Marion Zimmer Bradley's Sword and Sorceress XXVI Read online

  "That was a very impressive bit of pyrotechnics," said King Montgomery, "but I have yet to see the effects of the spell. How do I know every man, woman and child in Chelming is gone, as you promised they would be?"

  The sorcerer flushed, and flames seemed to flicker in his red hair. He held up a smoky glass bubble the size of a goose egg. Something alternately bright and dark crawled inside. "Here you see their souls, captured by my spell," he said in a dangerously calm voice.

  King Montgomery stared at the sphere, almost convinced. Then the thought of the greater part of his treasury (all but the silver—the sorcerer didn't like silver), packed in carts waiting to leave the kingdom, strengthened him. "I'll give you half your fee now, and the rest when I see Chelming empty of all its folk."

  Anger flared in Searorun's eyes, but he said merely, "Agreed."

  While King Montgomery had a cart of treasure brought out for Searorun, Brixton's generals gathered the shaken troops. King Montgomery at their head, they marched off to take possession of Chelming.

  Searorun rode close beside the king, the donkey pulling the heavily loaded cart following. For most of the day they rode slowly down Brixton's dusty roads. Here and there peasants in their fields straightened to stare open-mouthed at the king and his troops, then dropped to their knees in obeisance. King Montgomery smiled.

  Just before dusk they reached the Chelming border. At Brixton's guard post soldiers leapt to their feet and saluted. But there was no one on Chelming's side to acknowledge the army crossing their borders. No one at all.

  * * * *

  Janet wasted no time bemoaning her fate. Weeping would not return her to proper size. She burrowed through the folds of her gown until she found the links of her metal belt. It lay along the horse's back in a huge circle, mostly buried in fabric. She followed it until she found the handkerchief she had tucked there this morning—fine linen, soft and tightly woven. Excellent material for a gown.

  Near the handkerchief, still clipped to her belt, was her needlecase. It was a lovely piece of work—embossed silver, with a clasp now half the size of her hand. She wrestled it open and drew her sewing scissors—nearly as tall as she—from their loop. With considerable effort she clipped a neck hole from the center of her handkerchief, then drew the fabric over her head. She made a belt of several strands of sewing thread and looked down at herself, frowning. She was no longer naked, but she wasn't confident that this garb would hold up to any serious exercise.

  Now to find the sorcerer. She had a score to settle with him! There must be some rule about ensorcelling the wrong people, and she'd hound him until he magicked her back to proper size. She wondered why the sorcerer had not appeared to gloat over the success of his spell. That would make him easier to find. Well, since he had not come to her, she would just have to find him.

  Janet closed her needlecase and climbed over the heavy folds of fabric to stand near the saddle's pommel. Though her mare stood quietly eating roadside grass, every time the horse shifted her weight Janet nearly lost her balance.

  How could she get the horse to move? Tales of Tom O'My Thumb flitted through her mind. Hadn't he stood in his mule's ear and shouted directions?

  She clambered up the mare's mane, wrinkling her nose at the strong horsy smell. She didn't think she could stand in her mare's ear. But if she grasped the headstall of the bridle, she could sit on the horse's poll and look out over the forest. She squinted in all directions, but saw no triumphant sorcerer.

  Janet shouted at the top of her lungs—but even to her own ears her voice wasn't very loud. The mare flicked an ear, shook her head, and nearly knocked Janet from her perch—but didn't start down the path.

  Then she heard a muffled, squeaky voice from the ground. Probably not the sorcerer. "Lord Henry?" Janet called, staring down from her perch atop her horse's head. Ah. There, where he had been standing, was a pile of fabric—his very fashionable houppelande. Its sleeves, with embroidered dags as long as his arms (as long as his arms had been, that is) were not so practical for riding, but he was a bit of a popinjay.

  The squeaky voice again, somewhat less muffled. A head poked out of the fabric. "What happened?" Lord Henry asked. "I couldn't get out of my boot!" He waved his arms. "And I was buried in—" At that moment he realized he wore nothing, squawked, and ducked back into the folds of fabric.

