Child of Thunder (Renshai Trilogy) Read online

  The stranger sprawled, dropping her cargo. Water splashed over Khitajrah, chilling her. Sense of direction lost, she spun and scrambled to her feet, ducking into the nearest alley. Pained, bleeding, and haunted by images of her son’s corpse on the courtroom floor, Khitajrah Harrsha’s-widow sought to lose herself in the rabbit-warren snarl of Stalmize’s streets.

  PART I

  THE SEVEN TASKS OF WIZARDRY

  CHAPTER 1

  The Outworlder

  Surf battered the Northern coastline of the country of Asci, leaving jagged cascades of stone. Colbey Calistinsson stood, legs braced and balanced, on a fjord overlooking the wild slam of the waves. Spray stung his clean-shaven face, the youthful features belying his seventy-seven years. Golden wisps still graced his short, white hair, and he studied the Amirannak Sea through icy, blue-gray eyes that had not changed, in look or acuity, since his youth. A longsword hung at either hip, their presences as familiar as his hands. Though he paid his companion, the Eastern Wizard, and the Wizard’s wolf no heed, his mind naturally registered their every movement.

  Shadimar spoke. “Colbey, we need to talk.”

  Colbey said nothing. He studied the jeweled chop of the waters a little longer before turning slowly to meet the Wizard’s gaze. The measured delay was an affectation. Should the need arise, the old Renshai could strike more quickly than most men could think to watch for the movement. But he had found that Shadimar equated slow deliberateness with competence, and the appearance of mastery seemed to unnerve the Eastern Wizard more than its actuality. Months ago, when Colbey had fought for the lives and freedom of the few remaining Renshai, Shadimar had misinterpreted a prophecy. Their blood brotherhood had dissolved in the wake of Shadimar’s distrust. Though Shadimar had apologized, in his subtle and not-quite-satisfying manner, Colbey still harbored some bitterness that took the form of keeping the Wizard always slightly uncertain. Few things unbalanced or bothered the Wizard more.

  Always patient, Shadimar waited. His silver beard hid his craggy, ancient face, and eyes the gray of the ravaged stone remained fixed on Colbey. Wind whipped Shadimar’s blue velvet robes, and the fur trim eddied, but the Cardinal Wizard stood steady. Secodon waited at his master’s side. Empathetically linked with Shadimar, the wolf often betrayed emotions that the Eastern Wizard carefully hid. Now, the beast remained as still as his master.

  Though a long time had passed, Colbey responded directly to Shadimar’s request. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “The next step in your training, Western Wizard.”

  The form of address bothered Colbey, and he frowned, eyes narrowed in annoyance. Decades ago, he had traveled to the cave of Tokar, the Western Wizard, because of an old promise the Renshai Tribe had made to the Wizard. While there, he had witnessed the Western Wizard’s ceremony of passage, a rite that killed Tokar and was to have passed his knowledge and essence, and that of all of the Western Wizards before him, to his apprentice. Colbey had interfered, attempting to rescue the centuries-old Wizard from the demons that had come to claim him.

  Though the thought surfaced quickly and fleetingly, it brought, as always, crisp clear memories of the pain that had assailed Colbey then. Agony lanced through him, vivid enough to make him wince, softening the glare he aimed at Shadimar. Despite all the wounds he had taken in battle, this memory ached worse, an agony he had never managed to fully escape. And with that pain had come a madness. Colbey recalled the decade he had spent combating voices and presences and their compulsions in his mind. One by one, he had fought with and destroyed them, in the process honing his own self-discipline and mental competence until he had found the perfect balance between mind and body. And more. As he gained mastery, he found himself occasionally reading the thoughts and emotions of others around him. Over time he discovered that, with great effort, he could actively read minds, though he considered this intrusion too rude to attempt against any but enemies.

  At first, Shadimar had attributed Colbey’s abilities to the incorporation of a stray piece of magic during Tokar’s ceremony in the form of a magical being called a demon. Much later, he hypothesized that Tokar had shifted the focus of his ceremony from his apprentice to Colbey. And, though wholly against his will, Colbey had become the next Western Wizard.

