Wistril Compleat (2 page)

The Lieutenant gaped. "Disarm? Now?"

The Captain waved his hand through the
phantom. It shrieked and darted away. "That's what I said, soldier.
Sergeant!" he bellowed, rising and striding forward. "Get those
fools away from that catapult!"

The Captain vanished into the mob. Darting,
keening specters filled the air above the camp. More rose, despite
frantic efforts to douse every cook fire and every torch.

A catapult threw, hurling a loose bundle of
short steel-tipped spears arcing over the camp. Phantoms howled
with glee, pierced but undaunted.

The Lieutenant sheathed his blade and
shouldered his way into the panicked ranks, dodging swords and
wobbling flights of arrows as he went. Mad laughter began to sound
from the trees, and with it snatches of strange, discordant
music.

"Put down your weapons!" he shouted, his
voice lost in the din. "Disarm! Form up!"

Lightning shattered the cloudless, starry
sky. Revealed in the flash was a face--a face so enormous it
stretched halfway across the sky. More lightning flared, and in it
the Lieutenant saw a massive fist, raised and poised to strike.

The ground shook with impossible thunder. Men
leaped beneath wagons or huddled under collapsed tents. Another
catapult creaked and threw despite the Captain's furious roar for
calm.

The Lieutenant shouted himself hoarse,
swatted phantoms, and prayed for sunrise.

Kern squinted at the bright morning sunlight
that poured from the scrying ball and shook his head. "They've
started up our mountain, Master," he said. "Notice how I didn't say
'The army has fled' or 'Looks like we scared them back to the
Sea.'"

"So noted, apprentice."

A soft knock sounded at the tower door. "That
will be the staff," said Kern. "They'll be curious as to whether we
were successful."

"Then attend to them," said Wistril, rubbing
his eyes. "I must rest. While I do so, open the east tower and see
to my breakfast."

"As you wish, Your Fearsomeness."

Wistril closed his eyes, folded his hands
over his belly, and began to glow. Kern hurried to the door, took a
deep breath, and met the pair of gargoyles with a triumphant
grin.

He knew neither gargoyle believed a word he
said.

"Sorcery. All illusion, Lieutenant," said the
Captain. "Shadows and smokes and tricks of the light. No substance.
No threat."

The Lieutenant nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Remember that fool scrap of a wizard that
deserted at Varsh? Pah," snorted the Captain. "Waste of rations, he
was."

"Yes, sir."

The Captain laughed. "You'll see. Yon wizard
is just the same. He'll wave his fat fingers and conjure up all
kinds of dread monsters right up until the time we break down his
doors. Then you'll see. Smoke and shadows, soldier. Nothing
more."

The Lieutenant nodded absently and watched
the dragon's immense shadow slide across the road. One, two, three
-- it took three full seconds for the mere shadow of the beast to
cross him.

The Lieutenant shivered. Above, the dragon
banked, gave a long, hissing cry, and made another pass over the
advancing troops. Just out of sight, another tree-top crashed to
the ground, severed by a casual swipe of the dragon's armored
tail.

The Lieutenant mumbled soothingly to his
nervous mount and peered into the forest. The trees still whispered
his name, but now heard a tone of urgency in the airy voices. Run,
they said. Run, while there is still time.

"Shadows and smoke," chuckled the Captain.
"Real dragons get hungry."

The Lieutenant spurred his horse and shivered
as another long shadow silently engulfed him.

"They haven't turned back, Master," said
Kern, pacing. "There's a dragon -- an unusually large dragon --
swooping right above their helmets, and they haven't so much as
started marching out of step."

"Nonsense," said Wistril, wiping beer from
his lips. "Twenty deserted last night. Hundreds more would have
slipped away, had not that maniac posted archers at the rear."

Kern stopped his pacing at Wistril's desk.
"Master," he said, "That maniac is aware that everything he's seen
has been an illusion. He isn't frightened. Not even by your dragon,
which I'll admit is truly wondrous."

"The dragon is indeed impressive," said
Wistril with a small smile. "I admit I expected a more ardent
reaction to it, but my plan has not suffered for lack of it."

"Master," said Kern. "This plan. Does it
involve our slipping quietly out the back way, changing our names,
and taking up residence in another part of the Kingdom?"

