The last wizard Read online

  “CHOOSE TO BE STRONG, MARIA. TAKE HIS POWER AND MAKE IT YOURS.”

  She murmured a spell under her breath and her eyes began to glow.

  “Maria!” Joey shouted. “Don’t!”

  Joey Medina’s body went limp and then collapsed to the cavern floor as the glow faded from Maria’s eyes. Talon watched her as she breathed heavily through parted lips, her chest heaving as she trembled with the delirious sensation of the life force coursing through her. It was like no high she had ever experienced before.

  “God… “ she whispered, as she closed her eyes in ecstasy.

  Talon smiled. There would be a very different sort of hunger for Maria from now on. She would be hooked on necromancy as no drug had ever addicted her before. She was the perfect predator.

  “Go and rest now, “ he told her. “For a time, everything will feel strange to you. Your perceptions shall be clearer, sharper; your senses shall be more acute. You will need time to become accustomed to your new strength.”

  As she left, Talon walked around to the other side of the stalagmite where Rafe was held immobile. The others were all dead, their life energies consumed by acolytes Talon had selected, the first of his new necromancers…

  ALSO BY SIMON HAWKE

  The Nine Lives of Catseye Gomez

  The Reluctant Sorcerer

  The Samurai Wizard

  The Whims of Creation

  The Wizard of Camelot

  The Wizard of 4th Street

  The Wizard of Lovecraft’s Cafe

  The Wizard of Sunset Strip

  The Wizard of Whitechapel

  The Ambivalent Magician

  THE LAST WIZARD

  SIMON HAWKE

  Prologue

  The heat of the Sonoran Desert in July took him back over two thousand years. It brought back memories of a time when he stood in a white robe and feathered headdress, obsidian dagger poised over the heart of a sacrificial victim while worshipers numbering in the tens of thousands stood at the base of the pyramid, chanting his name. Well, one of his names, at any rate. He’d had more than a few.

  The temperature in Tucson was over a hundred and ten degrees. Beladon felt it hit him like a blast from a furnace as soon as he stepped out of the air-conditioned airport building. Clearly, he was overdressed for this climate in his custom-tailored three-piece suit. He’d left New York in something of a hurry and there hadn’t been even time to pack a bag, much less change his wardrobe. There was nothing like a BOT agent splattered on the sidewalk after a thirty-story fall to draw unwanted attention.

  The Bureau of Thaumaturgy would be out for blood now, aided by the ITC, the FBI, and Interpol, as well as every local police agency from New York to Los Angeles. Still, they were the least of his concerns. The International Thaumaturgical Commission could be troublesome, for they employed some of the world’s most powerful adepts, but the avatars remained the greatest danger. Calador and Delana had both made the mistake of underestimating them and they had paid for it with their lives.

  Beladon relaxed in the back of the air-conditioned limo as it skimmed about two feet above the surface of the road. The driver had been waiting for someone else, but Beladon had commandeered him as soon as he’d spotted the long white vehicle. The human driver sat up front with no will of his own as he piloted the car, relying on a thaumaturgic battery charged with a spell of levitation and impulsion. When he returned, he would have no memory of anything that happened. He would feel strangely compelled to drive to a bar and proceed to drink himself into a stupor. He would probably lose his job as a result, but then he would retain his life and never know how close he came to losing it. Killing him would attract attention and Beladon wasn’t ready for that yet.

  They drove from the airport, headed west over the Tucson Mountains and then out into the desert, leaving behind the sprawling city in the valley. They passed several suburban developments, bedroom communities for the city of Tucson, then continued into the rural countryside, roughly forty miles from the Mexican border. The land here was mostly flat, with mountains rising in the distance. Thorny mesquite trees, blue-green palo verde, desert broom, yucca, and dry desert grass grew in profusion, interspersed with large agave plants and many different types of cacti—barrel, cholla, prickly pear, and the occasional majestic, multi-armed saguaro, some of which grew as tall as sixty feet and lived as long as 250 years. The bizarre-looking ocotillo plants, with their slender, multiple, spiny branches up to twenty feet long, made him think of squid with their heads buried in the ground and their tentacles reaching toward the sky. It was strange, alien-looking country, teeming with jackrabbits, deer, coyotes, turkey buzzards, javelina, scorpions, tarantulas, and rattlesnakes. It might almost have been another world.

