The Wizard of Sante Fe

by Simon Hawke

  He had read of witches being burned at the stake, of warlocks being drawn and quartered. The Salem witch hunts, the Spanish Inquisition, the rise of Christian Fundamentalism, and the typically human fear of anything that could not easily be explained, all pointed to what must have happened to the people of his race. What he had warned them of had come to pass. After the war, when the most powerful of them were gone and the population of the Old Ones had been decimated, the humans, vastly outnumbering them, had overwhelmed the weakened survivors. The remaining Old Ones had to hide or pass as human. But the humans were relentless as they hunted them. Their legends still spoke of the persecution, which, in their frenzy, they had finally turned on their own kind, terrified of Old Ones hiding in their midst.

  As to Gorlois, Wulfgar had learned his fate in an ancient human legend that told the story of a warlord known as Arthur. Apparently, after fulfilling his part in the spell that had entombed the Dark Ones, Gorlois had cast off his mage's robes and gone out to live among the humans. He became a warlord and took a human for a wife, a beautiful young Welsh woman named Igraine. He had three daughters with her, named Elaine, Morganna, and Morgause. One day, a human warlord named Uther Pendragon saw Igraine and fell in lust with her. Aided by the power of his sorcerer, a man named Merlin, who was said to be the offspring of a human and an incubus (an Old One and a human?), Uther took on the aspect of Gorlois and bedded Igraine, then met Gorlois in battle. Thinking he was doing battle with only a mere mortal, the enraged Gorlois had sought to use brute physical force to overcome his enemy. He had lived among the humans for too long. By the time he realized that Uther was being aided by the spells of a sorcerer, it was too late. Gorlois was slain by Uther and his wife, Igraine, was taken as Pendragon's concubine.

  Igraine gave birth to Uther's son, who was called Arthur, but this same sorcerer named Merlin took the child away and raised him. Eventually, Arthur became king of the island nation known as Britain, with Merlin at his side as his advisor. However, Morganna had not forgotten her mother's seduction and disgrace, nor her father's murder.

  For years, she plotted her revenge. One day, she came to Merlin and begged to be accepted as his student. She proved to be a brilliant pupil (not surprising, Wulfgar thought, considering who her father was) and she soon became known as the sorceress Morgan Le Fay. She used her powers to enchant Arthur into making love with her and she gave birth to his son, whom she named Modred. The boy would become the weapon she would use to bring Arthur to destruction. She then found a young and beautiful De Dannan witch named Nimue and sent her to seduce Merlin. In the afterglow of passion, Nimue gave Merlin a potion that put him into a deep sleep. His sleeping body was then taken by Morganna and immured within the cleft of a large oak tree, which she enchanted so that Merlin would remain there, trapped in a state of suspended animation for the next two thousand years. With the king's protector thus imprisoned, she was able to set in motion her plot to destroy Arthur and his kingdom.

  The rest of the legend Wulfgar found a rather tawdry tale of adultery and lust that was gilded as romance. Eventually, Arthur and his bastard son met on the field of battle and killed each other, but that was not what Wulfgar found most interesting. What was most interesting about the legend was that it appeared to be quite true. Not only did it mention Gorlois, though Gorlois was portrayed as being human, but it mentioned a sorcerer named Merlin—the same Merlin, apparently, who had recently awakened from Morganna's spell and brought back magic to the world.

  Apparently, the mating of an Old One and a human—an idea Wulfgar found disgusting—resulted in offspring who inherited magical ability. He would not have thought it possible, yet it was obviously true, as evidenced by the profusion of human adepts in this new world. Clearly, a good number of the Old Ones had survived to pass as human, had then mated with humans, and the ability had been passed on from generation to generation, diluted over time, but passed on nonetheless. Incredible that an inferior species such as this should have evolved to such a point!

