The wizard at Mecq tst-1

by Rick Shelley

  A brief summer thunderstorm, no matter how welcome for the moment, could have no lasting effect on the valley's drought, and many of the villagers moved on to that thought in a hurry, while the clouds were still forming, still spreading.

  When the sun was hidden and the first drops of rain fell, the temperature dropped suddenly. The breeze got stronger, cooler. Villagers stood facing the wind, arms spread to catch as much of the refreshing air as possible. Some closed their eyes and sighed their relief at even a momentary respite from the heat and drought.

  A bolt of lightning flashed, far to the south, beyond Mecq's valley. The thunder arrived behind it. A moment later, there was another flash of lightning, this one off in the other direction, over the lands of the Duke of Blethye.

  Silvas remained mostly oblivious to anything close to him. He continued to chant, sometimes moving his staff-raising it above his head, still parallel to the ground, or shifting his grip to point the silver ferrule to the sky. His concentration was too deep for him to notice the cooling of the air flowing by him.

  I must be careful, he reminded himself. The proper amounts in the proper places.

  The drizzle grew to a light rain over Mecq's valley, a soft rain that would have time to soak into the parched ground. It never fell hard enough for it to simply run off into the Eyler and disappear between the twin hills into the demesne of Blethye. Farther off, both upstream and down, the rain was heavier, the wind more furious. Lightning tickled the peaks between Mecq and Blethye, but no lightning struck within the valley. Upstream, the lightning came fast and often, painting jagged lines across the sky.

  Villagers started to gather on the green, keeping a respectable distance from the pentagram. Mostly they watched in silence. A few shouted thanks or encouragement. After a time Silvas brought himself out of his deep concentration. It might help to remain within the magic until it was done, but a new thought had come to him.

  "Do you see that rain south of here?" he shouted, pointing toward the grayness upstream. "In an hour or two, that water will run through this valley. The least you could do is throw a course or two of rocks across the Eyler. There." He pointed downstream, toward the gap between the hills.

  The villagers looked where he pointed, then looked back at Silvas. Fear was plain in many eyes.

  "For God's sake, you're not going to build a full dam!" Silvas shouted. "In this storm, Blethye will never notice. And anyway, I am here now to protect you." He loaded the last with power. Still no one rushed off to do the work.

  Silvas pointed his staff directly overhead and uttered a quick chant. Lightning flashed by directly over him. The thunder that came with it was immediate and almost deafening.

  "I am here!" Silvas thundered in its wake, borrowing such of the thunder's noise as he could. "I will be here until I am no longer needed. Help yourselves while you may."

  "To the river," a voice shouted from Silvas's right. He needed a moment to recognize the voice as Master Ian's. "We can't let an outsider do everything for us."

  "Our Unseen Lord has sent this man to help us," Brother Paul's voice added. "Can we insult our Lord by refusing to help ourselves?"

  Brother Paul and Master Ian herded and led the villagers to the river. No one paid any heed to the slow, steady rain falling on them. It was too rare a treat for anyone to run to get out of it. Silvas watched people moving to the river, some six dozen of them, nearly half the adults who lived in the village. Children ran after, or ran on ahead. There was happiness in the voices of the children. Rain was a special treat for them, and they didn't bear the burden of memories of Blethye's anger.

  Silvas slid back into the web of his incantations for a moment, checking that every thread remained strong and true. He longed to stay within the web, to see his conjuration through to a perfect finish, but there was other work to do. He spoke a spell of passage and stepped through, out of the pentagram, and hurried after the villagers who were heading toward the river. They might yet need more encouragement from him.

  There were plenty of rocks for the villagers to grab down in the almost empty watercourse. Many were small enough for a single person to move. Others required the combined efforts of two or three strong farmers. Master Ian pointed out where the rocks should be laid, against a natural rocky seam crossing the Eyler well below the village. Perhaps where the previous dam was, Silvas thought as he shouted his own words of encouragement. It seems a good place for it.

