Mickey Zucker Reichert - Renshai 02 - The Western Wizard

THE WESTERN WIZARD

Book Two of The Renshai Trilogy

Mickey Zucker Reichert

Copyright (r) 1992 by Mickey Zucker Reichert. To Mark Moore

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank the following people:

Sheila Gilbert, Jonathan Matson, Jody Lee, Mikie Gilbert, and D. Allan Drummond. Also, my "evil

stepsons": Benjamin Jordan Moore & Jonathan Lager Moore, with love.

"We . . . were by nature the children of wrath."

-Ephesians 2:3

PROLOGUE

For centuries, the Amirannak Sea had kicked spindrift on the ragged Northland shores, but the Northern

Sorceress, Trilless, watched waters glazed with calm. Perched upon a seaside cliff in the country of Asci,

she stared into the fjord, watching wind scarcely ruffle ocean the color of steel. The tide tugged so gently

that the waters barely seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat.

Trilless had come to this unpopulated shoreline for the quiet solace it offered, yet the ancient champion

of all goodness found no peace within or without. For all its stillness, the ocean seemed coiled and

restless, locked into the dark instant of lull that preceded the most violent storms. As if in answer, the

memories and surviving slivers of identity from Trilless' eighteen predecessors seemed to writhe within

her. Always before, they had remained quiescent, a conglomerate of experiences and references she

called upon in time of need. Now, they heaved and fidgeted like tempest-wracked waves, while the

ocean itself remained uncharacteristically stagnant.

More than four centuries ago, the ceremony that had established Trilless as the Northern Sorceress, one

of the four Cardinal Wizards, had also, by necessity, claimed the life of her direct predecessor. Trilless

knew that the pool of knowledge granted to her by that ceremony made her the most powerful of her

line, just as her own successor would gain the benefit of her lore and become even more wise,

knowledgeable, and skilled. The first four Cardinal Wizards established by Odin, including the original

Northern Sorceress, had no magical powers. Haunted by dreams and images, they had written or

spoken their prophecies, leaving them for later, more adept successors to fulfill. Now, Trilless found

herself haunted by the first prediction of the first Northern Sorceress:

In an age of change

When Chaos shatters Odin's ward

And the Cardinal Wizards forsake their vows

A Renshai shall come forward.

Hero of the Great War

He will hold legend and destiny in his hand

And wield them like a sword.

Too late shall he be known unto you:

The Golden Prince of Demons.

Clearly, that promised age of change had come. Trilless knew a tense expectancy that seemed to follow

her, an inescapable current that suffused the world and all the creatures in it. Some of the tenets had

already come to pass. Goaded by Carcophan, who was the current Southern Wizard, King Siderin of

the Eastlands had launched the Great War against the mixed races of the Westlands.

Trilless' brow knit. A scowl formed naturally on her creased features at the thought of Carcophan, her

evil opposite. Law and propriety had barred her from directly observing or taking part in this war. But,

through magic, she had glimpsed those parts which involved Northmen. Only one of the eighteen

Northern tribes had chosen to aid the Westerners in the War; the Vikerians had gone, allied to the Town

of Santagithi. Their second-in-command, a lieutenant called Valr Kirin, showed promise as a warrior and

as a possible champion of goodness. But, despite his competence, the hero of the Great War was not

Kirin "The Slayer."

Trilless' thoughts flowed naturally to the Renshai who had earned the title "Golden Prince of Demons,"

Colbey Calistinsson. She saw his cold blue-gray eyes in a hard face scarcely beginning to show age. He

kept his mixed gold and white locks hacked short, a style that looked out of place amid the other

Northmen's war braids. Though relatively small, he moved with a strength and agility she had never seen

matched in any warrior or acrobat. At sixty-five, Colbey was older than any Renshai in history, except

for the ancient Episte who had died a decade and a half ago. Enamored with war, Renshai rarely lived

through their thirties, and inbreeding had fostered a racial feature that made them seem younger than their

actual ages. This, combined with a custom of naming infants for brave warriors slain in battle, had given

rise to rumors that Renshai drank blood to remain eternally young.