  However, even the most advanced of human adepts were no match for a true immortal, as Wulfgar had discovered when the human mage named Al Hassan, one of Merlin's pupils, had stumbled upon the place of their confinement while in search of ancient artifacts. Al Hassan had fallen easy prey to them. They had been weakened by their centuries of confinement, but the return of magic to the world had awakened them. They were able to reach out and seize control of Al Hassan and induce him to remove the runestones from within the pentagram. Yet, the struggle to direct their energies at him against the power of the runestones had weakened them severely. They had no strength left to escape the pit and the Warding Pentagram surrounding it.

  With Al Hassan under their influence, channeling the life energies of his victims to them, they had started to grow stronger, but the fool had lost the runestones and the spirits of the Council had found human avatars to bond with, through whom their powers could be channeled. And Merlin, that misbegotten half-breed who had taught magic to the humans, had joined with them and almost thwarted their escape.

  As it was, many of them had been destroyed, but Wulfgar and a number of the others had managed to escape. Merlin had fallen victim to their wrath, but the half-breed was stronger than they had suspected. Before they could consume his life force, his astral spirit had fled. By now, it had doubtless found another home. They were being hunted and a number of them had already been found and killed. The spirits of the Council had clearly overcome their feelings about the sanctity of life . . . or perhaps bonding with the humans had made them more pragmatic. Humans, Wulfgar had learned, could be highly efficient killers.

  They would find him, he had no doubt of that. With the vast communications network that the humans had developed, perhaps they had already learned about the girl he had killed the previous night. He had taken no trouble to conceal her remains. He had purposely left the body in a place where it was certain to be found. It was all a part of his carefully calculated plan.

  Soon after his escape, he realized that the humans had become a great deal more sophisticated. It was their world now and he would learn from them. While the others had dispersed to the far corners of the earth, fleeing from the power of the runestones, seeking shelter and seizing human acolytes through whom they had hoped to build their power, Wulfgar had been patient. If any of the others had succeeded in becoming strong enough to defeat the power of the runestones, so much the better. If not, he needed time in which to prepare.

  Unlike the others, he had not immediately sought to build up his strength through necromancy. He was more cautious. He took the time to allow himself to recuperate naturally from his long confinement and he gave careful thought to how he would proceed. He would not waste his time with human acolytes. He would not squander his precious energies enslaving and empowering them. He would save his strength, gather his powers, and make certain that the life energy he took would be strong and young and vibrant. That girl had not been his first victim, but she was the first he had chosen to reveal, for he felt ready now. He would wait for the bearers of the runestones to come to him, as they inevitably would, and when they came, he would choose the time and place where they would meet. He would not give them a chance to unite their strength against him. He would divide and conquer.

  It would be soon now. He was looking forward to it.

  The trip from Albuquerque to Santa Fe was much more pleasant than the flight out from New York. They drove. Neither Wyrdrune nor Kira was bothered by airplane flights, but while Billy enjoyed them, Merlin was a white-knuckle flier, which had made for a curious time with the flight attendants. Merlin kept asking for a drink, and the flight attendants, quite naturally, refused to give him one. Fifteen-year-olds were not allowed to drink, no matter how deep their voices were. And despite the fact that the pilot adepts kept the plane flying by means of sorcery, which they had learned through programs of instruction Merlin had helped devise, the old mage simply didn't trust them.

  It didn't help much
that the in-flight movie was a Ron Rydell feature, the latest in his long and successful series of "Necromancer" films. Merlin still could not forgive Rydell for Ambrosius! a film Rydell had made about his life, which had started out as a serious historical drama and ended up as a musical, with a singing and dancing Merlin portrayed by a hammy British actor and a Morgan Le Fay played by the director's former girlfriend, in spike heels, garter belt, and leather corset. With Merlin and Billy trading personalities back and forth, alternately enjoying the film and making rude, sarcastic comments, the flight had threatened to get ugly. Twice, the flight attendant had caught Billy with a drink, which Merlin had magically hijacked from her cart, and only the threat of being met by airport security officials when they landed stopped their mutual shenanigans.

