Mallara and Burn: On the Road (8 page)

"While you and Prince Charming made eyes at
your reflections, I flew toward Bertat," said the shimmer. "I met a
lot of wagons on the road, all packed up and headed out, all in a
hurry."

Mallara frowned and pulled a wilted
peasant-weed bloom from her hair. "Any injured? Any soldiers?"

"None," said Burn, darting behind Mallara to
chase away a horse-fly. "No smoke either."

"Burn," said Mallara, "You're stalling. Tell
me what you saw, and who you insulted."

The shimmer returned to hang before Mallara's
face. "I met two families at the on the road, Mistress," said Burn.
"Three mules, two wagons, kids pushing wheelbarrows full of
household junk." The shimmer paused. "Villagers from Bertat. They
were being chased, Mistress. By goblins."

"Goblins?" Mallara's sleepy frown deepened.
"Here? In the Kingdom?"

"Goblins," said Burn. "With, um, pastries.
Pies, specifically. Apple."

Mallara stood up, hands on hips, brown eyes
flashing. "Burn," she said. "Is this a joke? Did you use a Word to
dispel my favorite dancing dream just to spin some asinine tale of
pie-tossing goblins?"

"No joke, Mistress," said Burn. "I use the
term 'goblins' only because I don't know what else to call short,
pale things with two arms and two legs. And, goblins or no, they
had pies. Arm-loads of apple pies. Fresh-baked. The goblins were
stacking pies on the villager's wheelbarrows, and the villagers
were throwing the pies in the ditch. If there's a punchline here, I
don't see it."

Mallara frowned. "Nor do I." She sang a word,
and her walking staff fell from a slit in the daylight to hang in
her hand. "There's more, isn't there?"

"A bit," said Burn. "I made a quick flight
over Bertat. Goblins everywhere. No villagers except a few
stragglers on their way out. The goblins were busy -- looked like
one bunch was putting a new roof on the inn, and another band was
sweeping the streets and painting fence-posts."

Mallara lifted an eyebrow. "So Bertat has
been invaded by an army of pie-baking carpenter goblins. I
see."

Burn bobbed and buzzed. "Honestly, Mistress,
I'm just reporting what I saw. And heard -- from the Mayor
himself."

"You found Bertat's mayor?"

"It wasn't difficult," said Burn. "His wagon
has 'Mayor' painted on the side. Spotted it half a mile out. Caught
his Mayor-ship behind a bush. I pretended to be relieving myself on
the other side of the same bush, so he heard my voice but wasn't
shocked at my lack of arms and torsos and such."

Mallara sighed. "And?"

"His Mayorship claims the first goblins
showed up ten days ago," said Burn. "Half a dozen of them marched
in with brooms, sweeping the streets and knocking horse apples into
the ditch. The villagers just laughed."

"They don't seem amused now," said
Mallara.

"They aren't," said Burn. "The six goblins
became three hundred. And the Mayor claims the figure doubles every
day."

Mallara nodded. "Six to three hundred in ten
days?"

"That's his count, not mine," said Burn. The
shimmer bobbed near. "A dozen goblins sweeping the streets is small
cause for panic. Twenty-five goblins patching leaky roofs were
viewed, by some, as rare good fortune. But three hundred goblins
with sharp, shiny hand tools?" Burn buzzed."The villagers left, in
well-fed droves.".

Mallara sighed and shook her head. "How far
out are we, at a fast walk?"

"About two hours," said Burn."And Mistress --
one more thing. I smelled magic, over Bertat. More than a whiff.
Like somebody was burning spells for cord-wood."

Mallara stretched and yawned, willing away
the last of the vestiges of the dancing-dream. "Then let's go,
Burn," she said. "Time to put out a fire."

"Aye, Captain," said Burn. "Hoist the mains
and drop the anchors, step lively lads she's in a mood."

"I could still get a cat," said Mallara. "A
nice quiet cat."

Burn buzzed away skyward. Mallara sighed and
marched out of the weeds and onto the cracked flagstones of the Old
Kingdom Road.

"Behold," said Burn. "Goblins, great and
terrible."

Bertat lay a stone's throw ahead, just across
a narrow stone bridge that spanned a swollen, rushing creek. The
Old Kingdom Road, still miraculously unquarried, crossed the bridge
and made straight through the heart of Bertat, flanked on both
sides by neat timber-and-stone buildings. An inn stood first on the
right, and then a tavern, and a smithy. Across the lane stood a
clothier, a shoemaker's, and a squat stone tower that might once
have been an outbuilding for an Imperial toll-station but was now a
public bath. Homes lay beyond, stretching down an oak-lined
cobblestone lane that looped away up a hillside and out of
sight.

