Rick Cook - The Wizardry Quested

"My idiot kinsman stole it from our treasury. We have traced him here. Now give me the sword-and while you’re about it you can turn over my kinsman for punishment as well."

"I am afraid neither is here," Bal-Simba said. "They were here but they have departed."

From the way the news left Tosig Longbeard unmoved, Bal-Simba suspected he already knew that neither the sword nor the dwarf were at the Wizards’ Keep.

"Where?" he demanded, gimlet-eyed. "Where did they go?"

"The dungeons beneath the City of Night. Your kinsman-Glandurg?-wished to accompany our folk on a hazardous mission there."

"A quest, eh? For what treasure?"

"No treasure, just great danger and a mighty foe."

Bal-Simba didn’t need a mind reading spell to see Tosig didn’t believe that. Not even his moronic nephew would go charging into someone else’s dungeon unless there was treasure involved. The fact that the humans denied it only meant they didn’t intend to share if they could avoid it. To the dwarf long that was perfectly reasonable, but it only made him more determined to get part of the loot.

"We will follow him, then."

"That may be a trifle difficult," Bal-Simba said mildly. "The lord of the dungeons has closed the path to any who try to enter. Not even dwarfish magic may force the way, I fear." For a moment wizard and dwarf regarded each other.

"Well?" Tosig Longbeard said finally.

"I beg Your Majesty’s pardon?"

"Well what’s the rest of it? You wouldn’t tell me that for no reason and you obviously don’t expect me to pay for that information. So you want something. What?"

Bal-Simba didn’t even try to disabuse him of the notion they were bargaining. The dwarf wouldn’t have believed him, and besides:

"No bargain, but I do have a suggestion. Soon we shall attempt a stratagem to force our way into the dungeons. If you would care to accompany us, we would be glad for your help. Meanwhile, please stay with us in the Wizards’ Keep as our guests."

There was silence again while the king considered. "Very well," he said at last.

"If you do not delay too long we will combine our forces to breach this fortress and recover our property." will have the seneschal prepare accommodations."

"We will camp amongst the trees across the river," Tosig Longbeard said. "This whole place stinks of dragons." With that he turned and marched between the ranks of his followers and out of the hall.

"A hundred dwarves," Bal-Simba murmured once the last mailed warrior had followed his king out of the hall. "And the Sparrow thought he had trouble with only one."

"A hundred and a score and eight," Arianne corrected. "Do you think they will be much help?"

Bal-Simba sighed. "I told you I fared poorly at predicting the future, Lady. I only know they will do less damage to our cause if they go with us rather than preceding us on their own and stirring up the Enemy." He eyed the door where the dwarves had passed out "Probably," he added.

Although not bound to their tunnels, the dwarves were uncomfortable away from them. Clearly Tosig’s men would rather be back at their shafts and forges than preparing to battle an unknown enemy half a world away. Still, dwarves are stoic by nature and none has ever faulted them for lack of courage.

There was snow in the wood, piled up under the trees, and a skin of ice lay on all the ponds and streams. The dwarves didn’t seem to notice as they bustled about, felling trees and digging into the frozen soil to make crude dugouts. Before the sun completed its short journey to the horizon, a section of the wood had taken on the appearance of a semi-permanent and none-too-uncomfortable camp. Tosig Longbeard was standing in front of a camp fire, overseeing the last of the work and warming himself when Durgrim, captain of the dwarven guard and his military second-in-command, approached him.

"We are almost done with the sleeping holes," Durgrim told his king. "Another day-tenth and the last of them will be done and the evening meal will be ready." Tosig Longbeard grunted assent. Durgrim paused, judging the king’s temper.

"Your Majesty," he said slowly, "I have been thinking about this, and the place on the Southern Continent where we are bound."

"Speak your mind," invited the dwarf long in a tone that suggested his lieutenant had better be careful about what he said.

"Even before mortals started using it, the place had an evil reputation," the other dwarf told him. "I am sure human occupation has not improved it."

"Unsurprising if it were so. You have an alternative to propose?"

Durgrim paused again, obviously gathering his courage. "Your majesty, can we not simply bargain with this enemy, buy the sword back?"

Tosig Longbeard glared at him. "Do you think I’m simple? I’ve tried that already. Whatever this creature is, it will not treat with us at all. Besides," he continued, the anger leaving his voice, "even if he would deal the price would undoubtedly be too high."

The dwarf long scowled back into the fire. "No, there is no help for it. With or without the mortals we must penetrate this place to recover the sword." Being dwarves and with dwarves’ careful sense of property rights-not to mention their greed for treasure-it never occurred to either of them to simply leave the sword in the Enemy’s hands.

Charlie brought the Colt around in a wide, easy turn. He lined up on the white expanse between the rows of leafless trees and settled to the snowy earth lightly as thistledown. The big biplane rolled perhaps a hundred feet across the field before it stopped.

Malus stood at the edge of the field, blowing on his hands to warm them. As the plane rolled to a stop he crunched across the snow to meet Charlie.

"Still feels a little funny on the controls," Charlie told the tubby little wizard as soon as he stepped down from the door. "I don’t think you’ve got the center of lift quite right over the wings yet."

"I can adjust the spell again," Malus said.

"No, it’ll fry fine the way it is. If it ain’t too broke, then don’t go fixing it, that’s my motto."

"Is there aught else then?"

"Yeah, one thing. The propeller. It doesn’t rotate." Malus spread his hands. "It is not necessary that it should spin. Magic now moves your craft through the air."

Charlie looked at him. "Just do me a favor. Make it spin."

Gilligan was in the "war room," going over the details of the air operation and the scheduling software with Jerry when Bal-Simba entered.

"Merry meet, My Lord. How goes the plan?"

"Well enough, I guess," Gilligan said with a sigh.

"What is worrying you?"

"You mean in general? Nearly everything." He grinned. "That’s part of my job."

"Specifically, then."

"Well-" He hesitated. "Has it occurred to you that this might be another trap? That the whole purpose of this thing might be to lure as many of us as it can into those caves so it can snap us up?"

Bal-Simba’s smile had no warmth. "Constantly. It is our greatest fear. Yet we have little choice. We must strike soon and with all our strength or this thing will overwhelm us. We have taken what precautions we can, but this still remains the best course of action." He looked at Mick. "Is there aught else?" Mick sighed. "Charlie. He isn’t a programmer, he isn’t a magician and I don’t think he’s ever really flown in a combat environment before. He’s going to have a lot to do up there. Do you think he’ll be able to handle it all?" Jerry looked at Mick and smiled. "Taj and I have rigged up a custom user interface to help him."