II - The Grangli
Save for the dim light flickering through the windows in the side of the hill, the world seemed made of blackness. Peering through those windows, an intruder would have seen Bellenmore the Magician pacing back and forth, pulling at his white beard and muttering great imprecations to the walls and furniture.
A green flame crackled on the hearth, holding a cauldron of thick stew at a simmer. Above the fire, on the mantel, a row of gargoyle-festooned mugs winked and smiled hideously, occasionally bursting out in a chorus of bawdy song.
The latch of the door rattled.
Bellenmore sprang for it and snatched the door open, then fell back with a cry of dismay as Aaron stumbled in. Twigs and grass clung to the boy’s clothing. His face was covered with cuts and dark bruises. A smear of blood had dried on his right cheek.
More disturbing than all of this were his eyes, which were wide and haunted.
Bellenmore seized the boy by his arms and drew him toward the fire. “What happened, Aaron? Are you all right?”
As the boy gazed at Bellenmore the tumult in his eyes began to quiet. He swallowed twice, then whispered, “The Grangli is flying.”
Bellenmore dropped his hands. He turned this way and that, as if searching for support, and finally looked back to Aaron. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he whispered. “Let me tend to those wounds. Then you can tell me what happened. No, on second thought, you should eat first.”
He led the boy to the hearth and settled him onto a stool. Then he ladled up a plate of the stew and drew a mug of cider from the barrel in the corner. He thrust plate and mug into Aaron’s trembling hands.
The boy took them gratefully.
As Aaron ate, Bellenmore washed his wounds. Then he worked at healing the boy, both with herbs and potions that were natural, and with spells that would speed their action.
When the healing and the feeding were finished, Bellenmore asked for the story. He paced the floor as the boy spoke of what he had seen, and how only his fall into a narrow ravine had saved him from the monstrous creature.
“The Grangli,” muttered Bellenmore in astonishment, once Aaron had finished. “But that can only mean that Dark Anne has returned.”
“Brilliant,” muttered the lizard.
Far across the wood a wizened woman sat in a cave lit only by the flames that crackled beneath the enormous black cauldron she was stirring. Serpents hissed and crawled about her bare feet. More snakes clung to the stalactites that thrust like giant fangs from the cave’s damp ceiling.
Peering into the cauldron’s depths, the woman was able to observe the action in Bellenmore’s cottage.
A wicked gleam lit her face. “So they know I’m back,” she chuckled. “And they fear what I may do. Well, let them fear, the fools. My power now is greater than Bellenmore would ever dare to dream. And it has just begun to grow.” She cackled wildly. “The Grangli flies, and oh, what woe we now shall work on the lands that Bellenmore is bound to protect!”
She snapped her fingers. An instant later the Grangli stood before her, its wings furled in front of it, its head surrounded by the weaving, hissing serpents that hung from the ceiling.
“How did you fare, my pretty one? Did you bring Dark Anne her due?”
The Grangli uttered a strangled cry and produced, from some unknowable place beneath its wings, the torn carcass of a sheep.
Dark Anne was pleased. The animal would provide both dinner and . . . ingredients.
Bellenmore was leaning over an oaken stand, paging through the large, leatherbound book that rested on its surface. He turned the yellowed leaves cautiously, for they were fragile with age.
Aaron stood at the magician’s side, feeling frustrated because he couldn’t do anything to help. “How could it happen?” he asked, when he saw Bellenmore pause. “How could she have escaped so quickly?”
The wizard scowled. “I don’t know. When last we clashed, and I mastered her so narrowly, I used a spell that should have bound her for lifetimes yet to come. But now the Grangli flies again, and it is obvious Dark Anne has returned. She must have found new power someplace. But where? That’s the riddle, Aaron. Her dealings with the dark side have gone on so long already it hardly seems there was anywhere left for her to turn.”
The lizard climbed to the top of its cage. Poking its head over the edge it said, “Perhaps she found the Black Stone of Borea.” Then it unrolled its tongue, caught a passing fly, and dropped back to the stone on which it had been lounging.
Bellenmore shuddered. “That would have given her the power to escape all right.”
“What’s the Black Stone of Borea?” asked Aaron.
Bellenmore twisted his fingers in his beard. “An object of enormous power,” he said at last.
“Of course, it’s not really a stone,” pointed out the lizard.
“Well it is now,” said Bellenmore.
Aaron, who was used to this kind of conversation between the wizard and the lizard, knew very well how long it could go on. Raising his voice, he said, rather sharply, “Please! Just tell me what it is!”
Bellenmore sighed. “The Black Stone of Borea was once the heart of the greatest wizard who ever lived. There is a long and very strange story about his death and how his heart came to be turned to stone — and an even stranger story about how it came to be lodged at the College of Wizards.”
“Where it caused all sorts of mischief,” said the lizard, its tongue flickering in and out.
“Though the stone itself is neither good nor evil,” continued Bellenmore, “its ability to gather power, to call it forth from unexpected places, to focus it, made it an enormous temptation not only to those of evil intent, but to many of higher purpose who wanted to use its power to twist the world to their vision of goodness.”
“Always a dangerous proposition,” pointed out the lizard.
Bellenmore nodded. “Finally it was agreed that for the safety of all, the stone should be locked away.”
“Where did they put it?” asked Aaron.
Bellenmore shrugged. “No one knows. The spell was designed to randomly send it to one of the places where . . . “ He paused, then closed his eyes and moaned.
“What’s wrong?” asked Aaron.
Bellenmore passed a hand across his brow. “I just had a horrible thought. What if when I banished Dark Anne I sent her to the same place as the Black Stone? She would surely have found it — or it her, for it calls to anyone with power. Found it, and freed it, and used it to make her way back. That would explain everything.” His face grim, he continued, “If that is what happened, then the thing she will be wanting now is revenge — revenge that could take any form, come from any direction, strike at any time. We must double our guard, Aaron, be as watchful as we can. Even then we’ll have but small chance of sensing her attack before it is sprung.”
“Maybe we should strike first,” said Aaron.
Bellenmore turned and peered at him from under thick white brows.
The forest was deep, and dark, and still, the only noise the almost unhearable rustle of softly passing feet. They traveled single file — Bellenmore (the lizard perched on his shoulder), Aaron, and, behind all three, keeping watch at the rear, a minor demon Bellenmore had summoned with a spell of service.
Clouds filled the night sky, blocking the stars and the moon. Aaron kept his hand on Bellenmore’s shoulder. The demon walked backwards, the single eye in the back of its head preventing it from stumbling while the stronger eyes in its face scanned the woods behind them for any sign of menace.
The silence was broken by a screech of pain. It came from above them, seeming to fill the sky. The sound put fingers of ice to Aaron’s spine.
Even as Bellenmore grabbed the boy and shoved him to the side of the path a huge shape fell from the blackness, plummeting toward them. Aaron felt the earth tremble when the thing struck the ground.
Bellenmore tapped his staff against a rock. A gentle light grew around them.
Aaron shuddered.
At their feet lay the Grangli. Its massive body was twisted, its semi-human face made more hideous than ever by the pain of its unexpected death.
“This,” said the lizard, “does not look good.”
“Any ideas on what could have done it?” asked Bellenmore.
The lizard blinked. Then, sounding worried for the first time since Aaron had known it, it asked, very softly, “Malefestra?”
The minor demon hissed.
– End Chapter Two –
