by Rick Cook
Although Aelric and Lisella were careful to include Wiz in the conversation, he had the distinct feeling that he was missing most of what was actually being said. They were playing some kind of game, he decided, some elaborate elven game with malice at its heart. Whatever these two were they were definitely not lovers.
Throughout dinner Aelric had kept up an easy conversation on inconsequential topics. Wiz had sensed that his host did not want to discuss serious matters, and still in awe of the elf duke, he had likewise avoided them. Finally, as light-footed servants placed bowls of nuts and decanters of wine on the damask-covered table, Lisella rose.
“Alas, My Lords, the hour grows late.” She curtseyed to Aelric. “If you will excuse me?”
Aelric stood up and Wiz followed suit. “Of course, My Lady.” He bowed and kissed her extended hand.
Then she turned to Wiz and fixed her green eyes on his. “Perhaps we shall meet again,” she said softly and with a rustle of her brocaded gown she was gone.
“Remarkable, is she not?” Duke Aelric said. Wiz realized he was gaping and made a determined effort to shut his mouth. Aelric sat down and Wiz followed suit.
“I thought it would amuse you to meet her.” He picked up his wine glass and again Wiz followed his lead.
“Uh, why? I mean aside from the fact that she’s beautiful.”
Aelric cocked an eyebrow. “My dear boy, she has been trying to kill you for months.”
Wiz choked, spewing wine across Duke Aelric’s fine damask table cloth.
The elf duke dabbed the wine drops from his sleeve. “You mean you did not know? Dear me, and I was about to comment you for your insouciance.”
“How . . . I mean why? I mean I’ve never seen her before.”
“That is immaterial, Sparrow. As to the how, she has been arranging little accidents for you for some time. So far you have been lucky enough to avoid them.”
Wiz remembered the falling stone and the toppled viewing stand and felt sick. Then he looked closely at the elf duke. “Somehow, I don’t think it’s been entirely luck.”
Aelric smiled. “Your escapes were at least as much luck as your accidents were mischance.”
Wiz absorbed that in silence. All of a sudden he felt like a piece on someone else’s chess board. He didn’t like it much.
“Thanks, I think. But why is she trying to kill me?”
“Oh, many reasons, I expect. The technical challenge for one. Penetrating a place so thick with magic as your Capital, undetected and laying such subtle traps. That required superb skill, I can assure you.” He smiled reminiscently. “So did countering them. You’ve provided quite a diverting experience.”
“And if I had missed that handhold on the parapet? Or hadn’t jumped the right way when the stand collapsed?”
Aelric looked at him levelly. “Then the game would have been over.”
Wiz was silent again. “You said there were many reasons Lisella wanted to kill me,” he said at last. “What are some of the others?”
Duke Aelric poured more of the ruby wine into a crystal glass with an elaborately wrought and delicately tinted stem. “Surely you can guess. When last we met, I said I would follow your career with interest, Sparrow.” He smiled wryly. “I admit I did not expect it to be quite this interesting.”
“I didn’t either, Lord.”
“It is not often a mortal is sufficiently interesting to hold the attention of one of us. You have become interesting enough to fix the attention of quite a number of the never-dying.” The elf duke looked at his guest speculatively. “You have made yourself much hated, you know.”
“Yeah,” said Wiz miserably. “It wasn’t supposed to work this way. Things kind of got out of hand.”
“Not unusual when mortals dabble in magic,” Aelric said. “Lisella is a minor difficulty. You would do well to dismiss her from your mind—after taking proper precautions, of course. What you have done has deeper consequences.”
“You mean the destruction of magic along the Fringe?”
“I mean the destruction of mortals everywhere,” the elf duke said. “You mortals make this new magic and in the process you raise forces against yourselves you do not understand. For the first time in memory there is talk of a grand coalition of magic wielders, a coalition aimed at the mortals.”
“That’s crazy!”
“That is mortal logic, Sparrow. None of these are mortals and many of them are not logical in any sense.”
“But, I mean a war.”
“They would not think of it as a war. Rather the extermination of a particularly repulsive class of vermin who have made themselves too obvious.”
Wiz stared straight into the depths of the elf duke’s eyes. “Do you think you could beat us?”
Aelric shrugged gracefully. “I really do not know.” Then he caught and held Wiz’s gaze. “But I tell you this, Sparrow. Whoever wins, the outcome is likely to be the utter destruction of the World.”
Wiz dropped his eyes. “Yeah. But does it have to happen? I mean, can’t we prevent it?”
“It would be difficult at best,” Aelric said. “That is not a consequence all of us wish to avoid. There are some who hunger for death and destruction on the widest possible scale. There are some who by their very natures cannot comprehend or appreciate the threat. And there are some who would find the end of the World merely diverting. A new experience, so to speak.”
“What can I do?”
Aelric shrugged. “Remove the cause. The magical forces of the world make uneasy allies. If the threat were gone, the coalition would dissolve in an eye blink.”
Wiz thought about that, long and hard. Aelric sipped his wine and said nothing more.
