Swords & Dark Magic: The New Sword and Sorcery

King Osric had gotten into the town and into the fortress without even a fight: and it wasn’t as bad as a sack, but Wiggy’s place had lost furniture and tankards—and was getting new ones: King Osric had ordered damages paid, so Wiggy and his daughter were happy, and feeling rich.

Most every damage had gotten fixed. Master had fixed a few. Master was feeling a lot better now that the demon was out of town, and was getting visibly a little younger, which was not an illusion; Willem was fairly sure of it.

So everybody had a prospect, and he was fairly sure his was bright. He just didn’t know what it was.

Until Tewk walked up as he was standing, looking out the open door of their little house, and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re pretty good,” Tewk said. “The world’s wider than Wiscezan, you know. I’ve got a cousin up in Peghary who wants a little advice. Ever ridden?”

He hadn’t. If he were Jezzy, with Jezzy’s talent, he wouldn’t worry about it; but horses scared him. They were tall. They had intentions of their own.

Tewk was asking him to go on the road with him. And see places. Peghary. He’d only heard of that place.

“Master might need me,” he said. He still had that duty. Master had leaned on him for a long time.

“I’m doing very well,” Master said. “I can spare you a few months. I’ll be busy with these two. They’re getting old enough. They’ll take care of things.”

Master never had said anything about his room in the house. And with Tewk—

He’d gotten used to Tewk. Tewk was smart in different ways than Master. There were things still to learn.

Places to go.

He nodded, looking out on the dust of the Alley.

Fact was, Tewk needed him. He wasn’t the only one who put illusions on things. Cousin in Peghary, hell.

Maybe there even was a cousin.

“Sure,” he said. “All right. I can ride.”

A RICH FULL WEEK K. J. Parker

Raised in rural Vermont, K. J. PARKER is part of the new generation of fantasy writers who, over the past ten years, has been publishing work that has been redefining sword and sorcery. Parker’s first novel, Colors in the Steel, appeared in 1998 and was followed by two further volumes in the Fencer trilogy, the Scavenger trilogy, and the critically acclaimed Engineer trilogy. Parker’s most recent books are novels The Company and The Folding Knife, and novella “Purple and Black.” Having worked in law, journalism, and numismatics, Parker is married to a solicitor, lives in southern England, and, when not writing, likes to make things out of wood and metal.

He looked at me the way they all do. “You’re him, then.”

“Yes,” I said.

“This way.”

Across the square. A cart, tied up to a hitching post. One thin horse. Not so very long ago, he’d used the cart for shifting dung. I sat next to him, my bag on my knees, tucking my feet in close, and laid a bet with myself as to what he’d say next.

“You don’t look like a wizard,” he said.

I owed myself two nomismata. “I’m not a wizard,” I said.

I always say that.

“But we sent to the Fathers for a—”

“I’m not a wizard,” I repeated, “I’m a philosopher. There’s no such thing as wizards.”

He frowned. “We sent to the Fathers for a wizard,” he said.

I have this little speech. I can say it with my eyes shut, or thinking about something else. It comes out better if I’m not thinking about what I’m saying. I tell them, we’re not wizards, we don’t do magic, there’s no such thing as magic. Rather, we’re students of natural philosophy, specializing in mental energies, telepathy, telekinesis, indirect vision. Not magic; just science where we haven’t quite figured out how it works yet. I looked at him. His hood and coat were homespun—that open, rather scratchy weave you get with moorland wool. The patches were a slightly different color; I guessed they’d been salvaged from an even older coat that had finally reached the point where there was nothing left to sew onto. The boots had a military look. There had been battles in these parts, thirty years ago, in the civil war. The boots looked to be about that sort of vintage. Waste not, want not.

“I’m kidding,” I said. “I’m a wizard.”

He looked at me, then back at the road. I hadn’t risen in his estimation, but I hadn’t sunk any lower, probably because that wasn’t possible. I waited for him to broach the subject.

By my reckoning, three miles out of town, I said, “So tell me what’s been happening.”