  He could soon see the site of the old Kitt Peak National Observatory as the limo approached Dragon Peak. Located roughly sixty miles from Tucson, the old observatory had been closed down and the mountain had been renamed when it passed into private ownership. As they reached the winding road that led to the summit, Beladon saw a large sign warning trespassers they were entering the grounds of the Dragon Peak Enclave at their own risk. If the sign was not sufficient to deter unwanted visitors, the huge walls built of duck, stuccoed concrete provided added emphasis. They were built not so much to keep people out as to keep something else in. Something large. As the limo passed through the gate, it skimmed over what appeared to be a wide steel cattle guard, except there was another sign warning visitors to remain in their vehicles, because it was electrified with very high voltage.

  Halfway up the mountain, Beladon saw his first dragon. It was crossing the dirt road ahead of them and stopped to peer briefly at the approaching limo. Beladon leaned forward and touched the driver lightly on the shoulder, telling him to stop. As the limo hovered in place, Beladon gazed through the windshield at the creature on the road ahead of them.

  It was about twenty-five feet long from its wedge-shaped head to the tip of its barbed tail, with thick stubby legs ending in large claws. Its skin was mottled black and red, pebbled-grained, and its leathery, batlike wings were folded back. The wings were nonfunctional, of course. They could never have lifted such a heavy creature off the ground. Its body was about the size of a large cow. The huge lizard flicked its long tongue out several times, then lost interest in the limo and disappeared into the scrub brash.

  “Drive on,” said Beladon, leaning back, and the limo glided forward once again.

  The summit of the mountain had been leveled off many years earlier, when the observatory had been built. The old observatory buildings still stood within the walled enclave, but the astronomical equipment had long since been removed. The dilapidated housing originally built for the observatory staff had been renovated as residences for members of the enclave, some of whom could be seen tending the gardens and wandering about the grounds, dressed in simple white linen robes embroidered with southwestern patterns.

  They were mostly young people, well scrubbed bohemian types, though a few were older, in their late twenties and early thirties. The limo pulled up in front of a relatively new construction, an authentic-looking, baroque Spanish mission with thick, whitewashed adobe walls, towers, and a belfry. Beladon noted with some amusement the statues of Our Lady of Guadalupe and the missionary Padre Kino on either side of the arched, ornately carved front doors. Talon was not above a little sacrilege for the sake of appearances. But then, why should he care? After all, he predated Christianity.

  He stepped out into the fierce heat, though it was somewhat cooler at this elevation, which afforded a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside. He dismissed the limo driver. As the long white Cadillac glided off, a pretty, dark-haired girl dressed in a white robe and sandals approached him. There was a sm
all gold ring in her nose and another in her eyebrow. “May I help you, sir?” she asked.

  “I am here to see Talon,” he replied.

  “Is Brother Talon expecting you?” she asked.

  “Brother Talon?” He smiled. “Oh, I imagine he has been expecting me for quite some time.”

  “I see. Well, come this way, please.”

  She led him through the doors into the mission. The authenticity was carried through in the interior with wooden, Spanish-style pews arranged in rows beneath the vaulted ceiling of the cruciform structure. The baroque altar and pulpit were intricately carved. Wood statues of saints had been dressed in embroidered satin robes and placed in niches above stands for votive candles. A figure dressed in a long white hooded robe belted with a braided red cord stood with his back to them, at the altar As Beladon came down the aisle with the girl, the figure turned and faced them. Beladon could not repress a smile. Talon always had a flair for the dramatic. He had known he was coming, of course. He would have felt it.

