Rick Cook - Wizardry 3 - The Wizardry Cursed

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The Wizardry Cursed

by Rick Cook

ONE: CONTRACT

Beware of open-ended contracts. They are hell to support.

-Programmers' saying

Torches flickered and smoked, casting fitful light through the

cavern.

Tosig Longbeard, King of the Dwarves-or at least the Mid-Northeastern

Dwarves of the Southern Forest Range-shifted on his carved alabaster

throne and eyed his visitors with distaste.

It was, he had to admit, a most unusual sight. Three Troll Kings in

the

same room and not fighting. The sight and stench would have been

enough to

gag a human; but dwarves have a somewhat different aesthetic and King

Tosig's attitude owed more to the delegation's demands than their

looks or

smell. He drummed his fingers on the throne arm as he tried to figure

diplomatic way out of this mess.

The smaller troll in the center did the talking. He was unusually

intelligent for a troll and their host had no doubt he was the one

who had

organized this meeting. Pox rot him! Tosig thought as he waited for

him to

run down.

"This is not a matter for me or my people," Tosig broke in at last.

"If

this new human wizard bothers you, then destroy him."

"We cannot," the troll king replied. "This magic is too strong." His

face

split into a snaggle-toothed grin. "But dwarves have powerful magic.

Dwarves can kill this new wizard."

His two companions nodded and growled assent. King Tosig glowered

back and

felt a tiny burning sensation kindle somewhere up under his

breastbone. At

that moment he truly wanted to kill the new wizard who had brought

him all

this trouble.

At that moment the new wizard wouldn't have been at all averse to

being

killed.

Like King Tosig's hall, the chamber was underground and dimly lit.

But

instead of rough stone, the walls were fine mosaics in subdued and

tasteful patterns. There were no smoky torches here, only a diffuse

radiance that seemed to emanate from everywhere in the room. And

while the

creature that faced the two humans across the table might be

decidedly

odd, by no stretch of the imagination could it be called either ugly

stinking.

But that did not mean the wizard was enjoying himself.

"Okay, look," William Irving Zumwalt said. "If the dryads mark their

trees

our woodcutters will leave them alone. But in return our people can

cut

other trees and use the forest without being harassed."

The being across the nacreous table cocked its head, as if listening

far-away voices. It was manlike, but then so is a gorilla if you

stretch

the term far enough. Parchment skin stretched over delicate bones.

Fingers

so long they were almost tentacles. Enormous dark eyes that slanted

at the

corners. Ears blood-pink and pointed. The thing was at once inhumanly

beautiful and deeply disturbing.

The silence dragged on. Wiz shifted and fidgeted while the creature

sat

with its head to one side and its eyes focused on things far beyond

its

visitor. Elven magic could warp time to make centuries pass in a

single

night. But Wiz was finding that non-mortals didn't need magic to make

night drag on for centuries.

"It will be done," the creature said finally. "The trees will be

marked."

"But when?"

The other lifted a delicate hand and waved it airily. "Soon," it

fluted.

Wiz took a tighter rein on his temper. "Soon" to a non-mortal meant

any

time in the next geologic eon-if then.

"But precisely when? I can't go back to my people and tell them just

'soon.' We've got to be able to go into the forests to cut wood and

gather

food."

"You wish it done soon. I say it will be soon. That is enough."

"Fine, but we need . . ." Wiz was talking to empty air. The being had

vanished, leaving Wiz and his companion alone in the gently glowing

chamber. Slowly and inexorably the light was dying, a none-too-subtle

hint

that the meeting was over.

"Well, then . . ." Jerry Andrews put his palms on the opalescent

table and

heaved himself up from the low chair. He had lost weight in the year

or so

he had been in this world, but he still outweighed Wiz by nearly 100

pounds just as he overtopped him by a head.

"Next full moon," Wiz agreed and got up as well.

I hope they will be here then, he thought as he followed Jerry

through the

fading light of the corridor and out into the clear frosty air

outside the

hill. There was no door or other obvious exit. One step they were

within

the enchanted hill and the next step they were outside, with the

forest

looming up behind them and the gently glowing magic barrier that

cordoned

off this place in front of them.

Reflexively they both inhaled deeply. There was nothing wrong with

the air

inside, but the air outside seemed sweeter. The smell of freedom, Wiz

decided. It was just a few more steps along the moonlit path and they

were

past the barrier and back in the forest that belonged to men.

"Mortals drive us from the forest," the troll king's voice echoed off

the

walls of the cavern. "We cannot hunt where we did."

Meaning you can't hunt mortals, King Tosig thought sourly. Well, what

did

you expect, you silly nit? You go around eating people, even mortals,

and

naturally they'll object. The burning in his stomach was stronger and

knew he would be up all night, walking the floor and drinking ground

chalk.

He understood the trolls' problem in a general way. For time out of

mind

trolls had roamed the marches of the human realms, devouring human

travelers and occasionally daring to attack mortal farms and

villages.

Then three or four seasons ago a new magician had arisen among the

humans.

Brought from outside the World, or so the story went.

