The Wiz Biz (6 page)

He even missed the goddamn buggy text editor at work.
Do you realize there probably isn’t a computer anywhere on this world?
He thought.
I have probably written my last program.

That hurt worse than anything. All his life Wiz had only been good at one thing. When he discovered computers in high school, he found he was as good with them as he was bad with people. He had put his life into being the best ever with computers and if he hadn’t been the best ever, he had certainly been damn good. Only a lack of money and fascination with immediate problems had kept him from going to grad school and getting the Ph.D. that would have led him to the top rank of computer scientists.

So here he was in a world where none of that meant diddly. What was he supposed to do with himself? He couldn’t earn a living. He wasn’t really strong enough for physical labor and the only thing he knew how to do was useless.

Goddamn that old wizard, anyway.
Then he started guiltily remembering Moira’s admonition against cursing.
I
wonder if it matters if you just do it in your head?

If he was big and strong it might have helped. But he was skinny and gangly. The only difference between him and the classic pencil-necked geek was that he didn’t wear glasses.

Good thing too,
he thought.
If I did, I’d probably have broken them by now.

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair.

Somehow he got to sleep and dreamed uneasily of home and his beloved computers.

###

The next morning Wiz was sore all over. His legs ached from the unaccustomed exercise and the rest of him hurt from sleeping on the ground.

Moira was already up and seemingly none the worse for the night. Her copper hair was combed and hung down her back in a long braid. Her face was freshly scrubbed and she looked heart-stoppingly beautiful.

She was sitting cross-legged going through the contents of her worn leather shoulder bag. There was already a pile of things on the ground beside her.

“I do not think I can afford to keep all these things,” she said in response to his unasked question. “I will have to discard them carefully as we go.”

“I’ll carry them for you.”

Moira snorted. “The problem is not weight, you idiot. Magic calls to magic and these things,” she gestured, “are magical. The League may be able to find us through them.”

She looked down at the small pile and sighed. “They cost much time and no little effort to gain. All are useful and in a way they are all parts of me. But,” she added with forced cheerfulness, “better to discard them now than to have them lead the League to us.”

“Uh, right.”

Moira gathered the items back into her pouch. “I will dispose of them one at a time as we go along,” she said standing up. “It will make them harder to find, I hope.”

Wiz scrambled to his feet, feeling the kinks in his muscles stretch.

“We can make better time today,” the hedge witch said. “Mid-Summer’s Day is past and the magic will be less strong. We do not have to move quite so cautiously.”

“Great,” Wiz muttered, appalled at the prospect.

True to her word, Moira set an even faster pace for the day’s journey. Wiz struggled to keep up, but he didn’t do any better than he had the day before. Several times they had to stop while he rested and Moira fidgeted.

From time to time Moira would take something from her pouch. Sometimes she flung the object as far as she could into the woods. A couple of times she buried it carefully. Once she hid a folded bit of cloth in a hollow log and once she dropped a piece of carved wood into a swiftly running stream.

Wiz could see the effort it took her to discard each of those items but he said nothing. There was nothing he could say.

The forest was more open than it had been the day before. The trees were smaller here. They were just as thick where they grew, but they were interspersed with clearings. Once they passed the ruins of a rock wall, running crazily through the woods.

They kept to the forest and stayed as deep among the trees as possible. Occasionally they had to skirt an open space and it was near one such clearing that Moira stopped suddenly and sniffed.

“Do you smell it?” she asked.

Wiz sniffed. “Something burnt, I think.”

“Come on,” Moira said, forging ahead and breasting through the undergrowth.

They were in the clearing before they recognized it. One minute they were pushing through bushes and brambles and the next they were standing on the fringe of a meadow, looking at the smoldering remains of a homestead.

There had been at least three buildings, now all were charred ruins. The central one, obviously a house, had stone walls which stood blackened and roofless. The soot was heaviest above the door and window lintels and a few charcoaled beams still spanned the structure. Of the nearer, larger building, a planked barn, there was almost nothing left. On the other side of the house was a log building with part of one wall standing.

