The Western Wizard

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Santagithi rubbed away the tear dribbling across his cheek, holding back the ones that tried to follow. Turning, he left the room. He closed the door and continued toward the strategy chamber.

  When Santagithi entered, he found Shadimar sitting in one of the ten high-backed chairs set around the table. Flicking the door closed, Santagithi passed his usual seat at the head of the table, choosing one beside the Wizard. He tossed the Vikerian’s message in front of Shadimar before he could speak. “Read this.” Santagithi sat.

  Shadimar uncurled the parchment and read. Long after he must have finished, he stared at the page, thinking or rereading.

  Santagithi’s fists clenched while he waited.

  At length, Shadimar rerolled the message. “Santagithi, you have a decision to make.” He offered no counsel.

  Nor did Santagithi request any. “I wish I did have a decision. But I’m afraid King Tenja made it for me when he wrote this letter. I won’t give him Colbey. Even if I were base enough to betray a friend, how long would it be before the Northmen demanded my daughter, Rache’s son, and my grandson?” He met Shadimar’s stony eyes. “I’ll send every Northman to their Hel by my own hand before I’ll turn over my family.” He slammed his fist on the tabletop, the blow quivering through fingers that, clenched too long, had fallen asleep.

  “You still have a decision.” Shadimar stroked his beard, his voice calm despite Santagithi’s pounding. “How will you answer King Tenja’s letter? I suggest you choose your words with care.”

  Santagithi slid back his chair.

  “You could still avoid a war.”

  Santagithi rose, head shaking. “I’m afraid that, at this juncture, I can do little more than delay it. Unless you have the words I can’t seem to find.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.” Shadimar’s gaze followed Santagithi’s movement. “But I don’t think I have to tell the West’s prime strategist that, as much as Northmen war against one another, when one tribe fights an outside enemy, they all band together. If you start a war, you will not fight Vikerin. You will fight the Northlands.”

  Santagithi walked to his seat at the head of the table. Opening a drawer in the table that he knew well, he withdrew several sheets of parchment, a quill, a bottle of ink, and sealing wax. Closing the drawer, he sat in his usual seat. Nothing the Wizard had said came as a surprise to him.

  “You have no nearby allies. I’m afraid the armies of the civilized West may not help you. I heard things that make me believe that the new king in Pudar doesn’t like Colbey. Or you, for that matter.”

  Santagithi’s elbows bored into the tabletop, and he wished Colbey’s audience in Prince Verrall’s tent had progressed more smoothly.

  “I believe Sterrane would assist you. But his kingdom is at the exact opposite end of the Westlands. It would take months for you to send a message and many more for him to send an army. And I believe he’ll find himself beset with troubles of his own.”

  “As a new king restoring an old line, he may still have his own battles to fight.” Santagithi took the quill in hand. “I understand that.”

  “There is one other thing to consider.” The Eastern Wizard paused for some time.

  Santagithi turned his gaze, as well as his attention to Shadimar.

  “Colbey is old. And he would love to die fighting Northmen. If you showed this note to him, he might make the decision to leave. Surely, King Tenja could not hold it against you if Colbey attacked on his own initiative.”

  “No!” Santagithi refused to consider such an option. “Colbey came to me to give him a safe place to train his people. Right or wrong, directly or indirectly, every one of his people is related to me. And I still believe that, after Colbey’s death, the Northmen will come for Mitrian and the boys. The Renshai need Colbey to teach them to defend themselves against Northmen.” He tapped the quill against the parchment, considering. “I can’t let myself or this town get bullied by Northmen holding a stupid grudge that lost pertinence long ago.” Without awaiting a reply, Santagithi wrote:

  King Tenja:

  I received your note and have shown your messenger the courtesy a valued ally deserves. Your words recalled memories of the Great War, where both of our armies fought side by side, neither giving ground.

  It pains me to think any action of mine might have earned your disfavor. You may rest peacefully, knowing that no threat against my house will go un-avenged; and I will deal with Colbey as he deserves.

  Santagithi

  Santagithi passed the note to Shadimar, waiting while the Eastern Wizard perused it. “And I believe Colbey deserves to be treated as any trusted friend.” He added, “Would you translate to Northern?”

  “Of course.” Shadimar nodded. “I don’t envy your position. If it makes you feel any better, I believe your stand is sound and honorable, though it may kill you. I hope things go well.”

  Santagithi picked up the ink, parchment, and sealing wax, carrying them to Shadimar. “I only ask that you don’t mention Tenja’s letter to anyone. Especially not to Colbey.”

  “I will do as you ask.” Shadimar smoothed a blank piece of parchment on the tabletop. “When I’m finished rewriting, I have to go home. I have business to attend. I can’t help you in battle; but if you send for me, I will come.”

  “Thank you.” Santagithi’s gaze played over the many maps that papered his walls, coming to rest on the area north of the Granite Hills. The few passes through the miniature but rugged mountains gave him a million ideas for strategy. And he hoped he would need to use none of them.

