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in
shifts!"
    "Begone!" roared Wistril. "Confound it,
begone!"
    Kern sprinted grinning for the moonlit
trees.
     
     
    The brass goblin-clock in Wistril's tent
croaked out midnight. Kern waited until the last grumbling note
faded before lifting Wistril's tent flap.
    "Master?" said Kern. "It's midnight. You told
me to wake you."
    Blankets stirred. "Urgh," said the wizard,
from within the heap of covers.
    Kern stepped inside. "We've had trouble,
Master," he said. "One of the staff was injured springing a
trap."
    Wistril's bald head rose up, bleary-eyed. "My
staff? Injured?" Blankets flew. Wistril leaped to his feet, clad
only in a scowl and enormous yellow silk pajamas.
    "Is the injury grievous?"
    "No, Master. A nasty cut on his arm. We
stopped the bleeding and applied a bandage. Cook is tending him
now."
    Wistril snatched up his pants. "I shall
dress," he said. "And then we shall teach this unwashed furrier to
trifle with the house of Kauph."
    Kern turned his back. "I don't think we need
to teach him trifling," he said. "He knows that already. That trap
wasn't set for serpentia, Master. It was set for people sent out to
spring serpentia traps. He knew we'd be out in the weeds, Master.
He knew, and he was ready."
    Wistril's cot creaked and groaned as he
struggled with his leather pants. "This Grizzly was perhaps
prepared for a nearsighted gargoyle with a stick," he said. "We
shall see if he has made provisions for strong magic, aggressively
applied."
    Kern lifted an eyebrow and turned. "The
Grizzly knows all about your Oath of Peace," he said. "He knows you
can't use magic to turn his head into a turnip, even in
self-defense. And you can't scare him with conjured monsters; he
knows they're just tricks of light and shadow. "
    "All quite true, apprentice," said Wistril,
pulling on a hob-nailed boot. "But which beasts are tricks, and
which are flesh and blood?"
    Kern shook his head and stifled a yawn. "I
don't understand," he said.
    Wistril rose. "Neither will this Grizzly," he
said. "Go now. Fetch my short silver staff, a pair of matched
Sproggin glasses, and a decanter of fresh-drawn Lake water."
    "Yes, Master," said Kern. "What are we up
to?"
    "We are up to nothing," said Wistril. "You
shall sleep. I will have need of you later, with your faculties
intact."
    Kern opened his mouth, saw the set of
Wistril's jaw, shut his mouth, and left Wistril's tent.
    Outside, ghosts darted and wheeled, thick as
moths around a candle-flame, still howling in practiced agony. Kern
waved and headed for the supply cabinet.
    "Ah, the quiet serenity of the great
outdoors," he said. "Just the thing for sleeping."
    A phantom dipped close, hovered, and made a
what-can-you-do? shrug.
    "Just ignore me," said Kern. "Armies in the
woods make me grumpy. You gents keep up the noise. Better you than
a Grizzly in my tent."
    The phantom smiled a faint, hollow smile and
darted up into the night. Kern sighed and broke into a trot.
     
     
    One, two, three -- the hours seemed to gather
outside Kern's tent and march in a slow circles around it. Kern
thrashed and turned and wrestled with his pillow and even reviewed
Wistril's last lesson (prime number positions as anchor-points for
verbal spell components), but sleep might as well have been
suspended miles above the Lake.
    Finally, Kern rose, kicked his pillow, and
pulled on his tunic. "A silver staff and matched Sproggin glasses.
Master, what are you up too?"
    Kern lifted his tent flap and stepped out
into the night. The gargoyle guarding Kern's tent frowned and shook
a finger at Kern.
    "I can't sleep," said Kern. Frogs croaked;
crickets sang; ghosts howled. "Not with all this racket. I'm going
to check on His Mightiness. If the Grizzly stops by make sure he
wipes his shoes."
    The gargoyle shrugged and pointed toward the
Lake. Kern tip-toed around the corner of his tent.
    Lake Ovinshoon lay bright and wide, the
waters silver and calm under a fat half-moon.
    Kern rubbed his eyes. The guard gargoyle
appeared at his