The Congruent Wizard (The Congruent Mage Series Book 2)

by Dave Schroeder

  Was Rocky really Eynon’s familiar, too? Merry wondered. It wasn’t fair that Eynon had two familiars when she didn’t have any.

  Merry watched Rocky for a few moments. The wyvern’s long body was only partially lit by the glowing ball above Nûd, who was leaning into Rocky’s shoulder, inside the protective curve of the wyvern’s long neck.

  Rocky is as comfortable with Nûd as he is with Eynon, Merry realized. Could non-wizards have familiars, too? That really wouldn’t be fair.

  It felt odd for it to be close to dawn in Dâron, while still in the middle of the night in Melyncárreg. Merry was tired and the lows and grunts of the herds farther up the valley were soothing. She’d had to rub her eyes more than once while waiting for word from the other side of the gate. She wanted to step through to the Dâron side herself to look for Eynon, but knew her role was here. Someone had to get things started.

  Nûd looked relaxed on the outside, but inside his mind was in turmoil. He’d known Fercha was his mother and Princess Seren was his grandmother all his life. He was well aware that he was first in line to be king of Dâron, but was quite happy to have Dârio fill that role as next in line. The biggest shock of the day was learning the identify of his father and finding out he was second in the Tamloch succession.

  King Dârio, the swordsman who’d tricked Skavendr on the Bifurlander flagship the previous afternoon, was the rightful heir to the throne of Tamloch. And my cousin, Nûd realized, once he’d given it thought. Our fathers are brothers.

  Was there a chance Fercha had lied to him? Nûd wondered. Would Queen Carys consent to a test of their relationship made by a neutral wizard—not Fercha or Doethan or Damon? I could find a hedge wizard at random in Brendinas to see if Fercha’s assertions were true if I had a hair from the Old Queen’s head, and maybe one from Dârio.

  He scratched his head and felt the circlet of golden grass Chee had placed there. Then Nûd remembered the embroidered pillowcases Damon had said were a gift from his great-grandmother. Gold crowns and royal Dâron blue dragons. It seemed more and more likely that the Old Queen not only knew of Nûd’s existence, but of his status as the Old King’s true heir. Fercha wasn’t lying—unless Damon was. The old wizard could have commissioned embroidered pillowcases from anyone and told Nûd a story to play games with Nûd’s head.

  Nûd felt like a pawn in a particularly vicious and complicated game of shah-mat. With a Master Mage for a grandfather and a father, as well as Fercha for a mother, he was glad learning wizardry had never appealed to him.

  How could I ever live up to their expectations? Nûd considered. The only good thing about being a wizard would be that they couldn’t force him into being king.

  Kings never have time to themselves. They can’t tramp around the countryside on their own, repairing fences or finding wild tubers for dinner. They’re surrounded by palace intrigue and have to worry about invasions, the loyalty of their barons and raising money for the treasury. They can never know if potential mates love them, or love their crowns. Worst of all, thought Nûd, kings don’t have time to read—at least I don’t expect they do. Maybe Dârio can tell me?

  Nûd unconsciously brought a hand up to stroke his chin. He couldn’t see Chee, now back on Rocky’s back, imitating his motion with comic precision.

  Merry noticed, but didn’t smile. She recognized Nûd’s expression and could tell he was deep in thought. She got the same way from time to time, usually on her solo trips down the Rhuthro. The larger part of her brain would be thinking while a smaller part watched for rocks and steered around them. She hoped Nûd could steer around his own rocks as easily.

  Why couldn’t real life be like the stories in the Academy’s library? Nûd wondered. Kings in stories could make a difference for yeomen and tradesmen, lowering taxes and weeding out bad barons. They’d marry dairy farmers’ daughters with freckles who didn’t know they were kings and lived happily ever after.

  Unfortunately, Nûd had read the history books, not just the made-up stories on the library’s shelves. He appreciated how hard it must be to be a king at all, let alone a good king like old king Dâroth XXIV.

  Nûd’s reverie was interrupted when Chee used his shoulder as an intermediate point on his way to the ground. The raconette scampered past Merry and the four other wizards who’d been talking quietly amongst themselves.

