Arch Wizard

The old man delivered his words in ringing tones, but kept his delivery neutral and terse, devoid of judgment.

All around the hall, a murmur of hasty exclamation and conversation arose from the excited folk. 'The Last Doom' was one phrase that rose above the rest, though the thirty-some lips whispering it did so sadly out of step with each other.

In the midst of the hubbub, Lord Burrim gravely inclined his head to the elderly man, and the Striding Thunderstaff responded with a deep nod of his own and a smoothly-whirling departure, taking his staff with him. The ring of crossbowmen remained.

The Lord of Hammerhand took a step forward, to the very edge of his topmost dais, and the courtiers fell silent in an instant. In the tense silence that followed, the ruler regarded Rod wearily. His face was a curious mixture of sadness, hostility, curiosity, and uncaring, as if Rod was an unwelcome addition to a long, bad, crowded-with-weighty-matters day.

'So you are the missing wizard the tales speak of? Why come you here, to this hold in the backlands of Falconfar? In the Raurklor, where we are used to being left alone by the wider world, remembered only by a few bold traders?'

'Magic brought me here,' Rod said cautiously. 'Not my own, but of the gods. Magic that has marred my own spells. It snatched me here, to your woods, when I sought to follow and rescue an Aumrarr, a friend and guide who was taken from me by one of the Dooms, and remains his captive, in torment. I can only conclude that the gods sent me here for their own purposes. Aims they will soon reveal to me, just as they have told me their will before.'

Careful, he reminded himself. Say little. That glaring guy over there is ready to pounce.

Said glaring guy chose that moment to snap, 'The Forestmother tells me this man lies! Lord Hammerhand, have I your leave to question him?'

'Question?' Rod thought. Does this involve whips and chains? The rack?

Lord Hammerhand sighed. 'You do. Bowmen, down your shafts.'

The raging priest whirled around. 'Lord, is that wise? I-'

The lord of Hammerhold was very much a master of cold stares. 'You never tire of trying to convince me, Lord Leaf, that I should put all wizards to death, Dooms included. If I do, but other lords and kings do not, what then will protect House Hammerhand, and all we hold dear, from the spells of other wizards who've been left alive? Your spells, Jaklar. And if we must all trust in them, surely they are powerful enough to protect you against this one man, who stands in our midst, with our best bowmen still in attendance- yes?'

The Lord Leaf started to say something sharp in reply, then closed his mouth, nodded, and instead replied, 'Yes, Lord,' as he turned back to Rod.

To favor the writer with a glare that looked as if his eyes were two flaring flames.

This is my true foe here, Rod realized. If I don't fight him now, and fight hard, I'll soon be put to death. Painfully.

'Are you using any magic right now?' Jaklar snapped.

'No,' Rod said truthfully.

'Why not?' the priest snarled, stalking forward at Rod as if readying himself to drive a sword through this unwelcome outlander.

Rod blinked. 'One should never use magic if there's no need. It's like fire, or the sword. Too powerful-too dangerous-to use lightly.'

'Oh? And who told you that?'

Rod shrugged. Time to push back. 'Many wizards. The Aumrarr. The Forestmother herself.'

'Whaaat? You LIE, man! Blasphemer! Foul spewer of untruth!'

Rod drew in a deep breath, concentrating on doing that to keep himself from flinching away from the raging, spitting priest.

Looking past the man-who was now dancing about waving his fists in incoherent fury, inside the ring of bowmen but carefully just out of Rod's reach-and asked Burrim Hammerhand politely, 'Lord, are your Lord Leaf's wits… his own? Does he often do this?'

The priest shrieked and sprang at Rod, who sprinted aside, only to find the bowmen drawing together to bar his escape. They were trying to look stern, but he could see some of them struggling not to grin. The Lord Leaf, it seemed, was not well liked.

'Cauldreth Jaklar!' It was a new voice, young and female, and it cracked like a whip. 'Another step toward the outlander, and prayers will be said for you before the Forestmother's altar this night!'

The priest whirled. 'What d'you mean?' he asked, aghast. Truly astonished, Rod saw, his foaming rage gone in an instant. Meaning it had been an act.

'Meaning we'll plead to the Goddess we all revere to drive your madness from you,' Amteira Hammerhand said crisply. 'So that we need not take your life, to protect ourselves against your mad wrath.'

The priest ducked his head like a growling dog. 'You dare to raise hand against the anointed servant of the Forestmother?'

'I dare to pray to the Forestmother, Jaklar. Who is my goddess as well as yours. I said nothing at all about raising hands. Though perhaps it's time to remind you that I am a Hammerhand, and that Hammerhands rule here. We dare just about anything in the service of Ironthorn.'

The Lord Leaf grimaced and shrank back as if her words had been an icy blast searing his face, then turned pointedly away from the lady heir of Hammerhand to look to her father.

Who gave the priest a steady gaze, and said firmly, 'You were questioning the wizard Everlar, Holy Lord Leaf. Before you started screaming that his answers were lies. Remember?'

'I–I-' The priest sighed, closed his eyes for a moment, then said quietly, 'Yes, Lord Hammerhand. The Goddess sent her fury into me, and I-it overwhelmed me.'

He whirled around to glare at Rod again. 'Wizard,' he commanded flatly, 'invoke the Forestmother no more. Your lies enrage Her.'

'That's odd,' Rod said, trying to keep his voice calm and confident, but raising it to make sure the courtiers at his end of the hall, at least, would hear. 'That's exactly what she told me about you. Your lies enrage Her.'

More than a few snickers and sputters of hastily-suppressed mirth rose from all around Rod, and a distinct- though mirthless-smile crossed Burrim Hammerhand's face. It was gone, however, by the time the priest whirled back to face him, and implore, 'Leave, great lord, to have this foul outlander punished!'

Nor was the lord alone in his amusement. Amteira Hammerhand's eyes were dancing with sour mirth, though her face was carefully expressionless.

'No, Lord Leaf,' the lord said firmly. 'I am not eager to make an enemy of any Doom of Falconfar, or risk facing any lurking spell that may protect the person of this one. What I need most are spellhurling allies, despite your oft-stated desire to destroy all wizards. What I value most after that are huge armies I needn't pay nor feed, and after that, information. This outlander may aid us with the latter-perhaps even with the others-and your rage, holy or otherwise, helps us little just now. So let us have an end to shouting and threats and talk of punishment. This man met with two of our guards in the forest, and neither Briszyk and Urlaun are harmed, or turned to toads. That proves this outlander can stay his spells long enough to talk and bargain and even walk peacefully. Let us try that first.'

'You are wise, as always, Lord Hammerhand,' the priest said quietly. 'Would you prefer to question the outlander?'

'Yes,' Burrim Hammerhand replied simply, and turned his gaze to Rod. 'Lord Archwizard,' he asked flatly, 'what do you know about Ironthorn?'

'That it is a hold in the Raurklor, most famous elsewhere in Falconfar for its gemadars and the swords they