Wistril Compleat (4 page)

"Master," said Kern, but Wistril stamped off
toward the hunters.

"You there," bellowed the fat wizard. "You
men. Come here at once."

Kern rolled his eyes and trotted off after
Wistril.

The hunters sauntered forward. Kern caught
sight of swords at their sides, and at least two of them had long
steel-tipped spears with barbed hooks at the end.

Wistril stamped ahead. The ends of his staff
began to sputter and trail wisps of smoke.

Sir Knobby dropped, quiet as a shadow, from
the air beside Kern. "Stay close," said Kern. "And keep an eye on
the biggest one. If trouble starts, he's the one to whack, or I'm
an elf."

Sir Knobby nodded.

Wistril trundled into the hunter's flickering
circle of torchlight. Both parties halted; Sir Knobby and Kern
moved to flank Wistril, while a single hunter stepped out ahead of
his comrades and shoved the sharpened end of his torch down into
the ground.

Kern knew without asking that he was the man
the villagers called the Grizzly. He looks like a bear, thought
Kern -- a clumsily shaved and none too happy bear, but a scarred,
angry bear nonetheless.

"You must be Mister Grizzly," said Kern.

The Grizzly snorted. "Fat one is the wizard,"
he said. Then he spat. "Got no use for wizards."

Wistril, too, took a step forward. "I am
Wistril of Kauph," he said. "And I, sir, have no use for you." The
top end of Wistril's staff began to crackle and hiss. "This Lake
lies on land deeded to Kauph seven hundred years ago," said
Wistril. "I claim Kingdom Law. I revoke your right to entry.
Begone, and take your hirelings with you. You shall do no hunting
here."

The Grizzly's small, dark eyes, all but
hidden by hair and beard, narrowed in a humorless smile. "Lake is
yours, wizard," he said. "But not the ridge or the north half of
the valley. Plenty of hunting there. Plenty."

The end of Wistril's staff flared an angry
red.

"You're one of them White Chair wizards,"
said the Grizzly. Again, he spat, this time just beside the tip of
Wistril's right boot. "You took that Oath," said the Grizzly. "Oath
of Peace, ain't it?" He grunted laughter, nodded at Wistril's
staff. "You can't use magic on me. Not a White Chair wizard. White
Chairs got to just sit back and watch." Yellow teeth shone suddenly
through tangled beard. "Tell you what, White Chair. I'll bring you
the heads, when I'm done. Got no use for the heads. Heads, guts,
and wizards. No use at all."

The Grizzly wrenched his torch from the
ground, laughed, and led his men away.

Sir Knobby looked sideways at Kern. "Hoot?"
he said.

"Hoot," said Kern. Sir Knobby spread his
wings, leaped, and was gone.

Wistril turned. "Not a word, Apprentice," he
said. "Not a word."

"I don't have one," said Kern.

"Indeed. A rare and happy occurrence."
Wistril mumbled a word and his staff ceased to glow. "While you are
thus dumbstruck, pray use the mirror to return to Kauph. Gather
blankets. Have the staff prepare my tent. I shall also require
Jot's Bestiary, the complete Encyclopedia Fantastica, and my
spyglass."

"Yes, Master. Anything else?"

Wistril closed his eyes and sighed. "Yes," he
said. "The staff. Bring them as well."

"The staff?" Kern frowned. "The entire staff?
Gargoyles, phantoms, Cook, and all?"

"That is what I said," snapped Wistril. "Set
the wards on the castle and bring the staff. All. Here."

Wide-eyed, Kern nodded. "Yes sir."

"And bring me a sword."

Kern shrugged. "You don't have a sword."

"Then find me a sword!" roared the fat
wizard. "Wrench the ore from the earth and smelt it yourself if you
must but fetch me a sword!"

"Yes sir."

"Go!"

Kern saluted, turned, and raced for the
mirror. He took a single look back before charging through the
glass.

Wistril stood by the water's edge. The trio
of small serpentia poked their heads above the water and made small
chirping noises at the fat wizard.

Kern shook his head, stepped into the mirror,
and stepped out in the south tower basement. A pair of
sleepy-looking gargoyles holding rusty maces leaped to attention
when Kern's boots scuffed the stones.

"Scrape the rust off those pig-stickers,
gentlemen," said Kern. "And round up the rest of the crew. We're
going off to war. The honor of Kauph has been bedraggled and
besmirched."

"Hoot?"