  Chee! said the raconette, standing by the near corner of the wide gate.

  Merry and Nûd moved to join Chee as he pointed at the disk of the sun on the other side. It had been light for close to an hour back in Dâron, but they were waiting for word that the Tamloch army had assembled.

  A woman in the eclectic robes of one of Dâron’s free wizards stepped across to the Melyncárreg side of the gate. Nûd, Merry, and the other four wizards gathered around her. Chee hopped to Nûd’s shoulder for a better view. Rocky rose and came forward to join them, his massive black head looking down on the new arrival. The free wizard’s eyes went wide when she saw Rocky, but then she noticed none of the others seemed worried, so she shared her message.

  “Tamloch’s forces are in place,” said the free wizard. “At least most of them are. It shouldn’t be more than ten minutes before they sound their attack.”

  “Thank you,” said Merry.

  “What’s all this about?” asked the free wizard. “Inthíra didn’t tell us.”

  “It’s a surprise,” said Nûd. “A big surprise—for Tamloch.”

  The free wizard looked puzzled.

  “Did Inthíra tell you and the others on your side to stay on your flying disks and protect the sides of the gate with shields?” asked Merry.

  “She did,” confirmed the free wizard. “But what is the surprise?”

  “You’ll soon see for yourself,” said Merry. “Just be sure to fly at least twenty feet up.”

  The free wizard walked back through the gate, pulling her flying disk off her back as she went. Merry thought she heard her mutter something uncomplimentary about letting children be wizards. She wished she could be on the other side of the gate to see the woman’s expression in a few minutes.

  “Ready?” Merry asked the other four wizards.

  They nodded, stepped onto their flying disks, and ascended. They’d protect the integrity of this side of the wide gate.

  “Come on,” said Nûd. He was already on Rocky’s back with Chee on the wyvern’s neck in front of him. “I want to watch you make bolts of lightning.”

  “You and Rocky will add your own contribution,” said Merry.

  Rocky lifted his head and bellowed. Chee waved both front hand-paws above his head and said, “CHEE!”

  The four of them flew to the far end of the valley where the largest of Melyncárreg’s seven herds of wisents was grazing. Over a hundred thousand of the great beasts were peacefully sleeping or chewing cud, but not for long.

  It was time to start a stampede.

  Chapter 68

  Eynon

  It was bright enough to see now and the fog was lifting, at least as Eynon flew south. He wasn’t sure where to find Fercha and Doethan, but expected his magically augmented ears would hear them before he saw them. Finding the Dâron army’s encampment was easy. Most of the soldiers in blue were already on the mustering field immediately north of the small city of tents, opposite Tamloch’s gathering forces.

  Eynon had been wrong. He saw the battle to the south before he heard it. Green and blue fireballs lit up the ground, splashing off wizards’ shields. Lightning blasts tracked jagged arcs, then thunder boomed, hurting Eynon’s ears. He canceled his listening spell. Two blue wizards—one with auburn hair that looked like a dandelion in seed—were trying to hold off six wizards in green.

  Imitating a hunting gryffon, Eynon hurtled down into the battle near Doethan and Fercha. He shouted for them to close their eyes, then released a tiny fraction of the energy stored in his red magestone as light. A bright red ball appeared in the middle of the opposing wizards, a thousand times brighter than ste
pping out into noon sunlight from a dark cave. The ten green wizards paused their attack to recover, giving Eynon a moment to talk to Doethan and Fercha.

  “Is that Verro’s surprise?” asked Eynon, pointing to a wide gate between two trees ahead of them. “Is he going to send a herd of his own wisents through to attack us?”

  “No,” said Doethan, “but just as bad, if not worse. Thousands of southern Clan Landers are on the other side of that gate, about to come through.”

  “We have to destroy the gate from this side,” said Fercha. “It’s the only way to stop them.”

  Eynon nodded. He looked at the gate closely. Only six of the ten wizards nearby had been attacking—the other four were holding shields over the top, bottom, and sides of the gate, protecting the circuit of powdered magestone from damage. The center of the gate itself was unguarded. He pointed to his pulsing red magestone.

