Glandurg put his hands on his hips and surveyed the results of his men's labors. The forest clearing had been converted into an impromptu woodworking shop as dwarves dragged felled trees into position, rived them into billets and shaped the billets according to his direction.
His original idea had been to have the griffins fly them into the castle, but the griffins had flatly refused. Well, so be it. This would work just as well and in truth he had more confidence in dwarvish craftsmanship than he did in griffins.
Already four frames lay scattered about under the cover of the trees, complete except for their covering. The covering had arrived this morning, borne by griffins from the hold of the Mid-Northeastern Dwarves of the Southern Forest Range. The bolts of spider silk had been accompanied by a letter from King Tosig complaining about the expense, but Glandurg had barely glanced at that. It was just like his quasi-uncle to be preoccupied with such trifling details.
Glandurg moved among his companions, instructing them, pointing out defects and in general making a nuisance of himself as the other dwarves fitted and tied the pieces together. He paused to inspect the hide glue soaking in a cooking pot off to one side of the clearing and for the twentieth time that morning congratulated himself on his plan.
"Brilliant," he said to no one in particular. "They will never expect us to attack from the air!"
"Bloody good reason for that," muttered one of the dwarves as he bound a rib to a wing spar. The leader glared at him but he did not raise his head to meet Glandurg's eyes.
For several hours after their return, Wiz and Moira moped about their apartment. It was like going on a picnic and being rained out, Wiz thought glumly.
"Look at this," Moira said ruefully, "I have stains on my gown."
She held the garment up for Wiz to see. Sure enough, the back and one of the sleeves were stained with the red wine that had slopped out of her goblet.
"Looks like a job for a cleaning spell," Wiz said.
"Alas, the gown itself is magical."
"I wondered how that thing stayed up."
She smiled roguishly. "Men are supposed to wonder, my Lord." Then she looked down and sighed. "But the magic of this gown interferes with the spells we use to clean clothes. My Lord, do you know any cleaning spells?"
Wiz considered. For the mightiest wizard in all the world his repertoire of magic was rather limited. He could think of a dozen ways to incinerate the gown, but offhand he didn't know a single one to clean it.
"Well, I haven't been looking for one." He stopped and snapped his fingers. "Wait a minute, I know what you need. A detergent!"
"What does it deter?" Moira asked blankly.
"Not a deterrent, a detergent. Something that will lock onto the particles of stain and bind them to water so they will rinse away. I'll need to talk to Danny and Jerry. But we should be able to whip something up."
In a few minutes of quick conversation and some scribbles on the ever-present slates the three programmers had worked out a spell to make a detergent.
"We need something to mix it in." Wiz started toward the kitchen.
"You are not experimenting in one of my pots," Moira said, stepping in front of him.
"How about a bucket?" Danny suggested. "There's one out in the hall."
"One of the maids must have left it there," Moira said. "Honestly, I think they become more slovenly every day."
"In this case it's a good thing," Wiz said as he made for the door.
The bucket was half-full of dirty water, but that didn't bother Wiz. "After all, when we get done with the spell it won't be water," he explained to the others.
A few quickly done spells, a quick call for an Emac and the spell was under way.
"You know, this gets easier all the time," Jerry said. "I don't ever remember being able to whip up programs this fast back in California."
Wiz shrugged. "Superior tools."
Jerry looked unconvinced.
"I think the system is actually helping us," Danny said. "Sometimes when I'm putting a spell together it's like the magic is reading my mind."
"In your case that's scary," Wiz said. "Whoops. Here's the operating demon."
The demon was small but muscular. It was clad in a white T-shirt and tight-fitting pants. Its eyebrows were white, its head was shaved and a gold earring dangled from one pointed ear.
"This is like watching old television commercials," Jerry said.
"Just be glad it wasn't a big arm punching out of the bucket," Wiz said.
The demon nodded at them and dived into the bucket. There was a trace of a splash and suddenly the dirty water had turned to something clear and viscous. There was no sign of the demon and the stuff looked like machine oil and smelled like nothing in particular.
"That's it?" Moira asked.
"I guess so."
Danny dipped his forefinger into the liquid. He tried to force his thumb and forefinger together and they slid over each other quickly and silently.
"Boy," Danny said admiringly, "that stuff's slicker than greased owl shit."
"Detergents generally are," Jerry said.
"So we use this in place of water?" Moira asked.
"Good grief no! You'll only need a dear little bit of it, maybe a few drops, in a whole bucket of water."
Moira frowned. "At that rate, I think we have enough to clean the entire castle for the next year."
"Oh," Wiz looked abashed. "That's not a problem, is it?"
