MYTH-Interpretations: The Worlds of Robert Asprin (23 page)

"You needn't fear, little man," Schmirnov said. "I have sufficient treasure that I will not become angry over giving up a portion of it in exchange for knowledge."

"Excellent," Stiller said, rubbing his hands together.

"That is, of course, unless I find the mathematical probabilities you mentioned are being artificially tampered with. That would be tantamount to stealing from me, which is something I will not tolerate."

"Oh." The warrior became a bit more subdued.

"Actually, there is only one thing which troubles me in this potential arrangement," the dragon said. "You mentioned that the game requires two or more players. While the game sounds fascinating, and the lessons enjoyable, what will I do with the knowledge once you depart?"

"I could make it part of the agreement that I would return occasionally
.
.
.
say two or three times a year
.
.
.
and we could continue the game."

Stiller only let his eyes wander toward the back of the cavern once as he made this selfless offer.

"That would be splendid!" Schmirnov exclaimed. "I believe we have a bargain. Go and fetch your little trinket."

A nod from Stiller sent Ibble scrambling out of the cavern.

"I must say, Lord Dragon," the warrior said as they waited, "this method of dealing with each other has much to recommend it over the way I used to approach your kind."

"As a member of the species all but wiped out by previous encounters with your kind, I can only concur," the dragon said. "There is a lot to be said for peaceful coexistence."

"Along with the gratitude of Prince Rango, I would like to extend my personal thanks for this favor," Stiller said. "I will rest much easier knowing the artifact is guarded by one who is not only fierce, but intelligent as well."

"You're too kind," Schmirnov responded. "By the way, you never got around to saying which of the artifacts you were intrusting to my care. I hope it isn't Sombrisio. That ring can be a real—"

He broke off suddenly as a glow lit up the cavern.

Ibble had reappeared, bearing with him a sword which radiated a soft but definite light.

"No need to worry about Sombrisio," Stiller said. "Jancy has the problem of dealing with—"

"
That's Mothganger!!
"

The dragon's voice rang with horror and accusation.

"Well
.
.
.
yes," the warrior said, taken a bit aback by his host's reaction.

"You didn't say anything about Mothganger," Schmirnov hissed. "You spoke only of the scroll of Gwykander, the amulet Anachron, and the ring Sombrisio."

"Didn't I?" Stiller frowned. "I know I said that Kalaran was finally felled by a sword stroke. I may have neglected to mention that the sword was Mothganger. I assure you, no deception was intended on my part."

"I'm sorry. The deal's off," the dragon said stiffly.

"Off?" the warrior cried. "But why? It was an innocent mistake on my part. I mean, an artifact is and artifact. Isn't it?"

"Are you mad, Stiller Gulick," the reptile said, "or simply stupid? Under no conditions will I allow that sword anywhere near me."

"But—"

"That weapon is one of the few items known to your kind that can actually do me great damage. Why I could be killed by a single blow from that accursed sword. You can't really expect me to keep the potential implement of my own doom in my cavern, can you? I thought we had agreed that we were both intelligent."

"But that's specifically why I thought of you for Mothganger's guardian," Stiller said, his voice edged with desperation. "If the sword were in your possession, then no one else could find it and bring it to use against you. Keeping Mothganger out of evil hands is a common goal between us."

"Hmm. An interesting point," Schmirnov said, mollified slightly. "Still, I couldn't relax, much less rest, with such a deadly threat residing in my cavern. I'm sorry, but it will have to go."

"Where would it be safer than right here?" the warrior argued. "If you won't take it, where should I go with it?"

"I really don't care," the dragon said. "Why not take it back to wherever it was you found it in the first place?"

"We can't. It's not a safe hiding place anymore."

"Why not? As I recall, Mothganger was supposed to be guarded by a rather ferocious ogre. What happened to him?"

"He
.
.
.
umm
.
.
.
we killed him," Stiller admitted uncomfortably.

"Really?" Schmirnov said. "Pity. Still, no great loss there. From what I heard, he was truly uncivilized."

"Do you have any suggestions at all as to where we could hide it?"