Trilless sighed, missing the connection between Colbey and the doom suggested by the first Northern

Sorceress' forecast. So far, the Renshai's actions fell well within the tenets of Northern honor. She found

him as predictable as any of her own followers, though he had chosen neutrality over goodness. She

doubted any mortal could challenge the Cardinal Wizards, let alone begin the Ragnarok, the great war

destined to destroy the gods. Still, the prophecy implied that he would have some connection to the

primordial chaos that Odin had banished to create the world.

Below Trilless, the ocean remained gray and still. The presences of her predecessors shifted fretfully,

reminding her that the poem never stated that Colbey would directly cause the Wizards' broken vows,

the change, or the rise of chaos. Yet just the linking of his name with those events made their imminence

loom. How many more years can a sixty-five-year-old mortal have? Trilless answered her own question.

At most, a decade. To a sorceress nearly five centuries old, it seemed like an eye blink.

Trilless rose, her wrinkled features lost in the shadow of her hood. She wore a white cloak over robes

so light they enhanced an otherwise nearly invisible tinge of pink in her ivory-pale Northern skin. To the

Northmen, white symbolized purity. And, though no law of gods or Wizards made her dress the part of

goodness to the point of caricature, she chose to do so anyway. It reminded her always of her job and

her vows, and it gave added credence to her station. Odin's constraints against direct interference kept

her contacts with mankind rare and brief. Few enough men believed in Wizards anymore. .

Other concerns touched Trilless then. The Southern Wizard had disappeared even before the Great War

had begun. Surely, he knew that his champion had been defeated; yet he had chosen not to acknowledge

the loss or the rout of his followers. The experiences of Trilless' predecessors led her to believe that he

had retired to a private haven to sulk. It was not uncommon for a Cardinal Wizard to withdraw for

decades, returning only when large-scale events made a swift or strong defense necessary.

Yet Trilless knew her opposite too well. Despite two centuries as a Cardinal Wizard, Carcophan had

scarcely more patience than a mortal. She could not help but admire his dedication to his cause though it

stood in direct opposition to her own. She guessed Carcophan had left to plot in quiet; and when he

struck, she knew it would be with sudden and unexpected competence and efficiency. His predecessors

had relied on subtlety, insidiously infusing the followers of neutrality and goodness with his evil. Trilless

and her predecessors had done much the same thing with their goodness. Over the millennia, this had led

to a balance and a blurring of the boundaries and definitions of their causes. But Carcophan tended to

choose warrior's tactics: abrupt, committed strategies that resulted either in massive victories or, as in the

Great War, in wholesale defeat. I need to know what he's planning.

And Trilless faced one more urgent worry. Odin had decreed that the number of Cardinal Wizards

should always remain four; yet she had not heard from Tokar, the Western Wizard, in nearly half a

century. Ordinarily, this would not have bothered her; the actions and locations of the paired champions

of neutrality, the Eastern and Western Wizards, meant little to her. But when she had last seen Tokar, he

had just chosen his apprentice, which meant that his time of passing was imminent. As well, the attack by

Carcophan's champion should have brought the Western Wizard into the foreground. But it had not.

Shadimar, the Eastern Wizard, had taken over the tasks the Western Wizard had been destined to fulfill.

While Odin's Law allowed this, the Eastern Wizard was always the weaker of the two and far less

capable of handling his stronger compatriot's duties in addition to his own. Odin's laws stated that if a

Wizard was destroyed, the others must band together to replace him; but strict protocol regulated who

could initiate the proceedings. Neither Trilless nor Carcophan benefited from neutrality, and their causes

could only strengthen without the Western Wizard to oppose them. Had Shadimar requested their aid,

Trilless and Carcophan would have had no choice but to give it. There could be only two reasons why

Shadimar had chosen not to do so. Either the Western Wizard still lived, or Shadimar was as uncertain as

she of the fate of the Western Wizard. Until Shadimar could prove his partner's death, revealing his need

to work alone could only make him vulnerable.