"Certainly not."

Kern sighed. "Then I suppose I'd better open
the west tower."

"At once," replied Wistril, his tone injured.
"And warn the villagers and staff to stay indoors until further
notice."

"As you wish, Oh Master of Pugilistic
Cantrips," said Kern on his way to the door. "But you will keep my
plan in mind, won't you?"

"I should turn you into a jackass," said
Wistril from behind his beer-mug, "so your braying tongue would at
last have a proper body."

Kern was careful not to slam the door.

The Captain squinted and raised the spyglass.
"We'll be at his gates before dusk," he said. "and inside them an
hour after that."

"Yes, sir," mumbled the Lieutenant, counting
dragons. "Twenty-seven," he whispered.

"What did you say, soldier?"

"Nothing," said the Lieutenant. "Nothing at
all." He forced his eyes from the sky, only to be confronted by the
darting mob of dragon-shadows on the ground.

"Shadows and smoke, soldier," said the
Captain, smiling. "Nothing to fear. You'll see."

Far above, a dragon screeched, and was
quickly answered. The Lieutenant spurred his horse and kept his
eyes on the road.

"That's it? More dragons?" Kern mopped his
brow and collapsed into an oft-patched armchair. "Master, if one
big dragon didn't scare them, what makes you think twenty small
ones will?"

Wistril lifted an eyebrow. "Your attention
wandered twice during the primary focal incantation." He snapped
his fingers. Two mugs of foaming Upland beer appeared on the
worktable. "Nevertheless, apprentice, you did well. I commend you.
You may drink."

Kern stared, wide-eyed. He tapped the big
scrying glass that hung from chains above the table. "They're an
hour from the bridge, Master. They've got catapults, scaling
ladders, siege towers, and who knows what else. We've got a sky
full of pretend dragons and a pair of magic beer-mugs. You'll
forgive me if I find myself more frightened than thirsty."

Wistril shrugged and reached for Kern's mug.
"As you wish, apprentice. It must be noted that this is Persimmon
Lambic, a rare treat indeed. But if you will not join me for
refreshment, please fetch my cloak, boots, and walking cane from
the study."

Kern sat bolt upright. "Are we leaving?"

"Not we. Me. You will remain here and tend
the tower while I have a word with this madman."

Kern stood. "Master, that's a foolish --
"

Wistril's fingers blurred. Kern was in the
study, a startled gargoyle open-mouthed before him. "Knock the dust
off of His Majesty's boots, will you?" said Kern with exaggerated
nonchalance. "And be quick. He's in a mood."

The wizard's castle cast long shadows over
the narrow road. Above, flocks of dragons wheeled about the towers,
floating and circling like expectant vultures. The Lieutenant
barely noticed them, his attention devoted instead to the bridge
that spanned the wide, deep chasm at his feet.

The bridge looked older than the mountain
around it but not nearly as sturdy. The bridge leaned. The bridge
twisted. It sagged as though exhausted. The timbers were black with
age and weather, the bolts mere lumps of rust, the planking rife
with buckles and gaps. Worse, a small army of axe-wielding
gargoyles was chopping frantically away at the supports, sending a
rain of wood chips spiraling down the chasm to vanish in the
shadows.

"Bring the siege towers forward," barked the
Captain. "I want the ladders assembled and winch lines on the
gate-posts as soon as we're across."

"That would be most imprudent, sir," said a
voice. "Most imprudent indeed." The air at the foot of the bridge
sparked and shimmered. "May we speak?" asked the voice. "Under flag
of truce?"

"We may," said the Captain, waving archers
forward. "Your safety is guaranteed."

A fat man stepped out of the troubled air. "I
am Wistril of Kauph, master of the castle you intend to besiege.
You are in grave danger, sir, and I implore you to turn back before
lives are lost."

"Your life," said the Captain, "is the only
life I'm going to lose."

"I see," said Wistril. "Have my visitations
failed to demonstrate the extent of my powers?"

"Your visitations failed to scare us off,
wizard," said the Captain. "The men were afraid, at first. But now,
they do not fear you or your magics."

"I wonder," said Wistril, gazing up and down
the ranks of men before him. "But no matter. You were correct in
surmising that illusion itself is incapable of inflicting harm. I
have come to warn you that the danger you now face is no
illusion."