  “Soon, a ship will arrive to take us to the Wizards’ Meeting Island. There, you will undergo the Seven Tasks of Wizardry that Odin created to assess the competence of each Cardinal Wizard’s apprentice. You should have passed these before Tokar . . .”

  Shadimar continued while Colbey’s mind wandered. He knew from pieces of previous conversations that each of the four Cardinal Wizards took an apprentice when the time of his or her chosen passing became imminent. An apprentice then had to undergo seven god-mediated tasks to prove his worth. Failure at any one meant death. The challenge intrigued Colbey, yet Shadimar’s unspoken thoughts interested him more. Because Colbey had destroyed the collective consciousness of the Western Wizards, one at a time, he had none of their magic to guide him. And, since he had received no training from his predecessor, he had learned none of the Wizard’s magics in that manner. Shadimar believed, without a thread of doubt, that this lack would doom Colbey to fail all of the tasks. And, to Colbey, the Wizard’s cocksure dismissal made the challenge nearly irresistible.

  “. . . finished, you will truly be the Western Wizard in every way, save one.”

  The exception pulled Colbey back to Shadimar’s words, though he already guessed the missing qualification.

  Shadimar confirmed Colbey’s thought. “You will not have your predecessors to guide you. Though I thought little of Tokar’s apprentice, I can’t fully fathom my colleague’s choice to abandon Haim for you.”

  Since Shadimar’s proclamation that Colbey was the Western Wizard, ideas had tumbled through the old Renshai’s mind. Believing he understood the reasons, Colbey addressed Shadimar’s implied question. “There was a madness in the Western Wizard’s line.”

  Shadimar nodded agreement. It was common knowledge to the Wizards that the ninth Western Wizard, Niejal the Mad, was paranoid, gender-confused, and suicidal, presumably due to the collective consciousness itself. His insanity had warped others in the line, the flaw passing as easily as the memories and skill. Shadimar’s head froze in mid-movement as the deeper implications became clear. Accustomed to subtlety, the Eastern Wizard was momentarily stopped by the pointed directness of the warrior’s comments. “Are you saying Tokar chose you because he knew you could destroy an entire line of Wizards, including millennia of irreplaceable wisdom?”

  Colbey shrugged. Shadimar had taken it one step further than his intention, and the mentioned wisdom seemed of little consequence. Aside from a distant attack that had sent a soldier crashing from parapets, a feat Colbey had matched with his own mental power, he had never seen a Wizard create magic more powerful than sleight of hand or illusion. He had once fought a creature Shadimar named a demon, which the Eastern Wizard claimed one of his colleagues must have called, but Colbey had not witnessed the summoning. Time had taught him that knowledge came with age and experience. Still, though he lived through as much now as in his youth, the wisdom seemed to come in smaller doses as he gathered what the world had to offer. His skill and understanding became honed in tinier, finer detail with each passing year. He wondered if the difference between learning for millennia and a century was really all that much. “Actually, I don’t know if Tokar expected me to destroy the entire line. I do believe he thought I could kill or contain the insanity.”

  Shadimar frowned. “An illogical thought. To destroy that much power would require mental powers stronger than all of the other three Wizards together.”

  Colbey smiled, ever so slightly. “Not so illogical. I did it, didn’t I?”

  Shadimar hesitated just long enough to display his doubts. Apparently, he still had not fully convinced himself that Colbey was the Western Wizard rather than a man under the influence of demons. “The issue is not whether or no
t you destroyed the Western Wizard’s line. It is forever gone, along with its knowledge. The issue is whether Tokar had reason to believe you could do so. It should be impossible to fight a collective consciousness, let alone destroy one. No Cardinal Wizard would believe otherwise.”

  Colbey shrugged again. Clearly Shadimar was wrong. There was no need nor reason to say so. Still, silence seemed rude, so the Renshai tried to make his point tactfully. “Maybe Tokar knew something you don’t.”

