The Congruent Wizard

by Dave Schroeder

  “Next time,” said the young king. “I need to leave now so I’m not gone too long. I don’t want mother to get suspicious.”

  “If you’re not back in a few hours, I’ll tell her that you wore me out and I fell asleep. When I woke up, you were gone,” said Jenet. She fluttered her eyelashes and gave a convincing imitation of a noble’s crown-chasing daughter, new to court and in awe of the queen.

  “Let’s hope I’m back soon enough that you won’t need to lie to my mother.”

  “If you’re back soon enough, you can wear me out before you unbolt the door.”

  Jenet shrugged and her wine-colored dress fell to the floor revealing only Jenet beneath.

  “That’s sufficient incentive to encourage an early return,” said Dârio. “Maybe I won’t need to ask your sister to join us with that inspiration.”

  Jenet moved close to Dârio again. He could feel her soft skin in his arms and warm breath on his neck.

  “Blast!” he said, stepping back. “You don’t play fair.”

  “Knight takes Queen’s Advisor,” said Jenet as she bent to pick up her dress and pull it over her head. “Check.”

  Dârio took off his clothes while Jenet admired his well-muscled form. He crossed to his desk and removed traveling clothes more suitable to a poor merchant than a rich monarch from the bottom drawer of his desk.

  “Let me help you put those on,” said Jenet.

  “I don’t think so,” said Dârio. “I can only handle so much temptation at one time.”

  Jenet bared a shoulder, revealing her breast momentarily, and laughed.

  “I promise to behave,” she said. “And it will go faster if I assist.”

  “Go ahead, then,” said Dârio.

  Between the two of them, Dârio was promptly dressed in loose-fitting breeches, a patched linen shirt, a quilted jacket, hose and well-worn boots.

  “Don’t forget this,” said Jenet, putting a dark-haired wig on Dârio’s head and topping it with a floppy blue hat.

  “Do I look anything like a king?” he asked.

  “Not a bit,” Jenet answered. “Should I put a sprig of holly in your cap, so you’ll look like a farm lad on his wander year?”

  “Do you have one?”

  “No, but I’ll try to remember for next time.”

  “Please do,” said Dârio. “No one expects much from hayseeds on their wander years.”

  “Don’t be an ass,” said Jenet.

  “Just staying in practice,” said Dârio. As if remembering something he’d almost forgotten, he returned a book that had been open on his desk to an empty spot on a bookshelf. That accomplished, he gave Jenet a hug and a peck on the cheek, then passed through the curtain hiding the servants’ alcove and out of the royal suite.

  Jenet picked up the fine clothes Dârio had been wearing and arranged them artfully on the floor around the huge overstuffed couch pressed against one wall of the king’s study. With luck, their placement would support the king’s deception. They’d served that purpose well many times before, thought Jenet.

  She walked halfway around the room to a wall holding built-in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Jenet examined Dârio’s extensive collection and noted the title of the book he’d just returned. Its subject didn’t appeal to her, so she selected a thick volume on the Roma invasion up the Abbenoth.

  Taking a seat on a comfortable chair next to the shah-mat boards with the book on her lap, Jenet considered Dârio’s likely move to escape check so she could properly counter it. Every so often she’d touch herself for inspiration and say, “Oh, Dârio!” loud enough for the guards to hear her. She hoped the king had a productive trip and made a speedy return. He was always so energized when he came back from his excursions outside the palace.

  * * * * *

  Dârio left the palace through the merchants’ gate carrying four flat empty wicker baskets arrayed in tiers and slung from a leather harness behind him. They were the sort of baskets used for fresh strawberries—berries that were only available this early in spring in the southern reaches of Dâron. He made his way through the city, admiring the vibrant life of Brendinas and the colorful language of its inhabitants.

  That language—and its vocabulary—grew even more colorful as he reached the docks. Dârio filed away a few new insults to use for his private musing about his mother and found the narrow courier boat he was looking for along a short pier far from the royal docks. He nodded to the woman wearing mail and carrying a spear who’d been guarding the vessel and claimed a soft blue velvet pouch that he’d left with her for safekeeping.

