Wizard’s Bane

Twelve The Name is Death

Moira didn’t know how far they had come. The flagged corridors twisted and turned in a way that made her head spin. The floor was uneven and the tunnels that led off usually sloped up or down.

The trickle of water down the center of the tunnel made footing treacherous, but she stayed to the middle nonetheless. To step out of the trail of slime was to risk ramming into a rough stone or dirt wall.

Worst of all, she cold not see. There was no light and her magic senses were blocked everywhere by the coarse, suffocating pressure of counter-spells. The magic was almost as nauseating as the stink of her goblin guards.

The dark was no hinderance to the goblins. They took crude amusement from her plight, forcing her along at a pace that kept her on the verge of stumbling. Finally, after she had fallen or run into the walls too often, they grabbed her arms and half-pushed, half-dragged her along.

By the time the goblins threw her in a small, mean cell and slammed the door, Moira was bruised, filthy and scraped and bleeding in a dozen places. Her palms were raw from falling and there was a cut on her head which turned her hair damp with blood. Her knees and shins ached.

She pulled herself into a sitting position and dabbed at the cut on her head with the least-dirty part of the hem of her skirt. She tried to ignore the small skittering sounds in the dark around her and refused to think about the future.

"Well, Sparrow?" Shiara asked as she ducked to enter the low door of Wiz’s workroom.

"I think we’re about there, Lady." For the first time in days the crude plank table was clear. The rough wooden tablets which had been piled on it to toppling were now stacked more or less neatly in the corners of the room. The table had been pushed away from the small window and a bench had been drawn underneath it. A brazier in the center of the room made a feeble attempt to take the late-winter chill out of the air but neither Wiz nor Shiara doffed their cloaks. The door was open to let in more light.

"Are you sure you want to be here?" Wiz asked. "I mean it isn’t necessary and it may be dangerous."

The blind woman shrugged. "It is dangerous everywhere and I would rather be at the center of events."

Shiara came into the hut and almost bumped into the table in its new and unfamiliar position. With a quick apology, Wiz took her hand and guided her to the bench.

"When do you begin?"

"I’ll let you know in a minute. Emac!"

"Yes, master?" A small brown creature scuttled out of the shadows. It was man-like, perhaps three feet tall, with a huge bald head and square wire-rimmed glasses balanced on its great beak of a nose. A green eyeshade was pushed back on its domed forehead and a quill pen was stuck behind one flap-like ear.

"Are we ready?"

"I’ll check again, master." The gnome-like being disappeared with a faint "pop." Shiara winced involuntarily at the strong magic so close to her.

"I’m sorry, my Lady. I’ll tell them to walk from now on."

"What was that?" Shiara asked.

"An Emac. A kind of magic clerk. They help me organize things and translate simple commands into complex sets of instructions. I have several of them now."

"Emacs," Shiara said, wrinkling her nose. "I see—so to speak."

There was another "pop" and the Emac was back before Wiz. "We are all ready, Master."

Wiz looked at Shiara, who sat with her head turned in his direction, beautiful and impassive. The pale, soft winter light caught her in profile, making her look more regal than ever.

Wiz took a deep, shuddering breath. "Very well," he said and raised his hands above his head. "backslash" he intoned.

"$" replied the Emac.

"class drone grep moira"

"$" said the Emac again.

"exe," Wiz said and the Emac’s lips moved soundlessly as he transmitted the order, expanding it into a series of commands to each of the drones.

Far to the South, in a dozen places along the frozen shores of the Freshened Sea, stubby white shapes popped into existence, scanned their surroundings and disappeared again.

"running" said the Emac.

Wiz was silent for an instant. Please God, let them find her. "All right," he said briskly. "Now let’s see how much Hell we can raise with the League. backslash!"

It started as a tiny spark deep in the Sea of Scrying, a pinpoint of light on the graven copper likeness of the World. The acolyte peered deeper into the Sea and rubbed his eyes. Was there something… ? Yes, there it was again, stronger and sharper. And another, equally sharp and growing stronger. He raised his hand to summon the black-robed Master. When he returned his attention to the murky water there were four bright spots apparently scattered at random through his sector. Then the four doubled and there were eight, and sixteen, and thirty-two.

In the time it took the black-robed wizard to cross the room over a thousand points of bright magic light had bloomed on the bottom of the bowl. By the time the word passed to Toth-Set-Ra, the Sea of Scrying glowed with a uniform milky luminescence and all sight of things magic in the world had been lost.

With a small "pop" an apparition materialized in Moira’s cell.

She clenched her jaw until her teeth ached. I will be brave she told herself. I will not scream.

But her visitor was the most unlikely demon she had ever seen. It was a squat, white cylinder with a rounded, gray top and two stubby legs beneath.

The dome-shaped head rotated and Moira saw it had a single glowing blue eye. As the eye pointed at her, the thing emitted a series of squeaks and beeps. Then it vanished, leaving Moira awake and wondering.

Deep beneath the bowels of the City of Night three demons guarded the portal to the Pits of Fire. The first of the demons bore the form of an immense dragon who coiled in front of the gate. The second demon was shaped as a gigantic slug, whose skin oozed pungent acid and whose passage left smoking grooves burned into the rock. The third and mightiest of the demons appeared as an enormously fat old man with three faces seated on the back of a great black toad.

Ceaseless, tirelessly and sleeplessly the three watched, holding the sole entrance to the lake of boiling incandescent lava and the well of earth magic that was the League’s greatest resource.

Their vigil was broken by a "pop" and a tiny brown manniken stood before the three awesome sentries. Three heads and four faces swiveled toward him but the little man-thing made no move to approach the gate. Instead he opened his mouth and began to gabble in a voice so fast and high as to be inaudible to human ears. The three demons watched impassively until the little brown creature spoke a certain word. Then the dragon demon rose and crept away from the door, the slug demon heaved its acid-slimed bulk to the side of the corridor and the main demon spoke.

"Pass on," it said in basso profundo three-part harmony.

Without another word the little creature skipped through the now unguarded gate.

Beyond the great iron portal other demons reached deep into the roiling white-hot lava to sift out the magic welling up from the center of the World and turn it to their masters’ uses. Feeding like hogs at a trough, they ignored the little brown creature who pranced in among their mighty legs. They paid no attention when the newcomer drew a pallid wriggling little grub from his pouch and cast it into the blazing pit.

As soon as it touched the flow of magic the grub began to swell. It grew and grew until it was as large as the demons, soaking up magic like a dry sponge soaks up water. The demons shifted and jostled as magic was diverted away from them. They tried futilely to regain their share. But now there were two full-sized worms in the pit and a dozen more growing rapidly. Unable to shoulder the worms away, the demons milled about in frustration and the flow of magic from the Pit to the city above dwindled to nothing.

