Eye of the Wizard: A Fantasy Adventure (9 page)

They all stared at her, speechless.

Scruff was the first to break the silence. "Bullies for Bucks," he whispered, nodding. "That can be the name of our business."

Jamie rolled her eyes. "You can't be serious."

Scruff shrugged. "Well, it beats living on this island. And what other skills do we have? We know nothing about farming, trading, or crafts. We know how to fight. We have weapons and armor. Well, not much armor, but still. Why not?"

"And be vigilantes?" Neev said, raising an eyebrow.
"I don't know what that word means," Scruff said, "but I do know how to swing my mace, and I'll swing it for money. God knows the world is full of trouble. What village doesn't suffer from some haunting werewolf or vampire? We'll fight for a living."

Romy nodded and wagged her tail. "Hell yeah. I ain't staying on this island any longer than I have to." She turned to Cobweb. "And you are joining us. We have my pitchfork, Scruff's mace, Jamie's sword, Neev's magic. We need your bow. Are you in?"

Cobweb sighed. "I've b-been on dis iswand fow a week now. I want off dis p-pwace. I'm in."

"Bullies for Bucks!" Scruff cried, holding up his mace. Birds fled into the air. Jamie sighed and rolled her eyes again.

* * * * *

The witch Elizabeth hurried down the Coven's tunnels, her night-blue robes whispering. Her bat, Benedict, sat on her shoulder. He clung to her so hard, Elizabeth thought he might tear her robes.
You're not used to me walking this fast, are you, poor Benedict?
Elizabeth thought. The bat was lazy, even by bat standards, sleeping whenever he was not enjoying some fruit salad.

"But there's no time to rest today, Benedict," Elizabeth whispered, hurrying around the corner into the library. The library was a vast chamber, among the largest carved into the Coven, miles into Batwog Mountain. Jet statues of griffins frowned upon her, guarding towering shelves of leather-bound books. The statues were so polished, Elizabeth could see her reflection in them. Her long brown hair was ruffled, her robes were wrinkled, and her face seemed pale. It had been a rough night.

Only a handful of people filled the library at this hour. Dawn—for what it was worth in the caverns of Batwog Mountain—was still an hour away. Elizabeth saw an apprentice with red eyes, smudged makeup, and messy hair raise her head from a desk, rub her eyes, and blink; she must have studied late and fallen asleep. Two shadow librarians were moving silently among the shelves, dusting and arranging the volumes. Professor Flemming, 104 years old, was here too, for he always awoke before dawn to read. Otherwise the library was deserted, eerily silent, and Elizabeth's footfalls seemed loud and jarring to her.

But Dry Bones would be awake.

Dry Bones was
always
awake.

Skeletons didn't sleep.

Elizabeth crossed the library and stepped into another tunnel, leaving the shadow librarians, the sleepy apprentice, and the ancient Flemming to pursue their morning. Busts of old wizards lined this tunnel, their eyes following Elizabeth as she walked, her robes aflutter. Benedict moaned atop her shoulder. "Bekfa!" he demanded.

"Yes, Benedict, soon we'll eat breakfast," Elizabeth murmured to him.

As she walked, she heaved a sigh. She had returned to the Coven last night—back from a journey to Sandoory's Sundry Spellbooks and Scrolls, a shop in the distant city of Queenpool—and learned that Dry Bones had expelled Neev. Since then, she couldn't shake off her indignation. Elizabeth had been a witch for ten years now, since completing her apprenticeship at age twenty-nine, and in these tens years, she had taught many young apprentices. Neev was the brightest one she'd seen. She had taken him under her wing, had taught him all she knew, had gazed with him into the pits of blackness where a warlock's power bubbled. How could Dry Bones have flunked him? So what if Neev occasionally sported donkey ears or horse teeth? Dry Bones should not banish him just for that! Elizabeth had spent all night fuming, then finally rose from bed, put on her robes, and decided to confront the skeleton.

"Bekfa!" Benedict screeched, ruffling his fur.

Elizabeth gritted her teeth. Neev showed so much promise as a warlock. He could have been High Warlock some day. Did Dry Bones just feel threatened?

"I'll have to convince Dry Bones to reinstate him," she said to Benedict. "Do you think he'll listen?"

Clinging to her shoulder, Benedict shook his head. He feared Dry Bones. Everybody feared the skeleton.

