creature, just came upon him. Sheer good fortune, that’s all.”
The other manbeamed. “You are bumble, sir. A fine quality in a man of such obvious excellences as yourself. It would be fine, though, would it not, to have a stable of such horses? Nay, a herd! Ah, picture them, sir, decked in scarlet and gleaming gold and silver harness, set with rare gems . . . hooves and horns polished and gleaming . . .and astride each animal a magnificent warrior in armor, clad in your very own livery, ready to strike fear into the hearts of your enemies and bring the kingdoms of the world to worship at your feet! Think of it, my friend! Tempting, is it not?”
Kedrigern scratched his seat and replied, “Not really. I can’t see any point in having the nations of the world worship at my feet, to be honest with you. Never get a moment to myself with that sort of thing going on.”
The chubby man laughed loudly, throwing his head back and growing even redder in his cheeks from mirth. “You’re a practical man, sir. No nonsense, no fripperies for you. A meat-and-potatoes man, I can see. Speaking of which, sir, may I offer you a snack? A light repast would not be ill-timed, would it? If you would do me the favor, sir, of looking behind this rock.
. .?“
Kedrigern did so, and found a basket packed tight with delicacies, and a small winebarrel. He placed them on the stone, and his companion began at once to rummage through the basket and pull out tempting morsels to place before him, muttering, “One must never travel without adequate provision, sir. There’s enough food here to fill our bellies to a comfortable repletion, and wine to make the world seem a cozy and sensible place. And after dining, we can take a nice long nap, and wake and dine again, and drink some more. That’s living for you, eh, sir? Eat and drink, and drink and eat, and sleep in between. A man’s a fool to do more.” He looked up, a wurst in one hand and a jampot in the other, leered at the wizard, and said, “Unless, of course, a pair of merry maids come skipping by.
Oh, then we’ll be lively, will we not?” He laughed heartily, put down the wurst and the jampot, and reached into the basket again.
“You needn’t take out all this food. I’m really not the least bit hungry right now,” Kedrigern protested mildly.
“Don’t be a fool, sir. Eat all you can, whenever you can, and have all the wine you can hold. Eat, drink, and be merry, as the saying goes.”
“I’ll just have a sip of water. If I eat heavily and then have a lot of wine—especially in the afternoon—I’m more likely to eat, drink, and be sleepy.”
“Your self-discipline is exemplary, sir. Truly exemplary,” said the chubby man. He tore a chunk from a loaf of bread, stuffed it in his mouth, and followed it with a slab of pâté and a handful of grapes. Kedrigern sipped from his own water bottle as the other man thrust one bit of food after another into his mouth, chewing vigorously, swallowing loudly, and all the while keeping up the conversation in unintelligible syllables. Eventually he said, quite cleariy, “Am I correct in assuming that you are a wizard, sir?”
“I am. I hope that doesn’t make you nervous. Some people seem to feel uncomfortable around wizards.”
“Not I, sir, not I,” said the other, filling a stone mug to the brim with blood-red wine. He drank off half of it, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and repeated, “Not I. I’m a man who likes wizards, sir. You might say I collect wizards. May I ask your name, sir?”
“Kedrigern of Silent Thunder Mountain,” said the wizard, rising. “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, but I really must dash. Someone may need my help, you see.”
“But my dear Kedrigern, you haven’t taken even a nibble of this delicious food. Do stay and indulge yourself.”
Kedrigern made a little helpless gesture. “I finished a very spicy wurst only an hour or so ago, and I really couldn’t eat another thing. All I needed was a drink of water.”
“Oh, come now, you can’t go riding through these
woods with nothing in your stomach but water and a bit of wurst. Have a taste of this pâté, and a chicken leg, and some bread and cheese, and rabbit pie, and some grapes and apples and pears, and a cherry tart or two, and a cheering mug of good red wine.”
“Thank you, no. You’re really most generous, but I must go.”
The chubby man pressed his hand to his brow and said, “Kedrigern
. . .
let me think, now.
. .
