The Wizards and the Warriors

by Hugh Cook

  To delay the decision, Miphon sat back and tried to remember what Ebonair had discovered when rummaging through Miphon's memory. Mostly images of sickness and healing. Discovering Miphon to be a member of the order of Nin, an animal-caller and a pox-doctor, Ebonair had not looked very deeply.

  There was certainly something he had overlooked.

  The sleeping secrets: occult strength of the order of Nin.

  The sleeping secrets: power too terrible for any human being to be trusted to live with, power sufficient to overwhelm the established order of the world. In the depths of the Shackle Mountains, in the shadow of thunder, in the place between darkness and light, they were taught by the book of Nariq, and then they were taught to forget.

  Was this the time to recall the sleeping secrets? To open, as the saying went, the Book of Nariq?

  No.

  First, because the problem could be resolved by a simple act of murder. And second, because the sleeping secrets, whatever they were, might not be suitable for overcoming Ebonair without killing Morgan Hearst.

  Miphon stood over Hearst's body. It would take only a moment: he knew where to put the blade. He could say afterwards that an evil spirit killed Hearst: the story would be true enough in its way. Hearst would have killed, if necessary.

  But Hearst . . . yes, Miphon remembered how he himself, on a ship at sea, drunk with battle, had sent whales again and again to batter Alish's ships. Hearst had thrown a bucket of water over Miphon, to save the life of a man he had once counted as a friend. Yes, in Miphon's situation, Hearst would have killed if necessary - but if there was another way, he would have tried that first. Could a wizard do less than a Rovac warrior?

  Yet it was an improper way to use the sleeping secrets. They were meant for the occasion of greatest danger. And what would Morgan Hearst have said to that? Miphon could imagine the answer: i dare!'

  And, if Hearst died, there would be no chance for Miphon to present him to the Confederation of Wizards at the Castle of Controlling Power in a bid to resolve the age-old enmity between the wizards and the Rovac.

  Miphon, consoling himself with the thought that he worked in the interests of the greatest good, began the Rites of Recall, and was soon lost in a trance of remembrance.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Miphon opened his eyes and saw the Hearst-body studying him intently. It held a leather bag which, Miphon knew, contained the death-stone. 'Hearst?'

  "What do you think?'

  Everything about Hearst-body was subtly wrong: the carriage of the shoulders, the angle the head was held at, the way the feet were together instead of shoulder-width apart.

  'Ebonair,' said Miphon.

  'Precisely,' said the wizard of Ebber, gloating. 'You know what I hold here?'

  'The death-stone,' said Miphon. 'Careful how you use it. It brings stones to life.'

  'But not the stones of a wizard castle: they've no minds left to animate. I saw that much when I scanned your memories. From here, I could destroy Selzirk without the slightest risk to myself.'

  'But a mad rock might charge the battlements!'

  'Ah,' said Ebonair. 'But from this warrior's memories, I see the death-stone repels the rocks it animates. I also see ... that with this death-stone, I might become a god.'

  'Heenmor killed himself experimenting with the death-stone.'

  'I'm not Heenmor,' said Ebonair. 'Besides, I have an advantage he never had: your mind. You can read the thoughts of rock and stone. Isn't that right? A fascinating ability. It may help me much in my research.'

  And Miphon thought:

  - This has gone on long enough.

  - So do it! And he did.

  The order of Nin cultivated the ability to read and influence the minds of things that live wild. The powers of the sleeping secrets were the powers to read, understand and control both the minds and bodies of humans, and to change the same. This power could operate at a distance of up to ten leagues.

  Miphon closed his eyes. When he closed his eyes, he saw the world around him in terms of life-energies. The stones of the castle were dead, inert. Monstrous powers glowered in the silent machines from the Days of Wrath. Blackwood's mind was a dull red glow, still unconscious. Hearst's mind was another dull glow, but in that glow was a web of green energy, which could be unravelled by . . . yes, Miphon saw how it could be done.

