The morning of the convocation dawned cold and crisp, with low, dark clouds that promised snow by midday.
Nestor squinted up at the sky. “Snow, eh?” he muttered. “We’ll see about that.” He threw off his white fur cloak and raised both arms high. In his right hand he grasped his burnished ivory staff. It glowed with an amber gleam as does honey in sunlight. Carefully, the mage inscribed circles with the staff. Then he brought its tip to rest sharply against the ground. With his free hand, Nestor gestured broadly, as if to encompass the entire grey bowl of the sky in his embrace.
“Qua-Sachem-Moree!” he cried and his voice was like summer thunder. “Sheft-Kazem-Bansin!”
A dazzling sunbeam split the gloom like a golden knife. Then another. The clouds were rent to tatters by sunlight. Swiftly they dispersed and the sun shone merrily in a bright blue sky. A winter bird filled the air with fluting notes. It would be a clear, beautiful day.
“That’s better,” Nestor said. He scratched his stomach thoughtfully. The scent of fresh-baked oatcakes came to him, drawing him back into the house.
“Breakfast first,” he said. “Then we’ll see about the wizards’ convocation.”
“Will every great wizard in the four quarters be there?” Dora wanted to know.
“From the four quarters and beyond,” Nestor said. “So look sharp, girl. And mind that tongue of yours. Apprentices should be seen, not heard.” He munched contentedly. When he was finished, his plate and cup whisked themselves away. Dora and Renno had eaten hours before.
Dora appeared in a sky-colored cloak. She grinned eagerly and pirouetted before the mage.
“Very pretty,” Renno said.
“Don’t go swelling her head,” Nestor said.
Dora laughed. “But then I would have more room for spells, wouldn’t I?”
Nestor cleared his throat although it sounded much like smothered laughter. “Let’s be off,” he said. “Renno, watch the house until we return. Child, take my hand.”
Silent winds seemed to converge upon them from all corners, sending their clothes billowing and hair flying. The walls of the house faded, faded, and for a moment they were in a strange white space. Then dark walls sprang up around them, heavy with old wood, stained by smoke. Nestor and Dora found themselves in the midst of a fine banquet hall. And all around them were wizards in a rainbow of cloaks.
“Nestor,” called one with a thick red beard. “Well met.”
“Annesh,” Nestor said. “And Rovard.”
A short wizard whose hairless head shone in the firelight winked at him. “A fine day, thanks to you.”
All were carrying staffs and talking boisterously. Two young mages floated in mid-air, juggling spheres of blue light high above the heads of those assembled. In the corner, a tall wizard in a green cloak began shape-changing: he became a golden dragon whose eyes glittered with red fire, then a white, winged horse with a silver mane, and next a strange beast with clawed feet and green fur.
Dora watched, wide-eyed. She could scarcely hear herself think for the noise. Shyly, she peered at the other apprentices. They were dark-robed boys who towered over her—young giants they seemed, and so much older, so much wiser. With lordly confidence they walked behind their masters, nodding at one another and sharing occasional jests. With great reluctance, Dora threw back her hood. Her red-gold hair glowed in the firelight.
All talk ceased. The assembled wizards and apprentices, the mages and servants, all stared at Dora as though they’d never seen such a sight before.
“Ho, Nestor!” called the hairless wizard named Rovard. A broad smile lit his face. “What’s this? A girl for an apprentice? You must be joking.”
Nestor drew himself up with enormous dignity. “It’s no joke. Why not a girl? She’s quick and nimble.”
“But such tiny hands,” Rovard said.
Annesh nodded until his red beard danced from side to side. “Next we’ll be seeing felaks and sphinxes.”
All laughed. But above the merry din, one voice rang out, sour and loud.
“So, greybeard! I see you are just as foolish as ever. I can’t believe you felt worthy enough to come to this meeting. You should be at home, by the hearth.”
Again, the room grew silent.
Nestor turned, grey eyes flaring blue with anger.
The speaker was a man of medium build with dark black hair, a mustache, goatee, and eyes the color of ice. He wore a grey cloak with a full hood lined by dark fur.
“Dalbaeth,” Nestor said. “I had hoped we would not meet.”
“And so you have been saying since the day you tricked my father and claimed victory,” Dalbaeth said. His voice was icy with disdain. “You are afraid that I’ll best you.”
“I don’t fear what isn’t possible,” Nestor said. He turned to move away.
Dalbeath stepped in front of him and set his black staff down firmly against the brick floor. “I challenge.”
Nestor froze. His eyes glinted with blue fire.
“Don’t be foolish,” Annesh said heatedly. “The contest between Nestor and your father was settled years ago, Dalbaeth. Don’t prolong this grudge.”
“And for long years I have wanted an opportunity to regain the family’s honor,” Dalbaeth said. His cold gaze never once left Nestor’s face.
Nestor nodded sharply. “As you will,” he said. “It’s best that we settle this matter now.”
Everyone began speaking at once. The room filled with voices shouting both protest and approval.
Above the din, Rovard alone could be heard. “Not here,” he bellowed. “You must resolve your differences away from this gathering in a secluded place. None may be endangered, none may observe, and none may aid.”
“Of course,” Nestor said. “I propose the Ganz Valley beyond the river knoll.”
“Acceptable,” Dalbaeth said. “When?”
Nestor met his gaze squarely. “Now.”
His eyes still on Dalbaeth, Nestor spoke five words very quickly.
The room spun around them, walls blurring to white. Then the walls fell away and the two wizards were standing in the midst of a broad meadow lined by tall, leafless trees. A cool wind whispered above, bearing the chill breath of winter.
“What is that child doing here?” Dalbaeth demanded.
Nestor spun around to find Dora sitting on the ground behind him.
“Girl! You weren’t to accompany me. Why didn’t you remain in the hall?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But you moved so quickly there wasn’t time for me to get free. I couldn’t help but cling to your robe and be carried along.”
“I’ll send you back,” he said.
“No, please,” Dora said. “I want to stay.”
Nestor’s brows knotted in a frown. “This isn’t any place for children.”
“I’m your apprentice.” She folded her arms across her chest. “You said so yourself.”
Dalbaeth roared with laughter. “A girl for an apprentice, Nestor. How appropriate. And next I suppose you’ll train a mule to do spells?”
Nestor’s eyes flashed. “Have it your way, girl. Stay, then. But keep back and guard yourself.” He pointed to a jumble of green rocks to one side of the meadow. “Get out of the way.”
Dora peered around the side of a slippery smooth boulder. It felt like green ice under her fingers.
The two wizards squared off. For a moment, all time seemed suspended. Both men were motionless, each watching the other. Only the voice of the wind could be heard, sighing in the dry yellow grass.
As though a signal had been given, each man leaned toward the other.
Dalbaeth held his hands above his head and lightning sprang from his fingers.
Nestor roared an oath which rendered the lightning into fireflies that flashed and sparkled a moment before dispersing on the wind.
Without pause, Dalbaeth shouted another spell, and before his voice had died away an answering thunder rocked the meadow. With a terrible ripping sound, the ground beneath Nestor’s feet wrenched open.