The Wizard Lord

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “That’s a part I don’t quite understand. What link?”

  “The link that keeps the Wizard Lord from just killing me if I go up against him; my talisman, the Talisman of Blades, is bound to one of his, the Talisman of Strength—it’s one of the eight Great Talismans that provide most of his magic. If I die, if the Wizard Lord kills me, the link between my soul and my talisman will break, and the ler of my talisman will know, and because they know the ler of the Great Talisman will know, and the knowledge will free them of the oaths that hold them, and the Wizard Lord will lose one-eighth of his power. We eight Chosen each have one. If he kills four of the Chosen, then half his magic would be lost, and so on. If he were to kill all eight he would be nothing but an ordinary wizard, if that, and the Council or perhaps even just local priests would be able to deal with him.”

  Breaker considered this for a long moment, then said, “Perhaps I am not as ready as I thought. I knew there was a talisman and that I would need to take ownership of it by some magical means, but I hadn’t realized that would mean binding my soul, or tying me to the Wizard Lord through a series of talismans . . .” He shuddered.

  “Are you thinking you might not want the job at all, then?”

  Breaker took a deep breath, then said, “No. I want it. I just want to absorb all this. If you call the wizards, though, how long until they arrive?”

  The Old Swordsman shrugged. “Who knows? They’re wizards.”

  “Call them,” the young man said. “I’ll be ready soon, probably by the time they get here.”

  “Good,” the older man said. “Very good.” He cast an oddly troubled look at the younger man, then clapped him on the shoulder. “Enough for today,” he said. “Let us go find someplace warm!”

  [6]

  The first wizard came flying down out of the gray winter clouds just two days later. He dropped down into the middle of the village at midday, but stopped abruptly a few inches above the ground and hung awkwardly in the air at the center of a small whirlwind. Mad Oak’s own ler were not making him welcome.

  Naturally, this apparition caused quite a commotion. The weather was cold and overcast, so most of the townspeople were indoors, but a few children had been throwing snowballs at one another in the square. They ran screaming when the wizard arrived, calling for their parents, the priests, and the village ler. Breaker, who still thought of himself by that name even though most of his neighbors now called him Young Swordsman, or just Sword, had been moving firewood from the shed to the hearth when the commotion began, and did not hear it immediately; when he did realize something out of the ordinary was happening he still took the time to stack the wood in its proper place before following his sisters down the sloping street.

  The Old Swordsman had been cleaning a sword, and did not rush the job; he finished his task, then carefully sheathed the blade and put away his cloths and polishes before finding his coat and joining the crowd.

  Almost the entire village stood in a circle, leaving a broad open area around the wizard, when the Young Swordsman arrived; only the three clerics—Elder Priestess, Priest, and Younger Priestess—had dared approach closely. As the young man strode up he could hear the wizard speaking.

  “. . . no harm; flying was simply the fastest way to get here.”

  Breaker looked over the shoulders of his neighbors, and marveled at this wizard—and quite aside from the fact that he was hanging in midair, supported only by wind-spirits, his appearance left no doubt that he was a wizard.

  The two wizards who had accompanied the Old Swordsman three months before had looked like ordinary travelers, for the most part. Oh, they had had their staves and talismans, and the ara feathers any traveler would have, but their clothing had been plain woolen cloaks over the same garb anyone might have worn. This new arrival, though, was far more flamboyant. He wore a bright red robe trimmed with elaborate embroidery in gold and green; the patterned hem flapped around his ankles, and the wide sleeves fluttered. His unbound black hair would have reached halfway down his back had it not been whipping wildly in the unnatural wind that held him aloft. A dozen talismans rattled and gleamed on a cord around his neck, and gold rings the size of a circled thumb and forefinger hung from his ears. The carved and enameled staff in his hands was capped and shod in gold, and held a score of additional talismans.

  “And why were you in such a hurry to visit Mad Oak?” Elder Priestess asked.

