Wizard's Conclave

by Douglas Niles

  Coryn gulped. She looked at the stack of books, volumes that she had virtually memorized over the years. Yes, the other tome fascinated her more than any of rest, and again impulsively she blurted out the truth.

  "Actually, Umma, I read your secret book for the first time a long time ago, even though it seemed like so much nonsense. I couldn't make anything out of it. But then, later, I felt almost like it was calling me. Last winter, it was, the first time it called me. You were napping out here in your rocking chair. You just had some of those winterberries I brought you, and a little nip of that bottle on the mantle-"

  "You never mind that bottle, Child!" Umma said sternly. "That's an old woman's medicine, not for the likes of you!"

  "No-I mean, I know! I've never touched it. Well, only touched it to pour some for you, I mean. But I don't even like the way it smells!"

  "Never mind my bottle-tell me about the book!"

  "Well, I started to tell you, if you would only let me finish! I felt the book calling me that day, last winter. I remember when-it was just after the Night of Two Moons. At least that's what the villagers called it. You know, when the big white moon changed, got smaller. And there was a red moon, too, one I had never seen before. But Papa told me they had been the moons when he was a boy, only they went away when the gods left. All the old hunters were talking about it… about the two moons coming back."

  "Yes, yes, the moons. Stop dawdling, girl. Tell me!"

  Coryn set her chin and spoke defiantly. "Like I was saying, if you'd stop interrupting, they all were talking about two moons. I didn't say anything to them, didn't want them to think 1 was crazy… again. But there are three moons up there now, aren't there? The red and the white. Everybody sees the two. But there is a darker one, too-a black moon? One that nobody can see."

  "Nobody?" Umma's eyes, for the first time, glimmered not with irritation, but with concern for her granddaughter. "You are saying you can't see it then?"

  "No, I can't see it," Coryn replied, surprised to see relief soften the old woman's visage. "But I can sense that it's there. Sometimes I watch the night sky, and see that stars blink out of sight for a little while. And I know, somehow I know, that's because the black moon is crossing."

  "Get back to the book! What about the book? Tell the truth, and don't waste my time!"

  "Grandma!" The young woman stared defiantly. Without softening her own gaze, Umma waited for her to continue. "It's… it's just the most fascinating thing I have ever seen," Cory admitted. "A lot of it doesn't even make sense to me- like it's written in a whole different language. But even when I don't know the words, I like reading them, thinking about what they mean, and trying to make the sounds."

  "Surely you haven't read that whole book? Many a fool has tried and failed!"

  "All of it," Coryn said, getting angry. "All of it! Twice. The first time, when I didn't understand a thing, and the second time, when it called to me."

  Umma sat back in her rocker and looked at the girl with an expression as close to astonishment as anything Coryn had ever seen on the old woman's generally cross, stony, and inscrutable visage.

  "All of it! Huh!" It was as if Umma were speaking to herself. She looked at Coryn, shook her head once, and snapped curtly, "Help me up!"

  Cory climbed to her feet and extended both hands, taking her grandmother's thin but deceptively strong fingers. She pulled her up, and the old woman hobbled over to the crowded writing desk next to her small dining table. She fumbled through the stack of objects, pulling out a sheet of parchment that, while torn and ragged, seemed to be free of writing.

  "My quill!" she snapped. "Where is it? And bring some ink, too! Hurry, Girl!"

  Coryn hastened to obey, finding the writing implements on the hearth over the big stone fireplace. Umma sat down at the desk, uncapped the inkwell beside the flat sheet of parchment, and scowled at her granddaughter who stood, full of curiosity, nearby.

  "Well? Shouldn't you brew some tea or something? And get out of those wet things-can't have you catching a chill! Not now, of all times! You're going to be needing all of your strength, you are. Besides, your hair's a mess-you'll have rats making a nest there if you don't take care. Move, Girl!"

  Shrugging her shoulders with irritation, Coryn hurried to fill the teapot, stoke the fire, doff her soggy trousers, and run a stubby brush through her long, dark tresses. Every time she glanced toward the desk, she saw Umma busily scribing away. Every once in a while the old woman looked up and gave her a fierce stare, and Cory quickly went back to her combing. She had a particularly stubborn tangle, where her hair had picked up some burrs during her struggles in the snowbank.

