The Oathbound Wizard

CHAPTER 15 Pack of the Quarry

"Well, at least you can't say the scenery is boring."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Matt eyed the hills to left and right—and ahead. Behind them, mountains towered, blocking the sun; it was midmorning, but they were still moving through false dawn. "Was I complaining? At least we're walking on level ground, more or less."

"We have come out of the foothills," Fadecourt assured them. "It will not be long ere we see little but plowed fields, and must needs go through many towns."

"I'd prefer to go around them, if you don't mind." Matt eyed the nearby slopes with suspicion. "Even out here in the open, I'm constantly watching for Gordogrosso's lackeys."

"His lackeys are noblemen," Yverne pointed out. "Dost'a not mean `the lackeys of his barons'?"

"Well, no, actually, I was kind of meaning what I said. Besides, how many of his barons were born aristocrats?"

Yverne flushed. "Most, though there were always a dozen or so whom he haled down, to make room for his low-born lackeys."

"Let that go on long enough, and there'll only be a handful whose ancestors go back before the sorcerers."

" 'Tis even so." Surprisingly, her eyes filled with tears. "Only a marcher baron is given his due here. And the parvenus are ever eager to seize what is not theirs."

Matt was horrified to realize she'd been talking personally. "Hey, now, I'm sorry! No offense intended. Don't worry, milady—we'll put the old houses back where they belong."

"Do not promise what you cannot assure," Fadecourt rumbled. "Only cadet branches of the old noble houses remain, and even they are so embittered that most have turned to evil ways, seeking to recoup their fortunes."

Matt looked up, appalled. "You mean even if I do manage to kick out Gordo—uh, the sorcerer-king, I won't be able to find enough good people to administer the countryside for me?"

"Even so," Fadecourt answered.

But Yverne countered, "You must take them where you find them, Lord Wizard. There be good folk among the commoners, and some may prove able."

That rocked Matt. "Uh, you'll pardon my saying it, milady, but—I'm a little surprised to hear a lady of the aristocracy lauding the abilities of commoners."

"Any who have kept their faith in God and kept being good," Yverne answered, "are noble in heart. Mayhap goodness is the only true nobility left in Ibile, since 'tis done in the face of such adversity."

Somehow, Matt had thought of Ibile as masses of good, poor people, laboring under the yoke of oppression and cruelty imposed by evil magic. He hadn't realized that the licentiousness of the aristocrats would make the common people think that there was no reason in their maintaining honest conduct toward one another, or living by any law other than the aristocrats' selfishness. He hadn't stopped to think how thoroughly the violation of morals could trickle down to permeate every level of society. He should have, of course—Gresham's law applied to any medium, not just to money, and people's media of exchange were only analogies for their real interactions.

They rounded a hill, and Matt found himself confronting the physical image of the rejected virtues he'd just been thinking about.

Where two slopes met, there was a little cave, a grotto, and in it was a statue. But its paint was peeling, and vines had grown over it, almost hiding all but the face and the left hand. Matt looked closely, but didn't recognize the features. "Who's that?"

Fadecourt looked up, surprised. " 'Tis he to whom you have prayed, Lord Wizard—Saint Iago. Dost'a say you have prayed to him, but never knew his likeness?"

Matt reddened. "I'm afraid not. Worse, I don't know anything about him."

Nearby were the remains of a small building, roof fallen in, stone walls breached, with soot stains over every place where there had been woodwork.

"Alas! That so sacred a shrine should come to this!" Yverne cried, tears in her eyes.

Matt looked at Fadecourt.

"This was once the most holy place of all, Lord Wizard," the cyclops said heavily, "for it stands in the place where Saint Iago did appear to Brother Chard, a simple mendicant monk. His brothers built this little chapter house, that they might live by the place, basking in its sanctity and tending its grounds. They held it safe 'gainst the sorcerer-kings for a hundred and fifty years. Then, alas, there came one traitor, one Vile by name, who became a novice, then a monk. He was somehow turned toward Evil, mayhap in hope of preferment by the king, and he made the monks a plan whereby, said he, they could defeat Gordogrosso. They were to go forth from this small cloister of theirs and come one by one into Orlequedrille, Gordogrosso's capital. There they were to surround the palace and pray with all their hearts to God, for the downfall of the king."

"And while they were out, the king's men fell on the shrine and desecrated it?"

"Aye; the chapter house they tore apart and burned within, as you have seen; and they smashed the beautiful mosaics in the grotto." Tears flowed freely down Yverne's cheeks.

"Yet the statue they could not destroy." Even through his anger, the awe in Fadecourt's voice was clear. "The soldiers could not enter the grotto; 'twas as though an unseen wall withheld them."

"A wall they could neither breach nor scale," Yverne whispered, " 'Twas even then a miracle."

"So the shrine itself remains." Matt frowned, brooding, gazing at the ivy-covered statue. "But what of the monks?"

"They were slain as they entered the town," Yverne said, "for the soldiers knew of their movements."

"Don't tell me they were fools enough to wear their monks' robes!"

"Nay; but a tonsure's not so easily hidden, when the guards at the gate demand that all men uncover," Fadecourt told him. "Then the king gave them trial, of course, and had his chancellor prove them guilty of lese majeste"

"After they were safely dead."

