The Western Wizard (80 page)

Colbey did not need a Wizard’s confirmation about things that seemed obvious to him. Still, Shadimar’s knowledge bothered and intrigued him. “How do you know about the Northman? Or my thoughts about him?”

“I’ve been watching you, and I heard you tell the others.”

“Watching me.” The implications went deep, potentially
to an extreme, and Colbey found the idea hypocritical as well as insulting. “You’ve read my thoughts.”

“No.” Shadimar shook his head. “You would know if I had done that. You always have in the past.”

“Not necessarily. You didn’t notice when I entered your thoughts. At least not at first.”

“I should have. I can’t explain that,” Shadimar admitted, and Colbey believed him. Whatever Shadimar’s wrongs and shortcomings, he did seem honest to the limits of his knowledge.

Colbey returned to the original point. “So how have you been watching us?”

“With magic. It’s a Wizard’s right to follow his champion anywhere, physically or magically. Even into another Wizard’s territory.”

“Which this is,” Colbey supplied.

“The instant you crossed the Great Frenum Mountains, you entered Carcophan’s territory.” Shadimar crinkled his nose, waving an arm to indicate the entire Eastlands. “His existence poisons this place.” Though the evidence of Carcophan’s presence clearly bothered him, Colbey sensed relief as well. “Can’t you see it? The land is stunted with his evil.”

“Fine.” Colbey saw no reason to engage in incidental discussion. “You’ve spied on me. I hope you had the decency to, at least, study our enemies as well.”

Shadimar shook his head sadly. “I can only look at those parts of the Eastlands that you’re in. I can follow my champion here; but, if not for your presence, I couldn’t have passed that boundary. Odin’s laws allow other glimpses under specific circumstances, but none of those apply here. In particular, I can’t look anywhere I suspect that another Wizard’s champion might be.”

“And then, only on nights of a quarter moon in odd years of the Western king’s reign.” The rules seemed arbitrary to Colbey.

Shadimar’s brows shot up. “This from a man who just argued that Renshai honor is seen as dishonor only because it differs from others’.”

Cornered and clearly wrong, Colbey dropped the argument. “What sort of help are you offering, then?”

“First, I sense magic on that tower. You’ll have no
experience or knowledge to handle that. Second, if Carcophan is there, I should be there, too.”

In Colbey’s childhood, the Renshai had devastated the so-called mages of Myrcidë; threats of magic did not faze him. He smiled evilly, relishing the discomfort he would cause Shadimar. “I can handle Carcophan.” Though he made no obvious gestures, they both knew he meant Harval.

Shadimar inched backward so subtly, Colbey wondered if the Wizard even realized he had moved. “It would be a bad idea for you to kill Carcophan. It would unbalance the forces of the world. That would hurt mortals at least as much as the Wizards. Quite likely, you would start the
Ragnarok
, and the gods would suffer, too.”

No matter his age or sword competence, Colbey could not imagine himself having a hand in gods’ affairs, especially not working against the ones he had worshiped since birth. “Me? Start the
Ragnarok?
” He snorted at the thought.

Shadimar quoted, “‘Too late shall he be known unto you: The Golden Prince of Demons.’ What do you think that means?”

Colbey considered only briefly. “Nothing. Of the prophecies I’ve heard, that’s the most vague. Mention the words to a thousand people, and you’ll get nine hundred ninety-nine interpretations.” He remained in place, his stance appearing casual though he kept his weight evenly balanced. “It could simply have predicted that Carcophan and you would miss me while looking for the one who would become the so-called ‘hero of the Great War.’” Colbey chuckled. “I’m starting to wonder if Odin’s prophecies aren’t just an elaborate joke, a way to get you to work toward some goal or other so the world doesn’t go static. In the end, the result defines the prophecy.”

All of the color returned to Shadimar’s features, and his rage became tangible. “Why do I bother to talk to you? Are you really stupid enough to believe Odin would create and nurture a system of balance through centuries as a prank? If you do, you’re a fool. And I’m wasting my time.”

Whatever sense of humor the gods have, the Cardinal Wizards don’t share it.
Colbey saw little reason to soothe an offended enemy, but the Eastern Wizard had once been a friend. Though his sin seemed unpardonable, he did appear genuinely interested in helping the Renshai tribe.
Until his purposes turn against them.
“Look, Shadimar, we can discuss what you are and Odin’s wit later. If you have information I can use, give it to me. If you’ve come to try to kill me again, let’s have at it and be done.”

