Rick Cook - Wizard’s Bane

Atros was well satisfied as he went down the corridor. Not only did he have things well in hand for the capture of the strange wizard, but his other plans were well in hand besides.

Soon. Very soon.

"Where are we going anyway?" Wiz asked, sitting on a stump by the fire.

Moira looked up from stirring the porridge. "Someplace safe."

"You said that before."

"I prefer not to name it. There is always the chance of being overheard."

"Well, what’s it like? A farm?"

Moira laughed. "No, it is a very special place hidden away in the Wild Wood. A place built like no other in the World."

"You make it sound wonderful."

"It is that."

"Have you ever been there before?"

"This deep in the Wild Wood? Not likely. I have heard of it, though."

"Right now anyplace that put a roof over our heads would be wonderful."

"Patience, Sparrow. We are perhaps a day or two from our destination."

"Then what happens?"

"Then you will be safe and I can return to my village."

"Oh."

"I have work to do, Sparrow. There are people who need me."

"Yeah, I guess so. Only…" Moira held up her hand to silence him.

"Wait," she said. "There is something…"

With a roar four trolls charged into the clearing. They were huge and foul smelling, clad in skins and leathers and rags. One brandished a rusty two-handed sword in one hand and the others carried clubs.

A troll closed in on Moira, arms extended and fanged mouth agape. Wiz grabbed a faggot from the fire and charged. With a casual, backhanded swipe and without taking his eyes from his prize, the creature sent Wiz sprawling through the fire.

Wiz rolled out as the beast got a hand on Moira. Without thinking he reached back into the fire and grabbed a burning brand. He pointed it at the troll and yelled "Bippity boppity-boo."

The troll was unfazed but the tree behind it exploded into flame with a crackle and a roar. The astonished troll weakened its grip and Moira twisted free.

"Moira! Run!" Wiz yelled and ducked under the grasping arms of another troll. He twisted about and pointed the stick at it.

"Bippity boppity boo!" he shouted and another tree blazed up. The troll cringed back.

Whirling in a circle, Wiz pointed the branch and yelled "BippityboppitybooBippityboppitybooBippityboppityboo." Trees all around the clearing turned to fiercely burning torches and the confused trolls cowered and whimpered in the ring of light and heat.

Wiz sprinted in the general direction Moira had taken. Behind him he could see the forms of the trolls black against the orange-yellow glow. The scent of burning pine filled his nostrils and he coughed from the smoke. One of the trolls groped after him. Wiz pointed the stick at a tree between them, shouted "Bippity boppity boo" and watched the tree turn to a lance of flame in the very face of the monster. Then he turned and ran as fast as he could.

As Wiz charged through the forest, a dim shape flitted from behind a tree into his path. He flinched until he saw it was Moira, her form distorted by her cloak. He clasped her hand and she gave a welcoming squeeze. His cloak was back in the clearing, he realized, as were both their packs. But Moira was safe and none of the rest mattered.

Behind them the reddish glow of the fires lightened the night. Also from behind them came a series of hooting roars.

"They hunt us," Moira whispered and released his hand. "Come quickly."

The forest sloped gently downhill and they followed the slope as best they could. Wiz silently blessed the open parklike nature of the Wild Wood here because they could move quickly and quietly through it.

Ahead he could hear the bubble and murmur of a running stream. Behind him came the sounds of the trolls. They seemed to have spread out along the ridge and were casting back and forth, calling to each other as they went. Once Wiz saw a misshapen form silhouetted on the ridgeline by the faint fireglow. He tried to shrink in on himself even though he knew night and distance made him invisible.

They paused on the rocky stream bank while Moira turned this way and that, seeking the best path. There were boulders to serve as stepping stones, but instead Moira led Wiz directly into the chill, swift waters.

"The water will mask our scent," she explained over the stream’s clamor, "and some things cannot cross running water."

"You mean like trolls?"

"The trolls are the least of it," Moira said. "Listen."

Off in the distance came the sound of a horn and again the hunting roar of trolls echoed through the trees. My God, thought Wiz. Is every nightmare in creation after us?

The water was not deep, but the current was swift and the bottom rocky. By the time they left the stream, some little distance above the place they had entered, Wiz had fallen into holes twice and was soaked from head to foot. Moira had lost her balance once and was thoroughly wet down one side.

With Moira leading they sprinted over the wide pebble beach and into the sheltering dark of the trees. The forest was thicker here and the underbrush more profuse. Wiz and Moira crowded into it and peered back the way they had come.

"Which way?" Wiz panted.

Moira cast about indecisively. "Ahh," she breathed at last. "They throng to the south and east of us. To the west and north are areas rich in magic."

"So we go west and north?" Wiz suggested.

Moira shook her head. "To enter a powerful area with the hunt so close upon us would be our doom. With magic all about us we would stand out like ants on a griddle."

"Lay low?"

Moira didn’t answer. Which was answer enough.

"Can’t you use magic to get us out of this?"

Moira snorted. "If I used magic they would sniff us out at once. We avoid them only because they cannot sense magic upon us."

A weird, warbling howl pierced the night, chilling Wiz’s blood. Across the stream, a huge wolf-like shape loomed on the ridge, outlined by the rising moon. Even in the moonlight its eyes burned red. It was the epitome of all the wolf nightmares of Wiz’s childhood.

"Dire Beast," Moira breathed. She squeezed Wiz’s hand even tighter and they crept away, clinging to the shadow and thickets. Behind them the wolf creature howled again but made no move to follow.

Once away from the stream bank they ran. They scrambled up another ridge and half-ran half-slid into a valley. The woods were thicker and darker, but that was no comfort. Still the sounds of their hunters rang and the trees seemed to close in about them to the point of suffocation.

There were brambles to catch at clothing and rip flesh. Once Wiz took a thorny branch full in the face and once they had to stop to disentangle Moira’s cloak from a barbed bush. As they worked the fabric off the grasping thorns Wiz saw that Moira’s hands had been cruelly lacerated by pushing through the spindly growth.

Finally, exhausted, Moira led Wiz into a thicket. There was a hollow in the center as if once long ago a tree had been uprooted there. Together they cowered and panted in the little crater beneath the bushes and listened to the sounds of pursuit echoing through the forest.

Dared they stay here? Wiz wanted to ask but he was afraid to make a sound. Besides, he didn’t think he would like the answer. Unbidden, Moira’s words on the first day came back to him. If you have a choice between the worst death you can imagine and falling into the hands of the League, do everything in your power to die. Had they really come to that? he thought, looking over at Moira.

Suddenly something hissed in Wiz’s ear like a disturbed snake. Wiz jumped.

"Hsst," came the sound again. "Hsst, Lady, over here." He turned and stared but saw nothing. Then part of the bush seemed to twist and coalesce and a tiny man stood beckoning to them where a second before there had been only moonlight and branches. He was clad in a pointed cap, tunic and breeks with pointed shoes. Wiz could not tell the color in the dim light.