The Wizardwar

by Elaine Cunningham

  Basel nodded absently and glanced up at the thinning shield. “We don’t want to be in the open once that shield goes. Where the Nine bloody Hells is the militia?”

  A distant percussion, the rustle of many feet running in rhythmic formation, brought a sigh of relief from the wizard, but before he could speak, the soft yellow light of the protection spell began to flow downward, like melting treacle sliding over an invisible dome.

  Basel took a wand from his belt and pressed it into her hand. “Farrah’s family wants vengeance. Make them earn it.”

  Before Tzigone could protest, the wizard enfolded her in a quick embrace. She felt a touch nearly as deft as her own, and the cool pressure of a delicate chain around her neck. When Basel released her, a silver talisman glimmered over her heart, and her world began to blur and shimmer. For a moment Tzigone’s world looked like two illusions cast into a single place. She could see the garden, and also the highest and most secure room in the wizard’s tower.

  She struggled against the spell like an insect caught in sap, desperate to stay where she was, to fight at Basel’s side. But suddenly the world snapped back into focus, and she stood at the window of the tower armory in guard position, wand raised high and clenched in her fist like a ready knife.

  Mason whirled toward her, relief and guilt struggling for possession of his countenance. “Lord Basel?”

  “In the garden,” she said grimly, and brought the wand down in a stabbing motion.

  A dark line poured from the wand, quickly broadening as it went and changing into a swarm of fire ants. The winged horrors spun down toward one of the attackers. In moments they engulfed the wizard, who rolled shrieking amid the stinging cloud. His agony was brief. Death followed swiftly, and the fire ants scattered into the night.

  Again Tzigone stabbed, and the wand spat another swarm at a wizard who was employing a spell of levitation to breach the wall. The fire ants surrounded him in midair. In response to his agonized screams, one of his kin hurled a small green bolt at the dying man. The magic struck the roiling black cloud, and the shrieking ended in a burst of magical energy. Green droplets fell to the garden, along with a faintly rattling hail of fried insects. Oddly enough, the spell of levitation survived. The corpse floated above his kin like a grim banner.

  The wand yielded two more killing swarms. Tzigone tossed aside the spent weapon and looked around at the arsenal. Mundane weapons of wood and steel stood ready, and many conical, faintly glowing vials lined several shelves. A wooden rack held battle wands, lined up neatly as the swords. There was even a small ballista, mounted on wheels so it could be moved to any of the several windows.

  “Load that,” she snapped, pointing toward the giant crossbow.

  Mason quickly put a bolt into place and cranked it back. She took one of the vials, fell quickly and deeply into a brief trance to check its nature and use, then gave a curt nod. She yanked the cork out with her teeth and fitted the vial over the bolt’s point, securing it with a twist. The vials had been cunningly fashioned to fit over the points of the giant arrows.

  Tzigone stepped behind the ballista and leveled it at a point just beyond the wall. Several Noor wizards converged there, their hands moving in unison as they mingled their magic in some great spell. She took a deep breath, held it, and pulled the ballista trigger.

  The giant bolt hissed free and plunged down toward the spell-casting wizards. It shattered on the ground nearby, sending a tremor through the tower and a flash of orange-red light over the wizards.

  Suddenly the light separated into three distinct, frantic fires. The conflagration spell caught all three, setting them aflame.

  Tzigone’s gaze snapped back to Basel. A faint glow around him spoke of a sphere of protection. Colored light rained down on him as two wizards hurled one colored bolt after another into the air directly above him. The portly wizard had already fallen to one knee, struggling to maintain the sphere as long as he could but unable to return the attack.

  By now the militia were visible, coming at a dead run. Tzigone caught a glimpse of white among the blue-green uniforms and knew that Matteo came with them. He was, however, coming far too slowly for her peace of mind!

  She looked to the enormous bilboa tree at the edge of the public garden, and began to sing. Her voice soared out into the sky, carrying into the complex city hidden among the leaves and branches.

