Terry Brooks - Landover 3 - Wizard at Large

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WIZARD AT LARGE
Terry Brooks
(Magic Kingdom of Landover, Book 3)
[UC - 13 mar 2002 - scanned for #bookz]
[1.0 - 31 mar 2002 - proofed by MadMaxAU]
[1.1 - 09 april 2002 - quotes and spelling corrected]
[2.0 - 15 may 2002 - dashes/hyphens corrected, chapter titles fixed]
At that word the young man let his glass slip through his fingers, and looked upon Keawe like
a ghost.
"The price," says he; "the price! You do not know the price?"
"It is for that I am asking you," returned Keawe. "But why are you so much concerned? Is there
something wrong about the price?"
"It has dropped a great deal in value since your time, Mr. Keawe," said the young man,
stammering.
"Well, well, I shall have the less to pay for it," says Keawe. "How much did it cost you?"
The young man was white as a sheet. "Two cents," said he.
"What?" cried Keawe, "two cents? Why, then, you can only sell it for one. And he who buys it--
" The words died upon Keawe's tongue; he who bought it could never sell it again, the bottle and
the bottle imp must abide with him until he died, and when he died must carry him to the red end
of hell.
Robert Louis Stevenson, The Bottle Imp
Sneeze
Ben Holiday sighed wearily and wished he were somewhere else besides where he was. He
wished he were anywhere else.
He was in the garden room at Sterling Silver. The garden room was probably Ben Holiday's
favorite of all the many rooms at the castle. It was bright and airy. Flower boxes crisscrossed
the tiled floor in dazzling swatches of color. Sunshine streamed through floor-length windows that
ran the length of its southern wall, tiny motes of pollen dancing on the broad bands of light. The
windows stood open and fragrant smells wafted in. The room looked out on the gardens proper, a
maze of flower beds and bushes that spread their way downward to the lake on which the island
castle rested, mixing and mingling their colors like paints run together on a rain-soaked canvas.
The flowers bloomed year-round, reseeding themselves with commendable regularity. A horticulturist
from Ben's old world would have killed to study such treasures--species that grew only in the
Kingdom of Landover and nowhere else.
Just at the moment, Ben would have killed to escape them.
"...Great High Lord..."
"...Mighty High Lord..."
The familiar calls of supplication grated on him like rough stones and reminded him anew
of the cause of his disgruntlement. His eyes rolled skyward momentarily. Please! His gaze shifted
furiously from flower box to flower bed and back again, as if somewhere among all those tiny
petals the escape he so desperately sought might be found. It wasn't, of course, and he sagged
back further in his cushioned chair and contemplated the unfairness of it all. It wasn't that he
was trying to shirk his duty. It wasn't as if he didn't care about these things. But this was his
refuge, for Pete's sake! This was supposed to be his place for time away!
"...and took all of our hard-earned berry stores."
"And all of our ale kegs as well."
"When all we did was to borrow a few laying hens, High Lord."
"We would have replaced those that were lost, High Lord."
"We intended to be fair."
"We did."
"You must see that our possessions are returned..."
"Yes, you must..."
They went on, barely pausing for breath.
Ben studied Fillip and Sot the way his gardener studied weeds in the flower beds. The
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G'home Gnomes rambled on unselfconsciously and endlessly, and he thought about the vagaries of
life that permitted misfortunes such as this to be visited on him. The G'home Gnomes were a
pitiful bunch--small, ferret like burrow people who begged, borrowed, and mostly stole everything
with which they came in contact. They migrated periodically and, once settled, could not be
dislodged. They were regarded in general as a blight upon the earth. On the other hand, they had
proven unswervingly loyal to Ben. When he had purchased the Kingdom of Landover from Rosen's
Department Store Christmas Wish book and come into the valley--almost two years ago now--Fillip
and Sot, on behalf of all of the G'home Gnomes, had been the first to pledge their loyalty. They
had aided him in his efforts to establish his kingship. They had helped him again when Meeks, the
former Court Wizard, had slipped back into Landover and stolen his identity and his throne. They
had been his friends when there were precious few friends to be had. He sighed deeply. Well, he
owed them something, certainly--but not this much. They were taking advantage of his friendship in
a way that was totally unconscionable. They had traded on it to bring this latest complaint before
him, deliberately circumventing the regular channels of a court administration he had worked hard
to implement. They had brandished it like a fiery torch until he was hounded to this, his last
sanctuary. It wouldn't be so bad if they didn't do this every single time there was a complaint of
any sort--which was every five minutes, it sometimes seemed--but, of course, they did. They didn't
trust anyone else to be fair and impartial. They wanted their "Great High Lord" and their "Mighty
High Lord" to hear them out.
And hear them out, and hear them out.
"...a fair disposition would be a return of all things stolen and a replacement of all
things damaged," said Fillip.
"A fair disposition would be for you to order to our service several dozen trolls for a
reasonable period of time," said Sot.
"Perhaps a week or two," said Fillip.
"Perhaps a month," said Sot.
