The Congruent Wizard (The Congruent Mage Series Book 2)

by Dave Schroeder

  Many wizards wore their flying disks slung over their backs. Quite a few younger wizards painted theirs with heraldic beasts, landscapes, abstract designs or sky-blue camouflage. As fads went, Doethan considered, painted flying disks were at least clever.

  The free wizards gathered in small clumps apart from the crown wizards. They kept their conversations to themselves. It was easy to tell them apart from the wizards employed by the kingdom, not due to any clues from their physical appearance, but more from their general attitude. They tried too hard to show they were every bit as skilled and powerful as their crown wizard counterparts. For some, it came off as confidence. Others seemed like they were trying too hard.

  The crown wizards were close to evenly divided between those in striped robes supporting the princess and those in solid-colored robes supporting the queen. The free wizards controlled the balance of power on the Conclave, but were such opinionated individualists that they could never be persuaded to vote as a block for one side or the other.

  Doethan had been cultivating free wizards in the past weeks, hoping to swing them one by one to the queen’s side, with limited success. Even free wizards sympathetic to the queen were reluctant to say so and eliminate a potential bargaining chip.

  He narrowed his eyes and scanned the remote corners of the hall. Astrí and her dark-blue robes were nowhere to be seen.

  “Good wizards,” Doethan began. “We thought there’d be more time for us to prepare to fight Tamloch on the northern borders of the kingdom, but trouble is coming straight up the Brenavon to our doorsteps as I speak. An armada of Bifurland dragonships is on the river and could reach the city’s docks tomorrow if they’re not stopped."

  The assembled members of the Conclave buzzed like a nest of angry wolf-hornets.

  “The king has formed an alliance with Occidens Province. Two legions and sixty Roma wizards are already gating in south of the capital to aid us.”

  The buzzing grew louder, bordering on panic. Occidens Province was second only to Tamloch on the list of Dâron’s traditional enemies. The thought of purple-robed Roma wizards in Dâron was especially galling, since the Conclave was particularly zealous about guarding its territory from magical incursions.

  A meaty hand grabbed Doethan’s shoulder and spun him around. Hibblig was leaning over him and shouting.

  “Traitor!”

  Conversations in the assembly hall ceased as all eyes and ears focused on the confrontation on the platform.

  “Let me go,” said Doethan, trying unsuccessfully to step back and break Hibblig’s grip. “We don’t have time for this. We have to stop the dragonships.”

  “We don’t have time for you leading the Conclave any longer, old man,” said Hibblig. A large vein pulsed red on his neck. He shook Doethan before the older wizard could push him away with a construct of solidified sound. The wizards closest to the platform gasped when Hibblig threw Doethan to the floor.

  “I challenge you for the right to be Senior Mage of Dâron,” said Hibblig. “Get up and fight or slink away like the traitorous worm you are.”

  Inthíra laughed at Hibblig’s melodramatic statement. She helped Doethan to his feet while others echoed her laughter and wizards in striped robes began to chant, “Hib-blig, Hib-blig, Hib-blig!”

  “We don’t have time for this, but if you insist,” said Doethan. “Let’s get on with it.”

  “Clear the center of the hall,” said Inthíra, using a megaphone of solidified sound to amplify her voice.

  The wizards in the audience moved to stand by the walls. Hibblig jumped to the floor and strode across the hall to the end opposite the platform. Doethan walked down the steps on one side and took a position a few feet in front of the platform, opposite Hibblig, leaving fifty feet of empty space between them.

  Why did he allow Queen Carys to talk him into returning to court? he mused. And why did I allow myself to be nominated to head the Conclave anyway? He spared a few moments to mentally kick himself, even if he’d been the compromise candidate most acceptable to the free wizards.

  Doethan hoped he’d acquit himself well, but knew Hibblig must have been practicing for months for this. If the excuse of the alliance with the Roma hadn’t been the reason for their fight, something else would have been.

  The wizards lining the walls and standing in front of the platform cast more than a hundred individual shields to form a protective barrier between themselves and the combatants. They wouldn’t be dropped until either Hibblig or Doethan was unconscious or surrendered.