Trilless wrestled with the problem. She knew there were only two ways to discover the fate of the

Western Wizard, and both seemed frighteningly dangerous and difficult. The first involved trying to link

minds with the missing Wizard. This had its practical difficulties. Although the Wizards could touch

thoughts, to do so uninvited was considered a rudeness bordering on attack; and it required knowledge

of the other Wizard's location. That could only be achieved by physical means, and Tokar had not

deigned to answer the messages she had sent him. The second means of gaining knowledge involved

summoning. The idea sent a shiver of dread through her. Several Cardinal Wizards, including some of the

Northern Wizards, had called forth creatures called demons from the magical plane of Odin's banished

Chaos. But Trilless had never done so.

Trilless looked out over the Amirannak Sea, her legs braced and her focus distant. Clearly she had no

choice. Given his recent defeat, Carcophan could not afford the risk of a summoning. Weak and

burdened with the tasks of two Wizards, Shadimar could hardly be expected to accept the peril either.

Of the three Cardinal Wizards who had been killed unexpectedly, two of them had been slaughtered by

demons, and both slain in such a manner had been Eastern Wizards. Though knowledge of the Western

Wizard would serve Shadimar best, Trilless could understand his hesitation. Still, this ignorance could not

continue. Someone had to determine the fate of the Western Wizard. Clearly that someone would have

to be Trilless.

The memories of the previous Northern Wizards fluttered, some in agreement and a few in opposition to

the decision. Then, as Trilless came to her conclusion, the suggestions disappeared beneath a rush of

unified support. Those few who had summoned demons came to the forefront with solid advice and the

words of the necessary incantation.

Trilless closed her eyes, blanking her mind except for the guidance of her predecessors. Slowly, cautious

to the point of paranoia with every syllable, she began the incantation that would call the weakest of

demons to her.

Gradually, a dark shape formed above the glass-still waters. Horror shivered through Trilless from a

source unlike any she had known before. The familiar tingle of magic strengthened to a stabbing rumble

that tore through her like pain. Space and time upended, physical concepts that lost all meaning. She

gritted her teeth, not daring to cry out and lose the steady, unwavering cadence of her incantation. She

grounded her reason on the constancy of Odin's world and the necessary constraints of his laws. The

collective consciousness of her predecessors began a low, changeless chant that gave her focus.

As the creature's presence strengthened, Trilless shifted her spell, weaving tangles of enchantment about

the hazy shadow. She worked with methodical efficiency, winding webs that shimmered white against the

shapeless, sable bulk of the demon she had summoned.

"Lady." The demon's voice made the threatening hiss of a viper seem benign. "You called me to your

world. You will pay with the lives of followers, and perhaps with your own. You had best hope your

wards can bind me."

Trilless tossed her hooded head without reply, keeping her attention fully focused. She knew that when

the time came to return the demon it would demand payment in blood. But the amount it took would

depend upon the quickness and competence of her craft. Dismiss it, distract it, and slay it. Trilless let the

process cycle through her mind, hoping the knowledge of her predecessors would enhance the

procedures while she concentrated on more immediate matters. Stay alert, she reminded herself. To lose

even one life to this abomination would be a travesty.

Demons cared nothing for good or evil. They followed no masters and obeyed no laws. The only feature

about it on which Trilless could rely was its certain and violent inconsistency. And the longer she kept it

here, the stronger it would grow. "By Odin's law I have called you here. You must answer my questions

and perform a service to the best of your knowledge and abilities.'' Trilless hated wasting time with

formality and information she believed they both already understood, but her predecessors assured her of

the necessity. Unlike men, the demons had no natural constraints. They were bound only by the laws

thrust upon them and then only when on the world Odin created.

Wound with enchantments, the demon assumed a vague man-shape. Its eyes looked like points of fire in

a bed of dying embers. "Ask, then, Wizard. But hope your answers are worth the blood I shall claim in

return." A glob of spittle fell from his mouth and struck the ocean with a hiss. Smoke curled from the

water as its surface broke in widening rings.

