The Congruent Wizard (The Congruent Mage Series Book 2)

by Dave Schroeder

  “Not much of a drinker?”

  “No, sir,” said Eynon. “I try to save it for special occasions.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” said Taffaern. “Give me a moment or two and I’ll be back with something to wet your whistle.”

  The innkeeper slipped out of the alcove and returned half a minute later with a mug of something that foamed but didn’t smell like beer. When the innkeeper waved it under Eynon’s nose it smelled delicious.

  “Taste it,” said Taffaern. “I make it with boiled water and birch bark. It’s safe to drink and you won’t have a headache in the morning.”

  Eynon tilted the mug, getting foam on his upper lip, then sipped the drink. Its flavor was even better than its smell. He’d have to bring this idea back to the Coombe. He was sure it would be popular there.

  “Mmmm,” said Eynon.

  Taffaern smiled.

  “Now, lads,” he said. “Call me Taffy, and tell me about my cider and why you’re really in my inn.”

  With his last comment he turned to Nûd and added, “How’s that old reprobate Damon doing in Melyncárreg, by the way?”

  Nûd and Eynon looked at each other, smiled, and shrugged. Then they told the innkeeper well-edited versions of what had happened, with frequent interruptions for questions.

  “Fercha will figure out a way to get me my cargo, I’m sure,” said Taffy when Eynon and Nûd had paused to sip from their mugs. “I’ll keep my eye out for my cider to arrive in the next few days.”

  “I hope so,” said Eynon.

  “Doethan’s involved in all this, too, eh?” said the innkeeper. “You say he followed Fercha through a Roma wizard’s gate?”

  “I think so,” said Nûd.

  “Her robes were purple,” confirmed Eynon.

  Taffy frowned. “Who knows what will come of that?”

  The innkeeper wiped his hand on his beard. He’d poured the contents of Eynon’s mug of ale into his own mug and Nûd’s when their mugs were halfway down.

  “And Damon and Derry’s daughter—she’s a wizard now, you say—went through another gate?”

  “She’s a very good wizard,” said Eynon. His foam mustache made it hard to take him seriously, but Taffy didn’t smile. He remembered what it was like to be sixteen.

  “They left before Doethan and Fercha,” said Nûd. “We rushed here on wyvern-back from the Coombe.” He drank a large swallow of ale. “We need to tell King Dârio and the Conclave of Wizards in Brendinas about the Tamloch raid, but I don’t know who to contact in the capital so we’re taken seriously. Damon’s primary connection there of late was Doethan and he’s gone. I know he has other agents in place, but I don’t know who they are.”

  “No need to worry,” said Taffy. “I’ll get word to the Conclave and one of the king’s advisers, if he hasn’t banished them all in the last twenty-four hours for not kissing his arse with enough enthusiasm.”

  Eynon laughed and foam went up his nose. He brushed it away with the back of his hand.

  “What do you recommend we do?” asked Nûd. “Just sit here and drink your beer?”

  “That would be my advice,” said the innkeeper. “The last thing you want to do is go to the capital. Word from the north is that King Túathal of Tamloch has paid King Bjarni and the dragonship raiders of Bifurland ten pounds of gold to send five hundred ships to sack Brendinas. They should arrive up the Brenavon in a few days.”

  Eynon looked at Nûd. Nûd looked back. They nodded.

  “There’s still time,” said Eynon.

  “We have to go,” said Nûd. “Your gate to Melyncárreg should be big enough.”

  So that’s how Nûd and Damon got their supplies, thought Eynon.

  “For what?” asked Eynon.

  “For Rocky,” said Nûd.

  “It’s a big gate—as big as the double doors on the pier,” said Taffy. “It has to be, to get your tuns of wine and beer through. How big is your wyvern?”

  “He might fit,” said Nûd.

  “Let’s find out,” said Eynon.

  They left the alcove and made their way down the stairs to the cellar storeroom without waiting to see if Taffy was behind them.

  Chapter 6

  Damon and Merry

  Merry punched the man in the door with both her fists, pounding his abdomen until Salder blocked her swings and her arms moved around his neck. Merry held him like she was afraid he might evaporate.

