Greyhawk Adventures: Master Wolf Part 9

Pondering the matter of owls, religion, and anatomy, Mika the owl stalked into a clearing, startling a mouse. It stared at him with immense eyes, then disappeared with a terrified squeak.

Mika stifled an immediate craving for mouse and looked up at the dark sky. No moon, just as the guard had said. Good. He patted Tam on the head awkwardly with one large white wing and then, concentrating hard, began to flap his wings.

It was easier than he thought it would be. The powerful wings forced the air beneath them, pushing it down against the ground, creating a resistance, and at the same time, his body just seemed to flow upward with the silly human feet trailing beneath him.

It was beautiful. It was glorious. It was magic. Mika flapped harder and harder, his large white body rising higher and higher in the dark night sky.

Mika could see the forest below him and the single bright eye that was the campfire. The wind sang in his feathers and rushed past his body, softly stroking it like a lover's caress.

He opened his great curved beak to taste the air. He reveled in the pa.s.sage of air as it slipped through the tips of his wings, felt the sliding pressure against his body as he found a low riding thermal and rode it like a curling wave. And his feet ... his feet were cold. Definitely cold. Like little nubs of ice.

Time to descend. It wouldn't do to be up here if the spell ended suddenly. Shivering at the thought, Mika turned his body into a soft curve and floated silently down, back toward the forest.

He judged his distance correctly but not his speed. Opening his wings to brake, he almost overshot the wagon and only stopped himself at the last minute by running along the top of the cowhide roof and stabilizing himself with his big human feet. See, they weren't such a mistake after all!

Mika looked around him cautiously, swiveling his head in all directions. He saw no one awake except Tam, who sat watching at the edge of the forest.

Mika lowered his great feathered head and studied the cowhide surface. Just plain cowhide, laced together here and there with thin leather strips; no problem at all for his sharp beak.

Feeling confident, Mika clacked his beak experimentally and then rapidly snipped a half a dozen turns of the leather, opening a hole the size of his hand . . . when he used to have one.

Excitement beat in his breast as he placed his eye to the hole and looked down into the dark interior of the wagon and saw . . . nothing. It was too dark.

Muttering owlish imprecations, he quickly snipped several dozen of the leather strips. No turning back now, it would be obvious that someone or something had entered the wagon, so he might as well do it right.

The hole gaped darkly, inviting Mika to solve the mystery of the wagon. Visions of gold and jewels and pearls filled his head as he leaned forward and looked inside. But still he saw nothing; it was as dark as a robber's heart, or, um, dark as a cave in there.

Mika leaned farther, trying to grip the edge of the cowhide with his toes, but there was really nothing to grip. Now, here was a case where talons would have served him better.

Mika stuck his head completely through the opening and hung upside down, determined to see, once and for all.

Suddenly, he felt himself losing balance. His human feet scrabbled helplessly on the smooth cowhide but found no grip, and he felt himself falling through the hole, falling straight down with no chance or room to flap his wings, and no hands to break his fall.

Awwkk! He landed with a thump on the top of his head. On something soft. Very soft.

He righted himself carefully, sliding first one foot then another along the curious softness. The softness which was also warm. And curved. Nicely curved. Hmm, it all seemed very familiar. Celia?

His toes found what felt like the edge of a bed and, flapping himself upright, he stabilized, then peered about, trying desperately to see what it was he had found.

But it was dark, too dark to see anything at all. There were sounds. The sound of soft breathing, little murmurs such as a woman makes while sleeping. And scents. A wonderful scent like cinnamon and cloves, maybe just a hint of celandon. Oh, if he could only see something!

All of a sudden, there was a harsh scratching noise. Then, as though in answer to his wish, a dim light flooded the interior of the wagon.

In the few seconds that it took his dazzled eyes to adjust to the light, Mika was stunned, unsure of what he was seeing, doubting his eyes, thinking it an illusion.

But as his vision cleared, he saw that he had not been mistaken. He was standing on the edge of a bed, just as he had suspected. A bed of silk and the softest down.

Mika shivered. Sprawled delicately on the pink silk comforter was the most beautiful young woman in the entire world.

The Princess!

