It was not until I saw how he had to turn his head to look up at me that I realized I had jumped to my feet as I spoke.
He did not appear nearly as horrified as I had expected—he didn’t even look surprised. After a moment I said, “Perhaps you didn’t understand me.”
For a second his eyes twinkled again; I noticed they had become bloodshot. “My body’s going fast, and my grasp of magic isn’t nearly what it used to be, but my mind is still perfectly functional, Daimbert. I’ve know for some time that you were married.”
“To a witch,” I said, sitting down faster than I intended.
“To a witch,” he repeated.
“Elerius told you?”
He nodded. “I suspect in an attempt to turn me against you. And I have other sources of information as well. But this isn’t nearly as startling news as both you and Elerius seem to think it should be. You needn’t look so shocked! Wizards really don’t marry in the normal course of things, because our first allegiance is to magic itself, but you certainly aren’t the first wizard in the West to establish a long-term relationship with a woman, or to father a child.” I started to say something, but he was still speaking.
“Haven’t you, for example, ever wondered about Elerius’s own parentage?”
Too stunned to answer for a moment, I turned this over. The Master already knew my deepest secret, and Elerius had a secret that went even deeper. I had several times suspected he had grown up in an aristocratic court, although he never talked about it, and if he had grown up, say, the son of a Royal Wizard somewhere, and if that wizard had already begun teaching him magic when he was a little boy—the way I had begun teaching Antonia—
“Elerius’s father was not school-trained,” the Master continued, with an almost boyish delight in revealing what someone else had thought hidden. “And Elerius keeps his private life private much better than you do—if anyone else had the same interest as I do in the Royal Wizard of Yurt, they too would have found out all about you and your witch. But the head of a school for wizards has ways of learning things. No, Daimbert, I can appreciate why you’re reluctant to take on the responsibilities of leadership so abruptly, and perhaps I should have brought you to the school much sooner. But the fact that you’ve had a woman back home whom you’ve thought of as your wife won’t stop you from becoming Master here.”
The way he phrased it made it clear that for him Theodora and Antonia were no more than a trivial distraction, one I’d be happy to put behind me. One more reason to refuse to become Master. But we were interrupted before I could answer.
A bird called suddenly above my head, causing me to jump. I looked up to see that it was not a real bird but an automaton, silver inset with chips of quartz. It perched on an irregularity on the wall above the door, singing through its metal beak. Its silver was tarnished but the note was almost unbearably sweet.
“An announcement that someone’s here,” said the Master, enjoying my surprise, “someone to whom I’ve taught the spells to activate the bird from outside. Melecherius brought it back years ago from the East, where I gather the mages make such automatons. Didn’t I give you his book to read once? Come in!” he called.
The door opened and Whitey came in, carrying a tray which he placed on the bed. He stood silently, doing his best to pretend I didn’t exist, until the Master nodded dismissal.
“Have some breakfast with me, Daimbert,” he said when we were alone again. He pushed himself slowly and carefully to a sitting position and then poured tea. “Were you thinking I was about to expire this morning?” he asked, looking at me sideways in amusement. “You found me lying in bed because that’s where all sensible wizards spend the night, not because I’m completely incapacitated. You’ll still have several months to get used to your new position.”
I shook myself and took the cup he offered. I appreciated his effort to make light of his approaching death, but I didn’t believe him. The hot tea did only a little to take the chill from my insides. “By the way,” I said, “do you think Elerius can hear us?”
He drank tea thoughtfully for a moment. “I do not believe so. Of course, he could theoretically overhear any conversation in the school if he wanted to, but not even he could be paying attention to what every single person is saying at all times.
I brought you here in the dead of night, telling no one beyond my two young assistants, to make sure he would have no reason to pay attention right now.”
The Master was eating dry toast with his tea. I forced myself to eat a piece, but it crumbled and seemed almost impossible to swallow. I had been wakened in the middle of the night, kidnapped, brought two hundred miles, and told I was going to have all the administrative responsibilities for western magic as soon as I stopped a wizard who would transform me into a tadpole without a qualm if he thought I stood in his way.
IV
“Are you sure, sir,” I ventured slowly, “that it would in fact be truly terrible for the school to have Elerius at its head? After all, he really does always try to act for the best…” And a few years back, I thought, he had summoned creatures of wild magic to attack the City, as part of one of his schemes. Well, I never had been able to prove that one on him definitively. But there were several other incidents I could think of in which he had sought to gain power, ranging from having a fanged gorgos attack the cathedral of Caelrhon, to working closely with a king who had sold his immortal soul, to digging up a dead body for his experiments …
“Elerius’s rule would be the end of wizardry as you and I know it,” the Master said soberly, looking at me from under shaggy eyebrows. “You know the old expression: There are three who rule the world, the wizards, the Church, and the aristocracy. And I suppose one really ought to add a fourth, the mayors and city councils of the commercial centers throughout the Western Kingdoms. Elerius doesn’t just want to be the head of the wizards’ school. He wants to be the head of everything.”
