Frey grimaced at the answer, so full of information he knew and leaving his question unanswered.
“I do know this.” Odin’s eye found Frey at last, and the lord of Alfheim felt lost in the gray depths. “Change is necessary. Every detail of that change may or may not yet be set in future history. Prepare as you will, but be certain your plans serve the purpose of the worlds. If we pay with the lives of gods, and doubtless we will, we had best purchase a better future.”
Frey considered Odin’s words for some time, still uncertain of his course. Is there hope, or is it all inescapable predestiny? The knowledge Odin had gained, and the wisdom he had acquired through sacrifice and experience, could never be matched; yet he had mostly avoided the question. Does anything we do really matter, or will we all fall into our fated roles regardless of our efforts? Can we avert the Ragnarok or only bring the inevitable prematurely upon ourselves? Frey knew Odin would or could never answer these thoughts directly. He only hoped that, in his short time remaining, he would understand enough to make the right choices and steer the others to do the same.
PART III
THE GRAY GOD’S DOWNFALL
CHAPTER 21
The Wizards’ Successors
The Sea Seraph glided toward the Meeting Isle, a quiet shadow on a sea as calm as glass. Captain stared out over the aft rail, watching the perfect lines the hull etched through the waters. The sun beamed down, warming his red-brown curls, and the sky seemed the uniform blue of a gemstone. Yet the captain felt little of the joy that usually accompanied passage through the portal and entry into the Cardinal Wizards’ meeting ground. The three Wizards and their apprentices had paid him little heed from the beginning of the journey to its end. Instead, they gathered below decks, huddling over their charts and plans. Now, as the island and its single structure came into view, the captain missed the Wizards’ fables, metaphors, and vagaries. He had always hated the quibbling between the Northern and Southern Wizards, but this time it seemed conspicuously absent. Their unity in a cause felt unnatural.
Footfalls clomped up the stairs from below. The hatch door clicked open, and the slam of each step shuddered across the deck toward him. Captain identified Shadimar’s heavy tread, interspersed with the tap of his staff against the planking. Behind the Eastern Wizard, the elf heard Trilless’ lighter movement. He kept his back to them, staring out over the waves, even when they joined him aft.
“Hello, Captain,” Shadimar called cheerfully. “Nearly there, I see.”
“Nearly there,” Captain echoed, knowing Shadimar would expect a reply, yet in no mood to come up with one on his own.
Apparently recognizing discomfort in her follower’s tone, Trilless pressed. “What’s troubling you, Captain?”
The captain considered the question for a long time. He had kept his concerns to himself this long, it seemed wiser and easiest to remain silent. However, fear, hurt, and anger gnawed at him. He would never challenge Cardinal Wizards in the presence of their apprentices, but this time he had found two alone. He might not have another chance to air his grievance. Deliberately, he turned, abandoning the aft rail for the wheel; he felt naked without some part of the Seraph in his hands. He quoted the oldest Wizards’ prophecy: “When their oath of peace the Wizards forsake, their own destruction they undertake.”
Trilless and Shadimar exchanged glances that seemed to imply the reference was beneath them, too far beyond Captain’s understanding to bother to explain.
Trilless accepted the burden of discussing the matter with her underling. “Is that what’s bothering you?”
“Partially,” the elf admitted.
Trilless’ voice went soft, though it patronized more than soothed. “First, it’s a matter for the Cardinal Wizards. You have your own role to play. Second, recall that Odin assigned us the job of fulfilling prophecies.”
The Northern Sorceress’ arguments collapsed like an ancient dwelling devoid of its foundation stone. “Ragnarok is a matter for all of us: men, elves, and gods alike. As to the prophecies, no Wizard’s predecessor mandated this one for a follower to fulfill. You have no obligation to it. In fact, it bodes a destruction you’re bound to try to stop.”
“I wasn’t finished.” Trilless’ tone hardened. Though punitive, it lost the condescending edge; and for that Captain felt grateful. “Third, though we stand against Colbey, we’ve hardly forsaken peace. Carcophan and I have never tolerated one another so well. And last, Colbey has become the harbinger of chaos. It is he who threatens to bring the Ragnarok.”
