The Western Wizard

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Colbey knew that his mental skill came from building his concentration through the decades. Like sword skill, it was an ability any man willing to put in the practice could learn; Colbey had proven that when he had taught Garn to channel his mental strength into physical power. Had they taken the time and effort to train, these men could fight my mental attacks just as they could fight my sword strokes. He believed that to be the case, though he needed to know for certain. At the price of even more vitality, Colbey sought knowledge and truth. Gently, he tapped a mental probe against Shadimar’s thoughts. I’m here, Shadimar. May I have access?

  Shadimar stiffened, physically and mentally. Just the proximity of their thoughts gave Colbey a glimpse of the Wizard’s nervousness and doubt. Apparently, the old Wizard still harbored some uncertainty regarding Colbey’s loyalties. What do you want?

  Just the answer to a question.

  Ask.

  Do men have mind powers, or only Wizards? If I am a Wizard . . . Colbey clarified quickly, and I’m not admitting I am. But if I were a Wizard, would that be the only reason I have these powers?

  Shadimar hesitated a long time. Politely, Colbey withdrew, not wanting to waste his energy nor intrude on the Wizard’s private contemplation.

  Shortly, Shadimar brought his answer to Colbey. I did not have mind powers as a mortal, but I don’t know whether or not it’s possible. Yours are unlike any Wizard’s. I could find no references to any Wizard who could enter the minds of mortals, nor any who could search another Wizard’s thoughts unnoticed. If, indeed, you subdued or destroyed the knowledge of twenty Western Wizards, then you had to have had strong mind powers before Tokar’s ceremony.

  And, hypothetically, if I am a Wizard, I was a mortal before Tokar’s ceremony.

  It would seem certain.

  A mortal with mind powers.

  Obviously.

  Colbey dropped the line of thought, his question answered. If it fell within Renshai law to fight a man skill weapon to skill weapon and it was possible for the man to have learned the skill, then all he had to do was announce his mental presence before killing to give the other the opportunity to fight back, whether with a mental attack or with a spear. Nothing in any battle code forbid warriors from fighting weaker warriors. Then, ideas of law and honor brought another concern to mind. Again he contacted Shadimar. If I’m a Wizard, does that mean I can’t kill mortals without breaking Odin’s laws? The thought pained.

  Shadimar hesitated, as if not quite ready to reveal some piece of information. Then something deeper kicked in, a promise to himself regarding trust. You’re not bound by Odin’s laws for Wizards until after you learn those laws. During the Seven Tasks of Wizardry.

  Colbey sensed that the Eastern Wizard had more to say, so he waited.

  It isn’t exactly true that the Cardinal Wizards can’t kill any mortals. For example, we can kill our own champions. Shadimar kept a peacefulness around his words that promised a truce, though his obvious revelation might have reawakened the bitterness between them. The key to killing other mortals is that any ones we directly kill must have absolutely no significance to the major events of the future or the prophecies.

  The explanation seemed too vague to Colbey. How could you possibly know that? Does Odin give you some sort of feeling or sign?

  Never. An age-old sense of responsibility washed over Shadimar, clearly readable to Colbey. Apparently, he had uncovered a problem that had plagued Cardinal Wizards since their system began. Our laws are many, old, and complex. With every action a Wizard has to measure and interpret those laws.

  For the moment, Colbey could sympathize. Renshai honor seemed equally binding.

  Colbey must have communicated that concept, because Shadimar seized on it. Yes, cultural honor goes deep as well; but there’s no penalty for ignorant misinterpretation, except guilt or a need to beg forgiveness. If a Cardinal Wizard breaks a law, intentionally or not, we could cause the destruction of all gods, Wizards, and men.

  Suddenly, Colbey believed he understood why Shadimar rarely used magic and why he simplified the law by claiming that he could never harm mortals.

  Shadimar continued, returning to the question. That’s why we almost never kill mortals. Of course, if we chose to, the odds would be with us for any individual not being of dire significance. But the truth is, it’s rare that a mortal without significance comes into a position where a Cardinal Wizard would want to slay him.