  Miphon stood up. Wrong: his ghost stood up. He looked down on the bodies of flesh and blood. With hands that had no substance, he grasped part of that web of green energy and pulled. The green web started to unravel.

  The wizard Ebonair felt his mind disintegrating into the nightmarish turmoil of a bad drug-dream. But in his agony he realised this was no dream: this was his own destruction. He used the last resource available to him. He used the Ultimate Injunction.

  'Segenarith!' shouted Ebonair.

  Miphon's view of a world of life-energies disappeared. His sensation of inhabiting a ghost-body was gone. He was back in his own flesh. He stared at the swaying Hearst-body. The echo of that shout still rang in his mind: Segenarith. The word had been sufficient to overcome the powers of the sleeping secrets.

  'A pity to kill you,' said Ebonair, his voice slow and slurred. 'Such power! But there's no other wav, is there?'

  Ebonair dropped the bag containing the death-stone. 443

  He drew the sword Hast. Miphon tried to conjure up that vision of a world of life-energies: tried to work his way back into the ghost-body. He failed. 'Die,' slurred Ebonair.

  The sword Hast ripped through the air. A wild swing. The wizard was un-coordinated, brain-damaged. He had almost been too late using the Ultimate Injunction.

  Miphon leapt back out of reach of the sword. Ebonair slashed at him again. Miphon was forced back, out toward the entrance. If he turned to run, if he took his eyes off that blade, he would be killed.

  The sword swung again.

  Miphon jumped back - too slow!

  He screamed as the blade knifed across his flesh. He fell to the stones of the battlements, clutching his pain. The Hearst-body loomed over him. A voice cried:

  'Hold!'

  Through eyes that were slits of pain, Miphon saw Blackwood taking the death-stone from its bag. He saw Ebonair wheel, advance on Blackwood, then hesitate. Miphon heard Ebonair begin to speak. It was hard to hear because of the pain. But then the pain was -

  - less.

  - Pox doctor, heal yourself.

  - Bone to be bone. Flesh to be flesh. Skin to be skin. And Ebonair was saying:

  'Be reasonable. It's a generous offer. To rule the Harvest Plains is no small thing. You can't do it by yourself.'

  'Tell me more,' said Blackwood.

  Though Ebonair could not see how Miphon was healing, Blackwood could - and was having a hard job to keep his amazement from his face.

  'You could become a wizard if you wished,' said Ebonair. 'You already know the High Speech. That makes it much easier. Have you any idea what it means to become a wizard?'

  Miphon was ready. He struck.

  This time he had no sense of the world as life-energies, no sense of himself as a ghost. He had only needed such tricks of perception while he was first coming to terms with the powers of the sleeping secrets. Now Miphon used his strength swiftly, intuitively, doing exactly what he had to.

  One moment Ebonair was talking. The next instant his mind had been torn to pieces. The Hearst-body collapsed again. Miphon looked at Blackwood, who stood flipping the death-stone from one hand to the other.

  'You can let it go now,' said Miphon. Blackwood dropped the death-stone as if it was poison.

  'Is Hearst dead?' said Blackwood. 'I hope not,' said Miphon.

  He examined Hearst's mind. The sensation was almost like listening to the mind of some wild thing -but* sharper, clearer, more painful. Painful because Miphon felt Hearst's agony, his indecision, the suffering of a man trying to cope with the complexities of a world which the heroic simplicities of his upbringing had not equipped him to dea
l with.

  And Miphon realised he could cure that pain, deleting certain memories, closing down certain lines of thought. He could instill, where necessary, an ordered doctrine of etiquette and ethics, shaping Morgan Hearst into the precise tool he needed to perform that highest function: bringing about a peace between wizards and warriors. What greater glory than to serve as a peacemaker?

  Hearst groaned, sitting up.

  'Are you all right?' said Blackwood, kneeling by him. 'It's all over now,' said Miphon. 'The wizard's dead.' 'What about that staff?' said Hearst. 'That's just a piece of wood now,' said Miphon.

