"Please?"
Questor Thews looked down at them with undisguised suspicion. The gnomes were asking to stay only because they were afraid of being left alone come nightfall with the Darkling still on the loose. He hesitated, then shrugged. Well, after all, what could you expect of G'home Gnomes?
"Just be sure you stay out of the way if we come across the trolls and that bottle," he admonished sternly.
The gnomes could not agree quickly enough, falling all over each other in their efforts to assure him that such would be the case. Questor had to smile in spite of himself. He was quite certain they were telling the truth on this occasion.
So they struck out north through the weather, Bunion sweeping the land ahead in an effort to pick up some true sign of the trolls' passing, Questor and the others trailing after at a slower pace. Questor rode his old gray, letting Parsnip and the gnomes follow afoot, with Parsnip leading Jurisdiction, Willow's mount, and the pack animals. The rain continued to fall steadily, its gray haze mingling with the mist to wrap the land in ribbons of shadow. Daylight faded as nightfall approached, and still there was no sign of the trolls.
Bunion returned at sunset, and the company made camp within a gathering of rain-drenched cyprus along a river whose swollen waters churned by in sluggish, monotonous cadence. It was relatively dry beneath the great, hanging limbs, and Questor was able to produce a small, cheerful fire by using his magic. Parsnip cooked a delightful dinner which was quickly consumed. Then, buoyed by his earlier success, Questor employed the magic once more to produce blankets and pillows. He would have done better to let well enough alone, but he decided to try one last incantation, a spell that would have produced an enclosed, heated, waterproof shelter complete with bath. The effort failed abysmally. One of the trees actually toppled over on the spot, allowing the rain to douse the fire and leaving the entire company exposed to the weather. They were forced to move their camp farther back within the remaining trees, salvaging what they could of the now-dampened blankets and pillows, and that was that.
Questor apologized profusely, but the damage was nevertheless done and couldn't be undone. It was most embarrassing. While the others slept, Questor Thews lay awake within his blankets and thought long and hard about the vicissitudes of a wizard's life. Teaching oneself reliable use of the magic was not an easy task, he lamented. Nevertheless, he must do so. After all, he stood now in the shoes of the High Lord and he was responsible for the well-being of all Landover.
Daybreak brought more rain. The dawn was iron gray and thick with mist stirred by sluggish winds and a mix of cool air and warm earth. The little company ate breakfast and struck out once more across the grasslands of the Greensward. Bunion roamed ahead, still searching for some sign of the trolls, while the rest followed at a slower pace. Everyone was soaked through and thoroughly discomforted. Questor thought briefly to dry them off with the magic, then decided against it. He had resolved during the night not to employ the magic again except when he could be certain of its results or in time of desperate need. He would conserve himself; he would focus his concentration on specific and limited conjuring. That way, he felt, he would be at his best.
Midday came and went. They were well into the grasslands by now, far north and east of Sterling Silver, deep in the country of the Lords of the Greensward. Plowed fields decorated the landscape in checkerboard fashion, most of the crops taken from them now, the earth black and hard looking. Farm buildings and cottages were scattered about, brightened by gardens and hedgerows blooming with flowers of all colors and shapes, rainbow streaks across the rain-swept, gray land.
Questor's eyes surveyed the misted countryside. Less than a dozen miles distant was Rhyndweir, the fortress castle of Kallendbor, the most powerful of the Lords of the Greensward. The wizard permitted himself a small sigh of expectation. Tonight, he promised himself, they would sleep beneath a dry roof, in dry beds, with steaming baths to remove all memory of the damp and the chill.
It was nearing midafternoon when Bunion abruptly appeared from out of the haze, his hard, dark body glistening with the wet. He approached at something very close to a run-unusual for him-and spoke hurriedly to Questor, his breath hissing from between his sharp teeth, his eyes narrowed and furtive.
The wizard caught his breath. Bunion had found the trolls-but not as any of them had imagined.
The company pressed at a quicker pace, Questor saying nothing to the others yet, still stunned by what Bunion had told him. They passed across a series of fields and a small, quick-flowing stream into a stretch of timber.
The trolls lay in a clearing, amid a close gathering of pine, dead to a man. They were sprawled on the rain-drenched earth in grotesque positions, throats cut, bodies stabbed, tangled together in an orgy of death. The G'home Gnomes took one look and shrank back behind the pack animals, whining in fear. Even Parsnip shied away. Questor went forward with Bunion because it was expected. Bunion whispered again what he had whispered earlier. This tragedy had not been caused by some third party. The trolls had evidently set upon themselves. They had killed one another.
