The Wizardry Quested

by Rick Cook

  The pale queen knew neither impatience nor haste. Only the pattern, changing, unfolding, becoming. That was all there was and all there needed to be.

  Twenty-Five

  The Flight of the Old Crow

  The sea was gray, the sty was pale, clear blue and all was quiet. Too quiet.

  I shoulda had the wizard do something about engine noise, Charlie thought as the plane hissed through the air. The AN-2 was as rugged as a steel I-beam, but her Russian designers hadn’t spared any attention for non-essentials like soundproofing. Flying a Colt and being able to hear himself think was a new experience for Charlie. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

  He flicked the intercom switch.

  Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition,

  And wee’lll alllll stayyy freeee.

  None of the demons could sing worth a damn and that wasn’t stopping any of them. In fact they’d been singing constantly since they launched out of the aerie several hours before. They’d started with “Remember Pearl Harbor” and worked their way through a medley of World War II patriotic songs, including a rousing number called “Bomben auf England” that Charlie was sure never graced the messes of the Eighth Air Force. When they reached the end of their repertoire they started over again. It wasn’t such a large repertoire and Charlie had decided long ago he preferred the unnatural silence of the cockpit to the racket in the intercom.

  ###

  Gilligan leaned over the map and put his fists on the table. “Okay, their forces are deploying. We’ve got six, eight, it looks like about ten squadrons of dragons moving into range of Charlie.”

  “What is Dushmann doing?” asked Kuznetzov.

  Gilligan looked puzzled.

  “The enemy,” the Russian explained. “ ‘Dushmann’ means the Enemy.”

  “In the air over the city, not much. There are only scattered indications from the City of Night. It looks as if they only have a few sentries up.” He looked over at Bal-Simba. “I’d bet he’s got forces still on the ground and ready to launch. But the ones that are homing in on Charlie are probably out of the battle. They can’t get back in time.”

  Moira thrust her scaly head between Gilligan and Kuznetzov. “Has Charlie been warned?”

  “He knows they’re there,” the American said dryly.

  Everyone watched silently as the waves of red dots swept toward the lone green diamond.

  ###

  “Six o’clock high,” tail gunner Joe sang out over the intercom. “Bogies. Multiple. They’re going for a beam pass.”

  “I got ’em,” Sparks shouted. “Here they come.”

  Charlie twisted in the seat to catch sight of the attackers. The undead dragons weren’t as smooth as the ones he had seen at the castle. Their formation was ragged, they tended to slew in the turn and their flight was stiff. But all that only made them more menacing. He counted at least six as they swept around in a flat turn to come in on the Colt broadside. On they came, rising and falling slightly in the air currents, growing larger and more sinister as they bored in for the kill. Charlie saw the skeletal riders rise in their saddles to draw their great iron bows.

  Just when it seemed they were too close to matter, Sparks opened up with the waist gun. The undead riders and their zombie mounts were immune to death arrows and hard to stop with dragon fire. They would have laughed at .50-caliber machine gun bullets. Energy bolts were another matter.

  Lances of lightning stabbed toward the attackers. The afterimage burned purple in Charlie’s vision of a dragon arcing its neck back almost on top of its rider in a lambent nimbus of brilliance. Then Tex joined in from the top turret and the brightness became too much to bear. Charlie blinked and shook his head, trying to see. The instrument panel was lost in the dark spots swirling across his vision. He drew a gasping breath and nearly choked on the ozone. The flat crack-crack-crack of the lightning bolts told him Sparks was still firing.

  Suddenly it was quiet again. “Eight in, eight down,” Sparks yelled into the intercom. Charlie looted out the side window and saw two splashes in the ocean below. One of them had a burnt relic that might once have been a wing disappearing at its center.

  Back in the cockpit Gerry O’Demon, his copilot, was holding the controls straight and level as if nothing had happened.

  “Good work, son,” Charlie said into the mike.

  “Don’t get cocky,” came Joe’s growl from the tail position. “We got two more groups on our six.”

  Gerry leaned forward and squinted out the windshield. “Twelve o’clock high!” the demon called. “Multiples. Three squadrons at least. I think more behind those.”

  Charlie’s eyes weren’t as good as the demon’s but when he looked hard he saw them too. He craned his neck left and right seeking more bogies. He didn’t see any but there was an ugly looking thunderhead boiling up a couple of miles off to the left.

  Normally Charlie would have avoided a storm cell like a temperance lecture. But the three squadrons of zombies were coming straight at them. He heard the crack-crack-crack as the squadrons behind them came within range of Tail Gunner Joe’s weapon.

  “Really sporty, huh?” chirped his co-pilot.

  “Tu madre,” Charlie muttered. Then he kicked the rudder hard, shoved the throttle to the firewall and ran for the clouds for all he was worth.

  ###

  Far above, the watching demons scanned everything that came within their purview. They were without emotion or even intelligence. They simply collected sense impressions and transmitted the information through intermediary demons back to the Wizards’ Keep, where it was processed and displayed on the magic map in the war room.