It would also help matters if they didn't bring most of their problems on themselves, Ben
thought darkly. It was difficult to be either objective or sympathetic when he knew before the
first word was out of their mouths that they were at least as guilty of causing the dilemma as
whomever their latest complaint was to be lodged against.
Fillip and Sot rambled on. Their grimy faces twitched as they talked, their eyes squinting
against the light, their fur wrinkled and worn. Their fingers curled and straightened as they
gestured, and bits of dirt crumbled and broke away from beneath the nails where it was caked from
digging. Their shabby clothes hung on them, leather and sackcloth, colorless save for a single
incongruous red feather stuck in the headband of their caps. They were bits of wreckage that had
somehow washed up on the shores of his life.
"Perhaps a tribute would help serve as recompense," Fillip was saying.
"Perhaps a token gift of silver or gold," Sot echoed.
Ben shook his head hopelessly. This was quite enough. He was about to cut them off when he
was saved from the need to do so by the sudden, unexpected appearance of Questor Thews. His Court
Wizard burst through the garden room doors as if catapulted by some giant sling, arms waving,
white beard and long hair whipping about, gray robes with their colorful patches trailing after in
what appeared to be a desperate effort to keep up with their wearer.
"I have done it, I have done it!" he proclaimed without any preliminaries. He was flushed
with excitement, his owlish face made positively glowing by whatever it was that he had done. He
seemed oblivious to the presence of the G'home Gnomes, who mercifully stopped their presentation
in midsentence and simply stared at him open-mouthed.
"What is it that you have done?" Ben inquired mildly. He had learned to temper his
enthusiasm where Questor was concerned, because it was often sadly misplaced.
Questor accomplished on the average about one half of what he thought he had accomplished.
"The magic, High Lord! I have found the magic! Finally, I have found the means to..." He
stopped, hands gesturing emphatically. "No, wait a moment! The others must hear this, too. All of
our friends must be present. I have taken the liberty of sending for them. It should only be a
few, brief... This is such a glorious... Ah, ah, here they are now!"
Willow appeared in the open door, stunning as always, more beautiful than all the flowers
about her, her slender form a whisper of white silk and trailing lace as she slipped into the
sunlit room. Her pale green face glanced toward Ben, and she smiled that special, secret smile
that she reserved only for him. A fairy creature, she seemed as ephemeral as the warmth of the
midday air. The kobolds, Bunion and Parsnip, trailed after, gnarled bodies skittering along,
wizened monkey faces grinning doubtfully, all teeth and sharp angles. Fairy creatures, too, they
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had the look of something conjured from a nightmare. Abernathy came last, resplendent in his
scarlet and gold Court Scribe uniform, no fairy creature, but a soft-coated Wheaten Terrier who
seemed to think he was human. He held his dog's body erect and dignified, his soulful eyes darting
at once to the hateful, carnivorous G'home Gnomes.
"I see no reason to be present in the same room as these loathsome creatures..." he began
indignantly and was cut short by the sight of Questor Thews advancing on him with arms stretched
wide.
"Old friend!" the wizard gushed. "Abernathy, the best of news for you! Come, come!"
He seized hold of Abernathy and propelled him into the center of the room. Abernathy
stared at the wizard in disbelief, finally shaking himself free of the other entirely.
"Have you lost your mind?" he demanded, brushing at his garments to straighten them. His
muzzle twitched.
"And what is this old Friend business? What are you up to now, Questor Thews?"
"Something you cannot begin to imagine!" The wizard was beaming with excitement as he
rubbed his hands together and beckoned them all closer. They crowded in, and Questor's voice
lowered conspiratorially. "Abernathy, if you were to wish for that which you most desire in all
the world, what would it be?"
The dog stared at him. Then he glanced momentarily at the G'home Gnomes, then back again.
"How many wishes do I get?"
The wizard lifted his bony hands and brought them to rest gently on the other's shoulders.
"Abernathy." He breathed the scribe's name. "I have found the magic that will change you from a
dog back into a man!"
There was stunned silence. Everyone knew the story of how Questor had used the magic to
change Abernathy from a man into a dog to protect him from the old King's spiteful son some years
earlier, when that reprobate was in one of his more hateful moods, and then had been unable to
change him back again. Abernathy had lived since then as an imperfect dog who retained human hands
and speech, always with the hope that one day a way would be found to restore his human self. A
chagrined Questor had searched in vain for that way, frequently claiming he would find it when he
found certain books of magic hidden by Meeks on his departure from Landover. But the books had
been destroyed while being recovered, and not much had been heard on the subject since.
Abernathy cleared his throat. "Is this simply an over-generous dose of your usual
nonsense, wizard?" he asked cautiously. "Or can you really change me back?"
"I can!" Questor declared, nodding vehemently. He paused. "I think."
Abernathy drew back. "You think?"
