Rick Cook - Wizard’s Bane

"He spent all the long summer days working in his orchards while the fruit swelled and ripened on his trees. With plentiful water his fruit was the largest and finest ever. So when the time came he harvested all his boat could bear and set out for his markets on the east coast of the sea.

"He thought it odd that he saw no other vessels, for usually the waters inshore were the haunt of fishing vessels and merchantmen trading in the rich goods of the east. Einrich sailed on, finding nothing in the water save an occasional dead fish.

"When he sighted land his unease grew. For in place of the low green hills of the Eastern land he saw cliffs of dazzling white. As he drew closer he realized that the familiar hills had turned white, so white the reflections almost blinded him.

"He sought the familiar harbors but he could not find them. All was buried under drifts of white, as if huge dunes of sand had devoured the land.

"And instead of the sweet scent of growing things, the land breeze brought him the odor of rotting fish. All along the shoreline were windrows of dead sea creatures. Here and there a starving seabird tore eagerly at the decaying flesh.

"Finally, Einrich put ashore in a cove. When he stepped from his boat he stepped onto a beach of salt.

"Einrich had bound his demon to its task, but he had not limited it. The whole of the Southern Sea had been turned to fresh water. The fish within could not live in the fresh water, so they died.

"Worse, Einrich had not instructed the demon where to put the salt it winnowed. The creature simply dumped it on the nearest shoreline. In the space of a few days the greatest and most beautiful cities of the World disappeared under waves and rifts of salt. Their people perished or were doomed to roam the world as homeless wanderers—living testaments to the power of magic ill-used.

"And to this day the demon sits in the Freshened Sea, sifting salt from the water and dumping it on the land. The eastern shores are a desert of salt and the water is still fresh."

"What happened to Einrich?" Wiz asked, awed.

Moira smiled grimly. "A suitable punishment was arranged. If you travel to that cursed shore, and if you look long enough, you will find Einrich, ever hungry, ever thirsting and hard at work with a shovel, trying to shovel enough salt into the sea to render it salty again."

"Whew," Wiz breathed.

"The point, Sparrow, is that magic is not to be trifled with. Even successful magic can bring ruin in its wake and unsuccessful magic far outnumbers the successful."

"Could I have done something like that, by accident?"

"Unlikely," Moira sniffed. "You do not have a talent for magic and you have no training. You could easily kill yourself or burn down a forest, but you have not the ability to work great magic.

"The most dangerous magicians are the half-trained ones. Either the ones who are still being schooled or who think they are greater than they are. The evil they do often lives after them. They and the League, of course."

"What is the League, anyway? A bunch of black magicians?"

Moira frowned. "They are a dark league. Some of them are black, it is true. But so is Bal-Simba and many others of the North."

"No, I mean magicians who practice black magic. You know, evil spells and things like that."

"Evil magic depends partly on intent and partly on ignoring the consequences," Moira said. "Spells may help or harm but they are not of themselves good or evil."

"Not even a death spell?"

"Not if used to defend oneself, no. Such spells are dangerous and are best avoided, but they are not evil."

"All right, what separates you from this League?"

Moira was silent for a moment. "Responsibility," she said thoughtfully. "Magic is not evil in itself, but tends to affect many things at once. Often the unintended or unwanted effects of a spell are harmful. Like Einrich’s means of getting water for his orchards."

"We called those side effects," Wiz said. "They’re a pain in the neck in programming too."

"Be that as it may, the question a responsible magician must face is whether the goal is worth the consequences. All the consequences. Those who follow the Council of the North try to use magic in harmony with the World. Those of the League are not so bound."

Moira shifted and the fire caught and heightened the burnished copper highlights in her hair.

"Power is an easy prize for a magician, Sparrow—if you can stay alive and if you are not too nice about the consequences. The ones who join the League see power as an end to itself. They magic against the World and scheme and intrigue among themselves to get it."

Wiz nodded. "I’ve known hackers like that. They didn’t care what they screwed up as long as they got what they wanted."

"It may be so on all the worlds," Moira sighed. "There are always those whose talent and ambition are unchecked by concern for others. If they have no magical talent they may become thieves, robbers and cheats. With talent they are likely to travel south and join with the Dark League."

"Why go south. Why not just stay and make trouble?"

"Two reasons. First, the Council will not have them in the civilized lands. Second, they must still serve an apprenticeship no matter how much talent they have." She smiled tightly. "The tests for an apprentice are stringent and many of them are aimed at uncovering such people.

"Once they pass over the Freshened Sea they are beyond the Council’s reach. They are free to work whatever magic they wish and that place shows the results. All of the Southern Shore is alight with mountains of fire and the earth trembles constantly from the League’s magic. The land is so blasted that none can live there save by magic. The very World itself pays the price for the lusts of the League."

"Why put up with them at all? When we had problems like that we’d kick the troublemakers off the system. Or turn them over to the cops—ah, the authorities."

"You have an easier time than we do, Sparrow," Moira said ruefully. "There is no way to bar a magician from making magic, so we cannot ’kick them off the system.’ As for the authorities, well, the Council exists in part to check the League but this is not a thing easily done.

"Individually the ones of the League are mighty sorcerers. Toth-Set-Ra, their present leader," Moira made a warding sign, "is the mightiest wizard in all the World."

"If he’s so powerful how come he hasn’t taken the North?"

"Because the League contains the seeds of its own destruction," Moira said. "To conquer the North, the League would have to act in careful concert. This they cannot do because of the rivalries within. The Mighty are more constrained than the sorcerers of the League and so perhaps not so powerful individually. But they work easily together and can defeat any of the League’s efforts.

"The League is like the Phoenix which renews itself by regular immolation. When it is sundered by contention and many strive for the Dark Throne, then we of the North have a time of peace. When a strong leader emerges and brings most of the wizards of the South under his sway, the League harries the North and magics are loosed upon the land." Moira sighed. "Twas ever so. And now we live in a time when the League is united as never before.

"Toth-Set-Ra," again the warding sign, "is a mighty sorcerer, skilled in magic and cunning in lore. And it is our age’s woe that he has especially powerful tools at his command."

"It doesn’t sound very secure to me," Wiz said dubiously.

"Little in life is secure," Moira replied. "But we contrive." She rose and moved to the other side of the fire.

"And now let us see if we can get some sleep, Sparrow. Morning comes early and we still have far to go."