The Wizard's Heir

by J. A. V Henderson

  Nessak climbed up on the seat of the wagon and gave the horses a tap with the reigns. As he did so, the general and the lieutenant and the trumpeter reached the head of the thousand and sounded the advance. The whole body of soldiers shuddered and set into motion as one.

  They moved forward at a brisk pace and did not stop for meals. Instead, each of the squadron chiefs rode back to the supply wagon to receive the rations for their squadron, and the wagon drivers ate as they drove. Saria asked Nessak from inside if he wanted anything, then pushed it out to him with her hand if he did.

  Nessak had been through this country before. It was a long, lonely, rolling sheet of white—in the peak of summer, lush green—unbroken by any feature for as far as the eye could see. In the winter, it was deadly. Deadly but, thought Nessak, beautiful in its own way. He turned his attention to the book nestled in the folds of his blanket, a book which slipped quietly into the blanket whenever anyone came near, a book whose strange characters and diagrams would have aroused too many questions to answer in one lifetime. Loosely translated, which was about the best Nessak could do, it was a book about identifying and harvesting useful substances from the world. It was very technical, and much of it was complete gibberish to him, but it made a lot of references to a certain box he had in his stores that he could not understand or get to operate which was apparently extremely important.

  When it was too dark to read he moved the book to his satchel and tried to put himself in the mindset of its writers. He gazed up at the stars. Explorers or invaders from a distant place trying to make a living out of the dust or the waves or even the air of a new world. To them, nothing was presupposed except what they brought with them. All the world was dust, waves, and air, and somehow from nothing more than dust, waves, and air they made their existence…and it all went through that darned box, he mused wryly.

  The wagons and troops were coming to a halt.

  The wagonmaster sloshed through the snow toward them. “Four hour stop to rest the animals,” he told them. “Sleep while you can.” And he sloshed away again.

  “Four hours,” he groaned. “Well, that’s what you get for traveling with the army.” He slid back into the wagon and pulled on a blanket. Warmth….

  He was awoken in complete darkness by shouting and turmoil in the camp. As quickly as his groggy mind could comply, he threw off the blanket and threw on one snowboot, then another, then went outside. “Light,” he muttered, and went back for a torch.

  As he came down the second time, the wagoneers shouted to him, “Stay there!” Not fully comprehending, he jumped down into the snow and looked around.

  A perimeter had been formed around the wagons: soldiers standing with drawn swords spaced closely enough that the glow from their torches almost overlapped. But the main activity seemed to be on the north side of the camp. He could make out almost nothing. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem immediately dangerous. He would find out in the morning.

  No sooner had he lain back down than there was a rapping on the side of the wagon. “All up,” the voice of the wagonmaster came, “we’re preparing to move out.”

  Saria sat up from her bed and gave him a strange look. He shrugged. “You know more about it than I do,” he grumbled, putting his boots back on. He went out.

  During the morning, details began to filter through. Two soldiers of the watch had been killed. They appeared to have arrow wounds, but no arrows were found. Scouts had found no tracks. “It’s one of the risks of the passage,” a veteran had relayed to Nessak. “Insurrectionists: they make their home in these plains and strike like ghosts, quickly and without a trace.” He added with a smirk, “Some say they are ghosts.”

  Saria produced her head through the wagon flaps to ask if they had found out what happened. “Not really,” Nessak told her. “Some of the soldiers turned up mysteriously dead.”

  “They didn’t find the attacker?” she asked.

  “No,” he answered.

  There was a pause. “It’s cold,” she remarked, and disappeared back into the wagon.

  “What an understatement,” muttered Nessak to himself. Strange child. But a few minutes later, almost as if to accentuate what she had said, a deadly wind began to pick up: a wind like icicles that could almost not even be breathed. Snow began to pick up from the plains north of them until soon he could barely see the rest of the wagons. Nessak covered himself up. The army kept on marching through the valley they were in and on up the other side. He wasn’t sure the horses could last much longer. He wasn’t even sure the wagons would: they were in danger of being buried in the drifts.

