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Arrowroot, "them dames are all alike, poison, every last one of them."
Arrowroot broke free, sobbing inconsolably.
"Der goes vun sick booby," said the dwarf, pointing to his head.
Darkness was falling and the campfires of the Roi-Tanners began flickering.
Over the next hill lay the valley of Isinglass, now renamed
Serutanland by the scheming Wizard. Dejected, the Ranger shuffled among the
resting warriors, hardly hearing their proud song, roared above the clinking
of foamy stems:
"Ve ist der merry, gay Roi-Tanners, Who like der boots, salutes und banners.
Ve ride der scheeps in vind and vheather
Mit vhips und spurs und drawers of leather.
Ve dance und sing und valse und two-step
Und never ever mach der goose-step.
Peace iss vhat ye vant und do have, Und a piece of anything you have."
Men frolicked about the fires, laughing and joking. Two bloodslathered
contestants hacked at each other with sabers to the gloating cheers of flaxen-
haired spectators, and farther on a gathering of warriors bellowed with mirth
as they did something unattractive to a dog.
But the scene cheered him not. Heartsick, he walked on into the darkness,
saying, "Eorache, my Eorache," softly over and over to himself.
Tomorrow he would display such acts of valor that she would have to pay
attention to him. He leaned against the tree and sighed.
"Really got it, huh?"
Stomper jumped back with a cry, but it was the familiar pointed head of
Gimlet that poked through the leaves.
"I did not see thee approach," said Arrowroot, sheathing his sword.
"Just trying to lose that jerk," said the dwarf.
"Who's a jerk, sirrah?" snapped Legolam, who had been molesting a chipmunk
behind the tree.
"Speak o' the devil," groaned Gimlet.
The three sat under the broad branches and thought upon the hard travels they
had made, seemingly to no purpose. What good would the defeat of Serutan be if
Sorhed claimed Frito's Ring for his own? Who could resist his power then? For
a long while they brooded.
"Isn't it about time for a _deus ex machina?_" said Legolam wearily.
Suddenly there was a loud pop and a bright burst of light that momentarily
blinded the shocked three. The acrid odor of cheap flash-powder filled the
air, and the companions heard a distinct _thump_ followed by a louder _oof!_
Then through the swirling confetti, they saw a shining figure dressed all in
white, brushing the twigs and dirt from his spotless bell-
bottoms and gleaming a-go-go boots. Above the white Nehru jacket and cheesy
medallion was a neatly trimmed gray beard set off by oversized wraparound
shades. The whole ensemble was topped off by a large white panama with a
matching ostrich plume.
"Serutan!" gasped Arrowroot.
"Close, but no cigar," cackled the brilliant figure as he flicked a bit of
invisible dust from his tailored shoulder. "Pray try again. It is a sad thing
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indeed when old pals are recognized not!"
"Goodgulf?!" cried the three.
"None other," said the aged fop. "You seemed astonished that I have
reappeared."
"But how did--did you . . . ?" began Legolam.
"We thought the ballhog . . ." said Gimlet.
The old wizard winked and straightened his vulgar medallion.
"My story is a long one indeed, and I am not the same Goodgulf Grayteeth that
you once knew. I have undergone many changes, no thanks to you, I might
add."
"Yah, a little Clairol on the temples and a trim," whispered the observant
dwarf.
"I heard that!" said Goodgulf, scratching a razor-cut sideburn. "Take not too
lightly my present form, for my powers are even mightier."
"But how did you--"
"Much have I journeyed since we last met, and much have I seen, and there is
much I would tell thee," said Goodgulf.
"Anything but the name of your tailor," said Gimlet. "Where'd you get those
duds, anyway? I thought Halloween was months off yet."
"A most delightful little boutique in Lornadoon. It's me, don't you think?"
"More than you know," agreed the dwarf.
"But how did--" began Legolam again.
The Wizard made a sign for silence.
"Know now that I am no longer the Wizard of old. My spirit has been purged, my
nature has been altered, my image has been remade. There is little of the
former self that in me remains." With a flourish, Goodgulf doffed his panama
in a low bow. "I am completely transformed." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]