The Western Wizard

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  “What do you mean?”

  Colbey fidgeted, torn between his needs to work with the other Renshai and to understand his gift. “It just feels wrong invading other people’s minds, so I don’t do it.”

  “Yet you have no compunction about speaking the thoughts that come to you.”

  Colbey shrugged. It had taken him time to test and to believe that the thoughts had come from others, not from his own conjecture. By the time he had learned the truth, it seemed too late to concern himself with propriety. “I also have no compunction about guessing men’s moods from their faces, their next attack by shifts in position, or their intentions by the tone of their voices.” He shrugged again. “Anything that a man gives me to work with, I will. I draw the line when it comes to me consciously invading his privacy.”

  Shadimar nodded, apparently accepting that explanation.

  Colbey had to laugh. “When you have a talent that neither mortal nor Wizard has ever shared, you have to make up the rules.”

  Secodon snuffled amongst the roots of an elm, and Shadimar leaned against the trunk. “Actually, there is one precedent.”

  Colbey raised his brows.

  “The Cardinal Wizards can communicate with one another through their minds.” Shadimar sighed deeply. “We rarely do, though. To do so uninvited would be like drawing your sword in another man’s house in the presence of his wife and children.”

  Colbey winced at the analogy, even more certain of his decision to stay clear of friends’ thoughts whenever possible.

  Shadimar laughed, the sound out of place in a conversation of consequence.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I think I finally figured out how you’ve been beating Santagithi at chess.”

  Colbey laughed, too. “I’ve never met anyone who could put a full war strategy into one or two sentences before. He’s good. The Renshai were never much for strategy, but I’ve learned a lot just being around Santagithi for a few years.”

  “Now you know why the larger Western kingdoms deferred to his judgment in the Great War. And why a tiny town has managed to survive for so long so near the Northlands.”

  Something in Shadimar’s voice cued Colbey to a deeper issue hidden beneath the statement, but he did not pry. “Are we finished?”

  “No.” Shadimar’s features again grew somber, and the wolf abandoned his search to stand at his master’s side. “I need to understand just how much magic you know.”

  “Magic?” Colbey shook his head. “Less than none. Unless you count the mind thing.”

  “Concentrate.” Shadimar raised his arms, chanting strange, harsh syllables in a language Colbey did not recognize. He lowered his right arm, extending his hand toward Colbey. A flame danced on his palm, tiny and insignificant.

  Colbey blinked, certain he witnessed an illusion of sunlight. Raindrops sprinkled to the Wizard’s fingers, but they had no effect on the wisp of fire.

  Shadimar stopped speaking suddenly, eyes eager, left hand still hovering above his head. The flame sputtered. “Colbey, try to finish the incantation.”

  Colbey obediently searched his mind for a thread of knowledge. He discovered nothing but his own neatly filed memories of thrust, parry, and dodge, the mental strength to convert idea instantly into movement, and the control of personal thought and action. Opening his eyes, he shook his head.

  The flame shrank nearly to nothing. “Quickly, now,” Shadimar said.

  Again, Colbey tried to find a hint of the arcane tongue Shadimar had used to create the flame. Nothing came. Wishing to please his blood brother, Colbey tried to keep the flame aloft by directing his concentration on it.

  The fire winked out.

  Shadimar lowered both hands. “Nothing?”

  “Not a whisper.” Despite his hurry, Colbey could not help asking. “Do you think that mind thing of mine is magic? Is that why you believe I know more?”

  Shadimar shook his head in a bobbing, half-committed manner, as if to indicate that Colbey’s guess was only part of the explanation. Apparently, he also took the blood brotherhood seriously, because he explained rather than dodging the situation with his usual self-absorption. “This may sound impossible to you, even crazy. But, for a time, I actually wondered if you might not already be the Western Wizard.”

  “What?” The question was startled from Colbey. “That’s absurd.”

  “Not really. I considered you as a possible replacement for Tokar. Why shouldn’t I wonder if he had the same thought?”

  “I’m no Wizard. I have no interest in becoming a Wizard. And, had Tokar asked, I would have refused.”