  "My stamp!" Umma snapped, looking up finally and rolling the parchment into a tight roll. "And don't forget the candle!"

  Obediently, Cory lit a long wax taper with a coal from the fireplace then carried the burning candle and the small brass stamp over to the old woman. She tried not to show her burning curiosity as she peered at the scroll of leathery paper. Wasting no time, Umma melted a spot of wax and dropped it onto the edge of the parchment, then stamped it tightly shut.

  "Here," she said abruptly, thrusting the scroll at Coryn as if it were a short, blunt sword. "Take this now!"

  "Sure," the girl replied. "But, urn, where?"

  "Why, to Palanthas, of course," snapped the old woman. "Weren't you just telling me how much you wanted to see that place? 'Fabled city'… 'shining knights'… 'ladies in their fine gowns?' It's all kind of overrated, if you ask me, but I 'spect you young'uns have to find that out for yourself."

  "Palanthas!" gasped Coryn. Her head was spinning, and she wanted to sit down and jump in the air at the same time. She settled for standing stock still and staring at Umma in disbelief. "Why, that's on the other side of the world! It's got to be a thousand miles away from here! I can't go to Palanthas! I can't even leave Two Forks! What will Papa say? And Mama-I have skins to tan, nets to haul…" Her voice trailed off as a myriad of real obligations, boring and mundane to the last, rose in her mind. Was her grandmother going crazy?

  "And what about the fish? You know how the men need me to tell them right before the salmon start running-I listen to the water, and I know."

  "Bah, I'll talk to your Mama and Papa-remind your Papa of when he decided to take off for Tarsis, if I have to. Let the fishermen fend for themselves. Stop babbling, and get moving. You're going to Palanthas!"

  "Why? Why am I going to Palanthas all of a sudden?" demanded Coryn, determined to get a grip on the conversation before her mind spun completely out of control.

  "Why am I going to Palanthas?" Umma mimicked the question, her scratchy voice harsh with sarcasm. "Why, you were just telling me, Girl. Knights! Ladies! Nobles! Sounds like you know that city better than some folks who've lived there all their lives. Now, get cracking."

  Coryn didn't budge, but now her face looked puzzled and worried.

  Umma's mouth creased into a hint of a smile as she reached and lifted up her granddaughter's chin, stroking it with an affection she didn't usually show. The old woman gestured to the parchment scroll that Coryn was clutching very tightly in her hands. "You are going to visit an old friend of mine, one of those 'fine ladies' you're all hepped up about. You are to do me a favor and deliver her that scroll, and after that, you are to do whatever she tells you to."

  "You mean, I'm to be her servant?" asked Coryn, aghast. The old woman shrugged. "If that's what she wants, yes. Hear me well, Child-you are to do whatever my good friend tells you to do."

  "Who is she?"

  "Her name is Jenna. I knew her long, long ago-before the moons changed for the first time. Before your mama was born, even." There was a hint of wistfulness, and also of tenderness, in Umma's voice, that Coryn had never heard before. "Jenna will take care of you, once you get there. But there's no time to waste!"

  "B-but Umma!" Cory was nearing panic. "I've never been out of the Icereach. I don't even know where Palanthas is! And I told you, I have to check with Mama
and Papa! I have things I'm supposed to do around here! I can't just go away, not now, not like this!"

  "When can you go away, then?" The old woman's tone was as stern as ever. "I'm not going to be around here forever, you know. And don't you think your pop, and all them other brave hunters and fishers, might be able to keep their bellies full even with you off to the north? Fact is, it will do them old hook-baiters some good to get up and about, not leavin' all the chores to bright young girls who got more important things to do!"

  "Huh! You think I'm bright?" asked Cory, inordinately pleased.

  "Did I say I was talking about you?"

  "No," she admitted, instantly humbled. "But then, how am I supposed to find Palanthas."

  "Open the door," Umma declared.

  Puzzled, Coryn crossed to the lone entrance to the small hut, and pulled open the wooden-slatted portal. She gasped in surprise as she saw a person-a small person, but most definitely not a child-standing outside. "It's a kender!" she blurted. She had never seen one, but she identified the fellow's race by his wizened features, long topknot, and the haphazard collection of pouches, purses, packs, and pockets dangling from every part of his frequently patched garments.

