Behind them the blue-robed wizard nodded. He knew full well that the remnants of the Dark League would join him in this. What other choice had they?
Two : Nailing Jelly to a Tree
Everything always takes twice as long and costs four times as much as you planned.
—programmer’s axiom
“I dunno,” Wiz sighed again and drained his wine cup. “This isn’t working out anything like I thought it would.” He set the cup down and leaned toward Bal-Simba, elbows on knees.
“Look, I took the seat on the Council because you wanted me to. I’m not a wizard, I’ve never been a politician and those meetings are torture.”
“Your position and power entitle you to a seat.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got important work to do.”
It was Bal-Simba’s turn to sigh. He did so gustily and the bones of his necklace clattered with the movement of his barrel chest. “Sparrow, listen to a poor fat old wizard for a moment.
“You talk of finishing your spell engine. But that is only half your task. The other half is teaching others to use it and the largest part of that is getting them to accept it.”
Wiz toyed with the cup, running his finger along the rim. “I suppose you’re right. I never was any good at teaching. I guess I need to try harder.”
“Perhaps it would be more to the point if you tried to understand how others feel. Your task is difficult. But you make it more so. Your attitude does not make you friends, either on the Council of among the other wizards and that adds to the hostility against your methods. Specifically, you do yourself no good at all when you belittle the Council.”
“I don’t belittle the Council!”
Bal-Simba arched a brow. “No? But your work is more important.”
“Well . . .”
“Sparrow, the Council of the North has stood for centuries as the shield of humans against malevolent magic, both from the Dark League and from the World at large. It is the closest thing to a ruler this land has.”
Wiz nodded. “Look, I’d be the last person to deny you and the other wizards have done a heck of a job. But magical programming changes things. As soon as I get the compiler perfected and get to work on the spells, anyone will be able to use magic. There won’t be a need for a Council of wizards to guard and protect humans.”
Bal-Simba shook his head. “Sparrow, much as I admire your directness I think it leads you astray. But even if what you say is so, we must still get from where we are to where you wish to be. To do that you need the cooperation of all wizards, especially the Mighty and most especially the Council. You do not get someone’s cooperation by telling him he is obsolete and his life’s work is outworn.”
“It would be easier if some of the Mighty would learn to use the compiler. But they’re all so dense.”
“Wizards do not have the reputation for being stupid,” Bal-Simba said with deceptive mildness.
Wiz sighed and rubbed his eyes. “You’re right. Stupid isn’t the word for it. But they don’t generalize. You guys learn one thing at a time and you can’t seem to work from a bunch of specifies to a general proposition.” He shook his head. “And a lot of programming is generalization.”
“Nonsense!” came a firm voice from the doorway. Wiz and Bal-Simba turned to the sound and saw a tall theatrically handsome man in wizard’s blue. His silver hair swept over his ears in carefully arranged waves to perfectly set off his aristocratic features and evenly tanned skin.
Bal-Simba nodded. “My Lord Ebrion.”
Wiz stiffened, but he also nodded politely. Dammit, I will not lose my temper.
“The essence of magic is in the particular,” Ebrion said in his beautifully modulated voice as he came into the room. “To control magic we must understand this tree or this fire, not these ‘classes’ you keep on about. All trees are not alike, Sparrow, and it is only by deeply perceiving an object that we may control it magically.”