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The wizard stood alone in his high tower, as wizards are wont to do. On a crisp clean day such as this one he could see spread before him countless miles of farmland, a sea of plenty dotted with silos like islands in an archipelago. Though early morning, the day already had the creamy feel of middle springtime; the sunlight a warm promise to the plants below, which raised their arms in silent hosanna.
Yet the wizard noticed none of this. Clutched in his hand was a thick scroll, which he glanced at as he paced the battlements with a swift, decisive stride. This scroll, titled
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Of Yonder Tower of Wizardry, And the Unfortunate Yet Inevitable Immolation Of All Who Dare Remain Inside Despite this Stern and Awful Warning. |
was as lengthy in body as it was in title. What it lacked in style it made up for in richly detailed promises of brimstone and fury, with full color illustrations. Heralds had been putting up these scrolls in every inn, marketplace and hamlet for miles around.
A serious challenge, to be sure, but then Amedee Amat Manca du Vallombrosa, Steward of Mores and Most Puissant Hand of the Right Honorable College of Invokers of Ferrantio had faced challenges before. No coward, he had slain three others in wizardly duels in the course of his career, and he would overcome this as well.Slapping his thigh determinedly, he turned and descended the staircase.
Striding down a long corridor he turned into the Hall of Apprentices, ready to bark out a series of orders, but these faded from his lips. The Hall was a scene of chaotic motion. Servitors ran hither and yon carrying enormous bundles. Wizards were tossing books into trunks and hastily roping them shut. Familiars hooted, screeched and growled at one another as they jostled to stay close to their masters and mistresses. The air stank of transportation magics.
"Hold, what's all this?!" cried out Amedee. "You there!" he said, pointing to a weedy young wizardess, 'what's all this riot about?" With that, the motion in the great hall came to a quiet stop. The apprentice shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.
"Lor' bless you sir, but ain't you seen the scroll? That fellow promises to be the death of us all!"
"Haven't seen the scroll," Antoine corrected.
"Yessir, most Puissant Hand, you mustn't haven't yet seen the scroll, yet, sir."
"Of course I've seen the scroll! And a fine lot of rubbish it is!" He gave a theatrical laugh. "This mageling thinks he can walk up to the College of Invokers and burn it to the ground, does he? Pitiful fool! Into these halls step the world's best mages, isn't that right?" He waited for support.
"But sir, its Queequeg the Wise what's comin'!" the wizardress objected. "Him an' all his companions that conquered the great Deceiver and saved the world and all!" Soon other voices filled the room.
"I heard those tattoos he has make him a sort of living magic item. What am I going to do against that, cast magic missle?"
"He uses meteor swarm to light his campfire! My cousin saw it!"
"I heard he blasted off Demogorgon's stones, all four of them!"
"Exactly what did we do to make the Saviors of the World so angry?"
Motioning for quiet, the Hand wore a wry expression. "My dear apprentices, have no fear. I shall protect you. No harm shall come to this tower or to anyone within. If this Queequeg lives up to his nickname of Wise, I'm sure he can be reasoned with. But if not, then we shall deal with him as we have dealt with all who dare oppose us." He took a deep breath and summoned all his sincerity.
"Now is the chance to show your courage, the courage that makes this College legendary in the circles of high magic. Remain here with me! Who in all the planes above and below would dare face ten score Invokers, determined and united? I am certain that the answer is: No one! To prove my confidence, those of you who lack the mettle to face this charlatan will be allowed to slink off. I know it will be few."
Within minutes the Hall was silent and empty.
Amedee smiled winningly at his lone remaining servitor and companion, who returned his expression gloomily. Dour, slow and inclined to fat, Mordekai Fennigan would seem the least likely of mages willing to stay behind and fight. But he was something of a social climber, and his marriage to the Hand's daughter seemed like a good career move at the time. Now, listening to his father-in-law's plans, he was no longer sure.
"You have sequestered the mercenaries in the servant's quarters, yes?"
"Yes, Hand."
"And they have had no contact with any of the townsfolk?"
"I cannot be certain of that, sir, but these Thaneeri barbarians can barely grunt out more than a word or two of the common tongue. So I don't doubt that they are still ignorant of the nature of the challenge we face."
"Come my boy, don't sound so gloomy! Why, I haven't used up a third of my tricks yet!"
"I don't see how a bunch of hired thugs is going to help, sir. Aren't they a little beneath us as wizards?"
"You never know when you need a band of strong, dim-witted warriors to stand between you and trouble. Speaking of which, its time I told you of my latest addition to our defense."
"Sir?"
"Paladins."
"Paladins, sir? If you'll excuse me for digging up an unpleasant fact, didn't you successfully pursue a lawsuit against the Temple of Meredros not ten years ago? And did you not use enchantment magic to convince the jury of your case? I can't think they would be eager to assist you."