"Aye, poor souls!" Yverne's cheeks were wet. "Yet their shrine still stands neglected, for none dare come here; abandoned and in disrepair; but it stands, that the doers of evil deeds may know they have never fully won."

Matt sat frowning at the shrine.

Fadecourt noticed; and his voice was apprehensive. "Wizard? What would you do?"

"Just thinking that we're here," Matt said, "and no more likely to draw the wrath of any sentry-sorcerers by doing one more good deed. Come on, folks! Let's tidy up this grotto a little bit!" He strode away toward the statue.

Yverne and Fadecourt exchanged a glance of surprise and delight, then followed him. So did Narlh, muttering, "Something bad is gonna come of this. I just know it."

The statue's paint was faded and flaking, and Matt was tempted to scrape it all off, since it was stone underneath, but he resisted the temptation, contenting himself with clearing away the ivy and sweeping out the debris, while Yverne transplanted wildflowers and Narlh helped Fadecourt rebuild the low wall that had surrounded the grotto. They did some general cleaning and scrubbing, too, though there was no stream within the grotto, and they had to haul water from a nearby rivulet in makeshift buckets. It was midafternoon before they were done, but Matt stood back with a feeling of accomplishment and said, "There! That was time well spent."

Whether or not there had been a cave there originally was hard to tell from his angle, though Matt had seen from the inside that there was. But the monks had built an arch in front of it, of blocks smoothly fitted and extending at the front into a low stone rail. Along that rail, they had packed dirt into steps that ran the length of the wall, overgrown with grass, which Matt had mown with his dagger. It formed a prie-dieu, a kneeling bench for praying. Yverne's flowers adorned the base of the statue. There were also plants at two points up each side of the arch, in little earth-filled basins built for the purpose.

"I won't say it looks as good as new," Matt hedged, "but it doesn't look totally abandoned anymore."

"It does not, indeed," Fadecourt said. "Your pardon, Lord Wizard." And he went to kneel on the grass by the stone rail, beside Yverne, head bent in prayer.

"How about you?" Narlh demanded.

Matt stood for a second, thinking it over. Then he shook his head. "I never was much for devotion to the saints, I'm afraid. But I'll say a short prayer." He closed his eyes and bowed his head. When he lifted it again, Narlh snorted, "Short, all right."

"But to the point Besides, if he cares at all, I think the work will do instead of the words."

"Maybe," Narlh allowed, "and I guess I'd rather have a man who did something without saying he would"

"Over the one who talked a lot, but never got around to doing it?"

"You've met 'em, too, huh?"

"'Fraid so." Matt was watching Yverne as she rose and came back toward them. Fadecourt followed a few seconds later. "Back on the road?"

Yverne turned a radiant face toward him. "Aye, Lord Wizard. I think I shall fear naught that the sorcerer can do against us, now."

" 'Tis good not to fear," Fadecourt rumbled, "so long as one remembers to take care."

The sunset was long on this side of the mountains, but the land flattened out amazingly, and by the time it was dark, they still hadn't found a good camping place.

Matt signaled for a stop. "Well, when there's no place right, one spot's as good as another, isn't it?"

"I think not," Fadecourt said, frowning, "though there seems to be little choice. I prithee, make thy circle quickly, Wizard, for I mislike this open land."

"Yeah, and you didn't even grow up in the city." Matt started to swing his improvised pack off his shoulder.

But Yverne put out a hand to stop him. "Hist! What comes?"

They were instantly silent, taut, listening.

Faint with distance came a horrible grinding, gnashing sound. Even as they registered its existence, it grew louder. It sounded like giant teeth clashing against one another in anticipation of a feast.

"Whatever it is, it's coming fast." Matt looked worried.

"Coming fast? It approaches like a hailstorm!" Fadecourt said.

Yverne turned pale. "I mislike that sound, Lord Wizard."

"Oh?" Matt looked up. "Ever heard it before?"

"Aye—as a child. A sorcerer of the king's came to reside at my father's castle for a short space—a reeve, he was, a common-born popinjay." Her eyes dewed at the memory of her father. "To awe my parent, he brought to life a gargoyle from our roof. It sounded much like this, as it moved its stony limbs and clashed its iron jaws."

Matt caught an echo of some more ominous event underscoring her words and wondered if the reeve's visit had eventually resulted in the siege that had just ended. But he had to file it away for a better moment. "If that's a gargoyle, then there's more than one. "

"I doubt it not." Fadecourt was grim. "I have heard that King Gordogrosso has raised these beasts before, to track and shred enemies of whom he particularly wished to be rid."

"Congratulations, Wizard," Narlh growled. "You've been noticed."

"This time, I think I could do without the approbation. What are we standing around waiting for, people? Run!"

They turned and started back the way they'd come, but the gnashing and grinding grew louder behind them.

"To where...do we...run?" Fadecourt panted.

"You...tell me!" Matt wheezed. "You're the...military! Where...can we...hole up?"

"Nowhere," the cyclops answered, with instant certainty. "There's naught of...a stronghold, nor even...a good battle ground, between us and the grotto!"

"The grotto!" Matt cried. "You told me...nothing evil could...enter there! At least...it couldn't when...Gordogrosso's henchmen...tried to defile it!"

"Can it...hold 'gainst...them?" Fadecourt panted.

"It's the only chance...we've got! Shut up and...run!"