  Shadimar accepted Colbey’s insistence, but he did not drop the thought. “You have to admit, there’s evidence for the assumption. Tokar asked, nay practically forced, you to come to his ceremony of passage. He talked about making a significant decision that he should have already made.” Shadimar flipped both palms up in a gesture that implied an obvious conclusion. “The choosing of his successor. Haim. An apprentice who always seemed a weak and poor choice to us all. Tokar giving each of you a chance to answer a significant question, the one about decision-making, fairly clinches it.”

  Even Colbey could not help considering the possibility. “But could he make me into a Wizard against my will? Without even asking?”

  “I don’t know,” Shadimar admitted. “I’d tend to doubt it. I’ve never heard of such a thing. From all recorded history, it’s never happened before.” Shadimar threw up his hands. “And why should it? Why would a Wizard train an apprentice for decades, only to take another successor at the last moment?”

  “Because,” Colbey said, trying not to sound too immodest, “he found a better replacement, worth the risks.” He thought of combats in which he planned a specific maneuver to use against an enemy’s known weakness, only to discover a better killing stroke during the actual battle.

  Shadimar frowned dubiously. “That’s not the nature of Wizards. Still, it no longer matters. If you were the Western Wizard, you would have been able to finish that incantation.”

  “Magic comes naturally to Wizards?”

  “No, they must be trained.” Shadimar plucked bark from the tree with a long fingernail. “But if you were Tokar’s chosen successor, you would carry the memories of every Western Wizard before you. And any one of them could have directed you to finish my spell.”

  “Oh.” Colbey’s mind slipped backward, to the madness that had afflicted him for years following the Western Wizard’s death. Colbey had attributed it to the agony that had accompanied touching Tokar, to the ceremony, or to the shock of discovering his entire tribe had been killed in his absence. He shivered at the memory of the foreign voices and obsessions that had driven him. He had faced and destroyed the insanity with the same directed skill he used in combat, obliterating the presences one by one until nothing remained but his own clear consciousness. Colbey had always believed that this battle had won him the mind strength that he now possessed. “Would it be possible for a Wizard to get rid of these others’ memories?”

  “Certainly not.” Shadimar sounded offended and horrified. “A Wizard’s mind becomes linked into the chain. It would be impossible to do so without suicide.” Shadimar froze, the significance of Colbey’s question finally absorbed. “Why do you ask?”

  Colbey kept his response vague. “After the ceremony, I was haunted by voices in my head for a time. They’re gone now.”

  Shadimar shook his head, dismissing the importance of Colbey’s revelation. “I doubt that means much. After such a trauma, any mortal could go temporarily insane, especially one so linked with his mind.”

  Colbey doubted the possibility. His mind link involved control, not simply an emphasis on calculation over action. Wanting to return to his practice, he did not start an argument.

  But, even without Colbey’s direction, Shadimar saw the flaw in his suggestion. “There’s no way to know exactly how your touch disrupted the ceremony. Possibly, sensing imminent destructio
n, one or two of the Wizards’ consciousnesses grasped hold of the only living mind in the vicinity. Yours. If your mental powers are astoundingly strong, I suppose you might have suppressed those presences. But no mortal in existence has the power to control or destroy millennia of Western Wizards.” Shadimar continued, obviously thinking aloud. “Or perhaps, since the ceremony was disrupted, a bit of magic was never dispelled. If an entity of that magic remained . . .” Shadimar trailed off, eyes widening. The stiffness of his demeanor told Colbey that the Eastern Wizard wished he had kept the thought to himself.

  “What?” Colbey pressed.

  “Never mind.” Shadimar clipped each word, making it clear that no bond or promise would make him continue.

  Colbey followed the natural line of thought. “A magical entity could have entered my mind?” The idea made him laugh. “I really could be the Golden Prince of Demons?”

  “Stop!” Shadimar’s voice rang out. Though he remained outwardly calm, Colbey sensed concern and, perhaps, a faint hint of dread. “I must consult my books. I won’t speculate further in ignorance.”

  Amused by the Wizard’s dramatics, Colbey laughed again.

  The wolf threw back its head, loosing a deep howl, full of ancient pain. Discomfort wafted from the Wizard, thick with consideration and ideas Colbey could not begin to decipher.