  The wizards in striped robes continued to chant, “Hib-blig, Hib-blig, Hib-blig!” Wizards in solid blue robes countered with, “Doe-than, Doe-than, Doe-than!” Most were stamping their feet.

  “Ready?” asked Inthíra.

  “Aye,” said Hibblig, his big voice carrying over the chanting and stamping.

  Doethan turned to face Inthíra on the platform above him. He rolled his eyes and nodded. She would keep Fercha and Queen Carys informed if he was incapacitated, or worse. He knew Hibblig would be trying to kill him, not just knock him out. He shifted to face his opponent.

  “Lay on!” shouted Inthíra.

  Hibblig gestured with one hand and spoke a trigger word, generating a suit of solidified-sound armor around his body that made his considerable bulk seem even larger. Then he charged.

  Chapter 25

  Nûd and Eynon

  Nûd was in good spirits after spending time visiting with the young dragon riders and sharing a meal. Eynon wasn’t quite sure he liked the taste of the small pickled fish they’d fed him—but he didn’t have much experience eating things with fins. The flatbread they’d shared was quite good, though, and the tart blue jam that went with it was delicious. Eynon and Nûd contributed what was left of the bread and cheese and smoked sausage from the basket Braith had given them early that morning. The Bifurlander youths thought as highly of Eynon’s parents’ skills in the kitchen as he did.

  Chee liked everything the dragon riders fed him. He scurried from rider to rider, begging morsels from each of them. The raconette’s belly was soon full and he returned to his favorite spot on Rocky’s back to nap. The wyvern was relaxing, soaking up sunlight and admiring glances from dragon riders. He even let Holgir rub him under his jaw with the back of his axe, which apparently did a lot to boost the lad’s reputation for bravery.

  Sigrun was clearly the leader of the wing of dragon riders, with Rannveigr her second in command. She’s a princess, so that only makes sense, thought Eynon. Do Bifurlanders even have princesses? he considered. They have kings and queens, so they must have them. Rannveigr was also some sort of noble—and Sigrun’s first cousin, if Eynon had heard things correctly over lunch. Trying to follow twelve fast high-pitched interweaving conversational threads, most of which were about people he didn’t know, hadn’t been easy.

  Several of the girls were flirting with Nûd and some tried doing the same with Eynon, making him uncomfortable, until Nûd told them about Eynon’s girlfriend. The boys were boasting about their skill as hunters and accepting good-natured teasing from the girls. Eynon shifted to sit next to Sigrun.

  “What’s your father like?” Eynon asked. “I’ve never talked to a king before.”

  “He’s a giant,” said Sigrun, “over seven feet tall and as strong as a grizzly bear with a black eye patch and scar from an axe blade running from his jaw to his ear.”

  “I see,” said Eynon, hoping she was pulling his leg. “Sounds like one of my uncles.”

  “You’re no fun,” said Sigrun, laughing. “My father and mother can be intimidating, but not that intimidating.”

  “Do you resemble your mother?” asked Eynon.

  “No, her father,” teased Rannveigr. “Especially when she wears her eye patch.”

  Sigrun playfully punched her friend in the shoulder and accepted a similar punch in return.

  “King Bjarni and Queen Signý are good rulers,” said Rannveigr. “They listen, and they’re fair.”


  “Do you think fifty pounds of gold would be enough to convince them to stop their invasion?” Eynon asked Sigrun.

  “I don’t know,” said Sigrun. “My father gave his word to King Túathal.”

  “For fifty pounds of gold, he’ll do it,” said Rannveigr after she swallowed a bite of smoked sausage. “For that much, he’d even attack Riyas instead.”

  “You don’t know that,” said Sigrun. Then she smiled and shrugged in a what-can-I-say gesture. Eynon felt optimistic.

  “So long as they don’t decide to take us along with the gold,” said Nûd. “I’m not fond of cold weather.”

  Eynon was about to say, “But you live in Melyncárreg,” then he thought better of it.

  “We’d better get back to the fleet,” said Sigrun. “This was just supposed to be a scouting expedition, after all.”

