A War of Wizards

The fetid desolation of the Fens disappeared into the eastern horizon. In the distance behind Val, the spires of New Victoria receded as he flew above the murky waters of the swamp. His feet were planted firmly on a Magedisc, a sort of enchanted hoverboard which allowed him to fly without expending magic. Lord Alistair’s proclamation of war against the advancing Roma army and their supporters had spurred the deployment of the Magediscs and other combat-ready artifacts.

Behind Val, two aquamancers stood at the prow of a pair of bog boats the Protectorate used to patrol the Fens from time to time. A hybrid of a rowboat and an oversize pontoon, the flat-bottomed vessels had a dozen oars attached to each side, manned by Protectorate soldiers. If needed, the aquamancers could propel the boats on magic-generated waves, but they preferred to save their strength.

Flying at the vanguard of the strike force, Val’s eyes swept the watery wasteland of the Fens, cringing at the clusters of unfortunate souls withering away on boards and wooden planks lashed together by reeds. The floating colonies survived by collecting rainwater and scouring the swamp for food. Guards stationed on the periphery of the swamp ensured no one tried to leave. The last port of call for the poor and homeless and oath avoiders banished from the city, the Fens were populated by the diseased and dying, the defeated and the damned.

They were also home to the last remnants of the Black Sash gypsies, the criminal revolutionaries who had almost been eradicated in New Victoria in recent weeks. Tired of their terroristic attacks on upstanding citizens, Lord Alistair had issued an edict to wipe out the organization in New Victoria once and for all.

Val couldn’t agree more. He would never forget his first encounter with the Black Sash, when a roving band of their ilk had assaulted Val and Mari in the middle of the Gypsy Quarter. The leader of the gang had killed Mari in cold blood, and Val had almost suffered the same fate. Though Val had taken his revenge on that particular leader, he had never forgotten that awful night, or the Black Sash’s attempt to kidnap Adaira, or the ambush in the sewer tunnels beneath the city.

As Val bore to the right, he glanced back and saw Yasdril Oofar, the reptilus who had shouted, lowering his spyglass. Yasdril was the nephew of Yasir Oofar, First General of the Protectorate army, a brilliant commander for whom Val had the utmost respect.

Soon a sprawling platform of rotting boards and planks came into view, tenuously supported by long poles driven into the muck. It was the largest settlement they had seen on the Fens, and, according to their intelligence, one of the last remaining outposts of Black Sash resistance. Their cowardly leaders had taken to hiding in plain sight among the downtrodden.

The two bog boats pulled alongside the edges of the floating settlement. A pair of soldiers lowered anchors in the shallow water. Staff in hand, Val worked hard not to gag at the stench of garbage, human waste, and disease-ridden flesh as he cautiously led the way into the settlement. Many of the residents lay prostrate in the hot sun, too hungry or sick to move, their last hope a swift and painless death. In his head, he knew the poor suffered everywhere, at least every place he had ever been, but his heart recoiled at the sight of so much human misery.

The best way to help these people, Val thought, is not to overthrow the wizards, because there will always be an elite class, but to work harder to raise the standard of the poor, and invest in education and opportunity for all.

Val estimated a few hundred people were congregated around the cooking fires, water barrels, and canvas lean-tos in the center of the settlement. Mosquitos and flies swarmed the Protectorate soldiers as they fanned out across the rickety structure, checking each person for weapons, sashes, and Black Sash tattoos. Similar raids were occurring all across the Fens.

Val whipped to his right, just in time to summon a Wizard Shield. As the arrow struck the invisible barrier and fell harmlessly to the plank below, men and women wearing black sashes sprang out from under lean-tos all over the settlement. More revolutionaries climbed out of the water and onto the wooden planks, surrounding the invaders. At a glance, Val estimated the Black Sash outnumbered his forces more than two to one.

Yet Val did not spot a single mage among them. Nor did the Black Sash have highly-trained Protectorate soldiers wearing fine chainmail armor, a trio of Congregation wizards, and a very angry majitsu rushing towards the woman who had dared fire an arrow at her wizard charge.