  Janet let herself down the horse's mane and opened her needlecase again. "Here." She let her scissors drop near the pile of Lord Henry's clothing. "Cut something to cover yourself. I won't look."

  While he was thus busy, she used all her strength to force her belt's clip open. She hooked the clip firmly onto the saddle and pushed the other end off the horse's back. The end clanked to the ground and raised a cloud of dust. "When you're decent, climb that. Oh, and bring my scissors with you."

  A rather long time later, Lord Henry scrambled up the ladder formed by her belt's links. He wore a tunic, nearly ankle length, made of the tip of one of his sleeve dags with arm and head holes cut in the end.

  When he was safely atop the mare, Janet got his help to push the heavy layers of her clothing off the horse's back. What a passerby would think of the piles of fabric, she did not know. She kept the belt. They would need it to dismount once they reached their destination.

  "Hold onto the saddle," she told Lord Henry.

  "What are you doing, my lady?" he asked breathlessly.

  "I'm off to find who did this!" Grasping the headstall, she stamped her foot. The mare shied, moved in a half circle, and shook her head to remove the annoyance. Janet held on grimly until the horse settled to cropping roadside grass once more.

  Janet stamped again, and the horse jumped and kicked.

  "My lady!" called Lord Henry. "She'll shake us off." When the mare had settled and Janet could spare a look at him, he was rather pale.

  "Have you a better idea?"

  "No, my lady."

  "Hold tight!" Janet called, suiting action to words. She gave the mare a good hard kick in the back of the neck.

  The mare snorted, shivered her back, and sidled sideways. At Janet's next kick, the horse set off down the path at a trot, and Janet yelled, "Huzzah!" quite forgetting she was a demure young lady.

  * * * *

  Lord Henry's horse followed her mare, and they trotted toward Chelming. At the Deccalia/Chelming border, the guards didn't even come out of their post. "Perhaps they were shrunk too," Lord Henry quavered.

  "All the better for us," said Janet. "I'd hate to try to reason with a border guard when I'm smaller than his hand."

  They rode on through empty fields until they came to a village. As the horses neared the first cottage, a score of tiny people ran out, jumping up and down and yelling.

  Janet hadn't thought of how she'd stop her mare. Quickly she slid down the horse's neck and, bracing her feet on the saddle, grabbed the mane and pulled as hard as she could.

  The mare took a few more steps, then stopped as Janet kept yanking on her mane. The people ran forward, wary of the horses' hooves, all yelling at once.

  "One at a time, one at a time!" Janet called. A woman—probably tall and strong when she was her proper size—hushed the rest and stepped forward. She wore a knitted stocking.

  "Do you know what happened?" the woman asked. "We heard a voice saying 'Woe, woe, people of Chelming,' and then we shrank. Everyone in the village—"

  "As far as I know, everyone in the kingdom is hand-high now," Janet interrupted. "And I want to do something about it. Will you join me?"

  "What can we do?" said the woman. "We're just peasants, and smaller than kittens."

  "Even kittens have claws and teeth," said Janet. "Think of what damage a horde of locusts, or a swarm of rats, can do. We just have to think like...rats."

  * * * *

  Janet's and Lord Henry's horses were starting to tire, with most of the inhabitants of seven villages sitting on them, when they came across a muddle of horses in the middle of the road.

  "Halt!" a t
iny voice called. Janet's mare was getting used to her mane-pulling signals, and stopped when Janet wanted her to. Janet shushed the whispers of the villagers behind her, and called, "What do you want?"

  A tiny man standing on the saddle of a white warhorse said, "Who are you?"

  "I am Lady Janet, daughter of the Duke of Arbinclose. Who are you?"

  "Captain Patterson of the Chelming army. Arbinclose is in Deccalia. What are you doing here—and why are you...like us?"

  "I, too, crave the answer to the last question," Janet replied. "As for the first, I'm finding the sorcerer who did this, and making him change us back. These people," Janet waved at two horses full of villagers, "are helping me. Will you?"

  The captain, dressed in a cut-up leather glove, stuttered for a moment, then asked, "But what can we do? When Brixton's army marches into Chelming—which may have already happened—they can step on us like mice."

