what is behind this attack, you should stay where we can protect you.”
“How long then?”
“I do not know. But my magic tells me whoever is after you is not easily
discouraged. Until we have found the guiding hand you are in danger.”
* * *
“You had to go after him yourself,” Glandurg said disgustedly. “You
couldn’t wait for the rest of us.”
“Well, you said he had to be slain quickly,” Gimli said defensively.
“There he was coming along the trail and there I was, so . . .” He
shrugged.
“You’re lucky he didn’t turn you into a rabbit,” his leader told him,
“instead of just throwing you over the cliff.”
“Didn’t throw me,” Gimli said sullenly.
“You jumped, I suppose?”
“Well . . .”
Glandurg looked around at the other dwarves. “Listen to me. No more
striking half-hearted, do you understand?”
“Not much chance of that,” Snorri said. “The wizard hasn’t stirred from
his castle for days.”
“Then we have run him to earth and trapped like a rat!” Glandurg gloated.
“Begging my Lord’s pardon, but how do we get him out of the trap now that
we’ve got him in it?”
The dwarf leader frowned. There was more to this business than he had
imagined and some of the details were proving quite annoying.
“We could tunnel in,” one of the other dwarves suggested. “That whole
bluff’s nothing but limestone.”
The others shifted and murmured approval. Tunneling was something dwarves
were comfortable with.
“How long would that take?” Glandurg demanded.
The dwarf who had made the suggestion eyed the distant cliff and castle.
“If we can sneak in close and drive the shaft steep up from the river
level-oh-not more than two, three years, I should think,” he finished
brightly.
The leader shook his head. “That will not do, then. Our king promised the
trolls speedy action.” Besides he knew in a general way that two or three
years was a long time for a human to stay in one place.
“You got a better idea then?” the other challenged.
“Of course I have.”
“What then?” the other persisted.
The leader reddened. “Don’t be impertinent!”
“I’m not being impertinent, I just want to know what your idea is.”
“I . . .” Over the shoulder of his questioner, the leader saw a flight of
river swans glide down to the smooth river surface, their wings extended
and motionless. As the swans touched down he had an inspiration.
“Backwards!” he proclaimed. “We will come at this alien wizard backwards!”
Twelve: PICNIC
Wiz paced to the window, looked down into the courtyard, paced back to his
chair, sat down, picked up the scroll, got up and strode to the window
again.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” he said turning to face his wife.
Moira kept her eyes on the blouse she was embroidering with a pattern of
moss rose and holly leaves. “So go.”
“No, I mean I’ve got to get away from the Wizard’s Keep.”
Moira looked up from her work. “You never wanted to go outside the castle
before.”
“Yeah, but I knew I could do it any time then. Now I’m cooped up here and
its getting to me. I’m going stir crazy.”
Moira put down her needlework and frowned. “With assassins about that is
not safe, but if you feel you must, I can summon a troop of guardsmen . .
.”
“No. That would be worse than not going out at all.”
“Then you must stay in, I am afraid.”
“Look, I could rig a spell that would protect me.”
“Against what? Dwarves are clever and we do not know when or how they will
strike again.”
“We don’t even know if they’ll strike at all,” Wiz said. “That may have
been a fluke.”
“Bal-Simba does not think so.”
Wiz growled.
Moira took his hands in hers. “I am sorry, my love. I do not mean to sound
unsympathetic. It is just that here you are safe. Outside the castle you
cannot be protected.”
“I feel like I’m wrapped in cotton wool and it’s suffocating me,” Wiz
protested. “It’s affecting my work. I just want to get away from everyone