The Congruent Wizard

by Dave Schroeder

  Fercha smiled, but only to herself. Build intimacy, then pump for information. That was what Verro had done to seduce her so many years ago. He’d even married her before she’d slept with him. She smiled to herself again, thinking of Verro pumping away, then trying to worm secrets of Dâron’s Conclave of Wizards out of her during pillow talk.

  “I don’t know,” said Fercha. “Perhaps they needed green stones for a mosaic floor in a new palace.”

  “Perhaps,” said Laetícia.

  “Do you think Dârio will send his troops up the Brenavon or the Moravon?” asked Quin, trying a similar tactic on Doethan.

  “Who can tell?” said Doethan. “He’s a fool, and follows only his own counsel.”

  “An unpredictable enemy can be a challenging one,” said Quin.

  “For his own people, as well as his opponents,” Doethan replied.

  All four of them laughed. Laetícia made a subtle gesture with one hand and the servants withdrew from the room.

  “Enough fencing,” she said. “It’s fortunate that two senior members of the Dâron Conclave, including their acting Master Mage, followed me through my gate to Nova Eboracum. I had to keep it open long enough for the two of you to enter, after all.”

  They all laughed again, Fercha and Doethan nervously. What was Laetícia up to? Fercha wondered. The spymaster continued.

  “We know that you know Tamloch’s source of magestones in the Green Mountains is mined out. Without new magestones, they wouldn’t be able to train new wizards, giving Dâron a long-term advantage. We don’t know how many usable green magestones they were able to gather from the quarry in the west of Dâron. Certainly fewer than they would have if you and your fellow wizards hadn’t been present.”

  Fercha and Doethan had the presence of mind to nod sagely, as if Laetícia was only telling them things they already knew.

  “It is in the best interest of Occidens Province and the emperor to have Dâron and Tamloch evenly matched and at each other’s throats instead of one decisively defeating the other,” added Quintillius Martius in his deep, powerful voice.

  “Therefore…” said Laetícia.

  “…the wizards and legions of Occidens Province are prepared to assist Dâron in the coming conflict,” Quin continued.

  “With a proper enticement,” added Laetícia.

  “Enticement?” said Fercha. “Bribe, you mean.”

  “Why do you think Dâron needs your help, not Tamloch?” asked Doethan.

  Laetícia raised an eyebrow and lowered her chin the length of an apple seed.

  Quin answered Doethan.

  “Because, as you say, your king is a fool.”

  Doethan shrugged, accepting the characterization of his monarch.

  “And because King Túathal of Tamloch is a wily old wolf, smart enough to get others to fight his battles for him,” Quin added.

  Doethan and Fercha both nodded, keeping their faces like stone to avoid revealing anything that might damage Dâron.

  The four of them sat like statues for a few moments before Fercha gave in first. She turned up her palms on either side of her plate of sweet libum cakes.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Túathal has paid the dragonship raiders of Bifurland to attack Brendinas in force,” Laetícia replied. “They should be there in days.”

  “Oh,” said Doethan.

  “What sort of enticement did you have in mind?” asked Fercha.

  Laetícia leaned forward to share her proposal.

  Chapter 5

  Nûd and Eynon

  Eynon’s family fell in love with Chee. The raconette charmed Eynon’s mother by helping her set the table and assisted Eynon’s father with cooking by passing him bowls of chopped herbs to add to the eggs he was scrambling in a large frying pan above hot coals. The small beast had set a place at the table for himself and imitated Eynon’s every move as he ate what his father had cooked.

  It had been hard for Eynon to keep from laughing when Braith managed to change into her fancy festival-day outfit with its black skirt, white blouse, and intricately embroidered red vest in the brief interval between arriving home and sitting down to eat. During their shared meal, Nûd and Braith exchanged so many glances Eynon lost count. It was entertaining to watch the two compete to see which of them could smile more at the other’s stories.

  After a quick breakfast, Chee stood up on the table and marched along its length, formally shaking hands with Glenys and Daffyd and Braith in turn. He earned a small bag of dried cherries from Eynon’s mother for his courtesy before climbing up to his usual perch on Eynon’s shoulder.

