by Rick Cook
"In any event, it is results I want, not details. Bring me this strange wizard with the most perfect cloaking spell. And bring him to me alive, Atros. Do you understand? I want him alive."
"Thy will, Dread Master," said Atros and bowed out of his presence.
There were a few other details Atros forebore to mention. His searchers were mostly allies or those who wanted the reward promised. Worse, nearly half of the searchers were trolls. Trolls are none too bright and far too inclined to murder to be ideal for this task.
Beyond that, Atros knew he could not hold his army together much beyond one night. The creatures not sworn to the League were restless, chancy things who would not stay no matter how great the promised reward. Even the League’s sworn servants could not stay long. Such a concentration would quickly attract the attention of the Council’s Watchers.
Not that it mattered, Atros told itself. One night would be more than sufficient.
Where were they bound? he wondered. They seemed to have a destination. The elf duke’s hill? That made no sense. Elves were badly disposed to mortals of all varieties. Besides, if they wanted shelter among the elves there were easier roads to take.
Whatever their destination, they would have to swing south shortly or they would blunder into the deadest dead zone in all the North, a place where the tiniest spark of magic would show instantly. By now Atros had a grudging respect for this alien wizard’s masking spells, but no spell could be good enough to hide them in that.
Atros was well satisfied as he went down the corridor. Not only did he have things well in hand for the capture of the strange wizard, but his other plans were well in hand besides.
Soon. Very soon.
"Where are we going anyway?" Wiz asked, sitting on a stump by the fire.
Moira looked up from stirring the porridge. "Someplace safe."
"You said that before."
"I prefer not to name it. There is always the chance of being overheard."
"Well, what’s it like? A farm?"
Moira laughed. "No, it is a very special place hidden away in the Wild Wood. A place built like no other in the World."
"You make it sound wonderful."
"It is that."
"Have you ever been there before?"
"This deep in the Wild Wood? Not likely. I have heard of it, though."
"Right now anyplace that put a roof over our heads would be wonderful."
"Patience, Sparrow. We are perhaps a day or two from our destination."
"Then what happens?"
"Then you will be safe and I can return to my village."
"Oh."
"I have work to do, Sparrow. There are people who need me."
"Yeah, I guess so. Only…" Moira held up her hand to silence him.
"Wait," she said. "There is something…"
With a roar four trolls charged into the clearing. They were huge and foul smelling, clad in skins and leathers and rags. One brandished a rusty two-handed sword in one hand and the others carried clubs.
A troll closed in on Moira, arms extended and fanged mouth agape. Wiz grabbed a faggot from the fire and charged. With a casual, backhanded swipe and without taking his eyes from his prize, the creature sent Wiz sprawling through the fire.
Wiz rolled out as the beast got a hand on Moira. Without thinking he reached back into the fire and grabbed a burning brand. He pointed it at the troll and yelled "Bippity boppity-boo."
The troll was unfazed but the tree behind it exploded into flame with a crackle and a roar. The astonished troll weakened its grip and Moira twisted free.
"Moira! Run!" Wiz yelled and ducked under the grasping arms of another troll. He twisted about and pointed the stick at it.
"Bippity boppity boo!" he shouted and another tree blazed up. The troll cringed back.
Whirling in a circle, Wiz pointed the branch and yelled "BippityboppitybooBippityboppitybooBippityboppityboo." Trees all around the clearing turned to fiercely burning torches and the confused trolls cowered and whimpered in the ring of light and heat.
Wiz sprinted in the general direction Moira had taken. Behind him he could see the forms of the trolls black against the orange-yellow glow. The scent of burning pine filled his nostrils and he coughed from the smoke. One of the trolls groped after him. Wiz pointed the stick at a tree between them, shouted "Bippity boppity boo" and watched the tree turn to a lance of flame in the very face of the monster. Then he turned and ran as fast as he could.