But Narlh slowed to a stop. "Here, you little guys will never make it! I can carry triple, for that far at least! Come on, up!"

Matt started to protest, but Fadecourt was already up and yanking Yverne aboard. Matt shut up and scrambled for a seat, grabbed at a fin, and held tight as the monster leaped forward into a run. Matt leaned into the wind and hoped.

The distance that had taken them six hours to traverse at a walk sped past them at Narlh's gargantuan pace. The wind howled by Matt's face, and he realized that he'd never seen the dracogriff run flat out before. Even so, the grinding and gnashing swelled behind them, faster than they could travel.

"This is too slow!" Narlh snapped. "Hang on—I hate it, but I'm gonna have to get off the ground."

They hung on for dear life as the dracogriff spread his wings and bounded into the air. He flapped mightily, straining upward, farther and farther, griping savagely every second, until, about fifty feet up, he caught a breeze and began to glide. Then he swooped eastward so fast that the clamor behind them actually began to fade a little—but not much. Peering over Fadecourt, Matt could see Yverne's back, rigid and trembling. He didn't doubt she had her eyes squeezed shut, but she hung on without a word of protest. Could he do any less?

Then the double hills rose up before them, and Yverne cried, " 'Tis yon! The grotto!"

Narlh folded his wings and stooped.

He hit the ground running, cupping his wings against the wind, then dug in with his claws and plowed to a stop. "Down! Those monsters will be here any minute!"

They didn't stay to argue.

Now that they were back on the ground, the sound swelled again—faster and faster. They bolted ahead of it, Fadecourt hanging back a little, Matt pacing himself to Yverne. The clamor clashed and clanged louder behind him, and he was very much tempted to shoot past the girl, but he held himself in until he saw her bolt through the gateway. Then he shot through, with Fadecourt right on his heels. Matt turned to look back, dreading the sight of their pursuers—and saw Narlh.

The dracogriff was facing into the wind, wings spread, running at an angle from them—but toward their pursuers.

And there they were, just coming into sight, moonlight glinting off granite faces and steel teeth.

"Narlh!" Matt shouted. "Are you out of your mind? Get in here!"

Narlh skidded to a stop, head lifted, staring. "Me? In a holy place like that?"

"You're good enough, you're good enough! After all, you helped clean it, didn't you?"

The dracogriff took one look over his shoulder, then bounded toward the shrine. As he squeezed through the gateway, he panted, "You sure there's room?"

"You'll have to curl up around the statue, I expect," Matt said, "but you should be able to make it."

Narlh did as he said, curving right around the statue, then left, as his head came out from behind. He lay down as he went, the roof being low, and looked up at the statue. " ' Scuse me, sir."

Matt turned back to the plain and saw the gargoyles waddling up toward them. They were a horrible sight—bits and pieces of recognizable beasts, legs from crocodiles, wings from bats, tails from snakes, human arms that were covered with fish scales—but with heads never seen on any living man or beast. And every single one was different; no two were remotely the same combination.

The heads were crested with growths that looked like feathers, fins, or wattles, and the faces were travesties of the human, just close enough to look really horrible. But every mouth was filled with glinting, pointed teeth. Matt looked at the moonlight winking off them and felt a chill shiver through him. Were those polished surfaces really steel?

"Close the door!" Narlh called.

"I can't," Matt answered. "There isn't any."

"There are no walls, either." Fadecourt braced himself for his last fight. "I implore thee, wizard-ready a spell, in case this shrine is no longer shielded by God."

"Well...I suppose that's wise." Matt tried to remember a shielding spell.

He stopped, eyes wide. The air seemed to tingle about him; he could feel some sort of field pressing in on his skin. But it wasn't the turgid weight of evil magic that he was used to pushing against.

"Why do you stop?" Fadecourt cried.

"Because," Matt said, "somebody, or something, doesn't want me to go on."

"Who could have taken power here?" Yverne cried.

"Nobody," Matt said with total certainty. "You don't know how this feels, but believe me, if you did, you'd know nobody could even ruffle it."

Then the monsters struck the shrine.

They struck—and reared on up into the air, just as though they'd slammed into a wall. The ones in back climbed up on top of the ones in front, then went on climbing with their front legs. Their rear claws flailed at thin air, seeking to gain purchase on something, but not finding it. Then the third tier climbed on top of the second, and they had a little luck—they were able to bend forward, as though they were leaning over the curve of a domed roof. But they couldn't climb it—not that it mattered; the fourth row of monsters did that. They crawled up above Matt's head on thin air, claws scrabbling at the unseen roof—but unable to dent it. It was quite a sight, wall-to-wall living gargoyles, and up above, too. Their ugliness was bad enough, but the sheer, unrelieved malice in their eyes made Matt's spirit quail. Every now and again, a gargoyle looked down at him as though to say he was going to get his—and that the gargoyle would thoroughly enjoy every second of shredding his flesh.

Matt shrank back against the base of the statue next to Yverne and asked, yelling to make himself heard above the grinding and clashing, "What are they? Did Gordogrosso have them all carved out of granite and brought to life, just so he could use them for his own hunting dogs?"

But Yverne only shook her head and yelled back, "I know not"

"They are demons, of course," Fadecourt called. "I can only conjecture how 'tis the artists who did carve the ornaments for cathedral roofs did know of them—but be sure that they are demons, brought hot from Hell for this night's chasing."

