Four : Fenceposts and Falling Rocks
Those who can't do, teach.
—article of faith among students
And vice-versa.
—programmers' addendum to students' article of faith
Malus was waiting impatiently when Wiz arrived, obviously fuming.
To salve wizardly pride, Wiz did most of his teaching of actual wizards in private sessions. Malus was one of his least-favorite pupils. As a person, the pudgy little wizard was nice enough, always merry and joking. But he had particular trouble in grasping concepts and the thought that he was a slow learner made him even more resistant to the new magic.
Malus didn't even let Wiz finish his apology for being late.
"This spell you showed me," he said accusingly. "It does not work."
Wiz sighed inwardly. "Well, let me see your code."
Grudgingly, the plump little sorcerer produced several strips of wood from the sleeve of his robe. Laid in the proper order the characters on them would list out the spell. Putting them on separate pieces of wood was a safety precaution against activating the spell by writing it down.
Wiz arranged the wood strips on the table and frowned briefly at what was written there.
"Oh, you've got a fence post error."
"Fence post?" the wizard asked.
"Yeah. Look, say you've got a hundred feet of fence to put up and you need to put a post every ten feet. How many posts do you need?"
"I am a wizard, not a farmer!" Malus said, drawing himself up to his entire five-foot-four.
"Well, just suppose," Wiz said half-desperately.
Malus thought hard for a minute. "Ten, of course."
"Nope," Wiz said triumphantly. "Eleven. Unless you strung your fence in a circle."
"But one hundred taken as tens is ten."
"Yeah, but if you've got a hundred feet of fence and only ten posts in a straight line, you leave one end of the fence hanging free. If you put the posts in a closed figure, you only need nine because you start and end on the same post."
"And how am I to know such things? I told you I am not a farmer."
"Well, just keep it in mind, okay? Boundary conditions are always likely to give you trouble."
"Borders are always unchancy places," Malus agreed.
"Uh, yeah. Let's leave that for a minute. Do you have any other problems?"
"There is this business of names."
For about the fiftieth time, Wiz wished he hadn't been so cavalier in choosing names for the standard routines in his library. To wizards, a thing's name was vitally important and they took the name to be the thing.
"I told you that the names I used aren't necessarily representative."
Malus looked at him like he was crazy. "Very well. But even granting that, why must the names change haphazardly? That is what I do not understand."
"They don't change at random. They don't really change at all. It's just that an object can be a member of more than one class."
"Classes again!"
"Look at this," Wiz said, dragging out a couple of sheets of parchment and laying them out side by side so all the spell was visible. "Okay, here this variable is called 'elfshot,' right?"
"Why is it named that?"
"It's not named that. That's only what it's called in this routine. Its name is 'dragons_tail'."
"Well," demanded the wizard, "if it is 'dragons_tail', why do you call it 'elfshot'? And how do you add a 'dragons_tail' to this, this loop variable."
"No, no," Wiz said desperately. "It is actually seven at this point in the program and that's what gets added to the loop variable."
"Well, if it's seven then why don't you just say so?" roared the wizard.
"Because it isn't always seven."
The wizard growled in disgust.
"Look, I think I'm getting a headache. Why don't we leave this for right now, okay? Just try working the program through again and we'll go over it in our next session."
The early end to the tutorial with Malus left Wiz with time to spare and a completely ruined temper. He wanted someplace quiet where he could be alone to think. Leaving his workroom door unlocked he left the central keep, threaded his way through two courtyards and climbed a set of stairs to the top of the wall surrounding the entire complex.
The parapet was one of his favorite places. It was usually deserted and the view was spectacular. The Capital perched on a spine of rock where two rivers met. From the north the ridge sloped gently up to drop off precipitously in cliffs hundreds of feet high to the south and along the east and west where the rivers ran.
On the highest part of the ridge stood the great castle of the Council of the North, its towers thrusting skyward above the cliffs. Here the Council and most of the rest of the Mighty had their homes and workshops. Behind the castle and trailing down the spine came the town. In the cliffs below the castle were the caverns that served as aeries for the dragon cavalry. As Wiz stood and watched, a single dragon launched itself from below and climbed out over the valley with a thunder of wings.
