The Wiz Biz

by Rick Cook

  “Did duty have no role in your choosing?”

  Cormac grinned. “Oh, a mite. But I remember the day you came to the parade ground seeking a guardsman to cover your back while you burgled some trinkety bit of magic. I saw you and decided none other would be your quest companion.” He shook his head. “There were one or two others who were minded to volunteer, but I convinced them otherwise.”

  “So you presented yourself to me the next day with knuckles bloody.” Shiara smiled at the memory. “But was it only my beauty?”

  “Well, I always have been a frippery fellow, Light. With never your fine, serious purpose.”

  “Mock me if you will, but we do important work.” She sighed. “I do not know what I would have chosen had I been free to choose. But I had a talent for this and a head for the proper sort of spells. The job needed doing, desperately, so here I am.”

  “And you regret it?”

  Shiara shook her head and the ends of her silvery hair danced in the firelight. “No. My bargain has been fulfilled as well.” She smiled at him. “I have had all that and love as well.”

  Cormac reached over and squeezed her hand. “We’ve had more luck than any two mortals deserve, Light.”

  Shiara stared into the fire. “It cannot last, you know.”

  Cormac’s brows arched. “A premonition?”

  “A thought, rather. It is risky work we do and soon or late it will catch up with us.”

  A ghost of a cloud crossed Cormac’s brow. “Mayhap,” he said easily. “Or mayhap we will both die peacefully in bed.” He leered at her. “The same bed, I hope.” Shiara reached out and drew him to her.

  They made love, desperately and with a bittersweet passion, as if their coupling could erase the whole World and any thought of the morrow.

  ###

  They found the cave less than three hours after they broke camp the next morning. Above the boulder field ran a steep canyon, cleaving its way toward the mountain’s top. There was a rushing glacial stream, chill and sharp, down the canyon, making the dark rocks slippery and hard to climb.

  They came around a twist in the canyon and saw the cave mouth halfway up the cliff. There was a boulder-strewn ledge leading up from the canyon floor, making a natural pathway. The cave entrance itself was dark, jagged and about as inviting as the mouth of Hell.

  “Wait,” hissed Shiara and put her hand on Cormac’s bicep. She pointed a little downslope from the mouth of the cave.

  There was a flash of white against the dark rock, like the branches of a dead and barkless tree. Cormac squinted and caught his breath. They were bones, not branches and from their shape and size they could only be the bones of one thing.

  “A dragon,” Cormac said quietly. “A dragon died here, and not a small one, either.”

  “Dragons prefer caves as lairs,” Shiara said. “It would appear that this one chose the wrong resting place.”

  “It did not die naturally.” Cormac pointed with his blade. “Look at the way the ribs are smashed. But what could do that to a grown dragon?”

  “The sort of creature which would be set to guard a great treasure,” Shiara said gravely.

  “And you think it is still there, Light?”

  “A thing which could slay a dragon would not be expected to have a short life.”

  Cormac scanned the ledge and the cave mouth again. “There are no other bones. Surely other things would have tried to lair here from time to time.”

  “Perhaps they did not arouse the guardian. Dragons are more intelligent than most animals. And greedier than most men. Or perhaps whatever is within is careful to dispose of its refuse so as not to warn others.”

  “Hmm. A pretty problem then.” Cormac backed warily out of sight of the cave mouth and settled on a rock. “Do you sense magic?”

  Shiara wrinkled her nose. “Like smoke in a hut in wintertime. It is everywhere and strong. There is a blocking spell to confine the emanations, but this near I can feel it pressing. Whatever is within that mountain is powerful indeed.” She shivered. “And malign!”

  “But you cannot tell me what guards that door?”

  “If I had to guess I would say a demon. But it would only be a guess.”

  “So what now?”

  “Now,” Shiara said, bending to her kit, “we need a stalking horse. Something to enter the cave in our stead and see what lies within.” She looked up at him. “Plug your ears.”