After what seemed like ages, Elizabeth finally reached Dry Bones' antechamber, a room sporting golden columns, a domed ceiling painted with dragons, and a shadow asleep in his seat. Benedict screeched, and the shadow woke up, straightened, and peered at Elizabeth. At least, she thought he peered at her; it was hard to know when looking at a shadow.

"You cannot—" the shadow began, but Elizabeth ignored him, stepping toward the door that led into Dry Bones' chamber.

The shadow rushed to block her.

Elizabeth froze, gasping, staring at the shadow. "What do you think you're doing?" she whispered, so angry she couldn't even raise her voice. She was a venerated witch, among the loftiest in the world.
How dare a mere shadow, the miserable leftovers of a sinner dragged into Hell, block my way?

"I do beg your pardon," the shadow said, bowing, speaking in a voice like an echo. "But Master Dry Bones was quite clear. He said
nobody
is to enter his chamber tonight, not even you."

Standing on her shoulder, Benedict hissed at the shadow. Elizabeth felt the bat's claws tighten.

"What is Dry Bones up to?" she asked, narrowing her eyes, peering at the shadow as if she could impale him with her gaze.

"I don't know, mistress," the shadow said, "but...."

Elizabeth stopped listening to the shadow prattling on. She shut her eyes and mumbled a few words of a spell. Like everyone at the Coven, she was a student of the occult, a summoner of spirits, a seeker of invocation, a weaver of all things dark and unholy. But like the best warlocks or witches, she knew some spells from other schools of magic, spells of espionage and learning.

Once she had finished uttering the words, sounds rushed into her ears, pounding into her head.

"Shhh!" she said to the shadow, who was still talking, his voice thunderous. He fell silent, but still the world was so loud. Elizabeth could hear every creak of Benedict's wings, the beating of her heart, even the snoring of a hundred apprentices across the Coven. And she could hear past Dry Bones' door into his chamber.

She heard grunting.

Snorting.

There were beasts in there, five or six by the sound of it.

Suddenly she heard Dry Bones speak, his voice soft, but her spell made it loud as a shout.

"Find Neev Thistle," Dry Bones was saying. "And you better kill him this time. If you don't, I'm going to turn you into dung beetles."

"Not again!" one of the beasts moaned.

"Yes, again. And this time, I won't transform you back after a week."

She had heard enough. Elizabeth opened her eyes, severed her spell, and shoved her way past the shadow. Ignoring the shadow's objections, Elizabeth stepped toward Dry Bones' door, cast a crackling spell to shatter the lock, and stepped inside.

She stood, blinking.

"What are you doing, Dry Bones?" she demanded.

The skeleton was standing by a tunnel, dressed in black robes, several moldmen surrounding him. Elizabeth had never seen moldmen before. She had read about them, of course; what witch did not know about these outlaws buried centuries ago to wither and rot underground, awaiting a warlock to release them? So Dry Bones had found their hiding place, had learned how to control them. And now he wanted to... kill Neev.

Elizabeth mouthed silently, "Oh no."

Dry Bones smiled at her. At least, she thought it was a smile. Dry Bones had no face, only a skull, but he opened his jaw in what looked like a grin. "Hello, Elizabeth," he said.

Benedict screeched and burst into flight, fleeing the room.

Elizabeth opened and closed her mouth several times before she could finally speak. "You... you flunked Neev, banished him to die in the wilderness.... Why?"

Sadness and fear roiled her belly. To her apprentices, she knew, she appeared cold, even cruel. To the world outside the Coven, she was a sinner, a witch to be burned at the stake. But deep inside, Elizabeth thought she was a good person. She cared about her apprentices. She cared about Neev, the brightest apprentice she'd taught. That Dry Bones, the High Warlock himself, should try to kill him... it made no sense, and Elizabeth trembled with anger.

Dry Bones shrugged. "Well, I should think it's obvious. I wanted him to suffer before he dies. I wanted to crush his spirits. So when he first arrived at the Coven, I cursed him with his jinx. I then spent five years training him as a warlock, building up his hopes... so that I could crush him at the last moment, at his happiest hour."

Inside the skeleton's ribcage, his snake slithered and hissed, flicking his tongue, his eyes glinting with malevolence. The snake was mocking her, Elizabeth thought.

She shook her head, feeling her face flush. "I mean, why are you trying to kill him in the first place?"