  “Because the opportunity to see the world’s greatest swordsman in formal combat does not come along often, and I didn’t want to miss it!”

  The Young Swordsman stiffened as several dozen pairs of eyes turned toward him, including the eyes of all three of his sisters.

  The wizard saw the direction of those gazes, and turned his own attention that way, as well. Elder took her time before she, too, turned.

  “Formal combat?” she said.

  “Yes,” the Young Swordsman admitted. “But it won’t . . . I mean, we aren’t . . .”

  “To first blood,” the Old Swordsman said from behind him. “I believe the young man is ready to attempt it.” He strode up and clapped Breaker on the shoulder.

  “You said he was,” the wizard called.

  “And we will find out soon whether I was right. I believe certain magic must be involved, though, for the match to have its intended effect of transferring the title—magic requiring a wizard’s attention. That was why I sent word to all of you.”

  “I’d have been just as happy if no one watched,” Breaker said, to no one in particular.

  “When will it be?” the wizard asked. “The message was vague—you know how poor a sense of time some ler have.”

  “We hadn’t set an exact time,” the Old Swordsman replied. “We needed to know just what’s required in the way of wizards’ magic.”

  “Oh, it’s a simple partial release and fresh binding—very easy, the sort of thing even an apprentice could probably do,” the wizard said. “I could certainly manage it, if you like—you could hold the match this very afternoon.”

  The two swordsmen looked at each other.

  “If it’s all the same, I’d prefer to . . .” the younger began.

  “We wait,” the elder interrupted. “No offense, Red Wizard, to you or your ler, but I’d be happier with more than one experienced magician involved. Just to be safe.”

  “Of course, of course.” The wizard attempted a bow of acknowledgment, but the magical vortex held him upright, turning the bow into more of a wiggle. “You can demand half the Council, if you like—I think we’ll all be eager to see it.”

  “I was going to say, I would rather wait,” Breaker said, glaring at his teacher.

  “Then might I ask, my esteemed priest and priestesses, that you petition the ler of your lands to let me set foot in Mad Oak?” the wizard asked, turning to the clerics. “I assure you, I mean no ill to any person or spirit here, and will keep my own immaterial servants in check.”

  “And I suppose you’ll want lodging, as well,” Elder Priestess said.

  “Oh, I would not wish to intrude on your privacy; I will be happy to sleep in the pavilion on the ridge, if that might be permitted.”

  “I thought wizards were supposed to be arrogant,” Spider whispered in Breaker’s ear as the clerics conferred. “He doesn’t seem arrogant to me!”

  “He looks fancy enough, though, with all his bright colors and things!” Fidget whispered in reply.

  “Wizards are just people,” their brother replied. “The Old Swordsman’s told me all about them—some are arrogant, some are humble. Like anyone.”

  A murmur of chanting came from the circle, and abruptly, the whirlwind vanished; the wizard stumbled as he dropped the last few inches onto the frozen mud of the square, but caught himself without falling.

  “Thank you,” he said, essaying a proper bow this time.

  “Our ler prefer human beings to arrive on foot,” Priest said, apologetically. “They have a very strong sense of how things ought to be
.”

  “Of course,” the wizard said, brushing off his robes and shaking his hair into place. “I meant no offense. Every town’s ler have their own little whims; I just hadn’t realized yours had that particular preference. Naturally, I’ll do everything I can to oblige them.”

  “Come on,” Elder Priestess said. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.” She beckoned for the wizard to follow her as she led the way toward her home. Apparently she had no intention of making the town’s guest sleep in the drafty, poorly heated pavilion, despite his offer.

  Thinking of the cold, Breaker wondered idly, not for the first time, why the Wizard Lord allowed winter to still happen; was his command of the weather not enough to prevent it? The Old Swordsman had claimed not to know any answer to that one.

  “Well, that’s one wizard,” the Old Swordsman said, smiling at Harp, Fidget, Spider, and their brother as they all turned toward home, eager to get out of the cold. “Two or three will be enough. Then we’ll put on our show, give you the talisman and bind the ler, and I’ll be done with it all, ready to leave as soon as the roads are open in the spring.”