Questor listened patiently and said nothing, but he knew what had happened. He had seen the Darkling's work before. The chill of the day worked into him more deeply. He was suddenly very frightened.
Bunion pointed ahead into the gloom. One of the trolls had escaped the massacre. One had survived, wounded, and staggered ahead into the woods. That one had taken the bottle.
"Oh, dear," Questor Thews murmured.
The wounded troll was heading directly for Rhyndweir.
Abernathy!"
The scribe lifted his head from the straw matting on which he lay to peer into the near-blackness beyond. "Elizabeth?"
She appeared out of the shadows of an alcove set into the far wall, slipping through a break in the stone that he could have sworn hadn't been there a moment before. She crossed the dungeon passageway on tiptoe and put her face up against the bars of his cage. Abernathy, unable to stand erect in the small enclosure, crawled over on all fours to greet her. He could just make out the roundish face with its scattering of nose freckles.
"Sorry I couldn't come sooner," she whispered, glancing left and right cautiously. "I couldn't chance trying. I couldn't let my dad or Michel know I cared about what happened to you or they might have been suspicious. I think Michel already is."
Abernathy nodded, grateful that she had come at all. "How did you get in here, Elizabeth?"
"Through a secret passage!" She grinned. "Right there!" She pointed behind her to the break in the wall, a seam of light still faintly visible against the black. "I found it months ago when I was exploring. I doubt anyone else even knows that it's there. It leads all up and down the south wall." She hesitated. "I didn't know how to get to you at first. I didn't even know where you'd be. I just found out this afternoon."
"This afternoon? Is it night, then?" Abernathy asked. He had lost all track of time.
"Yep. Almost bedtime, so I have to hurry. Here, I brought you something to eat."
He saw then that she was carrying a paper bag. She reached into it and produced several sandwiches, some raw vegetables, fresh fruit, a bag of potato chips, and a small container of cold milk.
"Elizabeth!" he breathed gratefully.
She passed the items through, and he tucked them into the straw to hide them-all but the first sandwich, which he began to devour hungrily. He hadn't been given anything to eat but stale dog food and a little water in almost three days now, the time that he had been imprisoned there. He had been shut away in the bowels of Graum Wythe, ignored except for periodic visits from his uncommunicative jailers, who either came to make certain he was still there or to give him his rations. He hadn't seen sunlight the entire time. He hadn't seen Michel Ard Rhi, either.
"How are you, Abernathy?" Elizabeth asked as he ate. "Are you all right? They didn't hurt you, did they?"
He shook his head and continued to chew. Ham and cheese-one of his favorites.
"I talked to my father about you a little bit," she ventured after a moment. Then she added hastily, "I didn't tell him about you and me, though. I just told him that I had found you wandering about and Michel didn't seem to like you and I was worried about you. I told him I thought it was wrong. He agreed, but he said he couldn't do anything. He said I knew better than to get involved with strays in the first place, that I knew how Michel was. I said sometimes you had to get involved."
She hunched down thoughtfully. "I know you aren't being given any food. I found out from one of the guards, a sort of friend." She bit her lip. "Why is Michel doing this to you, Abernathy? Why is he being so mean? Does he still hate you so much?"
Abernathy stopped chewing, swallowed, and lowered what remained of the sandwich. He couldn't have eaten it at all if he hadn't been so hungry. His cage smelled of sick animals and excrement, and the walls were dark with mold.
"It's simple, really-he wants something from me." He decided it couldn't hurt to tell her the truth now. "He wants this medallion I am wearing. But he cannot take it from me. I have to give it to him. So he has locked me away down here until I agree to give it up." He brushed some straw from his muzzle with one paw. "But the medallion isn't his; it isn't even mine. It was just loaned to me, and I have to return it to its owner."
He thought, for the first time in quite a while now, about the High Lord and the problems he faced in Landover without the medallion to protect him. Then he sighed and began eating again.
Elizabeth looked at him a moment, then nodded slowly. "I talked to Nita Coles about you today. We're friends again, see. She explained all about Tommy Samuelson and said she was sorry. Anyway, I told her about you, 'cause we tell each other everything. But we keep it all secret. Most of the time, anyway. This was a sworn, double-locked finger secret, so neither of us can tell anyone anyone or we'll have seven years bad luck and Tad Russell for a husband for life! She says you can't be real, of course, but I told her you were and that you needed us to help. So she said she would think about it, and I said I'd think about it, too." or we'll have seven years bad luck and Tad Russell for a husband for life! She says you can't be real, of course, but I told her you were and that you needed us to help. So she said she would think about it, and I said I'd think about it, too."