  "But we're smarter than mice, aren't we?" Janet said, balancing atop her mare's headstall and putting hands to hips. "How many men have you? I see there are," she counted quickly, "ten horses. We can put a lot of people on ten horses. But we need to hurry. I want to meet King Montgomery's army before it gets too far into Chelming."

  The hope blossoming on Captain Patterson's face made Janet smile. "So you're with me, captain?"

  "Tell me your plan," he said. "I—no, we," he said, gesturing at the oddly dressed little men falling into formation on the roadside, "shall do what we can to save Chelming from the foul machinations of King Montgomery."

  * * * *

  The sorcerer Searorun rode beside King Montgomery, columns of soldiers at their backs. They crossed through the guard post into Chelming, ready for any challenge—but none came. The fields were empty, and no one in the village of Over Lemming raised an alarm, though the army made enough noise to send a cow grazing along the fencerow lumbering off in panic.

  The king called a halt, and he and Searorun leapt from their horses. They strode to the first cottage. Searorun jerked the door open, peered inside, then beckoned to the king. In the late sunlight streaming through the doorway, they could see that all within was normal—no overset tables or benches, no bloodstains—but no people, either. Only empty clothing, lying in heaps.

  All through the town it was the same. Empty houses. The only movement came from the occasional cat or chicken startled from a nap.

  "Have you seen enough, Sire?" Searorun asked. "Just as I promised. Every man, woman and child in Chelming is gone. The kingdom is yours."

  "Over Lemming is hardly the entire kingdom," King Montgomery growled, but then he slapped Searorun on the back. The sorcerer winced and stepped back. "But you've made your point—"

  A cat leaped, squalling horrifically, from a roof onto Searorun's head. "Die, foul invaders!" a tiny voice screamed. As Searorun frantically tried to grab the cat, he felt a prick on the side of his neck, and the same voice said, "Don't move, or I'll stab you." He froze.

  He and King Montgomery were surrounded by perhaps a hundred people no taller than his boot top, all brandishing knives as if they were swords. The screeches of their high-pitched voices made a bewildering din. As the king tried to stomp on the tiny men, they danced out of the way. Soon they were clambering up the skirts of his riding tunic, and though he shook some off, there were too many for him. "What is this, Searorun?" Montgomery roared. "There should be no one, big or small, left in Chelming!"

  The cat on Searorun's head chose this moment to leap away, leaving bleeding scratches across his face. But his torment did not cease. The voice cried in his ear, "So you are the sorcerer who cast this spell!" and he felt another jab in the side of his neck.

  "Who are you? Why are you plaguing me?" he asked, trying not to move his face as he spoke.

  "I am Janet, daughter of the Duke of Arbinclose," the voice in his ear said. The pain in his neck grew. "You did this to me—I recognize your voice. And I'm not even from Chelming."

  "What?" said Searorun, forgetting to be circumspect and getting jabbed harder.

  "You shrank me—and my escort. We were fully two leagues into Deccalia."

  "But...the spell was carefully designed to make the people of Chelming disappear," Searorun sputtered.

  "They did not disappear—only got smaller. When I rode into Chelming to find out who had shrunk me, I found the same everywhere. All, from soldiers to the smallest babe, the size of children's poppets."

  Searorun crept his left hand toward the diminutive lady on his right shoulder. If he could catch her....

  "Hold still, or I'll shove this needle into your neck up to its eye. And I have more."

  He stopped moving.

  "So, will you release the spell?"

  "It will require weeks of preparation." He let a whine creep into his voice. "I'll need to gather materials, and my apprentices aren't here—"

  The needle jabbed his neck again. "I don't believe you. I've studied the basics of magic, and I know that no matter how complicated the spell, there will be a quick way to release it if need be. If, for example, King Montgomery didn't pay what he promised."

  Searorun thought. If he shook his body suddenly, the tiny woman should fall to the ground, and he could step on her, if it so pleased him.

  Action followed thought—and agony followed action. She must have had a firm hold on the collar of his robe. The needle jabbed full into his neck, and he gritted his teeth against the pain.

  "Undo the spell!" Janet cried.

  "I must get something from my pouch," he said between his teeth, shuddering at the feel of blood running down his neck.