"Not really. I will get a bottle from the stillroom tomorrow and for now we will leave the bucket in the alcove with the mops and brooms." She nodded to a tapestry hanging in the corridor near their apartment door. Such hangings were used to conceal this World's equivalent of broom closets. "It will be safe there on the shelf."
"It's simple, you see," Glandurg said, gesturing to the newly completed wing. "We'll just fly over the walls of the castle, as easy as birds."
"We're not birds," said Thorfin.
"Anyway we don't know how to fly them," Snorri added.
"You built them, didn't you? You can fly them."
"I built a cradle once," another dwarf said. "That doesn't mean I know how to have a baby."
"All right then," said Glandurg in disgust "We'll practice until you do know how to fly them."
All the dwarves looked expectantly at their leader and Glandurg realized he had just backed himself into a corner.
"Here we are," he said with more confidence than he felt. "You pick it up like this, grab the holding bar like this and you maneuver by shifting your weight or twisting the bar. Now what could be simpler?"
"Telling isn't showing," Thorfin said dubiously.
"Well, keep watching," Glandurg snapped. He hoisted the wing, ran forward and leapt into the air.
The result was a sort of grotesque hop that carried him perhaps two feet up and six feet forward. He barely got his feet down in time and half-stumbled on landing.
"Not much flying there," said Snorri.
"Well, I didn't get going fast enough. Here, let me show you again."
This time Glandurg went to the far end of the clearing and came pounding across the open space at a dead run. He reached the top of a small hillock and again jumped into the air. The result was a flight of perhaps a dozen feet.
"There, you see," he puffed triumphantly as he came back to join his followers.
"Not very well," Snorri said. "Can you do it again?"
Glandurg glared at him. "I will not. You do it."
"Don't know how," Snorri replied.
Glandurg glared at him. "Not enough, is it? Very well. I'll show you some flying." He turned and made for the largest tree at the edge of the clearing. "Come along," he flung over his shoulder. "You'll see right enough."
When he reached the base of the tree he started to climb. With a lot of grunting and heaving he managed to reach the branches about thirty feet up. From there he swarmed upward until he was nearly a hundred feet above his fellows.
"Pass the wing up," he shouted down.
"How?" Thorfin shouted back.
Glandurg bridled. "Don't be insubordinate."
Finally, with the aid of a line thrown to Glandurg, they were able to get the wing up to him. The others watched as Glandurg wormed his way into the contraption while balancing precariously on a branch.
"Watch," he commanded, and launched himself out into empty air.
Considering he had never flown in his life, it wasn't too bad. He dived too steeply and had to pull back sharply to keep from ploughing into the ground. He overcorrected and soared up again, slipping off to the right as he lost longitudinal control. He managed to bank sharply left, thereby avoiding the trees at the edge of the clearing and he was still turning when the ground came up tomeet him. He moved further back to bleed off more airspeed, brought the nose up too far and came down in something that was more a poorly controlled stall than a landing.
The shock rattled Glandurg's teeth and drove him to his knees. It also snapped the left wing spar just outboard of his left shoulder.
"You see?" Glandurg said as he staggered to meet the pack of dwarves running toward him. "You see how easy it is.
"Here now," he said to Thorfin. "You try it."
"Will not."
"What?"
"I ain't going," Thorfin said stubbornly.
Glandurg marched over and stuck his face in Thorfin's. "I'm the leader here and I say you bloody are going!" he roared.
"You can be the leader all you want and I'm bloody not going," Thorfin said in the same unyielding tone. "No way I could handle one of them things. I'm scared of heights."
" 'S truth," Gimli said. "I watched him on the flight here. Fair like to mess his pants, he was."
Thorfin glared at the purveyor of this unsought bit of support, but he stood firm. "I ain't going up in one of them things. Not even for practice."
"You would betray your oath?" Glandurg heaped scorn into his words.
"I ain't going back on my oath, but the oath didn't say anything about playing at being a bird."
Glandurg sensed that he was facing his first command crisis. He decided to resort to his ultimate threat.
"You will or you'll be sorry."
"You can't make me sorrier than I would be if I took one of those things. What could you do to me that's worse?" The other dwarves shifted uneasily and one or two murmured support for Thorfin.
Glandurg considered the question. It dawned on him there really wasn't anything he could do. The members of his band were sworn to kill the wizard, but Glandurg had not sworn them to obey him—in part because he doubted they would take such an oath.
However a successful commander remains flexible in the face of unexpected opposition.
"All right then, you won't have to fly. You and anyone else who feels the way you do can create a diversion by attacking the castle from below. There won't be as much glory in it, of course." He let the scorn drip from his voice. "But when the attack starts you can swim the river and climb the castle walls."
Thorfin nodded. "That suits," he said stolidly.
In the event two other dwarves decided they'd rather swim and climb than fly. That left Glandurg and eight others to practice gliding out of trees.