He didn’t know what the chances of heading this thing off were, but he didn’t think they were very good. Given the feelings of the people of the Fringe about magic, and given the power of the tools he had put in their hands, it wasn’t going to be easy to get them to quit wiping out magic wherever they found it Keeping them from pushing into the Wild Wood in search of land would be harder yet.
And he was going to have to have a hand in finding a solution. Not only because he helped create the problem, but because he was the only one who really understood the new kind of magic that lay at the root of it.
Wiz was even less confident of his ability to solve those problems than he was of his capacity as a politician or a teacher, but dammit, he had to try.
“I’m going back to the Capital,” he announced. “Maybe I can undo some of this mess.”
“A wise decision,” Aelric said. “When do you propose to return?”
“I should go back tonight, but I’m beat and there’s not much I could do there. First thing in the morning, then.”
The elf duke nodded.
Wiz reached for his wine goblet. Then he froze in horror.
“Wait a minute! If Lisella wanted to kill me, she just had the perfect opportunity to poison me or something!” He stared at his goblet as if it had sprouted poison fangs and tried desperately to remember if Lisella’s hands had ever been near it.
Duke Aelric chuckled. “Oh no. Murdering you while you sat together at dinner would be gauche. The fair Lisella is never gauche.”
Wiz considered that and decided the elf duke was probably right. But he didn’t drink anymore wine.
“Oh, one other thing. The Little Folk who came with me. Could you, well, could you take care of them for me?”
Aelric looked startled. “Are they so important?”
“Not important, no. But I land of feel responsible for them and I can’t take them with me.”
The elf duke’s brow creased and for a second Wiz was afraid he was angry. Then he relaxed and rubbed his chin.
“I doubt they would be happy within my hold,” Aelric said finally. “But I could send them on to Heart’s Ease under my protection. I do not think those who dwell there would mind their presence.”
“Thank you, Lord. I really appreciate it.”
###
Lisella was not in evidence the next morning when Wiz bade Aelric farewell. The elf duke and the brownies accompanied him to a clearing outside one of the elf hill’s many doors. It seemed impolite to walk the Wizard’s Way from inside the hill—something like parking your motorcycle in your host’s living room.
“Good luck, Sparrow,” Aelric said as Wiz faced in his chosen direction.
“Merry part, Lord.”
Aelric looked at him and Wiz flushed, remembering that the elves did not use the human formula.
“Merry meet again,” Aelric said finally.
Wiz raised his staff to begin the spell that would take him home.
“backslash”
Ten: The City of Night
Whenever you use a jump, be sure of your destination address.
—programmers’ saying
Something had gone wrong! Wiz felt as if he had been spun around and tackled by a lineman. He was dizzy, pointing in the wrong direction and everything was wrong. His vision blurred, his head hurt and he was on the verge of throwing up.
As his sight cleared, Wiz saw he was in a low stone room. It was cold and lit by torches, not magic globes.
Ebrion stood before him.
“Merry met, My Lord,” Wiz said instinctively. Ebrion looked uncomfortable.
“Merry met, Sparrow,” came a cackling voice from behind him. “Merry met indeed.”
Wiz turned and saw a bent man in the black robe of a wizard of the Dark League. He hobbled forward, leaning heavily on his staff.
The black-robed one smiled, not at all pleasantly. “Welcome, Sparrow. Welcome to your final resting place.”
###
“Stayed behind?” Bal-Simba demanded. “What do you mean he stayed behind?”
“He departed into the Wild Wood when we had finished,” Philomen told him.
“And you let him?”
Philomen hesitated. “We had words earlier that morning. I fear he was not well-disposed toward me. Then it turned out this rock creature was in some way sentient and that disturbed him even more. The Sparrow has an unusually tender regard for magical creatures of all sorts. He seems to feel that even the useless ones should be protected.”
“So he went off into the Wild Wood. Alone.”
“Lord, I tried to reason with him, but he would not listen. I am sorry, Lord.”
“No need for that,” Bal-Simba said flipping his hand dismissingly. “Perhaps our Sparrow needs some time by himself. And in any event, the longer he stays away the better for the situation here.” He sighed. “I only wish he had gone through the settled lands rather than into the Wild Wood. But, no, you did nothing wrong.”
“Thank you, Lord,” said Philomen and withdrew with a bow.
Bal-Simba stood at the window looking out over the rooftops of the Capital toward the east as the shadows groped their way toward the horizon. Then he sighed again, shook himself and turned away to his desk.
At least he will be in no danger, Bal-Simba told himself. As long as he stays away from elves he is certainly more powerful than anything he is likely to meet on this wandering.
###
Wiz looked around desperately. The chamber was low but wide and long, with rough stone for the walls and floors and a couple of smoking torches to light it. Standing back in the shadows he saw even more black-robed wizards of the Dark League.
“We are going to send you back where you came from, Sparrow,” Ebrion said finally. “Back to where you belong.”
“But I don’t want to go.”
“Then you shall not,” the other, black robe, said as he hobbled more fully into the light.
Wiz gasped.
The man’s eyes glinted like chips of obsidian in a pink hairless mass of scar tissue. His nose was a slit and his ears shriveled like dried apricots. The hand clutching the staff was reduced to a claw, with only the thumb and forefinger remaining. Like the face, the hand was pink with scars.