That explained the malice, and the feeling of pure, unmitigated evil. If they hadn't been carved from stone, they seemed to have been made of it; their hides varied from slaty gray to charcoal black, and looked like igneous rock. Their limbs grated as they moved, clashing against one another as they slipped or fell back, then clawed their way back up—and those claws glinted with metal. Each clawing roused anger and was answered with a sudden slash of glittering teeth, but it was a case of the impervious object meeting the superhardened alloy. Then one of the gargoyles discovered the wall.

His jaws, grinding against each other with the sound they had first heard miles away, ripped into the stones forming the arch over the grotto. The jaws bit through the stone and met, taking a neat, smoothly beveled chunk out of the wall. The creature spat out the stone and bit again—and froze, its mouth open. It fought to close its jaws, but couldn't, though there was nothing between them; it had come up against the field force surrounding the statue and could make no headway against it.

Slowly, one by one, the gargoyles fell back, and didn't bother climbing up again—they'd found it was no use. Instead they prowled around the grotto, their stone limbs filling the little valley with clashing and grinding, their steel teeth gnashing in fury.

Tears streamed down Yverne's cheeks, but she said bravely, "Praise Heaven! We are safe here!"

"Aye." Fadecourt patted her hand. "They cannot come in."

"On the other hand," Matt said, "we can't go out."

"Have we need to?"

"Unless we want to spend the next several years here—I'd say so, yes."

"Surely they will tire and go away!" Yverne protested.

"They don't look like the type to bore easily," Matt said. "Not very intelligent, at a guess, but very, very determined. Besides, there's the question of how long we can wait."

"I have fasted before," Fadecourt informed him. "I can endure some days without food."

Yverne looked apprehensive, but she nodded.

"All well and good," Matt said slowly, "but let's say, now—water?"

They were all quiet.

"Aye," Fadecourt admitted. "Thirst will drive us out within a day or two."

"And there's nothing to drink," Matt said. "We found that out this afternoon, while we were patching the place up."

"But surely they will not linger past dawn," Yverne protested.

"Only one way to find out." Matt lay down on a patch of grass and rolled over, covering himself with his cloak and pillowing his head on his arm. "Wake me if anything goes right."

Narlh nuzzled him awake. Matt sat up with a start, looked about him in a panic, and remembered where he was. He relaxed with a sigh. "Thanks, O Vigilant One. Anything changed?"

"Yeah—the sky." Narlh nodded upward. "Dawn's coming—and your gargoyles are getting restless."

"Not mine," Matt muttered automatically—but he watched the gargoyles.

They were pacing about, snapping at one another, apparently quite agitated. As the first ray of sunlight struck the hillside above them, each of them began to dig. They went down into the ground very fast, of course, with steel claws and all that weight—down, and down, dirt gouting up about them though they stayed pretty much in place, reminding Matt of pigs wallowing into mud. In a few minutes, they had disappeared, their places marked only by mounds of dirt.

Yverne sat up, stifling a yawn and blinking about her. Then her eyes went wide. "They have gone!"

"No," Matt said, "only gone underground. They'll rise again at sunset, I'm sure."

"What will?" Fadecourt sat up, scowling. He saw the mounds of dirt, at least a hundred of them, and realized what they meant. "So. Our enemies await us without and withunder, do they not?"

"They do," Matt agreed. "My question is, will they dare come out if they know they'll be in sunlight?"

"We might try them," Fadecourt suggested. "How much is the knowledge worth to you—an arm, or a leg?"

Matt gazed at the dirt mounds, thinking it over.

"Mayhap the course of discretion is wiser," the cyclops suggested.

"Definitely. After all, I'm not eager to lose a member."

"There are other ways to test," Fadecourt pointed out. "Yet to be clear, we must wait till sunlight covers the ground outside of this shrine."

"I can wait."

He didn't have to wait long. The sun's rays soon covered the grass outside the shrine, what was left of it. Fadecourt nodded, satisfied, went back into the cave behind the grotto, and came back with a boulder. He bowled it toward the nearest dirt pile. Matt wondered whether it would be able to pass out of the gate.

It did, rolling a couple of feet away from a burrow. There was an explosion of dirt, a blinding flash of granite legs with a horrendous clashing. Steel teeth slashed, and the boulder was gone.

Abruptly, the gargoyle froze. Then, slowly, it turned toward the humans, giving them a look of such pure malevolence that Matt felt his heart trying to sink down into his boot tops.

"It knows we deceived it," Yverne whispered. "It would rend us limb from limb for that deception, if it could."

Narlh snorted behind them. "How many pieces can it tear you into? It was ready to do that last night."

But already, the monster's skin was dulling. It turned and dragged itself painfully back to its hole, where it wallowed down, sending up a cloud of soil that settled to hide it from the light.

"It can endure the sun," Fadecourt said, "though not for any great length of time."

"Long enough to tear us to shreds, though." Matt shook his head. "No, we're very effectively penned up here."

They were quiet, digesting the fact.

Then Yverne rose. "Well, we must proceed with the morning's duties, as best we may. By your leave, gentlemen." She turned and went away, behind the grotto, to the cave. Narlh lifted his head as she passed and gazed after her.

Matt knew the feeling. After seeing those gargoyles, he would never trust honest stone again.

"Well, Wizard," the dracogriff challenged, "how're you gonna get us out of this one?"

