The Wiz Biz

by Rick Cook

  Once through the door he sidled to the right, hugging the wall. After a dozen steps he stumbled, over the bottom landing of a stone staircase. Still gasping for breath, he picked his way up the stairs.

  The narrow twisting staircase had no railing and the steps were uneven and slick with wear. Wiz hugged the wall and made as much speed as he dared. At last he came to the top of the tower—or what was now the top. The entire upper section was missing, the walls bulged outward and the stonework was disrupted as if someone had- set off an explosion inside it. Wiz looked out over the blasted, fire-blackened stone and for the first time he knew where he was.

  The harbor with its encircling jetty, the ruined towers and the volcano bulking up behind him told him. The City of Night! The capital and base of the Dark League before their power had been broken.

  A gibbous moon cast a sullen, fitful light over the landscape, picking out the tops of the ruined towers and the acres of rooftops below him. Wiz looked out over desolation and shivered.

  Puffing and blowing, he sank down to sit on the stair, his back against the ruined wall and his feet dangling over emptiness. He tried to remember what he knew about the geography of this place.

  Almost none of it was first-hand. He had been here only once before, when he mounted his great attack to free Moira from the League’s dungeons deep beneath the city. He had come along the Wizard’s Way and departed in the same fashion. In the hours he had been here he had never seen the surface.

  The City of Night was on the Southern Continent, he remembered, separated from his home by the Freshened Sea. It was a bleak, barren land, locked in the grip of eternal winter.

  Supposedly the city had been deserted after the Dark League had been defeated. Large parts had been destroyed by the forces unleashed in the final battle. The League wizards who had survived had been hunted from their lairs, their slaves had been freed and returned to their homes and the goblins and most of their other creatures had departed as well.

  But the land itself was ruined beyond reclamation by decades of exercise of power with no thought to the consequences. For the people of the North, the city was a place of fell reputation where no one but would-be apprentices of the Dark League went willingly. There was nothing to attract anyone to the place and even maintaining a watchpost on the Southern Continent had been considered too difficult and not worth the effort. The City of Night had been left unrestored and uninhabited.

  If there was anyone here besides the League wizards, they were unlikely to help Wiz.

  Wiz ground his teeth in frustration. All he had to do to get help or to go home was to use magic. One single simple spell and it was done.

  Of course, before he could ever finish that spell the monster in the dungeon would be on him. He remembered the eagerness and ferocity burning in the thing’s evil red eyes and he shuddered. He had no doubt at all the wizard had been telling him the truth.

  He listened to the wind whistle through the broken tower and tried to decide what to do next.

  A clattering in the street below drew his attention. Peering out through the shattered wall, Wiz saw a dark shape cross a silvery patch of moonlight. Then another and another.

  “He came this way.” The voice floated up to him from the street nearly a hundred feet below.

  “He must be near here,” the other wizard called out from the shadows. “Down this way.”

  Wiz could not see which way he pointed, but several pairs of feet pattered off away from his hiding place.

  So they weren’t waiting for him to use magic! Those searchers were as dangerous to him as the monster. They knew the; city and he did not. How many of them were there? Wiz wracked his brain trying to remember how, many wizards had been in the room when he appeared. A dozen? Certainly that. And more besides.

  And Ebrion. A traitor to the Council and now dead at the hands of his erstwise allies.

  Well, Wiz thought grimly, you brought this on yourself. If you hadn’t been so high-handed with the Council, Ebrion never would have gone to the Dark League.

  Somehow the thought didn’t make him feel any better.

  The wind gusted and Wiz shivered harder. He didn’t remember any part of the city being this cold. Perhaps the Dark League had warmed it by magic when they held it. Now there was slick black ice in patches on the streets and occasional piles and drifts of snow in the corners and sheltered spots.

  Wiz shifted position and listened again. Save for the moan of the wind down the deserted streets and about the ruined tower, there was no sound. Slowly and cautiously, he rose and started back down the steps. He couldn’t stay here and if he didn’t find some kind of shelter soon the wind would do what the Dark League and their pet monster hadn’t yet been able to.

  The moon cast a pale light on the steep, narrow street below when it was not obscured by scudding clouds. The City of Night was built on the flank of a volcano and the whole town sloped up from the harbor. Wiz hugged the side of the buildings and headed downhill. Not only was it easier walking, it was away from the underground room where he had appeared and where the wizards and his demon waited for him.

  At every corner, he paused and listened. The streets were narrow and the hard black basalt of the buildings turned them into echo chambers. His own footsteps rang so loudly on the pavement he was certain that any pursuer could track him by sound alone. He hoped that he could pick up a trace of anyone in the area the same way.

  At the third cross street he paused an especially long time to catch his breath. Up ahead there was the tiniest scuffling sound, as if something was dragging stealthily along the building ahead of him.

  Wiz froze and then dropped back into the shadows. Across the narrow street on the other side of the intersection he saw a stealthy movement in the shadows. At first it was just a flicker here and there, then it looked as if the entire shadow on that side of the street had come to life. Then the shadow took form and substance and Wiz held his breath as he realized what it was.

