The Congruent Wizard

by Dave Schroeder

  “I always knew you were intelligent,” said Fercha.

  “Maybe so,” said Nûd. “It remains to be seen if I’m wise.”

  Nûd stopped pacing and returned to sit across from Fercha again. He refilled his own mug and drank it down.

  “Why didn’t you tell the others about all this?” asked Nûd.

  “I don’t want them to know about Verro,” she said. “Or the fact that we still meet from time to time.”

  Nûd leaned back and stared at Fercha.

  “Are you a traitor, Mother?”

  “We never discuss matters of state,” she said. “And he is my husband.”

  Nûd shook his head. “It’s not right. I can’t handle this.”

  “Now you know why I’ve kept it from you for so many years.”

  “And I had to press you for it.”

  “That’s on you,” said Fercha. “Would it really be so bad to have the kingdoms united?”

  “It would be if Túathal—and Gwýnnett, I assume—are controlling Dârio.”

  “True,” said Fercha. She sighed again. “Are you going to tell Damon?”

  “That depends,” said Nûd. “Did you teach Verro the wide gate spell?”

  “Of course not,” said Fercha. “He must have figured it out on his own. Verro’s very smart. You two have that in common.”

  “That’s cold comfort—Mother,” said Nûd. “And it’s convenient you waited to share all this until after Damon and Dârio departed.”

  Fercha smiled at Nûd. “That wasn’t my plan.”

  “Do you have any idea what Verro’s surprise might be?”

  “I don’t,” said Fercha, “but he was flying from the southwest when I found him scouting the quarry near the Coombe.”

  “The southern Clan Lands are southwest of the Coombe.”

  “Yes,” said Fercha. “They are.”

  “You’ll take me to Damon and Dârio and the royal army in the morning?”

  “I will.”

  “Good night, Mother.”

  “Good night, Nûd.”

  Chee, in the rafters above, began to snore.

  Chapter 40

  Eynon and Merry

  “Llachar!” said Merry when she’d helped Eynon into their room. The light was bright and she softened its harsh glow until the room had the illumination of a pair of oil lamps.

  “I didn’t get much sleep last night,” said Eynon. He yawned again.

  “I’ll assume that’s because you’re tired, not because I bore you,” said Merry with a mischievous smile.

  Eynon kissed her on the tip of her nose.

  “You must not be that tired,” she said.

  “You inspire me, dear lady.”

  “Let me continue to do so by helping you out of your clothes,” said Merry.

  When she got to the point where she removed his shirt, she stopped and stared.

  “You really do have a red magestone,” said Merry. “It’s beautiful! May I see it up close?”

  “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours,” teased Eynon. He leaned forward so his red magestone dangled close to Merry’s eye level. She stared at it, wide-eyed.

  “It’s so big!”

  “Oh,” said Eynon. “You mean my red magestone?”

  Merry brought both hands around to tickle Eynon’s ribs with her fingers until he could capture the offending digits and bring them up to his lips to be kissed. She let out a low moan and freed her fingers, pulling Eynon’s head down so she could kiss him. The results were more than satisfactory and their faces were bathed in pulsing red and blue glows from three magestones.

  “I seem to be ahead of you,” said Eynon after they broke their kiss. “Let me help you catch up.”

  He removed Merry’s jacket and shirt. Her new magestone and setting rested between her small, firm breasts.

  “My eyes are up here,” said Merry.

  “I was looking at your setting,” said Eynon.

  “Sure you were,” said Merry, squeezing his hand.

  “What’s it made from?” he asked. “Electrum?”

  “Exactly,” said Merry. “An alloy of gold and silver. Maybe you are looking at my setting.”

  “They’re very beautiful,” said Eynon.

  “My magestone and setting?”

  “Those, too,” Eynon teased.

  Merry’s voice grew serious. “We have a problem,” she said.

  “We do?” asked Eynon.

  “Yes,” said Merry, her eyes changing to look as merry as her name. “We’re both wearing too many clothes!”