Bal-Simba paced the great stone hall like a restless bear. Now and again he paused to peer over the shoulder of one of the Watchers.

"Anything?" he asked the head of the Watch for the dozenth time that morning.

"Nothing, Lord. No sign of anything out of the ordinary."

"Thank you." The wizard resumed pacing. The watcher stared into the crystal again and then frowned.

"Wait, Lord! There is something now." Bal-Simba whirled and rushed to his side.

"It’s faint. Very faint, but there is something around the edges… No, now it’s getting stronger." The Watcher looked up at Bal-Simba, awed. "Lord, there are indications of new magic in the city of Night itself!"

"What is it?"

"I do not know, Lord. Considering the distance and the masking spells it’s a wonder that we can pick up anything at all. Whatever is happening there must be extremely strong."

"Hai Sparrow!" Bal-Simba roared. "You spread your wings, eh? Well fly, Sparrow, fly. And we will do some flying of our own." He motioned to Arianne who was sitting nearby. "Sound the alert. We will make what use we can of the opportunity our Sparrow gives us."

Again the dragons rose from their roosts in the Capital, formed into echelons and climbed away to the south. Again the Dragon Leader reviewed his instructions. A reconnaissance in force over the Freshened Sea, they told him. Scout to the South until you meet resistance. Well, he thought. We’ll see just how far south we can go. And then perhaps we’ll go a little further. He tested his bowstring grimly.

In their dark towers above the City of Night, the magicians of the League flew to arms. Spells pushed upon them from a hundred directions, elemental and relentless. In the harbor ships stirred uneasily as the waters tossed them.

"Get underway immediately," the Shadow Captain ordered, scowling at the sky. Most of the crew was still aboard the Tiger Moth and a mooring is the worst place for a ship to be in a time of danger.

Under the lash of the captain’s voice the crew rushed to their stations. Hawsers were quickly cast off and two hands scrambled for the rigging. The oars were broken out and fitted into the locks. The crew hastily arranged themselves with an even number on each side. The captain saw the result and scowled again. Half the benches were empty, but it would have to do. With the mate beating time and the Shadow Warriors pulling for all they were worth, the Tiger Moth threaded its way through the clutter of ships and made for the breakwater gate and the open sea.

High in the watchtower overlooking the sea gate, a brown-robed mage threw back his arms and began his incantation. As the spell took shape in the plenum beyond human senses, a certain configuration of forces appeared. It was only a small part of the spell, but a lurking worm sensed it and battened onto that configuration. The worm’s own spell twisted the conjuration out of its intended shape and the wizard screamed as he felt the spell writhe away from him and into a new and dangerous direction. The last thing he saw was a blinding, searing flash as the room exploded around him. His fellows, those who were not too close, saw the top of a black tower disappear in an incandescent blast.

The rest of the tower slumped like a child’s sand castle built over-high and toppled into the bay. A huge block of hewed basalt crashed through the Tiger Moth just aft of the mast, breaking her back and bringing a tangle of rigging down on the poop where the Shadow Captain stood.

Impelled by the force of the block the Tiger Moth plunged beneath the cold black water. Only a few pieces of wood and rigging floated up.

The worm fed on the new power and spawned several copies of itself to lurk in the unimaginable spaces of magic and feed in turn when the opportunity arose.

"Master, our spells weaken!" the sweating wizard cried. With a curse Toth-Set-Ra strode to the lectern where the man had been conjuring and shoved him roughly aside. Quickly he scanned the grimore’s page, creating the spell anew, and scowled at the result. What should have been bright and shining was wan and gray. Angrily he reached out for more power, but instead of the expected strong, steady flow he found only a wavering rivulet.

"To the Pit!" he roared at the shaking wizard. "Something interferes with the flow."

As wizards and acolytes alike hurried to do his bidding, Toth-Set-Ra stared unseeing at the awful runes inscribed on human parchment before him.

Was the Council attacking in retaliation for the raid on the North? He dismissed the idea even as the thought formed. He knew Northern magic and there was none of it here. The Council might have a new spell or two, but everything the League faced was new. Besides, he knew the work of every one of the Mighty and this was unlike any of them.

An attack from within, aimed at himself? He considered that somewhat longer. It would explain how someone had gotten into the Pit to interfere with the flow of magic. Had he given Atros too much power? That too he discarded. If Atros or any of the others had half this much power they would have struck long before. And again, he knew the magics of the League even better than he knew those of the Council.

Then who? As the City of Night shook and towers toppled Toth-Set-Ra racked his brains trying to find the source of the attack.

A doom. A plague. A bane upon all wizards. The demon’s words came back to him and the mightiest wizard in the World shivered.

The alien wizard! The stranger from beyond the world. This mass of army-ant spells pressing in on them must be his work.

It was well for the Shadow Captain that he was already dead, for the wizard’s next oath would have blasted him where he stood. He had the wrong magician! Somehow this other one, this Wiz, the one they called Sparrow, had fooled the Shadow Warriors. The hedge-witch was a pawn to be sacrificed to protect the Council’s king.

And he had fallen for it. By all the demons in the nine netherhells, he had been duped!

For a moment chill panic shook Toth-Set-Ra. Then he stopped short and laughed aloud. The other wizards in the chantry paused involuntarily at the sound. The Master of the Dark League seldom laughed and when he did it boded something truly horrible for someone. They turned back to their spells and incantations with renewed vigor.

Toth-Set-Ra was still chuckling when he reached the door of the chantry. Fool me, will you? We shall see who is the fool in the end. For I tell you Wiz, or Sparrow, or whatever your true name is, you are as much in my power as if it were you and not that red-haired bitch I hold fast.

Far to the north on a crag above the shores of the Freshened Sea three gargoyles stared forever South, testing the wind, sifting the whispers borne to them and sending on what they heard.

"It goes well, Sparrow." It was not a question. Shiara sat on the bench, pale and calm as a winter’s dawn while Wiz paced the room, muttering in a way that had nothing to do with magic. He paused to glance once more into the bowl of water on the rude table between them.

"We’re shaking them good and proper," he confirmed. "I can’t interpret everything, but there are fires and earthquakes all over the area. Part of the City of Night’s wall is down and a couple of towers have already slid into the harbor." He smiled. "We’ve just about ruined their whole day. Now if only…"

Shiara nodded. "I know Sparrow. Fortuna grant us this one final boon."

The crystal contrivance atop the ruined tower sparkled and flashed with the magical force of the messages arriving from the south.

Deep in her cell, Moira didn’t know what was going on, but she was increasingly certain it wasn’t being done to frighten her. Even this far under the earth she could hear occasional explosions, faint and muffled but audible nonetheless. Twice, groups of goblin soldiers tore by her cell in clattering, shouting masses. Once something huge and foul and slithering whuffled up the corridor while she pressed against the slimy rock wall and prayed to the depths of her soul that the thing would not notice her. Even the vermin seemed to have gone into hiding in the crannies and under the piles of rotting straw.

