David Weber - Oath of Swords

“But the Strictures require that that surrender be willing, and what you think of as blood magic isn’t. That’s what makes it ‘evil,’ just as a sword used to strike down the helpless is ‘evil.’ Which, unfortunately, doesn’t make it any less potent for anyone willing to seize it by force.”

“I’m thinking I’m not so very fond of anyone who dabbles in power such as that, be it willingly given or no,” Bahzell rumbled.

“Which is why the Strictures’ limitations are so specific,” Wencit replied. “And why the only sentence for violating those limits is death.”

Silence hovered, broken only by the background howl of the wind, for long, still moments. Then Brandark frowned.

“But there’s a third sort of power, isn’t there?” Wencit looked at him, and the Bloody Sword shrugged. “I mean, all the tales refer to you as a ‘wild wizard.’ Doesn’t that mean there’s some sort of energy that only you or wizards like you can tap?”

“No. It only means we tap it in a different way.” Brandark looked as perplexed as Bahzell felt, and Wencit smiled crookedly. “Wild wizardry’s hard come by-someday I may tell you the price it carries-but it uses the same energy. The difference-” the wildfire eyes glittered and danced at them “-is that a wild wizard can use all the energy of any object.”

It was Bahzell’s turn to frown, but then his eyes widened and his ears pricked forward. “You mean-?”

“Precisely.” Wencit nodded. “Most wizards are what we call ‘wand wizards.’ They can’t really touch the energy of the universe directly. They require techniques-call them tools-to manipulate it. A wild wizard doesn’t ‘manipulate’ it at all; he simply channels it. In theory, a wild wizard could seize the total energy of every ounce of matter in an entire universe and focus it all upon a single task, a single objective.”

“Gods!” Brandark breathed, staring at Wencit in something very like horror.

“I said ‘in theory,’” Wencit reminded him gently. “In fact, no mortal could channel a fraction of such energy. For that matter, I doubt a god could survive channeling all of it! But even the minute portion of it a wild wizard can touch is far greater than the most powerful wand wizard can wield. It . . . changes him, of course. These-” he gestured at his glowing eyes “-are only the most obvious of those changes; others are far deeper and more subtle. Yet it’s that ability to draw on an effectively infinite reservoir of power that makes wild wizards so feared by other wizards. No wand wizard can match it, and the younger and stronger a wild wizard, the more of it his body can endure.”

“That being the case,” Bahzell said dryly, gesturing to where Wencit had slain the two black wizards, “I’m thinking it’s not so strange those two weren’t so very happy to be seeing you.”

“I imagine you’re right,” Wencit agreed with a cold, thin smile, then shook himself. “But the nature of the art is of less immediate importance than its consequences,” he said more briskly. “And the consequences are that there are a great many more black wizards than there are of me, and at this moment, quite a few of them are no doubt working to determine exactly where I am. My touch is quite distinctive, I’m afraid. Even if it weren’t, they’d almost have to suspect who was behind what happened to ‘those two,’ as you put it. They won’t be eager to match themselves against me, but they don’t really have to. They’re like spiders, weaving webs of influence in the dark, where no one can see. Even with the aid of the magi, I can’t hope to find all the Baron Dunsahntas they’ve enmeshed, but they’ve swords in plenty to send after me if they can track me. More than that, the presence of dog brothers in their train suggests the cooperation of Sharna, and if his church takes an active hand-”

Wencit shrugged, and Bahzell shivered. Wizard or no, the thought of meeting one of Sharna’s demons was a frightening one.

“So what is it you’re thinking to do?” he asked after a moment.

“I have to keep Zarantha close to guard her and, eventually, get her to safety. For the moment, I’m maintaining a glamour-think of it as a spell of evasion that turns their scrying attempts aside. As long as I hold the glamour, I and anyone with me become a blank spot, something they can’t quite ‘see.’ ”

“So you’re safe from detection,” Brandark said.

“No, they just can’t see me,” Wencit corrected, and the Bloody Sword scratched his chin in evident confusion. “They can’t see anything where I am, Brandark. All they have to do is look long and hard enough to find the blank spot in their scrying spells, and they’ll know I’m inside it.”

Bahzell grunted in unhappy understanding. They couldn’t move on in this weather, especially not with Zarantha so weakened and exhausted. They had to wait for the storm to break, and it was only too likely that the dead wizards’ allies knew precisely where to find them this moment. If those allies simply had to spot the blind spot in their vision, tracking it would be almost as easy as tracking a target they could see clearly, and if they knew Wencit was in it, they’d throw everything they had at it the moment they could. But-

“Tell me,” he rumbled slowly, “would they be knowing that you know they can be following after this blank spot?”

“Of course.”

“Well, that being the case, would they be so very surprised if you didn’t hold your glamour?” Wencit crooked an eyebrow, and the Horse Stealer shrugged. “What I’m wondering is whether or not they’d be smelling something if you chose to trust in speed, not stealth, and simply ran for it.”

“I don’t know.” Wencit pursed his lips, then shrugged. “Probably not-not, at least, if I ran in a direction that made sense to them.”

“Ah.” Bahzell nodded in satisfaction, and Brandark shot him a speculative glance.

“I know that tone, Bahzell. You’re up to something.”

“Aye, that I am,” the Horse Stealer admitted. “It’s in my mind that we might be giving them something they can see clear enough and let them chase after that.”

“Like what?” Brandark demanded, and Bahzell looked at the wizard.

“Suppose you were casting another of your illusions, Wencit-not of hradani, this time, but of all of us-and sent it straight off towards Jashân while the lot of us were actually heading off north under your glamour? By the time they were catching up with the illusion, why, we’d be so far away a single ‘blank spot’ would be a mortal hard thing to be finding in so much space.”

“It wouldn’t work,” Wencit disagreed with a headshake. “Oh, the plan’s good enough, but an illusion requires a focus. I couldn’t project one that complex more than a league or two from me without something to tie it to, and that’s not far enough to do us much good.”

“What sort of focus would you be needing?” Bahzell asked intently.

“Almost anything would do in a pinch, but a living mind is best. An illusion feeds on itself, in a way; if someone at its heart can see it about him, his perception of it becomes part of the spell and helps maintain and reinforce it for other observers.”

“Does it now?” Bahzell murmured, and Brandark straightened with a jerk.

“Bahzell-!” he began sharply, but the Horse Stealer silenced him with a raised hand, never taking his own eyes from Wencit.

“Suppose you were using me for this focus of yours. I’m thinking I could be leading them a merry chase while you and Brandark saw Zarantha home.”

“No!” Brandark ignored the look Bahzell gave him and shook his head fiercely. “You’re not sneaking off without me, Bahzell!”