  "Moptop Bristlebrow, at your service," said the kender, with a bow so deep that he tumbled through the threshold to fall in a heap a Coryn's feet.

  "Who are you?" gasped the girl. She spun to face her grandmother. "Who is this?"

  "He's your guide. I hired him. He'll be taking you to Palanthas-in fact, right to Jenna's house. So you don't have to worry 'bout a thing."

  "Don't have to worry?" Coryn's eyes, wide open, took in the ramshackle figure who was clumsily climbing to his feet, stuffing various items-she noticed a teapot, a branding iron, a small frying pan, and her grandmother's brass stamp-into his pouches. Firmly the young girl reached into a leather pocket and retrieved the stamp. "This doesn't belong to you!" she said firmly.

  "Well, of course not! I was just returning it to your grandmother. See that she gets it, won't you? Hey, who's in charge here anyway? I don't need young whippersnappers talking to me rudely-"

  Umma cut in sharply. "I meant, you don't have to worry about finding the way to Palanthas. You'll have plenty to worry about, believe me. Why, there's bandits in the forests and thieves in the cities. You'll have to book passage across the Newsea—let's see, I have a few steel pieces stashed over there, should help you with that."

  Coryn's head was whirling as she put the stamp back on the desk. Yet Umma's dark eyes were alive with amusement.

  "I've packed some sandwiches, and a few slabs of jerky for you," Umma said, gesturing to a bulging knapsack near the door. Coryn hadn't noticed it before, but now it seemed perfectly natural that it be packed and ready for her departure. And where had that kender come from, so suddenly?

  "I'd better get dressed," she said, blushing as she realized that she had greeted the kender in nothing but her knickers and shirt.

  "Good thing, too," said Moptop. He pulled a sheet of paper from another purse and unrolled it, releasing a cascading scroll that spilled to the floor and then some. "I've got our route marked on my map. Let's see,"-he squinted, inspecting his notes-"if we start now, we should make it to the Icewall tonight. All due speed. Them's my orders!"

  Coryn felt a glimmer of concern. "But-the Icewall is south of here! Isn't Palanthas in the north?"

  The kender squinted, lifted his map, turned it around in his hands so that the voluminous top of the scroll was draped over his head. "Why, so it is!" came his voice, from beneath the makeshift shroud.

  "Are you sure he knows the way to Palanthas?" Cory asked her grandmother.

  Umma cackled, one of the few times her granddaughter had ever heard her laugh out loud.

  "Well, he did okay when he took me there. That was fifty-seven summers ago, but I don't think it's moved all that much. Now, daylight's wasting. I'll see your folks know what's happening, count on that. Get going, girl, and you, Moptop, you'll know my wrath if anything goes awry."

  The kender saluted stoically, as if indeed he did recall Umma's wrath.

  "What will my parents say?" Coryn asked, suddenly feeling an intense wave of homesickness.

  "Why, they'll say they love you. And they'll miss you like parents tend to do. No doubt they'll have a few special things to say to me, but don't you worry about that. I can take care of myself, you know. Now, good-bye, Girl, and good luck, and hurry! Hurry!"

  Only a half hour later, the little cottage in its grove of cottonwoods was nearly out of sight. Coryn paused only long enough for one last squint, until she saw a wisp of smoke from her grandmother's chimney. The kender was hurrying along a dozen feet in front of her, showing no signs of slowing his pace for her benefit. With a sigh, and an unmistakable tingle of adventure, the young woman adjusted the straps of the heavy pack and turned her steps toward the north.

  6

  A Master for the Tower of Magic

  Where are we going?" asked Luthar. "This woodland is strange, is it not?"

  Kalrakin paused, drew in a deep breath though his beaky nose, and nodded in satisfaction, even anticipation. "Strange, perhaps. But it makes us welcome! See how the path opens- even the trees grant us passage!" The trail, indeed, was wide and smooth, though darkly shadowed by overhanging limbs and dense foliage.

  Luthar hurried to keep up, a step or two behind the tall sorcerer. He couldn't help looking this way and that, wide-eyed, as they advanced along a path that was startlingly clear amid the flourishing underbrush and tall, gnarled trees.

