by Rick Cook
Across the river from the castle mount a line of hills ran down to the water’s edge. Because the land was so rugged it had never been farmed. Instead it was left as a source of firewood, mushrooms and herbs for the denizens of the Capital.
It also made a pleasant place to walk on an Indian summer afternoon. Which is why Wiz, Danny and Jerry were picking their way through the woods as the sky started to darken from twilight to evening.
"I still think we ought to try to catch one of those drones," Danny said as the trio made their way down a trail that skirted the edge of the bluff.
"For the tenth time, no," Wiz told him. "And watch your step here, it’s steep."
"We already have one drone," Jerry said, stepping to the side of the trail away from the cliff. "What do we need another one for?"
"Yeah but…"
A small black-clad shape hurtled out of the trees above them, screaming and waving a samurai sword as he came. The trio watched open-mouthed as he passed a good four feet to their left, missed the path completely and went over the edge of the cliff.
There were a couple of bounces, a thud and then something that sounded like a particularly inventive brand of profanity.
"What was that?" Jerry asked, peering over the edge.
"I think it was a ninja dwarf," Wiz said wonderingly.
Danny frowned. "That sounds like a character out of a D&D game." He thought for a second. "A bad D&D game."
Bal-Simba looked up from the scrying stone and blinked as if to clear his vision.
Wiz leaned across the table eagerly. "Well?"
"I sense malign influences aimed at you and a definite violent intent." The big black wizard rubbed his temples. "It appears, Sparrow, that someone is trying to kill you-again."
"Who?" Wiz asked. "And why? And why a dwarf, for Pete’s sake?"
"That I could not discover," Bal-Simba said. "There is deadly intent and fixity of purpose. There are indications that non-mortals are involved, but that is all I know."
"Lisella?" Jerry suggested.
"Perhaps," Bal-Simba said slowly.
Wiz shook his head. "I don’t think so. Lisella is subtle. There’s nothing subtle about a dwarf jumping out of a tree waving a sword."
"Nothing very effective either," Danny said. "He missed us by a mile. Well," he amended under Wiz’s glare, "a good six feet."
"Maybe that was Duke Aelric protecting you."
Wiz snorted. "More likely it was incompetence."
Bal-Simba stood up. "Whatever it was, I think it would be best if you stayed within the Wizard’s Keep for a space."
"Fine by me. I’ve got more than enough to keep me busy for a couple of weeks."
"It may be longer than that," Bal-Simba told him. "Until we know who or what is behind this attack, you should stay where we can protect you."
"How long then?"
"I do not know. But my magic tells me whoever is after you is not easily discouraged. Until we have found the guiding hand you are in danger."
* * *
"You had to go after him yourself," Glandurg said disgustedly. "You couldn’t wait for the rest of us."
"Well, you said he had to be slain quickly," Gimli said defensively. "There he was coming along the trail and there I was, so…" He shrugged.
"You’re lucky he didn’t turn you into a rabbit," his leader told him, "instead of just throwing you over the cliff."
"Didn’t throw me," Gimli said sullenly.
"You jumped, I suppose?"
"Well…"
Glandurg looked around at the other dwarves. "Listen to me. No more striking half-hearted, do you understand?"
"Not much chance of that," Snorri said. "The wizard hasn’t stirred from his castle for days."
"Then we have run him to earth and trapped like a rat!" Glandurg gloated.
"Begging my Lord’s pardon, but how do we get him out of the trap now that we’ve got him in it?"
The dwarf leader frowned. There was more to this business than he had imagined and some of the details were proving quite annoying.
"We could tunnel in," one of the other dwarves suggested. "That whole bluff’s nothing but limestone."
The others shifted and murmured approval. Tunneling was something dwarves were comfortable with.
"How long would that take?" Glandurg demanded.
The dwarf who had made the suggestion eyed the distant cliff and castle.
"If we can sneak in close and drive the shaft steep up from the river level-oh-not more than two, three years, I should think," he finished brightly.
