Sleep? Isn't that a completely inadequate substitute for caffeine?
—programmers' saying
A hospital looks like a hospital anywhere you go. At least this one smelled of sweet herbs and fresh cut hay instead of stinking of disinfectant.
Wiz was in no shape to appreciate it. He was asleep when they carried him in and he was still asleep when Moira and Bal-Simba came to see him.
Moira bit her lip to keep from crying when Bronwyn and Bal-Simba ushered her into his room. They had cleaned him up, but he was thin and drawn with new lines etched about his mouth and eyes. He looked as if he had aged a decade in the weeks he had been gone. He was still and unresponsive and for a terrible moment she thought he was dying.
But Bronwyn touched her arm when she moved toward the bedside. "It would be best if you did not wake him, Lady," the healer said.
"What is wrong with him?"
"Shock, fatigue and starvation mostly. There was some sickness in his lungs but we cleared that up."
"What happened to him?"
"We are not certain," Bal-Simba told her. "He was kidnapped to the City of Night by what is left of the Dark League, but aside from that he has told us very little." He frowned. "He was not in very good shape when we found him."
"Best we leave now," Bronwyn said softly. "He needs to sleep for as long as he can."
"May I stay, Lady?" Moira asked. "I'd like to be here when he awakes."
"It is likely to be a long vigil. He will doubtless sleep the night through and perhaps a good portion of tomorrow."
"Please, Lady?"
Bronwyn sighed. "Very well. But leave him strictly alone."
Moira nodded and settled herself in a chair next to the bed.
Pryddian hunched into the corner to get out of the freezing wind. The stones were like ice against his back and the chill crept closer around him. Overhead the clouds rolled low and slate gray, driven and torn to streamers. He felt a freezing drop on his face and realized it was starting to snow.
He had to find shelter. But there was no shelter to be seen. Behind him was the pitch black mouth of the tunnel he had stumbled from. The buildings on either side of the street had collapsed in heaps and the roadway was full of rubble.
Pryddian was not sure what day it was. At least one had passed since he had been left imprisoned in the workroom, but was it just one or had there been more?
He had been content to wait for the wizards' return—until the lights went out, the wall of fire vanished and the heating spell failed leaving him alone with the demon in icy darkness. It took him a few minutes in the absolute dark to nerve himself to try the door and it took him hours more to blunder out into the wan cold day.
Pryddian shivered as he considered his options. The wizards had not returned from their confrontation with the Sparrow. That meant they were either dead or they had forgotten him in their victory. Remembering the way the light globes had flickered and failed and how the heat cut off suddenly, Pryddian did not think the Dark League had won.
He shivered uncontrollably and his breath puffed white. Now what? He could not walk the Wizard's Way unaided; he did not know how. He could not sail the Freshened Sea back; he was not a sailor and there were no boats left in the City of Night. He did not even have a communications crystal to call the Council and beg for rescue.
Come to that, he could not find his way back to the Dark League's workroom, not through that maze of darkened tunnels. Despair, cold and cruel as the wind, knifed through him as he realized he was probably doomed to dwell alone in the City of Night for the rest of his life. He did not allow himself to think about how long that might be.
He felt more snowflakes on his face, stinging now as the rising wind drove them against his exposed skin. No point in standing here. Somewhere in the city there had to be something to eat and a place out of the cold.
Cautious as a mouse, Pryddian, ex-apprentice of both the Council of the North and the Dark League, picked his way down the ruined street in search of food and warmth.
Bronwyn was right. Wiz slept like a log the night through, not even turning. Moira watched and dozed as best she could in the chair, waking every time Wiz so much as sighed.
The middle of the following morning he began to stir. Moira moved to his bedside as his eyes fluttered open.
"Moira?" Wiz said weakly.
"Hush," she said as she caressed his forehead. Instinctively he reached up to clasp her to him.
"Feeling better, are we?" said a brisk voice from the door. Wiz and Moira broke their clinch with a start and turned to see Bronwyn stride into the room with Arianne trailing her.
The healer ran a practiced eye over Wiz, checked his pulse and poked and prodded him a bit and then nodded in satisfaction.
"Will I ever play the piano again, Doc?"
"You mean will you recover? Of course you will. But that is what I need to speak to you about.
"There is nothing wrong with you that time and rest and a little careful nursing will not cure." She looked over at Moira. "Now I could use a healing spell to cure you this afternoon. It would be better if you were left to heal naturally but they tell me the North needs you on your feet as quickly as possible." She frowned her professional disapproval, but Arianne nodded.
"Yeah," Wiz shifted and sat up in bed, "there's a lot I've got to do."
Bronwyn sighed. "Very well, then. I will keep you here overnight just to be sure, though. After that get what rest you can and try to conserve your strength."
She turned to Moira. "Lady, you are bonded to this one. Will you assist me?"