I stared at him a minute without comprehension.
“Nobody can be the head of everything.”
With breakfast inside him, the Master seemed to have revived a little. “You haven’t been out of your little kingdom much the last few years,” he said, “or you’d know what’s been happening. You perhaps heard that the king whom Elerius had long served died last year?”
My immediate reaction was that Elerius must have killed him. But that would be a little too much for someone who prided himself on working for everyone’s benefit. “Yes, I knew.
My own king traveled to the funeral.”
“As did many of the western kings. His was one of the wealthiest and largest kingdoms. Perhaps you didn’t know that Elerius had continued as Royal Wizard there even after joining
the school faculty?”
When I had earlier been offered—and refused—a position on the faculty, it had been clear that I would have to leave Yurt permanently if I accepted. “But he couldn’t do that!”
“Well, he persuaded us that he could. After all, his kingdom is located just south of the City. And then last year, when the king died and the young prince was still too young to inherit, Elerius also became regent.”
I had already had too many shocks this morning.
“You mean he’s acting as king? Of the West’s most powerful kingdom? And now you’re going to tell me he’s planning to become head of the Church as well?”
The Master shook his head, for one moment looking amused again. “I don’t think even Elerius would try that—for one thing, the Church doesn’t have a single head, any more than there’s a single emperor over all the western kingdoms. But he is hoping to become mayor of the City.”
“I hadn’t heard that the old mayor had so conveniently died,” I said grimly.
“He hasn’t. But his six-year term is almost up, and Elerius has become a candidate, and is actively campaigning against the old mayor’s reelection.”
My teeth were clenched; I made myself relax in the forlorn hope of coming up with better ideas.
“Timing,” I said after a minute. “Elerius has always held himself ready, incorporating whatever opportunities arise into his long-range plans.
Last year he became a king, this year he’ll become mayor of the West’s largest city—are you sure your illness now isn’t due at least in part to him?”
“Quite sure. But he’s always known I couldn’t live forever—even if I sometimes forgot that myself. And he knew he could prolong his regency and keep on having himself reelected mayor until I did die, at which time his plans would be complete.”
“That is,” I said, mostly under my breath, “now.”
“So you see, Daimbert,” said the Master, pushing away the breakfast tray, “I have no choice. I need to name my successor immediately, to ensure it will not be Elerius.” “Then,” I said darkly, “he will just spend the time between now and when—when the issue of succession arises—in getting me out of the way: by telling the rest of the faculty, for example, about me and Theodora, or by reminding Zahlfast about the more hilarious aspects of that episode with the frogs, or even by ensuring that I have an unfortunate accident.”
The Master had started to lean back against the pillows, but at this he sat up again. I could see the strain on his face, which he was doing his best to keep out of his voice. “Then we will not give him any time to formulate such plans,” he said decisively. “Instead of announcing my decision to the rest of the faculty now, as I had intended, I shall give you a letter to show them immediately upon my death.” He reached for paper and a quill from the table by the bed and began to write. His handwriting was just a little shaky. “As soon as you hear of my death, come straight to the City with this letter.” He finished and held it out for the ink to dry, waving it gently. “You’ll be elected at once, and Elerius will be stymied.”
I took the paper as he handed it to me but did not look at it. I had almost expected him to write in letters of fire, or to put a spell on the words so that they would be invisible until another spell was spoken over them, but he had worked no magic on it.
All he had done was write out what might as well be my own death-sentence.
He fumbled on the table for a book. “I should also give this to you now.”
“What is it?” I asked without interest.
The book was small but very thick, bound in crumbling leather; the cover looked as if it had once been stamped in gold.
“It belonged to the man who taught me magic—and I’ll leave it to you to work out how long ago that was. He had it from even further back, from his own master. It’s an account of the Dragons’ Scepter.”
“The Dragons’ Scepter,” I repeated dully. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“Few people have. But the wizard who taught my own teacher had become a friend of the dragons.”
I looked at the floor. A story that old was bound to have been improved greatly over the years. No one became a ‘friend’ of dragons. Next he was going to tell me that this ancient wizard had taken a thorn out of one’s claw.
“This is his own account.” I looked up, suddenly intrigued in spite of myself. The book had fallen open to show parchment pages, closely written in faded ink. An old book of tales was one thing—a ledger of spells written down by the man who had once worked them might be something much better. “He became not just the dragons’ friend but to some extent their master, developing extremely powerful spells that even they had to obey. But still he, probably the greatest of the wizards of antiquity, found the magic very difficult, so he bound these spells to a special scepter. With it, anyone could force the unchanneled wild magic of the land of dragons into the structures of wizardry.”
“And what became of this Scepter?” I asked, highly if unwillingly interested. “Do you think it still exists?”
“I am certain it does, Daimbert, or otherwise I would not be telling you about it. But when he felt his own death coming, he decided it was much too powerful to allow to fall into another wizard’s hands.”
“He feared someone like Elerius among his own pupils,” I suggested. But it wouldn’t have to be someone like Elerius. The thought of any wizard with authority over dragons made me all cold inside again.
