The Western Wizard (34 page)

“No, they must be trained.” Shadimar plucked bark from the tree with a long fingernail. “But if you were Tokar’s chosen successor, you would carry the memories of every Western Wizard before you. And any one of them could have directed you to finish my spell.”

“Oh.” Colbey’s mind slipped backward, to the madness that had afflicted him for years following the Western Wizard’s death. Colbey had attributed it to the agony that had accompanied touching Tokar, to the ceremony, or to the shock of discovering his entire tribe had been killed in his absence. He shivered at the memory of the foreign voices and obsessions that had driven him. He had faced and destroyed the insanity with the same directed skill he used in combat, obliterating the presences one by one until nothing remained but his own clear consciousness. Colbey had always believed that this battle had won him the mind strength that he now possessed. “Would it be possible for a Wizard to get rid of these others’ memories?”

“Certainly not.” Shadimar sounded offended and horrified. “A Wizard’s mind becomes linked into the chain. It would be impossible to do so without suicide.” Shadimar froze, the significance of Colbey’s question finally absorbed. “Why do you ask?”

Colbey kept his response vague. “After the ceremony, I was haunted by voices in my head for a time. They’re gone now.”

Shadimar shook his head, dismissing the importance of Colbey’s revelation. “I doubt that means much. After such a trauma, any mortal could go temporarily insane, especially one so linked with his mind.”

Colbey doubted the possibility. His mind link involved control, not simply an emphasis on calculation over action.
Wanting to return to his practice, he did not start an argument.

But, even without Colbey’s direction, Shadimar saw the flaw in his suggestion. “There’s no way to know exactly how your touch disrupted the ceremony. Possibly, sensing imminent destruction, one or two of the Wizards’ consciousnesses grasped hold of the only living mind in the vicinity. Yours. If your mental powers are astoundingly strong, I suppose you might have suppressed those presences.
But no mortal in existence has the power to control or destroy millennia of Western Wizards.
” Shadimar continued, obviously thinking aloud. “Or perhaps, since the ceremony was disrupted, a bit of magic was never dispelled. If an entity of that magic remained . . .” Shadimar trailed off, eyes widening. The stiffness of his demeanor told Colbey that the Eastern Wizard wished he had kept the thought to himself.

“What?” Colbey pressed.

“Never mind.” Shadimar clipped each word, making it clear that no bond or promise would make him continue.

Colbey followed the natural line of thought. “A magical entity could have entered my mind?” The idea made him laugh. “I really could be the Golden Prince of Demons?”

“Stop!” Shadimar’s voice rang out. Though he remained outwardly calm, Colbey sensed concern and, perhaps, a faint hint of dread. “I must consult my books. I won’t speculate further in ignorance.”

Amused by the Wizard’s dramatics, Colbey laughed again.

The wolf threw back its head, loosing a deep howl, full of ancient pain. Discomfort wafted from the Wizard, thick with consideration and ideas Colbey could not begin to decipher.

At least, Colbey guessed the source of Shadimar’s fear.
He thinks I’m reading his mind. And there’s something there he doesn’t want me to know
. Colbey attempted to soothe. “Shadimar, don’t worry. I’m not reading—”

Colbey’s words only further agitated Shadimar. The old Wizard whirled, heading toward the town at a dignified pace that bordered on a run.

Too late, Colbey realized his mistake. By claiming not to be reading the Wizard’s mind, he had again identified Shadimar’s thought nearly verbatim, thereby practically proving that he was, in fact, intruding. Though a logical guess on Colbey’s part, its accuracy made it seem sinister. “Shadimar, wait!”

Branches snapped closed behind the Wizard’s passage, flinging droplets from the wet branches. Soon, the rustles gave way to a silence broken only by the patter of rain on the leaves.

Thinking it better not to pursue, Colbey turned and headed back to his students.

Deep in the ruins that served as his home, Shadimar paced the library floor until his tracks seemed to wear an impression in the stone. A lantern on the desktop cast his shadow upon the opposite wall, and it spun back and forth, keeping perfect time with his movements. Secodon lay beneath the reading table, his head cradled between his paws, whining frequently at his master’s consternation.