  “I’m going through,” said Eynon. “Maybe I can stop them before they cross over?”

  “Don’t destroy their side of the gate before you return,” said Doethan. “We need you here.”

  The six wizards in green were recovering from almost being blinded.

  “Time to go,” said Eynon. He sped off toward the gate.

  “Wait!” shouted Fercha. “Verro…”

  Eynon didn’t hear the rest of Fercha’s warning. He transitioned through the interface, flying near the top of the rectangle. Once across, he initially saw tens of thousands of barbaric Clan Landers wearing tartan blankets wrapped around their waists and not much else. Most carried spears and swords of varying lengths. Many held wicker shields.

  The braying sound of a hundred sets of bagpipes filled the valley where the Clan Landers were gathered, sounding like packs of wolves being tortured under a full moon. Eynon thought the barbarians looked like the opposite of the pictures of the Roma legions he’d seen in Robin Goodfellow’s Peregrinations. The legionnaires looked exactly alike in standardized armor, shields and weapons while no two of the Clan Landers looked alike. Most of the warriors below Eynon were covered in fiercely swirling blue tattoos. Eynon was glad his cousins who’d fought off southern Clan Landers hadn’t shared their experiences with him when he was small. He would have had nightmares for months.

  Near this side of the gate Eynon spotted four figures in more familiar Dâron-style leather armor. It was Fox, Oaf, Dolt, and Fool—the men from Mastlands he’d encountered going down the Rhuthro with Merry. They were standing on a small hill to the left of the gate. A crossbow bolt from Fool buzzed past Eynon’s ear like an angry wolfhornet. Eynon triggered his shields.

  I’m an idiot, he thought. I should have put my shields up before I went through the gate.

  Below, he saw Fool cocking his crossbow and loading another bolt. Eynon ascended and moved away from the gate. Presiding over the far end of the valley was a tall mountain that reminded Eynon of a great seated bear, with its arms the hills that defined the valley’s wide floor. The mountain was rocky and covered with talus, the slippery fragments of rock Eynon had found a challenge to cross when he’d first left home to start his wander year. The top third of the mountain was still blanketed with snow. This mountain wasn’t anything like the massive purple peaks around Melyncárreg, but by the standards of a young man from the Coombe it was big enough.

  More crossbow bolts and an orange fireball hit Eynon’s shield as he reconnoitered. He flew higher as the bagpipes’ cries grew louder. The Clan Landers were ready to go through the gate. Eynon’s red magestone pulsed hot and fast, strobing crimson light across the snow near the top of the mountain. Lightning struck his shield and sent small, tingling jolts of electricity inside it, making the hairs on his arms stand up. The Clan Land wizards’ attacks made Eynon’s red magestone even more eager to release its energy.

  He didn’t turn around to see how many pursued him until he made it to a spot a hundred feet above the mountain’s white summit. Five Clan Land wizards were closing on his position. Each had a strong protective shield.

  Eynon bled off a tiny portion of the energy from his red magestone to make his own spherical shield as thick and strong as possible. He sent an anchoring spear of solidified sound from the base of his shield and sank it twenty feet into the stone of the peak. Then he leaned back and gave his red magestone permission to release the energy it had stored when it helped him freeze the river. At the last second, Eynon called on his blue magestone to moderate the blast, so the top of the mountain was only struck a hammer blow, not disintegrated.

  He was lucky his blue magestone could act fast enough. Eynon bounced around the interior of his shield like he was rolling down a steep hill inside a barrel. The blast above his head had driven the spike so deep into the rock at the peak that the bottom third of his shield was embedded there. Eynon shook his head to clear it and looked up. A sphere of crimson energy was only now contracting. It still illuminated the land like the light of a dozen suns.

  Down into the valley, Eynon saw the true damage he’d done. His fireball had melted the snow on the mountain all it once. It cascaded down, turning the talus slope into a wave of churning fragments of stone that washed over the southern Clan Land barbarians like a flood made of knives. The lucky ones nearest the gate ran through it ahead of the slurry of talus, but most of the Clan Landers had been knocked off their feet by the blast and caught in the deadly wave coming down the mountain.

