The Sword of the South - eARC (14 page)

“Why not?” Bahzell asked. “As Brandark says, when the King Emperor commands, folk tend to be doing as he asks. And if I were after being the Duke, there’s no captain I’d sooner trust with
my
bullion shipment.”

“True, Brandark does have a habit of getting where he sets out to go. But it offers an unfortunate pretext, Bahzell.”

“Pretext?” Kenhodan was puzzled.

“For a traceless disappearance he means, I’m thinking,” Bahzell murmured.

“Exactly. If someone—with command of the art, let’s say—discovers where we are, we may bring Brandark more trouble than he’s reckoned for. It would surprise everyone if Brandark failed to complete a normal voyage…but if we don’t arrive now, people will simply assume we met more corsairs than even he could handle. And the bullion offers a perfect bait for an ill-intentioned wizard to inspire the corsairs to make the attempt.”

“And be helping us to the bottom by unnatural means with no one the wiser,” Bahzell grunted.

“But why?” Kenhodan asked. “I mean, why should anyone need a ‘pretext’? You’re a wizard—a
white
wizard—and you’ve spent the gods only know how long dealing with one rogue wizard after another. Surely no one would be surprised if one of those rogue wizards used sorcery against you.”

“Surprised, no,” Wencit agreed. “But angry? Yes.”

“If they’re worried about making someone angry, then why did they use sorcery last night?”

“As far as last night goes, that was very carefully
chosen
sorcery,” Wencit replied. “Shadow chill is lethal, but they also carried swords. The shadowmage was a last-ditch weapon they didn’t want to use, because what he would’ve done would have been unmistakable sorcery. But if we’d been cut down by blades, who could prove they hadn’t been honest steel?”

“But why would it matter? Let’s face it, Wencit. If they’d
succeeded
in killing you, who’d be in a position to do anything about it?”

“The Council of Semkirk, lad,” Bahzell said. “They’d not be so very happy about that at all, at all. I’m thinking they’d have no choice but to stand by and watch if someone was after being so cork-brained as to be challenging our Wencit to a formal duel. They’d not like it, you understand, but it’s little choice they’d have. But a sorcerous attack without challenge? In the middle of a city with never a wizard of its own? No, they’d not be standing for that, and I’d not like to be the black wizard as got the lot of them set them on my trail.”

“What’s the Council of Semkirk?” Kenhodan was puzzled. Semkirk was the god of wisdom and mental and physical discipline. It was true that, before the Fall of Kontovar, he’d been the patron of white wizardry, as well, but the art of wizardry had fallen on hard times since. He rather doubted any of the Gods of Light would have desired the worship of most of sorcery’s present practitioners.

“The council of mishuki and magi sworn to destroy black sorcery and any who practice it,” Bahzell replied grimly.

“Magi? Isn’t that just another name for wizards?”

“I’m thinking your memory
is
after having some holes,” Bahzell said gently, yet with an edge in his voice. Not one aimed at him, Kenhodan was sure, but it sounded like hurt…or fear. “No one’s been after using ‘mage’ that way in centuries.”

“No? Then what does it mean now? And why should wizards be afraid of mishuki? They’re only weaponless combat experts, aren’t they?”

“As to fearing mishuki, why,
I’m
more than a little fearful of such as they!” Bahzell’s levity felt strangely flat, and he went on more slowly. “As for magi, now, that’s another matter. A mage is after being a mental adept, one as can be doing some of the things a wizard can, although it’s not the same thing at all, at all.”

“Indeed,” Wencit said dryly.

“Magi can duplicate some wizard’s powers,” Bahzell said slowly, “but sorcery’s after being the furthest thing from their way. And most folk think of them as natural allies against wizards. There’re after being…exceptions, though.” His voice was suddenly very low. “And a mage pays for his power.”

His soft voice faded, lost in the faint background noise of shouting longshoreman as they swayed the last of
Wave Mistress
’ cargo aboard. Kenhodan felt the hradani’s withdrawal without understanding it, but something in Bahzell’s face kept him from probing. Instead, he simply waited, and finally Bahzell shook himself and resumed more briskly.