At length, Shadimar again sat before an opened book, the lamplight glazing the page he had stared at too many times and for too long. The seventh Eastern Wizard, Benghta, had originally inscribed the paragraph, her expertise understandable since her own predecessor had lost his life to a summoned demon. Yet the text told Shadimar nothing he did not already know:

“. . . Should a Cardinal Wizard pass before his chosen time, it is the responsibility of every other Wizard to fill the gap. In this matter, thoughtful consideration should take precedence over speed. This is true particularly in the case of an Eastern or Western Wizard, since each of these has one of equal bent who can cover his responsibilities for a time. To act too quickly risks an incompetent, weak, or poorly trained replacement at a time when strength and ability become most necessary. It should be kept in mind that this new Wizard would have no access to the collective consciousness and would, therefore, already hold a disadvantage.

“In the case of an Eastern or Western Wizard’s passing, it would naturally fall upon the other to find a successor, then to call the Wizards’ Isle meeting. While he could elicit aid from the Northern or Southern Wizard in
finding said successor, such a request would seem unlikely to prove advantageous. Since forces work in opposition, either of these others might profit from finding a weak replacement. In the event of a Northern or Southern Wizard’s unexpected passage, responsibility would fall to the Western Wizard to call counsel and find a replacement. This task could be willingly shared, or even passed, to the Eastern Wizard. Again, to place the responsibility into the hands of one of the champions of the “extreme forces,” that is good or evil, would introduce bias. It would, however, be in the best interests of neutrality to balance Northern and Southern forces.

“It should also be realized that Odin has placed many protections into his system, through law and propriety. Any Wizard ‘passing’ due to anything other than his chosen ceremony should prove a rare occurrence over the millennia. Therefore, it becomes incumbent on the responsible party to ascertain that ‘passing’ without a doubt. Attempting to establish another Wizard while there are already Four would result in the death of the subject as well as a shaking of the foundations of law. It might open the way for chaos and, ultimately, begin the
Ragnarok
. . . .”

From there, the tome turned to other topics, and Shadimar gave it a mild shove. Its edge struck the lantern’s base, jiggling it. Light whirled over the crude stone ceiling, then went still as the lantern came to rest in its new position. Pain speared through Shadimar’s head at the intensity of his concentration. The book fell short of addressing the intricacies and details that he needed to make a decision. When Tokar’s apprentice, Haim, had undergone the Seven Tasks of Wizardry, the powers in charge had told him that the “Age of Change” that heralded the
Ragnarok
would come during Shadimar’s time as a Wizard. That prophecy haunted him now, and he would do nothing without massive research, profound thought, and cautious consideration.

Shadimar clamped his fingers to his temples, massaging away the throbbing in his head, his elbows propped on either side of the book so as not to damage the pages. Colbey’s story seemed conclusive. The Western Wizard
was dead, and the ceremony had taken his apprentice’s life as well. Surely, that was enough proof for Shadimar to start the search for a successor. Yet two ideas would not leave his mind. First, he had already found the most competent replacement for the Western Wizard, and his demanding standards would not allow him to settle for less. He would need to convince Colbey to take the position, hampered by the understanding that most of the qualities that made the Renshai most suited for the honor also made him willful and difficult to lead. The title could not be forced upon him, and wearing down Colbey’s objections would take patience and time.

Second, Colbey’s mind powers fit no plan, pattern, or source that Shadimar could fathom. The possibilities seemed endless, few of them positive. If a fragment of the collective consciousness had entered Colbey, it did not behave like any predecessor to whom Shadimar had access. More likely, a stray spark of magic had altered the makeup and basic functioning of Colbey’s mind. If so, his jest that he had become a “demon” was not entirely ludicrous. Clearly, nothing could transform law’s tangibles, such as men, directly into creatures of chaos. But chaos, in the guise of magic, could have perverted Colbey’s mind. In that case, he posed an incalculable threat to the world, Wizards, and gods; and he would need to be utterly destroyed.

Shadimar scowled at the irony. Depending on what his research uncovered, his necessary course of action could fall to either extreme, or anywhere between. And other questions still begged answering. He had never heard of anyone disrupting a ceremony of passage since the beginning of time, though the earliest Wizards predicted vague but ominous horrors would result. Composed of chaos, even channeled magic nearly always had unexpected results. When it came to the disruption of a ceremony that required the most powerful sorcery of all, the consequences seemed impossible to determine or even to guess. Perhaps the Western Wizard did exist, the collective consciousness transferred to some unsuspecting innocent who had not yet come to grips with the position or the power.