  The shuttle from Albuquerque deposited them in front of the entrance to the historic La Fonda Hotel, on San Francisco Street. Located on the downtown plaza, it stood on the site where the legendary Santa Fe Trail had ended and it was one of the oldest establishments in town. It had changed hands and been enlarged and refurbished several times through its long history, but it still had the authentic look of a large southwestern inn, though Billy thought the huge adobe building with its squared towers and exposed long beams resembled a fortress out of Gunga Din.

  As they walked through the spacious, Spanish-style lobby, they saw people dressed in casual southwestern style: women in hand-tooled boots and long, flowing cotton dresses with beautiful squash blossom necklaces; men in faded jeans, western shirts, boots, and Stetson hats; as well as young people dressed in the more urban renaissance punk style, with skintight breeches and chain-mail leather jackets. Some people were garbed in Nouveau Medieval fashions, women in graceful, form-fitting gowns in silk and satins, with slender girdles of gold and silver chain encircling their waists, and men in breeches, high, soft leather boots, and medieval cotton tunics embroidered with gold and silver thread.

  They attracted considerable attention themselves as they approached the registration desk, largely because of Broom following in their wake and carrying their bags. Many adepts possessed familiars, the most popular being thaumaturgically engineered pets such as snats and paragriffins, though some of the more traditional adepts owned cats. However, an animated kitchen broom that shuffled on its bristles, had rubbery arms with three-fingered hands, and spoke like a Jewish matron from Queens was an unusual sight almost anywhere, even in the flamboyant, bohemian atmosphere of Santa Fe.

  The bellman hesitantly took their luggage from Broom and trundled it upstairs to their suite, which was large and elegant, furnished in Spanish colonial, with cream-colored walls, Navajo rugs, an adobe fireplace, and a high-beamed ceiling.

  "This is nice," said Wyrdrune after he had tipped the bellman and stretched out on the king-size, mission-style bed with a large, ornately carved headboard. "I could get used to this."

  "Don't get too relaxed, we didn't come here for a vacation," Kira said. "I don't think we should waste any time getting in touch with Paul Ramirez. Especially since he's the only contact we've got in this town. With any luck, we'll get to him before that field agent from the Bureau arrives and starts throwing his weight around."

  "You're right," said Wyrdrune, getting up reluctantly, "but I don't think it would be a good idea if we just went trooping over to his office to see him. It would be better if we could meet him somewhere privately. The question is, how to set it up."

  "No problem," Kira replied. "Call his office and tell them you're calling from Bureau headquarters. Then, when he gets on the line, give the phone to Billy and have Merlin say a few words."

  "That should get his attention," Wyrdrune said with a grin. "If it doesn't give him a heart attack first." He went to the phone and dialed information. "I'd like the number for the College of Sorcerers, please."

  Paul Ramirez told his secretary that he had developed a migraine and was taking the afternoon off. He had no headache, but being involved in an investigation of murder by necromancy had unsettled him profoundly and discovering that Merlin was still alive had been a shock.

  His secretary had told him that it was someone calling from Bureau headquarters, so he had quickly taken the call, expecting it to be a response to his report. Instead, when he had picked up the phone and identified himself, a voice on the other end had said, "Is this line secure?"

  "Yes, of course, this is an official Bureau line. It's spellwarded."

  "One moment please, Professor, there's someone here who'd like to speak with you."

  "Hello, Paul. How's my favorite teaching assistant?"

  That voice! For a moment he was too stunned to speak, then he recovered and angrily demanded, "Who is this?"

  "Don't you recognize my voice, Paul? It's been a long time, I know, but I felt certain that you wouldn't have forgotten me."

  "It can't be . . . Is this some sort of sick joke?"

  "It's no joke, Paul. I'm sorry to spring it on you like this, but I really had no choice. You do recognize my voice, don't you?"

  "I recognize the voice, but voices can be imitated," Paul said tensely. "Whoever you are, I don't find this at all amusing."

  "Do you recall when you first started studying with me in your first semester at the college in Cambridge? I called on you in class once and you were stumped for the answer, so you tried to use your gift to look into my mind. Knowing of your talent, I had expected something like that, so when you extended your awareness into mine, I rather unceremoniously tossed you out. A bit harder than I'd intended, unfortunately. You had a migraine headache for about a week, as I recall. When you came to, I cautioned you that with your gift came a great responsibility and warned you that I'd be much less forgiving the next time you misused it."