The captain remained unconvinced. His discussion with Colbey had revealed no such intention. And something about the three Cardinal Wizards on board seemed tainted, an intangible that made the captain feel ill at ease in their presence. Still, neither his vows nor loyalty would waver. He served Trilless, and he would serve her until the last thready gasp escaped his lungs. “Where’s the Western Wizard now? No matter what feuds you are caught up in, he has a right to be present when new apprentices are tested. And where’s the bard? Your vows forbid you from barring either one from the meeting.”
Shadimar set the staff against his chest, curling a protective arm around it. “Neither was excluded. We sent a message to Colbey, informing him of our intentions. Apparently, he chose to ignore our invitation. We sent a message to Mar Lon as well.” He leaned forward, gaze boring into the elf’s canted eyes, expression angry. “I’m tired of inferiors questioning our honor. You have no right to make assumptions about us. Your ignorance is an insult.”
Captain bowed humbly. “Your forgiveness, Eastern Wizard. Next time I’m asked to speak my mind, I’ll try to edit my thoughts to please you.” He felt certain Mar Lon would have come if he could have, and he suspected the Cardinal Wizards had deprived him of the travel time he needed to meet the Sea Seraph in Asci. He could understand Colbey’s decision not to attend. Surely he knew that Odin’s Laws forbade Cardinal Wizards from harming one another, and all conflicts must be halted while on the Meeting Isle. Yet, beset by his colleagues’ demon and possibly other dangers Captain did not know about, Colbey had little reason to trust the others to follow the vows they had taken.
Trilless gave her colleague a warning glare. Her expression softened as she turned her attention to the captain. “You may always speak freely to me; you know that. I appreciate the knowledge you’ve gathered over the centuries and from the other Wizards you’ve known before me.” She took the elf’s hand in her own, the sagging flesh of her fingers still soft and supple. “Desperate times and situations have made Shadimar understandably irritable, but he does have a valid point. You have to trust us to use the knowledge and experience we have to do what’s best for the world. It’s our job and the basis for our lives. We have more to lose than anyone by the world’s destruction.”
Captain believed total annihilation of the world and its powers would affect everyone equally, but he did not press the point. “I trust you,” he said softly. “I just want to make certain details don’t become forgotten beneath more weighty problems. More than one battle has been lost to a single spy who thwarted a general’s defenses. One tiny seed of disease can take down the mightiest army.”
“True,” Trilless replied, “but there’s still much to be said for dealing with a raging enemy first.” She loosed Captain’s hand. “Trust us, my friend. Little escapes the Cardinal Wizards. Our vows to champion law take precedence even over those to our specific causes. We will always work to that end.” She met the Captain’s amber eyes. “Do you feel better?”
Though little satisfied, the captain nodded. He saw no reason to linger over a dilemma that had no obvious answer. It seemed clear that they would never come to equal terms, and belaboring the point would serve no purpose other than to anger the Eastern Wizard. “I still have a lot to think about.”
Trilless smiled, apparently pleased with the response. “As do we all.”
* * *
Sunlight washed over the dull, gray stone of the building on the Wiz
ards’ Meeting Isle. The sun hovered directly overhead, a yellow ball that seemed pasted over a sky so clear it defined the color blue. Yet, despite this beauty, Olvaerr Kirinsson walked solemnly at Shadimar’s side, glancing neither to the right nor left in order to keep from appearing nervous. His father had taught him that there was no shame in feeling fear, only in displaying it. Its price was the morale or respect of colleagues and followers. And it provoked enemies, sometimes to killing frenzy.
At fourteen years old, Olvaerr was the youngest of the group by at least two decades. Discounting Chezrith, he was the youngest by centuries, and he felt pinned beneath a massive weight of doubts. It seemed impossible that he could begin to understand the many responsibilities that fell on a Cardinal Wizard’s shoulders, but he was determined to try. His father, Valr Kirin, had never shirked any obligation, if he found the cause right and honorable. Few men had earned more deserved glory or respect, and Olvaerr had long promised to follow in his father’s vast and mighty footsteps.