"Wait a minute!" Ben was out of his chair and between them with as much speed as he could
manage, nearly tripping headfirst over a box of gardenias in his effort to prevent bloodshed. He
took a deep breath. "Questor." He waited until the other's eyes found his. "I thought that kind of
magic was beyond you. I thought that when you lost the books of magic, you lost any way of even
studying the arts mastered by your predecessors, let alone trying to..."
"Trial and error, High Lord!" the other interrupted quickly. "Trial and error! I simply
expanded on what I already knew, taking matters a step further each time, learning a bit more as I
went until I had learned it all. It has taken me until now to master the magic, but master it I
have!"
"You think," Ben amended.
"Well..."
"This is a waste of time--as usual!" Abernathy snapped, turned, and would have stalked
away except that he was hemmed in by the G'home Gnomes, who had crowded close to hear better.
Abernathy wheeled back. "The fact of the matter is, you never get anything right!"
"Rubbish!" Questor cried out suddenly, quieting them all. He straightened. "For ten long
months I have worked on this magic--ever since the old books of magic were destroyed with Meeks,
ever since then!" His sharp eyes locked on Abernathy. "I know how much this means to you. I have
dedicated myself to mastering the magic that would make it possible. I have used the magic on
small creatures with complete success. I have proven so far as it is possible to do so that it can
be done. It only remains to try it with you."
No one said anything for a moment. The only sound in the room was the buzz of a solitary
bumblebee as it meandered from flower box to flower box. Abernathy frowned at Questor Thews in
determined silence. There was disbelief reflected in his eyes, but it couldn't quite mask the
hope.
"I think we should give Questor the opportunity to finish his explanation," Willow spoke
up finally. She stood a pace or two back from the others, watching.
"I agree," Ben added his approval. "Tell us the rest, Questor."
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Questor looked offended. "Rest? What rest? That is the whole of it, thank you--unless you
expect technical details on how the magic works, which I am not going to give you, since you would
not understand them anyway. I have developed a means to complete the transformation from dog to
man and that is that! If you wish me to use the magic, I will! If not, I will dismiss the matter
from my mind!"
"Questor..." Ben began soothingly.
"Well, really, High Lord! I work hard to discover a difficult and elusive magical process
and I am greeted with insults, jeers, and accusations! Am I Court Wizard or not, I ask myself?
There certainly seems to be some doubt!"
"I simply asked..." Abernathy tried.
"No, no, you need not apologize for the truth of your feelings!" Questor Thews seemed to
relish thoroughly the role of martyr. "Throughout history, all great men have been misunderstood.
Some have even died for their beliefs."
"Now, look here!" Ben was growing angry.
"That is not to say that I feel my own life is threatened in any way, you understand,"
Questor added hastily. "I was simply making a point. Ahem! It only remains for me to repeat that
the process is complete, the magic is found, and we can use it if you wish. Simply say so. You
have all the facts." He stopped suddenly. "Oh. Except one, that is."
There was a collective groan. "Except one?" Ben repeated.
Questor tugged uncomfortably on one ear and cleared his throat. "There is one small
matter, High Lord. The magic requires a catalyst for a transformation of this magnitude. I lack
such a catalyst."
"I knew it..." Abernathy muttered under his breath.
"But there is an alternative," Questor continued hastily, ignoring the other. He paused
and took a deep breath. "We could use the medallion."
Ben stared at him blankly. "The medallion? What medallion?"
"Your medallion, High Lord."
"My medallion?"
"But you would have to take it off and give it to Abernathy to wear during the
transformation process."
"My medallion?"
Questor looked as if he were waiting for the ceiling to fall in on him. "It would only be
for a few moments, you understand--that would be all. Then you could have your medallion back."
"I could have it back. Right."
Ben didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. "Questor, we just spent weeks trying to get
the damn thing back when it wasn't really gone in the first place, and now you want me to take it
off for real? I thought I was never supposed to take it off. Isn't that what you yourself have
told me on more than one occasion? Isn't it?"
"Well, yes..."
"What if something goes wrong and the medallion is damaged or lost? What then?" A dark
flush was beginning to creep up Ben's neck. "What if... what if, for whatever reason, Abernathy
can't give it back? Great balls of fire! This is the most half-baked idea I ever heard, Questor!
What are you thinking about, anyway?"
Everyone had sort of shrunk away from him during this explosion, and now Ben found himself
alone amid the flower boxes with the wizard. Questor was standing fast, but looking none too
comfortable.
"If there were another choice in the matter, High Lord..."
"Well, find one, confound it!" Ben cut him short. He started to elaborate, then stopped,
glancing instead at the others. "How much sense does this make to anyone else? Abernathy? Willow?"
Abernathy did not answer.
"I think you have to consider carefully what is at risk, Ben," Willow said finally.
Ben put his hands on his hips, looked at them each in turn, then gazed out wordlessly into
the gardens beyond. So he had to consider what was at risk, did he? Well, what was at risk was the
thing that had made him King of Landover and kept him there. It was the medallion that summoned
the Paladin, the knight-errant who served as the King's champion and protector--his champion and
protector on more than one occasion already. And it was the medallion that let him pass back and
forth between Landover and other worlds, including the one he had come from. That's what was at
risk! Without the medallion, he was in constant danger of winding up as just so much dog meat!