  ###

  Moira thrust her scaly head over Gilligan’s shoulders. “It appears that Charlie has destroyed some of his attackers.”

  “He’s got firepower in that plane,” Jerry said.

  “Every one he takes out is one less we have to worry about,” Kuznetzov added.

  Gilligan peered deeper into the tank. There were a lot of red dots closing in on the lone green diamond. “From the looks of it I’d say we’re going to have plenty to worry about anyway.”

  “Are we ready for the next phase?” asked Bal-Simba.

  Gilligan looked at Kuznetzov and both men shook their heads. “We want them committed as fully as possible before we spring our next little surprise on them.”

  “A while more,” Kuznetzov said.

  Gilligan watched the battle develop and tried not to think about Karin and what she was doing.

  Twenty-Six

  The Executioner

  No sea birds, Karin thought, scanning the gray sky above the gray-green sea. She spared a glance down at the crag. No nests and no signs of them. Not even the deposits of whitewash left by birds using the rocks for fishing lookouts. The place probably smelled better for the lack, but it did not make it any less forbidding.

  The Executioner s attraction was its geography and topography, not natural beauty. There were several reefs and bars within a two-hour dragon flight of the ruined City of Night, none of them big enough or high enough above water to be called islands. But the Executioner had one thing the others lacked: Hiding places. The volcanic rock was laced with crevices, blowholes, fissures and pumice caves that could keep a dragon or two and their riders safe from eyes in the sky.

  Karin and her partner had been here for almost two days now, keeping concealed and waiting for the signal. Karin hugged the jagged rock and stared out over the sullen ocean, scanning from horizon to horizon and back again for any speck that might be an approaching dragon.

  But the sky was as empty as the sea. Finally satisfied, she twisted on the narrow ledge and waved to her companion below.

  Senta was a small, dark woman who was unusual in being both a skilled magician and a dragon rider. Karin was with her as her wingman and to use her scouting skills to keep them undetected and out of trouble until they had done what they came for.

  I wonder where Mick . . . But she pushed the th
ought from her mind and concentrated on the business at hand.

  Down below, back under a lava overhang, Stigi and Senta’s dragons were restive. They didn’t like being on the ground when there were enemies about, and the undead dragons made them nervous besides. Well, that was fine with Karin. She was nervous too. As soon as they completed their job here she would be only too glad to be back in the air and winging her way home.

  ###

  Back in the Wizards’ Keep, the command group around the tank watched in satisfaction. The diversion had worked perfectly. The Enemy had thrown almost all his forces north, out over the Freshened Sea. Now those forces were fully committed and it would take time for the Enemy to recall them. Too much time.

  Of course that also meant that one lone biplane was the focus for every undead dragon and rider the Enemy had in his first wave, and he had a lot of them.

  Gilligan looked at the clocks on the walls. “Okay, initiate phase two.”

  He stared into the tank to watch the aerial ballet he had choreographed unfold. He tried not to think of Karin.

  ###

  Karin spared another glance for Senta, standing now on the black rock and lashed by ocean spray. Now the signal had come and at last, at last they could do something besides wait.

  Senta reached into her pouch and pulled out one of Taj’s Origami dragons. She placed it in the palm of her hand, holding it against the wind with a curled little ringer. She spoke a spell, blew on the bit of folded parchment and tossed it into the air with a cry of “oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh.” As soon as it left her hand it began to grow and change. Now there was a dragon and rider swooping up past Karin to circle over their heads. Even this close the illusion was well-nigh perfect to Karin’s senses, right down to the rush of air on her face as the “dragon” climbed past her. She only hoped it appeared as perfect to the Enemy.

  Below her Senta selected another parchment dragon and repeated the process, this time crying “oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-eye.” The next was “oh-oh-oh-oh-eye-oh” and the one after that “oh-oh-oh-oh-eye-eye,” just as the foreign wizard, the one they called Taj, had instructed her.

  Origami after origami was tossed aloft to shapeshift into the seeming of a dragon and rider and join the circling throng above the rock. Finally the last of the sixty-four “dragons” was launched and named. With a wave of her wand and another one-word spell, she sent the group on its way. As one the dragons sorted themselves out into squadron Vs and climbed toward the south, a non-existent armada flying straight at the Enemy’s stronghold.

  If Karin was impressed by the reality of the seemings, Senta was even more impressed by the magical skill behind them. Such ruses had long been common in battle, but they suffered a fatal flaw. A magician could not control more than one seeming at a time. True, such an illusion could appear to be an army or a horde of dragons, but magically it was all one unit, with but a single true name. A skilled magician could quickly detect the fact and even the greatest of wizards could only control a few such magical entities.

  This group was different. Somehow by naming them as they had been named they had become part of an entity called “array,” each separate, each with its own true name, yet all of them bound to perform collectively by a single spell. To Senta, this was high magic indeed.

  She was still admiring her handiwork when Karin came sliding down the rock to join her.

  “Perfect,” the blond woman said. “Now let’s get out of here before the Enemy decides to investigate this place.”

