Wistril Compleat (5 page)

"For a time," said Kern. "Then what?"

Wistril spread pens and paper. "The Lake will
only support a few such creatures for a year, perhaps two," he
said. "They will surely move on when the supply of fish runs low.
Imagine -- nomadic, nurturing, feathered reptiles!"

Kern tilted his head. "You're sure about
this?"

"Confound it, Apprentice, I am as sure as a
man with less than an hour of observation and a blatherskite helper
could possibly be," he said. "I have notes to make. Attend the
staff. Fetch me at midnight, and I will relieve you at watch."

"Yes, Master."

"And tell the staff, Apprentice," said
Wistril, as he cast a small blob of lamp-less flame to hover over
his table. "Tell the lads that if the hunters pursue the serpentia
onto Kauphish soil I want the hunters repelled. With vigor. Is that
clear?"

"Aye, Master," said Kern. "We shall dine in
shifts!"

"Begone!" roared Wistril. "Confound it,
begone!"

Kern sprinted grinning for the moonlit
trees.

The brass goblin-clock in Wistril's tent
croaked out midnight. Kern waited until the last grumbling note
faded before lifting Wistril's tent flap.

"Master?" said Kern. "It's midnight. You told
me to wake you."

Blankets stirred. "Urgh," said the wizard,
from within the heap of covers.

Kern stepped inside. "We've had trouble,
Master," he said. "One of the staff was injured springing a
trap."

Wistril's bald head rose up, bleary-eyed. "My
staff? Injured?" Blankets flew. Wistril leaped to his feet, clad
only in a scowl and enormous yellow silk pajamas.

"Is the injury grievous?"

"No, Master. A nasty cut on his arm. We
stopped the bleeding and applied a bandage. Cook is tending him
now."

Wistril snatched up his pants. "I shall
dress," he said. "And then we shall teach this unwashed furrier to
trifle with the house of Kauph."

Kern turned his back. "I don't think we need
to teach him trifling," he said. "He knows that already. That trap
wasn't set for serpentia, Master. It was set for people sent out to
spring serpentia traps. He knew we'd be out in the weeds, Master.
He knew, and he was ready."

Wistril's cot creaked and groaned as he
struggled with his leather pants. "This Grizzly was perhaps
prepared for a nearsighted gargoyle with a stick," he said. "We
shall see if he has made provisions for strong magic, aggressively
applied."

Kern lifted an eyebrow and turned. "The
Grizzly knows all about your Oath of Peace," he said. "He knows you
can't use magic to turn his head into a turnip, even in
self-defense. And you can't scare him with conjured monsters; he
knows they're just tricks of light and shadow. "

"All quite true, apprentice," said Wistril,
pulling on a hob-nailed boot. "But which beasts are tricks, and
which are flesh and blood?"

Kern shook his head and stifled a yawn. "I
don't understand," he said.

Wistril rose. "Neither will this Grizzly," he
said. "Go now. Fetch my short silver staff, a pair of matched
Sproggin glasses, and a decanter of fresh-drawn Lake water."

"Yes, Master," said Kern. "What are we up
to?"

"We are up to nothing," said Wistril. "You
shall sleep. I will have need of you later, with your faculties
intact."

Kern opened his mouth, saw the set of
Wistril's jaw, shut his mouth, and left Wistril's tent.

Outside, ghosts darted and wheeled, thick as
moths around a candle-flame, still howling in practiced agony. Kern
waved and headed for the supply cabinet.

"Ah, the quiet serenity of the great
outdoors," he said. "Just the thing for sleeping."

A phantom dipped close, hovered, and made a
what-can-you-do? shrug.

"Just ignore me," said Kern. "Armies in the
woods make me grumpy. You gents keep up the noise. Better you than
a Grizzly in my tent."

The phantom smiled a faint, hollow smile and
darted up into the night. Kern sighed and broke into a trot.

One, two, three -- the hours seemed to gather
outside Kern's tent and march in a slow circles around it. Kern
thrashed and turned and wrestled with his pillow and even reviewed
Wistril's last lesson (prime number positions as anchor-points for
verbal spell components), but sleep might as well have been
suspended miles above the Lake.

Finally, Kern rose, kicked his pillow, and
pulled on his tunic. "A silver staff and matched Sproggin glasses.
Master, what are you up too?"

Kern lifted his tent flap and stepped out
into the night. The gargoyle guarding Kern's tent frowned and shook
a finger at Kern.