I’ve heard that name, I’m certain. Kedrigern
. .
He looked up excitedly and exclaimed, “Of course, Kedrigern! You were a member of the Wizards’ Guild!”
“A charter member, actually.”
“A charter member! And yet.
. .
if memory serves me you were badly treated by your fellows. Most shamefully treated, if rumor is to be believed.”
Kedrigern waved the remark off. “There was a misunderstanding. It’s all resolved now.”
“Yes, yes, it comes back to me. Some business with an alchemist
. . .
Quintrindus, that was the fellow’s name! You saw through the rascal from the very start, but they wouldn’t listen. Practically drove you out for daring to question their judgment, didn’t they?”
“They didn’t drive me out,” said Kedrigern, who was still rather sensitive on this topic. “I resigned of my own volition.”
“You did? Well, of course you would. Yes, certainly. I heard it told differently, but these things do get garbled in the retelling,” said the other man soothingly. He shook his head and made little clucking noises of sympathy. “It must have been hard for you to see them strutting and preening and calling themselves the greatest wizards of the age and pocketing healthy fees for their work, and you knowing all the time that they were dupes of a sneaking alchemist. All that recognition and honor—not to mention those fat fees—should have been yours. And all the fawning over Quintrindus, and the things they must have been saying about you behind your back
. . .
nasty, malicious
things
. . .
lies, sir, shameless lies
. . .
it fairly makes your blood boil, doesn’t it? Even a patient, easy-going soul like yourself must get furious at the thought,” said the chubby man, looking up with concern on his round features.
“Well,
when you put it that way
.
“Yes? Go ahead, sir, speak out.”
“I suppose
. . .
oh, but what’s the point of dragging it all out again? It’s over and done with. Forgive and forget, as they say.”
“Hard to forgive, impossible ever to forget, I’d say, sir. The best thing to do in these cases is speak out, get it all off your chest. Give vent to your righteous anger, sir! You can speak your mind freely in my presence, I assure you,” said the other man with a generous sweep of his arms.
Kedrigern was about to speak when he felt the staff in his hand give a quick and almost imperceptible twitch, like the flick of a cat’s ear, and the monk’s words sounded in his mind: “Resist his blandishments and you will vanquish him.”
This cheerful, pudgy, smiling little man was the Enemy. Kedrigern closed his eyes, swallowed, and took a deep breath. He had come very close. But now he knew how to handle the situation. Turning his blandest smile on the man, he said, “Actually, I forgive them. I love them all, sir. Even Quintrindus. I
especially
like Quintrindus.”
The chubby man’s sudden look of dismay turned in quick succession to anger and then to scorn. “If you can say that, sir, then you’re not much of a wizard. Indeed, you scarce deserve the name.”
Meekly, Kedrigern said, “Perhaps not.”
“Is that all you can say? If so, sir, then you don’t even deserve the name of a
man!
Do you hear me, sir? I’m insulting you!” cried the other, red-faced.
“It’s no more than I deserve. But let us not waste time talking about such a worthless wretch as myself. Tell me, if you will—”
“I will tell you nothing until you cease acting like a
worm and show some spirit. If you wish me to converse with the likes of you, you must force me to do so by violent means.”
“Those are the words of a man of true power,” said Kedrigern. “What a powerful fellow you must be, to venture into these woods alone and unarmed!”
“I do not choose to speak of my power, worm,” said the other, scornfully, “but rather of your contemptible weakness.”
“Ah, now
that’s
the speech of a powerful man. Tell me, sir, do you work spells? Do enchantments? Can you—”
“Shut up, you fool! You idiot! You meek, groveling, forgiving, spineless, milk-blooded coward!” roared the man, shaking his pudgy fist in Kedrigern’s face. “Aren’t you getting angry?”
“How could anyone be angry with such a splendid fellow as yourself? I’m eager to leam of your great power, your courage, your—”
“Oh, blast my power! To hell with my power!” howled the other. A sudden gust of wind swept over them, warm and sulphurous, and he paled and turned horrified eyes on Kedrigern. “No!” he whispered. “I didn’t mean that! I
didn’t!”
