Shadimar used the base of the staff to trace a circle on the wooden table that graced the center of the Meeting Room. Mar Lon moved to a far corner, near the door. Cursed with the bard’s curiosity, he could not bow to the normal instinct to flee. He watched with the others as Shadimar pulled three gold-colored candles from his cloak and placed each an equal distance apart on the perimeter of the invisible circle.
*What’s that for?* The thought issued from Carcophan. *Cardinal Wizards need no props.*
Shadimar felt Trilless’ annoyance at the interruption, and he shared it. *Feels right.* He kept the answer brief, hating to spread his attention. *Staff’s idea, I think.* Shadimar knew the comfort came from familiarity rather than from any need to enhance magic with physical components. Simply put, the candles belonged to him, and their presence grounded him to self.
*No matter!* Trilless sent. *Don’t disrupt his concentration! You’ll kill us all.*
*Fah! I could summon a weak one, like we’re going for, in my sleep.*
*I wish you would,* Trilless shot back. *Then I wouldn’t have to deal with you and your evil anymore.*
“Stop it!” Shadimar roared. “If you’re going to snipe, do it in your own damned heads!”
The other Wizards went appropriately still, both minds returning to the matter at hand. Again, they concentrated on previous summonings. A sequence of syllables coursed through Shadimar’s mind in letter combinations that had seemed unpronounceable before his Wizard’s training. He followed the patterns, choosing appropriately for the spell. He spoke each word carefully, eyes locked on the Meeting Room table. His staff blurred in his fist, then burst suddenly into blue flames. Highlights spun through the room like stars, emphasizing lines and crow’s-feet on his companions’ ancient faces. Shadimar concentrated on his wards, glad for the two more experienced Wizards beside him. Using the staff, he lit each of the candles. When the last wick caught, the tapers exploded into colored mist.
Trilless startled, nearly detaching from Shadimar’s mind. A touch of awe wafted from Carcophan before both Cardinal Wizards regained their rock-steady contacts. For an instant, doubts hammered Shadimar, and he wondered if his more experienced colleagues would prove more hindrance than help. Every fragment of thought or movement diverted his concentration, and it made more sense to rely only on himself and the staff he wielded.
Even as the thought came, the halo that Shadimar had traced shimmered. It leapt to vivid relief against the table, and the room went white in its radiance. Red, green, and black vapor from the candles braided above the ring. Then, suddenly, the tracing dimmed, like a cloud passing before the sun. Smoke swirled into a shapeless form, with random protrusions. A sense of horror tore and squeezed at Shadimar, its source still uncertain.
The circle tensed about the thing that seemed more void than being. Shadimar spoke faster, winding ward after ward around the darkness in the circle’s center. Gradually, it assumed an insectlike shape, with a shell, more legs than Shadimar could count, and red eyes glaring from every part. An instant later, its features melted and re-formed into the shape of a stag.
Stunned by the transformation, Shadimar sought the advice of his colleagues. From Trilless, he got only a stunned silence. Carcophan’s thoughts held the sharp edge of fear. *Kraell!*
Though desperate to define the unfamiliar word, Shadimar did not drop his concentration to ask. His vision dimmed until his own wards seemed to blind him. Light striped his sight, appearing to become a part of the cycle of the demon. Repeatedly, Shadimar told himself that the creature had to remain a uniform black, except for its eyes. He forced himself to carve magic from chaos, but they fought to merge. Terror ground through him. If I lose the form of the wards to it, I will give it all of my power.
*Hold free!* Trilless’ thought shrilled through Shadimar’s mind. *Bind with the staff and hold free!*
Carcophan’s mental voice came equally loud. *Kraell! Too dangerous! Shadimar, SEND THIS ABOMINATION BACK!* With the warning came knowledge. Carcophan believed that the kraell dwelt only in the deepest regions of chaos’ realm, and it should not be possible to summon one. Lesser demons swore the kraell possessed strength unmatched by any creature of another universe. And a kraell had never been slain, except by another of its own kind.
The demon bucked against the barriers confining it. It took man-shape, and its arms swelled with unwholesome vitality.
