The Wiz Biz

by Rick Cook

  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.

  This time there were no invisible hands to help him so Wiz dressed himself, struggling with the unfamiliar fastenings.

  Not bad, he thought, surveying the result in a full-length mirror. He looked like a real swashbuckler, lean rather than skinny.

  Moira was waiting for him when he emerged. If Wiz looked good in his borrowed clothes, Moira was breathtaking. She wore a gown of emerald green velvet, cut low and caught tight at the waist, with full-length sleeves that flared sharply from elbow to wrist. Her hair was a flaming mane about her face, held in place with silver pins set with opals. Wiz could only stare.

  “Do you like it?” she asked somewhat shyly. “I’ve never had a dress like this.”

  “It’s gorgeous,” said Wiz when he finally got his lower jaw under control. “You’re gorgeous.”

  “Thank you, Sparrow,” she dropped him a mock curtsey. Then she became serious. “Now watch yourself. Be respectful and above all, be courteous. Elves place great store on courtesy and there are very few mortals who have shared Duke Aelric’s table.”

  Wiz nodded dumbly and moved toward her. She moved away with fluid grace.

  “Shall we go?”

  “Is it time?”

  Moira only smiled and opened the door. Their guide was waiting for them. He bowed so low his forehead almost touched the floor and led them off.

  Again their way took them down empty corridors and magnificent halls, all bathed in the soft dim light. At length the little man brought them down a stair as subtly curved and carefully proportioned as a sea shell, to a great bronze door. The door swung open at their approach. The creature bowed to the floor and motioned them within.

  Their host awaited them inside the door.

  “My Lady. My Lord.” He had changed his red tunic for a tight-fitting outfit of silver-gray velvet. Silver glinted at his neck and wrists and a silver band set with a fiery blue opal held back his white hair. He was fully as magnificent as he had been when they first saw him, but now the effect was less barbaric, more civilized.

  He bowed to them and Wiz bowed back as best he could. Then the duke took Moira’s arm in his and led them to the table.

  The odd half-light made it impossible for Wiz to judge the size of the room. The far walls were lost in the dimness, but Wiz didn’t feel dwarfed. The floor was elaborately patterned parquetry and the table was draped in snow-white linen. Softly glowing balls of light hung above the table. They danced gently in an unfelt breeze and the ripple and play of the light was like candlelight on the table and diners.

  Invisible pipers played a high reedy tune in the background, at once medieval and modern, like soft progressive jazz performed on recorders.

  The duke seated Wiz on his left and Moira on his right.

  “You seemed to have created an uncommon stir among the mortals,” Aelric observed to Moira as they sat down.

  “It was not intentional, Lord.”

  “And you were the object of a Grand Summoning,” he said to Wiz.

  “Yes, Lord. Uh, it wasn’t my idea.”

  “No doubt,” Aelric said equitably.

  The elf duke was a perfect host, charming, gracious and witty. He made Moira laugh and dimple without arousing more than a twinge of jealousy in Wiz and contrived to make Wiz feel more at ease than he had since he arrived on this world. Only once did Moira bring the talk back to the circumstances which led them beneath the elf hill this night.

  “Lord, why did you aid us?”

  Aelric smiled, just a hint of a smile. “Let us say we find your pursuers an annoyance. Trolls and such like are uneasy neighbors and were they to find that which they seek they might be encouraged to tarry.”

  “We thank you for your service.”

  “The pleasure was mine, Lady,” he said with an easy smile and again changed the subject.

  For all his charm, Wiz could not warm to their host. There was malice there, Wiz thought, as he listened to the flow of the elf duke’s talk. The casual malice of a cat with a mouse. There was alien, and underneath it was boredom. Would it be boring to live forever? Yes, in the end it would be, no matter how rich, how powerful or how skilled you were.

  The food was rich and varied. The portions were small but there were many dishes and each plate was brought forth as carefully arranged as if by a master designer. Most of it was unidentifiable. But it was all delicious.

