Rick Cook - Wizard’s Bane

"Well, you said this place was safe," Wiz said sullenly.

"No, you ninny! I said the wards would keep out most of what was outside. They do nothing against things which already are within the grounds." She stopped, drew a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.

"Listen to me. There is no place in the Wild Wood that is safe. Do you understand me? No place! You cannot let down your guard for even an instant and if you see or hear anything that even vaguely hints of magic, run from it! Don’t investigate, don’t stay around it, just get away and let me know."

"I’ll try," Wiz said.

"You’ll do more than try if you want to live to reach our destination. Now come with me." She turned on her heel and stalked away with Wiz following.

Moira fumed all the way back to camp. She was furious with Wiz, and, she reluctantly admitted, furious with herself for letting him storm off. Her orders from Simba were to get him to a place of refuge and she had nearly failed because she let her dislike for him overmaster her judgment.

He has spirit, she admitted grudgingly, even with that whipped-puppy air of his. Spell or no, he really would have gone off on his own. Moira couldn’t allow that. I must be more civil to him. The thought did absolutely nothing for her mood.

They ate dinner in uncomfortable silence. The food did little to lighten the atmosphere. The cakes were overbaked and the meat was almost raw on one side for lack of turning. The meal was over and they were settling down for the night before Wiz could summon up the courage to ask the question which had been gnawing at him ever since he recovered his wits.

"Moira, what did you mean when you said I was under a spell?" Wiz finally asked.

The hedge witch looked annoyed and uncomfortable. "Patrius placed you under an infatuation spell."

"Infatuation spell?" Wiz asked blankly.

"The spell that makes you love me," she said sharply.

"But I don’t need a spell to love you," Wiz protested. "I just do."

"How do you think an infatuation spell works?" Moira snapped.

"But…"

"Oh, leave me alone and go to sleep!" She drew her cloak about her and rolled away from him.

Wiz woke from a dream of home to rain on his face.

Judging from the sodden state of the campfire, it had been raining for some time, but the water had only now filtered through the leaves of the tree they had slept under.

He spluttered, rolled over and wiped the water out of his eyes.

"Awake at last," Moira said. She was already up and had her pack on her back with her cloak on over everything. "Come on. We need to get going."

"I don’t suppose there is any sense in suggesting we hole up someplace warm and dry?"

Moira cocked an eyebrow. "In the Wild Wood? Besides, we have a distance to travel."

Wiz pulled his cloak free of his pack. "How long is this likely to last?"

Moira studied the sky. "Not more than one day," she pronounced. "Summer storms are seldom longer than that."

"Great," Wiz grumbled.

"It will be uncomfortable," she agreed, "but it is a blessing too. The rain will deaden our trail to those things which track by scent." She looked up at the leaden, lowering sky.

"Also, dragons do not like flying through rain."

"Thank heaven for small favors."

Their breakfast was a handful of dried fruit, devoured as they walked. They picked their way through a gap in the ruined wall and struck off into the forest.

It rained all day. Sometimes it was just a fine soft mist wafting from the lowering gray skies. Sometimes it pelted down in huge face-stinging drops. When it was at its worst they sought shelter under a tree or overhanging rock. Mostly it just rained and they just walked.

At first it wasn’t too bad. The rain was depressing but their wool cloaks kept out the water and the footing was. However as the downpour continued, water seeped through the tightly woven cloaks and gradually soaked them to the skin. The ground squished beneath their feet. The carpet of wet leaves turned as slippery and treacherous as ice. Where there were no leaves there was mud, or wet grass nearly as slippery as the leaves.

At every low spot they splashed through puddles or forded little streamlets. Wiz’s running shoes became soaked and squelched at every step. Moira’s boots weren’t much better.

Wiz lost all sense of time and direction. His entire world narrowed down to Moira’s feet in front of him, the rasp of his breath and the chill trickle down his back. He plodded doggedly along, locked in his own little sphere of misery. Unbalanced by the weight of his pack, he slipped and fell repeatedly on the uneven ground.

Moira wasn’t immune. She was also thoroughly soaked and she slipped and slid almost as much as he did. By the time they stopped for a mid-afternoon rest they were drenched and muddy from falling.

Unmindful of the soggy ground, they threw themselves down under a huge pine tree and sprawled back against the dripping trunk. For once Moira seemed as out of breath as Wiz.

Under other circumstances—say as a picture on someone’s wall—the forest might have been beautiful. The big old trees towered around them, their leaves washed clean and brilliant green. The rain and mist added a soft gray backdrop and the landscape reminded Wiz of a Japanese garden. There was no sound but the gentle drip of water from the branches and, off in the distance, the rushing chuckle of a stream running over rocks.

Abstractly, Wiz could appreciate the beauty. But only very abstractly. Concretely, he was wet, chilled, miserable, exhausted and hungry.

"Fortuna!" Moira exclaimed. Wiz looked up and saw she had thrown back her cloak and pulled up her skirt, exposing her left leg and a considerable expanse of creamy thigh lightly dusted with freckles.

"Close your mouth and stop gaping," she said crossly. "I hurt my knee when I slipped crossing that last stream."

"How bad is it?" he asked as he scrambled over next to her.

Moira prodded the joint. "Bad enough. It is starting to swell."

"Does it hurt?"

"Of course it hurts!" she said in disgust. "But more importantly I will not be able to walk on it much longer."

"Maybe you should put some ice on it."

Moira glared at him.

"Sorry. I forgot."

"What I need is a healing poultice. I have the materials in my pouch, but they must be boiled and steeped." She looked around and sighed. "We are unlikely to find dry wood anywhere in the Wild Wood this day."

"There are ways of finding dry wood even in a rain."

Moira looked interested. "Do you know how?"

Wiz realized he hadn’t the faintest idea. His apartment didn’t even have a fireplace and his method of starting a barbeque involved liberal lashings of lighter fluid followed by the application of a propane torch.

"Well, no," he admitted. "But I know you can do it."

"That I know also," Moira snorted. "Were I a ranger or a woodsman I would doubtless know how it is done. But I am neither, nor are you."

"Can’t you use magic?"

She shook her head. "I dare not. A spell to light wet wood is obvious and could well betray us. Besides, I threw away my fire lighter."

"What are you going to do?"

"I can walk for a while longer. As we came over the last rise I saw a clearing that looked man-made. We shall have to go in that direction and hope we can find someone who will grant us the use of his fire."

"That’s dangerous."

"Less dangerous than using magic, if we are careful. We will approach cautiously and if aught seems amiss we will depart quietly. Now, give me your hand."

Wiz pulled the hedge witch to her feet and for a brief tingling instant their bodies touched down the whole length. Then Moira turned away and started off.