  “And we don’t want your father to be worried,” said Rannveigr.

  “I’m more concerned about my mother,” said Sigrun.

  “And rightly so, I expect,” said Rannveigr as she stood. “Mount up, everyone. Time to get airborne.” She walked toward the small gold dragons.

  “We’ll fly in formation around your wyvern,” said Sigrun.

  “Can’t we just follow you?” asked Eynon.

  “You don’t want to give the wrong impression when we get to the fleet,” said Sigrun. “If you’re behind us, our wizards and warriors might think you’re in pursuit and try to attack.”

  Eynon nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “Eynon,” said Sigrun.

  “Yes?”

  “When you have an audience with my parents, don’t say the gold is a bribe. Tell them it’s a gift from Dâron to Bifurland—and a sign of Dâron’s respect for our people’s prowess in battle.”

  “I can do that,” said Eynon.

  “Maybe I should do the talking,” said Nûd. He’d stood and crossed to join Eynon and Sigrun when the circle of girls around him had left.

  “Would you?” asked Eynon. “That would be great! You don’t learn how to talk to kings and queens growing up on a farm.”

  “And you don’t learn growing up with only a cranky old man for company either,” said Nûd, “though I’ve read enough history books to know the customs of the court.”

  “The court of Dâron, maybe,” said Sigrun. “I’ve read history books too, and you’d be surprised how different things are in Bifurland.”

  All three of them laughed. Sigrun turned to Eynon.

  “You may be better at talking to my father than Nûd,” she said. “Ruling is a part-time job in Bifurland. My father has a large dairy farm outside Bjarniston and sits on the stool beside me for the morning milking when he’s not in town being king.”

  “How large is your herd?” asked Eynon.

  “Twenty dozen,” said Sigrun proudly.

  “That’s more than we have in my entire village,” said Eynon. “I’ve done my share of morning—and afternoon—milking. Do you make any interesting cheeses?”

  “Everyone loves our sharp cheese,” said Sigrun. “We age it for two years and…”

  “…the two of you could talk about cows and milk and butter and cheese for twice that long, I’m sure,” said Nûd. “We’ll both speak, and you can give us a signal if we’re getting off track.”

  “I’ll rub my chin if you’re doing well, and put my hand on my cheek if you’re not,” said Sigrun. “That’s the best I can do.”

  Nûd extended a hand to Eynon and helped him to his feet. Eynon did the same for Sigrun in turn. He remembered seeing a funny-looking carved shah-mat piece owned by one of his neighbors back in Haywall that showed a queen with her hand on her cheek and smiled.

  “What?” asked Sigrun.

  Eynon explained.

  “Oh, those,” she said. “We have three sets. They are funny, aren’t they—especially the queen. She always looks so worried.”

  “Like your mother?” teased Eynon.

  “I’m the one who’s worried,” said Sigrun, “not her.”

  Sigrun started to walk to her companions who were already mounted, then she turned around to rejoin Nûd and Eynon.

  “I almost forgot. Space is tight, even on the flagship. I’ll land first and make sure they clear room in front of the mast for your wyvern.”

  “And don’t shoot us with quarrels,” said Nûd.

  “Or blast us with fireballs,” added Eynon.

  “Our wizards are more fond of lightning bolts,” said Sigrun, “but yes, I’ll tell them not to attack you. I’ll wave when it’s safe for you to land.”

  “Thank you,” said Eynon.

  Nûd nodded and smiled. “Yes, thanks,” he said.

  “We can talk about cows later,” said Sigrun.

  Her long blonde braids bounced as she ran to her dragon. Eynon and Nûd climbed on Rocky’s back, pleased that the pillowcases filled with gold rings had been returned. Soon they were in the middle of the wing of dragons with the sun at their backs, heading for the Bifurland fleet.

  “Be sure to stay strapped in this time,” said Eynon.

  “Don’t worry,” said Nûd. “I will.”