“But to be answering your question, lad, both mage and mishuk follow Semkirk, and his Council’s a powerful thing. Black wizards fear it like death, with good reason, and I’m thinking the Council would be after taking violent exception to our unnatural ends. Especially if someone else was after going with us.”

“Then why hasn’t it already gone after Wulfra?” Kenhodan demanded.

“Because the Council bears the King Emperor’s commission,” Wencit said sternly, “and such responsibilities have limits which may not be overstepped. Magi may be born anywhere in Norfressa, Kenhodan, but all of the major academies are either located in the Empire of the Axe or—like the Jâshân Academy in the Empire of the Spear—were founded by and associated with one of the Axeman academies. Whether the Council likes it or not, it’s firmly associated with the Axe in the mind of every Norfressan, and the King Emperor recognized that two hundred years ago when he formally vested it with the authority to investigate charges of black wizardry anywhere in his territory.

“But because he gave them that authority within the Empire, and because that means they act in
his
name when they exercise it, they can never act beyond his borders without the permission of the ruler whose land they’d enter…or on the King Emperor’s direct orders. Obviously Fallona won’t ask them to attack someone she thinks is her friend! And the King Emperor can’t send them in against her will unless he has an ironbound case. Mind you, if he
had
that ironbound case, he probably would; black wizardry’s something the Axe has never tolerated anywhere on—or near—its soil. Of course, that would be an act of war, however justified it might be, and he could be confident Soldan would invade Angthyr to ‘protect’ it.”

“And so far, Wulfra’s avoided any open violations of the Strictures where there’s eyes as might see and tongues as might wag,” Bahzell observed gloomily.

“Indeed she has,” Wencit agreed. “Officially, her magic’s white as the snow, though it stinks of the dark to another wizard, and I doubt she could hide the evidence of her use of the Dark if anyone with mage or wizard’s training got close enough to Castle Torfo to see it. But as baroness, she has the authority to bar magi from Torfo unless the Queen herself overrules her, which means none of the Council’s wizard sniffers are likely to get close enough to provide the proof of that. That means it would be my word against hers, and more than a wizard’s word—even if one of the wizards is me—is needed to launch the Council at someone’s throat. Wulfra won’t give me that. She was leagues away when Alwith attacked us.
She
had nothing to do with such a heinous act! Why, if
she
wanted me dead, she’d use the Duel Arcane, exactly as the Strictures allow!”

Wencit’s irony was withering.

“I’m assuming from your tone that she’s…unlikely to do anything that open,” Kenhodan said. “If she were, though, how would it work?”

His curiosity was obvious, and Wencit’s nostrils flared.

“Not well for her,” he said flatly. “The Duel Arcane is a formal challenge to combat to the death between two wizards. The Strictures permit it, although mass combat’s forbidden, along with anything which might endanger non-wizards. I’ve…had a few of those of my own, over the centuries, but if another wizard wanted to challenge
me
formally, the Council would have to be consulted.

“You see, after the flight to Norfressa, they were too few white wizards to police the new lands against black wizardry, and even if there’d been more of us, it really wouldn’t have mattered. I told you what it cost us to strafe Kontovar. After that, there was no one to form a new White Council with me, and there were few new wizards in the years that followed. The refugees saw to that; enraged and terrified people take few chances. It was almost three hundred years before any of the new rulers in Norfressa were willing to trust even
me
, Kenhodan, outside of the House of Kormak, at least, and even Kormak and his son were unwilling to trust me openly, for fear of how their people might have reacted. It took that long for the survivors’ children to forgive me for the Council of Ottovar’s failure—
my
failure—to prevent the Fall. By that time, virtually all knowledge of the art had been lost in Norfressa, and to be honest, none of the new realms
wanted
that knowledge rediscovered. Yet they knew at least some scraps of various wizards’ libraries had made it out of Kontovar—some people will seek any means to power, however dark, after all. So when the magi emerged, we turned to the Council of Semkirk to assume the duties the White Council could no longer discharge. In fact, the two councils merged, after a manner of speaking. I’m the last member of the White Council, whose authority’s never been revoked, and I’m also the only non-mage member of the Council of Semkirk. I can do—and I’ve done—things in my persona as the Last Lord of the Council of Ottovar that the magi can’t do, though, because for the reasons I’ve already explained, the Council of Semkirk’s authority—its ‘reach,’ if you will—is far less extensive and far more hemmed in by restrictions than the White Council’s authority was under the House of Ottovar.”

