Bale-Zur, but if they used their magic they would be immediately attacked
by the hunting demon. The hunting demon would not respond to conventional
magic, but not even all of the Mighty together could hope to stand against
Bale-Zur.
Until Bale-Zur was contained it was horribly risky for any mortal but Wiz
or his friends to enter the City of Night and until the hunting demon was
contained, they could not be safe here.
The demons weren’t the only dangers in the City of Night. Remnants of the
League’s old magic remained and there were other monsters here as well.
However none of those were the equal of a well-prepared magician-well,
probably not, Wiz told himself-and most of them were not active by
daylight in the open. We don’t think!
Naturally they had backup. He was being closely watched by magical means,
and several of the Mighty were poised to jump to his aid if he appeared to
be in danger. There were two squadrons of dragon riders circling just off
the beach. But he was still here alone and if anything went wrong he would
be the first to know it.
Well, now I know how a worm on a hook feels, Wiz thought. He pulled his
cloak tighter and set to work.
After hashing it over repeatedly, they had worked out a plan. It seemed
like a good idea back at the Capital, but standing in the shattered city,
Wiz was growing less fond of it by the minute.
He shifted his grip on his staff. The sooner they got this part of the
operation over with the sooner he would be able to protect himself. And
the sooner I can use a spell to stay warm.
He reached into his pouch, drew out four pieces of blue stone and set one
at each point of the compass. Then he stood between them and began to
scratch in the frozen dust with his staff.
Carefully he traced the figure in the dust as he had been taught. The old
magic of this world depended for its success on precise execution.
Everything had to be done just right and even the tiniest deviation from
the rituals could mean disastrous changes in the outcome. The secret of
the success of his magic compiler lay in the fact that it used extremely
simple, reliable little spells that could be built up to produce complex,
powerful effects with little or no talent on the part of the user.
With his new magic Wiz was easily the most powerful mortal magician in
this world. But he was as natural a klutz as he was a computer programmer.
Even this simple spell would tax him to the limit.
He finished the tracing and made especially sure the lines crossed to
close the figure around him. The freezing wind whipped up little eddies of
dust, but it did not erase the pentagram.
Finally he surveyed his handiwork one more time and reached back into his
pouch. This time he pulled out a bit of forked, twisted root. Stepping to
the edge of the circle, he lifted the root to his mouth and whispered to
it the words Moira and Bal-Simba had spent so long pounding into his head.
He leaned over and placed it outside the circle. Then he stepped back and
waited.
He had barely reached the center when the root stirred in the dust. As he
watched it seemed to untwist and swell until it became a tiny brown man
shape, no longer than Wiz’s thumb. It got to its knees and then to its
feet and then shook itself once, as if to clear its head. It strode
forward, placed its hands on its hips, threw back its head and began to
shout.
Inside the circle Wiz heard nothing but the wind. He knew that the manikin
was reciting a simple spell in the new magic. The spell didn’t do much,
but it should be enough to attract the demon. Wiz gripped his staff harder
and forced himself not to hold his breath as he watched.
Suddenly, with an earsplitting roar, the demon arrived.
A clawed foot crushed the mandrake manikin to the dust. The burning red