Trilless raised her arms to a sky gone dull as slate. She knew that the demon, though forced to answer

with truth, could deceive to the limits of that boundary. Clearly, it would reveal more of the information

that it wanted her to have, skewed in the direction of primordial chaos. She would need to phrase her

questions carefully. "At this time, is there a living Western Wizard?"

The demon faded into the gloom. Its semisolid form oozed beneath Trilless' wards. Abruptly, wind

chopped the jeweled calm of the sea, took down the hood of the sorceress' cloak, and spilled her white

hair into her face. But the demon's bonds held. The gale withered and dropped. The demon's eyes

gleamed, and its jaws parted to reveal pointed teeth as dark as its form. "Lady, I do not know."

Trilless gritted her teeth, prodded by frustration and rage. She dared not believe she had taken such a

risk for nothing. "Who does know?" She tried to keep her mood hidden, but her question emerged like a

shout.

"More powerful demons," it suggested, then laughed.

"Perhaps." Its features contorted to a blur, then returned to a facelike configuration. "Though one of your

own did witness the ceremony."

Trilless considered. The demon had volunteered the information; apparently, it had more to say on this

topic, and that intrigued her. Its words gave her two courses to follow, and she chose the more promising

one. "By ceremony, do you mean Tokar's ceremony of passage?" "Yes."

"So Tokar is dead?"

"As dead as any Cardinal Wizard can be. His being, as such, was utterly destroyed."

Trilless concentrated on the demon's explanation. A Wizard's ceremony of passage did result in the utter

destruction of body and soul, leaving only memories, including misconceptions and weaknesses, that

joined the collective consciousness and became a part of his apprentice. "What happened to Tokar's

successor?"

"I do not know."

"Is he alive?"

"I do not know."

"Is he dead?"

"I do not know."

Trilless abandoned this line of questioning, following the other path instead. "You said that one of my

own witnessed the ceremony."

The bulk of the demon darkened until it seemed less a being and more the absence of being, a dense

hole in the cosmos. "I said this."

"Who?" Trilless asked. Then, realizing she had left the question far too vague, she clarified. "Who

witnessed the Western Wizard's ceremony of passage?"

"Many birds."

The answer seemed obvious. The Western Wizard had an empathic link with birds similar to the Eastern

Wizard's connection to land animals and her own with denizens of the ocean. The Southern Wizard could

command the creatures of transition, those that lived part of their life cycle on land and part in water or

those land creatures that laid eggs. Recognizing the demon's answer as delay, Trilless pressed. "Who is

the 'one of my own' who witnessed the ceremony?"

"Carcophan."

Trilless' eyes narrowed. The response seemed unlikely. "The Southern Wizard witnessed Tokar's

ceremony of passage?" "No."

Trilless froze at the seeming contradiction, retracing her thoughts for the mistake. She rephrased the

question more carefully. "Was there a mortal or a Wizard present at the Western Wizard's ceremony of

passage who was not Tokar or his apprentice?" "Yes," the demon said, supplying nothing more. "Name

all the mortals or Wizards present at the Western Wizard's ceremony of passage."

The demon's face became manlike enough to reveal a toothy grin. "That, Lady, was not a question."

Near-immortality had bestowed patience on Trilless. She did not allow the demon's stalling to fluster her.

"Who is the 'one of my own' who witnessed the Western Wizard's ceremony of passage? And what

makes you refer to him as 'one of my own'?"

The demon chose to answer both questions at once. "He is a Northman, Wizard. Men call him

Deathseeker. The gods use the title Kyndig." He used the Northern pronunciation Kawn-Aee, which

translated to "Skilled One." The demon's features achieved a near-human sneer. "You call him the

Golden Prince of Demons."

Trilless recoiled as if slapped. Immediately sensing the new weakness in her wards, the demon thrust at

the enchantments that held it. Hurriedly, Trilless fought vulnerability, plugging the gap with webs of utter

purity. Her magic burned it. Screaming, the demon struggled backward, deeper into the sorceress'

wards.

