“Kiss me. Oh, kiss me, Wiz.”
In spite of himself Wiz took a step forward, the grenade loose in his fingers.
Suddenly Moira froze. She twisted and shrank in on herself. There where Moira had been was a large green frog.
Wiz gasped and stepped back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Danny blow on his fingertips, like a gunfighter blowing gunsmoke from the barrel of his six gun.
“Ribbet,” said Moira.
With a convulsive jerk, Wiz hurled the golden globe over Moira’s head in the direction of the shining mass.
The sphere hit the dais beside the throne, but a hungry black pseudopod lashed out and scooped it up and into the glistening thing behind.
There were flashes within the ice, blue and green and red and orange, like the largest, most gorgeous fire opal that ever was. The cavern shook and a high, grating noise seemed to come from everywhere at once. The surface bulged and pulsed and heaved like gelatin going over speed bumps.
The mass seemed to slump in on itself and the flashes dimmed and died. Then it was an ordinary block of ice with shadowy forms embedded in it.
The wind died, the fog dissipated as rapidly as it had come and the party found themselves standing in a large room crudely hewed from the rock.
Moira was pirouetting in static little circles, her arms flung out
“Free!” she crowed, a wonderful silvery sound, “I’m free.”
She stumbled back against Wiz and he caught her close. “I’m also a little unbalanced,” she said, looking down at her swollen abdomen. Wiz lifted her chin and kissed her passionately, holding on as if for dear life.
Fluffy let out a plaintive wheep as if to say he wasn’t sure what had happened but he wasn’t at all happy about it
Wiz broke his hold on Moira and looked over her shoulder at Danny.
“If that change hurt the baby…”
“Relax,” Danny said. “I didn’t morph her. It was just an illusion.” He gestured at Glandurg and the dwarf instantly shrank into a particularly warty and unappealing brown toad. Before anyone could react, he gestured again and there was Glandurg.
“Stupid mortal tricks,” the dwarf muttered.
Moira laid her hand on her husband’s sleeve. “No, I am fine. Honestly love. Never better.”
“You!” came a roar from the cavern entrance. Wiz and the others turned as King Tosig stomped into the chamber with a half-dozen dwarves trailing behind. Their armor was bent, their shields were battered and their battle axes were nicked and scarred. Tosig’s blade was as damaged as those of his followers and he held it aloft in a way that boded no good. Instinctively Wiz took a tighter grip on his staff and the guardsmen moved between the wizards and the oncoming dwarves.
Tosig ignored the mortals. “Come here, you,” he roared, pointing at Glandurg. “I want to talk to you.”
“Uncle!” exclaimed Glandurg, a little apprehensively. “I mean Your Majesty. I am here…”
“I don’t care what you’ve been up to, you young hooligan!” King Tosig bellowed “Come here and give me that sword!”
“Of course, Uncle.” Glandurg whipped Blind Fury from its scabbard and brandished it aloft, nearly eviscerating King Tosig Longbeard in the process.
“Give me that, you silly nit!” the dwarf king snarled and grabbed the sword from his relative’s hand.
“I was going to present it to you proper,” Glandurg sounded hurt. “With a bow and all.”
Tosig only snorted.
“Well, there it is.”
E.T. Tajikawa stepped up and examined the glistening mass. “It probably wasn’t alive anyway,” Taj said.
Wiz looked at the wall of ice and the shadow forms embedded in it. So this was the Enemy. He knew he should feel something. Rage, triumph, something. But looking at the glassy mass he couldn’t work up any emotion at all.
Then he turned back to Moira and all the emotions in the world overwhelmed him.
Meanwhile, the dwarves had been busy looting since the end of the battle. Parties of six or seven disappeared down every tunnel and poked into each room, returning laden with boxes, bags and chests. From the rapidly growing piles it appeared that they were almost as good at looting as they were at fighting. Malkin wandered over to inspect one of the piles, needless of the dwarves’ glares. Jerry could have sworn she kept her hands clasped behind her back the whole time, but she returned to him with a suspiciously lumpy tunic.