L. Camp - The Exotic Enchanter

Shea looked to either side and noticed that the spirits were gone. Vaclav and Snag zoomed across in front of him. The Czech said something and gestured earthward. Shea could not understand a word, but followed Vaclav as he spiraled down. It was raining harder now. The two brooms cruised above the dead treetops and then circled to a landing atop the crown of a high hill.

The wind howled, and large drops of rain drenched them as the four sought cover behind a rock outcrop.

“I saw the witch!” yelled Polacek, as he crouched next to Snag Shea could just barely hear him through the noise of the storm. “She’s over there on the next hill!” Vaclav said, pointing at the rock behind which they were hiding.

As one, they stood up and leaned over the rock hoping to catch a glimpse of the enemy. The rain had suddenly let up, but ominous black clouds were scudding overhead, and patches of fog and mist obscured their view. Just then a frightful bolt of lightning struck the top of the other hill and Shea was able to make out the figure of Sycorax standing atop the summit. Her robe and cloak were flapping in the wind and she held a long staff in one of her outstretched hands.

Snag cursed and pointed out at the boiling sea. There was a ship, its sails torn to rags, tossing about in the forty-foot waves. It was being blown inexorably toward the waiting rocks.

They waited and watched the ship meet its doom. After its keel smashed against a rock, it rolled on its side and washed up onto the beach. Sycorax vaporized the bedraggled sailors as they struggled ashore with a machine-gun-like series of pyrotechnic blasts from the end of her staff.

“Rocks, all rocks,” Snag moaned.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do if she’s this powerful, we just have to wait till she hits the sack!” Shea answered grimly.

When it was over, Belphebe, her curls matted against her face from the rain, put her arm around Shea, and they all sat down to wait. The storm continued in unabated fury. During the course of the day, two more hapless ships met their doom. As soon as Sycorax disposed of the crew, antlike swarms of goblins would scurry out to the remains of the ship and carry back armloads of cargo, food, and miscellaneous loot. The long lines of goblins disappeared into the roots of the hill upon which Sycorax stood. Shea hoped he could find an entrance that was not quite so well attended.

* * *

The rain let up at last, and it was drizzling when they opened the lunch that Bitter-Root had prepared for them. Belphebe stood watch over the hill, while Snag and Polacek made pigs of themselves. Shea rose to give Belphebe an apple; she pointed anxiously.

“Shhh!” she whispered. “Two goblins approach.”

Coming through the thorn bushes were two ugly, dark green creatures with heavy clubs resting on their shoulders. They were hotly engaged in discussion, and one seemed ready to use his club on his companion.

Snag appeared at Shea’s side. “Lets take them!” he said, a fiery rage burning in his eyes.

Shea nodded in agreement. “It wouldn’t hurt to gather a little Information. Belphebe,” he said softly, “you cover us. We’ll wait till they get to that dead tree. Snag, you go around to the right, and stay low. I’ll come at them from behind. . . . Votsy!” The Czech was still eating. “Get up here. You’re the bait.”

“What?” complained Polacek, as he finished the last bottle of wine with a high-pitched hiccup. Snag reached over and grabbed the Czech by his collar, lifted him bodily, and stood him up behind the rock.

Shea continued, pointing out the approaching goblins. “When those birds reach that tree, I want you to rush at them. And make a lot of noise.”

“But what if they —”

Belphebe brandished her bow. “Fear not, Vaclav,” she said reassuringly. “Dead they shall be ere they can hurt thee.”

“Don’t kill them unless you have to,” cautioned Shea. “I want a prisoner to question!”

Snag had already disappeared down the hillside as Shea circled behind a clump of tall thorn bushes. He crossed a gully on a fallen log and lost sight of the goblins. Just then he heard Polacek screaming, followed by several thumps and the twunk of Belphebe’s arrow. By the time Shea arrived, one goblin lay dead, and Snag was sitting on top of the other, holding its own club across its neck.

Polacek was sitting on the ground, holding his head in his hands, moaning. “Where were you?” he complained as Shea walked up.

“’Twould seem our dead foe struck Vaclav a blow!” Snag said rather cheerfully. “And now I would throttle the other!” He mashed the club down on the goblin’s neck and its yellow eyes bulged as it made choking sounds.

Belphebe arrived silently, restrained the sailor, and had him tie the goblin to a tree. However, after much questioning, the creature sullenly refused to talk. Finally, Snag put a knife to its stomach and threatened to disembowel it slowly. The goblin talked; he told of an entrance used only by “employees” that was usually left unguarded. Belphebe managed to keep Snag from killing the hapless goblin, and they left it firmly tied to the tree.

The brooms were stashed under a dump of brown bushes on top of the hill. Harold persuaded Belphebe to leave her longbow as well, as it was unsuited for quick travel in the tight passages of a cave. The storm had mostly passed, though a steamy mist clung to the hillside, and occasional wisps of rainfall still hit them as they made their way in the gathering dusk of evening. The entrance to the cave was hidden at the bottom of a steep valley behind the hill. Polacek happily agreed to stand guard at the exit with Snag while Shea and Belphebe made the attempt to steal the magic book.

“What do we do if you guys don’t come out?” asked the Czech.

“We rescue them,” Snag said curtly.

“My thoughts, exactly,” added Shea. “Give us till morning, then do something if we’re not back!”

Belphebe led the way to the low entrance where they found a convenient supply of crude torches. Shea’s lighter provided fire, and they set off into the cool darkness. At first the going was easy, as the floor consisted of firmly packed clay. Them was little sign of use, and they saw only the occasional goblin footprint. The tunnel suddenly narrowed and then merged with a much larger passage. They turned right and continued downhill.

Every hundred feet or so, a smoldering torch was set into the wall, and a small stream trickled noisily at their side. Belphebe stopped Shea with an outstretched hand. Just to the right of them, barely visible, was a side tunnel. The floor of the passage was heavily scored with footprints leading into the tunnel. Their goblin prisoner had mentioned a wooden door, but, at first glance, Shea had seen none.

He nodded in that direction and Belphebe slipped forward. A low, rotting door stood before them unlocked. The two pulled it open and continued on. The tiny passage led steeply upward for nearly fifty feet then turned left and opened into a room. As Belphebe moved her torch, the light revealed stacks of wooden barrels, chests and other booty taken from the wrecked ships. The glint of metal caught Shea’s eye.

“Over there,” he said excitedly. The two of them rushed around a stack of boxes. There on the floor was a pile of swords and other edged weapons. Shea pulled a slender rapier out of the pile.

He smiled as he waved it about, making passes at an invisible enemy. “Almost as good as my saber! Those Italians knew how to make fine weapons.”

Belphebe shushed him, taking a small jeweled dagger for herself. “Let’s be on with our quest, Harold.” A brief search revealed that the only way out was the way they had come. As they descended the steep path. Belphebe stopped Shea again.