  Those trees stood back from them to either side, but loomed very high overhead, extending curving limbs over the trail like a series of shadowy arches. Beards of moss draped many of these boughs. Vines and stalks of dewy underbrush also leaned over the path, fingers of foliage brushing against the hems of their robes, but Kalrakin stalked steadily onward without taking notice. His eyes remained fixed on the path before him, and his long strides carried him forward determinedly.

  "Wait! Did you hear something?" asked Luthar suddenly, stopping.

  "The wild birds," Kalrakin replied, shrugging. His long fingers stroked his tangled beard as he cocked an ear. "Noisy little fools. All this shrieking makes it hard for a man to think!" He, too, had stopped and now glared into the woods as if to challenge the cawing, shrieking flyers. All the while he flipped his polished white stone back and forth from one hand to the other.

  "That's just it-listen! It's more than noise."

  Many crows and more exotic birds were calling, a cacophony of sound unlike anything in any forest Luthar had ever visited. There was a musical cadence to the notes, but something more… almost intelligible.

  "This is not the woodland we woke up in this morning, my lord," Luthar suggested. "Something has happened here-listen, I beg you!"

  The birds cried and cried again, with ever greater urgency, and gradually the swelling sounds took on a distinct meaning.

  It was a summons.

  "Come, wizards… come to my heights… come to my walls… come to my sacred site…."

  "The birds are speaking to us," noted the dour sorcerer, frowning so deeply that his bushy eyebrows nearly melded. "Calling us, it would seem."

  "How can birds talk in a language men can understand?" Luthar asked, squinting and peering ahead, as he, too, listened intently. "This must be magic!" he exclaimed excitedly.

  "Come, wizards…."

  "Could it be some kind of trick?" asked the shorter sorcerer. "An attempt by our enemies to lure us into an ambush, a trap?"

  "Bah-who would dare?" sneered Kalrakin. "In any event, we have no need to fear anything of magic. Remember, I carry the stone of Irda magic!" He raised the white orb in his hands, clenching it in one fist and waving it grandly, as if to ward away the mysterious presence of the forest.

  In response, the birds cawed and shrieked with renewed frenzy. This time there was no mistaking the siren call of their words. Kalrakin bulled forward eagerly, leaving Luthar to s
print after frantically as the tall, gaunt sorcerer plunged down the rapidly forming pathway along the forest floor.

  As he pushed through the last tendrils of trailing vine, Kalrakin blinked in a sudden wash of sunlight; a clearing had opened before him. His eyes traveled ahead to witness the great structure, a double spire of dark stone and elegant architecture, rising hundreds of feet toward the sky.

  "Behold-like a black claw, it scratches at the heavens!" cried Kalrakin.

  "Where are we?" asked his equally awestruck companion. "Surely there is no place in the Qualinesti forest like this?"

  "My loyal companion, we have left the elven realm behind-no doubt we passed into Wayreth when we experienced the change in the woodland this morning. We are bid welcome to the Tower of High Sorcery-and this is Wayreth Forest. It all makes sense, now. Opportunity awaits!"

  "Yes, it can be nothing else!" Luthar agreed, leaning an outstretched arm against a tree and breathing heavily. "And that must mean-"

  "That we have been invited, here, of course," Kalrakin concluded. He snorted at the irony: this hallowed place of ancient godly magic, for some reason-a mistake?-summoning two practitioners of wild sorcery.

  "Is the Tower dangerous?" There was a clear tremor in the younger mage's voice. "Perhaps we should move farther away from it."

  But Kalrakin was already advancing closer, his long legs swiftly carrying him toward the wall and gateway surrounding the Tower. The gate was a wispy thing, a spiderweb of magical strands, which swept open at their approach without any move on their part. Beyond the gate the Tower rose: two lofty, conical spires with a short, round foretower between them. The Tower thrust up from a flat meadow of neatly trimmed grass, the ground smooth underfoot. A single door stood in that smaller, central structure, a plain-looking barrier of weathered hardwood boards, banded by three stands of rusty iron. A large keyhole gaped just below a metal ring, which suggested use as both a knocker and handle.