He regretted that last comparison almost immediately. After all, what was also at risk was
Abernathy's permanent future as a canine.
He frowned blackly. What had begun as a fairly uneventful day was turning into a quagmire
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of unpleasant possibilities. His memory tugged at him. Ten months ago, he had been tricked into
conveying the old wizard Meeks back into Landover when he had thought his worst enemy safely
exiled. Meeks had then used his considerable magic to steal Ben's identity and the throne and--
most important of all--to convince Ben that he had lost the medallion. It had almost cost Ben his
life--not to mention Willow's--to discover what had been done to him and to defeat the old
troublemaker once and for all. Now he was King again, safely ensconced at Sterling Silver,
comfortably settled, the reins of kingship firmly in hand, his programs for a better life nicely
underway, and here was Questor Thews playing around again with the magic!
Damn!
He stared at the flowers. Gardenias, roses, lilies, hyacinths, daisies, and dozens of
variations of other familiar species along with a truckload of ground cover and flowering vines--
all spread out before him like a vast patchwork quilt, scented and soft as down. It was so
peaceful here. He didn't get to enjoy the garden room that often. This was his first morning in
weeks. Why was he being hounded like this?
Because he was the King, of course, he answered himself. Let's not be stupid here. This
wasn't a nine-to-five job. This wasn't why he had left his profession as a successful trial lawyer
in Chicago, Illinois, to apply for the position of High Lord of Landover, a kingdom of magic and
fairy folk that wasn't anywhere near Chicago or anywhere else anyone there had ever heard about.
This wasn't why he had chosen to alter his life so completely that he was no longer even
recognizable as the person he had been in his old world. He had wanted to change all that; that
was why he had come here. He had wanted to escape the purposelessness of being who and what he had
become--a bitter and reclusive widower, a disillusioned practitioner of a profession that had lost
its character. He had wanted a challenge that would again give meaning to his existence. He had
found that here. But the challenge was constant and not circumscribed by time or place, by need or
want. It was simply there, always new, always changing; and he understood and relished the fact
that he must always be there to meet it.
He sighed. It was just a little difficult sometimes.
He was conscious of the others watching him, waiting to see what he would do. He took a
deep breath, inhaled the mix of fragrances that filled the noonday air, and turned to face them.
Whatever doubts he'd had were gone. The decision wasn't really all that hard after all. Sometimes
he just had to do what felt right.
He smiled. "Sorry to be so touchy," he said. "Questor, if you need the medallion to make
the magic work, then you've got it. As Willow said, I have to consider the risks involved, and any
risk is worth helping Abernathy get back to himself." He looked directly at his scribe. "How about
it, Abernathy? Want to take the chance?"
Abernathy seemed undecided. "Well, I don't know, High Lord." He paused, thought, looked
down briefly at his body, shook his head, and looked up again. Then he nodded. "Yes, High Lord, I
do."
"Splendid!" Questor Thews exclaimed, promptly coming forward. The others murmured, hissed,
and cluttered their approval. "Now, this won't take a moment. Abernathy, you stand here, right in
the center of the room, and the rest of you stand back a bit behind me." He adjusted them
accordingly, beaming all the while. "Now then High Lord, please give the medallion to Abernathy."
Ben reached for the medallion where it rested about his neck and hesitated. "You're
certain about this, Questor?"
"Quite certain, High Lord. All will be well."
"I mean, I can't even speak or write Landoverian without the medallion!"
Questor brought his hands up quickly in a gesture of reassurance. "Here, now. A simple
spell will solve that problem." He motioned briefly, muttered something, and nodded in
satisfaction. "There we are. Go ahead. You can take it off."
Ben sighed, took off the medallion, and handed it to Abernathy. Abernathy slipped it
carefully about his shaggy neck. The medallion lay against his tunic front, sunlight dancing off
its polished silver surface, detailing the etching of a knight riding out of an island castle at
sunrise--the Paladin riding out of Sterling Silver. Ben sighed again and stepped back. He felt
Willow come up beside him and take his hand in hers.
"It will be all right," she whispered.
Questor breezed back about Abernathy again, adjusting him first this way and then that,
telling him all the while that things would take only a moment. Satisfied at last, he moved
directly in front of the scribe and took two careful steps right. He tested the air with a wet
finger. "Ah!" he declared mysteriously.
He brought his arms high out of the gray robes, flexed his fingers, and opened his mouth.
Then he paused, his nose twitching. One hand dropped quickly to rub at it in irritation. "Dratted
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sunshine tickles," he muttered. "Pollen does nothing to help, either."
The G'home Gnomes crowded close again, pressing up against the wizard's robes, their
ferret faces peering out at Abernathy in anxious anticipation.
"Could you move those creatures back?" the dog snapped and even growled a bit.
Questor glanced down. "Oh. Well, yes, of course. Back now, back with you!" He shooed the
gnomes away and resumed his stance. His nose twitched again, and he sniffed. "Quiet, please!"