  “Brother Talon,” said Beladon with a slight touch of sarcasm. “How good to see you once again.”

  “Beladon,” said Talon with a smile. “I have been expecting you. Thank you, Sister Maria. You may leave us.”

  The girl turned and left without a word.

  “Should I genuflect?” asked Beladon wryly.

  “Oh, we don’t stand on that sort of formal ceremony here,” said Talon offhandedly. “We are all brothers and sisters of the order.”

  “Indeed? And what order would that be?”

  “The Order of Universal Spiritual Unity,” said Talon, with a perfectly straight face.

  Beladon raised his eyebrows. “Catholic?”

  “Nonsectarian. We welcome all religious persuasions, so long as they are in accord with our designs, seek the peace of spiritual contemplation, and foster stewardship of our environment and the protection of our friends, the lesser creatures of the Earth.”

  Beladon chuckled. “Yes, I believe I saw one of those ‘lesser creatures’ on my way up here. It appeared in little need of protection.”

  “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, you see,” Talon replied, coming toward him. “The dragons are an endangered species.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No, it’s the truth.”

  Talon led him out a side door and through a garden courtyard to a white-stuccoed, Santa Fe-style house with red glazed tile trim. The courtyard was attractively laid with red brick in a crisscrossing pattern and a fountain burbled gently in the center. Shade was provided by two spreading acacia trees with stone benches placed beneath them. It was a comfortable and peaceful setting, very quiet and serene.

  “Some years back, dragons were all the rage in this part of the country,” Talon continued as they crossed the small courtyard. “A local thaumagenetics firm was turning them out, basing their designs on genetic material from chuckwallas, iguanas, gila monsters, and various other local species of lizard. People bought them by the score as cute little pets. The company had plans to market them nationally, but the plans fell through when it turned out their thaumagenetic engineering was a little sloppy. They were too mindful of the profit margin, apparently, and didn’t hire the best people. Not a good idea when you’re mixing magic with genetic engineering. The cute little creatures grew at a rather alarming rate, contrary to all expectations, and had a habit of consuming dogs and cats and the occasional small child. that could tend to raise problems with the neighbors,” said Beladon.

  “People started releasing them in the desert,” Talon continued “where they grew even larger and started to reproduce, which resulted in some rather serious charges being brought against the company that manufactured them. By law, thaumagenes are supposed to be incapable of reproduction. Only about ten percent of the dragons turned out to be fertile, but in the desert they thrived on jackrabbits, wild pigs, deer, and, as they grew larger, livestock. The ranchers were understandably upset, so they started organizing hunts with large-bore rifles. It takes at least a. 375 to knock one of those beasts down. It was quite a popular sport for a while, until the environmentalists got wind of it. They demonstrated and lobbied to have the dragons protected as an endangered species. They eventually succeeded, but by then there were fewer than about a hundred dragons left. Once they reach their full maturity, they can’t hide very well in this country and they make fairly easy targets.”

  “So you established a preserve for them,” said Beladon, as they entered the house through a covered and tiled entrance portal.

  “We have about fifty of them at present,” Talon replied. “By now they’re about all that’s left. There may still be a few out in the wild, but if any of them are spotted, we’ll receive a call to go out and pick them up. We use custom-made, high-powered tranquilizer darts, nets, specially designed forklifts, and a flatbed truck.”

  “No magic?” Beladon asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “It would be easier,” admitted Talon, “but then hiring adepts to do the work can be rather expensive. And I prefer to keep a low profile myself where that’s concerned. No one knows that I am an adept. Periodically, we conduct guided tours, for which we charge a small fee to help maintain the preserve. We’re also funded by several environmental groups and we’re tax-exempt as a religious order. In the latter capacity, we do court-referred drug counseling and rehabilitation for young people with criminal records of violent behavior, for which we receive additional funding from various local and federal agencies. Sister Maria, for example, is a former prostitute with a record of over a dozen violent assaults and numerous counts of drug possession. All told, the funding we receive does not amount to a great deal of money, but it’s enough to support our simple lifestyle.”