  “You’re not dead, you’re not dead, you’re not dead, you’re not dead!” she repeated while crying tears of joy.

  After a few minutes, Merry pulled herself together, stopped her litany, and took three deep breaths. Salder kept his arms around Merry until the third breath, then he held her at arms length and took her in from foot to head.

  “It’s great to see you too, little sister. What are you doing here? You’re not so little now.”

  “I came with Damon,” Merry replied. “And you still look like you did the day you left on your wander year,.”

  “A bit more mature than that, I hope,” said Salder. He wore a big smile and his eyes were wet and bright.

  “You were twenty-five at sixteen,” said Merry. The corners of her mouth turned up as she felt herself fill with joy at her brother’s unexpected return to life. “You must be thirty-five by now.”

  “Only twenty-two,” said Salder. “Don’t make me old before my time.”

  Merry rubbed her wet cheeks. Tannis handed Merry a linen napkin and the younger woman dried her tears.

  “Excuse me,” said Damon, inserting himself into their reunion. “I need information, and we shouldn’t be standing in an open doorway where anyone passing by can hear.”

  “I’ll take care of that,” said Tibbo.

  Tannis escorted Salder and Merry to the trestle table while Tibbo shut the door and reset the thick length of wood that kept it closed.

  “We told you I was dead because you were too young to keep that big a secret,” said Salder. “You were only ten and our parents didn’t want to risk it.”

  Merry affectionately punched Salder below his ribcage.

  “You should have told me,” she said.

  “If it makes a difference, I thought we should,” said her brother. “I knew you could keep a secret. You never told on me when I went to visit…”

  “They said you’d been killed by a raiding party from the southern Clan Lands on your way home,” said Merry.

  She was leaning against Salder’s shoulder and holding her brother’s hands in hers like she was afraid to let them go in case he disappeared again.

  “That was the story Da and Damon and Doethan came up with,” said Salder. “I needed to disappear from Dâron to come here.”

  “Wait! You already know Damon?” asked Merry.

  “Of course,” said her brother. “He’s been working with Da and Doethan for decades.”

  “Did the three of them talk you into being a spy?” asked Merry. Her head was spinning as she considered the implications of what she heard and what it meant for her understanding of her father and Doethan and Damon.

  “I volunteered for the job,” said Salder. “They needed someone to keep an eye on what’s happening inside the royal palace in Riyas.”

  “And what is happening?” asked Damon. “How many magestones did Verro’s men collect and what does he plan to do with them?”

  Salder kissed Merry’s hands and gave them a squeeze, then turned to face Damon.

  “Verro doesn’t say much, but some of his wizards do, especially when they’ve had a few glasses of wine,” said Merry’s brother. “Tamloch’s magestone mines in the Green Mountains have played out, I hear. A dozen wizards are out searching for more sources of green magestones in Tamloch territory, but so far they’ve been unsuccessful.”

  “Without more green magestones,” said Tibbo as he joined them at the table, “there would be no more green wizards in a generation. There were also rumors they needed lots of green magestones of any quality for one o
f Verro’s special projects.”

  Damon nodded. “I hadn’t realized the shortage was that severe,” he said. “How did Verro discover green magestones at the quarry west of the Coombe?”

  “Completely by accident,” said Salder.

  Tannis shook her head in frustration, then filled a plate with eggs and sausage and toast for Merry’s brother. Merry gestured and warmed them up for Salder with a touch of heat magic. Salder stared at her for a moment with a look that said we’ll discuss this later. He shifted to face Damon and enjoyed his now-hot breakfast while he talked.

  “From what I heard, Verro was flying to the southern Clan Lands. He hoped to recruit them to attack Dâron territory,” Salder continued. “You know about the dragonship raiders, right?”

  Damon nodded and waved a slice of toast to indicate Salder should keep talking.

  “He felt something when he flew over the quarry on his way to a meeting with the southern clan chiefs, then decided to check out what he’d sensed when he returned.”

  “That must be when he ran into Fercha,” said Merry. “She told me about losing her magestone. It must have been during their duel.”