Shadimar trembled from the effort needed to maintain his constraints. He hurled all of his substance, mental and physical, into defining every strand of his wards, drawing strength from the other Wizards across the bond.
The kraell clenched massive fists. Its flesh oozed. Great masses of muscle shifted beneath its scaly hide. With a bellow of rage, it whirled its melded appendages about its head and crashed them against Shadimar’s magic.
Pain exploded in the Eastern Wizard’s skull. Trilless moaned and slumped to the table. Realizing that she had taken the blow meant for him, Shadimar screamed the frenzied incantation necessary to banish the kraell from this world. Carcophan joined him, their voices a single, united shout.
The demon howled in recognition. Its mountainous shoulders heaved, and it drove mallet hands against the wards. Agony smashed through Shadimar’s body, and he collapsed to his knees. Magical barriers shattered like glass. Unconsciousness promised escape from the pain, weaving palling curtains across Shadimar’s senses. As if from a distance, he heard the demon roar through the blackness that descended upon him.
CHAPTER 11
Chaos’ Task
By day, birdsong filled the Western forest, and the sunlight stabbing through gaps in the foliage glazed trees and underbrush in emerald glory. The thick overhang of branches and new spring leaves trapped heat and light, enfolding Khitajrah in comfortable warmth. At night, however, unidentifiable rustling replaced the trills of songbirds. Khitajrah shivered through the cold darkness. Some nights, icy rain pattered through the branches, and the ancient leaves on the ground turned from soft bedding to a sodden mulch that seeped through her clothing. Those times, she found shelter where she could, curled into a ball that left her aching in the morning. After the sprawling cities of the Eastlands, the West seemed barren. Khitajrah felt sick for the familiar architecture of the older quarters of Stalmize. She ached even for a glimpse of the anemic soil of the Eastern farms. Compared to what she knew, the Western forest ground seemed black and sticky.
Chaos accompanied Khitajrah through the Westland forests. Most of the time, it remained silent, a scarcely noticeable presence hovering in the corner of her mind. Other times, an idea drifted from it or it started a conversation, seemingly at random. Yet Khitajrah expected nothing else. Had chaos become predictable, Khitajrah would have worried for her freedom or her sanity.
Gradually, the forest thinned. The trees became more familiar, the younger, sparser first growth that dotted the areas between farm fields in the East. Chaos stirred restlessly. Shortly, its disquiet became frank agitation, and it blurted a thought devoid of its usual self-assured caution. *That task you must perform for me.*
Khitajrah had not forgotten. Once completed, she had condemned herself to a binding with the being in her mind. Then, too, she would discover details about the object that would bring her son back from the dead. Her heart quickened, and the too-familiar sensation of trepidation and hope rose within her. The need to restore Bahmyr had only grown stronger, but she still harbored uncertainties about the cost. *Yes. What about the task?*
*I know what it is now.* A strange sense of purpose wafted from the chaos fragment, more focused than anything it had sent before.
A shiver traversed Khitajrah from neck to buttocks.
Chaos continued without waiting for a response. *You understand, it will go against your general nature.*
*I understand I can still refuse it.*
*And the chance for your son to live.*
*I would do almost anything for Bahmyr. Almost. There are some things I won’t do.*
*And those things are?*
*I’m not going to guess at what you want.* Khitajrah refused to become trapped by exclusion. *Tell me the task. I’ll tell you if it’s on the list.*
A wave of humor flitted across Khitajrah’s thoughts, chaos’ substitute for laughter. *Very well. There is a man you must kill.*
*No.*
*No?*
*No!* Morality flared into a bonfire. *I won’t take another woman’s son in exchange for mine.*
*He has long outlived his parents.*
*I won’t take a child’s father.*
Chaos’ amusement grew. *He has no offspring.*
*A brother?*
*No siblings.*
*No matter!* Khitajrah knew frustration as she ran out of relationships. Somehow, chaos had discovered the world’s loneliest man. *Just because a man has no children doesn’t make him less worthy of life.*
Chaos had an answer, even for that. *This man is seventy-seven years old. He’s lived a long and productive life already. And he’s Renshai.*
The single word both intrigued and bothered Khitajrah. Another chill spiraled through her, sending her into a convulsive shiver. *Renshai?* she repeated cautiously.