Shadimar’s anger receded, replaced by an expression so sobering, all thoughts of humor fled Colbey. “As pleasurable as that possibility might seem to me at the moment, I wouldn’t kill you.” He added quickly, clearly to pacify Colbey’s ego, “Nor give you reason to kill me. I believe it would prove as dangerous to our world as you killing Carcophan.”

Colbey focused on the more spontaneous compliment. “You would place me in the same category as a Cardinal Wizard?”

The last of the rage fled. Shadimar smiled, clearly amused. “Indeed.”

“Why?”

“Because once I finally realized that you weren’t the swordsman unmatched by another man, I had to understand why not. Trilless had already confirmed, beyond a doubt, that no mortal swordsman could best you for straight competence with a sword. Which left only one possibility.”

One, Colbey realized, that he had already considered. Certain, to a depth no one else could conceive, that he would never betray the Renshai, Colbey had let his thoughts drift to options the Wizards had dismissed. “I’m not a mortal man.”

Shadimar nodded.

“I’m not a demon.” Colbey stated the fact with a firmness that challenged Shadimar to doubt.

“I think,” Shadimar said with the caution of a man dancing on hot coals, “that you’re right. Though demon is a nonspecific term, meaning any being influenced by magic, excluding the Wizards, of course.”

“Of course.” Colbey left the obvious question unspoken, certain Shadimar would address it . . . eventually.

“A wise man once said.” Shadimar paused, reconsidering his words. “Perhaps I should say that a wise
guy
once said: ‘I make my decisions as quickly as an eye blink, and the more important the decision, the faster I have to make it.’”

Recognizing his own words, Colbey chuckled. “Perhaps you do have a sense of humor. But what does that have to do with me being a demon?”

“It means that sometimes even a wise near-immortal can heed the advice of a man who seems neither particularly wise nor near-immortal, but is both. There’s something to be said for listening to one’s first intuition and not letting too much contemplation skew the point or the answer.”

Colbey sighed, impatient to cut through the Eastern Wizard’s vagaries. “What are you trying to say?”

Shadimar glanced up, shaking his head. Clearly, Colbey’s constant need to attack issues directly grated on him as much as Shadimar’s need for cautious subtleties did on Colbey. “When I first heard your story, I believed that Tokar had chosen you to succeed him as the Western Wizard. Your inability to perform magic and lack of influence by predecessors convinced me otherwise. Now, I believe I was right from the start.”

“Me? The Western Wizard. That’s nonsense.” Colbey saw too many flaws in the conclusion. “So now how do you explain my not knowing magic and not having predecessors?”

“Those go together. Since you never learned magic, you would have had to learn it from the predecessors. But when they tried to influence you, you thought they were some type of madness. One by one, you destroyed them.”

Colbey forced his memory back to his conversations with Shadimar shortly after the Great War. “You said that was impossible.”

Shadimar shrugged. “I thought it was. I underestimated you. Don’t tell me I’m the first to do that.”

Still, many things jarred, concrete realities that went far beyond the fact that Colbey simply did not feel like a Wizard. Nor did he have any wish to become one. Still Shadimar’s belief that Colbey was a Wizard seemed far
preferable to the one that he was Carcophan’s champion or a demon. Tempered by the thought, Colbey questioned cautiously. “If I’m the Western Wizard, and have been since Tokar’s death, then how come your falcon’s toenails stabbed holes in my arm but not in yours? How come a pack of Northmen all but killed me?” The return of Colbey’s thoughts to that incident brought a sudden rush of horror. “Gods! Is that why I survived that attack?”

“No,” Shadimar answered the last question first. “Wizards can and have died before their time. The reason mortal objects and weapons can harm you and not me is because you haven’t undergone the Seven Tasks of Wizardry that all the Cardinal Wizards must survive. It’s a series of tests the gods use to assess the competence and value of apprentices. To fail any test means death. If the apprentice succeeds, he becomes impervious to objects of law, though he can still die of illness or age until after his predecessor’s ceremony of passage.”