  Colbey sensed more, as if Shadimar had needed to make such a decision recently. But the Eastern Wizard sent nothing more. Colbey tried to soothe the Wizard, his thoughts on the Valkyrie that had shaken the foundations on which he had placed all faith and reason since infancy. Sometimes, you have to take a chance, no matter the cost. Without risk, there can be no change. And, without change, the world will stagnate into an oblivion every bit as awful as Ragnarok’s chaos. The insight surprised even Colbey, and it gave him pause as well.

  Although little time had passed while Colbey and Shadimar had carried out this exchange, it was too long for Vashi. “If we stay here long enough, daylight will come. If need be, I’ll fight both of those sentries.”

  “No.” Colbey placed a warning hand on Vashi’s sword wrist. “We have more important enemies than to weaken ourselves fighting hordes of guardsmen who have no stake in this matter. I’ll handle the sentries one by one. We’ll just have to hope I can work fast enough to prevent a scream.”

  “You talk as if you can wish men dead,” Vashi said. “If that were true, we wouldn’t need to wield swords.”

  Colbey ignored his eager student. Head sagging, he channeled the power of his body into his mind. His too long hair fell into his eyes. His fingers tightened to tense balls, whitening his knuckles. Gingerly, he stood, walking to the edge of the forest, and his thoughts sought those of one of the sentries.

  Instantly, Colbey’s mind touched another. He found boredom that went deeper than a single night on a quiet watch. Not bothering to delve, the Renshai sent his message. I am here, and I am your enemy. Fight me or die.

  The thoughts around Colbey blanked as he withdrew his probe. He stood, fully revealed, in the moonlight, giving the other plenty of time to spot him. Then, he gathered strength from his limbs, hardening and sharpening his thoughts into a single, sharp spear of energy. His head felt heavy and full, as if it might explode. He jerked suddenly, driving half of the collected mental energy for the mind he had explored, saving the remainder for the other.

  Both sentries plummeted from the ramparts, and, simultaneously, Colbey collapsed to the ground.

  Mitrian ran to his side, catching one of his hands. “Torke. Are you all right? What happened?”

  Colbey felt power trickle back into his body, glad he had saved vitality for the attack against the second sentry. His throat felt raw and dry. A thickness in the center of his head dulled his thoughts like a fever. His arms and legs seemed weighted. “I’m fine, just tired. Give me time to recover.” He crawled back into the brush, aware he could not wait too long. Eventually, other guards would come to exchange watches with their dead friends, destroying any advantage his ploy might have gained.

  Gradually, the fog lifted from Colbey’s mind, admitting an alarming thought. I killed one sentry, but they both fell. What happened to the other? He understood little about the mind powers. Previous experience told him that mental current was nonphysical. It would not ricochet or draw others into its range. Clearly, someone else had killed the second sentry. Colbey glanced from the guards, who lay like twisted birds in their red metal plumage, to each of his companions. Mitrian remained at his side, a worried expression scoring her features. Rache, Vashi, and Tannin discussed what they had seen in awed tones. And Shadimar stared at the Tower of Night with his usual impassive silence.

  Colbey sat up. “Go,” he signaled Mitrian.

  Mitrian dropped to her belly and slithered to the base of the wall. There, she rose, securing a grapple from the back of her belt. She swung and hurled. The
thin-toothed cross of steel struck the wall with a metallic clink, bounced, and fell back to Mitrian. Regathering the rope, Mitrian tried again. This time, the tines bit into the ramparts. She tested its position, then clambered up and over the battlements.

  All conversation disappeared. A wind rose, rattling through the stark, leafless branches. This sound was soon joined by the click of the rising portcullis. Mitrian poked her head through the opening and made a brisk gesture.

  Shadimar and the Renshai scrambled through the opening and into the desolate courtyard. While the others avoided sentries and scanned the inner wall, Rache and Tannin reaffixed the gate. The red armor of the scattered courtyard sentries glowed like fires in the moonlight, rendering them visible enough to avoid. Vashi’s overeager blade found an opening in one’s armor, and he dropped without a sound.

  Colbey swore in a sharp whisper. Shoving the teenager aside with a warning, he paused to drag the dead man into the abandoned diggings near the wall. The corpse rolled down the embankment and into the brackish water with barely a splash. Without brush to hide the body, Colbey wondered how long it would take for the others to discover it.

