The Western Wizard

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  The path widened, and the horse’s pace quickened. Arduwyn reveled in the easy roll and bump of the beast’s canter. His mind felt tortured and overused, and he caught his thoughts drifting back to Bel. Her familiar beauty expanded to fill his brain, then her words echoed through his mind to spoil the image. Arduwyn winced, edging his thoughts back to Rache, the effort a struggle. Instead, he concentrated on Sylva, considering the two together. The idea of his only daughter among Renshai did not soothe, and his thoughts edged back to Bel.

  Suddenly, Arduwyn’s horse stumbled. A trigger string snapped beneath its hoof, and pain tore through Arduwyn’s upper leg. Blood rushed from his head, and the world swirled in tight circles. His hands and eye riveted on the site of the pain, a black-fletched arrow lodged in his thigh.

  “Firfan!” Arduwyn reached for the arrow head poking ominously through his inner leg. His movements became clumsy. His leg burned, then numbed. His consciousness fluttered, threatening to disappear. Desperate, he drew free a rope and lashed his injured leg to the saddle. A mantrap. Arduwyn put the events together easily, despite his dizziness. Not set for me. Couldn’t have been set for me. His head grew too heavy to hold. It lolled forward as he attempted to fasten his other leg. His fingers fumbled. The horse seemed to sway beneath him. His hands failed, and oblivion overtook Arduwyn.

  * * *

  Colbey sat on a fallen tree, his elbows pressed to his knees and his chin cupped in his hands. His thighs had gone numb from the pressure of his elbows, and he no longer saw the wind-swirled circle of brown leaves that he had stared at for the last several hours, while his companions slept. He knew only his thoughts, grim and gray, when they should have been exuberant. He studied the new Renshai, assessing their strengths and weaknesses by attitude and the few strokes he had encouraged them to demonstrate the previous evening. Tannin’s sister, Tarah, was soft-spoken and petite, yet she had a bitterness and eager cruelty that suited a Renshai. She would require a long sequence of sword training, but she would learn quickly. Her physical weakness seemed more apparent than Episte’s ever had, especially since she had none of his skill to compensate. She was also with child.

  Tarah’s husband, Modrey, would prove a frustrating student. He possessed no natural dexterity and could never learn the more complicated maneuvers of the Renshai. Of the three, Colbey found Vashi the most talented, a militant teenager with all the ancient Renshai savagery and love for swords. Her enthusiasm, Colbey believed, would one day make her the finest sword master of the group, if it did not kill her first.

  Colbey raised the sword he had claimed from Korgar’s body, and memory of its source made him ill. Genuine Renshai sword, its wielder’s life stolen by a genuine Renshai. A Renshai. The word that had claimed Colbey’s loyalty since birth seemed to have lost all meaning. The cruel practice that had separated the Renshai from their Northern cousins, that had driven them into an exile that had made them the finest swordsmen in existence, was a lie. Through the night, Colbey had plucked a thousand dead friends and relatives from his mind, trying to understand who had found Valhalla and who had not, who he had mourned and who he should have. Other doubts assailed him, shaking the faith he had followed with an allegiance and devotion that denied question. As the first rays of dawn touched the horizon, he wondered what other parts of his religion were a sham.

  Colbey met the new day without joy. He felt weary, an ancient living for decades on borrowed time, as if the gods had simply forgotten him. His three new charges seemed more of a bore than a challenge, another generation of swordsmen gleaning knowledge he could share, another generation of Renshai hated for a crime that had never been a crime at all. New students, old tricks. Seasons would pass and return, and Colbey hoped that he would not see many more. He had become too old.

  As Colbey stared at the pink streaks dawn painted across the gray, a dot of blackness caught his eyes. It spiraled against the backdrop of the horizon, clearly moving toward the party. Curious, he watched as it drew closer, waiting until its shape became identifiable before dismissing it as an inconsequential threat. Gradually, his sharp eyes defined beginning and end, the red, winged silhouette of a falcon. Swiftwing. Colbey did not understand how he knew one bird from thousands any more than he could guess how he had known the Valkyrie. But the unexplained had become too routine to bother him. Standing, he waved the bird to him.

