Six : Applications Magic
Applications programming is a race between software engineers, who strive to produce idiot-proof programs, and the Universe which strives to produce bigger idiots.
—software engineers' saying
So far the Universe is winning.
—applications programmers' saying
Wiz's travelling companion was a wizard named Philomen, a slender young man with an aristocratic bearing and a reserved manner. Wiz had met him briefly, but he didn't know him and he couldn't remember seeing him in any of his classes.
As was custom, they did not walk the Wizard's Way straight into the village. Instead they arrived on a hill where the road topped the rise to look down at Leafmarsh Meadow. From here the village looked neat and peaceful, spread out along the road that ran to the Leafmarsh Brook and crossed to run deeper into the fringe. This side of the river was a neat pattern of fields and pastureland. The Fringe started on the other side of the water and there the land was mostly forest, although Wiz noted a number of fields, obviously freshly hacked in the ancient woodland.
Towering over the village was a hill of naked gray granite. It seemed to be a single enormous boulder, placed as if a careless giant had dropped it next to the river. Even to Wiz's relatively untrained senses there was something about the huge rock that hinted of magic.
"This will be my first real trip out of the Capital in almost a year," Wiz said in an effort to make conversation as they started down the hill toward the village.
"Indeed?" Philomen said. "You will find much changed, I think."
Wiz didn't have any good answer to that, so they walked along in a silence for a bit.
"Do you have any idea why they wanted help from the Council?"
"None, Lord. If they did not tell one of the Mighty, do you think they would tell one barely raised from apprentice?"
"No, I guess not," Wiz said. "Well, we'll know soon enough. That's the hedge witch's cottage there."
The place was on the outskirts of the village, a single-story house of whitewashed wattle and daub with thatched roof. The whitewash needed renewing and the thatch was turning black in spots. It was surrounded by a rather weedy garden and all enclosed by a ramshackle fence. The cottage wasn't exactly run down, Wiz decided, but it looked very much like the owner had other things on her mind than the condition of her property.
They came up the flagstone pathway to the door and Philomen rapped sharply upon it with his staff.
"Keep your britches on, I'm coming," came a cracked voice from inside. Then the door was flung open in their faces.
"What the . . ." She stopped dead when she saw her visitors in wizard's cloaks with staffs in their hands. She blinked once and her whole manner changed.
"Merry met, Lords," she said, bobbing a curtsey. "I am Alaina, hedge witch of this place."
She was older than Moira, but how much Wiz couldn't tell because people aged so fast here on the Fringe. Her hair was gray and a greasy wisp had escaped the bun on the back of her head. She was shaped like a sack of potatoes. Her skin was coarse and her teeth, what were left of them, were yellow. From this distance it was obvious she hadn't bathed recently.
On the whole, she didn't look much worse than the average middle-aged peasant woman, but to Wiz the contrast with the hedge witch he knew best was striking.
Well, Wiz thought, it would be too much to expect all hedge witches to be like Moira.
"Merry met, Lady," Wiz and Philomen chorused.
"What brings you to Leafmarsh Meadow?"
"We were sent by the Council in answer to your request," Philomen said.
The hedge witch looked blank. "Request? Oh, yes, the request. Well, what can I be thinking of to keep such guests standing in my garden? Come in, Lords, come in and be welcome."
The place was even more run down and messier on the inside, but it managed to be homey at the same time. The cottage was a single large room with a fireplace at one end and an unmade bed in the corner. At the opposite end was a low work table with rows of shelves above it. Dried herbs and other less identifiable things hung from the rafters, giving the place an odor like hay with anise overtones.
"Please excuse the clutter," Alaina said and she moved piles of things off chairs to give them places to sit. "The girl only comes in three days a week and things do pile up in between times.
"Can I offer you refreshment? I have some very good mead. But of course gentlemen such as yourselves from the Capital do not drink mead."
There was an undercurrent of resentment, Wiz realized. As if she didn't want them here.
"Mead would be most satisfactory," Philomen said.
"None for me, thanks," Wiz said and from the way they both looked at him he realized he had committed some kind of social error in refusing the hospitality.
"I can't drink just now," he said quickly.
Alaina's expression smoothed. "Ah, a vow. I understand those things, of course. You are saving power for a special spell."
"More like doing penance," Wiz said wryly.
Once they were settled into the somewhat dusty chairs and Philomen and Alaina were clutching cups of mead Wiz decided it was time for serious talk. Alaina was keeping up a steady flow of conversation on inconsequential topics, as if she was trying to ward off discussion. Philomen was responding to her with bored civility, but making no move to come to the point.
"Your pardon, Lady," Wiz said, cutting off an anecdote about the profusion of dragon weed this year, "could you tell us about your problem?"