First the demon with the glowing blue eye and now this. What could it possibly mean?

Moira didn’t hope, for hope had long since burned out of her. But she felt a stirring. Whatever was going on couldn’t be good for her captors and misfortune to them was as much as she dared wish for.

With a faint "pop" an Emac appeared in front of Wiz, so close he almost stumbled over the demon in his pacing.

"We have found her, Master! RDsquaresquare has found her."

"Thank God! Where?"

"Underground master, far and deep underground. The coordinates are . . ."

Wiz waved the small brown demon to silence. "Show me in the bowl!"

The demon removed the quill from behind his ear and dipped the point in the water. Ink flowed from the pen, turning the clear water black and then shimmering as the image formed. Wiz looked intently at it and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Have we got a good enough fix?"

The Emac cocked his bald brown head and his huge ears quivered as he listened to something unhearable. "Yes, Master. We can come within a few cubits of the place."

"Then come with me." Wiz strode to the door, grabbing his oak staff and wrapping his cloak tighter as he stepped into the outdoor chill.

"Wait, Lord."

Wiz turned and saw Donal and Kenneth arrayed for battle. Their mail hauberks hung to their knees and their greaves and vambraces were secure to their limbs. Donal’s great sword was over his shoulder and Kenneth’s bow was slung across his back. Both wore their open-faced helms and their mail coifs were laced tight.

"You’re not going," Kenneth said. "Not alone."

"I have to." Wiz told him.

"Bal-Simba told us to guard you and guard you we shall," said Donal.

Wiz shook his head. "It’s too dangerous. Look, I appreciate the idea, but you can’t come."

"Stubborn," said Donal.

"Too stubborn," said Kenneth. "You look, Sparrow. Someone has to keep your back while you’re making magic."

"My magic can do that for me."

"Unlikely," said Kenneth.

"Take them, Sparrow," Shiara put in from the hut’s door. "You may need them."

"It’s dangerous," Wiz warned again. "You might get . . ." He cast his eyes over their well-used armor and weapons and trailed off. Both men looked at him in grim amusement. "Uh… right."

"It is Bal-Simba’s wish," said Kenneth simply.

Wiz sighed. "Very well. Stand close to me and I’ll see if I can make this thing work."

Donal and Kenneth pressed in against his back and he shifted his grip on the staff.

Wiz drew a deep, shuddering breath, filling his lungs with the cold, sweet air of Heart’s Ease. He looked around slowly at the place he had come to call home. Then he tightened his grip on the staff and began.

"backslash" he said to the Emac. "$" the Emac responded, now ready and waiting for orders. "transport" he said and the Emac began to gabble silently translating the predefined macro spell into the words of power. "arg moira" He raised the staff high over his head as the air began to waver and twist around him. "EXE" he shouted.

And the world went dark.

Something’s gone wrong! Wiz thought frantically. It’s not supposed to be like this! His arms quivered from the strain of holding the heavy staff high. He could feel Donal and Kenneth pressing hard against his back and hear their breathing, but still the darkness did not lift. Then he shifted slightly and his staff scraped against something overhead, showering him with noisome dirt. He nearly laughed aloud as he realized that this darkness was simply the absence of light.

He pointed with his staff. "backslash light exe" he said, and a blue glow lit the world around him. All three blinked and looked about.

They were in a tunnel so narrow they could not pass abreast. The rough flagged floor was slippery with condensation and the air was close and foul with the odors of earth and decay. About ten yards in either direction the tunnel twisted away, hiding what was beyond. Wiz could see four or five low wooden doors bound strongly with iron set into the walls along this section of the corridor.

"Moira!" Wiz called "Moira!" But ringing echoes and the distant sound of dripping water were the only replies. Donal and Kenneth quickly moved up and down the corridor, checking the cells.

"They are empty, Lord," Donal said, as they returned to where Wiz stood fidgeting. He forbore to mention that some of the cells were merely empty of life.

"Damn! She’s got to be here someplace. The Emac said they had her located to within cubits."

The two guardsmen exchanged looks. They knew how unreliable magic could be, how susceptible to counterspells or the blurring effects of other magics, and how magicians could use the magic to trap other magicians. What better place for a threat to the League than the dungeons under the League’s own stronghold? As unobstrusively as they could they shifted their stances and loosened their weapons.

Unheeding, Wiz reached into his pouch and pulled out a shiny silver sphere. He cupped it in his palm. "backslash cd slash grep moira" he said to the marble. It pulsed with a golden glow, flashing brighter and fainter to acknowledge the order. "exe" Wiz said and the light from the sphere steadied into a warm yellow illumination that highlighted his face. The marble grew into a ball of light the size of his fist and floated to the top of the tunnel.

"She’s above us," Wiz told the other two. "We’ll have to go up to the next level."

"Carefully, Lord," Donal said in a near whisper. "These tunnels are chancy at best and there are enemies about."

Wiz nodded and stepped under the glowing ball bobbing against the ceiling. "backslash" he said softly. "in here Moira" Again the warm light pulsated. "exe" Wiz whispered and the ball drifted off to the left, glowing steadily as it traveled up the tunnel. Wiz moved to follow it and Donal stepped in front of him, his great sword at the ready. Kenneth fell in behind with his bow in hand and the flap open on his belt quiver.

There was no need to renew the light spell. The golden ball suffused the tunnel with an even glow, warmer and more natural than the weird blue light of the staff.

Donal and Kenneth were not comforted. The light would be a beacon to anyone or anything guarding the tunnels. Wiz didn’t notice. His eyes were fixed on the glowing ball.

They saw no one as they moved up the tunnel, but twice they heard movement behind one of the stout, low doors set in the wall at irregular intervals. In neither case was the sound the sort that made them want to stop and investigate even if they had the time. Once there was an explosion that shook dirt down on them. Donal and Kenneth looked apprehensive, as if the passage might collapse, but Wiz only smiled and pressed forward.

The tunnel twisted and turned, it wandered and wobbled, it branched and joined, it doubled back and redoubled on itself and it dipped and it rose. But it rose more than it dipped and always the sphere of light led them on.

Kenneth and Donal kept swivelling their heads, their eyes scanning everywhere for signs of danger. Wiz kept his attention on the sphere, with just enough on his surroundings so he didn’t trip on the miserable footing. Thus when Donal stopped dead at a corner, Wiz walked into him.

"Oh shit," Donal breathed silently.

"Oh shit!" Wiz whispered, peering over his shoulder.

"Oh shit?" mouthed Kenneth, bringing up the rear.