Synne, who had ridden along in the bog boat behind Val, tore through the crowd as the Black Sash fighter rushed to nock another arrow. The dark-haired woman was standing thirty feet away and should have had plenty of time, but she had not accounted for the preternatural speed of Synne, whose feet barely touched the ground as she leaped across the planks, flew into the air, and kicked the woman in the chest with the heels of both feet, caving her sternum and sending her flying into the water. A crocosaur circling the settlement bit her in half before she could scream for help.

Like his uncle, Yasdril was calm and collected as he issued battle orders. The Protectorate soldiers, already gathered in a circle around Val, expanded outward to meet the threat, creating a phalanx of shields and steel. Shouts of dismay and terror arose from the Black Sash fighters as they found themselves pulled into the swamp by the long, suffocating coils of water elementals summoned by the aquamancers.

The permanent residents of the Fens either scurried as far away from the battle as they could, or watched with listless eyes, too sick and depressed to care about their personal safety.

Where Val would once have struggled to summon a basic Wizard Shield, he now maintained it effortlessly, without thinking, as the battle raged around him. The shield of hardened air was child’s play compared to the Spirit Armor he could now employ, though he had no use for such a powerful spell against common fighters. Even a Wizard Shield was draining, however, and he could not cast other spells while using it.

But the fighting was almost over before it began. Cowed by the whirling fury of Synne and the well-trained regiment, the remaining Black Sash fighters threw down their arms and begged for mercy.

Val allowed himself a smile of satisfaction as the Protectorate forces rounded up the prisoners and put them in chains. Not a single Protectorate life had been lost. With any luck, the soul of the Black Sash Gypsies would be crushed by nightfall.

After exchanging a word of thanks with Synne, he drifted back to the bog boat on the Magedisc, safely above the squalor and filth beneath him, wishing the world were different but reminding himself of the greater good.

Just after dusk, starving and exhausted from the long day on the Fens, Val watched the city come alive through the open window of his carriage clacking down the worn cobblestones of Magazine Street. It was the same street—at least in name and flora—where his brothers used to live in New Orleans. It always made him think of home, though home had never seemed so far away.

Though he missed certain things back home terribly, Val had never felt this alive. When they arrived on Urfe, his goal of returning home had consumed him. He had thought Will would be the one who accepted the new world. And, after his youngest brother had learned to control his panic attacks, he had indeed embraced life on Urfe.

Caleb, as always, had almost seemed indifferent. With a chuckle, Val suspected that if the brothers had found a small village with a good pub when they had arrived on Urfe, and decided to stay, Caleb might not have blinked.

But now, Val had fallen in love with Adaira, he had come to appreciate the unspoiled beauty of Urfe, and he enjoyed being a wizard. Not just the power and prestige it conferred—though these things were important to him—but for the sense of fulfilment he got from learning and casting spells. Magic was hard, harder than anything he had ever attempted. And Val was very good at it. He had always liked to be challenged, and working with the primeval forces of the multiverse was about as challenging as it got. And to be a spirit mage . . . to plumb the essence of reality and summon primal fire and unlock the nature of space and time . . . how could flying on a jet across the Atlantic hold a candle to soaring across worlds, dimensions, universes?

After traversing St. Charles Avenue beneath a canopy of live oaks and Spanish moss, the carriage left the Garden District and entered the busy commercial area. When they passed the New Victoria Magick Shoppe, Val remembered how excited Will had been when they saw it for the first time. A sharp pang of love for his brothers welled up deep inside Val, causing him to clench his fists at his sides.

Val didn’t want to think about how long it might be before he gained enough power to travel worlds and see his youngest brother on Earth again. But at least he was safe. That had always been Val’s first priority in life, at least since their father had died.

According to Lord Alistair, Caleb was leading a ragtag army of gypsies and Devla worshippers through the Ninth Protectorate in a laughable attempt to . . . what, exactly? Val had his doubts as to the accuracy of the information. He thought someone might be controlling or using Caleb for some unknown reason. But either way, the army had about as much chance of reaching New Victoria, not to mention sticking a thorn in the side of the Congregation, as a Boy Scout troop had of marching across the Alps and defeating Napoleon.