"My problem, ah yes," Alaina said, draining the rest of her mead in a single gulp. "It is nothing, really. Nothing at all." She reached over for the pitcher and refilled her cup.
"I am honored that you have come to us, do not misunderstand me," she waved an admonitory hand. "But it really was not necessary. Not necessary at all to send two such great wizards from the Capital for this."
"I thought you had asked for help," Wiz said.
Alaina made a dismissing motion, as if shooing off an insect. "That was Andrew, the mayor. He wouldn't give me a minute's peace until I sent off to the Council for aid." She smiled at her visitors. "You know how non-magicians are, My Lords, always frightened around magic and such. But I never dreamed they would send someone so soon. And two of you!"
Meaning you expected to have this all wrapped up before the council took notice, Wiz thought sourly. Now here we are and you won't get the additional prestige out of this you thought you would.
"I am sure your skill is up to the task, Lady," Philomen said soothingly. "It just happened we were coming this way on other business so the Council asked that we come to assess the situation. Consider us merely observers."
That seemed to mollify the hedge witch.
"Well," she said. "Well indeed. I was going to wait until the next full moon to lay this creature. But since your lordships are here, I suppose I can do the job tomorrow."
"Very well then," Philomen said. "I presume there is a place we can get dinner and stay the night."
"Oh, there is no inn in the village," Alaina said. "Much too small, you know." She hesitated.
"I would ask you to sleep here, but . . ." She swept out her arm, indicating the clutter and the single bed. "In any event, I am sure you would be much more comfortable staying at the mayor's house. No, I am sure he will insist that you stay with him as soon as he knows you are here."
"I am sure you know best, Lady," Philomen said.
"He is out on the brook gathering reeds for thatching," the hedge witch told them. "I will have someone send for him immediately." She stood up. "Will you excuse me, Lords?" She bobbed a curtsey and went out.
"Political, huh?" Wiz said once he was sure their hostess was out of earshot.
"Such matters usually are, Lord. At least to some extent. I would suggest that we let her lay this creature." He looked at Wiz. "Unless you have reason to do otherwise."
The man's tone made Wiz uncomfortable. "No, none at all," he said, looking down at his boots.
"Might I further suggest, Lord, that we stand ready to aid her should the need arise? Her style does not give me confidence in her abilities."
Wiz and Philomen sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minute more. Wiz still wasn't sure whether Philomen's coldness grew out of his nature or a dislike for him. A mixture of both, he suspected increasingly.
Alaina came rushing back breathless with the news that mayor Andrew had been summoned from the reed marsh and his wife was preparing to receive them at their house. It would take a few minutes, she told them, but they would receive a proper reception.
Wiz was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with both of them, so he excused himself.
"I want to stretch my legs a bit," he explained.
Philomen nodded. "As you will," and he turned his attention back to Alaina's latest story.
There wasn't much to the village, just a gaggle of houses spread out along a narrow lane. Most of them were timber or wattle and daub, but a few of the larger ones clustered around the place where the lane widened into a village square were made of native stone.
There weren't many people about, or if there were they were keeping out of sight. Once or twice Wiz passed someone in the street who bowed or curtseyed and then moved on quickly. He saw children peering at him from windows and doors, but very few adults.
Either people hereabouts were afraid of strangers or they knew who he was and they were nervous around wizards. Judging from the reactions he got, Wiz suspected the latter.
At the end of the village, where the stream made a looping bend, there was a grove of poplars on a bank overlooking a water meadow. As Wiz approached he smelled smoke and the smell drew him on toward the trees.
Maybe there will be someone here to talk to, he thought.
There was a wagon, hardly more than a cart, and an ox grazing in the meadow nearby. A man in rough brown breeches and a coarse linen shirt was busy building up a small campfire. He was burly with a greying beard and a seamed, weatherbeaten face. He looked up and smiled a gap-toothed smile as Wiz approached.
"Well met, My Lord."
"Uh, hi. Just passing through, are you?"
"Aye, My Lord," the man chuckled. "Passing through on my way to a better life. I am called Einrich."
"Wiz Zumwalt. Pleased to meet you. But why are you camped out here? I thought the villagers put travellers up where there are no inns."
The man shrugged. "I know no one here and I have no claim to guest right. Doubtless a place could be made for me, but the weather is fair. The people are willing to let me pasture my ox in their meadow and gather wood for my fire. That is sufficient.
"Besides," he added, "they have seen many like me recently. Better to save their hospitality for those who are travelling with their wives and children."
Wiz looked around and realized there were three or four other campfire rings under the trees. No one was using them now, but most of them looked as if they hadn't been long out of use.
"Where is everyone going?"
Einrich grinned, showing the place where his front teeth had been. "Why for land, young Lord. They go into the Wild Wood for land."