Around the corner the tunnel widened into a room, its stone floor worn smoother and more even than the corridor. The seeking ball was not the main source of light, for on one side of the room logs burned brightly in a cavernous fireplace. Along the other walls rush torches flared in wrought iron holders. Sturdy tables and benches were scattered about. And in the center, clustered around the glowing golden intruder, were twenty goblins, all armored, armed and very much on the alert.

They were staring up at the light and muttering among themselves in their coarse goblin speech. A very large goblin poked at the seeker with a halberd.

One of the goblins turned from the light to look back the way it had come. His piggy little eyes widened at the sight of the three human heads peeking around the corner and he opened his tusked mouth to yell to his comrades.

"Fortuna!" Donal said under his breath, making the word a curse. Then he brandished his great sword and leaped into the open shouting a war cry. Kenneth was instantly at his back and Wiz stumbled in behind them.

Now goblins are powerful creatures, crafty, patient and fierce. But they are also also excitable and given to panic if things go wrong. Goblin attacks are legendary, but so are goblin routs.

These goblins were already in a bad way. Their citadel was besieged by powerful magic. Their last orders were to stay on guard, but those had come hours ago and they had had no word from their officers or the wizards they served since. They were on edge from hours of waiting and when three screaming humans burst into their guardroom in the wake of a mysterious light, they did what came naturally to their goblin natures. They panicked and ran.

"Son of a bitch," Wiz breathed as the clatter and shouting of the departing goblins died away.

"I told you you would need us, Lord," Donal said as he looked up the tunnel after the goblins.

Kenneth merely scowled. "They will be back soon enough. And others with them. Let us not be here when they return."

"Right," Wiz said. Already the golden ball was disappearing out the door the goblins had taken. "Come on then."

If the tunnel had been convoluted before, now it became positively mazy. Every few yards there was another branching and never were there fewer than four ways to go. At times even the seeker hesitated before plunging off down one or the other of the passages. Wiz’s sense of direction, never his strong point, was completely befuddled. It seemed they had walked for a mile at least, all of it over rough, slippery ground that always sloped up, down or to the side, and sometimes several ways together.

Finally they came to a place where a fresh fall of dirt and rocks blocked most of the passage. The ball did not hesitate. It floated to the top of the tunnel and vanished in the crevice between the debris and the ceiling. That left Wiz and his companions in darkness except for the faint glow coming through the crack.

"It doesn’t look very big," Donal said, eyeing the crack doubtfully.

"The spell does know enough not to go where a man may not follow?" Kenneth asked.

"Well, ah…" Wiz realized he hadn’t thought of that. "Come on, let’s see if we can get through."

He scrambled up the mound of loose earth and tried to wedge his body through. His arms and head went in easily enough, but his torso went only halfway. He tried to back out but with his arms extended in front, he couldn’t get any purchase. He kicked his legs and tried to writhe his body from side to side, but only succeeded in getting a mouthful of the fetid dirt.

"Help me out of here," he called as he twisted his head to one side and spat out the foul-tasting earth.

Donal and Kenneth each grabbed a leg and tugged strongly. Wiz slid out, still spitting dirt.

"Gah!" He wiped his tongue on the inside of his tunic. "No good. We’ll have to dig."

Kenneth muttered a comment about half-something spells. Wiz ignored him and picked up his staff. "backslash light exe" he commanded, pointing the staff down the corridor. At once everything let up with eerie blue light. Then Wiz turned to work on the blockage.

They had no shovel, so at first Wiz threw dirt back between his legs like a dog. Then Kenneth took off his helm and passed it up to use as a scoop. When they came to rocks too large for Wiz to move by himself, Donal squeezed into the tunnel beside him to help. All the while Kenneth stood guard with his bow at the ready, looking nervously down the way they had come.

"I think it’s big enough," Wiz said at last, panting from the exercise. "Let me check."

As he moved to climb back up the dirt pile, Donal caught his arm and shook his head. "Bal-Simba said to take care of you, Lord. I’ll go first."

"I wish you’d remembered that while I was digging," Wiz said as Kenneth knocked the dirt out of his helm and laced it tight to his mail coif.

"Bal-Simba did not say to do your work for you," Donal replied. Then he scrambled up the dirt pile and squeezed into the crack, dragging his great sword behind him.

"All clear," he called after a moment from the other side and Wiz slithered through after him with Kenneth close behind.

Amazingly, the seeker’s golden light was still visible, reflected off the wall at the end of the corridor. Wiz and his companions hurried on, turned a corner and there, about twenty-five yards in front of them, was the seeker, bobbing up and down gently in front of a stout oaken door.

"Moira? Moira?" Wiz called as they came down the corridor.

A pale tear-stained face appeared in the tiny barred window set in the door.

"Wiz? Oh, Wiz!"

Wiz rushed ahead of his companions and pressed against the door. "Oh my God! Darling, are you all right?"

"Oh Wiz, Wiz. I’ve been so… Oh Wiz!" and Moira started to cry.

"Come on, we’ll get you out of there. Stand away from the door, now."

Moira backed from the window, as if reluctant to lose sight of him.

"Get as far away as you can and cover yourself," Wiz instructed her. "Tell me when you’re ready."

"I’m… I’m ready." Moira called tentatively from within the cell.

Wiz raised his staff.

"What was that?" Atros growled.

"Vig noiss. Egplhossion." The goblin commander’s human speech was slurred by his great tusks.

"I know that, idiot! But what caused it?"

The goblin merely shrugged, which only increased the wizard’s ire. For over two hours Atros had been searching the dungeons based on the report of a troop of goblins who had been attacked in their guardroom by a strong force of human warriors and wizards. At least that was their story, Atros thought sourly. So far he had seen nothing to prove it.

"Well, where did it come from?" he snapped.

"That way, Master. Where special prisoner is." Atros ears pricked up. What was the old crow hiding down here? "Well, let’s check. Quickly."

With nearly fifty heavily armed and armored goblins behind them Atros and the goblin commander set off down the tunnel at a trot.

The dungeons were a difficult labyrinth in the best of times, but with the incredible attack going on above, the maze of twisty little passages was almost impenetrable. The magic which usually guided the knowledgeable wasn’t working and Atros was forced to rely on the memory and navigating skill of the goblins. He had a sneaking suspicion they had spent most of their time down here lost and wandering in circles—if a circle wasn’t too regular a figure to describe their movments.

But something had obviously happened to those guards and Atros was encouraged by the report of humans in the dungeons—apparently Northern guardsmen at that. What was going on over their heads was unbelievably powerful, but it was also strange. None of the familiar magic or non-magical forces of the North had been encountered. Atros had perforce learned a grudging respect for the Northerners, not only for developing so many mighty new spells but for keeping everything so secret that the League’s spies had gotten only the vaguest of hints.

However that left the League’s more conventional resources uncommitted and Atros had a shrewd suspicion that they would be thrown in at a critical point. When that happened, he vowed as he jogged along grimly, he would be there and there would be such a duel of wizards as the World had never seen.

