The black giant’s face split in an enormous grin. “Brilliant, Lady!” His laughter pealed off the ceiling. “You will wind up on the Council yet.”
Then he sobered. “But it would be a dangerous journey.”
“True, but think of what we could do if I brought Wiz back one of the Mighty of his world!”
“If you brought back . . . Oh no! No, My Lady! Wiz would have my head if I let you go haring off on such a scheme. And he would be richly entitled to it.”
“But Lord . . .” Moira began.
“No! Not you. Someone else, but not you. And that’s final!”
Wiz leaned back against the stone wall and shivered. He was so tired he could not keep his eyes open, but the least little movement or sound brought him awake with a start.
He was terribly hungry. His last meal had been at Duke Aelric’s—how long ago? More than that, he was cold. Desperately, numbingly, bone-chillingly cold. He exhaled and watched his breath puff white.
It would be so simple to be warm again. But with that thing around he dared not use magic of any sort. He had only to begin forming a spell in his head and he could feel the quiver of the demon’s anticipation. No matter how careful he was, he would be dead before he could ever complete the first line.
In theory he could write the spell out and then summon a demon to execute the code. But that wouldn’t buy him much. In the first place, just the act of putting the spell down might be enough to send the demon arrowing after him. In the second place, even if the demon did finish the spell he wouldn’t live to see it. He might come up with something that would finish the demon, but he wouldn’t be there to see it.
Besides, he thought, I’ve got a war to stop. I’ve got to get back to the Capital.
He had been stupid to travel unprotected, he saw now. Moira had told him that wizards kept one or more defense spells primed and ready against sudden danger. He’d laughed and told her he didn’t need such precautions. With his new magic he could launch a spell in an instant. He remembered that Moira hadn’t looked happy, but she hadn’t said anything.
If only he had time to prepare he knew he could take the beast, or at least get beyond its grasp. But he had come unsuspecting and unprotected and now it was too late.
He leaned back and thought of Moira. At least she’s safe, he told himself as he drifted off into a restless half-sleep.
Twelve : Stranger in a Strange Land
Never argue with a redhaired witch. It wastes your breath and only delays the inevitable.
—the collected sayings of Wiz Zumwalt
“I still think this is too dangerous,” Bal-Simba grumbled for the twentieth time.
“Hush, Lord,” Moira placed her hand gently on his massive ebony arm. “It is less dangerous for me than for any other. Who else knows as much about Wiz’s world?”
“Will you not at least take a couple of guardsmen? Donal and Kenneth . . .”
“No, Lord. From what Wiz has told me they would only attract notice. And perhaps trouble.”
“I suppose so.” He sighed and looked around the room. Six other wizards were already at their places and the shadow on the sun dial crept ever closer to noon. “Best you take your place then, Lady. Remember, we will search for your signal every day two day-tenths after sunrise and two day-tenths before sunset. When we sense your signal we will perform the Grand Summoning. Do you have the cord?”
“Yes, Lord,” Moira said, touching the pouch at her waist, “and thank you.” She stretched up to kiss him on the cheek. “Please when Wiz returns tell him not to worry.” Then she turned and strode to her place in the center of the circle of wizards.
Bal-Simba frowned slightly at that. He did not tell her he had expected Wiz back days ago. The great black wizard was beginning to get worried.
“Merry part, Lady.”