"I don't know," Matt confessed. "If these obscene; uh, works of art, really do come from Hell, any power I can wield probably won't be enough. It'd take a direct miracle, straight from Heaven."

"Is our plight so desperate that a saint might intervene?" Fadecourt asked.

Matt shook his head. "As I understand it, that takes direct, personal participation by a major devil. Subordinate demons like these aren't enough—they're no more than the evil ideas Satan lends his minions, to make people miserable." He wondered about the nature of that power. Since he could feel a sort of magical pressure around him when he was casting a spell, maybe Satan just gave his worshipers the ideas for verses; the magical power was always there, only needing to be shaped and formed.

It would be very chancy, he realized, working for Satan. You'd never know when that devastating power would hit you, as well as your chosen target. You could never be sure your boss wouldn't turn against you.

Yverne came back just in time to hear Narlh growl, "So what would happen if you prayed real hard, and a saint came to kick these monsters out?"

"That would just provide an opening for a devil to show up for a showdown. See, God leaves it to us to work out our own destinies, but He'll give us whatever spiritual help we need—and guidance, if we'll just shut up and listen to Him."

"That is Grace," Yverne murmured.

"Right. He'll even perform constant small miracles, if they'll help us improve our souls and not hurt anybody else's, and we really, sincerely, want them enough to help open the way—like an alcoholic going on the wagon, or an incurable illness going into spontaneous remission..."

" 'Spontaneous remission'?" Narlh frowned. "What is that?"

"What you call a miracle when you don't want to admit it's a miracle. And, of course, Hell is allowed its own low-key interference, except that it has to work through the human agents it cons into its service, not directly—and the result can be some really gruesome temptations to despair. But outright, open meddling isn't allowed—so no saint would show up without a devil to kick out."

"But a devil may appear, to interfere in human affairs?"

"It's been known to happen. Not very often, because the devils know that, against a saint who's a channel for God's power, they can't do anything—and the first thing the saint will do is banish them."

"But then," Yverne cried "if a saint did come to aid us, and a devil came to oppose him, the saint would banish the devil!"

"Yes—but the saint won't break God's rules. We have free will, after all—that seems to be the whole purpose of human existence, as well as I can understand it, which may not be much: for us to choose to go to Heaven, and transform ourselves into something good enough to belong there. Outright interference is too much influence."

"Hey, wait a minute!" Narlh frowned. "You're trying to say that to get to Heaven, we have to choose not to have free will, to just do whatever Heaven wants!"

"Yes, but we use free will in making that choice."

"But..." Narlh tried to follow the loop of the paradox, got lost, and grumbled, "Too deep for me."

"Me, too—I need an Aqua-lung. Of course, the trick is trying to know what Heaven wants; a lot of people have done some very horrible things, believing they knew God's will and were just carrying it out. And, of course, each of the few who really did manage to become a medium for God always had the temptation not to and had to constantly be choosing His will instead of their own. I understand it does require a lot of self-sacrifice. Wouldn't know from my own experience, of course."

Yverne eyed him narrowly, and Matt hastened to explain, "Of course, I don't really understand any of this."

"There are three of us who do not, then," Fadecourt said, with a quick glance at Narlh. "Yet I take it that all of this makes you believe you can do naught 'gainst these engines of Hell."

Matt nodded. "Unless I can figure out a way to harness some sort of natural force. I used to have a scab demon who had taken a liking to me—no, no, my lady, I'm not a sorcerer in disguise! He wasn't part of the Hell crew; in fact, properly speaking, he wasn't even a demon. Humans named him that, because they didn't know what else to call him. He was the personification of a natural process called entropy, and people called him Maxwell's Demon."

"Who was Maxwell?" Narlh grunted.

"A scientist—uh, that was the equivalent of a wizard, where I came from—and he never met the demon, just imagined that it might exist. Which it didn't, back home. But when I came here, I took a chance and called him up—and sure enough, here, he did exist!"

"And his power was enough to break such as these?" Fadecourt asked, looking skeptical.

Matt nodded. "He could make anything go to wrack and ruin, if somebody asked him to in the right way. He could freeze these monsters back into ordinary stone, for example, then make them crumble away into powder."

"Why, then, call him up!" Yverne clapped her hands.

"I wish I could—but he went adventuring with a friend of mine, and I can't take him back without asking. Asking him, I mean—and I'd have to find him, first"

"Can you not conjure up some other such spirit?" Fadecourt asked.

Matt sat still for a minute, letting the idea soak in. Then he nodded. "Yes, I could—but we'd be taking a chance. Whatever I got might do as much damage to us as to our enemies—or might not be willing to do what we ask. It's a risk."

"Could it be worse than what awaits us yon?" Yverne nodded toward the mounds of dirt outside the gateway of the shrine.

Matt thought about steel claws and teeth—vanadium steel, to judge from the way that one monster had sheared through a stone—and shook his head. "I don't think so, no—and there would be a chance that I might be able to banish whatever I called up."

"There is a chance that you could not?" Fadecourt stared.

"Depending on what kind of monster I got—definitely."

"Then don't start up something you can't finish off," Narlh growled.

"That's what they told Frankenstein. No, don't ask—he was another, uh, wizard from back home, though not a very wise one. Still, the point's well taken. Anybody got any ideas as to what kind of spirit I could call up, that would be strong enough to get rid of these gargoyles, but not likely to turn against us?"