The parapet was nearly fifteen feet wide. It sloped gently toward the outer wall so that rainwater and liquid fire thrown by enemies would both drain over the sides and down the cliff. The outer edge was marked by crenellations, waist-high blocks of stone that would protect the defenders from enemy arrows. It always reminded Wiz of the witch's castle in The Wizard of Oz, except that this was much grander.
Wiz walked along, guilty about taking the time away from his work and yet happy to be away. The swallows whipped by him as they swooped and dove along the cliff edge to catch the insects borne aloft by the rising current of air.
The day was bright and cloudless and the air soft and warm enough that he appreciated the breeze blowing up from the river. Faintly and in the distance he could hear the sounds of the castle and town. Somewhere a blacksmith was beating iron on an anvil. From this distance it sounded like tiny bells.
There was a place he favored when he wanted to get away, a spot where a bend in the wall and a watch tower combined to shut out all sight and most sound of the Capital. From there he could look out over the green and yellow patchwork of the fields and woods and into the misty blue distance.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows in one of the crenellations. If only . . .
He felt the stone shift under his weight but by that time it was too late. The block gave way and he was pitched headlong out over the abyss.
Frantically he lashed out with his arms and miraculously his fingers met stone. His arm was nearly yanked out of its socket as he twisted around and slammed face first into the wall. But his grip held and he was left dangling by one hand against the sheer wall.
The crenellation had taken part of the stone facing with it, leaving the rough inner masonry beneath. Wiz was hanging by his fingertips from the edge of the facing, just below where the stone block had been.
Far below him, between his dangling legs, he saw the dislodged block bouncing and tumbling off the cliff. It hit the water with a splash that looked no bigger than a match head. Wiz sucked in his breath and clinched his eyes tight to ward off the dizziness.
Frantically he scrabbled for a hold for his left hand. First his fingers slipped over the smooth surface of the facing. Then at last they caught on another place where the facing blocks had pulled loose. With both hands secure, Wiz opened his eyes and stared at the stone in front of his nose, breathing heavily.
At last he managed to look up. Bracing his feet against the wall, he levered his way up and snatched another handhold slightly higher up the wall. Then another and another and at last he was able to put his feet on the lip where the facing had pulled away. One more heave and he flopped back on the parapet. Bruised and shaken, he pulled himself back through the space where the crenellation had been.
He moved away from the edge and sank down with his head between his knees, breathing in great shaking gasps. Gradually he got himself back under control and looked around him.
The parapet was deserted. Not even the guards could be seen from this spot and there were no other strollers along the walls. He was completely isolated, but . . .
Was it his imagination or had he seen a figure flit behind a tower as he pulled himself back onto the parapet?
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. He gave two more private lessons, tried to teach a class of apprentices what the concept of zero was all about and spent nearly half an hour listening to Pelus, who was trying to get him to vote against Juvian at the next Council meeting. The sun had set over the towers of the Capital by the time he left his work room and trudged down the winding stairs to the suite he and Moira shared. Lanterns along the walls cast a warm mellow light on the wide corridors.
Wiz was so tired he barely noticed.
As he came down the hall a young man came toward him. Wiz stepped slightly to the side but instead of moving out of his way the man seemed to step in front of Wiz so he jostled him as they passed.
"Clumsy Sparrow," the young man hissed.
Wiz started to say something, thought better of it, and swept past the sneering young man.
What the hell is his problem? Wiz thought.
He knew the man more or less by sight. An apprentice with a vaguely Welsh name. They had never exchanged more than a half a dozen words and now the man was going out of his way to be insulting.
One more thing to worry about. This place was getting to him. He was trying to do a job he wasn't very good at, a lot of the people here seemed to hate him, he couldn't concentrate on the parts he could do and even the simplest thing seemed to take forever. He was stretched tauter than a violin string and the fatigue and tension was telling on him.
