Jerry didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “I know.”
“Bal-Simba is not gonna like this.”
Jerry hit the last key and completed the spell at the Wizard’s Keep, and sent it on its way.
The magical lights in the workroom dimmed and then came back with an unhealthy greenish pallor. There were various poppings and cracklings, unearthly wails and one or two outright explosions from other parts of the Wizard’s Keep, accompanied here and there by yells from wizards who had been working late or were at work early.
At the abandoned terminal in Wiz’s office Jerry’s typing poured out of the screen. There was no one there to read it, but since it was a spell and not a message that didn’t matter. Unknown to the inhabitants of the house, magical forces gathered and twisted around them as an invisible tornado of magical energy rose toward the heavens. The emac reached the last line of the spell and sent the requested acknowledgment.
“It worked!” Jerry yelled triumphantly. He spun to face Moira. “Quick, tell the searchers to scan the World for a flare of magic. Big magic.” Moira nodded and dashed from the room.
“And tell Bal-Simba too,” Jerry called after her. He raised his voice to follow her down the hall. “And apologize to him for the mess, will you?” Then he turned to Danny. “Get your staff. I think we’re going to fight a dragon.”
When a dragon says dawn, does he mean daybreak or sunrise? Wiz wondered.
It was past first light and already the sun was peeking over the eastern hills. There was still no sign of the dragon. Wiz didn’t know if that was because the duel wasn’t supposed to start until sunrise or if it was a psychological move on Ralfnir’s part. If it was psychology, Wiz thought, it was sure effective.
The dawn air was heavy with dew and still as death. Not so much as a zephyr ruffled the tall green grass or the yellow meadow flowers. A few puffy clouds hung high in the summer sky and here and there a butterfly or bumblebee went about its business among the patches of buttercups and field mallow.
Wiz licked his lips, took a tighter grip on his staff and nearly died in an eyeblink.
With a pop of displaced air Jerry, Danny, Moira and Bal-Simba flashed into existence in Wiz’s workroom. A quick glance showed them the room was empty but the sound of cursing downstairs told them there were people about. As one they dashed for the door.
Malkin was standing at the sink, sponging the wine out of her dress and describing in lurid detail all the things she was going to do to Bobo, when Bal-Simba and the others came pounding down the stairs with Jerry in the lead.
“You’re Malkin, aren’t you? Where’s Wiz?” he got out in a single breath.
Malkin’s mouth fell open.
“My Lady, please,” Moira said as she pushed around Jerry. “Where is Wiz?”
“Where, Lady?” Bal-Simba demanded over Jerry’s shoulder.
No one argued with Bal-Simba. Not only did he have the presence and voice of a mighty wizard, he was nearly seven feet tall with bulk to match his height. For the first time in her adult life Malkin found herself dwarfed and intimidated by another person.
“Tell them, girl!” shrieked Widder Hackett.
Over in the corner Anna gaped at what had invaded the kitchen.
“At the dueling field,” Malkin stammered. “You take the west road . . .”
“No,” Bal-Simba commanded. “No time for words, just think of the place.
Think clearly.”
“Got it!” Danny shouted. “Let’s go.” The four gestured as one and vanished.
There was a pop of inrushing air and the kitchen was empty again save for its normal inhabitants.
“Fortuna!” muttered Malkin. The stains on her dress forgotten, she reached for an empty wine cup, eyed it, tossed it back on the drainboard and took a beer tankard down from its peg. She filled it to the brim from the wine keg and downed nearly half of it without taking the tankard from her lips.
“Excuse me, My Lady,” Anna quavered when Malkin came up for air, “but who were they?”