The Flying Sorcerers

We were the only family to return to the village. Where the others had fled I did not know. Probably south, away from the whole region. They had likely lost all interest in watching the duel, even from a distance. Now they wanted only to save their skins.

In the fading daylight, we approached the village warily. The blue sun winked out behind the edge of the world, leaving only the semicircular bulge of the red. The mists rising off the distant swamps took fire from the glow. It was as if the whole western edge of the world were aflame. I could almost smell the burning of it, a smell of disaster on the evening wind.

I left my wives at the nest, the nest to which I had thought we would never return, and headed toward Shoogar’s. I carried a pack with me — a meal for him — perhaps his last. As I made my way through the village I could see the many effects of his spellcasting. Here and there, some of our proudest housetrees lay on their sides, as if they had been blasted out of the ground with great force. Others seemed to have withered and died where they stood.

Here and there a nest lay on the ground, shattered walls laying it open to the elements. Everywhere were great patches of dying vegetation. The scavenger animals were gone. There were no sounds of nightbirds. Except for my wives, myself, and of course, Shoogar, the village was empty. And dead.

Even if Shoogar won the duel, none would ever be able to return to this village. Nor would they want to. Its stability had been permanently destroyed.

All was silent and brooding.

The dead grass crunched under my feet as I approached Shoogar’s nest. I knocked cautiously on the wall.

When he appeared I gasped in horror. Shoogar had gone gray and haggard; new circles had appeared under his eyes and his skin was discolored in angry red patches as if he had been caught too close to one of his own spells.

But what had startled me most was that Shoogar had shaved off all his fur! He was totally naked and hairless — a frightened caricature of the mad magician!

He greeted me with a wan smile, grateful for my company. I began to lay out the ritual supper for him. It is traditional that on the night before a duel the men of the village serve a meal of faith to their patron warlock. But the others had fled, so that duty had fallen on me alone.

I stood silently by and waited, serving him at each gesture or grunt. It was not much of a meal, but it was the best I could prepare under such circumstances. Shoogar seemed not to mind. He ate slowly, savoring every bite. He looked tired and his hands trembled as he moved. But he ate heartily.

By the time he laid aside his bone foot-stabber, the red sun had long disappeared from the west. The moons had not yet appeared. He moved slowly, but whether from satiation or exhaustion, it was impossible to tell.

“Where are the others?” he asked.

They’ve fled.” I explained what happened. Shoogar listened carefully, occasionally picking at some previously overlooked morsel in the bowls before him.

“I did not expect the stranger to move,” he muttered. “It is a bad thing — but clever. Now I must alter my spell to account for this new factor. You say he tried to talk to the women?” He bit into a fruit.

I nodded, “My number three wife.”

“Ptah!” Shoogar spat out the seeds in disgust, “The man must have no taste. Hmp. If one is going to lower oneself to talk to women, one could at least choose the women of a worthy rival.”

“You have no women,” I pointed out.

“It’s still an insult to me,” brooded Shoogar.

“Perhaps he doesn’t know any better. Remember, he said that the ways of his homeland are very different from ours.”

“Ignorance could be the excuse for his bad manners,” Shoogar grumbled, “but only madness could explain the man’s trespasses against common sense.”

“It is said that a madman possesses the strength of ten …”

Shoogar gave me a look, “I know what it said. Most of the time I said it first”

We sat there in silence. After a while I asked, “What do you think will happen on the morrow?”

“There will be a duel. One will win, one will lose.”

“But who …?’! prompted.

“If it were possible to tell which magician would win a duel, there would be no need for duels.”

Again we sat in silence. This was the first time Shoogar had referred to the duel with any indication of doubt. Always before he had expressed confidence in his own abilities and skepticism for the powers of Purple. Clearly the duel had taken its toll even before the first spell had been cast.

“Lant,” he said abruptly, “I will need your help.”

I looked up startled. “Me? But I know nothing of magic. You have told me that I am a fool countless times. Is it wise to risk such an important undertaking in the hands of a …?”

“Shut up, Lant,” he said softly. I shut. “All you have to do is help me transport my spellcasting equipment up the mountain to Purple’s nest. We will need two bicycles or some pack animals. I cannot carry it all myself.”

I breathed easier at that. “Oh, well, in that case —”

We were on our way within the hour.