  The trumpet sounded, barely audibly. “Haul up!” called the wagonmaster. “Pull into formation. Mind the horses, keep ‘em out of the wind. Ready the dinner and the shovels.” Nessak saw the big man jump down into the snow on snowshoes and approach. “Lamartos, pull your wagon ‘round the end and shelter your horses. We’re stopping for dinner and probably the night.”

  “Aye, Sir,” Nessak acknowledged. He pulled the wagon around to the place indicated and hopped down to untie the horses. He went straight through the snow, ending up in a drift past his head. “Ai!” he shouted. He heard some of the other wagoneers laughing from above. The snow was loose and powdery, and in a minute Saria was there with their shovel as well.

  “You okay?” called the wagonmaster.

  “Fine,” Saria answered promptly.

  “I’ve got snow everywhere,” Nessak stated.

  The wagonmaster laughed a hearty laugh. “You’ll be glad to know we have the clear for fires and a nice, warm meal once you get yourself out of there. In fact, you can join our fire if you want.”

  “Sounds nice,” Nessak called back.

  It took a while for them to dig him out. While they were at it, they widened the space out enough for the horses and led them in. Nessak pulled down fodder for the horses while Saria put up a canvas over the horses’ snow-stall. “Are we going to dinner?” Saria asked edgily.

  “Yes,” Nessak said. “And we’re going to be nice and make friends. Just as soon as I change: I’m soaking wet.”

  The wagonmaster was well-known amongst his comrades as a fine hand at anything to do with a grill or a fire, snow or no snow, and this night was no exception. Nessak enjoyed everything and readily joined in the soldiers’ stories and talk, even going to get them samples of his artifacts when they asked. Saria sat in the back, barely visible beneath her coat and hood.

  The wagonmaster glanced over at her. “Little girl, get over here by the fire and get yourself warm.”

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “Nonsense, you look like you’re freezing,” the wagonmaster said, motioning her over to the warmest spot by the fire.

  “No, I feel hot,” she insisted. The soldiers raised their eyebrows. “Hot and cold,” she corrected, a little nervously. The soldiers did not stop staring at her. “I feel a little sick.”

  Nessak shot her an angry look. “I’d better take you back to the wagon and examine those bandages,” he declared. He took her back and helped her up into the wagon, then got in after her and closed the flaps. “You’re going to have a relapse,” he told her matter-of-factly.

  “That’s fine with me,” she said.

  “Hmph,” said he. “Well, I may as well check your real bandages while I’m here.”

  “They’re fine, I’ve checked them,” she said.

  He pushed back the hood and undid the bandages around her head. There was indeed an arrow welt in front of her long, slender ear, but it was doing fine. He nodded and redid the wrapping. “Get plenty of rest and don’t starve yourself,” he told her.

  “Go back to your friends,” she replied.

  “You think you’re so smart so young,” Nessak said. “Life’s not as simple as you think. Ideas are simple, not life. Here’s a simple idea: don’t spit on the dragon when he’s got your head in his mouth.”

  “And my parents?” she asked harshly.

  “They would have
wanted you to live, and live well,” he said. “Honorably but not foolishly. Think.”

  She lowered her head.

  “I’ll be back in a while,” he said. “Really, get some rest.” She nodded, and he went out.

  When he reached the campfire, the other soldiers were murmuring. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “The lieutenant came by,” one of the wagoneers volunteered. “Said three soldiers of the Fourth disappeared in the snow. Said keep an eye out for them to return.”

  “That’s too bad,” said Nessak. “But of course you’re used to such things traveling the plains, aren’t you?”

  “Occasionally,” one of them admitted. “Sure, it’s probably nothing. How’s the girl?”

  “My niece?” Nessak asked. He looked downward. “Hard to say at this point. I shouldn’t have let her come outside. Maybe I should have stayed down south…but the fighting….”

  “Yeah,” said the wagonmaster, “you got to do what you got to do.”

