Sword Brother

Light-know the Fall of Kontovar, however cataclysmic it may have been, actually decided nothing. It gives the Dark the advantage at present, but the true battle has yet to be settled. For that matter, it has yet to be fully joined, and the Dark Gods are doing all they can to eliminate the people most critical to theLight's chances of final victory. Bahzell is one of those people. Which is one of the reasons I've been so bent on keeping him alive. Mind you, I've got personal motives of my own, especially now, but those weren't what brought him to my attention in the first place.'

The wizard shook his head, then snorted.

'Actually, in a peculiar sort of way, Bahzell acts as a sort of . . . focusing lens. You can almost use him like some living compass or dowsing rod. The Dark can't seem to stop trying to pick him off, despite how . . . costly the process keeps turning out to be. And along the way, their servants keep adding other people to the list as they become aware of those others' importance to the future events swirling about him. Which tends to identify those same peoplefor me if I haven't already noticed them on my own.'

'In all the stories about this kind of stuff back home, wizards and gods can see the future,' Houghton said.

'It doesn't work quite that way.' Wencit shook his head. 'Seeing thefuture-in any sort of useful detail, at any rate-is almost impossible, even for a wild wizard. Most wizards can see the past, and there are stories about wizards who could actually travel into the past, although it's always seemed to me that only a lunatic or an extraordinarily desperate man would try to do it. It's . . . complicated. For one thing, no one can travel into his own past, the past of his own universe. He can only travel into the past of another universe, and if he does, he can change things there. Most often in completely unpredictable ways.

'The same sort of problems apply to seeing the future, if not in quite the same way,' the wizard continued, obviously warming to his topic. 'Even if you can do it, then you're like the dragons. You don't see one future; you see all possible futures, or as many of them as a mortal is capable of seeing, at least. That's one reason conversations with dragons can seem so . . . peculiar. Gods can see all possible futures, but not even they can tell ahead of time which particular future will transpire in which particular universe. And, just to make things even more interesting, the Dark Gods and the Gods of Light spend quite a bit of their time trying to confuse their respective opponents as to which of the various futures they can see are most likely to occur.

'Now, the precognitive mage talent doesn't work quite that way, which is one reason wizards find it so fascinating. Apparently, the way it works is-'

'Stop,' Houghton said plaintively. 'You're making my brain hurt. What you're telling me is that no one really knows what's going to happen, only what they think is most likely going to happen, right?'

'More or less,' Wencit agreed. 'As the occupants of any particular universe get closer and closer to an event, though, the possibilities for the particular outcome they're going to experience in their universe begin to narrow down into probabilities. That's the point the predictors on either side look for-the point at which they can begin to accurately identify the most critical players.'

'Like this 'mage' of yours, I suppose,' Houghton said, nodding his head slowly. 'But if he's so damned important and they've already got their hands on him, why don't they simply go ahead and slit his throat right now?'

'Arrogance, mostly.' Wencit shrugged. 'Distrust probably comes into it, as well, and self-interest is definitely a factor. In fact, to be honest, self-interest's probably an even bigger factor than arrogance, really. I told you the Dark Gods don't get along with each other a great deal better than they get along with the Gods of Light. None of them quite trusts the others, and all of them-and their servants-are constantly scheming to make sure they don't inadvertently improve one of their rivals' positions more than their own.

'At the moment, I suspect, the Carnadosans' are holding out for a mage to study as their price for cooperating with Sharna's church in the first place. They don't understand the mage powers at all- there are no magi in Kontovar; they exist only in Norfressa-and the Council of Semkirk, which consists of magi specifically pledged to fight black sorcery, is one of their major potential stumbling blocks. So, I'm sure they find the notion of studying Trayn-Trayn Aldarfro, the mage they've captured-particularly amusing. After all, why not get as much additional benefit as possible out of eliminating someone important to Bahzell's future? I'm sure they'll be perfectly willing to simply go ahead and kill him in order to keep him from being rescued, but they'd really prefer to use him as their . . . specimen. If he might otherwise have played a significant role in their defeat, then they'll take a particularly vengeful pleasure in destroying him-as painfully and slowly as possible-in the course of learning how best to combat all magi.'

Houghton nodded slowly. He'd never met any of the followers of the Dark Wencit was describing-not the ones from this universe, at any rate-but he was bitterly familiar with the same mindset. He'd seen it often enough.

'So what we basically have here,' he said, voicing his thoughts in the process of organizing them, 'is two theoretically allied factions who actually hate each others' guts. They have common enemies they both want to beat, but they're simultaneously trying to protect and strengthen their own power bases for the dogfight between all the various factions on their own side after they've kicked the snot out of the other side. Which means that while they're willing to cooperate, more or less, in this little operation, each of them has its own price, and the 'Carnadosans' price is this Aldarfro as their guinea pig. Their experimental animal, I mean.'

'Exactly.'

'And the other faction? This 'Sharna' you keep talking about. What's his side's special price?'

'Oh, Sharna's price is Bahzell himself,' Wencit said softly. 'None of the Dark Gods like what may happen if Bahzell lives, but Sharna likes it even less than his relatives do. Part of it's going to be much more . . . personally painful for him. In fact, there's probably only one person in all of Norfressa Sharna would rather see dead than Bahzell.'

'And would that person happen to be you?'

'Actually, no. I'm probably no higher than third, possibly even fourth, on Sharna's list. His attention's on some rather younger people. And as much as he and his friends and family-well, family, at any rate; I don't really think Sharna has any friends-would love to see me killed, I'm not one of the main attractions for this particular 'little operation,' as you put it.'

'But on the other hand,' Houghton said, gazing at the wizard shrewdly through his NVG, 'here you are, walking straight into it. And from what you're saying, you've been doing that sort of thing for quite some time. Which, given as how you're talking about gods pulling strings on the other side, suggests to my naturally suspicious mind that they've probably made at least some allowance in their plans for dealing with you.'

'No doubt they have,' Wencit conceded with what Houghton privately thought was rather appalling cheerfulness. Or perhaps it only seemed that way because of his own proximity to Wencit and whatever the other side might have planned for him, the Marine admitted to himself.

'No doubt they have,' Wencit repeated. 'On the other hand, none of the gods- Light or Dark-can act too openly in the mortal world. As I pointed out earlier, if they started having direct confrontations with one another, they'd probably destroy this entire universe, which would rather tend to make their entire struggle over who it belongs to ultimately pointless. That particular restriction is one of the reasons Bahzell- and I-keep so stubbornly and persistently surviving.'

'I see. And might I hope that you intend to do some more of that stubborn surviving this time?'

'Oh, indeed I do,' Wencit said softly, his smile broad and somehow almost gentle. 'Indeed, I do, Gunnery Sergeant. I've got far too many things still to do . . . and too many people still to meet. Dying would be much too inconvenient.'