  All five of the humans—and Chee—left the cottage and stood blinking in the early-morning sun. The two young men were ready to leave Haywall village after only half an hour. Eynon hugged his mother and father while Chee hopped down to chase chickens before returning to his favorite spot.

  Nûd bowed to Braith and she curtsied in return. It was clear they wanted to hug each other, but they refrained while Eynon and his parents were looking on. Eynon could see that his parents were having the same problem keeping their laughter inside that he was.

  If anything did come of Nûd and Braith’s interest in each other, thought Eynon, that would be fine—if it happened after Braith started her wander year. He wouldn’t mind having the big man as a brother-in-law.

  By that time, Nûd would be twenty-four and Eynon’s sister would be sixteen, which wasn’t an unheard-of age difference among the farm families in the Coombe, especially if a farmer had waited to have his own land before marrying. Still, as far as Eynon was concerned, it was a good thing he and Nûd would be flying off soon.

  Eynon’s parents had been pleased to meet Nûd and happy to see Eynon. They were particularly surprised to see a red magestone in a gold setting around his neck. It was clear they weren’t sure what to make of their son any longer, especially when Braith told them about Eynon and Nûd arriving on wyvern-back. Nothing remotely like this had happened in the Coombe in living memory.

  Braith gave Nûd a long dark-wool hooded cloak to replace his wisent-skin coat, which she stored for safekeeping. The cloak had been a hand-me-down to Eynon from an even taller cousin, and not really Braith’s to give, but he didn’t say anything. At least it fit Nûd well. Eynon gave Braith his wisent-skin coat to store as well. The weather was warmer here and heavy coats were no longer needed, even when flying.

  Just before they left, Braith took a small basket from her mother and presented it to Nûd.

  “Some food for your trip, kind sir,” said his sister.

  Eynon didn’t laugh, but wanted to. He couldn’t remember his sister saying kind sir to any man or lad in quite the same way before. His little sister was growing up. Nûd gave Braith one last bow and thanked her and her parents for their hospitality.

  Braith stood on tiptoe and stuck a fresh cutting of holly leaves in Eynon’s cap, replacing leaves that had lost their color. He inhaled the scent of the new leaves and kissed the tip of her nose the way he had the first time he’d left home to wander. The sun was an hour above the eastern horizon and it was time to leave.

  Nûd and Eynon climbed on Eynon’s flying disk and headed toward the eastern mountains where Eynon had sent Rocky to look for deer. When they had flown a few miles from Haywall, they landed on an empty field beside a narrow track.

  Eynon sent a sphere of solidified sound high in the air, then exploded it in a shower of red and blue streamers. From a nearby hill, Rocky trumpeted the news that he’d seen Eynon’s signal. The wyvern launched his body high in the air and glided down to join them in the field. Eynon pretended he didn’t see the wool stuck in Rocky’s teeth.

  Eynon gave Rocky a large ball of tasty solidified sound magic to lick while he and Nûd climbed on the big beast’s back. His staff was still tucked in place, secured by the scarf Nûd had given him when he’d set out to find his magestone what seemed like ages ago. He sent the ball off to the east, above the same mountains
Eynon had climbed on the first day of his wander year, just over a week ago.

  “Where to?” asked Eynon.

  “Brendinas, I guess,” said Nûd. “We have to tell the King and the Conclave what happened. Head east and I’ll fine-tune our course as we go.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Eynon. In the back of his head he was thinking about the Conclave of Wizards.

  They sat together side by side on Rocky’s back for several minutes without speaking, watching the green land flow below them. Nûd broke the silence.

  “Your parents are nice,” he said. “I’ve spent most of my life surrounded by wizards, and nice is not the first word that comes to mind to describe them.”

  “I’m a wizard and I’m nice, I think,” said Eynon.

  “Yes, but you’re the exception that proves the rule.”

  “Doethan seemed quite nice. So did your mother. And Merry is very nice.”

  “I expect you haven’t spent enough time in Doethan’s company to tell one way or the other—and you’re certainly wrong about Fercha. She’s many things, but one thing my mother isn’t is nice.”

