Rick Cook: The Wizardry Quested

To brighten and dim magical lights, you know. The demon is not doing what it is supposed to. I have been over and over the code and I can’t seem to find the problem. Do you suppose you:"

"I’d be happy to. I’ll be back at the castle in a couple of day-tenths. Could you bring it by then?"

"Thank you, My Lord. Two day-tenths it is. Enjoy the fair. Good day, My Lady." With that he wandered off.

Moira looked after him, eyes sparkling with laughter. "He is a dear, isn’t he?"

"Yeah, but I wish he was a little more logical when it comes to programming." Moira shrugged. It was an old discussion. While anyone could use a spell written with Wiz’s magic compiler, creating them required the same knack for logical thinking and organization it takes to be a programmer in any language. Traditional magic did not build up spells a statement at a time and so relied on other qualities, notably memory, intuition and courage. It was hard to be good at both the old and new magics, and as one of the Mighty and a member of the Council of the North, Malus was very good at the traditional magic.

"He has an eye for chicanery though," Moira said. "Perhaps I had better have a word with Mother Charisong before you or one of the other fair wardens has to take official notice."

At least one journeyman wizard was always on duty among those overseeing the fair to guard against magical trickery. It was not required that the Mighty take a turn as fair wardens, still less that the members of the Council do so, but many of them did.

"Want me to come along?"

"It would be best if you escorted me there and then went off on another errand while Mother Charisong and I talked of old times."

"Thus implying a threat without having to make it."

Wiz nodded.

Moira’s green eyes grew wide and innocent. "Why no, My Lord. How can you think I would threaten a poor old woman? We will merely have a quiet gossip." Wiz put his arm around his wife’s waist. "Which will make the point without having to say a word Darling, did I ever tell you you are brilliant?" Moira cocked a burnished copper eyebrow. "Only by comparison."

"Hey, Danny," Jerry called, "watch this."

Two mouse clicks, two mouse squeaks, and the rabbit with the bass drum was back on Jerry’s desk It marched up and down, beating the drum and getting closer to the table’s edge with each pass.

As the rabbit reached the edge of the table, a green tentacle curled out of the

"screen," wrapped around the rabbit’s throat and jerked it back into the system, cutting the rabbit off in mid-beat.

"Crude," Danny said, "but effective."

Deep in the Wild Wood, the sun was also shining. The weak winter rays slanted through the multi-paned windows of the great hall at Heart’s Ease, throwing diamond-shaped patterns on the table. Two women stood beside it, studying a curiously carved casket. Both of them were tall and slender, but the younger one with raven-dark hair was slightly taller than the older woman with the prematurely white hair.

"Now watch closely," Shiara the Silver said to her pupil. Working by touch, because she was blind, she selected a lock pick from the assortment that lay on the table. "You must keep the tension on the mechanism," she said as she smoothly manipulated the lock. Two heads, one silver-white and the other black with russet highlights, bent over the chest "Past the first ward. Then past the second ward."

Malkin, sometime thief on the Dragon Marches and now lady to Jerry Andrews of the Wizards’ Keep, nodded.

"And then the tumbler slips like so," Shiara said. "Now you try it." Malkin bent to it with a will. In seconds the lock clicked and the dark-haired woman straightened up in triumph. Then her face froze, her eyes widened, her features contorted and she let out a thunderous sneeze.

"Had it been real, the blow tube would have been filled with something more lethal than pepper," Shiara said mildly.

"You didn’t say anything about that," Malkin protested, sneezing again. The silver-haired woman smiled. The lesson is never to trust a lock-or the person who tells you how to pick it."

Malkin grunted.

"Well, that is enough for now," Shiara told her pupil. "Your fingers are getting stiff from the cold and it is best we rest for a bit."

"I can go on," Malkin said stubbornly.

The older woman put her hand on the younger one’s shoulder. "Of course you can. But there is no need and it is best not to force such things without need. Now come and have some hot spiced cider."

"How did you know?" Malkin asked as they settled in to high-backed chairs before the fire in the great fireplace.

"Hmm?" Shiara said into her mug. "About your fingers? Why, I could hear them. You were slowing down on simple operations."

If Shiara was blind she still had her ears, her hands, her brains and her memories. Malkin was in the presence of a master burglar and she knew it. She used no magic, of course. Although Shiara had been a sorceress of high skill, the accident that had ended her career as the Council’s master thief had left her so sensitive to magic that its very presence hurt her. That was why she lived in a magically "dead" zone deep in the Wild Wood, away from other people and their everyday magics. It was why Hearts Ease itself, from stone tower to attached hall to outbuildings to surrounding stockade, had been built completely without resort to magic.

"It is kind of you to teach me, Lady," Malkin said as she warmed her hands on the mug of fragrant cider.

"It is my pleasure. There is not much human company here in the Wild Wood in wintertime."

Although she didn’t mention it, Shiara was also doing Wiz a favor. Wiz wanted to get Malkin out of town during the fair. The multitude of booths and merchants was just too tempting for someone of Malkin’s proclivities.

Calling Malkin a thief was like saying Don Vito Corleone was a little dishonest, or Dr. Jekyll had his moody days. Malkin was that rare combination of aptitude, dedication and intelligence that marks a true adept at any art. In her case it just happened to be the art of separating people from their property. For Malkin, stealing wasn’t just a job and it was more than an adventure. It was business, pleasure and a way of life all rolled into one. She was as dedicated to it as a medieval monk was to his calling-a comparison which would have surprised Jerry, considering her distinctly un-monk-like proclivities in other areas.

"You have a powerful talent," Shiara went on. "In some ways too much talent." Malkin made a noncommittal noise and raised the steaming beaker to her lips.

"I doubt you have ever been seriously challenged in your skill. So far you have been able to rely on your natural abilities blindly, without having to learn the other requirements of your calling."

"Such as?"

"Patience. Forethought. Perhaps a little humility."

Malkin smiled. "As you say, I’ve done well enough."

"But will you do well enough if you face something that really tests you?" The younger woman sighed and set the beaker of cider on the table. Like as not I’ll never find out. Little enough opportunity I’m like to have for a great test. Things are much changed from your day, Lady."

"Indeed they are," Shiara agreed. "And very much for the better."

Humans had little magic in those not-so-long-gone days when Shiara the Silver and her mate Cormac the Golden had plied their trade. The pair had relied more on stealth and cunning than Cormac’s skill with a sword or Shiara’s abilities as a wizardess to purloin especially dangerous pieces of magic for the Council of the North. It had been the last of these quests which had cost Cormac his life and left Shiara blind and allergic to magic of any land.