  'There's no power left in it any more.'

  It was hard to talk in a normal tone: he felt drunk with exultation. Such power! He would use it to reform the world.

  Miphon knew what had to be done to Hearst. Would he also have to reshape Blackwood? He examined Blackwood's memories, let himself see the world through Blackwood's eyes. By the time Miphon was finished, he was very quiet; he had been first shocked then humbled by what he had learnt.

  In Blackwood's memories, Miphon had discovered visions. He had seen the flame of life; he had seen the beauty of the vitality which graces every life. He had seen the way in which each thing is true to its own nature: nothing can be changed by an application of cleverness without destroying its essential nature. He had learnt how much he lacked in wisdom: what he had been about to do to Morgan Hearst would have been as evil as anything ever done by Ebonair.

  'What's the matter with you?' said Blackwood, seeing how quiet Miphon had become. 'You look shocked.'

  'You see visions,' said Miphon quietly.

  'Yes,' said Blackwood, it's hard. I see . . . tragedy everywhere. I see people who never satisfy more than a tiny part of their potential, who are not what they wish to be, yet could be so easily if they only knew how. I see women dancing for men they hate, slaves honouring masters unworthy to rule the life of a rat. I see ... so much that I can hardly bear to walk through the streets of Selzirk.'

  'You have a choice,' said Miphon. 'You've no need to see such visions.'

  'No man was made to,' said Blackwood.

  i can take away your visions - but I can never give them back,' said Miphon. 'You will see the world only through your seven senses.'

  'Do it,' said Blackwood.

  And Miphon did.

  * * *

  Selzirk lay in darkness, yet Morgan Hearst knew the dawn was approaching. He dressed quietly and armed himself with his sword Hast. He ran his hand over his head: the hair had been cropped to the stubble he favoured for a campaign. The death-stone, couched in leather, lay next to his skin.

  So he was off again. He must go south to the flame trench Drangsturm and the Castle of Controlling Power dominating the western end of that flame trench. The encounter with the wizard Ebonair had brought home to him the perils of delaying any longer in disposing of the death-stone. He was still shocked at what a disaster his drunken bravado had almost brought upon Selzirk and the Harvest Plains.

  Hearst paused to look down on the kingmaker Farfalla. Had she loved him? Or had she just sought to use him? She had not protested when he took other women - so surely she could hardly have loved him. Or could she?

  The night before, she had wept; in the end, Hearst had slipped her a sleeping potion. Even now, toward morning, she was in the grips of that potion. Or was she? As Hearst watched, Farfalla rolled over and opened her eyes.

  She reached for him, spoke, her voice drugged, weak:

  'Morgan . . . ?'

  Hearst said nothing.

  Fighting the drug, half-conscious, Farfalla spoke, to say:

  'Don't leave me . . .'

  It was a kind of love that spoke to him: a kind of need.

  And to his horror, Hearst found that the way Farfalla spoke brought to his mind the way the woman Ethlite

  had spoken in the city of Larbreth in the Cold West, when he had been standing in the shadows and she had thought he was Elkor Alish.

  Hearst remembered striding through the city with his fingers knotted in her hair and her head dangling. Alish had seen him. And in Runcorn, when Alish lay paralysed by poison, Hearst had boasted of that killing, as if the murder gave him title to a kind of glory.

  He knew, now, exactly what he had done. And he knew, now, that Alish would never forgive him.

  He turned on his heel and walked away.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  The trio were supposed to leave Selzirk at noon, travelling by ship down the Velvet River to Androlmarphos, and from there by sea to the Castle of Controlling Power. However, Hearst doubted that they would survive such a journey. Even if Farfalla did not plot against them, their wealth - the red and green bottles and the death-stone - would tempt their guides and escorts beyond endurance.