"Ah, but you don't know the true nature of paladins. Carrying a grudge against my little contretemps would be an affront to their iron-plated creed. What this Queequeg proposes to do is clearly illegal, and the Temple of Meredros and its paladins must oppose it, you see? And the best part is we don't even have to pay them!"
"Excellent, sir. Have you received any replies to all those letters you sent out?"
"Yes, and none of them good, I'm afraid. The College of Transmutation sends regrets, but is 'undergoing ritual purification' all this month. The College of Abjuration claims that the alignment of the stars demands 'peaceful reflection', so they too regretfully decline assistance. At least they were straightforward compared to the Conjurers."
"Conjurers! What, are they going to help?"
"No, of course not. Their leader, Eracuss du Envari du Onlor, was one of Queequeg's companions. Listen to this mealy-mouthed, hypocritical cant! He writes: 'I will of course attempt to restrain my colleague's wrath. No one would regret more than I the complete and utter annihilation of the College of Invocation, its tower smote down upon the earth, reduced to ashes and soot, its foundation broken apart, its land salted, never to rise again, its very name forgotten by all peoples in all lands, forever.' Bah! He's obviously drooling at the thought. But what do you expect from someone whose family was ennobled less than three centuries ago, eh?"
"Few have the noble bloodline of the Hand, sir."
"True, but that does not mean they cannot attempt to live up to our example. Now, take courage. You should also know that this tower is guarded by the most cunning of protections, both magical and mechanical. Far out of bowshot there are pits dug below the earth that contain fierce monsters waiting for release. Spun into the ground all about are terrible magics - completely harmless until the command word is spoken, but sufficient to lay waste to armies when needed."
"Master, why exactly are the Saviors of the World coming to this tower, to wipe it and us from the face of the earth?"
"To TRY to wipe us from the face of the earth," noted Amedee. "But your question is a fair one. You see, this Queequeg applied for admission to the College several years ago, and was turned down. We simply can't have tattooed aboriginal freaks roaming the College. No, so I turned him down. My conviction of his unworthiness was so great that it may even have seemed harsh. It appears to have offended what passes for pride among such people."
"But why are we opposing him? He and his companions have defeated Lolth and her spider-elves, thrown down entire cities of the enemy, fought evil everywhere and were everywhere triumphant! What chance do two wizards have?"
"Two wizards, a band of mercenaries, the paladins of Meredros, and all the tricks and traps devised over centuries by Masters of the Art," he replied. "Yet I will be frank and tell you that the odds are not in our favor. Still, if you are ever to take a forward place in our family, you must know that odds mean nothing. The du Vallombrosas never, ever back away from a challenge. You will learn this in the next few days."
Mordekai stifled a sigh.
Early the next morning Mordekai mounted the steps of the tower to see Amedee staring fixedly off into the distance. The ground was covered in such heavy fog that you could hardly see your hand when held out at full arm's length, which made Amedee's expression seem odd. "Are you casting a spell, Master?" Mordekai enquired.
"Hush and listen!" was the response. Concentrating, Mordekai could hear far off the steady rhythmic pounding of metal on wood, soon joined by the unmistakable rasp of a saw. "Do you hear that? No doubt the invaders have begun to arrive, and are preparing their siege machines! Ha! It begins!"
And indeed the sound began to rise. The sounds of construction grew and grew, voices could be heard shouting orders, and as the sun began to bite into the fog, a mass of people could be seen in the distance.
"Shouldn't we smite them, sir?" Mordekai asked nervously, to be silenced with an irritated gesture from the Hand. Together they stood waiting, listening to the sounds, which now included the sounds of pipes and drums playing festive music. "That's odd," commented Amedee, "I'd expect something more warlike."
When at last the fog burned off, the two wizards could only stare in amazement at the sight revealed. Instead of a great army assembling for war, there were countless peasants gathering as if for a fair. Large colorful tents began to spring up, and tourney-stands were being erected, all facing the tower. Peddlers pushing carts moved back and forth before the stands, seeking trade. Bards sang, and clowns strode about on stilts.
"By the ivory teats of Vinstarria!" cursed Mordekai, "They've come to watch him burn the tower down!"
"Try to burn it down," corrected Amedee. "The fools! They are camping in the middle of our traps!" He gnawed at his moustache. "There's nothing to be done but…no…no…we just have to accept that our first line of defense has been breached. But we have others!"
The paladin stood in the doorway, helmet under one arm, his face expressionless behind its enormous walrus moustache. "I bring word from the High Justiciar," he announced.
"Welcome, welcome," Amedee enthused, 'Pray come in and take your ease! May I offer you wine, or figs?"
"The High Justiciar has charged me with these messages," the paladin said, unmoving, "Pursuant to the matter of one Queequeg, called by some the Wise, in his dispute with the College of Invocation."
"Yes, right to business! One cannot help but admire the dedication with which..."
"The Council of Twelve, having reviewed the matters of the case, determined that the promised actions of Queequeg, called by some the Wise, is a serious threat to the community."