"I can't sleep," said Kern. Frogs croaked;
crickets sang; ghosts howled. "Not with all this racket. I'm going
to check on His Mightiness. If the Grizzly stops by make sure he
wipes his shoes."

The gargoyle shrugged and pointed toward the
Lake. Kern tip-toed around the corner of his tent.

Lake Ovinshoon lay bright and wide, the
waters silver and calm under a fat half-moon.

Kern rubbed his eyes. The guard gargoyle
appeared at his shoulder and pointed; Kern followed the claw, to a
place far out on the Lake where the calm waters stirred.

The stirring intensified. While Kern watched,
the Lake swelled and heaved as though something large rose swiftly
toward the surface. "What is that?" whispered Kern.

The Lake exploded. A full-grown serpentia
arced and rose.

"Another adult!" said Kern.

The serpentia surged forward, racing for the
shore. Behind it, the waters rolled again, and another serpent's
snout emerged and followed in a spray.

And another. And still the water boiled.

Kern stepped away from his tent. There, on
the shore, stood Wistril, full in the path of the emerging
serpentia.

The fat wizard's arms were raised. In his
right hand the short silver staff glowed and cast lazy bolts of
silent lightning down into the lake. In Wistril's left hand the
wizard gripped --

-- a sausage?

The first serpent halted at Wistril's feet.
Blue-green scales, still awash with crystal waters, gleamed in the
moonlight; as Kern watched, the serpent fanned its feathered indigo
mane, raising a spray that wrapped around wizard and serpent like a
long, twisting veil.

The serpent raised its head to tower above
Wistril. It regarded the wizard with cold yellow eyes and tested
the air with a long, forked tongue.

Wistril made a small nod, took a bite of his
sausage, and waved the serpent away. It heaved itself onto the
shore and made for the trees, following the well-worn serpentia
path.

The second serpent halted at Wistril's feet
and was absently waved ashore. A third and a fourth serpent
followed, and still the Lake boiled and rolled.

Kern grinned. The silver staff, the Sproggin
bottles, the lake water -- come sunrise, Kern knew, these new
serpentia would fade to nothing but a heavy dew and a thick
fog.

But until then, the Grizzly wouldn't know
ensorcelled water from genuine serpent.

"Good hunting, flea-beard," said Kern, with a
bow to the trees. "I hope the new ones bite."

Serpent after serpent arose. Wistril waved
them ashore and nibbled at his sausage. Kern went back into his
tent, sank wearily into his cot, and slept until well after
sunrise.

"Apprentice! Awaken!"

Kern rolled to his feet, tripped on a boot,
rose again, and fumbled for his pants. Wistril's fat shadow
billowed against his tent.

The wizard put his hands on his hips.
"Apprentice Kern! Rise!"

"I'm risen," said Kern. "I'm coming. What's
happened?"

Wistril was silent for a moment. "The mature
serpentia," said the wizard at last. "She did not return with her
young this morning. I fear the worst."

Kern pulled on a shirt and stumbled outside
to squint in the sun.

Wistril was haggard and grim. "The staff are
combing the woods. I expect a report any moment."

A young serpent's head broke water in the
shallows just behind Wistril. The serpent whistled, chirped, and
vanished, only to be replaced by both of its siblings.

Kern pointed with a nod. "I see the young
ones made it."

"Indeed," muttered Wistril.

"I also saw the fake serpents you loosed into
the woods last night," said Kern. "How many did you conjure
up?"

Before Wistril could answer, Sir Knobby and a
half-dozen of his elite guards glided hooting over the tree-tops.
Sir Knobby waved his companions back into the air and then dropped
heavily to the grass before Wistril and Kern.

"He isn't smiling," said Kern. Sir Knobby's
wet, brown eyes locked with Wistril's, then sought out the
ground.

"Hoot," he said, softly.

Wistril's face went white.

"The adult female is dead," growled the
wizard. "Dead, and butchered as we speak."

"How?" said Kern. "We sprang the traps. We
filled the woods with decoys."

"A catapult," said Wistril. "Specifically, a
wyvern-killer. Mounted on a covered wagon. The scouts -- and myself
-- assumed this wagon was full of provisions or supplies, like all
the others. It was not. This infernal contraption fired some three
dozen steel-tipped spears. The adult serpentia died instantly,
shielding her young."

"The decoys?"

