The Congruent Wizard (The Congruent Mage Series Book 2)

by Dave Schroeder

  “There are two books inside,” said the governor. “The thicker one has the rules of quattuor quadratum, the thinner is a commentary on qua-qua strategy by the empire’s best player. I hope you find them both enlightening.”

  “Thank you, governor,” said Doethan. “I’m honored.”

  “And I’m in a hurry,” said Fercha. “Can we speed this up? If it matters, I didn’t bring you anything.”

  Laetícia laughed. So did her husband. He handed Fercha the second bag.

  “I have two books for you as well, domina,” said Quin. “They’re brief histories of the royal houses of Dâron and Tamloch, with genealogical charts. I hope they prove useful.”

  “You’re too kind,” said Fercha. “We’ll have to come back for them later. For now, bring on the blindfolds. I want to get to King Dârio before he’s had too much to drink.”

  Chapter 8

  Nûd and Eynon

  “Can wyverns swim?” asked Nûd.

  “We may find out,” said Eynon.

  Nûd and Eynon had returned for Rocky on Eynon’s flying disk. The wyvern was following a glowing red ball of solidified sound down the Moravon from the island to Taffaern’s dock. He was skimming so close to the river’s surface that his wingtips touched the water on down strokes, leaving circular ripples in the liquid. People along the eastern shore were staring at the great black beast and its riders as they made their way south. Soon they were near their intermediate destination.

  Eynon sent the red ball under Taffaern’s wooden pier and along the solid stone dock below it. The double doors were open. Rocky tucked in his wings and went through them, skidding his claws along the floor of the storeroom. Eynon used the commands Taffy had told him to trigger the gate at the far end of the storeroom and moments later the three of them were in the largest pantry off the kitchen in the Melyncárreg castle.

  Rocky fell forward on his belly and scraped his way along the rough stone to let friction absorb some of his velocity. The wyvern stopped inches from the wide door to the kitchen, but Nûd and Eynon didn’t. They somersaulted over Rocky’s body on either side of his long neck and flopped against the wall ahead of them. Rocky bellowed his displeasure. Chee had managed to retain his hold on Rocky’s neck. The raconette was chittering at them both in what Eynon was sure was his way of laughing.

  “We made it,” said Nûd. “I finally managed to get out of Melyncárreg and now I’m here again voluntarily.”

  The big man stood and extended his hand to help Eynon up. Eynon was on his back like a turtle, rocking on the slightly concave flying disk strapped to his pack. He needed Nûd’s assistance.

  “It’s for a good cause and we won’t have to be here long,” said Eynon.

  “I know,” said Nûd. “I just wished my sense of duty wasn’t so well developed. I really liked what we saw of Tyford.”

  “So did I,” said Eynon. “And we’ll get to see Brendinas soon, too.” He stepped into the kitchen and looked in vain for any sort of large exit to the outside world. Wyverns couldn’t fit through normal-sized doorways, at least not without being coated in lard first. He turned to Nûd. “How do we get Rocky out of the kitchen?”

  “Through the banquet hall, of course.”

  “There’s a banquet hall?”

  “Certainly. It’s for festival-day feasts and meetings of the Conclave. The kitchen and hall are connected.”

  “I worked in this kitchen for three days and never saw any kind of door to a banquet hall,” said Eynon.

  “You’re not thinking like a wizard,” said Nûd. “It’s not a door—it’s a congruent gate wide enough for ten servants to pass side by side leading to the banquet hall one level up.”

  “And where is this gate to be found?” asked Eynon. “I didn’t think there was enough empty wall space in the kitchen to put one.”

  “Behind the work tables where you set up your distilled water system,” said Nûd. “When Damon is hosting the Conclave, we move those work tables into the center of the kitchen to provide extra prep space.”

  “But there was a sink next to the one I was using,” protested Eynon. “They’d have to relocate the plumbing.”

  “You’re still thinking like a farm boy,” said Nûd with a smile. “Water and drains are provided by congruencies as well.”