Wiz charged through the smoldering ruins of the door and swept Moira into his arms. She was dazed and weeping. She was filthy and her long red hair was matted with dirt, but she was still the most beautiful woman Wiz had ever seen.

"Oh my God, Moira, I thought I had lost you forever."

"Wiz, oh Wiz," Moira sobbed into his chest. Then he reached down, lifted her chin and kissed her.

"Now what?" Atros demanded of his hulking companion as they came around the bend. Ahead of them was a faint golden glow, the likes of which Atros had never seen down here.

The head goblin only shrugged and signalled his men to advance cautiously. As they moved down the tunnel cautiously the light grew brighter and steadier. They came around another bend and there, at the end of the tunnel was a shattered door with a golden light emanating from it and the sound of voices. Human voices. Atros stepped aside as the goblin captain and his soldiers advanced.

At the cell door, Kenneth stared down the corridor and fretted. It was bad enough that the Sparrow hadn’t turned off his seeker ball now that they had found the hedge-witch. Worse he was clinched with her and he wasn’t making any effort to get them away. Kenneth’s well-developed sense of danger had been nagging ever since they entered the dungeons and now the nagging had grown to a full scream. If they stayed here much longer they were going to run into something they could not handle. Kenneth had no doubt at all these passages were full of things like that.

He frowned and squinted down the way they had come, careful not to expose his body with the light behind him. Was it his imagination or had he just heard a scuffling sound, like something heavy trying to move quietly?

Well, one way to find out, he thought to himself. Silently he nocked the arrow he was carrying in his bow hand. Then he drew and loosed a shaft down the corridor.

He was rewarded with a shout and the sound of running feet.

"Attackers!" Kenneth yelled, and fired another arrow. Donal was at his side instantly, his sword at the ready.

"Lord, light the corridor and douse that globe!"

Wiz jerked his head up at Kenneth’s cry. "Right," he said and snatched up his staff. "backslash light exe" he yelled, pointing the staff down the corridor. Moira gaped at him. Instantly the whole corridor lit up blue, revealing a packed mass of goblins thundering down on them.

"For-tuna," Donal breathed and grasped his sword more tightly.

Kenneth’s bowstring thrummed twice more and two more goblins fell. The last one to go down was the goblin commander who dropped kicking and writhing with an arow in his eye. His momentum carried him nearly two paces further.

The combination of the light and the loss of their commander was too much for the goblins. They broke and fled back down the tunnel. Kenneth got one more as they rounded the bend.

"Magic, Master! We must have magic!" The goblin soldier was breathing hard and foam slavered down his chin as he knelt before Atros.

"Fools! Buffoons!" roared Atros. "Must I do your work for you? There is no magic here. Only two humans. Finish them. Now."

"Magic, Master!" the goblin soldier begged.

"Idiot!" Atros kicked the creature in the face, sending him sprawling. The other goblins shifted and muttered. Atros realized he was dangerously close to overplaying his hand with these servants.

"Attack again," he ordered. "Attack now. If they use magic then I will loose my powers against them."

The goblins muttered more but they began to sort themselves out for an attack.

Atros watched, frowning. He still wasn’t sure the alien wizard was with this group and he didn’t want to use his magic unnecessarily. Whatever was going on in the City of Night was nullifying or weakening spells. Demons were not responding reliably to his call, so he could not learn the identity of his adversary. He did not know his strengths or weaknesses and the feel of the magic was maddeningly unfamiliar. Worse, he could not establish contact with his fellow wizards. He was on his own and deprived of his most reliable weapons.

If the wizard was in that room, then he would crush him. But there was no sign of great power and if the wizard was not there, Atros would rather sacrifice this band of goblins than reveal and weaken himself.

He stood aside as the goblins formed up, ignoring their sidelong glances and their mutterings. One more attack and he would have those humans. Then he would know.

"Lord, we have to get out of here," Kenneth said over his shoulder. "They’re reforming just around the bend."

"Uh? Oh, right. Let’s get going. Gather round close everybody." He put an arm around Moira’s waist and drew her to him. Donal stepped in close behind and at the last second Kenneth spun away from the door and raced to them. Wiz lifted his staff. backslash transport… he began and then stopped.

"Damn," Wiz said under his braeth.

"What is it?" Moira asked.

"I don’t have enough power to make the transport. I can’t make the spell work with all those worms active."

"I would suggest, Lord, that you come up with an alternative," said Kenneth quietly, nocking an arrow, "and do so quickly." He returned to the door and stared down the weirdly lit corridor.

"I’ll have to shut down the worms. It’ll just take a few minutes."

"We may not have them," Kenneth replied, drawing his bow and stepping quickly into the corridor to loose a shaft. There was a roar of pain and then other roars and yells as the attackers charged.

Again, Kenneth brought down two more before they closed. By the time he laid his bow aside and drew his sword, Donal’s two-handed sword was cleaving a glittering arc of death in the air before them. The leading goblin charged unheeding and died twitching and flopping at the guardsman’s feet, his arm and shoulder nearly shorn from his body.

The other goblins hesitated for a fraction. Experienced fighters all, they knew that their situation was not as favorable as it looked to Moira gaping from the doorway. True, they had the humans outnumbered 20 to 1, but the tunnel was so narrow they could only come on three abreast, and a tightly packed three abreast at that. Their armor was good, but their weapons were for guard work, not a battle with armored men at close quarters. They had no archers, only a few pole arms and no shields.

Still, they were seasoned warriors and if the effects of the magical assault on the City of Night had unnerved them, they had no doubt they could win this fight. They dressed their lines and advanced in a packed mass. Barbed spears and cruelly hooked halberds reached out from the back ranks toward the two men.

Donal skipped forward, beating the pole arms aside and down with an overhead sweep of his blade. The goblins to his right were tied up by the tangle of weapons but the one to his left raised his sword for a killing stroke.

Before the blow could land Kenneth thrust home into the creature’s exposed armpit. The light mail under the arm popped and snapped and the goblin went down shrieking. Donal gave ground, parrying with his great sword as the weapons of the back ranks thrust at him. Donal took advantage of the gap created by the falling goblin to slash the face of his rank mate and then leapt away so that the swords of the goblins cut empty air.

The goblins pressed forward as the humans retreated, the ones on the left stumbling on the bodies of their fallen comrades. Kenneth reached to his belt and drew a small war axe with his left hand. Donal parried a spear thrust from the rear ranks and riposted with a quick thrust to the head of the right-most goblin. The blade slid off the creature’s knobbed helmet, but the force of the blow jarred the goblin and made him break step. The middle goblin aimed a whistling low cut at Kenneth’s leg and gave Donal the opening he had been waiting for.

