Wiz considered and drew a deep breath. “All right then. We’re going on.” There were smiles all around, but somehow Wiz didn’t feel quite that cheerful.
“Ah, Fortuna, it’s cold!” Elias the wizard exclaimed.
“I need no magic to tell me that, My Lord,” Malcolm said, never taking his eyes from the darkness beyond the castle walls.
Dark as it was and muffled as they were in their cloaks the only obvious difference between them was size. The guardsman was a good half-head taller than the wizard. Their cloaks hid both his chain mail armor and the wizard’s robe of office. Malcolm’s soldiers reserve hid his opinion of his companion.
Full wizard this Elias might be, but in Malcolm’s eyes he was still a youngster, and a bumptious one at that. The guardsman wished for a more experienced magician, one who didn’t chatter so. But the Mighty and most of the journeymen were tucked warmly away, preparing spells against this new enemy. For duty on the walls he’d nave to take what he could get.
Malcolm, who had tramped these walls for a goodly number of years, had never seen colder weather. However talking about it made it no warmer. Besides, he wasn’t going to give this stripling the pleasure of hearing him say that. So he only shrugged and the pair continued on their way.
“Never like this at home,” the young wizard added breathlessly as he tried to keep up with Malcolm’s measured stride.
The guardsman spared a glance for his companion out of the corner of his eye. Like Bal-Simba, Elias was a wizard and a black man from the hot lands to the north. But there the resemblance ended and as far as Malcolm was concerned it didn’t extend near far enough. It was said they bred mighty magicians in those lands, and in truth Bal-Simba was mighty enough. But either the line had run thin since Bal-Simba’s day or this was an unusually poor specimen.
In theory the castle was already guarded against enemy magic. Which might be well and good for them as put their trust in it, Malcolm thought. But to his mind a place wasn’t properly guarded until the sentries were at their posts and the sentinels patrolled the perimeter. In theory he even approved of adding magicians to the patrols. Give them something useful to do instead of idling about in their towers, he thought. Show them what the world is really made of. However after a couple of hours in Elias’ company Malcolm was beginning to change his mind.
If only this one wouldn’t talk so! To his way of thinking, talking distracted guards from their duties and many’s the time he had had a junior guardsman marching his post with a pack full of sand for a week for talking one-tenth as much as this wizard.
He peered out into the darkness, trying to pierce the night and roiling fog. The air was close and cold, inserting clammy fingers into clothing and pulling out heat It was said there was magic in it of no friendly sort and certainly the guardsmen were nervous and uneasy at their posts.
Not that that’s a bad thing, he thought as he strode along at a measured pace. Keeps them on the alert. Still, this fog and cold could get to a man. It was easy to start seeing things in the swirls of darkness out at the edge of the light. It was almost as if…
Malcolm stopped dead in his tracks. “What’s that?” he barked. ,
“What, why noth…” The words froze in the wizard’s throat as he peered out into the blackness. “No wait. Yes there’s something there! It’s magic.”
But Malcolm needed no wizard to tell him that. Things were moving in the mist, dark things. As Elias gabbled into his communications crystal, Malcolm was already blowing the first blast on his whistle.
There was a note like a crystal bell and Juvian’s image appeared in the crystal ball on Bal-Simba’s work table. “My Lord, the magic fog! It changes.”
“Raise the wards. Quickly,” Bal-Simba commanded, “seal the castle against it.”
Juvian nodded and even as his image blinked out, he had begun to raise his staff.