Norton, Andre - Anthology (44 page)

 
          
 
"You desire to lead me," Gilmont
deduced. "Perhaps the master who bespelled you can explain. Yes, yes, I'm
coming! Allow me to bring a candle to light our way."

 
          
 
Gilmont's girth testified to his cook's
culinary talents, but for all his bulk, the old scholar was relatively agile
once he rose to his feet. Very shortly, he stood beside Drop in front of the
curious mirror in the attic. While he recovered his breath from climbing the
steep stairs, Gilmont wiped the accumulated dust from the mirror with a large
silk handkerchief he extracted from his robe.

 
          
 
"I had quite forgotten this mirror,"
he exclaimed. "The merchant who pressed me to buy that related set of
furniture neglected to mention that any of the pieces possessed abeyant magical
properties. It is clearly evident that the power inherent in this mirror is in
abeyance no longer! Additional illumination would be helpful. I believe I
relegated a rather elaborate oil lamp to a shelf up here some time ago ... yes,
there it is. Now, what was the spell for facilitating transferent access
through a magic mirror? I'm sure I read it only last month." After a pause
for thought, Gilmont pronounced a series of authoritative sounds.

 
          
 
Drop's fur immediately bristled. The dim
shapes within the glass assumed more substance, but still remained obscure.
Flax's voice, however, suddenly boomed into the attic. "Gilmont! Pray
recite Jalbert's Attraction Spell, but take care to stand well away from the
face of the mirror."

 
          
 
Once Gilmont began to intone the requested
spell, the surface of the mirror bulged and extended outward to encompass a
great gray mass that gradually separated from it. The spectacle reminded Drop
of the singularly similar appearance of a batch of lustrous, sticky toffee he
had once helped Flax to stretch. Following the initial looming form, a
glistening horizontal shape emerged, supported between the first mass and a
second, squatter but equally intimidating gray bulk. Drop and Gilmont hastily
flattened themselves against a ramshackle bookcase in order to avoid being
accidentally crushed by their alarming new visitors.

 
          
 
"Flax?" inquired Gilmont in a
doubtful tone. "Otwill?"

 
          
 
Drop could only stare. The two scale-armored
behemoths towering before him bore no possible resemblance to his former wizard
companions. The third recumbent form that they had set cautiously on the floor
appeared to be man-shaped, but coated with a hard, reflective substance.

 
          
 
The first monster gazed down at its enormous
claw-tipped paws, and grumbled in Flax's unmistakable voice, "Bother! I
fully expected that these troll bodies would transform when we returned from
the other-space. At least, Gilmont, we were most fortunate in that your
excellent mirror is large enough to accommodate our altered dimensions."

 
          
 
The shorter monster's grotesque head drooped.
"If we cannot regain our normal bodies before sunrise," it murmured
in Otwill's incongruously gentle voice, "we shall be permanently turned
into stone." A large green tear welled up at the corner ^£ its. middle
eye, and splashed down its warty snout.

 
          
 
"Courage, old friend!" Flax
exhorted. "I distinctly recall Hupthorn's ancient formula for banishing
trolls. I must admit," he confessed candidly, "that I have never
before had occasion to employ it, but we must dare it now."

 
          
 
Gilmont, who had been uncharacteristically
speechless, interrupted. "Would you not think it advisable," he
suggested, "to include a stricture to insure that only the troll forms and
natures are to be vanished, without affecting your residual material
beings?"

 
          
 
Flax's ponderous head dipped in agreement.
"A most worthy point, Gilmont. Grasp my paw, Otwill, and repeat after
me."

 
          
 
Drop's nose itched unbearably, and all his fur
stood on end. He fancied that he knew exactly how a bottle brush must feel. His
transient discomfort, however, was quite eclipsed by his genuine delight to see
the familiar human shapes of his friends emerge from a dazzling blue starburst
of radiance.

 
          
 
Somewhat leaner than when Drop had last seen
him, Flax turned, his bald head shining in the lamplight. "At last!"
he exclaimed, seizing Gilmonts hand. "My dear Gilmont, we could not have
achieved the transition without your vital assistance. You know Otwill, of
course." Flax bent down to stroke Drop's head. "Drop—I rejoice to see
you again."

 
          
 
Gilmont's attention was focussed on the supine
form stretched out on the floor at their feet. His usual loquacity was
evidently curtailed by his amazement. "What," he demanded, pointing
at the gleaming object, "is that?"

 
          
 
For a moment, Flax, too, was at a loss for
words. Then Otwill said apologetically, "I regret to say that is Koron, my
pitiful apprentice."

 
          
 
"It is entirely the fault of that
wretched other-space," Flax accused. Had there been sufficient room, Drop
knew that Flax would have paced back and forth; being severely constrained by
the attic's limits, Flax had to express his frustration by knotting and
unknotting his robe sash.

 
          
 
"Pray assuage my deplorable
ignorance," pleaded Gilmont, quivering with scholarly curiosity.
"Have you journeyed here from some other-space beyond this mirror? I was
completely unaware that I possessed any such exceptional interior
threshold."

 
          
 
Instantly contrite, Flax hastened to
elucidate. "How could you be aware," he said, "when Drop—he was
my former apprentice, you understand, when he was a boy— could not, now being a
cat, explain our plight. A few weeks ago, Otwill discovered that a rare spatial
portal might become accessible somewhere within the Zachoran castle hired by
Walgur, the infamous Druzanian sorceror. Despite obstructions raised by Trund,
Walgur's resident minion, we contrived to be present during the portal's
initial opening. As soon as we had proceeded through it to the other side,
Otwill and I spell-sealed the aperture to prevent Walgur from ever gaining
access to it."