A very deep silence answered him.

"Well, so much for that idea." Matt sighed.

" 'Tis a question without an answer, Lord Wizard," Yverne said, looking miserable. "What spirit could be strong enough to aid us, yet not apt to wreak unholy mischief upon us?"

"Mischief!" Matt sat bolt upright.

Then he jumped to his feet, stepped over to Yverne, and gave her a big, loud kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, milady! I should have known I could depend on you!"

"What...what have I said?" she asked, eyes round.

"Mischief! Not malice, mischief! A spirit who loves to play pranks, but doesn't get nasty about it unless people deserve it—or turn out not to be able to take a joke."

"But," she protested, "would a spirit of mischief not be one also of evil?"

"Not necessarily. My parish priest, when I was a boy, had a very active sense of mischief—you know, jumping out of dark hallways shouting "Boo!' and that sort of thing. Gave you the willies, if you were an altar boy going into a dark church on a Sunday morning—but it did teach me to be alert."

"With a priest, all well and good." Fadecourt frowned. "But with a spirit, there might be less of goodness to alloy the meanness."

"Well, it could subject us to some very undignified pranks, of course, but no real damage," Matt answered, "as long as we can take practical jokes in good part."

"What spirit is this?" Fadecourt asked with foreboding.

"I can't guarantee the form or the name." Matt tried to smile. "The worst I've heard him called, is Hobgoblin."

"I like not the sound of that," Fadecourt said darkly.

Yverne, however, clapped her hands and cried, "Hop o' My Thumb!"

"Oh." Matt turned to her. "You've heard of him?"

"Aye. 'Tis said the careful housewife will now and again find a sixpence in her shoe, and 'tis his work—but the lazy sloven will discover naught but black stones, or mayhap beetles." She sobered. "Not a pleasant jest."

"You do have to watch your step," Matt admitted. "He has a knack of taking advantage of human foibles, finds them very fertile ground for humor. Not that he's alone in that, of course."

But Fadecourt was still frowning. "How could such a spirit aid us 'gainst monsters such as these?"

"By having fun with them."

"Fun! With...such as these!?"

"Fun," Matt affirmed. "Get them chasing their tails, or something. Look, it's possible, isn't it?"

"Don't tell him no," Narlh advised Fadecourt. "Anything else he dreams up is likely to be worse."

"There is that," Fadecourt admitted, "and these gargoyles are assuredly far worse than aught else we might bethink us of. Nay, Lord Wizard, call thy sprite."

"Okay. Just a minute, though—I have to try to remember the verse." Matt frowned, running through it silently, then looked up. "Okay. Here goes:

He ended holding out his hands, as though pleading, which was not perhaps the wisest idea—for a glimmer appeared in his palm, progressing to a glitter, then a luster of twinkling that clustered and faded—leaving a miniature human being, leaning back cross-legged in Matt's palm, one ankle propped on the other bended knee, hands behind his head, and a wisp of timothy between his teeth. He wore a sort of furry kilt, a feather in his hair, and nothing more. And he was very small. If it hadn't been for the feather, Matt might have thought he was a nut.

Later on, he was to decide he would have been right.

"Those that Hobgoblin call me, and sweet Puck," the apparition rumbled, in a surprisingly deep voice,

"I do their work, and they shall have good luck.

"And who are ye?"

"Uh—a poor wizard, down on his luck." Matt tried to stop goggling, and failed.

"At whom do you stare, horse-face?"

The other three companions were staring, too, but Puck didn't seem to notice them.

"Uh—sorry." Matt managed to blink and forced a smile. The real, genuine Puck! He felt like asking for an autograph. "Just that you're, uh—amazing."

"Certes. Yet not what you did expect?" The manikin sat up, pulling the wisp out of his mouth and tossing it away. "Why, what did you think I am?"

"Uh—well, a little bigger, actually. At least a foot high."

"A foot? Nay, faugh! What use would such a size be? How then could I capture bees to ride, or steal their honey bags? How should I lie in a cowslip's bell?"

"But...I thought that was Ariel..."

"How foolish can you be? Cowslips come from earth, not air." The little man leaped up, standing with legs spread, arms akimbo. "And, too, you did speak with your friend of 'Hop o' My Thumb'—and if 'tis by that name they know me here, 'tis in that guise I'll appear!"

He was, Matt had to admit, fitting the name. He was about three-quarters of the size of Matt's thumb, and he certainly did look as though he was ready to hop with excess energy. In fact, Matt realized he'd better figure out a way to channel all that mischief fast, or it would be turned against him. "Uh—thanks for coming. We really could use the kind of help you can give."

"I, and only I!" Puck thrust out his chest and strutted. "Nay, I will gladly help you—if you have the wit to use my aid. For look you, you must be careful what you ask for."

"'Cause I might get it, huh?" Matt muttered. "How about if I asked for...No, never mind. We don't have time for that, now."

"There is always time for a jest." Puck smiled, not altogether pleasantly. "What did you think of?"

"Well, I was just wondering what would happen if I asked you if my thoughts had wings...Help!" His mind had suddenly filled with a picture of flapping wings, all kinds of wings—bee's, bird's, bat's, bounder's...What was a bounder? "No, no! I was just wondering!"