  CHAPTER 12

  Mind Powers

  Rain spilled from the autumn sky, drummed against the canopy of leaves, and dribbled into the practice clearing. Droplets trickled clumps of gold-white hair into Colbey’s face, plastering it to his cheeks and forehead, but he paid this discomfort no heed. His attention remained on his three students and the maneuvers he had given each one. Mitrian performed long, intricate katas with a smoothness and skill that proved she had drilled in her absence. Rache kept his sword sheathed, repeating a dodge that formed the basis for one of the first Renshai maneuvers. Episte executed a choreographed strike with a grace that made it seem as if the move had been created for him.

  Colbey smiled, pleasure spiraling through him, certain that this mixed band could form a tribe. Each had his or her own strengths, and each would bring his talent to the reformation of the Renshai. Mitrian knew a dedication and agility few could match. Rache threw his all into every lesson, needing to oblige his torke with the same exuberance as the original Renshai. Episte had talents that came so easily and naturally that, even when the boys became old enough that the two years between them made little difference, Episte would always remain a step ahead of Rache. Colbey hoped Rache’s determination would stimulate him to work even harder to try to best his near-sibling. Perhaps the competitive spirit would touch even Episte.

  Damp tinged the air, keeping the clearing close but cool. Episte performed another perfect sequence, then sheathed his sword. He headed for a deadfall at the clearing’s edge.

  Surprised by the boy’s bold defiance, Colbey stepped directly into Episte’s path. “Where are you going?” He used the Renshai tongue.

  Episte looked up at his teacher, yellow hair falling into his eyes, the rivulets twining across his face mingling rain and sweat. “There.” He pointed to the log.

  “Have you performed hastivillr a million times?”

  “At least, torke.” Episte sounded sincere. “Maybe two million.” He pawed hair from his face.

  To Colbey’s count, it was closer to ten, but he did believe the child needed to move on to something more difficult. “Then I will teach you another.”

  “In a little while, torke.”

  Colbey did not give ground. Endurance was as much a part of his teachings as swiftness and strength. “Now.”

  “No!” Episte stomped his foot. His voice turned to a whine, and he slipped back into the Western trading language. “I
practiced five million billion times and—”

  Colbey cut him off. “Use Renshai.”

  Episte’s speech slowed. “I’m sleep almost. And not thirsty. Too not thirsty. The day is rabbit.”

  “Stop.” Colbey remained between Episte and the log, trying to meet the child’s eyes. Though on the shorter side of average, Colbey stood twice the boy’s height. “You’re not making sense. Slow down. Tell me what you’re trying to say, and I’ll translate for you.”

  Episte whined. “I’m tired. I want to rest. I’m cold and wet.”

  Enraged by the child’s complaints, Colbey snapped his mouth closed.

  Episte glanced up, studied the anger on Colbey’s face, and returned his gaze to his feet.

  Colbey spoke slowly, emphasizing each word, though he kept his voice too soft for the others to hear. “I will not translate that into Renshai, because no Renshai would say such a thing.” He studied the boy’s tiny hands, already a man’s fist, scarred with calluses. “Is this what you would tell your enemies?” He simulated Episte’s whimpering. “I can’t fight back anymore because it’s raining and I’m tired.”

  Episte fixed eyes as blue and deep as the Amirannak Sea on Colbey. “My mommy says that when I’m tired, I should rest. I’m just a little boy.”

  Colbey felt a hot flush of fury, which he quickly controlled. “Your mother, gods love her, has never been in combat, and I hope she never is. If you learn to quit when you get tired, you will die when you get tired. You’re not a little boy; you’re a Renshai. Soon enough, you’ll become a man.”

  Episte’s face screwed into an indignant knot.

  Recognizing the first signs of a rising tantrum, Colbey distracted the boy. He whipped his left sword from its sheath, jabbing it so close to Episte’s side that it pressed his tunic against his skin.

  Though the killing thrust would already have landed, Episte sprang backward, pulling his own weapon free. Colbey swept high, and Episte met the stroke with a block. Immediately, Colbey reversed the direction of his cut. The tip of his blade licked under Episte’s grip, catching one of the protrusions of the crossguard. He jerked back, sending the weapon spinning from the boy’s hand. Episte retreated defensively.

  Colbey caught the hilt of Episte’s sword in midair. In the same motion, he tossed it back to its wielder. “Now—”

  Episte caught the leather-wrapped hilt effortlessly. The instant his fingers curled around the grip, he charged his teacher in anger.

  Pleased by his student’s sudden exuberance, Colbey laughed. He parried aside Episte’s sword. The commitment of the boy’s attack sent him skidding past his target. He spun, but not quickly enough. The flat of Colbey’s sword slapped his back twice before he came fully around.

  Despite his attention to Episte, Colbey noted a movement at the corner of his vision. Shadimar stepped into the clearing, his long, lean form unmistakable.

  Episte slashed, his strokes powerful. Temper stole precision from the techniques, and Colbey dodged the deadly cuts easily. He had taught his students to treat every spar with him as a real combat, trusting his own skill to keep any blade from landing. In fifty years, no student had so much as scratched him. “Hold.” Attention turned toward Shadimar, Colbey met Episte’s frantic upstroke. He parried it in a circle, stepping beneath the crossed blades. Casually catching Episte’s hilt, he wrested it from the child’s hand.