The door to their apartment was open and he saw Moira sitting in the light of a magical lantern. The light caught her hair and glints of brushed copper played through it. Her mouth was twisted up in a little moue as she bent over the mending in her lap.
Still, Wiz thought, there are compensations.
As he came into the room he saw there was someone else there. A painfully thin girl with flyaway brown hair was sitting at Moira's feet working on a piece of embroidery.
Without a word the girl got up and left.
"Hi June," Wiz said to her back as she brushed by.
"What have you been doing?" he said as he came to her.
"Sewing." Moira laughed. "I fear I will never be skilled with a needle."
He leaned over and kissed her. "That's all right. You're good at plenty of other things."
She arched one of her coppery eyebrows. "And how am I to take that, My Lord?"
"As a compliment." He bent down and kissed her again.
"And how has your day been?"
Well, let's see. I insulted one of the most powerful members of the Council, botched a tutoring session and nearly killed myself by falling off the parapet. "Oh, okay," he mumbled.
Moira looked at him sharply. "What did you do to your nose?"
"I ran into a door. How is June?" He asked quickly to change the subject.
Moira gave him an odd look, but she took the bait. "She improves, I think."
Like Moira, June had been found wandering as a child in the Fringe of the Wild Wood. Unlike Moira, no one knew where she came from or who her parents were. She was quiet, as shy and skittish as a woodland animal. She worked as a maid and servant around Wizard's Lodge—when anyone could find her.
Wiz had never heard her speak, although Moira said she occasionally talked.
"Can't you do something to heal her?" Wiz asked.
"Bronwyn, the chief healer, says she is not ill in her mind," Moira said. "That it is merely her way."
"If she's not ill, she's sure peculiar."
"That is odd coming from you, Sparrow," Moira said.
"Hey, I'm alien. I admit it. But she," he jerked his head toward the door, "is about three sigma west of strange."
Moira ignored the comment, something she often did when she didn't understand her husband. "She seems fascinated by your desk," she said.
Wiz looked at the disorderly pile of manuscripts, strips of wood, slates and books on the desk under the window. "Did she touch anything?"
"You know better than that. I would never allow it."
A wizard's working equipment was dangerous. Even Moira would not touch Wiz's desk, though having such a mess in their sitting room pained her.
"Hmm. Do you suppose she has a talent for magic?"
Moira shook her head. "I think it is your guardian that attracts her."
Like any wizard, Wiz had created a demon to guard his paraphernalia. His took the form of a foot-long scarlet dragon, now curled peacefully asleep atop Wiz's big leather-bound "notebook."
Wiz sat down and reached for the notebook. The dragon demon woke and slithered over to a corner of the desk where it resumed its nap.
For the next quarter hour neither of them said anything. The only sound in the room was the scritching of Wiz's pen and the rustle of fabric as Moira turned the piece in her lap this way and that.
"Oh, I have some news as well," Moira said, putting down her mending.
"That's nice," Wiz said without looking up.
"Bronwyn says she will teach me the rudiments of the healer's art. I am too old for an apprentice, of course. In the village of Blackbrook Bend I often did simple healing and Bronwyn says we can build on that."
Wiz grunted.
"And then I'll sprout wings and grow two extra heads," she said sharply.
Wiz raised his head. "What?"
"You have not heard a word I said, have you?"
Moira threw her mending on the floor and stood up.
"It is bad enough that you are always gone, but when you are here the least you can do is admit that I am alive!"
"I'm sorry, I was just . . ."
"I will not be ignored." Moira burst into tears.
Wiz came to her and took her in his arms.
"Oh, darling. I didn't mean to upset you."
"Hold me."
"Moira, I'm sorry I . . ."
"Don't talk, just hold me." She clung to him fiercely as if he were about to be swept away from her.
They made love that night. Afterward they lay in each other's arms without speaking. Wiz didn't fall asleep until long afterward and he didn't think Moira did either.
The next day Wiz stumbled through his classes, groggy from lack of sleep. By the time he got home that evening he was ready to drop, but when Moira suggested they walk out to the drill yard he didn't object.