  After first removing the wicker baskets and harness and placing them amidships, Dârio carefully climbed into the boat near the prow and positioned himself on a thwart. He found a sturdy wooden pole at his feet and inserted it into a slot designed to hold it. Then he opened the velvet bag, removed the pull-stone and cord within, and hung it from the pole.

  He leaned back, triggered the pull-stone with a phrase, and reached below the thwart for an oar to help guide the vessel’s course as it sped down the Brenavon.

  This was no ordinary pull-stone. It was a royal courier pull-stone Dârio had borrowed to assist with his surreptitious explorations of his kingdom. Dârio felt like he was skimming along the river as fast as a wizard zooming by above on a flying disk.

  The Bifurlanders’ fleet couldn’t be far. Dârio needed to see its strength for himself if he was going to make good decisions as a battlefield commander. He sped south until he saw hundreds of square-sailed ships filling the river ahead. His attention was completely focused on the Bifurland armada, so he didn’t notice another, larger boat hiding behind the roots of a downed tree hung up on a sandbar near his course.

  Grappling hooks bit into the stern of Dârio’s courier boat and its speed didn’t do him any good when the other boat hauled his in.

  “What do we have here?” asked one of the sailors from the larger boat, a woman with gold hoop earrings.

  “A present for the queen,” said Skavendr. the larger boat’s scout-captain. His look reminded Dârio of one of the feral wolf-dogs in the royal menagerie.

  “And a very fast pull-stone,” said Hoop Earrings.

  “Aye,” said Skavendr. “Too fast for a merchant, but perfect for another profession I can think of.”

  Hoop Earrings and the other crew members laughed.

  I should have stayed in Brendinas with Jenet, thought Dârio. Blast!

  His captors trussed him up with anchor rope and dumped him in the bilge water at the bottom of their vessel while they tied his courier boat to its side and floated with the current, south to the Bifurland fleet.

  Chapter 31

  Merry

  Astrí and Merry entered the assembly hall through a side door and found themselves trapped in a crowd of wizards, stuck between their shields and the walls. Doethan was standing in front of a platform on the left and a big wizard in striped robes was opposite him on the right.

  “Hibblig always was a bully,” said Astrí.

  “Doethan! Look out!” shouted Merry, clutching Astrí’s arm. She wanted to help her friend and mentor, but was stuck on the outside looking in.

  Hibblig shot a dozen cubes of solidified sound ahead of him as he leaned forward and lumbered toward Doethan on the far side of the Conclave’s assembly hall. The big man looked more like a knight’s charger than a knight in his bulky magically-generated armor. His fists were similar cubes, ready to deliver massive blows to his opponent.

  Doethan pulled his flying disk off his back and didn’t take time to mount it. He held it in both hands and flew above Hibblig’s cubical missiles, floating near the domed ceiling of the hall. The inertia of Hibblig’s forward motion slammed him into the bottom of the platform and stood him up. He shook his head to clear it and turned to search for Doethan, scanning the floor of the hall—but Doethan was overhead, not on the floor. He’d managed to stand on his flying disk during the brief interval when Hibblig was disoriented.

>   Doethan banked a heavy ball of solidified sound off the shields above the platform so it hit Hibblig in the back of the head and knocked him down and forward. The big man was as awkward as a tortoise for a moment, his bulky magical armor making it hard for him to get back on his feet. Force-beams of tight light pulsed from Doethan’s hands toward Hibblig’s neck, rocking Hibblig’s head against the fitted-stone floor a dozen times before he could strengthen his shields.

  “You’ll be sorry for that!” shouted Hibblig as he stood and glared up at Doethan.

  “I’m already sorry we’re wasting time on this,” Doethan replied softly. The hall was quiet enough that all the assembled wizards had no trouble hearing him.

  Hibblig shocked Merry by immediately launching a fireball at Doethan. The older wizard dodged, but the fireball hit the shielded ceiling above him and exploded. The shock wave it generated flipped Doethan upside down. His boots stuck through leather straps were the only things connecting him to his disk. Pressure from the wave also pushed Doethan down into Hibblig’s reach.

