Wizard's Resolve (Ozel the Wizard Book 3)

by Jim Hodgson

  As she watched him, something occurred to her. She ran up after Ergam, fighting against the loose soil. “Wait!”

  Ergam ignored her and plodded on.

  “I know you can hear me!” she shouted.

  Ergam stopped, but didn’t turn.

  Kadin struggled up the hill a bit further, perhaps only ten yards away from Ergam’s back. She stopped. Well, now she had to say it. “What do you want us to do with your father’s things?”

  She could tell that the question affected Ergam deeply by the way his shoulders moved and his head dipped a little. Still, he didn’t turn. There was no way he was going to want to be in the camp, having people share condolences, offering to help and so on. But clearly he also revered his father and would want his things collected.

  Without thinking she said, “I’ll take them to Dilara, if you like.”

  Now Ergam half-turned. She could see the side of his magical mask, but not enough to tell what emotion it showed. Finally, he said, “I would be in your debt. Thank you.” Then he was moving again, steadily, up the slope.

  She watched him go. She felt pity for any of the hill people who happened to get in his way. If he was fueled by half the righteous anger she’d felt over her own father’s murder, the hill people’s lives weren’t worth a swirl of dust on the wind.

  Chapter 25

  Wagast noticed that he’d begun to feel old. That made sense, given that he indeed was old, but he felt even older than usual as he opened the door to the tower in Dilara and stepped inside. The smells of dinner perked him up a bit, as did Yonca’s peck on his cheek.

  “How’s my wizard trainer this evening?” she asked.

  “Some of them are a bloody disaster,” Wagast said. “Literally, in one case.”

  “Oh, my. What happened?”

  “One of the new apprentices formed an excellent fireball. Small, but hot.”

  “That sounds good,” Yonca said. “Isn’t it?”

  “Only trouble was that he formed it and shot it into another apprentice’s leg. Had to heal the poor boy on the spot.” Wagast sighed, sat down at the table.

  “We all start somewhere,” Yonca observed.

  “True, but we used to start one at a time with direct supervision. Now that they’re trying to start as a clump … I don’t know.”

  Yonca gave him a look. “We have accepted the challenge of swelling the ranks of Dilara’s wizards. We sent representatives out into the community to raise our profile. Now it’s working and you’re moaning about it?”

  “I’ll have you know,” Wagast said, sitting up straight, “That is precisely what I’m doing.”

  Yonca gave a little snort. She was quiet a moment. “And the queen?”

  Wagast sighed again. “She will recover,”

  “How soon?”

  Wagast shrugged. “The arrow pierced her heart. Had I not been standing right there to give her a potion she would have died before she had time to fall.”

  “We are going to need her,” Yonca said.

  Wagast looked up. “You know something?”

  Yonca shook her head. “I don’t know, but I can guess.”

  Wagast frowned. “How long do we have?”

  “A year, perhaps less. It depends how far that fool Gerent Ormuz goes.”

  Wagast grunted. It wasn’t enough time to properly train even a handful of wizards. He needed an army of them.

  “I worry that war will come soon and our king will be too busy being concerned about his wounded wife to lead us,” Yonca said.

  “That worries me too,” Wagast said. “But she can only heal as fast as she can heal. Apprentices can only learn as fast as they can learn.”

  Yonca sat at the table with a couple of bowls of soup that smelled positively delicious. “Well,” she said. “At least two old wizards can still have a bite to eat before bed.”

  Wagast smiled. “True enough.”

  Wagast decided to talk to Alabora and Nazenin the next morning. His impression was that their efforts to build the army, at least, were going well. Perhaps they had some insight on how to handle a mass of recruits all at once.

  He left his apprentices with Alan for the morning, and walked to the grounds outside the city where Alabora and Nazenin were accepting and training recruits. An officer spotted him and led him to Alabora, who was inside a command tent with assistants running to and fro.

  “Ah, Wagast the Wise,” Alabora said. “Good morning.”

