Call of Wizardry, page 11
“Probably not a great idea,” someone said.
Sienne looked up, startled. A man was approaching her along the narrow aisle. His long, greasy gray hair framed a fleshy face with a bulbous nose shot through with broken blue veins. He wasn’t tall, barely taller than her, but he walked like someone accustomed to breaking a path wherever he went. A whiff of unwashed body and the faint hint of sour milk reached Sienne’s nose, and she almost pinched it shut before remembering her manners. The man’s clothing was stained and travel-worn, his jerkin looked more patch than original fabric, and a threadbare dark green cloak covered the lot. Sienne realized she was clutching her book close to her chest as if to protect it, or protect herself, she wasn’t sure which. “I beg your pardon?” she said, discomfort ratcheting her response several steps up the social ladder.
“You’ll read it in two days and then have to keep carrying it,” the man said. “Not the best strategy for a scrapper.”
“How do you—that is, I’m not sure it’s any of your business,” Sienne replied, feeling shaken. His casual attitude of superior knowledge made her change her mind about putting it back, even though his words echoed what she’d been thinking.
“Probably not,” the man agreed. “But wisdom is wisdom wherever you find it, Sienne Verannus.”
A jolt of fear went through her. “I don’t know you,” she said, very conscious that she was at least nominally in public and uncertain as to whether she was in enough danger to justify casting spells with or without her spellbook. “I think you should leave.”
The man smiled. “I’m no danger to you. But I think you know that.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“So I hear.” The man ran a hand through his greasy hair and picked…something…out of it, crushing whatever it was between his fingers. “Would you like to know who told me about you?”
Footsteps drew near, filling Sienne with relief that she wouldn’t be alone with this horrible man anymore. “Sienne,” Perrin said, “are you ready—dear Averran.” The man had turned to face Perrin, who stopped, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging slack.
“Perrin,” the man said. “It’s been a while.”
“It has.” To Sienne’s surprise, Perrin smiled and took the disgusting man in a powerful embrace. “Is it coincidence, or…no, likely not.”
“I was just making Sienne’s acquaintance,” the man said, pounding Perrin on the back the way men do to show affection. “Introduce us.”
“Of course,” Perrin said, releasing him with no sign of distaste. “Sienne, this is Evander Galli. My mentor.”
9
“You’re a divine of Averran?” Sienne said, then wished she could sink into the floor when Evander burst out laughing.
“Not what you expected, eh?” Evander said. “That’s all right. You’re a smart girl—tell me why I look like this.”
Sienne looked him over. “I imagine you’re a living test of other people’s wisdom,” she said. “And I failed.”
“Not really,” Evander said. “I admit I pushed you harder than I normally would, and it’s natural for a young woman to be…concerned…when a strange man who knows her name approaches her for Averran knows what purposes. You were polite and you didn’t attack me, though you could have. Without your spellbook.”
“You know about that.”
“I know a lot of things,” Evander said. “Most of which I’ll share with you and your companions.”
“Is that why you are here?” Perrin said.
“I’m here,” Evander said, “because Averran booted me in the ass several times over the course of the last three months to get me here before you left. Why he couldn’t just talk to you directly, I don’t know, but the divine mind is more than usually inscrutable these days and I don’t argue with him.”
“That is not true,” Perrin said.
“All right, it’s not true. More accurate to say I don’t argue with Averran when the stakes are this high. And now young Sienne is looking at me like I’ve grown a second head, so that’s all I’ll say until I can speak to all of you at once. Are you finished here?”
“I have the map, and Sienne has her book,” Perrin said.
“I—” Sienne looked at the book in her hand. It wasn’t all that big. “I will take this, after all,” she said, not meeting Evander’s eyes.
“See if the shopkeeper will take trade instead of coin,” Evander said. “You’ll want every advantage you can take.”
“You mean, swap spells?” Sienne’s eyes narrowed. “Did you have something in mind?”
Evander shrugged. “It’s just a thought.”
