Ed Greenwood - Arch Wizard

He felt more awake than he'd done in years. It was like the shock of plunging into icy waters-without the shock, or the cold. Rod felt hot all over. Not burning, hot. He reached for his brow, to wipe away the sweat he knew would be there… but his trembling fingers came away dry.

Then it really hit him.

Whooooo! His heart was racing, adrenalin surged through him like a flood of mint-laced water, his mind started throwing up visions, memories racing past so wildly and swiftly that he had to fight to keep a grasp on here and now…

Rod gasped aloud, staring all around at knights. They sat still, daggers in hands, staring expressionlessly back at him. Except for the old one, who gave Syregorn a glance that asked as clearly as if he'd shouted it: "Mixed it wrongly, aye?"

The only response the warcaptain gave was to look at Rod and ask, as gently as any concerned chambermaid, "Lord Archwizard?"

"I-yes, ah, that's me, yes indeed, Rod Everlar, creator of Falconfar, every castle and Aumrarr and glowing sunset of it, well, except for the Holdoncorp stuff, and that's-and the-uh, the Dark Helms, uh-ah-"

He was babbling, and couldn't stop! Syregorn's powder-or, no, it would have come from the Lord Leaf, that icy, nasty worm, wouldn't it?

From the shocked expressions some of the knights were now wearing, and the half-grins twitching about the mouths of the rest, Rod gathered that he must have said those thoughts aloud. Shit, he was babbling.

"Drowsy and biddable, hey? I'd say Lord High Holy has crashed down proper," the old knight whispered to Syregorn behind his hand. It was faint, barely more voice than soft breathing, but Rod heard every word clearly. Jesus, he could hear the heartbeat of the knight closest to him! Whatever this powder was, it was mighty stuff!

Fire raged through him and roiled within him, burning nothing but hurling him to his feet, straining on tiptoe, thrusting him up on its own warm tide. Knights hefted daggers watchfully, but did nothing as Rod danced awkwardly in their midst.

I must look like a proper dolt.

He was bobbing on his toes like a child's balloon bouncing, too light to fall as the buoyant surges within him gathered strength…

"Lord Archwizard," Syregorn said soothingly, though he was now wearing a dark-browed frown of exasperation, "rest easy. You are in no danger, I assure y-"

"No danger? No danger ?" Rod's uncontrollable eruption of bubbling laughter was almost a howl. "Since first walking Falconfar I've faced nothing else! Everyone wants to kill me, or harness me like a prize bull, and no one will believe me when I tell them there's a lot- a lot! — about Falconfar that I just don't know! So hear me, men of Hammerhold! I don't want to rule you or use magic to force you to do anything! I don't want to use magic at all! I just want to rescue Taeauna from the wizard Malraun!"

"Malraun," one of the knights muttered, wary eyes fixed on Rod and dagger raised and ready. "Syre, he's raving."

Syregorn sighed. "I believe I'd noticed that already, myself," he growled, raising nervous chuckles all around the hollow.

"Somehow, that is," Rod added. "No magic, not if I can help it! I'm not like the Dooms, I don't want to rule Falconfar! I don't! I-"

"We hear you," Syregorn said sharply, reaching out a hand to pluck at Rod's sleeve and drag him back down to sit on the rocks. "We might even begin to believe you."

"I-but I don't, I assure you! Please, you must believe me! God, hell of a hero I'm turning out to be, babbling like an idiot and-and-"

"Lord Archwizard," the warcaptain said sternly, "speak more slowly, and say less. We are well away from Ironthorn, but talk does carry. Is there anything we can do for you, to set you more at ease?"

"I-" Rod started to shake his head and wave his hands dismissively, but then a sudden bright thought struck him. " Yes! Yes, there is! I need ink, quills, and something to write on! Straight away! I-"

He sprang forward, caught hold of Syregorn's shoulders, and shook him. "Now! Here and now! Writing-"

"Archwizard," the warcaptain snapped, letting go of his dagger and clamping his hands around Rod's wrists in what felt like a grip of iron, "sit down. Do you think, faring forth on a raid, we would carry ink and quills with us? When none of us can read or write?"

Rod saw on some knights' faces that this was a lie, that Syregorn himself could read and write, but-but did he dare say that? When these grim knights almost certainly didn't have any writing necessities with them, anyway?

"Why do you want them?" the warcaptain snapped, staring into Rod's eyes almost nose to nose, Rod held like a doll in his strong grip.

"I-ah-"

" Why do you want them?"

"Uh, ah, to Shape Fal-uh, I-ah, don't want to rule or oppress anyone! I only want to free Taeauna, so she can guide me! I, ah-"

"This, too, we have heard and understood," the warcaptain said sternly. "Lord Archwizard, be still.'"

The old knight chuckled. "Heh. You gave him the powder."

"Thalden," Syregorn snarled out of the side of his mouth, eyes still boring into Rod's, "be still."

The old knight nodded, smiled, and fell silent.

"I-just a scrap of parchment as big as both my hands, or vellum, and a quill that-"

"I promise you, Lord Archwizard," the warcaptain said firmly, "that we shall seize any such things we find in Lyraunt Castle, and procure them for you. If we find nothing, and win our ways back to Hammerhold, the Lord Leaf shall provide. Or else."

"I-yes, I-that's wonderf-"

"Lord Archwizard, you have my promise. Now by the Forestmother, be still about ink and quills and writing!"

"I-ah, uh… yes," Rod managed, sitting back down on the rocks as Syregorn rose and shoved, forcing him down. "Now about Ironthorn-why is Hammerhold grieving? What-"

The warcaptain spat out a string of oaths so swift and harsh that Rod couldn't make out the words. There was open laughter around the hollow.

"Syre," one of the younger knights said, through it, "we can't take him skulking up to Lyraunt Castle like this. If he's going to hurl out questions like a youngling until it… wears off, we may as well answer him-or he'll just go and get answers from Lyrose folk, in the castle, and they'll fill his head with all their lies. I'd say the Forestmother-or some great calamity-has made a simpleton of this wizard, and he'll be as dangerous a pranksome lad until he knows what is what under the sun and moon. So…"

"Perthus," Syregorn replied, still holding Rod firmly down, "you see things swift and clear. Not that I like the truths you're telling me overmuch."

He let go of Rod, sat back, sighed, and said, "Lord Archwizard, all Hammerhand grieves the loss of Lord Burrim's only son and heir, Dravvan Hammerhand. He was slain in a fray in the forest. I was there. He was struck down with the aid of fell Lyrose magic-doubtless from the Doom Malraun, who backs House Lyrose, and uses them as his witless tools."

"Only son? So if Lord Hammerhand falls, who-?"

"His daughter, Amteira. Who swings a sword and rides into battle as well as any of us. Lyrose lost heirs in that bloodshed, too: Eldred and Horondeir. Only the youngest brother, Pelmard, survived-by fleeing like a weeping child. So I suppose those of Lyrose are grieving, too. If any of them know how. There have been days when Ironthorn has been stronger."

"Assuredly," Rod agreed hurriedly. "Please believe me when I say I have not come here to rule, nor to force my will upon any Ironthar! I don't want to work any magic or tell anyone what to do! I only want to-"

"Yes, yes, yes." Syregorn's snarl was louder than any of Rod's babbling had been. "Archwizard, we know this."