by Rick Cook
"They don’t change at random. They don’t really change at all. It’s just that an object can be a member of more than one class."
"Classes again!"
"Look at this," Wiz said, dragging out a couple of sheets of parchment and laying them out side by side so all the spell was visible. "Okay, here this variable is called ’elfshot,’ right?"
"Why is it named that?"
"It’s not named that. That’s only what it’s called in this routine. Its name is ’dragons_tail’."
"Well," demanded the wizard, "if it is ’dragons_tail’, why do you call it ’elfshot’? And how do you add a ’dragons_tail’ to this, this loop variable."
"No, no," Wiz said desperately. "It is actually seven at this point in the program and that’s what gets added to the loop variable."
"Well, if it’s seven then why don’t you just say so?" roared the wizard.
"Because it isn’t always seven."
The wizard growled in disgust.
"Look, I think I’m getting a headache. Why don’t we leave this for right now, okay? Just try working the program through again and we’ll go over it in our next session."
The early end to the tutorial with Malus left Wiz with time to spare and a completely ruined temper. He wanted someplace quiet where he could be alone to think. Leaving his workroom door unlocked he left the central keep, threaded his way through two courtyards and climbed a set of stairs to the top of the wall surrounding the entire complex.
The parapet was one of his favorite places. It was usually deserted and the view was spectacular. The Capital perched on a spine of rock where two rivers met. From the north the ridge sloped gently up to drop off precipitously in cliffs hundreds of feet high to the south and along the east and west where the rivers ran.
On the highest part of the ridge stood the great castle of the Council of the North, its towers thrusting skyward above the cliffs. Here the Council and most of the rest of the Mighty had their homes and workshops. Behind the castle and trailing down the spine came the town. In the cliffs below the castle were the caverns that served as aeries for the dragon cavalry. As Wiz stood and watched, a single dragon launched itself from below and climbed out over the valley with a thunder of wings.
The parapet was nearly fifteen feet wide. It sloped gently toward the outer wall so that rainwater and liquid fire thrown by enemies would both drain over the sides and down the cliff. The outer edge was marked by crenellations, waist-high blocks of stone that would protect the defenders from enemy arrows. It always reminded Wiz of the witch’s castle in The Wizard of Oz, except that this was much grander.
Wiz walked along, guilty about taking the time away from his work and yet happy to be away. The swallows whipped by him as they swooped and dove along the cliff edge to catch the insects borne aloft by the rising current of air.
The day was bright and cloudless and the air soft and warm enough that he appreciated the breeze blowing up from the river. Faintly and in the distance he could hear the sounds of the castle and town. Somewhere a blacksmith was beating iron on an anvil. From this distance it sounded like tiny bells.
There was a place he favored when he wanted to get away, a spot where a bend in the wall and a watch tower combined to shut out all sight and most sound of the Capital. From there he could look out over the green and yellow patchwork of the fields and woods and into the misty blue distance.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows in one of the crenellations. If only . . .
He felt the stone shift under his weight but by that time it was too late. The block gave way and he was pitched headlong out over the abyss.
Frantically he lashed out with his arms and miraculously his fingers met stone. His arm was nearly yanked out of its socket as he twisted around and slammed face first into the wall. But his grip held and he was left dangling by one hand against the sheer wall.
The crenellation had taken part of the stone facing with it, leaving the rough inner masonry beneath. Wiz was hanging by his fingertips from the edge of the facing, just below where the stone block had been.
Far below him, between his dangling legs, he saw the dislodged block bouncing and tumbling off the cliff. It hit the water with a splash that looked no bigger than a match head. Wiz sucked in his breath and clinched his eyes tight to ward off the dizziness.
Frantically he scrabbled for a hold for his left hand. First his fingers slipped over the smooth surface of the facing. Then at last they caught on another place where the facing blocks had pulled loose. With both hands secure, Wiz opened his eyes and stared at the stone in front of his nose, breathing heavily.
At last he managed to look up. Bracing his feet against the wall, he levered his way up and snatched another handhold slightly higher up the wall. Then another and another and at last he was able to put his feet on the lip where the facing had pulled away. One more heave and he flopped back on the parapet. Bruised and shaken, he pulled himself back through the space where the crenellation had been.
He moved away from the edge and sank down with his head between his knees, breathing in great shaking gasps. Gradually he got himself back under control and looked around him.
The parapet was deserted. Not even the guards could be seen from this spot and there were no other strollers along the walls. He was completely isolated, but…
Was it his imagination or had he seen a figure flit behind a tower as he pulled himself back onto the parapet?
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. He gave two more private lessons, tried to teach a class of apprentices what the concept of zero was all about and spent nearly half an hour listening to Pelus, who was trying to get him to vote against Juvian at the next Council meeting. The sun had set over the towers of the Capital by the time he left his work room and trudged down the winding stairs to the suite he and Moira shared. Lanterns along the walls cast a warm mellow light on the wide corridors.
Wiz was so tired he barely noticed.
As he came down the hall a young man came toward him. Wiz stepped slightly to the side but instead of moving out of his way the man seemed to step in front of Wiz so he jostled him as they passed.