Moira nodded. "Willingly."
Bronwyn took a position on the right side of the bed and Moira stood on the left. Each of them took one of Wiz's hands, and Bronwyn began to chant and gesture with her wand. She tapped Wiz's temples, his throat, his chest and his groin with the wand, then laid it aside and clasped Moira's free hand. Now Moira took up the chant in a minor key.
As they watched, the color flowed back into Wiz's skin and the lines in his face smoothed out. Wiz's mouth formed a little o of surprise as he felt the strength flow back into him.
Bronwyn released her grip, sighed and sagged into a chair.
Wiz shook his head. "Whoooeeee. That is really something."
"Just be careful not to overtax yourself," Bronwyn said from her chair. "Healing spells extract their price."
"I think I know the first one. I'm starved."
"Indeed," Arianne said. "I will see to it. And what will you do afterwards?"
"First I need to talk to Bal-Simba. We're in big trouble.
"And then," he said deliberately, "I'm going to eat a little crow."
Arianne nodded and left. Bronwyn stayed for a few minutes more, resting in the chair and then examining Wiz again before repeating her admonition that he get all the rest he could.
"Bal-Simba or no, I am keeping you one more night," she told him. Then she too left.
Finally Wiz and Moira were alone.
Moira rested her hand on Wiz's shoulder and he clasped it tightly in both of his.
"God, I missed you," he said.
"And I missed you," she told him, putting her other hand on top of his.
"We've got to talk, you know," he said at last.
"I know. I came back from Heart's Ease to talk to you and you were gone."
"Yeah, I thought about you in the City of Night a lot. When I could.
"Moira, I'm sorry," Wiz said. "I let myself get so wrapped up in my own problems that I shut you out."
"And I crowded you too closely because I had nothing of my own here."
He smiled up at her. "We'll just have to try to do better, won't we?"
"We shall both have to try."
"Darling, do me a favor will you? If I start acting like a jerk again, punch me in the ribs. Hard."
Moira took his hand in hers. "I think I can manage that."
He reached up, pulled her down to him and kissed her again.
"In fact I will do better than that," she said with an amused glint in her sea-green eyes. "If you ever ignore me again, or treat me like a piece of furniture, I will make you very sorry indeed." Moira made a quick little motion with her hand and the air in front of her sparkled with shards of the rainbow. "And believe me, My Lord, I am just the witch who can do it."
Wiz looked at her openmouthed. "You wouldn't do that to me, would you?"
Moira smiled sweetly. "Try me."
There was a discreet knock at the door. They turned and saw a servant carrying a covered tray.
"Your, ah, dinner, Lord," the man said with an odd expression as he laid the tray on the table beside Wiz's bed. He removed the warming cover and withdrew.
Sitting on the plate, neatly trussed and roasted, was a small bird. The odor from the platter had unappetizing overtones.
Wiz looked at it dubiously. Then he poked at it with his knife. Then he looked up at Moira.
"Crow, right?"
Her eyes sparkled. "Well, Lord, you did say . . ."
"I know," Wiz sighed. "I know." Deliberately he cut a slice of the breast, put it into his mouth and chewed a couple of times.
"You know," he said at last. "I think I finally understand that expression."
Wiz was dozing again when he got his next visitor.
"Wiz?" a familiar voice said gently. At first he thought he was dreaming. There was no way he could be hearing . . .
"Wiz?"
"Jerry!" Wiz sat bolt upright in bed. "How the hell . . ."
"Relax, I volunteered," his friend told him. "We've got over a dozen people here; programmers, systems analysts, documentation specialists. We've been working on your spell compiler and magic operating system. We call it WIZ-DOS. You're famous, boy."
Wiz shook his head. "I . . . I don't know what to say . . . except God, it's good to see you!"
"I missed you too. ZetaSoft wasn't the same after you left. Look, I know you're supposed to be resting, but there are a couple of things that have been driving us nuts."
Without waiting for an answer he spread four scrolls out on the bed.
"Okay, now here . . ."
"Just what do you think you're doing?"
They both looked up to see Bronwyn standing in the door, hands on hips and fire in her eye.
"This is a friend of mine," Wiz told her. "I was just helping him . . ."
"You are helping nothing!" Bronwyn said, advancing into the room. "You risk relapse My Lord! Especially with the healing spell. You are supposed to be resting and rest you shall." She turned to Jerry. "As for you, you will take your magics and you will go back where you came from." She gestured as if exorcising a demon. "Begone"
"Look, I need to talk . . ."
"Out," Bronwyn ordered.
"But this will only take . . ."
"Out!" She made shooing motions. "Tomorrow he will be released and he can work himself to death as he pleases. But he will have a good night's sleep before he begins."
"Tomorrow, okay?" Jerry grabbed the scrolls and left.
Later in the afternoon Bal-Simba came to visit him.