  Saria was in her blankets when he returned to the wagon: he checked. Satisfied, he lay down and drew up his own blankets. It did not take him long to fall asleep.

  But it was also not long before he awoke. There was a commotion in the camp. He turned over and pulled the blankets over his head, but after laying there helplessly for a minute he gave up. He pushed the blankets off and started to go down…when he saw that Saria’s bed was empty. He sat down. And waited.

  “You okay in there?” called the wagonmaster.

  “Would be better if I could sleep,” Nessak called back. “Every time I do, they start shouting in the camp.”

  “I know what you mean,” replied the wagonmaster. “There’s three more dead tonight.”

  “They found the missing three?” Nessak asked.

  “No, three more,” answered the wagonmaster. “Hey, miss, shouldn’t you go back inside?”

  Nessak started. “Huh?” he heard Saria’s voice from the driver’s seat. “Oh, I was just trying to see.”

  Nessak popped out onto the driver’s seat. “Get inside right now, missy,” he ordered her. “It’s too dangerous…not to mention your condition!” He glanced at the wagonmaster.

  “Got to keep your patient under closer watch,” the wagonmaster commented. He left.

  Nessak pulled the blanket off the girl and patted her down. He pulled out a knife and one of his tube artifacts. “Did you use this?” he demanded in a whisper, unloading a small metal canister out of it and shaking it upside down. It was empty. “Is this how you play it smart? Are you trying to attract attention? Are you trying to get killed?”

  “I haven’t,” she answered.

  “Are you going to take them all on? All thousand of them?”

  “Nine hundred ninety-two,” she retorted.

  He threw up his hands and sat down.

  “Are you going to stop me?” she asked.

  “You know I can’t stop you,” he replied.

  “No,” she said. “Anyway, it’s too late. I’ve already signaled them. They’re already coming.”

  Nessak caught his breath. “Who?” he asked. “Who’s coming?”

  She met his gaze silently, pushing the bandage back from her elfish ear and crossing her somewhat scrawny legs with their big feet. He dared not speak the name of that fearful tribe, so long supposed to be dead, lest the mention of its name bring it back to life and bring down vengeance once and for all on all the world. And yet here was this mystery girl…but maybe appearances were just the fabrications of his own imagination. Perhaps her ears were a little long and her feet a little large, but no one had ever really seen a live snow elf to compare to. The Tomerians had driven them to extinction many centuries ago. The Tomerians…. No, she could easily have been human…or Ristorian, perhaps. He knew her parents, both of them: they had both been dear members of the Order of Page Knights before they had been tracked down and murdered in their sleep. She looked a lot like her mother. His mind flipped that idea over: her parents had those same uncanny elflike features that she did. What if they were…. But how could they be? The snow elves had been wiped out centuries ago. There was nothing left of them. He rephrased that in his mind: there was no evidence that anything was left of them. But his mind turned that around again, staring at her: they left no evidence….

  He did not go back to sleep. Morning came and the army set out. Diggers had been working in shifts all through the night to clear out a passage for the wagons, and so the going was fairly easy.

  Around noon the first of the sentry sleds disappeared without a trace.

  About an hour later it showed up again. The runners were missing and the two drivers were nailed to the planks, blue, the sled dogs in a pile around them. A halt was called. Nessak could make out the general riding ahead to inspect the scene. He paused for a time, then ordered the gruesome monument dismantled and set to flames. Saria gave Nessak a meaningful look, then went back inside. Shortly they were back in motion with the army drawn together and the smoke of the dead scouts rising behind them.

  No one slept well that night, and in the morning, five more were dead. The general was busy amongst the captains of the hundreds while the army prepared to break camp, seemingly much smaller than it had been even the day before. They traveled slowly and with frequent stops. The troops murmured.

  Then there was a trumpet from behind them. General Marrann wielded his sabre and shouted out, “Attack!” and four units of mounted troops wheeled about and charged back down the path toward the previous night’s camp. Nessak realized he must have set a trap for whoever was killing off his soldiers. He stood up on the board of his wagon to get a better view, but at that distance, he could see nothing.