  Not much could be done in the hour that the villagers would have before the rush of water came downstream. Silvas went down into the riverbed to help. His strength was more than the equal of any of the farmers. For a time Silvas and Master Ian worked together, moving rocks that would have taken three or four of the others.

  "I have to watch for the water now," Silvas told the innkeeper after they had lugged a round dozen rocks into position. "Everyone will have to get clear before the flash arrives. We don't want to have anyone drown or get their heads bashed into these stones."

  Master Ian merely nodded. Keeping up with the wizard had left him too short of breath for words.

  The level of the Eyler had already increased a little behind the stones, and the current was moving faster. Silvas climbed to the top of the bank on the village side of the river and focused his attention upstream, looking with his mind as well as with his telesight. An accident now would undo much of the good his magic was providing. It would be a mark against him in the minds of the villagers, perhaps enough to totally offset the benefits of the extra water.

  "Everyone up, out of the way," Silvas shouted when he sensed that the floor was near. "The water comes!"

  Few needed a second warning. Silvas watched the people scrambling up, helping one another, urging each other. And then the people of Mecq lined the riverbank, waiting for the water.

  It came. It was not a real flood. There hadn't been enough rain for that, but in minutes the Eyler grew to six times its previous size. The makeshift dam held back the water for only a moment. Then it overflowed the rocks and continued toward the demesne of the Duke of Blethye.

  "I have to get my lads busy filling the cistern," Master Ian shouted as he ran toward the Boar and Bear.

  While the villagers continued to watch the river, Brother Paul came over to Silvas.

  "I have received a message from Bishop Egbert concerning you," the vicar said softly.

  Silvas nodded. Since there hadn't been time for the rider to return from St. Ives, he knew that the message must have come through magic. Bishop Egbert would have the power to transmit such a message, Silvas realized. Egbert was a man of magical substance, an adept of the Greater Mysteries of the White Brotherhood. Brother Paul's talents would be stretched to the maximum to receive such a message. He could never initiate such communication. He might be able to reply in kind if a greater power contacted him.

  "Perhaps we should talk where we can be comfortable and won't be disturbed," Silvas said. "May I offer you the hospitality of my home?" He smiled and kept his eyes on the vicar's face. Brother Paul hesitated for only an instant, reminding himself that Silvas had shown no fear of entering St. Katrinka's during their previous conference. And besides, there was the bishop's message.

  "I would be honored," Brother Paul said with a slight nod.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Brother Paul whispered a prayer under his breath as he accompanied the wizard into the smoke. The vicar had heard the tales of what the inside looked like. Both Old Maga and Henry Fitz-Matthew had described it, so he was prepared. Even so, he stopped when they cleared the gate towers and looked around. The castle of Mecq was not the only castle that Brother Paul had ever seen. He had spent the first two years after he took his final vows as a mendicant, traveling the countryside much as Silvas claimed to. Brother Paul had walked, though, and there had been no such refuge as this for him to retreat to every night. Brother Paul had seen castles, including some of the finest in the kingdom, and none could begin to compare with this one.

  "It
is known as the Glade, sometimes as the Seven Towers," Silvas said.

  "It isn't raining," Brother Paul noted. "Has the shower stopped and the sky cleared so quickly?"

  "Not at all. It's still raining in Mecq. But we are no longer there. If you were to leave through the postern instead of the main gate, you would find yourself many scores of leagues from Mecq."

  "This represents a most powerful magic," Brother Paul said, carefully understating his impression. The pillar of smoke had been enough to convince the friar that Silvas was truly a wizard-potent. Seeing what that smoke concealed made him completely revise his opinion of what wizard-potent meant. He could scarcely conceive the level of power that would be required to establish and maintain this magic. Until this moment he would never have credited that any mortal could have done it. He would have termed this a god-like power.

  "Our Unseen Lord allows me this refuge," Silvas said, as if he could follow the friar's thoughts. "It is not something I could accomplish on my own."

