The Wizard Test

by Bell, Hilari

  “Then they’ll hang me,” said Reddick cheerfully. “And possibly all the other wizards as well, and you’ll end up besieging the city, which is just what you’d have to do if I wasn’t involved.”

  “Even if you fail, wizard, we will win,” said Arrod. “We may not be able to breach Miskafar’s walls, but we can starve them out. We’ve prepared for this for a long time — we have supplies for almost a year. With your harvest not yet in, supplies in your city will be low. The Tharn are no longer the only ones with steel weapons. Our time has come.”

  “Maybe,” said Reddick dryly. “But you’ve besieged the city before, and Miskafar has never fallen.”

  “That was before the land began to die. Your harvests have been growing less for many years now. You’re not as well supplied as you were a generation ago. This time we will win. Soon, it would be too late to matter.”

  “I know that,” said Reddick. “But we both know your best chance to win quickly, with the least loss of life, is to meet the Tharn troops in the great plain and simply out-fight them. The wizards can help you there, too. We’ll cast spells on the Tharns’ weapons and equipment so it will break or fail them.”

  “And how will we know, wizard, whether Enar trusted you enough that we will be granted all this aid?”

  “Simple,” said Reddick. “If the Tharn army is out on the plain waiting for you, then I succeeded. If they’re shut up inside the city, you’re on your own.” There was a long pause.

  “He’s right, Arrod,” said the Endaffi. “You aren’t required to trust him. The results of his actions will show themselves when we reach the plain. Gentlemen, there seems to be little else to be said. Would you care for some wine before you leave?”

  No one wanted wine. The chairs scraped again and the men left the room. Vadeen had to reach out and pull Dayven’s sleeve to make him crawl after him. The climb down should have been terrifying, but Dayven barely noticed it.

  Neither spoke until they were back in their room. The flame quivered in Vadeen’s hands as he lit the lamp. “What are you going to do?” he asked quietly.

  “I don’t know,” said Dayven. He felt numb, as if a blow had struck him but not yet begun to hurt. “It’s hard to believe that Reddick… I hadn’t realized how much I liked him.” Even the wizard’s annoying habit of calling him “kid” had started to seem familiar. “What are you going to do?”

  He had never seen Vadeen look so serious.

  “I must stop you from leaving. But if I tell them what we learned, Arrod will want to kill you. The Endaffi would try to protect you, but General Arrod is powerful.”

  Dayven was silent.

  “And your wizard is right. Lord Enar won’t believe him if you aren’t there to confirm what he says.”

  Of course, Vadeen wanted Reddick’s plot to succeed. But…

  “What happens,” Dayven asked, “if I tell Lord Enar everything we heard tonight?”

  Vadeen did not meet his eyes. “Then we besiege Miskafar. The outcome of a battle is in the Lady’s hands; if she wishes us to win then we will, if not, we won’t. You would say it is destiny, and already decided. Either way, nothing you do will make much difference. It would go hard with your wizard though.” He began to pace. “Would you betray him? Your people will kill him, Dayven.”

  “I have to.” The control that kept Dayven’s voice steady made it sound cold, but there was nothing he could do about that. His hand crept into the folds of his robe and closed over the clay pot that held the cocoon. It wasn’t much larger than his fist, for the wizards’ healing salves were used in small doses, but the clay was thick and heavy. The thought of using it as a weapon made his stomach twist. “As you’ll have to betray me.”

  “But you’re my friend!” Vadeen turned and paced toward him. “And you saved Nikkar. I owe you—”

  As he turned to pace away, Dayven leapt forward and slammed the clay pot against the back of his head. Vadeen slumped to the floor. Dayven’s magic reached the injured boy before his trembling hands did, sensing the rich shimmer of life. He clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering. At least there was no blood.

  With a little concentration, he found the ache that radiated from the back of his friend’s skull. There didn’t seem to be any serious damage, thank the fates!

