SEVENTEEN - HOMECOMING

The world twisted, darkened and lightened again, leaving the party dizzy and blinking. Instead of the brilliant desert sunshine there was the softer light streaming through the windows of the Great Hall.

At the eight points of the compass wizards gaped at them. Behind them, a crowd of castle folk gaped too.

There was plenty to gape at. Unfortunately, the summoning spell wasn't precise without a physical circle to delimit it. Fortunately, the great hall of the Wizards' Keep was very large. Fortunate because when Bal-Simba looked over his shoulder he saw he had brought Charlie, biplane and all, with them.

As the castle folk gaped at the arrivals, most of the newcomers gaped back.

“Boshemoi!” Kuznetzov gasped.

“Holodeck City,” Taj said, looking around. “Awesome.”

“Son of a bitch,” Charlie said softly. “Son of a goddamn bitch.”

Mick Gilligan didn't say anything. He had done this before, after all. Instead he craned his neck, searching for a familiar head of blond hair.

Arianne advanced across the now-useless circle to greet them.

“Merry met, My Lord,” she said to Bal-Simba. “Was your quest successful?”

“I believe so, My Lady.” He turned and gestured. “This is E.T., the one we sought.”

“Stunned,” said the Tajmanian Devil.

Arianne dropped a graceful curtsy.

“Charmed, too,” he added.

“Forgive me, My Lord, but we were not expecting so many.” Arianne was doing her best to ignore the airplane and Bal-Simba's rather improbable outfit.

“Things became a trifle complicated,” the big wizard said dryly.

“Karin?” Mick called into the crowd gathered behind the wizards.

“Mick! Oh, here Mick.”

A blond woman in dragon rider's leather detached herself from the crowd and threw herself into his arms.

“You came back! Oh, you came back.”

“Hey, I told you I would, didn't I?” Mick Gilligan said softly. “Just took a little longer.”

“Have the shadows come back?” Bal-Simba asked his assistant.

“Somewhat. But we have better spells to hold them off, thanks to the time you bought us.”

“Any word from the others?”

His assistant shook her head.

“Well then.” Bal-Simba sighed. “We had best get our new guests settled and then decide how to proceed.”

“I will have their quarters prepared immediately,” Arianne said, gesturing the seneschal forward. Then she paused.

“My Lord, just one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“How are we going to get this,” she asked, gesturing at the airplane, “out of the hall?”

Bal-Simba pursed his lips. “That may pose a problem,” he said at last.

It was a wonderful, glorious morning when Mick Gilligan awoke after a wonderful, glorious night. The sun was well up and the whole world was so perfect Gilligan thought his heart would burst.

He propped himself up on one elbow to admire Karin beside him. She responded by snuggling closer, a wisp of straw-blond hair falling across her lightly freckled cheek. He leaned over and gave her a wake-up loss. A long, fingering wake-up kiss.

“Hmm,” said Karin, stirring beneath him and kissing him back. Then her eyes popped open and she broke the clinch.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

“What time is it?” she responded. “Oh, I'm sorry Mick.” She gave him a quick Kiss. “I've got to go look after Stigi. I should have been down to the aerie long ago.” She threw the covers back and swung her long legs over the side of the bed, giving Mick a wonderful view of her trim, athletic back.

“Oh,” said Mick, deflated in more ways than one. “I'll wait here for you then.”

She turned to look at him and the view from that side was even better. “Oh, come along. This won't take more than a few minutes.” She searched briefly on the floor before finding the chemise she had dropped there several hours before.

Yeah,” Mick said, “but Stigi doesn't like me. I think he's jealous.” He didn't add that the feeling was mutual

Karin pulled on her flying breeches and cinched the buckle. “Pooh. Stigi didn't dislike you. Besides, I'm sure he's forgotten all about you. Dragons aren't very smart, you know.”

“You don't have to be smart to dislike someone and that dragon doesn't like me.”

“Come on, get dressed. I'll show you how wrong you are.”