Her hair was a ma.s.s of curly black ringlets that covered the pillow cradling her head and shone with small blue highlights.

Her skin was alabaster white, l.u.s.trous as pearls, and faintly tinged with the most delicate blush of pink. Her lips, slightly parted, were tiny soft petals.

She was clad in the softest, most fragile gown of pink silk that clung to her voluptuous body like down on a ripe peach.

Her tiny hands were open, slightly curled, and Mika could all but imagine how they would feel on his . . .

At which point, out of nowhere, a sword appeared in front of his face, or more specifically, in front of his beak.

Belatedly, his brain began to function, a.s.similating facts, yelling messages: Light! Sword! DANGER! even as he flung himself sideways and rolled back on top of the sleeping beauty, reasoning, he hoped correctly, that whomever wielded the sword would not take the chance of endangering the girl.

Begging the indulgence of the strangely silent beauty, Mika pressed his fluffy form against the softness of her body, his head cradled between the twin mounds of her ample b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Any sword thrust capable of killing him would risk harming the girl. He prayed that the strategy would work until he could think of something else.

For a moment it seemed that his gamble had worked. A figure appeared in the center of the now almost blinding light, and slowly took shape.

Mika saw with a sinking heart the largest human being he had ever seen in his entire life. The man was a giant. A veritable giant. The small curving interior of the wagon bent him almost double. Standing erect, Mika had no doubt that the monster would top eight feet.

In addition, he weighed more than any two nomads put together, perhaps four hundred stones!

Mika was able to make his estimate without the confusion of clothes, for the giant wore only a square loincloth which was large enough to smother a two-year-old child.

His arms, chest, and thighs, devoid of clothing and hair, were immense and rigid with corded muscle. Mika doubted that the giant could lower his arms to his sides or knock his knees, so greatly distorted were the muscles that warped those extremities.

Mika formed all of his impressions in the blink of an eye, then became too frightened to blink his eyes and stared in fixed terror at the angry face so close before him.

The giant's head was bald and gleaming, his ears bracketing the white boulder of a head like two distended fungi.

His eyes gleamed in his doughy face like shiny chunks of anthracite and were made more harsh by the total absence of eyebrows.

His nose was a blobby affair, its various bends and planes giving evidence of having been broken numerous times and set without the benefit of a healer.

His mouth was but a cruel slit through which his foul breath rasped loudly.

Clutched in one immense hand was an equally immense sword, the well-honed edge of which gleamed silver.

The giant snarled silently, and his face twitched into an awful grimace while his sword trembled barely a hand's span from Mika's quivering body. It was obvious that the giant was uncertain what he should do.

Desperately Mika looked at the giant, trying to formulate some plan of his own.

Then, the giant's hand shot out, grasped the back of Mika's neck and began to pull. But owls have no necks, and the man's hand found nothing to grab but feathers, which he pulled and tugged, causing Mika great pain.

Mika was determined not to be separated from the girl, so he opened his beak and gripped the scarlet ribbon that criss-crossed her dress, gently separating the girl's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and hung on tight, clasping her generous figure with outspread wings. The sword hovered nearby, waiting for even the tiniest sliver of s.p.a.ce so that it could slip between the girl and his body. He clutched harder. What a waste, he thought. Here I am pressed up against the most beautiful woman in the world, and I'm an owl.

Then the thought spun out of his mind as the giant gave up his painful tugging and began beating on Mika's head with the hilt of the sword.

d.a.m.n! This had to stop. Mika knew that he had to get out of the wagon and soon, or he would be one dead owl. Letting go of the ribbon, he swiveled his head and sank his beak into the giant's arm. The sensation was very satisfying. Blood spurted in every direction and flowed down Mika's throat. Strange that he had never noticed how good blood tasted before.

The giant tried to shake Mika off his arm, but there wasn't enough room in the wagon to swing a cat, let alone an owl, and all he succeeded in doing was bashing his elbow against a wooden strut. He hissed angrily. The giant tried to pa.s.s the sword to his left hand, but Mika kicked out with his foot and the sword fell to the floor with a tinny clatter.