“I would heed his advice,” Perrin said. “Evander is the wisest man I know.”
“You don’t know enough people,” Evander said.
When they reached the front of the store, the shopkeeper said, “Found something interesting?”
“Yes, and I was wondering if you were open to a trade,” Sienne said, holding up her spellbook.
The shopkeeper’s eyes gleamed. “I never say no to new spells. What do you have?”
“Take a look.” Sienne handed over her book and received his in exchange. Almost immediately she regretted listening to Evander. The shopkeeper had little she didn’t already have. Draw, yes, but how useful was that likely to be where they were going? And he wasn’t a scrapper, so he didn’t have anything in the way of offensive spells.
She caught Evander looking at the book with a peculiar amusement in his eyes. It irritated her. If he was so wise, why couldn’t he just tell her what Averran had in mind for this little encounter? Impatient, she held the book open flat across both her palms and closed her eyes. You pick, she thought, and willed the pages to riffle first one way, then the other, so they fell open at random. She opened her eyes and managed not to groan. Bubble. A basic, short evocation that produced a pocket of clean, clear air around someone’s head. Useful, yes, but under very limited circumstances. Even so…
“Pri’inista,” the shopkeeper said, tapping a page in Sienne’s spellbook. “What do you say?”
Convey was worth far, far more than bubble. Sienne sighed. “The map, this book, and bubble—I mean dusek, and we’ll call it a fair trade.”
“You want dusek?” The shopkeeper glanced down at Sienne’s book as if assessing the number and complexity of the spells she already had. “I think I might be cheating you.”
“I’m…following my instincts,” Sienne said. “But we need to do this quickly, because my companions are waiting for me.”
Sienne had never been so impatient to scribe a spell in her life. Her normal pleasure in writing the sharp, hard-edged lines of an evocation was dulled by her awareness of Perrin and Evander standing nearby, conversing in low voices. She made herself slow down and focus on the shopkeeper reading out bubble, careful not to blotch the lines. They were in no hurry. Evander wasn’t going anywhere, and Alaric and the others would wait if they were late. Even so, after drawing one final line, she set her pen on fire with more than usual haste.
“Our Lady of Darkness,” the shopkeeper breathed, watching the fire. “I’ve never seen a spark that big.”
Too late Sienne remembered how much greater her small magics were than before. “I, um, practice a lot,” she said. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Stop by on your way back, if you wish, and I’ll give you a good deal.”
The street was still busy with shoppers picking over the wares on the carts and going in and out of shops. Sienne dropped her destroyed pen on the ground and crushed it under her heel. “I have got to be more careful.”
“You’ll find people are in general so absorbed in their own business they don’t think to worry about anyone else’s,” Evander said. “Except for those who care about nothing but their neighbors’ business, of course. And how many people know enough about wizardry to know yours is unusual?”
“If I go around casting spells without a spellbook, someone will eventually notice,” Sienne said, following Perrin down the street toward the rendezvous. “I don’t know if that’s good or not.”
“What would you do if you decided to share your knowledge with the world? Offer that ritual to others?”
Sienne decided to stop being astonished at the things Evander knew. “I’d approach some of my former teachers at Stravanus, or maybe someone at the University of Fioretti. Someone who knows me and knows my reputation. I’d show them what I’m capable of and offer them the same. And then we’d work out how to tell others.”
“And you’re not afraid of the wrong person getting hold of this power?”
“Of course I am. But I don’t see how I can prevent it short of never telling anyone.”
“I confess to being more concerned about only a few of Sienne’s peers having her ability than about all wizards having it,” Perrin said. “As things stand, wizards who abuse their powers are policed by their peers. What can an ordinary wizard do against one like Sienne?”
Sienne considered this. “Not much. I counted the other night and I know forty spells. Forty-one, now. That’s a lot for any wizard. And without the limitations of a spellbook and a high reserve of power, I could defeat almost anyone I went up against. It’s frightening.”