In the early evenings the guardsmen held free-form practice on the drill ground. Because there was a gathering of young men there, the young ladies of the castle naturally congregated, to sit in the shade or walk along the colonnaded porch that surrounded the beaten earth of the practice court. And where the young ladies congregated naturally became a gathering place for everyone in the keep. From the highest of the Mighty to the workers in the scullery, it had become the traditional place for an evening stroll.
Wiz and Moira joined the promenade with Moira clinging tightly to his arm. They exchanged small talk with their acquaintances, received respectful bows Wiz's station entitled them to and spent a few minutes talking with Shamus, the Captain of the Guard and a friend of Moira's from her time at the Capital learning to be a hedge witch.
From a window above the practice yard Ebrion watched them pass. It would go hard on the hedge witch when the Sparrow disappeared and looking at them walk arm-in-arm that thought troubled him. With an effort he shook it off. The good of the many was much more important than the feelings of one hedge witch. Besides, there were rumors that the two were not getting along.
She'll get over it quickly enough, he told himself. Then he concentrated on what he knew was about to happen in the courtyard below.
"Look, there's Donal," Moira pointed to a tall dark-haired guardsman who was using a short spear—actually a padded pole—against a man with a sword and shield.
Donal was one of the guardsmen who had accompanied Wiz on his foray into the dungeons beneath the City of Night to rescue Moira. He was skillfully using the length of his weapon to keep his opponent at a distance and flicking the spear out in quick thrusts, searching for a weakness in the man's guard. As they watched he executed a fast double thrust and parry that swept his opponent's sword to the side and finished with a solid thrust to the face.
"Oh, well done!" Moira said, laughing and clapping.
Wiz smiled. In the back of his head a small voice was nagging him about all the work he had to do, but the evening was lovely, the place was pretty, and it was pleasant to walk with a beautiful woman, especially when she was your wife.
As they ambled along, a man stepped out from behind one of the pillars and ran into Wiz, nearly knocking him down.
"Hey, watch it." He saw it was the apprentice who had nearly run into him in the hall the night before.
Pryddian curled his lip. "Clumsy Sparrow. Why not use your magic to fly out of the way?"
Moira gasped. Wiz wanted to smash his sneering face. Instead he stepped around Pryddian and walked toward the opposite side of the drill field.
"Wiz, you shouldn't let him talk to you like that," Moira hissed once they were out of earshot.
"What should I do? Turn him to stone?"
"Oh, don't be silly," she said angrily. "But at the very least you should put him in his place."
"How?"
Moira considered. Wiz did not have the wizard's manner that came with years of practicing magic. He could not freeze an apprentice with a look the way a real wizard could. Short of using magic on him—a thing unthinkable—there really was nothing he could do.
"I will speak to Bal-Simba about him."
"I wish you wouldn't. It will be all right, really."
Moira pressed her lips together and kept walking.
"Ah, Sparrow, My Lord." They turned and saw Juvian coming toward them, a fussy, balding little man who was always in a hurry.
Wiz nodded respectfully. "My Lord."
"Ah yes," Juvian came panting up. "My Lady, I wonder if you could excuse us for a moment. There is a matter of Council business we must discuss." He took Wiz by the elbow and led him off to the reviewing stand that stood on poles at one side of the field. Wiz threw Moira a helpless look over his shoulder, but he did not try to break the Wizard's hold on his arm.
"He's a lucky man," said a voice behind her.
Moira turned and saw Shamus.
"I doubt he would agree with you at this instant."
"Nonetheless, lucky." He smiled with an infectious warmth Moira remembered from her student days and extended his arm. "While he is occupied would you do me the honor of accompanying me?"
Moira smiled back. "Gladly."
Shamus was a lithe, compact man whose shock of sandy hair was thinning with the approach of middle age. His face was deeply tanned and a little windburned with tiny crinkles of laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Moira had had a minor crush on him when last she stayed at the Capital, but her studies left her little time to pursue such things.
"We do not see you out here often enough."
"Wiz's work keeps him busy," Moira said with a trace more acid than she intended.
"True, but a wife does not have to walk only with her husband."