By the end of the day each dwarf had made five flights. It was a most successful training session, Glandurg decided. They were all alive and they still had half the wings undamaged. They could even land in the general direction of their target most of the time.
They needed more training. But meanwhile they could continue to practice with the remaining gliders and work on repairing the damaged wings.
It wasn't the woods, or even the streets of the Capital outside the castle, but there was solitude in this place, and a lovely view.
Well, Wiz thought to himself, at least I'm safe up here.
Glandurg shifted uneasily and grasped his holding bar even tighter. This had seemed like a brilliant inspiration when he had both feet on the ground. Now, dangling hundreds of feet above the river he was less certain.
The wind whipped loose a strand of hair from under his hood and slapped it across his eyes. Instinctively he reached to push it away and for a heart-stopping instant he nearly lost his grip. He clutched the holding bar and squeezed his eyes tightly shut to blot out the scenery passing below him. Above him the griffin flew on, oblivious to his cargo's antics.
I am the leader, Glandurg reminded himself. I must see whereI am going. He forced his eyes open. The castle was coming up fast. Carefully he reached into his shirt and removed the indicator. The glowing arrow inside the crystal sphere pointed straight at the battlements. Glandurg squinted through the wind. Yes, there was a lone figure high on the castle walls.
For an instant the dwarf was so exhilarated he forgot to be afraid. The Sparrow himself and out in the open! Truly this was his lucky day.
"Release the wings," the dwarf commanded.
Off tothe west Wiz saw a flock of pigeons or turkeys or some other kind of heavy-bodied birds. As they came closer to the castle he could see they were too large to be pigeons. Turkeys then.
Hey, wait a minute! There aren't any turkeys in this World! Not only that, but each one seemed to have two sets of wings. Biplane birds?
Then each of the birds seemed to split in two and half of each bird dove toward Wiz.
The dwarves had taken good care to build their wings strong and light. They had taken less care tolearn how they reacted in flight and no care at all to understand the mass of thermals, updrafts and cross currents that swirled around the castle on a warm autumn afternoon.
Nine dwarves aimed themselves straight at the lone figure on the parapet without hesitation or thought for consequences. So naturally the nine dwarves went everywhere but to their target.
In his eagerness to reach his prey Glandurg had dived too steeply. He came in fast and low, headed straight for the castle wall. Frantically he pulled back on his control bar in an effort to avoid smashing into the stone. His wing swooped up, lost airspeed and teetered on the verge of a stall as it approached Wiz. Then Glandurg hit the updraft along the face of the wall, rose like an elevator and sailed majestically over the wall a good twenty feet above his gaping prey to drop into the courtyard behind.
Ragnar took a lesson from his leader's approach and set his height correctly. But his griffin had been well behind Glandurg's and he had to turn to the right in order to come in on Wiz. The turn brought him into the turbulence in the lee of one of the wall towers and he was tossed like a leaf to land nearly a hundred yards further down the wall, almost at the feet of an astonished guardsman.
By the time Ragnar had untangled himself from the wreckage of his wing the guardsman had drawn his sword. The dwarf scampered off with the guard in hot pursuit.
Meanwhile the other flying dwarves had arrived. Some went left, some right and some high. One or two threatened to smash into the wall and had to abort, hauling their wings around in tight turns and then dropping away into the valley.
The Wizard's Keep was boiling like an overturned anthill. Alarm horns rang out from the towers along the walls, guardsmen raced frantically to their stations, dragon cavalry poured out of their cave aeries and Wiz was surrounded by guards and wizards and hustled away to safety.
Off in the distance the griffins circled in a tight knot, watching intently and making noises that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
Thorfin wrinkled his nose in disgust. The wind must have shifted and now he would have to breathe dragon stink all the rest of the way up the cliff.
Nasty beasts! No one but a mortal would think of keeping them. And as for riding them . . . He shivered involuntarily. Still, the dragons were all in their caves and his target was above him.
He levered himself up onto the outcrop and found himself nose to nose with a dragon.
It was not a very large dragon, but then Thorfin was not a very large dwarf. More to the point, the dragon was safely resting on a ledge and Thorfin was clinging to the cliff face by his toes and fingers. His sword was strapped across his back in a position more picturesque than practical and the blade wasn't designed for dragon slaying anyway. All things considered, the dwarf was at a serious disadvantage.
Thorfin did the best thing he could think of. He squinched his eyes tightly shut, turned his head away and pressed himself as tight against the cliff as he could manage.
Because they are both greedy for treasure, dwarves and dragons are natural enemies. However like cats and dogs, this is learned behavior. Thorfin had enough experience to know about dwarves and dragons. The Little Red Dragon had never even seen a dwarf before. It divided its time between roaming the programmers' quarters of the castle and sunning itself on the ledges on the cliff beneath the castle walls.
