the
tangle-spells back among the Round."I'm sorry."
Burn made no reply. Mallara sighed, spoke to
her wand, and filled the stone circle with a soft golden glow.
"Anything?" asked Burn, from above.
Mallara shook her head."Nothing," she
said."Not a trace, not a hint, not a stir."
Burn fell to hang before Mallara."Same here.
Stones and mud and pumpkins." He paused, and his blurred volume of
air shrank suddenly."Dare I suggest a retreat to yonder inn?"
Mallara lowered her wand."That is a perfectly
reasonable suggestion," she said."But I've made a decision. Unlike
Master Wesseven and Mage Illswit and who knows how many Mages
before, I am not going to spend my tour as Mage to the Five Valleys
tramping to Toth every few years."
"I see," said Burn, cautiously.
Mallara nodded."Tonight, we shall stay. We
shall watch. If we see no dancing bones, hear no ghostly pipers,
then we shall leave, and not come here again, Burn. Ever.
Regardless of how many bakers and shepherds and Mayors swear
they've watched whole platoons of limber skeletons dance each night
the month of Ollow. Agreed?"
Burn bobbed back a bit."Agreed, Mistress," he
said. His voice softened."This night, then."
"This night." Mallara slipped the wand in her
pants pocket, hung her damp cloak up by the hood on her standing
staff, and began to pace.
"Right," said Mallara, struggling through the
mud."What, precisely, do the stories say about the Round?"
Burn flew above her, matching her pace."On
Ollow's Eve, when the piper plays, Old Bones comes out to dance,"
he said."Old Bones is understood to be a euphemism for the Winter
King, a local harvest spirit..."
"I know all about the Winter King," said
Mallara. He brings gifts to good children, brings peace to the
troubled. An image of a bone-bodied, pumpkin-headed sprite rose to
her mind, and she quickly pushed it away."What we need to know,"
she said, "is what makes this Piper play, and when."
"According to everyone who has studied this
place, Mistress, the piper plays only when Mages aren't around,"
said Burn."The only recent sightings have been by shepherds, by
kids, and at least one wandering minstrel." Burn settled nearer."I
never understood why Master Wesseven was adamant that the Round be
studied; he didn't believe half the stories."
"He believed a few," said Mallara. She halted
and kicked the foot of Stone Five, knocking gobs of red mud off her
boots."And he always said that if even one story was true, then the
Round was worth the time," she added.
Burn snorted."No disrespect, Sorceress, but
the man believed stones sometimes fall from the sky," he said.
Mallara shrugged."Perhaps they do," she
said.
Burn flew a small loop above her head."Fine,"
he said."Taunt me. But the fact remains -- no Mage ever saw the Old
Bones dance, or heard the piper play."
Meralda resumed her slow, noisy circuit of
the stones, and nodded in agreement.
"Why not?" she asked."What did they do
wrong?"
"Knowing Mages -- aside from you, Mistress --
they stamped in here grumbling, snuffed out a cigar with their boot
in the exact center of the ancient sacred space, and unleashed two
dozen hostile spellworks at the pumpkins," Burn said."Bless their
enlightened souls," he added, quickly.
Mallara managed a smile."You're probably
correct," she said."They all looked for remnant magics. They all
set ward spells and cast look-sees and tangles at the stones."
"They all saw nothing," said Burn.
Mallara nodded."They all saw nothing." And
then she spoke a Word, and the light hanging above the Round went
dark. She raised her hands, and spoke another word, and the tangled
skeins of light returned to her, and she thanked them, and they too
went dark.
Night reclaimed the Round, the wet stones
touched here and there by flickering orange
pumpkin-light."Mistress?" said Burn, from above.
"My predecessors had mage-lights and
tangle-spells and half a dozen other magics," said Mallara. She
marched back to stand by her staff, her boots making loud
tangle-spells back among the Round."I'm sorry."
Burn made no reply. Mallara sighed, spoke to
her wand, and filled the stone circle with a soft golden glow.
"Anything?" asked Burn, from above.
Mallara shook her head."Nothing," she
said."Not a trace, not a hint, not a stir."
Burn fell to hang before Mallara."Same here.
Stones and mud and pumpkins." He paused, and his blurred volume of
air shrank suddenly."Dare I suggest a retreat to yonder inn?"
Mallara lowered her wand."That is a perfectly
reasonable suggestion," she said."But I've made a decision. Unlike
Master Wesseven and Mage Illswit and who knows how many Mages
before, I am not going to spend my tour as Mage to the Five Valleys
tramping to Toth every few years."
"I see," said Burn, cautiously.
Mallara nodded."Tonight, we shall stay. We
shall watch. If we see no dancing bones, hear no ghostly pipers,
then we shall leave, and not come here again, Burn. Ever.
Regardless of how many bakers and shepherds and Mayors swear
they've watched whole platoons of limber skeletons dance each night
the month of Ollow. Agreed?"
Burn bobbed back a bit."Agreed, Mistress," he
said. His voice softened."This night, then."
"This night." Mallara slipped the wand in her
pants pocket, hung her damp cloak up by the hood on her standing
staff, and began to pace.
"Right," said Mallara, struggling through the
mud."What, precisely, do the stories say about the Round?"
Burn flew above her, matching her pace."On
Ollow's Eve, when the piper plays, Old Bones comes out to dance,"
he said."Old Bones is understood to be a euphemism for the Winter
King, a local harvest spirit..."
"I know all about the Winter King," said
Mallara. He brings gifts to good children, brings peace to the
troubled. An image of a bone-bodied, pumpkin-headed sprite rose to
her mind, and she quickly pushed it away."What we need to know,"
she said, "is what makes this Piper play, and when."
"According to everyone who has studied this
place, Mistress, the piper plays only when Mages aren't around,"
said Burn."The only recent sightings have been by shepherds, by
kids, and at least one wandering minstrel." Burn settled nearer."I
never understood why Master Wesseven was adamant that the Round be
studied; he didn't believe half the stories."
"He believed a few," said Mallara. She halted
and kicked the foot of Stone Five, knocking gobs of red mud off her
boots."And he always said that if even one story was true, then the
Round was worth the time," she added.
Burn snorted."No disrespect, Sorceress, but
the man believed stones sometimes fall from the sky," he said.
Mallara shrugged."Perhaps they do," she
said.
Burn flew a small loop above her head."Fine,"
he said."Taunt me. But the fact remains -- no Mage ever saw the Old
Bones dance, or heard the piper play."
Meralda resumed her slow, noisy circuit of
the stones, and nodded in agreement.
"Why not?" she asked."What did they do
wrong?"
"Knowing Mages -- aside from you, Mistress --
they stamped in here grumbling, snuffed out a cigar with their boot
in the exact center of the ancient sacred space, and unleashed two
dozen hostile spellworks at the pumpkins," Burn said."Bless their
enlightened souls," he added, quickly.
Mallara managed a smile."You're probably
correct," she said."They all looked for remnant magics. They all
set ward spells and cast look-sees and tangles at the stones."
"They all saw nothing," said Burn.
Mallara nodded."They all saw nothing." And
then she spoke a Word, and the light hanging above the Round went
dark. She raised her hands, and spoke another word, and the tangled
skeins of light returned to her, and she thanked them, and they too
went dark.
Night reclaimed the Round, the wet stones
touched here and there by flickering orange
pumpkin-light."Mistress?" said Burn, from above.
"My predecessors had mage-lights and
tangle-spells and half a dozen other magics," said Mallara. She
marched back to stand by her staff, her boots making loud
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