Rick Cook: The Wizardry Quested

The frosty air was rich with the smell of roasting chestnuts and mulled spiced wine. It smelled of horses and people, garlic and new leather. Of faraway places and pine smoke. It was a wonderful odor and Wiz drank it in eagerly as they let the crowd carry them along.

Ice film strained and cracked from motion where no motion should be. Another jerk, and another and another until the ice flaked away from what had once been a human hand. The skeletal fingers convulsed and tightened to form a parody of a fist.

"Wiz look out!" Moira’s words brought him out of his reverie as her hand on his bicep guided him away from a large and uninviting mud puddle. Every morning fresh straw and tanbark was spread to keep mud from fairgoers’ boots, but in short order it was trampled, crushed and dragged into the slushy dirt. Moira’s eyes were laughing. "I believe the expression is ’wake up and die right.’ "

"Sorry," he mumbled "I got distracted." Moira’s smile and resigned sigh told him she was all too familiar with her husband’s absent-mindedness. Looking at her like that he was reminded once again of how much he loved her. "Let’s go check out the jeweler’s row," he suggested. "Perhaps they will have something fit for a queen."

Moira inclined her head regally. "Very well You may proceed Us to guard Us from the mud."

Rocks shifted, clods of frozen earth fell free and the once-living sat erect in his icy grave. The misshapen head turned neither right nor left but the eyelids lifted on still-frozen eyeballs. Moving in uncoordinated jerks and broad swipes it began to dear the rest of the rubble from its form.

A massive wound left the brain half exposed to the freezing air, but scraps and shards began to return. Of true consciousness there was none, nor soul nor spirit, nor coherent memories. But there were reflexes, and skills learned long and well at very fundamental levels. For the animating intelligence that was sufficient.

There was snow drifted against the windows, but the room in the Wizards’ Keep was warm and cozy. A wood fire crackled and danced in the stone fireplace, perfuming the air with cedar. With its carved furniture of dark oak, stone walls, and diamond-paned windows, the place looked positively medieval. With its overflowing litter of scrolls, wooden tablets, and a large crystal ball on a stand, it looked like a magician’s study. With the letters of glowing fire hanging above the two occupied work-tables, the remains of sandwiches beneath the "displays," the pot of industrial-strength tea in a corner and the flowcharts scrawled in charcoal on one whitewashed wall, it looked like a programmer’s workroom. In fact it was both, and the effect managed to be oddly harmonious in spite of the contrasts.

Wiz’s desk was deserted, but Danny and Jerry were hard at work. Actually Danny was surfing the Internet and Jerry was just doodling, but they were both doing it with the fierce concentration which is the hallmark of a good programmer and the bane of a good programmer’s Significant Other.

"Going to the fair tomorrow?" the younger, slighter, man asked over his shoulder when he reached a pausing place.

Jerry Andrews shrugged his massive shoulders. He was a big man and if he was somewhat soft, he was definitely not fat. "I dunno. Hadn’t really thought about it."

Danny spun his chair around and grinned. That’s the advantage of having kids. You gotta think about things like the fair."

"I’m not sure I see that as an advantage," Jerry said slowly. "If Malkin were here I’m sure she’d want to go." He paused "But then that’s why Malkin’s not here. It’s bad enough having to return the stuff she’s lifted and make explanations here and in town. At the fair:" He shuddered.

"Yeah. At least June keeps Ian out of trouble rather than encouraging him. Just wait until you have kids."

"That may be quite a wait," Jerry said dryly. "Malkin and I have talked about it and we’re not sure we will"

Danny just smirked.

"Oh, speaking of lads," Jerry said, "take a look at this, win you?" Danny got up and crossed over to look at the work on Jerry’s "screen" -actually a glowing rectangle of fiery letters floating in the air above his desk.

"It’s something kind of silly, really," Jerry went on, "but I wanted to see what would happen. Anyway, Ian’s birthday is coming up and I thought maybe I could adapt it into something for him."

Danny frowned

"It’s a screen saver. Here, let me."

Jerry gestured with the mouse, clicked twice (producing two squeaks from the rodent-like demon) and sat back. After a few seconds a fluffy, pink mechanical rabbit wearing sunglasses and beating a bass drum marched back and forth through the lines of code.

"Pretty neat," Danny agreed, watching the bunny rub out the letters with its passage. Then the rabbit hopped down off the worktable and made for the door, still banging his drum. It was out the door and down the corridor before either programmer could react. It had almost reached the corner when Jerry reached the door and gestured at the runaway bunny. It disappeared with a soft pop.

"I didn’t expect that."

"Yeah. It just kept going, and going, and:"

Jerry shot his colleague a dirty look. "You and Wiz."

"Sorry, ft was too good to pass up. Anyway, you’re gonna need a way to keep that rabbit within bounds."

Jerry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I’ve got just the solution."

The frozen thing tottered erect. Now the half-crushed head swiveled left and right in a ghastly parody of a hunting dog seeking a scent. Finding what it sought, it jerked and stumbled off down an unlit corridor hay-choked with rubble.

The fair would not open officially until tomorrow morning. But many of the booths were set up and operating. It was already possible to buy things from the early-arriving merchants and Moira managed quite a regal progress, except when she forgot herself and gave way to bright-eyed excitement. Wiz wished he was walking beside her to watch. But it was faster pushing through the throng single-file.

They were barely three-quarters of the way along the main way when someone came up behind them. Wiz turned and saw Malus, one of his fellow members of the Council of the North. Besides the staff of a wizard and the blue robe of the Mighty, the pudgy wizard also wore the green sash of a fair warden. He was not young and not light and the combination of age and the effort to catch up with them had him red-faced and puffing.

"How is it going Malus?"

Malus sketched a bow to the pair of them. "Ah, good morrow, My Lord, My Lady. Well enough. Well enough." He paused to wipe a film of sweat from his bald pate.

"Someone tried to set up a trained dragon show down by the corrals. Horses cannot stand the smell, you know, and it just would not have been suitable. Not suitable at all. But we have him on the other side of the grounds now. Oh, and when your turn comes, keep a close eye on Mother Charisongs booth-the tawdry orange-and-green one, you know? She swears not, but I think some of her love charms have compulsion spells on them. Not that I could find any, you understand, but I have my suspicions.’’

"Oh, Mother Charisongs not a bad sort," Moira said. "She used to come through my village every year or two." She frowned slightly. "She’s not malicious at all, but I think she is a bit of a romantic and the idea of instant undying love would appeal to her."

"I’ll keep an eye on her," Wiz promised. "Anything else?"

It was Malus’ turn to frown. "Well, I was not going to mention it just now, but since you ask I am having a little problem with one of the spells in the new magic.