The wagon was shaking violently now, and out of the corner of his eye, Mika saw the cowhide covering behind the driver's seat start to open. Then the giant swung around, obscuring Mika's view. Mika bit down harder. The giant grunted soundlessly and fell against the cowhide. Mika heard a startled exclamation and guessed that the driver had been knocked off his perch.

Mika had only a second to hope that the fall had been fatal, for the giant was up to no good. Using his arm, the one Mika was biting, the giant pressed against the owl's throat, crushing him against the side of the wagon.

Against his will, Mika was forced to open his beak in an attempt to suck air into his lungs. As he did, the giant ripped his arm free and grabbed Mika by the chest, holding him out at arm's length while reaching for the knife that hung from his loincloth.

Time to leave! Mika kicked the giant full in the face with all his might and felt the man's nose squash beneath the hard, callused ball of his foot.

He rammed his big toe into the giant's eye, stepped on his shaved head with his other foot, and tore free of the giant's grasp, leaving the man nothing but a handful of snow-white feathers, as he scrambled through the hole in the roof of the wagon and flew away.

Men stood in the clearing looking upward, pointing at him as he flew above them. Well, he could fix that, and taking careful aim, Mika squeezed a sphincter muscle and was rewarded by the howls of the watchers below as they shielded their heads and ran for shelter.

Mika beat the air with powerful strokes and headed back for the safety of the forest. But shortly before he reached the coppice, he began feeling sick at his stomach and his vision blurred. Realizing what was happening, Mika circled lower and lower, attempting to land before he changed back into human form.

Everything grew vague. A huge tree loomed up in front of him, and putting his feet out, he touched down just as darkness washed over him and he saw no more.

Chapter 10.

MIKA WOKE TO FIND HIMSELF sprawled naked on top of a large roanwood branch, more than forty feet above the ground. Off in the distance he could hear men shouting as they plunged through the dark forest. He could see the bright light of their torches. It would never do to be found like this. He had to get into his clothes and make an appearance. His absence would definitely be noted.

As he pushed himself up from the branch, he nearly fell, but he clutched the tree with his right arm and hung on for dear life as he stared in horror at his left arm. Or, rather, what used to be his left arm. Now, it was a wing from the shoulder down.

Sour bile rose in his throat, and he rested his forehead against the rough bark and tried not to be sick. All sense of urgency left him as he pondered this new problem. It scarcely mattered now if he got back to his clothes before he was found. There was no way of concealing for long the fact that he had a wing instead of an arm.

Mika's mind raced as he tried to think back over what he might have done wrong, but since the spell was gone from his memory, it was difficult to reconstruct. Obviously, he had fouled up some crucial part of the spell that channeled the return from one body to the other.

He tried to recall what would happen in such an instance, but he could not remember anything except the story of Grizzard, the shaman of a clan of Wolf Nomads that spent much of their time deep in the Burneal Forest.

During a convocation of shamans, which had taken place at their camp, Grizzard had attempted to polymorph himself into something, exactly what, Mika had never determined. But in the middle of the spell, Grizzard's young son, six years of age and old enough to know better, had interrupted his father with some childish tale of woe. Grizzard's wife had appeared and dragged the child away instantly, but the damage was done.

Grizzard changed right before their eyes. Or at least part of him did. His head, to be precise, changed into that of a goose. He was a man from the shoulders down and a goose from the neck up. An angry goose.

The goose-man chased the woman and child around the entire camp, honking its irritation, and when it finally caught up with the unfortunate child, it pecked him black and blue.

Three days later the spell came undone and Grizzard returned to his human form. But ever after, he was called Gizzard, in spite of his objections, and the child was afraid to come near him for several moonturns. Grizzard also developed a fondness for worms.

Mika could not wait three days. He needed to be normal now. He considered staying up in the tree until the change took place, but it was chilly and the mosquitos had found him and were humming their approval. Then too, he would certainly be seen in the morning light even if he escaped detection now.

Mika could think of nothing worse than being gaped at by a crowd of curious nomads and drivers while he huddled naked in a tree trying to hide his wing.

A short bark sounded at the foot of the tree. Tam! Mika felt his spirits rise. Peering down over the edge of the branch he could just make out Tam's figure at the foot of the tree.

