by Frank Tuttle
"All quite true, apprentice," said Wistril, pulling on a hob-nailed boot. "But which beasts are tricks, and which are flesh and blood?"
Kern shook his head and stifled a yawn. "I don't understand," he said.
Wistril rose. "Neither will this Grizzly," he said. "Go now. Fetch my short silver staff, a pair of matched Sproggin glasses, and a decanter of fresh-drawn Lake water."
"Yes, Master," said Kern. "What are we up to?"
"We are up to nothing," said Wistril. "You shall sleep. I will have need of you later, with your faculties intact."
Kern opened his mouth, saw the set of Wistril's jaw, shut his mouth, and left Wistril's tent.
Outside, ghosts darted and wheeled, thick as moths around a candle-flame, still howling in practiced agony. Kern waved and headed for the supply cabinet.
"Ah, the quiet serenity of the great outdoors," he said. "Just the thing for sleeping."
A phantom dipped close, hovered, and made a what-can-you-do? shrug.
"Just ignore me," said Kern. "Armies in the woods make me grumpy. You gents keep up the noise. Better you than a Grizzly in my tent."
The phantom smiled a faint, hollow smile and darted up into the night. Kern sighed and broke into a trot.
One, two, three -- the hours seemed to gather outside Kern's tent and march in a slow circles around it. Kern thrashed and turned and wrestled with his pillow and even reviewed Wistril's last lesson (prime number positions as anchor-points for verbal spell components), but sleep might as well have been suspended miles above the Lake.
Finally, Kern rose, kicked his pillow, and pulled on his tunic. "A silver staff and matched Sproggin glasses. Master, what are you up too?"
Kern lifted his tent flap and stepped out into the night. The gargoyle guarding Kern's tent frowned and shook a finger at Kern.
"I can't sleep," said Kern. Frogs croaked; crickets sang; ghosts howled. "Not with all this racket. I'm going to check on His Mightiness. If the Grizzly stops by make sure he wipes his shoes."
The gargoyle shrugged and pointed toward the Lake. Kern tip-toed around the corner of his tent.
Lake Ovinshoon lay bright and wide, the waters silver and calm under a fat half-moon.
Kern rubbed his eyes. The guard gargoyle appeared at his shoulder and pointed; Kern followed the claw, to a place far out on the Lake where the calm waters stirred.
The stirring intensified. While Kern watched, the Lake swelled and heaved as though something large rose swiftly toward the surface. "What is that?" whispered Kern.
The Lake exploded. A full-grown serpentia arced and rose.
"Another adult!" said Kern.
The serpentia surged forward, racing for the shore. Behind it, the waters rolled again, and another serpent's snout emerged and followed in a spray.
And another. And still the water boiled.
Kern stepped away from his tent. There, on the shore, stood Wistril, full in the path of the emerging serpentia.
The fat wizard's arms were raised. In his right hand the short silver staff glowed and cast lazy bolts of silent lightning down into the lake. In Wistril's left hand the wizard gripped --
-- a sausage?
The first serpent halted at Wistril's feet. Blue-green scales, still awash with crystal waters, gleamed in the moonlight; as Kern watched, the serpent fanned its feathered indigo mane, raising a spray that wrapped around wizard and serpent like a long, twisting veil.
The serpent raised its head to tower above Wistril. It regarded the wizard with cold yellow eyes and tested the air with a long, forked tongue.
Wistril made a small nod, took a bite of his sausage, and waved the serpent away. It heaved itself onto the shore and made for the trees, following the well-worn serpentia path.
The second serpent halted at Wistril's feet and was absently waved ashore. A third and a fourth serpent followed, and still the Lake boiled and rolled.
Kern grinned. The silver staff, the Sproggin bottles, the lake water -- come sunrise, Kern knew, these new serpentia would fade to nothing but a heavy dew and a thick fog.
But until then, the Grizzly wouldn't know ensorcelled water from genuine serpent.
"Good hunting, flea-beard," said Kern, with a bow to the trees. "I hope the new ones bite."
Serpent after serpent arose. Wistril waved them ashore and nibbled at his sausage. Kern went back into his tent, sank wearily into his cot, and slept until well after sunrise.
"Apprentice! Awaken!"
Kern rolled to his feet, tripped on a boot, rose again, and fumbled for his pants. Wistril's fat shadow billowed against his tent.