  Colbey glanced up from his task to find Rache clinging to a rope that graced the tower’s slick, black wall. Several stories above him, Tannin’s booted feet disappeared through the window, revealing the grapple lodged on the sill. Rache skittered upward.

  Colbey took a quick survey. Only he, Shadimar, Secodon, and Vashi remained outside. He nudged Vashi toward the rope, gesturing to indicate Shadimar should follow. Colbey stood on the piled sand, placing his body between the main part of the courtyard and the rope, trying to use his dark clothing to hide flashes of steel and movement. He hoped that people’s natural inclination to look in any direction but up would shield the climbers higher on the rope. Doubts assailed him. Despite learning stealth to safely slip past archers, the Renshai had never used the technique for raiding. Sneak attacks did not fit the tribe’s honor or mentality, yet too few remained for any other tactic. Without stealth, the Renshai would not live long enough to face their enemy.

  As Vashi crawled through the window, Shadimar began a dignified ascent. Colbey kept his attention sweeping the courtyard, leaving the others to assess the danger in the tower. Ignorance of furtive tactics made him twitchy, and he questioned his strategy repeatedly. It had only made sense to enter the tower at night, yet he wondered how they would find the one they sought in the maze of corridors Arduwyn had described.

  When Colbey turned, Shadimar had disappeared from sight. Quickly, Colbey lashed the rope around Secodon, then enmeshed his hand as high above the wolf as he could reach. The rope swung from the wall as he climbed, using what little friction he could form between the tight, black blocks and his feet. He scrambled in through the window, surveying the room while the others moved forward to hoist Secodon inside. This late, Colbey was surprised to find the doorless chamber still dimly lit by candles. Across the room stood a chair that perfectly matched an embroidered couch facing it. A guard sprawled across the couch, obviously unconscious. Tannin hovered over him, as if daring him to move, and Vashi examined the guard stoically.

  Colbey sensed her movement just before it happened. As Tannin turned to watch Mitrian, Shadimar, and Rache haul Secodon in, Vashi drew and thrust. Colbey’s blade left its sheath before her sword covered half the distance to the guard. A simple loop and upstroke stole the weapon from her hand, close enough to her fingers to serve as a warning. He caught the flying sword, more to prevent the clatter than out of respect.

  Rache, Mitrian, and Shadimar untied Secodon. The confrontation with Vashi had passed so swiftly, the others had not even noticed it. Tannin looked back hurriedly, but he did not interfere. Colbey trusted the Western Renshai to bind the guard. For now, his lesson took precedence.

  Three sharp sword strokes sent Vashi back into a corner. Colbey pinned her there with an angle-block she knew he could turn into any of a thousand deadly strikes in an instant. “What were you doing?”

  Vashi’s eyes blazed. Colbey read just a trickle of fear, well suppressed, and it pleased him. A warrior who could overcome fear would become a hero. To know no fear at all was an insanity and an affliction. “I was killing an enemy.”

  “Renshai do not kill the helpless. No matter who they are. Unless your own battle skill took him down, it’s not your right to kill him. Every person deserves the chance to fight. Let his own actions decide the kind of death he earns.”

  Vashi lowered her head, and her already soft voice fell to a whisper. “I just didn’t want to leave an enemy behind us.”

  “Then you keep him unconscious. Or you tie him. Or you challenge him outright, if the circumstances permit it.” Clearly, here, they did not. Colbey eased back as Tannin tied and gagged the guard. The others finished their tasks and tried not to interfere with Colbey’s lesson, no matter how ill-timed. “There’s more to being Renshai than killing. You’ve disgraced your honor and your tribe. You’ll have to earn back Sif’s favor. And mine. Neither will be easy.”

  Vashi assumed a suitably repentant position, and Colbey jabbed her sword back into its sheath. “Come on.” He turned to follow the others through the doorway and into the corridor.

  Tannin came up beside Colbey. “It’s clear,” he hissed. “Which way?”