The leader shook his head. "That will not do, then. Our king promised the trolls speedy action." Besides he knew in a general way that two or three years was a long time for a human to stay in one place.
"You got a better idea then?" the other challenged.
"Of course I have."
"What then?" the other persisted.
The leader reddened. "Don’t be impertinent!"
"I’m not being impertinent, I just want to know what your idea is."
"I…" Over the shoulder of his questioner, the leader saw a flight of river swans glide down to the smooth river surface, their wings extended and motionless. As the swans touched down he had an inspiration.
"Backwards!" he proclaimed. "We will come at this alien wizard backwards!"
Twelve: PICNIC
Wiz paced to the window, looked down into the courtyard, paced back to his chair, sat down, picked up the scroll, got up and strode to the window again.
"I’ve got to get out of here," he said turning to face his wife.
Moira kept her eyes on the blouse she was embroidering with a pattern of moss rose and holly leaves. "So go."
"No, I mean I’ve got to get away from the Wizard’s Keep."
Moira looked up from her work. "You never wanted to go outside the castle before."
"Yeah, but I knew I could do it any time then. Now I’m cooped up here and its getting to me. I’m going stir crazy."
Moira put down her needlework and frowned. "With assassins about that is not safe, but if you feel you must, I can summon a troop of guardsmen…"
"No. That would be worse than not going out at all."
"Then you must stay in, I am afraid."
"Look, I could rig a spell that would protect me."
"Against what? Dwarves are clever and we do not know when or how they will strike again."
"We don’t even know if they’ll strike at all," Wiz said. "That may have been a fluke."
"Bal-Simba does not think so."
Wiz growled.
Moira took his hands in hers. "I am sorry, my love. I do not mean to sound unsympathetic. It is just that here you are safe. Outside the castle you cannot be protected."
"I feel like I’m wrapped in cotton wool and it’s suffocating me," Wiz protested. "It’s affecting my work. I just want to get away from everyone for a while."
Moira twisted her mouth sideways as she thought.
"I will speak to Bal-Simba," she said finally, "and see if he thinks it is safe."
"Where are we going anyway?" Wiz asked for the fifth time as Moira threw a light cloak over her new dress.
She smiled at him in the mirror as she adjusted the cloak on her otherwise bare shoulders. "To a special place. You will see."
Wiz stepped up behind her and put his hands around her waist. "Darling, any place is special with you. Especially in that dress."
"I am glad you like it, my Lord. I had it made specially for today." Then she turned practical in a flash. "But come, we do not want to be late for our own picnic. And bring the basket."
Moira didn’t tell Wiz where they were going even when she took them on the Wizard’s Way, so Wiz was completely unprepared for the place where they popped up.
A familiar flash of darkness and they were in a sunlit dell. Clear water leapt off the rocks above and splashed musically into the pool beside them. Sunlight poured into the open space about the pool and dappled through t
he trees and bushes around it. The grass was bright green and tiny orange and red flowers spangled the meadow. In a quiet side of the pool, sweet blue irises reared above swordlike stands of green leaves. The bushes were blooming in clusters of pink and white and sometimes blood red. Where it was not stirred by the fall, the water was so clear Wiz could see minnows darting among the pebbles on the bottom.
"This is beautiful," Wiz said looking around him.
"Thank you, my Lord. Bal-Simba suggested it as a favorite picnic spot for those in the castle."
She forbore to mention Bal-Simba had also suggested it because it was easy to defend. Nor did she tell him the area had been swept by a troop of guardsmen and wizards only moments before their arrival. Nor did she mention the other precautions which had been taken.
Watching from the hilltop, Snorri the dwarf could not believe his luck. When they weren’t working on Glandurg’s contraptions, the dwarves had been scouting through the forest and surrounding countryside, hoping for something that would give them any entry into the castle. He had suspected something when he saw the guardsmen searching the dell. He had hidden himself among the bushes and now his patience had been rewarded.
