The Western Wizard (82 page)

The decision haunted Colbey, and he knew it would cost dearly. His conscience told him that the payment for that choice would be his own life, but that did not ease his mind. So much could happen, and he dared not underestimate the cruelty, malice, and chaos of his opponent, a swordsman unmatched by another mortal man.

“If we’re forced to retreat, I’ll mount Frost Reaver and do battle while the rest of you escape. We’ll regroup at the camp; or, if they discover that, at the boundary between East and West. Mitrian, when I’m not there, you’re in charge. I expect you to obey any last order I might make. After that, carry on like Renshai. With honor.”

Mitrian studied Colbey, her expression somber to the edge of fear. The war in Santagithi’s Town had ended too similarly for her to miss the comparison. She looked away, saying nothing, and a concept came from her thoughts to Colbey. It was a vow of unity, a silent promise that the Renshai would live or die together.

The idea bothered Colbey, but he did not chastise. Honor was not an absolute, and circumstance would have to determine the outcome.

“What about the sentries?” Tannin kept his gaze and the conversation on the matter at hand. “If we come too close, they’ll sound the alarm.”

Colbey said nothing, returning his thoughts to the guards. Rache and the Wizard remained in place, unmoving.

In the hushed stillness of winter night, Vashi fingered her sword. “Renshai thwarted by sentries? Bah! Let’s
battle their gate and notch our swords upon their helms. Let their black walls run crimson. . . .”

Colbey waved her silent. “I think I can take one of them from here. I’m not sure I can get both, though. The other may scream.” He considered the mental effort such a task would involve. During the war that had killed Santagithi, Colbey had stabbed into Valr Kirin’s mind hard enough to pain the Nordmirian officer. He had no idea whether he had the mind power to kill a man, but Colbey knew he did not need to kill, only to knock the other from the parapet. Still, he hated the cost.
To weaken myself before a battle is folly.
Yet he saw no other way.
If we fight these guards sword to sword, we will fight every other guard in the tower. Too many will die for the cause of a feud only between Renshai and one man. And we may become too engrossed to face our real enemy.

Logic told Colbey the necessary tactic, yet still he balked.
By Renshai tenet, to creep up on these men unannounced and slay them is wrong. The same is true of using arrows or spears. But there is no precedent for mind attacks.
Colbey considered at length, while his companions fidgeted. He took his memory back to the reasons for those laws, trying to find the logic that formed their basis. Always, the Renshai honor came from pitting skill against skill. Though the tribe had learned stealth from barbarians like Korgar, they had never considered that a proper combat technique, since an opponent could not directly fight it with stealth of his own. Raining arrows down on enemies meant the likelihood of a lucky shot, rather than a skillful one. And neither of those required true, taxing effort.

Colbey knew that his mental skill came from building his concentration through the decades. Like sword skill, it was an ability any man willing to put in the practice could learn; Colbey had proven that when he had taught Garn to channel his mental strength into physical power.
Had they taken the time and effort to train, these men could fight my mental attacks just as they could fight my sword strokes.
He believed that to be the case, though he needed to know for certain. At the price of even more vitality, Colbey sought knowledge and truth. Gently, he
tapped a mental probe against Shadimar’s thoughts.
I’m here, Shadimar. May I have access?

Shadimar stiffened, physically and mentally. Just the proximity of their thoughts gave Colbey a glimpse of the Wizard’s nervousness and doubt. Apparently, the old Wizard still harbored some uncertainty regarding Colbey’s loyalties.
What do you want?

Just the answer to a question.

Ask.

Do men have mind powers, or only Wizards? If I am a Wizard
 . . . Colbey clarified quickly,
and I’m not admitting I am. But if I were a Wizard, would that be the only reason I have these powers?

Shadimar hesitated a long time. Politely, Colbey withdrew, not wanting to waste his energy nor intrude on the Wizard’s private contemplation.

Shortly, Shadimar brought his answer to Colbey.
I did not have mind powers as a mortal, but I don’t know whether or not it’s possible. Yours are unlike any Wizard’s. I could find no references to any Wizard who could enter the minds of mortals, nor any who could search another Wizard’s thoughts unnoticed. If, indeed, you subdued or destroyed the knowledge of twenty Western Wizards, then you had to have had strong mind powers before Tokar’s ceremony.