  “Doesn’t she send you cookies and sweets?”

  “Yes. On my birthday and festival days. But I know she buys them in Tyford.”

  “Oh,” said Eynon.

  He’d never had cookies baked by a bakery—just his own or ones from friends or relatives. He wondered if they tasted different somehow.

  “There’s Applegarth,” said Eynon, pointing down to his left. “It’s just west of the Rhuthro—that’s the river heading north.”

  “I see it,” said Nûd. “That’s where your nice girlfriend is from?”

  “Uh huh,” said Eynon. “Her father is a baron.”

  “Right,” said Nûd with a tone that said he had more to say but wasn’t saying it.

  “What?”

  “A farmer’s son and a baron’s daughter in love. It sounds like one of the old tales that doesn’t necessarily end well, that’s all.”

  “Some of the old tales have happy endings,” Eynon insisted.

  “And some don’t,” said Nûd. “I hope your story is one that does.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Your sister is nice, too.”

  Eynon kept his answer short and clipped.

  “Yes. She is.”

  “Don’t be that way,” said Nûd. “I’m not going to arrange a rendezvous with her in the hay barn while you’re asleep—not that I could if she didn’t want to. It’s just that I haven’t seen a young woman who couldn’t blast me with a fireball or zap me with a lightning bolt since I’ve become a man. It’s a lonely life looking after Damon at Melyncárreg.”

  “Why did you stay?” asked Eynon.

  “Damon and my mother insisted it was for my own good,” said Nûd. “They both said I should stay out of Brendinas.”

  “Which is why that’s where we’re going?”

  “Exactly,” said Nûd.

  “Are you sure you’re not related to the young king?” asked Eynon. “You’re making as much sense.”

  “I certainly hope not,” said Nûd.

  They flew on in companionable silence. Nûd and Eynon must have both fallen asleep. It was understandable, since neither had gotten much rest the night before and the rush of excitement from the battle had worn off hours ago. Rocky continued to head east, following the sphere of solidified sound Eynon had set in motion.

  The young wizard was the first to wake. Eynon was initially disoriented and might have fallen if not for the long, knitted scarf that tied him to the wyvern’s back. He saw a ribbon of blue water dividing the land beneath him.

  “Nûd! Wake up! There’s a big river ahead. Is it the Brenavon?”

  Eynon knew Brendinas was on the Brenavon—the Royal River—not far north of where it met the sea.

  Nûd yawned and looked down over the leading edge of Rocky’s wing.

  “I think that’s the Moravon, the Great River,” said the big man. “And that city must be Tyford. I think it would be wise if we stopped there. Damon has a knowledgeable friend who runs an inn in Tyford. It would be a good idea to get his advice before we go to the capital.”

  “Is his name Taffaern?”

  “Do you know him?” asked Nûd. “He’s one of the most trusted members of Damon’s network of informants.”

  “No, but Merry and I were taking four tuns of cider down the Rhuthro to deliver to him,” said Eynon. “She said he was Applegarth’s best customer.”

  He was quite pleased at the thought of visiting Tyford and its street of booksellers, then remembered they were in a hurry and needed to inform people in the capital about the Tamloch raid on the quarry west of the Coombe. Rocky stayed high, just under the clouds as they approached the city.

  “There’s a big square in the center of town,” said Eynon. “Should I direct Rocky to land there?”

  “It might be smarter not to land a wyvern inside the city walls,” noted Nûd. “They have archers and he might not be well received. There’s an island in the middle of the river that looks uninhabited. It would be better for Rocky to land there.”

  “Then how will we get from the island to Taffaern’s inn?” asked Eynon.

  Nûd smiled. “You are new at being a wizard, aren’t you? You still have a flying disk strapped to the back of your pack.”

  “So I do,” said Eynon. “There’s a clearing at the north end of the island that should be fine for Rocky.”

  “With a plenty of squirrels and few wild shoats grazing on acorns to provide him with entertainment…” added Nûd.

  “And a snack,” said Eynon.

