Winter Witch

by Elaine Cunningham

  Chapter Three

  The Rare Magic

  Declan’s pell-mell ride through Korvosa came to a halt a few blocks from Kendall Amphitheater. In his haste, he’d forgotten there would be a midnight performance and crowds of theater patrons thronging the streets.

  Empty carriages streamed past him as drivers, having dropped off their wealthy patrons, headed toward taverns and alehouses for a different sort of entertainment. Up ahead, small parties of riders dismounted and handed their reins to the theater’s yellow-clad hostlers. Many of the patrons came on foot, and the crowds were especially thick near the Janderhoff Gate, an entrance for people who could not afford the full price of a ticket and were willing to risk sitting directly over the spot where dwarves labored to shore up the cavernous sinkhole beneath.

  The clock in the castle’s Epochal Tower chimed. Declan turned the stallion northward toward Midland. The open-air market would be closed at this time of night, and the roads clear.

  His reasoning might have been sound, but it fell short of reality. Declan’s impatience grew as he wove a path through carts trundling down the roads, drawn by sullen donkeys or pushed by sweating servants. He had to move off the road completely while a small caravan of ice carts rolled past, the precious cargo packed in straw and sawdust against the heat.

  Finally the south bridge came into sight, a broad ribbon of light over the blackness of the Jeggare River. No shadows moved through the bright circles cast by the lanterns spaced along its length. By some happy turn of fate, it appeared that Declan would have the bridge entirely to himself. He shook the reins over the stallion’s neck and urged the horse into a gallop.

  A squad of city guards, conspicuous in baggy red trousers tucked into low red boots, emerged from a side street just before the bridge. All were afoot, and Declan knew they would saunter in front of him, claiming the road for themselves just to show they could set his pace for him by dint of the uniforms they wore. On any other day, he might have tolerated it, but he was in a hurry. Declan gauged the distance and decided he could gallop past them before they could fan out and block his way.

  As the gray stallion thundered toward the bridge, one of the guards stepped forward and raised a wooden wand. A short burst of light pulsed from it, and Declan’s borrowed horse stopped in midstride.

  Declan, unfortunately, did not.

  Time slowed to the languorous pace of dreams. Declan flew over the stallion’s neck and floated down toward the street at a speed that recalled the flow of treacle from a jar. Despite the oddly slowed descent, he hit the cobbles in a bruising tumble. He rolled to a stop and lay staring at the spinning stars, idly wondering if it might be prudent—and for that matter, possible—to draw another breath.

  The flow of time resumed its normal pace. Guards gathered above him. Their faces swam in and out of Declan’s vision, but he was pretty sure the wand-carrying wizard among their ranks was smirking.

  Two of the men dragged Declan to his feet. He cast a quick glance at the gray stallion. It stood frozen in mid-stride, balanced precariously on its back hooves, front feet stalled out in the act of kicking powerfully down.

  Declan blew out a long breath, the closest he could come to an incredulous whistle in his current condition. Holding spells were common enough, but seeing a galloping horse suspended in midair was still impressive.

  “Last I heard, the law prohibited magical attack against citizens of Korvosa,” he said.

  “Magical detention is permitted if that citizen is engaged in a crime,” the wizard intoned, “or otherwise endangering the populace.”

  “Or looks like he’s trying to avoid us,” chuckled one of the other guards to his companion.

  Declan looked pointedly toward the empty bridge. “What populace? There was no one in my path.”

  “The law forbids riding recklessly through the city streets,” the wizard said.

  “Giving your horse free rein on an empty bridge is not reckless.” Declan looked to the guard wearing the captain insignia on his jacket. “With respect, sir, unless you had good cause to stop me, you’re acting outside of your charter.”

  “Zimbidge didn’t stop you,” the captain said, reaching out to clap the wizard on the shoulder. “He stopped your horse. Dangerous beast.”

  His squad seemed to find that amusing.