"Not a one," the great reptile said, shaking his head. "It's as I said earlier, you and your kind have been extremely efficient at eliminating creatures you felt were dangerous or threatening. Ironic, isn't it? After devoting so much time and energy killing off creatures, you're now unable to find one when you really need one."

"Yeah. Ironic." Stiller growled. "Forgive me if my appreciation is less than enthusiastic, but I'm the one who's stuck with the sword in the meantime."

"Too bad you don't have one of the other artifacts instead," Schmirnov observed. "I wouldn't mind watching over the scroll or the amulet. I don't suppose there's any chance you could trade missions with one of the other comrades you mentioned?"

"I doubt it," the warrior said. "We were all riding in different directions
.
.
.
the idea
was
to separate the artifacts, you'll recall. I fear by the time I caught up with one of the others, they'd have already disposed of theirs."

"Well, sorry I can't help you
.
.
.
and I mean that sincerely," the dragon said. "I was really looking forward to learning about poker. I don't suppose you'd be willing to teach me anyway?"

"We'll have to see," Stiller said, remembering briefly the dragon's treasure trove. "Perhaps sometime in the future. At the moment, I have a mission to complete."

"Good luck with that," Schmirnov said. "If no solution presents itself, remember what I said before. If the others are successful, there should be no trouble keeping
one
of the artifacts at the capital."

The two friends were silent as they trudged down the slope from the mouth of Schmirnov's cavern.

"Well,
that
got us nowhere," Stiller said at last, his voice heavy with weariness.

"I really thought we were going to pull it off that time." Ibble sighed. "I mean, he had agreed and everything. Right up until he realized it was Mothganger we were asking him to guard."

"It's the end of the battle that counts," the warrior reminded him. "However close it was during the skirmishes, the final outcome is that he said ‘no.'
 
"

"Let's rest here a moment while we consider our next move," the dwarf suggested, drawing to a halt.

"Tired?" Stiller said, squatting down on his heels as was his habit when resting. "You must be getting old, Ibble. I can recall when an easy climb like this was nothing to you."

"It isn't that," Ibble said, waving off his friend's attempt at humor. "I'm just in no hurry to report our latest failure to the Prince's wizard. At the very least, it would be nice if we had our next destination in mind
before
passing the word to the Prince. It might sound a bit less hopeless and beaten if we had a positive plan to suggest at the same time as we admitted the negative results of our latest scheme."

Stiller grimaced, his earlier tight smile replaced by wrinkles of concern.

"I only hope that wizard is adding his own disappointment and scorn when he tells us of the Prince's reactions. I'd hate to think that Rango is really that upset with us, even allowing for our unbroken string of failures."

"Remember, it's
Prince
Rango now," Ibble said pointedly. "It wouldn't be the first time that a gold hat changed the personality of the one wearing it."

"You might be right," Stiller said. "He certainly hasn't been himself lately. I'm just hoping it's the pressure of his pending marriage and coronation that's doing it, and that he'll settle down again once all that is over."

"We can always hope." The dwarf shrugged. "In the meantime, what are we going to do with Mothganger?"

"I was hoping you'd have some ideas." The warrior sighed. "The dragon Schmirnov was my last card. I haven't even
heard
of another creature fierce enough to guard such a prize."

"If only you hadn't killed that manticore," Ibble said.

"You mean the ogre, don't you?"

"No, I mean the manticore," the dwarf insisted. "Remember, the one you chopped down
before
we could talk to it?"

"Hey. It surprised me. Okay?" Stiller said defensively. "I expected to find it on top of the hill and approach it slowly. When it burst out of the bushes right on top of us, I just swung out of reflex."

"I was there. Remember?" Ibble said. "That's most of why I thought it would be best if I made the first approach with Schmirnov."

"I've already apologized a hundred times for that. You want to hear it again? Okay. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have killed the manticore. There. Does that make things any better for us?"

"All I meant was, it left us with one less potential guardian for the sword
.
.
.
and we didn't have that big a list to start with."

"I know," the warrior said dejectedly. "Let's see, the original ogre guardian and the manticore are both dead, the merpeople refused the job, as did the dragon. Where does that leave us?"