  “And you’ll be the Chosen Swordsman,” Fidget said, looking up at her brother. “Who’d have ever thought that would happen?”

  The Old Swordsman laughed, but Breaker just batted a hand at his sister, who ducked the blow easily. He did not laugh.

  And, he noticed, neither did his other sisters.

  Other wizards were not long in coming. With the river frozen over and snow blocking the paths only those who had captured wind elementals or found other ways to fly were able to come, so the first wizard’s flamboyant arrival was repeated, with minor variations, three more times over a period of five days. All these wizards, two men and a woman, were strangers; apparently the two who had brought the Swordsman to Mad Oak in the first place either had not received the message, had decided not to attend, or were unable to fly.

  And four wizards, the Old Swordsman decided, was plenty; with this fourth and last arrival the wizards now outnumbered the priests hosting them, and waiting for more would be an imposition on Mad Oak’s hospitality. Furthermore, he and Breaker had gone over their plans carefully, and both felt ready to perform their little exhibition. They could not rehearse it move for move, as that would make it impossible to fool the ler, and trying to set out specific moves in words did not seem entirely practical, but they agreed on what areas the Old Swordsman would try to leave exposed to Breaker’s blade, and discussed just how the performance could be kept spontaneous and convincing while still yielding the desired result.

  Thus prepared, the Old Swordsman sent Spider and Fidget to tell the assorted magicians that the formal challenge would be made the next day, and on the afternoon following the fourth wizard’s arrival the Old Swordsman strode into the town square and proclaimed loudly to no one in particular, “I am the world’s greatest swordsman! No one in Barokan can defeat me with a blade!”

  Breaker had been waiting in a convenient doorway, feeling the tension in the air that meant ler were listening and watching; he thought he had even glimpsed light and movement in some of the winter shadows. Now he straightened up, flung back his hood, and marched out to face his teacher.

  “I can defeat you, you old fraud,” he said, “if you forgo magical assistance!”

  Wind stirred, and shadows moved; a wave of glitter seemed to glide across a nearby snowdrift, as if something were refracting the watery sunlight. The air almost seemed to vibrate; the former Breaker had never before felt such a concentration of ler, not even during the spring planting rites.

  “I need no magic to beat the likes of you,” the elder sneered.

  “The empty words of a windbag!”

  “The simple truth.”

  The younger raised his hand in challenge. “Then prove it—send away your captive ler, put down your talismans, and face me on even terms!”

  Now he could feel dozens of eyes on him, as well as the presence of the ler. He resisted the temptation to look around at the hidden audience, peering through shutters or door cracks, or around corners—but even Priest’s old cat, curled on a windowsill, seemed to be staring at him.

  All four wizards were unquestionably in the surrounding houses, watching through the shutters to be certain that the challenge was properly made.

  “I will!” the old man called happily. “Tomorrow, when the sun tops the eastern cliff, we will meet here with our swords. I will order my ler not to interfere, and we will see that my title is no brag, but mere fact!”

  “Tomorrow, then, old man!”

  And with that, the two turned on their respective heels and marched off.

  Behind them the air shimmered, and the cat’s gaze followed the Young Swordsman’s departure.

  [7]

  The sky overhead was already blue and brightening when Breaker arrived in the town square, well before the sun cleared the looming clifftops to the east. He wore a white woolen coat he had borrowed; he hoped it would make him harder to see against the snowy surroundings. Yes, the Old Swordsman intended to lose the fight, but the youth wanted to make it easy for him—and, more importantly, believable for those watching, both human and ler. Ler responded to human beliefs and emotions, as Elder Priestess had told him often enough, so the fight had to look as convincing as possible to everyone and everything watching.

