Wizardry Cursed
by Rick Cook
Wizardry Cursed
by Rick Cook
The Wizardry Cursed (c) 1991
ONE: CONTRACT
Beware of open-ended contracts. They are hell to support.
-Programmers’ saying
Torches flickered and smoked, casting fitful light through the cavern.
Tosig Longbeard, King of the Dwarves-or at least the Mid-Northeastern
Dwarves of the Southern Forest Range-shifted on his carved alabaster
throne and eyed his visitors with distaste.
It was, he had to admit, a most unusual sight. Three Troll Kings in the
same room and not fighting. The sight and stench would have been enough to
gag a human; but dwarves have a somewhat different aesthetic and King
Tosig’s attitude owed more to the delegation’s demands than their looks or
smell. He drummed his fingers on the throne arm as he tried to figure a
diplomatic way out of this mess.
The smaller troll in the center did the talking. He was unusually
intelligent for a troll and their host had no doubt he was the one who had
organized this meeting. Pox rot him! Tosig thought as he waited for him to
run down.
“This is not a matter for me or my people,” Tosig broke in at last. “If
this new human wizard bothers you, then destroy him.”
“We cannot,” the troll king replied. “This magic is too strong.” His face
split into a snaggle-toothed grin. “But dwarves have powerful magic.
Dwarves can kill this new wizard.”
His two companions nodded and growled assent. King Tosig glowered back and
felt a tiny burning sensation kindle somewhere up under his breastbone. At
that moment he truly wanted to kill the new wizard who had brought him all
this trouble.
At that moment the new wizard wouldn’t have been at all averse to being
killed.
Like King Tosig’s hall, the chamber was underground and dimly lit. But
instead of rough stone, the walls were fine mosaics in subdued and
tasteful patterns. There were no smoky torches here, only a diffuse
radiance that seemed to emanate from everywhere in the room. And while the
creature that faced the two humans across the table might be decidedly
odd, by no stretch of the imagination could it be called either ugly or
stinking.
But that did not mean the wizard was enjoying himself.
“Okay, look,” William Irving Zumwalt said. “If the dryads mark their trees
our woodcutters will leave them alone. But in return our people can cut
other trees and use the forest without being harassed.”
The being across the nacreous table cocked its head, as if listening to
far-away voices. It was manlike, but then so is a gorilla if you stretch
the term far enough. Parchment skin stretched over delicate bones. Fingers
so long they were almost tentacles. Enormous dark eyes that slanted at the
corners. Ears blood-pink and pointed. The thing was at once inhumanly
beautiful and deeply disturbing.
The silence dragged on. Wiz shifted and fidgeted while the creature sat
with its head to one side and its eyes focused on things far beyond its
visitor. Elven magic could warp time to make centuries pass in a single
night. But Wiz was finding that non-mortals didn’t need magic to make a
night drag on for centuries.
“It will be done,” the creature said finally. “The trees will be marked.”
“But when?”
The other lifted a delicate hand and waved it airily. “Soon,” it fluted.
Wiz took a tighter rein on his temper. “Soon” to a non-mortal meant any
time in the next geologic eon-if then.
“But precisely when? I can’t go back to my people and tell them just
‘soon.’ We’ve got to be able to go into the forests to cut wood and gather
food.”
“You wish it done soon. I say it will be soon. That is enough.”
“Fine, but we need . . .” Wiz was talking to empty air. The being had
vanished, leaving Wiz and his companion alone in the gently glowing
chamber. Slowly and inexorably the light was dying, a none-too-subtle hint
that the meeting was over.
“Well, then . . .” Jerry Andrews put his palms on the opalescent table and
heaved himself up from the low chair. He had lost weight in the year or so