Rick Cook - Wizard’s Bane

Balked, he danced in fury. "Gone. Gone, ay, all gone," he shrieked.

No, he realized. Not all gone. There was still the guardian of the gate.

Heedless of the shaking earth or the erupting mountain he moved back across the magically marked threshold clutching the box tightly. Once safely outside, he released the demon.

"What is your name?" he asked sharply.

"Bale-Zur," the thing rumbled.

"And what is your virtue?" the wizard asked.

"To slay," the great deep voice boomed out again. "To rend and tear any whose true name has ever been spoken in the World."

Toth-Ra shivered. Here was power indeed! The treasure of Amon-Set might be consumed in fire, but at least one of his servants could be bound to his cause. He eyed the burning mountaintop carefully. Perhaps this one alone would be sufficient to make him the greatest in the League.

"And what is your desire?"

"To slay," the demon repeated. "To slay and slay again."

Toth-Ra placed both hands on the dusky globe. "Then I will bargain with you," the wizard said.

It was hours later when Ugo found Shiara wandering in the canyon above the boulder field.

"You live, Lady," the little wood goblin cried joyfully as he ran to her.

"Who?"

"Ugo, Lady. You set me to watch. Then bad things happen and I come to look." He stopped. "Where is other?"

"Gone," Shiara said dazedly. "Gone." Then she seemed to gather herself and held out her hand.

"Lead me, Ugo. Your senses are keen and between the night and the clouds I cannot see."

"Close to high noon, Lady," the little creature said sadly. "Sorry, Lady."

Shiara said nothing. Ugo approached her and gently took her hand in his.

"Famous victory," the wood-goblin said. "Bards will sing it long."

Shiara the Silver only laughed bitterly and let the goblin lead her down the smoldering mountain.

"And what happened afterwards?" Moira breathed at last.

Shiara the Silver raised her head from her breast and turned her blind, lined face to her questioner. "Afterwards?" She said simply. "There was no afterwards."

"Foolishness," grumbled Ugo, poking up the fire.

The long golden days of Indian Summer dragged by at Heart’s Ease. Moira worked in the garden or the kitchen. Wiz chopped wood and mooned over Moira. If the tensions within the household did not ease, at least they did not to grow significantly worse.

There was always work to be done and the time rolled forward with everyone except Wiz fully occupied. But for all of them, except perhaps Ugo, there was a sense of being suspended. Greater plans and long-range decisions were set aside awaiting word from Bal-Simba and the Council on what was to be done with Wiz.

For Wiz everything depended on what the Council found. If he did have some special ability then perhaps he could redeem himself with Moira. At least he would be able to make himself useful and stop feeling like a parasite.

In his more realistic moments, Wiz admitted he couldn’t possibly imagine what that ability might be. The image of him standing before a boiling cauldron in a long robe and a pointed cap with stars was simply silly and the thought of himself as a warrior was even worse.

"Lady, may I ask you a question?" Wiz said to Shiara one day when Moira wasn’t around. The former wizardess was sitting on a wooden bench on the sunny side of the keep, enjoying the warmth from the sun before her and the sun-warmed stones behind.

"Of course, Sparrow," she said kindly, turning her face to his voice.

"Patrius was a great Wizard wasn’t he?"

"One of the greatest the North has ever seen." She smiled reminiscently. "He was not only skilled in magic, he—well—he saw things. Not by magic, but because had the kind of mind that let him see what others’ sight had passed over."

"But he didn’t make mistakes very often?"

"Making mistakes is dangerous for a wizard, Sparrow. Magicians who are prone to them do not last."

Wiz took a deep breath and rushed on. "Then he couldn’t have been wrong about me, could he?"

Shiara paused before answering. "I do not know, Sparrow. Certainly he was engaged in a dangerous, difficult business, performing a Great Summoning unaided. If he were to make a mistake it might be in a situation such as that.

"On the other hand," she went on as if she sensed Wiz’s spirits fall, "Patrius could look deeper and see more subtly than anyone I ever knew. It may well be that we cannot fathom his purposes in bringing you here."

"Do you think the Council will figure out what he was up to?"

Again Shiara paused. "I do not know, Sparrow. Patrius apparently confided in no one. The members of the Council are the wisest of the Mighty. I would think they would discover his aim. But I simply do not know." She smiled at him. "When the Council knows something they will send word. Best to wait until then."

In the event it was less than a week later when word came to Heart’s Ease.

It was another of the mild cloudless days that seemed to mark the end of summer in the North. Wiz was up on the battlements, looking out over the Wild Wood—and down at Moira who was busy in the garden.

"Sparrow," Shiara’s voice called softly behind him, "we have a visitor."

Wiz turned and there, standing next to Shiara was Bal-Simba himself.

"Lord," Wiz gasped. "I didn’t see you arrive."

"Such is the nature of the Wizard’s Way," the huge wizard said with a smile. "How are you, Sparrow?"

"I’m fine, Lord."

"I am happy to see that you made your journey here safely. Although not without peril, I am told."

"Well, yes, Lord, that is…" Wiz trailed off, overawed by the wizard’s size and appearance.

"I will leave you now, Lord," Shiara put in. "Doubtless you have things to discuss."

"Thank you, Lady," Bal-Simba rumbled.

"What did you find out?" Wiz demanded as soon as Shiara had closed the door.

"Very little, I am afraid," Bal-Simba said regretfully. "There is no trace of magic in you. You are not a wizard and have not the talent to become one. There is a trace of—something—but not the most cunning demons nor the most clever of the Mighty can discern ought of what it is."

Wiz took a deep, shuddering breath. "Which means—what?"

"It means," the wizard said gently, "that to all intents and purposes you are an ordinary mortal with nothing magic to make you special."

"Okay, so send me home then."

Bal-Simba shook his head. "I am truly sorry, Sparrow, but that we cannot do."

"Oh crap! You brought me here, you can send me home."

"It is not that simple, Sparrow."

"It is that simple! It is exactly that simple. If you can bring me here you can send me back."

"No it is not!" Bal-Simba said sharply. "Now heed me. I will explain to you a little of the magic that brought you here.

"Did you ever wonder why Patrius chose to Summon you at a place far removed from the Capital? No, why would you? He did it because he hoped to do alone what he and all the Mighty could not accomplish acting together.

"Normally a Great Summoning is done by several of the Mighty together. But such a gathering of magic would be immediately visible to the magicians of the Dark League. They would strive to interfere and we would have to use magic to protect it. Soon there would be so much magical energy tied up in thrust and parry that the circle could not hope to make the Great Summoning.

"Of us all, only Patrius had the knowledge and ability to perform a Great Summoning unaided. He knew he could not completely escape the League’s attention, but he apparently hoped that they would not realize what was happening until he had completed the spell." Bal-Simba looked grim. "As it happened he was wrong and the gamble cost Patrius his life.