The Flying Sorcerers

An unpleasant surprise awaited us in the morning.

Hinc and I were standing at the edge of the encampment, looking down the slope toward the village, discussing the forthcoming duel, when we heard a dull distant slam, like a Single cough from Elcin’s throat.

We looked down to see a tremendous plume of black smoke wafting through the village treetops.

“Look,” said Hinc. “Shoogar has started already.”

“No,” I shook my head. “I think he is only warming up. That looked like a preparation spell more than anything else. Something to get the attention of the gods.”

“Pretty fierce attention-getter,” noted Hinc.

I nodded, “It’s going to be a pretty fierce duel. I wonder if we should move again ? Farther back.”

“If we are not out of range already, Lant, we haven’t time to get out of range,” said Hinc. “Even at a dead run. And even if you are right, you could never persuade the others. They are too tired.”

He was right, of course, but before I could speak, we were interrupted by a crowd of frightened women running hysterically through the encampment as fast as their hobbled legs would carry them. They were screaming Purple’s name.

I caught up with and cuffed my number three wife to attention. “What is the matter with you?” I demanded.

“It’s the mad magician!” she cried. “He’s trying to talk to the women!”

“The mad magician — here?”

She nodded fearfully, “He brought his nest to the spring where we wash — and he’s trying to talk to us! He wants to know why we moved!”

Had the man no self-respect at all? Talking to women? Even from the mad magician I found this hard to believe. I strode purposefully through the crowd, now milling nervously about, women comforting other hysterical women, men interrogating their wives, sprats crying for attention.

As I moved toward the spring, some of the men caught up with, and followed along behind me. They were muttering nervously. Pilg was moaning loudly, “We cannot escape. The duel follows us. Alas! Alas!”

It was as the women had said. Purple had brought his nest to a spot just above the encampment, near the spring the women had chosen for washing. The great black egg-shape was closed, and the magician was nowhere to be seen.

The others waited only long enough to see that the women had spoken the truth. Then they turned and fled quickly back to the settlement.

Hinc and I exchanged a wordless glance. Why had Purple followed us? Was he fleeing from his duel? I had never heard of such a thing before. What did he want of the villagers?

I circled the nest warily. It looked much as it had on the fearful night that I first saw it. I crept closer. There, lightly pressed into the dust, were the imprints of Purple’s strangely shaped boots. But where was Purple now?

Suddenly, that booming hollow voice. “Lant! Just the person I was hoping to see.”

This was too much for Hinc. He turned and disappeared down the slope after the others. I ached to join him, but I had to find out what the magician was up to.

The door to the nest slid open and Purple stepped out, his strange paunchy shape oddly disquieting — he had a fearful grin on his bare face and advanced toward me as if I were an old friend; his speakerspell drifted along behind.

“Lant,” he said, moving closer, “perhaps you can tell me — why have you people moved your village? The other spot was so much nicer.”

I looked at him curiously. Could it be that he did not know of the duel? Was it possible for anyone to be that naive? Well, so much the better — his liability was Shoogar’s asset. I certainly would not tell him. Why should a layman be concerned with the affairs of magicians? I didn’t want to get involved. Instead, I just nodded, “Yes, the other spot was nicer.”

“Then why do you not stay there?”

“We hope to return soon,” I said. “After the time of the conjunction.” I pointed to the sky where the suns were setting together, Ouells’s blue-white point near the bottom of Virn’s crimson disk.

“Oh, yes,” Purple nodded, “very impressive.” Turning, he gazed admiringly at the ground behind him, “And it makes the shadows very pretty too.”

“Very pretty-!” I stopped in mid-sentence. Dark and blue they were, each with a bloody edge — constant reminder that the time of terror was upon us. Was the man fearless — or foolish? I shut up.

“Very pretty,” Purple repeated. “Quite striking. Well, I will remain here with you and your people. If I can be of any assistance …?”

Something within me shriveled and died. “You — you’re going to stay here?”

“Yes, I think so. I’ll go back to the village when you people do; this will give me a chance to test the mountain area for a day or so.”

“Oh,” I said.

He seemed to lose interest in me then, turned and went back to his nest. I waited to see how he caused the door to slide open. I had been puzzling about it since I had first seen him do the trick. There was a pattern of bumps in the surface of the nestwall. He tapped at these in a quick precise pattern.

I presumed that the pattern must have been the spell to open the door, but it was too quick for pie to memorize. He stepped inside; the door slid shut and he was gone.

Dejectedly, I trudged back to the encampment — or what was left of the encampment.

Already the villagers were fleeing from their makeshift homes. Men were hastily packing travel kits, women were calling for spratlings. Children and dogs ran excitedly through the crowd, kicking up dust, chickens and scavengers.

Panic-stricken families were already moving across the steppes, upslope, downslope, sideways, anywhere, just as long as it was away from Purple; the magician who brought disaster with him.

My own wives were standing about nervously, waiting for me. Numbers one and two were trying to comfort number three, who was most upset. “He kept trying to talk to me! He kept trying to talk to me!”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I told her. “You will not be beaten for his trespass. You did right to run.” My words had an immediate calming effect on the distraught woman, more so than all the stroking and soothing of the other two wives, once more proving that only a man can know how to handle the unusual situation.

“Pick up your packs,” I told them. “We must be on our way.”

“On our way?” questioned one. “But we just got here.

“We must move again,” I said, “before this area is blasted. The mad magician’s animal manners have blinded you to the true danger. Shoogar will follow Purple up here. Now, pick up your packs or I will beat all three of you.”

They did as I bade them — but with no small amount of grumbling. Even though I thought to remove their hobbles so as to speed the journey, they grumbled — and for once they had cause. For a day and a half we had fled the site of the coming duel. Purple had easily, thoughtlessly nullified that effort with only a few moments of flight.

Within an hour the encampment was deserted. As we moved down the hill, I thought I saw Purple moving like a lost soul through the empty lean-to shelters.