“You’ll be sorry for this!” the other shouted.
“Care to see what will happen if I let go of this?” he teased, letting the box jiggle wildly. “I don’t think I can hold on much longer.”
They shrieked like banshees at that, racing about below him like scampering mice routed out of their nest. He was really enjoying this. He angled from one side of the chamber to the other, drawing them after, a pair of ridiculous, hopeless pawns.
But still the dog didn’t come.
He lost patience for the last time. Fine, if this was how they wanted to play it, fine! He was all worn out anyway. He banked away from them to the highest point in the chamber and released the Tangle Box.
Unfortunately, one of his claws caught quite firmly in a seam as he did so.
Down went the Tangle Box, plummeting to the cavern floor, and down went a hapless Biggar with it The bird struggled wildly to break free, scratching and scraping at the weight about its foot, but it was held fast. Up rushed the stone floor. Biggar shrieked and closed his eyes.
The expected did not come to pass, however. There was no skull-smashing stop on the stone, no splatter of box and bird. At the last possible moment Sot threw himself across the floor and caught both in the cradle of his gnarly, hairy arms.
Biggar had just enough time to open his eyes before a grimy hand closed tightly about his unfortunate neck.
“Got you now, stupid bird,” the Gnome whispered.
Abernathy stood at the cavern entrance and listened as the tumult in the inner chambers died into sudden and unexpected silence. He waited for it to resume, but it did not. The silence lengthened and deepened. Clearly something had happened, but what? He could not leave his post to find out. He knew that Biggar would slip past him and escape if he did. The bird had been trying to lure him away for the past hour, waiting for his chance. Abernathy had sent Fillip and Sot in after the troublesome creature, thinking as he did that they were best suited for the task in any event. He did not know how they would ever manage to catch the bird, but there was little choice other than to allow them to try. The extent of their efforts had been evident from the sounds of their struggle, a continuous, relentless cacophony that suggested all manner of unpleasant happenings.
And now everything was still.
“Fillip?” he called tentatively. “Sot?”
No answer. He waited anxiously. What should he do?
Then finally a pair of dim, but familiar shapes appeared out of the phosphorescence-streaked gloom, bearing between them an intricately carved wooden box. Abernathy’s heart leapt with expectation.
“You found it!” he exclaimed, restraining the urge to dance a bit.
The Gnomes trundled toward him, looking somewhat the worse for wear.
“Stupid bird tried to drop it,” Fillip said grimly.
“Tried to smash it,” Sot embellished.
“Hurt the High Lord,” Fillip said.
“Maybe kill the High Lord,” Sot said.
They stroked the wooden surface of the Tangle Box lovingly and then passed it carefully over to the dog.
“Stupid bird won’t do that again,” Fillip said.
“Not ever,” Sot said
And spit out a well-chewed black feather.
Dead Reckoning
The sunrise over Sterling Silver was a blood-red stain on the eastern horizon that promised bad weather for the day ahead. Questor Thews was back on the ramparts of the castle, looking down over the waking encampment of Kallendbor’s professional army and the ragtag collection of villagers and farmers that had preceded it in the quest for the phantom collection of mind’s eye crystals. Night’s darkness was receding reluctantly west, edged back by the crimson dawn, and the light washed over the huddled forms of the besiegers like blood.
Hardly an auspicious omen, the wizard thought.
He had been up most of the night scouring the countryside with the Landsview in search of Ben Holiday. He had traveled the length and breadth of Landover, north to south, east to west, and found no trace of the High Lord. He was tired and discouraged from his efforts and frankly at his wit’s end. What was he supposed to do now? The castle was under siege, two-thirds of the population were in open revolt, and he had been left alone to deal with all of it. Not even Abernathy was to be found, a new and unwelcome source of irritation. Willow hadn’t returned yet either. If people kept disappearing, the monarchy would soon run out of responsible leaders and collapse like a deflated balloon.