  The big man rushed forward from his position in front of the platform and hit Doethan’s dangling head with an oversized fist of solidified sound bigger than a maul. The older wizard interposed a shield before the blow hit, but its impact still spun him around six times and sent him hurtling against the shields of the observing wizards opposite the platform. Doethan bounced off their hard surface and continued to hang, suspended upside down. He was stunned and shook his head to clear it as his flying disk slowly descended. Several nearby crown wizards in solid-colored robes wanted to help, and so did many of the free wizards, but longstanding custom prevented them from taking action.

  If Hibblig tries to kill Doethan, I won’t care about custom, thought Merry. Her hands clenched into fists, but she tried to stay calm. She’d never thought her introduction to the Conclave would include a literal battle for leadership.

  Hibblig hadn’t paused in his attack. It wasn’t in his nature to give Doethan time to recover. The big wizard in bigger magical armor rushed across the assembly hall like a stampeding wisent and bashed Doethan against the wall of shields. Doethan’s flying disk was nine or ten feet above the floor, which meant his head was hanging at exactly the right level for Hibblig to hit it with his augmented fists.

  The leader of Princess Gwýnnett’s faction threw the first of what was intended to be a series of punches, but Doethan’s head was no longer there. Instead, the older wizard, still dangling upside down below his flying disk, was back near the ornate domed ceiling. Hibblig made quick modifications to the legs of his magical armor and leapt like a giant locust toward his foe.

  Merry was pleased to see that tactic must have been just what Doethan had been waiting for. Force-beams of tight light sped from his fingertips and struck Hibblig’s left hip and shoulder. The big wizard began to spin as he ascended. Doethan continued to use force-beams to accelerate Hibblig’s rotation. Hibblig extended his arms to slow his motion, but Doethan—still inverted—targeted his wrists and hands, using them as levers to make Hibblig spin even faster.

  “Yes!” Merry shouted as the big wizard’s motion became a blur. That’s got to make him dizzy!

  Astrí put a cautionary hand on Merry’s arm. I get it, thought Merry. The duel isn’t over. And it wasn’t.

  Hibblig dispelled his massive armor and pulled himself into a tight ball inside a protective sphere of solidified sound, negating much of his rotation. As the big wizard fell to the floor, Doethan righted himself on his flying disk and circled the hall, seeking a spot far from where his opponent would land. Hibblig rolled his sphere half a dozen times to soak up momentum, then stood facing Doethan.

  “Nice trick,” said the big wizard. “Too bad you won’t live long enough to benefit from it.”

  Merry heard several wizards near her inhale sharply. Some wore striped robes, not just solid-colored ones.

  Astrí whispered, “Hibblig’s crossed the line now. Duels for leadership aren’t supposed to be to the death—they’re tests of skill.”

  “Let’s get this over with,” said Doethan.

  Merry thought he seemed tired. Wouldn’t you be? she considered.

  Hibblig balled his hands into fists, bent his elbows, held his arms in front of him and moved one of his forearms around the other as if winding rope on a torsion catapult. Merry didn’t know what Hibblig intended, but she hoped Doethan didn’t give him time to find out.

  “Watch,” whispered Astrí.

  Doethan used his wizardry to open a tiny congruency near Hibblig. It was so small hardly anyone saw it, but Merry did. She remembered her friend and first mentor had an entertaining way of keeping unwanted guests away from his tower. Then she smiled as a deafening chorus of barking hounds, supplemented by the clanks of cocking crossbows, filled the room. Merry knew what came next. The hounds were just a distraction.

  “Call off your dogs—they won’t save you,” said Hibblig. Merry thought his voice sounded more like a mountain cat’s snarl than human speech.

  Hibblig stopped moving his forearms and slapped at the side of his head.

  “As you wish,” said Doethan.

  The baying hounds and soldiers with crossbows went silent. Thanks to the excellent acoustics in the hall, every wizard assembled there could hear the annoying whine of a single midge flitting around Hibblig’s left ear.

  Merry’s laugh joined the midge’s whine. He’s put the congruency in Hibblig’s ear canal!

  Eyes turned to stare at her and Merry moved behind Astrí’s dark-blue robes to be less visible.