Puck made a wrapping gesture with his hand, grinning with mischievous delight. "Well done! Oh, well done! You will be a most excellent subject for my jests! Nay, go on! Do ask for more!"

Matt had the uncomfortable feeling that he had just set himself up as the straight man in a permanent, ongoing vaudeville routine. "Well, actually, we called you to help us against some demons."

"Demons?" Puck's smile turned to gloating. "Why, ever do I rejoice in countering those great chunks of evil! Nay, if you can find them for me, unleash me!"

"You have fought demons before?" Yverne asked, wide-eyed.

Puck gave her a quick look of appraisal and grinned at what he saw. "For you, fair maid, I would fight devils incarnate!"

"That's exactly what we were hoping for, on a minor scale," Matt interrupted. "You see, we're trying to get a chance to fight an evil sorcerer, but he's trying to make sure we don't get close enough. Last night, he sicced a score or two of gargoyles on us."

"Gargoyles?" Puck looked up, startled. "Why, what had you to fear from stone? It cannot turn to smite you!"

"Eppur si muove, " Matt quoted. "And these ones really did move. They waddled, mind you, not galloped—but they still moved a lot faster than I would have thought they could have. And they had steel teeth, which they were very eager to use."

"Ah, those demons whom your sculptors saw in visions dread and rendered in stone to hang up high above your head! 'Twould be reason enough never to go into a church. But how stood you against them?"

"We were lucky enough to find this shrine to Saint Iago. It's still consecrated, you see, and..."

He didn't finish. With an ear-splitting screech, Puck disappeared.

He reappeared a moment later, outside the gateway, mad and hopping. "You fool, you idiot, you blind ass! Have you no better wit than to bring one of the elvin kind into a Christian holy place? Did you wish to see me shrivel in agony?" He leveled a forefinger. "Let us see if your appearance can accord with your..."

Under the circumstances, Matt was very glad the nearest gargoyle chose that moment to explode from the ground in a cloud of dirt.

Puck heard the noise and whirled to see the monster leaping straight for him, claws widespread, steel teeth reaching. The elf disappeared in a flash of light, and as the gargoyle jarred to land, looking about, befuddled and enraged, Puck appeared again at the monster's tail. He grabbed with both hands and pinched.

Matt wouldn't have thought someone so small could pinch so hard.

The gargoyle roared and reared up, whipping about to snap up the miniscule being who dared affront it—but the being had hopped backward far enough for another gargoyle to explode from the earth. The first one got there just in time to clamp its jaws down on the second. With a bellow, the second turned to bite at the first and took a chunk of granite out of its flinty hide.

But Puck had jumped backward again, triggering a third eruption of gargoyle, then danced toward the first two, who were snapping and clawing at each other like a quarry gone mad. The third leaped, Puck disappeared, and the third slammed teeth-first into the tumble of two—both of whom leaped on the interloper. But a fourth was rumbling out of the ground, to see Puck seated on the third's tail. The fourth snapped up Puck—and took a chunk out of its neighbor. The third whirled to snap out, bringing the first two along.

"Oh, the brave elf!" Yverne cried. "He is lost!"

Matt must have gone insane for a second, because he plunged out through the gateway. Fadecourt and Narlh both shouted and dived to catch him, but before he could go more than one step, Puck reappeared on the outside of the snarling, roaring ball, just as it rolled back into the living mine field. Other gargoyles launched themselves from their improvised silos, thundering with blood lust, and Puck disappeared as they plunged into the sphere of disaster. As the ball rolled, more and more gargoyles came out to slay, and wound up trapped in the round of biting and revenging.

Puck appeared on top of Matt's head, dancing and pantomiming punches as he cried, "Slay him, Stoneface! Gouge at him, Granite! Bite at him, Basalt! Aye, hew, gobble, chew, gorge, gnaw, gulp, and bite through!"

"I think they're all in there." Narlh stared in disbelief.

"But," Fadecourt protested, "how can they hurt one another? They are all of stone!"

"Yes," Matt said, "but they all have steel teeth."

Puck disappeared from Matt's head, appeared above the churning battle, then reappeared atop Matt, saying, "All gargoyles are indeed within the fray, and they fray one another quite well. Aye, they have chopped and ground several of the smaller into pebbles already!"

Yverne shuddered. "Praise Heaven we were not caught by them!"

Puck winced. "Mercy, lady! And pray be mindful who has wrought this coil!"

"The ball's getting smaller," Matt pointed out. "I think they've chewed up the medium-size ones now."

Puck popped over above the whirling mass of stone again, then popped back to Matt's crown. "Only the largest and ugliest remain, and they are chewing into one another at a most excellent rate! Why, one would think they had ne'er been fed in their lives!"

The ball grew smaller and smaller, until finally, they could distinguish separate monsters again—but there were only two, with vastly distended bellies, each chewing on the other's tail, each bite taking up more and more. They roared and shrieked and bellowed with each bite, but one gobbled faster than the other, devouring its hind legs, abdomen, chest, and forelegs, then chewed up its head and spit out the teeth. But it couldn't stop; it kept going, past where its enemies' jaws had been fastened into its own flinty hide, chewing and grinding in a roaring rage, grating its own substance until it expired in gravel, leaving nothing but a set of steel teeth that rolled on the ground, gnashing and snapping.