Dry Bones shrugged again. "Oh, nothing personal against Neev. It's Neev's father who wronged me. I killed the old man five years ago, and burned down his town, but it turned out that his children survived. I was shocked when I learned that Neev is a Thistle, that our bright apprentice is the son of my old enemy. A shame that he must die; he showed great talent. But what can you do." He gave that strange, skeletal smile again. "When you wrong me, I don't just go after you... I go after your family, too. Remember that, Elizabeth. Remember that well."

Elizabeth needed no further encouragement. With three brisk words and a thrust of her hands, she summoned a ball of hellfire and tossed it at Dry Bones. The flames howled through the room, riling shadows, tumbling toward the skeleton. But Dry Bones was too quick. With a word of magic, he cast a forcefield. The fireball hit the forcefield and burst, sending flames and sparks in all directions. A rug caught fire.

"Kill her," Dry Bones said to his moldmen.

Elizabeth turned to flee, but the door slammed shut on its own, blocking her way.

She spun around to attack the moldmen.

She was too late.

Their claws dug into her, and Elizabeth screamed. Somewhere in the distance, she heard her bat cry.

Chapter Six

So It's Come to This

The Bullies walked a dirt road, heading toward the village of Perrywine.

They had left Hermit Island only yesterday, and wandered aimlessly through the countryside until they found a trail, saw chimney smoke in the distance, and learned from a sign that Perrywine lay three miles away. These roads were dangerous, rife with outlaws and monsters, and the companions walked warily in single file, trees lining the roadsides. Scruff walked first, large and lumbering, clunky with his armor and backpack, Norman in his hands. Behind him walked Neev, cloaked in black, his hood pulled over his head. Romy skipped along next, tail wagging, hair of fire crackling, tongues of flame racing over her red body. Cobweb walked fourth, her quiver of arrows hanging over her back, her bow in her hands, her glowing white hair blowing in the breeze. Jamie brought up the rear, armor glinting in the sunlight, sword drawn.

Walking last is the most dangerous,
Jamie thought, glancing over her shoulder. Outlaws and monsters would burst from behind, attacking Jamie first.
Scruff makes a big show out of leading the way, all burly and heroic, but it's much safer up front. I'm the one protecting everyone.
She tilted Moonclaw in the sunlight, watching the blade glimmer. Should any beast leap onto the road, she'd cover this blade with blood.

Her boots kicking pebbles, her eyes scanning the trees for danger, Jamie yearned for some monster to attack. It would beat the boredom. She was the daughter of a knight, a mistress of the blade, but walking here, she felt like a penniless pilgrim, not a great warrior.
I was born to wield my blade, to fight for honor... yet here I am in the wilderness, following my annoying brothers, an outcast spiderling, and a demon.
Jamie sighed.

The road soon led them out of the trees, and the Bullies found themselves walking between two fields, barley growing to their right, oats growing to their left. Farmers watched them suspiciously, and magpies stared from atop pitchforks and haystacks. Soon the Bullies reached a stream lined with rushes, a village nestled behind it.

It's so small.
Jamie had spent her life in Burrfield, a town of thousands. This village of Perrywine seemed tiny in comparison, a cluster of twenty-odd cottages around a dirt square, their roofs made of grass. Following the other Bullies, she crossed a stone bridge and entered Perrywine, gazing around with one eyebrow raised. Geese waddled between the houses, a rooster crowed atop a roof, and several children chased a dog around a well. Jamie saw only three stone buildings: a small church, a mossy tower atop a knoll, and a tavern whose sign proclaimed it "the best tavern in Perrywine".

"Seems to also be the only tavern in Perrywine," Jamie muttered, sheathing her sword. She still didn't like this Bullies for Bucks business. She had trained to become a knight, not a mercenary, and she was used to life in large towns like Burrfield, not backwood villages like Perrywine. No, this was not the life Jamie had imagined for herself; she had only tagged along because it beat Hermit Island.

It's all Scruff's fault,
she thought, grinding her teeth. If he hadn't run into the forest to mope, she'd never have followed him and dirtied herself with moldman blood. Then she wouldn't have gone to bathe, and Lord Bramblebridge wouldn't have caught her. She nodded. Scruff messed up, as usual. Her older brother was such a knucklehead. She kicked him.

"Ouch," he said, scrunching up his face. "What was that for?"