At first Colwyn thought it might be a hare or some other small game thrown aside by a hidden predator. He was positive he saw the face of a fox in the whirling shape. Or were those deer legs? Elk antlers, the hind end of a steer, and the startled face of a globus all mixed together, spinning round and round with human limbs and features.
Eventually this aerial confusion came to rest with a violent splash. The smell and sound vanished and he found himself standing next to the pool, confronting a young man of small stature. The visitor lay facedown in the pool, kicking and flailing at the water.
"Help, help, I'm drowning!"
Colwyn leaned forward, resting his right arm on his thigh as he studied the new arrival. "I doubt it. The water you're lying in is barely a foot deep."
At this the stranger ceased his exertions and rolled over. He sat upright and wiped at the mud on his shirt, muttering to himself. His hair was stringy and long and his attitude as tart as pickled herring. Slowly he rose, still striving to divest himself of the grime so recently and ignominously acquired.
"Well, it could have been quicksand. I might have been dragged down to my death while you stood there gawking. That is not the reaction of a friend." He waded soggily out of the pool, kicking first one leg and then the other, like a dog trying to shed water. He eyed his surroundings warily.
"Where is this place?"
"A forest near the foothills of the Granite Mountains, on the far side from the kingdom of Eirig-Turold."
The little man frowned at him. "Now, I know of the kingdom of Eirig, and I've heard of far Turold, but of Eirig-Turold I know nothing."
"There has been a merging made. The kingdoms have been joined."
"I am underwhelmed. The Granite Mountains, you say?" Colwyn nodded. "Blast and frog jumps! A thousand miles off course!" He shrugged sadly. "Well, I was rushed. There was a certain difference of opinion concerning a gooseberry trifle. The foolish man left it sitting isolated and friendless on his windowsill, poor thing. What did he expect?"
"Perhaps," Colwyn speculated, "he expected to eat it."
The stranger glared at Colwyn. "For that rudeness, lout, you're going to spend the rest of your life as a toad. Or would you rather be a frog? No, I'd say toad-dom would fit that face better." He hesitated, eyed Colwyn cautiously. "Well, aren't you going to quake in fear? Aren't you going to go to your knees to beg my forgiveness?"
Colwyn sighed, shook his head and turned away from the pool. "Not right now. There's a fire to attend to and the question of supper. Other matters to be dealt with."
"Other matters? I'll show you what matters need attending to!" Rummaging through his numerous pockets he yanked out small scraps of multicolored paper filled with indecipherable scribbling. He settled on one scrap, squinting at it.
"No, that's a recipe for a hot fudge sauce." He moved to throw it aside, thought better of it, and shoved it back into a pocket. "Well, a goose will have to do. Warmer than a toad, but I can't waste time when I'm mad. Better to work when one's in the mood. Yes, a goose, fat and ugly!"
There were certainly many words inscribed on the piece of paper and some of them were very long and difficult. The
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visitor stumbled over their pronunciation more than once. Finally he concluded his invocation on a rising inflection and snapped his fingers at Colwyn.
Colwyn turned and regarded the goose squatting at the water's edge with interest. No doubt about it, this stranger had talent. Somewhat erratic, however. He laughed.
"Very fat and very ugly. I should not have doubted you."
The goose let out an angry honk, seemed befuddled at the noise, and made a dash at Colwyn. It halted short of its target, apparently thinking better of the idea, and turned instead to waddle across to where a slip of paper rested by the pool's bank. It cocked a querulous eye at it, obviously in a fowl temper, and honked steadily and softly.
A white cloud enveloped it. Colwyn amused himself by trying to decide whether it revealed more goose than visitor. The cloud resolved the argument by disappearing with a soft popping sound, leaving the stranger behind. If naught else, the eflfort had cleaned him up a little.
He sounded only slightly chastened. "And from that you see what I could have done to you if I were a vengeful man." More softly he muttered, "Blasted matter transformations use so blasted much energy a body can't tell whether he's coming or going." He put a hand to his forehead.
"I am tired. Leave me now, lest a worse fate befall thee."
Colwyn finished putting out the fire and packed the last of his belongings. Ynyr waited patiently nearby, eyeing their intemperate guest with curiosity. Matter transformation was a difficult business. The little fellow was both adept and inept.
"We intend to take our leave of this campsite, but the forest is not safe. You'd best travel with us."
The stranger pulled himself up to his full height and glared imperiously at Colwyn. "Me? Travel with youl Do you know who I am? Do you have the faintest idea, lout, in whose presence you stand?"
Colwyn leaned against his horse. "No, but I have this odd feeling you're going to tell me."
Either the visitor was beyond sarcasm or else simply chose to ignore it. "I am Ergo the Magnificent; short in stature, tall in power, narrow of purpose, wide of vision." This was delivered with appropriately descriptive gestures. "And I do not travel with peasants and beggars. Good day to you." Whereupon he whirled and strode purposefully (though, insofar as Colwyn could see, aimlessly) into the woods.
He repressed a chuckle as he mounted. Ynyr pulled himself into his own saddle.
"He'll be the first member of our army."
Ynyr frowned, looked back over a shoulder. "Of what use could he be?"
"He is the master of a talent. Well, not a master, perhaps, but matter transformation is a tricky business."
"Indeed it is, my boy, but if casually handled it can be more dangerous than useful. I do not like to see such power indifferently employed."
"I seem to have heard that recently," said Colwyn with a grin. "But if such power confuses the one who employs it, think how it would confuse his enemies!"
"Confusion benefits no one, least of all us."
"I defer to you in matters of history and learning, Ynyr, but where combat is concerned I have studied long and hard under dedicated instructors. When assaulting an enemy of greater strength, confusion can be a potent ally. Besides which, he seems to be a man of spirit as well as spirits. Give me a fighter with steel in his backbone and I'll not concern myself with the composition of his sword. This one would stand by a friend."
"If he has any?'
"True enough. He does strike me as the obstreperous sort. I've seen his kind before, though. When they are unsure of
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their position, they feel it's best to strike out and see what their surroundings are made of."
"Have a care, Colwyn, that he does not accidentally strike at you."
"I'll be careful. Meanwhile, let's try and have patience with him, should he change his mind and rejoin us. Perhaps his instructor in alchemical matters was an indifferent one. Could you help him perfect his useful art?"
"I'm afraid my knowledge is of more practical matters. I do not dabble in arcane arts. But my opinion of this one," —and he gestured back across the pool—"is that in an awkward situation he'd most likely transform himself into a crow and fly like mad for the nearest place of safety."
"I think you do him an injustice. Still, there might be opportunities to test him further along the way."
Ynyr still stared back at where the forest was swallowing up the campsite. "No doubt there might be. If he rejoins us."
It was very quiet in the woods. Much quieter than the town from which Ergo the Magnificent had so recently and hastily beat a retreat. The moon hung faint and bilious in the lowing sky, hardly lifting the spirits of the trees surrounding him. Indeed, with each step he took, their branches seemed to bend a little lower, reaching toward him with stiff, sharp fingers. Dead leaves and toadstools crunched beneath his feet, and night murmurs assaulted his hearing. He longed for the bright lights and cheerful cries of Moukaskar, the city he'd fled. He would even have paid for the rifled trifle.
There—a noise, off to his left! A rabbit or some other evening forager, he assured himself. Harmless as the wind. The sound came a second time and he stopped to peer close. Saints and devils, was that an eye? A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck. It surely was an awfully big eye. Much too big for a rabbit. It grew even larger as it moved suddenly toward him.