Their quarry himself! Without guards and completely at his ease. The dwarf’s hand crept to the sword strapped across his back. A quick charge and…
Then Snorri paused and frowned. There was magic about this strange wizard, and powerful magic at that. He did not recognize the spell, but its import was clear enough. Not only was the wizard shielded from violence, but any attempt at it would bring swift and deadly retribution. Protected as he was he could not be shot, cleaved, hacked, bashed or in any other wise attacked.
The dwarf bit his lip in frustration. He was closer to his prey than any of the party had been since the first day when that idiot Gimli tried. Yet he was as blocked from overt violence as if the wizard was still within the castle.
But that was only overt violence! Slowly, very slowly, Snorri put his hand into his belt pouch and felt the small tightly wrapped packet at the bottom. Then he turned his attention back to the protection spell. Finally he smiled. If his face had not been hidden by his hood it would have been a most unpleasant smile.
A fraction of an inch at a time, Snorri began to crawl forward toward the pair on the blanket.
Even if Wiz had been looking for the dwarf he couldn’t have seen him and Wiz’s mind-and eyes-were on other things.
Moira had laid aside her cloak and was bustling about spreading the blanket and laying out things from the hamper. As she came past, he reached out and pulled her to him for a long kiss.
"I thought you said you were hungry," Moira said, slipping from his grasp.
Wiz looked deep into his wife’s green eyes. "There are all kinds of hunger."
"Food first," the hedge witch said firmly. "Then we shall see what else this blanket is good for."
She settled herself on the blanket with Wiz beside her and took out a green bottle.
"Currant wine for me," she said as she set the bottle to one side, "and for you, blackmoss tea." She wrinkled her nose as she pulled the earthen jug from the hamper.
"How you can stand to drink that stuff is beyond me," she told her husband, as Wiz poured the dark brew into a mug. "Especially when it is cold."
"Iced tea is a tradition where I come from. And it really isn’t that bad once you get used to it."
"Ugh!" said Moira.
Wiz raised his mug. "To us."
Moira raised her goblet in response. Both drank and their eyes locked. Wiz eased closer, gazing deeply into his wife’s wonderful green eyes.
"Pig’s feet!" she said suddenly.
"Huh?"
"Pickled pig’s feet." Moira turned and reached into the basket. "Shauna sent some along."
"And you don’t like blackmoss tea," he said, setting his mug down.
Moira unwrapped Shauna’s contribution. "But blackmoss tea is disgusting," she said seriously. "Shauna’s pig’s feet are delicious."
"Ugh," said Wiz firmly.
Neither of them noticed the black-gloved hand that snaked out of the bushes behind them and passed over Wiz’s mug. Nor did they see the surface of the tea roil briefly and then settle back into oily stillness.
* * *
Worming his way backwards Snorri kept his eyes on the couple. Wizard the Sparrow might be, and lucky he certainly was, but neither wizardry nor luck would save any mortal who consumed the powerful corrosive in that cup. Even gold itself would dissolve under the puissant acid formed when the magic powder met water.
Snorri was clever, but common sense wasn’t his strong point.
"Well," said Moira, "I also brought along some of those meat pies you are so fond of."
"Now that’s more like it. Darling, I don’t know how to thank you for setting this all up. It’s wonderful."
Moira picked up her goblet and took a sip. "I am glad you are enjoying yourself. And as for thanking me, perhaps we can think of something."
Without taking his eyes off Moira, Wiz picked up his mug and raised it toward his lips.
At which point the bottom fell out of the mug and the tea splashed all over the blanket.
"I think I made it too strong," Wiz said dumbly.
"Wiz, look!" Moira pointed at the blanket where the tea had splashed. The fabric was dissolving in smoking ruin and bare black earth was showing through beneath.
"Definitely too strong."
"You ninny, it’s been poisoned!" Moira raised both her arms and gestured. Instantly five guardsmen and a blue-robed wizard popped through about them. The guardsmen surrounded Wiz and Moira and the wizard swung his staff over his head, throwing a glittering circle of protection around the group. Already Moira had started the spell to take them back to the castle along the Wizard’s Way.
