Realms of Magic - Brian Thomsen King [113]
Wiglaf s new life began when he slipped off… this robe.
*****
"This very one?" asked the young apprentice. "You're telling me this is the robe that undid Wiglaf?"
"It's a robe of wild magic," the old man said. "As you could easily tell if you recognized this sigil. See? A warning. To anyone experienced in reading it, it says, 'wild magic, dum-dum. Makes spellcasting completely unpredictable. Only one of its kind. Tends to favor the caster if he really needs help, but that is Mystra's munificence, at least that's how the story goes. I have no idea who actually fashioned this thing, and I would never try to make one. This robe is completely useless except for one purpose: reminding younglings like you that there is no quick substitute for listening to ancient ones like me, and learning what we assign."
"That's a terrific story," said the lad.
"Be thankful that you learned this lesson by hearing a story, and not the way Wiglaf had to. But keep it learned, all the same. Now let's begin by working with components. A simple alteration. Fetch me some vegetables and chop them up, boy."
The apprentice looked up in wonder. The truth had struck him. "For cast vegetables, sir?"
The master's stern expression was still in place, but his eyes were twinkling.
Of course-how else could the old man have known what Wiglafwas thinking?
"Later, my lad, later. These are for a stew. To go with whatever Sasha's managed to hunt for us today."
A WORM TOO SOFT…
J. Robert King
The stone was as big as an ogre's head, as green as dragon bile, and as clear as Evermead. Unlike most emeralds, though, this one wasn't cut along fracture lines, but perfectly spherical and smooth. On its satin belly I saw myself, all six-foot-three of me dwarfed into a six-and-three-sixteenths-inch doll, my hawk-nose warped to match in size my brawny chest. I saw, too, my slim, demure hostess curved beside me, watching me as I watched the rock.
Now that Olivia Verdlar, proprietor of the Stranded Tern and owner of this peerless rock, had gotten an eyeful of me, I hoped she, too, knew why she'd flown me out from Waterdeep-pegasus-back, no less.
"Impressive," I said, and leaned away from the enormous stone.
She slid back into my line of sight. Impressive, indeed. Her green eyes matched the rock, hue and luster, and her dark hair and slim figure were the ideal setting for such gems. Knowing the power of those eyes, she knew she didn't have to say a word in response.
I'd been drawn off by worse wenches, so I bit: "You say it came from the crop of a great green…?" The word dragon hovered behind my question, but it didn't need to be spoken. After all, the rock had been christened "the Dragon's Pearl."
She nodded, and that slight motion sent an ally-ally-oxenfree down past her hips. "It's one of a hundred gem-stones that got polished in the thing's belly. Seems Xantrithicus the Greedy didn't trust his hoard to a cave, preferring to hold it in his gut." She made a gesture toward her own slim waist, knowing I'd look there. I did. "Seems that way his spendthrift mate, Tarith the Green, couldn't even get two coppers to rub together."
"One of a hundred gems," I mused. It was time to win back some self-respect. "That's got to decrease the value of the pearl."
Was that a little color I saw in her high cheekbones? "This is by far the largest of the hundred. Most of the rest are fist-sized, or pebble-sized. If the gemologists are to be believed, this is also the most ancient of the hoard, in the wyrm's gut for nearly two thousand years. I can little imagine its size when the polishing began."
I nodded, thinking, letting her words hang in the air as she had let mine, and hoping my dark-brown eyes were something of a match for her stunning green ones. I thought of the building around us: the cut-stone severity of this inner vault, the sorcerous impregnability of the outer vault, the ivory-towered fortress