Tanya Huff - Crystal 2 - The Last Wizard

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Cover art by Dennis Nolan.

DAW Book Collectors No. 775.

For Fe, who freed the emotions and

refuses to let me lock them away again.

First Printing, March 1989

1 23456789

Printed in the U.S.A.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Doris Bercarich

for technical assistance above and beyond the call of

friendship. / wouldn't have lent me a disk drive.

Progenitor

Seven were the goddesses remaining when the gods

were destroyed. Seven they were and these were their

degrees:

Nashawryn was the eldest; ebony haired and sil-

ver eyed, ruler of night and darkness, conceal-

ment and safety held in one cupped hand, a

dagger of fear clenched tight in the other fist.

Zarsheiy, who closely followed night in age,

ruled fire, and, claimed her dark sister, was ruled

by it. Flame her hair and flame her eyes and

flame, they said, her heart. Passionate and un-

predictable, one moment giving, the next de-

stroying, Zarsheiy's temper was legend amongst

both Mortals and the deities they had created.

Most loved of all the seven was Geta, Freedom,

who watched her twin brother Getan, god of

Justice, destroyed by his Wizard son and so hid

her grieving face from Mortals all the long years

the Wizards ruled.

Gentle Sholah held hearth and harvest in the bowl

of her two hands. Her dance turned the seasons,

and she was the first who dared deny Nashawryn

and have Zarsheiy heed her call.

Tayja was Sholah*s daughter, carved for her of

mahogany from the heart of a single tree by

10 Tanya Huff

Pejore, the god of art. It was Tayja who dared go

into Chaos and bring out the skill to harness Zar~

sheiy and she who fought always to strike the

dagger from Nashawryn's hand. Craft and learn-

ing were her dominion and although she de-

manded much of those who worshiped her, of all

the goddesses, save perhaps Geta, she gave the

most in return.

Youngest of the seven was Eegri, and on her

realm of chance even Tayja's reason blunted. She

went where she would; into night; into flame;

now revering freedom, now denying it; tripping

through field and forge with equal abandon. She

had no temples and no priesthood, but her sym-

bol was etched over every door and among Mor-

talkind there were many who lived by her favor.

The last of the seven claimed to have been pres-

ent when the Mother-creator lay with Chaos and

bore him Lord Death, her one true son. She

claimed to be more passionate than fire, to be

more necessary than freedom, to be the moving

force of hearth and harvest, to be more a fickle

power than even chance herself. Of craft and

learning she claimed to be the strength, lending

to poor Mortals the incentive to succeed. Her

name was Avreen, and she wore both the face of

love and of her darker aspect, lust.

As the dark age of Wizards ended, these seven were

all of the pantheon that survived; no longer worshiped,

seldom remembered. But a goddess once created does

not disappear merely because her creator has moved

beyond and closer to the truth. As they watched the

Wizards rule, so they watched the Wizards die. And

they saw that one did not. The most powerful of the

Wizards, his father the most powerful of the gods long

destroyed, still lived. Throughout the many thousand

THE LAST WIZARD 11

years during which he hid, the seven watched. When

he emerged to rule the earth again, they were ready.

The gods had stood alone, each against his child;

and lost. They would stand together.

The Mother-creator's eldest child, immortal first

created, died for love of a mortal man. The seven used

that love—for was not Love one of them—and formed

a vessel into which they poured all that they were.

They caused that vessel to present their essence back

to the Mother's youngest, to a mortal woman, to the

only aspect of all the Mother's creation that was in turn

able to create, and she formed that essence into a child.

And the child, unique in creation, won where the

gods had failed.

One

"You waitin' for someone?"

"No."

"Mind if I set?"

"Yes."

The beefy faced man opened and closed his mouth

a few times and a wave of red washed out the freckles

sprinkled liberally across his nose and cheeks. "Think

you're too good ta set with me?" His hard miner's

hands clenched the edge of the small table-

"No." But the tone said yes.

It said other things as well, spoke a coldness that

caused the miner's balls to draw up, even under his

thick sheepskin trousers.

She lifted her head just a little and let a ray of lan-

tern light fall within the confines of her hood.

The man's eyes widened. For a moment his jaw went

slack, and then his sandy brows drew down in a puz-

zled frown. He knew something was happening; he

didn't know what. An instant later, he lost even that

and turned away, knowing only that his advances had

been rejected.

She lowered her head and her face was once again

masked by darkness.

"Not very polite," said her companion as the miner

returned to his own table amidst the jeers and catcalls

of his friends. "I never thought to see you use your

power on such a trivial thing."

Crystal shrugged but kept her voice low as she an-

swered. Although she had no objection to being

thought overly proud or even peculiar, it wouldn't do

THE LAST WIZARD 13

to have the whole tavern think her insane; sitting and

talking to a companion only she could see. She said

as much to Lord Death, adding: "I wish to be left

alone. That is not, to my mind, a trivial thing."