She paused. "We've got to get you out of here, Abernathy."
Abernathy pushed the last of the sandwich into his mouth and shook his head vehemently. "No, no, Elizabeth, it's gotten much too dangerous for you to try to help me anymore. If Michel finds out ..."
"I know, I know," she interrupted. "But I can't keep sneaking food down to you like this. Michel is going to figure out that you're not starving or anything, that someone's feeding you. And how will you get out of here if I don't help you?"
Abernathy sighed. "I'll find a way," he insisted stubbornly.
"No, you won't," Elizabeth declared, just as stubborn. "You'll just be down here in this cage forever!"
There was a sudden barking from somewhere down the hallway through a closed door. Abernathy and Elizabeth both turned to look, freezing into motionless statues. The barking lasted only a few seconds and died away.
"Real dogs," Abernathy whispered after a moment. "Michel keeps them locked away down here, poor things. I don't even want to speculate why. I hear them cry out sometimes, calling. I can understand something of what they are saying ..."
He trailed off, distracted. Then he looked quickly back at the girl. "You have to stay out of this, Elizabeth," he insisted. "Michel Ard Rhi is very dangerous. He would hurt you if he knew what you were doing-even if he suspected! It wouldn't make any difference to him that you were a little girl. He would hurt you anyway-maybe your father, too, for that matter."
There was immediate concern reflected in her eyes when he mentioned the danger to her father. He felt bad about suggesting such a thing, but he had to make certain that she did not take any further chances on his account. He knew what Michel Ard Rhi could be like.
Elizabeth was studying him intently. "Why do you try to scare me like that, Abernathy?" she asked suddenly, almost as if she could read his mind. "You are trying to scare me, aren't you?"
She made it a statement of fact. "Yes, of course I am, Elizabeth," he answered immediately. "And you should be scared. This isn't a game for children!"
"Just for dogs and wizards, I suppose!" she snapped back angrily.
"Elizabeth ..."
"Don't try to make up to me!" There was hurt now in her eyes. "I am not a child, Abernathy! You shouldn't call me one!"
"I was just trying to make a point. I think you would ..."
"How are you going to get out of here without me?" she demanded again, cutting him short.
"There are certainly ways that ..."
"There are? How? Name one. Just one. Tell me how you're going to get out. Go on, tell me!"
He took a deep breath, his strength deserting him. "I don't know," he admitted wearily.
She nodded in satisfaction. "Do you still like me, Abernathy?"
"Yes, of course I do, Elizabeth."
"And would you help me if I needed helping, no matter what?"
"Yes, of course."
She bent forward against the bars of the cage until her nose was only inches from his. "Well, that's how I feel about you, too! That's why I can't just leave you here!"
The dogs began barking again, more insistent this time, and someone yelled at them to shut up. Elizabeth began backing away toward the alcove.
"Finish your food so you'll stay strong, Abernathy!" she whispered hurriedly. "Shhh, shhhh!" she cautioned when he tried to speak. "Just be patient! I'll find a way to get you out!"
She paused halfway through the break in the wall, a slight shadow in the half-light. "Don't worry, Abernathy! It'll be all right!"
Then she was gone, the break disappearing once more into blackness.
The barking down the hall was punctuated by several sharp yelps and then faded slowly into silence. Abernathy listened for a time, then pulled out the medallion from beneath his tunic, and studied it silently.
He was scared to death for Elizabeth. He wished he knew what to do about her. He wished he could find some way to protect her.
After a time, he put the medallion back in place again. Then he uncovered the rest of his food and slowly began to eat.
CHARADES.
Ben Holiday squinted through the glare of the hot Nevada sun in total disbelief. Massive hotel and casino signs lined the street in both directions, jutting up against the cloudless desert horizon like some bizarre, twentieth-century Druidic Stonehenge, garish even without the dance of the bright, flashy lighting that would come with nightfall. The Sands. Caesar's Palace. The Flamingo.
"Las Vegas," he whispered. "For crying out loud, what are we doing in Las Vegas?"
His mind raced. He had assumed that when he was transported from Landover into his old world, he would emerge just as he always did when coming out of the fairy mists into the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. He had assumed, quite reasonably he thought, that Abernathy must have been dispatched to that same point when the magic went awry. But now, it seemed, he had been wrong on both counts. The magic must have gone sufficiently bonkers to send them both to the other end of the country! Unless ...