“That was not the agreement,” Ebrion protested.
“The agreement has changed,” the other flung over his shoulder as he closed in on Wiz, thrusting his face so close Wiz could see where his eyebrows had been.
“Look upon me, Sparrow. I am called Dzhir Kar and I am your death.” His breath stank in Wiz’s face. “My form does not please you?” he said, looking up at his captive. “A pity, Sparrow. For you caused it. A ceiling fell on me when you attacked the City of Night. There was a fire as well and I lay within the flames, slowly roasting and unable to move.”
His face split into a hideous grin. “But I do not hold that against you, Sparrow. Oh no, not at all. For as I lay there and burned I discovered new strength within me. As I struggled to recover, I honed that strength. It made me Master of the Dark League, Sparrow.”
He grasped Wiz’s chin with a clawlike hand and pulled his face close.
“Look at me, little one! For I am your creation.”
Wiz twisted his chin from the other’s grasp and flinched away.
“Then look at my creation, Sparrow. My creation and your doom.”
He gestured and two of the black-robed wizards moved forward into the fitful light. Each of them held a heavy chain and on that chain was a thing that made Wiz catch his breath.
It was long and lean, with a body made for coursing. The legs were a hound’s legs, although the three ripping talons on each paw were like no dog that ever lived. The head was narrow with ivory fangs protruding from the heavily muscled jaws. Dzhir Kar made a gesture toward Wiz with his staff and the thing lunged and snapped at Wiz. The sound rang like a rifle shot in the gloomy chamber.
“Do you like my pet?” the black-robed wizard crooned, laying a gnarled hand upon the scaly head. “I made him especially for you, Sparrow.”
The demon remained impassive under the caress, its yellow eyes fixed hungrily on Wiz.
“Not nearly as powerful as Toth-Set-Ra’s demon, but he has seen you and that is enough. He is attuned to your magic, Sparrow. Make magic. Oh yes, please make magic. He will be upon you and your end will be truly wonderful to watch.”
Wiz started to form a spell mentally. Instantly, the creature’s yellow eyes flicked open and its ears pricked forward.
“Go ahead,” the wizard was almost dancing in anticipation. “Oh my yes, go ahead. We want to see this new magic up close, don’t we?”
The man was insane, Wiz realized. Crazy and full of spite and malice at the same time.
“No?” said the wizard in a disappointed tone. “Well, we will have to persuade you then. Flaying alive for a start. With salt rubbed well into the flesh to preserve it as the skin is peeled off. Toth-Set-Ra was right; there is so much one can do with a wizard’s skin.”
“No!” Ebrion bellowed.
Dzhir Kar stopped and regarded him as if he were an insect.
“I told you I would not have him harmed! We are to return him to his place only. That was our bargain.”
“Bargains are made to be broken,” Dzhir Kar said. He gestured to the surrounding wizards. “Take this one away.”
“Fools,” Ebrion shouted. “You seal your own doom.”
“We will see who is doomed when the Council is deprived of its most powerful member,” Dzhir Kar retorted. “And when it becomes known that one of the most powerful wizards in the North had a hand in the deed.”
As the wizards of the Dark League closed in on him, Ebrion stepped back and raised his arms. With a crash and a roar, a dozen bolts of lightning struck him where he stood. Wiz flinched from the noise and the light. So did the two wizards holding him. Instinctively, Wiz twisted in their slackened grips and broke free. Before anyone could react he was across the room and out the door.
“Get him!” screamed Dzhir Kar and the
others leapt past the still-smoldering corpse of Ebrion to comply. But Wiz was halfway down the rough flagged passageway and running for his life.
He turned the corner so fast he slipped and a bolt of lightning exploded on the stone behind him. He scrambled to his feet and ran on as the wizards came clattering out behind him.
He ran on at random, turning this way and that on panicked whim. The place seemed to be a maze of low stone passages with rough flagged floors. Behind him always he heard the sound of pursuit, sometimes close at hand and sometimes further away, but always there.
He ran out into a rotunda where five or six corridors came together and dashed down one to his left. Down another corridor he saw the bobbing gleam of torches.
The corridor was long and straight and Wiz ran down it full tilt. He was going so fast he almost ran straight into the wall ahead. Blind alley! He whirled and pounded back the way he had come, ribs aching and breath burning in his throat.
Again out into the rotunda and down another corridor. No sign of the lights now, but he was sure they were not far behind. Halfway down the corridor there was a place where the wall had collapsed. He slowed to avoid the pile of stones and saw lights before him and behind him, distant but coming his way. Without a thought he darted up the rubble pile and through the hole in the wall.
Suddenly, he was outside on a narrow street between two- and three-story buildings of rough black stone. It was night, he realized, and the moon was hidden by clouds. There was little enough light, but Wiz didn’t slow down. He turned right and pounded down the street, heedless of the stitch in his side.
The empty windows of the upper stories gaped down at him like accusing eyes. Here and there an open doorway yawned like a devouring mouth. He ran without purpose or direction, on and on until a red mist fogged his vision. Finally, chest heaving and staggering with exhaustion, he turned into one of those open doorways in. search of a place to hide and catch his breath.