by Rick Cook
"Are you all right, Lord?" Wiz opened his eyes and realized that the man on top of him was Donal.
"Fine," he gasped. "I’m fine."
Donal rolled off Wiz and climbed to his feet. Wiz started to rise and fell back, gasping in pain..
"My shoulder. I’ve done something to my shoulder."
Moira came running across the drill yard, skirts flying.
"Are you all right?"
"I"ve hurt my shoulder."
Moira knelt beside him and ran her fingers lightly over the injured joint. "It is separated." She looked up at Donal. "Help me get his tunic off and I will fix it."
"It would be better if we let the healers handle it."
Moira’s green eyes flashed. "Are you saying I cannot heal a shoulder separation?"
Donal met her gaze levelly. "No Lady, only that Bronwyn or one of the others can do it better."
Moira started to snap back, then with a visible effort, she relaxed. "You are right, of course. Send one of your men for her, and quickly."
"Already done, My Lady."
"Oh shit," Wiz muttered, "this hurts."
Moira rested her hand gently on the injured shoulder. "I know, my love. But Bronwyn will be here quickly enough. Try to relax and do not move."
Behind them Shamus was examining the post where it had snapped off. "Rotten wood," he said, wrinkling his nose. He broke a piece off and crumbled it in his fingers. "This needed replacing months ago, and probably all the rest besides."
Arianne knelt by the post, her brown eyes fixed on the break. "Yes," she said and reached up with slender fingers to caress the broken spot. "Yes, they should all be examined most carefully."
Bal-Simba was in his private study when Arianne found him a few hours later.
"You heard that Wiz nearly brought the marshal’s stand down on himself on the drill field this afternoon?" she said without preamble.
Bal-Simba grunted. "I heard. Besides all else, our Sparrow is clumsy."
"He is that," she said tonelessly.
Bal-Simba looked up and gave his lieutenant his full attention.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning I examined that post just after the accident. The wood was old and beetle-bored, waiting to fail. So I went back and looked at the place on the parapet where he slipped the other day. It was damp and somewhat slick. There was nothing obviously unusual about either the post or the place on the parapet."
Bal-Simba waited.
"I could find no definite trace of magic about either the post or the damp spot. There seemed to be a hint of—something—about the post, but if it was indeed there it was so faint I could not be sure."
"You obviously think there is more to this than simple accidents," Bal-Simba said. "What?"
Arianne paused, choosing her words carefully. "Lord, I think someone is trying to kill Wiz by magic."
* * *
When Bronwyn finally released him, Wiz went looking for Donal. He found him alone in the armory, replacing a strap on his chain mail hauberk by the light of a magic globe.
"I wanted to thank you for this evening," Wiz told him. "You saved my life, I think."
"So clumsily you needed the attention of a healer to put your shoulder right," Donal said wryly.
"I’m alive and that’s the important thing. Thank you."
Donal stared down at the new strap. "As you saved mine beneath the City of Night."
"Still…"
"Lord, if you wish think of it as payment of a debt." He turned back to the job of threading the strap into place.
"You know, I think about the time we spent at Heart’s Ease. You, I, Kenneth and Shiara." His mouth twisted into a half-smile. "Back when there was a clear, simple job to do and all we had to do was do it."
"Yes, Lord," Donal said without looking up from tying the strap into the chain mail.
"Now everything’s so complicated and there’s so much more to it." He sighed. "What do you do when you’re overwhelmed?"
"You do the best you can for as long as you can, Lord."
"And then?"
Donal jerked the strap tight and looked up. "Then, My Lord, you put your back to something and go down fighting."
"I don’t think that really applies here," Wiz said.
Donal fixed him with his icy blue eyes. "Lord, I hope you are never in a situation where it does apply."
* * *
"Subtle," Bal-Simba said at last. "Subtle indeed. But so subtle it is not sure."
Arianne smiled nervously. "If you mean to make me doubt my suspicions, Lord, you may spare yourself the effort. I do not know if I believe this or not."
"Oh, it is believable," Bal-Simba rumbled. "Overt magic in this place would be too easy to detect—and to trace back to its source. Wiz is known to be clumsy and an accident would be easy to accept. An attack using just the tiniest of magics to set up a mischance could perhaps pass unnoticed. And if the first one did not succeed, the next one might, or the next after that."
"That is my thinking, Lord."
He shook his head. "We have grown lax, Lady. With the Dark League broken we have let down our guard."
"You suspect the Dark League?"
"Who else? They are not all gone, after all, and those who are left would have ample reason for harming our Sparrow."
"There is one other thing, Lord."
"Eh?"
"I did not come by this on my own. Another first suggested the idea to me—before today."
"Who?"
"June, the orphan servant girl. She is convinced Wiz is in danger."
"How is your shoulder?" Moira asked as soon as Wiz came in.
"Fine now." He windmilled the arm. "See?"
"I am glad," she said quietly.
"What’s the mater?" he asked, dreading the answer.
Moira bit hr lip. "Wiz, we have to talk."
"All right." I’m losing her, he thought. I’m blowing it and I’m going to lose her.
"I am sorry, I cannot go on like this."
