Rick Cook - Wizard’s Bane

"GIVE US the mortaaalllls…" The voice lessened and died like a train whistle down a tunnel.

Aelric turned to Wiz and Moira and smiled sweetly. "Uncouth creatures. Now, you were saying?"

"Forgive me, Lord," Wiz broke in, "but aren’t you afraid he will do something?"

Aelric gave Wiz a look that froze his bones and cleaved his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

"Forgive him, Lord," said Moira quickly. "He is from far away and is unused to our ways. Please forgive him," she begged. "Please."

Aelric cocked his head and stared at Wiz. "Far away indeed, Lady. Very well, but teach him manners." Then his expression softened.

"Know, infant, that this place has stood for aeons and on. It was builded by magic on a foundation of magic and it would take more magic than a mortal could learn in a puny lifetime to touch it or any of mine."

"Yes, Lord," said Wiz, very subdued.

The rest of dinner passed off without incident. Aelric was again the gracious host, diverting and ever attentive to his guests’ needs. By the time the last sweets had been removed with nuts in golden bowls and the wine brought forth in crystal flagons, Wiz was almost relaxed.

Almost. He regarded the elf prince in the same light as a friendly lion—magnificent, unsettling and not at all someone you wanted to spend time with.

At last Moira yawned delicately behind her hand and Aelric took that as a sign that the dinner was over.

"I should not keep you," he said with a charming smile. "You have had a long day already and several—interesting—days before that. May you rest well."

"Thank you, Lord." Moira returned the smile. "And thank you again for your hospitality." She extended her hand and the elf lord raised it to his lips.

"You are more than welcome. Thank you for gracing my table." He turned to Wiz. "And thank you, Lord. It was a privilege to meet someone from so far away."

Wiz bowed as best he could.

"You do not know why you were Summoned then?" Aelric said suddenly.

"Beg pardon?" Wiz asked, confused by this turn of the conversation. "Ah, no Lord."

"Well then," said Duke Aelric with an odd, cold smile. "It will be interesting to see what becomes of you, Sparrow."

"Thank you, Lord," Wiz replied, not sure whether he should be thanking the elf or not.

"Then will we see you again, Lord?" Moira asked.

"I doubt it," Duke Aelric said. "But it will be interesting nonetheless." Again the alien smile, like a rather sleepy cat examining a newly discovered plaything.

"Lady, do you suppose he knows something about me?" Wiz asked as soon as they were back in their rooms.

"He knew who we were," Moira said, yawning and stretching in a way that made her dress swell alarmingly and Wiz’s heart nearly stop.

"I mean do you think he knows why Patrius brought me here?"

"Who knows what an elf knows?"

"Shouldn’t we ask him?"

"Sparrow, if he knew and if he wanted us to know, he would tell us. It might be he was making sport of us. Elves are prone to such tricks. But I do know this. If he did not tell us there is no point in asking him."

"But…"

"But I am going to bed," Moira said firmly. "You may sit up and attempt to fathom the unfathomable if you wish."

Wiz watched the door to Moira’s room close after her and then turned toward his room. He dropped his clothes on a chair in the corner and headed groggily for his own bed.

I wonder if he really does know. Or if he’s just playing head games, Wiz thought dreamily as he drifted off to sleep.

In the morning there were fresh packs in the main room. The clothes they had worn into the hill were waiting for them with all traces of travel stain gone. Somehow they had even restored the nap to the suede on Wiz’s running shoes. Moira’s cloak was clean and patched so expertly there was no sign it had ever been rent and tattered. There was a new cloak hanging next to Wiz’s pack to replace the one he had lost.

Sitting on the table was a round loaf of brown bread, still warm from the oven, a slab of pale yellow cheese, a pitcher of brown ale and a bowl of white onions.

"It appears we are to break our fast alone this morning," Moira said, pulling her chair closer to the table. She poured herself a tankard of ale and used her knife to hack off a chunk of cheese and a thick slice of bread. With the knife point she speared one of the onions and took a healthy bite.

Although the idea of beer and onions for breakfast made Wiz a little queasy, he followed suit. In spite of his misgivings the combination was delicious. The cheese was sharp and tangy, the onions were mild and sweet and the ale refreshingly astringent on his tongue.

"Doesn’t time run differently in these places?" Wiz asked Moira around a mouthful of bread and cheese.

"Not if the elf lord does not will it so," she said. "He promised me when we entered that it would not."

"So that’s what that greeting was all about!"

"Just so. Albeit we had little enough choice should he have decided to make centuries pass like minutes."

"I take it we’re going on this morning?"

"I doubt Duke Aelric’s hospitality holds for more than a single night," said Moira, appropriating the heel of the loaf. "Besides, the sooner we reach our destination the better." She looked at the bread and sighed. "I wish we could carry bread like this on our journey. It is unusually good."

"It’s baked by elves," Wiz said smiling.

"Their servants morelike. What’s so funny?"

"Never mind," Wiz chuckled. "I’m not even going to try to explain it to you." Then he turned serious. "What are the chances someone is going to be waiting for us outside?"

"Small enough. Oh, they may watch the door we entered like cats at a mouse hole. But I do not think we will go out that same way. Not only time but space runs strangely in places the elves make their own."

Wiz picked up the last crumb of cheese and popped it into his mouth. He let it melt away on his tongue savoring the bite and flavor. "Well, when do we leave?"

"As soon as we gather our things," said Moira. She stood up from the table and fastened her cloak at her pale freckled throat with the turquoise and silver clasp. Wiz followed suit, throwing his cloak over his back.

"Don’t we need to ring for someone to show us out?"

"I doubt it," said Moira as she reached for the door handle. "If a guide is needed one will be waiting when we open the door."

The door swung outward at her touch and brilliant morning sunlight flooded in. Instead of a marble corridor lined with travertine pillars the door opened into a sunny forest glade. An orange and brown butterfly flitted lazily above the deep green grass that ran to their threshold.

Moira looked over at Wiz, smiled slightly and shrugged. Wiz shrugged back. Then they adjusted their packs and set out under the warm morning sun.

The morning was bright and sunny. Instead of dark and sinister, the Wild Wood was fresh and green. There was almost nothing among the trees and ferns to remind them of the night before.

Their path led out of the glade and back up the heavily wooded hill above the door. There was no hint or scent of danger, but still they moved along quickly.

They climbed a series of forested ridges, each looking down on the tops of the trees in the valley below. At the top of the third ridge, Moira scanned the valley while Wiz sat puffing on a rocky outcrop.

"There!" the hedge witch said, pointing. Below and off to one side a square stone tower stood rough and grey above the trees of the forest. About its base clustered outbuildings enclosed by a stockade of peeled logs.

"Heart’s Ease," said Moira. "Our journey’s end." She shifted her pack as Wiz struggled to his feet and they headed off down the path.