  Accordingly, Blackwood, Hearst and Miphon left Selzirk before dawn, setting out along the Salt Road on fast horses. Hearst had decided that, if they were pursued, he would not hesitate to use the death-stone; he hoped he would not be put to that necessity.

  Hearst was deeply troubled by his new insights into the past; Miphon, for his part, was already beginning to worry about the delicate task of diplomacy that would face him at the Castle of Controlling Power, when he would have to introduce a Rovac warrior to the Confederation of Wizards.

  But Blackwood travelled with a light heart, for, thanks to Miphon, he no longer saw visions. He had been released from the weight of an intolerable burden: he was free. Free for what? He had not yet decided: for the moment he was content to travel the Salt Road under the summer sun. Occasionally he thought of other places, other times: but it was over a year since they had first marched from Castle Vaunting, leaving it in the grip of a mad-jewel; the memories of the past were fading, and Blackwood faced the future.

  Blackwood carried a fine Selzirk bow and a quiver of arrows; when they camped at evening, he set up a target

  and practised, sending the arrows singing home. If they sheltered in a village, Blackwood negotiated to secure food and lodgings; if they met travellers on the road, he hailed them, and passed the time of day with them for a while, exchanging information about conditions on the road.

  Miphon and Hearst, busy with their own thoughts, were happy to let Blackwood handle these responsibilities. They had every confidence in him. For Blackwood, much had changed since he first left Estar: the greatest change was that he could now inspire confidence in a wizard of the order of Nin and a warrior of Rovac.

  And so they travelled south, through the Harvest Plains to Veda.

  * * *

  Veda's battlements, blood red, towered into the sky, suggesting a monument to evil. But inside, all was peace: windowless corridors of luminous milky white, curving away in smooth arcs, led to libraries, sleeping quarters, meditation chambers and study rooms. The corridors were warm; asking about the warmth, the travellers were told that Veda fed upon heat from deep underground.

  The varied wonders of Veda made little impression on the travellers, who were by now prepared to take anything in their stride; Veda would only have surprised them if it had turned out to be commonplace. Besides, Veda's greatest treasures were works of art, which none of the three had much of an eye for.

  Morgan Hearst could appraise the approximate value of a piece of gold or jewellery, or tell a fine weapon at a glance, but hardly noticed Veda's artworks. Blackwood liked tapestries showing people and animals, and Miphon liked landscape paintings, but there was nothing like that in Veda. There was Aromsky's sculpture in bronze: The Ethical Structure of the

  Universe. There was the anonymous ivory called The Seven Spheres of Space and Time. There was Kere-mansky's Temptation of Zero by Infinity. The travellers, when they noticed these masterpieces at all, thought them cold, alien, ugly, uninviting.

  Life in Veda itself was strange. All work was done by the Secular Arm, an organisation dominated by military and mercantile considerations. The Secular Arm would recruit anyone and anything that could stand on two legs; for admin
istrative convenience it used the Galish Trading Tongue.

  The sages of Veda, who spoke a language almost identical to the High Speech of wizards, lived lives of meditation, prayer and study. The travellers, regarding Veda only as a waystation, did not attempt to study the sages, but did try and bargain with them for a bodyguard. Hearst, remembering how they had been picked out by Erhed on first entering Selzirk, wanted armed protection for the journey through the Rice Empire.

  Miphon, negotiating with the head of the Secular Arm, took the trouble of reading the man's mind. He had given up doing this without excellent cause: he had swiftly grown profoundly tired of the murky hatred, jealousy, lust, envy, deceit, self-pity, cowardice, greed, treachery and self-delusion dominating so many human minds. He was pleased to find that the head of the Secular Arm was an honourable man who would keep to the bargain they had made.

  The bargain was that Miphon would heal all illnesses that were brought to him within the next ten days - Miphon demonstrated his skills by healing the headman's haemorrhoids - then the Secular Arm would provide a bodyguard of two hundred troops to see the expedition through the Rice Empire, plus papers certifying that they constituted an embassy from Veda travelling to Provincial Endergeneer.