The Congruent Wizard (The Congruent Mage Series Book 2)

by Dave Schroeder

  “What?” said Merry. “Rope soup? You’re kidding!”

  “Uh huh,” said Fercha, grinning at Merry. “Got you!”

  Merry looked at Fercha and started laughing. It took her several seconds to stop.

  “What?” asked Fercha.

  “You made a joke,” said Merry. “I’ve never heard you joke before. You’re always so serious, about my magestone and setting, about my training, about Damon and Nûd and now Verro. It’s nice to know you have a sense of humor.”

  “Am I really that bad?” asked Fercha.

  Merry stared at her.

  “Alright, maybe I have been,” Fercha continued. “Sorry.”

  “It was a good joke,” said Merry. “Even better because it was unexpected. It won’t be such a shock the next time.”

  “If there is a next time,” said Fercha. “I have a quota and am only allowed to tell one every twenty years.”

  “There you go,” said Merry. “You’ve told another one—a joke by exaggeration.”

  “I guess I did,” said Fercha, smiling. Then her serious mask returned. “Enough of that,” she said. “We need Nûd’s rope.”

  “Do you start with a chicken or a beef stock?” asked Merry.

  “Either one will do,” said Fercha. “You just need to let it simmer in a cook pot for seven or eight days until it’s tender. If you don’t, it gets stringy.”

  “Ouch!” said Merry. “That’s even worse, which means better!” She stopped to laugh again, then decided to add to the recipe.

  “I’d toss in spring onions, for extra flavor.”

  “And chopped garlic cloves,” said Fercha.

  The two women were smiling and making faces at each other.

  “And a braised rabbit,” said Merry, feeding Fercha a straight line.

  “No, not a rabbit,” said Fercha.

  Merry grinned. “Why not?”

  Fercha started but they both completed, “Because no one likes finding a hare in their soup.”

  Merry hugged Fercha as they both moved from guffaws to plain laughing to giggles. After a minute, Fercha put Merry at arm’s length and leaned back against the kitchen worktable.

  “Thank you, I needed that,” said Fercha.

  “We both did,” said Merry. “I haven’t heard that joke since my father told it to Salder and me when we were small.”

  “I heard it from my mother,” said Fercha. “My father went in for lectures, not funny stories.”

  Fercha’s face brightened.

  “Our humorous diversion was just what I needed to remember where Nûd was likely to store the rope,” she said.

  “Where?” asked Merry.

  “In the castle’s laundry,” Fercha replied. “You always need lots of rope for clothes to dry on out here.”

  “Why not dry it with wizardry,” asked Merry.

  “That stopped back when the Academy was more active,” said Fercha. “An apprentice was put in charge of drying clothes with wizardry and instead the undergarments for every man and woman in Melyncárreg were turned to a fine gray ash by an overzealous application of heat.”

  Merry laughed again. It felt good to be laughing as much as she had when she’d been traveling down the river with Eynon.

  “Let me guess,” said Merry. “It was Hibblig. He seems to carry a perpetual chip on his shoulder.”

  “No,” said Fercha. “Wizards from Gwýnnett’s faction don’t train here. They have their own school built on swampland along the first big river south of the Moravon. You could inhale a quart of mosquitoes in a single breath there if you didn’t keep your shields up.”

  “Why don’t they drain the swamp and make it a better place to live?” asked Merry. “My da drains more swampland across the Rhuthro every season, with help from Doethan.”

  “Your father is a wise and practical man,” said Fercha. “The wizards in Gwýnnett’s faction aren’t. They take after their patron.”

  “I see,” said Merry. “All the more reason for us to win, then.”

  “Correct,” said Fercha. “Time to visit the laundry.”

  * * * * *

  “Can you tie a tautline hitch?” asked Fercha. She was on her flying disk, floating near the rough bark of a sizable spear-pine, a tree that grew perfectly straight and only retained branches on the upper third of its trunk. This specimen was sixty feet tall and Merry was floating halfway up its length, guiding her flying disk above the floor of a broad valley. She was wrapping one end of the long rope they’d found around the tree’s two-yard circumference.