"Now why would you do that, wand-waver?"

"I took an Oath," said the wizard. "An Oath
that prevents me from using my art offensively, even in
self-defense."

"You lie," said the Captain."

Wistril shook his head. "I do not lie. My
Oath prohibits me from using magic directly against you, but no
oath prevented me from ordering my household staff to take up axes
and hack apart the bridge before you. The bridge has been rendered
unsafe. It will collapse if you bring an army across it. Inspect
the supports yourself; you will not be molested."

"Liar. Coward!"

"Furthermore," said Wistril, "All of the
dragons you see are not illusions. I'm afraid I've released so much
arcane energy nearby that quite a few unusual beings have gathered
around your army, Captain. These creatures include dragons,
sprites, a few goblins -- "

The Captain spurred his mount, lifted his
sword, and charged. Wistril vanished as the Captain's long blade
slashed at empty air.

"Gentlemen," boomed Wistril in a voice loud
as thunder, "I repeat my warning. The bridge is damaged. It will
not hold. To follow this lunatic Captain is to most likely die. You
must either turn back or repair the bridge."

The Captain howled and slashed. Gargoyles
hooted and waved their axes. The dragons in the sky screeched and
jostled, dropping down in dozens of tightening spirals.

"Forward!" bellowed the Captain, as he
charged onto the bridge. "Forward, you cowards! Move!"

Hooves thudded and scraped on the bridge. The
Captain charged into the ranks, grabbed the reins of a
catapult-wagon, and led the massive engine onto the bridge. It
creaked and swayed, but held.

"Advance," screamed the Captain. "Fear me or
fear the wizard -- choose!"

The army surged forward. Cavalry, a
siege-tower, another catapult dared the bridge -- then shouts rose
up as caution fled.

Deep in the chasm, a tall, thin gargoyle put
a fan-like ear to a massive ironwood beam. The gargoyle listened
for a moment, pursed his lips, and whistled.

His crew-mates dropped their tools and took
to the air. Alone now, the tall gargoyle spit in both palms, hefted
his axe, and broke into a sudden, awful grin.

Kern touched the tiny left-pointing arrow
carved into the bottom of the mirror-frame. The mirror flashed,
shimmered, and then replayed the bridge collapse.

"Poor devils," muttered Kern at the silent,
moving image.

"I doubt you would feel so charitable, had
they gained entry to your rooms," said Wistril from behind his
desk. "And may I point out that their casualties were light, and
largely confined to the rabidly insane."

Kern watched tiny figures re-group on the far
side of the bridge. Dragons swooped down amid them, sending
soldiers scrambling for cover beneath fallen siege towers and
overturned wagons. A mounted officer who had refused to cross the
bridge rallied the survivors long enough to turn the panicked
flight into an orderly retreat.

"How many of these were real?" asked
Kern.

"Several," said Wistril, squinting at the
mirror. "That fellow with the red-tipped wings? The one harassing
the catapult? He was real -- oh yes, and the yellow one on the
ground, chasing the cook's wagon. Both quite real, both
accidentally attracted to all the spells splattered about of
late."

The mirror shimmered and the scene vanished.
Wistril shook his head. "I did warn them, you know. None of this
was necessary."

Kern frowned. "The Oath prevented you from
turning the Captain into a turnip, but not from having the bridge
supports hacked away. Correct?"

"The Oath prohibits offensive arcane actions,
not malicious carpentry," said Wistril.

"So," said Kern, "did the Oath also compel
you to warn them about the bridge? Or did you warn them just
because you knew you'd enrage their Captain, and send him charging
across without checking the timbers?"

"Perhaps both," said Wistril smugly.

"Master," said Kern, "One day I'll ask you a
simple question, and you'll give me a straight answer, and the
shock of it all will knock me flat."

A soft knock sounded at the door. "Come,"
said Wistril, frowning. "What the devil -- "

A mob of too-solemn children crowded into the
room, bearing flowers and a pair of reluctant goats. Kern was at
the door before Wistril could rise.

"The villagers want to show you their
appreciation," said Kern. "They've decided to hold a festival every
year in honor of Wistril of Kauph, Defender of Dervanny. The very
first festival starts in your courtyard as soon as you can join
them."