  Colbey hesitated, groping around them with his mind, careful to avoid his companions’ thoughts. He dared not waste more than a dash of vitality on the search, but his senses warned him of presences in the direction that Arduwyn had indicated as Elishtan’s court. Apparently, the man that the LaZarian sentry had called the king was still holding an audience. Or waiting for us. The idea seemed unlikely, but it obsessed Colbey. He reclaimed his consciousness fully, dismayed to find that even that short search had made him weaker. “This way.” He steered Tannin toward the court, taking the lead with the Western Renshai.

  The group met no more guards as they paced the widening corridor and came to a stop before the gigantic bronze portal and its jade-eyed snake. Light filtered from the crack beneath the door, and occasional muffled voices scarcely penetrated the portal, their words indecipherable. Many bits of fact and speculation began to come together in Colbey’s mind as certainties. Doubtless, the coiled snake symbolized the Southern Wizard’s property as clearly as Secodon belonged to Shadimar. The cold-blooded creatures shared the same bond with Carcophan as the land beasts did with Shadimar, the airborne with the Western Wizard, and the water denizens with Trilless. Colbey felt equally positive that this so-called king, Elishtan the Jaded, was the exiled Northman. Surely, the LaZarian sentries had been paid or threatened into passing on their well-rehearsed message to the Renshai. Only the motivations of this Northman remained a mystery, and too many possibilities came to mind: vengeance, racial prejudice, curiosity, the challenge of a swordsman even more competent than himself. Madness.

  The revelation struck hard, but Colbey shifted his thoughts to the necessary task at hand. Whatever his mental state, Carcophan’s champion had proven himself as clever as any fox and as cruel as any demon. Colbey did not doubt that the Renshai would, when they entered the court, walk into a well-set trap. Still, he did not balk or shy from the challenge. He took a quick glance over his companions: all Renshai, except Shadimar, and the Wizard could handle himself. “Be ready,” Colbey warned. “Let’s go.”

  Tannin reached for the door handle. The snake’s jade eyes seemed to mock them. The bronze door swung open on silent hinges, and the Renshai found themselves facing two dozen arrows in hastily-drawn bows. Each archer’s dark Eastern face looked grim. Beyond the semicircle of archers, one man strode back and forth on a raised dais that held a jeweled throne. Another man stood sentinel beside it. Colbey’s gaze went naturally to the still one. The more dangerous a man, the calmer he remained under pressure, and this man’s presence drew Colbey as irresistibly as a well-crafted sword. Though aged, he looked powerful. Salt and pepper hair fringed eyes the green-yellow of a cat’s. A sable cloak hu
ng from his shoulders, and a smile flickered across his solid, though creased, features. His gaze riveted on Shadimar.

  Carcophan. Having identified the Southern Wizard, Colbey dismissed him as Shadimar’s problem. His gaze trained on the figure that had already claimed the attention of all of the other Renshai.

  A smaller man paced the dais, his polished silver breastplate gleaming in the candlelight as if to mock the Renshai’s aversion to armor. Beneath it, a mail shirt covered a red silk blouse embroidered with gold leaf. His greaves were lacquered black, polished to a blinding brilliance, and they lay over light breeks. A spired helmet enclosed his head and face, though wisps of yellow hair poked beneath it. His eyes seemed to dance with a strange, laughing madness, and the chaos hung so thick around him it nearly choked Colbey. Still, though they had changed, Colbey instantly recognized the deep blue eyes and the perfect, graceful stance he could never forget. For the first time in his existence, realization paralyzed the Golden Prince of Demons.

  The exiled Northman was Episte.

  CHAPTER 31

  A Swordsman Unmatched

  The armored apparition spoke with a stranger’s voice. “Enter, golden-haired dogs with your tails between your legs. Enter, or run like the cowards you are.”

  Colbey’s legs would not budge. It made no sense to run. The archers would shoot them all down from behind, and the Renshai would never choose to die without glory. He watched as the others edged in through the portal, for the moment unable to move himself. Too many emotions crushed down on Colbey at once, none of them his own. The archers’ loyalty touched him, though he sensed a stirring of fear beneath it. Mitrian seemed confused, cued by something, though she clearly had not yet recognized Episte. Rache stewed in a vengeful rage against his father’s slayer that required fulfillment. He also did not know his brother, and he had claimed the battle for his own. Under the circumstances, Colbey could not help feeling that perhaps Garn’s son was right.