As he hunted up his clothing strewn about the floor Mick remembered how his ex-wife used to make jokes about being jealous of his F- 15. Mick was beginning to suspect that those jokes had been more pointed than he knew.

Wiz was dreaming of Moira. She was with him again and they were back in their chambers at the Wizards' Keep, all tangled together in the big bed with the feather comforter. Moira was in his arms and she was kissing him all over.

As she covered his body with warm, wet kisses Wiz smiled and groaned in his sleep. He knew it was a dream, but he didn't want to wake up from it, ever. It was so real, so vivid. He could not only see Moira and feel her moist tongue as it stroked his flesh, even the smells were real.

Especially the smells. In fact Moira smelled like she'd had spaghetti with a particularly aggressive marinara sauce. She reeked of garlic.

Something tickled his nose and he opened his eyes to sneeze. The first thing he realized was that Moira wasn't there. The second thing he realized was that the lobster was. In fact, the lobster was basting him with garlic butter.

Wiz let out a yell and rolled away from the lobster.

The noise woke Glandurg, who threw off his cloak and grabbed Blind Fury in a single motion. Unfortunately the cloak landed on Wiz so he was temporarily immobilized.

The dwarf sprang to his feet, brandished his weapon and charged.

“Die, vile crustacean!” he yelled, just as he stepped in the puddle of garlic butter and went flying. He landed flat on his back and the lobster vanished into the darkness.

“Run, you damned bug!” the dwarf yelled after the fleeing shadow. “You'll taste my steel yet!”

“My, don't we smell delicious?” Malkin said as she came hurrying up. Wiz glared. “There's a pool back that way,” she continued. “You better wash that stuff off before something comes wandering by and decides you're good enough to eat.”

“Hmpfl” said Wiz, and worked his way carefully to his feet.

The aerie was an enormous gloomy cavern that stank of dragon and reminded Mick irresistibly of the hangar deck of a medieval aircraft carrier. Men and women in the plain tunics of keepers and the leathers of riders bustled about caring for their charges. Occasionally the silence would be punctuated by the scrape of a manure shovel on rock, or the bass rumble of a dragon, but for the most part the place was quiet. Even the soft leather boots of the riders made no sound on the rocky floor.

“Why do you keep it so dark?” Mick asked, thinking of the brightly lit hangars of his own experience.

The dragons prefer it,” Karin told him. “And keep your voice down. They don't like loud noises either.”

They skirted three harnessed dragons on the great central floor of the aerie, keeping well clear of the powerful tails. Their riders stood by the dragons' heads petting and talking to the beasts. Mick noted the ready patrol was spotted so the dragons were well separated. Probably to keep the dragons from fighting, he decided.

Karin took something that looked like an iron rake from a rack and hefted a leather sack from the row of similar sacks beneath it.

“Currying iron,” she explained. “Stigi likes to have his back scratched.”

“Do you do this every day?”

“Unless I am ill or we are in the field. Contact helps build the bond between dragon and rider. Now, walk to the outside, away from the stalls. Dragons prefer those who are familiar to them.”

“How long will this take?”

“Oh, not long, love. A day-tenth or so. Then I shall be free for the rest of the day.” She gave him a sultry look past lowered eyelashes. “I've made arrangements with my squadron leader.”

She led him along the far edge of the chamber, past the shallow caves that served as stalls for the dragons.

“We're almost here,” Karin told him. “I'm sure Stigi has forgotten all about you. You'll see.”

They stopped in front of a stall no different from any other. Dragon tack hung next to the entrance, clean, oiled and ready for instant use. From within came the sound of gentle snoring—loud gentle snoring. Through the gloom Mick could see the dragon curled up like an enormous house cat.

“Oh, Stigi,” Karin called gently.

At the sound of his rider's voice, the dragon stirred lazily and opened one eye. Then he saw Mick. His head jerked erect so fast it slammed into the roof of the stall and he let out a roar that made the cavern ring. Alarmed, other dragons took up the challenge until the place echoed and re-echoed with the steam whistle bellows of upset dragons.

“He remembers you,” Karin shouted over the chaos.