  “I can, and I have,” said Merry. “We can tighten it when I fasten the other end.”

  Far in the distance they could hear sounds of a herd of large herbivores grazing at the other end of the valley. It was still dark as a mineshaft in the middle hours of the night, but Fercha and Merry each had glowing spheres floating above their heads that provided sufficient illumination for the two wizards to accomplish what was necessary. Merry let the dangling rope coiled on her flying disk pay out behind her as she and Fercha headed for a second stand of spear-pines on the far side of the valley.

  The rope was covered in powdered magestones. It glittered in the light from their glow spheres. Fercha had found a small bag of magestone shards in the Academy’s artifact studio. It was enough to coat the rope, but not enough for the rest of the gate.

  “We were lucky to find two crocks full of waterproof glue in the laundry near the rope,” said Fercha.

  “They were huge crocks,” said Merry. “It looked like Nûd made the glue himself, too.”

  “When you hunt wisents, you get a lot of horns and bones. It’s easier to made big batches,” said Fercha.

  “Why would he need so much glue?” asked Merry.

  “I’m not sure,” said Fercha, “given Damon’s odd whims and strange projects, but my memory is that it helps keep canvas waterproof. I remember getting lots of bad weather in Melyncárreg, so it would be useful.”

  “I remember making glue outside in a cauldron with my mother back at Applegarth,” said Merry. “We’d boil out the gelatin, add spoiled milk, and include oil of wintergreen so it wouldn’t smell so bad.”

  “Wintergreen glue sounds intriguing,” said Fercha. “You’ve got a wise mother.”

  “She has her good points,” admitted Merry.

  “Once you tie off the other end of the rope, there’s not much we can do until Nûd and Eynon come back.”

  “You could teach me how to make wide gates,” suggested Merry.

  They’d reached the spear-pine they’d selected on the opposite side of the valley more than a hundred yards away. Nûd had ordered a full spool of rope, so it was just enough to reach. Merry tied another tautline hitch and tightened it as Fercha watched her.

  “I could do that,” said the older wizard. “It’s the same general principle as making smaller gates.”

  “But you haven’t taught me anything about making gates yet,” said Merry.

  “Oh! You’re right. What kind of mentor am I,” said Fercha. “We’ll remedy that lack right now. Let’s descend and I’ll show you.”

  “Great!” said Merry. She circled down in exuberant spirals to land next to Fercha. The two wizards moved their flying disks to their backs and found a pair of convenient rocks to sit on a few feet beyond the spear-pine.

  “There are three kinds of gates,” Fercha began. “Standard gates, wide gates, and emergency gates. They all open congruencies connecting one place with another.”

  Merry nodded and leaned forward.

  “Standard gates,” Fercha continued, “are powered by magical energy from their creators. They remain in effect as long as the wizard who made them lives. They’re usually circles, squares, or rectangles with magical anchors at the corners or at cardinal points, for circles—and sometimes ellipses. You can use those, too.”

  “You’ll show me how to set those anchors?” asked Merry.

  “After I finish explaining things,’ said Fercha. “And if we ha
ve time. The wizard who creates the gate can set it to be always open, locked, or only locked in one direction.”

  “I can see why the ability to lock gates is essential,” said Merry. “Go on. Do you need to have wizards at both ends of a standard gate?”

  “No,” Fercha answered. “That’s only required for wide gates, but it is possible. If two wizards create a standard gate, it breaks when one of them dies. I’ve done my share of reestablishing gates when their creators are gone. It’s young wizards’ work.”

  “Don’t young wizards tend to die in battle?” asked Merry.

  “They haven’t for a generation,” Fercha answered. “Though that may change in the morning.”

  “Yes. It might,” said Merry. She shook her head slowly.

  “Wizards need to touch the four anchor points at both ends and power the gates with their magestones,” said Fercha. “The directional and locking settings are added afterward.”

  “I can’t wait to learn,” said Merry.