As Wiz charged through the forest, a dim shape flitted from behind a tree into his path. He flinched until he saw it was Moira, her form distorted by her cloak. He clasped her hand and she gave a welcoming squeeze. His cloak was back in the clearing, he realized, as were both their packs. But Moira was safe and none of the rest mattered.
Behind them the reddish glow of the fires lightened the night. Also from behind them came a series of hooting roars.
"They hunt us," Moira whispered and released his hand. "Come quickly."
The forest sloped gently downhill and they followed the slope as best they could. Wiz silently blessed the open parklike nature of the Wild Wood here because they could move quickly and quietly through it.
Ahead he could hear the bubble and murmur of a running stream. Behind him came the sounds of the trolls. They seemed to have spread out along the ridge and were casting back and forth, calling to each other as they went. Once Wiz saw a misshapen form silhouetted on the ridgeline by the faint fireglow. He tried to shrink in on himself even though he knew night and distance made him invisible.
They paused on the rocky stream bank while Moira turned this way and that, seeking the best path. There were boulders to serve as stepping stones, but instead Moira led Wiz directly into the chill, swift waters.
"The water will mask our scent," she explained over the stream’s clamor, "and some things cannot cross running water."
"You mean like trolls?"
"The trolls are the least of it," Moira said. "Listen."
Off in the distance came the sound of a horn and again the hunting roar of trolls echoed through the trees. My God, thought Wiz. Is every nightmare in creation after us?
The water was not deep, but the current was swift and the bottom rocky. By the time they left the stream, some little distance above the place they had entered, Wiz had fallen into holes twice and was soaked from head to foot. Moira had lost her balance once and was thoroughly wet down one side.
With Moira leading they sprinted over the wide pebble beach and into the sheltering dark of the trees. The forest was thicker here and the underbrush more profuse. Wiz and Moira crowded into it and peered back the way they had come.
"Which way?" Wiz panted.
Moira cast about indecisively. "Ahh," she breathed at last. "They throng to the south and east of us. To the west and north are areas rich in magic."
"So we go west and north?" Wiz suggested.
Moira shook her head. "To enter a powerful area with the hunt so close upon us would be our doom. With magic all about us we would stand out like ants on a griddle."
"Lay low?"
Moira didn’t answer. Which was answer enough.
"Can’t you use magic to get us out of this?"
Moira snorted. "If I used magic they would sniff us out at once. We avoid them only because they cannot sense magic upon us."
A weird, warbling howl pierced the night, chilling Wiz’s blood. Across the stream, a huge wolf-like shape loomed on the ridge, outlined by the rising moon. Even in the moonlight its eyes burned red. It was the epitome of all the wolf nightmares of Wiz’s childhood.
"Dire Beast," Moira breathed. She squeezed Wiz’s hand even tighter and they crept away, clinging to the shadow and thickets. Behind them the wolf creature howled again but made no move to follow.
Once away from the stream bank they ran. They scrambled up another ridge and half-ran half-slid into a valley. The woods were thicker and darker, but that was no comfort. Still the sounds of their hunters
rang and the trees seemed to close in about them to the point of suffocation.
There were brambles to catch at clothing and rip flesh. Once Wiz took a thorny branch full in the face and once they had to stop to disentangle Moira’s cloak from a barbed bush. As they worked the fabric off the grasping thorns Wiz saw that Moira’s hands had been cruelly lacerated by pushing through the spindly growth.
Finally, exhausted, Moira led Wiz into a thicket. There was a hollow in the center as if once long ago a tree had been uprooted there. Together they cowered and panted in the little crater beneath the bushes and listened to the sounds of pursuit echoing through the forest.
Dared they stay here? Wiz wanted to ask but he was afraid to make a sound. Besides, he didn’t think he would like the answer. Unbidden, Moira’s words on the first day came back to him. If you have a choice between the worst death you can imagine and falling into the hands of the League, do everything in your power to die. Had they really come to that? he thought, looking over at Moira.
Suddenly something hissed in Wiz’s ear like a disturbed snake. Wiz jumped.