  Cormac clapped hands to his ears while Shiara drew from her bag a gnarled brown root no longer than the length of her index finger. Looking more closely Cormac could see that the root was bifurcated and vaguely man-shaped.

  Shiara blew upon the root and spoke softly to it. Instantly the valley was filled with a hideous inhuman screaming. The root writhed and screamed in Shiara’s grasp until she completed the spell. Then she stood up and threw the root to the ground.

  Cormac blinked. Standing before him was himself, an exact duplicate down to the scars on his arms and the creases in his worn leather swordbelt.

  “How do you like our stalking horse?”

  “A mandrake image.” Cormac walked around the figure and nodded approvingly. “Lady, you outdo yourself.”

  “Let us hope the guard at that gate finds it satisfactory,” Shiara said. She leaned close and whispered in the ear of the homunculus. Wordlessly the thing turned and strode up the path toward the cave.

  “It even has my walk,” Cormac said as the thing climbed to the cave mouth.

  “It is your true double.”

  The homunculus went fearlessly to the cave mouth and stepped in without breaking stride. Shiara and Cormac held their breaths for three long heartbeats. Then there was a terrible bellowing roar from the cave and the sounds of swift combat. They saw movement in the darkness and then a tiny brown thing came flying out of the cave to bounce off the opposite wall of the valley.

  “A demon in truth!” Cormac breathed. “How do you slay such a one?”

  “With a more powerful demon,” Shiara said, still transfixed by what they had seen.

  “You don’t have one of those in that bag of yours do you, Light?”

  “Not likely. But if it cannot be slain, then perhaps it can be immobilized.” She set down her bag and rummaged around in it. “First we must know more about it.”

  “You’re not going to send another homunculus of me into that, are you? It does me no good to see myself.

  “That was the only mandrake root I had. But let us see what happens with something different.”

  With her silver wand she sketched a quick design in the dirt and spoke a single phrase. Now another warrior stood before them, a tall lean man with dark hair, a lantern jaw and icy blue eyes. He was dressed in a mail hauberk and carried a two-handed sword over his shoulder.

  “Donal to the flesh!” Cormac laughed. “He looks as if he just stepped off the drill ground at the Capital.”

  “No flesh, just an illusion. Now let us see what the demon makes of this one.” She spoke to the thing and without a word it turned and started up the ledge. At the mouth of the cave the false Donal halted and bellowed out a challenge that made the valley ring. There was no response. It approached the entrance and thrust over the threshold with its great sword. Again nothing. Finally it strode boldly into the cavern calling insults to whatever was within.

  Once more Cormac and Shiara held their breaths. But this time there was no sound of battle from the cave. After a minute the illusion returned to the cave mouth and waved to them.

  “It didn’t go for it.”

  “But that does not make sense,” Shiara protested. “The illusion was indistinguishable from the homunculus.”

  “Not to the demon,” Cormac observed.

  “Yes, but I don’t see why the demon would attack a homunculus and a dragon but not an illusion. It doesn’t . . .” she stopped short. “Fortuna, a true name! The homunculus had a true name but the illusion did not.” She turned to Cormac with her sapphire eyes wide. “That thing
can sense a being’s true name!”

  “Dragons don’t have true names,” Cormac protested.

  “Adult dragons do. Oh, not juveniles such as our cavalry ride, but when a dragon becomes a full adult it acquires a true name. The homunculus had a true name just as any demon does. That is how you control them. But the illusion did not.”

  Cormac eyed the cave mouth. “A very pretty problem then.”

  “Worse than that,” Shiara said. “The demon did not know the true name of homunculus and I doubt the dragon stopped for conversation before entering the cave. Yet the demon killed them both.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning it distinguishes beings with true names from beings without them. But that it does not have to know a thing’s true name to find it and kill it. It is enough that a thing has a true name.”

  Cormac gave a low whistle. “No wonder it is tied so tight to that cave. With that power it could seek out and destroy anyone in the World. Light, do you suppose the demon itself is the treasure?”