  Senta looked after her creations winging south. “I wonder why they call them drones when they don’t make any noise at all?”

  “Mick said . . .” Then she stopped, looking north. “Never mind that,” Karin said flatly. “We’ve got a problem.”

  The other turned and saw a ragged line of black dots on the line where gray clouds met gray sea.

  “Back under the rocks, quickly.” Both women sprinted for the shelter of the crevice, hoping against hope that the zombies’ senses were as uncoordinated as their movements.

  Had the seeming been detected so quickly? It had to be an accident, Karin told herself firmly as she pressed against the spray-wet rock. Only by chance had these undead been near at hand when Senta activated the seeming.

  But chance or plan, it put them in a precarious situation. They were caught on the ground, outnumbered and perilously close to the Enemy’s base. If they were spotted . . .

  From her recess in the rock she watched as the ragged V passed perhaps two dragon lengths above the tallest point on the reef, swinging around the crag in jerky precision. For a minute Karin thought the zombies had not seen them.

  Then one by one the zombie dragons peeled off and swooped back toward the island.

  “Shit,” Karin breathed and pressed further back against the rear of the overhang.

  ###

  Gilligan watched the second wave of dummy dragons soar aloft from the Executioner and aim straight for the City of Night. Almost immediately he saw a few ragged dots rise from the city to meet the suddenly-appearing foe.

  “Okay,” he said. “They’re as fully committed as they’re going to get.” He picked up the microphone connected to the communications crystal.

  “Now,” Gilligan said. “Tora Tora Tora.” In the back of his mind he wondered if it had been such a good idea to let Charlie pick the code names. Then he focused on the display to the exclusion of everything else.

  ###

  Charlie was in the middle of a heck of a fight. There had been perhaps ten squadrons of zombie dragons launched against him and the survivors pressed their attack ruthlessly.

  Charlie put on a display of flying that would have been the hit of any air show—and gotten his license lifted immediately by the FAA. He hauled the big biplane around so rightly the whole frame shuddered, giving his gunners belly shots on three and four dragons at once. He dived for the sea and skimmed so low that the following dragons crashed into the waves. He zoomed for altitude and then hit his flaps far above the safe maximum speed so that his pursuers overshot him and fell to his turret gunner. He used every trick in the book and a few that never made it into the book.

  The zombie attackers gave as good as they got and then some. Salvos of arrows struck the plane, without effect. The mechanical damage the iron arrows could do was minor and the plane itself was not complex enough to be killed by their death spells. Dragon fire was something else. In spite of the efforts of his gunners and Charlie’s frantic jinking, the swarm of dragons drew closer and closer, swirling in about him and diving on the aircraft to deliver gouts of fire. The cockpit was magically protected against dragon fire and there was no fuel on board, but the fire of even undead dragons is hotter than a flamethrower.

  Finally, it was all too much. Trailing flame in half-a-dozen places, the AN-2 went down in a flat spin. As the plane hit the water the magic link broke and the green diamond on the display winked out.

  “I don’t suppose . . .” Moira said into the strained silence.

  “We will do what we can,” Bal-Simba said, “but I fear it is not much.” He turned to issue orders to one of the Watchers.

  The others continued to stare numbly into the inky water.

  “I am sorry,” Kuznetzov said at last.

  “Don’t be,” Jerry said quietly. “It was what he wanted.” He looked into the still black water in the bowl. “Maybe more than he ever wanted anything in his life.”

  “At least it will not be in vain,” Moira said. “He has taken us the first step. Now we will continue what he has begun.”

  “Your part approaches, Lady,” Bal-Simba told her. “The others have assembled in the great hall.”

  Gilligan nodded to the Chief Watcher. “You have the watch.”

  Ems inclined his head and stepped to the tank to watch and issue whatever further instructions might be necessary.

  As he followed the others out the door Gilligan’s feelings were decidedly mixed. His training told him he was abandoning his post at a cr
itical time, but his reason told him there was nothing more he could do. Unlike a controller in his own world he didn’t have the capability to shape the battle from here on out. The forces were launched and everything depended on the execution. Now he could go kick ass with impunity.

  Gilligan wasn’t the introspective sort so it never occurred to him to wonder how much of his decision was reason and how much was the driving need to actually do something.

  Perhaps fortunately, he was gone by the time the tank showed the zombies closing in on Karin and Senta.

  ###

  Over the sea north of the City of Night a new battle was shaping up. The Enemy launched the last of its forces to meet the incoming squadrons.

  The zombie squadrons bore north in ragged formation. These were the scrapings of the Enemy’s aerie, and many of the dragons and riders were so badly damaged they could barely fly, much less maintain formation. Still, under command of their guiding intelligence they all climbed and circled as best they could.

  The League dragons came on in a smooth squadron weave. The defenders had height on them and the” sun at their backs. Wings locked, they dove on the intruders.

  A blast of dragon fire and a spark went tumbling from the sky. Another blast and another scrap of burning parchment went fluttering seaward.

  In quick succession they knocked a dozen more “dragons” from the sky, all scraps of parchment.