  The huge head was man-high off the ground as the serpent glided along. Its tongue flickered in and out constantly as it tested the air for scent of prey. Even in the moonlight Wiz could see the diamond patterns of its scales.

  Then it turned and soundlessly whipped down the side street. Wiz caught his breath, but he stayed in hiding for a long time.

  ###

  “Alone?” Arianne asked wide-eyed. “Alone into the Wild Wood?”

  “So it would seem,” Bal-Simba told her. He had spent the last two hours trying to control his unease and finally told his deputy what had happened. “Philomen did not stop him.”

  “He could not very well forbid him,” Arianne pointed out. “Wiz is a member of the Council, Lord.”

  “Yes, but he knows less of the Wild Wood than a child,” Bal-Simba said. “Remember the stories Moira told about the troubles she had with him on their last journey.”

  “The Dark League is not seeking him now.”

  “True, else I would have every magician and dragon rider in the realm searching for him. But he has barely been out of the city in the last two years and he still has little understanding of the Worlds dangers.” They were both silent for a moment.

  “Lord,” Arianne said finally, “what do you think is troubling Sparrow now?”

  “If I had to guess, I would say he is discovering the price of power.” Bal-Simba made a face. “I do not think he likes it overmuch.”

  PART II: LINK TIME

  Eleven: A Bit of Burglary

  Always secure your files. You never know who’s lurking about.

  —programmers’ saying

  Pryddian, once apprentice wizard, closed the door softly and looked around the sitting room. He saw no signs of traps or warning devices anywhere. Once the apartment’s door had been breached there seemed to be nothing to protect the contents.

  There was no reason why there should be. Ordinary theft was virtually unknown in the Wizard’s Keep because it was so easy to find thieves by magic. The wizards
’ workrooms were carefully protected by multiple spells, but there was no reason to extend that protection to living quarters. After all, no one worked in his or her apartment.

  With one very important exception.

  Pryddian moved cautiously across the sitting room toward the desk piled high with books and papers. With the hedge witch fled and the Sparrow sent away there should be no one here, but the enormity of what he was doing made Pryddian careful nonetheless.

  Well, Pryddian thought, the Sparrow had it coming. This was a way to avenge himself and perhaps profit as well.

  As he approached the desk beneath, the red dragon demon reared up from among the clutter and hissed at him. Pryddian stopped and studied the creature carefully. He had expected something like this. Not even the Sparrow would be so careless as to leave his secrets completely unguarded.

  However, Pryddian had come prepared, just as he had come armed with an unlocking spell for the door. The fact that it was a thing of the Sparrow’s made it all the more delicious.

  “ddt exe” he whispered, pointing at the guardian demon.

  The little red dragon paused in mid-hiss and scampered off the table. Pryddian watched in satisfaction as it ran whimpering for the bedroom.

  Eagerly he bent over the desk and began to riffle through the material piled there. The large leatherbound book in the center of the table seemed most important, so he opened it first. But what was inside was the confused mishmash of the nonsense the Sparrow foisted off upon the wizards. Not a true spell in the lot. He slammed the book in disgust and turned to the piles of parchment, slates and tablets stacked around.

  Quickly he sorted them, putting aside everything that was too arcane or too fragmentary to be useful. He was left with a sizable amount of material. Stacking the pile on top of the book, he reached into his cloak and produced a pen, a travelling inkwell and a sheaf of parchment. He dipped his pen into the ink and began to copy as fast as he could write, cursing when he blotted something in haste.

  This was what he wanted. Not the inane babblings the Sparrow expounded in his classes, but his spells. His real power. Frantically he copied the crabbed smudged characters, taking care to put alternate lines on different sheets of parchment to prevent activating the spells. He added the marginal notes as he went, even though most of them meant nothing to him. With time perhaps he could puzzle out their meanings.

  He was perhaps halfway down the pile when he came to the real prize. A powerful searching spell that would show the user anything that went on in the world. Flipping through the parchments he saw the spell commanded three separate sets of demons.

  Pryddian licked his lips and his hand trembled. This must be the spell the Sparrow had used to track the Dark League. Like any magician, he believed that knowledge was power and this was a spell that would give him knowledge of the entire world.

  The dragon demon peered around the corner at him and occasionally ventured a half-hiss. That Pryddian ignored. Every so often he glanced over his shoulder at the door, gripped by a mixture of elation and terror. If he was caught the consequences did not bear thinking about, but if he got away with this he would possess the essence of the Sparrow’s magic.

  Throw him out, would they? They would see who was the better wizard before he was through.

  As he bent to copy the sheets he looked out between the drawn curtains and saw Moira coming across the courtyard, still wearing her travelling cloak.

  Fortuna! The most powerful spell in the Sparrow’s arsenal and he did not have time to copy it. Without thinking he thrust the originals inside his jerkin with the wad of copies. Hastily he gathered up his pen and ink and tried to put everything back where he found it.

  ###

  Moira paused at the branching of the corridor and summoned up her courage.

  Well, she thought, soonest stated soonest done. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and strode off down the hall toward the apartment she shared with Wiz.