  Wagast nodded, shook hands. “Morning, General.”

  “How go the magical preparations?”

  Wagast frowned and made a short humming noise. “Not well, I’m afraid. I’m used to training wizards one at a time, not as a herd.”

  “I see. Have you tried shouting?”

  “A bit.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “They lack focus, precision. Their fireballs are all over the place. If you asked any of my apprentices to hit this tent with a fireball, the only way to be sure they could manage it would be to wrap them in it. Even then they’d likely burn the ground.”

  Alabora gave a short laugh. “Sounds like archers.”

  Wagast raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. A single archer might be a precise shot, but a group of them? Hardly. When I think about your recruits, I think in terms of a group of archers, but instead of arrows which can travel perhaps two hundred yards, your wizards can produce a moving wall of flame across a battlefield. Is that accurate?”

  Wagast tilted his head side to side. “More or less, but I’m not sure I’m properly representing the inaccuracy at hand here.”

  Alabora said wryly, “There are some recruits out on the field just now attempting a bit of archery. Why don’t you join me?”

  Wagast followed Alabora out to where a line of two dozen or so young men were milling about. At some distance, hay bales were propped up with sticks to represent the enemy. The man in charge saw Alabora coming and barked at the recruits, who formed up, chests held out, and stood stock-still.

  “That’s what shouting does for you, eh?” Wagast mused quietly to Alabora.

  “Works wonders. And if it fails there’s always the boot.”

  Wagast gave a snort.

  Alabora gave a curt nod to the man standing ready to shout at the men. The man shouted, and the archers began to fire arrows into the air. Arrows rained down at the other end of the field. Some of them hit the hay bales, but not all. Still, Wagast wouldn’t have wanted to be standing down there. He was a little surprised no one was shouting at the men to fire faster, and said so.

  “Speeding up only makes them less accurate,” Alabora said. “In certain situations you may want maximum volume of fire, but in general, greater accuracy is better. As long as they can get three or four arrows into the air per minute, that’s about right. Mind you, I would shout at them for anything under six.”

  “I must say, General, you have lifted my spirits.”

  “Because your magicians will be more powerful than my archers?”

  “I think my apprentices will be more formidable than this, yes, but I was thinking of how much better I’ll feel after I have a good shout at them.”

  “Ah,” Alabora said. “The joy of command.”

  Chapter 26

  The Gerent’s raid on Yetkin lands was a success, but he couldn’t help narrowing his eyes as he thought about the word “success.” True, he’d started with two dozen men and still had them all. One of them, Burkut, was wounded pretty badly in the calf. Burkut would live, but might eventually lose the leg. But success …?

  For days, the Gerent had been riding high on the realization that by the standards of distance this was surely the greatest Ilbezian raid on Yetkin lands ever mounted. He considered it as he stared into the fire. When he was a lad on his first raid, they’d never have dared use a cook fire in Yetkin territory for fear of a night attack. They’d have moved swiftly and quietly, searching for a smaller band of Yetkin to run down whil
e leaning heavily on the element of surprise. But on this expedition all the bands they’d seen were small, both in number and in size. And here he was, at night, warming his boots by a crackling fire. Worry nagged at him. This was too easy.

  He looked up at the stars. The night was clear and crisp, with a hint of wind. Each of the pinpoints of light was as clearly defined as he’d ever seen it. Blobs of lighter sky even seemed, on this night, to be composed of groups of stars. He’d never noticed that before.

  He withdrew the small glass vial from his pocket and looked into it. The tiny spider inside crawled around in a circle as if it were trying to communicate that yes, it was still alive.

  He heard crunching on the rocky ground. “My Gerent?”

  “Yes?”

  “Your orders for tomorrow, sir?”

  The Gerent looked down into the fire again. Sparks rose toward the heavens. He could see how his ancestors had thought that the sparks from the fire rose to the sky and became the stars overhead. It made for a decent mythology, but myths and reality weren’t necessarily on speaking terms. He wondered if his ancestors had really thought that happened or if they’d just known a stirring myth when they came up with one.