  "I remember," Paul said slowly, "but there were other students present when that happened. You might have heard about that . . ."

  "Ah, yes, quite true. And I can well understand your skepticism. Very well, then. When you left Cambridge for Santa Fe, I gave you a parting gift, a gold amulet in the shape of a pentagram, with an amethyst in the center. I trust you still have it?"

  Paul swallowed hard. "Yes . . . I . . . I've always worn it. But I've told other people that it was a gift from Merlin. You could have—"

  "Are you wearing it now?"

  "Yes . . ."

  "Look at it, Paul."

  Paul glanced down at the amulet around his neck. Suddenly its amethyst stone began to glow. The weird purple light coming from it grew brighter and brighter, until it was blinding, filling the whole room.

  "My God!" said Paul. "Merlin! It is you!"

  The glow faded rapidly.

  "Are you convinced now?"

  "You're alive!" Paul said. "But how? The whole world thinks you're—"

  "Dead?" said Merlin. "That's because I did die, Paul. Or at least, in a sense I did. My body perished, though not as reported, in the fire that consumed my mansion. However, that's a long story. My spirit survives, although you wouldn't recognize me now. I look . . . rather different."

  "I can't believe it! Where are you?"

  "At the La Fonda Hotel."

  "Here? In Santa Fe? But that's incredible! It's wonderful! I must see you!"

  "And I have to see you too, Paul. But we shall have to meet discreetly. I don't want anyone else to know about me. Can I count on you? I need your help."

  "Of course," said Paul, still feeling overwhelmed. "But how on earth did you—"

  "I know you have a lot of questions, Paul," said Merlin, "but they can wait until we see each other. I'm not here alone. I've come with friends and I want you to meet them. The reason we're here is that report you sent in to Bureau headquarters."

  "You know about that? Then the Bureau knows about you being—"

  "No," said Merlin, "and I would prefer it if the Bureau didn't know. It's rather complicated, I'm afraid. I'll explain it all when we meet. So far as I know, the Bureau hasn't assigned a field agent yet, am I correct?"

  "No, not yet. I
'm still waiting to hear from them. That's what I thought this call was about."

  "It's just as well. Paul, I must caution you to keep this strictly to yourself. I'd like for us to meet as soon as possible, discreetly. Can you get away?"

  "I can leave right now."

  "Good. But I don't think you should come to the hotel. You're probably well known here and, for the time being at least, I don't think we should be seen together. Is there someplace private we could meet?"

  "What about my home?"

  "I wouldn't want us to be seen going there. Can you give me a teleportation spell that will take us there?"

  "Yes, of course." He recited the spell he used to teleport to his home and Merlin repeated it to make sure he had it right.

  "When are you leaving?" Merlin asked.

  "I can leave right now."

  "All right. I'll give you ten minutes and then we'll teleport from here."

  They appeared in the living room of an old adobe house on Declovina Street, a short distance from the college. It was a large, square, two-story home with beamed ceilings and oak plank floors. The walls were off-white, all the corners gently rounded, and there was a large adobe brick fireplace dividing the living room from the kitchen and dining area. There were beautiful, handwoven Navajo rugs on the floors and several smaller ones hanging on the walls as tapestries. There were potted palms and succulents in the deep adobe window wells and grape ivy, spider plants, ferns, and rosary vines in ceramic pots suspended from macramé hangers.

  The furnishings were mission-style, made of heavy, carved wood stained dark mahogany and the curtains on the windows were of Spanish lace. There were a number of western bronze sculptures placed here and there about the room and bookshelves crammed with old, leather-bound volumes. The floor outside the living room was dark red ceramic tile and the stairs leading to the second floor had log railings and banisters. It was a graceful and attractive New Mexican home, very traditional, and only the titles of the volumes in the bookshelves gave any clue that an adept was living here.