Heroes And Fools totfa-2

by Margaret Weis

  Cedwick felt it was the most profound statement he had heard all day.

  Quite suddenly, Halivar brought his staff down on part of the God Trap Machine. Something swiveled sharply, and with a loud crack the top of the God Trap flew off at tremendous speed. The unsuspecting gully dwarf rocketed off the machine with a startled cry. Even the gnomes stopped their sparring to take notice.

  With a thud, Helg flew directly into Cedwick. The apprentice mage collapsed in the dirt. As his head connected with the ground, something within the young man mentioned that this might be a dandy moment to lose consciousness.

  But he didn’t.

  “Cedwick!”

  The apprentice mage’s eyes snapped open. Dread clutched his heart. He crawled to his feet.

  “Thank goodness!” Halivar said. “I thought I killed you!”

  Cedwick paid him no mind. In the doorway of the Tower stood Master Laudus. Shadows played about his gaunt, narrow features, and his eyes burned with electric intensity. His arms moved in precise, rehearsed motions, and his robes flowed about him in billowing ripples.

  Something sizzled through the air, landed amid the brawling mob, and exploded in a cloud of smoke. Instantly, the gnomes, kender, and gully dwarf began to gag and choke on the fumes. Cedwick’s eyes watered from the stench.

  Blinking away tears, the apprentice caught sight of the archmage. The old man motioned to him. His glare told Cedwick everything the young man needed to know.

  Cedwick stepped out of the cloud and prepared for a lecture.

  As the smoke cleared, Cedwick returned to the group. None of them were fighting anymore. Without exception, they all sat on the ground and gasped hard for air. They watched each other with wide-eyed stares.

  When they worked up enough energy to speak, the babble began.

  “Hey, was that magic?”

  “I thought magic was gone!”

  “Robes have strong magic for not-have magic!”

  Cedwick silenced them by raising his hand.

  “I have just, uh, spoken to Master Laudus,” he said smoothly. “The demonstration you just received is an example of how great a wizard he is even without magic.”

  The others nodded solemnly.

  “What did he say?” asked Jobin.

  “1 gave him your information. He has asked us to carry on research in his absence.”

  “Then our mission was successful?” Halivar asked.

  “It would seem so.”

  The group cheered. Cedwick silenced them.

  “Since we cannot be sure what exactly happened to magic,” the apprentice mage explained, “Halivar will be placed in charge of “The reacquisition of magic in the event that it has been destroyed.’ The gnomes will be in charge of “The reacquisition of magic in the event that it is merely trapped.’ In the meantime, Helg will teach me the arts of frog magic. I will act as a personal liaison between the three groups.”

  The audience applauded, and several gnomes commented at the profoundly gnomish ingenuity of the plan.

  “Let me add that I am honored to work with each of you,” Cedwick continued. “You have proven yourselves dedicated to the search for magic. Such dedication is hard to find.”

  All the little faces beamed at this point. Cedwick smiled in return.

  “Furthermore,” the young man said, “each of you brings a personal insight to this dilemma. Such varied experiences will make it easier for us to find magic together.”

  The gnomes applauded this, and the kender shouted “Bravo!” The gully dwarf merely grinned a huge gully dwarf grin.

  Cedwick grinned back. “So I would like to thank you, in advance, for the personal sacrifices you are making. .”

  Suddenly, the expressions of the group turned to blank stares. The gnomes looked at each other, searching for some meaning to the statement. Halivar glanced down at the floor.

  “I say sacrifices, because that is clearly what is required,” the apprentice mage said. “Even with all of us working together, it may take years, even decades, before we complete our research. During that time, we will work tirelessly. Wanderlust shall never affect us, nor shall we permit the rigors of travel to interfere with our schedule. Instead, we will sit in musty rooms devoid of sunlight. We will read book after book, until we can no longer remember what trees and birds and flowers look like. We may forget all the joys of the outside world. It will be grueling-even boring-but we make this commitment, not for ourselves, but for the future of magic.”