  Minutes later, they were on the ground and Rocky was sticking his long neck into the trees, helping Chee annoy the squirrels. Nûd and Eynon were skimming above the river, heading for Tyford. Soon they could see the docks and buildings lining the Moravon’s eastern shore.

  “How will we find Taffaern’s Inn?” asked Eynon.

  “I don’t know,” said Nûd. “We may have to stop someone on the street and ask the way.”

  Eynon recognized a design painted on the end of one pier jutting out into the river. It was a wide, wavy blue line between two red apples.

  “Wait!” said Eynon. “That’s Applegarth’s mark. This must be it.”

  They hovered and inspected the pier. It looked like there was a stone dock farther back underneath it. They went into the shadows and landed on its rough granite surface. Eynon tucked his magestone inside his shirt and strapped his flying disk to his pack, hiding its shape with his bedroll. He didn’t want to advertise he was a wizard.

  Broad, iron-banded double doors were at the back of the dock. They led into the lowest floor of a sturdy wooden building. Eynon tried to open them, but they were locked.

  That makes sense, thought Eynon. This must be where Merry would unload the cider for the inn. Taffaern’s storerooms must be on the other side of those doors. Of course he’d keep them secured.

  Nûd stepped forward, lifted one of the dark metal rings in the middle of a door, and used it to knock three times. The sound echoed underneath the pier, bouncing off wood and stone and water. Nothing happened for a minute, then a small door above the knocker opened and an eye looked out.

  “Do you have my cider?” asked a mellow voice behind the door. “If you do, you’re late.”

  “I don’t have your cider, but I know where it is,” said Eynon.

  “I hope the Rhuthro Keep didn’t confiscate it,” said the voice.

  Eynon heard bolts being thrown, then both big doors swung open. A man of middling height with a big nose and a long, elaborately braided gray beard was standing in the doorway. The ends of his bushy mustache were also braided and hung down to his chin. The man was wearing a black conical felt hat, dark-blue canvas pants, and a white apron that stretched from his neck to his knees over a light-blue linen shirt. His boots were thick-soled and made from bright red leather. Eynon wasn’t sure what a big city innkeeper was supposed to loo
k like, but he added the man’s appearance to his definition of the profession.

  “Are you Taffaern, sir?” asked Eynon.

  “I am,” said the man. “And Taffy to my friends. Tell me who the two of you are and we’ll see if you’ll fit in that category.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Eynon. “I’m Eynon, from Haywall, in the Coombe, and this is my friend Nûd. He’s from farther west.”

  “On your wander year, I see,” said the innkeeper, nodding at Eynon. “And you’re both big’uns, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Eynon.

  Nûd rolled his eyes. He knew it had been a rhetorical question. And he’d seen the innkeeper’s eyebrow go up when he’d heard Nûd’s name.

  “What’s this about knowing where my cider is?” said Taffaern, staring at Eynon. “Has something happened to it?”

  “Um,” said Eynon. “It’s been delayed.”

  “Delayed how? Delayed where? Will I get my shipment? I’ll soon have thirsty mouths upstairs. There will be a revolt if they don’t get Applegarth cider soon.”

  “Your shipment is secure,” said Eynon. “It’s in the Blue Spiral Tower, up the Rhuthro.”

  “What would Fercha want with my cider, lad?” said Taffaern. “It sounds like you’ve got a longer tale to tell that would go better with a mug of ale in a private room upstairs than down here on a cold stone pier in the shadows. Come in, young gentleman, and welcome. Mind your heads.”

  With that, the innkeeper stepped back from the door. Eynon and Nûd followed him into the inn’s cellar storeroom, past barrels of potables, and up a well-worn flight of wooden steps that came out next to the kitchen. Ahead of them was the inn’s spacious common room and to one side were several side alcoves screened with heavy curtains that reached all the way to the floor.

  The common room was deserted at this hour—guests had been fed and serious drinkers didn’t start until after noon—but Taffaern indicated they should enter the first alcove. Moments later he joined them with three large mugs of foaming ale. The innkeeper took a deep swallow and so did Nûd, but Taffaern noticed Eynon didn’t touch his mug.