A Nameless Witch Part 17

"Death doesn't make mistakes."

"Everyone makes mistakes. Occasionally."

Newt snorted. "But people don't not die because of misread scrolls."

"It's just a story."

"Yes, but it doesn't make sense. Fate doesn't make mistakes. If it did, it wouldn't be fate. It would be, well, I don't know what. But it wouldn't be fate."

"I'm only repeating it as I've heard it."

"Fate makes mistakes," I said. "Quite frequently, in fact. It's just rare for someone to be in a position to notice."

Gwurm chuckled. "You're missing the point. There are things better left unknown."

"No. You're missing the point. He didn't know anything. He just thought he knew."

"That's the same thing."

"No. It's not."

"It's just a story," Gwurm relented. "Take from it what you will."

It grew quiet again, and I used the time to sift through my vision. The four trials ahead could come in any order, and each would surely be more dangerous than the last. Such was the nature of all worthwhile quests. Although I didn't know what form each would take, I thought us well prepared. Gwurm had strength and good wits. Wyst of the West was both virtuous and brave. Newt had an eagerness to slaughter whatever might need slaughtering. My own witchly powers were formidable. And Penelope could keep the clutter at bay.

Newt spoke up. "Do you know what I've learned from that story?"

"That life is not in the knowing," I replied, "but in the finding out."

"No."

"That the wasted life is not worth living," Gwurm said.

"No."

Wyst of the West turned his head in our direction. "That no one, not even Fate itself, knows exactly what tomorrow brings?"

"No." Newt puffed out his chest and glared at the world in general. "Death should take more care with his paperwork."

CHAPTER 16

A worthwhile quest always worthwhile quest always involved a great deal of nothing happening. Nothing noteworthy anyway. These are the forgotten moments of legend, twenty years of dull and unremarkable wandering condensed into a line or two on an epic poem. A good storyteller knows what's worth telling and what's not and what merits mention without excessive details. involved a great deal of nothing happening. Nothing noteworthy anyway. These are the forgotten moments of legend, twenty years of dull and unremarkable wandering condensed into a line or two on an epic poem. A good storyteller knows what's worth telling and what's not and what merits mention without excessive details.

Nothing happened, and nothing kept happening for nine days and nine nights.

But on the tenth day, an event of note finally came to pa.s.s. Our small band of traveling vengeance-seekers came across a pack of disagreeable elves. It wasn't so much a trial as an inconvenience.

My mistress had told me of elves and their sorry lot. As b.a.s.t.a.r.d children of mortals and faeries, they were of two worlds and master of neither. It was a poor mating. Faeries were innately magical creatures, but their magic was wildly chaotic. Mixing it with mortal flesh halved its already dubious reliability while in no way dimming its potency. Elves were nature spirits wrapped in smothering mortality. Though mostly harmless, they could be dangerous in the same way a monkey carrying a torch might set a forest ablaze.

We happened upon the elves late in the morning. They'd set themselves up as guardians of an a.s.semblage of planks bridging a short ravine. There were six six of them. The tallest was half-ogre and stood a little over four feet. The shortest was half-goblin and barely a foot and a half. The other four were half-men. Like all elves, each looked like a short, thin version of their mortal parent with pointed ears, bushy eyebrows, and silver eyes. The half-ogre held a spear twice his height. The others were unarmed, but this didn't stop them from standing in our way. "Halt!" the tallest elf growled. "None shall pa.s.s without paying the toll." of them. The tallest was half-ogre and stood a little over four feet. The shortest was half-goblin and barely a foot and a half. The other four were half-men. Like all elves, each looked like a short, thin version of their mortal parent with pointed ears, bushy eyebrows, and silver eyes. The half-ogre held a spear twice his height. The others were unarmed, but this didn't stop them from standing in our way. "Halt!" the tallest elf growled. "None shall pa.s.s without paying the toll."

As a troll, Gwurm knew something about bridge-tolling. He appointed himself our negotiator and stepped forward. From my perch atop his shoulders, the elves seemed very, very small.

"How much?"

The spear-carrying leader smiled. "All your money."

"All of it, you say?"

The elf squinted. "Yes, all of it."

"Everything we have?"

"Yes! Every piece of gold, every sc.r.a.p of silver, every worthless copper coin in your pockets."

"A little expensive, isn't it?"

The elf smacked the blunted end of his spear into the ground. "If you're thinking you can cross without paying, I wouldn't try it. We've got powers you couldn't possibly dream of."

"Is that so?" Gwurm glanced about our party from undead witch to animate broom to demon duck to invincible White Knight.

"You doubt our magic?"

"I say we make them pay double," the half-goblin shouted.

"Yes, double!" another seconded.

"Very well." The half-ogre raised his spear in proclamation. "Double the toll for you!"

"Double all the money we have?" Gwurm asked.

The flaw in such a toll seemed lost on the elves.

"I can see you're a force to be reckoned with. It seems a reasonable price. We'll pay it."

The elves murmured excitedly. The half-ogre quieted them down with a hard glare and pointed his spear at his feet. "Deposit your riches at our feet, and you may pa.s.s unmolested."