  That brought Brother Paul's eyes back from their sightseeing. He turned and met the wizard's gaze.

  "We are not so much different, you and I," Silvas said. "I believe that we serve the same Lord. Our missions are different. You are of the church-pastoral. My role is somewhat more… militant, shall we say. The comforts of the flock are not for all of our Unseen Lord's servants."

  "A wolf in the sheepfold?" Brother Paul could not repress the question, but Silvas merely smiled.

  "Even the wolf has a purpose to fulfill," the wizard said. "You said that you have received word about me from Bishop Egbert."

  "Yes. Quite a long message under the circumstances."

  "Come, I'll give you a tour of the Glade and we can talk," Silvas said.

  "That might be… educational," the friar said after another short hesitation.

  Silvas laughed. "An excellent choice of words, Vicar."

  Silvas led the way around the courtyard, identifying the various outbuildings. They stopped briefly at the stable, so Bay would see that the vicar had come to call. "You will note that Bay is the only horse of his size here. The rest are quite ordinary in that respect. Bay is unique," Silvas told Brother Paul, thinking, In more ways than you suspect. Then they went on to the keep, stopping in the great hall for wine and to sit in comfort for a few minutes.

  "In part, the bishop's message was as you suggested," the vicar said. "In truth, he quoted the exact passage you did." Brother Paul managed a look of trifling embarrassment over that. "Even so, I am certain that it was Bishop Egbert who contacted me." He took another sip of wine and complimented Silvas on it before he continued.

  "The bishop said that your work is not unknown to the White Brotherhood and that even His Majesty has looked with favor on your efforts. He also instructed me to pose you a question."

  "What question is that?" Silvas asked.

  The friar closed his eyes as he quoted, " 'Who dies on the altar of Canterbury?' " Then he opened his eyes to watch Silvas's face.

  The wizard smiled. The question was from the initiation rites into the Greater Mysteries of the White Brotherhood, something that would be beyond Brother Paul's knowledge.

  " 'No one dies there but the ghost of a ghost from another time in another world,' " Silvas said, quoting the ritual response.

  "That is the answer I was to look for," Brother Paul said.

  "It is not the surest test of one such as I, but it covers many of the possibilities." Silvas smiled. "Unless you would like more wine first, we still have a lot to see. Let me show you the view."

  Brother Paul drained his goblet and stood. "I am most curious to learn as much as I can of this place," he said. I am most curious to learn as much as I can of you, he thought. Silvas smiled again, understanding the unspoken as well as the spoken message.

  "Are you so nearly alone in this castle?" Brother Paul asked as they climbed the main stairs to the levels above the great hall. They had seen only a handful of human retainers since the friar entered the smoke. There had been no sight of any of the non-human servants.

  "I have staff enough for my needs," Silvas said. Bosc and his kindred, and the lupine warriors, were very efficient at staying out of sight. It was a "magic" they were long used to performing. They always seemed to know when not to startle a visitor with their presence. "They are busy at their work, I would say," Silvas told the vicar. "I have good people. They do not need constant oversight."

  "A most fortunate advantage," the vicar said.

  "It is," Silvas agreed, ignoring the hint of sarcasm he thought he detected in the words. "Have a look at this view." They stopped at a window that looked out over the walls of the Glade. Silvas stepped aside to let Brother Paul get close.

  "That is certainly not the valley of Mecq," the friar said after a moment of looking at the long, narrow valley with its lush forest and healthy fields, "though there was once a time when Mecq might have looked this inviting." Brother Paul looked for anything that he might recognize, but by the time he took his gaze from the view he had decided that it was no place he had ever been to.

  "It is a good place," Silvas said. "I have another view for you." It took several minutes to reach the turret off the east tower so Brother Paul could look out over Mecq.

  "It is still raining," the friar noted. Most of the villagers were still out in it. "There will be many with chills and fever by morning, I think."

