Wizard’s Bane

"I do not know. There is something—strange—about him, but it is not magic."

"The effects of the Summoning?"

Bal-Simba frowned. "I do not think so. It goes beyond that, I believe." He kept silent for a moment.

"You say Patrius told you he was summoning a wizard?" he asked at last.

"Yes, Lord." Then Moira stopped. "Well… not exactly."

"What then exactly?"

Moira screwed up her face in an effort to remember. "Patrius said he was Summoning someone who could help us against the League." She made the warding gesture. "Someone with great magical power. When I asked him if the man was a wizard he evaded the question. But," she added thoughtfully, "he never called him a wizard."

"But he did say that this man had great power?"

"Yes, Lord. He said he looked long and hard to find him."

"That I can believe," Bal-Simba said absentmindedly. "Searching beyond the World is long and hard indeed. Hmm… but he did not call him a wizard, you say?"

"No, Lord."

"When I asked Patrius that he would not answer."

Bal-Simba’s head sunk down on his chest.

"Lord," Moira interrupted timidly, "didn’t Patrius tell the Council what he was doing?"

Bal-Simba grimaced. "Do you think we would have allowed this madness had we known? No, we knew Patrius was engaged in a great project of some sort, but he told no none, not even his apprentices, what he was about.

"He had spoken to me of the tide of our struggle with the Dark League and how it fared. He was not sanguine and I knew in a general way that he intended something beyond the common. But I had assumed he would lay the project before the Council when it came to fruition. I assumed rashly and it cost us dearly."

"But why, Lord? Why would he take such an awful risk?"

"Because with the League so strong not all of the Mighty together could have performed a Great Summoning."

He caught the look on Moira’s face.

"You did not know that? Yes, it is true. All of us together are not enough to make magic of that sort against the League’s opposition." He smiled ruefully. "Thus the Council wanes as the League grows greater."

"Then why… ?"

"Patrius obviously believed that by working alone and without the usual protections he might be able to complete the Summoning before the League realized what was happening. He was wrong and it cost him his life." He nodded toward Wiz. "Patrius risked his life to gain a man of great magical power. Instead he brought us someone who seems as common as dirt. It makes no sense."

Again the great Bal-Simba was silent, his head sank down on his necklace in contemplation.

"What do you think of this?" he asked finally.

"Lord, I am not qualified to pass on the actions of the Mighty."

Bal-Simba waved that aside. "You were here. You saw. What do you think?"

Moira took a deep breath. "I think Patrius made a mistake. I think he intended someone else and under the strain of the attack…" her green eyes misted and she swallowed hard as she relived those awful moments " . . . under the strain of the attack he Summoned the wrong person."

"Possible," Bal-Simba rumbled. "Just possible. But I wonder. Wizards who make mistakes do not live to become Mighty, still less as mighty as Patrius."

"Yes, Lord," said Moira meekly.

"I do not convince you, eh girl? Well, I am not sure I convince myself." He turned back and looked at Wiz, sitting dazed and uncomprehending on the stone. "In any event, the problem now is what to do with our visitor."

Moira snorted. "He is an expensive visitor, Lord. He cost us so much for so little."

"Perhaps, but we cannot leave him to wander. You can see for yourself that he is as helpless as a sparrow. Sparrow, hmm? A good world name for him, especially since the name he uses is too close to his true name. But no, he cannot be left to wander."

"Will you take him with you, Lord?"

Bal-Simba frowned. "That would not be wise, I think, and dangerous besides. The fewer who know of him the better. No, he needs to go someplace safe. A sanctuary with as little magic as possible. A place where he can remain while I consult the others of the Mighty."

"My village is…"

"Unsafe," the black giant said. "Already we are being probed. I suspect the League would like very much to get their hands on him."

"Would it matter so much? Since he has no magic, I mean."

"Hush, girl. You do not mean that."

Moira looked at Wiz with distaste but shook her head. Falling into the hands of the League was not a fate to be wished on anyone, even someone who had caused the death of Patrius.

"What then?"

"There is a place. A few days into the Wild Wood where he could find sanctuary. A place of very little magic."

Moira’s eyes lit and she opened her mouth but Bal-Simba motioned her to silence. "Best not to say it. There might be others about to hear, eh? No, you will have to take him—there—and give him into the charge of the one who lives there."

"Me, Lord? But I have my work."

"I will see another is sent in your place. He must be guided and protected, do you not see?"

"But why me, Lord?"

Bal-Simba ticked off the reasons on his fingers. "First, you are here and already privy to this business. The less others know of it the better. Second, you know the way through the Wild Wood. Third, time is of the essence. This place grows increasingly dangerous. And fourth," he held up his pinky finger and his eyes twinkled, "he is in love with you."

Moira made a face. "An infatuation spell! But I am not in love with him."

"Nonetheless, he will follow at your heels like a puppy. No, you are the logical one to serve as the mother hen for our Sparrow."

"Forgive me, Lord, but I find his presence distasteful."

Bal-Simba sighed. "In this world, child, all of us must do things which are distasteful on occasion."

Moira bowed her head. "Yes, Lord." But I don’t have to like it! she thought furiously.

"Very well, off with you then." He turned and gestured to Wiz. "Straight on and hurry." Wiz reeled and shook his head to clear it.

"I will need some things from the village, Lord."

"I will have someone meet you with food and your other needs at the bridge on the Forest Highway."

"Lord, cannot I at least go back to say goodbye? Just for a few minutes?"

Bal-Simba shook his head. "Too dangerous. Both for you and the villagers. No, you will have to move quickly and quietly and attract as little notice as possible."

"Yes, Lord," Moira sighed.

"Now go, girl, and quickly. I cannot shield this clearing for much longer. I will consult the Council and come to you at your destination."

Moira bowed her head. "Merry part, Lord."

"Merry meet again, Lady."

"Huh?" said Wiz groggily.

"Come on you," Moira said viciously and grabbed his hand. She jerked and Wiz staggered to his feet.

"Well, move, clumsy. Come on!" and she strode off with a lovesick Wiz stumbling along in tow.

Bal-Simba watched the ill-assorted pair disappear down the forest path. Then he sat on the rock just vacated by Wiz and turned his attention to weaving masking spells to buy the travellers as much time as he possibly could.

Two Passage in Peril

The afternoon was as fine as the morning, warm and sunny with just a bit of a breeze to stir the leaves and cool the traveller. The birds sang and the summer flowers perfumed the air. Here and there the early blackberries showed dark on their canes.

Wiz was in no mood to appreciate any of it. Before they had gone a mile he was huffing and blowing. In two miles his T-shirt was soaked and beads of sweat were running down his face, stinging his eyes and dripping from the tip of his nose. Still Moira hurried him along the twisting path, up wooded hills and down through leafy vales, ignoring his discomfort.