  The exploding lights reflected on enormous gossamer wings and scales the color of gemstones. Starsnakes, compelled by the sorceress’s call, spiraled down from the glittering night sky. Two of them entwined a wizard in a sinuous, deadly embrace. His frantic, defensive spells slid off their scaled hides like water. A burst of energy sizzled through him. Tzigone glimpsed a blue-white flash of bone beneath the burning flesh.

  She glanced back at Mason. “You should get out of here. Basel is drawing fire away from the tower to buy you time to escape.”

  As if they divined Basel’s intention, the two wizards bombarding him changed tactics. The female advanced toward the tower, wand pointed toward the window framing Tzigone and Mason. The other kept the barrage of magical fireworks raining down on Basel’s protective shield to keep the powerful wizard pinned down.

  A ball of light began to grow at the end of the Noor woman’s wand, expanding until it was wider across than the wizard’s shoulders. Instinctively, Mason and Tzigone backed away from the window.

  “That’s going to hurt,” Tzigone muttered.

  At that moment Basel dropped the shield and pulled a throwing knife from a wrist sheath. The knife exploded into glowing crimson in his hand and spun toward the gathering sphere of destruction.

  Basel’s attacker kept up the barrage. Blue and gold rain showered over the exposed wizard, searing into flesh and sending his oiled braids leaping into flame. Fire surrounded Basel, turning his countenance into that of a burning medusa. His eyes met Tzigone’s frantic gaze, and he lifted his fingers to his lips as if to blow her a kiss.

  The fireball exploded.

  The magic, interrupted in its casting, spilled down over the wizard and flowed over the garden like lava. The tower shook as a second explosion shuddered across the burning magic, and the flame winked out. Nothing remained of the garden or any of the wizards who had fought there.

  Tzigone was dimly aware of the sizzle of small fire spells, the clatter of weapons, and the shouts of fighting men. Several of the Noor wizards fled through their gates, but most were subdued by the militia.

  Swift footsteps wound up the stairs to the tower. Matteo burst into the room, his eyes quickly scanning the scene.

  Mason seized a sword and lunged. Almost absently, Matteo drew a dagger, parried the attack, and disarmed the man with a quick twist. He kicked the sword aside, shouldered past the burly apprentice, and went to Tzigone.

  She fell into his arms and clung, dry-eyed and stunned. “Basel,” she whispered.

  “I saw.”

  Several uniformed men clattered into the room. Their eyes widened as they took in the arsenal. “Look at all this,” one of them murmured in awed tones. “Lord Basel was expecting an attack.”

  Tzigone stepped away and placed a restraining hand on Mason’s chest. The young man glanced into her face, then dropped the sword. Matteo faced down the man who’d just spoken.

  “Don’t be absurd. There’s not a wizard’s tower in all Halruaa that hasn’t a room like this.”

  “They were after this man,” Tzigone said, nodding at Mason. “I’ve seen a couple of those wizards before, come to visit Farrah Noor. Mason is suspected of her murder. That was her family, and they were too impatient to wait for justice.”

  “Wizard fighting wizard,” muttered the man wearing captain’s braid. “This is a dark day, the first of many.”

  “The tower was besieged,” Matteo retorted. “Basel’s apprentices merely defended it. The law allows any man or woman to defend their lives and homes. Do not make this into something it was not.”

  He spoke with the guard
s for several minutes more. Finally they left to deal with the captured wizards and send messages to western Halruaa. Those who escaped would be rounded up and brought to trial.

  When at last the militia left, Mason belted on a sword and began to gather up glowing vials.

  “What, precisely, do you intend to do with those?” Matteo inquired.

  The apprentice shot him a quick, grim look. “Basel is dead. I’m going after the Noor family.”

  “Put those vials down before you drop them,” the jordain said sharply. “If you haven’t the vision to see how far these flames could burn, at least consider the practical details. How far do you suppose you’d get in your quest for vengeance? You have not yet been absolved of Farrah Noor’s murder. If you’ve an hour to spare, I’ll list all the spells that could track you down in less time than the recitation of them would take.”

  The young man’s eyes shifted briefly to the smoking, blackened garden. “So I’m to stay here.”

  Matteo’s visage softened. “Come with me to the palace. You’ll stay in guest chambers under guard until this matter is settled. Tzigone?”