  The raiding party was off the map. It was hard to tell exactly how far off the known territory they were, but by the Gerent’s reckoning they were at least two days’ ride farther than any Ilbezian raiding party had ever come. It would have been something to shout about had they come this far and dealt a great blow to the Yetkin, but they’d only had a few minor skirmishes. Supplies were low, there was no great victory at hand, and they had a wounded man.

  “We turn east tomorrow,” the Gerent said. “You are taking careful notes of the terrain?”

  “As you have commanded.” The man dipped his head and retreated.

  At least they’d add a great huge patch to the map. If they followed the coastline, they’d be back in Ilbez in a few days. It wasn’t much of a victory, but adding a great swathe to the map would be something history would remember him and this raiding party for. In a few generations, they might not remember that the Yetkin were thin on the ground at the time.

  The Gerent looked up into the sky again. He wondered what it would be like to travel to where the stars shone. Could you make a map of it? Were there enemies to fight there? He fell asleep imagining himself astride a great horse galloping among the stars with their light twinkling on his blade.

  As luck would have it, the day dawned gray with heavy fog. It was as poor a day to attempt a mapmaking masterstroke as any the Gerent had ever seen. He could barely see far enough through the fog to map his own boots. The going would be slow. Perhaps later in the day the sun would burn the fog off.

  Most of the party chose to walk their mounts. Though it wasn’t a very poetic choice for any Ilbezian warrior to be kicking at rocks all day, in this fog, speed was the enemy. If they came upon a cliff they could lose men and horses who weren’t able to stop in time.

  Burkut attempted a few steps on his wounded calf but was ordered onto his horse. He was placed near the rear of the party.

  The scouts had loaded a blanket with the white ash from the previous night’s fires and then coated the flat black stones underfoot in the powder. The gray stones stood out enough on the ground that the party found it easy to follow the scouts ahead. As the sun climbed into the sky it did indeed seem to be burning the fog away.

  A few hours on, the Gerent’s horse tugged at the reins in his hand, head up. The Gerent eyed the animal. The beast might have heard something it didn’t like. Or it might be reacting with disdain to being walked deep into enemy territory. Then there was a clinking sound nearby that sounded to the Gerent like a metal ring contacting a piece of armor. His hand flew to the hilt of his sword, but as he adjusted his feet he dislodged a flat rock. It made a tinkling noise just like the sound he’d heard off in the fog.

  Were his nerves getting frayed in his old age? Maybe.

  Ahead the Gerent heard someone call out to the rest of the party. One of the scouts found something interesting. As Gerent Ormuz had thought it might, the way forward dropped off into a sharp cliff. A man might be able to descend carefully on foot for the first few feet, but a horse would never make it. After that, the cliff face disappeared into the swirling fog, but the Gerent had the impression that the rock face was more or less sheer below. Shame they couldn’t see any farther from up here. They were most likely facing northeast. It would have been nice to see the ocean below so that they could get their bearings.

  The Gerent turned to give the order to turn back and find another way down, but when he did he caught sight of one of the men’s faces. He saw frustration there. The Gerent decided to call for a lunch break instead in hopes that a short bite to eat might improve the party’s mood. Food had that power sometimes. And since they were now basically headed back to Ilbez, the Gerent ordered his men to eat double rations. It might mean a hungry day later in the trip, but by then their bellies would be full of the smell of home anyway.

  They took a longer than usual break for lunch, and the swirls of fog seemed to be lifting somewhat more. The Gerent felt refreshed.

  Raids. They weren’t an exact thing. He could arrive home, claim they’d made a great discovery of all this uncharted land. Yes. It would be enough. He left his men in the small valley where they’d settled to eat and walked back toward the cliff for a piss. The fog was a lot lighter now and he could see that he’d been right about the cliff face. The black rock was sheer below. They’d definitely have to go around.