“Something else,” Wiz said, sniffing again. “Burned meat, I think.”

But Moira was already running across the meadow. Wiz cast a nervous eye to the clear blue sky, then shifted his pack and followed.

When he caught up with her, Moira was standing in the space between the remains of the house and the smoldering heap of ashes that had been the barn, casting this way and that.

“What about dragons?” Wiz asked, looking up.

Moira’s suggestion on what to do with dragons was unladylike, probably impractical and almost certainly no fun at all.

“Did a dragon do this?” Wiz asked as they walked around the remains of the house.

“Probably not,” Moira said distractedly. “Dragons might attack cattle in the fields or swine in their pen, but they seldom burn whole farms. This was done from the ground, I think.”

“Well, then who?”

“Who is not important, Sparrow. The important thing is what happened to the people.”

“I don’t see anyone,” Wiz said dubiously.

“They may all have escaped. But perhaps some are lying hurt nearby and in need of aid. I
wish
I had not been so quick to discard parts of my kit this morning.”

“There doesn’t seem to be anyone here.”

“Then search more closely.”

Moira didn’t call out and Wiz didn’t suggest it. He felt conspicuous enough as it was.

While Moira searched near the house and log building, Wiz wandered around the remains of the barn. The heaps of ashes were unusually high there and from the remains he guessed the barn had been full of hay when it went up. He wondered what had happened to the animals.

Wiz stumbled over something in the debris. He looked down and saw it was an arm, roasted golden crisp and then obviously gnawed. A child’s arm. Wiz opened his mouth to scream and vomited instead.

“What is it?” Moira came rushing up as he heaved his guts out. “What did you . . . Oh.” She stopped short as she saw what lay on the ground between them.

“Oh my God,” he moaned, retching the last bit of liquid from his stomach. “Oh my God.”

“Trolls,” Moira said, her face white and drawn, her freckles standing out vividly against the suddenly pale skin. “They burned this place and put the flames to use.”

“They ate them,” Wiz said

“Trolls are not choosy about their fare,” Moira said looking out over the smoldering ruins.

“Do you think they’re still around?”

“Possibly,” Moira said abstractedly. “After a meal like this trolls would be disinclined to go far.”

“Then let’s get out of here before they come back for dessert.”

“No!”
Moira shouted. Wiz started and turned to see tears in her eyes. “We go nowhere until we bury these folk.”

“But . . .”

“There was no one to do it for my family.”

“Did your family end up . . . like that?” Wiz finally asked.

Moira’s face clouded. “I do not know. We never found them.”

“What happened?”

“It was a summer day, much like today only later in the year. I had gone into the wood to pick berries. I filled my apron with them that my mother might make preserves. My father had found a bee tree, you see. It took me all the afternoon to gather enough berries. I was away for hours. And when I returned . . . there was no one there.

“The door to the cottage stood open and the cream was still in the churn, but my parents and brother and sisters were gone. I looked and called and searched until after nightfall. For three days I looked, but I never found them.”

“What happened to them?”

“I don’t know. But there are worse things on the Fringe of the Wild Wood than being eaten by trolls.”

Without thinking, Wiz clasped his arms around the hedge witch and hugged her to him. Without thinking she settled into his arms to be hugged and buried her head in his shoulder. They stood like that for a long minute and then Moira straightened suddenly and pulled away.

“Come on!” she said sharply. “Find something to dig with.”

There was a charred spade leaning against the remains of the log building and Moira set Wiz to work digging a grave in what had been the kitchen garden. The tilled loam turned easily, but Wiz was red-faced and sweating before he had a hole large enough to suit Moira.

While he dug, Moira searched for pieces of bodies. Somewhere she found a smoke-stained old quilt to serve as a shroud. Wiz kept his head down and his back to her so he would not have to see what she was piling on the cloth spread among the heat-blasted cabbages.

With Wiz’s help, she hauled the lumpy stinking burden to the hole and dumped it in. It weighed surprisingly little, Wiz thought.