Oh, no, Ben thought. Unless Questor had messed up yet again and sent Abernathy to one place and Willow and him to another!
He caught himself. He wasn't thinking this through clearly. The magic had exchanged Abernathy and the medallion for the bottle and the Darkling. Abernathy would have been sent to wherever the bottle was being kept by Michel Ard Rhi-assuming Michel still had the bottle. In any case, Abernathy would have been sent to whomever whomever it was that had the bottle. And Ben had asked Questor to send him to wherever Abernathy was. So maybe Las Vegas was exactly the place he was supposed to be. it was that had the bottle. And Ben had asked Questor to send him to wherever Abernathy was. So maybe Las Vegas was exactly the place he was supposed to be.
Willow still had her body turned into him protectively, but she brought her face up from his shoulder long enough to whisper, "Ben, I don't like all this noise!"
The strip was jammed with cars even at midday, the air filled with the sounds of engines, horns, brakes and tires, and shouts from everywhere. Cabs zipped past and a descending airliner passed overhead with a frightening roar.
Ben glanced around once more, still confused. Passersby and motorists were beginning to rubberneck in his direction. Must be the jogging suits, he thought at first, then realized it was nothing of the sort. It was Willow. It was a girl with emerald green hair that tumbled to her waist and flawless sea-green skin. Even in Las Vegas, Willow was an oddity.
"Let's go," he said abruptly and started walking her south up the street. Las Vegas Boulevard, the sign said. He tried to remember something useful about Las Vegas and couldn't remember a thing. He had only been there once or twice in his life, and that had been for only a day or two and on business at that. He had visited a few casinos and recalled nothing about any of them.
They reached the intersection of Las Vegas Boulevard and Flamingo Road. Caesar's Palace was on the left, the Flamingo on the right. He hurried Willow across, pushing through a knot of people going the other way.
"Far out, honey!" one called back and whistled.
"You been to the Emerald City?" another asked.
Great, thought Ben. This is all I need.
He swept Willow on, ignoring the voices, and they faded behind him. He had to come up with a plan, he thought, irritated at how matters had worked out. He couldn't just wander about the city indefinitely. He glanced at the two massive hotels bracketing the boulevard on the south side of the intersection. The Dunes and Bally's. Too big, he thought. Too many people, too much going on, too ... everything.
"Where's the circus, doll?" he heard someone else shout.
"Ben," Willow whispered urgently, clutching at him tighter.
Questor, Questor! You better be right about this! Ben walked faster, sheltering Willow as best he could, moving her to the inside of the street traffic, hurrying her past the crush of people coming and going through the entrance to Bally's. The Shangri-La loomed ahead, then the Aladdin and the Tropicana. He had to pick one of them, he admonished angrily. They had to spend the night somewhere-had to get their bearings, decide where to begin their search for Abernathy. Maybe it would be better if he Ben walked faster, sheltering Willow as best he could, moving her to the inside of the street traffic, hurrying her past the crush of people coming and going through the entrance to Bally's. The Shangri-La loomed ahead, then the Aladdin and the Tropicana. He had to pick one of them, he admonished angrily. They had to spend the night somewhere-had to get their bearings, decide where to begin their search for Abernathy. Maybe it would be better if he did did choose one of the larger hotels. They might be less noticeable there, blend in a bit easier with all the other bizarre sorts ... choose one of the larger hotels. They might be less noticeable there, blend in a bit easier with all the other bizarre sorts ...
He turned Willow about abruptly and walked her through the entrance of the Shangri-La.
The lobby was jammed. The casino beyond was jammed. There were people everywhere, the sounds of cards and dice and roulette wheels and one-armed bandits a steady, low-level din mixed with the excited voices of the game players. Ben took Willow through it all, ignoring the stares that followed them, and went directly to the registration desk.
"Reservation for ..." He hesitated. "Bennett, please. Miles Bennett."
The clerk looked up perfunctorily, looked down, looked up again quickly on seeing Willow, then nodded and said, "Yes, sir, Mr. Bennett."
Willow, confused about the name, said, "Ben, I don't understand ..."
"Shhhh," he cautioned softly.
The clerk checked his reservations sheet and looked up again. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't have a reservation for you."
Ben straightened. "No? Perhaps you'll find it under Fisher then. Miss Caroline Fisher? A suite?"
He took a deep breath while the registration clerk looked again. Naturally, the result was the same. "Sorry, Mr. Bennett, I don't find a reservation under Miss Fisher's name, either."
He smiled apologetically at Willow and for a very long moment was unable to look away from her.