"Very well." Gwurm waved his hand at the spot. "Done."

The elves looked to their leader questioningly He glanced to the bare earth as if to see something that wasn't there. "What's this?"

"You said all our riches, every piece of gold, every sc.r.a.p of silver, and worthless copper coin. Well, that's all of it."

This was true. None of our party carried money. Witches, ducks, and brooms had no need for it. And Wyst of the West, as a White Knight, had taken an oath of poverty. Trolls might carry a coin or two on occasion, but not this day.

The elves muttered among themselves, sorting through the flaw in their demands. Finally, the half-ogre pointed his finger at Gwurm and said, "Ah, but we said double!"

"Double of nothing is nothing," Gwurm explained. "But if you'd like, we can give you thrice of nothing."

"Oh, why not quadruple it," said Newt. "We can afford it."

"Why not?" Gwurm agreed.

Most of the elves were thrilled with the offer until their leader smacked a cohort with his spear. "You idiots." He raised his spear again, a gesture he seemed very fond of. "If you won't pay our toll, you'll face our wrath. You fools have no idea what you're facing."

"Pray tell, what might that be?" Gwurm inquired.

The half-ogre puffed out his chest that, by elf standards, was quite full but hardly threatening. He lowered his spear only to raise it again. "First, there is Yog. He can spit fire. Then there is Rof who can summon rocks from the sky when he sneezes. And Gok, able to change his shape at will into terrifying creatures you couldn't even comprehend. And Vop, well, Vop can talk to worms."

The half-goblin added, "And snails. Worms and snails!"

"Yes, Vop, yes. And snails." He switched his spear to his other hand without lowering the weapon. "And I, Doz the Mighty can bring life to the inanimate."

"Don't forget, Sof," an elf remarked.

"h.e.l.l's bowels, Gok. I was trying to keep him a secret."

"Sorry."

"Well, the damage is done. Sof, foolish full mortals, is our greatest weapon. He's invisible and can strike from anywhere, anytime. One by one, he can strike you down as your companions watch helplessly." He laughed. Unfortunately, elf voices are terrible for sinister cackling.

"Can I kill him?" Newt asked.

"Not yet." I patted his head. "Maybe later."

I glanced to Wyst. There was a trace of a smile on his lips.

"Strike now, my brothers!" Doz the Mighty shouted. "Show them what happens to those who defy us!"

The elves milled about their leader in a show of confusion.

Doz lowered his spear and ground his teeth. "What are you waiting for?"

"Uh... well, we've never struck before, Doz. We aren't sure how."

"Fine. I'll show you. You first, Rof."

Rof, who could summon rocks from the sky when he sneezed, stepped forward. He drew in a few quick breaths. His nose twitched. His head drew back. And nothing happened.

"Well?" Doz asked.

"I can't." His nostrils flared. "Maybe if my allergies were acting up."

"Fine, fine. Yog, roast them."

Rof stepped back dejectedly as Yog prepared to spit fire. He puckered up and spat. Flame dribbled from his lips and sizzled away at his feet. He hunched over, clenched his fists, and spat again. A gout of flame erupted from his mouth and blackened his face.

"d.a.m.n it, Yog. I thought you were practicing."

Yog was too busy beating out his smoking eyebrows to apologize.

Next came Gok the shape-changer. His attempt went smoother than his companions. In a flash, he transformed into a vicious wild boar. It had wicked tusks and crimson eyes and sharp hooves. Unfortunately, it was barely the size of a large rat. While Doz the Mighty berated Gok, Gok grunted in an effort to grow larger. He expanded to twice his size, belched, then shrank to half his previous volume.

"My turn," Vop the worm-talker announced. He stepped forward with bold determination.

"Step back, Vop."

The snail-talking elf backed away. Gok the shape-changer, who seemed trapped in his tiny boar form, retreated to the back of the group.

"I guess it's up to me." Doz the Mighty released his spear. It floated forward and hovered before Gwurm. "Now you'll know fear, fools. How will you fight a weapon that has no wielder?"

The spear danced about, jabbing at the troll without actually attempting to stab him.

"Now grovel before me, and I may spare your lives."

Gwurm grabbed the spear in one thick hand. The weapon twisted and trembled in his unbreakable grip.

"That's not fair! You can't do that! Let it go!"

Gwurm released it. The spear hopped back and shook angrily. It traced intricate patterns in the air with its point.

Penelope jumped from my hand and faced the spear. The broom caressed the spear up and down with her bristles. Doz's spear shivered, bowed to Penelope, and floated aside. She returned to my side.

"Stupid spear." Doz the Mighty folded his arms across his chest. "But there is one left. The last and most deadly of our band. That's right, Sof. Strike! Strike now!"

No strike came.

"Sof! What are you waiting for?"

Still, no strike came.

"d.a.m.n it, where's Sof?"

The elves offered a collective shrug.

"Who saw him last?"

They exchanged whispers.

Vop the worm-speaker said, "Uh, thinking on it, I've never seen Sof."