  Declan hissed a sigh through gritted teeth. “Time is not my friend, gentlemen. I need to consult one of my professors at the magic school on a matter of great urgency.”

  Most of the guards suddenly misplaced their smirks, but the wizard’s face twisted in doubt.

  “If that’s true, you’re riding the wrong way.”

  “I’m not going to the Acadamae,” he said. “I studied at the Theumanexus.”

  “Oh.” A droll expression crossed the wizard’s face and he rolled his eyes toward the squad captain. “The law does make some allowance for the feeble-minded.”

  The captain shrugged. “A wizard is a wizard. He’s done no harm. I say we let him go.”

  Zimbidge spun back to Declan. “You have your Theumanexus medal, I trust? Or at least your student papers?”

  “I turned them in when I left the school,” Declan said. “And I have no medal because I didn’t complete the training, which is why I need a wizard’s counsel now.”

  “Did you by chance study with Canalora Rivista?”

  “Everyone who enrolls at the Theumanexus studies with Lady Canalora,” Declan said. “Lady Lore teaches the principles of magic, and she tests first-year students on their mastery of basic spells and cantrips.”

  “That is true,” the wizard admitted. “But it’s also widely known. You could have heard that from anyone. Cast a simple spell, and I’ll let you go.”

  Declan shook his head. “I left the Theumanexus because I didn’t wish to become a wizard. In fact, I have sworn off the use of magic.”

  “Isn’t that convenient,” Zimbidge sneered. The wizard’s attitude was not the most vexing thing Declan had experienced since nightfall, but it touched his honor in a way the other indignities had not.

  “Forgive me if I misjudge your intent,” Declan said coldly, “but it sounds as if you were calling me a liar.”

  “I most certainly am,” the wizard retorted. “One moment you employ magic to cushion your descent from a spell-stopped horse, and the next you tell me you’ve sworn it off altogether?”

  “But—”

  The protest that leaped to Declan’s lips died unspoken. There was no denying that his fall from the horse had seemed too slow and his landing too gentle. It certainly wasn’t painless, but a holding spell placed on a horse in mid-gallop should have flung him harder and farther.

  The wizard took a small, tightly rolled parchment from a tube hanging at his belt and swept it over Declan’s head. He unrolled the parchment, glanced at the runes that winked into being, and cast an accusing, sidelong glance at Declan.

  “According to this, you’ve also cast two other spells in the past few hours. A cantrip to light a fire and a defense against enchantment.”

  Declan remembered taking the torch into the pergola to look for Silvana.

  “Now that you mention it, I do recall lighting a torch,” he admitted. “That’s a routine bit of magic any first-year student could accomplish. Since my mind was preoccupied, I did it without thought. But a defense against enchantment? That takes considerable effort. I think I’d remember casting such a spell, and I do not.”

  “Maybe he was in a warded building?” one of the guards suggested. “If he was in such a building when the wards were triggered, would the lingering effects of that spell cling to him?”

  “Only if he cast it,” the wizard said. He considered Declan. “Did you by any chance set warding spells around a building? Activating those wards might read as casting a spell.”

  “Sworn off the use of magic,”
Declan reminded him.

  “Perhaps you set these wards before you developed these mysterious and convenient scruples?”

  He folded his arms and met the wizard’s accusatory stare. “No.”

  “And you did not knowingly cast the slow-falling spell?”

  “I have already told you that I did not.”

  The wizard tapped the parchment. “Then how do you explain the result of this scanning scroll?”

  “Inferior workmanship?” Declan suggested.

  The rustle of wings drew the guards’ attention upward. Skywing fluttered down to perch on the frozen horse, settling on the saddle’s pommel like a falcon. The little drake stared balefully at the wizard. Declan could not hear what the dragon was telling Zimbidge, but the wizard’s face reddened.

  “There’s no need to take that tone,” Zimbidge said stiffly. “Of course I have heard of Mareshka Zarumina, although I have never heard that she took apprentices.”