The wizard put his hands on his hips. "Apprentice Kern! Rise!"
"I'm risen," said Kern. "I'm coming. What's happened?"
Wistril was silent for a moment. "The mature serpentia," said the wizard at last. "She did not return with her young this morning. I fear the worst."
Kern pulled on a shirt and stumbled outside to squint in the sun.
Wistril was haggard and grim. "The staff are combing the woods. I expect a report any moment."
A young serpent's head broke water in the shallows just behind Wistril. The serpent whistled, chirped, and vanished, only to be replaced by both of its siblings.
Kern pointed with a nod. "I see the young ones made it."
"Indeed," muttered Wistril.
"I also saw the fake serpents you loosed into the woods last night," said Kern. "How many did you conjure up?"
Before Wistril could answer, Sir Knobby and a half-dozen of his elite guards glided hooting over the tree-tops. Sir Knobby waved his companions back into the air and then dropped heavily to the grass before Wistril and Kern.
"He isn't smiling," said Kern. Sir Knobby's wet, brown eyes locked with Wistril's, then sought out the ground.
"Hoot," he said, softly.
Wistril's face went white.
"The adult female is dead," growled the wizard. "Dead, and butchered as we speak."
"How?" said Kern. "We sprang the traps. We filled the woods with decoys."
"A catapult," said Wistril. "Specifically, a wyvern-killer. Mounted on a covered wagon. The scouts -- and myself -- assumed this wagon was full of provisions or supplies, like all the others. It was not. This infernal contraption fired some three dozen steel-tipped spears. The adult serpentia died instantly, shielding her young."
"The decoys?"
"Decoys?" said Wistril. "Decoys? Ask the Grizzly. His broken down hay-wains proved infinitely more effective than my own marvels of sorcery." Wistril glared. "This is not to be borne, Apprentice."
Kern shook his head. "What do we do about it?"
Wistril turned toward the trees, as if his glare could strike down the Grizzly where he stood. "I do not know," said Wistril. "I cannot contain the surviving serpentia to the Lake forever. My Oath forbids me the hearty pleasure of filling the Grizzly's beard with scorpions. Pitting ourselves and our staff in a pitched battle with a murderous band of experienced mercenaries is foolhardy at best. Confound it, Kern, I do not know."
"Sir Knobby thinks he can drop a boat-anchor on the Grizzly's tent," said Kern.
"They have a catapult." Wistril took in a great, long breath and let it out in a sigh. "I shall walk and ponder," he said at last. "Stay. Watch. Signal if that butcher dares set foot on Kauph."
"Yes, Master."
"Oath or no Oath," growled Wistril, "I shall find a way."
The orphaned serpentia surfaced again. All three joined in a long, whistling cry, a cry that echoed across water and wood but was not, would never be, answered.
Wistril marched away. Kern and Sir Knobby looked toward the serpents and shook their heads.
The sun set, and the first bold stars crept out, and the young serpentia whistled and chirped and troubled the waters but did not dare the shore alone.
Kern and Sir Knobby walked the shore. Neither gargoyle nor apprentice let his eyes stray from the tall pines for very long, though both would occasionally steal a glance toward
Wistril's enormous red tent.
Wistril's tent remained silent, dark, and still. Dusk gave way to night; Kern ordered torches lit.
From deep within the pines, a gargoyle hooted, and another. Sir Knobby's bat-wing ears lifted and spread.
"Master," said Kern, trotting to stand before Wistril's tent. "Our guests are arriving."
A light flared in Wistril's tent. "How many?" said the wizard.
Kern lifted an eyebrow at Sir Knobby. The gargoyle lifted his empty left hand and spread his fingers wide once, twice, three times.
"Fifteen," said Kern.
The tent-flap was flung aside, and Wistril emerged in a stoop. Kern stepped back, agape.
Gone were the wizard's leather breeches and fur-lined greatcoat and hob-nailed boots. Now, Wistril was swathed in yards and yards of sheer black silk -- robe, cape, sleeves, all black, all silk. A finely wrought silver sword-belt held a sword at his side.
The silver clasp that held Wistril's long cloak together at his neck glittered. The clasp bore a small working of the House of Kauph's Old Kingdom heraldic emblem -- a unicorn rampant by a wall of climbing roses. Kern was sure the emblem had been pried carefully off the hilt of Wistril's favorite letter-opener.