*His name is Colbey Calistinsson. He trained the woman who slaughtered your husband. Without his teaching, she would never have gone to war, and Harrsha would still live.*
And so would Bahmyr. And my life would be happy, as it was. Khitajrah kept these thoughts to herself. She sent chaos another. *What’s her name?*
Apparently preoccupied, chaos missed the cue. *Whose name?*
*The woman who slaughtered my husband.*
*Mitrian. Her name is Mitrian.*
The radiating thought gave Khitajrah spelling as well as the strange, Western pronunciation. She let the name burn into her consciousness. *Couldn’t I just kill her instead? I could do that in the name of justice.*
*You can kill her, too, if you wish. But it’s Colbey’s death that will earn you the information you seek.*
Khitajrah continued brushing through forest, catching glimpses of an opening ahead through the trunks. She fell silent for some time.
Chaos did not press.
At length, Khitajrah questioned cautiously. *If I decided to do as you ask, and I haven’t yet, where would I find this Colbey Calistinsson?*
*I don’t know.*
The reply caught Khitajrah off-guard. *You don’t know? What do you mean, you don’t know?*
Chaos remained calm. *I believe the phrase is self-explanatory.*
*How can you not know? You claimed to be the being that the gods themselves worship. How can you not know?* Internally focused, Khitajrah ran into a cluster of vines. Thorns scratched her face, and the limbs enwrapped her arm and throat. She backed away slowly, disentangling herself from the brush.
*I claimed to be a tiny tendril of the being that the gods worship. The Primordial Chaos might know, or it might not. Not all is logical, nor should it be. Chaos knows things the gods do not. It has none of the constraints of the beings with form, the creatures of law. It can learn without structure or sequence, and it can create new wisdom. Law can work only with what it has. It can’t destroy, it can only shape and build. Chaos is design and thought; law is the architect. Without chaos, knowledge can only be lost, never created or recreated. You’ve seen that in the buildings of your home city. Compare the grandeur of the older dwellings and shops with the newer. Without chaos to interject new ideas, law will obliterate itself.*
Freed from the vine, Khitajrah considered, finding more understanding than she cared to admit in the explanation. Still, she could not shake the feeling that chaos wanted more than it would let her know. She turned the conversation back to the matter at hand. *So how do you expect me to find this Colbey?*
*I do know he tends to stay in the Westlands. Ask. A man who killed as many as he did in the Great War does not remain anonymous.*
Resentment flashed through Khitajrah, then disappeared. She could not help wondering which of her friends or relatives Colbey had killed in that war. *You say he’s Renshai. And he’s a good enough warrior to train the woman who killed my husband?*
*If you’re asking me if Colbey’s competent, the answer is yes.*
*I’m no soldier. I never killed anyone.* Khitajrah’s conscience throbbed. *At least not until recently. How could I possibly kill a Renshai?*
*Guile, Khita, guile.* Chaos’ laughter filled her head again. *For that, you have the best teacher in existence.*
* * *
Colbey strode briskly across the Meeting Isle, toward the inlet where Captain had docked the Sea Seraph. He used the staff as a walking stick, its presence awkward in his grip. His skill lay in quickness and deadly accuracy, and he feared that the staff’s bulk might cost him both. He hoped a time would come when he grew accustomed to its shape and weight.
Sand shifted beneath Colbey’s feet as he shuffled between the island’s few trees, trying to remember Captain’s instructions. He thought he recalled the elf saying that he only needed to call for a ride back to the world from which they had come. At the time, more serious matters had preoccupied Colbey, and he had never suspected that he would need to find the way home without Shadimar. Now, he doubted that a simple shout would bring the elf across leagues of ocean.