And, hypothetically, if I am a Wizard, I was a mortal before Tokar’s ceremony.

It would seem certain.

A mortal with mind powers.

Obviously.

Colbey dropped the line of thought, his question answered. If it fell within Renshai law to fight a man skill weapon to skill weapon and it was possible for the man to have learned the skill, then all he had to do was announce his mental presence before killing to give the other the opportunity to fight back, whether with a mental attack or with a spear. Nothing in any battle code forbid warriors from fighting weaker warriors. Then, ideas of law and honor brought another concern to mind. Again he contacted Shadimar.
If I’m a Wizard, does that mean I can’t kill mortals without breaking Odin’s laws?
The thought pained.

Shadimar hesitated, as if not quite ready to reveal some piece of information. Then something deeper kicked in, a promise to himself regarding trust.
You’re not bound by Odin’s laws for Wizards until after you learn those laws. During the Seven Tasks of Wizardry.

Colbey sensed that the Eastern Wizard had more to say, so he waited.

It isn’t exactly true that the Cardinal Wizards can’t kill any mortals. For example, we can kill our own champions.
Shadimar kept a peacefulness around his words that promised a truce, though his obvious revelation might have reawakened the bitterness between them.
The key to killing other mortals is that any ones we directly kill must have absolutely no significance to the major events of the future or the prophecies.

The explanation seemed too vague to Colbey.
How could you possibly know that? Does Odin give you some sort of feeling or sign?

Never.
An age-old sense of responsibility washed over Shadimar, clearly readable to Colbey. Apparently, he had uncovered a problem that had plagued Cardinal Wizards since their system began.
Our laws are many, old, and complex. With every action a Wizard has to measure and interpret those laws.

For the moment, Colbey could sympathize. Renshai honor seemed equally binding.

Colbey must have communicated that concept, because Shadimar seized on it.
Yes, cultural honor goes deep as well; but there’s no penalty for ignorant misinterpretation, except guilt or a need to beg forgiveness. If a Cardinal Wizard breaks a law, intentionally or not, we could cause the destruction of all gods, Wizards, and men.

Suddenly, Colbey believed he understood why Shadimar rarely used magic and why he simplified the law by claiming that he could never harm mortals.

Shadimar continued, returning to the question.
That’s why we almost never kill mortals. Of course, if we chose to, the odds would be with us for any individual
not
being of dire significance. But the truth is, it’s rare that a mortal without significance comes into a position where a Cardinal Wizard would want to slay him.

Colbey sensed more, as if Shadimar had needed to make such a decision recently. But the Eastern Wizard sent nothing more. Colbey tried to soothe the Wizard, his thoughts on the
Valkyrie
that had shaken the foundations on which he had placed all faith and reason since infancy.
Sometimes, you have to take a chance, no matter the cost. Without risk, there can be no change. And, without change, the world will stagnate into an oblivion every bit as awful as
Ragnarok’s
chaos.
The insight surprised even Colbey, and it gave him pause as well.

Although little time had passed while Colbey and Shadimar had carried out this exchange, it was too long for Vashi. “If we stay here long enough, daylight will come. If need be, I’ll fight both of those sentries.”

“No.” Colbey placed a warning hand on Vashi’s sword wrist. “We have more important enemies than to weaken ourselves fighting hordes of guardsmen who have no stake in this matter. I’ll handle the sentries one by one. We’ll just have to hope I can work fast enough to prevent a scream.”

“You talk as if you can wish men dead,” Vashi said. “If that were true, we wouldn’t need to wield swords.”

Colbey ignored his eager student. Head sagging, he channeled the power of his body into his mind. His too long hair fell into his eyes. His fingers tightened to tense balls, whitening his knuckles. Gingerly, he stood, walking to the edge of the forest, and his thoughts sought those of one of the sentries.

Instantly, Colbey’s mind touched another. He found boredom that went deeper than a single night on a quiet watch. Not bothering to delve, the Renshai sent his message.
I am here, and I am your enemy. Fight me or die.

