Wizards At War

“Father,” Roshaun said, “you taught me that a wizard turns away from the Aethyrs’ guidance and his heart’s at his peril. Yes, our people may misunderstand either Dhairine’s presence here or the fact that I will now immediately leave. For either eventuality, I’m quite prepared. And when we come home from this errand, perhaps they will assassinate me for what they consider a betrayal. It would not be the first time that kind of thing has happened. Or the last.”

“And, meanwhile, you mean for me to assume the burden of Sunwatch once more, even though I’ve formally laid it down.”

When Roshaun spoke at last, his tone was surprisingly gentle. “You said it yourself, Father,” Roshaun said. “What the Son of the Sun commands is law. As a wizard, you know where your duties lie. But if I must—”

Nelaid stood there silently for a few moments. “No,” he said. “A King’s first command should be less painful. I will stand the Watch … though Thahit is once more showing signs of instability.”

“That I saw when I returned,” Roshaun said. “I examined the star briefly a little time ago, while testing the Stone to see if it interfered with my perceptions. The instability is the one we predicted together before I left.”

“What we did not predict was the increased acceleration of the stretching effects in space,” Nelaid said. “The sun’s instability is increasing accordingly.”

“I noted that, Father,” Roshaun said. “So while I am gone you must intervene if necessary.” He paused. “That said, I should not be taking this into harm’s way. I prefer that you keep it for me while I am gone.” And Roshaun reached up and started to unfasten the great golden collar around his neck.

Roshaun’s father stood silent for a moment, and then made a sidewise gesture with one hand, which Dairine read as “no.” “Wizardry is the reality at the heart of the Watch, my king,” he said. “I have no need of a mere symbol to do what needs to be done.” The tension in the air fell away very abruptly as Roshaun’s father spoke. “But the Stone makes you king … so its place is with you. If you young ones fail, it will not matter for long whether the Stone is lost or not. We will all follow you into the dark soon enough.”

“And if the star stammers, what of it?” said a voice from the floor.

Startled, the three of them looked down. Spot was regarding Roshaun’s father with several eyes.

“Lean times of barren hope

Wait on the composite’s daughter,

Sharpening the edge of life.”

Spot fell silent. Roshaun and Nelaid exchanged speculative glances.

Dairine felt like swearing. “Couldn’t you have waited half an hour?” she said under her breath, and looked up at Roshaun and his father. “Would you two hold that thought?” She felt down toward where the memo pad should have been, in her jeans pocket… then remembered that there was no pocket there anymore, not to mention no jeans. She let out an annoyed breath. “Spot—”

“What?”

“The notepad!”

“In your claudication, along with everything else that was in your pockets.”

“Thanks.” She reached sideways, pushed her hand into the empty air, and groped around, coming up with the pad and a pen.

Roshaun’s father was looking at Roshaun in mild confusion. “When one has manual access, even in alien idioms,” he said, “can one not usually take notes by—”

Dairine looked up from her scribbling to throw Roshaun’s father a look that should have singed even a Sun King around the edges. “Everything changes—isn’t that what you were just saying? You were right. So don’t rub it in.”

The two Wellakhi looked at Dairine with exactly matching expressions of superior amusement, then turned back toward each other. Nelaid said, “Where will you go now?”

“Dhairine’s associate is affiliated to a species of sentient, wizardly computing devices,” Roshaun said. “Mobiles, they call themselves. Both their reasoning power and their wizardry are tremendous, according to the Aethyrs. We go to consult with them on ways to attack the expansion. Meanwhile, the people outside should be told that I am gone on their business—and the universe’s. I will come back as soon as I can.”

Roshaun’s father held his son’s eye for a few moments, then bowed slightly to him. “As the King commands,” he said. He glanced at Dairine as she finished with her scribbling, nodded to her. “Dai stihó,” he said, and with a soft clap of displaced air, he vanished.

Roshaun let out a breath and turned back toward the doors. “Come on,” he said.

Dairine turned, too—and then stopped, hearing footsteps. She paused, looked over her shoulder.