Page 1 (1/2)

There was ae of History It’s sad, but that’s all you can say about sorew up and ht sons, and because there is only one suitable profession for the eighth son of an eighth son, he became a wizard And he became wise and powerful, or at any rate powerful, and wore a pointed hat and there it would have ended …

Should have ended …

But against the Lore of Magic and certainly against all reason-except the reasons of the heart, which are waric and fell in love and got married, not necessarily in that order

And he had seven sons, each one from the cradle at least as powerful as any wizard in the world

And then he had an eighth son …

A wizard squared A source of ic

A sourcerer

Summer thunder rolled around the sandy cliffs Far below, the sea sucked on the shingle as noisily as an old ulls hung lazily in the updraughts, waiting for so to happen

And the father of wizards sat ae of the cliff, cradling the child in his ar out to sea

There was a roil of black cloud out there, heading inland, and the light it pushed before it had that deep syrup quality it gets before a really serious thunderstorm

He turned at a sudden silence behind hih tear-reddened eyes at a tall hooded figure in a black robe

IPSLORE THE RED? it said The voice was as hollow as a cave, as dense as a neutron star

Ipslore grinned the terrible grin of the suddenly mad, and held up the child for Death’s inspection

‘My son,’ he said ‘I shall call him Coin’

A NAME AS GOOD AS ANY OTHER, said Death politely His empty sockets stared down at a small round face wrapped in sleep Despite ruood at his job

‘You took his mother,’ said Ipslore It was a flat statement, without apparent rancour In the valley behind the cliffs Ipslore’s ho the fragile ashes across the hissing dunes

IT WAS A HEART ATTACK AT THE END, said Death THERE ARE WORSE WAYS TO DIE TAKE IT FROM ME

Ipslore looked out to sea ‘All ic could not save her,’ he said

THERE ARE PLACES WHERE EVEN MAGIC MAY NOT GO

‘And now you have come for the child?’

NO THE CHILD HAS HIS OWN DESTINY I HAVE COME FOR YOU

‘Ah’ The wizard stood up, carefully laid the sleeping baby down on the thin grass, and picked up a long staff that had been lying there It was old carvings that gave it a rich and sinister tastelessness; the ical

‘I made this, you know,’ he said ‘They all said you couldn’t make a staff out of metal, they said they should only be of wood, but they rong I put a lot of ive it to hi the staff, which gave off a faint tone

He repeated, almost to himself, ‘I put a lot of myself into it’

IT IS A GOOD STAFF, said Death

Ipslore held it in the air and looked down at his eighth son, who gave a gurgle

‘She wanted a daughter,’ he said

Death shrugged Ipslore gave hie

‘What is he?’

THE EIGHTH SON OF AN EIGHTH SON OF AN EIGHTH SON, said Death, unhelpfully The hipped at his robe, driving the black clouds overhead

‘What does that make him?’

A SOURCERER, AS YOU ARE WELL AWARE

Thunder rolled, on cue

‘What is his destiny?’ shouted Ipslore, above the rising gale

Death shrugged again He was good at it

SOURCERERS MAKE THEIR OWN DESTINY THEY TOUCH THE EARTH LIGHTLY

Ipslore leaned on the staff, druers, apparently lost in the hts His left eyebroitched

‘No,’ he said, softly, ‘no I will make his destiny for him’

I ADVISE AGAINST IT

‘Be quiet! And listen when I tell you that they drove me out, with their books and their rituals and their Lore! They called theic in their whole fat bodies than I have inthat I was human! And ould humans be without love?’

RARE, said Death NEVERTHELESS

‘Listen! They drove us here, to the ends of the world, and that killed her! They tried to takeabove the noise of the wind

‘Well, I still have soo to Unseen University and wear the Archchancellor’s hat and the wizards of the world shall bow to him! And he shall show thereedy hearts He’ll show the world its true destiny, and there will be no e thing about the quiet way Death spoke the as this: it was louder than the roaring of the storm It jerked Ipslore back to momentary sanity

Ipslore rocked back and forth uncertainly ‘What?’ he said

I SAID NO NOTHING IS FINAL NOTHING IS ABSOLUTE EXCEPT ME, OF COURSE SUCH TINKERING WITH DESTINY COULD MEAN THE DOWNFALL OF THE WORLD THERE MUST BE A CHANCE, HOWEVER SMALL THE LAWYERS OF FATE DEMAND A LOOPHOLE IN EVERY PROPHECY

Ipslore stared at Death’s iive them a chance?’

YES

Tap, tap, tap went Ipslore’s fingers on the metal of the staff

‘Then they shall have their chance,’ he said, ‘when hell freezes over’