And everywhere, goblins. Goblins scurried,
goblins hammered, goblins dug and hauled and sawed. Dozens of pale,
short, eyeless, mouth less mannequins swarmed in and out and on and
under every structure in Bertat. Most were armed with saws or
hammers; others bore arm-loads of fresh-cut lumber or buckets of
nails. Scaffolds leaned against the side of the inn, and a new wing
was forming as the goblins worked.

A tree fell at the edge of town, the crash of
its landing hardly gone when the sounds of axes and saws began.

"Industrious little blobs, aren't they?" said
Burn.

"They aren't goblins," said Mallara. "Or any
other living creature. No eyes, no mouth, no fingers unless they
need them." She frowned, listening to her staff whisper. "These are
made things, Burn. Homunculi. A spell made solid."

Burn whistled. "Sounds like pre-Enlightenment
sorcery to me," he said. "The kind the Order encouraged into
extinction with reasoned debate and flaming tornados."

Five goblins entered the street from the
alley by the inn. Each goblin bore a new-made broom in its
mitten-like left hand. The small band of goblins marched down the
street, toward Mallara, Burn, and the bridge.

"Go ahead, Mistress," said Burn. "Tell them
how you feel about housework."

The goblins reached the bridge.

Mallara took her staff firmly in hand.
"Burn," said Mallara. "High watch. Tell me if they all start moving
at once."

"Aye, Captain." Burn vanished.

Mallara stepped forward, Word ready on her
lips. The goblins on the bridge took no note, but began sweeping in
a strange unbroken rhythm. Step, sweep, sweep, step. And again, all
moving in perfect time, like five soft marionettes all played on
the same long strings.

Mallara stepped onto the bridge and
positioned herself in the path of a goblin. Step sweep sweep step,
and its broom brushed her boot-toes.

Step. The goblin's eyeless face turned up
toward Mallara's. Mallara smiled and shook her head.

The goblin turned, stepped, and swept, still
in perfect unison with its broom-wielding kin, but now heading the
other way.

Mallara shook her head. "Burn," she said.

"Here, Mistress."

"The spell. Can you locate the center?"

"With my eyes closed, as you solid folk say,"
said Burn. "Shall I find it and sneak about a bit?"

Mallara nodded. "But not too close."

"We've got a rogue wizard on the loose, don't
we?"

"Looks that way," said Mallara. She sang a
Word, and pitched her staff straight up. The air snapped, and a
larger, thicker staff fell to her hand. "A rogue wizard with a
goblin army."

Burn sighed. "And you poked me when I
suggested a vacation on the beach. Tsk, tsk." The shimmer
vanished.

The goblin Mallara had turned was back at her
feet. Again, she shook her head "no."

The goblin continued sweeping, each pass a
bit further up Mallara's boot-tip than the last. Behind her, she
heard four sets of soft, light footfalls -- all in perfect unison
-- thump-thump nearer.

Her big staff grew warm. "Not yet," she said.
"Not yet."

She stepped around the goblin's broom and
crossed the bridge into Bertat.

"Mistress!" said Burn, from above. "I'm
back."

Mallara closed and parted her hands. The
light that flickered between them winked out.

Burn dropped down before her face. "I found
the wizard. And he's found you, Mistress -- the goblins are
dropping their tools and converging on this porch. Hundreds of
them, on the move."

"I know," said Mallara. She pointed out into
the street, where scores of soft white bodies were shuffling
hesitantly nearer. "It doesn't know what to make of me."

"It's a he, Mistress, and you're never going
to believe what kind of he."

"He's a child, no more than ten. Probably an
orphan."

Burn's hazy outline shrank. "I hate it when
you do that."

Mallara shook her head. "Sorry, Burn. But
while you were out I took a good long look at our rogue wizard's
spell-craft." She rose. "The spell was cast to do simple chores,"
she said. "Sweeping. Cleaning. Cooking. The goblins were just extra
hands."

"Must have been a busy lad," said Burn.

Mallara shook her head. "He bound it to the
creek."

"Which is swollen with spring thaws," said
Burn. "His six goblins become a hundred, and so on."