  And yes, the audience was already there. Priest was standing in his doorway, watching somberly, wrapped in the red cloak he wore when acting as magistrate. To one side the two priestesses, Elder and Younger, were waiting, both wearing the green of their office. Joker and Broke-nose and Spitter were leaning against a nearby wall, hands in the pockets of their long winter coats, their expressions surprisingly serious.

  Breaker’s family had followed him to the square, and his parents and younger siblings stood clustered at one edge of the square. Harp, followed by Smudge, had joined the other musicians in a corner, though of course none of them had brought their instruments. Digger had joined them, though he had never shown any interest in music; noticing Smudge’s annoyed expression, Breaker guessed that his friend had been a little too obvious in showing that his interest lay in the harpist, rather than the harp.

  The Red Wizard and two of the others, the woman known in Mad Oak simply as the Wizard Woman and the man called Greybeard, stood gathered at one side; the fourth wizard, Black Coat, had not yet appeared.

  Dozens of other townsfolk stood waiting, as well—none of them had ever seen a real swordfight, unless the last few months of practice might be counted.

  And the air shimmered with the presence of ler; colored light sparkled in every shadow. Breaker looked around, trying to gauge their mood, as he drew his sword and took a practice swing.

  That was how he came to notice the rabbit, and the hawk, and Priest’s cat, all staring at him.

  The cat—well, cats were inexplicable creatures, and might stare for any reason, or none at all. The hawk might conceivably have been attracted by the presence of so many ler, thinking they might guide it to its prey.

  But what was a rabbit in its long white winter coat doing in the middle of town, sitting unafraid among so many humans, and staring so intently at one of them? He stared back.

  Some of the observers noticed his intent gaze, and they, too, saw the rabbit in the square.

  The rabbit noticed them, as well, but did not react in anything like normal rabbit fashion; it did not freeze, or flee, but looked casually around.

  “Yes,” it said, in a high-pitched, inhuman voice, “it’s magic.”

  Someone in the audience screamed, and several others murmured; feet shuffled in the snow, and someone tumbled on a slick spot and caught herself against a wall. The so-called Young Swordsman, feeling very young indeed, closed his eyes and swallowed.

  He had heard of talking animals, but he had never seen one before—well, not one he could understand; he knew that the priests could sometimes speak to the ler of ordinary beasts and birds, just as
they spoke to other ler. An animal speaking aloud in a human tongue was an entirely different matter; he had never really believed in them, even though the Old Swordsman had told him that the Wizard Lord used them as messengers.

  And believing or not, he had certainly never imagined they might sound like this; he had assumed they would have human voices, but the rabbit spoke human words in a rabbit’s voice, to very disconcerting and unnatural effect.

  He opened his eyes again and focused on the rabbit, which looked calmly back. He asked, “What sort of magic? What are you?”

  “I am a rabbit, of course—but at the moment I serve as the eyes, ears, and voice of the Wizard Lord.”

  The voice was almost a squeal, some of the words hard to make out, but Breaker understood perfectly—presumably, he thought, because that was part of the magic.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t take an interest in the identity of the Chosen Swordsman?” the rabbit asked. “The Chosen are of rather obvious importance to me—I want to know they are all people of good sense and goodwill, and not glory-seekers who might declare me evil so that they can make themselves a name by slaying me.”

  “It hadn’t occurred to me,” Breaker admitted. “You’re so far away . . .” He shuddered as a thought struck him. “You are far away, aren’t you?”

  “I am,” the rabbit said. “I am in my tower in the Galbek Hills; I couldn’t spare the time to come in person, and would not wish to impose on Mad Oak’s hospitality in the depths of winter in any case.”

  “Thank you,” the youth said, though he was not sure what he meant by it. “We are honored, of course.” He bowed. “I’ll try my best to show good sense—if I win, I mean. I certainly mean you no ill.”

  “I can see that.”

  Breaker jerked upright at that. Could the Wizard Lord see into his heart, hear his thoughts? Accounts of just what the magical overlord of Barokan might be capable of were wildly inconsistent and universally considered unreliable—even the Old Swordsman said he was unsure just what was true and what was mere legend.