The Wizardry Consulted (Wiz, #4)(7)

Wiz took a couple of tottering steps. His legs were more or less working again, but his lower back ached terribly and his butt was on fire as the circulation returned.

“I didn’t think people could live beyond the Wild Wood because of the magic.”

“Humans have spread further than your Council of the North ever knew,” Wurm told him. “Here there is magic, but less than in the Wild Wood.”

“So I see.” Wiz shaded his eyes against the setting sun. Off toward the village he saw movement on the road, as if people were coming this way.

“Okay,” Wiz grunted, stretching backwards to try to get the kinks out of his back, “now what’s this job of yours?”

The dragon regarded Wiz with an unwinking golden eye.

“It is not my job, precisely,” Wurm told him. “Rather it is for them. The ones who live in this valley.”

“I thought you . . .”

The dragon breathed a thunderous snort of amusement. “What need would I have of mortal magic? It is the inhabitants of the valley who need you.”

Wiz looked down the road. There was definitely a crowd of people headed toward them.

“Okay, why do they need me?”

“Why to defend them against dragons,” Wurm told him. Then with a sudden motion and a thunderclap of air beneath his enormous wings the dragon launched himself into the sky, leaving Wiz to face the people of the valley.

“Remember, Wizard,” Wurm’s voice came into Wiz’s mind. “Your duty is to them. Fulfill it well.”

There were perhaps a hundred people coming up the road in a compact mass. Welcoming committee? Wiz thought. But why didn’t we just land closer to the village? Most of them were carrying things, as if they had left their work to come welcome him. As they drew closer he could hear them, a low rumble that somehow didn’t sound like cheering. In fact it sounded downright ugly.

By then the crowd was close enough that he could make out details. They were all men, mostly roughly dressed and all carrying something. Some of them had pitchforks, some of them were carrying flails and pruning hooks and some of them just had big sticks. None of them looked in the least bit friendly.

“Uh, hi,” Wiz said, smiling weakly.

Moira fidgeted in the window seat looking north. Outside the bottoms of the clouds were turning pink in the setting sun. To the embroidery in her lap she had managed to add perhaps a dozen stitches.

“Negotiation or not, he should have been back by now,” she announced.

Bal-Simba looked over from the oversized arm chair across the room. “Long before now,” the black giant amended. “At the very least he should have contacted us.”

By unspoken consent they had gathered in the programmers’ workroom. Danny and Jerry worked at their desks, Bal-Simba had settled himself into his special chair and relayed instructions through his assistant, Arianne. June, Danny’s wife, was sitting in the corner with Ian asleep in her lap and Moira was in the window seat looking out the way Wiz had gone.

The first several hours after Wiz’s departure had been a rush of frantic effort as programmers and wizards alike prepared for battle with the dragon. In several places in the castle wizards of the Mighty were still casting spells and apprentice programmers were still laboring, but in the main preparations had been complete for a couple of hours. Now as the long summer day drew to a close there was nothing left to do but wait and watch for some sign of Wiz or the dragon.

Danny turned from his workbench. “Time for the locator spell?”

Moira stood up. “Past time.”

Once before Wiz had been kidnapped. As a result all the programmers carried a spell which would locate them anywhere in the World.

Jerry took down a beaten copper bowl from the top of a corner cabinet. The bowl was nearly hidden by scrolls and papers and he almost caused a small avalanche as he worked it free.

“We need some water,” Jerry said looking around.

Moira snatched up the vase she had filled with flowers only hours before, tossed the flowers on the floor and extended it to Jerry.

As Jerry poured water into the bowl, Arianne entered, perhaps summoned by Bal-Simba. She stood beside him while they completed preparations.

Finally Jerry took a splinter from a vial and floated it carefully on the water’s surface.

arg wiz locate exe! Jerry commanded.

As the five leaned over the bowl, the needle spun twice around widdershins, quivered and then slowly drifted off until it was pointing firmly south.

“South?” Danny protested. “But they went north.”

“The needle points south,” Moira said. “They must have circled around when they were out of sight of the castle.”

Jerry frowned. “Hold it.” He reached into the bowl and nudged the sliver of wood gently with his finger. The needle swung aimlessly and finally stopped, pointing in another direction entirely.

“Northwest?” Moira said, “but . . .”

Jerry tapped the needle again. The sliver bobbed aimlessly.

“Shit! We’ve lost him.”

Almost unnoticed by the others, Bal-Simba whispered something to Arianne.

The tall blond woman nodded and hurried from the room.

“But the locator . . .” Moira began.

“Has been masked,” Bal-Simba said, rising from his chair to join them.