"Decoys?" said Wistril. "Decoys? Ask the
Grizzly. His broken down hay-wains proved infinitely more effective
than my own marvels of sorcery." Wistril glared. "This is not to be
borne, Apprentice."

Kern shook his head. "What do we do about
it?"

Wistril turned toward the trees, as if his
glare could strike down the Grizzly where he stood. "I do not
know," said Wistril. "I cannot contain the surviving serpentia to
the Lake forever. My Oath forbids me the hearty pleasure of filling
the Grizzly's beard with scorpions. Pitting ourselves and our staff
in a pitched battle with a murderous band of experienced
mercenaries is foolhardy at best. Confound it, Kern, I do not
know."

"Sir Knobby thinks he can drop a boat-anchor
on the Grizzly's tent," said Kern.

"They have a catapult." Wistril took in a
great, long breath and let it out in a sigh. "I shall walk and
ponder," he said at last. "Stay. Watch. Signal if that butcher
dares set foot on Kauph."

"Yes, Master."

"Oath or no Oath," growled Wistril, "I shall
find a way."

The orphaned serpentia surfaced again. All
three joined in a long, whistling cry, a cry that echoed across
water and wood but was not, would never be, answered.

Wistril marched away. Kern and Sir Knobby
looked toward the serpents and shook their heads.

The sun set, and the first bold stars crept
out, and the young serpentia whistled and chirped and troubled the
waters but did not dare the shore alone.

Kern and Sir Knobby walked the shore. Neither
gargoyle nor apprentice let his eyes stray from the tall pines for
very long, though both would occasionally steal a glance toward
Wistril's enormous red tent.

Wistril's tent remained silent, dark, and
still. Dusk gave way to night; Kern ordered torches lit.

From deep within the pines, a gargoyle
hooted, and another. Sir Knobby's bat-wing ears lifted and
spread.

"Master," said Kern, trotting to stand before
Wistril's tent. "Our guests are arriving."

A light flared in Wistril's tent. "How many?"
said the wizard.

Kern lifted an eyebrow at Sir Knobby. The
gargoyle lifted his empty left hand and spread his fingers wide
once, twice, three times.

"Fifteen," said Kern.

The tent-flap was flung aside, and Wistril
emerged in a stoop. Kern stepped back, agape.

Gone were the wizard's leather breeches and
fur-lined greatcoat and hob-nailed boots. Now, Wistril was swathed
in yards and yards of sheer black silk -- robe, cape, sleeves, all
black, all silk. A finely wrought silver sword-belt held a sword at
his side.

The silver clasp that held Wistril's long
cloak together at his neck glittered. The clasp bore a small
working of the House of Kauph's Old Kingdom heraldic emblem -- a
unicorn rampant by a wall of climbing roses. Kern was sure the
emblem had been pried carefully off the hilt of Wistril's favorite
letter-opener.

"Hoot," said Sir Knobby.

"Fifteen of the Grizzly's men are headed this
way, Master," said Kern. "Maybe they want to borrow a cup of sugar,
or maybe they want our heads. Either way, I need a pep talk, and
Sir Knobby here wants a promotion."

Wistril glared. "Only fifteen?"

Sir Knobby nodded.

Wistril snorted. "Fifteen. Deal with them,
Apprentice," said the Wizard. "I will not be distracted again by
this Grizzly's chicanery."

Kern bowed. "As you wish, your Fearsomeness,"
he said. "I shall speak sternly to the ruffians, and if they do not
mend their evil ways I shall stamp my foot repeatedly."

"Stall them, Apprentice," growled Wistril. "I
require a few moments to perform certain rituals. No one must be
allowed to interfere."

More hoots sounded from the trees. "Have you
found a way out of this, Master?" said Kern.

"I have indeed," said Wistril. "You,
Apprentice, have but to put that braying tongue of yours to good
use for a few short moments."

"I'll do my best," said Kern.

Wistril turned for the Lake. "Then I am
assured, at least, of inflicting upon the Grizzly a tirade of lack
wit verbosity. Good luck, Apprentice."

A pair of shadowy phantoms fell to whisper in
Wistril's ears. "Excellent," said the wizard. "Thank you." The
phantoms took to the air. Within moments, all the ghosts had
vanished, though some popped out of the shadows under the trees
long enough to wave at Kern.

The Lake fell silent. Wistril mumbled a Word
and made a silvery tracing in the air. With a soft pop, one of Lake
Ovinshoon's three two-man fishing boats appeared in the water by
behind Wistril.