  All waited impatiently: one hour, then two, then three. At the end of the third hour, the general and his troops reached the rest of the army along with the trumpeter and a handful of others, some seriously wounded. No announcement was made, but once the troops were assembled again, the march was recommenced at normal pace.

  Word flowed out that eighteen troops had been killed in all. Twenty had been left behind to spring the trap, but they had been attacked by a force much larger than themselves: tall, fur-cloaked, white-faced warriors, two of whom they thought they might have killed. For more than an hour the soldiers had scoured the surrounding area, but whatever tracks they found led round in circles.

  Night fell, but the army did not stop. If any soldiers collapsed, the wagoneers tacitly slowed down to pick them up and toss them on the hay carts. At one point there was a brief halt to rotate duties, and then they were off again. It was not until dawn, when the first of the horses collapsed, that the general called a halt of four hours.

  For four hours, the army rested without disturbance. In the morning light, the hills south of them had grown into foothills, from foothills into mountains, craggy and white with snow, rising peak over peak to the east.

  When the army awoke, its spirits were renewed by its rest and by the beauty of the world around it. There was even talk of having outmarched the enemy. The general patrolled his troops personally, scowling grimly to all such cheers, and then the army was back on its feet even before breakfast. They marched without any halts all day long, once again throwing any who fell by the wayside onto the wagons.

  At dusk they halted and set up camp at the foot of a dark, winding mountain pass filled with snow. The general set the wagons to the mouth of the pass, sent up scouts, and ordered the first hundred to dig a trench in the snow all the way around the perimeter. The other hundreds he divided into three shifts to sleep. But their sleep was haunted by the howling of wolves from above in the mountain.

  Nessak lay down to sleep. There was Saria, fidgeting with two of the deadly tube artifacts on her lap and with a long, sharp knife. Nessak sat up. “How am I supposed to sleep with you sitting there like that?” he demanded in a low voice.

  “It’s time to go,” she answered crossly.

  “No,” he answered, “the horses need rest….”


  “Leave them,” she said.

  “I need rest,” he continued.

  “We need to get away from the Tomerians right now,” she hissed.

  He realized she was serious. He knew he could find the wagon later if he needed to. “Supplies,” he said. “And more shots.” He quickly packed a backpack for himself and one for her. Shouts were beginning to come from the camp: shouts, then the clash of steel and the crunch of footsteps and the shouting of orders and the cries of death. War. He grabbed the sack of shots for the tube weapons and followed Saria out the back of the wagon.

  The camp was lit by many fires and slashed by shadows running one way and another. The watch line had been broken through and there was the sound of fighting from seemingly every direction but up. “Come on!” hissed Saria, grabbing him by the hand. As he followed, he glimpsed the general on his charger in the midst of the camp gathering his soldiers about him. And, he imagined, the general looked straight at him from across the field and followed him for a second before he disappeared with Saria into the snow.

  Saria threw off the disguising bandages over her ears and threw back the hood of her cloak as she dove into the snow, swimming through it with such dexterity that her momentum pulled Nessak off his feet. She reached a rock standing at the foot of the ascent and swung herself up around it. As Nessak struggled up after her, she took careful aim with one of the tube artifacts and fired a shot toward the pass.

  “Quiet!” he warned her when he reached her.

  “It’s fine, they don’t understand where it’s coming from,” she scoffed, grabbing his hand and pulling him on. But the sound and the mess of a trail behind them attracted attention after all. A tall, powdery-white-faced snow elf warrior saw them and started running up the trail behind them.

  “Look out,” Nessak warned her—but she shoved him into the snow and hailed the warrior with a sign of her hand. The warrior returned the salute and fell to his knees in the snow, all but disappearing as he did so. Four Tomerians appeared behind him, coming at them, but as they came, the snow elf warrior and two others Nessak hadn’t even seen before burst up out of the snow, spearing through two of the Tomerians and hurling themselves on the others before they even knew what had happened.