  As the Gerent was looking down and relieving himself, he felt the warmth of the sun on his face. He looked up, hopeful. Instead, his entire body went numb as if unable to interpret what his eyes were seeing.

  He could indeed see the sea, stretching far and away. But he had not expected the black city.

  The city was huge, sprawling. Palls of black smoke rose from inside its walls, which must be why the walls themselves were as black as night. There was a tower, angular, forbidding, taller than all the rest, but what was most terrifying of all was the boats.

  The sea before the black city was nearly covered in boats. Long jetties stuck into the sea and each one was encrusted with sailing vessels. Tiny black dots were moving to and from the boats. At this distance the Gerent couldn’t tell, but if each of the dots was a Yetkin beast, there had to be many more of them below than the entire population of Ilbez. Camps with small fires twinkling at their centers dotted the land between the boats and the black city. If just one of those camps emptied and came to find the Gerent and his party, they were done for. A handful of those camps could probably wipe Ilbez from the face of the land.

  The Gerent whirled to spur his men into movement, realized his manhood was still exposed, and swore. He ran back toward the camp, putting his trousers together.

  “On your horses,” he said.

  “Could you see the ocean, my Gerent?” one man asked.

  “Indeed,” the Gerent said. “An ocean of Yetkin. We must go. Now.”

  His men got to their feet and the Gerent, frustrated by their lack of urgency, aimed a kick at the nearest one. “Now, damn your hides!” he hissed. “Unless you want to die here!”

  He completely forgot about the spider in his pocket, which he was meant to let loose at this point, when he was as far into Yetkin lands as he was going to get.

  Chapter 27

  Kadin Onan realized, when she’d come back down the slope from talking to Ergam, that she might not be able to fulfill her promise to take care of his father’s things. After all, she had no real authority to do so and no way to prove Ergam had given his consent. But in the end, no one seemed to care. The extramortal leaders were all locked in talks, apparently, about who would lead them now that their king was dead. So, the next morning, she started work.

  She’d packed up everything that seemed to be of any value, and was preparing to set out for Dilara when Ergam pushed the tent flap aside and stepped in.

&
nbsp; He startled her. She’d never expected to see him again, let alone so soon. It had only been a day.

  “There’s something I need you to see,” he said, without introduction.

  She followed Ergam for a few hours up the slope. When they’d climbed away from the valley floor far enough that the camp below was no longer visible, the going got a little easier. The soft dirt gave way to rocks which were easier to walk on. Still, Ergam stalked on. He stopped once to listen, then scanned the ridge above, and started moving again. He led her to a nearby peak, but before they came to the top he turned left and skirted around. Ahead the sky was black. Thunder rolled in the distance.

  Kadin had heard that storms can roll in at high altitudes like this at any time. It was a stark contrast from the relatively mild weather on the valley floor and it worried her. She didn’t want to be stuck on a mountaintop in a lightning storm, or any kind of storm for that matter. At least they’d gotten up here in a relatively short amount of time. A human might have taken days to get up here.

  Ergam turned and said, “It’s just ahead.”

  Why had she gotten herself mixed up in his business? She supposed it was because she felt sorry for him. And maybe because she felt an immediate connection with anyone who had lost a parent. Whatever the cause, she was in it now. And, if she allowed herself to listen to the tiny voice in her mind that said terrible selfish things, it felt a little good to be using her ability to work through a problem again.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when she walked past a white rock on the ground, then realized that it hadn’t been a rock. She stopped, looked up.

  Ergam was standing at a large flat rock like a huge table. At one end of it, a metal rod twice as tall as a man was driven into the ground. At the base of this metal pole was a pile of rusty old chains. Broken links of the chain were scattered all over as well. King Sakir was probably strong enough to have done that, especially if he was frightened for his life. But much more terrifying to Kadin were the white rocks lying everywhere. They were terrifying because she knew — and she knew that Ergam knew too — that they were not rocks.