  Swiftwing swooped, calling a raucous greeting, but he did not land. Instead, he looped around Colbey to alight on the grass beside Shadimar. He loosed a deep-throated noise into Shadimar’s ear.

  Secodon growled, bristling. Then, recognizing the source of the noise, he waved his plumed tail. Shadimar rose, and the falcon flapped to his forearm. Colbey watched as the claws sank into the Wizard’s sleeve, drawing no blood.

  Shadimar stripped a piece of parchment from the bird’s leg, and the red falcon watched him with one keen, golden eye, as if to read with him. But the Eastern Wizard only clutched the parchment for several moments, as if afraid to read the message inscribed. Then, slowly, he unfurled it and studied the words in silence. At length, he wadded the parchment in his fist, crumbling it until not a letter of a word could remain. He dismissed the falcon with a decisive gesture that sent the bird coiling into the heavens. The Wizard stared at his hands.

  Colbey approached. As he drew closer, he could feel bitterness trembling through Shadimar, mingled with grief and uncertainty. Through it all wove an undercurrent of rage.

  “What did it say?” Colbey asked politely.

  Shadimar jumped, obviously startled by Colbey’s approach. He turned and headed deeper into the woodlands, beyond sight and sound of the party. The wolf padded after him.

  Colbey kicked Tannin awake. “Keep watch. I’ll be back.”

  Tannin nodded sleepily.

  Colbey plunged after the Eastern Wizard, easily following his movements through the underbrush. At length, he found Shadimar seated on a stump, seemingly unaware of the army of ants and beetles scrambling up and through cracks in the peeling bark. Colbey crouched before the Wizard. “What did it say?” he asked again.

  The Wizard met Colbey’s gaze with dignity. “It’s over, Colbey.”

  “Over?” The words confused Colbey. “What’s over?”

  “I need to explain?”

  “Only if you want me to have the vaguest idea what you’re talking about. I thought we were done playing games.”

  “As had I.” Shadimar glared. “Yet you’re playing the ugliest, dirtiest game any human or Wizard could imagine. And it’s over now.”

  Colbey struggled to understand, but Shadimar’s words seemed like gibberish. “Make sense, damn it. How can I answer an accusation if I don’t understand it? Explain.”

  “Not to you, demon.”

  The word stung. Colbey knew that Shadimar had used his most offensive insult, akin to the Renshai calling someone coward. “I thought we were brothers.”

  “Not any more. I’ve seen how you treat brothers.”

  That hurt worse than any gibe. Colbey balled his hands to fists, hating what he had done to Korgar. Yet he had seen no other way. Right or wrong, he had made a decision, and the moment had not granted him time for more than instantaneous consideration. A night of thought had left him with the identical conclusion. In the same situation, he would kill Korgar again. His oath to Sif, to Valr Kirin, and to the Northmen had to take precedence over a vow of brotherhood. Had his own life hung in the balance instead of Olvaerr’s, his action might have been different. “We’re still friends?”

  “I think not.” Shadimar’s gaze slipped to the magical sword at Colbey’s hip and hung there.

  “Even in the tiniest farm village, the accused knows his crime. Are you punishing me for killing Korgar? Or for sending Valr Kirin to Valhalla?”

  “Neither.” Shadimar’s lids knitted to a squint, though he still stared at the sword. “Your feigned innocence serves no purpose any longer. I know the truth.”

  “Do you?” Colbey rested his hand
s on his bent knees. “Then perhaps you’ll enlighten me. What have I done that is so evil as to turn a brother against me?”

  Shadimar looked away, but not for long. Obsessively drawn, his attention kept sliding back to Harval. “Are you asking in order to test the extent of my knowledge? Do you think I would add to your advantages against me?”

  “I’m asking because I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Colbey’s patience vanished as the conversation spun in another useless circle. “Shadimar, you know Wizard’s riddles and ambiguities confuse me. I’m trying to be the best brother and champion I can. If you have something to say, just say it.”

