The Oathbound Wizard

by Christopher Stasheff

  "So what? It'll stop."

  "No it won't—'cause I didn't tell it to."

  "So let it roll." The dracogriff gazed up proudly at its wing. "I don't think anything's broken."

  "No, but it will be! That runaway rolling boulder could hurt somebody!"

  "Oh, don't be such a gloomy Gus," the dracogriff huffed. "Who could it hurt?"

  "Anybody it runs into—it's building up a lot of momentum! And we're in the mountains—it could start an avalanche!"

  The boulder rolled over the lip of the pass and out of sight.

  "Well, stop it. You're a wizard."

  "I took too long thinking up the spell! I could stop it now, but it's out of sight." Matt took off running, tripped on a cobble, and fell flat on his face.

  "Hey, there! Easy, easy, little guy!" the dracogriff called. "You can't go running around on a rocky road!"

  "But I've got to catch up!" Matt scrambled to his feet and winced at a bruise in his thigh. "If it starts an avalanche, it could wipe out a whole village!" And he limped away.

  "Awright, awright!" the dracogriff exploded. "Enough is enough!" He caught up to Matt in two leaps and swerved to cut him off. "Here—left foot on my knee, right foot up and over."

  Matt skidded to a halt. "What're you talking about?"

  "A ride of course! Boy, for a wizard, you really are slow. Up on my back! You'll never catch that boulder on foot!"

  "It's not your problem..."

  "It was my wing it was on, it was me you made the spell for! Up on the back, bucko! You don't think I'm going to settle for owing you, do you?"

  "You don't owe me anything," Matt snapped.

  "No, just my freedom and my life! Don't you tell me that's "nothing'! Now climb aboard!"

  Matt eyed the lion back warily, thinking that what had happened to she who rode the tiger might also very well happen to he who was lionized—but there wasn't really much choice. "All right, and thanks." He stepped up on the dracogriff's knee and swung his bruised leg over its back with a wince. "But this settles our account."

  "The hell it does," the dracogriff snorted. "Hold tight, bucko."

  "Like a leech," Matt promised.

  "I hate flying," the dracogriff grumbled, but its huge wings beat once, twice, and they were airborne.

  "I know what you mean." Matt's stomach was trying to stay behind on the ground. "I'd rather take the train, myself."

  "Don't think for a second that you're gonna train me!"

  "Wouldn't think of it." Matt looked down and swallowed heavily against a rising stomach. "Uh—long way, isn't it?"

  "Only to the bottom of the mountain—and the lump you want is just a hundred feet under us."

  "Just" a hundred feet still looked like an awfully long way to Matt. He tried to remember that he had ridden dragon-back before, but it wasn't much reassurance. "Circle lower, will you? I need to stay near it."

  "Awright, but don't blame me if I run into a downdraft." The dracogriff spiraled down.

  Matt saw the rock bouncing and skipping from ledge to ledge. A huge boulder stood smack in its path, and Matt could have sworn his rock would smash itself to flinders on its big cousin—but it bounced off with scarcely a chip and went rolling merrily on its way. "Can't anything stop it?"

  "Course not," the dracogriff huffed. "It's enchanted."

  He was right, of course. Matt's spell had told it to roll, but hadn't said anything about stopping..

  And it was heading right toward a huge slab, a virtual menhir, that was leaning at an angle so steep it couldn't possibly hold itself up! "Go around!" Matt shouted.

  "Take a turn,

  And go around, round, round,

  As you go o'er the ground

  With a crunching sound!"

  He said it carefully, and with great concentration. But the focusing of his attention seemed to come a little more easily this time—and, slowly but obediently, the rock swerved in a half circle, around the menhir, over the edge of the shelf it perched on, and plunged on down the slope.

  "You can make it mind!" the dracogriff cried in amazement.

  "Yeah," Matt muttered, "as long as I say the verse in time."

  "Just tell it to stop, why don'cha?"

  "Good idea." And Matt intoned,

  "Stop!

  'Cause I'm thinking of you,

  Stop!

  'Cause you know I moved you.

  Stop!

  And never go rolling awa-uh-ay-ay-ay!