"And he gave it the power to make its own
decisions," said Mallara. "Now it's decided not to obey."

Burn buzzed. "He did all that? With what?
From what? I don't see much in the way of a library around,
Mistress, or any other place he could learn enough to spoil apples,
much less raise a goblin horde."

Mallara shrugged. "But he did. Somehow."

Burn whistled. "Can you control it,
Mistress?"

"I think so," she said.

The mob of goblins in the street jostled
closer to the inn's porch. A bold pair at the fore put two toeless
feet on the porch.

"Could you perhaps start controlling it now?"
said Burn.

Mallara's staff muttered.

"Mistress?" said Burn. "Did your staff just
suggest that you run?"

The goblins advanced, all hesitation
gone.

"A blast of raw hot magic might be
appropriate now, Mistress," said Burn. "A small burst, even. Or a
thunderbolt. Mistress? Rain of stones? Cold wind? Scary shadows on
the wall?"

More feet made soft thumps on the wooden
porch. Mallara's staff grumbled disgustedly.

Mallara backed up, found the door latch
behind her, and inched open the door at her back.

"Ah, the ever-popular hasty retreat," said
Burn. "Plenty of time for thunderbolts, maybe after lunch and a
nap--"

The goblins surged ahead. Mallara bolted
through the door and slammed it shut.

Soft hands scrabbled at the latch. Mallara
held it fast long enough to drop the cross-bar. Something gave the
door a single gentle shove, and then all was silent.

Mallara charged across the inn, dodging
fresh-wiped tables and just mended chairs. "Take me to the child,
Burn," she whispered. "Find a route that misses as many goblins as
you can."

"Won't be easy. They're everywhere--"

Mallara flung open the common room's back
door. It opened into a stable-yard and a back street. Both were
free of goblins.

Mallara spoke a Word.

And vanished.

"Oh my," said Burn in a loud stage whisper.
"The Sorceress is gone, fled, magicked away to a far place from
which she will never return. Woe is me, whatever will I do, so
forth and so on."

Then Burn, too, was gone.

Soft, round faces peered in through the inn's
three glass windows. Then the goblin mob turned as one, and soon
the sound of hammers and saws filled the empty village.

"Ouch!" hissed Mallara.

"Invisibility is tough on the toes, is it?"
whispered Burn. "Hard to keep up with all those appendages."

"Cats don't gloat," muttered Mallara.

Burn snickered. "Cats gloat all the time,
Mistress," he said. "They just do it quietly."

Vines from a thorn-bush rose and stretched
taunt, caught in Mallara's pant-leg.

"My, what language," said Burn as the
thorn-bush tossed and jerked. "What would Prince Charming
think?"

The bush heaved and was still. An invisible
Mallara panted and wiped sweat from her face.

Burn floated down level with Mallara's eyes.
He could still see a tiny fleck of light at the back of each eye,
and just a hint of green around in the blur around each pupil.
"We're close, Mistress," he said. "Three dozen steps, no more, and
you'll be face to face with your rouge sorcerer and his goblin
familiar."

Mallara said a Word, and was visible again.
Her sleeves and trouser-legs were ripped and torn, victims of tough
thorn vines and sharp-edged knifewood bushes. Blood stained her
forearms, and a long scratch across her right cheek. The scratches
left by the thin knifewood fronds didn't bleed, but they were
beginning to sting and swell.

Burn shrank. "Mistress!" he said. "I had no
idea."

"It's like running in the dark," said
Mallara. "Except it's your arms and legs you can't see, not the
trees and the bushes. Never again." She said another Word, and her
staff began to hum faintly. "Let's go," she said. "I've had quite
enough of this."

Burn buzzed up and away.

"Mistress!" said Burn from the tree-tops. "It
saw you. The goblins are moving this way. All of them. They didn't
drop their tools, this time."

Mallara spoke a Word. The iron-shod ends of
her staff began to sizzle and trail wisps of smoke. "Running or
walking?" she said.

"Walking. Quickly. With a definite air of
purpose, and I don't think they mean to build you a house," said
Burn.

Mallara reached the edge of the forest and
stepped through a line of squat juniper trees.

Ahead lay a grassy clearing, and then the
creek. A tall, thin boy in a ragged tunic and too-large boots paced
a tight circle in the sandy creek-bank. Two steps behind him, a
single goblin matched his strides, its hands clasped behind its
back in perfect imitation of the child.