  At least, Colbey guessed the source of Shadimar’s fear. He thinks I’m reading his mind. And there’s something there he doesn’t want me to know. Colbey attempted to soothe. “Shadimar, don’t worry. I’m not reading—”

  Colbey’s words only further agitated Shadimar. The old Wizard whirled, heading toward the town at a dignified pace that bordered on a run.

  Too late, Colbey realized his mistake. By claiming not to be reading the Wizard’s mind, he had again identified Shadimar’s thought nearly verbatim, thereby practically proving that he was, in fact, intruding. Though a logical guess on Colbey’s part, its accuracy made it seem sinister. “Shadimar, wait!”

  Branches snapped closed behind the Wizard’s passage, flinging droplets from the wet branches. Soon, the rustles gave way to a silence broken only by the patter of rain on the leaves.

  Thinking it better not to pursue, Colbey turned and headed back to his students.

  CHAPTER 13

  Preparations

  Deep in the ruins that served as his home, Shadimar paced the library floor until his tracks seemed to wear an impression in the stone. A lantern on the desktop cast his shadow upon the opposite wall, and it spun back and forth, keeping perfect time with his movements. Secodon lay beneath the reading table, his head cradled between his paws, whining frequently at his master’s consternation.

  At length, Shadimar again sat before an opened book, the lamplight glazing the page he had stared at too many times and for too long. The seventh Eastern Wizard, Benghta, had originally inscribed the paragraph, her expertise understandable since her own predecessor had lost his life to a summoned demon. Yet the text told Shadimar nothing he did not already know:

  “. . . Should a Cardinal Wizard pass before his chosen time, it is the responsibility of every other Wizard to fill the gap. In this matter, thoughtful consideration should take precedence over speed. This is true particularly in the case of an Eastern or Western Wizard, since each of these has one of equal bent who can cover his responsibilities for a time. To act too quickly risks an incompetent, weak, or poorly trained replacement at a time when strength and ability become most necessary. It should be kept in mind that this new Wizard would have no access to the collective consciousness and would, therefore, already hold a disadvantage.

  “In the case of an Eastern or Western Wizard’s passing, it would naturally fall upon the other to find a successor, then to call the Wizards’ Isle meeting. While he could elicit aid from the Northern or Southern Wizard in finding said successor, such a request would seem unlikely to prove advantageous. Since forces work in opposition, either of these others might profit from finding a weak replacement. In the event of a Northern or Southern Wizard’s unexpected passage, responsibility would fall to the Western Wizard to call counsel and find a replacement. This task could be willingly shared, or even passed, to the Eastern Wizard. Again, to place the responsibility into the hands of one of the champions of the “extreme forces,” that is good or evil, would introduce bias. It would, however, be in the best interests of neutrality to balance Northern and Southern forces.

  “It should also be realized that Odin has placed many protections into his system, through law and propriety. Any Wizard ‘passing’ due to anything other than his chosen ceremony should prove a rare occurrence over the millennia. Therefore, it becomes incumbent on the responsible party to ascertain that ‘passing’ without a doubt. Attempting to establish another Wizard while there are already Four would result in the death of the subject as well as a shaking of the foundations of law. It might open the way for chaos and, ultimately, begin the Ragnarok. . . .”

  From there, the tome turned to other topics, and Shadimar gave it a mild shove. Its edge struck the lantern’s base, jiggling it. Light whirled over the crude stone ceiling, then went still as the lantern came to rest in its new position. Pain speared through Shadimar’s head at the intensity of his concentration. The book fell short of addressing the intricacies and details that he needed to make a decision. When Tokar’s apprentice, Haim, had undergone the Seven Tasks of Wizardry, the powers in charge had told him that the “Age of Change” that heralded the Ragnarok would come during Shadimar’s time as a Wizard. That prophecy haunted him now, and he would do nothing without massive research, profound thought, and cautious consideration.