  "I don't trust you. You'll try something against me. Tell me what to do. And just in case you try aught else, I've another needle against the big vein in your neck."

  Searorun closed his eyes and thought a spell at the creature on his shoulder. Nothing happened. Of course. Her needles were silver and negated the spell, weaker because he could not speak it aloud.

  "Well?" She jabbed, and a second runnel of blood started down his neck.

  "In my pouch. A glass ball."

  "Lord Henry, I need you," Lady Janet called, and one of the tiny folk holding King Montgomery at bay hurried over, looking up at her. "Yes, my lady?"

  "There's a glass ball in his pouch. Get it, please. Carefully."

  Searorun suffered the minuscule creature to climb the folds of his robe. He briefly considered kicking out and sending the little man flying, but thought better of it when the needle jabbed at his neck once more.

  Lord Henry wedged himself under Searorun's belt, released the clasp on his pouch, and removed the smoky gray ball, holding it cradled between both arms. "I have it, my lady,"

  "What is it?" asked Lady Janet.

  "This orb holds the souls of all the folk of Chelming," Searorun said. "I wrought great sorcery to place—"

  "They seemed in full possession of their souls when I rallied them to fight King Montgomery's army," she interrupted. "How do you release the spell?"

  "Break the orb."

  "And how do I know that won't kill us all?"

  That was what he was counting on. "We'll see." Before either small person could react, he seized the glass bubble and crushed it in his fist.

  The needle jabbed deep into Searorun's neck, then a weight grew on his shoulder, and fingers closed around his throat as he sank to the ground. His oxygen-starved brain, struggling to find a spell that would release him, was further distracted by a blood-curdling scream. "It worked!"

  * * * *

  Janet found herself standing in the dust of Over Lemming, naked as a baby and surrounded by yelling soldiers, panicked horses, squalling cats, and naked villagers. Lord Henry, hands clenched around Searorun's neck, blushed and looked away.

  "I'll have that," she said calmly. She unclasped Searorun's belt and jerked his open-fronted robe off, taking advantage of how weakly his hands scrabbled at the fingers tight around his throat to pull the sleeves off his arms. After she settled it over her own body
and pulled it tight with Searorun's belt, she turned to King Montgomery. The king stood fuming in the midst of a circle of men who flourished knives, pitchforks, and commandeered swords and looked very menacing in their hairy nakedness.

  "I'm afraid, Your Majesty, that you've got a problem," Janet said. "The whole kingdom of Chelming is understandably annoyed with you. And I fear you've angered others who, like myself, are from Deccalia. My father, the Duke of Arbinclose, for instance."

  She grinned as Montgomery blanched. "I think you and your pet sorcerer had better think quickly."

  While the inhabitants of Over Lemming had surrounded the king and his sorcerer, the other Chelmingar Janet had recruited, led by Captain Patterson and his company, had subdued King Montgomery's soldiers. The tiny size of the Chelmingar had taken the army completely by surprise, and now naked farmers and millers, soldiers and seamstresses were holding the Brixtish soldiers' own weapons at their throats.

  "You fool!" King Montgomery, now purple in the face, raged at Searorun. "Your spell failed utterly."

  Lord Henry had released the sorcerer and disappeared—probably to find clothing. Searorun, who with his emerald-green robe gone proved to be wearing an astonishingly yellow shirt and chausses, stood massaging his bruised throat. He'd pulled her needles from his neck and dropped them into the dirt. "What kind of fool are you, trusting everything to a spell?" he retorted. "Your agents should have been all through Chelming, waiting to take over when the people disappeared. As it is, your troops were thwarted by a mob of Thumbkins!"

  "I didn't notice you resisting them any better," King Montgomery began, but Janet cut in.

  "You can continue your argument later," she informed them. "Right now, I think you'd better talk to my father."

  The Duke of Arbinclose, middle-aged but wiry and tough, rode up on a black war horse caparisoned in silver. "What is the meaning of this, Montgomery?" he thundered. "I received a message from my daughter saying you—"

  "Good evening, Father," Janet said.

  "Oh, there you are, Janet," the Duke greeted her calmly. "A bit taller than I was expecting, from your message."