  A few more moments of charged silence passed between the drake and the magic-wielding guard. Finally the wizard gave a curt nod and sent a glare in Declan’s direction.

  “You’re free to go. But walk your horse through the East Shore, or you’ll be stopped again.”

  As Declan walked toward the stallion, he wondered whether the horse’s awareness had been frozen along with its body. If not, the experience would be terrifying for the animal, worse that being caught in a trap or cage.

  The wizard raised his wand and flicked it toward the horse in a sharp, dismissive gesture. Immediately the stallion burst into motion. Within a few strides, however, the horse checked, whirled, and headed back at a trot. White rings showed around the stallion’s brown eyes.

  Declan caught the reins and wrestled the horse to a stop. The wizard backed away during the struggle. Just as Declan was getting the stallion under control, Zimbidge raised his wand.

  A wet sheen like thin mucous sprang into existence all over the wizard’s body. For one terrifying moment, Declan thought the guardsman was being encased in ice the same way Silvana and Majeed had been.

  Then the wand squirted out of Zimbidge’s grasp. His feet followed, windmilling on the slick stone cobbles as if they had been greased—which, of course, they had. He went down in a tangle of arms and legs. His fellow guards looked uncertain whether to laugh or attack.

  Skywing, however, had no such qualms. The dragon’s amusement sang through Declan’s thoughts—not laughter, exactly, but a happy, high-pitched hum.

  When at last the slime faded and disappeared, the wizard gathered the shreds of his dignity and stomped toward Declan.

  “I suppose you didn’t do that, either,” he snarled. “Don’t bother denying it, and remember that commanding a familiar to cast a spell is no different from casting it yourself.”

  I told him I’m your familiar, Skywing explained.

  Declan had never known the little drake could cast spells, but it made sense if Skywing were someone’s familiar. But he wasn’t Declan’s familiar, which led to the question of what wizard he served. Declan sent the dragon a look that promised more discussion on this matter later. “My apologies. Until tonight, I was unaware that ...my familiar could cast spells.”

  The wizard opened his mouth as if to argue, then grimaced and shook his head. “If you can’t control your familiar, I suggest you turn the creature over to a wizard who can.”

  Declan nodded and hauled himself into the saddle. The horse swung its head back toward the wizard and made a noise suspiciously like a snicker.

  He reined the stallion toward the bridge. Once they were beyond hearing distance, he shook his head at Skywing.

  “My familiar?” he repeated. “Apprentice to Mareshka Zarumina? I never even heard that name.”

  Neither had the wizard. He just didn’t want to admit it.

  Declan let out a bark of laughter. “Brazen and inventive—just the qualities I’d want in a familiar, assuming that I wanted a familiar. But I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. What happy coincidence brought you to the East Shore bridge?”

  No coincidence. I’m protecting you. The little dragon puffed out his chest. Someone needs to.

  Declan considered that answer. “So it really was you who cast those spells?”

  Protecting you, the little creature repeated emphatically. I chased off an imp the necromancer sent to attack you.

  “Jamang didn’t wait long, did he?” Declan was impressed that he had taken action so soon. “I suppose he’ll keep trying.”

  No more trying. The necromancer is dead.

  Declan froze, astonished and more than a little horrified. “Skywing, you didn’t—”

  No.

  It seemed to Declan that the little drake sounded regretful. Even if it were true he had not slain Jamang, Skywing looked as though he wished he had. Declan decided not to examine that insight too closely. “How did it happen?”

  A bad person, the dragon opined.

  “Ordinarily I’d agree with that assessment, but killing Jamang might have been an act of self-defense, or at least a well-deserved retaliation. How do you know he was killed by a ‘bad person’?”

  I know, the dragon insisted. I watched this bad person follow you for more than three sleeps and sunrises.

  “Someone has been following me for three days?” Declan demanded. “And you’re telling me this now?”

  Telling you now, yes.