"I mean it," said Kern. "The Master has been
threatened. He's in danger even as we speak. We are all to gear up
and fall out via this mirror. I'm going to round up the spooks and
set the wards. I want everyone else out by dinner time. Is that
clear?"

Two trumpet-blast hoots sounded.

"Good," said Kern. "Get started." Kern headed
for the tower door, the gargoyles at his heels.

First, the study, Kern thought, for the
books. Then to the store-room, and then -- a sword.

Not a rusted, bent cast-off such as the ones
crossed over the mantel of the study fireplace. And certainly not
that relic of a blade gripped by the suit of armor decorating the
landing of the Great Hall stairs; the blade falls off the hilt
every time it's dusted.

Kern ticked off all the contents of Castle
Kauph as he walked, room by room, chamber by chamber -- there were
swords enough, but not a one suited for actual swordplay.

Wistril's bellowed orders rang out in Kern's
mind. "Bring me a sword!" shouted the wizard. "Forge it yourself if
you must, but fetch me a sword!"

Kern snapped his fingers. "Master," he said,
"I might do just that."

Wistril marched ponderously up and down the
ranks of gargoyles lined up along the Lake's grassy shore.
Occasionally the wizard would stop and inspect a freshly-sharpened
pitchfork or test the edge of a well-worn axe.

"Excellent," he said, now and then. "You do
our house honor."

More gargoyles joined the ranks via the
mirror with each moment. The biggest fellows squeezed through the
mirror frame with some difficulty; a few landed sprawling on the
grass, obviously pushed hard from behind after becoming stuck in
the glass.

Wistril's army grew. Kitchen implements and
hastily made staves joined the field as weapons. Sir Knobby and a
dozen of the oldest, largest, and most ferocious-looking gargoyles
wielded the entirety of Castle Kauph's ornamental weaponry.

Kern popped through the mirror, saluted Sir
Knobby, and broke into a trot to catch up with Wistril. Sir Knobby
waved his mace in return; Kern smiled but hoped the Grizzly and his
band would fail to notice the mends and patches on the maces,
halberds, and pikes.

"Master," said Kern, panting. "Here's your
sword."

"It will suffice," said Wistril, unsheathing
the long, straight blade and re-sheathing it after a brief glance.
"Apprentice. The phantoms. Are they briefed and ready?"

Kern grinned. "They're ready," he said. "Come
sunset, Lake Ovinshoon becomes the single most haunted site in all
the Nine Fair Kingdoms."

Wistril nodded, made a motion. The sword and
scabbard vanished.

The last of the gargoyles -- Cook, still
gripping her long iron serving-ladle -- lurched through the mirror
and hooted. Kern hurried to the glass, stuck his head into the
South Tower foyer, and spoke the word of warding.

The image in the mirror of the South Tower
vanished, replaced by reflections of Lake and sky and three neat
ranks of gargoyles.

Kern withdrew his head and turned. "Cry
panic!" he shouted. "And loose the hounds of battle. Kauph marches
to war! To victory, brave soldiers! Victory for Kauph!"

On cue, three hundred and seventy gargoyles
lifted their makeshift arms and emitted a deafening barrage of
hoots.

Wistril scowled, but endured the cheer until
it died. "To your posts," he said. "We shall dine in shifts."

The gargoyles broke ranks.

"We shall dine in shifts?" said Kern, shaking
his head. "You've got to work on your eve-of-battle speeches,
Master," he said. "We simple foot soldiers need something like
'death before dishonor' or 'might makes right.' You know --
something short and pithy to shout as we storm impenetrable
ramparts or hurl ourselves boldly into the face of the invincible
foe."

"Apprentice!"

Kern saluted. "Yes, sir," he said. "I'm off.
Right away, sir." Kern turned on his heel and made for the supply
tent. "We shall dine in shifts!" he cried.

Wistril sighed heavily, and Kern heard the
wizard's hobnailed boots march away in the direction of the mess
tent and Cook's clanking dinnerware.

Sir Knobby sidled up beside Kern. "Hoot?"

Kern nodded. Sir Knobby waved, and a dozen of
the smallest gargoyles -- some no larger than Kern's hand --
wandered toward the trees, so they could take to the air
unseen.

"Traps," repeated Kern.

Wistril bristled. "Are any of these fiendish
contraptions set on Kauph land?"

"None, Master," said Kern. "They've been very
careful to avoid a trespass. But they know the serpentia's favorite
routes, and they've set traps all along them."

