Paul Collins - Trouble Wizard

"A dragon's treasure," Hyiat said, who now restrained Jute from advancing further. "Is the maiden's father ensorcelled?"

"Ensorcelled?" Gilbon rocked with mirth. "I should say not. He's just lost his memory and wandered off someplace, as mortals do. Gone walkabout," he said simply. "Pure and simple."

Jackie took a step forward then. She held before her the remains of her lance. "And I'm definitely not a maiden."

"You look like one," Hyiat observed, yet stood back from the lethally pointed lance. "Anyway, upon locating the... knight's father, you'll reward us for our troubles?"

"And there's no magic involved?" Jute pressed Gilbon.

"I don't believe you're even contemplating helping Fangs here find the kid's missing father," Bonnie said incredulously. "What is it with you two anyway?"

Jute grinned wolfishly. "The trouble with you, Bonnie lass, is that you lack compassion."

"Can't you see how distraught the girl is?" Hyiat added righteously.

Bonnie glanced at the disheveled Jackie. "Yeah," she admitted, "she looks a right mess."

"It's settled then," Jute decided. "Bonnie, you go point, I'll flank and, Hyiat, you follow up the rear."

"I say," Gilbon said. "It's ever so kind - "

"Just get going," Bonnie said tightly. "I don't believe this!"

***

A quick spark suddenly blazed like a nova within Shantele's firelit cave. The sizzling ball coalesced with

white heat then simmered as a portal materialized. From beyond its mirage-like frame walked Shantele.

In awe, Winston could only gape wide-mouthed. He knew his master had been beyond the mortal realm to that shadowy world where time stood still compared with 'real' time.

Outside the sorcerer's cave, the wind became a banshee screech that lashed the mountain face. Such was the wind's force, several candles spluttered out. Shadows darkened and a chill stole at Shantele's back.

The mage quickly reached up and, as though pulling curtains across a window, he hurriedly closed the portal.

"Argh, but time displacement drains me so!" he complained as he slumped into his ermine throne.

"Surely you must be one of the All Greats!" Winston fawned.

"'One' of the All Greats?" Shantele said, fixing his apprentice with a dreadful stare. "I am the All Great!"

"How goes your plan, Master?" Winston hurried on.

Shantele pursed his thin lips. "As well as could be expected with what tools we have, lad," he said at length. "To put it another way, two out of three ain't bad. The accursed woman was protected. But by whom or what?" he pondered darkly.

"Therefore we need further assistance. Someone with magic?" He waited patiently for Winston to pick up on his theme.

"The Wizards' Guild would rather curse their own gods than - "

"Someone not associated with the damnable Guild," Shantele said testily.

"I can't think - "

"That's your problem, Winston!" Shantele fumed. "How about your mother? And her mother." He held his finger up sternly. "Both potent witches, lad! Fine women!"

"But they wouldn't help you unless I -"

"Exactly!" Shantele said. "Unless you were in danger!" He directed a finger at Winston and uttered a quick incantation in a foreign tongue.

Winston had but a moment to complain before a rich tapestried carpet swept beneath his feet. He fell flat on his back.

Shantele wheezed loudly. "But my, this is taxing work. I wonder why I bother sometimes." He stepped onto the carpet and clicked his fingers.

***

Not far distant, in the bustling township of Gallah Flats, two women who preached modest earth magic trembled with sudden knowledge. They questioned not its substance, nor its source, yet both women knew they had been called by higher, more arcane powers.

"Gran?" called the youngest of the two.

"Aye," the aged adept said. She wiped her hands on an apron. "'Tis the wizard again."

"Up to his old tricks I'll warrant," Molly told her mother.

Through squinting eyes Gran scanned the western horizon. It was a molten cauldron of pinks, mauves and reds. "It's Winston," she said, and touched her forehead.

The pair then clasped one another's hands and a transformation took place. Their human forms shrank and from arms sprouted vast wings like sails, from feet came talons shaped like grappling hooks and mouths molded into beaks like curved scimitars. No ordinary crows these, then.

They took flight the moment they had shed their mortal personae.

***

Winston's stomach turned over slowly and his face blanched. Heights had never been his strong point, and air travel particularly had its own awful effects upon him.

As though sensing Winston's discomfort, Shantele said, "Not long now, lad. In fact, here we go - I've spotted our quarry!"

Shantele muttered a rune and the carpet took a nose-dive. As it sped downward, it became a whirling tornado, spinning violently in ever-increasing circles until it was revolving so rapidly that it actually

resembled a force of nature. So fast did it spin that it sliced through anything in its path, creating havoc in its wake.

Then, in mid air, and seemingly with a mind all its own, it angled down across the Beagle River and came to a skidding halt.

Having accomplished its master's whim, the carpet's frayed edges unwound and lay in a tangled heap at their feet.

Winston staggered from the mound of wool, and toppled to the ground. There he stayed until the world stopped spinning.

Shantele cocked an inquisitive eye. In sudden realization, he said, "Winston, you poor soul! I forgot to stabilize you!"

Winston watched all four Shanteles spin before his eyes. He smiled a lop-sided grin.

"Should have known it would be you," Gilbon said suspiciously.

The others rumbled dissension, for in fact, they had been mightily frightened when the wizard had landed in their midst.

"At your service," Shantele said and bowed most royally. He then turned to the three armed pirates.

"You can put your weapons away," he said mockingly. "They'll do you no good."

"A fat wizard and his apprentice," Bonnie said dubiously.

"Enough of that!" Shantele said darkly.

But before another word could be exchanged, a more menacing voice entered the arena:

"You-um all surrender!"

They turned as one and saw on the other bank the largest ghoul any of them had ever seen. The ghastly creature was a head taller than Jute, but was not quite so bulky, yet big strapping arms and thick thighs made him look horrific to behold. The parts of his body that were not armored and grossly painted with lurid colors were pale and hairless. His gaunt and aggressive face sat upon well defined shoulders.

The ghoul's plump mouth twitched several times as though trying to force more words out, but in the end he simply grunted.

"Let me handle this," Shantele said. "Ghouls are categorically so stupid that you can talk your way around them, and this one looks more gullible than most."

Shantele strode casually over to the bubbling river. "My dear good ghoul, it is indeed a beautiful river that etches the scenery behind your magnificent body. Ah, don't move a muscle while I stamp clear in my mind's eye this wondrous picture so that I might immortalize you on canvas..."

"You-um not move closer!" the ghoul said with stilted fervor. More ghouls emerged from the undergrowth.

Shantele had no intention of getting wet. He smiled broadly. "Do you know that the Beagle River goes down fifteen fathoms on a regular cycle, and that rumor has it that certain gods drink from it, thus emptying it - so therefore the cycle continues. Fascinating stuff, isn't it?"

The ghoul twisted its ugly face as though downwind from a foul-smelling sewer.

"Yes, I thought you'd find that particularly interesting," Shantele said, edging away from the riverbank.