And they don’t have much of a plot, he thought sourly.
Finally he opened the sideboard and poured himself a large cup of mead from the small cask Moira kept there. Moira preferred the mead of the villages to the wines of the Capital and she liked to have a cup after supper. Wiz hadn’t eaten yet, but it looked to be about supper time to him.
Normally he didn’t care for mead, finding its sweetness cloying. But tonight it wasn’t half bad. He had a second cup and that wasn’t bad at all. The mead didn’t exactly make his thinking clearer, but it did seem to narrow down the problem and focus him on the major outlines.
"Priorities," he said, hoisting his third cup to the dragon demon sitting atop his books. "I’ve got to start setting priorities." He drained the cup in a single long draught and went to the cask to refill it again.
"Moira’s priority one," he said waving the cup in the general direction of the demon. "I’ve gotta get Moira back." He slopped a little mead from the cup and giggled. "Screw the wizards, scroo’m all. Moira’s what’s important."
He poured half the contents of the cup down his throat in a single swallow.
"Then the compiler. Never mind the Council. They’re not important anyway. I finish the compiler and where’s the Council, hey? Poof. All gone. Don’t need them no more."
It took him a while, but sometime early in the morning he finished the cask of mead.
Well, he thought muzzily as he staggered into the bedroom, it’s one way to pass the time.
The morning was death with birdsong.
Wiz’s head was pounding, his eyeballs felt like they had been sandpapered and his mouth felt as if something small and furry had crawled in there and died.
Now I understand why they invented television, he thought as he splashed cold water on his face and neck. No hangover.
There was no food in the apartment and the only things to drink were water and a bottle of mead. The thought of the mead nearly made Wiz lose his stomach and the water wasn’t very satisfying.
Somewhere in the back of his head, buried under several layers of pain, he remembered that the wizards had a spell that cured hangovers. He needed that more than he needed anything else right now, except Moira. Afterwards he could get breakfast in the refectory with the inhabitants of the castle who chose not to cook for themselves.
He groped his way toward the Wizards’ Day Room where he expected to find someone who could put him out of his misery.
Naturally the first person he met was Pryddian.
The ex-apprentice took in Wiz’s condition in a single glance. "A good day to you, My Lord," he said, much too loudly.
Wiz mumbled a greeting and tried to step by the man.
"What is the matter this morning, Sparrow?" Pryddian boomed, moving in front of him again. "Suffering from an empty nest?"
"Leave me alone, will you?" Wiz mumbled.
Pryddian was almost shouting now. "Poor Sparrow, his magic fails him this morning. All his mighty spells cannot even cure a simple hangover." Again Wiz tried to move around him and again the man blocked his way.
"You need the help of a real wizard, Sparrow. Maybe he could make you a love philtre while he’s at it, eh? Something to keep your wife home at nights."
Suddenly it was all too much.
Wiz whirled on his tormentor. Pryddian caught his look and stepped back, hands up as if warding off a blow.
"backslash," he shouted.
The lines of magical force twisted and shimmered.
Wiz froze with his arm extended and his mouth open.
Pryddian shrank back, his face white.
Wiz dropped his arms. "cancel."
"I’m sorry," he mumbled. I didn’t mean to…"
Pryddian gathered himself and beat a hasty retreat.
Wiz became aware that a dozen people were watching him from doors along the corridor. His face burning, he turned and fled.
Wiz had little less than an hour to contemplate the enormity of what he had almost done before Bal-Simba came calling. The giant black wizard was obviously not in a good mood.
"I must ask you this and I compel you to answer me truthfully," he said as soon as he had closed the door. "Did you threaten to use magic on Pryddian?"
"Yes, Lord," Wiz said miserably.
"And he did not threaten you first?"
"Well, he got in my face."
"But he offered you no threat?"
"No, Lord."
Bal-Simba looked as if he would explode.
"Lord, with the problems with the project and Moira gone and then him… Lord, I am sorry."
Bal-Simba scowled like a thundercloud. "No doubt you are. But that would not have saved Pryddian if you had followed through with your intent. Magic is much too powerful to be loosed in anger. You above all others should know that."
"Yes, Lord. But he has been riding me for days."
"Is that an excuse?" Bal-Simba asked sharply. "Do you hold power so lightly that you will loose magic on any person who annoys you? If so, which of us are safe from you?"
"No, Lord," Wiz mumbled, "it isn’t an excuse."
The huge wizard relaxed slightly. "Pryddian’s behavior has not gone unnoticed. He will be dealt with. The question is what to do with you."
He looked at Wiz speculatively until Wiz fidgeted under his gaze.
"It would be best if you were to absent yourself a while," Bal-Simba said finally. "I believe matters can be smoothed over but it will be easier to do if you are not here."
"Yes, Lord," said Wiz miserably.
"In fact, this would accomplish two things," he said absently. "I have received a request from the village of Leafmarsh Meadow. They have asked for one of the Mighty to assist them. That is sufficient reason for you to be gone, I think.
"Also, we have many reports that this new magic of yours is already at work on the Fringe of the Wild Wood."
"That would be ddt, the magic protection spell I hacked up," Wiz told him.
"The reports of the hedge witches and other wizards are somewhat confusing. I want to see what is going on through your eyes."
"Yes, Lord. Uh, what about Moira?"
"I am sure she is safe. If she returns while you are gone, I will tell her where you are.
"I will send a journeyman wizard with you. You will leave tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, it would be best if you were to stay out of sight." He looked down at Wiz. "And take something for that hangover."
This close to the Capital, the woods were carefully tended tree lots rather than the raw forest of the Wild Wood. But the trees still shut out prying eyes and the relative isolation made prying magic easy to sense. That was the important thing.
Ebrion made his way to the middle of the grove. He looked around cautiously, extended his magical senses for any hint of watcher and then extended his arm, finger pointing south.
As if on cue, a tiny bird flickered through the trees and landed on his outstretched finger. To the eye it was an ordinary wren, speckled brown on brown. A magician would have sensed instantly that it was no ordinary bird, but part of the reason for meeting in the woods was to keep the bird away from other magicians.
The bird cocked its head to one side and regarded the wizard with a beady eye.
The Sparrow has left the Capital, Ebrion thought at the bird. He is to be gone perhaps four days and then he will return along the Wizard’s Way. Be ready for him.