  Once Wiz had been taken to one of the fanciest restaurants in San Francisco as part of a dog-and-pony show for a client. The meal had been very much like this. Excellent food, beautifully presented in magnificent surroundings. Except this was better on all counts.

  The girl who served them was human. Wiz wondered if she was Lothar’s daughter. But she was so quick and efficient and so quiet and downcast she was gone before he could, ask the question. Probably not a good thing to ask anyway, he decided uncomfortably.

  They had gone through a half a dozen courses of meats, vegetables, sweets and savories when the duke reached out to lay a gentle hand on Moira’s wrist, interrupting the story she was telling.

  Aelric frowned “Your pardon Lady, Lord. But it seems we have a caller asking for you.”

  Wiz froze, his spoon halfway to his mouth.

  Aelric listened and then said into the air. “You may speak.”

  A hazy shimmering began to congeal in the center of the hall but the elf prince raised his hand. “I said you may speak. None enters here unbidden.” The half-shadow dissipated until only a little shimmer remained.

  “You have two mortals here,” wailed a voice, high, thin and reedy with all the despair in the universe.

  “What is within this hill is not the business of outsiders.”

  “You have two mortals,” the voice repeated. “We want them.”

  “Your wants are no concern of mine,” Aelric said in a bored tone. “Now speak on matters of interest or begone.”

  “My master will reward you well,” crooned the voice.

  The elf duke cocked his head and arched his brows. “It might be of interest to know what your master has that he possibly believes I should want. But not tonight. Say you further?”

  “My master offers double what the Council offers for the mortals.”

  Aelric frowned. “I have no part in mortal quarrels,” he said sharply. “What I do, I do because it pleases me and for no other reason. Those who are here stay here and those outside stay outside.”

  “My master is powerful,” the voice wailed. “He is powerful and determined. Give us the mortals.”

  “Your master is a mortal,” Aelric responded. “That is limit enough on his power.”

  “Will you duel him by magic?” the voi
ce asked.

  “Perhaps some other time. Now I am at meat. And you grow tedious.”

  The voice changed. It deepened and became louder. “GIVE THEM TO US,” it roared. “GIVE THEM OR WE SHALL KICK THIS HILL DOWN ABOUT YOUR EARS.”

  Aelric yawned elaborately. “Tedious indeed,” he said. “Now be off with you.” He lifted a hand languidly and gestured.

  “GIVE US the mortaaalllls . . .” The voice lessened and died like a train whistle down a tunnel.

  Aelric turned to Wiz and Moira and smiled sweetly. “Uncouth creatures. Now, you were saying?”

  “Forgive me, Lord,” Wiz broke in, “but aren’t you afraid he will do something?”

  Aelric gave Wiz a look that froze his bones and cleaved his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

  “Forgive him, Lord,” said Moira quickly. “He is from far away and is unused to our ways. Please forgive him,” she begged. “Please.”

  Aelric cocked his head and stared at Wiz. “Far away indeed, Lady. Very well, but teach him manners.” Then his expression softened.

  “Know, infant, that this place has stood for aeons and on. It was builded by magic on a foundation of magic and it would take more magic than a mortal could learn in a puny lifetime to touch it or any of mine.”

  “Yes, Lord,” said Wiz, very subdued.

  The rest of dinner passed off without incident. Aelric was again the gracious host, diverting and ever attentive to his guests’ needs. By the time the last sweets had been removed with nuts in golden bowls and the wine brought forth in crystal flagons, Wiz was almost relaxed.

  Almost. He regarded the elf prince in the same light as a friendly lion—magnificent, unsettling and not at all someone you wanted to spend time with.

  At last Moira yawned delicately behind her hand and Aelric took that as a sign that the dinner was over.

  “I should not keep you,” he said with a charming smile. “You have had a long day already and several—interesting—days before that. May you rest well.”

  “Thank you, Lord.” Moira returned the smile. “And thank you again for your hospitality.” She extended her hand and the elf lord raised it to his lips.