Evander nodded. “Would you like my opinion?”
“Of course.”
“You should consider,” he said, “the ultimate end of the ancients. They destroyed their civilization with magic impossible for us to comprehend, let alone use. If their wizards were as powerful as Averran says you’ve become, maybe that’s a power that should stay buried.”
The idea that Averran knew her, knew what she was capable of, felt…well, of course she believed God knew everyone by name, and she gave her devotion to Averran, so naturally he’d know her, but it still felt uncomfortable, like there were depths to her she wasn’t aware of. “I hadn’t thought about it that way,” she said. “Do you think abuse of power is inevitable?”
“I think you’re safe from that. But not everyone is like you. Even so, that’s just one perspective. You’ll need to consider it as you travel. Maybe encountering Kyros will change your mind.”
“Kyros?” Perrin said.
Evander shot him a quick glance. “The name of the wizard you intend to kill.”
“I didn’t think he had a name,” Sienne said. “Alaric always just calls him ‘the wizard.’”
“Averran wasn’t happy about revealing it,” Evander said. “Names have power, and that name…the fact that it’s been buried for five hundred years suggests to me it might be a weapon. A two-edged one, based on Averran’s reaction to mentioning it. I’d be careful how you use it.”
Alaric, Dianthe, and Kalanath were waiting for them, standing against a short wall where two streets intersected. Bags and packs surrounded them. Leaf sprawled across two of the bags, her head resting on her front paws. “You found the map?” Alaric said. He eyed Evander suspiciously. “And this is…”
“Evander Galli, my mentor in the worship of Averran,” Perrin said.
Alaric’s eyes widened, but he said nothing. Dianthe said, “That can’t be coincidence.”
“It is not,” Perrin said. “Let us find a place to sit and talk, because Evander has messages for us.”
The pack Alaric handed Sienne clanked as if it contained cookware, but it weighed less than she expected. Rather than hoist it onto her back over her own personal gear, she used her invisible fingers to tow it along beside her. There were plenty of other wizards doing the same thing, so she didn’t worry about drawing attention to herself. She watched those other wizards as she followed Alaric through the streets. People in Esthold were even more overt about wizardry than in Fioretti. She saw wizards casting confusions and transforms as casually as talking about the weather, changing the color of their clothing or creating mirrored surfaces to see themselves in, and it seemed every other person used spark to light the long-stemmed pipes so popular in Ansorja.
The casual use of magic made her again wonder what would happen if every wizard went through the conduit-opening ritual. Suppose you could cast transforms with only a few memorized words. Would human anatomy mean anything if a person’s lungs or heart or limbs could be shaped to beyond peak performance? Who needed a ladder when float could be cast at will? Or confusions—suppose someone committed crimes by fooling the eyes of the city guard? But people can do that now, Sienne thought, and most people choose not to. So the real question was, would increasing a wizard’s power decrease their inclination to do good?
She realized they’d come through the mercantile district into a plaza wide enough to fit her parents’ ducal palace. Six marble fountains formed a circle around the center of the plaza, which boasted a statue of someone wearing a crown. Probably a long-dead king of Ansorja; there had been a time when Ansorja was littered with them. Alaric made for a fountain at the far side, which turned out to depict Averran in his most common guise of crusty old curmudgeon, leaning on a walking stick and scowling at the world.
“This seems fitting,” Alaric said, setting down his much larger pack. “And there aren’t many worshippers today.”
“Probably there aren’t ever many worshippers,” Dianthe said, pointing at the next nearest fountain, which was crowded with people dipping their hands in the water and taking drinks from brass cups. Atop it, a robed Lisiel appeared to be whispering to an unseen listener. “I don’t think Averran is very popular in Ansorja.”
“Averran is an uncomfortable avatar, true,” Perrin said. “Even for his priests.”
“Well, I don’t intend this to be more uncomfortable than it has to be,” Evander said, “so take a seat, all of you.”