  “Go ahead. I’ll follow you in a while.”

  The jordain hesitated, but he apparently sensed her need to be alone. The two men left the tower.

  When all was quiet, Tzigone went to the window and leaned heavily against the sill. The charred gates stood open, and the magic that had encircled the tower was gone. The interrupted fireball had melted rock and soil into a sheet of dark glass. In it was reflected a slim, shining crescent. She glanced up. The smoke still rising from the garden cast shifting patterns against the waning moon.

  Tzigone stood there as the moon crested the sky, saying a private farewell to the man who had been her father, if just for one brief day. There would be no somber rites for Basel Indoulur, no formal funeral pyre such as honored Halruaa’s great wizards. She suspected Basel would probably prefer matters as they were.

  A soft, furtive sound pierced her reverie and sent her spinning around. She drew back, astonished, as her gaze fell upon Dhamari Exchelsor.

  The wizard looked equally startled to see her. “What are you doing here?” he blurted out.

  Her chin came up. “I’m Basel’s apprentice, and by Halruaan law, his heir as well. I have every right to be here. You don’t.”

  “Basel had no business in my tower, either,” he spat out.

  Tzigone lifted one brow. “Your tower? When you divorced Keturah, you forfeited legal rights to it. It’s mine. Your belongings have been sent to the Exchelsor vineyard estates.”

  “Not all of them. I’m come to reclaim what Basel stole from me.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You just happened to show up now. You were surprised to find anyone still alive in the tower.”

  “Unpleasantly surprised,” he said, his eyes burning with hatred and his hand slowly drifting to a bag hanging at his belt.

  “Did you know about this attack?”

  “It was not a subtle thing,” the wizard countered. His hand dipped into his bag and flashed toward.

  Instinctively Tzigone threw up both hands. Magical energy coursed from her, ready to ward off the spell.

  But the wizard knew her magic almost better than she did. No spell flew from his hand, but a tiny winged creature. It exploded into full size, filling the room with rustling wings and thick ropes of topaz and emerald scales.

  The starsnake flew at Tzigone, its jaws flung open for attack. She sang a single clear, high note, and the winged snake veered away, circling up toward the ceiling.

  She kept singing, instinctively finding a strange, atonal melody that somehow matched the snake’s frenzied, undulating flight.

  In moments she felt the magic that entrapped the creature melt away. The starsnake shot out of the open window.

  Tzigone stepped forward and drove her fist into Dhamari’s slack-jawed face. He stumbled backward and fell heavily against a rack of edged weapons. Down clattered the swords and knifes, their keen edges leaving bloody tracks on the wizard’s body.

  Dhamari flailed at the falling blades, trying vainly to protect himself but making matters far worse than they needed to be. Each thrashing movement left another gash—in his panic, he was cutting himself to ribbons. Yet none of his wounds bled. Even in this, Keturah’s talisman protected him from himself.

  Tzigone reached down and closed her hand over her mother’s talisman. “Enough,” she said in cool, even tones. “Eventually, everyone has to face who he is and live or die with the results.” With a quick tug, she broke the chain and tore it free.

  The fallen wizard’s body erupted into a crimson fountain, and his shrieks of rage and pain rang out into the night In moments he lay limp and silent.

  Tzigone put her mother’s medallion around her neck and left the tower without a backward glance. It was time for her to take her own advice and face who she truly was.

  Matteo slept not at all that night. Dawn crept over the city, and still he gazed at a moon grown perilously slim and frail. Moondark was only two days away, and when the moon was born anew, Beatrix would come to trial.

  Andris’s charge of treason might be forgiven. An obscure Halruaan law forgave offenders who did Halruaa a great service. Certainly Andris had done so many times over. Beatrix was another matter entirely. Matteo still had no notion of how to defend her, other than finding a way to shatter the Cabal—and with it, the king’s most powerful shield. That path could only lead to chaos and unbridled wizardwar.