"Sitting on a hillside talking to ourselves." Ibble sighed. "I still think we could just bury it or drop it down a ravine or something."

Stiller shook his head.

"We've been over that before," he said stubbornly. "The only way that would work is if we killed everyone in our party afterward
.
.
.
including the Prince's pet wizard and ourselves. Otherwise, someone's bound to talk and the word would get out that there was a powerful artifact just lying around waiting to be picked up. No, we need a guardian, a fierce one. Something nasty enough that even if someone finds out where Mothganger is hidden, they'll think twice about trying to fetch it."

"I don't supposed you'd consider just taking it back to the –capital," the dwarf said. "As the dragon pointed out, there shouldn't be any danger if it's the only artifact there."

"That's assuming the others are successful," Stiller pointed out. "Besides, I don't like the idea of being the only one of the old fellowship that couldn't carry out my assignment."

"Then we're stuck," Ibble said, picking up a rock and throwing it at a bush. "I guess we could try talking to the merpeople again."

"They seemed pretty adamant in their refusal," the warrior said. "Besides, I'm not sure that it would do a sword any good to be kept under water."

"It's
supposed
to be indestructible," the dwarf observed dryly. "That's what makes it so valuable."

"Against wear and breakage, maybe. But it's still steel, and water and steel are old enemies."

As he spoke, Stiller drew the sword and studied its glowing blade.

"It looks ordinary enough, except for that glow," he said. "I wonder if that has anything to do with its indestructible nature."

"Naw. That's just a light spell." Ibble waved.

"Excuse me?"

"The glow. It's just an elven light spell," the dwarf said. "They're fairly easy to cast, and last a couple centuries. Whoever made the sword probably tossed it in as a bonus."

"You never said anything about that before."

"You never asked before. I assumed you already knew about it."

"I never heard of such a thing. How do you know about it?"

"There's an elven sword maker in the village where I grew up. He would add a light spell to anything if you asked him."

"How far away is your village?"

"A couple day's ride from here. If we have the time when we're done with this mission, maybe we could stop there and I'll introduce you to him."

"Let's go there now," Stiller said, rising to his feet.

"Now?"

"Yes. I think I have an idea."

The elven weaponsmith looked disdainfully at his two visitors.

"Young man," he said, "if it were not for the fact that little Ibble here says you're his friend and a hero, I'd say that you were either a fool or insane."

"I assure you, sir, I'm neither," Stiller said calmly.

"Well, it certainly couldn't be told from your request. Duplicate Mothganger?"

He gestured at the glowing sword they had placed on his workbench.

"If I could do that, I wouldn't be running my shop out of a tiny village like this. Half the spells that went into the making of this sword have been lost in the march of time, and the ones that are still remembered would require years just to assemble the ingredients. You're wasting your time
.
.
.
and mine!"

"Please, Anken," Ibble said. "Hear us out."

"You misunderstand me, sir," the warrior said. "I'm not asking if you can produce a second Mothganger. As you say, that is well beyond the skills and knowledge of any weapons maker known today. What I require is a sword that
looks
like Mothganger. An ordinary weapon with a light spell cast on its blade."

Anken looked back and forth at the two comrades for a moment.

"A bogus Mothganger," he said at last. "I never heard of such a thing. You two wouldn't be thinking of trying to sell the phony as the real thing, would you? Or maybe give the fake to the rightful owner, while keeping the real one for yourselves?"

"I cannot disclose the reason for our request," Stiller said stiffly. "But I give you my word that our mission and need are honorable and aboveboard."

"You've known me all my life, Anken," the dwarf put in. "Have you ever known me to be anything other than honest?"

"That's true," the elf said thoughtfully. "The fact is you were always a bit dull that way."

"So can you do it?" Stiller urged. "More importantly,
will
you do it?"

In answer, Anken picked up Mothganger and began studying it closely.

"Really isn't much to look at, is it?" he said, almost to himself. "Have a seat, boys. I think I've got a couple old swords in storage that will give us just the parts we need. Might have to rework the pommel, but that shouldn't take long."