frogs. I watched King Haimeric’s face, knowing he was going to expect some spectacular display of magic in a moment.
“Don’t pay any attention to him,” said one of the bandits to the leader. “He’s just bluffing.”
That made it al very simple. I turned that one into a frog.
The king laughed, a quite genuine laugh. “Anyone else think the wizard is bluffing?” He picked up the bulfrog that had been a bandit a moment ago and held it out toward the rest with both hands.
The bulfrog looked up at them with wide, confused eyes, then gave a sudden booming croak. After a moment of stunned silence, the other three bandits began to look at each other with poorly suppressed smiles.
“Turn him back to himself, Wizard,” said the king.
In a moment, I had him a person again, and I quickly restored the binding spels around him. His throat continued to pump like a frog’s for a few seconds, which now set the other bandits laughing.
“Any tea left, Wizard?” asked the king. We gave them al another cup.
“Now,” said the king when they had finished—two even thanked us—“it’s almost day. My knights, the ones who overpowered you yesterday, wil be up shortly. They may not look at this incident as tolerantly as we do—especialy my nephew. But we’re on a pilgrimage and it’s important to return good for evil when one is on a pilgrimage. Therefore, I’m going to let you go.” I stopped myself just in time from objecting.
“But I want you to remember,” said the king very seriously, “not to attack any more merchant caravans and,” glancing toward me, “to hire yourself a competent wizard at the first opportunity. And certainly don’t try to folow us again. If you do, not only wil my wizard turn you into frogs, he wil have a dragon attack you first.” This, I feared, realy was a bluff. I certainly couldn’t summon a dragon from the land of wild magic.
The bandits seemed to be taking no chances. They agreed readily, and when I broke the spels that held them, they went at once to their horses. As they mounted, I heard one cal another “Froggie,” with an accompanying slap on the shoulder. The sound of galoping hooves brought the rest of our party out into the dawn.
I didn’t want to take any chances, either. Leaving the king to explain to the rest what he had done and letting them start breakfast, I tried to improvise an appropriate spel.
It would have to be an ilusory dragon. The problem with most ilusions is that they fade quickly, usualy within a few minutes. I thought I might be able to manage something that lasted a little longer—my predecessor as Royal Wizard of Yurt used to make ilusions that would last for hours. But the difficulty was to guess how long. It would need to be here when—or if—the bandits came back, but I didn’t want it to hover al day and terrify anyone else who used this road.
I decided at last to create an ilusory dragon, al but the final twist of the spel that would bring it together, and to attach the nearly finished spel to a pebble. When the pebble was moved, say, kicked by a bandit’s horse, that would complete the spel.
I had never done anything like this before, or even heard of it, so it took me a while to work out the spels, and then I tried making a smal practice dragon. It worked even better than I expected. I put the pebble on the ground, kicked it, and a one-foot-high blue dragon appeared and shot ilusory smoke at me for a minute before fading.
In a few more minutes, I had put the spels together to create a thirty-foot scarlet dragon, one with three sets of bat wings and extra-long talons, and attached the spels to a smal stone. I placed it very carefuly on the road in the direction back toward the bandits’ castle. Now, if they were the first ones along this road, it should work perfectly.
Before joining the others, I looked at my stone in assessment. The faintest outline of the dragon hovered around it, the almost-completed spel just on the edge
“Don’t pay any attention to him,” said one of the bandits to the leader. “He’s just bluffing.”
That made it al very simple. I turned that one into a frog.
The king laughed, a quite genuine laugh. “Anyone else think the wizard is bluffing?” He picked up the bulfrog that had been a bandit a moment ago and held it out toward the rest with both hands.
The bulfrog looked up at them with wide, confused eyes, then gave a sudden booming croak. After a moment of stunned silence, the other three bandits began to look at each other with poorly suppressed smiles.
“Turn him back to himself, Wizard,” said the king.
In a moment, I had him a person again, and I quickly restored the binding spels around him. His throat continued to pump like a frog’s for a few seconds, which now set the other bandits laughing.
“Any tea left, Wizard?” asked the king. We gave them al another cup.
“Now,” said the king when they had finished—two even thanked us—“it’s almost day. My knights, the ones who overpowered you yesterday, wil be up shortly. They may not look at this incident as tolerantly as we do—especialy my nephew. But we’re on a pilgrimage and it’s important to return good for evil when one is on a pilgrimage. Therefore, I’m going to let you go.” I stopped myself just in time from objecting.
“But I want you to remember,” said the king very seriously, “not to attack any more merchant caravans and,” glancing toward me, “to hire yourself a competent wizard at the first opportunity. And certainly don’t try to folow us again. If you do, not only wil my wizard turn you into frogs, he wil have a dragon attack you first.” This, I feared, realy was a bluff. I certainly couldn’t summon a dragon from the land of wild magic.
The bandits seemed to be taking no chances. They agreed readily, and when I broke the spels that held them, they went at once to their horses. As they mounted, I heard one cal another “Froggie,” with an accompanying slap on the shoulder. The sound of galoping hooves brought the rest of our party out into the dawn.
I didn’t want to take any chances, either. Leaving the king to explain to the rest what he had done and letting them start breakfast, I tried to improvise an appropriate spel.
It would have to be an ilusory dragon. The problem with most ilusions is that they fade quickly, usualy within a few minutes. I thought I might be able to manage something that lasted a little longer—my predecessor as Royal Wizard of Yurt used to make ilusions that would last for hours. But the difficulty was to guess how long. It would need to be here when—or if—the bandits came back, but I didn’t want it to hover al day and terrify anyone else who used this road.
I decided at last to create an ilusory dragon, al but the final twist of the spel that would bring it together, and to attach the nearly finished spel to a pebble. When the pebble was moved, say, kicked by a bandit’s horse, that would complete the spel.
I had never done anything like this before, or even heard of it, so it took me a while to work out the spels, and then I tried making a smal practice dragon. It worked even better than I expected. I put the pebble on the ground, kicked it, and a one-foot-high blue dragon appeared and shot ilusory smoke at me for a minute before fading.
In a few more minutes, I had put the spels together to create a thirty-foot scarlet dragon, one with three sets of bat wings and extra-long talons, and attached the spels to a smal stone. I placed it very carefuly on the road in the direction back toward the bandits’ castle. Now, if they were the first ones along this road, it should work perfectly.
Before joining the others, I looked at my stone in assessment. The faintest outline of the dragon hovered around it, the almost-completed spel just on the edge
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