  Shadimar shivered, his gaze on Harval becoming even more fanatical. Colbey’s words only seemed to agitate him more. Suddenly, he slammed a fist on the stump near his thighs. Beetles and ants fled from the blow in crazy patterns. The Eastern Wizard’s eyes narrowed in consideration, then widened in response to some conclusion. “If you are, indeed, innocent of any crime against our cause, then you should have no objection to me reading your thoughts.”

  “My thoughts?” Colbey wondered at Shadimar’s request. “Didn’t you once say that intruding on the thoughts of a friend constituted a challenge?”

  “I said that only about doing so uninvited.” Shadimar stared directly at Colbey now, obviously trying to read his expression and manner as well as his words. “Colbey, if you have no dealings with evil or chaos, then you should have no reason not to welcome me into your thoughts.”

  Colbey frowned, doubting that to be the case. He imagined any man or Wizard had at least one private indulgence or self-doubt that he would not share, even with a blood brother; but Colbey knew nothing good could come of his refusal. Shadimar had trapped him neatly. He could not deny the Wizard’s entrance without raising groundless suspicion, yet he could not help feeling grossly insulted. “I have no objection to you reading any thought or feeling of mine. I don’t understand your need, but I can tolerate it. Someday, maybe I’ll understand why you would trust the word of a strange Northman over that of a friend.” Colbey tried to equate the Wizard’s demand with his own exploration of Tannin’s thoughts, but the comparison would not fit. He had measured Tannin without the other’s knowledge, leaving none of the emotional scars caused by mistrust. And Tannin had been an outsider, not a longtime ally and advocate.

  Shadimar made no reply, offering no consolation or apology. A moment later, Colbey felt a foreign presence glide into his mind like an arrow through a straw-filled target. He winced, his attention naturally zeroing in at the entry site.

  Shadimar’s exploratory tendril went still. The Wizard spoke between gritted teeth. “You gave me permission to access freely. Why are you building defenses against me?”

  “I’m not doing anything!” Frustrated, Colbey snapped, “What’s the problem?”

  Shadimar shouted. “Drop that barrier!”

  Colbey’s thoughts spun as he considered the command. He turned his concentration on Shadimar’s probe, trying to find the problem, looking for a tangible, physical explanation and solution.

  Shadimar screamed. Hurriedly, he withdrew, jumping to his feet. “Demon’s bastard! Child of chaos! I told you to take it down, not strangle me with it!”

  Still at a crouch, Colbey glanced up, at a loss for what to say or do. “I don’t understand.”

  Shadimar glared, gray eyes flashing. “Why would you do that? What could you hope to gain?” The Wizard spoke with breathless pauses, and Colbey guessed that mental probing taxed the Eastern Wizard as dearly as himself.

  “Stop yelling.” Colbey tried to restore order to the situation, even as confusion and frustration gave way to anger. “Just explain what I’m doing wrong and what I should be doing. I’ve never had anyone read my mind before. I don’t know the conventions.”

  Shadimar paused with breath half drawn to shout again. He looked Colbey over even more minutely. “You don’t have to do anything. Just let me do the work.”

  “I thought I did that,” Colbey said softly.

  “Don’t trifle with me!” the Wizard roared. “Barriers as ruthless as those you created can’t exist without exhausting effort.”

  Colbey smiled, his own point made for him. “Do I look tired to you?”

  Colbey’s words had the opposite of their intended effect. Shadimar grew even more uncomfortable. His fear became strong enough for Colbey to experience it, though he had made no attempt to intrude. “No,” Shadimar admitted. “You’re strong, and you hide it well.” Though unspoken, a thought radiated clearly behind the words. Gods, what more proof do I need that I’m facing a demon, or a man warped by one? On the heels of the thought came a stronger fear, accompanied by a desperate will to fight, and another thought. Damn it, it’s not fair. I’m a slave to truth, while he can deceive, cheat, and blaspheme without consequence, with a sincerity I have no experience to see through. And every time I tell him anything, I do nothing but reveal my weaknesses and the gaps in my knowledge.

  It took an effort of will for Colbey not to reply to his blood brother’s concerns. “Try again,” he suggested softly. “I don’t know how to convince you that I want to do whatever I can to regain your trust.” He tried for an explanation one more time. “I could do so more easily if you told me how I lost it.”