“But there’s still provision for the Duel Arcane?” Kenhodan asked. Wencit nodded, and the red-haired man shrugged. “So why doesn’t someone challenge you and have done with it?”

“I’m thinking there’d be few dark wizards left if it so happened they were stupid enough to be doing that!” Bahzell snorted.

“I see.” Kenhodan considered that statement. “Look,” he said finally, “I understand that sorcery isn’t something you can explain in an afternoon, Wencit. But if I’m going to be mixed up with wizards, can’t you give me at least
some
idea about how it works?”

“I imagine I could give you a fair idea in a decade or two,” Wencit said.

“Once over lightly’s all I need, thank you!”

“All right, let’s see how simpleminded I can make it.”

Wencit steepled his fingers under his beard and smiled, then cleared his throat.

“Wizardry is a human talent,” he began, “All wizards have been either entirely human or at least partially so, just as all sarthnaisks—‘stone herds’—have been dwarvish or half-dwarvish, and there are three kinds of them. Once there were four, but the ancestors of the elves traded their special art for long life when Ottovar and Gwynytha declared the Strictures. So, these days, there are first, warlocks and witches, then come wand wizards—often called ‘sorcerers” or ‘sorceresses’—and, finally, wild wizards. Of the three, the first two are most feared by normal folk, but the wild wizard is most feared by those of the art.

“Warlocks have an inborn sensitivity to the art. Not so great as the elves once had, but enough for them to use it as naturally as their hands or feet, without formal training. But that actually makes them less powerful than wand wizards, because they’re untrained. To be honest, the vast majority of them don’t even realize they’re using the art at all. They simply think they have an odd ‘talent’ or two that works for them. Only a relative handful of them ever actually progress to a deliberate, conscious manipulation of the art.

“Because of that, because they’re untrained, they’re actually less powerful than wand wizards. True wizardry requires discipline and acquired skills, which warlocks simply don’t have. But that lack of training also means they seldom know the Strictures, and they often gravitate towards the dark side of the art. Few of them would knowingly lend themselves to the sort of foulness Wulfra embraces, but the best of them are varying shades of gray.

“Wand wizards, on the other hand, have little native sensitivity. More than non-wizards, but less than warlocks. Sorcerers gain their mastery through long, hard, sometimes fatal study. They used to be well taught in their responsibilities along the way, but even then the difficulty of their studies often led them to use a little of the dark side to survive perilous moments…physically at least. But there’s no such thing as ‘a little’ of the dark. If you use it even once, you open a chink in your armor; it’s always easier to slip a second time. The step from white wizardry to blood magic and death magic is seldom a one-time choice, Kenhodan. It comes from slow, steady corruption, and that’s what makes it entirely too easy for all too many wand wizards to slide into the black ranks one step at a time. Few escape that fate today. Indeed, I’ve known men and women who could have been powerful wand wizards but renounced their birthright, agonizing as that was, rather than risk falling into evil.

“The last sort, the wild wizards, are another case entirely. They have no native sensitivity at all, nor do they suspect even for an instant that they might ever become wizards, so they’re totally untrained for it when it happens. Instead, their power wakes suddenly, usually under terrible stress.”

He sighed sadly and reached for Brandark’s whiskey bottle. He poured the amber liquid into his tumbler and held it up against the light from the starboard quarter windows. He gazed at it for a moment, then threw it back in a single swallow and returned his gaze to Kenhodan.

“Wild wizards are very…elemental,” he said. “Their power comes on them only if they have no alternative. When all hope is gone, when grief and despair bite deepest, then a wild wizard feels the birth of the power he never knew he had. It can never be anticipated…and it always comes with a price of pain, or grief—or hate—which few sane people would willingly pay.

“Only a strong personality can assimilate such power,” Wencit said softly. “Not even another wild wizard can help in that moment. The new wizard’s alone, and the wild magic will destroy him unless he has a powerful will and realizes what’s happening. Yet if he survives, he comes into such power as neither warlock nor sorcerer can ever wield.”