He began a long incantation. Bizarre gestures accompanied words that brought frowns of
puzzlement to the faces of his listeners. They edged forward a pace or two to listen: Ben, a lean,
fit man of forty standing firm against the advancement of middle age; Willow, a child in a woman's
body, a sylph, half-human, half-fairy; the kobolds Parsnip and Bunion, the first thick and stolid,
the second spindle-legged and quick, both with sharp, glittering eyes and teeth that suggested
something feral; and the G'home Gnomes Fillip and Sot, furry, unkempt ground creatures that
appeared to have just poked their heads up from their earthen dens. They watched and waited and
said nothing. Abernathy, the focus of their attention, closed his eyes and prepared for the worst.
Still Questor Thews went on, looking for all the world like some scarecrow escaped from
the fields, his recitation seemingly as endless as the complaints of the G'home Gnomes.
Ben was struck suddenly with the incongruity of things. Here he was, until recently a
member of a profession that stressed reliance on facts and reason, a modern man, a man from a
world where technology governed most aspects of life, a world of space travel, nuclear power,
sophisticated telecommunications and a hundred-and-one other marvels--here he was, in a world that
was all but devoid of technology, fully expecting a wizard's magic to transform completely the
physiological makeup of a living creature in a way that the sciences of his old world had barely
dreamed was possible. He almost smiled at the thought. It was just too bizarre.
Questor Thews' hands swooped down suddenly and then up again, and the air was filled with
a fine silver dust that sparkled and shimmered as if alive. It floated in breezy swirls all about
Questor's hands for a moment, then settled over Abernathy. Abernathy saw none of it, his eyes
still tightly closed. Questor continued to murmur, his tone changing, growing sharper, becoming
more a chant. The silver dust swirled, the light of the room seemed to brighten, and there was a
sudden coldness in the air. Ben felt the G'home Gnomes shrink back behind his legs, muttering
guardedly. Willow's hand closed tighter about his own.
"Ezaratz!" Questor cried out suddenly--or something like it--and there was a brilliant
flash of light that ricocheted off Ben's medallion and caused them all to flinch away.
When they looked back again, there stood Abernathy--unchanged.
No, wait, thought Ben, his hands are gone! He has paws!
"Oh, oh," Questor said.
Abernathy's eyes blinked open. "Arf!" he barked. Then, in horror, "Arf, arf, arf!"
"Questor, you've turned him completely into a dog!" Ben exclaimed in disbelief. "Do
something!"
"Drat!" the wizard muttered. "A moment, a moment!" His hands gestured, and the silver dust
flew. He resumed the incantation. Abernathy had discovered paws where his hands had been. His eyes
had snapped wide open and his muzzle had begun to quiver.
"Erazaratz!" Questor cried. The light flashed, the medallion flared, and the paws
disappeared. Abernathy had his hands back. "Abernathy!" the wizard exulted.
"Wizard, when I get my hands on you... !" the scribe howled. Clearly, he had his voice
back as well.
"Stand still!" Questor ordered sharply, but Abernathy was already advancing on him, moving
out of the ring of silver dust. Questor moved quickly to stop him, brushing at the dust where it
formed a screen between them. The dust darted away from him as if alive and flew suddenly into his
face.
"Erazzatza!" Questor Thews sneezed suddenly.
A well of light opened up beneath Abernathy, a cloudy brightness that seemed to fasten
about the dog's legs with tiny feelers. Slowly, the light began to draw Abernathy down.
"Help!" Abernathy cried.
"Questor!" Ben screamed.
He started forward and tripped over the G'home Gnomes, who had somehow edged in front of
him.
"I... I have him... High Lord!" Questor Thews gasped between sniffles. His hands tried
desperately to regain control of the swirling dust.
Abernathy's eyes had opened even wider, if that were possible, and he was straggling to
climb free of the pooled light, calling out to them frantically. Ben tried to untangle himself
from the G'home Gnomes.
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"Be... calm!" Questor urged. "Be... ca... ah, ah, ah... ACHOOO!"
He sneezed so hard, he lurched backward into Ben and the others and knocked them all
sprawling. The silver dust flew out the windows into the sunlit gardens. Abernathy gave one final
cry and was sucked down into the light. The light flared once and disappeared.
Ben pushed himself up on his hands and knees and glared at Questor Thews. "Gesundheit!" he
snapped.
Questor Thews turned crimson.
Bottle
"Well?" Ben demanded. "Where is he? What's happened to him?"
Questor Thews didn't seem to have a ready answer, so Ben diverted his attention from the
flustered wizard long enough to help Willow up, then turned quickly back again. He wasn't angry
yet--he was still too shocked--but he was going to be very angry any second. Abernathy had
disappeared just as surely as if he had never been--vanished, just like that. And, of course,
Ben's medallion, the medallion that protected the kingship and his life, the medallion Questor had
assured him would be perfectly safe, had vanished as well.
He changed his mind. He wasn't going to be angry after all. He was going to be sick.