Kenneth stepped in and thrust to the goblin’s neck. At the same time he brought the hatchet up and caught the left-most goblin’s sword stroke between the haft and bit. A twist of his wrist and the sword was levered out of its owner’s grasp and flying across the tunnel. The creature gaped in tusked amazement and then his eyes glazed in death as Kenneth’s sword found his vitals.

But before Kenneth could skip out of range, a halberd licked out from among the goblin’s legs. With a vicious jerk the hook on the back of the blade sank into the unprotected rear of Kenneth’s calf. The guardsman hissed in pain and dropped. Donal slashed mightily with his great sword to cover his fallen companion, but the goblins pressed forward inexorably. Goblin blades flashed out, three and four at once. Rings popped on Donal’s mail and a bright red gash opened in his side.

Wiz turned from his half-built spell at Moira’s gasp in time to see Donal reel backward from the blows.

"cancel!" he shouted and pointed his staff at the packed mass. "for 1 to 10 flash do" he shouted. "exe!"

Instantly the corridor went from a bluish gloom to a light more brilliant than the brightest summer noon. Then it went pitch dark and then the light again and again and again. The goblins howled in pain from the blasts of light. In the strobe of the bolts Wiz could see them weirdly frozen, trying to shield their eyes and ignoring the two helpless men on the floor.

Wiz pointed his staff at the goblins and muttered another command. "Bibbity boppity boo!"

A ravening lance of flame shot from the end of the staff and struck the foremost goblin squarely. The creature shrieked, a high, almost womanish sound, as the fire took it. Another bolt shot from Wiz’s staff and another goblin turned into a living torch. Again and again Wiz’s staff shot fire and more goblins burned.

That was too much. The goblins broke and fled, the ones in the fore trampling their fellows behind them in their haste to escape.

Wiz closed his eyes and breathed a silent prayer. Moira dashed out into the corridor to the wounded men.

Kenneth had an ugly wound in his calf but he could limp back with only a little assistance. Donal was in a worse way, conscious but groggy and bleeding heavily from the wound in his side. Moira and Wiz got the two inside and laid them on the dirty straw.

"My bow," Kenneth commanded and Wiz rushed back to get it. When he returned he found the guardsman had dragged himself to the door and was standing propped against the jamb.

"Thank you, Lord," he said as Wiz handed him the bow. "I will keep watch from here. But we need to be gone quickly."

"I’m trying," Wiz told him, "but this is more complicated than I bargained for. I don’t think those damned worms were such a hot idea after all."

"Make haste Lord," Kenneth panted. "They have not gone far and they will come again soon."

"Likely with others who are not so flighty," said Donal, who came limping up in spite of Moira’s efforts to keep him lying down.

Wiz took a deep breath and returned to the job of shutting down a worm.

It was an intricate process. The worms were under the control of the Emacs back at Heart’s Ease and Wiz had no direct communication with them. He could not simply neutralize the worms, he had to shut at least some of them off completely. The entities had been busy reproducing themselves since they first appeared, so that was difficult.

"backslash, class worm suspend…" He shook his head. No, that wouldn’t work! "cancel" He tried again. "backslash …"

"Lord, you’d better get out of here quickly," Kenneth said quietly. "We have a new problem."

The dragons rose from their shaking caverns as their riders fought to keep them under control. They formed into a group of ragged Vs as they swept once around the peak and then turned toward the sea. There was no attack warning, no battle plan, not even any orders. It was simply better to sortie blindly than to wait.

High above, the Dragon Leader watched them come. He had barely two squadrons behind him and the entire dragon cavalry of the City of Night was on the wing below. But he had height and position and the climbing ranks were confused and hesitant. He raised his hand over his head and pointed down. Then he nudged his mount and the entire force hurtled earthward in formation.

In the midst of a hurricane of sorcery there was no magic to aid either side. Magic detectors screamed constantly, useless in the boil of spells. Even the psychic link between dragon and rider weakened and wavered in the maelstrom of magics that enveloped the City of Night.

Freed from close control, the dragons fought by instinct. Formations dissolved into whirling, flaming chaos as the two groups collided. Great winged bodies hurtled into each other, ripping and tearing and unseating riders. Dragon fire flew in all directions without discipline or guidance.

The Dragon Leader got one good pass out of his mount and saw his target go down smoking. Then he was through the League formation and the dragon was climbing on powerful beats of leathery wings. He tried to pull clear of the milling swarm to get altitude for another pass, but his dragon had other ideas. Still climbing, they charged into the thick of the fight.

The dragon caught one opponent by climbing underneath him and blasting him before the hapless beast even knew they were there. But now they were in the thick of the fight with hostile dragons on all sides.

True to its instinct the dragon raised her head and bellowed out a challenge. Answering roars came from all around them. The Dragon Leader gave up trying to control his mount. Instead, he drew his bow and swiveled, looking for the nearest opponent.

The attack came from behind. A League dragon swooped down on them before either dragon or rider knew he was there. The dragon must have exhausted its fire because it made no attempt to flame them as it went past. Instead the Dragon Leader had a glimpse of the figure on its back drawing his bow and twisting to track them as he swept by. The swarthy face, slitted eyes and scalplock of the enemy rider burned themselves into his brain.

There was no room to maneuver and no time to turn. The League rider fired and the iron shaft buried itself in his dragon’s neck.

But the dragon barely noticed. She dropped one wing and flicked her tail to turn more tightly on her tormentor. Almost as an afterthought she reached up with a forelimb and plucked the shaft free.

What the… ? Somewhere in the back of his mind the Dragon Leader was amazed he wasn’t plummeting out of the sky on a dead dragon. Meanwhile he was turning inside his foe and closing rapidly.

The Dragon Leader fitted an iron arrow to his own bow, but there was no tingle of recognition from the seeker head. The spells on death arrows were being overwhelmed by the competing magics. Swearing, he shifted his aim and fired. If magic would not work, perhaps skill would.

It did. The shaft flew straight and true and pierced the rider through the back. The man threw up his arms and crumpled into his saddle. The dragon turned to take on another opponent, still bearing the dead man on its back.

The Dragon Leader looked around and urged his mount forward for another foe.

Eventually it was all too much. The League dragons, outfought, disorganized and only under rudimentary control, broke and fled south in a confused gaggle. Some dove and dashed for safety scant feet off the earth. Others concentrated on making the best possible speed no matter what their altitude. A few fell to the flames of their attackers as they ran.

As soon as they were well clear of the City of Night, the Dragon Leader signaled his men to break off and re-form. The squadrons were tattered and several of the dragons were riderless, but his force was intact. There was no question who had won this day.

Counting his men, the Dragon Leader ordered one more sweep over the City of Night before they turned to the North and home.