  The concentration was almost automatic—but Matt could feel himself weakening. Why was magic requiring so much more effort, all of a sudden?

  The boulder jerked to a stop so suddenly that it had Matt wondering about inertia.

  "I can't believe it!" The dracogriff dipped low, circling just over the stone—and sheered off with a yelp of surprise. "Hey! It's hot!"

  "Of course!" Matt cried. "That's what happened to all that kinetic energy! It converted to heat!"

  The boulder was glowing a dull red.

  "Hot enough to make an updraft," the dracogriff grumbled. "Next time warn a guy, okay?"

  "Sorry. I didn't realize—I've never done this spell before."

  "Look, could you stop making it up as you go along?"

  "Not for a while yet." Matt sighed. "I haven't worked out a spell for every occasion."

  "Lord High Amateur," the dracogriff grunted. "Hey, can I get down now? Heights make me nervous."

  "Oh, yeah, sure! But not right here, okay? It'd be a rough haul back up."

  "Funny man," the dracogriff snorted as it banked and started climbing. "Just for the record, I need at least a hundred feet to take off or land—unless I wanna come straight down, and that's not too healthy."

  "I believe you." Matt frowned, trying to decide whether or not to be indelicate, but curiosity won out, as it usually did. "Say, uh—doesn't flying come naturally to you?"

  "A lot more naturally than magic comes to you." But the dracogriff's voice had an edge to it. "I mean, climbing trees comes easy to you overgrown monkeys—but does that mean you like it?"

  "Yes, most of us..."

  "Spare me the news about the ones who don't," the beast answered. "At least you're part of a "kind'!"

  Matt sensed sensitive territory and tried to be careful. "Oh, come on! There have to be others of your species!"

  "It ain't a species, whatever that is!" The dracogriff could vent a little anger over Matt's attitude, which helped. "We're crossbreeds!"

  And getting crosser, Matt noticed. "There've got to be some others of your kind."

  "If there are, I haven't met 'em!"

  Well, that explained a lot.

  "Dracogriffs don't come from mommy dracogriffs and daddy dracogriffs," the beast explained with sullen resentment. "Little dracogriffs happen when some tin-horned, back-stabbing, motherless, son-of-a-worm of a dragon, with more lust than conscience, finds a female griffin alone during her season—and it does happen, 'cause there're a lot more female griffins than males."

  "Female griffins find dragons attractive?"

  "Bucko, during her season, a lady griffin would find a stone slab attractive, if it were male—the poor little things are so frantic they'll go after anything. It's enough to make you wonder if Mother Nature knows what it's like to be female!"

  "There're some females of my species who wonder about that, too. But doesn't the lady griffin try to fight off the dragon?"

  "Maybe. What good can it do? A griffin has about as much chance against a dragon as a minnow has against a shark Result? Me—whether she liked it or not."

  "So that's where you get the lion body and the eagle wings?"

  The dracogriff nodded "The head and tail I get from my sire, may he shed his skin every hour. And if I ever meet him, I just might do it for him!"

  "Meet him?" Matt frowned. "He didn't stick around?"

  "Why should he? He'd gotten what he wanted No, up and away he went—you don't think he'd bring a griffin girl home to Mama, do you? Oh, no, good enough f
or fun, that's how dragons see 'em—but forever? No way! Those arrogant, high-and-mighty, holier-than-thou hypocrites!"

  Matt found himself trying to remember that his dragon friend Stegoman was really a very nice guy—had saved his life a few times, in fact—but he didn't think it would be politic to mention that just now. "But your mother stood by you?"

  "A saint! She was a saint! Yeah, she stood by me, even though she had to spend her life in exile from her own kind—they thought I was an abomination. Said she didn't mind, though—I made it all worthwhile for her. No, she raised me out in the wild wood. Couldn't live on a mountaintop—the griffins have staked out all the ones the dragons didn't."

  "Sounds kind of lonely..."

  "You bet it was! Soon as I was grown, I dreamed up an excuse to go wandering, so she could go back to live with the other griffins. I'll look for her when I get back that way though."

  "No, no! I meant lonely for you!"