"Clumsy Sparrow," the young man hissed.
Wiz started to say something, thought better of it, and swept past the sneering young man.
What the hell is his problem? Wiz thought.
He knew the man more or less by sight. An apprentice with a vaguely Welsh name. They had never exchanged more than a half a dozen words and now the man was going out of his way to be insulting.
One more thing to worry about. This place was getting to him. He was trying to do a job he wasn’t very good at, a lot of the people here seemed to hate him, he couldn’t concentrate on the parts he could do and even the simplest thing seemed to take forever. He was stretched tauter than a violin string and the fatigue and tension was telling on him.
The door to their apartment was open and he saw Moira sitting in the light of a magical lantern. The light caught her hair and glints of brushed copper played through it. Her mouth was twisted up in a little moue as she bent over the mending in her lap.
Still, Wiz thought, there are compensations.
As he came into the room he saw there was someone else there. A painfully thin girl with flyaway brown hair was sitting at Moira’s feet working on a piece of embroidery.
Without a word the girl got up and left.
"Hi June," Wiz said to her back as she brushed by.
"What have you been doing?" he said as he came to her.
"Sewing." Moira laughed. "I fear I will never be skilled with a needle."
He leaned over and kissed her. "That’s all right. You’re good at plenty of other things."
She arched one of her coppery eyebrows. "And how am I to take that, My Lord?"
"As a compliment." He bent down and kissed her again.
"And how has your day been?"
Well, let’s see. I insulted one of the most powerful members of the Council,
botched a tutoring session and nearly killed myself by falling off the parapet. "Oh, okay," he mumbled.
Moira looked at him sharply. "What did you do to your nose?"
"I ran into a door. How is June?" He asked quickly to change the subject.
Moira gave him an odd look, but she took the bait. "She improves, I think."
Like Moira, June had been found wandering as a child in the Fringe of the Wild Wood. Unlike Moira, no one knew where she came from or who her parents were. She was quiet, as shy and skittish as a woodland animal. She worked as a maid and servant around Wizard’s Lodge—when anyone could find her.
Wiz had never heard her speak, although Moira said she occasionally talked.
"Can’t you do something to heal her?" Wiz asked.
"Bronwyn, the chief healer, says she is not ill in her mind," Moira said. "That it is merely her way."
"If she’s not ill, she’s sure peculiar."
"That is odd coming from you, Sparrow," Moira said.
"Hey, I’m alien. I admit it. But she," he jerked his head toward the door, "is about three sigma west of strange."
Moira ignored the comment, something she often did when she didn’t understand her husband. "She seems fascinated by your desk," she said.
Wiz looked at the disorderly pile of manuscripts, strips of wood, slates and books on the desk under the window. "Did she touch anything?"
"You know better than that. I would never allow it."
A wizard’s working equipment was dangerous. Even Moira would not touch Wiz’s desk, though having such a mess in their sitting room pained her.
"Hmm. Do you suppose she has a talent for magic?"
Moira shook her head. "I think it is your guardian that attracts her."
Like any wizard, Wiz had created a demon to guard his paraphernalia. His took the form of a foot-long scarlet dragon, now curled peacefully asleep atop Wiz’s big leather-bound "notebook."
Wiz sat down and reached for the notebook. The dragon demon woke and slithered over to a corner of the desk where it resumed its nap.
For the next quarter hour neither of them said anything. The only sound in the room was the scritching of Wiz’s pen and the rustle of fabric as Moira turned the piece in her lap this way and that.
"Oh, I have some news as well," Moira said, putting down her mending.
"That’s nice," Wiz said without looking up.
"Bronwyn says she will teach me the rudiments of the healer’s art. I am too old for an apprentice, of course. In the village of Blackbrook Bend I often did simple healing and Bronwyn says we can build on that."
Wiz grunted.
"And then I’ll sprout wings and grow two extra heads," she said sharply.
Wiz raised his head. "What?"
"You have not heard a word I said, have you?"
Moira threw her mending on the floor and stood up.
"It is bad enough that you are always gone, but when you are here the least you can do is admit that I am alive!"
"I’m sorry, I was just…"
"I will not be ignored." Moira burst into tears.
Wiz came to her and took her in his arms.
"Oh, darling. I didn’t mean to upset you."
"Hold me."
"Moira, I’m sorry I…"
"Don’t talk, just hold me." She clung to him fiercely as if he were about to be swept away from her.
They made love that night. Afterward they lay in each other’s arms without speaking. Wiz didn’t fall asleep until long afterward and he didn’t think Moira did either.
The next day Wiz stumbled through his classes, groggy from lack of sleep. By the time he got home that evening he was ready to drop, but when Moira suggested they walk out to the drill yard he didn’t object.
In the early evenings the guardsmen held free-form practice on the drill ground. Because there was a gathering of young men there, the young ladies of the castle naturally congregated, to sit in the shade or walk along the colonnaded porch that surrounded the beaten earth of the practice court. And where the young ladies congregated naturally became a gathering place for everyone in the keep. From the highest of the Mighty to the workers in the scullery, it had become the traditional place for an evening stroll.