  Shadimar approached, Secodon padding silently through the clearing behind him.

  “What can I do for you?” Annoyance colored Colbey’s politeness. Strangers observing a Renshai practice session disturbed him. Interrupting one verged on criminal.

  Shadimar’s expression seemed even more serious than usual. “We need to talk.”

  “Fine. I’ll see you tonight, after I’ve trained my students and finished my own practice.”

  “We need to talk now.”

  Colbey frowned. He would not have wasted a moment considering such a demand from anyone else. Shadimar is my brother, he reminded himself. “It can’t wait?”

  Shadimar dodged the question. “I’m leaving for home immediately after our talk. I have research and work I need to do. The longer I wait to talk, the angrier I’ll get.”

  Already prepared to give one student a lecture on controlling his temper, Colbey interrupted. “The angrier you get, the longer you’ll wait.”

  “You won’t like facing an angry Wizard.” Shadimar’s quiet threat made it clear he would not banter words.

  Colbey kept his irritation in check. He returned Episte’s sword, offering it hilt first.

  Episte accepted the weapon, clutching it, waiting for Colbey to finish.

  The elder Renshai sheathed his own blade. “Very well.” He called to Mitrian. “Show Episte ulvstikk, and keep him working until I get back.” He turned to Shadimar, his words meant more for the Eastern Wizard than for Mitrian. “This won’t take long.”

  Without replying, Shadimar turned, headed into the woods and back toward town. Colbey trailed after, the wolf at his side. Secodon’s ears were swept back to his head, and his hackles spread stiffly. Apparently something had upset the wolf, or else it just echoed the Wizard’s mood.

  Shadimar stopped at the edge of the woods. The sparser arrangement of trees allowed glimpses of cottages between the trunks. Rain pounded through the thinner interlace of branches, soaking Wizard, wolf, and Renshai. Colbey’s tunic clung wetly to his skin.

  Shadimar leaned against a trunk. His gray eyes studied Colbey coldly.

  In no mood for another battle of words, Colbey went right to the point. “What can I do for you, Brother?”

  “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  Annoyed by the vagueness of the statement, Colbey counted to three before replying. “I would venture to guess there are an unlimited number of things I’m not telling you. Could you be specific, please? I have better things to do than to try to guess your mind.” Colbey seriously considered invading the Eastern Wizard’s thoughts to save time, but he resisted the urge. Even aggravation could not drive him to mistreat a blood brother, and he had to guess that the Wizard would judge such an intrusion as an attack.

  “You have mind powers.”

  Colbey stared, not daring to believe the Wizard had dragged him away from a training session for such a thing. “I have mind powers,” he repeated. “Fine, I’ve told you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  “I shouldn’t have to ask.”

  Colbey snorted. “Shadimar, there’re more than a few things you’ve never told me. Without knowing what you want from me, how can I guess which things to tell you?”

  Shadimar’s voice rose nearly to a shout. “You had to know that a thing so powerful would be of importance to me!”

  “No.” Colbey kept his tone paradoxically calm. “I don’t have to know anything. What’s important to you isn’t always what’s important to me. If it was, you would have asked me to detail sword maneuvers.” He added carefully, “Which I couldn’t, of course. Blood brother or not, you’re no Renshai. Now, what is it you want to know?”

  Shadimar dropped his offended expression for one of eager interest. “Where did you get these powers? When did they start?”

  “Childhood.” Colbey leaned against an elm. “It’s part of the Renshai training to learn to control the body with the mind.”

  “But not to read minds.”

  “True.”

  “Yet you stole my words.”

  Colbey had done this to people for so long he hated the need to explain it now. “I steal everyone’s words.”

  “You do?” Shadimar seemed shocked.

  “I do.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  The comment seemed even sillier than the previous one. “Which word didn’t you understand? ‘I’ or ‘do’?” Colbey glowered. “If you’re going to question my integrity, don’t bother to talk to me. There’s
little honor more consistent or treasured than that of Renshai. How many races do you know who would rather face extinction than loss of principle? Even the Northmen who massacred the Renshai admitted that none ran from them. Not one Renshai wore armor or hid behind a shield of any kind. No Renshai hurled rocks, arrows, nor any other cowards’ weapons. No Renshai—”

  “I’m not questioning your integrity!” Shadimar roared. Though not loud, the words carried a depth that silenced Colbey’s defense. “I’ve been a Cardinal Wizard for over two centuries, and I’ve read more history than men know exists. In all that time, I have never personally, or through reading, discovered any man nor even any Wizard who could read mortals’ minds.”

  The revelation held Colbey quiet.

  “Now can you understand when I say it makes no sense?”

  Colbey nodded, too many questions occurring to him to ask them all at once. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know if this makes a difference, but I don’t actually read minds. More often, people’s thoughts come to me, and I speak them. Sometimes the meaning of the thought is obvious. Occasionally, it comes to me with enough emotion and detail that I can figure it out. Other times, the thought or emotion comes alone, and I don’t understand it.”

  Shadimar’s brows dropped suddenly, turning his eyes into narrow slits. “So you can’t actually read minds?”

  “‘Can’t’ may be too strong.”