"Hoot," said Sir Knobby.
"Fifteen of the Grizzly's men are headed this way, Master," said Kern. "Maybe they want to borrow a cup of sugar, or maybe they want our heads. Either way, I need a pep talk, and Sir Knobby here wants a promotion."
Wistril glared. "Only fifteen?"
Sir Knobby nodded.
Wistril snorted. "Fifteen. Deal with them, Apprentice," said the Wizard. "I will not be distracted again by this Grizzly's chicanery."
Kern bowed. "As you wish, your Fearsomeness," he said. "I shall speak sternly to the ruffians, and if they do not mend their evil ways I shall stamp my foot repeatedly."
"Stall them, Apprentice," growled Wistril. "I require a few moments to perform certain rituals. No one must be allowed to interfere."
More hoots sounded from the trees. "Have you found a way out of this, Master?" said Kern.
"I have indeed," said Wistril. "You, Apprentice, have but to put that braying tongue of yours to good use for a few short moments."
"I'll do my best," said Kern.
Wistril turned for the Lake. "Then I am assured, at least, of inflicting upon the Grizzly a tirade of lack wit verbosity. Good luck, Apprentice."
A pair of shadowy phantoms fell to whisper in Wistril's ears. "Excellent," said the wizard. "Thank you." The phantoms took to the air. Within moments, all the ghosts had vanished, though some popped out of the shadows under the trees long enough to wave at Kern.
The Lake fell silent. Wistril mumbled a Word and made a silvery tracing in the air. With a soft pop, one of Lake Ovinshoon's three two-man fishing boats appeared in the water by behind Wistril.
"Master," said Kern. "You aren't going out on the lake in that, are you?"
Wistril hiked up his robes and waded ankle-deep out to the boat. A pair of tall, wiry gargoyles dropped from the dark; one steadied the boat while the other hauled Wistril aboard.
"Master," said Kern, trotting to the water's edge. "Master, the lake is full of sea-monsters, and you can't swim, and that is a very small boat--"
"I see torches," barked Wistril, as he bobbed and teetered. "You have your chores, and I have mine. Begone."
One gargoyle clung to the boat's stern and paddled with his feet while the other picked up an oar. The boat headed unsteadily toward the deep water, Wistril standing amidships, hands on hips.
Three long serpentia-heads broke water and then rushed whistling to meet the tiny boat.
Kern shook his head. Sir Knobby hooted, long and low.
Torchlight in the trees, moving closer -- and then the hunters marched into the open, the Grizzly at the fore.
Kern fixed a smile on his face, motioned to Sir Knobby, and sauntered toward the hunter and his men.
Sir Knobby followed. The Grizzly looked at Kern, spat, and loosened the leather tie on his sword hilt.
Kern smiled and waved. "Good evening," he said, when the Grizzly and his men were near enough to hear plainly. "Out for a stroll, maybe a bath?"
Kern stopped. The Grizzly marched his ten men to within five short paces of Kern and halted. "Where's your fat White Chair wand-waver?" said the Grizzly.
Kern shrugged. "Oh, he's out gathering dragons and lightning, I suppose. You know wizards. They're always up to something."
"He leave you here to chase us off?"
Kern grinned. "Something like that. By the way, those tall reddish bushes the rest of your men are hiding in are called itchweed by the locals. The blisters won't go away until you stop scratching, which, I hear, is almost impossible to do--"
"Shut your mouth," said the Grizzly. "I'm come for the other three snakes."
"How unfortunate," said Kern. "Still, I'm only one man. What could I do expect to do against the likes of you?" Kern shrugged, stepped backward, and scratched a line in the turf with the toe of his boot. "Ooga booga woodja woo," he said, loudly. "That's just wizard talk for watch your step," he added, with a wink.
The Grizzly's right hand fell to his sword-hilt. Kern made a sweeping motion of invitation toward the Lake. "The snakes seem to favor the shallows at the north end," he said. "Right this way."
The Grizzly's brow furrowed. Sir Knobby grinned a toothy grin and mocked Kern's wave of invitation.
Kern glanced over the Grizzly's shoulder and watched his men -- a scarred and dirty lot -- draw weapons and exchange worried looks.
"Where's the 'goyles? Where's the haints?" growled the Grizzly.