  Chapter 26

  Merry

  Merry stayed even with Nyssia as she guided them through the maze of dusty corridors on the lower levels of the palace. She counted turns and paces, but wasn’t completely sure what direction they were heading or how far they’d traveled. They’d moved quickly along the empty, echoing stone halls for ten minutes without encountering another human being. Then Merry saw a hooded figure waiting in the corridor ahead of them, standing in the shadows. When Merry and Nyssia got closer, they saw the figure was standing next to an archway that opened to a narrow flight of stairs ascending into darkness. Nyssia didn’t seem concerned, so Merry let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The figure threw back her hood.

  “I’ll take her from here,” said Astrí. “We have to get to the Conclave. All the wizards in the kingdom have been summoned.”

  “The closest exit to the Conclave’s hall is up those stairs,” said Nyssia, giving Astrí a small bow.

  “I know,” said Astrí. “And we have to hurry.”

  Astrí put her hand on Merry’s arm and tugged her gently toward the stairs.

  “Thank you,” said Merry, breaking away and giving Nyssia a quick hug. “Give my best to Gruffyd.”

  “I will,” said the young woman in guard’s armor. “I’d tell you to stay out of trouble…”

  “…but where’s the fun in that?” completed Merry. “I hope this doesn’t get you in trouble.”

  “If it does, I’ll talk my way out of it,” said Nyssia. “I have an easy excuse since Princess Gwýnnett forgot to tell us you were a wizard. How can a brand-new guard be expected to cope with magic?”

  “How indeed?” asked Merry with a smile. “I don’t think she knew.” Merry took Astrí’s sleeve and followed the older woman up the stairs.

  As they climbed, Astrí whispered, “Llachar,” and a small globe of light appeared, floating above her head. It helped the two of them see where they were going.

  There was a landing at the top, with a solid wooden door in front of them. The door had an ornate cast-iron box big enough to hold a pair of ladies’ shoes where a lock should have been. There wasn’t a latch or a doorknob, and Merry couldn’t see any place to fit a key.

  Astrí pulled her hood back up.

  “It’s a wizard’s lock,” she said. “This is the door that wizards use to get back and forth from the palace to the Conclave’s hall without being seen. You need a construct of solidified sound to open it.”

  Merry nodded. Her earlier exuberance was muted by the prospect of her first visit to the Conclave’s octagonal center. She’d seen a woodcut of the building in one of the books in her father’s library.

  “Create a rod of solidified sound about an inch in diameter,” said Astrí.

  The older wizard pointed to the lower left side of the lock.

&
nbsp; “Insert it here, then extend it like a three-tined cooking fork to the right until you hear three clicks.”

  Merry followed Astrí’s instructions. It was a very simple construct and she soon heard three clicks bounce off the walls on either side of the landing.

  “Good,” said Astrí. “Pull out your magestone and wear it so it can be seen. It will serve as your pass for entering the assembly hall.”

  Her gold-and-silver electrum setting was warm from resting against her skin when Merry moved it to hang outside her shirt. The circular blue magestone in its center pulsed with inner light.

  Astrí took her setting out from under her robes. It was an elegant silver openwork filigree, holding a large oval stone. Astrí’s stone pulsed as well.

  It looks like the artifact Eynon found, thought Merry.

  “Come,” said Astrí, pushing the door open. It led to another long stone corridor, much like the ones in the palace, but less dusty. Merry half-expected to find an animated broom and dustpan hard at work around a corner.

  “What should I expect when we get there?” asked Merry as they walked.

  “Chaos and conflict,” said Astrí. “Princess Gwýnnett and her faction will be trying to take over leadership of the Conclave. Take extra care if you speak to any wizard wearing striped robes.”

  “I will,” said Merry, “but I don’t understand. I assumed Queen Carys had been the one truly running the kingdom for the last few years. How did Princess Gwýnnett’s faction grow so powerful? And who was leading the Conclave?”

  “Fercha led the Conclave, with help from Inthíra,” said Astrí. “You haven’t met her yet, but you’ll like her. I help where I’m needed, though I’m just the queen’s personal wizard.”

  And I’m just a Mastlands’ pig in a wallow, thought Merry. With wings. She held back a smile.