The Flying Sorcerers

“Definitely not!” he said.

“Fine. Then we will keep Shoogar.”

“One thing, Lant,” said Gortik. “Yes, I would like to be rid of Purple, but not if it means devastating this land. I do not wish to be a migrant like you.”

“H’m,” I said. “That makes the problem a little more difficult. We will have to take things one at a time. First, we will secure an oath of truce from both our magicians. This will give Shoogar time to acquaint himself with the local spells.”

That will be a simple task,” said Gortik. “Most of the spell-charts were destroyed with Dorthi when he was killed. There are few local spells left, and Purple has not renewed any of them.”

“Shoogar can do that,” I said expansively. “He knows all one hundred and eleven spells of village tending.”

“Good. We can make good use of them. Perhaps you have noticed that we have many empty housetrees? Many of our most religious people have fled since Purple’s arrival — they fear to live in a village with an inept magician.”

“I know exactly how they feel,” I said.

“Of course, of course; a good Speaker always empathizes with the people.”

“You must be one of the finest then,” I said.

“And you as well, Lant. You are a veritable fountainhead of faith.”

“Ah, Gortik, I am but a shadow compared to the brightness that is you.”

“Ah, would you compare one sun to the other?”

“No, of course not — there can be no comparison. One is bright, but small; the other is huge, but dim — and yet, both light up the world equally well.”

“Both are necessary, and both are beautiful,” said Gortik.

“Like ourselves,” I added.

“Of course, of course. It is well that we agree on so many things, Lant. It will not be difficult at all to make an agreement which is fair to both of us and our villages.”

“How could it be difficult when each of us is thinking more of the other than of himself?”

“Ah, Lant, you have such a way with words, such a beautiful way. Now about those sheep — six is not enough —”

“Ah, Gortik, it is more than enough if all you are planning to send is three boys —”

And so it went.

We stayed and chewed raba-root till well into the blue afternoon. There was much to discuss, and much root to be chewed.

And when we finished what we had, we staggered off in search of more. We were thoroughly under its influence by now. It was good root. Jark could make a fine Quaff from it.

“Purple!” said Gortik. “Purple has some raba-root. He chews it whenever he gets depressed — which is often these days.”

“Ah, good. Let’s pay him a visit And while we are there, we can inform him of our agreement.”

“Again you are thinking, Lant. I am continually amazed by your prowess.”

We found Purple tending his small patch of herbs and plants. Raba-root was not the only fermentable spice he had. He had several others that I recognized, and many more that I did not. Jark would be overjoyed at the news.

“Purple, ahoy,” we hailed him. He looked up, squinting in our direction in the blue light.

“It sounds like my old friend, Lant,” he said.

I shuddered — friend? I gritted my teeth and said, “Yes, it’s Lant. Gortik and I have come to speak with you.” I tried to sound as stern and formal as I could.

“Uh —”Purple hesitated. He seemed to be uneasy at something. “How are you, Lant. How is your family, your wife?”

What a strange question to ask. Why would anyone want to know about the condition of a wife? But then, Purple always had been a strange one. “My wives are fine,” I said. “My number one wife is expecting a child soon. Shoogar says it will be a daughter, but as she has already presented me with two sons, I cannot fault her.”

Purple looked startled, “Expecting a child?” He counted hurriedly on his fingers, “It’s been almost nine.” He looked at me, “When is it due?”

“In another three hands of hands of days.”

He counted again, Three times five times five — seventy five. That would be blue days, of course; now let’s see, convert that into standard — that would be four and a half months from now.” He exhaled loudly and looked relieved. “Whew! For a moment there I thought it could have been —”

“Could have been what?”

“Uh, never mind. I’m just glad that there’s no such thing as a thirteen-and-a-half-month gestation period.”

He was talking gibberish again — a pregnancy lasts no longer than two hundred and fifteen blue days. What a month was, I had no idea, although he used the term as I might discuss a hand of days. Purple had once mentioned that his days — “standard days” he had called them — were only half as long as ours.

Our days, of course, are measured by the passage of the blue sun, regardless of where the red is. Gortik had told me how Purple had once been confused — he could not believe it was midnight because the red sun was still high in the sky. How odd — why should the periods of light and dark have to correspond with the concepts of night and day? Only during conjunctions did such a thing occur.

In any case, I could not understand his concern with the child. I said, “Why should you care, Purple?”

“Uh — uh —”

“Is it because you did the family-making thing with my wife on the day of the last conjunction?”

Purple went pale. “I — I — forgive me, Lant. I—”

“Forgive you? How can I forgive you?”

He took a startled step backward and held up a hand as if to ward me off.

I said, “Shoogar had scattered a dust of yearning around your nest. You could not help yourself.”

“You mean, you think I did it because of a spell?”

“Of course, it was a spell. It was part of the duel.”

He looked relieved again. The color flowed back into his face. “Then I have been worrying needlessly — and I do not need to worry about the child either.”

“Why should you? Shoogar knows when the child was conceived and when she will be born.”

Purple nodded, “Yes, Shoogar is probably quite good at those things.”

“He is,” I confirmed. “The child is your daughter, all right.”

He went pale again. This time I thought he would faint altogether. The blood had been flowing into and out of his head at such a rate that he was having trouble standing.

I continued, “When we first realized that the child was yours, I almost killed my wife —”

“Oh, no, Lant — not just because I —”

I looked at him oddly. “I told you, Purple, you could not help yourself. And she is only a woman. A woman doesn’t know how to refuse a kindness. No, we would have killed her because she was carrying a demon child, but Shoogar forbade it. The child must be carried to term and born as any other. At that time we will determine if the child is a good demon or a bad demon. Shoogar thinks she will be a bearer of much magic — and if so, he thinks he can control her.”

“Humph,” snorted Gortik, “it sounds like Shoogar wants to emulate the legend of the poor fisher and the demon tailor. The demon demanded three wishes —”

I shrugged. “It is of little concern to me. If the child is a demon, then Shoogar will have to pay me for the right to destroy or control her. If she is not, then at least I gain another bride price. Why else would one allow a woman to breed indiscriminately? Another son is always a pride and a strength. A daughter is at least a price of a drink. One offers one’s wife to guests as a matter of course. Now that our two villages are going to live peacefully together, the child’s birth will be of no importance at all. It will be as if I had offered you the guest privilege to