  He paused again, as many eyes stared back at him. A few of the gnomes applauded again. However, one pair of eyes-the kender’s-refused to meet his gaze.

  Cedwick went on, “Nor shall we despair for our friends and our families. We may never again see those we love. We may never again find the life we knew. Little Helg,” he motioned to the gully dwarf, “may never again taste the stew of her homeland. She will never affectionately whomp another gully dwarf. Instead, she will live here among strangers, where whomping is not allowed. Here, in this Tower, she must break from every gully dwarf tradition. She must even bathe daily. Is that not sacrifice?”

  The gnomes nodded in assent, although a few commented quietly that regular bathing didn’t seem such an awful sacrifice. Helg, however, wore a mask of abject terror. From the other side of the room, Halivar sniffled softly.

  “Yes, we must all make sacrifices,” Cedwick said nobly, “but perhaps the greatest sacrifice shall come from the gnomes.”

  At this, the gnomes glanced at him in bewilderment.

  “Yes,” the apprentice mage continued, “already, they have sacrificed so much simply to be here. In the coming years, their life quests will go unfinished. Their committees back at Mount Nevermind will scorn them. It is quite possible that they may live their remaining years in exile. These brave souls choose to sacrifice their entire lives for magic. What greater sacrifice can there be?”

  The gnomes looked about in disdain. A low murmur passed through the crowd.

  Prodded by his fellow gnomes, Jobin rose to his feet. Gradually, all the gnomes joined him where he stood.

  “Master Cedwick,” Jobin said, slowly and carefully, “upon consideration of the circumstances involved in this daunting task, the gnomes of Mount Nevermind must regretfully decline the honor of working with you and your esteemed comrades.

  “Furthermore,” he went on, “we now have cause to believe that the God Trap Machine is not responsible for the disappearance of magic on Krynn. We believe that the data received from the Guild of Magic Analysis and Prestidigital Improvements may be erroneous. Thus, we have resolved to return to Mount Nevermind and begin a formal inquiry into the matter.”

  Cedwick listened to the news gravely.

  “We will truly miss your wealth of knowledge and ideas here in the Tower, but what you propose is quite important. Have a safe journey, Executive Vice-Director.”

  The gnomes gave a loud cheer. Jobin assured Cedwick that it was an expression of profound disappointment.

  As Cedwick watched them gather their materials onto the Veryveryhot, he felt a familiar tug on his robes. The young man knelt down to speak with the gully dwarf.

  “High Robe,” Helg said, holding out the frog, “you take frog? Not need Helg?”

  “Helg, must you leave?”

  “Must,” Helg nodded fervently. “Have to tell shaman. Tell him you very smart High Robe. Tell him you have frog.”

  “Thank you, Little One,” Cedwick said. “You can go home.”

  The gully dwarf carefully placed the frog at his feet and scampered away into the forest.

  “Master Cedwick?” came a timid voice from behind him. The apprentice turned and smiled at Halivar Wizardslayer.

  “Yes, Halivar?” he said. “Are you ready to begin the sacrifice?”

  Halivar blanched. “Actually,” the kender said, “I was wondering if-you know, if you really needed me.”

  The apprentice mage put his hand on the kender’s shoulder.

  “Halivar,�
� Cedwick asked, “are you having doubts?”

  Halivar nodded, too ashamed to speak.

  “But Halivar,” Cedwick said, “you were the one who started this. Without you, I never would have considered such an undertaking.”

  “I know,” said the kender, “but I was thinking. Maybe I should keep wandering around for a little while longer. Maybe when I destroyed magic, I didn’t destroy all of it. I could keep looking while you study the issue here at the Tower.”

  Cedwick smiled. “That’s an excellent idea, Halivar.”

  Halivar looked up and grinned. “Is it? I mean, it is, isn’t it?”

  “Of course,” said the apprentice mage, grinning in return. “I would never keep a god against his will.”

  The kender’s face filled with joy, “Thank you, Master Cedwick! You are truly a great wizard!” He added, “I’m really very glad I didn’t kill you earlier!”