  Beladon looked around the interior of the house. It was designed on an open plan, making optimum use of space. The floors were handmade Mexican saltillo tile sealed with linseed oil, the walls were painted a light cream, and the fireplace was a beehive kiva style, with two built-in masonry ledges designed as shelves to hold an antique wooden crucifix and several votive candles. The furnishings were mission-style—a couch and several chairs, a table and two benches, bookshelves, some lamps made from ceramic jars. There were a couple of woven Navajo rugs on the floor and several plants in large ceramic pots. The heat outside was kept at bay by the thick walls and an evaporative cooler.

  “Simple and austere,” said Beladon, looking around. “An almost monastic existence, no pun intended. Have you gone human on me, Talon?”

  “I?” said Talon, pulling back his hood to reveal thick, flaming red hair down to his shoulders; handsome, angular features; coppery skin; and bright, emerald green eyes. He grinned, displaying even, perfect teeth. “You’re the one who’s turned his hair dark and altered the color of his eyes.”

  “Contact lenses and hair dye,” Beladon replied. “A necessary expedient. Somewhat uncomfortable, but not as energy-depleting as a spell. Nor as detectable to adepts. The authorities were on the watch for a tall man with red hair and green eyes.”

  “Yes, I heard,” said Talon. “We are not so isolated that we fail to get the news here. “ He indicated a wooden cabinet containing a television set. “A rather messy business, the death of that BOT agent. I thought you would have been somewhat more restrained.”

  “I didn’t kill him,” Beladon replied. “It was a suicide. He threw himself out of a thirty-story window. He did it to escape me, but the fact remains that I was not directly responsible for bis death. I wanted him alive. However, I doubt the Bureau would appreciate that fine distinction.”

  “And so you came to me,” said Talon with a faint smile. He sat in one of the chairs and Beladon took the couch. “I trust you were careful and discreet.”

  “Of course. I must admit, however, that I had hoped to see you under somewhat different circumstances,” Beladon replied.

  “No doubt. You would have preferred coming as master rather than as supplicant. It must have stung your pride
.”

  “Practical considerations prevailed,” Beladon replied. “The avatars are strong. Much too strong for any one of us. In New York, we were three and still we failed, though I cannot entirely accept the blame for that. Calador and Delana shared a good part of the responsibility.”

  “I assume they’re dead.”

  “Very.”

  “Pity. Had they listened to me, they might still be alive.”

  “And living in quiet seclusion on a mountaintop in the middle of the desert, supported by the charity of humans?” Beladon indicated their surroundings with a casual sweep of his hand. “After all those years of being imprisoned, I had a rather different vision of our return.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Talon. “But times have changed. You cannot expect the humans to stay the same over a period of several thousand years.”

  “No. I realize they have evolved and become much more sophisticated. However, at heart they are still the same. They can still be ruled by fear.”

  “Not anymore,” said Talon. “They can be made to feel fear, especially on an individual basis, but when enough of them grow frightened, they band together and become dangerously stubborn. And with the technology they have developed, coupled with their newfound use of magic, they can be far more efficient in their resistance than in the old days.”

  “Granted, but they are still inferior.”

  “They are different, “ Talon said. “Weaker, mortal, but not necessarily inferior. Not anymore. They have had over two thousand years to grow and change while we have remained the same.”

  Beladon gave a contemptuous snort. “I may have made a mistake in coming here. It seems you have given up and gone into hiding.”

  “As always, Beladon, you are much too quick to judge,” said Talon. “In the old days, my opinions were frequently dismissed because I was the youngest, but if you can remember that far back, what did I say about the Old Ones who first spoke about the need for change?”