"Good boy," whispered Mika. "Tam, go get my clothes and the pouch," he directed. But Tam merely sat there wagging his tail from side to side. Mika hurled small branches at the wolf, but Tam just ignored them and continued barking.

"Stupid wolf," Mika muttered angrily, knowing that he had to get down immediately, before Tam's barking brought the searchers. He pushed himself up carefully and edged over to the trunk of the tree.

Getting down was easier than he had thought it would be. Mika had been climbing roanwood trees since he was a toddler, and his hand and feet found the correct placement without even thinking about it.

"Did I ever tell you that your mother was a dog?" Mika whispered nastily as he ran through the woods, deftly ducking branches and other obstacles. Tam loped alongside, tongue lolling, laughing in his wolf fashion.

Cries were echoing all around Mika, torches flashing like giant fireflies as he dove into the thicket and squirmed into his clothes, dragging his cloak over the offending wing.

He had no more than emerged from the thicket when he was met by a crowd of drivers.

"No one in there," he cried, pointing to the thicket from which he had just emerged. "Spread out and keep your eyes open. Don't let anything slip past you!" and he plunged off to the right before anyone could speak.

He kept up the charade for another hour, questioning men as he encountered them and sending them off in new directions with fresh instructions, receiving, in return, their impression of what they had seen.

It were turrible, Captain," said one of the drivers with a look of distaste as he brushed at his jerkin that was now stained a peculiar whitish-green. "It were as big as a cow an' had long horns stickin' out o' its head. An' it breathed fire, an' acid dripped out o' its mouth. Why, I were almos' killed!"

"A real horror," one of the nomads said somberly as he confided in Mika. "Some kind of feathered dragon, I think. It swooped down low, right in front of my face and tried to claw out my eyes with its claws, but I frightened it away with my sword."

The other stories were equally outrageous. None agreed with any other, and almost all of the men claimed some personal encounter with the mythic beast. Only one man told the truth.

"It was an owl," said the Guildsman after Mika had rounded up the last of the men and sent them back to their bedrolls.

"A most peculiar owl. It had human feet. I think now that you must have been correct," said the Guildsman as he fixed Mika with a speculative gaze. "I agree that we are being plagued by a magic-user. But I do not think that we have much to fear, if this is any indication of his ability. What say you, Master Wolf?"

"I always say that it is a mistake to underestimate one's enemies," Mika said stiffly.

"Perhaps," said the Guildsman. Then, yawning broadly, he turned to go. Dropping his hand he placed it on Mika's cloak, on the place where his shoulder would be, had he one, and squeezed lightly.

Mika's heart sank. He knew there was no way that the man could fail to realize that it was a wing, not an arm hidden beneath the cloak. He held his breath, waiting for whatever would come next.

But the Guildsman merely smiled enigmatically. "Good night," he said pleasantly. "Get to bed. It's been a busy night, but I'm sure that things will look different in the morning."

Puzzled, Mika watched him turn and walk away. d.a.m.n! What game was the man playing at? He had been certain that the Guildsman was his enemy and would expose him. Perhaps he would yet, but for now, Mika was more than willing to find his bed and call it a night. Maybe things would be different in the morning. Twitching his wing, he hoped so with all his heart.

Things were different in the morning. They were worse. His arm was still a wing and it was necessary to keep his cloak draped around him to hide it.

Further, his head and neck ached horribly from the pounding he had taken from the giant's sword and where the cursed man had pulled his feathers.

And if that were not enough, a large patch of the curly black hair that covered his chest was gone, ripped out by the roots where the giant had gripped him as he flew away.

One foot was badly swollen and throbbed constantly. He knew that he would have trouble getting it into his boot, much less fitting it in the stirrup. He could only hope that the giant felt worse than he did.

The grey was in a feisty mood that morning and began rearing as soon as he saw Mika. Rather than fool with the animal, Mika picked up a fallen yarpick that fairly bristled with sharp, inch-long spines and waved it under the grey's nose.

"You give me one minute of trouble today and you're a gelding. Got it?" he growled. A group of drivers laughed, but the animal must have heard something in Mika's tone, for he quieted instantly and gave him no reason to complain throughout the whole long day.