Wood Nymph and the Cranky Saint- Wizard of Yurt - 2 by C. Dale Brittain, Brittain Page A

Wars.” He waved the book in his hand. The first volume of Ancient and Modern Necromancy, which I’d never read very closely, was almost entirely devoted to history.
    “I’m afraid I’ve never given very much attention to the history of wizardry,” I answered. I was trying to
    remember if the Black Wars had come before or after the period in which Saint Eusebius was eaten by the dragon—after, I decided.
    ‘You haven’t? But I love history! Didn’t you want to study al about how the wizards ended the fighting in the western kingdoms? Isn’t that what made you decide to study wizardry in the first place?”
    “No,” I said sheepishly, thinking that maybe I could skim the book this evening after he was asleep. But I didn’t want to be distracted by history. “You’ve taken courses at the school more recently than I, and some of them were different. I want to show you a spel I found this morning and ask if you’ve ever seen anything similar.” I puled the heavy volume onto my lap and found the place. “I don’t think it is written down entirely correctly, but this gives the general outline.”
    “What is this book?” asked Evrard, sneezing from
    the dust.
    “It used to belong to your predecessor, the old ducal wizard, thirty years ago,” I said with a sideways glance. “There are four volumes. If you want them, you can have them once we’re done.’
    “I guess so.” He wrinkled his forehead at the handwriting. “I’d rather have a nicely printed book, but—” He stopped, and his forehead cleared. “But this is the same spel ...”
    “Yes?” I prompted.
    “Nothing,’ he said quickly. “Nothing. I thought I recognized it, but of course I don’t.”
    He sat back with a cheerful smile. I looked at him in silence, putting several things together. “In fact,” I said at last, “I think you do.” At that moment we were interrupted by a hard knock on the door. Dominic, I thought resignedly, rising to my feet. “Yes, I talked to her,” I started to say even before I had the door fuly open.
    But it was not Dominic. It was the chaplain, standing under an umbrela. In his hand was a smal white square. He must have heard again from the bishop.
    He turned to me without seeming to notice Evrard. “The priests are coming to Yurt.”
    “Which priests?”
    “Priests from the church of Saint Eusebius, the church that asked for his relics,” These were the ones, I recaled, whom Joachim almost suspected of trying to make the Cranky Saint cranky enough that he would leave the hermit’s grove. “They want to examine the situation at first hand, according to the bishop.” He glanced at the paper in his hand. “They’re already on their way. The bishop has stil given me no Secific instructions, but the priests wil be here in ree days.”
    “It realy does sound as though the bishop is giving you a free hand in al this,” I said, just managing to meet the intense look on his face. “Clearly, he trusts you.” Evrard, behind me, cleared his throat.
    “Let me know if I can help, but I don’t know if I can,” I said to Joachim.
    “Of course. Sorry to interrupt you.”
    “So the chaplain’s your very good friend?” asked Evrard as I closed the door again. ‘It sounds as though he’s got plenty of problems of his own, what with bishops and priests and who knows what else. I guess it must be hard out here for you to find someone inteligent and interesting to talK to.”
    Although I had more than once thought the same thing, I didn’t like the implications of what he had said and decided not to answer.
    “He looks very dour,” Evrard continued. “Somehow it’s hard to imagine wild old Daimbert making friends with a priest!” He would realize Joachim’s merits when he got to know him better, I reassured myself. “Right now,” I said, “I want to ask you why you made the great horned rabbits.” II
    I had anticipated several reactions, from denial to angry pride. Instead, Evrard laughed.