  Hibblig was slapping at both ears now.

  Doethan generated a second congruency!

  One midge was joined by ten more, then a hundred, then a thousand, then ten thousand gathered in a dark cloud around Hibblig’s head. More wizards around the assembly hall started to laugh. Hibblig’s face turned red and Merry could see he considered opening his mouth but thought better of it, deciding he didn’t want to inhale midges. The tiny fliers’ wing-beats changed from a thin whine to a loud hum, reminding Merry of an unhappy hive of bees.

  Hibblig made a gesture then reluctantly lowered his jaw and spoke a trigger word. His suit of solidified-sound armor formed around him—but it didn’t help. The congruencies linked to marshes filled with midges were inside his ears, not outside his armor.

  I wonder how far south Doethan had to reach to get midges? wondered Merry. It will be another month until they’re a problem on the Rhuthro.

  In the middle of the assembly hall, Hibblig was looking more and more frantic. His face under his transparent solidified-sound helmet was speckled with black dots. He was crouching in the center of the hall and tossing small fireballs at his own head, trying—ineffectually—to eliminate the midges. Doethan descended and stood in his original position on the platform with his flying disk strapped to his back. Still more wizards were laughing at Hibblig and others were applauding Doethan’s cleverness.

  Thank goodness the duel’s over, thought Merry. But it wasn’t.

  Hibblig bellowed Doethan’s name and erupted from his crouch, charging toward the older wizard on the raised platform. Ten quick steps and a small jump put Hibblig beside his opponent. He locked Doethan in a bear hug and used a much bigger jump to carry them both to the center of the hall. Doethan had gotten his own body shield up in time, but Hibblig still held him by the neck in his left hand while he pummeled him with hammer-like blows with his right. Doethan’s shield started to waver from transmitted impacts and Hibblig added a long triangular blade to the armor on his right fist.

  “No!” shouted Merry. She didn’t know how to get around the other wizards’ shields, but she had to do something to save her friend. Astrí held Merry’s shoulders and they both watched in horror as Hibblig’s arm moved back, ready to administer a killing blow. All eyes were on Doethan and Hibblig. No one was breathing. Then everyone went blind.

  Merry blinked, trying to see again after a flash of golden light brighter than the
sun at noon splashed out above the platform, filling the hall. She felt a chill and heard a familiar voice.

  “WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE FIRST SHIPS IS GOING ON HERE?”

  Merry shook her head and rubbed her ears. She could make out a gleaming figure in sparkling blue robes descending on a flying disk toward Doethan and Hibblig. Something about the two combatants was different. They were literally frozen in place, held in tableau by a thick coating of ice.

  Without conscious agreement, the dozens of shields surrounding the assembly hall came down. Clumps of wizards buzzed with conversation like clouds of midges.

  “I go away for forty years and everything goes to pieces…” muttered Damon as he landed and adjusted the drape of his robe’s beautifully decorated fabric.

  Inthíra stepped forward.

  “Greetings, good wizard,” she said. “Who are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I don’t mind a bit. I’m Ealdamon, Master Mage of Dâron, and I’m here to get things back on track.”

  Merry turned to see her companion’s reaction, but Astrí was gone.

  All eyes were on Damon, wondering what sage pronouncement the semi-mythical Master Mage of Dâron would utter.

  Damon slapped at his ear and waved his hands in front of his face, looking annoyed. Then he spoke.

  “How did all these blasted midges get in here?”

  Chapter 32

  Fercha

  “Where did he go?” asked Fercha.

  Princess Gwýnnett was looking uncharacteristically like a mother, rather than a cold-blooded spider, but Fercha wasn’t convinced.

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t need you,” said Gwýnnett.

  They were alone in a private chamber somewhere in Princess Gwýnnett’s apartments. Gwýnnett was seated. Fercha had chosen to remain standing. Given the other woman’s penchant for poisons, she was afraid to touch anything and certainly wouldn’t accept any offers of refreshments. She wasn’t even sure about breathing, but didn’t have much choice about that. She created a transparent bubble of solidified sound around her head just to play it safe.