They shoveled dirt onto the quilt as quickly as they could. Wiz wielded the spade uncomplainingly in spite of the aches in his arms and back and the blisters springing up on his hands.

“It will not stop wolves or others from digging down,” Moira said frowning at their handiwork as Wiz scraped the last of the earth onto the mound. “It should be covered with stone that their rest may be more secure.”

“You want rocks?” Wiz said warily.

She thought and then shook her head. “There is not time. We will leave them as they are and hope.” Then she bowed her head and her lips moved as she recited a blessing over the pathetic mound of fresh earth. When that was done she turned abruptly and signaled Wiz to follow.

The hurried back to the shelter of the forest. For once Moira didn’t have to urge Wiz on. He was more than eager to get away from that grisly farmstead and he was absolutely convinced of the reality of magic and their present danger.

###

“How did it go with the Council, Master?” Bal-Simba’s apprentice asked as the giant wizard came into his study.

“Well enough, Arianne.” He leaned his staff against the wall and loosened his leopard-skin cloak. “But it is very good to be away from them for a while.” Bal-Simba settled into a carved chair with a sigh and leaned back.

The tower room was bright and sun-washed. The batik hangings spoke of animals, birds, flowers and cheerful things. The wide windows on both sides were thrown open and a soft summer breeze wafted through the room, stirring the hangings on the walls and ruffling the parchments on the large table in its center. Arianne, a tall thin woman with ash-blonde hair caught back in a single braid, brought him a cup of wine from the sideboard.

Bal-Simba drained the cup with another sigh and handed it back for a refill.

“Well, I have done all I can to protect our visitor. The Watchers are on the alert and they are confusing the search as best they may.”

“And the other matter?” she asked, handing him a second cup of wine.

“The Council has not the faintest idea why Patrius brought this Sparrow among us.” He shook his great head. “I had hoped that Patrius had confided in one of the Mighty, but it appears he did not. The Sparrow is as much a mystery to us as he is to the League.”

“Why do you think Patrius Summoned this one?” Arianne asked.

“Our red-headed hedge witch thinks it was a mistake, that Patrius intended to Summon some great wizard, became confused under the attack and got this Wiz instead.”

“And you, Lord?”

“I do not know. Certainly the Sparrow has no skill at magic, or ought else that I can find. But yet . . . Did I tell you that Patrius did not mark a pentagram to enclose the Summoned? That suggests he did not expect the Summoned to defend himself with magic.”

Arianne frowned. “Which means that he either was certain the Summoned would not attack him or that he knew he had no magic. Yes. What did Patrius say to the hedge witch?”

“Apparently, Patrius was being oracular. He said he sought help but when she asked him what kind he talked in riddles.”

“That would be like Patrius,” Arianne agreed. “He loved his little surprises.’

“This surprise cost him his life, Lady.”

They were silent as Bal-Simba finished the second cup of wine. Arianne moved to refill it, but Bal-Simba shook his head.

“Lord, there are certain aspects of this business I do not understand.”

“You are not alone, Lady.”

“I mean your actions.”

“Ask then.” Arianne was Bal-Simba’s apprentice not only for her skill in magic but because, like Bal-Simba, she had considerable administrative ability. One day she would sit on the Council of the North.

“Why did you leave the pair of them on the Fringe with no protection?”

“I could not bring them here by the Wizards Way, so I sent them to a place of safety. Why alone? Because two can go in stealth where an army may not tread. This Moira is no woods ranger, but she grew up on the Fringe and she has the reputation for a sturdy head on her shoulders.”

“Where did you send them?”

“Heart’s Ease,” Bal-Simba told her.

Arianne looked hard at the huge map on the wall. “Lord, that is deep within the Wild Wood itself! You set them a dangerous course.”

“But the safest available under the circumstances,” Bal-Simba replied. “The League will be searching for a magician. This Sparrow has not the slightest magic. The League will expect him to come to the Capital, or at least to the civilized lands. Instead they go in the opposite direction. If we keep interfering with the League’s searchers we can further confuse the League.”