"Questor, where is Abernathy?" he repeated.
"Well, I... the fact of the matter is, High Lord, I... I am not entirely certain," the
wizard managed finally.
Ben seized the front of the wizard's robes. He was going to be angry after all. "Don't
tell me that! You've got to get him back, damn it!"
"High Lord." Questor was pale, but composed. He didn't try to draw away. He simply
straightened himself and took a deep breath. "I am not sure yet exactly what happened. It will
take a little time to understand..."
"Well, can't you guess?" Ben shouted, cutting him short.
The owlish face twisted. "I can guess that the magic misfired, of course. I can guess that
the sneeze--that wasn't my fault, you know, High Lord, it simply happened--that the sneeze
confused the magic in some fashion and changed the result of the incantation. Instead of
transforming Abernathy from a dog back into a man, it seems to have transported him instead. The
two words are quite similar, you see, and the magic’s likewise are similar. It happens that the
results of most incantations are similar where the words are similar..."
"Skip all that!" Ben snapped. He started to say something further, then caught himself. He
was losing control of the situation. He was behaving like some B-picture gangster. He released the
front of the wizard's robes, feeling a bit foolish. "Look, you think that the magic sent him
somewhere, right? Where do you think it sent him? Just tell me that."
Questor cleared his throat and thought a moment. "I don't know," he decided.
Ben stared at him, then turned away. "I don't believe this is happening," he muttered. "I
just don't believe it."
He glanced momentarily at the others. Willow stood close, her green eyes solemn. The
kobolds were picking up a planter that had been knocked over in the struggle. There was dirt and
broken flowers scattered in a six-foot circle about them. The G'home Gnomes were whispering
together anxiously.
"Perhaps we should..." Willow started to say.
And then there was a bright flash of light from the spot where Abernathy had disappeared,
a popping sound as if someone had pulled a cork free, and something materialized from out of
nowhere, spun wildly about, and came to rest on the floor.
It was a bottle.
Everyone jumped, then stared. The bottle lay there quietly, an oval-shaped container about
the size of a magnum of champagne. It was corked and wired tightly shut and it was painted white
with red harlequins dancing on its glass surface, all in varying poses of devilish gaiety, all
grinning madly.
"What in the world is that?" Ben muttered and reached down to pick it up. He studied it
wordlessly for a moment, hefting it, peering into it. "Doesn't appear to be anything inside," he
said. "It feels empty."
"High Lord; I have a thought!" Questor said suddenly. "This bottle and Abernathy may have
been exchanged--transposed, one for the other! Transpose sounds like transform and transfer, and I
think the magic’s are close enough that it is possible!"
Ben frowned. "Abernathy was exchanged for this bottle? Why?"
Questor started to reply and stopped. "I don't know. But I am quite positive that is what
happened."
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"Does this help determine where Abernathy is now?" Willow asked.
Questor shook his head. "But it gives me a starting point. If I can trace the source of
the bottle, then perhaps..." He trailed off thoughtfully. "Odd. This bottle seems familiar."
"You've seen it somewhere before?" Ben wanted to know immediately.
The wizard frowned. "I am not sure. It seems as if I might have and at the same time it
seems I must be mistaken. I do not quite understand it."
Along with just about everything else, Ben thought rather unkindly. "Well, I don't give a
hoot about this bottle," he declared, "but I do care about Abernathy and the medallion. So let's
find a way to get them back. Whatever it takes, Questor, you do it and do it quickly. This mess is
your responsibility."
"I realize that, High Lord. You need not remind me. It was not my fault, however, that
Abernathy tried to move out of the incantation's sphere of influence, that the dust flew into my
face when I tried to stop him, and that I thereupon sneezed. The magic would have worked as it was
intended to work if I had not..."
Ben impatiently brushed the explanation away with a wave of his hand. "Just find him,
Questor. Just find him."
Questor Thews bowed curtly. "Yes, High Lord. I will begin at once!" He turned and started
from the room, muttering, "He might still be in Landover; I will begin my search here. The
Landsview should help. He should be safe for the moment in any event, I imagine--safe even if we
do not reach him immediately. Oh! Not that there is any reason he shouldn't be safe, High Lord,"
he added, turning hastily back. "No, no, we have time." He started away again. "The sneeze was not
my fault, drat it! I had the magic perfectly under my control, and... oh, what is the point of
belaboring the matter, I will simply start looking..."
He was almost through the door, when Ben called after him, "Don't you want this bottle?"
"What?" Questor glanced back, then hastily shook his head. "Later, perhaps. I have no
immediate need for it. Odd, how familiar... I wish my memory were a little bit better on these
things. Ah, well, it cannot mean much if I cannot summon even a faint recollection..."
He disappeared from view, still muttering--the Don Quixote of Landover, searching for
dragons and finding only windmills. Ben watched him go in frustrated silence.