"They quit," said Kern. "Took off. Claimed they didn't want to fight. Just this one fellow remains, and he's so beside himself with fright he can barely swing a mace. Isn't that right, Sir Knobby?"
Sir Knobby spun his mace in a blurred twirl that mocked the sound of angry hornets. Kern prayed the head didn't come unstuck.
"It's a trick," said the Grizzly, shaking his head. "But it's a White Chair trick. White Chair tricks can't hurt me."
"True," said Kern. "That's just what I said. What good is a trap if it doesn't hurt the trapped?" Kern raised his voice. "But the Master just laughed. What is the harm, he said, in giving a man donkey ears? Donkeys hear better than men, and that ought to come in handy for a soldier. Same thing goes for big flat cow teeth. Or hooves. Imagine, a --"
The Grizzly cursed, stepped over the line, and shoved Kern aside.
Sir Knobby sprang forward, mace a whining blur. The Grizzly drew his sword, struck, and shattered Sir Knobby's antique mace.
"Next time I kill," said the Grizzly. Kern grasped Sir Knobby's shoulder and drew him back.
"Hoot," said Kern. Sir Knobby snarled and cast his broken mace aside. The Grizzly spat and motioned his men toward the Lake.
"Well done," said Wistril's voice from just beside Kern's right ear. "Well done indeed. Is Sir Knobby injured?"
"He's fine," muttered Kern. "Are you done with whatever it is you're doing?"
Wistril chuckled, and his voice was gone.
Kern patted Sir Knobby's arm. "Skyward, brave sir," he said. "Fetch the troops. Time to skin our grizzly."
"Hoot!" The gargoyle leaped into the night.
Kern trotted off after the Grizzly. "Sorry about trying to fool you gentlemen," Kern shouted. Faces turned his way. "In truth, though, I was just stalling for time." The pines, silent before, began to fill with faint but growing screams.
Shadows came tumbling out of the nighted forest, howling and capering across the starry sky, converging on the Lake from every direction. The leathery snapping of gargoyle wings joined the moans of the phantoms, and soon the sky was filled with hundreds of bat-winged gargoyles, eyes and blades glinting in the moonlight.
"No more stalling, though," said Kern cheerily. "Time's up. You boys should have taken up farming."
A light, harsh, brighter than the midday sun, flared in the sky over the Lake. Kern looked
quickly away, spots dancing in his eyes. Harsh cries went up from the Grizzly's men, and with them the short, soft sounds of swords hastily drawn.
Darting shadows crowded the ground. Kern shielded his eyes with his hands and scanned the Lake for Wistril.
There, far from shore -- wizard and rowboat tossed and bobbed, but remained upright and afloat.
The fierce glare dimmed to a blood-red glow just bright enough to highlight gargoyles and phantoms.
"Harken," rang out Wistril, in a voice loud as nearby thunder. "I am Wistril of Kauph." The shrieks of the phantoms fell to a quiet chorus of soft, airy moans. Wistril let his echoes die, and then continued.
"You have intruded on my ancestral lands," said the wizard. "You have offered insult to my House, injury to my staff, and butchery to creatures rare and magical."
The ghostly wails dipped to a minor key.
"No more," boomed Wistril. "No more insult. No more injury. No more butchery. For now you do not trifle with water-snakes and White Chair magics, but with the Law of Man and the House of Kauph."
The Grizzly opened his mouth. A crackle and blast of lightning and thunder -- both from a starry, cloudless sky -- snuffed out the Grizzly's words.
"My ritual is done," said Wistril. "Know that I, Wistril of Kauph, in full and right accord with the ancient and venerable Laws of Man, have adopted into the House of Kauph three new souls. Blood of my blood, House of my House, Law of my Law. Rise up, you of Kauph, and be seen."
The three young serpentia thrust their heads above the water and issued a trio of short, loud chirps.
The Grizzly stared, slack-jawed. Kern tore his gaze away from the Lake and quickly shut his own mouth.
"You can't adopt water snakes," snarled the Grizzly. "Law was writ for people."
"The Law says the Houses may adopt orphans," said Kern. "It doesn't say to count legs or teeth. And orphans they are, since you and your thugs killed their mother." Kern grinned. "Now maybe you're too stupid to be afraid of an angry White Chair wizard, but are you really demented enough to break Kingdom law for forty pieces of silver and three baby snake skins?"