Even if Caleb was just along for the ride, as was usual for him, what the hell was he thinking? Val knew that Caleb’s wife and adopted son had perished during a confrontation with the rebels of Freetown. According to the Congregation, the rebels had provoked the attack, but Val knew both sides were to blame. If you send an airship to intimidate someone, you have to expect blowback. Yet why had the rebels started a battle they couldn’t win? The news had shocked him—Caleb got married??—and made him sick to his stomach with grief. But this mission of revenge did not at all sound like his freewheeling, peace-loving middle brother. Val hoped with all his heart that Caleb would come to his senses, or he might get killed before Val could intervene.

The carriage stopped outside the Gryphon’s Beak, a tavern on the edge of the Guild Quarter. Glow orbs atop slender, curvilinear bronze poles illuminated the busy street. The nip of fall was in the air.

“How now, laddie,” Gus called down from atop the carriage. “What time ye be needin’ me again?”

Val stepped onto the street, the azantite tip of his staff gleaming beneath a glow orb, the crescent sickle mirroring the moon above. Now that he didn’t have to hide his identity, his father’s staff never left his side, and he was proud to carry it. When one of the older Congregation mages recognized the staff, it caused them to look at Val with new eyes: sometimes admiring, sometimes uneasy, but always respectful. Though Dane Blackwood’s legacy depended on who one asked, everyone agreed he had been one of the most powerful spirit mages of his generation.

A frown split Gus’s bearded face beneath his top hat. “Ye sure about that, laddie? I know yer a powerful wizard and all, but the Black Sash don’t discriminate in their targets. After Garbind, no one’s safe with that sword around.”

Val was amused but also touched that Gus thought Val was safer with him. “I appreciate your concern, old friend. But after today, let’s just say the Black Sash no longer concerns us.”

Val flashed a thin smile. “I expect a public announcement will come soon, but we dealt them a death blow today. Their leaders and sorcerers are dead or imprisoned. As for the sword . . .” Val lowered his voice. “I can’t speak about that, but between you and me, that won’t be a problem, either.”

Gus’s bushy eyebrows lifted, and he took a long puff on his wooden pipe. “That’s good news. In that case, laddie, I advise you to enjoy your evening with the lovely lass.”

The driver was still looking at him with an oddly concerned expression. After a moment of hesitation, he said, “Black Sash or not, ye just watch yer back, ye hear?”

The driver clamped down on his pipe. “I’m just a lowly driver, though right proud to be one, and especially proud to be yers. There’s a safety in bein’ in low places, if you know what I mean, because yer neck ain’t stuck out for everyone to see.” His shrewd eyes narrowed. “Ye made a rapid rise in the Congregation, laddie. Not everyone might be so pleased by that as I am. I’m not speaking specifics, here. That’s far above me station. But I don’t need to. There’s always people that ain’t happy when someone leapfrogs their position in life. Ye understand me, laddie?”

“Perfectly,” Val said softly. As always, he was impressed by Gus’s street smarts, and his instincts were spot on. Val had indeed caught jealous stares from some of the older mages, especially Braden, now that Lord Alistair had taken Val under his wing and no longer considered the cuerpomancer his heir apparent.

“There’s somethin’ else,” Gus said, looking both ways down the street. “This is just a feelin’ . . . but I’ve got those same jitters in my bones I get when a hurricane is on the way. Even though there’s no sign of a storm. If ye know what I’m sayin’.”

Val stepped closer and patted Gus warmly on the knee. “You worry too much, Gus. I appreciate the concern, but after today, the city’s never been safer.”

“I suppose yer right. I dunno what’s come over me.” He tipped his hat. “Don’t ye worry about the grumblings of a nervous old man. Enjoy yer night with yer friends and lady. Ye deserve it.”

“So do you.” Val flipped a silver groat onto his driver’s lap. “Have a nice meal on me tonight.”

Gus’s smile revealed a mouth full of crooked, tobacco-stained teeth. “Thank ye, laddie!” he said as he snapped the reins, spurring the horses to action on the cobblestones. “Queen’s luck to ye!”

Val grinned to himself as he turned to enter the Gryphon’s Beak, though it bothered him that Gus felt so uneasy. He hoped it was nothing to do with his driver’s personal life. If so, Val would do everything in his power to help him. Val prized loyalty above all other traits, and he returned that loyalty with his own.

