"I don't understand," Slant answered. "There was magic helping me; I couldn't have survived the crash without it." He was certain that it had been wizardry that let him control the ship without the socket in his neck, and that had let him see where he was flying.
"Oh, I see!" Arzadel said. "No, Slant, that was not us. That was your own power."
"What?"
"I told you, back in Praunce, that we had worked on your head for hours after the explosion. One of the things we did, so that you might help to heal yourself, was to give you the gift of wizardry. It was very tricky, with all that extra wiring you carry, but we managed it. We had also thought that as well as helping to heal you the change might be of aid in your battle with the demon, should it continue after you recovered; we did not know then what would happen after the bomb was removed. Some of us felt that it might be unwise, but they were overruled; however, it was decided that, as a compromise, we should not tell you what we had done until we could supervise your training. An untrained wizard can be very dangerous, to himself as well as those around him. Then, when you awoke and told us what the demon intended, there was no time for training—or for much of anything."
"You mean I'm a wizard?"
"Yes, and most likely to be a very powerful one, I would judge. You say you used wizardry aboard your ship—to have used the power without knowing you had it is a very good sign indeed that you will be quite adept, with practice. We will have to find you an apprenticeship immediately." He smiled.
This was rather more than Slant could take in at once; he was silent for a few seconds, sorting it out. It fit, though. The distortion of his vision, he realized, must have been the beginnings of the "wizard-sight" Kurao had mentioned. The headaches had been caused, he guessed, by his brain's readjustment. Already he seemed to be over those unpleasant side effects; with training, he was sure, they would not recur.
"You're offering me an apprenticeship in Praunce?" he asked at last.
"When one can be found for you, yes. The sooner the better."
That was all right; Praunce seemed as good a place as any to live, now that his ship was gone. He might someday try to do something with the wreckage, but for the present he could not plan on leaving Dest. It would be good to have a place, to belong somewhere; he had been a wandering outsider for far too long already.
There was something else that bothered him, though.
"How can you take me in, though? I've killed innocent people, caused untold destruction, slain at least one wizard."
Arzadel made a gesture of dismissal. "You did what you had to, while the demon possessed you. We saw you fight the demon for Haiger's life in Praunce, and saw you struggle, despite your wounds, to do final battle and destroy the demon. We saw you succeed and bring the demon-ship falling out of the sky. These were not the acts of an evil man. Your old life is behind you, Slant, and forgiven; you have done what you could to atone, and you will repay us further, I am sure. There is no one else on Dest with your knowledge of the old ways, the old magic from before the Bad Times; you will be a great asset to us. You are one of us now, Slant of Praunce!"
He considered that, and accepted it. He would do the best he could for these people; they had already done well for him. There was one more thing, though, to be done, before he could leave his old self behind.
"Call me Sam," he said.
About the Author
Lawrence Watt-Evans was born and raised in eastern Massachusetts, the fourth of six children. Both parents were long-time science-fiction readers, so from an early age he read and enjoyed a variety of speculative fiction. He also tried writing it, starting at age seven, but with very little success.
After finishing twelve years of public schooling in Bedford, Massachusetts, he tried to maintain family tradition by attending Princeton University, as had his father and grandfather. He was less successful than his ancestors, and after two attempts left college without a degree.
During the break in his academic career, he lived in Pittsburgh, a city he considers one of the most underrated in the country. At this time he began seriously trying to write for money, as that seemed easier than finding a real job. He sold one page of fiction in a year and a half.
In 1977, after leaving Princeton for the second and final time, he married his long-time girl friend and settled in Lexington, Kentucky, where his wife had a job that would support them both while he again tried to write. He was more successful this time, producing a fantasy novel that sold readily, beginning his full-time career as a writer.
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