The air around Colbey lay tranquil, calmed into stagnation. The sun beat down upon the sand, raising shimmering glazes of heat. Ahead, the ocean lay flat, devoid even of the tiny, white ruffles that the wind usually chopped through the surf. He shaded his eyes from the sun, seeking a distant dot that might be the Sea Seraph. His thoughts went easily to the Cardinal Wizards. He imagined their divergent viewpoints would keep them tabled for days or weeks. He had never seen any of them act quickly or without tediously long discussion, and they worked against one another too much to come to quick agreements. Colbey felt sure about his own hand in the events to come. He hoped but doubted that the other Wizards would find the best answers in time.
Suddenly, a roar ripped apart the quiet peace at Colbey’s back. He spun, drawing Harval in the same motion, the Keeper’s staff tumbling to the beach. A densely black creature with an ox’s head and batlike wings landed gracefully on the sand behind him. The ground trembled beneath its impact. Its wings dissolved into massive arms, and it lumbered toward him on jointless legs. Colbey knew at once that he faced a demon, and the challenge excited him. His heart rate quickened, and he smiled.
I’ve misjudged. The Wizards can come to a quick decision. Colbey ran to confront the beast. Once before, he had battled a demon. Then, he had thrust and cut fruitlessly, his standard sword too grounded in the world of law to damage a creature of chaos. Shadimar had called forth Harval, vowing magic could cut the chaos that ordinary swords could not. Now, Colbey lunged without hesitation. Harval arched toward the oxen head. Even as it moved, the demon’s face ran like liquid. Colbey’s stroke sliced through the unformed features as if through water.
How? Surprise broke Colbey’s timing. Experience told him the Eastern Wizard could not have lied about Harval’s power, and the Cardinal Wizards’ fear of the sword had assured its potential. Colbey stared as the demon’s visage molded into the shape of a bear’s. Its giant fist crashed into his chest. The strength of the blow hurled him like a toy. Colbey hit the ground hard enough to slam the breath from his lungs. He bit his tongue, barely managing to roll. He gasped desperately for breath.
With one leap, the demon again closed the gap between them. A long-nailed foot struck for Colbey’s head.
Mobilized by the attack, Colbey dodged. The demon’s claws gashed burning lines across his cheek. He spun to his feet and swung. Harval sprang like a mad thing, and Colbey’s attacks struck repeatedly. But the demon dissolved before each blow, and the sword sliced harmlessly through its fleetingly solid form.
The demon twisted away.
Colbey’s mind raced. Air wheezed into his lungs in trickles. Warm blood coursed in dribbles to his chin. The wound smoldered raw ago
ny across his cheek, and the pain seemed to penetrate his skull. Once again, his sword appeared powerless against the demon, and he could not help wondering if the gods had stolen the real Harval during the tests. But his instincts told him that he held the same sword as before. The last time he had fought a demon, the creature had held a constant shape, and his sword had clearly cleaved through it without inflicting damage. This demon’s shape-shifting seemed more like a defense.
The demon charged, its fists muting to hammers with hawk talons. It swung for Colbey’s head.
Colbey retreated, weaving Harval into a defensive web of steel. One strike met resistance and split the demon’s hand half the length of its forearm. Black fluid gushed from the wound. The demon screeched high, dark syllables. It struck for Colbey with its other arm.
Colbey skipped aside. He lashed for the beast, and Harval sliced nearly through its wrist.
The demon recoiled. Its chaos-stuff flowed into itself, reshaping. New hands sprouted from its dripping appendages, and all sign of injury disappeared. With a cry of scornful triumph, it lunged again.
Shocked, Colbey barely sidestepped in time. It takes a more solid form to attack. I can hit it then. But what good? It repairs itself. For the first time outside the Tasks of Wizardry, Colbey found himself in a battle that required strategy as well as skill. Gathering his concentration, he shot a bolt of mental energy toward the creature’s head. His probe met nothing of substance, and the attempt stole Colbey’s attention from the battle. The demon’s fist smashed into his chest. Ribs snapped beneath the blow. Colbey slammed into a tree trunk. Impact shot pain through every part of his body, but he managed to keep his feet.
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