A gush of pleasing aromas greeted him inside the tavern: wood smoke wafting off of the grill inset into the far wall; worn, well-oiled leather from the boisterous crowd of adventurers and mercenaries; the tang of golden ale; and the mouthwatering sizzle of fat dripping off fire-crisped meat.

The rough crowd grudgingly made way as Val strode past the tables dotting the front of the room and skirted the central wraparound bar festooned with pennants, flags, and coats of arms from around the world.

He found Rucker at his familiar table near the hearth in the back corner. Val had never seen anyone else sitting at that table, even when the burly one-armed adventurer wasn’t there, because everyone was too afraid Rucker might walk in and find a stranger at his table. Val chuckled. He’d be afraid of Rucker too, if he didn’t know him so well.

Another familiar face had joined the scarred and grizzled adventurer: a tall, bald young man from the Kingdom of Great Zimbabwe. Dida rose to greet Val, tripping over a table leg and almost falling on his face before Val caught him. The bibliomancer gave a sheepish smile, and the two men exchanged a warm arm clasp.

Val knew better than to offer the same greeting to Rucker, so he nodded and took a seat between the two men. Though Synne did not like to leave Val’s side, he needed his space at times, and he also knew that Kjeld Anarsson, the nasty and hot-blooded head of the Order of Majitsu who hated Synne, liked to frequent the tavern. As capable as Synne was, Kjeld was a monster of a man and as gifted in magic as most wizards. The last time they had met, in this very tavern, Kjeld had almost killed her before Adaira intervened.

“I was having a good night drinking alone,” Rucker grumbled, “and now there’s two of ye?”

“Ye two jesters planned this?” Rucker said, shaking his head in disgust. “And wizards are always late. Too high and mighty for the rest of us. Where’s yer attack dog and the princess?”

“Synne took the night off, and Adaira should be here later. She’s eager to see you.”

“Bah,” Rucker said, waving his hand before taking a swig of foamy red ale to conceal the pleasure in his eyes. His long gray hair was caught in a ponytail beneath a worn battle helm, and his silver axe—Demonbane—hung from a notch in his leather belt.

After making small talk over a round of beer, their conversation turned to Lord Alistair’s recent declaration of war. “If I was a younger man,” Rucker said, “it’d be good for business. But I’m older and wiser and know a rat when I smell one.”

“Tell me something, boy: why does the most powerful collection of wizards in the Realm need to go to war against an army that isn’t even an army?”

“The gypsies were keeping to themselves in the Ninth before Lord Alistair sent the airships.”

“The Ninth doesn’t belong to them. The airships were sent to scout the Mayan border and survey coastal territory. The Freetown mages attacked the airships, forcing them to respond.”

Rucker guffawed and slapped the table. “What do ye think, Dida? Should we try to sell him farmland in the Fens?”

The bibliomancer looked uncomfortable at the turn the conversation had taken. His forehead wrinkled, and he said, “That’s what our embassy was told as well.”

“I know there’s animosity,” Val said. “The presence of the airships provoked the rebels, no doubt. But again, it’s not officially their land, and I’ve seen firsthand what the Black Sash gypsies are capable of.”

“Not all gypsies are black sash, just as not all mages cozy up to the Congregation.”

Val’s eyes narrowed at the slight. “I know the Congregation has its flaws. But the fact remains that the Roma people, all Oath avoiders, have a choice. They can take the oaths and pay their taxes like the rest of us. There’s no need to revolt.”

“Thanks, but I’ll speak for myself on my heritage. It’s a complicated world. I sympathize with the oath avoiders. I know they’re just doing what they think is right. But there are other ways to go about it. Overall the Congregation is a force for good, and progress has to be made. I’d rather live in a modern but imperfect world than one where our kind is slaughtered like pigs by the . . .”

Rucker’s face reddened, and he slammed his beer mug on the table, spilling half its contents. “Say it, boy. By the common born. Our kind, is it? Ye’ve risen so high above the rest of us ye can’t smell yer own stink.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. You saw what happened in the alternate dimension. They tried to hang Adaira from a tree. If you think that can’t happen again, and history can’t repeat itself, then you’re the one who’s naïve.” Val’s face was tight as he stood to leave. “I’m sorry, Dida. I don’t think my presence is welcome anymore.”