“So he left it in the land of the dragons, concealed by spells that should elude even the best wizard—unless that wizard had his ledger.”
“Then do you have the Scepter here?” I said excitedly. With that kind of power, the Master should be able to dispose of Elerius all by himself, and he certainly wouldn’t need me.
He pulled the sheet up to his chin, shaking his head. “The spells, as far as I could puzzle them out, are enormously difficult and enormously dangerous. At first, when I acquired this book as a young man, I thought I would wait until my own mastery of magic had deepened. But with maturity came the realization that I could not trust myself with that much power. I did occasionally toy with the idea of how I could reshape the earth in the image of my own vision if even the dragons obeyed me … But like my own master I finally set the spells aside, thinking I would reserve finding the Scepter until a desperate time arrived and I had no other choice. Now such a time has arrived, and I find my ability to work magic has weakened too much to try the spells.”
Part of the quiet despair I thought I could now hear in his voice was from loss of the powers that had been his for centuries, but part, I thought, was due to him being genuinely afraid of Elerius. That made two of us.
“So you want me to have a dragon eat Elerius, is that it, sir?”
“You always were one for the joke,” the Master said, half-closing his eyes and smiling. I had not been joking. “I want you to locate the Scepter before Elerius does and keep it from him.”
“So he already knows about it,” I said flatly. I might as well jump off the balcony without bothering with a flying spell and make it easy on myself.
“I told him a little about it some years ago,” said the Master, his eyes closed and voice low. “At that time— Well, at one point I believed he was the person I would want to find it if anyone did. And I thought it would help that he knew some of the old magic of earth and herbs, as well as the modern scientific spells we develop and teach here at the school—you know some of that old magic too.”
Though I had never apprenticed under him, my old retired predecessor as Royal Wizard of Yurt had taught me a lot of his herbal magic, when I first arrived with my brand-new and precarious school spells, and he’d left me his books when he died.
Over the years I had also picked up other tidbits of the old magic.
“But if Elerius already knows the spells to recover the Scepter…”
“He doesn’t,” said the Master, eyes flicking open again. “I never showed him this book I am now giving you.”
Unless Elerius had at some point quietly borrowed it.
“When you have the Scepter, Daimbert,” the Master continued, “you’ll have enough magical power that even Elerius won’t dare oppose you. Now that I think about it, perhaps it would be best if you recover it at once, so you’ll already have it by the time I die.” We were interrupted before he could say more by the silver bird announcing someone. “It seems very early for that doctor Zahlfast insists I see,” he grumbled.
I opened the door. This time it was Chin. He too tried to imply that he couldn’t possibly have kidnapped me because I didn’t even exist. “Excuse me, sir,” he said to the Master, staring past me as he would past a piece of furniture, “but would you be able to have a visitor? Elerius wants to see you.”
The Master gave an abrupt start, but he managed to say calmly, “Bring him up in about five minutes.” As soon as the wizardry student had shut the door behind him he pushed the book toward me. “Go! Go at once! He can’t find us together or he’ll know. If I don’t have a chance to talk to you again, be sure to bring that letter to the school as soon as—well, you know.”
I sprang toward the window but stopped myself.
“Goodbye, sir. And—” There didn’t seem any good way to say it, so I
didn’t. Instead I said, “Thank you for accepting me into the school all those years ago, and for having faith in me.”
And then I was gone, shooting out the window and across the City, a small yellow-clad form that Elerius should not even deign to notice. That is, unless Chin happened to mention that the new piece of furniture in the Master’s chambers was also the Royal Wizard of Yurt. I flew eastward, the newly-risen sun in my eyes. It was that and exhaustion, I told myself, that made me start weeping.
The letter designating me as the Master’s choice for his successor was folded and stuffed inside the cover of the old ledger book. I had no intention of ever producing that letter. I considered letting it flutter away to oblivion, but sentiment, the knowledge that it was the last thing I would ever have from his hand, stayed me. After all, I thought as I doggedly flew toward Yurt, I had promised the Master nothing. He might assume that when he was gone I would blithely try to use his dead influence and some long-forgotten spells out of the old magic to keep Elerius from heading the school, but I had never said I would do it.
Dear God. I was about to defy the dying wishes of the man who had made me a wizard.
V
It was a long flight back to Yurt, tired as I already was, so it was late afternoon before I came across the last stretch of woods to the castle. It reposed peacefully in the sun, its towers whitewashed, its moat dotted with swans. The royal flag snapping from the highest tower showed that the king was in residence.
I hovered for a moment, looking down. The staff was playing volleyball in the courtyard. Among the players I spotted the chestnut-colored braids of my daughter. I smiled and quietly descended.
Antonia was in most ways the same little girl she had always been, but her legs had become startlingly long in the last year or two, and her shape had begun subtly to change; before too long it would be a woman’s, not a girl’s. She was flushed and laughing from the game and did not at first notice me.
Is This Apocalypse Necessary? Page 3