"Excellent, excellent! So he will be arres…"
"Having come to this conclusion, Officers of the Watch arrested and brought him before the Council. He was represented by his lawyer, Brother Lancre. Charges of plotting to commit murder and destruction of private property were brought against him. The lawyer Brother Lancre submitted that the clear proclamation of intent proved that murder was not the desire of the defendant. The Council accepted this reasoning. On the charge of plotting to destroy property, the defendant admitted guilt."
At this Amedee could only smile broadly.
"A fine of some 50 pounds of gold was assessed, which the defendant paid on the spot. Moreover, he paid an additional deposit in anticipation of damage that his confrontation with you shall cause."
"Additional deposit?"
"Yes. Some 500 pounds. In pure gold sovereigns. New and unclipped. The High Justiciar agreed that this amount exceeded all potential damages to the area surrounding the tower, and he was released."
"But by the silvery scales of Meredros, that man means to kill me!"
"The Council considered this point and determined that it was a matter internal to the College of Invocation. As you know, precedent was set in the matter of du Vallombrosa v. The Temple of Meredros some eight years ago. Clearly, the common law does not extend to the methods that magicians use to resolve disputes among themselves."
Paladins do not smirk. What could be said of this man was that he was all too obviously not smirking. Amedee could only wave his hand weakly in dismissal.
As if on cue, a huge cheer arose from the mass of peasantry. The Champions of Therra had finally arrived, and it was obvious that they were enjoying themselves. The two wizards could see figures riding back and forth on horseback, waving to the crowd. Soon a rhythmic chant began, repeating the same phrase over and over again. As more of the crowd began to stomp and shout, the noise began to resolve itself into words.
"KOR-VAR! KOR-VAR! MORG! MORG! MORG!" they cried. Amedee couldn't help but sink into himself a little. Queequeg was stopping at nothing, bringing with him two of the greatest champions of arms in the lands. A black shadow of depression seemed to pass over Amedee, and he turned, startled, to see the huge figure of one of the Thaneeri barbarians. Furred, horned and booted in outlandish style, the mercenary peered off into the distance.
"Morg?" he grunted.
"KOR-VAR! KOR-VAR! MORG! MORG! MORG!" the peasants chanted, as if in reply.
The barbarian turned and shouted to his companions below, "Im barrin hurm! Dur Morg!" They began talking amongst themselves excitedly, pointing in the distance and gesticulating wildly. "Askill!" shouted their leader, and they hauled at the portcullis ropes, opening the tower.
"Hold there, barbarian, you've taken our silver," objected Mordekai, who promptly grew still as the business end of a zweihander stopped two inches in front of his nose.
"Ohn, forghust werem-tem! Morg! Morg! Morg!" Taking up the cry, he and his companions headed through the portcullis.
"This isn't going well," admitted Amedee Amat Manca du Vallombrosa.
All was lost. Never before had the Steward of Mores tasted defeat, and it was not to his liking. Without wasting energy for effect Queequeg had marched within range of the tower and unleashed a devastating barrage of spells, quickly reducing the two wizards' elaborate plans into a desperate struggle to stay alive. It was hopeless, then futile, then, finally, over. Amedee and Mordekai signaled their surrender and awaited the victor.
Seeing him again under these circumstances did nothing to improve Amedee's original opinion. Everything about the man was strange, wrong, even otherworldly. From the heathen tattoos that covered every inch of his body, to the magic stones that whirled about his head in a dizzying array, the man frankly repelled Amedee. What was the world come to that such a one as this could prevail over order and lineage?
"Nice place you had here" commented the invader, "But I think I'm going to blow it up a little bit."
"But sir," Mordekai objected, "You are victorious here! All of this is yours now, by right! There is no need to destroy your own possessions."
"That would be a big let-down to the people out there," he replied, gesturing vaguely. "Besides, I made a promise to myself a long time ago. Still, I like your style." He leaned forward and stared deep into Mordekai's eyes. "Why did you stay here, eh? This wasn't your fight."
"I stand here beside this man, my liege, my father-in-law."
"You've got more courage than sense then. I like that! That's what Invocation is all about! I'm going to need someone to help me run this place after I take over. We'll talk some more later and see if we can't work you a promotion." Queequeg turned to Amedee, a frightening grin spreading across his face. "And as for you…."
The wizard stood alone in his high tower, as wizards are wont to do. Below him could be heard the excited babble of dozens of new apprentices as they gathered in the courtyard, this year's new crop of apprentices freshly come to the College for instruction.
Young, noisy, cheerful, these were the best and brightest halflings that the Isle of Onlor had, he could be sure of that. To the wizard this cheerful noise signaled a new chapter in his life, a sonic dividing line between past and future. In his fancy he imagined that if he were to refuse to descend the stair he would remain as he was - a proud, adventurous wizard, rather than a mere instructor of others.
Pushing aside this whimsy, Amedee Amat Manca du Vallombrosa came down the stair and accepted - with a sigh - the first "group hug" of the day.