At first this alien wizard had only used his power in human quarrels.

But

before long his vastly more powerful magic had begun to spread among

mortals. Suddenly the humans had respectable magical powers and the

trolls, who had almost none, had lost a major item in their diet.

Tosig tugged his beard. This was a pretty problem indeed. So far

there had

been little contact between humans and dwarves and he would just as

soon

keep it that way. His realms were far from the lands of mortals and

his

people had not suffered from the humans' new magic. However he had

heard

stories and they were not the sort to encourage him to stir up

trouble in

that direction.

Well, maybe he wouldn't have to. The king had been talking for nearly

day-tenth and hadn't yet . . .

"I call debt-right!" the troll king thundered. "Blood for my

people."

A stillness settled over the hall. All the dwarves present knew that

the

troll kings' claim was legitimate. Tosig sighed and inwardly cursed

the

day he had contracted a debt to a gang of trolls. But contract it he

had,

and now the troll had made a formal demand. Debts must be paid.

There were practical considerations as well. The dwarves traded salt

and

iron to the trolls for hides, some forest products and the odd bit of

booty. It was not a terribly profitable trade, but if the truth be

known

the Mid-Northeastern Dwarves of the Southern Forest Range were not a

terribly wealthy tribe. They didn't need complications with the

trolls

now.

As if I didn't have enough problems! Tosig thought as the pain in his

stomach gnawed and the silence stretched on. As if . . . Suddenly he

stopped short and thought furiously.

Ignoring the burning inside he nodded to his visitors.

"It pleases me to grant your request. The thing shall be done." He

waved

dismissal. "Now go."

"When?" the small troll demanded eagerly.

"Soon," Tosig said loftily. "Return to your forests." He repeated the

dismissing gesture. The guards around the perimeter of the hall

shifted

and the trolls took the hint. Jostling and squabbling, they made

their way

out of the hall.

As soon as his unwelcome guests were gone, he motioned to his

seneschal.

"Make sure they leave immediately," he said, rising from his throne.

"And

see that their rooms are fumigated. The last batch had lice."

The seneschal nodded and began to back away, but the dwarf king

caught his

sleeve and pulled him close.

"Send Glandurg to me in my chamber," he commanded in a low voice.

There was a flash of bewilderment on the seneschal's leathery face.

Normally it was part of his job to keep Glandurg as far away from his

royal relative as he could. But he nodded, sketched another bow and

hurried to do his master's bidding.

Beyond the barrier, Bal-Simba was waiting. The enormous black wizard

sat

patiently on a rock, wrapped in a cloak against the evening chill.

Beside

him was Danny, the other member of the programming team. Huddled next

Danny was his wife June. Fortunately it was a large rock.

Bal-Simba was there because it was as close as he could get to the

negotiations. Despite being the head of the Council of the North and

such the leader of nearly all the mortals in the World, the non-

mortals

would not treat with him. Wiz Zumwalt's new magic was stronger and to

the

non-mortals that made him the only mortal who mattered. They would

tolerate Jerry, Wiz's cubicle mate from his days as a programmer in

Cupertino, because Jerry was Wiz's right-hand man and also an expert

with

the new magic.

Danny was there because Wiz and Jerry were. Like Jerry, he had been

magically brought to this world to help Wiz complete his magic

compiler

and like Jerry he had chosen to stay behind when most of the

programmers

went back. He had matured considerably in the year or so since he had

come

to the World, but there was still a lot of punk kid and hacker in

Danny.

June was there because Danny was. If being a father and husband had

matured Danny, being mother and wife apparently affected June not at

all.

She was still an almost feral presence; shy, silent and remote from

everyone except Danny and their infant son. Even pregnancy and

motherhood

had not added a single pound to her painfully thin frame.

Sitting pressed up against Danny she reminded Wiz of a wild animal,

unsure

of her surroundings and ready to lash out at anyone who came too

close. As

she moved, Wiz saw that she had Ian with her, nursing under the

cloak.

"Well, Sparrow?" Bal-Simba asked as they approached.

"They said they'd do it, but they won't say when. I think we're

supposed

to meet again at the next full moon."

Bal-Simba nodded. He had hoped for something definite to tell the

farmers,

but he had not really expected much more.

Wiz sighed. "Lord, do you think we're making any progress at all?"

Bal-Simba sighed in return. "How am I to judge, Sparrow? I know as

little

of dealing with these creatures as you do. Less perhaps." He rubbed

his

massive forehead with a meaty hand. "Still, they continue to treat

with us

and that is no small thing. Nor is there any sign of war by non-

mortals

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TheWizardryCursedbyRickCookTheWizardryCursed(c)1991ONE:CONTRACTBewareofopen-endedcontracts.Theyarehelltosupport.-Programmers'sayingTorchesflickeredandsmoked,castingfitfullightthroughthecavern.TosigLongbeard,KingoftheDwarves-oratleasttheMid-NortheasternDwarvesoftheSouthernForestRange-shiftedonhiscarv...

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Rick Cook - Wizardry 3 - The Wizardry Cursed

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