  Declan cast a quick glance over his shoulder before he realized the futility of such precautions. If he hadn’t sensed the presence of this “bad person” over the course of several days, he doubted he’d have better success going forward. Whoever the stalker might be, most likely he possessed a command of magic far beyond what Declan had mastered at the Theumanexus.

  He didn’t see the benefit of magic that could turn a pile of drawings into a single animated page, but apparently its novelty gave it value. If Jamang’s reaction was typical of his peers, competition to own the animated books and decipher the spell would be fierce. Apart from its current impact on his safety, Declan frankly didn’t care about the book magic. In fact, the sooner someone decoded the spell and claimed authorship, the sooner his part in this nonsense would be forgotten.

  On the other hand, he did care about this unknown stalker. Jamang claimed he had others books like the one Declan had left on the observatory roof. Since Declan had made only three such books, Jamang’s wording suggested that he possessed the other two. If the stalker Skywing had followed killed Jamang, most likely the killer now had those books in his possession. Assuming the killer was a wizard of some sort and could figure out the magic on his own, Declan had no reason for concern.

  That was unless the books’ new owner decided to eliminate anyone who might otherwise lay claim to the spell.

  The thought prompted Declan to pick up the pace. He trotted the gray stallion down the quiet streets. Along the way he rode past two patrols of the city watch and several members of the Sable Guard. All of them noted the little dragon perched on his saddle and let him pass unhindered. Skywing was a useful companion in more ways than one.

  Soon the gate to the Theumanexus loomed up ahead, a massive barrier of intricately wrought iron. A fence of similar design surrounded the estate upon which the university had been built. The iron, as Declan understood it, was intended to hold back the fey. Apparently the gnome who’d built the gate had made some enemies in the First World. It was a story Declan hoped to hear someday. At present, however, he was more concerned with the gate’s ability to keep him out.

  Declan dismounted and gave the bell pull a few vigorous tugs. The bell itself hung in a window of a tiny stone building just beyond the fence. The guard stumbled out, scowling and scratching sleepily at the stubble on his chin. His expression became considerably more respectful when he noted the drake on Declan’s saddle.

  “Master Avari,” he s
aid respectfully. “So you became a wizard after all! No surprise to me. I never thought you were as hopeless as the professors claimed, never once.” He grimaced and raised one hand to his bald pate. “Except maybe for the time you accidently set my hair afire, but no lasting harm done, eh? Even the All-Seeing Eye of Nethys would overlook a passing doubt now and then.”

  “Of the two of us, I’d say you have more cause to remember that unfortunate incident,” Declan said with a rueful smile. “If you’d be so kind, I have business with one of the professors.”

  “At this hour?” The guard huffed incredulously. “They’re long asleep.”

  “Including Paddermont Grinji?”

  “Well, no,” the guard allowed. “Probably not him.” He tipped back his head and sniffed the air like a hunting hound. “Ambergris and sulfur. Oh yes, he’s still at work.”

  He swung open the gate and took the stallion’s reins. Declan had a brief and silent exchange with Skywing, who grudgingly agreed to stay with the horse.

  Declan hurried past the manor house that was the main building of the Theumanexus and made his way to Geezlebottle Hall.

  The building resembled a large tree stump out of which grew many large and bizarrely shaped mushrooms. Its rambling walls had been shingled haphazardly with dark wood. Oddly shaped turrets rose here and there from the roof, and an occasional dormer window jutted from the gables. The strangest aspect of the building, however, was its scale. It had been designed for the size and comfort of gnomes and halflings, few of whom pursued the study of magic in Korvosa. The building had been half completed before someone pointed this out to the gnome patron. As a result, half the building was scaled for humans, the other for shorter folk.

  Declan ducked his way through the main door and veered into a corridor that led into the gnome-sized section of the building. Hunched down to spare his head a banging on the lintels, he followed his nose toward the worst-smelling workroom in the hall. Billows of foul red smoke roiled out of an open door. Declan took a deep breath and plunged through.