The Enchantress of World's End

“Tuth! Idth on’y Fridth,” she chided, mummingly.

“What did you say?”

Releasing him, she cleared her throat. “Hard to talk with your mouth full, you know, Princey-dear! I said, Tush! It’s only Fryx’.”

“Did you say only?” shrilled the Prince incredulously. “It’s a Gyraphont, that’s what it is! I know a Gyraphont when I see one, I do! My nurse used to frighten me half to death with them when I had been, well, unruly. “ 'The Gyraphonts come to get bad little boys in the night,’ she would say, the old horror! Only a Gyraphont, indeed!”

“Oh, come on Prince, stop acting the milksop,” sneered Xarda, swaggering over to where the Valardan stood, bony knees clattering together like wooden castanets. “Fryx is the magister’s pet Gyraphont, quite tame and perfectly harmless.” Somewhat reluctantly, Erigon allowed himself to be coaxed back to where the scarlet lobster-devil stood conversing telepathically with the old magician.

You come back home now, holay? the weird monstrosity urged. No more zip-zoop around all over? Flion, he moultin’ and won’t eat, vat-critters all off they feed, an’ Vloob Atz allatime pickin ‘fights with tin man. Lotsa mail pilirt up, too.

Frowning worriedly behind his vapory vizor, the Illusionist turned to Erigon as he cautiously approached.

“I fear we shall have to postpone our plans to reconnoiter the situation in Valardus, my dear Prince,” he said. “My faithful Fryx informs me I am urgently needed at home. The creatures in my private menagerie of fabulous monsters are missing me to the point of malnutrition, and my pet apparition is indulging his vile temper in spats with Azgelazgus, one of my favorite Automatons.”

“That’s too bad,” murmured Erigon faintly, eyeing the scarlet, many-armed lobster-ghoul dubiously.

“It’s my own fault. I have been away from Nerelon far too long. Fryx has coped admirably thus far, but I fear I can no longer postpone a brief visit to put things right at my residence. Enchanted palaces are tricksey places under the best of conditions, you know. At times they need a firm hand on the reins, so to speak.”

“Quite all right, I’m sure,” said Erigon. “Does that mean the expedition to the north country is canceled?” inquired Silvermane. The old magician shook his head.

“Merely postponed, my boy, for a brief while.”

“Well, what about our plans for taking Xarda home? Back to Jemmerdy, I mean.”

“By my troth, Jemmerdy can wait,” the girl knight said spiritedly. “Our new-found comrade hath a cause, the which appeals to mine sense of Chivalry! Let us free the noble folk of sieged Valardus from the savage rabble first, ere any think of going home.”

They eyed her a bit askance. The Sirix flushed, biting her lip vexedly. She had more-or-less fallen out of her native mode of speech in their rough-and-ready company. From time to time, however, the antique mode came over her, as now.

She cleared her throat, leveling a defiant glare at any who might think to venture upon a chuckle. With none forthcoming, the girl knight relaxed and grinned a bit sheepishly.

“No, all kidding aside, really! I mean, look, why don’t you go on back home, magister. The rest of us can continue on to Valardus and await you there,” suggested Xarda, practical-minded as ever.

“I shall be taking the Bazonga bird,” said the Illusionist, “which would be leaving you with no method of transportation except for shank’s-mare. It would hardly be fair, asking you to cross the Purple Plains on foot—”

“What about the kayak?” piped up Phadia, who had been listening to this exchange with a crestfallen look on his pretty face, sorry that their adventures were at an end.

“You’re right, of course,” said the magician, surprised. “Istrobian’s flying kayak! Why, I had forgotten all about it!”

“I tied it to a stanchion back in the air duct,” said the Bazonga carelessly. “It interfered with my flying-practice, having that great lumbering thing tied to my tail-feathers.”

“Hmm, the kayak only seats four, you know. Ganelon, Xarda, Erigon, Grrff, Phadia. One of you will have to return to Nerelon with me, or walk. I suspect it should be you, my lad,” he said, with a fond glance at the young boy.

“But, sir, I want to have some more adventures!” protested Phadia, tears starting in his eyes.

“You’ve had quite enough adventures as it is,” said the magister with mock-severity. “Time you had a good hot bath and some real home cooking, and a few lessons in reading, writing, arithmetic, and razzledoxy!”

“But—!” Phadia screwed up his face and was about to burst into a storm of girlish sobs when Grrff enfolded him in a comforting, furry arm.

“Posh and pother, cub! Go along with the nice old human, now—you can join us, later on!” Xarda chimed in with some heartening words, and Ganelon solemnly began describing the many marvels of the Illusionist’s mountaintop abode, not neglecting to list the scrumptious, succulent meals Fryx was always shoving before them. Before long the lad was eagerly contemplating his chance to visit the enchanted palace of a world-famous magician, an opportunity few boys his age could hope to enjoy.