  “Verro came back without his flying disk,” said Salder. “The other wizards teased him, and he told them to shut up and hope they never ran into a wizard as powerful.”

  “I wonder…” said Damon, rubbing his chin.

  Merry distracted the older mage before he realized Eynon was the one who found Fercha’s lost magestone. She wasn’t sure the old wizard had heard Eynon tell Fercha he had her artifact back at the quarry a few hours ago.

  “Did Verro’s team collect a lot of magestones?” she asked. “Can they train up a lot of new wizards now?”

  “I don’t know,” said Salder. “No one said anything about how many magestones they’d found. They were grumbling about how Verro had told them the quarry would be undefended and complaining about being attacked by two dozen Dâron wizards, a crazy giant with a crossbow, and a wyvern.”

  “There were only five Dâron wizards,” said Merry. “I hope the others aren’t hurt—the ones who fought the Tamloch wizards and soldiers, I mean,” she told her brother.

  Fercha and Doethan and the tall crossbowman, thought Merry. But mostly Eynon. Her Eynon.

  “I’ve heard something from one of the palace chambermaids,” said Tannis. “King Túathal wasn’t sure his younger brother Verro would be able to find a new source of green magestones. He wanted to hit Dâron hard now, while Tamloch still has more crown wizards.”

  “Tamloch has more wizards than Dâron?” asked Merry.

  “More crown wizards, certainly,” said Damon. “Many crown wizards left the capital when the old king died. Some, like Doethan, were forced out earlier. There’s been a boom in tower-building on the edges of the kingdom over the past two years. The Dâron Conclave has fewer crown wizards now than it did when the old king, Dâroth XXIV, ruled.”

  “Here in Riyas, King Túathal treats his crown wizards well,” said Salder. “I should know—I serve them enough wine. He trusts his brother to keep them in line and they fight less amongst themselves than I’ve heard is true of the wizards of the Dâron Conclave.”

  “Verro was always a skilled manipulator,” said Damon, looking like he’d just bitten into a sour persimmon. “He knows how to herd the cats and tigers in his Conclave. And you’re right about Dâron. Our crown wizards would rather score points on each other than work together in the best interests of the kingdom.”

  “That’s why you left, eh, old man?” said Tibbo with a grin to soften his words.

  “No,” said Damon. “I had other reasons to leave court. But it’s one factor in why I never returned.”

  “If Verro’s raid gained him high quality green magestones, could he train new wizards fast enough to make a difference in the battles ahead?” asked Merry.

  “He could if he used modern training approaches,” said Salder. “My da said Dâron mages trained thirty new wizards in thirty days during the last war with Tamloch.”

  Damon snorted.

  “What?” asked Tannis.

  “Half of those thirty died in a fortnight,” said the old mage.

  “But how many Dâron soldiers didn’t die thanks to their sacrifice?” asked Tibbo.

  Merry noticed a long scar on the barrel-shaped man’s forearm and realized he might have been one of those soldiers.

  Dâron’s Master Mage put his elbows on the table, interlaced his fingers, and cradled his chin on the backs of his hands.

  “There are other uses for magestones and magestone fragments,” said Damon cryptically. “Even so, the pieces are in play. Dragonship raiders, southern Clan Land forces…”

  “And the northern Clan Lands as well,” said Salder.

  “Barbarians from both Clan Lands,” Damon continued, “plus Tamloch’s royal army and navy, all arrayed against Dâron.”

  “Sounds bleak,” said Merry.

  “But you’ve left off our greatest disadvantage, old man,” said Tibbo.

  “King Dârio,” said all five of them in unison.

  “If I were King Túathal, I’d want to defeat Dâron decisively, depose young king Dârio, and unite the kingdoms,” said Damon.

  “You think rule by a competent Tamloch king would be better than Dâron led by our own incompetent monarch?” asked Tannis.

  “Not historically,” said Merry. “Quite a few monarchs in Dâron lacked wisdom, at least according to what I’ve read. Somehow the kingdom survived.”