 
          
 
"You may judge our dismay," Otwill
inserted, "when we immediately observed that our very shapes were being
affected by the nature of that other-space. Apparently, the speed of the
alteration was linked to our degree of magical prowess, for Flax and I were
almost directly subsumed into those hideous troll bodies." Otwill
shuddered at the memory of the ordeal.

 
          
 
"Before Koron could be similarly
afflicted," Flax said, "we hastened to protect him with a Temporary
Exclusion Spell." He hesitated, shaking his head mournfully. "But we
found that in that awful place, even our magic was subject to pernicious
variance. Instead of preventing Koron's body from changing, our spell went
awry. To our distress, Koron was turned to glass."

 
          
 
Drop picked his way delicately alongside the
glistening length of his third former associate. He could indeed recognize the
young apprentice, but every part of Koron—hair, skin, clothing—had been
transformed into rigid, semi-transparent glass.

 
          
 
Gilmont bent over to take a closer look.
"I must say," he admitted, "in all of my studies, I have never
encountered such an effect as this. Which restoration spell do you suppose
would be most efficacious?"

 
          
 
Flax promptly cited-cme spell, but Otwill
favored another. Drop prudently withdrew into the upstairs corridor while the
two wizards invoked a series of spells. Only when his fur eased back into place
did he return to the storeroom. All three humans were frowning. Koron's woeful
condition appeared obstinately unaffected.

 
          
 
Gilmont's expression suddenly brightened.
"I believe that I once saw in my archives a treatise dealing with the
hardening or softening of glass," he said. "If you could assist me in
searching downstairs, perhaps we might locate that very scroll.”

 
          
 
"It would also be far easier to treat
Koron in more spacious surroundings," muttered Otwill. When he and Flax
attempted to lift the enchanted apprentice, however, their merely human
musculature could not accomplish what their troll bodies had effortlessly
performed. Otwill sighed. "Lormer's Levitation Spell?" he ventured.

 
          
 
Flax nodded. "To steer the head and
shoulders if you will oversee the legs and feet. Mind the turns ... and the
stairs!"

 
          
 
Fortunately, the settee in Gilmont's study
proved to be just long enough—and sturdy enough—to support Koron's crystalline
bulk.

 
          
 
The last few days had been unseasonably warm
for late autumn. Gilmont had opened his study window shortly before Drop had
rushed in to convey Flax's magical cry for help. Now while the two wizards
aided Gilmont in sorting through his carefully ordered stacks of books and
scrolls, Drop became increasingly aware of an irritating buzzing sound. The
humans, absorbed in their task (and their inevitable conversation), seemed
oblivious to it, but during his months as a boy, Drop had noticed that his human
ears failed to register a variety of high-pitched tones perfectly audible to
any cat. This particular annoying hum emanated from Gilmont's garden. It was at
first attentuated by distance, then waxed in volume like the shrill of a
rapidly approaching, infuriated wasp. Drop's fur rose, his skin crawled, and
his nose twitched as a sharp scent like that of curdled milk wafted into the
study. He ran to Flax's feet, reared up on his hind legs, and scratched
urgently at Flax's robe to attract his attention.

 
          
 
Flax absently extended a hand to stroke Drop's
head, then stiffened as he registered both the warning state of Drop's fur and
the intensifying sour odor. "Gilmont," Flax stated in a calm voice,
"I perceive that an unseen and uninvited observer has entered your study.
Intruder! By Monfat's Command, I adjure you to disclose yourself!"

 
          
 
Close by the window, a shadowy mist abruptly
condensed into view as Flax sternly intoned a peremptory formula. Before Drop
could blink, the shadow solidified into a tall figure enveloped in an ashen
velvet robe. A deep hood totally concealed the intruder's face. The sole spark
of visible color was a smoldering ruby set in a richly ornamented chain of
blackened metal draped across the figure's shoulders.

 
          
 
Flax gazed with keen interest at their
unanticipated guest. “Judging from the means of your entry and the style of
your pendant," he conjectured, "I venture to identify you as Trund's
master."

 
          
 
The figure threw back his hood, revealing a
gaunt face with deep-set, burning red-brown eyes. His sword-cut of a mouth was
framed by a bar of mustache and a close-trimmed beard whose hue matched his
thick crown of red-brown hair.

 
          
 
There could be no mistaking those eyes. Had
Drop been able to speak, he would have instantly proclaimed his recognition:
those same menacing eyes had blazed from the skull of the unnatural crow which
had earlier spied upon Gilmont's house and grounds.

 
          
 
The trespasser spoke in a grating voice that
reminded Drop of several rusty hinges he had periodically oiled at Flax's
cottage. "You are correct," he snarled. "I am Walgur of Druzan,
Master of Trund ... and much else besides."

 
          
 
"I seldom receive guests—invisible or
otherwise— through my study window," Gilmont responded mildly. "Would
it not have been more direct for you to knock at the front door?"

 
          
 
"I intended to make a formal call upon
you in the morning," Walgur growled. "My journey from Zachor consumed
less time than*I expected. I hesitated to impose at so late an hour. Since your
window was open, I merely ... drifted inside to admire your unusual
paraphernalia. That is a most curious simulacrum adorning your couch. Did you
compose it entirely of glass?"