Shadimar’s fingers stilled, and he clapped his hands
over his white hair in frustration. His beard had settled over the tome, obscuring the writing. Secodon rose, stretched, and sat, resting his chin on Shadimar’s knee. Shadimar stroked one of the wolf’s ears absently. The plumed tail struck the floor once, and Secodon cocked his head as if to understand concepts far beyond his ability to reason.

The Eastern Wizard’s library had fallen short. Shadimar knew he had only two more places to turn, and he discarded the first out of hand. He had never found the need to summon demons before, and he could not risk neutrality’s only remaining champion now. Of all of the Cardinal Wizards, the Western Wizard’s library was the most complete. There, if he found no answers, at least he might gather enough information to guide his thoughts to more limited possibilities. Perhaps, too, in Tokar’s cave, he might discover more clues to the Western Wizard’s intentions, fate, or whereabouts.

Odin’s Laws did not allow the Cardinal Wizards to intrude upon one another’s quarters uninvited, except with the messenger falcon, Swiftwing. This once, Shadimar felt certain, the Western Wizard would not protest.

*  *  *

Santagithi sat at the head of his strategy table, looking down the double line of men and the lone woman who was his daughter, assessing each commander’s ability for the thousandth time. To his right, the archer’s captain, Bromdun, waited attentively, his arms folded across his chest and his expression grim. Mouse-brown hair hacked short fringed hard, well-defined features. Quiet nearly to a fault, perhaps because of his large size, Bromdun spoke only when he had a message of consequence, and his followers clung to his every word.

Santagithi’s gaze rolled from Bromdun to his warrior captain, Jakot, who had proven his worth repeatedly. Though he lacked Rache’s skill, Jakot had taken the dead Renshai’s position with faultless commitment and honor. Now, he plucked at his wiry, sand-colored beard in silence, the movement betraying his impatience.

Across from Bromdun, Mitrian laced her fingers on the tabletop, her hands as large and callused as any guardsman’s. A thong tied her dark hair neatly back from her
face. No matter how many times Santagithi watched her perform a kata with an agility and skill that matched Rache’s, he could not imagine her in war. He had dug through his mind for the memory of Mitrian at the Great War, riding at Rache’s side, the two forming a wall of flashing steel that sent more than their share of Easterners to their deaths. Yet Santagithi’s mind created defenses, substituting another face for his daughter’s in the memory. Still, as a commander, she had inherited her father’s thoroughness, if not the strategic expertise that came with experience. And then there was Garn.

Santagithi rolled his eyes to his son-in-law, careful not to stare too long. Garn fidgeted like a child forced to attend a ceremony that had dragged on forever. His wild, bronze hair hung in his face, and he had worn his jerkin at least one day too many. Sweat stains marred leather stretched taut over muscles so defined they made Bromdun and Jakot look fat. What he lacked in guile, Garn made up for in ferocity and strength, yet Santagithi had second thoughts about naming Garn as a secondary leader. Still, working in concert with Mitrian, Garn might make a reasonable half of a commander.

Santagithi’s eyes strayed naturally to the empty chair beyond Garn, where Colbey should sit. Of his leaders, only the old Renshai was excused from strategy sessions; and then only to train the boys.

Santagithi cleared his throat, as always beginning with a rallying speech that gave his leaders a reason to fight. “For years, the Northmen remained content warring among themselves. Now they’re looking southward. If we want to keep our homes, our women, and our children safe, we must be ready to fight! And we must be ready to win!” This deceit scarred the old general deeply, but he saw no recourse. Since its founding, the town had treasured equality and the worth of every citizen. Though not an original member, Colbey had dedicated his time and ability to the Westlands and this town, in its Great War, through training guardsmen, and by counseling and honing its general.
My citizenry is not for Northmen to dictate about. I would not give up Colbey any quicker than I would Jakot, our women, or my grandson
. He knew his men would see the wisdom in his decision, that
they would gladly fight for Colbey; but Colbey would never allow them. If he knew the truth, the Renshai would ride north to kill Vikerians and die in glory. And Mitrian would follow.