"They tell me you are recovered," the huge black wizard said as he entered the room.
"They want me to stay here overnight just in case, but I'm fine."
"Arianne said you wanted to talk to me."
"Yeah. We've got a very serious problem." He outlined his conversation with Duke Aelric and what he had seen on his travels through the Wild Wood.
Bal-Simba nodded gravely at the end of it. "I have talked to Aelric and I already know much of it. Besides there have been some incidents." He told Wiz about the disappearing villages.
"So it's already started," Wiz said heavily. "Shit! I should have gotten back sooner."
"Little enough you could have done about that, Sparrow. Now, what of Duke Aelric?"
"He thinks we can make some kind of deal. But we're going to have to work fast."
"What would he require?"
Wiz looked uncomfortable. "It's not him, exactly. The way he explained it to me, there are so many factions and kinds of non-mortals that we can't just sit down and bargain. What we've got to do is remove the threat in their eyes so their coalition falls apart. Then maybe we can come to an agreement with the elves."
"And what would this take?"
"Hey, I don't know, I'm just the messenger boy."
"Hardly," rumbled Bal-Simba. "It was obviously your idea. Further, the elves, or at least Duke Aelric, are willing to treat with you."
Yeah, Wiz thought, only one of them keeps trying to kill me. "You make it sound like I'm ambassador to the elves or something."
"Very nearly, Sparrow. You have had more success dealing with them than any living mortal."
"Great. Another job I don't want and I'm no good at."
Bal-Simba sighed. "Sparrow, we would be much further along if you would stop prejudging what you are or are not capable of. You can do a great deal more than you suppose if you put your mind to it. Now I ask you again, what will it take to avert a war?"
Wiz thought. "At the very least we're going to have to fix things so they don't feel threatened. That means we're going to have to do something about demon_debug."
"That falls within the purview of you and the team from your world," Bal-Simba said. "What else?"
"Well, we're going to have to stop this mad dash into the Wild Wood. We may be able to work out some kind of homesteading arrangement later, but for right now we need to keep people from going further."
Bal-Simba stroked his chin and the little bones of his necklace clicked against each other. "As easy to sweep back the sea, I fear."
"Can't you order them to stop?"
The giant wizard smiled wryly. "Sparrow, even at the height of our power the Council never had that kind of hold over the people. Were we to issue such an order it would be ignored and there are not enough guardsmen to post at every forest road and trail."
"You've got to do something."
"We can only try."
"I understand you've got a whole team of programmers here," Wiz said to change the subject.
"Almost a score of them, recruited from the Valley of Quartz."
"You mean Silicon Valley."
"That is what I said, is it not? In any event they have been working on your system of magic and making excellent progress—or so they tell me." He chuckled. "Meanwhile they have been, ah, enlivening things here to no end."
"I dunno," Wiz said. "You make me feel superfluous. I've been gone and you and Moira have been doing all the work. All I managed to do was get myself kidnapped and chased all over the City of Night."
"Hardly. Aside from wiping out the remnants of the Dark League, you were the one who approached Duke Aelric with the notion of a treaty."
"You could have done that."
Bal-Simba shook his head. "No, Sparrow, I could not. In the first place he never would have talked to me. In the second place I would not have had the courage to do something so insanely dangerous."
"Oh," said Wiz in a very small voice.
"Well, I do not wish to tire you, so we will leave these matters for the morrow."
"Fine. I'm pretty bushed. I'm going to get a snack and go back to sleep."
Bal-Simba made no move to leave.
"Is there something else?"
"There are questions we must answer and soon," he said at last. "Some things yet unclear about what happened to you."
"For instance?"
"Was your kidnapping connected with the attempts on your life?"
"No. That was someone else. I think I can take care of that."
"Ahh, I see," he said and then hesitated again. "I understand Ebrion is dead."
"Yeah. I was there when it happened."
The wizard looked closely at him. "Was he involved in your kidnapping?"
Wiz opened his mouth and then stopped. Telling Bal-Simba what had happened would definitely discredit Ebrion's faction—the people who had been trouble ever since he arrived at the Capital. But discrediting them wouldn't make them go away. They'd still be here and they'd be even angrier and more frustrated.
Always leave your opponent a line of retreat—unless you want a fight to the death.
Wiz realized Bal-Simba was watching him intently.
"Would it do any good if I said Ebrion was involved?" he said at last. "I mean in the long run?"
The giant black wizard considered. "In the long run? No, not really."
"Then let's say he died trying to save me and leave it at that."
"Sparrow, you never cease to amaze me," Bal-Simba rumbled. "You grow constantly in wisdom."
Wiz snorted. "Too schoon ve get old und too late schmart." Then he sobered. "I just hope it really isn't too late. I made a royal mess of things this time."
"Things are in an, ah, 'interesting' state," Bal-Simba agreed. "But certainly not beyond hope."