  As she made her way down the hall, a figure in a hooded cloak hurried by her. She nodded and half-voiced a greeting out of habit, but the hooded one ignored her. As he twisted to pass her she saw that it was the apprentice who had insulted Wiz on the drill ground.

  If she had been less distracted, Moira might have wondered what an apprentice was doing in a wing reserved for wizards. Or why he was wearing a cloak with the hood up indoors. But she had more important things on her mind. She paused outside the door to their apartment, took a deep breath, wiped a sweaty palm on her skirt and opened the door.

  The room was deserted. The little red dragon raised its head inquiringly as she came in, but there was no sign of Wiz.

  Just like him! Moira thought. She was all steeled for what must be said and he wasn’t here. She plopped down in her chair, determined to wait for him to come back.

  Around the corner, Pryddian leaned against the wall, shaking and cursing inwardly. She saw me! He ground his teeth. The bitch saw me! True, she had not seen him come out of their apartment, but she had seen him in a hall where he had no business being. Once the Sparrow returned and missed the searching spell, it would take no great leap to trace the deed to him.

  Even if the Sparrow noticed nothing amiss, it meant his foray was useless. As soon as he started using the knowledge he had stolen, the hedge witch would remember his presence and it would be obvious to everyone what he must have done. For all his daring and cunning, he was blocked before he could even begin. Pryddian turned his face to the wall and beat his fist against the stone in frustration.

  Then he dropped his hand and gained control of himself. Perhaps he was not so blocked after all. If he used the Sparrow’s magic anywhere in the North he would be detected as a thief. But there were other magics—and other places.

  He let out a long, deep breath and straightened up.

  It was not the path he would have chosen, but there was a way still open to him.

  ###

  Bal-Simba looked up at the knock upon his study door. He wasn’t surprised to see Moira standing there.

  “Merry met, Lady,” he said, leaning back in his oversize chair. “Come in.”

  “Merry met, Lord. Where is Wiz?” The words tumbled out almost as a single sentence.

  “I sent him on an errand,” Bal-Simba told her. “It seemed expedient.”

  “I heard something . . . Lord, did he really threaten magic against someone?”

  Bal-Simba nodded and Moira closed her eyes in pain. “Lord, we have got to help him. We must!”

  The giant wizard shook his head. “Neither of us has the skill, Lady. We are mere novices at this new magic and Wiz needs the help of the Mighty of his own world to do what needs to be done.”

  “Lord,” she said formally. “I ask it of you and the Council that you do whatever is within your power to aid Wiz.”

  Bal-Simba smiled, showing his pointed teeth. “Willingly granted Lady, but what would you of us?”

  “I have been thinking about this,” Moira said. She stopped, gathering herself. Bal-Simba waited. The candles gave a bayberry tang to the air and the evening breeze made them flicker and the shadows dance on the wall.

  “Lord,” the red-haired witch said slowly, “we promised we would not Summon anyone hither, did we not?”

  Bal-Simba looked at her narrowly. “That we did. A most solemn promise.”

  “So it was,” Moira agreed. “But I do not recall ever promising not to ask others to help us.”

  “Eh?”

  “Suppose we did not Summon another to us,” she went on. “Suppose instead we used a Great Summoning to send someone to Wiz’s people to appeal for their aid? Would the Council approve, do you think?”

  The black giant’s face split in an enormous grin. “Brilliant, Lady!” His laughter peeled off the ceiling. “You will wind up on the Council yet.” Then he sobered. “But it would be a dangerous journey.”

  “True, but think of what we could do if I brought Wiz back one of the Mighty of his world!”

>   “If you brought back . . . Oh no! No, My Lady! Wiz would have my head if I let you go haring off on such a scheme. And he would be richly entitled to it.”

  “But Lord . . .” Moira began.

  “No! Not you. Someone else, but not you. And that’s final!”

  ###

  Wiz leaned back against the stone wall and shivered. He was so tired he could not keep his eyes open, but the least little movement or sound brought him awake with a start.

  He was terribly hungry. His last meal had been at Duke Aelric’s—how long ago? More than that, he was cold. Desperately, numbingly, bone chillingly cold. He exhaled and watched his breath puff white.

  It would be so simple to be warm again. But with that thing around he dared not use magic of any sort. He had only to begin forming a spell in his head and he could feel the quiver of the demon’s anticipation. No matter how careful he was, he would be dead before he could ever complete the first line.

  In theory he could write the spell out and then summon a demon to execute the code. But that wouldn’t buy him much. In the first place, just the act of putting the spell down might be enough to send the demon arrowing after him. In the second place, even if the demon did finish the spell he wouldn’t live to see it. He might come up with something that would finish the demon, but he wouldn’t be there to see it.

  Besides, he thought, I’ve got a war to stop. I’ve got to get back to the Capital.

  He had been stupid to travel unprotected, he saw now. Moira had told him that wizards kept one or more defense spells primed and ready against sudden danger. He’d laughed and told her he didn’t need such precautions. With his new magic he could launch a spell in an instant. He remembered that Moira hadn’t looked happy, but she hadn’t said anything.

  If only he had time to prepare he knew he could take the beast, or at least get beyond its grasp. But he had come unsuspecting and unprotected and now it was too late.