“Nonsense,” I said. “No one at the school was ever jealous of me.”
“Yes, we were!” he said, quite seriously. “All of the rest of us would spend hours with our books, preparing for an exam, but you would come strolling into class late, probably not having studied, doubtless having spent the evening down at the taverns, maybe not even owning the right books.”
Paul gave me an odd look. Perhaps it was good that he realize I had not always been the staid, even stodgy old wizard he doubtless imagined me to be.
“And then,” the wizard continued, turning to the others, “he’d try to make up for his lack of application with sheer flair. Sometimes of course he failed spectacularly-I’ll never forget the expression on Zahlfast’s face that time!” He chuckled appreciatively at the memory. I did not join in. “But more likely than not, he’d manage something. You know, Daimbert, I think you were the despair of our teachers.”
This at least I could agree with.
“I hear they had you teaching improvisation at the school this spring,” he said, sipping his tea. “How did it work out?”
“Not quite as well as I’d hoped,” I said. “Whenever I tried to explain to the students of the technical magic division that sometimes you have to put spells together in new or unexpected ways, they always wanted me to make explicit which ways, so that they could practice their improvisation and be ready.”
“Excuse me,” said Paul to the wizard, “but what are you doing here, on top of a mountain at the edge of the land of wild magic?”
“Guarding the border, of course,” he said in surprise. “Your wizard must have stopped here twenty years ago to meet the border-guards when he took his field trip up here from the school.”
“I was never invited to go on the field trip.” I was quite sure he knew this; after all, he had been one of the assistants taken along to help guide the few chosen wizardry students. “As you said, I think I was the despair of our teachers.”
“But why are you guarding the border?” Paul persisted.
“Making sure creatures of wild magic stay where they belong rather than coming down into the land of men.”
“Do you mean,” said Prince Lucas, speaking for the first time, “that there would be monsters down in our cities all the time if it weren’t for you wizards? I must say, you can’t have been doing a very good job or the gorgos wouldn’t have gotten to Caelrhon.”
“It’s not that simple,” said the wizard crossly. “Wild magic tends to stay in place north of the mountains, and it would most of the time even without us. And we can’t stop a creature that’s been called by very powerful or even black magic from going south. I expect that’s why you had gorgos problems. There were always hermit-wizards up here, but it’s all become much more orderly and reliable since the school was founded. Now we can stop most of the creatures that would otherwise wander south by accident, and we telephone the City to warn them about any unusual activity.”
“So you do have a telephone.” I glanced around without seeing one but assumed it was in the other room. The thought that the City was only a call away was very cheering.
“Yes indeed. With one of your far-seeing attachments, of course,” he added generously.
“But doesn’t it become dreary, being up here alone?” This was Paul.
“Not dreary. You lads won’t understand this, but Daimbert will. There’s something enormously seductive about the land of magic. All one’s spells work much better. Flying isn’t an effort any more. Even here, at the border, one can feel the difference. None of us are posted here very long, and they say it’s because they don’t want us to become too lonely, but I think in part it’s because they don’t want us going over the edge.
“It is lonely, of course,” he continued. “The air cart brings us supplies, but only irregularly, when no one else needs the cart. The school ought somehow to arrange for a second one. We can talk on the telephone, but it’s not the same. I’ve already been here two months, and I’ll be here for another two, and you’re the first people I’ve seen.”
“Then if you were at the wizards’ school two months ago,” I said in surprise, “you were there at the same time I was.”
He waved his hand vaguely. “Well, there are always a lot of people at the school, and one doesn’t see everybody.” It was true that, between the teachers, the students, the young wizards, and the older ones coming and going, there were always a lot of people at the school. But he had known I was there. He had just not wanted to see foolish old ‘Frogs’ until now, when he had no other wizards to talk to. “So I’m delighted I’m having a chance to see you now,” he added.
“I’m sorry in that case to have to leave,” I said, standing up, “but we really need to get the monstrous frog up further into the borderlands, somewhere we can dispose of it. Thank you for the tea. Maybe we can stop here again on our way back.”
“Then I’ll hope to see you all again in a few days. Very nice meeting you young fellows.”
PART SIX — THE BORDERLANDS
I
The air cart came down out of the mountains. The snow lingered on the northern slopes, but finally we dropped enough that the land beneath us was green again, and we spotted miniature flocks of goats followed by miniature goatherds. These were the first humans, other than the wizard, we had spotted in three days.
I filled my lungs with cold air and almost felt confident again of my ability to practice wizardry. But I reminded myself that this might only be due to the influence of the land of magic, not a sign of returning abilities.
Vor pointed. “There’s my valley.” Ahead of the air cart was a deep gash in the mountain slope, perhaps a mile wide and ten miles long. The sun had not yet reached down the sides of the rift, but I could see a waterfall pouring into it from the mountains and a dark green river winding the length of the valley.
The air cart slowly descended beside the waterfall, its roar loud in our ears. The tumbling water rushed downward like something solid, and drops of spray nearly reached us. Vor leaned what I considered dangerously far over the edge of the cart, staring ahead. The valley floor was a patchwork of fields, but there were no buildings. “So where do your people live?” I started to ask and then saw them.
Their houses were built into the nearly vertical rocky sides of the valley, half-hidden by gnarled trees. A network of steep stairs, ladders, and toeholds connected the valley floor with the doors of dwellings burrowed back into the rock. Theodora, with her love of climbing, would like this valley.
“How long is it that you’ve been gone?” I asked as though casually.
“Years,” Vor replied briefly.
“Why haven’t you been home again?” asked Paul.
“Three thousand miles is a long way on foot,” said Vor. “My men and I reckoned we might not be home again in our lifetimes.”
As we moved slowly downward, I could see people on the ladders, looking up. To them, I thought, we must appear as frightful, appearing without warning out of the sky, as the gorgos had appeared to the citizens of the cathedral city. “We don’t want to terrify anyone into falling,” I said anxiously.
Vor tore his eyes away from the valley long enough to give me a quick, amused glance. “Everyone knows these purple flying beasts aren’t dangerous. The only surprise will be when they see us inside the skin.”
I was interested to realize that the flying beast from which the air cart had been made was not unique, as I had always supposed. I found myself wondering if we could find an aged flying beast and induce it to come back south with us, so that after it died a natural death I could have an air cart of my own.
The air cart was now level with doors and windows, and heads protruded, staring at us. Paul waved cheerfully, and several people waved back. We landed with a bump in a meadow by the river, a mile downstream from the waterfall.