The Wizard That Wasn't (Mechanized Wizardry) by Ben Rovik Read Free Book Online Page B

of wizards.  It’s, uh—it’s kind of like Old Harutian; big compound words; straightforward grammar, thankfully.”
    “I didn’t think anything about magic was straightforward.”  Samanthi tilted her head towards him, leaning back against the wagon.
    Lundin started talking with his hands more, the way he did whenever his energy levels started to build up.  Samanthi stifled a snort, grinning to herself as he responded.  “That’s what I’m saying, though!  I feel like everything we all think about magic—wizards included—is wrong.  Because when I looked through Archimedia’s… uh, Kelley’s step-grandmother… when I looked through her books, at the lines and lines of Mabinanto that supposedly make up a successful Illustration, you know what it looked like to me?”  He leaned in closer.  “Code.”
    Samanthi frowned, scratching her jawline with a fingernail.  “‘Code.’  You mean, like our ‘code?’ Abby’s ‘code’? How is that possible?”
    “I’ve gotta show you the book.”
    “We’ve gotta retool the fuel lines in Kelley’s suit, is what we gotta do,” she said automatically, but for once she didn’t feel like leaping back into the workshop right away.
    “Say a wizard is doing the Illustration for a spell that—that makes hair fall out.  You’ve got to see this language.  It’s full of conditionals, it’s full of loops…  ‘If the hair is coarse, respond this way; if the subject already has hair loss, discontinue at such and such point; hair on this body part should be treated this way, repeat until X occurs; and if the subject is being magically protected, go to ritualistic phrase 18…’:
    “I don’t flaming believe this,” Samanthi said, guarded and marveling at the same time.
    “Maybe I’m crazy.  Maybe I’m just…”  Lundin took a moment to sort out his words.  “Maybe, because I’m a tech, I only know how to see things in terms of what I know.  I’m sure there’s nuance I’m missing, no doubt of it.  But as I read the stuff, all I could think was, ‘this looks familiar.’”
    A passing Bulwark ‘naut, her visor down and her suit’s heavy boots thunderous against the floor, looked down at them as she stomped by.  They were the only people standing still in the whole warehouse.  Samanthi crossed her arms.  “What happens next?”  she demanded fiercely.
    “Next in the spell?  So, okay.  You invoke magical power; you speak exactly what you want to happen, and what you don’t want to happen; and then comes the Enunciation.  You name your target.”
    “Just like that? ‘Horace Lundin,’ and I’m done?”
    Lundin shrugged.  “This is the part I’m confused by.  It sounds like it should be one line, right?  But somehow the Enunciation phase still takes a wizard hours.  It’s almost as long as the Illustration, even in spells that succeed.”
    “How can it take four hours to say somebody’s name?”
    “Well, they say it again and again, and they’ll say the name in different ways, and play around with it…”
    Samanthi snapped her fingers, her eyes wide.  “Remember that ratty little wizard who couldn’t save LaMontina?  He called the Viscount all sorts of stupid things… ‘Graceful One.’  ‘Man of the Rearing Bull.’  It was like he was trying new names on for size.”
    Lundin put his arms on his hips, thinking back to that dark tent.  “Maybe he was still thinking in Mabinanto, or at least in that mindset.  So, in the Enunciation, wizards might not say just a person’s real name, but speak dozens or hundreds of permutations on it?  Different titles and identities the person might have?”
    “But why?”
    “No idea.  Absolutely none.  But what I do know is that here’s where having the personal artifacts comes into play.  The blood from the leeches, in the Viscount’s case.  There’s something about having that material on hand during the Enunciation that makes a wizard more connected to his