“He never used to create frightening illusions,” one of the ladies said thoughtfully. “Sometimes they’d be amusing, and sometimes dramatic, but mostly they’d be beautiful and even moving.”
“It’s our present Royal Wizard who creates frightening illusions!” said someone else, and they all laughed, remembering how everyone-except of course themselves-had been thrown into a blind panic the first time I had made an enormous illusory dragon here in the hall. Dominic glowered down the table without joining in the laughter; it was not one of his own better memories.
I relaxed a little, though still keeping my eyes on Evrard’s face. He knew as well as I did that whatever the old wizard had in his cottage was no illusion, but he seemed content to let the others think it was.
“Well, if old Daimbert’s frightened you in the past,” said Evrard, “he certainly learned his lesson today. You should have seen him run!”
“You ran first,” I said, coldly and levelly, then realized from the looks I was getting that Evrard had succeeded even better than he might have intended in covering up an awkward silence. Speculation about why Dominic should suddenly start courting the duchess was one thing, but an open quarrel between two wizards was an even more titillating lunchtime entertainment for the court.
But Evrard answered good-naturedly. “Of course I did,” he agreed with a laugh. “And I’m afraid I gave a very undignified shriek, too.”
I would have called it a squeak rather than a shriek, but I let this pass. I smiled for the onlookers. Come to think of it, we
“That’s the problem with being a new graduate,” said Evrard, giving his charming smile. “When they hand you the diploma, you feel you know everything, but in just a few days you’re off at a new post and realize you don’t know anything at all, compared to more experienced wizards.”
The duchess, now giving Dominic no attention at all, leaned her elbows on the table and looked at her wizard in approval.
General conversation started again as the servants started gathering up the empty platters and bringing out the clean plates for dessert. “So the old wizard is starting work on a new and terrifying project,” said Nimrod in a low voice next to my ear.
I jumped, having almost forgotten him.
“My guess is that two young wizards with the latest training wouldn’t have been so frightened of something that was only an illusion,” Nimrod added. He waited a moment for an answer, but when I said nothing he took my silence for confirmation and continued. “Horned rabbits are bad enough, but I gather he’s made something else. How big is it? Does it move like a man?”
I stared at him. “Have you seen anything like this before?”
He did not answer for a moment, as dessert was now being served. It was fresh raspberry pudding. I caught a pleased look from Gwen at the servants’ table-she knew it was my favorite and had doubtless made it herself-and decided I had better not push it away untasted, my initial reaction. I plunged in my spoon determinedly and looked at Nimrod.
“Some years ago,” he said, still in that voice just low enough that no one else could hear, but not so low that we might be thought to be whispering secrets, “in the mountains over toward the eastern kingdoms, a renegade wizard made a whole horde of soldiers out of hair and bones.”
“And what happened?” I breathed.
“Some other wizards stopped him-ones from your school, as I recall.” He ate half his pudding with apparent enjoyment. “I helped track down the horde,” he added as though there had been no pause.
I considered his use of the term “renegade,” which I was afraid might well be applicable to my predecessor at this point. Nimrod could have chosen the word even if he had in fact never helped the school, but it
“Don’t leave the kingdom,” I said. “I may need you.” I attacked my own pudding, relieved to think that wizards from the school might have dealt with something like this before, even though those creatures of hair and bone had doubtless been made by something closer to the spell with which Evrard had made his rabbits than whatever “improved” spell my predecessor had used. I felt much more cheerful, especially since the pudding really was delicious.
As the meal finished and everyone rose from the table, the chaplain touched me on the elbow. “Could you come to my room for a few minutes?”
As I followed him upstairs, I thought that during the last two years I had mostly discussed issues both weighty and trivial with Joachim. But only a few days of Evrard’s company had reminded me that a priest and a wizard will never have much in common. Wizards may argue violently, but at least they agree on the fundamental issues. The chaplain, I feared, would have no interest in what I had glimpsed through the cottage door once he was reassured that the old wizard’s spells had not put his soul in peril.
V
Joachim sat down on a hard chair across from me and looked at me thoughtfully. His eyes were so dark and deep-set that they merged with the shadows of the room.
“I gather from what your friend said that the old wizard has progressed beyond horned rabbits and is now making something far more serious,” he said. He paused briefly, but when I did not reply he continued as though in answer to my unspoken question, “I doubt two wizards would have been frightened by mere illusion.”
I shook my head ruefully. “Nimrod said almost exactly the same thing. I’d hoped it wasn’t that obvious.”
“I think the rest of the court remembers your predecessor primarily for his illusions, and they’re happy to believe that whatever frightening thing he’s working on now is no more real than his winged horses at Christmas dinner.”
“But if you and Nimrod saw through Evrard’s dissembling at once, it may not take some of the others much longer. Even Dominic’s not nearly as thick as he sometimes seems. By the way, the duchess seems to want to keep this secret, but it turns out she had asked Evrard to make her the horned rabbits.”
“You still haven’t told me what frightened you,” the chaplain replied, uninterested in the duchess and in rabbits.
“Two things,” I said slowly. “First was the creature that both Evrard and I glimpsed through the old wizard’s cottage door. It was six feet tall and had human eyes. It moved, but it wasn’t alive. It moved by magic,” I added hastily as Joachim started to speak. “There was nothing supernatural about it. So the old wizard may be acting very strangely, but he’s not become evil.”
“Surely you know,” said Joachim quietly, “that fallen man is always capable of doing evil on his own, without invoking the supernatural powers of darkness. Tell me what else frightened you.”
“This is something Evrard doesn’t know about.” I paused. The castle seemed nearly silent. Elsewhere, people were doubtless laughing and talking, but their voices did not carry to us. “I touched the old wizard’s mind, very briefly. It’s got a bend, or a twist-or at any rate something I’ve never seen. I hadn’t tried before today communicating with him mind to mind, so I don’t know whether he’s always been like this, or if this is related to whatever mental breakdown he may be experiencing.”
“Could it be a manifestation of an evil will?” asked the chaplain, his dark eyes burning.
“I just don’t know,” I said, thinking irritably that priests always seemed to want to turn magical problems into part of the struggle between good and evil.
Joachim said nothing more for a moment. “Something six feet tall, with human eyes,” he repeated at last. “If it’s not alive, or was never alive, it won’t have a soul.” That might reassure him somewhat, but I didn’t find it much help.
“The old wizard does seem to have it very well locked up,” I said. “Certainly there’s a danger that it could turn on him, but at the moment I’m hesitant to do anything that might distract him from what appears to be an excellent binding spell.”