  “I’m rather glad you didn’t also,” the young man confided.

  “Maybe my curse is over!”

  “Just so,” smiled Cedwick. “Just so.”

  The kender gave a jingling bow, which Cedwick returned. He smiled a very god-like smile and wandered away, blowing on a newly found whistle and admiring an empty inkwell.

  Cedwick watched in silence as the kender disappeared into the forest. After a while, even the whistle faded away.

  “Well?” came Master Laudus’s stern voice.

  “It worked,” said Cedwick.

  “Of course it worked. It was my idea.”

  The archmage appeared from around the corner leading his horse and the pack mule.

  “Master Laudus, I’m truly sorry-

  “What’s done is done, Cedwick.”

  Cedwick sighed in relief and went to help his master into the saddle.

  “No, no, Cedwick,” said Laudus, stopping him. “You get to ride this time.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes. You have a very important responsibility.”

  To Cedwick’s surprise, the old man lifted him off his feet and set him on the horse, backwards. The old mage knelt down, picked something up off the ground, and placed it in the apprentice’s hands. He swung himself onto the horse.

  “You get to mind the frog.”

  A Pinch Of This, A Dash Of That

  Nick O’Donohoe

  “Religion,” Daev said firmly, “should be kept safely away from ordinary folks.” He slapped the reins to make the horses go faster.

  Kela laughed. “You’re just saying that because you nearly got burned as a heretic.”

  “You’re on the run with me.”

  She touched his sleeve playfully. “We’re not on the run. We’re a touring company. Besides, I want to be with you.” She waited for a reply, then sighed and peered at the road ahead, heat shimmers and all.

  After a moment she said, “Is that a man by the roadside?”

  Daev squinted, shading his hand. “Maybe. Yes.”

  A kender’s head popped up between them from the wagon back. “Young or old? I can’t tell.”

  “Old, maybe.” The man was robed head to foot and trudging along slowly, pulling a cart. “Not a casual traveler.” There was a flash of sunlight off something at the stranger’s waist. Daev finished tensely, “Armed.”

  Kela put a hand on his arm in concern. “You think it’s-”

  “I think our reputation has caught up with us. Frenni?”

  The kender said excitedly, “A fight!”

  “Not yet. Hide in the back.” Daev transferred the reins to his left hand and felt behind the buckboard until he found his sword hilt.

  “You’re not leaving me out!”

  “You’ll be our element of surprise,” Daev said soothingly, and added from bitter experience, “A kender is always an element of surprise.”

  Kela touched the dagger at her side. “We outnumber him.”

  “Yes,” Daev said dryly, “and you and I have at least ten months’ experience with swords. That ought to frighten any seasoned warrior.”

  Frenni, muffled by the wagon curtains, sighed contentedly. “Finally, something exciting.”

  “Something exciting,” Daev echoed unhappily and hefted the sword again.

  They pulled alongside the figure, who looked neither to the left nor the right as they stopped their wagon. “Not afraid of anything, is he?” Kela murmured.

  “That must be nice,” Daev muttered back. Aloud he said, “Do you wish some water?”

  The man gestured to his cart without exposing his face. “Thanks, I have some.” Whatever had flashed at his waist was now hidden. He said, “Where are the two of you going?”

  “Xak Faoleen,” Kela said before Daev could reply. “We’re-” she caught herself and finished lamely, “- hoping to work there.”

  “To work.” The man sounded amused. “With a covered wagon painted many colors and pictures of warriors and lovers and dragons painted on it?” He laughed, and Daev tensed. It wasn’t a particularly sane laugh. “What sort of work?” the man asked, and waited.

  “We’re players,” Daev said finally, and added, “I think you knew.”

  The man nodded. “I think you also make and sell books.”

  In the back of the wagon, Frenni shifted. Daev took his hand off his sword to wave him back, then grabbed it again quickly. “We’re not scribes. Wouldn’t making books require scribes?”