  Last night’s attack on Basel’s tower was not a unique occurrence. More than one wizard had stepped forward to challenge Zalathorm’s right and fitness to rule. Mage duels took place in street corners and city gardens as ambitious wizards strove to prove supremacy. Other wizards watched and chose up sides. Other illegal and more deadly forms of combat were becoming commonplace. Reports of spell battles and magical ambushes were daily occurrences. Just yesterday, three of the men who declared against Malchior Belajoon had disappeared, and no one could discern the magic or the spellcaster responsible.

  A small pink dove fluttered to a stop on Matteo’s windowsill. The bird cocked its head and looked at him expectantly. Matteo noted the small scroll case strapped to the dove’s leg. He quickly removed it and shook out the bit of parchment. It was a note from Tzigone, asking him to come at once to Keturah’s tower.

  He hurried from the room, oblivious to the bird’s aggrieved coos—such messengers were trained to wait for a reply. The green marble tower was not far from the palace, and the streets were still quiet under the fading night sky. Matteo sprinted down the street, intent on his goal. After the attack on Basel’s tower, he suspected the worse.

  He ran past a stand of flowering xenia bushes and didn’t see the out-thrust foot until it was too late. He deftly turned the trip into a roll and came up in a crouch, daggers out.

  Branches parted, and Tzigone’s small face peered out at him. She gestured for him to join her. After a moment’s hesitation, he edged into the small hollow.

  “Procopio Septus is in the tower,” she said.

  Matteo’s brows rose. “You’re certain?”

  “He just walked in.” She shook her head in self-reproach. “I haven’t had time to change the wards since I took over the tower.”

  He caught the implication at once. “Procopio knows Dhamari’s wards! How could this be? A diviner might be able to see through some of them but certainly not all.”

  “I imagine Dhamari handed him the counterspells,” she said grimly. “They’re best of friends these days.”

  The jordain huffed. “You didn’t see fit to mention this?”

  “Do you want to hear what I have to say, or would you rather fuss?” she said sharply.

  He held up both hands in a gesture of peace. “We’ll come back to Procopio later.”

  “We always seem to,” she agreed. “Anyway, last night Dhamari came to Basel’s tower after you all left. He was very surprised to find anyone still alive. My guess is he k
new the attack was coming.”

  Matteo looked troubled. “If he did, most likely Procopio knew as well. Proving that, however, will be difficult. Diviners are notoriously hard to read through magical inquiry.”

  “Maybe this will help.” Tzigone handed him a small packet. “I got this from Sinestra Belajoon’s room. She found it hidden in Procopio’s villa.”

  “Oh?” he said cautiously.

  Tzigone shrugged. “Sinestra had some notion about learning thieving skills. You might say she was my apprentice.”

  “Sweet Mystra,” he groaned. “Twice-stolen proof is not much better than none at all.”

  “That depends on the proof. This is mummy powder.”

  Stunned enlightenment crossed Matteo’s face. “Only the Mulhorandi embalm their dead. That suggests Procopio was in collusion with the invaders! On the other hand, perhaps Procopio got this powder from a northern grave robber. It was once used as a base for paint—”

  “Too late,” she broke in. “Andris already told that tale, and once was plenty. And really, do you see Procopio as a would-be artist?”

  He conceded this point with a nod.

  “Here he comes,” announced Tzigone. “This should be fun.”

  Before Matteo could respond, Tzigone wriggled out of the bushes and headed for the tower. With a groan, he followed.

  They met the wizard at the gate, his arms full of spellbooks. He stopped short, and his expression was cautious but not alarmed.

  “Shame about the invisibility spell,” Tzigone said casually. “The damn things just never seem to hold up, do they?” Her gaze skimmed the wizard, and she lifted one eyebrow in a politely inquiring expression. “Out for a quiet stroll? A mug of breakfast ale and a little loot and pillage?”

  Procopio’s face flushed and then hardened. “I am responsible for Halruan justice in this city, and these items will be needed for the queen’s trial. I’m sure Dhamari Exchelsor would have wished it so.”

  “You’re certainly in a position to know that,” she shot back. “This was Keturah’s tower before Dhamari stole her life. It’s mine now, and everything in it Don’t think about poking around in Basel’s tower, either.”