The dragon nudged the black-clad figure experimentally. It went "whoof" in a satisfying fashion.
Little Red Dragon nudged harder. This time he was met by a louder "whoof" and a string of interesting words.
This was more fun than annoying the castle cats! The dragon braced all four feet against the rock and pushed with all his strength.
Under the impact of the head butt Thorfin lost his grip on the rock and went hurtling down toward the river, screaming curses as he fell.
"We chased six of the little buggers out of the castle, Lord," the guard captain told Wiz as they made their way back to his quarters that evening. "Plus a couple more that never made it over the walls. That was all of them, we think."
"You think?"
"That's why we are here, Lord."
"This is weird," Wiz said. "I've never even met a dwarf, I mean socially, and now there are a bunch of them trying to kill me. Why?"
"Ask us after we capture one. But by tomorrow this castle will be dwarf proof."
Wiz knew that Jerry, Danny and several of the Mighty were already erecting a dwarf-repellent spell around the Wizard's Keep. "I just hope it works," he said as they came up the back stairs and into the hall that led to his apartment. "I've been jumped, poisoned and attacked from the air—or they've tried to do all that anyway. I'm getting tired of it."
Fear not, mortal, thought Ragnar as he watched the party approach from the curtained alcove where he lay hidden. You will not be tired of anything much longer.
With so many mortal soldiers about there was no hope of fighting his way clear. So be it. He would fulfill his band's vow at the cost of his own heart's blood. They could kill him but not even twice that number of mortal warriors could protect the strange wizard from a pantherlike spring from his hiding place.
Ragnar crouched and drew his sword with a flourish that knocked a bucket off the shelf above him. The humans started at the noise, but Ragnar, oblivious to the liquid that drenched him, leaped forward with his sword brandished above his head. The guardsmen went for their weapons, but the dwarf was already in their midst and his blade was flashing toward his sworn foe.
His blade was still flashing when his feet shot out from under him and he went scooting between the startled guardsmen flat on his back with his arms and legs waving in all directions. His sword made glancing contact with one guardsman's mailed thigh and then he was through them and sliding down the corridor, his passage lubricated by the super detergent that had soaked him and his clothes.
Wiz watched stunned as the dwarf whisked down the corridor, trailing curses, until he reached the stairs, where his cries ended in a bump bump bump.
One of the guardsmen moved to follow and immediately went to his knees in the trail of detergent Ragnar had left behind. Two others went more cautiously, hugging the walls of the corridor. Four others pushed Wiz back against the wall and stood shoulder to shoulder around him, protecting him with a wall of living flesh.
"It seems there were seven dwarves, my Lord," the guard captain said sheepishly. "Perhaps we had better stay with you until the wizards finish their spell."
"Yeah," Wiz said shakily. "Perhaps you had better."
It was a battered, dispirited group of dwarves that met in the clearing that night. Ragnar was the last to return, stripped to his loincloth to rid himself of the effects of the super-detergent and undwarvishly clean from swimming the river with traces of it on his body. While he dried himself by the fire and swilled down a mug of steaming soup, his companions considered what their next move should be.
"We learned much today," Glandurg said as he paced up and down before the fire.
"We learned dwarves are not meant to fly," came a voice from the edge of the circle.
"We learned the plan of the castle and of our enemy's defenses," Glandurg shot back, determined to put the best possible face on the day's events. "If we did not accomplish our objective, at least we gathered valuable knowledge."
"And how do we use that knowledge?" asked one of the other dwarves.
"We will find a way, but first we need a new strategy."
"We need a new leader," Snorri muttered.
Glandurg reddened. "Someone who attacks with poison and kills the cup no doubt."
It was Snorri's turn to redden.
"Can't we just say we tried and go home?" asked Gimli, the youngest of the dwarves.
"No!" Glandurg roared. "We are sworn to this quest. Our honor and the honor of all dwarfdom rests with us. Others may turn and run, but I will pursue our pledge to the bitter end."
"Bitter it is likely to be," said Thorfin sourly, nursing an arm in a sling.
"That is as it is," Glandurg said loftily. "The important thing is how we may fulfill our vow."
"Well, we're not going to fly in," Ragnar said from the fire.
"The human wizards have been busy," Thorfin said. "Now the whole castle is closed to us."
"Unlikely it is that this Sparrow will venture beyond the walls," Snorri added.
"We must think," Glandurg said. "We must await our opportunity and think in the meanwhile." He dropped down on a stump and ostentatiously rested his chin on his fist in a pose meant to suggest to all deep thought. In their own ways all of his followers imitated him.
It was a very imposing sight, but none of them had the faintest idea what to do next.