"I know. I’ve got to stop ignoring you."
"Wiz, you are killing yourself," Moira said desperately. "Your ignoring me, that I could live with—I think. It is in a good cause. But you are burning yourself out trying to do too much."
"I’ve got to do it. Bal-Simba won’t let me off the Council and we’ve got to have a version of the spell compiler anyone can use."
Moira bit her lip and considered. This wasn’t just about her needs. As a hedge witch she had been inculcated with the idea that service to the community came before personal needs. The whole World needed Wiz and what he could do. She pushed her feelings to the back and tried to look at the situation as the helper of one of the Mighty with an important task to perform.
Wiz, lost in his thoughts, missed the shift completely. "I dunno," he sighed. "Sometimes I think it’s getting worse instead of better."
"Worse than you know," the redheaded witch said. "There are some who claim you hide your secrets from us behind a veil of deliberate obscurity. That in this way your power among us grows."
"Oh, bullshit! Look, I’m doing the best I can, all right? But I’m a rotten teacher and these people are so dense."
"Some of the wisest and most powerful of our wizards have placed themselves under your tutelage," Moira said sharply. "Are you so superior that they cannot learn the most elementary matters?"
"Of course not! But you people don’t think the way we do. I know they’re trying but they just don’t pick up the concepts."
"I understand that," Moira said more gently. "I remember what it was like when you tried to teach me this new magic. But Wiz, it makes problems for everyone."
"At least the ordinary people seem to appreciate what I’m doing. We’ve already got a few spells out there that anyone can use. ddt, the magic repellent spell, is everywhere and that’s solved a lot of problems. But I can’t do many more of those until I get the tools built. Meanwhile, I’m trying to teach the system to people who hate it and wasting time sitting i
n Council meetings listening to endless debates on nothing much."
Moira nodded sympathetically. Wiz was like a blacksmith with a good supply of iron and charcoal but no tools. Given time he could make his own tools, but until he got them made, there was very little else he could do. She wasn’t used to thinking of a spell as a thing built up of parts like a wagon, but by analogy she could understand the situation.
"If I could just get the other wizards to see that and take me seriously, I’d be a lot further along. Instead I have Ebrion claiming the spell compiler doesn’t work at all!"
"But doesn’t ddt show Ebrion and the others that your way of magic works?"
"It doesn’t penetrate. They see it as a clever hack and claim it’s like a non-magician using an enchanted item."
"But you created it!"
He shrugged. "So I’m a great magician. Any great magician could come up with something like that, they say. It’s all an accident."
"They should have been in the dungeons beneath the City of Night when you broke the Dark League single-handed!"
"They weren’t. Most of them didn’t find out about the attack until the day it happened and they never had a really clear picture of what was going on. Besides, they claim it only proves my magic was so alien the Dark League didn’t know what to expect."
Moira said something very unladylike under her breath.
Wiz made a face. "Look, the truth is they don’t see it because they don’t want to see it. I can’t fight that—at least not until I’ve got better tools and can teach some more people to use them."
He sighed. "I don’t know. I feel as if I’m being nibbled to death by ducks. If I could just put everything else aside and concentrate on writing code I could get this done. But the way it is now," he waved his hand helplessly over the books. "The way it is now I’ve got so many other things happening I just can’t stay with anything long enough to accomplish anything."
"Perhaps you could."
"Yeah, but I’ve got to have trained helpers. Until I get some people who understand this kind of magic I can’t do half the critical stuff."
Suddenly Moira brightened. "I have it!" She turned to Wiz excitedly. "You need help, do you not?"
"Yeah," Wiz sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I need help."
"And there are many in your land who can do what you do?"
"More or less."
"Then the thing to do is to have the Council bring others to your aid. With the Dark League broken they can do a Great Summoning easily enough and…"
"No!" Wiz snapped around, shaking her arm off his shoulders.
Moira turned white and flinched back as if he had struck her.
"I’m sorry," Wiz said. "I didn’t mean to scare you. But no, I’m not going to have that on my conscience."
"Look, what Patrius did to me was a damn dirty trick." He took one of her hands in both of his. "I’ll admit it worked out well in the end, but it was still a terrible thing to do. Even with you and all the rest I still get homesick sometimes." He grinned lopsidedly. "There are times I’d trade almost everything for a sausage, pepperoni and mushroom pizza."
He took her in his arms. "Look darling, I know you mean well, but I can’t let you do that to someone else. Promise me you won’t try to yank someone else through."
Moira blinked back tears. "Very well." She tapped herself on the chest with her fist. "I swear I will not use a Great Summoning to bring someone else here from your world."
"And that you won’t influence anyone else to do it either."
She glared at him, but she swore.
"I’ll have to ask Bal-Simba to swear that oath tomorrow," he said, releasing her arms.
She stood up straight. "Very well then. What will you do?"
"It’ll work out," Wiz mumbled. "I’ll think of something."
"What? What will you do?"
"Something! Look, leave me alone, will you?" He shook her arm from his shoulder angrily.
Moira stood stiff and straight. "Very well, My lord." She turned and ran from the room.