  Eynon shook his head, both to clear it after his tumble and to help recalibrate his brain for the many ramifications of magic for everyday life. He walked back to Rocky and rubbed the wyvern’s jaw. The beast’s head and neck extended into the corridor outside the pantry.

  “Are you doing well, boy?” he asked. “No harm done from that landing?”

  The wyvern tilted his head and stuck out his tongue, licking Eynon’s face before he could put up a shield. It felt like sandpaper and smelled like a doused campfire, but wasn’t as unpleasant as it might have been. Eynon rubbed Rocky’s eye ridges as the wyvern leaned down further and the big beast made contented rumbles deep in its throat.

  “I guess that question’s answered,” said Eynon.

  “Help me move tables,” said Nûd. “It will go faster with two of us.”

  They entered the kitchen proper and crossed to a wall filled with work tables, near where Eynon’s solidified sound distilling apparatus was still dripping out sulphur-free water. Together, Nûd and Eynon moved tables until they’d cleared a sixteen-foot section of bare wall.

  “You have to say Agor-y-droos,” said Nûd.

  Eynon reached out to connect with both his magestones and repeated the phrase Nûd had given him. A thin blue rectangle that looked like a painted fresco briefly sparkled and outlined a wide opening. Then the wall shimmered away and a hall large enough to seat two hundred guests appeared in front of him. It was mostly empty, with disassembled trestle tables and benches neatly stacked against one wall. A tall pair of doors were at the opposite end. Eynon assumed they led out into the castle’s courtyard.

  The hall’s ceiling was framed with huge wooden beams, carved and painted, and the floor was some sort of polished white stone veined with blue. It looked like a place to hold royal balls. Eynon had read about them in Robin Goodfellow’s Peregrinations.

  Do wizards dance? Eynon wondered. It would be fun to dance with Merry if they do. He resolved to contact Merry with his ring tonight to make sure she was safe, which she probably was. She was with Damon, after all. But he missed her and wanted to hear her voice.

  “Eynon?” asked Nûd. “Are you still in Melyncárreg? Or are you back on the river with that baron’s daughter?”

  “Tease me all you want,” said Eynon as he put his reverie on hold. “You’re the one enraptured by a farmer’s daughter.”

  “With cute freckles,” said Nûd.

  “And a temper. You haven’t seen that yet.”

  “Perhaps I’ll have a chance to,” said Nûd. “You help Rocky turn the corner and enter the banquet hall. I’ll go upstairs and get some sacks for the gold.”

  Eynon watched the big man take the stairs two at a time, then went back to join Rocky in the largest pantry. The wyvern was happily watching Chee dance in the short hall in front of him. The raconette was nibbling on a giant bulb of garlic almost bigger than his mouth. Eynon noticed Chee had added a bag labeled as dried plums from another pantry to go with the dried cherries he’d been given in Haywall. He resolved not to sleep anywhere near the little scamp that night.

  “Come along, Rocky, let’s get you out to the kitchen,” said Eynon. He used treats made from solidified sound and encouraging words to convince the wyvern to contort his large body around the angle required to move from pantry to kitchen, then led Rocky over to stand in front of the congruent gate to the banquet hall. He heard Nûd’s feet on the stairs.

  “I’ve got the bags,” said the big man when he reached the bottom.

  “Those are pillowcases,” said Eynon.

  “They’re bags for gold now,” said Nûd. “Ready to go?”

  “Almost,” said Eynon. “Is there any parchment a
nd a pen, or slate and chalk, or wax and a stylus close at hand?”

  “All of that is back upstairs in Damon’s study,” said Nûd. “You want to leave a message?”

  “In case Damon comes back or Fercha and Doethan show up.”

  “There’s no chance of my mother appearing, and nothing to write with, so we’d best be on our way.”

  “Just a minute,” said Eynon.

  He found the flour bin and scattered a thick layer across one of the tables used for preparing meals. Eynon used his finger to write a note.

  Getting gold to bribe raiders not to attack.

  “Short and sweet,” said Nûd, “and it gets your point across.”

  “Short, maybe,” said Eynon. “But not sweet. If that’s what I’d wanted, I would have written the message with honey.”