"You too?"
Einrich nodded. "I tarry here for a day or so to rest and feed up my ox. Then I am also on my way east for new land."
"All by yourself?"
"My sons and their families stay behind on the old farm to gather in the harvest." He grinned. "They can spare a dotard such as me and this way we can get an early start on our new farm."
Looking at Einrich's powerful frame, Wiz would not have called him a dotard. Old perhaps, by the standards of the peasantry, but he looked like he could still work Wiz into the ground.
"How far are you going?"
"As deep into the Wild Wood as I can. That way when my sons follow we will all be able to claim as much land as my sons and my sons' sons will ever need."
"Aren't you worried about magic?"
"No more!" Einrich said triumphantly. "With the new spell I can defeat any magic in the Wild Wood. Trolls, even elves, I can destroy them all."
Wiz frowned. ddt, his magic-protection spell, wouldn't destroy anything. It would only ward off magic and tend to drive magical influences away.
Wiz opened his mouth to say something, but Einrich interrupted him. "Oh, it is a grand time to be alive!" His eyes shone like a child's at Christmas. "Truly grand and I thank fortune that I lived to see this day. No longer must mortals cower at the threat of magic. Now we can walk free beneath the sun!"
"Wonderful," Wiz said uncomfortably.
"Will you join me for dinner, Lord? Plain fare, I fear, but plenty of it."
"No thanks. I think I am expected back at the village for dinner."
Wiz walked slowly back toward the village square, scowling and scuffing his boot toe in the dust of the road. This was what he had fought for, wasn't it? That people like Einrich could live their lives without having to fear magic constantly. Most of the Fringe and part of the Wild Wood had been human at one time, before the pressures of magic had driven the people back. Wasn't it just that they were reclaiming their own?
Then why do I feel so damn uncomfortable with Einrich and what he's doing?
The mayor met Wiz partway back to the village square. He was a stout, balding man with a face red from exertion. He was wearing a red velvet tunic trimmed with black martin fur obviously thrown hastily over his everyday clothes. He had washed the muck off, but the odor of the reed marsh still clung to him.
Mayor Andrew turned out to be almost as garrulous as Alaina. This time it suited Wiz because it meant that aside from complimenting the mayor on the village and making agreeable noises, he did not have to talk.
Dinner that evening was a formal affair. All the important people of the village turned out in their holiday best to honor the visitors. The villagers' manners were strained as they tried to follow what they thought was polite custom in the Capital. It reminded Wiz of a dinner he had attended once where the principals of an American software company were doing their best to entertain and avoid offending a group of powerful Japanese computer executives. That one turned into a rousing success after both sides discovered they shared a strong taste for single-malt scotch consumed in large quantities. For a moment Wiz considered trying to conjure up a bottle of Glenlivet, but he realized it would take more than booze to help this party.
"What is this thing that threatens you anyway?" Wiz asked Andrew during a particularly strained pause in the conversation as the mountainous platter of boiled beef was being removed and replaced with an an equally mountainous plate of roast pork.
Andrew twisted in his chair and pointed. "That!"
Wiz followed the mayor's finger out the window. Hulking against the night sky was the huge granite hill, its mass and shape cutting off the stars near the horizon.
"The hill?"
"Aye, the hill. We have lived in its shadow too long."
Wiz realized everyone was looking at him and the mayor.
"Is it dangerous?"
"Dangerous enough," the mayor said grimly.
"What does it do?"
"It mazes people. Those who climb it are overcome by its power and stricken dumb. For days or even weeks they wander as if simple."
"Young John fell off it and broke his back," a slat-thin woman halfway down the table put in. "The healer said it was a wonder that he ever walked again."
Wiz toyed with the pork that had been heaped on his plate. "Uh, maybe this is a dumb question, but why don't people just stay off the hill?"
There was stony silence all down the table. Philomen concentrated on his plate and everyone else glared at Wiz.
"Okay, so it was a dumb question," Wiz muttered.
"The thing is magic and I will not have magic so close to my village," Andrew said fiercely.
"Look, don't worry. I'm sure that we can take care of this thing tomorrow so it will never bother you again."
Somehow the rest of the meal passed off without incident.
Deep in the Wild Wood a wren perched on a finger and trilled out its message. Seklos, now second in command of the Dark League, considered carefully the news the bird had brought.
So, he thought, our Sparrow leaves its nest. Very well, we will be ready when he seeks to return. He dismissed the wren with a flick of his finger and turned to his work. In concert with the others of the Dark League, he had a demon to create. A most powerful and special demon.
As he reached for a spell book Seklos wondered idly what that fool in the Capital meant about attempts on the Sparrow's life. The Dark League would make only one such attempt. And when it came it would be crushingly, overwhelmingly successful.