  “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking, staring down at Vadeen’s sprawled body. He recognized the absurdity of apologizing to someone who couldn’t hear him, but it didn’t matter — he had to say it. His mind reached out to the cocoon; as always, it soothed him to sense the small life within it. At least there was something he hadn’t hurt. His trembling began to still.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again as he rummaged through the room for some rope. “I’ll heal your head as soon as you’re tied up, I promise. It will be an uncomfortable night, but someone will find you after I’m gone. Try to understand. Please. It’s a test of honor.”

  He found a strong cord and knelt beside Vadeen. “I know what I have to do.” He looped the cord over Vadeen’s wrists. “But I never thought honor would feel like betrayal.”

  Chapter 11

  They rode out of the main gate at dawn. One of the guards lifted steepled fingers to Reddick and smiled. The sight infuriated Dayven, quelling the horror he felt at the thought of his tutor dying a traitor’s death … for a few moments. Honor used to seem so clear to him. Now it had faded into shades of gray. Like a wizard’s robe.

  The road down the high cliffs that kept the Tharn from conquering Damishaff was too difficult for conversation. They had three days’ hard riding to do before they reached the Town-within-the-Walls, and the sky was heavy with clouds. The dismal weather matched Dayven’s mood so perfectly that they rode for most of the day before he realized it wasn’t just the promise of rain and his own grim thoughts that were depressing him. He reined in and looked around.

  Two weeks ago he would have passed these fields and seen nothing amiss. Now, with wizard’s eyes, he saw the scrawny seed heads, the thin stalks, the small signs of death. He realized he’d been riding past fields like this for hours.

  Reddick pulled his mule around, watching Dayven thoughtfully.

  “What’s wrong with these crops?” the boy asked. “They’re terrible.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” said Reddick. “The land is weakening. You’ve heard people say it before, I know.”

  Dayven remembered what the cook had said. “I thought it was just some Cenzar superstition. You know, the land grieving for its rightful masters.”

  “I don’t think the land knows who owns it,” said Reddick. “The problem is the way it’s being farmed. The Tharn are new to this valley.”

  “We’ve been here for—”

  “Three generations.” His tutor nodded. “But the Cenzar have been farming this land for hundreds of generations. They know things about it the Tharn could never understand.”

  “Well, I don’t understand.”

  “That’s because this kind of thing isn’t covered in the battle songs. When the Tharn lived in the northern forests they were a moving people. They’d build a city out of wood, farm the area they cleared to get the lumber, and graze their herds in the meadows. In twenty, maybe thirty years, the grazing would be gone and they’d move to another part of the forest and build a new city. The soil in the forest was rich; they never stayed in one place long enough to wear it out.”

  “Wear it out? Dirt can’t wear out.”

  “Wrong. Like there are differences in rocks, there are differences in the earth. In this valley, there’s less rain and the soil is sandy. That’s why there’s no forest. But the Cenzar raised rich harvests here, year after year. They had a system. Plant corn or barley in a field one year, and wheat the next. These crops wear the soil out. So you plant beans the next year. We don’t know how, but beans refresh the earth. Then the fourth year you don’t plant anything, just leave the field to rest. Next year you can plant corn or barley again and get a fine crop.”

  Dayven g
azed over the fields around them. “These are all planted in wheat or corn or barley. I haven’t seen any empty ones.”

  Reddick nodded. “When the Tharn conquered the valley, they didn’t understand. Because they knew how to make steel, and the Cenzar didn’t, they thought they knew more about everything. The Tharn were herdsmen; they called the farmers lazy when they saw that every fourth field was empty. And their herds needed grain.

  “The farmers tried to explain, and later the wizards did too, but none of the Guardians would listen. So we found a man who did understand, and tried to put him in power. You know how that ended.”

  “Was that the cause of the wizards’ rebellion?”

  Reddick nodded grimly.

  “My grandmother died in it,” Dayven told him. “The wizard Adina. Didn’t you know?” He had spent his life despising the woman for her treachery, for the disgrace she’d brought upon her family, but this … this was courage worthy of a Guardian!