Olvaerr paused as Carcophan opened the door to usher Chezrith through it. She moved with a lithe, regal grace. When it came to facing the Seven Tasks of Wizardry, the Eastern woman seemed to harbor no doubts at all regarding her ability to handle them. Olvaerr studied her from behind: black locks, neatly short, only added to her aura of confidence, and the set of her shoulders told the world she was in control. He envied her composure, but not her cause. He wondered how much of that calm demeanor was facade.
Trilless passed through the portal next, her new apprentice trailing in the silky, flowing wake of her white cloak and gown. Olvaerr found the elf’s moods difficult to read. His heart-shaped lips always seemed to outline a smile that stretched from one high-set cheekbone to the other. His canted eyes bore a steady green color, like polished gemstones, uninterrupted by the shadings or stellate cores of human eyes. They seemed alert and alive, yet they betrayed no emotion Olvaerr could read. He spoke with a mildly pitched, musical lilt that bore a resemblance to the accents of the far North, yet it made even the Northern singsong sound harsh. He carried himself with a light step that seemed almost a mockery of the seriousness of the Tasks.
Shadimar gestured for Olvaerr to precede him through the doorway. Executing a genteel bow to his mentor, Olvaerr obeyed. In the North, children learned respect for teachers and sword masters early, and Valr Kirin had taught his only child well. The attention to formality came from deeply ingrained habit that even trepidation could not dislodge. Unconsciously, he kneaded the hilt at his hip, glad that Chezrith had also seen fit to bring an obvious weapon, a strange double-curved, single-edged sword with a cobra’s head for a pommel.
The meeting room contained only a long, wooden table with eight chairs and a hearth at the far end of the chamber. Carcophan and Chezrith took seats at one head, Trilless and the elf, Dh’arlo’mé, at the other. Shadimar entered behind Olvaerr and closed the panel. He sat in the chair nearest the door, his back to the exit. Though it left the innermost seats empty and took all symmetry from the table, Olvaerr took his cue from the other apprentices, sitting beside rather than across from his mentor. Shadimar placed a satchel that Olvaerr knew contained books on the floor by his chair. Trilless kept volumes stacked by her arm, and Carcophan’s pockets bulged with reading material of his own. Each would need to find a distraction, as well as train his successor, while the other Wizards’ apprentices attempted the Tasks.
Olvaerr lowered his head. Blond bangs fell into his blue eyes, and thick layers of hair shifted into a curtain to shield his face. Though nearly two years had passed since he had hacked off his war braids in mourning for his father, he still had not gotten accustomed to the half-grown feel of it. He mouthed a silent prayer to the patron god of Nordmir: Lord Odin, master of gods and men . . . He added carefully, now in the presence of an elf as well, . . . and all beings like men. Please grant me the courage and understanding to succeed at your trials and to take my position with the grace, wisdom, and dignity befitting a Wizard if I am worthy of the honor. And if you find me unworthy, please grant me the opportunity to die in glory so that I may still serve you in Valhalla.
Finished, Olvaerr looked up, shaking back his unruly, yellow mane, only to find all the Wizards gazing at him. He froze. En route, the Cardinal Wizards had decided to send him to the Tasks first. They had made their choice without his input. Shadimar had mentioned casually that he felt more comfortable with his neutral successor set in place before those of the extreme causes made the attempt. But the Eastern Wizard’s tone had suggested other unspoken reasons, and Olvaerr guessed he was the most expendable and easy to replace of the three. Also, they must have considered him the most likely to fail; while the others attempted the tasks, Shadimar would have the time to replace him if the need arose.
“Are you ready?” Shadimar asked.
Though he was not, Olvaerr nodded, certain he would never feel prepared to face the testing grounds that the Cardinal Wizards had explained only theoretically. He knew each of his seven trials would tax some property of his being to its limit, and that the ring each yielded would take him to the next. He understood that he might face an eighth challenge that he must refuse, as it had proven Colbey Calistinsson’s undoing and the demise of many others. Failure at any task would herald his death, not necessarily in glory nor even in battle. All of this he understood, yet it told him nothing about the details of the actual Tasks of Wizardry. Those, he would discover for himself. Again, Olvaerr nodded, more securely this time. “I’m ready.”