  Shadimar lowered his head.

  Colbey felt a sudden, sharp stab of presence in his mind. From long Renshai training and battle experience, pain inspired wrath. Immediately, Colbey’s mind bunched for control, and his own concentration expelled the intruder.

  Shadimar cried out in anguish. He staggered backward, hands clenched to his head.

  Horror stole over Colbey. He rose, moving toward the Eastern Wizard to help. “Shadimar, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I don’t even know what I did.” He offered a hand to steady the Wizard.

  Shadimar struck Colbey’s hand aside. He drew himself to his full height, towering nearly a head over the Renshai. “What were you trying to do? What did you hope to gain? You may have found something nonphysical on the world of law, something that can hurt the Cardinal Wizards, but we both know it couldn’t kill me.”

  “Kill you?” The suggestion sounded ludicrous to Colbey. Assailed by ignorance, vague accusations, and a friend’s mistrust, he did not choose his words with care. “If I wanted to kill you, I could already have done so.” He patted Harval’s sheath.

  Shadimar paled. He backed away cautiously, gaze fixed on Colbey. “Secodon!”

  The wolf bounded from the direction of the camp, skidding between Colbey and Shadimar.

  Colbey studied the wolf only briefly. If he wanted to attack Shadimar, its presence would prove no deterrent and little more than a delay.

  He had to understand what had turned the Eastern Wizard against him. He needed to convince the guardian of the West of the truth necessary for the Wizard to make his earth-shattering judgments, and he wanted to regain the trust and brotherhood they had shared. Yet Colbey saw no purpose to driving their conversation into another loop. If his deeds and motivations over the last several months could not convince Shadimar of his allegiance, words could do nothing more. I can fight a battle unarmed, but not an argument. Colbey considered requesting Shadimar’s permission to enter his mind; but, under the circumstances, he had no doubt the Eastern Wizard would refuse him. The safety of the Westlands and the Renshai is at stake. Shadimar can’t protect them without the truth. And I can’t convince him of that truth unless I know the source of this misunderstanding.

  Shadimar spoke so softly that Colbey, lost in thought, nearly missed the command. “Give me Harval.”

  Colbey’s hand slipped to the sword, at first believing compliance might convince Shadimar in a way no explanations or questions could. Then he recalled the Wizard’s words in the town of Greentree: “Like Wizards, demons can’t be harmed by anything of Odin’s world. Without Harval you can’t do anything against your enemies, except die.” If he gave the sword to Shadimar, Colbey knew he had no chance to stand
against the Northern Sorceress who had sent minions, in man and demon form, against him. Still, Colbey did not wholly deny the weapon from its guardian. “I will give it to you, though you know that would make me helpless against our enemies.”

  Shadimar balked at the word “our,” his hands clutching into fists. Despite his obvious discomfort, he wore an expression of wary hope.

  “I ask only one thing.”

  Shadimar nodded carefully.

  “You need only say that we are still friends and that you will do nothing to harm me or the Renshai.”

  Shadimar opened his mouth, then closed it. He opened it again, glancing at the sky as if for heavenly guidance. “I . . .” he started, and stopped. He whirled suddenly, his back to Colbey. His fist slammed against an oak, loosing a shower of acorns that drummed onto the stump and rattled across the forest’s carpet of leaves. “Damn you! You know I can’t lie!”

  Secodon crouched, but he seemed confused by the strength of the emotions radiating from his master, unaccompanied by a direct command.

  Colbey removed his hand from Harval. Justifying his intrusion with need, he eased a mental probe into Shadimar’s mind.

  The Wizard remained in position, his fingers tensing and loosening. He seemed to take no notice of Colbey’s presence.

  Immediately, Colbey found his awareness thrust amid a turmoil of frustration, concern, and rage, liberally entwined with constraints born of law and honor. Emotion scrambled the thoughts into an unreadable jumble. Unable to sort anything out, Colbey pushed past to the source of Shadimar’s distress. His consciousness snaked through blinds and passages, weaving through ideas that bore little significance to him, mostly unintelligible fragments of magic and legend. Beyond it all, he discovered a poem: