The Wiz Biz

by Rick Cook

  No, Amon-Set was not dead, not truly. Within the smoky purple depths of the scepter he had waited out the ages, waiting for one whose body and skill he could use to live again. The snow-white corpse on the crystal bier was indeed dead. But his soul lived within the scepter; lived, hungered and awaited its prey.

  The wizard who was skilled enough to grasp the scepter of Amon-Set was a suitable vehicle for his reincarnation. And that was the true purpose of everything here. To find such a one and put them in a position where Amon-Set could possess them and so live again.

  Shiara could feel herself ebbing away as the alien presence intruded. She twisted and struggled in the grip of the long-dead sorcerer. She fought back with every bit of skill and knowledge at her command.

  It was a hopelessly uneven fight. She felt the chamber’s magics convulse and yield under her desperate thrusts, but the core of Amon-Set locked her in an ever tightening embrace.

  “Now!” a strange creaking voice cried from the door of the chamber. Shiara realized vaguely that someone else had entered the fray.

  Cormac whirled at the voice and saw Jul-Akkan stumble into the room. Shiara could not break Amon-Set’s hold on her, but her struggles had loosed the grip of the guard spells.

  Cormac’s sword flickered at the wizard with the speed of a striking snake, but not fast enough; even weakened Jul-Akkan was faster still. His hand flicked out and Cormac screamed and dropped to the floor.

  Without pausing, Jul-Akkan leaped across the room and grasped the scepter with both hands.

  For an instant three beings warred. Then with a final mighty effort Shiara was able to let go of the cursed thing. Jul-Akkan fell back with both hands planted on the scepter and his eyes widening as Toth-Amon took him.

  Shiara staggered and shook her head. Through pain-dimmed eyes she saw Cormac writhing in the final agonies of a death spell and the one who was Jul-Akkan writhing in the throes of rebirth. In seconds Cormac would be dead and Toth-Amon would be loosed upon the world again. Her Sun and her World both teetered on the brink of destruction.

  Shiara’s eyes locked with Cormac’s as he pleaded silently with her to do something to release him from the awful pain. Without bothering with the timing demon, Shiara triggered the destruction spell. “Forgive me, love,” she whispered as he slumped to the floor.

  Magic after magic flared incandescent around the living, the dead and the reborn. The room shook under the force of the spells. The pedestals tottered and toppled. The lanterns crashed to the floor and went out.

  Amon-Set struggled to rise, but he did not have full control. The scepter slipped from his hands and dashed into pieces on the shaking floor. All around them the magic grew in violence as forces contained past their time burst free at last.

  And then, in a mighty explosion of magic, the roof fell in. Shiara screamed as she saw Cormac’s body crushed under a falling block. Waves of magic flayed her. Her last sight was of the brilliant blue glow. The after-image burned itself into her brain. Reflexively and in shock, she stumbled from the room.

  Above her the top of the mountain blew off. A column of angry orange fire shot high into the smoke-stained sky and bombs of flaming lava arced down into the forest, setting fires where they fell.

  ###

  Toth-Ra examined the great still demon carefully. Obviously the guardian had been neutralized in some manner. So far, so good he thought. He had .the word and sign to pass the demon, stolen from the crypt of the League, but he was satisfied not to use them.

  Let us see if anything of use remains here. He waited past the thing and inspected the cavern carefully. It did not take him long to find the coffer. When he opened it, he gasped. The heart of the demon lay within.

  Toth-Amon smiled. Here was an auspicious beginning. Obviously the Council’s agents had beaten him here, but they were unlikely to know all the secrets of this place. There were still treasures, to be gleaned while they attempted to unravel the mysteries.

  Then the ground began to move under him. Toth-Ra ran to the mouth of the cave and reached it in time to see the mountain erupt, taking the treasures of Amon-Set with it.

  Balked, he danced in fury. “Gone. Gone, ay, all gone,” he shrieked.

  No, he realized. Not all gone. There was still the guardian of the gate.

  Heedless of the shaking earth or the erupting mountain he moved back across the magically marked threshold clutching the box tightly. Once safely outside, he released the demon.

  “What is your name?” he asked sharply.

  “Bale-Zur,” the thing rumbled.

  “And what is your virtue?” the wizard asked.

  To slay,” the great deep voice boomed out again. “To rend and tear any whose true name has ever been spoken in the World.”

  Toth-Ra shivered. Here was power indeed! The treasure of Amon-Set might be consumed in fire, but at least one of his servants could be bound to his cause. He eyed the burning mountaintop carefully. Perhaps this one alone would be sufficient to make him the greatest in the League.

  “And what is your desire?”

  “To slay,” the demon repeated. “To slay and slay again.”

  Toth-Ra placed both hands on the dusky globe. “Then I will bargain with you,” the wizard said.

  ###

  It was hours later when Ugo found Shiara wandering in the canyon above the boulder field.

  “You live, Lady,” the little wood goblin cried joyfully as he ran to her.

  “Who?”

  “Ugo, Lady. You set me to watch. Then bad things happen and I come to look.” He stopped. “Where is other?”

  “Gone,” Shiara said dazedly. “Gone.” Then she seemed to gather herself and held out her hand.

  “Lead me, Ugo. Your senses are keen and between the night and the clouds I cannot see.”

  “Close to high noon, Lady,” the little creature said sadly. “Sorry, Lady.”

  Shiara said nothing. Ugo approached her and gently took her hand in his.

  “Famous victory,” the wood-goblin said. “Bards will sing it long.”

  Shiara the Silver only laughed bitterly and let the goblin lead her down the smoldering mountain.

  “And what happened afterwards?” Moira breathed at last.

  Shiara the Silver raised her head from her breast and turned her blind, lined face to her questioner. “Afterwards?” She said simply. “There was no afterwards.”

  “Foolishness,” grumbled Ugo, poking up the fire.

  Eight: Forlorn Hope

  The long golden days of Indian Summer dragged by at Heart’s Ease. Moira worked in the garden or the kitchen. Wiz chopped wood and mooned over Moira. If the tensions within the household did not ease, at least they did not to grow significantly worse.

  There was always work to be done and the time rolled forward with everyone except Wiz fully occupied. But for all of them, except perhaps Ugo, there was a sense of being suspended. Greater plans and long-range decisions were set aside awaiting word from Bal-Simba and the Council on what was to be done with Wiz.

  For Wiz everything depended on what the Council found. If he did have some special ability then perhaps he could redeem himself with Moira. At least he would be able to make himself useful and stop feeling like a parasite.

  In his more realistic moments, Wiz admitted he couldn’t possibly imagine what that ability might be. The image of him standing before a boiling cauldron in a long robe and a pointed cap with stars was simply silly and the thought of himself as a warrior was even worse.

  “Lady, may I ask you a question?” Wiz said to Shiara one day when Moira wasn’t around. The former wizardess was sitting on a wooden bench on the sunny side of the keep, enjoying the warmth from the sun before her and the sun-warmed stones behind.

  “Of course, Sparrow,” she said kindly, turning her face to his voice.

  “Patrius was a great Wizard wasn’t he?”

  “One of the greatest the North has ever seen.” She smiled reminiscently. “He was not only skille
d in magic, he—well—he saw things. Not by magic, but because had the kind of mind that let him see what others’ sight had passed over.”

  “But he didn’t make mistakes very often?”

  “Making mistakes is dangerous for a wizard, Sparrow. Magicians who are prone to them do not last.”

  Wiz took a deep breath and rushed on. “Then he couldn’t have been wrong about me, could he?”

  Shiara paused before answering. “I do not know, Sparrow. Certainly he was engaged in a dangerous, difficult business, performing a Great Summoning unaided. If he were to make a mistake it might be in a situation such as that.

  “On the other hand,” she went on as if she sensed Wiz’s spirits fall, “Patrius could look deeper and see more subtly than anyone I ever knew. It may well be that we cannot fathom his purposes in bringing you here.”

  “Do you think the Council will figure out what he was up to?”

  Again Shiara paused. “I do not know, Sparrow. Patrius apparently confided in no one. The members of the Council are the wisest of the Mighty. I would think they would discover his aim. But I simply do not know.” She smiled at him. “When the Council knows something they will send word. Best to wait until then.”

  In the event it was less than a week later when word came to Heart’s Ease.

  It was another of the mild cloudless days that seemed to mark the end of summer in the North. Wiz was up on the battlements, looking out over the Wild Wood—and down at Moira who was busy in the garden.

  “Sparrow,” Shiara’s voice called softly behind him, “we have a visitor.”

  Wiz turned and there, standing next to Shiara was Bal-Simba himself.

  “Lord,” Wiz gasped. “I didn’t see you arrive.”

  “Such is the nature of the Wizard’s Way,” the huge wizard said with a smile. “How are you, Sparrow?”

  “I’m fine, Lord.”

  “I am happy to see that you made your journey here safely. Although not without peril, I am told.”

  “Well, yes, Lord, that is . . .” Wiz trailed off, overawed by the wizard’s size and appearance.

  “I will leave you now, Lord,” Shiara put in. “Doubtless you have things to discuss.”

  “Thank you, Lady,” Bal-Simba rumbled.

  “What did you find out?” Wiz demanded as soon as Shiara had closed the door.

  “Very little, I am afraid,” Bal-Simba said regretfully. “There is no trace of magic in you. You are not a wizard and have not the talent to become one. There is a trace of—something—but not the most cunning demons nor the most clever of the Mighty can discern ought of what it is.”

  Wiz took a deep, shuddering breath. “Which means—what?”

  “It means,” the wizard said gently, “that to all intents and purposes you are an ordinary mortal with nothing magic to make you special.”

  “Okay, so send me home then.”

  Bal-Simba shook his head. “I am truly sorry, Sparrow, but that we cannot do.”

  “Oh crap! You brought me here, you can send me home.”

  “It is not that simple, Sparrow.”

  “It is that simple! It is exactly that simple. If you can bring me here you can send me back.”

  “No it is not!” Bal-Simba said sharply. “Now heed me. I will explain to you a little of the magic that brought you here.

  “Did you ever wonder why Patrius chose to Summon you at a place far removed from the Capital? No, why would you? He did it because he hoped to do alone what he and all the Mighty could not accomplish acting together.

  “Normally a Great Summoning is done by several of the Mighty together. But such a gathering of magic would be immediately visible to the magicians of the Dark League. They would strive to interfere and we would have to use magic to protect it. Soon there would be so much magical energy tied up in thrust and parry that the circle could not hope to make the Great Summoning.

  “Of us all, only Patrius had the knowledge and ability to perform a Great Summoning unaided. He knew he could not completely escape the League’s attention, but he apparently hoped that they would not realize what was happening until he had completed the spell.” Bal-Simba looked grim. “As it happened he was wrong and the gamble cost Patrius his life.

  “Simply put, Sparrow, there is no hope of returning you to your world unless we can perform a Great Summoning unhindered and there is no hope of that with the League growing in power.”

  Wiz’s face twisted. “Damn.”

  “Even non-magicians should not swear, Sparrow,” Bal-Simba said sternly.

  “Well, what am I supposed to do? You’ve just told me I’m nothing and I’ll always be nothing. I’m supposed to be happy about it?”

  “I did not say you were nothing. I said you have nothing of magic about you. You have a life to live and can make of it what you will.”

  “Fine,” Wiz said bitterly. “I don’t suppose you could use your magic to whip me up a VAX? Or even a crummy IBM PC?”

  “I am afraid not, Sparrow. Besides, I do not think those things would work here.”

  Wiz leaned forward against the parapet and clasped his hands together. “So,” he sighed. “What do I do now?”

  “Survive,” Bal-Simba said. “Live. That is the lot of most.”

  “That’s not very enticing,” Wiz growled. “I can’t go home and there’s nothing for me here.”

  Bal-Simba followed his gaze down into the garden where Moira was kneeling among the plants.

  “Things change, Sparrow. Things change.”

  “Not much to hope for, is it?”

  “Men have lived on the hope of less,” Bal-Simba rumbled. “Do you have courage, Sparrow? The courage to hope?”

  Wiz turned to face him and smiled bitterly. “I can’t have much else, can I?”

  They stood looking out over the battlements and to the forest beyond for a moment more.

  “You can stay here for as long as you like,” Bal-Simba said finally. “The Dark League still seeks you and it is not safe for you to wander abroad in the world.”

  “Thanks,” Wiz mumbled. “I guess I can find some way to make myself useful.”

  “That will be your choice, Sparrow.”

  As he moved to go, Bal-Simba placed his left hand on Wiz’s shoulder and made an odd gesture in front of his eyes with his right. A thrill ran though Wiz’s body and he shivered involuntarily.

  “What did you do?” he asked.

  “A minor magic, Sparrow,” the giant black wizard said. “It is for your own good, I assure you.”

  He left Wiz staring out over the forest and descended the stairs.

  After Bal-Simba left, Wiz looked down at the flagged courtyard spread out below.

  It’s a long way, he thought. It would take, what, five, six seconds to fall that far?

  That was one out, anyway. Short and relatively painless. He could just swing a leg over and solve everyone’s problems in an eye blink. Moira could go back to her village, Shiara and Ugo would have peace again and him, well, he wouldn’t care anymore.

  He drew back from the edge. No dammit! I’ll be damned if I’ll let this beat me like that! Besides, he thought wryly, with my luck I’d probably just cripple myself. Oh, to hell with it! He went back to staring out at the forest.

  ###

  Moira met Bal-Siraba in the great hall.

  “Forgive me, Lord. I do not mean to pry into what is not my affair, but what did you find out about Sparrow?”

  Bal-Simba shrugged. “As we suspected Lady. He has no magic and none of the Council can imagine what use he might be to us.”

  Moira closed her eyes and sighed. “I had hoped . . .”

  “So had we all, Lady,” Bal-Simba rumbled. “But do you care so much for him?”

  “Care for him?” Moira blazed. “I can’t stand him! Lord, he is not competent to weed a garden! He can barely be trusted within these walls by himself and he needs a keeper if he goes abroad.”

  “You should not be so hard on him,” Bal-Simba
said. “He cannot help it that he is as he is. Would you fare better in his world?”

  “You are right, Lord,” Moira sighed. “But it is so terribly hard when he is making eyes at me constantly. And when I look at him I’m reminded of what he cost us. He cost us so much and he is worth so little.”

  “Do not presume to judge his worth,” Bal-Simba rumbled. “True worth is often hidden, even from the Mighty.”

  “I know, but . . . Oh, Lord, let me return to the Fringe and my people,” she pleaded. “They need me and Shiara can look after him.”

  Bal-Simba shook his head. “Your people are looked after, little one. As for letting you go—do you so relish the trip back across the Wild Wood and through the Fringe alone?”

  Moira thrust out her chin. “I did it before, and with him in tow.”

  The black wizard shook his head. “And you made it only by luck and the grace of an elf duke. I do not think Aelric would be so accommodating a second time and you used more than your share of luck getting here.”

  “You mean I’m trapped here?”

  “For a time, little one. When the League’s interest has died somewhat more, we can bring both of you back to the Capital by the Wizard’s Way. From there you may go as you will. In the meantime, try to be kind to our lost Sparrow.”

  Moira sighed. “I will try, Lord. But it is not easy.”

  “Very little in life is,” the wizard said.

  ###

  Wiz stood at the top of Heart’s Ease and looked west over the Wild Wood. The sun was going down and already the shadows had stretched across the clearing below. The swallows swooped and wheeled over the keep and Wiz heard the whoosh of their passage more often than he saw one flit by.

  “Is it a beautiful sunset, Sparrow?” asked a soft voice behind him. Wiz turned and saw Shiara standing by the door.

  Wiz swallowed his misery. “Yes Lady, it is a very pretty sunset.”

  Shiara moved unerringly to the parapet. “Describe it for me if you would.”