  “I doubt it. I think the demon merely guards the treasure.”

  “It must be treasure indeed to have such a guardian.”

  “Aye,” Shiara said, studying the cave mouth. “Well, we will learn little more sitting here. I think it is time to take a closer look.”

  “Tread softly, Light.”

  She turned to smile at him. “I will, my Sun.”

  The pair approached the cave mouth cautiously. Cormac had his broadsword out and Shiara held her silver wand before her like a torch.

  As they came closer Shiara stopped and pointed to a line carved in the living rock across the front of the cave.

  “The ward line. The demon cannot cross it.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Certain enough. Give me a torch.”

  Cormac reached into his pack and pulled out one of the pine torches Shiara had prepared. The wizardess tapped the end with her wand and it burst into flame. Shiara drew back and threw the torch across the line and they both ducked back out of sight of the cave mouth.

  There was no sound or movement from the cave. When they peeked around the corner they could see the torch lying on the rough rock floor of the cavern, burning brightly.

  The space revealed by the torchlight was perhaps three times Cormac’s height and somewhat less than that wide, but it ran back into the mountain well beyond the circle of illumination. There was no sign of life or movement.

  “The demon must only materialize when someone enters the cave,” Shiara whispered.

  “Well, what now?” Cormac whispered back. “Are you satisfied with your view of the demon’s empty home?”

  “Wait,” said Shiara, pointing inside the cavern. “What’s that?”

  Cormac followed her finger. There was something lodged in a crevice high on one wall of the cave.

  “A box, I think,” he said.

  Shiara eyed the thing speculatively. “I wonder . . . Cormac, have you a rope in your pack?”

  “You know I do, Light. And a grapnel too.”

  Quickly Cormac retrieved the rope and hook from where they had dropped their packs.

  “You want that box then?”

  Shiara stood by him, her wand in hand. “I do. But be ready to run if we get more than we bargain for.”

  Cormac swung the grapnel and cast it expertly into the cave. There was a hollow “clang” as the hook connected with the box. Cormac tugged and it clattered out of the crevice and onto the cave floor.

  In the torchlight Cormac saw that his prize was a bronze coffer, decorated in high relief and apparently bearing an inscription on the top. Another quick throw and Cormac dragged the box out of the cave and across the warding line.

  “Don’t touch it,” Shiara warned. As Cormac recoiled his rope she bent to examine the coffer.

  Shiara opened the box with a pass of her wand and a whispered incantation. Nestled inside was a smoky gray globe about six inches in diameter.

  “The heart of the demon!” Shiara exclaimed triumphantly. “Now we can truly control this creature.”

  She removed the ball from the coffer and held it in her hand. Another muttered spell and a dense cloud of smoke began to form within the cavern. Through the smoke loomed a great black shape.

  The huge horned head swiveled toward them, but before the creature could do more, Shiara raised her wand and spoke another spell. The demon froze as it was, the only sign of life the fire burning in its eyes.

  Shiara sighed and sagged. “That should hold it,” she said. Carefully, she replaced the sphere in the box and carried it back into the cave. The demon did not even twitch when she crossed the threshold.

  The wizardess was still considering the coffer when Cormac came up to her. “Do we take that with us?”

  “I wish we dared. It is a dangerous thing to leave behind, but it would be a greater danger to carry it with us. There might be something above us which can undo what I have done and I do not wish to find a rampaging demon here when we return.”

  “Conceal it?”

  “That is best.” She cast about the cavern looking for a hiding place.

  “Light, come look at this.” Cormac was standing over a head-high pile of bones.

  “So our demon did clean the place deliberately.”

  “Not that. Look.” Cormac shifted his torch and used his sword as a pointer. At one side of the bone pile lay the crushed and mutilated corpse of a man in a brown robe.

  “Ah acolyte of the League! Then they are here before us.”