  “Wide gates need a continuous circuit of magical energy from powdered magestones to keep them operating,” said Fercha. “It takes at least two wizards on both sides of the gate to power one up, though four would be even better. When we get more powdered magestone, we’ll paint the tree trunks with glue, then coat them with the powder. Then we’ll need to dig a trench between the trees and sprinkle more powder along its length, so the magical energy can flow all around the gate.”

  “Oh,” said Merry. “We have to dig a trench? We need to get started—and we forgot to bring shovels.”

  “Stop,” teased Fercha. “Think.”

  “Oh,” said Merry. “That’s right. I need to think like a wizard now. I guess it takes practice.”

  “Unless you were raised by wizards,” said Fercha with a wan smile. She nodded toward the space in the wide valley between the trees. “Go ahead, young wizard. Show me.”

  “Let’s see,” said Merry. She held her arms out wide then brought them out in front of her with her fingers outstretched. Bright blue beams of tight light shot out from each hand and cut into the ground six inches apart. Fercha sent her glow sphere across to the far side of the valley so Merry could keep the path of her beams straight.

  “Very good,” said Fercha. “Now flip it up so we can see the channel where we’ll spread the powdered magestones.”

  Merry concentrated. Using only blue tight-light force beams from her left hand, she lifted her hand and turned it in a smooth, even motion. A triangular line of grass and soil extending across the valley flipped up, revealing a v-shaped hole that would be perfect for receiving powdered magestone.

  “Excellent,” said Fercha. “Now you’re thinking like a wizard.”

  Merry smiled and nodded her appreciation of Fercha’s praise. “Do wide gates have to be the same dimensions at either end?” she asked.

  “Not exactly,” said Fercha. “It can be a problem if they’re off by yards, but a foot or two won’t matter.”

  “That’s why we need to reach Doethan? To tell him the dimensions of our gate?”

  “Correct,” said Fercha. “They have more flexibility at their end, since they’ll be using logs, not trees for uprights.”

  “Got it,” said Merry. “What about emergency gates?”

  “Those are different, sort of,” said Fercha. “They require only one set of anchor points, but the connection to the destination location has to be very strong.”

  “Like my connection to Applegarth?” asked Merry.

  “No, not an emotional connection. A place where the wizard has spent a lot of time investing energy at one end of a gate without having a permanent matching gate at the other end. In a way, the wizard herself is the other side of the gate. Additional corners or cardinal points aren’t necessary. Most wizards can only manage to establish one or two such gates.”

  “Most wizards?” asked Merry. “There are exceptions?”

  “Damon is quite skilled at it,” said Fercha. “So is Verro. It makes them both particularly dangerous men.”

  “I see, I think,” said Merry. “What should I look for in an emergency gate destination?”

  “Somewhere hidden,” said Fercha. “Somewhere safe that only you know about. That’s the best way.”

  “Yours must go to your tower,” said Merry.

  “I won’t say, and neither should you when you build yours. Emergency gates are for just that—emergencies,” said Fercha.

  “Too bad I won’t be able to create one before morning,” said Merry.

  “True,” said Fercha. “You’ll just have to be careful.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” asked Merry with a grin.

  She saw a flash of red light in the sky above Fercha’s head and sent up an answering flash of blue.

  Nûd and Eynon and Rocky and Chee were back. They still had enough time. Eynon’s idea was going to work!

  Chapter 51

  Nûd and Eynon

  Nûd and Eynon were flying northwest on Rocky’s back over a snow-covered landscape, heading for the hot springs and mud pots. Chee, sensibly, was strapped in, sleeping on the wyvern’s wide neck. His front and back paws were locked to ridges of bone along Rocky’s spine. Eynon directed an extra-bright sphere of illumination close to the ground ahead of them to light their way.

  “It’s easier flying than walking,” said Eynon, “especially since I didn’t really know where I was going when I left to find my magestone.”

  He adjusted the straps on his backpack where they bit into his shoulders. Eynon wasn’t quite sure why he had put it back on instead of stowing it somewhere on Rocky’s harnesses, but it felt reassuring to have it where it had been the day he set out on his wander year.

  “Damon sent you by the route that went over a couple of mountains instead of around them,” said Nûd. “The snow was deeper that way, too.”