Leaf immediately lay on the ground as if the day’s walking had tired her out. Sienne sat on the wide rim of the fountain next to Alaric, who put his arm around her. Perrin and Dianthe settled on the ground. “I will stand,” Kalanath said, leaning on his staff in his usual way.
Evander lowered himself heavily to the ground and sat cross-legged before them. “I told you Averran booted me in the ass to get me here,” he said. “He says you’ve been valiant servants, and you deserve to know why he’s guided you this far.”
“Not to be rude, but I’m not a servant of Averran,” Dianthe said. “And Alaric worships Sisyletus.”
“That’s an interesting point,” Evander said. “When God takes an interest in something, it doesn’t much matter to Her which of Her faces guides Her children. In this case, well, Kitane had her chance once before, and Sisyletus doesn’t interfere in the affairs of humans beyond granting the blessings his priests ask of him. None of you worship Delanie or Gavant, and they’re both interested in abstract justice anyway. And Lisiel’s plans are too convoluted to be much use in this case. So worshippers of Averran or not, you’ve been guided by him since Alaric first decided to approach Perrin to join your merry band.”
“What do you mean, Kitane had her chance?” Dianthe asked.
Evander held up a hand. “Let’s take this in order. Eleven years ago, Alaric fled his home to avoid being enslaved by the wizard who created his people. He hoped to find a way to free them. Move forward ten years. A typical scrapping job led to Alaric breaking his own rule about hiring wizards. How’d that work out for you?”
“You’re taking your own sweet time getting to the point,” Alaric said.
“Let’s forget about the personal aspect for the moment. You ended up with a wizard who thinks outside the box, a warrior born to be God’s mouthpiece on earth, a thief who’s more honest than a divine of Gavant, and a priest whose conversion to Averran came at a tremendous cost. And you thought it was just coincidence you all became a team?”
“Alaric’s right. You’re being far too cryptic. And insulting,” Dianthe said.
Evander looked each of them in the eye. His scrutiny gave Sienne an itchy feeling between her shoulder blades, as if he’d positioned a knife there. “You couldn’t do this alone,” he told Alaric, who looked more annoyed than before. “And pardon my bluntness, but it took ten years for you to learn patience and endurance to the point that you’d be ready to accept help.”
“All right, it took me a while to overcome my childish habits,” Alaric said. “What does that have to do with Averran?”
Evander ignored him. “You all had things to learn. Sienne needed to understand how to use her magic in ways she hadn’t been taught. Dianthe grew brave enough to face her past. Kalanath had to come to terms with his birthright. And Perrin…well. You all saw him undergo his trial. And all that time, Averran watched you change, following your progress. There was always a chance one of you would fail.”
“But fail at what?” Sienne asked. “And why didn’t we know any of this? It’s not as if Perrin wasn’t in communication with Averran for all that time.”
“Fail at what? Nothing.” Evander smiled. “You weren’t being tested. You were given the chance to become something extraordinary. Failure just meant God would try again some other time. But you all, individually and together, did just as Averran hoped. You became one. And you became the tool he could use to free the Sassaven.”
Sienne’s mouth fell open. Everyone else was silent. “You probably know God gives humans the power to choose even when those choices damage others,” Evander went on. “That wizard, whose name, as I told Perrin, is Kyros, used his power to create the Sassaven. That should have been a remarkable, wonderful creation. But he chose to warp it by enslaving them and using them to keep himself alive far longer than he deserved. That’s not what God has in mind for Her children. But for God to reach out and destroy a man—that would invalidate everything that makes Her God.”
Evander cleared his throat. “This isn’t the first time someone’s tried to free the Sassaven. About two hundred and fifty years ago, a group of holy warriors under Kitane’s guidance assaulted the wizard’s valley in an attempt to kill him. I don’t know what happened, but I do know they failed. Well, obviously they failed, or we wouldn’t be here. Kitane took the failure hard. She’s used to relying on strength to carry her to success, and when her warriors failed…at any rate, it was a debacle.”