  Nûd shook his head and laughed.

  “Mount up and lead Rocky across the hall,” said the big man. “I’ll open the doors at the far end.”

  “Get away from that flour, Chee!” said Eynon.

  The raconette climbed up to Rocky’s neck. Nûd walked through the gate ahead of them and opened the doors to the courtyard. Eynon found his seat on the wyvern’s back and guided the big beast through the banquet hall and outside. Nûd closed the doors, clambered up and got himself secured. Rocky pranced around the castle’s courtyard, flexing his wings and stretching after squeezing through the narrow storeroom and hall earlier.

  Eynon created a ball of tasty solidified sound magic for the wyvern, but his mind kept drifting back to Merry. Maybe he’d contact her in an hour or two instead of waiting until tonight. There’d be plenty of time for a call while they were waiting for the gold dust to accumulate in his collection cylinders.

  Merry must really be in my head, thought Eynon as he directed Rocky upward after the ball of solidified sound. I almost thought I saw her waving from one of the castle windows.

  Chapter 9

  Damon and Merry

  “It stinks!” said Merry. “And it’s cold.”

  “Welcome to Melyncárreg and the Academy,” said Damon.

  “Do you live here?” asked Merry. “How do you stand it?”

  “I stand it quite well, child. It’s been my home for forty-five years.”

  Damon’s tone was prickly at first, then it softened.

  “You’ll get used to the smell.”

  “I doubt that,” said Merry.

  She turned around and saw a tall archway painted on the wall behind her. Hundreds of green vines and acanthus leaves were twining around arched, faux-granite stones. It seemed a fitting representation for a congruent gateway to somewhere in Tamloch. Merry watched as the dark cellar at the Blue Whale faded out, replaced by a painted scene of a cascading, ribbon-like waterfall next to colorful cliffs. The gate had closed.

  Merry started to shiver. It was almost freezing in the narrow room, which didn’t have a carpet or rushes on the floor. Damon was standing beside an open door leading out to some sort of corridor.

  “Come along,” said the old wizard. “We’re headed for my study and I’ll light a fire if Nûd has brought up any firewood.”

  “Fercha’s son lives here?” asked Merry as she followed Damon down a dim hallway.

  “He does,” said Damon.

  They went down a winding staircase and along another hall before Damon opened a door and entered a room. He held the door for Merry then closed it against the chill. They were in a much warmer room—in furnishings, if not yet in temperature.

  A fireplace sat between two tall windows overlooking a courtyard. In the center of the room was a large desk overflowing with inkpots and leaves of parchment. Several quills were arrayed haphazardly next to a penknife with a blue stone handle. An oval two-sided mirror in a rotating gold stand was in one corner of the desk. She was pleased to see that firewood had been set in the fireplace.

  “Light the fire,” said Damon. “I’ve got to learn the latest news from Nova Eboracum before I gate there.”

  Merry focused her will and her magestone to heat the tinder under the logs in the fireplace until it burst into flame. Tongues of fire reached up to lick at the logs. The study got warmer immediately. Damon pulled the mirror closer to him and muttered something too low for Merry to hear. Then he spoke louder.

  “Also scout ahead before you use a congruent gate if you can,” said Damon. “It’s unwise to jump into an unknown situation.”

  “Is that an epigram for your next book?”

  Damon found a small piece of blank parchment in the chaos on his desk, dipped a quill in an inkpot, and jotted down a few words.

  “It is now,” he said.

  An image was forming in the mirror—a hooded woman who could only be seen in shades of gray.

  “Is that you, Tempora?” asked Damon.

  “Who else would it be on our private connection, old man?” asked the woman. “Though for all you know I could be Laetícia.”

  Merry listened closely, without allowing any part of her person to show in the mirror. She smiled at the code name—a gray lady in Nova Eboracum named Tempora was more than a bit melodramatic.

  “Laetícia would be more honey and less vinegar, dear lady,” said Damon. “Speaking of the provincial spymaster—and her husband—do you have any news from the palace? Is there anything I should know before I gate in to reconnoiter?”

