Brooks, Terry Landover 03a Wizard at Large

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Abernathy. The smile was gone completely now. Until you tell me where the bottle is. And... He
paused. Until you take off the medallion and give it to me.
He bent closer still, his breath strong in Abernathy s nostrils. I know the law of the medallion. I cannot
take it from you; you must give it to me. It must be given freely, or the magic is useless. You will do that,
Abernathy. You will give me the medallion of your own choice. I grow tired of this world. I think perhaps
I might return to Landover for a time. I think I might like being King now.
He stared into Abernathy s eyes for a moment, searching for the fear concealed there, found it, and
stepped back again in satisfaction. If you don t give me the bottle and the medallion, Abernathy, you will
be left in that cage until you rot. He paused. And that could take a very long time.
Abernathy didn t say a word. He simply stood there, paralyzed.
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Guard! Michel Ard Rhi called. The men without reappeared. Take him down to the cellar and put
him in a cage. Give him water and dog food twice a day and nothing else. Don t let anyone near him.
Abernathy was dragged roughly through the door. Behind him, he heard Michel call out in a singsong,
taunting voice, You should never have come here, Abernathy!
Abernathy was inclined to agree.
Slight Miscalculation
Fillip and Sot fled north with the bottle, intent on putting as much distance between themselves and the
High Lord as was possible. They had escaped in the first place because the Darkling had transported
them from the site of battle to a point some miles north, enveloping them in a shroud of smoke and
brightly colored lights and whisking them off with all the ease that true magic allows. They had no idea
what had become of the High Lord and his companions and they frankly didn t want to know. They
didn t even want to think about it.
They ended up thinking about it anyway, of course. All the while they fled north, they thought about it,
even without speaking to each other about it, even without acknowledging by covert glances or gestures
what they were doing. They couldn t help it. They had committed the most unpardonable, treasonable act
imaginable they had defied their beloved High Lord. Worse, they had actually attacked him! Not
directly, of course, since it was the Darkling who had done the attacking, but it was all at their behest and
that was the same thing as if they had struck the blows. They couldn t imagine why they had done such a
thing. They couldn t conceive of how they had allowed it to happen. They had never even dreamed of
challenging the wishes of the High Lord before. Such a thing was unthinkable!
Nevertheless, it had happened, and there was no turning back from it now. They were fleeing because
they didn t know what else to do. They knew the High Lord would come after them. He would be
furious at what they had done and he would hunt them down and punish them. Their only hope, they
sensed, was in flight and, eventually, in hiding.
But where to run and where to hide?
They hadn t resolved the dilemma by the time nightfall and exhaustion made further flight impossible, and
they were forced to stop. They wormed their way down into an abandoned badger nest and lay there in
the dark listening to the pounding of their hearts and the whisper of their consciences. The bottle was
open before them, the Darkling perched on its rim, playing with a pair of frantic moths it had captured
and secured with long strands of gossamer webbing. Moon and stars were hidden behind a bank of
low-hanging clouds, and night sounds were strangely muted and distant.
Fillip and Sot held hands and waited for the fear to go away. It refused to budge.
I wish we were home! Sot whined over and over to Fillip, and Fillip nodded each time without
speaking.
They huddled close, too frightened even to think of eating, though they were hungry, or sleeping, though
they were tired. They could do nothing but crouch there and think on the misfortune that had befallen
them. They watched the Darkling cavort about the bottle, flying the moths like tiny kites, turning them this
way and that as the mood struck. They watched, but it was different from what it had been the night
before. They no longer found the demon or the bottle so wonderful a treasure.
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I think we did a terrible thing, ventured Fillip finally, his voice a cautious, frightened whisper.
Sot looked at him. I think so, too.
I think we made a very bad mistake, Fillip went on.
I think so, too, said Sot again.
I think we should never have taken the bottle, finished Fillip.
Sot just nodded this time.
They glanced over at the Darkling, who had stopped playing with the moths and was looking intently at
them.
It might not be too late to give the bottle back to the High Lord, suggested Fillip tentatively.
No, it might not, agreed Sot.
The Darkling s eyes flared bright red in the dark, blinked once, and fixed on them.
The High Lord might forgive us if we return the bottle, said Fillip.
The High Lord might be grateful, said Sot.
We could explain that we did not understand what we were doing, said Fillip.
We could tell him how sorry we were, said Sot.
They were both sniffling a bit, wiping at their eyes and noses. The Darkling pointed once at the moths
and turned them to bits of blue fire that flared and were gone.
I do not want the High Lord to hate us, said Fillip softly.
Nor I, said Sot.
He is our friend, said Fillip.
Our friend, echoed Sot.
The Darkling spun suddenly about the lip of the bottle, throwing bits of colored light all about the
darkness, the light sparking and exploding in brilliant streamers. Strange images formed and faded and
formed again. The G home Gnomes watched, intrigued anew. The demon laughed and danced, and there
were jewels raining down about them as flying moths crystallized and tumbled from flight. The bottle is
so pretty, said Fillip in awe. The magic is so wondrous, sighed Sot. Perhaps we could keep the bottle
just a bit longer, ventured Fillip.
Perhaps for just a day or two, agreed Sot.
What could it hurt?
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What harm could there be?
Perhaps...
Maybe... [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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