Sourcery

about the pink geraniums.
    “I never wanted it to be like this,” he said softly. “All we really wanted was a bit of respect.”
    “Are you sure you’re all right?”
    Carding nodded vaguely. As his colleagues resumed their concentration he glanced sideways at them.
    Somehow, all his old friends had gone. Well, not friends. A wizard never had friends, at least not friends who were wizards. It needed a different word. Ah yes, that was it. Enemies . But a very decent class of enemies. Gentlemen. The cream of their profession. Not like these people, for all that they seemed to have risen in the craft since the sourcerer had arrived.
    Other things besides the cream floated to the top, he reflected sourly.
    He turned his attention to Al Khali, probing with his mind, knowing that the wizards there were almost certainly doing the same, seeking constantly for a point of weakness.
    He thought: Am I a point of weakness? Spelter tried to tell me something. It was about the staff. A man should lean on his staff, not the other way around…it’s steering him, leading him…I wish I’d listened to Spelter…this is wrong, I’m a point of weakness…
    He tried again, riding the surges of power, letting them carry his mind into the enemy tower. Even Abrim was making use of sourcery, and Carding let himself modulate the wave, insinuating himself past the defenses erected against him.
    The image of the interior of the Al Khali tower appeared, focused…
    … the Luggage trundled along the glowing corridors. It was exceedingly angry now. It had been awoken from hibernation, it had been scorned, it had been briefly attacked by a variety of mythological and now extinct lifeforms, it had a headache and now, as it entered the Great Hall, it detected the hat. The horrible hat, the cause of everything it was currently suffering. It advanced purposefully …
    Carding, testing the resistance of Abrim’s mind, felt the man’s attention waver. For a moment he saw through the enemy’s eyes, saw the squat oblong cantering across the stone. For a moment Abrim attempted to shift his concentration and then, no more able to help himself than is a cat when it sees something small and squeaky run across the floor, Carding struck.
    Not much. It didn’t need much. Abrim’s mind was attempting to balance and channel huge forces, and it needed hardly any pressure to topple it from its position.
    Abrim extended his hands to blast the Luggage, gave the merest beginnings of a scream, and imploded.
    The wizards around him thought they saw him grow impossibly small in a fraction of a second and vanish, leaving a black after-image…
    The more intelligent of them started to run…
    And the magic he had been controlling surged back out and flooded free in one great, randomized burst that blew the hat to bits, took out the entire lower levels of the tower and quite a large part of what remained of the city.
    So many wizards in Ankh had been concentrating on the hall that the sympathetic resonance blew them across the room. Carding ended up on his back, his hat over his eyes.
    They hauled him out and dusted him off and carried him to Coin and the staff, amid cheers—although some of the older wizards forbore to cheer. But he didn’t seem to pay any attention.
    He stared sightlessly down at the boy, and then slowly raised his hands to his ears.
    “Can’t you hear them?” he said.
    The wizards fell silent. Carding still had power, and the tone of his voice would have quelled a thunderstorm.
    Coin’s eyes glowed.
    “I hear nothing,” he said.
    Carding turned to the rest of the wizards.
    “Can’t you hear them?”
    They shook their heads. One of them said, “Hear what, brother?”
    Carding smiled, and it was a wide, mad smile. Even Coin took a step backwards.
    “You’ll hear them soon enough,” he said. “You’ve made a beacon. You’ll all hear them. But you won’t hear them for long.” He pushed aside the younger wizards who were holding his arms and advanced on Coin.
    “You’re pouring sourcery into the world and other things are coming with it,” he said. “Others have given them a pathway but you’ve given them an avenue !”
    He sprang forward and snatched the black staff out of Coin’s hands and swung it up in the air to smash it against the wall.
    Carding went rigid as the staff struck back. Then his skin began to blister…
    Most of the wizards managed to turn their heads away. A few—and there are always a few like