It was difficult to think about anything beyond the lost medallion and the missing
Abernathy, but there was nothing to be done about either until Questor reported back. So while
Willow went into the gardens to pick fresh flowers for dinner and the kobolds went back to their
work about the castle, Ben forced himself to resume consideration of the latest complaint of the
G'home Gnomes.
Intriguingly enough, the gnomes were no longer so anxious to pursue the matter.
"Tell me whatever you have left to tell me about the trolls," Ben ordered, resigned to the
worst. He settled himself wearily in his chair and waited.
"Such a beautiful bottle, High Lord," said Fillip instead.
"Such a pretty thing," echoed Sot;
"Forget the bottle," Ben advised, remembering for the first time since Questor had
departed that it was still there, sitting where he had put it down on the floor next to him. He
glanced at it in irritation. "I'd like to."
"But we have never seen one like it," persisted Fillip.
"Never," agreed Sot.
"Can we touch it, High Lord?" asked Fillip.
"Yes, can we?" pleaded Sot.
Ben glared. "I thought we were here to discuss trolls. You seemed anxious enough to do so
earlier. You practically cried to do so. Now you don't care anymore?"
Fillip glanced hastily at Sot. "Oh, we care a great deal, High Lord. The trolls have
mistreated us grievously."
"Then let's get on..."
"But the trolls are gone for now and cannot be found again immediately in any case, and
the bottle is right here, right in front of us, so can we touch it for a moment, Great Lord--just
for a moment?"
"Can we, Mighty High Lord?" echoed Sot. Ben wanted to take the bottle and beat them over
the head with it. But instead he simply picked it up and handed it over. It was easier than
arguing. "Just be careful," he cautioned.
There really wasn't much to worry about on that count, he realized. The bottle was heavy
glass and looked as if it could endure a good deal of mistreatment. Actually, it seemed almost
something more than glass--almost a metal of some sort. Must be the paint, he thought.
The G'home Gnomes were fondling and caressing the bottle as if it were their most precious
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treasure. They stroked it and loved it. They cradled it like a child. Their grimy little paws
moved across its surface almost sensuously. Ben was disgusted. He glanced out into the gardens at
Willow and thought about joining her. Anything would be better than this.
"How about it, fellas," he said finally. "Let's finish up with the trolls, okay?"
Fillip and Sot stared at him. He beckoned for them to return the bottle, and they
reluctantly handed it back. Ben set it down next to him again. The gnomes hesitated, then resumed
their complaint against the trolls. But the effort was halfhearted at best. Their eyes kept
straying back to the bottle, and finally they gave up on the trolls altogether.
"High Lord, could we have the bottle?" asked Fillip suddenly.
"Oh, yes, could we?" asked Sot.
Ben stared. "Whatever for?"
"It is a precious thing," said Fillip.
"It is a treasure," said Sot.
"So beautiful," said Fillip.
"Yes, beautiful," echoed Sot.
Ben closed his eyes and rubbed them wearily, then looked at the gnomes. "I would love to
be able to give it to you, believe me," he said. "I would love to say, 'Here, take the bottle and
don't let me see it ever again.' That's what I would love to do. But I can't. The bottle has some
connection with what happened to Abernathy, and I have to know what."
The G'home Gnomes shook their heads solemnly.
"The dog never liked us," muttered Fillip.
"The dog never did," muttered Sot.
"He growled at us."
"And even snapped."
"Nevertheless..." Ben insisted.
"We could keep the bottle for you, High Lord," interrupted Fillip.
"We would take good care of it, High Lord," assured Sot.
"Please, please," they implored.
They were so pathetic that Ben could only shake his head in wonder. They were just like
little children in a toy store. "What if there were an evil genie in the bottle?" he asked
suddenly, leaning forward with a dark frown. "What if the genie ate gnomes for breakfast?" The
gnomes looked at him blankly. Obviously they had never heard of such a thing. "Never mind," he
said. He sighed and sat back again. "You can't have it, and that's that."
"But you said you would love to give it to us," Fillip pointed out.
"That is what you said," agreed Sot.
"And we would love to have it."
"We would."
"So why not give it to us, High Lord?"
"Yes, why not?"
"Just for a little while, even?"
"Just for a few days?"
Ben lost his temper once again. He snatched up the bottle and brandished it before him. "I
wish I had never seen this bottle!" he yelled. "I hate the damn thing! I wish it would disappear!
I wish Abernathy and the medallion would reappear! I wish wishes were candy and I could eat them
all day long! But they aren't, and I can't, and neither can you! So let's drop the whole subject
of the bottle and get back to the trolls before I decide I don't want to listen to you anymore on
anything and send you on your way!"
He put the bottle down again with a thud and sat back. The gnomes glanced at each other
meaningfully.
"He hates the bottle," whispered Fillip.
"He wishes it would disappear," whispered Sot.
"What did you say?" Ben asked. He couldn't quite hear them.
"Nothing, Great High Lord," answered Fillip.
"Nothing, Mighty High Lord," answered Sot.
They went quickly back to their tale of woe about the trolls, a tale which they wrapped up
rather quickly. While they were telling it, they never took their eyes off the bottle.