Rucker jabbed a finger as Val gathered his cloak and staff. “Ye’ve got wool in yer eyes. A man like Lord Alistair will never be satisfied. He’ll slaughter your kinsmen, the Mayans, and the whole of Urfe unless someone stops him. He’ll say the right words in public, but little by little, he’ll take our freedoms away. He’ll turn on ye, too, one day. Mark my words.”

He swept out of the tavern, only to be caught outside the door by Adaira. “Val! What’s wrong?”

He took a deep breath to steady himself. “Rucker and I have a difference of opinion on, oh, about everything right now. I had to leave before I said something I’d regret.”

Adaira was dressed in calfskin boots and a light blue cloak that matched her eyes. “Did it involve my father?” she guessed, causing Val to nod. He didn’t want to get into the details and upset her.

“I know you wanted to see Rucker,” Val said. “Why don’t you say hello and come to my place later?”

She looped an arm through his. “It’s fine. I know where to find him. There’s something I need to tell you, and I want us to be alone.”

He noticed a strange look on her face, a faint, mysterious, almost ethereal smile that made him curious. “What is it?”

“Not here,” she said, peering up at him almost shyly. “Come,” she said, levitating off the street, inviting him to fly with her.

Soon after, guided by strings of teardrop-shaped glow orbs, Val strolled arm-in-arm with Adaira down a pebbled path that wound through hedgerows of vivid tropical flowers and groves of palms and banana trees.

The grounds of the Oasis Café, tucked inside the high brick walls of the finest pleasure garden in the city, were just as stunning as he remembered.

Adaira chose a familiar table, candlelit and made of emerald quartz, perched on the edge of a courtyard surrounded by live oaks. Across the courtyard, the spires of the Wizard District backlit the silver arch of the Canal Bridge. The beauty of the setting and the subtle spice of Adaira’s perfume—a heady mix of cinnamon and rose—left Val feeling intoxicated even before the granth arrived.

“Our first date,” he said as a multicolored waterfall burst out of the fountain in the courtyard. “Down to the very same table.”

Adaira removed her cloak, revealing a silver blouse that clung to her lithe figure that drew Val’s eyes even more than the first time they had met. Her pale skin shone like moonlight under the glow orbs as she fingered her black pearl choker.

“Our first time here,” she said wistfully, “we barely knew each other.” She eyed his high-collared dress shirt and black dinner jacket which the maître d had loaned him. “I liked how you didn’t conform to the fashions of the day, though unbeknownst to me at the time, you had no clue what they were.”

A waiter in white livery dropped off two glasses of house granth and a plate of artfully arranged shellfish appetizers. Except for the narrow view of the courtyard, their table was hidden within the foliage, ensconced in the sublime calm of the garden. Val stared into Adaira’s eyes, remembering how beautiful she had looked that first night, amazed at how their relationship had blossomed. He never imagined he would fall so deeply in love.

“And now here we are,” she said. “No longer wide-eyed students but mages who have traveled to a new dimension, battled demons, and slain a member of the Alazashin. Lovers and companions, survivors of trials and tribulations.”

Though not averse to the thought of marriage—in fact, it was increasingly on his mind—he would betray nothing until he knew her intentions. Maybe she was about to tell him she had fallen for someone else, or her father no longer thought they should be together.

She leaned forward, the candlelight illuminating the curve of her neck as her flaxen hair brushed her arms. “You told me once that you see the world in layers of gray.”

A small smile creased her lips. “I’ve often thought about what you said, and wondered what it meant for the two of us.”

Val gazed into the shadows at the edges of the courtyard, thinking about his mindset when he had made the comment. “After being with you,” he said, facing her once again, “I can say that I know myself better than I ever did before. Who I am. What I want to be. And I . . . I can’t think of a higher compliment.”

She nodded slowly, still with that faraway expression. “I feel the same. I wouldn’t even want someone who understood themselves, or thought they understood me, with perfect clarity. I just need you to love me, as I do you. Do you love me, Val?”

The directness of the question caught him off-guard. He looked her in the eye and said, with all honesty, “I do, Adaira. I truly love you.”