  "They will welcome even that," Silvas said with a chuckle. The vicar nodded in agreement. "How runs the Eyler?"

  "Deeper than I have seen it but twice in my years here," the friar said, looking to the side. "I have never seen Mecq from this vantage." He took considerable time looking at his church, the inn and mill, the cottages, even Sir Eustace's castle.

  "How can your castle be in two locations at once?" Brother Paul asked when he finally turned away from the view.

  "It cannot and is not," Silvas said. "The Glade never moves from the place where it was built. The magic of the smoke merely lets me travel between it and wherever I have erected the pillar. As I said, it is a comfort that our Unseen Lord permits me."

  "A most generous comfort."

  "It is indeed," Silvas agreed. "But there is a price, as you might imagine."

  The vicar's "Yes?" was more question than statement of agreement.

  "There is more that we need to speak of now that you have your word of me. Let's go to my library for that."

  They had passed through the library on their way up to the turret, as they had passed through Silvas's conjuring room. Going back down, Brother Paul got another surprise. Satin and Velvet joined them in the conjuring room. The sight of the big cats gave the friar a visible start-the first sight in the Glade that had managed to discompose him.

  "They are but overlarge pets," Silvas said. "They are friendly to friends."

  "They look as though they would…" The friar wasn't sure how to finish the statement, so he let it hang.

  "They are efficient guards at need as well," Silvas said. Brother Paul nodded.

  In the library, a space had been cleared on a small table for a silver tray that held a carafe of wine, two crystal goblets, and a plate of fruit and cheese. Satin and Velvet curled up on the floor, but they kept their eyes on Silvas and Brother Paul.

  "Help yourself, Vicar," Silvas invited, gesturing at the food while he poured wine.

  "More invisibly efficient servants?" Brother Paul asked as he selected a small cube of cheese. He tried to restrain the impulse to stare at the cats, with only moderate success. They made him nervous enough that his hand started to move to the cross hanging from his neck.

  "Efficient, yes; invisible, no," Silvas said. "I would guess that my lady Carillia is responsible for this. She would have directed the servants to prepare for us."

  "I would be honored to meet your lady and thank her for her attentiveness," Brother Paul said.

  "You shall," Silvas said. "I imagine that she merely waits for us to conclude our discussions."

/>   Brother Paul tasted the wine. It was the same vintage he had drunk in the great hall, aromatic, just slightly sweet, and potent. The contrast worked well with the cheese and with the fruit that the vicar sampled while he waited for the wizard to get to the additional talk he had mentioned.

  "There is more at stake in Mecq than water or a few people with illnesses," Silvas said finally. "I have been given-call it a vision. The hows and whys of it escape me, I confess, but somehow Mecq has become a focal point for a major confrontation." There was a limit to what Brother Paul would accept. Silvas wasn't completely certain where he would find that limit, though. The vicar had proclaimed himself an initiate of the Lesser Mysteries, and much of what Silvas had seen and heard was far beyond those.

  "The Blue Rose seems poised for an attempt to overthrow the White Brotherhood," Silvas said, speaking slowly now. "For the first time, perhaps, they seem to have real power behind them." He paused and then said, "Considerable power."

  "Satanic power?" Brother Paul asked.

  "You would call it that," the wizard agreed. "It is even one of the names that Bishop Egbert would have for it." Silvas nodded, mostly to himself. That should give Brother Paul some clue without calling in question the things he would have been taught.

  "More power than you yourself have?" the friar asked.

  "If it is all applied against me, certainly," Silvas said. "If our Unseen Lord did not stand beside me, I would be hopelessly outmatched."

  "My flock remains in danger?"

  "Grave danger," Silvas said. "They have been in grave danger since the Blue Rose decided that Mecq was important-and I still don't know the reason for that importance. It may simply be the connection of Sir Eustace's father to the crusade against them. There might be more that I haven't discovered yet." Silvas shrugged. "But together you and I may be able to protect the villagers from the worst of the wrath of the Blue Rose."