  “Why would I?” Reddick asked. “You thought we kept track of wizards’ descendants? We don’t. It really isn’t hereditary; you have magic because of you, not your grandmother. You should be proud of her, though. She died for a good cause.”

  “So now… Ah, why did the wizards stay? After so many were killed, I’d think you’d have given up.”

  “That’s the downside of being a wizard. Once you’ve seen, really seen something like this, you can’t turn your back on it. We had to stay, to keep trying. Now it’s almost too late.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The land isn’t just weakening — it’s dying. Every year the crops are thinner. If we start now it could be brought back, made healthy again. But we have to start now. Another ten years, maybe as few as five, and the land will be past healing. In another generation nothing will grow in this valley. Not enough to feed men. And then—”

  “The Tharn will move on,” murmured Dayven. “Leaving famine and desolation behind them.”

  “You got it, kid.”

  The rain fell that evening. Crouched by the snapping fire, Dayven watched his tutor feed spices into the stew pot.

  He hoped, without much confidence, that the greased, tight-woven blanket wrapped around him would keep water from soaking through. The rain didn’t seem to bother Reddick at all.

  “Cheer up. We’ve got fire, food, and the trees are keeping the worst of it off. I thought showing fortitude in adversity was Guardians’ rule number … seven?”

  “Eight. But I’m not a Guardian, am I?” If he revealed the wizard’s plan, Lord Enar would probably make him one. The thought did nothing to cheer him. “Not even a ghost would be out in this weather if it had any sense — which evidently wizards don’t.”

  Reddick laughed. “No one’s ever accused us of being sensible.”

  Dayven glared at him, and then thought of something. “Do all wizards become ghosts?”

  “What?”

  Dayven pulled the blanket tighter. “They say ghosts are people who lost their true path. So I wondered…”

  Reddick settled himself comfortably. “All right, let’s take this step by step. How do you know what your destiny is?”

  “Those on their true path feel confident and certain,” Dayven recited. “The false path brings doubt and dismay.” He was definitely on a false path now. The problem was, he couldn’t see any way to get off of it.

  “So why would anyone follow a false path?”

  “They’re tempted by greed, or weakness when the true path becomes hard.”

  “Right. So how do you know the difference between a true path that’s hard and a false one?”

  “Well…”

  “Exactly.”

  Did that mean this terrible choice was his true destiny? Dayven shivered. “It’s easy for you, isn’t it? Wizards don’t believe in anything.”

  “Not true, kid. We believe in lots of things — and one of them is that it’s choice, not destiny, that decides our fate. Have you ever wondered exactly how wizards alter men’s destinies?”

  “Well, I assumed…” Dayven fell silent. He had always known that wizards lured men from their true path, but how they went about it was something he’d never considered before.

  “Mostly, it’s because we show them choices,” said Reddick quietly. “Choices their own people don’t offer them. Choices they might never even have thought of before.”

  “And you think that’s a good thing?” Dayven struggled to keep the betraying anger out of his voice.

  “Sometimes it is,” the wizard replied. “And sometimes I’m astonished that they don’t hang the lot of us and be done with it.”

  The thought that this terrible decision might be governed by nothing but his own whim was even more appalling than thinking destiny had led him here. “Then I’m not surprised you all become ghosts,” Dayven retorted.

  Reddick grinned. “The Cenzar don’t believe in ghosts.”

  “The Cenzar are barbarians.” But he didn’t believe that, not anymore. When had his opinion of them changed? He hoped Vadeen had been found before he became too uncomfortable. But Vadeen’s discomfort would only be physical — his path was clear. Dayven would gladly trade places with him. “I don’t know,” he said aloud. “I don’t think I know anything anymore.”

  “In a wizard,” said Reddick gently, “that’s a good sign. The less you know, the more you ask.”

  It didn’t feel good. “When do I get some answers?”

  “No idea, kid. I haven’t got ‘em yet.”

