Resting her elbows on the dressing table, she let her face fall into her hands. Hope had been fragile since that day when Hoss’k’s men boiled out of the forest near the wizard’s mysterious little house. Now, with Kremer pressing his demands harder than ever, with the L’Toff searchers come and gone without contact, she felt more desperate than ever.
If only there were a way to believe in the wizard! If only he were the kind of man she had originally felt him to be, instead of serving Kremer and living high—in his plush new rooms with his pretty serving wench—proving himself a complacent syncophant to Kremer’s rising star like all the others!
She wiped her eyes, determined not to weep again. On the table before her the little bugs continued their mysterious dance, whirling on the right, shifting slowly on the left. Marking time.
8
Dennis woke up feeling as if his body had been used to practice baseball bats. The first few times he tried to move, he only managed to rock from side to side a bit. He hurt all over.
At last he succeeded in rolling to one side and got his eyes blearily open.
Well, he wasn’t in the luxurious quarters he had been assigned before. Still, he wasn’t in the dungeon either. The room had the rough-hewn, half-finished look of the newer, higher parts of the castle.
Guards stood by the door—two of Kremer’s northland clansmen. When they saw that he had awakened, one of them stepped out into the hall and spoke a few words.
Dennis sat up in the cot, groaning aloud just a little at the twinges. His throat was sore and dry, so he reached over to the rickety bedstand to pour himself a cup of water from an earthenware jar. His cut lip stung as he drank.
He put down the cup and settled back against the rough pillow, watching the clansmen watch him. He said nothing to the guards and expected no words from them.
His status had declined, apparently.
There were heavy bootsteps in the hallway. Then the door was flung back. Baron Kremer stepped over the threshold.
Dennis had to blink at the brilliance of the man’s clothing in the sunlight that streamed behind him. Kremer regarded Dennis silently, his dark eyes in shadow below heavy brows.
“Wizard,” he said at last, “what am I going to do with you?”
Dennis sipped again-from the cup. He licked his stinging lips gingerly.
“Uh, that’s a real toughie, your Lordship. Let’s see, though. I think I might have an idea.
“How about this? You’re going to help me and my friends, in utter sincerity and to the best of your ability, to return to our homes in good health, both mental and physical?”
Kremer’s slow smile was not particularly appreciative.
“That is a thought, Wizard. On the other hand, it occurs to me that the palace torturer has been complaining that his spare tools are getting out of practice. Only the main set has had any work the past month or so. Remedying that situation seems equally appealing.”
“You face a quandary,” Dennis sympathized.
“It is a difficult choice.” The Baron shook his head.
“I am certain you’ll work something out, though.”
“Are you, really? Ah! Such confidence from a wizard is inspiring. Still, the two options do seem mutually contradictory, I was wondering if you might be able to suggest a compromise solution. Just a hint, mind you.”
Dennis nodded. “A compromise. Hmm.” He scratched his stubble. “How about something midway in between, like me doing your bidding quickly and cheerfully, giving you whatever you desire, in return for which you will keep me in a moderate level of comfort, and string me along with minor rewards and vague promises of eventual freedom and power?”
Kremer smiled. “An amazing solution! No wonder they call you a wizard.”
Dennis shrugged modestly. “Oh, it was nothing, really.”
The Baron cracked his knuckles. “Then it is settled. You have two more days to complete the making of your beverage ‘distillery’ and to teach my servants to practice it. Then you shall begin work on something of more immediate practical value, such as more of the beautiful long-range killing weapons. If, as you claim, the animals needed to drive such devices are lacking in my realm, I shall require that you come up with something else of military value.
“Is our compromise clear, then?”
Dennis nodded. He was thinking, and he had had enough of bantered wisecracks for now. They hadn’t really helped all that much, anyway.
“One more thing, Wizard. Should you ever again embarrass me in front of outsiders, or attempt to thwart me in any way, you will find my torturers have planned something special for you. There will be no repeat of yesterday’s unfortunate demonstration. Am I understood?”
Dennis said nothing. He looked at the tall blond man in the resplendent costume, and nodded, barely.
The Baron acknowledged with a possessive smile. “You will be happy here, Dennis Nuel,” he promised. “Eventually— perhaps soon, if you behave well—we will improve your quarters again. Then you and I can talk as gentlemen once more. I would be interested in learning how your people persuade their recalcitrant L’Toff to become pliant. Perhaps Princess Linnora can be a test case.”
He grinned, then turned and left. The door closed, leaving Dennis alone with a single guard. For a long time there was silence; only the distant shouts of drilling troops carried up from far below.
The Earthman sat on his cot. He could almost imagine it perceptibly changing, minute by minute, into a better and better bed as he lay in it.
Logically, his options were still the same, only put off a little. In a year or two of feeding Kremer wonders he felt sure he could gain the man’s trust and gratitude, especially if he invented gunpowder for him, ensuring his conquest of all Coylia.
Dennis shook his head, making up his mind. He hadn’t thought about it much before, but there were few worse criminals on any world than the engineer who blithely and knowingly hands over to a tyrant the tools of oppression. Come plague or ruin, he wasn’t going to give Kremer gunpowder, or the wheel, or the secret of metal smelting, or anything else he could use to make war.
What options did that leave, then?
Only escape. Somehow he had to get out of here again.
9
Hot iron pincers closed upon his thumbs. A steaming stench rose where the flesh shriveled back, rolling away on black, curling ash.
Dennis moaned. He felt a wet splash against his face and he opened his eyes, breathing hard.
Arth looked down at him worriedly. “You were dreamin’, Dennizz. It must’ve been a bad one. Are you all right now?”
Dennis nodded. He had been taking a nap near their work area after supper. It was twilight already, out in the shadow of the castle.
“Yeah,” he muttered, “I’m okay.” He got up and dried his face on a towel. He still felt shaken from the dream.
“I just got back from the jailyard,” Arth told him. “I said I wanted to go and personally pick the guys to run the new still.”
Dennis nodded. “Did you find out anything?”
Arth shook his head. “Nobody’s seen Stivyung or Gath or Maggin or any more of my boys, so they don’t seem to’ve been caught.”
Dennis was glad. Perhaps Stivyung would eventually be reunited with his wife and son. The news helped lift his spirits a little.
“So what’s the plan now?” Arth asked, too low to be overheard by the guards. “Do we try to make another balloon? Or do you have somethin’ else in mind, like that saw that can break through walls?”