“Duke Rikard,” said the Wizard. She read it aloud.
“ ‘To the Wizard known as the Good who resides in the Dragon Hill, greetings! Your demesne is Surrounded by my weasel soldiers and I Demand that you deliver to Me my errant stepstepdaughter the Fugitive princess Anya, who has run Away from school. Do so or Else! Duke Rikard of Trallonia, Most powerful Sorcerer.’ ”
“You won’t send me out, will you?” asked Anya very anxiously.
“Of course not,” said the Wizard, her words accompanied by a general round of chuckling from the dwarves. They didn’t seem concerned at all, which made Anya feel a bit less shaky.
“What about his ‘or else’?” said Anya. “And are we really surrounded?”
“Possibly,” said the Wizard. “Let’s see.”
She reached inside her sleeve and took out a small bronze telescope. Pulling it open, she raised it to her eye and looked through it, apparently at the wall.
“There are weaselfolk there, sure enough,” she said. “Have a look. Not for too long, though, or you’ll go blind. Temporarily.”
Anya took the telescope cautiously. “How long is too long?”
“Oh, more than a few minutes.”
Anya looked through the telescope. Though she was pointing it at the wall, what she saw was the field outside the Wizard’s front door, down to the flooded river. The sun was beginning to set outside, washing the underside of the clouds with a dull red light.
There were figures moving about near the river. Anya moved the telescope to center on one of them, and it suddenly leaped into sharper and closer focus as the magic within the lenses came into greater effect.
It was exactly like the weasel creature who had attacked her before. Perhaps six feet tall, and thin. It had an enlarged weasel’s head, all sharp and ferrety, its narrow jaw filled with many sharp teeth. Its arms were long and ended in taloned paws, not fingers. It was covered in short gray fur, but also wore a kind of basic black surcoat that was crudely painted with the letter R in white.
For Rikard, Anya supposed. She couldn’t remember whether her attacker had worn a surcoat; everything had happened so quickly.
The weasel creature looked as swift, deadly, and unforgiving as she knew they were, and there were at least thirty more of them that Anya could see, most crouched down in a line along the river, their sharp, weaselly eyes fixed on the Wizard’s front door.
She lowered the telescope. Her hand shook as she gave it back, and she had to fight against a strong inclination to pull her chin down to protect her throat.
“There is little to fear while you are within these walls,” said the Wizard kindly. “Tell me, was the Duke still breathing when you saw him last? Sorcerers usually only get this arrogant when they’re technically dead but haven’t caught on yet.”
“He was breathing,” said Anya. “But he looked very pale and cold.”
“Hmmm, not in the final stage yet,” said the Wizard. “I suppose we’d better get on with things. All done with dinner?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Anya. “But what about your advice? I want to ask you—”
“We’ll have a look in the Magic Mirror first,” said the Wizard. “That might change your questions anyway.”
She stood up, as did the dwarves. Anya followed suit. The Wizard bowed to the dwarves, who bowed back.
“While I trust my apprentices will see to the usual defenses, perhaps if you wouldn’t mind pitching in, Sygror? I would not wish to become as arrogant as a nearly frozen sorcerer, or perhaps as complacent as a well-fed wizard.”
“Aye, we’d be happy to!” exclaimed Sygror. He smiled broadly, an expression mirrored by the other dwarves. “It’s been too long since I’ve felt the weight of mail on my shoulders and held an axe in my hand.”
“We had arms practice yesterday,” pointed out Erzef.
“Pah! That doesn’t count,” rumbled Sygror.
“Just don’t start anything,” cautioned the Wizard. “But in the unlikely event some of these weasel soldiers manage to get inside … ”
“We’ll see they regret it,” Sygror vowed. There was a chorus of ayes from the other six dwarves, and they turned about, each heading towards his or her own door, evidently to change from pajamas into more warlike clothing.
Anya, Ardent, and Shrub followed the Wizard to a concealed staircase that was entered through a small door behind the great fireplace. It was narrow and tightly wound, descending into the depths like a stony corkscrew. It was dark at first, and forbidding, but as the Wizard took the first step down, the stone beneath lit up with a greenish light. From there on, every third step did the same, the glow only fading after Shrub, bringing up the rear, had slid over the edge.
At the bottom of the stair, there was a vast limestone cave. Or at least it looked like limestone at first glance, but the color wasn’t quite right, or the texture when Anya gingerly touched it with her finger. It took the princess a few moments to realize that it was some kind of bone. Very white, very strong bone.
The cave was dimly lit by thousands of little greenish-white dots on the ceiling high above. They moved about constantly, and Anya felt slightly dizzy when she looked at them directly, her eyes unable to focus until she blinked several times and caught on that the dots were moving not only sideways but also up and down, flying around several feet below the strange white stone.
“Fireflies,” the Wizard explained. “Atmospheric, but not bright enough for what we need. Where’s that otter-maid of yours?”
Anya looked down from the ceiling. She’d thought the dark floor ahead of her was some other stone, perhaps a kind of basalt, but as her eyes adjusted she realized it was the surface of the reflecting pool. Absolutely still water that must also be very deep, to look so black.