Wistril shoved aside his Encyclopedia
Fantastica and rose to pace the narrow confines of his tent.
"Cowards," he grumbled. "Unread ruffians."

"Heavily armed unread ruffians," said
Kern.

"Indeed," sighed Wistril. "Very well. Arm
twenty of the more agile gargoyles with saplings. Have them spring
the traps. Urge them to exercise extreme caution and the utmost
stealth."

"They're cutting the saplings now," said
Kern.

"Excellent," said Wistril. The wizard yawned
and stooped to pull up the tent-flap to peek out at the Lake.
"Night will fall soon," he said. "I am eager to observe the
serpentia again. The younglings seem quite unafraid."

"A little fear might serve them well," said
Kern. "Us, too."

"Bah," said Wistril, lowering the flap and
moving to collect his books.

"I hear things about this Grizzly, Master,"
said Kern. "I hear he has two hundred and fifty in his band.
Mercenaries, all, who hunt wyverns and manticore in the slack times
between border wars down south."

Wistril snorted. "This so-called Grizzly has
barely eighty men," said Wistril. "Eighty men, thirty horses. The
villagers paid forty crowns and promised the Grizzly he could keep
the hides if the killed the monsters. Mercenaries. Nonsense."

Kern shrugged. "So we've got him outnumbered.
But our staff -- they can clean house and tend a garden and Cook
makes a first-rate soufflé, but, Master, can they fight?"

Wistril gathered his books and trundled
toward the tent-flap. "I do not intend to test that, Apprentice,"
he said. "We have evicted the hunters from our land. We shall haunt
the Lake. We shall spring his traps." Wistril paused. "Forty crowns
will last only so long, spread amid such a gaggle of brigands," he
said. "The money will run out and the Grizzly will move on,
Apprentice. You will see."

"What if he's as stubborn as certain White
Chair Wizards?" said Kern.

Wistril stamped out of the tent. Kern
followed, gazing up and around at the darkening sky.

"Here they come," said Kern.

Wistril stacked his books on the bench set at
the water's edge. "The serpentia?"

"The spooks!"

A long, shrill wail sounded faintly over the
trees. Kern jumped and waved and whistled. "Over here, gents! Over
here!"

Above, a ragged patch of darkness appeared,
high and fast. The darkness slowed and thickened and spun, falling
suddenly and then wheeling away to hover over the center of the
Lake like a fat, lazy tornado spun whole out of cobwebs.

The darkness seethed and boiled, spinning and
billowing wide enough to cover three-quarters of the Lake in the
space of ten heartbeats. Howls and shrieks, faint at first, grew in
number and volume until reaching a crescendo that sounded of
multitudes in torment.

"Nice touch," said Kern.

The ragged darkness exploded. Spinning off in
all directions, the ghosts of Castle Kauph soared screaming over
the waters and into the forest.

Kern watched the bushes Sir Knobby's areal
spies had identified as hiding-places for the Grizzly's lookouts.
Sudden movement caused leaves to shake; Kern distinctly saw at
least one pair of boot-heels heading quickly away, a mob of gleeful
phantoms in close pursuit.

"Observe," said Wistril, peering through his
brass spyglass. "The serpentia emerge!"

Fifty feet out, the serpents broke water and
made for shore just past Wistril's tent.

"A feathered crest!" hissed Wistril. "See,
Apprentice, how the plumage extends from eyes to mid-back? A
female. A female with young, just as I suspected."

The female serpentia perked up her head,
turned her slitted glare toward Wistril and his spyglass, and
whistled to her young.

"Fascinating, Master," said Kern. The
serpentia whistled again, turned, and the serpents writhed into the
forest and away.

Kern let out his breath in a whoosh. "Lucky
us. A female sea-monster, with three hungry young mouths to feed.
Remind me to put two knots in my tent flap tonight."

"Bah," said Wistril. "I have been observing
the serpentia with a spell," he said. "As indicated by the fossil
records, the serpentia eat only fish. The villagers and their
precious goats are in no danger, Apprentice. Nor are you."

"You'll never convince the villagers of that,
Master."

"I shall not try," said Wistril. The wizard
folded his glass, made a chair appear with a mumble and a
finger-twitch, and sat. "The young are molting, Apprentice.
Shedding their skins. The female parent is leading them into the
forest only to snag their old skins among the rocks and limbs. Once
the molting is complete, these nocturnal jaunts will cease."