“But you said it.” Kedrigern reached out and tapped him on the shoulder with the silver tip of the staff. He vanished with a wail that echoed and re-echoed among the stones like the cry of one falling down a bottomless well. The puddle went up in a hiss of foul-smelling steam that quickly dissipated. Baked in the mud at its bottom were the prints of two broad hooves.
Kedrigern let out a deep shuddering sigh of relief and set the staff against the rock, tucking his hands close against his ribs to still their sudden trembling. To his astonishment, the rocks in the clearing faded away, leaving in their places a group of men and women and horses who gaped at one another, and at him, in astonishment. The rock upon which Kedrigern had been sitting was now
a tall, well-armed knight, whom the wizard assisted to his feet.
“I thank you for your kindness,” said the knight. His hair was shot with gray, as was his beard, and his face was lined with years and cares. He looked about, and his expression brightened when a woman of matronly mien, but still of great beauty, hurried to his side with eager arms opened to his own embrace. With one arm protectively around her waist, the knight asked, “Now, good fellow, can you say what has befallen us?”
“I think you’ve been under an enchantment—perhaps for as long as a hundred years.”
“Indeed?! I recall very little. We stopped here for the night. A stranger joined us
. . .
a fat, friendly man
. .
“He shared his provisions with us most generously,” said the lady.
“So he did, my dear. A very friendly, generous man. But
. . .
there was a quarrel. I know not the cause, but tempers flared
. . .
swords were drawn.
. . .“
The knight shook his head, perplexed, and looked helplessly to his wife for help in remembering.
She exclaimed, “Hendso! He tried to make peace, but no one listened, not even to the exhortations of that holy man. And then something
. . .
something happened to him. Something terrible, I think
“Was Hendso a monk?” Kedrigern asked.
“Yes. He was our household chaplain,” the lady said.
Kedrigern told of his encounter with the grisly monk, and its outcome on this very spot. When he had finished, he took up the staff and handed it to them.
“We will honor Hendso’s memory. He was a good man,” said the lady.
With a sigh, the knight said, “He was indeed, but he was born into bad times. There has been nothing but unrest since the fall of the Kingdom of the Singing Forest.”
“Is that where the princess was turned into a sword?” Kedrigern asked.
“One into a sword, another into a crown. And their
brother into a great iron shield! It all happened just across the river,” said the lady, gesturing in the direction Kedrigern had been heading.
Gloomily, the knight said, “Nothing but accursed wizardry and enchantment everywhere these days. One cannot even visit a cousin in safety. We were only an hour or so from the castle of Cent Saints, where my cousin rules, when this spell came upon us. Now, who can say what we may find there?”
With a broad smile, Kedrigern said, “I’ve just come from there. They, too, were in an enchanted sleep, but it’s over, and Blamarde is to marry in three days. You’ll be in plenty of time for the festivities.”
He excused himself and slipped off to remount and be on his way before anyone got a good look at his horse and started asking questions. The enchantment on the woods was broken now, and his way was clear.
A few hundred paces down the road he came upon the packhorscs grazing under a cluster of birches. They seemed unaffected by their sojourn into enchantment; the only ill effects Kedrigern could discern was the slight damage done by the fieldmice that had gotten into the packs. He tied the animals behind his mount and proceeded until he came to a feeble trickle of water running between steep banks. As he crossed he heard it whine and grumble; at this time of year it was too low to moan in any satisfactory way, but he knew it to be the Moaning River. Passing on, he came to a forest where the air was filled with the far faint sound of voices, like a children’s choir heard at a great distance. He glimpsed beyond the trees the outlines of a castle half in ruins.
Emerging from the forest, he saw the horses tethered before the castle gate. Princess’s transparent mount shimmered faintly among them, apart from the rest. He rode closer, and still saw no one. He dismounted to tie up the packhorses, and just as he turned toward the castle a brilliant burst of light blazed silently forth from gate and windows, smokeholes and arrow slits, and every crack and