  “I hear you have a new machine, better than any scribe.”

  Kela clutched her dagger handle and said tightly, “Have you been looking for us?”

  The stranger said, “I’ve been following you. I’m surprised I was ahead of you. I must have passed you in the night, but I’ve finally found you.”

  Daev, giving up, stood and drew his sword. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

  “My name is Samael.” He threw back his cloak and drew something with a single swift motion.

  Daev braced to parry, then realized that he was fending off a metal scroll case.

  Samael laughed his crazy laugh again. “I want you to print my book.”

  They rode along together, Samael sitting on Kela’s left and Daev on her right. Once Samael threw his hood back, they were both surprised to see that he was only in his late twenties, older than they but hardly the seasoned warrior they’d feared he was. Samael said anxiously, “Will my cart be all right back there?”

  Kela unscrewed the scroll case. “The hitch I made should keep it balanced, and we’ll tow it.” She slid the scroll out carefully and unrolled it. “Are these recipes?”

  “Sort of.” He smiled at her. He had very light blue eyes and a pleasant smile that contrasted sharply with his tanned face. He pointed to the headings:

  To be loved.

  To fall in love.

  For confidence.

  To be nigh-invincible in battle.

  To be brave.

  To produce fear.

  To be attractive.

  Daev, reading over her shoulder, said dubiously, “All these work without magic?”

  Samael shrugged. “Some of them simply change people’s attitudes. Others. .” He pulled a powder from one of his many vest pockets. “Watch.”

  He tossed the powder against the wagon wheel. There was a loud bang and a flash of flame.

  Daev quieted the horses as Frenni poked his head out and said admiringly, “Can you give me some of that?”

  Daev said courteously and hastily, “Samael, this is Frenni, and we’d really rather you didn’t give him any.”

  Kela, immersed in the scroll, said in fascination, “Do these powders work the same every time?”

  “If you mix them exactly right.” For the first time Samael sounded anxious as he said, “Will you print my book?”

  Before Kela could say anything, Daev drawled, “I’m not sure. It’s a great expense to print and sell even short books such as yours.”

  “I don’t have much money.” Samael gestured behind them to his cart. “If you sell the book, I can sell the powders
from the recipes, and then I could pay you-”

  Kela said suddenly, “We thought you were older when you were walking.”

  Samael grinned at her. “I try to look older on the road. Keeps people away.”

  “We saw the scroll at your belt,” Daev said thoughtfully. “It looked like a scabbard. I thought you were a veteran of campaigns.”

  Kela went on quickly, “Daev, could he act in your new play? You said we needed one more person-”

  “You wouldn’t have to pay me,” Samael broke in. “I’d do it in barter for your printing the book-”

  “And he could help with the sets, and you know he could turn that flash powder into a stage effect-”

  “All right. As long as he can learn to act.”

  Kela looked admiringly at Samael. “He can play the lover. I’m sure he’d be perfect.”

  “Ah,” Daev said, startled. He dropped the subject and stared ahead, brooding.

  “Is something wrong?” Samael asked politely.

  “Mmm? No, everything’s fine for now.” Daev played with the reins restlessly. “But if you found us by tracking the books we’ve sold, who else could?”

  Scene 2: A Conference in Shadows

  Old Staffling: Don’t laugh at me, young cream-faced fools. I’ve fought a dragon with this stick, and jammed the screaming gears of gnomes’ machines, and stood as tall as any Solamnian Knight on the fields of war. When I smile, you should scream. When I blink, you should look for danger.

  — The Book of Love, act 1, scene 2.

  Palak nicked his cape around himself and his bundle as he descended the dark, stained stairs. Why, he thought petulantly, does he do these things underground?

  It was a real concern for him. As leader of the Joyous Faithful Guard, he would have preferred that every penitent confess as publicly as possible, not in chains somewhere far from the people who would be encouraged by repentance.

  He knew the answer to his question, though. This man was underground because he liked to do his business underground. No one had ordered him to come up because they were all more than a little afraid of him.