"I suppose so," Moira sighed and looked around at the strolling, chatting people. "It would be pleasant to be out more."
"It could be pleasant indeed," Shamus said with a smile. "I would be happy to show you."
Moira understood exactly what he was offering. Such things were accepted in the Capital and as long as the affair was carried on discreetly no censure attached to any of the parties.
Moira glanced over to where Wiz was finishing his conversation with Juvian. It would serve him right! She thought. Then she buried the notion with a guilty start.
"I am sorry, My Lord, but I must decline."
"Ah," said Shamus, looking across the drill yard. "A very lucky man indeed." He sighed. "You've broken my heart, you know."
Moira followed his eyes to Wiz standing beneath the reviewing stand. "I feel it will mend by the time the next pretty face comes along."
* * *
The object of this by-play leaned back against one of the posts, oblivious to the things being said about him.
In the rings the guardsmen whirled and dodged in mock combat.
As Wiz put his weight against the post it shifted and the entire marshal's stand teetered.
"Look out!" Moira screamed.
It all seemed to happen in slow motion. The guardsmen and strollers froze. Wiz looked up, mouth open, to see the entire mass toppling down on him. He started to move out of the way, but he was obviously too late.
An armored body hurtled into him, knocking him sideways and slamming him into the earth. Behind them the stand crashed to earth, raising a cloud of dust off the practice field. A few boards fell across the pair, but the guardsman was on top and his armor protected them both.
"Are you all right, Lord?" Wiz opened his eyes and realized that the man on top of him was Donal.
"Fine," he gasped. "I'm fine."
Donal rolled off Wiz and climbed to his feet. Wiz started to rise and fell back, gasping in pain..
"My shoulder. I've done something to my shoulder."
Moira came running across the drill yard, skirts flying.
"Are you all right?"
"I"ve hurt my shoulder."
Moira knelt beside him and ran her fingers lightly over the injured joint. "It is separated." She looked up at Donal. "Help me get his tunic off and I will fix it."
"It would be better if we let the healers handle it."
Moira's green eyes flashed. "Are you saying I cannot heal a shoulder separation?"
Donal met her gaze levelly. "No Lady, only that Bronwyn or one of the others can do it better."
Moira started to snap back, then with a visible effort, she relaxed. "You are right, of course. Send one of your men for her, and quickly."
"Already done, My Lady."
"Oh shit," Wiz muttered, "this hurts."
Moira rested her hand gently on the injured shoulder. "I know, my love. But Bronwyn will be here quickly enough. Try to relax and do not move."
Behind them Shamus was examining the post where it had snapped off. "Rotten wood," he said, wrinkling his nose. He broke a piece off and crumbled it in his fingers. "This needed replacing months ago, and probably all the rest besides."
Arianne knelt by the post, her brown eyes fixed on the break. "Yes," she said and reached up with slender fingers to caress the broken spot. "Yes, they should all be examined most carefully."
Bal-Simba was in his private study when Arianne found him a few hours later.
"You heard that Wiz nearly brought the marshal's stand down on himself on the drill field this afternoon?" she said without preamble.
Bal-Simba grunted. "I heard. Besides all else, our Sparrow is clumsy."
"He is that," she said tonelessly.
Bal-Simba looked up and gave his lieutenant his full attention.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning I examined that post just after the accident. The wood was old and beetle-bored, waiting to fail. So I went back and looked at the place on the parapet where he slipped the other day. It was damp and somewhat slick. There was nothing obviously unusual about either the post or the place on the parapet."
Bal-Simba waited.
"I could find no definite trace of magic about either the post or the damp spot. There seemed to be a hint of—something—about the post, but if it was indeed there it was so faint I could not be sure."
"You obviously think there is more to this than simple accidents," Bal-Simba said. "What?"
Arianne paused, choosing her words carefully. "Lord, I think someone is trying to kill Wiz by magic."
* * *
When Bronwyn finally released him, Wiz went looking for Donal. He found him alone in the armory, replacing a strap on his chain mail hauberk by the light of a magic globe.