  Eynon swooped down the mountain behind the melted snow and talus and examined the gate. It was still functioning. Demoralized Clan Landers were still crossing over, wet and covered with cuts and bruises from sharp rocks. The Mastlanders stood defiantly atop their small hill. The initial blast had clearly knocked them over, but now they were back on their feet. Oaf and Dolt screamed at Eynon as he flew over their heads. Eynon stopped for a moment.

  “Why are you fighting with barbarians?” he asked. “You’re men of Dâron.”

  “Are you really that stupid?” asked Fool.

  “What do you mean?” asked Eynon. He didn’t like being called stupid, especially by Fool.

  “You and Derry’s daughter are the reasons we’re with the clans now,” said Fox. “Derry’s daughter wouldn’t go along with our fun and said she’d tell the earl.”

  “We didn’t wait around to be banished,” said Fool.

  “Seems like you made your own trouble,” said Eynon.

  “And you’ve made plenty of trouble for yourself,” said Fox. “Enough Clan Landers made it through to attack Dâron’s royal army from the rear.”

  “I’ll have to do something about that,” said Eynon.

  He crossed the barrier at twenty feet above the ground and saw the result of the floodwaters that had shifted through the gate to Dâron.

  The four green wizards closest to the gate had been caught in the deluge and washed away. Doethan and Fercha used planes of solidified sound to push the remaining six surprised Tamloch wizards through the wide gate’s interface before they recovered from the shock. Fercha stared at Eynon and raised an eyebrow. Doethan nodded at Eynon and the young wizard used a fraction of the remaining power in his red magestone to burn up the sparkling rope covered with magestone fragments that formed the upper side of the gate. Tiny bits of magestones fell like glittering rain.

  “Well done!” said Doethan as he circled Eynon on his flying disk. “I don’t know what you did exactly, but it’s hard to argue with your results.”

  “It might have been better if you’d stopped all the Clan Landers, not just most of them,” noted Fercha. They saw perhaps two thousand warriors wearing tartans digging themselves out of piles of talus and searching for shields and weapons. The Clan Landers didn’t look happy. They eyed the Dâron army’s encampment not far to the north.

  Two blonde girls with long braids circled Eynon, Doethan and Fercha on small gold dragons.

  “Hello, Eynon,” said Sigrun.

  “This is awesome!” said Rannveigr, staring down at the aftermath of the flood. “Are those southern Clan Landers?
I’ve never seen any of them before.”

  “Yes, they’re southern Clan Landers,” said Eynon. “There are eight or ten thousand of them on the other side of the gate I just closed.”

  “Wow!” said Rannveigr. She moved her head and her braids swung back and forth, emphasizing her excitement.

  “Could you take a message back to your parents?” asked Eynon.

  “I see where this is going,” said Rannveigr.

  “I’d be glad to,” said Sigrun. “Bifurlanders haven’t tested their warriors against southern Clan Landers yet either. They look like they’d be more fun to fight than legionnaires.”

  “See if Bjarni can land troops north of here soon enough to prevent the Clan Landers from sacking our encampment,” said Fercha.

  “We’d really appreciate it,” said Doethan.

  “We’ll hurry,” said Rannveigr.

  “Please warn your mother and father about the ice across the river to the north,” said Eynon.

  “We know about that,” said Sigrun. “We watched you do it.”

  “You were awesome,” said Rannveigr.

  Eynon smiled. “Thank you,” he said, giving a small bow to both girls.

  “You might also tell him to send enough ships up to the ice to form a broadside wall along it,” Eynon suggested.

  “Why should they do that?” asked Rannveigr.

  “Odds are good you’ll be able to collect a lot of Tamloch soldiers to ransom back to King Túathal,” said Eynon.

  “That’s not fun,” said Rannveigr.

  “I’ll pass the word,” said Sigrun. She turned her dragon to the east, ready to leave.

  “Thank you,” said Eynon. “You should find plenty of meat on the hoof to roast for tonight’s dinner, too.”

  “Wow!” said Rannveigr. “We’re going to have a feast!”

  “Come along, cousin,” said Sigrun.