Colbey tried to assimilate all the information. “But I haven’t undergone those tests.”

“True.”

“So how could I be the Western Wizard?”

“You would be the first to do these things in reverse order. And the first to have the title inflicted on you.”

The implications of Shadimar’s words came slowly. “In reverse order. So you’re suggesting that I eventually do undergo these tasks.”

“You must.”

Colbey raised his brows, hating ultimatums. “I must?”

Shadimar opened his mouth, apparently to explain the order of the world and of the Wizards. He closed it thoughtfully, choosing another tack instead. “When I tell you that the Wizards spend centuries choosing their successors and decades training them, yet fewer than half survive the tasks, I believe the challenge will prove too interesting for you to resist.” Shadimar’s thought came to Colbey, unbidden:
Though, without the guidance of predecessors nor any magic, you have no chance at all of surviving those tasks.

The hidden idea intrigued Colbey far more than the open challenge.

“You’ll learn all that we can tell you about the tasks
before you go. But I can tell you this now. During the course of those tasks, you’ll fight an opponent at least as competent as yourself before the tasks make you immune to most sword strokes.”

Now Colbey seriously considered Shadimar’s offer, though he still felt certain that he was not a Wizard. He knew his insistence could only instill more doubt in Shadimar, edging him back to the theory of demons or the belief that the renegade Northman was simply a ploy of Carcophan’s to lure Colbey to the Eastlands to become his champion. “We’ll talk about this later. For now, we need to face the world’s greatest mortal swordsman, whoever he is.”

Shadimar detoured easily. “Once again, I’d suggest a message. As I said, there’s magic. As far as I can discern, it’s just construction spells and mild wards that shouldn’t trouble you, but it tells me Carcophan had a hand in this. Despite what the guards said at the gates of LaZar, I tend to doubt that the Eastern king lives in this tower. Stalmize has always served as the royal city in the past. Still, it would not do to storm a noble’s palace for a Northman who may or may not be in his employ.”

Colbey considered, but no words came to him. “I don’t speak, let alone write, the Eastern tongue.”

“I do.”

“I have no idea what to say.”

“I do.”

Colbey studied the Eastern Wizard. “I guess we’ll find you useful after all.”

Now Shadimar grinned broadly. “If you had confessed that at the beginning of our discussion, we could have finished long ago. What is it about warriors that makes them jabber endlessly without saying anything?”

“Warriors?” Amused by the role reversal, Colbey laughed. He indulged Shadimar’s whimsy for the sake of the joke. “Maybe. Just maybe, I’m practicing to be a Wizard.”

Arduwyn approached the walls of the Eastern tower alone, riding on Colbey’s white charger, Frost Reaver. He had rebraided the horse’s mane and surrendered his weapons to his companions, so as to look official rather than threatening.
As if one of my stature could look threatening.
The idea seemed silly, raising doubts that would never have existed, if not for Colbey’s obvious discomfort, an uncharacteristic nervousness that puzzled as well as pleased Arduwyn.

The horse wound between sticklike trees and over the scanty remains of brush between them. Sunlight poured through the huge gaps in the foliage from a sky as bright as a sapphire. Despite his wish to approach the tower openly, Arduwyn felt too exposed. The bright light after days of fog turned the white horse into a beacon, and the scraggly bunch of trees that passed for Eastland forest did little to cover a hunter accustomed to slipping like a fox through Western woodlands.

Arduwyn knew he was in less danger than the others. The laws of every culture forbid the harming of messengers. News was too scarce and important to endanger, and even highwaymen usually allowed couriers free passage. Still, Colbey had taken Arduwyn aside after the others had all bid him good luck. He had requested that Arduwyn study the layout of the Tower of Night with all the caution of an army scout and all the detailed interest of a thief. Then, he had told the hunter to be alert and careful with a grim sincerity that had astonished Arduwyn as well as made him wary to the edge of paranoia.

Awed by Colbey, Arduwyn found the elder’s concern a rare treat. He had never seen the old Renshai worry about his own life and only rarely over any other. The
hunter could not help feeling privileged for the elder’s concern, despite the implication that he might be headed toward more danger than he expected. At a time when grief drove him to believe nothing mattered, another’s care for his safety felt good, especially when that other held no ties of blood. And that reminded him of something else.