"Hsst," came the sound again. "Hsst, Lady, over here." He turned and stared but saw nothing. Then part of the bush seemed to twist and coalesce and a tiny man stood beckoning to them where a second before there had been only moonlight and branches. He was clad in a pointed cap, tunic and breeks with pointed shoes. Wiz could not tell the color in the dim light.
"Come this way. Quickly." The little being turned and skipped through the undergrowth. Moira started to follow but Wiz caught her arm. "Trap?" he panted.
Moira scowled and shook off his hand. She hurried after the little man, who was dancing with impatience.
Wiz was half-blown when they started, but he pushed ahead gamely. The trail led through glades and over ridges until at last they arrived at the base of a hill. As their guide approached, a rock rolled away and pale golden light flooded out into the dark.
"Enter and be welcome," said a melodious male voice from within.
Again Moira started forward and again Wiz caught her arm.
"Didn’t you tell me to avoid places like this?"
"Would you rather the trolls and Dire Beasts?" she snapped. Wiz nodded and followed her into the hill.
"May there be peace upon you. May you leave the woes of the World behind," the voice said, as if reciting a formula.
"May there be confusion to our enemies and may we return to the world we know," Moira said firmly into the air.
"May it be so," responded the voice and their host seemed to step out of the wall of the tunnel to them.
He was tall, graceful and silver-haired. His eyes were so blue as to be almost purple and his skin was the color of milk. Wiz could see the blue veins underneath.
He wore a long tunic of scarlet, intricately worked, and a collar of beaten gold. His belt was dark leather decorated with bronze the length around.
"My Lady," he bowed to Moira. "My Lord," he nodded to Wiz.
"My Lord." Moira dropped a deep curtsey.
"My Lord," Repeated Wiz and made a clumsy bow. He barely noticed that the rock had slid silently back across the entrance, sealing them within.
Their host regarded them serenely. "I am called Aelric. I am duke of this place and I bid you welcome here."
"We thank you for your hospitality, Lord," Moira said. "I am called Moira and this one is called Sparrow."
Duke Aelric looked narrowly at Wiz. "Ahhh," he said simply, but with a world of meaning.
"You have heard of us then, Lord?"
"A mite." The elf duke made a languid gesture. "But there will be time for talk later. I hope you will do me the pleasure of dining with me this evening."
"We would be honored, Lord," Moira said.
"Let it be so then." Duke Aelric snapped his fingers and their guide capered out and bowed low to his master.
"Most dread Lord, most gracious Lady, if you will deign to follow me?" The little creature turned and moved down the tunnel. Duke Aelric touched his fingertips to his forehead and faded back into the rock. Wiz gaped until Moira jabbed him with her elbow. Then he followed her and their guide down the corridor.
Wiz’s shoes squeaked on tessellated marble floors inlaid in fantastic patterns. Over his head columns of scarlet and gold soared upward until lost in the gloom. Here and there an elaborately carved lantern cast a gentle yellow glow through its alabaster panes, making the light more mellow rather than brighter. Occasionally the glint of gold added accent and unostentatious richness to their surroundings.
They passed down stately corridors, through tapestry-hung halls and up sweeping curving staircases, yet they saw no one. Not even a faint, distant footstep or the furtive motion of a curtain dropping into place showed that there was anyone in the huge underground palace but themselves and their tiny guide.
At last they came to a massive door, twice their height and finely carved. The elf placed his hand on the intricately worked handle and pushed gently.
The door swung open to reveal a spacious, richly appointed room. It was more brightly lit than the rest of the palace and the carved and gilded lanterns along the walls cast a warm light on the furnishings of pale brown wood and heavy silken hangings the color of chrysoberyl. The ceiling was painted the blue of a summer sky and spangled with glittering golden stars. Lines of silver traced out the shape of unfamiliar constellations. The air was heavy with the scent of roses and lilies.
"My master bids you be comfortable," the elven major-domo squeaked. "There will be time to rest and bathe before dinner. My Lady’s chamber is to the right," he swept a bow in that direction, "and my Lord’s is to the left. Peace and repose be unto you." With that he bowed out.