Lord Death drew his finger through a puddle of

spilled ale, making no mark. "And your wish is to be

that poor mortal's command?" His hair flickered to a

bright red-gold, and for a heartbeat his eyes glowed a

brilliant sapphire blue.

The hiss of breath through Crystal's teeth caused

several patrons to turn and peer toward the dim comer.

She quickly dropped her gaze to her mug of ale until.

curiosity unsatisfied, they returned to their own con-

cerns.

"You dare?" she growled when the attention had

shifted away. "You dare show that face to me? To crit-

icize my actions with it? To dare suggest I walk his

road? Kraydak's road?" Kraydak of the red-gold hair

and sapphire eyes and silken voice and blood-red

hands. Kraydak, the most powerful of the ancient wiz-

ards, dead now these dozen years- Her hand had set

his death in motion, but his arrogance had killed him

in the end. His arrogance. His concern had been solely

for himself, all others existing only to serve.

Lord Death sat quietly, chin on hands, watching the

last of the wizards work her way through his accusa-

tion to the truth. In spite of a parentage that tied

together all the threads of the Mother's creation, and

more power than had ever been contained in a mortal

shell, she was as capable of lying to herself as any

other. But she seldom did and he doubted she would

now. He'd spent a lot of time with her over the last

few years, drawn by something he was not yet willing

to name, and he'd come to respect her ability to see

things as they were, not as she wanted them to be.

"Fin sorry." The whisper from the depths of the

hood was truly contrite and both slender hands tight-

ened about her mug. The pewter began to bend and

she hurriedly stroked it straight. Forgetting how it must

appear to anyone watching—and there had been in-

14 TanyaHuff

quisitive eyes on her since she entered the inn—she

turned to face Lord Death. The shadows of the hood

could not hide the brimming tears from one who

walked in shadow. "I. . .1 seem to be losing control

of things lately.*'

The one true son of the Mother reached out to brush

a tear away, but the drop of water slid through his

finger and spun down to the scarred tabletop. He

sighed and his mouth twisted as he withdrew his hand.

"May I give you some advice?" he asked as they both

stared down at the fallen tear.

She sniffed and managed a smile. "I don't guaran-

tee I'U take it."

He smiled back but kept his voice carefully neutral,

not letting the worry show. "Find something to do.

Kraydak committed his worst excesses because he was

bored." He waved his hand. "Go back to the Empire,

there's enough to fix there to keep any number of wiz-

ards busy."

Crystal shook her head and pushed a spill of silver

hair back beneath her hood. "I can't. The people of

the Empire are too aware of the evil a wizard can do

and I am too obviously—" she sighed, "—too obvi-

ously what I am. When they see me, they see Kray-

dak."

"You destroyed him. They'll come to see you in

time."

"If you expect one act of good to wipe out ten cen-

turies of evil, you expect too much of your people,

milord. Even if I tried to make amends for every hor-

ror he ever committed—and I did try, in the begin-

ning—they would still see only that I was a wizard,

like him."

"Not like him," Lord Death reminded her.

"No," she agreed. "But in his Empire, wizard

means terror and they see me as potential threat not

savior.'* Her voice trailed off as she remembered how

her help had been received; how she'd come to use her

powers in secret if at all, hiding who and what she

was rather than trying to fight the inheritance of fear

THE LAST WIZARD 15

Kraydak had left her, afraid herself that she would one

day lash back and so become what they accused her

of being.

Even here in Halda, even though King Jeffrey was a

cousin of sorts, she kept her identity hidden. Kray-

dak's legions had cut through the valley country and a

wizard would not be looked on kindly. Amid the small

crowd of men and women who'd braved the weather

for companionship's sake, she could see a hook where

a hand should be, a patch covering an empty socket-

Ac eye seared out by fire if the puckered ridges sur-

rounding it were any sign—and scars beyond counting.

High in the northern mountains, this mining village

had been hit less hard than others she'd seen, but once

having felt a wizard's power they would not likely wel-

come it again. Fortunately, the bitter cold—noticeable

in the tavern even though fires roared at both ends of

the long room—wrapped everyone in the anonymity of

heavy clothing and she was not the only one huddled

deep within a hood.

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Copyright®1989byTanyaHuff.AllRightsReserved.CoverartbyDennisNolan.DAWBookCollectorsNo.775.ForFe,whofreedtheemotionsandrefusestoletmelockthemawayagain.FirstPrinting,March1989123456789PrintedintheU.S.A.ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:I'dliketotakethisopportunitytothankDorisBercarichfortechnicalassistanceaboveandbeyon...

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