"I wanted to thank you for this evening," Wiz told him. "You saved my life, I think."
"So clumsily you needed the attention of a healer to put your shoulder right," Donal said wryly.
"I'm alive and that's the important thing. Thank you."
Donal stared down at the new strap. "As you saved mine beneath the City of Night."
"Still . . ."
"Lord, if you wish think of it as payment of a debt." He turned back to the job of threading the strap into place.
"You know, I think about the time we spent at Heart's Ease. You, I, Kenneth and Shiara." His mouth twisted into a half-smile. "Back when there was a clear, simple job to do and all we had to do was do it."
"Yes, Lord," Donal said without looking up from tying the strap into the chain mail.
"Now everything's so complicated and there's so much more to it." He sighed. "What do you do when you're overwhelmed?"
"You do the best you can for as long as you can, Lord."
"And then?"
Donal jerked the strap tight and looked up. "Then, My Lord, you put your back to something and go down fighting."
"I don't think that really applies here," Wiz said.
Donal fixed him with his icy blue eyes. "Lord, I hope you are never in a situation where it does apply."
* * *
"Subtle," Bal-Simba said at last. "Subtle indeed. But so subtle it is not sure."
Arianne smiled nervously. "If you mean to make me doubt my suspicions, Lord, you may spare yourself the effort. I do not know if I believe this or not."
"Oh, it is believable," Bal-Simba rumbled. "Overt magic in this place would be too easy to detect—and to trace back to its source. Wiz is known to be clumsy and an accident would be easy to accept. An attack using just the tiniest of magics to set up a mischance could perhaps pass unnoticed. And if the first one did not succeed, the next one might, or the next after that."
"That is my thinking, Lord."
He shook his head. "We have grown lax, Lady. With the Dark League broken we have let down our guard."
"You suspect the Dark League?"
"Who else? They are not all gone, after all, and those who are left would have ample reason for harming our Sparrow."
"There is one other thing, Lord."
"Eh?"
"I did not come by this on my own. Another first suggested the idea to me—before today."
"Who?"
"June, the orphan servant girl. She is convinced Wiz is in danger."
"How is your shoulder?" Moira asked as soon as Wiz came in.
"Fine now." He windmilled the arm. "See?"
"I am glad," she said quietly.
"What's the mater?" he asked, dreading the answer.
Moira bit hr lip. "Wiz, we have to talk."
"All right." I'm losing her, he thought. I'm blowing it and I'm going to lose her.
"I am sorry, I cannot go on like this."
"I know. I've got to stop ignoring you."
"Wiz, you are killing yourself," Moira said desperately. "Your ignoring me, that I could live with—I think. It is in a good cause. But you are burning yourself out trying to do too much."
"I've got to do it. Bal-Simba won't let me off the Council and we've got to have a version of the spell compiler anyone can use."
Moira bit her lip and considered. This wasn't just about her needs. As a hedge witch she had been inculcated with the idea that service to the community came before personal needs. The whole World needed Wiz and what he could do. She pushed her feelings to the back and tried to look at the situation as the helper of one of the Mighty with an important task to perform.
Wiz, lost in his thoughts, missed the shift completely. "I dunno," he sighed. "Sometimes I think it's getting worse instead of better."
"Worse than you know," the redheaded witch said. "There are some who claim you hide your secrets from us behind a veil of deliberate obscurity. That in this way your power among us grows."
"Oh, bullshit! Look, I'm doing the best I can, all right? But I'm a rotten teacher and these people are so dense."
"Some of the wisest and most powerful of our wizards have placed themselves under your tutelage," Moira said sharply. "Are you so superior that they cannot learn the most elementary matters?"
"Of course not! But you people don't think the way we do. I know they're trying but they just don't pick up the concepts."
"I understand that," Moira said more gently. "I remember what it was like when you tried to teach me this new magic. But Wiz, it makes problems for everyone."
"At least the ordinary people seem to appreciate what I'm doing. We've already got a few spells out there that anyone can use. ddt, the magic repellent spell, is everywhere and that's solved a lot of problems. But I can't do many more of those until I get the tools built. Meanwhile, I'm trying to teach the system to people who hate it and wasting time sitting in Council meetings listening to endless debates on nothing much."
Moira nodded sympathetically. Wiz was like a blacksmith with a good supply of iron and charcoal but no tools. Given time he could make his own tools, but until he got them made, there was very little else he could do. She wasn't used to thinking of a spell as a thing built up of parts like a wagon, but by analogy she could understand the situation.
"If I could just get the other wizards to see that and take me seriously, I'd be a lot further along. Instead I have Ebrion claiming the spell compiler doesn't work at all!"
"But doesn't ddt show Ebrion and the others that your way of magic works?"
"It doesn't penetrate. They see it as a clever hack and claim it's like a non-magician using an enchanted item."
"But you created it!"
He shrugged. "So I'm a great magician. Any great magician could come up with something like that, they say. It's all an accident."
"They should have been in the dungeons beneath the City of Night when you broke the Dark League single-handed!"
"They weren't. Most of them didn't find out about the attack until the day it happened and they never had a really clear picture of what was going on. Besides, they claim it only proves my magic was so alien the Dark League didn't know what to expect."
Moira said something very unladylike under her breath.
Wiz made a face. "Look, the truth is they don't see it because they don't want to see it. I can't fight that—at least not until I've got better tools and can teach some more people to use them."
He sighed. "I don't know. I feel as if I'm being nibbled to death by ducks. If I could just put everything else aside and concentrate on writing code I could get this done. But the way it is now," he waved his hand helplessly over the books. "The way it is now I've got so many other things happening I just can't stay with anything long enough to accomplish anything."
"Perhaps you could."
"Yeah, but I've got to have trained helpers. Until I get some people who understand this kind of magic I can't do half the critical stuff."
Suddenly Moira brightened. "I have it!" She turned to Wiz excitedly. "You need help, do you not?"
"Yeah," Wiz sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I need help."
"And there are many in your land who can do what you do?"
"More or less."
"Then the thing to do is to have the Council bring others to your aid. With the Dark League broken they can do a Great Summoning easily enough and . . ."
"No!" Wiz snapped around, shaking her arm off his shoulders.
Moira turned white and flinched back as if he had struck her.
"I'm sorry," Wiz said. "I didn't mean to scare you. But no, I'm not going to have that on my conscience."
"Look, what Patrius did to me was a damn dirty trick." He took one of her hands in both of his. "I'll admit it worked out well in the end, but it was still a terrible thing to do. Even with you and all the rest I still get homesick sometimes." He grinned lopsidedly. "There are times I'd trade almost everything for a sausage, pepperoni and mushroom pizza."
He took her in his arms. "Look darling, I know you mean well, but I can't let you do that to someone else. Promise me you won't try to yank someone else through."
Moira blinked back tears. "Very well." She tapped herself on the chest with her fist. "I swear I will not use a Great Summoning to bring someone else here from your world."
"And that you won't influence anyone else to do it either."
She glared at him, but she swore.
"I'll have to ask Bal-Simba to swear that oath tomorrow," he said, releasing her arms.
She stood up straight. "Very well then. What will you do?"
"It'll work out," Wiz mumbled. "I'll think of something."
"What? What will you do?"
"Something! Look, leave me alone, will you?" He shook her arm from his shoulder angrily.
Moira stood stiff and straight. "Very well, My lord." She turned and ran from the room.
Wiz half rose to follow her and then thought better of it. He sank back to the bench and turned his attention to the book in front of him.
Let her work it off, he told himself. She'll come back when she's calmed down some. It wasn't a very attractive solution but it was the best he could think of at the moment.
Moira slammed the door behind her and stormed down the hall, the cloak she had hastily grabbed slung over her arm. By the time she reached the stairs she was crying openly. She paused at the landing to throw the cloak about her and raise the hood to hide her tears, then swept out into the main court.
She did not see the figure in the shadows at the foot of the stairs.
Well, well, Pryddian thought as Moira went past. Trouble in the Sparrow's nest. He smiled to himself and continued down the corridor.