The remainder of the day slipped by rather more quickly than Ben had expected. The gnomes
finished their tale and departed for their quarters. Guests were always invited to spend the
night, and Fillip and Sot invariably accepted the invitation because they loved Parsnip's cooking.
That was all right with Ben so long as they stayed out of trouble. Before they were even through
the garden room door, Ben was moving to join Willow. Belatedly, he remembered the bottle, still
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sitting next to his chair amid the flower boxes. He retraced his steps, picked it up, glanced
around for a safe place to put it, and decided on a cabinet that displayed a series of ornate
flower pots and vases. He slipped the bottle inside, where it blended quite nicely, and hurried
out.
He walked the gardens with Willow for a time, reviewed his agenda for the following day--
how in the world was he going to get along without Abernathy to remind him of his appointments and
to keep his calendar?--stuck his head in the kitchen to see what Parsnip was preparing, and went
for a run.
Running was the one exercise he still practiced faithfully. He kept what he could of his
boxer's routine--a holdover from his days as a silver gloves champion and after--but he lacked the
sophisticated punching equipment that would let him train as he would in a Chicago gym, so he
relied heavily on the running, together with rope work and isometrics. It was enough to keep him
fit.
He dressed in his sweats and Nikes, crossed from the island to the mainland in the lake
skimmer--his private skiff, a vessel that ran without any power but that of his own thought--
climbed the hills beyond, and began to run along the rim of the valley. Fall was in the air, a
brief hint of color already beginning to show in the green of the trees. Days were growing short,
the nights cold. He ran for almost two hours, trying to work through the day's frustrations and
disappointments; when he was sufficiently tired, he crossed back again.
By now the sun was slipping quickly into the west, already partially masked by a screen of
forest trees and distant peaks. He watched the dramatic outline of the castle loom up before him
as he sat in the skimmer, thinking how much he loved it here. Sterling Silver was the home he had
always searched for--even when he didn't know he was searching for it. He remembered how
forbidding she had seemed that first time, all worn and discolored from the Tarnish, the loss of
magic in the land having sickened her. He remembered how huge and empty she had seemed. That was
before he had discovered that she was alive and that she was as capable of feeling as he. He
remembered the warmth he had felt in her that first night--a warmth that was real and not
imagined. Sterling Silver was a singular bit of magic, a creation of stone and mortar and metal
that was nevertheless as human as any creature of flesh and blood. She could extend warmth, she
could provide food, she could shelter, she could comfort. She was a wondrous magic, and he never
ceased to marvel that she could actually be.
He received word from Willow on his return that Questor had surfaced long enough to report
that he had determined that Abernathy definitely wasn't still in Landover. Ben accepted the news
stoically. He hadn't really expected things to be that easy.
Willow came to him and washed him in his bath. Her tiny hands were gentle and loving, and
she kissed him often. Her long, green hair swept down about her face as she worked, and it made
her seem veiled and mysterious.
"You must not be too angry with Questor," she said finally as he was toweling himself dry.
"He tried to do what he thought best for Abernathy. He wanted desperately to help."
"I know that," Ben said.
"He holds himself responsible for Abernathy's condition, and such responsibility is a
terrible burden." She looked out the window of his bedchamber into the darkening night. "You
should understand better than anyone what it can be like to feel responsible for another person."
He did. He had carried the weight of that responsibility more times than he cared to
remember. A few times he had carried it when it was not really his to carry. He thought of Annie,
his wife, gone now almost four years. He thought of his old law partner and good friend, Miles
Bennett. He thought of the people of Landover, of the black unicorn, of his new friends Willow,
Abernathy, Bunion, Parsnip, and, of course, Questor.
"I just wish he could manage to control the magic a little better," he said softly. Then
he stopped in the middle of what he was doing and looked over at the sylph. "I'm scared to death
of losing that medallion, Willow. I remember all too well what it was like when I thought I'd lost
it last time. I feel so helpless without it."
Willow came to him and held him. "You will never be helpless, Ben. Not you. And you will
never be alone”
He hugged her close and nodded into her hair. "I know. Not while you're around. Anyway, I
shouldn't worry. Something will come up."
Something did come up, but it wasn't until dinner was nearly over that it did, and it
wasn't what either of them expected. Dinner was a sparsely attended affair. The G'home Gnomes did
not show up--an astonishing occurrence--nor did Questor. Bunion dropped by briefly and was off
again, and Parsnip stayed in the kitchen. So Ben and Willow sat alone at the great dining hall
table, eating dutifully and listening to the silence.
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摘要：

file:///F|/rah/Terry%20Brooks/Brooks,%20Terry%20-%20Landover%203%20Wizard%20at%20Large.txtWIZARDATLARGETerryBrooks(MagicKingdomofLandover,Book3)[UC-13mar2002-scannedfor#bookz][1.0-31mar2002-proofedbyMadMaxAU][1.1-09april2002-quotesandspellingcorrected][2.0-15may2002-dashes/hyphenscorrected,chaptert...

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