The thoughts around Colbey blanked as he withdrew his probe. He stood, fully revealed, in the moonlight, giving the other plenty of time to spot him. Then, he gathered strength from his limbs, hardening and sharpening his thoughts into a single, sharp spear of energy. His head felt heavy and full, as if it might explode. He jerked suddenly, driving half of the collected mental energy for the mind he had explored, saving the remainder for the other.

Both sentries plummeted from the ramparts, and, simultaneously, Colbey collapsed to the ground.

Mitrian ran to his side, catching one of his hands. “
Torke.
Are you all right? What happened?”

Colbey felt power trickle back into his body, glad he had saved vitality for the attack against the second sentry. His throat felt raw and dry. A thickness in the center of his head dulled his thoughts like a fever. His arms and legs seemed weighted. “I’m fine, just tired. Give me time to recover.” He crawled back into the brush, aware he could not wait too long. Eventually, other guards would come to exchange watches with their dead friends, destroying any advantage his ploy might have gained.

Gradually, the fog lifted from Colbey’s mind, admitting an alarming thought.
I killed one sentry, but they both fell. What happened to the other?
He understood little about the mind powers. Previous experience told him that mental current was nonphysical. It would not ricochet or draw others into its range. Clearly, someone else had killed the second sentry. Colbey glanced from the guards, who lay like twisted birds in their red metal plumage, to each of his companions. Mitrian remained at his side, a worried expression scoring her features. Rache, Vashi, and Tannin discussed what they had seen in awed tones. And Shadimar stared at the Tower of Night with his usual impassive silence.

Colbey sat up. “Go,” he signaled Mitrian.

Mitrian dropped to her belly and slithered to the base of the wall. There, she rose, securing a grapple from the back of her belt. She swung and hurled. The thin-toothed cross of steel struck the wall with a metallic clink, bounced, and fell back to Mitrian. Regathering the rope, Mitrian tried again. This time, the tines bit into the ramparts. She tested its position, then clambered up and over the battlements.

All conversation disappeared. A wind rose, rattling through the stark, leafless branches. This sound was soon joined by the click of the rising portcullis. Mitrian poked her head through the opening and made a brisk gesture.

Shadimar and the Renshai scrambled through the opening and into the desolate courtyard. While the others avoided sentries and scanned the inner wall, Rache and
Tannin reaffixed the gate. The red armor of the scattered courtyard sentries glowed like fires in the moonlight, rendering them visible enough to avoid. Vashi’s overeager blade found an opening in one’s armor, and he dropped without a sound.

Colbey swore in a sharp whisper. Shoving the teenager aside with a warning, he paused to drag the dead man into the abandoned diggings near the wall. The corpse rolled down the embankment and into the brackish water with barely a splash. Without brush to hide the body, Colbey wondered how long it would take for the others to discover it.

Colbey glanced up from his task to find Rache clinging to a rope that graced the tower’s slick, black wall. Several stories above him, Tannin’s booted feet disappeared through the window, revealing the grapple lodged on the sill. Rache skittered upward.

Colbey took a quick survey. Only he, Shadimar, Secodon, and Vashi remained outside. He nudged Vashi toward the rope, gesturing to indicate Shadimar should follow. Colbey stood on the piled sand, placing his body between the main part of the courtyard and the rope, trying to use his dark clothing to hide flashes of steel and movement. He hoped that people’s natural inclination to look in any direction but up would shield the climbers higher on the rope. Doubts assailed him. Despite learning stealth to safely slip past archers, the Renshai had never used the technique for raiding. Sneak attacks did not fit the tribe’s honor or mentality, yet too few remained for any other tactic. Without stealth, the Renshai would not live long enough to face their enemy.

As Vashi crawled through the window, Shadimar began a dignified ascent. Colbey kept his attention sweeping the courtyard, leaving the others to assess the danger in the tower. Ignorance of furtive tactics made him twitchy, and he questioned his strategy repeatedly. It had only made sense to enter the tower at night, yet he wondered how they would find the one they sought in the maze of corridors Arduwyn had described.