With shaking hands, Toth-Set-Ra removed the globe from the cabinet and set it in the middle of the floor. There was a muffled roar and the palace shook, showering a sprinkle of mortar on the wizard’s dark robe. He paid no attention.

Quickly but carefully he checked the pentagram, brushing away dust or debris that might breach it. Bale-Zur was not to be invoked lightly nor without scrupulous attention to the proper precautions. He could be counted upon to take advantage of any loophole in the bargain.

Toth-Set-Ra shook back the sleeves of his robe, picked up the silver wand off the lectern and began his chant.

A cloud of stinking, reeking sulphurous smoke billowed up, hiding the walls of the chamber and making Toth-Set-Ra’s eyes water and his lungs burn. He paid no notice but continued chanting as a dull red glow coalesced and grew in the heart of the smoke cloud.

"Bale-Zur. Bale-Zur. Bale-Zur. By the power of your true name and the force of our bargain I call you, I summon you, I command you to make yourself manifest."

As the wizard gestured, the smoke billowed even thicker and the glow grew fiercer and larger. And then the smoke wafted away as though on a breeze, leaving the mightiest of demons revealed.

The huge black creature squatted toadlike in the chamber, nearly filling the pentagram and almost brushing the stone vaulting of the ceiling. His horned and warty head swivelled slowly and continually from side to side, as if seeking prey. The great claws clenched and relaxed against the stone.

"My due," the demon’s voice boomed out, so low that the undertones made the wizard’s bones quiver. "I will have my due."

"I give you one," hissed Toth-Set-Ra. "I give you the one known to men as Sparrow, called Wiz. By the power of his true name I give him to you."

The monster paused and considered. The huge mouth opened, showing rows of teeth like daggers, and the beast ran a surprisingly pink tongue over its black scaly lips.

"Sparrow is not his true name," the creature rumbled. "Nor is Wiz."

"By the power of his true name I give him to you!" Toth-Set-Ra repeated, more shrilly.

Again the demon Bale-Zur considered. At last the massive head stopped moving and the glowing red eyes focused on the wizard.

"This one’s true name is not written upon the wind," the demon said at last.

Toth-Set-Ra licked his lips, suddenly gone dry. "But he has a true name," he insisted desperately. "All men have a true name."

"Then it has never been spoken within the World," said the demon, hopping cumbersomely forward. "Our bargain is broken and I will have my due."

Toth-Set-Ra screamed and backed away as the demon crossed the now-useless pentagram. He scuttled toward the door, but the great creature was too quick for him. A huge clawed foot caught him squarely in the back as his hand touched the door handle.

In the riot and confusion of the shuddering palace no one noticed the screams. But they went on for a long, long time.

Blinded, burned and screeching, the goblins fell back around the bend in the tunnel. Atros paid them no heed.

So, breathed the wizard, now unknowingly the Mightiest in the League. So he is here after all. He spared a quick glance for his companions. Of the fifty or so who had accompanied Atros into the dungeons perhaps a dozen remained. No soldiers here, this would be a duel of wizardry.

The auspices were not ideal, but Atros meant to have this wizard and if his goblin soldiers could not take him, then he would do so himself. He flipped back his great fur cloak, baring his thickly muscled arms, and muttered a protective incantation before he stepped around the corner.

"What is it?" Wiz asked as the hulking skin-clad figure strode down the tunnel toward them.

"A wizard," Kenneth told him. "I’m sorry, Lord, but we cannot help you now. You must meet magic with magic in a duel of wizards."

Wiz licked his lips and took a deep, shuddering breath. Then he stepped into the blue-lit corridor, staff in hand.

Atros did not check his stride as Wiz came through the broken door. Stepping around the broken burned bodies of his goblin bodyguard he bored straight toward the slight dark-haired figure holding his oak staff as if it were a baseball bat.

As Atros came on Wiz pointed his staff at him. "bippity boppity boo," he said and again the roaring lance of flame shot from the staff’s tip. But the big wizard made a dismissing gesture with a flip of his wrist and the flame veered to one side, splashing off the wall and dissipating harmlessly.

Atros raised his hand and balls of fire flew from his fingertips; one after the other they caroomed down the hall at Wiz. Wiz reached into his pouch and threw a tiny, pallid grub at his attacker. Grub and fireballs met in mid-tunnel and the flames were sucked away, leaving only a medium-sized worm behind.

Quickly Wiz muttered another spell. Suddenly Atros found his progress slowed, as if he were walking through molasses. The more he pushed, the slower he moved until by exerting all his mighty strength he was barely able to move at all.

Atros paused for a second, examining the spell, tasting it. Experimentally he tried moving a hand slowly and found it moved normally. The resistance built higher the faster he tried to move. The southern wizard smiled slightly and spoke a counter-incantation. Then he strode on unhindered.

His next step was nearly his last. His foot landed on a patch of something as slippery as the slickest ice over polished marble. He could get no purchase and his feet shot out from under him. Instinctively Atros used a spell to stay upright. Again a pause while he analyzed the magic and again Wiz’s best effort was nullified by a counterspell.

Atros assayed a transformation spell. But Wiz just stood there, unchanged and unharmed. A disorientation spell, a sleep spell and an earthquake spell followed in quick succession. Still his slender opponent stood unscathed.

Atros was baffled. He had never seen its like before. Normally a barrage of spells had some effect, but this was as if they weren’t even reaching their target. A bit tentatively, Atros hurled a bolt of lightning down the corridor. It reached the worm and vanished.

Aha! The worm had grown noticeably larger. The thing was actually soaking up magic. Again Atros smiled and shaped a spell carefully.

The Southern wizard raised his staff, an inky blob of darkness formed on the end of it and wobbled down the corridor. It was black beyond black, blacker than night and it floated toward Wiz like a balloon wafted on a breeze.

Wiz watched as the sphere of darkness passed over the now-fattened worm. The worm reached out greedily for the magic just as the sphere bobbed to the floor of the corridor to meet it, bending toward the worm like a lover bending toward a kiss.

The pair touched. Suddenly the worm faded and shrunk as the black sphere of negation drained the magic it had hoarded. As the worm grew smaller so did the sphere, until at last there was again a tiny writhing grub and the sphere closed in on itself and vanished.

Atros ground the worm under his heel as he stepped forward to confront Wiz.

Wiz hit Atros with everything but the kitchen sink. A hundred lightning bolts flashed toward him so fast the corridor was lit by a constant blinding glare and the air reeked of ozone. The tunnel roof caved in with a roar and a huge cloud of dust. Thirty sharp knives flew at Atros from all directions. His bearskin tried to crawl off his back. A hurricane swept down the corridor blowing with a force no man could withstand.

Still Atros came on. The lightning struck all about him but never touched him. The falling rocks bounced off an invisible shield over his head. His skin garment convulsed and lay still. The wind did not move a hair on his head.