  “Yes, but why only one body? Surely they would not send a brown robe alone on such a mission?”

  “Surely not. But they might use an acolyte as we used our mandrake homunculus.”

  Cormac nodded grimly. “Aye, that’s just the kind of thing they would do. But then where are the rest? Did they scatter away at the sight of the demon?”

  “Most likely they are somewhere up ahead of us. Once they knew the demon was here, they found a way to counteract it I do not think they tampered with the box, so perhaps they had the password.” She looked up the tunnel “I think we face an interesting meeting.”

  “Best be on with it then,” Cormac said, shifting his grip on his sword.

  The passage sloped up, climbing steadily toward the summit. Cormac went first, naked sword in one hand and smoking torch in the other. Shiara followed with another torch.

  “You’re unusually pensive,” Cormac told her when they had gone a small ways into the cavern. “What bothers you, Light?”

  “That demon.”

  “Well, it is trouble past and overcome. I am more concerned about what we might find above us.”

  “Yes, but it is how we overcame it. Why was the box where we could reach it? A few feet further back in the cave and the demon would have been safe from our efforts.”

  Cormac shrugged. “So our sorcerer made an error. Even the best magician can err through overconfidence.”

  “I know,” Shiara said. “That is what troubles me.”

  Their way climbed steeply upward but the path was smoothed and widened. Either this had never been a natural cavern or it had been extensively reworked. The smooth black rock seemed to soak up the light of their torches and the darkness pressed in on them from all sides. Shiara hurried slightly to stay within touching distance of Cormac.

  There was a low, distant rumble and the earth beneath them moved slightly.

  “Earth magic,” Shiara said. “Very potent and barely held in check here.” She looked around. “Left to its own, I think this mountain would have erupted hundreds of years ago.”

  “A fitting lair for a sorcerer.”

  “More than that, perhaps.”

  “Light, will you stop being so gloomy? You’re beginning to make me nervous.”

  She smiled. “You’re right, my Sun. This place is affecting me, I am afraid.”

  They climbed and climbed until it seemed they would emerge at the very top of the mountain. Finally their wa
y leveled out and there before them was a door.

  The portal was of the deepest black granite, polished so smooth the burning brand in Cormac’s hand threw back distorted reflections of the two adventurers. A gilt tracery ran along the lintel and down the doorposts. Runes, Shiara saw as she moved closer. Runes of purest gold beaten into the oily black surface of the granite.

  Shiara formed the runes in her mind, not daring to move her lips. “It is a treasure indeed,” she said at last. “A trove of magic of the sort seldom witnessed. This is the tomb of Amon-Set.”

  Cormac wrinkled his nose. “The name is somewhat familiar. A boggart to frighten children, I think.”

  “More than that,” she told her beloved. “Before he was a night-fright, Amon-Set was mortal. A sorcerer so powerful his name has lived after him and so evil he is a figure of nightmare.”

  “Aye,” Cormac breathed. “The great dark one from the beginning of the World. And he lies here?”

  “I would not take oath he is dead.”

  “I mislike rifling the tombs of sorcerers,” Cormac said apprehensively.

  “I like it even less than that. Such places are mazes of traps and snares for the greedy or the careless.” She sighed and straightened. “Fortunately we do not have to steal. Only keep what is here from being loosed upon the World.”

  “But before that we must enter.”

  “So we must, love.” Shiara set down her pouch and knelt beside it. “Leave that to me.”

  The lock was a cunning blend of magic and mechanics. Slowly and deliberately, Shiara worked upon it, running her fingers over the surface to sense the mechanism within. Sometimes she operated upon it with cleverly constructed picks. Sometimes she used incantations. Finally she pushed against it gently and the door sung open. Motioning Cormac to remain outside, she entered cautiously.

  The room was vast, so big the walls were lost in the gloom. The marble floor, tessellated in patterns of black and darkest green, stretched away in front of them. Shiara had the feeling that by stepping through the door she had become a piece on a gigantic game board.