Trilless, Carcophan, and Shadimar exchanged knowing looks, then the Eastern Wizard chanted syllables that had no more meaning to Olvaerr than the elf’s nearly unpronounceable name. Vertigo enclosed him, a dark, whirling tomb that left him no understanding of up or down. Without vision, he had no means of knowing for certain whether the tingling forces of magic actually spun him or simply gave him the sensation of movement. The world became a black vortex that seemed to suck him into its core.
Then, as suddenly, the sensation disappeared. Still sitting, Olvaerr lurched to his feet, fingers achingly clenched around his hilt, his knuckles locked. Though twirling in ceaseless circles, the scene that filled Olvaerr’s eyes looked too familiar. He stood by the table in the Meeting Room on the Wizards’ Isle. Shadimar, Carcophan, and Trilless remained in place, brows furrowed in mild confusion. Dh’arlo’mé and Chezrith also studied him curiously.
Prepared for gods’ magic and illusion, Olvaerr backpedaled beyond Shadimar’s reach, scanning every shadowed corner of the room in an instant. Someone stood near the hearth, a thick, imposing male figure wearing a broad-brimmed hat that threw him further into the darkness. He did not move; even his chest did not seem to rise and fall in the normal rhythm of breathing. The room’s sourceless light highlighted an empty eye socket and wisps of flaxen locks poking from beneath the hat. The other eye, trained unwaveringly on Olvaerr, reflected all the life the rest of its owner did not. All of Olvaerr’s fear bunched into a single packet that flared into panic. He held his ground, more from inertia than intent. The being in the corner seemed to siphon the life force from him.
Olvaerr managed to collect enough rationality to kneel in deference to a presence he believed was Odin. “Your blessing, Father of gods and Master of men. Your presence is more honor than any man deserves. How can I serve you?”
The eyes of every Wizard and apprentice whipped in the direction of Olvaerr’s stare. Carcophan moved so quickly, his chair legs scraped an angry protest across the floor. Chezrith rose also, crouching between her master and the previously unseen threat.
Despite the others’ sudden attention, Odin kept his single eye trained on Olvaerr. “Greetings, Årvåkir.” The name literally meant “Vigilant One,” and Olvaerr suspected it was Odin’s way of acknowledging that he had noticed the god’s presence first, while his companions had remained oblivious. The Northern pronunciation, “Awr-vaw-keer,” probably sounded enough like “Olvaerr” that the others would not notice the difference. But Olv
aerr did, and the subtlety of the gray god’s joke amused as well as awed him. “Greetings, Wizards,” the newcomer added. “Greetings, Wizards’ apprentices.”
Of Olvaerr’s companions, some muttered polite salutations in various words and languages. Others bowed or nodded their welcome. The whole blended into an uninterpretable grumble.
Odin seemed to take no notice of the garbled response. Finally, his gaze shifted from Olvaerr to rest upon the two empty chairs across from Shadimar. “I see one of you is missing.”
Carcophan chose to speak for the group. “We sent the standard message. The Western Wizard chose not to attend.”
“Ah,” Odin said. “Perhaps he’ll change his mind when he recovers from your poison and reads your note.” A smile crept across ancient features, yet it softened nothing. The craggy face only looked more deeply etched and terrible. “Perhaps you will have recovered by then as well.”
Carcophan scowled, rubbing self-consciously at the sword wound hidden beneath his sleeve. Trilless glared at her evil opposite, apparently discovering information she had not previously known and Olvaerr could not begin to fathom.
Still on his knees, Olvaerr found his gaze at the level of Shadimar’s hand. The Eastern Wizard’s grip on his staff blanched, as if he worried Odin might try to wrest it from him. “As honored as we are by your presence, it was not our intention to summon you. We were only trying to send my apprentice to the Tasks as per your law.”
The smile disappeared, replaced by a hard look of amusement. It seemed as if the god might laugh, but no one before him could share in the joke. “The staff you carry makes your power vast, but you cannot summon gods. I came because the need and reason for the Tasks of Wizardry ceases to exist any longer.” His eye shifted to Chezrith, as if to pin her where she crouched. “State your full name and why you believe you should become the next Southern Wizard.”
Child of Thunder (Renshai Trilogy) Page 41