“I have just come from a secret audience with my uncle, the King,”
Glandurg told them. “He has entrusted us with an important mission.”
“I thought the King said he’d cut your ears off if you came next nor nigh
him,” put in a dwarf named Gimli who was so young his beard barely touched
his chest.
Glandurg glared at him and planted his hands on his hips. “Do you want to
hear this or don’t you?”
Gimli wilted under his leader’s stare and Glandurg adopted his heroic pose
again.
“As I was saying, a secret audience with the King. He has commanded us
upon a vital mission for all of dwarfdom.”
He paused for effect and the other dwarves leaned forward expectantly.
“We are to penetrate the world of mortals to its very heart and there find
and slay a wizard from beyond our World! It is a dangerous, desperate
quest and in his hour of need my uncle the King has turned to us as the
staunchest, bravest among all his subjects.” He surveyed his wide-eyed
followers and saw they were satisfactorily impressed.
“This isn’t another one of your stories?” one of the dwarves asked at
last.
“Why don’t you go to my uncle the King and put that question to him?”
That settled it. None of them would go anywhere near King Tosig, but the
assurance with which Glandurg issued the challenge told them that for once
their leader was not exaggerating. At least not much.
“How are we supposed to get there?” asked Thorfin, always the practical
one. “That’s two hundred leagues at least.”
“We will ride,” Glandurg said loftily. “It has been arranged.”
“I don’t know about horses,” a dwarf named Snorri said dubiously. “I’m not
much for them.”
“We will not ride horses. We will fly.”
“I thought you said we’d ride,” said Ragnar. “Which will it be then?”
“You’ll see soon enough,” Glandurg told him with a superior smile. He was
pleased that he had thought of the transportation problem and he was even
more pleased with the solution he had worked out in the few hours since
meeting with the king. But he didn’t want to tip his hand. His companions
might not be as happy with his cleverness as Glandurg was.
“What about supplies?” Ragnar asked.
“Our every need will be supplied from the hold’s storehouses,” Glandurg
said. He smiled at the thought of old Samlig’s face when he issued out the
carefully hoarded goods. “We shall have the weapons, the armor and the
gold we need from my uncle the King’s personal treasury.”
He looked them over again. “This will not be easy. The alien wizard has
mighty magic and his legions of mortal warriors are numberless and not to
be despised. It will be a long, difficult adventure and danger awaits us
at every turn.”
The dwarves all nodded. Danger and adventure were fine with them.
“This will be to the death,” he proclaimed. “Some of us-nay, all of
us!-may not return.”
He swept his gaze over his followers impressively.
“Now swear with me in blood!” Glandurg drew his knife and nicked himself
on the wrist. He cut deeper than he meant to and winced slightly at the
sudden pain. There was a lot more blood than he intended, but his sleeve
reddened satisfactorily and the blood dripping off his wrist made a most
impressive touch.
One by one the other dwarves cut themselves and mingled their blood with
their leader’s for the oath.
“To the wizard’s death-or our own.”
Three: OPERATION 500-POUND PARAKEET
The problem with a kludge is eventually you’re going to have to go back
and do it right.
-Programmers’ saying
“You’re sure this will work?” Wiz asked for the fourth time that morning
amid the bustle of final preparations. He was wearing a warm wool tunic
and pants, a heavy travelling cloak and a very apprehensive look.
“If you can remember to do your part of it,” Moira said a little sharply.
Then she caught his expression and placed her hand on his arm.
“Do not worry, love,” she said softly. “The spells are as simple and
foolproof as we can make them. What was your