  “Why would he do that?” asked Eynon.

  “The old man likes to push apprentices, physically and mentally,” said Nûd. “He says it reveals and refines character.”

  “What did it reveal about me?” asked Eynon. He tilted his head, waiting for Nûd’s answer.

  “It revealed more about Damon than you and proved the old buzzard could still be surprised.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Eynon. “I don’t feel like I’m that surprising.”

  Nûd laughed. “And that’s part of what makes you so refreshing! I’ve grown up surrounded by wizards. They’re grumpy and devious and egotistical and domineering.”

  It was Eynon’s turn to laugh as he tried to match up Nûd’s adjectives with Damon and Fercha. He thought he had a good guess which ones went with which wizard.

  Nûd continued. “Please don’t get a swelled head, but you’re a very powerful wizard, Eynon. You’re good at thinking on your feet and coming up with creative ways to use magic that no one has ever tried before.”

  “I guess I don’t know what other wizards have done before, so I just try what makes sense to me,” said Eynon

  “Precisely,” said Nûd. “You don’t know how it’s always been done, so you just do it—your way.” Nûd stretched against his flying harness. “The last wizard with close to your raw potential was Damon himself, and he ended up as master mage of Dâron.”

  “Stop teasing,” said Eynon. “I’m just a novice.”

  “A novice who scared the Bifurlanders into calling off their attack.”

  “But we paid them to do that,” said Eynon.

  “That fifty pounds of gold wasn’t going to be enough for them to give up on sacking Brendinas until you threw your fireball,” said Nûd.

  “Damon has ten times the knowledge of wizardry I do,” protested Eynon from the other side of Rocky’s back. “Maybe a hundred times more.”

  “Maybe so,” said Nûd, “but Damon’s getting old. He’s got the knowledge, but you have the raw power—and with Fercha’s magestone in addition to your own, you have plenty of knowledge, too. That’s an impressive combination.”


  “I don’t feel impressive,” said Eynon.

  “If we weren’t strapped in, I’d hug you,” said Nûd. “You’re not full of yourself. You’re not arrogant. Do you know how rare that is among wizards?”

  “No,” said Eynon.

  “Don’t ever change, my friend,” said Nûd. “Stay true to yourself.” Nûd paused and stared down, then shouted, “Look, there are the hot springs!”

  “Down, Rocky!” exclaimed Eynon. He’d seen the glint of water and flashes of color, too. He sent the tasty ball of magic downward and the wyvern followed.

  “Good boy,” said Nûd, encouraging the great beast.

  “Where should we land?” asked Eynon. “I don’t want Rocky to fall into a hot spring or mud pot by accident.”

  “Bring him down at the top of the hill,” said Nûd. “We can send him off to hunt and take your flying disk the rest of the way.”

  “Good idea,” said Eynon. Moments later, Rocky touched down at the specified landing site. Nûd and Eynon dismounted. Chee woke up and jumped to Eynon’s shoulder.

  “Blast,” said Eynon as he unstrapped his flying disk and stepped on to it. “I forgot to pick up bags for collecting the magestone fragments.”

  “Hang on,” said Nûd. He returned to Rocky and rummaged in the gear they’d reorganized after the Bifurland dragonriders had given Rocky his beautiful new gold-painted leather harnesses. “Here they are,” said Nûd triumphantly. “The last two pillowcases.”

  “You mean we didn’t use all of them for carrying gold?” asked Eynon.

  “No,” said Nûd. “I was saving these and didn’t really want to use them. They’re mine, and were embroidered by my great-grandmother.”

  Eynon looked at the design stitched along the hem at the open end of the pillowcases. It was dark-blue Dâron dragons alternating with gold crowns. “They’re pretty,” Eynon offered. “I can see why you don’t want to get them dirty with chunks of magestones.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Nûd. “I’m sure my great-grandmother would tell me to use them. It’s in a good cause.”

  “Your great-grandmother sounds like a wise woman,” said Eynon.

  “She’s that,” said Nûd. “And a lot more.”