  “First Fercha and Doethan, then you?” asked Tempora. “Nova Eboracum will need to open an inn just for visiting senior Dâron wizards.”

  “The two of them are in the city?”

  “Not any more,” said Tempora. “They just left. My contact is one of the governor’s servants and he said they were just sent through a gate to Brendinas after having breakfast with Quintillius and Laetícia. He also overheard something about getting King Dârio to agree to terms for help from Occidens Province or having his brains boiled.”

  “I can imagine Fercha saying that very thing,” said Damon. “It sounds like they’re a step ahead of me and I won’t need to go to Nova Eboracum after all.”

  “If the young king gets mulish, it might be wiser for you to head for Brendinas as well,” said the shadowed woman. “My man also heard talk of two legions and sixty wizards marching and flying there, trying to arrive ahead of the dragonship raiders.”

  “Dârio doesn’t listen to the Conclave or his privy council,” said Damon. “Why would he listen to me?”

  “There is a certain mystique that goes along with being the near-mythical Master Mage of the kingdom,” said Tempora. “You could be a subtle voice of reason appealing to his ego to counterbalance Fercha’s more direct approach.”

  “From what I’ve heard, Dârio and reason parted ways when he took the throne,” said Damon. “I’m more inclined to hold him down while Fercha fries him—if I could stand to be within a furlong of the woman.”

  “Will you ever tell me what your feud with Fercha is about?” asked Tempora.

  “No,” said Damon. “It’s personal.”

  “You didn’t sleep with her, did you?”

  Merry watched Damon’s face turn red and saw a vein throbbing in his neck. Then he caught himself and controlled his response.

  “No. That’s ridiculous.”

  “I’m not that much older than Fercha and I’d sleep with you,” said Tempora.

  “You just want to count me on your tally board,” said Damon. “Have you slept with more than half the men in the provincial senate yet?”

  “What makes you think I’d restrict myself to the men?” asked Tempora.

  “My mistake,” said Damon.

  Merry smiled and made sure not to lean too close to see more of Tempora’s face in the mirror. She knew the woman would use her presence as an excuse to tease Damon further.

  “Thank you for your kind offer,” Damon continued. “If my heart had room for another, I’d be glad to take you up on it.”

  “Your loss,” said Tempora. “My offer remains open if you ever change your mind.”

/>   Damon smiled and nodded and shook his head the same way her father did when Merry asked Derry about his years in court after the previous war between Dâron and Tamloch.

  What good was having a life if there were large parts of it you wanted to forget? thought Merry. After a few seconds to reflect, she considered how she’d feel if anything happened to Eynon and felt more charitable toward Damon and her da.

  “Thanks again for the information,” said Damon. “It will keep me from making an unnecessary trip to Nova Eboracum.”

  “Glad to assist,” said Tempora, “Though if you changed your mind about my offer, you might find frequent trips here necessary.”

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re incorrigible?” asked Damon.

  “I can’t remember a day when someone hasn’t,” said Tempora.

  “Let me know if you ever add Quintillius Martius Africanus to your tally sheet.”

  Merry was pleased to hear a smile back in the old wizard’s voice after his earlier melancholy.

  “I’m adventurous, not suicidal,” said Tempora. “Laetícia would cover my naked corpse in plaster and set it up on a plinth near the palace baths to remind her husband of his folly if I tried.”

  “I didn’t think Laetícia was the jealous type,” said Damon.

  “She’s not,” said Tempora. “The plaster statue option is only if I tried to sleep with him behind her back. As spymaster for the province she has certain professional standards to uphold.”

  “Good to know,” said Damon, chuckling under his breath. “You never fail to amuse me, dear lady.”

  “I’d do more than that if you’d…”

  “I’ve got to go. Best regards to your family.”

  “Goodbye, you old…”

  Damon cut contact with a gesture and Tempora’s shadowy image vanished from the mirror. He looked over at Merry and saw her grinning.

  “What?” he said.

  “I always forget that old people have sex, too.”

  “Every new generation thinks it’s invented the concept without thinking through the reason for their own existence,” said the old mage.