  “Wonderful.” A trickle of rain soaked through the blanket and rolled down Dayven’s neck. He sneezed. It was better than crying.

  The next two days’ of riding were a misery of wet, cold, and mud. The nights were hard for different reasons.

  A firm hand shook Dayven out of blood-soaked dreams. “No!” he shouted, flailing wildly. His fist struck something solid that caught and held it.

  “Wake up,” said Reddick soothingly. “You’re dreaming.”

  “It was Soren.” Dayven clung to his tutor, shaking. “He was fighting the Cenzar. He… I dreamed they…”

  “Only a nightmare.” Reddick patted his shoulder.

  Dayven sat up abruptly and released Reddick’s robe. “I’m sorry,” he said coldly. “Did I wake you?”

  “That’s all right.” Reddick returned to his own bedroll. “It must have been quite a dream though. You want to talk about it?”

  “No,” said Dayven. The silence lengthened. The last thing he wanted was to ask the wizard for help, but the need to know grew until he had to speak.

  “Reddick, do wizards know about dreams?”

  “You have ‘em when you’re asleep.”

  Dayven snorted. “But do wizard’s dreams ever mean anything?”

  “No more than anyone else’s. Sometimes you dream about things that worry you. Sometimes dreams don’t seem to mean anything at all.”

  “They don’t come true then? Wizards’ dreams?”

  “Not wizards’ dreams particularly. I’ve heard about dreams coming true, but I’ve never had it happen. Or known anyone it’s happened to. I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Dayven rolled away from his tutor and waited, in open-eyed silence, for dawn.

  The mud slowed them, but on the evening of the third day they saw the Town-within-the-Walls.

  “We’re at least two hours’ ride out.” Reddick squinted into the distance. “It wouldn’t matter even if we made it; they’re closing the gates. They wouldn’t open them just to let wizards in. One more camp.”

  Dayven studied the familiar towers in the glowing light. His father had come to this city when he was only a boy, to be Watcherlad to the previous Lordowner. Dayven had been born within its walls. He remembered how much his mother had loved it.

  “The Cenzar called it Miskafar. They built it, didn’t they?” Now that he knew Cenzar stonework he could see their craft in every line and arch.

  “Of course
.” Reddick had found some dry wood and was starting a fire. “That wasn’t the work of three generations, more like ten.”

  Dayven sat down with a thump and held out his hands to the blaze. He realized that he had already made his decision, sometime on that miserable rainy ride. He just hadn’t been willing to admit it, until now. He was cold, and so tired he almost didn’t care anymore. Almost.

  “Finally,” said Reddick. “A different scowl.”

  “What?”

  “Ever since you eavesdropped on our conference, you’ve been wearing the scowl of someone trying to make an impossible decision. Now you’re wearing the scowl of someone who’s made a decision, but doesn’t like it.”

  Dayven’s jaw dropped, but no sound came out.

  “One thing, kid. If you’ve decided to tell Lord Enar our plan, give me a chance to warn the other wizards to get out. Will you do that?”

  “You’d give me a chance to tell him?”

  “How could I stop you?” Reddick asked calmly. “You think I could kill you?”

  “No,” said Dayven. “I know you won’t.” That mattered to him more than he cared to admit. “But I didn’t think you sensed me on the roof. Didn’t the spell work?”

  “Oh, your spell was great; I didn’t sense you at all. Vadeen on the other hand…”

  “Oh.” Dayven blushed.

  “You’ll learn. You’ve got real talent for magic. For spying… Maybe with practice.”

  “Don’t you get tired of living a lie all the time?” Dayven asked.

  “You mean my reputation? I don’t have to do it all the time. Only enough to maintain the image in public. And it isn’t entirely a lie. I was pretty wild when I was younger. I started to outgrow it about the same time I realized how useful it could be.”

  “Why?”

  Reddick’s brows rose. “Surely you figured that out?”

  “I meant, why did you outgrow it?”

  “I became a wizard,” said Reddick. “It’s hard to waste your life once you’ve discovered the world is this beautiful.”