Shal sat up slowly and tried through tightly squinted eyelids to see where she had left the belt with the indigo cloth. Maybe if she covered it with a pillow, the familiar’s voice would be quieter inside her head. Better yet, maybe she wouldn’t be able to hear it at all. But she saw neither the belt nor the cloth; instead, a horse was standing directly in her way.
Comprehension came slowly, and Shal did her best to ignore the monstrous animal as she got up to splash water on her face and prepare to face the sunshine she could see trying to sneak through the closed window hatch.
“Yes, I’m planning to go to Denlor’s tower today,” she finally answered. “And this will be your chance to show that you’re good for something besides making wisecracks.”
That’s not fair! The horse stomped and whuffled agitatedly. You would have been nothing but orc fodder yesterday if I hadn’t reminded you about the Staff of Power.
“You’ll be orc fodder if you don’t give me a chance to wake up in peace!”
Hmph! The very idea! …
“There’s a deep, dark pocket just waiting for you, Cerulean.”
Is that an order, Mistress?
“It will be if you don’t get out of my brain—now!”
The horse hung its head and retreated to a corner of the room.
“And please, Cerulean, don’t sulk! It doesn’t become you at all.”
The big horse lifted its head and switched its tail. Switch. Switch. Switch. He whickered quietly as he eyed the ceiling and pawed the floor gently. Not a whisper of mental communication jarred Shal’s throbbing head as she carefully brushed her leathers and then took time to meditate and memorize her spells.
Much later, she ordered Cerulean into one of the pockets and took him out to the stable, where she let him out again and fed him apples and carrots. Finally she began to brush his coat to a high sheen. “How well did you know Ranthor, Cerulean?” Shal asked, electing to speak aloud as long as she was alone in the stable, except for a half dozen or so other horses.
How well do you know anyone? He summoned me when he was an apprentice—younger than you, even. I used to help him memorize his spells. I begged him to take me along to the tower of the red mage, but he could be a stubborn old goat. I’ll bet now he wishes he had listened to me.
Shal laughed. “I’m sure if he wishes anything, he wishes he had taken you.”
The horse stamped and shook its mane, obviously pleased by her apparently improving spirits.
“Cerulean, what do you know about the Wand of Wonder? Ranthor didn’t tell me much. I suppose you know what he said.”
He got the wand as a gift some time ago, Cerulean answered. I don’t keep track of years, but he was much younger then. Still danced regularly—
“Danced? Ranthor?” Shal looked dubious, with one eyebrow raised in surprise.
He loved to dance. Never went anywhere in those days without a woman on each arm. But as I was saying, he got the wand as a gift. Used it three times, as I remember. The first time, he was deep in the Deadwood Forest, hunting secil. It’s a rare fungus he needed for a spell component. He was in quite a huff that day—swore I was stepping on every mushroom in sight—and he finally insisted I keep a good distance away from where he was working. Working—ha! Scrounging around on his hands and knees like some pauper, brushing dust into a bag. I, on the other hand, was exploring the area with dignity when I found the clump of secil. Did I step on it? No. I—
“The wand, Cerulean. What does this have to do with the Wand of Wonder?”
I was just getting to that, Mistress. Must you be so impatient? Anyhow, I didn’t step on it. I quite understandably happened to miss seeing another clump of insignificant fungus. It was brown, and spores puffed up everywhere when I stepped on it. The air was thick with the stuff, and it didn’t feel at all healthy. I could hardly breathe, and as far away as I was from Ranthor, he was still affected. He coughed and coughed, doubled over so bad he couldn’t even catch his breath to cast one of his spells. Finally he just pulled out the wand and managed to mutter a word or two.
“And?”
And all of a sudden bubbles started floating up everywhere—sticky ones that splattered icy water when they burst. The spores didn’t stand a chance. The ones that didn’t stick to the bubbles were doused to the ground when they burst, and the magical cold killed the fungus.
Naturally, Ranthor got his secil in the end, and he was quite pleased with the wand.
“You said you remember three times. What about the other two?” Shal asked.
The second time was just as successful. He was trapped between an umber hulk and a dragon—horrible things, umber hulks; look like giant beetles that walk upright. Anyway, one of his hands was hurt—Ranthor’s hands, I mean—so he couldn’t cast a spell, and that was before he had the Staff of Power. When he used the Wand of Wonder, the dragon suddenly sprouted huge worms all over its body. Well, the umber hulk simply went wild, what with worms being its preferred diet. It tore right past Ranthor and me and started attacking the dragon with its big pincers. Needless to say, we beat a hasty retreat.
“So why did Ranthor worry so much about using the wand?”
As I said, there was a third time. I was galloping with godspeed, with a foul wizard, one of Ranthor’s most powerful foes, chasing us on one of those flying carpets. Instead of just asking me to go faster, Ranthor whips out the wand, points it at the wizard and says, ‘Turtle speed.’ Before I could blink, I was the only thing going turtle speed, and the wizard was zooming by overhead. If there hadn’t been a tree in her way, we’d have been dead.
“Huh?” Shal waited for an explanation.
I slowed down so fast she overshot us. She tried to turn, but the carpet was still going at full speed, and she slammed into a tree. Wonderful old tree. Burned to a crisp when her acid blood spilled all over it and ignited the thing. Of course, the wizard went up—poof!—right along with it.
“Then that was still a positive effect, wasn’t it? So why should I worry about using the wand?”
As I said, Mistress, I was the one going turtle speed. Ranthor pitched over my head and flew almost as far as the other wizard. He swore that was when his rheumatism set in.
“Oh.” Shal couldn’t help but wonder if the wand wouldn’t be less dangerous if Ranthor had a different familiar.
I resent that!
“Sorry.” Shal hadn’t meant for Cerulean to “hear” that. She tried to change the subject. “Are you ready to go?”
“You’re asking the horse?” Ren had entered unnoticed and stood within a few feet of Shal. She almost fell into the feed trough at the sound of his voice.
“How did you get in here without my hearing you?” she demanded.
He reached for her hand and pulled her gently away from the feed trough and the dung gutter. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just practicing my thieving skills. They’ve gotten a little rusty in the last year.”
“It seems to me they work just fine,” Shal said, a little defensively. “I guess I was concentrating on what I have to do today.”
“It could be tougher than you think to get into Denlor’s tower,” Ren said. “I went there to scout it last night, and the place is a regular fortress of magical traps. Even most of the creatures that gather outside the walls at night seem to be kept at bay by some force.”
“What do you mean, you went there last night?” Shal’s green eyes blazed, and she pushed Ren’s hand away. “You were supposed to get some rest so you’d be fresh for today.”