  * * * * *

  “Mmmm…” said Merry, cuddled naked against Eynon’s body under a thick quilt. “That was lovely. Do you think you can sleep now?”

  “There was never any question of me being able to sleep, dear lady,” said Eynon. “It’s just that now I’ll fall asleep with a smile on my face.”

  “Me too,” said Merry. “Not only am I in your arms, but today I learned my brother is still alive.”

  “Tell me about him,” said Eynon. “Tell me all about your day, for that matter.”

  Merry leaned up on one elbow and told Eynon about her travels to Riyas with Damon and their stop in Melyncárreg.

  “That was you I saw in the window,” said Eynon. “You waved to me.”

  “No I didn’t,” said Merry. “If I’d seen you, I would have tried to find you.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Eynon. “We’re together now.”

  “Yes we are,” said Merry. She kissed two of her fingers and transferred the kiss to Eynon’s lips.

  “Knowing your brother Salder is alive helps me understand why Derry didn’t object to you learning wizardry.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Merry.

  “As far as you knew, you were his sole heir,” said Eynon. “I know you said nobody cares about wizards inheriting noble titles out in the borderlands, but that never made sense to me. Wizards can’t rule.”

  “You’re probably right,” said Merry. “I was so interested in learning from Doethan I convinced myself it wasn’t a problem.”

  “You don’t mind not inheriting Applegarth and your father’s lands?”

  “No,” said Merry. “Especially not if my brother is still alive and can return once he’s finished his work in Riyas. Learning wizardry is far more rewarding.”

  “Good,” said Eynon. “I wanted to make sure you were comfortable with not succeeding your father.”

  “I think my father understood me better than I knew myself,” said Merry. “He saw how I was fascinated by Doethan’s magic whenever we stopped at his tower on the way to Tyford.”

  “Your father is a wise man,” said Eynon. “I wonder…” His voice trailed off and his hands moved, sliding along her body under the quilt.

  “What do you wonder?” asked Merry, beginning to react to his touch.

  “What it would be like to have wizards for parents?”

  “That is an interesting question,” said Merry, “and one I’m glad we won’t have to face first hand until we both remove our fertility-control charms.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” said Eynon.

  Merry moved her body closer to Eynon’s as his hand reached the center of her back and pressed before shifting down her spine in small, circular motions.

  “What did you mean?” asked Merry.

  “I was thinking about Nûd,” said Eynon.

  “Nûd?” teased Merry. Her own hands reached out for Eynon. “Not me?”

  “In addition to you, dear lady. Nûd’s mother is a wizard.”

  “Right,” said Merry. “He doesn’t get along well with Fercha.”

  “And vice versa, from what I can tell,” said Eynon. “But I was remembering something Nûd said in the common room.”

  “About you single-handedly intimidating the Bifurlanders into calling off their attack on Brendinas?”

  “No,” said Eynon, “about us coming up with a few surprises of our own.”

  “
Like what?” asked Merry. Eynon’s hands were rubbing her lower back and she was breathing faster.

  “Like going back to Melyncárreg to set one up.”

  “Hmmmm?” asked Merry.

  Eynon whispered in her ear.

  “Really?” she said. “Do you think it could work?”

  “I do,” said Eynon. “We’d need help from Fercha and Doethan and Nûd, too, for that matter. Plus a few more wizards.”

  “Doethan can ask Inthíra,” said Merry. “And maybe Astrí could assist.”

  “Astrí?”

  “The old queen’s private wizard. Wears blue robes so dark they’re almost black.”

  “Sure,” said Eynon. “We can leave that part up to Doethan. Shall we go down and tell them?”

  “In a few minutes,” said Merry.

  She pushed Eynon on his back and straddled his hips. Merry’s palms were on his shoulders and the weight of her upper body held them in place. The two of them sank deeper into the featherbed.

  “You’re not going anywhere right now,” she said, smiling down at Eynon. “I’ve got plans for you.”