  Shadimar clamped his fingers to his temples, massaging away the throbbing in his head, his elbows propped on either side of the book so as not to damage the pages. Colbey’s story seemed conclusive. The Western Wizard was dead, and the ceremony had taken his apprentice’s life as well. Surely, that was enough proof for Shadimar to start the search for a successor. Yet two ideas would not leave his mind. First, he had already found the most competent replacement for the Western Wizard, and his demanding standards would not allow him to settle for less. He would need to convince Colbey to take the position, hampered by the understanding that most of the qualities that made the Renshai most suited for the honor also made him willful and difficult to lead. The title could not be forced upon him, and wearing down Colbey’s objections would take patience and time.

  Second, Colbey’s mind powers fit no plan, pattern, or source that Shadimar could fathom. The possibilities seemed endless, few of them positive. If a fragment of the collective consciousness had entered Colbey, it did not behave like any predecessor to whom Shadimar had access. More likely, a stray spark of magic had altered the makeup and basic functioning of Colbey’s mind. If so, his jest that he had become a “demon” was not entirely ludicrous. Clearly, nothing could transform law’s tangibles, such as men, directly into creatures of chaos. But chaos, in the guise of magic, could have perverted Colbey’s mind. In that case, he posed an incalculable threat to the world, Wizards, and gods; and he would need to be utterly destroyed.

  Shadimar scowled at the irony. Depending on what his research uncovered, his necessary course of action could fall to either extreme, or anywhere between. And other questions still begged answering. He had never heard of anyone disrupting a ceremony of passage since the beginning of time, though the earliest Wizards predicted vague but ominous horrors would result. Composed of chaos, even channeled magic nearly always had unexpected results. When it came to the disruption of a ceremony that required the most powerful sorcery of all, the consequences seemed impossible to determine or even to guess. Perhaps the Western Wizard did exist, the collective consciousness transferred to some unsuspecting innocent who had not yet come to grips with the position or the power.

  Shadimar’s fingers stilled, and he clapped his hands over his white hair in frustration. His beard had settled over the tome, obscuring the writing. Secodon rose
, stretched, and sat, resting his chin on Shadimar’s knee. Shadimar stroked one of the wolf’s ears absently. The plumed tail struck the floor once, and Secodon cocked his head as if to understand concepts far beyond his ability to reason.

  The Eastern Wizard’s library had fallen short. Shadimar knew he had only two more places to turn, and he discarded the first out of hand. He had never found the need to summon demons before, and he could not risk neutrality’s only remaining champion now. Of all of the Cardinal Wizards, the Western Wizard’s library was the most complete. There, if he found no answers, at least he might gather enough information to guide his thoughts to more limited possibilities. Perhaps, too, in Tokar’s cave, he might discover more clues to the Western Wizard’s intentions, fate, or whereabouts.

  Odin’s Laws did not allow the Cardinal Wizards to intrude upon one another’s quarters uninvited, except with the messenger falcon, Swiftwing. This once, Shadimar felt certain, the Western Wizard would not protest.

  * * *

  Santagithi sat at the head of his strategy table, looking down the double line of men and the lone woman who was his daughter, assessing each commander’s ability for the thousandth time. To his right, the archer’s captain, Bromdun, waited attentively, his arms folded across his chest and his expression grim. Mouse-brown hair hacked short fringed hard, well-defined features. Quiet nearly to a fault, perhaps because of his large size, Bromdun spoke only when he had a message of consequence, and his followers clung to his every word.

  Santagithi’s gaze rolled from Bromdun to his warrior captain, Jakot, who had proven his worth repeatedly. Though he lacked Rache’s skill, Jakot had taken the dead Renshai’s position with faultless commitment and honor. Now, he plucked at his wiry, sand-colored beard in silence, the movement betraying his impatience.

  Across from Bromdun, Mitrian laced her fingers on the tabletop, her hands as large and callused as any guardsman’s. A thong tied her dark hair neatly back from her face. No matter how many times Santagithi watched her perform a kata with an agility and skill that matched Rache’s, he could not imagine her in war. He had dug through his mind for the memory of Mitrian at the Great War, riding at Rache’s side, the two forming a wall of flashing steel that sent more than their share of Easterners to their deaths. Yet Santagithi’s mind created defenses, substituting another face for his daughter’s in the memory. Still, as a commander, she had inherited her father’s thoroughness, if not the strategic expertise that came with experience. And then there was Garn.