  The dracogriff shrugged, almost unseating Matt. "You don't miss what you never had. I got to hang out around your kind, a little—woodcutters and foresters and such. Their hatchlings had fun playing with me, till they got big enough so they thought it was kid stuff."

  "That's where you learned to speak our language?"

  "From the forest kids? Yeah, that's where." The dracogriff sounded surprised. "How'd you guess?"

  "Oh, just something about your accent." Matt didn't want to be more specific while he was still riding, and fifty feet up—getting thrown from the saddle could be pretty serious, especially since he didn't have a saddle.

  The thought reminded him that he could be considerably more comfortable someplace else—almost anyplace else, in fact. "Uh, I see we're back to the top of the pass now."

  "Yeah. Where'd you say you wanted to go?"

  "Down! Look, it's been very good of you to give me a lift, but I really don't want to put you out any further."

  "Look, bucko, I told you—I won't be owing to anybody."

  "You don't owe me! You just paid me back!"

  "For my life? Don't be a donkey! It's gonna take a lot more than one ride to make up for it. Now where'd you say you wanted to go?"

  "Hey, look, really..."

  "Much as I hate it, I could stay up here all day," the dracogriff said, with a note of menace. "You got a love affair with hiking?"

  "No, riding is faster," Matt said with a sigh. "All right, and thanks—I'd be delighted to travel with you."

  "That's better." The dracogriff angled downward.

  "Uh—where'd you say you were going?"

  "I didn't. Where're you going?"

  "Into Ibile."

  The dive leveled off into a glide very abruptly. Then, after a few seconds, the dragon head said, "You were serious about that quest stuff, huh?"

  "Unfortunately—" Matt sighed. "—I was. Still want to go through with it?"

  "Yeah." The dracogriff nodded. "If you're game, I'm game."

  "Only if that sorcerer catches you."

  "Won't do him much good, now," the dracogriff said, grinning. "I'm traveling with the Lord Wizard!"

  Why, Matt wondered, did he have the feeling he had just been conned?

  CHAPTER 6

  On Being a Dracogriff

  Even walking, the dracogriff made good time—-those lion legs were long, and resilient. Matt wondered what it would be like when the beast decided to run, but he wasn't about to ask while they were on a mountainside.

  He also wasn't about to ask without some kind of cushioning. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. "Uh, could we try for a rest break now?"

  The dracogriff pulled to a stop, turning its head back to frown. "After only half an hour? We're never gonna get anywhere if you can't last any longer than that!"

  "I'm just out of shape."

  "Awright, awright," the dracogriff groused, and crouched so Matt could climb down.

  The wizard dismounted, feeling the ache in every limb. He set his palms against his buttocks and leaned back. "Nnngah! Uh, hope you don't mind my saying it..."

  "Of course not," the dracogriff answered with an ominous glare. "What?"

  "Well, you have, shall we say, a very strong backbone."

  The dracogriff stared at him while it figured out what Matt was talking about. Then its mouth lolled open, and it made the coughing, cawing sound again.

  "Please." Matt squeezed his eyes shut. "Please don't laugh. You don't know what it feels like."

  "And can't, either, I'll be bound. You mean my lumps are hitting you right where you live."

  "I wouldn't put it that way..."

  "Of course you wouldn't—that's why it takes me so long to figure out what you mean. So whatcha gonna do about it?"

  Matt eyed him warily. "Would you object to a saddle?"

  "Saddle?" The beast frowned. "You mean one of those things that horses wear?"

  "Kinda like that, yeah."

  "Yeah, I'd mind," the griff growled, "but I guess I can stand it. I want some kind of fastening I can undo myself, though, in case you decide to go take a hike."

  "That shouldn't be too hard to arrange." Matt felt a surge of relief.

  "I don't think they come in my size, though."

  That gave Matt pause. He eyed the dracogriff's back, frowning. "Well—it'll need a bit of tailoring..."

  "Where're you gonna find a tailor for saddle leather?"

  "Right here." Matt grinned. "Verses to any size or length, that's me. If I can cut the words right, the saddle should come out just as we want it."

  The dracogriff eyed him narrowly. "Ever conjure up a saddle before?"

