Robert Hughes - The Wizard in Waiting

Rosha thought of the obvious insult, but resisted saying it Ligne had returned from her visit to the dungeon only a few moments before and found him without his hood. Instead of being angry, she seemed positively thrilled. He would say nothing to earn it back on.

He glanced up at the wall of the game room, where the servants’ bell hung, and watched as it noisily rocked up and down. Its pull rope swayed from side to side, untouched by any human hand. He had heard this clamorous ringing many times in the past, but this was his first view of the phenomenon. It chilled him. There were powers at work here strange and angry powers.

“Try to ignore it, dear,” Ligne ordered, an irritated smile gracing her elegant features. “It’s your move.”

Rosha tried to turn his attention again to the game a difficult task, since he felt as if some invisible presence stared over his shoulder.

They played a game of Green Dummy Drax, the weak, two-handed version of the three-sided table game so favored by the Queen. Rosha, while not an expert, felt himself a competent player, for he and his father had often shared the winter nights playing Green Dummy next to the fire.

But he pretended now to learn the game anew, and Ligne had eagerly assumed the role of instructor,

“No, no, not like that!” she scolded lightly, as he purposely made an impossible move. “Your column can’t take my disc while it’s still on the base triangles! Look, I’m on the inversions here! Remember, base triangles are white, Inversions are yellow. It’s simple!”

“Oh,” Rosha replied. “I g-get it n-now.” He replaced his column, made a proper move, and pegged the expended move on the reference plank.

“Very goodl” Ligne cried, clapping her hands in delight Her eyes sparkled as she made her answering move.

His suggestion that she teach him to play was proving a shrewd ploy.

Thus far, the game had kept her mind off his body. She seemed to be receiving this sudden thaw in his feelings for her as the natural result of her invincible charm. She could think what she liked he didn’t care. He was determined to make this sacrifice for Bronwynn’s sake. Moments before, he’d made a convincing fuss over the Queen in the presence of Jagd. Perhaps too convincing, for the merchant had popped into the throne room only for a moment and had popped out again a moment later with the speed of a nervous rodent. Before he could get away, Ligne had wrung from the merchant a promise that he would soon return. Rosha hoped he would hurry, for while he’d sworn his determination to convince the Queen of his affection for her, he didn’t know how he could endure it if she started pawing him again. He had always solved his problems violently, and though his hands were still bound before him, it would take little effort to break the woman’s pretty neck. Pelmen’s words convinced him there was little to be gained from such a rash act, and much to lose. He had to resist the temptation.

“It’s your move,” Ligne chirped, and without thinking Rosha skillfully attacked her cube and removed it from the board. Ligne gasped. “That was… very good.” She frowned. While she wanted him to learn this game, Ligne did not like losing. Suddenly he threatened to defeat her.

“It was?” Rosha covered. “J-j-just lucky, I g-guess.”

“Yes,” she replied evenly. “Very lucky.” With a sweep of her hand she cleared the board of all pieces, then she turned to look at the door.

“This game really isn’t worth finishing. It *s only Dummy Drax, after all. Where is Jagd? I expected him to come join us in a full-sided game!”

Rosha shrugged. He hoped the man returned quickly. He couldn’t hide his disgust from her forever,

The Imperial House bellowed. It was happening again! The miserable runt in the violet knickers had resumed his torture! Oh, the House had been prepared for it, of course, for the verminous merchant had never taken his laundry off the walls. Only once had he left his room, and that only for a moment, to give the Queen some lame excuse for his absence. Then he’d raced back to that sparkling shape on the table that commanded his constant attention.

All morning long, the House had watched Jagd watching the pyramid. The feeling of dread grew during the afternoon, until the House decided that the pain would be preferable to the suspense. But when the object finally flickered to life, the Imperial House immediately changed its mind. A new round of cursing had set off less confusion in the castle than before, for the servants had grown accustomed to these outbursts.

This unfeeling, blase attitude on the part of the help incensed the castle still further. Who did they think they were working for, after all? The Queen?

That’s exactly what they think, the Imperial House said bitterly. In the ancient past, the House had frequently despised its occupants, but this supposed monarch seemed exceptionally stupid. The House sighed for a return to the good old days…

Then it jerked, causing doors on every floor to slam mysteriously. The conversation between Jagd and the blackguards who held the other pyramids grew heated, and the magical energy released was building up an excruciating bubble of gas in the castle’s bowels.

A lot of good that did! the castle moaned, for the servants were used to its wincing now, too, and they casually reopened the slammed doors without another thought.

You! Powershaper! Can’t you tell you’re desperately needed? Wake up!

The castle was not entirely pleased with its clownish power shaper performance. AH the lazy lout had done so far was snore. It had cost the House enormous effort to save the fool, and what had he done in return? He’d made use of magic, that’s what, searing yet another painful hole in the House’s inner lining and then had promptly gone to sleep!

Oh! The House cried out. Wake up! it yelled at Fallo-mar the fool.

It really wasn’t sure why it had moved to save the rascal in the first place. The possibility was there.

The Wizard tn Wailing of course, that this Fallomar fellow might wake from his deafness and offer the House some fellowship. But even if the fool did learn to speak, there was no assurance of his help. The House had dealt with many power shapers through the ages, and the majority had been only selfish thieves, greedy for new ways to swell their powers. Some had even tormented the House for spite, so great was their cruelty. The House chuckled through its pain the last sorcerer to try such got a chandelier implanted in his fore-head!

Any chandeliers? the House wondered, running a quick check of Jagd’s room.

No such luck, it groused. The lighting fixtures had all been replaced in the last twenty years besides, Jagd was twelve feet away from the nearest one.

A lot of bells rang in the castle.

Wake up! the House shouted, but the power shaper slept on. This one might be different, the House said, hoping desperately for some relief.

If only he could be roused! The castle remembered how the man had responded to its teasing with a polite but confident warning. That he was truly a power shaper he’d proved in his wrestling match with the old fish.

True, your magic proved painful, the House pleaded with the sleeping magician, but at least it dissipated out the grating. Not like this agony!

For Jagd’s heated conversation continued still, and his room was shut up tight!

Arise! The Imperial House screamed, agonized. The Imperial House wants you!

Tohn’s hall hummed with power, as the two pyramids on the front table crackled with brilliant blue intensity. Many merchant mouths hung open in disbelief, as the recognizable voice of Jagd, Elder of Uda, echoed off the giant beams overhead. Jagd and Flayh had abused each other for a quarter of an hour already, and neither seemed ready to stop. Poor Pezi rubbed his broad forehead feverishly the stress had given him a splitting headache.