a couple of hours to do a little exploring.
It was the first time he had really been outside the Mousehole since he
arrived and he was enjoying it. No gremlins, no brownies, no elves and no
dwarves.
Glandurg could not believe his luck. After all the weeks of hunting and
the long weary days of waiting, there was the Sparrow, not two hundred
paces away, with his back turned!
And better yet, there was no sign of the protection spell Snorri had
reported. Nothing that would do violence to an attacker. There was magic
about him, of course, but after all he was a wizard.
Glandurg nearly hugged himself with glee.
He dropped to his belly and wormed his way forward through the fallen
leaves. He moved with exquisite care as he eased his silent way toward the
sitting figure. Fifty paces and still no move from his quarry. Twenty.
Ten.
Glandurg rose with a rush, took two steps and leaped toward the
defenseless Sparrow.
He didn’t exactly bounce, but he certainly vibrated. Glandurg had leaped
directly into the center of an enormous spider web that sprang up in his
path. His sword fell to the leaves, but he remained thoroughly stuck in
the mass of sticky strands.
Wiz turned around at the noise and gaped. There was a dwarf hanging upside
down in a giant spider’s web. The dwarf was struggling frantically and
cursing luridly. Wiz didn’t speak dwarfish, but it sure sounded lurid.
Wiz waited until the dwarf ran down.
“Now,” he said. “Just what is this all about?”
“A protection spell,” Glandurg spat. “I might have known.”
“You didn’t think I’d come walking in the woods without one, did you? I
hoped I’d seen the last of you back at the Capital, but I wasn’t taking
any chances.”
Actually Wiz had devised the spell against any wild animals that might be
lurking in the forest. He didn’t want to kill them, so he had settled for
something that would immobilize an attacker.
“You know, I’m sort of glad you did show up,” Wiz said. “Now maybe you’ll
tell me what this is all about.”
Glandurg nodded and the gesture made his beard fall in his face. He shook
his head to clear his eyes.
“Meet it is that you should know the cause and agent of your doom,” he
said in his best skaldic voice. Or at least the best voice he could manage
suspended upside down in midair.
“I hight Glandurg; son of Megli, praised above all smiths; son of Famlir,
who fell in the battle of Breccan’s Doom; son of . . .”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re from a very distinguished line,” Wiz cut him off,
“but that doesn’t explain why you’re trying to kill me.”
The dwarf glared. Mortals had no sense of family and no appreciation for
skaldic recitation.
“My uncle is Tosig Longbeard, King of the Dwarves. To fulfill a debt he
has commissioned me to seek your death. To this end I have sworn mighty
oaths that my quest shall end in your death or my own.”
“Uh, I don’t suppose we can talk about this?”
The dwarf looked uncomfortable. “I am sorry, Wizard. You are brave and
honorable and you are working for the good of all our World. But I have
sworn a quest and you must die to satisfy it.”
Wiz bent and picked up Glandurg’s fallen sword.
“I can’t very well let you go, you know. I can’t be looking over my
shoulder at every moment.”
“Wait,” Glandurg said quickly. “I cannot forgo my sacred mission but I can
postpone it. If you release me, I swear to take no action against you,” he
made a motion as if to cross his heart, “until you have fulfilled your own
work.”
Wiz considered. He didn’t have much stomach for killing anyway.
“All right,” he said finally. “Swear to that and I’ll let you go.”
Glandurg moved his hands again. “I do swear that I shall not try to slay
you until your battle with your enemies is over. I swear by the moon for
as long as it is in the sky.”
“Fine,” Wiz said. He turned and started to walk away.