"Wow," said Wiz as he looked around at the splendor. "This is really something."
"Elves contrive to live well," Moira said, laying her cloak onto an elegantly proportioned table and sinking down onto a silken cushion of the palest blue in the chair next to it.
"All right!" Wiz said and dropped onto a couch nearby.
Moira removed the ribbon from her hair and shook out her flaming locks. Wiz watched, enthralled.
"It was brave of you to save me from the trolls," she told him. "You gave me my life at the risk of yours and I thank you for it."
The words were sweet, but her tone was used to thank a stranger for a service. Moira was sincere and grateful, but that was all. She had been warmer to the man from the village, Wiz thought.
"It was nothing, Lady," he said uncomfortably.
"It was, and again I thank you."
Wiz did not reply. "Lady," he said finally, "may I ask you a question?"
"Since you must."
"I mean we won’t be overheard or anything will we?"
"We will almost certainly be overheard, although mayhap Duke Aelric is too noble to pry into the affairs of his guests. Question if you must, but guard your tongue."
"Where is everyone? I mean, does Aelric live here all alone?"
Moira shrugged. "I doubt it, for elves are social creatures. But the place cold be aswarm with elven folk and we might see none. All elves have the trick of not being seen when it pleases them."
"Why did Aelric help us? Are the elves allied against the League?"
Again the shrug. "Allied against the League? No. Elves ally with none and barely notice what mortals do to each other. His Grace acted for his own reasons and those are beyond conjecture. Barring war or murder, elves are deathless and they fill their years with contests and rivalries among themselves. They play deep and subtle games with their own kind and meddle seldom in the affairs of mortals. Perhaps we are part of such a game."
"Well, as long as he’s willing to put us up, we can be whumpuses for all I care."
"What’s a whumpus?"
"An imaginary animal." Wiz lay back on the couch and started to put his feet up before looking at his muddy shoes and thinking better of it. "Now what?"
"Now we had best make ready for dinner." Moira rose from the
chair. "This is your room, I believe."
The bedroom managed to be magnificent, simple and cozy all at once. The canopied bed was made of some rich dark wood crafted in sleek, almost modern, lines and polished until it glowed a warm reddish brown. The sheets were tan and the thick comforter was a pale russet. The lighting was soft and indirect, brighter than the twilight the elves seemed to prefer but not as bright as the sitting room. The bed looked so inviting Wiz nearly sank down onto it, but he knew if he got comfortable he’d never be ready for dinner. He had a strong feeling it would not do to keep Aelric waiting.
The bath beyond was walled in pink-veined marble set with gold. In the center of the room was a sunken tub of steaming water, fragrant with herbs.
Wiz moved toward it, pulling at his shirt.
He had the shirt over his head when soft warm hands touched his bare back.
"Hey!" Wiz tried to turn, but the hands restrained him gently and helped him get the shirt off. With his head free, Wiz turned, but the room was empty.
"What is this?"
The only answer was a very feminine giggle as someone started to undo his belt. He looked down and saw nothing, yet his belt was unhooked and fingers began to unzip his fly. Instinctively he reached down to knock the invisible hands away, but he met only air. Again someone or something giggled.
Oh well, Wiz thought and submitted.
Once his unseen companion had undressed him, he stepped into the just-too-warm water and sighed luxuriously.
Wiz was expertly soaped, scrubbed and rinsed. The water that came off him was black with dirt, but the water in the tub remained so clear he could see his toes.
Clean and glowing, he was assisted from the tub and rubbed down with towels he could not see. It felt like there were two or three pairs of hands working on him at once. Either there’s a whole harem in here or she doesn’t look anything like what I imagined, Wiz thought.
His clothes were gone, but when he reentered the bedroom new clothes were laid out for him, a shirt with enormous puffed sleeves, a russet doublet several shades darker than the bedspread and a pair of tight buckskin breeches. Soft calf-high boots of ox-blood leather completed the outfit.