Annoyance made Trilless' head throb. Pain was a tool of evil, not good. Despite the nature of the

demon, she had no wish to torture it. She softened the magics of her bindings, and the demon's shrieks

changed pitch to the deep rumble of laughter.

Trilless spoke in a controlled monotone. Over time, her magic was losing power while the demon gained

more. She could not afford to keep it much longer. Yet, one question still begged asking. "I know

Carcophan is plotting against us already. Who is the Southern Wizard's new champion?"

The demon writhed in its bonds. It waved one splay-clawed hand and spoke in a voice that could quail a

brave warrior. "Carcophan has no champion yet." The hand dissipated. Though not bound to say more,

the demon chose to continue, perhaps hoping to further rattle his keeper. "But it is fated. Carcophan shall

command a swordsman unmatched by any other mortal."

Trilless paled, but this time she retained control. "Who is this mortal?" "I do not know."

"What more do you know about Carcophan's champion?"

"Only what I've told you."

Another dead end. Trilless hesitated. There were more questions she would have liked to ask, but none

seemed worth the risk. Clearly, unless Colbey died before Carcophan selected his champion, he was the

only mortal who answered the demon's description. That, combined with the early prophecy that linked

the Golden Prince of Demons with Ragnarok left her little choice. Her course of action seemed clear.

First, Colbey must be questioned about the ceremony he had witnessed. A Wizard's passage required

the use of magics more potent than the sum of all the spells used throughout the centuries of his reign.

Any interference could cause consequences she could only begin to contemplate. Since Colbey had

become a follower of neutrality, his interrogation could only be carried out by Shadimar. Afterward,

Trilless had no choice but to see to Colbey's death.

Odin's laws bound the Wizards to see that their predecessors' prophecies were fulfilled; yet, as far as

she knew, no Wizard had been specifically assigned to instigate the Ragnarok. In fact, it would stand

against the survival of nearly all of the gods, the Wizards, and the world to assign anyone to such a task.

Fortunately, without a Wizard to back it, the prophecy had little chance of coming to fruition, and Trilless

saw no reason why she should not oppose it. Still, it went against her many oaths to confront any mortal

directly or to suggest that another Wizard do such a thing. Even if she did, Shadimar might mistrust her

intentions. Their causes did, at times, come head to head. She could only choose her own champion,

send him or her after Colbey, and hope that Shadimar did not step in the way. To let Carcophan's

champion skew the balance toward evil meant a fate nearly as ugly to Trilless as the Ragnarok. And there

was only one way to even the odds between Colbey and whatever champion she chose to send against

him. Ristoril, the White Sword of Power. The calmness that accompanied this decision felt as right as the

eternity she had dedicated herself to preserve. Many Northern Wizards before her had placed the Great

Sword in a champion's hands.

"Demon," Trilless said softly, her mind made up. "You still owe me a service. I would have you retrieve

the White Sword of Power."

This once, the demon had no taunts. "I shall fulfill your request, though it is folly. Should Carcophan

recall the Dark Blade, his champion would still best yours by skill. You take an unnecessary risk with

lives you claim to protect. Including your own."

Trilless stood statue still. She knew the demon spoke truth. Another prophecy claimed that the

Ragnarok would occur when all three Swords of Power existed in Odin's world of law at once. Previous

mages had already crafted two of the Swords, storing them on the plane of magic when not in a

champion's hands. Yet the third Sword had not yet been crafted, and Trilless believed it would require a

joint effort of Eastern and Western Wizards to create it. So long as the Western Wizard did not exist, she

was taking no risk. Without Ristoril, her champion had no chance at all against Carcophan's chosen one.

Surely Carcophan knew this, too. He would have to guess that Trilless might call the White Sword

against Colbey. After all, the Southern Wizard had been wise enough to withhold the Dark Sword from

Siderin. "You cannot defy me."

Mickey Zucker Reichert - Renshai 02 - The Western Wizard

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: