sleeve and pulled him close.
“Send Glandurg to me in my chamber,” he commanded in a low voice.
There was a flash of bewilderment on the seneschal’s leathery face.
Normally it was part of his job to keep Glandurg as far away from his
royal relative as he could. But he nodded, sketched another bow and
hurried to do his master’s bidding.
Beyond the barrier, Bal-Simba was waiting. The enormous black wizard sat
patiently on a rock, wrapped in a cloak against the evening chill. Beside
him was Danny, the other member of the programming team. Huddled next to
Danny was his wife June. Fortunately it was a large rock.
Bal-Simba was there because it was as close as he could get to the
negotiations. Despite being the head of the Council of the North and as
such the leader of nearly all the mortals in the World, the non-mortals
would not treat with him. Wiz Zumwalt’s new magic was stronger and to the
non-mortals that made him the only mortal who mattered. They would
tolerate Jerry, Wiz’s cubicle mate from his days as a programmer in
Cupertino, because Jerry was Wiz’s right-hand man and also an expert with
the new magic.
Danny was there because Wiz and Jerry were. Like Jerry, he had been
magically brought to this world to help Wiz complete his magic compiler
and like Jerry he had chosen to stay behind when most of the programmers
went back. He had matured considerably in the year or so since he had come
to the World, but there was still a lot of punk kid and hacker in Danny.
June was there because Danny was. If being a father and husband had
matured Danny, being mother and wife apparently affected June not at all.
She was still an almost feral presence; shy, silent and remote from
everyone except Danny and their infant son. Even pregnancy and motherhood
had not added a single pound to her painfully thin frame.
Sitting pressed up against Danny she reminded Wiz of a wild animal, unsure
of her surroundings and ready to lash out at anyone who came too close. As
she moved, Wiz saw that she had Ian with her, nursing under the cloak.
“Well, Sparrow?” Bal-Simba asked as they approached.
“They said they’d do it, but they won’t say when. I think we’re supposed
to meet again at the next full moon.”
Bal-Simba nodded. He had hoped for something definite to tell the farmers,
but he had not really expected much more.
Wiz sighed. “Lord, do you think we’re making any progress at all?”
Bal-Simba sighed in return. “How am I to judge, Sparrow? I know as little
of dealing with these creatures as you do. Less perhaps.” He rubbed his
massive forehead with a meaty hand. “Still, they continue to treat with us
and that is no small thing. Nor is there any sign of war by non-mortals
against mortals and that is a large thing indeed.”
Wiz nodded. His new magic had upset the balance of this World and sent
humans thrusting out past their ancient boundaries in a wave of
settlement, destroying magical creatures as they went. The non-mortals had
reacted and the World had teetered on the brink of a war of extermination
against humans. With the aid of a team of shanghaied computer programmers,
Wiz had been able to stem the tide and temporarily confine the humans
within somewhat larger boundaries, blunting the threat and removing the
danger of war.
But to keep the peace the humans needed some kind of treaty with the
World’s non-mortals, something that would set out rules for both groups.
The negotiations had dragged on for months with many different beings.
Apparently most of the non-mortals either couldn’t conceive of the idea of
a general policy or weren’t interested in negotiating one with the humans.
So arrangements had to be made a bit at a time with one group of
non-mortals after another.
It would have tried the patience of a seasoned diplomat and Wiz was a long
way from being any sort of diplomat. Worse, he was the only mortal the
elves and others wanted to deal with and to him the meetings were a form