A Nameless Witch

'That life is not in the knowing,' I replied, 'but in the finding out.'

'No.'

'That the wasted life is not worth living,' Gwurm said.

'No.'

Wyst of the West turned his head in our direction. 'That no one, not even Fate itself, knows exactly what tomorrow brings?'

'No.' Newt puffed out his chest and glared at the world in general. 'Death should take more care with his paperwork.'

16

A worthwhile quest always involved a great deal of nothing happening. Nothing noteworthy anyway. These are the forgotten moments of legend, twenty years of dull and unremarkable wandering condensed into a line or two on an epic poem. A good storyteller knows what's worth telling and what's not and what merits mention without excessive details.

Nothing happened, and nothing kept happening for nine days and nine nights.

But on the tenth day, an event of note finally came to pass. Our small band of traveling vengeance-seekers came across a pack of disagreeable elves. It wasn't so much a trial as an inconvenience.

My mistress had told me of elves and their sorry lot. As bastard children of mortals and faeries, they were of two worlds and master of neither. It was a poor mating. Faeries were innately magical creatures, but their magic was wildly chaotic. Mixing it with mortal flesh halved its already dubious reliability while in no way dimming its potency. Elves were nature spirits wrapped in smothering mortality. Though mostly harmless, they could be dangerous in the same way a monkey carrying a torch might set a forest ablaze.

We happened upon the elves late in the morning. They'd set themselves up as guardians of an assemblage of planks bridging a short ravine. There were six of them. The tallest was half-ogre and stood a little over four feet. The shortest was half-goblin and barely a foot and a half. The other four were half-men. Like all elves, each looked like a short, thin version of their mortal parent with pointed ears, bushy eyebrows, and silver eyes. The half-ogre held a spear twice his height. The others were unarmed, but this didn't stop them from standing in our way. 'Halt!' the tallest elf growled. 'None shall pass without paying the toll.'

As a troll, Gwurm knew something about bridge-tolling. He appointed himself our negotiator and stepped forward. From my perch atop his shoulders, the elves seemed very, very small.

'How much?'

The spear-carrying leader smiled. 'All your money.'

'All of it, you say?'

The elf squinted. 'Yes, all of it.'

'Everything we have?'

'Yes! Every piece of gold, every scrap of silver, every worthless copper coin in your pockets.'

'A little expensive, isn't it?'

The elf smacked the blunted end of his spear into the ground. 'If you're thinking you can cross without paying, I wouldn't try it. We've got powers you couldn't possibly dream of.'

'Is that so?' Gwurm glanced about our party from undead witch to animate broom to demon duck to invincible White Knight.

'You doubt our magic?'

'I say we make them pay double,' the half-goblin shouted.

'Yes, double!' another seconded.

'Very well.' The half-ogre raised his spear in proclamation. 'Double the toll for you!'

'Double all the money we have?' Gwurm asked.

The flaw in such a toll seemed lost on the elves.

'I can see you're a force to be reckoned with. It seems a reasonable price. We'll pay it.'

The elves murmured excitedly. The half-ogre quieted them down with a hard glare and pointed his spear at his feet. 'Deposit your riches at our feet, and you may pass unmolested.'

'Very well.' Gwurm waved his hand at the spot. 'Done.'

The elves looked to their leader questioningly He glanced to the bare earth as if to see something that wasn't there. 'What's this?'

'You said all our riches, every piece of gold, every scrap of silver, and worthless copper coin. Well, that's all of it.'

This was true. None of our party carried money. Witches, ducks, and brooms had no need for it. And Wyst of the West, as a White Knight, had taken an oath of poverty. Trolls might carry a coin or two on occasion, but not this day.

The elves muttered among themselves, sorting through the flaw in their demands. Finally, the half-ogre pointed his finger at Gwurm and said, 'Ah, but we said double!'

'Double of nothing is nothing,' Gwurm explained. 'But if you'd like, we can give you thrice of nothing.'

'Oh, why not quadruple it,' said Newt. 'We can afford it.'

'Why not?' Gwurm agreed.

Most of the elves were thrilled with the offer until their leader smacked a cohort with his spear. 'You idiots.' He raised his spear again, a gesture he seemed very fond of. 'If you won't pay our toll, you'll face our wrath. You fools have no idea what you're facing.'

'Pray tell, what might that be?' Gwurm inquired.

The half-ogre puffed out his chest that, by elf standards, was quite full but hardly threatening. He lowered his spear only to raise it again. 'First, there is Yog. He can spit fire. Then there is Rof who can summon rocks from the sky when he sneezes. And Gok, able to change his shape at will into terrifying creatures you couldn't even comprehend. And Vop, well, Vop can talk to worms.'

The half-goblin added, 'And snails. Worms and snails!'

'Yes, Vop, yes. And snails.' He switched his spear to his other hand without lowering the weapon. 'And I, Doz the Mighty can bring life to the inanimate.'

'Don't forget, Sof,' an elf remarked.

'Hell's bowels, Gok. I was trying to keep him a secret.'

'Sorry.'

'Well, the damage is done. Sof, foolish full mortals, is our greatest weapon. He's invisible and can strike from anywhere, anytime. One by one, he can strike you down as your companions watch helplessly.' He laughed. Unfortunately, elf voices are terrible for sinister cackling.

'Can I kill him?' Newt asked.

'Not yet.' I patted his head. 'Maybe later.'

I glanced to Wyst. There was a trace of a smile on his lips.

'Strike now, my brothers!' Doz the Mighty shouted. 'Show them what happens to those who defy us!'

The elves milled about their leader in a show of confusion.

Doz lowered his spear and ground his teeth. 'What are you waiting for?'

'Uh... well, we've never struck before, Doz. We aren't sure how.'

'Fine. I'll show you. You first, Rof.'

Rof, who could summon rocks from the sky when he sneezed, stepped forward. He drew in a few quick breaths. His nose twitched. His head drew back. And nothing happened.

'Well?' Doz asked.

'I can't.' His nostrils flared. 'Maybe if my allergies were acting up.'

'Fine, fine. Yog, roast them.'

Rof stepped back dejectedly as Yog prepared to spit fire. He puckered up and spat. Flame dribbled from his lips and sizzled away at his feet. He hunched over, clenched his fists, and spat again. A gout of flame erupted from his mouth and blackened his face.

'Damn it, Yog. I thought you were practicing.'