Puck appeared above it, making shooing motions. Then he reappeared on Matt's head, saying, "Its erstwhile foe's teeth also remain. Shall we see their fond embrace?"

There wasn't much choice; he had started the one set of snapping teeth rolling in the right direction, and it kept on rolling until it bumped into the other set of animated dentures. Then they clashed and slashed and chopped at each other until both were shredded into scrap. Even the bits and pieces still jumped about, slamming into each other.

Puck hopped down to Matt's shoulder, set his arms akimbo, and demanded, "Now, what did you wish me to do with these monstrosities?"

"Uh..." Matt could only stare at the barren, churned-up ground before him, strewn with bits and fragments of stone that might just possibly have been recognizable as parts of monsters, if he had looked really closely—which he had no intention of doing.

"Well, put them out of their misery, Wizard!" the elf snapped. "Can you not give these bits of iron their quietus?"

Matt snapped out of it. "Yeah, sure!

It wasn't much, but it served the purpose. The bits of steel turned red, then yellow, then white, and flowed together into a huge, quivering droplet. Matt could feel a blast of heat; then the bubble was melting its way down underground. Matt could have just let it keep going until it hit the molten nickel-iron core of the planet, of course, but he didn't relish the volcano that would result, so he quickly recited an advertising jingle for a deep-freeze company, and the steam stopped rising from the hole. Matt decided he'd wait for a little while, then kick the dirt in.

Puck was giving him an appraising look. "Well done, Wizard! You are no inept apprentice to this craft, I see!"

"Not as good as I should be." Matt swallowed.

"We must not leave the detritus of evil so close by the holy shrine." Fadecourt sounded numb, but he stepped out through the gateway anyway.

"No, wait!" Matt stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "I don't trust that gravel. Let me see if I can't do this a little more efficiently."

Fadecourt stopped, looking up at him in inquiry, but Matt didn't notice. He frowned out at the mass of detritus, thinking over his verses.

The mass of pebbles glimmered, wavered, and was gone.

Matt exhaled a sigh of relief.

"Where have they gone, Lord Wizard?" Yverne asked, eyes wide.

"Back where they came from, I hope—whether it be a rock quarry, or someplace more sinister." Then Matt managed to smile as he turned his head to look at the manikin on his shoulder—out of the corner of his eye was the best he could do—and was glad that it turned into a real smile of relief and gratitude. "Thank you with all my goodwill, Hop o' My Thumb! That, I certainly could not have done without you!"

"It was my pleasure." Puck grinned, eyes glinting with delight. "What game would you have me play next?"

Malt's smile vanished. "Well, uh—now that you mention it, that was the only problem facing us at the moment."

Puck's face clouded. "You dared summon me for only one easily solved chore?"

Matt suddenly became aware, all over again, of the spirit's ability to wreak massive havoc simply in the process of having a good time. "Well, uh—yes, actually. You see, it was something we couldn't handle alone, and..."

"And would I have the courtesy to quietly fade from sight, now that you no longer have need of me?" The elf's eyes narrowed. "I think not, Wizard! Know that we faerie-folk always claim what's owed us."

"Uh...well, yes, I know I owe you a lot of thanks, but..."

" 'Tis more than thanks," Puck said with a wolfish grin. "Know that, when you accept aid from one such as I, you do incur an obligation to us—and we husband our resources; we stay hard by you, seen or unseen, until you've done by us as we've done by you."

Matt groaned. "Meaning that, unless I get a chance to save you from as much grief as you've just spared us, that you're my permanent companion?"

"Till debt do us part—or its discharge, at least. Yet I, more than any other sprite, grow restless in boredom. You must find occupation for me, Wizard—and if you can find no better diversion for me, I shall have to find my pleasure in tormenting you!"

Matt swallowed heavily, frantically trying to think of a way out.

It was Yverne who found it. "Can you not be patient for a short while? For surely King Gordogrosso will find new terrors to set upon us, and right soon."

"Yes!" Matt agreed with vehemence. "Now that he's finally taking us seriously enough to notice us, we'll probably have one monster after another to fight. At least one a day!"

Puck pursed his lips around a smile, eyeing Matt and considering." 'Tis a better offer than I've had this last hundred years..."

"Take it, I prithee!" Yverne begged. "We shall have need of you right soon, I doubt not—and we would be so very wearied of staying within this shrine, for dread of you."

That decided the issue; Puck's smile disappeared as he glanced up at the statue of the saint, then quickly glanced away. When he looked back, his impish grin had spread across his face again. "Well, since it is a beautiful damsel who doth ask it of me, and a virgin to boot, with all the powers of enchantment that brings..."

Matt tried not to look surprised. He had wondered if a grown woman could be a virgin in Ibile, but Puck had just settled the issue. Considering the elf's earthy connections, he didn't think Hop 'o My Thumb could be wrong about such a thing.

"I shall travel with you!" Puck said magnanimously, then quickly held up a palm, modestly closing his eyes. "Nay, do not thank me—I shall be glad to aid you. Only find work for me, or..." He gave Matt a keen look. "I shall find my own amusements."

Matt didn't have to ask who would be the butt of the elf's humor. But he made himself smile anyway, and beckoned his friends out of the shrine. He turned back to Puck with a smile of welcome, feeling as though he had just tucked a nuclear bomb into his pocket. He promised himself that he would never ask Puck for another favor—owing him one was bad enough.