  "No," Matt confessed, "but it shouldn't be too tough."

  "Sure," the dracogriff muttered.

  "Oh, come on! Have a little faith. Now, let me see..." Matt looked up at the sky, frowning in concentration. "A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse" wouldn't do—he was after the accessories, not the appliance itself. Besides, he didn't want to spend it before he'd ever earned it. "Horse and hattock! Ho, and away!" was a little better—but who wanted to ride sitting on a hattock? Come to think of it, what was a hattock?

  Finally, he settled for:

  "Oh, Stewball had a saddle,

  And I wish it were mine,

  Scaled up for a draco

  In a size ninety-nine.

  With buckles of silver,

  And chasings of gold,

  And the worth of this saddle

  Has never been told!"

  The air glimmered before them, building into a hazy something that clarified and solidified—into a huge coil of leather that broadened out into a contoured top at least four feet across.

  They just stood there staring at it for a while. Then Matt turned away. "Confound and blast it! When will I remember to check the fine print!"

  "Well, it's pretty...

  "It ought to be, with all that precious metal—but it's, shall we say, a little too generous? I mean, I know I've gained weight these last three years, but not that much."

  "What happened?"

  "I called for a saddle for a dracogriff—so I got one big enough for you to ride in."

  The dracogriff stared. Then its mouth lolled open again.

  "Please!" Matt squeezed his eyes shut. "Not the laughter. Please, no. I can change it easily enough."

  "Oh, yeah?" The draco chuckled. "This, I want to see!"

  "All right," Matt said. "Here we go." He glared at the saddle, thinking furiously, then chanted

  "From a size for a griff to a size for a man,

  Great saddle, shrink down fill my hands' double span

  Will encompass your breadth,

  while your cinch holds its length.

  Great saddle, dwindle,

  but retain your full strength."

  "Doesn't seem to be working too well," the dracogriff remarked with some relish.

  "Well, what can you expect from homemade verse?" Matt snapped. "I mean, it's not as though I had a master's poem to butch—uh, adapt, this time. None of
the great ones ever went into rhapsodic detail about his saddle."

  The saddle's form began to blur.

  "On the other hand," Matt said quickly, "it could just be a delayed reaction."

  The saddle turned into a tan cloud, but the great pile of leather under it held its form and clarity. Then the saddle coalesced again, looking just as it had before, only of no more than standard size.

  "Hey, that's pretty good!" the dracogriff said, startled.

  But Matt stared at the diminished saddle, appalled.

  Then he turned away. "Confound it! Remind me to do my research next time."

  The dracogriff frowned. "I don't see anything wrong with it."

  "It's an English saddle," Matt explained. "I ride Western—or try to."

  "What's the difference?"

  "The Western saddle is a lot more comfortable—especially if you're going a long distance. Besides, it has a handle to hold on to."

  "Picky, picky!" The dracogriff snorted. "Awright—I suppose we gotta wait while you change this one around, right?"

  "Oh, I can live with it," Matt grumped.

  "Spare me!" The dracogriff rolled its eyes up. "All I need is a martyr for a rider! Go ahead, go ahead! It's not as though we're in a race or anything."

  Somehow, those words sent an eerie prickle up Matt's spine—but he turned back to the saddle, determined to ignore the premonition. "All right, let's see, now...

  "Back in the saddle aligned!

  With that good old Western design—

  A cantle so restful, a pommel so high,

  To grab and hang on to, if we're in the sky!

  Translate from English to wild Western style,

  So I'll ride in comfort, for many a mile!"

  The saddle's form fuzzed again, becoming almost as nebulous as smoke for a minute, then coalesced and firmed once more, into a saddle that would have done credit to the best Hollywood horse opera.

  "Are we done yet?" the dracogriff said hopefully.

  "Yeah." Matt grinned down at his new word work. "How do you like it?"

  "It's beautiful! It's lovely! It's you! Can we go now?"

  "Oh, all right, all right." Matt hefted the saddle and turned to his mount. "Care to try on your new wardrobe?"

  "Not really," the griff grumped, "but I made you an offer, and I'm stuck with it."