  “Maybe,” Shadimar replied. A thought that served as explanation drifted from the Eastern Wizard to Colbey without effort or intention. It has always been Odin’s way to make the Western Wizard the strongest of the four and the Eastern the weakest. Maybe Tokar did know something. Understanding accompanied the idea. Colbey learned that this discrepancy had existed since the system of the Cardinal Wizards had begun, and no logical reason for the imbalance had ever come to the attention of the Eastern Wizards. Colbey also discovered that the Western Wizard’s line was not the only one that had lost its collective consciousness. In the past, the Eastern line had been broken twice and the Southern line once, in all three cases because the current Wizard had died before his time of passing. Though twenty-four Eastern Wizards had existed since the system began, Shadimar carried the memories of only six.

  Silence fell. As if in sympathy, the wind dropped to an unnatural stillness and clouds scudded overhead, veiling the sun. Secodon sat, whining softly. For all his quiet stillness, the Wizard was apparently bothered by his thoughts.

  At length, Shadimar met Colbey’s gaze again. He raised an arm, the fur-trimmed sleeve of his velvet robe a stark contrast to Colbey’s simple brown tunic and breeks. “There are still things we need to discuss. Since the beginning of the system of the Cardinal Wizards, just before the beginning of mankind, the Western and Eastern Wizards have worked in concert, for the good of neutrality and its peoples, the Westerners.”

  Colbey frowned at Shadimar’s stiff formality. Although he came from a Northern tribe, technically under the protection of the Northern Sorceress, who championed goodness, he had long ago pledged his services to the Westlands.

  Shadimar continued. “Some have physically worked together as a team. Others have worked separately for the same cause. I would like to work closely with you. In harmony.” His glance sharpened.

  “You were the one who broke our bond of brotherhood,” Colbey reminded him.

  Shadimar’s mouth clamped closed, and he dismissed his disloyalty as if it held no significance. At the time, his actions had followed logic, and apologies were not his way. “That matter has not been fully laid to rest.” Secodon rose, pacing between Wizard and Renshai. Shadimar’s brow wrinkled, as if he sought an answer to a question he had not asked.

  Annoyed, as always, by the Eastern Wizard’s subtlety, Colbey struck for the heart of the matter. “What do you want from me, Shadimar? I could read your mind, but we both know that would be impolite.” Colbey understated the seriousness of the offense. Shadimar had made it quite clear that only the four Cardinal Wizards were capable of invading thoughts, and then only those of other Cardinal Wizards. To do so uninvited, however, was considered a crime equaled only by blasphemy.

  “That, Colbey, is exactly what I want from you.” Shadimar measured each word as a swordsman in a battle on ice watches every movement. “You once told me you had nothing to hide. You gave me permission to enter your mind. But when I tried, you built barriers against me. I want another entrance. This time, unhindered.” Shadimar’s gaze dropped to the sword at Colbey’s left hip, an enchanted weapon that bore the name Harval, the Gray Blade. As an end result of the Seven Tasks of Wizardry, the Wizards’ apprentices became immune to harm from any object of Law; therefore, the Cardinal Wizards and their apprentices could be physically harmed only by their chosen ceremonies of passage, by demons, and by the three Swords of Power. Harval was one of the three, all the more dangerous since Shadimar had placed it in the hands of the most competent swordsman in existence.

  Colbey remained calm, though the incident that Shadimar recalled brought memories of a bitter time. Then, assailed by doubts about his own long-held religious beliefs and his loyalty to the tribe he had served since birth, Colbey had needed the comfort of his blood brother. Shadimar had chosen that moment to turn against him. Colbey had tried to assert his innocence by giving the Eastern Wizard access to his thoughts, but his mind had not permitted Shadimar’s entrance. “I’ll do my best. I don’t know how to convince you that I never intended to block you out. Just tell me how to get rid of those things you call barriers, and I’ll do it.”

  Shadimar retreated from the edge of the fjords, propping his back against an irregularity in the crags. The cover of clouds thickened, and the windless stillness remained. “You need to do nothing. All it requires is that you don’t fight me.”

  Colbey did not believe that to be the case. His few excursions into other men’s minds had cost him more dearly in stamina and energy than days of continuous battle. But the other time that Shadimar had attempted to read Colbey’s thoughts, the old Renshai had expelled him without any conscious attention or will. He knew that his mind powers worked differently than those of the Cardinal Wizards. His had come to him even before he had met Tokar, a product of his martial training in endurance and control. He could read the minds of mortals, where the others could not; and his intrusions into the Wizard’s mind had gone unnoticed, although they always recognized one another’s presences. Still, Shadimar seemed fixed in the belief that Colbey was resisting him. Rather than fight the misconception, Colbey chose to try to give the Eastern Wizard what he wanted.

