."

  Greyboar rose, stretched. "I think Ignace and I will turn in, also. Been a long day."

  The wizard looked at him with appeal. "Sirrah Greyboar! Perhaps—you have been a most calming influence—the heat of negotiations—"

  "Me?" cried Greyboar. "You want me to stick my nose into the affairs of a different trade?" He shook his head, clucking. " 'Tisn't done, just isn't. Not at all proper! Besides, I wouldn't be any help, anyway. I don't really know a thing about negotiating complicated labor contracts. The fine points just don't come up in my profession. The basic provisions of my contracts are simple and straightforward, so I hardly ever run into difficulties with my employers. They pay me what they owe me when the job's done, or"—he cracked his knuckles; the house shook—"I collect from the estate."

  He turned to his agent: "C'mon Ignace. Let's hit the sack." The two departed.
/>   "Down to business," said the third, rubbing his hands.

  "Point one," stated the fourth. "This 'master' business has got to go."

  " 'Tis demeaning to the laborer," explained the fifth.

  "And most inaccurate," happily added the sixth, "as you'll soon see for yourself when examining the provisions which are about to be included in your new contract with the dwarf Shelyid."

  The first: "Who is hereafter referred to as the short-statured-but-fully-qualified-apprentice Shelyid."

  And this was but the beginning!

  CHAPTER XXVII.

  Enemies Revealed—But a Deeper Mystery Bared. A Lunatic's Exposition. A Mage's Great Disquiet. A Resolved Apprentice. Traveling Companions Found. Forward the Mage!

  "Magrit!" spoke the mage. "I require your expert assistance here. Can you not leave this—this obscene chortling and plotting to a later time?"

  The witch looked up from mixing potions. "Huh?" she asked. "Oh. Yes, I suppose so." She rose, muttering fiercely, and stamped over to the table where Zulkeh was examining the Rap Sheet.

  "I still can't believe," she snarled, "that two-faced rat! That smiling little slimeball! All this time, pretending to be my friend—and he even had me fooled, I got to admit."

  It had been some time earlier, in mid-morning, when the various parties involved in the theft of the Rap Sheet had reconvened in Magrit's chamber. Greyboar and Ignace were alone absent, off on some business of their own. The witch had demanded to be the first to examine the relic. Zulkeh began to protest, then wearily nodded his assent. And truly the mage seemed exhausted by the events of the night past—not from the adventure itself, but from the rigors of the bargaining table.