  “She’s right,” said Damon. “Though quite a few of those unwise monarchs ended up dead before their time.”

  Tibbo spoke. “Perhaps that can be arranged for Dârio?”

  “Without an heir?” said Tannis. “There’d be chaos.”

  “Making Túathal and Verro’s plans to conquer the kingdom even easier,” said Salder with a sigh.

  Merry stopped leaning against her brother’s shoulder and sat up straight.

  “There’s got to be a better answer,” she said.

  “There is,” said Damon. “And it’s in Occidens Province. I’ve got to get to Nova Eboracum.”

  Before Merry could fully process Damon’s words there were three loud knocks on the Blue Whale’s front door.

  “Open up!” said a gruff voice. “City guard.”

  “We should be going,” said Damon.

  He stood quickly and so did Merry. Tibbo rose slowly.

  “Don’t worry,” said the barrel-shaped man. “It’s collection day and the sargeant is making his rounds.”

  Tibbo casually walked to the front door while Merry gave Salder a quick hug.

  “Don’t get yourself killed before we have a chance to talk,” she told him, then followed Damon into the kitchen.

  “Give me a minute, Podhri,” shouted Tibbo as he lifted the length of wood barring the door. “I need some time to hide the bodies.”

  Chapter 7

  Fercha and Doethan

  “…control of the Five Lakes region, congruent gate access to the black rock mines west of the upper reaches of the Brenavon, and King Dârio’s firstborn son,” said Laetícia, reading the words written on the sheet of fine vellum like she was reciting a list of things to buy on market day.

  “What?” asked Doethan.

  “She’s joking,” said Fercha. “She just wanted to make sure you were paying attention.”

  The two women exchanged glances. Fercha was glad Laetícia had been joking.

  Everything else she and her husband had asked for, including an exchange of dignitaries—a polite term for hostages—was a small price to pay for two Roma legions and sixty purple wizards on Dâron’s side against Tamloch. Ten thousand well-trained and disciplined foot soldiers’ swords, shields and spears would be worth twice their numbers in Dâron or Tamloch levies. Dâron had plenty of archers and a core of heavy cavalry that would complement the Eagle People’s forces nicely. It would be enough to tip the scales against Tamloch if they could march to Bren
dinas fast enough to counter the approaching Bifurlander dragonships.

  “Agreed,” said Fercha.

  “Quite reasonable,” said Doethan.

  “I’ve always found it more expedient to offer reasonable people reasonable terms at the beginning, instead of after prolonged negotiations,” said Quin. “You end up in the same place and it takes much less time.”

  “Without sitting through as many banquets,” added Laetícia.

  “Do you think you can convince the young king to sign?” asked Quin.

  “He’ll sign if I have to put the quill in his hand and threaten to boil his brain if he doesn’t,” said Fercha.

  Doethan laughed.

  “She’d do it, too, and the Conclave would back her,” he said. “I could pay off half the kingdom’s debt by charging a fee for nobles to watch.”

  “I’ll send the legions south immediately,” said Quin. “With wizards to transport their gear and supplies, they should be in Brendinas by midday on the day after tomorrow.

  Or maybe faster, thought Fercha.

  “Excellent,” said Doethan. “The promise of a second hostile force on his doorstep if he doesn’t sign should make Fercha’s task to convince Dârio that much easier.”

  “Where’s your gate to Brendinas?” asked Fercha.

  “Nearby,” said Laetícia. “We’ll have to take you through blindfolded, of course.”

  “Of course,” echoed Fercha.

  “Take these tokens,” said Laetícia, handing the two Dâron wizards small silver disks with three short arms like a caltrop cut through them. “Use them to gain entry into the palace if you take your own gates back to Nova Eboracum. Quin used caltrops to stop a cavalry charge when he took Timbuktu, so he puts them on everything.”

  “Thank you,” said Doethan.

  He and Fercha tucked the tokens away. Quin stood up, revealing every inch of his imposing height, and clapped his hands. A servant approached carrying two thick canvas bags with handles. Quin took them.

  “Before you leave, I have gifts for both of you,” he said.

  He grinned and gave the first bag to Doethan.