  Chapter 41

  Laetícia and Quintillius

  Laetícia stared into the hoop that had been a ring on her finger moments ago. The sun was two fingers above the western horizon, the time she’d scheduled to contact her husband.

  “I’ve got an update for you, dear,” she said.

  “Is it anything serious, my love?” asked Quintillius from his tent with the legions and the contingent of Roma wizards on the eastern shore of the Brenavon.

  “Just the small matter of barbarians from the northern Clan Lands raiding down the Abbenoth valley,” said Laetícia. The purple beads in her dark braided hair clicked as she turned her head to accept a message from a servant. “And every ship in Tamloch is sailing down the coast toward Nova Eboracum.”

  “I see,” said Quintillius. “That sounds like quite an inconvenience. Do you need me to return?”

  “Not immediately,” said Laetícia. “How much longer do you expect to be in the south?”

  “My scouts inform me that we’re likely to have a decisive battle in the morning. I’ll return as soon as we win.”

  “I love your confidence, darling,” said Laetícia. “Come home to me safely.”

  “With my shield or on it,” said Quintillius.

  “See that it’s with your shield, dear. State funerals are expensive and depressing.”

  “I love you, too, sweetheart. Try to hold the barbarians north of the Long Lake.”

  “I’m more worried about the fleet from Tamloch than the barbarians,” said Laetícia. “Especially if our ships are transporting troops up the river.”

  “I have some ideas about how to supplement our navy,” said Quintillius. “I’ll keep you informed.”

  “See that you do, dear,” said Laetícia. “The right information is worth a legion.”

  “Or two,” said Quintillius. “How are the children?”

  “Terrorizing their nurses, as usual,” said Laetícia. “Primus did ask me when you’d be emperor this morning, though.”

  “I hope you cautioned him about that sort of talk when others could hear him.”

  “I did,” said Laetícia. “He’s only seven, but I think he understands. He told me he wants to command your Praetorians.”

  “I’ll encourage him to aim higher,” said Quintillius. “A consulship, at least.”

  “At least,” Laetícia repeated affectionately. “I’ll ring you with a status report in the morning.”

  “Thank you, my love. And see what your sources can learn about a bright light in the sky a few hours ago. It looked like one of Mafuta’s fireballs, but ten times as large and a hundred times as bright.”

  “Curious,” said Laetícia. “I’ll look into it.”

  “Sálve,” said Quintillius.

  “And you, my love,” said Laetícia. “Be well.”

  She ended their connection and collapsed her hoop down to a ring, slipping it on her finger.

  Back with the legions in the south, Quintillius summoned a servant—a girl of nine or ten in a loose purple chiton and sandals laced up to her knees.

  “How may I serve you, Governor-General?” she asked.

  “Please find Mafuta and Felix and ask them to come to my tent at their earliest convenience.”

  “Yes, Uncle,” said the girl. She opened the tent flap and ran off in search of the two wizards.

  Quintillius didn’t have the heart to stop her and insist that his sister’s youngest daughter follow proper military protocol. He’d have a quiet talk with her once they were back in Nova Eboracum.

  A few minutes later the wizards entered. Quintillius offered them high stools and took a low stool for himself so their eyes would be close to the same height. He chuckled to himself when he realized that Felix had gone through a growth spurt and was nearly as tall has he was.

  “Do you think you could get a private message from me to King Bjarni and Queen Signý?” asked the provincial governor.

  “I don’t see why not,” said Mafuta. “Flying scouts have located the Bifurland fleet. They’re less than a dozen miles away.”

  “How do you proposed to deliver the message?” asked Quintillius.

  “Like this,” said Felix. The tall, thin young mage in flowing purple robes rotated his hands in front of him like a potter working clay on a wheel. A construct of solidified sound began to form and soon a simulacrum of a golden dragon with outstretched wings hovered before him.

  Quintillius smiled and Mafuta extended her right arm and gave her colleague a thumbs up.

  “Do you have the message?” asked Felix.