Wiz and Moira joined the promenade with Moira clinging tightly to his arm. They exchanged small talk with their acquaintances, received respectful bows Wiz’s station entitled them to and spent a few minutes talking with Shamus, the Captain of the Guard and a friend of Moira’s from her time at the Capital learning to be a hedge witch.
From a window above the practice yard Ebrion watched them pass. It would go hard on the hedge witch when the Sparrow disappeared and looking at them walk arm-in-arm that thought troubled him. With an effort he shook it off. The good of the many was much more important than the feelings of one hedge witch. Besides, there were rumors that the two were not getting along.
She’ll get over it quickly enough, he told himself. Then he concentrated on what he knew was about to happen in the courtyard below.
"Look, there’s Donal," Moira pointed to a tall dark-haired guardsman who was using a short spear—actually a padded pole—against a man with a sword and shield.
Donal was one of the guardsmen who had accompanied Wiz on his foray into the dungeons beneath the City of Night to rescue Moira. He was skillfully using the length of his weapon to keep his opponent at a distance and flicking the spear out in quick thrusts, searching for a weakness in the man’s guard. As they watched he executed a fast double thrust and parry that swept his opponent’s sword to the side and finished with a solid thrust to the face.
"Oh, well done!" Moira said, laughing and clapping.
Wiz smiled. In the back of his head a small voice was nagging him about all the work he had to do, but the evening was lovely, the place was pretty, and it was pleasant to walk with a beautiful woman, especially when she was your wife.
As they ambled along, a man stepped out from behind one of the pillars and ran into Wiz, nearly knocking him down.
"Hey, watch it." He saw it was the apprentice who had nearly run into him in the hall the night before.
Pryddian curled his lip. "Clumsy Sparrow. Why not use your magic to fly out of the way?"
Moira gasped. Wiz wanted to smash his sneering face. Instead he stepped around Pryddian and walked toward the opposite side of the drill field.
"Wiz, you shouldn’t let him talk to you like that," Moira hissed once they were out of earshot.
"What should I do? Turn him to stone?"
"Oh, don’t be silly," she said angrily. "But at the very least you should put him in his place."
"How?"
Moira considered. Wiz did not have the wizard’s manner that came with years of practicing magic. He could not freeze an apprentice with a look the way a real wizard could. Short of using magic on him—a thing unthinkable—there really was nothing he could do.
"I will speak to Bal-Simba about him."
"I wish you wouldn’t. It will be all right, really."
Moira pressed her lips together and kept walking.
"Ah, Sparrow, My Lord." They turned and saw Juvian coming toward them, a fussy, balding little man who was always in a hurry.
Wiz nodded respectfully. "My Lord."
"Ah yes," Juvian came panting up. "My Lady, I wonder if you could excuse us for a moment. There is a matter of Council business we must discuss." He took Wiz by the elbow and led him off to the reviewing stand that stood on poles at one side of the field. Wiz threw Moira a helpless look over his shoulder, but he did not try to break the Wizard’s hold on his arm.
"He’s a lucky man," said a voice behind her.
Moira turned and saw Shamus.
"I doubt he would agree with you at this instant."
"Nonetheless, lucky." He smiled with an infectious warmth Moira remembered from her student days and extended his arm. "While he is occupied would you do me the honor of accompanying me?"
Moira smiled back
. "Gladly."
Shamus was a lithe, compact man whose shock of sandy hair was thinning with the approach of middle age. His face was deeply tanned and a little windburned with tiny crinkles of laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Moira had had a minor crush on him when last she stayed at the Capital, but her studies left her little time to pursue such things.
"We do not see you out here often enough."
"Wiz’s work keeps him busy," Moira said with a trace more acid than she intended.
"True, but a wife does not have to walk only with her husband."
"I suppose so," Moira sighed and looked around at the strolling, chatting people. "It would be pleasant to be out more."
"It could be pleasant indeed," Shamus said with a smile. "I would be happy to show you."
Moira understood exactly what he was offering. Such things were accepted in the Capital and as long as the affair was carried on discreetly no censure attached to any of the parties.
Moira glanced over to where Wiz was finishing his conversation with Juvian. It would serve him right! She thought. Then she buried the notion with a guilty start.
"I am sorry, My Lord, but I must decline."
"Ah," said Shamus, looking across the drill yard. "A very lucky man indeed." He sighed. "You’ve broken my heart, you know."
Moira followed his eyes to Wiz standing beneath the reviewing stand. "I feel it will mend by the time the next pretty face comes along."
* * *
The object of this by-play leaned back against one of the posts, oblivious to the things being said about him.
In the rings the guardsmen whirled and dodged in mock combat.
As Wiz put his weight against the post it shifted and the entire marshal’s stand teetered.
"Look out!" Moira screamed.
It all seemed to happen in slow motion. The guardsmen and strollers froze. Wiz looked up, mouth open, to see the entire mass toppling down on him. He started to move out of the way, but he was obviously too late.
An armored body hurtled into him, knocking him sideways and slamming him into the earth. Behind them the stand crashed to earth, raising a cloud of dust off the practice field. A few boards fell across the pair, but the guardsman was on top and his armor protected them both.