Wiz half rose to follow her and then thought better of it. He sank back to the bench and turned his attention to the book in front of him.
Let her work it off, he told himself. She’ll come back when she’s calmed down some. It wasn’t a very attractive solution but it was the best he could think of at the moment.
Moira slammed the door behind her and stormed down the hall, the cloak she had hastily grabbed slung over her arm. By the time she reached the stairs she was crying openly. She paused at the landing to throw the cloak about her and raise the hood to hide her tears, then swept out into the main court.
She did not see the figure in the shadows at the foot of the stairs.
Well, well, Pryddian thought as Moira went past. Trouble in the Sparrow’s nest. He smiled to himself and continued down the corridor.
Five: Shiarra Again
Living with a programmer is easy. All you need is the patience of a saint.
programmers’ wives’ saying
Like the original Heart’s Ease, the new one was a stone tower with an attached hall. The stones of the tower still bore traces of the fire which had destroyed the original and the hewn logs of the halls shone white and new. The freshly raised building exuded the odor of woods; the faint sweet smell of oak from the floors and paneling, the resiny tang of pine from the walls and rafters and the perfume of cedar wafting down from the shingles that roofed the hall.
Gliding through the hall like a swan, Shiara the Silver absorbed it all. She could not see, but she could smell and she could touch. What she sensed pleased her very much.
The warmth streaming in through the diamond-paned windows told her the day was bright and sunny. Perfect for sitting outside and enjoying the feel of the summer breezes.
She smiled. It was somewhat lonely here without Ugo, her goblin companion killed in the raid that destroyed Heart’s Ease. Then Wiz and Moira had gone. But the forest folk took good care of her and Heart’s Ease was still well named. It would be pleasant to sit in the sun, feel the breeze and smell the growing things.
Suddenly she stiffened as the presence of magic sent a sharp pain through her.
Either very near and very weak, or not too near and stronger. She considered again. The Forest Folk were careful of her and would not allow magic to approach Heart’s Ease without warning her. Further away, then.
She heard the light pit-pat of tiny feet on the floor. "A visitor, Lady," the little creature said. "She is asking for you."
Shiara nodded, stately and graceful. "Make her welcome then. I will receive her here."
As the sound of tiny feet faded into the distance Shiara smiled once more. She had company. Obviously one of the Mighty since she had come on the Wizard’s Way. It would be pleasant to talk magic and lore once more. Shiara was no longer of the Mighty. The accident that had deprived her of her sight left her hypersensitive to magic. Living as she did in the deadest Dead Zone in the North, Shiara was spared the pain of magic, but it also meant she was isolated from the World. Still, she enjoyed sitting and talking about what had once been so central to her life. Besides, it was a chance to catch up on the news from the Capital.
"Lady?" came a tremulous voice from the door.
"Moira?" The voice was so strained it was hard to recognize. "Merry met indeed."
"Merry met." Then a pause.
"Lady, I need help and I did not know where else to turn," Moira said miserably.
"… and there you have it, Lady. I could not stand it, so I went away."
Moira and her hostess sat on a log bench outside the rebuilt keep of Heart’s Ease. The night was mild and the moon near full above them. Both had cloaks, but they were only sitting on them rather than wrapping up in them. The moonlight picked out the glistening tear streaks down Moira’s cheeks.
"Lady, I do not know what to do. There is no living with him and I’m miserable without him."
Shiara could not see the tears,
but she heard them in Moira’s voice.
"Do you love him?" she asked gently.
Moira sniffed. "You know I do, Lady. And I know he loves me. But that doesn’t solve everything."
"It never does," Shiara said with a sigh.
Moira hesitated and Shiara heard her skirt rustle against her cloak as she turned toward her.
"Lady did you and Cormac…"
Shiara paused at the mention of her dead lover and quest companion, killed in the same accident that took her sight and magic. "… ever fight?" Shiara finished the question. "Oh, aye. Often and fiercely. He would stamp and bellow and bang his fist and I would scream like a fishwife and throw things. Crockery mostly." She smiled at the memory.
"That is not part of the legends, is it? Still, it is true. I think a necessary part of loving someone—loving them enough to share your life with them—is being able to have it out with them when needs be."
She put her hand on Moira’s shoulder. "You are strong willed, both of you, and neither is easy. I would be surprised if you did not fight."
"But it doesn’t seem to settle anything," Moira said despairingly. "We argue and nothing gets any better."
"Now that is another matter," Shiara said.
Shiara turned her sightless eyes to her guest. "I do not know that I am the person to advise you. I had little experience in such matters."
"You and Cormac were as famous for your love as for your deeds." She saw the look that crossed Shiara’s face. "I’m sorry, Lady, I did not mean to pain you."
"Little enough pain in remembering the times you were happy, child." She shook herself.
"Since you want my advice," she went on practically, "the first thing I suggest is that you start with yourself."
"I have done all I can, Lady."
"Forgive me, that is not quite what I meant. From what you say, it sounds as if you have submerged yourself in the Sparrow and his work. You have told me much of him and his problems, but near nothing about you and what you do. It seems that as Wiz has risen in the World you have come down."