Rick Cook - The Wizardry Quested

"In a way it’s good we found it. People will take this place more seriously now."

"I already took this place plenty seriously." "Well, take it even more seriously."

At the Wizards’ Keep, the day dawned on a castle under siege. There was no sun, only dark fog full of darker shapes that swirled about the castle and poked and pried at every nook and cranny. Nor were the fog’s powers growing any less.

"Three wing beats out and you’re lost," Dragon Leader told Bal-Simba in the latter’s workroom. Dragon Leader was a compact man with blond hair and ice-gray eyes, still muffled in his flying leathers. His teeth did not chatter but that seemed more from an effort of will than warmth. The cold sucks the life out of you, heat spell or no."

Bal-Simba looked at his wing commander over the remains of his breakfast. He had worked the night through and eaten at his desk, much good it had done! He stood up and walked to the window, scowling out into the swirling fog with its half-revealed shapes. Arianne, who had been listening from the corner, moved beside him.

"Lord, say the word and we will go again. But I am not sure how many will return."

"No." The wizard shook his head and turned from the window. "You have done well and I thank you, but best that we husband our resources until we know more." As unobtrusively as possible a castle page slipped into the room and began to collect the breakfast things.

"I’m sorry, My Lord."

"There is nothing to be sorry for. You have done all you could while this magic fog hangs over the whole land."

"But it doesn’t," the page piped up.

All of them turned to face him and the boy colored to the roots of his ash-blond hair. "Well, it doesn’t," he added half-defiantly. "It starts thinning almost as soon as you get outside the castle walls and by the time you’re across the river it’s almost gone."

"How do you know?" Bal-Simba asked.

The boy studied his toes. "I’ve been there," he admitted finally. "I know I wasn’t supposed to but Henry bet me and:" He ran down, reserves of courage exhausted.

Bal-Simba and the others studied the page. Look at him once and you’d think he was fifteen or sixteen. Look closer and you’d see he was a couple of years younger, just tall for his age.

"Who are you?"

"Brian, My Lord. The cook’s son."

"Do those things in the fog hinder you?"

The page shook his head. "They sort of talk to you, but mostly they ignore you. You can walk right through them. It’s cold and you can’t see anything, but if you stay on the path you can follow it right down to the river and take one of the boats across."

"It appears," Dragon Leader said, "that this cub is a better scout than any of my riders."

"Or the thing is attracted by ridden dragons," Arianne said, "and perhaps the magic you carry." She looked back at the page. "Did you have any magic upon you?" The boy shook his head.

"Brian, do you think you can get back across the river?" asked Dragon Leader. The boy nodded.

"Your plan?" Bal-Simba asked Dragon Leader.

"The boy can go where my riders cannot. We must know more about this cloud and how far it extends."

"A dangerous mission for a child," Arianne pointed out.

"I’m almost thirteen!" Brian said and then blushed again as the others looked at him.

"Almost old enough for the apprentice squadron," Dragon Leader said.

"If he cannot carry magic, the boy cannot communicate with us once he is out there."

"I know," Bal-Simba said. "It will have to be in and out."

"I can do that, My Lord," Brian said enthusiastically.

"Very well," Bal-Simba said finally to Dragon Leader. "Take the cub, outfit him warmly and tell him what to look for. But no magic, mind!"

Dragon Leader put his hand on the beaming page’s arm and guided him from the chamber.

"The shifts we are driven to!" Bal-Simba sighed when they were out the door. Arianne laid her hand on the wizard’s shoulder. "I believe you are the one who said we do what we must."

Bal-Simba reached up and patted her hand. "That does not mean we have to like it."

In spite of his concentration Wiz nearly ran into Malkin when the tall thief stopped suddenly. Almost instinctively the others clustered around her. Malkin peered ahead intently. "I think there is a light at the end of this tunnel."

"Daylight?" Danny whispered.

"More likely a gorilla with a flashlight," Wiz whispered. The others looked at him oddly. "I mean, let’s be careful about this."

Malkin in the lead they crept down the tunnel, with the rest of the party following in a tight knot. Before they had gone another twenty paces Wiz was sure there was light ahead. Another hundred and the glimmer had resolved itself into an eerie blue glow.

Malkin looked over her shoulder at Wiz and raised her eyebrows in silent question.

"I don’t know," he whispered. "I don’t remember anything like this." He turned to the others. "Stay close and stay cool, people. And don’t make any noise." Cautiously the party crept up the tunnel toward the glow, Malkin flitting along without a whisper of sound and the others coming as quietly as their natures permitted. Wiz tried to watch where he put his feet, keep up with Malkin and not make any noise. He winced every time one of his companions made a scrape or dislodged a loose rock with a clatter.

There was no sign of life ahead, just the glow which gradually got stronger as they approached. It filled the tunnel with a soft cool radiance mat seemed to radiate evenly from the top third of the tunnel. There was no sound and not so much as a breath of air moving. But there was a smell that reminded Wiz somehow of the basement of an old house, musty without being damp.

At last they stepped out into a section of tunnel with a flat floor and walls that looked as if the rock had been adzed smooth. At this distance they could detect irregularities in the glowing surface as if it had a somewhat lumpy undercoat. There was still no sign of life.

Wiz motioned Danny forward to take a reading with the magic detector. The younger programmer came up beside him and swept his talisman over the glowing surface. "I’m not getting any magic from it," Danny whispered. Wiz reached out and touched the glow. It felt like dry wood pulp and some of the glow came off on his hand. "It’s fungus," he said quietly. "Nothing but fungus."

"Hmmf!" said Glandurg, striding up and yanking off a large handful of the glowing material. The move filled the air around him with dust and he sneezed thunderously. "All that over a little fox fire."

"Quiet," Malkin hissed.

"Bah!" the dwarf roared. "There’s nothing here but some fungus."

"And whatever planted it," Malkin said quietly. "Something has been bringing it wood to feed upon."

"And what," demanded the dwarf, " do you suppose this oh-so-dangerous farmer of fungus might be?"

Wiz saw indistinct shadows moving in the blueness ahead. "I think we’re about to find out."

An ant! was Wiz’s first thought. But it wasn’t. It was insectile and proportioned something like an ant, with divided body and long, spindly legs. But ants don’t walk erect. Nor are they six feet tall. True, some ants do have oversized heads with enormous pincers that open and close reflexively, but Wiz had never heard of an ant with polished steel blades riveted to its pincers. The thing came on, stopping every couple of steps, to swing its head this way and that as if testing the air. Wiz and Malkin began to creep backwards, one slow step at a time. The ones behind them backed up as well, to the end of the smoothed part of the tunnel and then into the unworked portion.