  “I will in a moment,” said Quintillius. He found a pen and parchment and dashed off three quick lines, then folded the parchment. “Mafuta?” he asked.

  The older wizard picked up a stick of sealing wax from the governor-general’s camp desk and channeled heat from her purple magestone into its substance until a blob of wax sealed the message. Quintillius pressed his ring of office into the hot wax, then waved the parchment back and forth to help it cool. When the wax solidified, he handed the message to Felix.

  “Can you spare a ring-pair?” Quintillius asked Mafuta. “That would speed up our negotiations.”

  “I have a pair in my tent,” said Mafuta. “I’ll give one ring to Felix and deliver one to you.”

  “Excellent,” said Quintillius. “How long will it take you to get to the Bifurland flagship?”

  “Less than an hour,” said the tall young wizard.

  “Before nightfall, then?”

  “Well before,” said Felix.

  “Off with you then,” said Quintillius. “Safe flying.”

  Mafuta and Felix stood and gave small bows.

  “Governor-General,” they said in unison, then took their leave.

  Quintillius leaned over a map spread out on a table beside his camp desk. In the morning, his legions would march south along the course of the Brenavon until they were opposite a large island in the middle of the river. They would wait there until they got word from Fercha and Doethan and would do what they could to avoid engaging the Bifurlanders. Part of Quintillius was curious how his legionnaires would fare against the northerners. Roma’s legions had the discipline to take on any foe, and the Bifurlanders were only one step removed from the chaotic fighting styles of the northern and southern Clan Land barbarians.

  With Fortune’s favor, thought Quintillius, it won’t come to that.

  “May I enter?” asked Mafuta from the entrance to the Governor-General’s tent. Her right hand was closed.

  “Come in please, Mafuta,” said Quintillius. “Is Felix on his way?”

  “He is, Quin. You can count on him to deliver your message,” said Mafuta. “Here’s your ring,” she said, extending her closed fist.

  Quintillius opened his palm and Mafuta dropped a small gold band into it. The governor-general slid the ring on his little finger.


  “Now we wait,” said Quintillius.

  “Now we wait,” said Mafuta. “Care for a game of shah-mat to pass the time?”

  “Set up the board,” said Quintillius. “And don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

  “Hah,” said Mafuta. “I’ve won our last four contests.”

  “Don’t remind me,” said Quintillius. “Let’s just hope I win the one that counts.”

  “Oh?” asked Mafuta. “What did you write in your message?”

  Quintillius told her.

  Mafuta held her sides and laughed loud enough for a guard to stick her head inside the tent and be dismissed.

  “Quin, Quin, Quin,” said Mafuta between bouts of laughter. “You are in so much trouble. If you don’t win, Laetícia will kill you.”

  Chapter 42

  Damon and Dârio

  Damon and Dârio were flying north toward the Dâron army’s camp. The young king had his arms around the old wizard’s waist and was reveling in the view of the countryside below from Damon’s flying disk.

  The counties south of Brendinas along the river were largely agricultural, filled with large estates and dotted with small towns and freeholders’ farms. In the waning light, Dârio could see plowed fields with their dark soil beginning to turn green as early shoots emerged from the ground. Castles occupied several natural and human-or-wizard-made high points in the area’s topography.

  The royal army was encamped west of the main road leading from Brendinas to the southern reaches of the kingdom. Troops organized by feudal units had set up tents on a field belonging to the Earl of Claddarch. A well lined with blue-veined granite in the center of the encampment provided fresh water. The stones were probably dug from the quarry near the Dormant Dragon, Dârio supposed.

  Damon descended toward a collection of marquees and pavilions decorated with pennants and heraldic banners. Even at sunset, Dârio could read them as easily as he could a book. He knew at a glance which of his nobles were at the army’s headquarters. Duke Háiddon’s banner, a dark-blue rose on a white field, was particularly prominent. A horizontal blue sword was painted above the rose. It marked the duke as the kingdom’s earl marshal and commander of the royal army.