  “I’ll do my best.” Colbey crouched, spine flat against a jagged tower of stone, his position defensive. A single breeze riffled the short feathers of his hair, then faded into the brooding stillness of the day. He closed his eyes, turning his thoughts inward. He concentrated on keeping his mind as flat and still as the weather.

  A foreign presence touched Colbey’s mind tentatively.

  Though he noticed the intrusion, Colbey willed his consciousness away from it, struggling against curiosity and his natural need to defend. Still, Shadimar’s being seemed to burn a pathway through his mind, its presence so defined and out of place it pained him. And, in seeking to invade Colbey’s thoughts, Shadimar inadvertently brought some of his own essence and emotion with him. Though Colbey made no attempt to counter the exploration, he could not stop the inklings of Shadimar’s judgment that seeped through the cracks.

  At first, Shadimar waded through seventy years of war technique and the private battle maneuvers invented by the Renshai tribe. He met these with a patient self-satisfaction. Obviously, this mass of knowledge neither surprised nor interested him.

  Colbey kept his own emotions at bay. To lose control meant thwarting Shadimar, and he knew from experience that that would hurt the Wizard as well as destroy the fragile friendship they had tried to reconstruct. Still, Shadimar’s cavalier dismissal of the tenets that had driven and guided Colbey’s life since birth bothered the old Renshai. Attributing it to cultural differences and closed-mindedness, he let it pass unchallenged.

  Soon, Shadimar found the supporting tendrils of Colbey’s Northern religion, and he followed one of these toward the core. As the Wizard read the all-too-familiar rites and faith of a Northman, he paused at another concept, this time obviously impressed.

  Colbey resisted the urge to focus in on the abstraction, aware that his sudden channeling of presence would drive the Eastern Wizard from his mind. Instead, he satisfied himself with the wisps of Shadimar’s thoughts that diffused to him. The answer came slowly, from a source that Colbey never expected, the same war tenets that the Wizard had viewed with contempt moments before. Having looked more closely this time, Shadimar had discovered the intricate judgments and mathematics that allowed Colbey to size up an opponent instantly and in explicit detail, by a single sword stroke. He followed the complexity of Colbey’s examinations, though the old
Renshai had learned to compress them into an instant: the knowledge of anatomy that told him, by the length, development, and insertion points of tendon and sinew, which maneuvers a warrior should favor . . . and which ones he did favor; the angle and speed of cuts and sweeps that told him an opponent’s strategy, often before his foe had himself determined it. For the first time, the Eastern Wizard understood that competence in warfare was based on more than just quickness, strength, and blind luck.

  For several moments, Shadimar concentrated on his discovery. Then he turned his attention to following one of the solid threads of Colbey’s religion.

  The Eastern Wizard’s change of focus pleased Colbey. The Renshai had developed sword maneuvers over the course of a century of exile from the North, during which time his tribe had culled the finest techniques of every warrior race. Vows to the Renshai forbid Colbey from teaching those maneuvers to anyone outside the tribe. Had Shadimar chosen to examine their intricacies, Colbey would have had no choice but to expel the Wizard.

  Now, Shadimar sifted quickly through the religion, which was integrally entangled with the fighting skills. The Northmen’s faith hinged as deeply on battle glory and death as on deities, and many of the gods personified concepts of war. Each of the eighteen tribes chose a patron or two. For the Renshai it was Thor’s golden-haired wife, Sif, and their son, Modi. The son’s name literally meant “wrath,” and its call stirred the Renshai to a frenzy in battle that allowed them to fight, not despite pain, but because of it. Colbey smiled at the thought, driven to dim, racial memories of chiming steel, wolf howls, and the god’s name echoing through the ruins of a ravaged town. So long ago. Nearly three decades had passed since the other Northern tribes had banded together to exterminate the Renshai, three decades during which Colbey had recreated the tribe from a scraggly group of five swordsmen, only three of whom had any Renshai blood at all.