Wiz’s spells had raw power, but they lacked the carefully crafted subtlety of a truly great wizard. And Atros, for all his braggadocio, was one of the great wizards of the World. More, he had the hard-won experience that comes from fighting and winning a score of magical duels. But most of all, Atros was a killer. Wiz simply was not.

Now Atros raised his staff and it was Wiz’s turn to endure.

"New magic in the City of Night, Lord. Strong and strange."

Bal-Simba rushed to the Watcher’s side. "Is it Sparrow? Can you locate him?"

"It appears to be and, yes Lord, we have it very precisely. He is in the dungeons beneath the city." The Watcher peered deeply into the crystal again. "There is other magic close by, Lord. Very strong and… Atros! Lord, your Sparrow is locked in a magical duel with Atros!"

"Fortuna!" Bal-Simba swore. "How is the Sparrow doing?"

"I can’t tell, Lord. His spells are so peculiar. But there is a lot of magic loose in those tunnels." Another pause and the Watcher tore his eyes from the crystal to face Bal-Simba. "He seems to be holding his own, but I don’t think he is winning, Lord."

"A Sparrow against a bear. That is not an even match.

"I fear not, Lord."

Bal-Simba bowed his mighty head and frowned into the crystal. Then he snapped his head up and slapped his palm on his thigh with a crack like a pistol shot.

"A circle!" he bellowed to the assembled Mighty. "Quickly to me! I must have a circle!"

Magic constricted around Wiz like a vise. As quickly as he erected a barrier against the onrushing spells, it was torn away and magic wound ever tighter around him. Again and again Atros thrust with his staff and Wiz was driven back toward the door of the cell where Moira and the two wounded guardsmen cowered, blinded and deafened by the effects of the duel and choked by the dust and magic thick in the air.

Suddenly Atros took his staff in both hands, raised it high over his head and brought it down with a vicious chopping motion. Wiz raised his staff to ward it off, but he was driven to his knees by the force of the blow. Blindly he raised his staff and gestured again. But the stroke was weak and ill-judged and Atros thrust it aside contemptuously. He stepped forward again and raised his staff for a final, killing spell.

From the cell door a blazing ball flew over Wiz’s head and straight at Atros’s face. The wizard dropped his staff and flinched aside from the burning sphere. He gestured and it swerved off to splatter in a flaming gout on the tunnel wall behind him.

Atros looked over Wiz and saw Moira standing in the door with her eyes blazing and her hands extended clawlike.

"Witch!" he said contemptuously and made a shooing motion with both hands. Moira screamed and flew back into the cell as if pushed by an unseen hand. Then the skin-clad giant stooped to pick up his staff. Inside the cell an explosion blasted out. A choking cloud of dirt billowed from the shattered door and a reddish light like a new-kindled fire burned within. Atros frowned and made a warding move with his staff. Wiz shook his head and climbed half to his feet.

Within the cell, obscured by the dust and lighted by the fire behind, a huge misshapen thing moved. Atros took a step back and a firmer grasp on his staff. What new sort of demon was this?

The light grew brighter as the fire took hold of the straw. Through the smoke and reddish backlight the thing resolved itself into a vaguely man-like figure. It groped through the smoke and dust, narrowing and resolving as it moved toward the door as though coalescing into something solid. Atros shifted uneasily. There was something familiar about that figure…

Then it came through the door and out of the smoke. "So," it rumbled in a familiar voice. "A bear chasing a sparrow, eh? Not very edifying Atros. Not very edifying at all."

"Bal-Simba!" Atros spat the name like a curse.

"Bal-Simba indeed," the great wizard agreed. He was disheveled and his hair and skin were powdered gray with dirt and dust, but his teeth showed white as milk and sharp as daggers as he smiled. "A worthier opponent than yon sparrow, mayhap?

"Sparrow," Bal-Simba said without taking his eyes off the southern wizard, "please put out the fire in the cell. Atros and I have wizards’ business to discuss."

"We discuss it on my ground, Northerner," Atros said with an evil smile.

"Oh, I think no one’s ground." Bal-Simba’s smile was no less evil. "Your protective spells are neutralized, your brother wizards are, ah, occupied elsewhere and Toth-Set-Ra is dead." He raised his eyebrows. "What? You did not know? Demon trouble I believe. Troublesome things, demons. Almost as much trouble as sparrows."

Their eyes locked and neither moved while Wiz scrambled on his hands and knees behind Bal-Simba’s trunk-like legs and through the cell door. Moira was waiting and they clung together like frightened children, heedless of the smoldering straw.

Finally Atros snarled and thrust his staff at the black giant. Wiz saw the air between them twist and contort into a half-sensed shape that flew straight at Bal-Simba’s chest. Bal-Simba turned his staff sideways and the thing disappeared in a shimmer of air.

He took a step forward. Atros gestured again and the bloody green slime in the center of the corridor massed and grew and rose up in a foul dripping wave in front of Bal-Simba.

Again Bal-simba gestured and the slime hung back. It recoiled, gathered itself and thrust forward like a striking snake. With an easy grace Bal-simba pirouetted to one side. The slime thing missed and fell into the center of the corridor with a hollow "splat." Before it could gather itself again the Northerner pressed his staff into the slime’s "back." It quivered for a moment and then lay still.

The giant turned to face his giant assailant. Atros’s lips were working as he prepared another spell. But Bal-simba didn’t give him the chance to use it.

"And now." Bal-simba tapped his staff on the flagging and stepped forward. Atros gave ground, pawing the air frantically with his staff.

"And now." Bial-Simba stepped and struck the pavement with a ringing blow as Atros blanched and flinched.

"And now," he bellowed and smote the floor so hard his staff shattered into three pieces. Atros screamed as a great chasm opened beneath him. He teetered on the crumbling brink for an instant and then toppled forward. He was still screaming ever fainter and further away when the earth closed with a clap of thunder, cutting off his screams forever.

The black giant sagged and put a hand on the tunnel wall to stay upright. "Whoo," he gasped and shook his head. "Whoo."

"Lord, am I glad to see you!" Wiz stepped out of the cell, leaning on Moira for support.

"Sparrow," Bal-Simba rumbled, "you are a great deal of trouble."

Wiz just laughed and hugged him.

"Lord," Moira hugged him from the other side. "Lord, I had lost hope."

"Always unwise, Lady," said Bal-Simba. He frowned. "My two guardsmen? Donal and Kenneth?"

"Here, Lord," croaked Kenneth, pulling himself erect on the frame of the cell door. "Donal is with me, but he is in a sore way."

"Then I suggest we take him someplace more comfortable," Bal-Simba said. "Sparrow, will you do the honors? I’m not sure I am up to walking the Wizard’s Way just yet."

"With pleasure," Wiz grinned. "Uh, it may take me four or five tries to get the spell right."

It actually took six.