Back in their quarters Wiz and Moira surveyed the ruins of their picnic. The guardsmen had brought the basket and utensils back, but the food and drink had been disposed of as possibly poisoned. The remaining contents of the basket had tested safe, Arianne assured them. But somehow it didn’t make up for the rest.
Moira looked sadly at the still-smoldering remains of the blanket. For a moment Wiz thought she would cry.
"I’m sorry about the blanket, darling."
Moira looked up at him, smiled and clutched his arm. "I’m glad it was only the blanket."
Thirteen: AIR ATTACK
Glandurg put his hands on his hips and surveyed the results of his men’s labors. The forest clearing had been converted into an impromptu woodworking shop as dwarves dragged felled trees into position, rived them into billets and shaped the billets according to his direction.
His original idea had been to have the griffins fly them into the castle, but the griffins had flatly refused. Well, so be it. This would work just as well and in truth he had more confidence in dwarvish craftsmanship than he did in griffins.
Already four frames lay scattered about under the cover of the trees, complete except for their covering. The covering had arrived this morning, borne by griffins from the hold of the Mid-Northeastern Dwarves of the Southern Forest Range. The bolts of spider silk had been accompanied by a letter from King Tosig complaining about the expense, but Glandurg had barely glanced at that. It was just like his quasi-uncle to be preoccupied with such trifling details.
Glandurg moved among his companions, instructing them, pointing out defects and in general making a nuisance of himself as the other dwarves fitted and tied the pieces together. He paused to inspect the hide glue soaking in a cooking pot off to one side of the clearing and for the twentieth time that morning congratulated himself on his plan.
"Brilliant," he said to no one in particular. "They will never expect us to attack from the air!"
"Bloody good reason for that," muttered one of the dwarves as he bound a rib to a wing spar. The leader glared at him but he did not raise his head to meet Glandurg’s eyes.
For several hours after their return, Wiz and Moira m
oped about their apartment. It was like going on a picnic and being rained out, Wiz thought glumly.
"Look at this," Moira said ruefully, "I have stains on my gown."
She held the garment up for Wiz to see. Sure enough, the back and one of the sleeves were stained with the red wine that had slopped out of her goblet.
"Looks like a job for a cleaning spell," Wiz said.
"Alas, the gown itself is magical."
"I wondered how that thing stayed up."
She smiled roguishly. "Men are supposed to wonder, my Lord." Then she looked down and sighed. "But the magic of this gown interferes with the spells we use to clean clothes. My Lord, do you know any cleaning spells?"
Wiz considered. For the mightiest wizard in all the world his repertoire of magic was rather limited. He could think of a dozen ways to incinerate the gown, but offhand he didn’t know a single one to clean it.
"Well, I haven’t been looking for one." He stopped and snapped his fingers. "Wait a minute, I know what you need. A detergent!"
"What does it deter?" Moira asked blankly.
"Not a deterrent, a detergent. Something that will lock onto the particles of stain and bind them to water so they will rinse away. I’ll need to talk to Danny and Jerry. But we should be able to whip something up."
In a few minutes of quick conversation and some scribbles on the ever-present slates the three programmers had worked out a spell to make a detergent.
"We need something to mix it in." Wiz started toward the kitchen.
"You are not experimenting in one of my pots," Moira said, stepping in front of him.
"How about a bucket?" Danny suggested. "There’s one out in the hall."
"One of the maids must have left it there," Moira said. "Honestly, I think they become more slovenly every day."
"In this case it’s a good thing," Wiz said as he made for the door.
The bucket was half-full of dirty water, but that didn’t bother Wiz. "After all, when we get done with the spell it won’t be water," he explained to the others.
A few quickly done spells, a quick call for an Emac and the spell was under way.
"You know, this gets easier all the time," Jerry said. "I don’t ever remember being able to whip up programs this fast back in California."