Free Black Wizards by Douglas Niles

within.
    The wizard stared into the mirror and saw the Great Hall of Caer Corwell, as he had seen for many days in a row. The hall was vacant, save an old cook gathering dirty platters from the large tables.
    “Zuthax Eli.”
    The picture moved, as if the viewer had passed from the hall and begun to climb the stairs inside the castle. For several minutes the image meandered from room to room, passing freely through closed doors. Caer Corwell seemed quiet, almost abandoned.
    Cyndre felt a flash of annoyance, but he blinked it away. Self control, he reminded himself, was all important.
    He thought of the cleric Hobarth with smug satisfaction. Blindly faithful to his violent god, that fat buffoon would sacrifice his own life if his awful master demanded it. And how pitiful were his clerical powers, mused Cyndre, when compared to the awesome might of wizardry. Such reliance upon gods, Cyndre believed without question, was the way of fools and weaklings.
    The image moved from the keep to the outer wall, and here he found a pair of guards standing listlessly at their posts. One, a young man, asked the other a question. The wizard smiled slightly as he heard the words. His smile broadened as he heard the other guard reply.
    He now knew all that he required: The Prince of Corwell was on his way to Callidyrr.

    With growing interest, Bhaal watched the drama unfold upon the Moonshaes. As his will focused upon the islands, he found the Heart of Kazgoroth, still clutched faithfully by its servant
.
    It was time, decided Bhaal, that the heart be given to one who could make better use of it. That one drew closer to it with each passing hour, and this closeness brought the god’s desire to a fever pitch
.
    Hobarth would take the heart, would use it for the tasks it was capable of, in the
hands of a powerful cleric. Hobarth would gain his tool, and Bhaal would recover the very soul of his lost minion. This thought was immensely pleasing to him
.
    And so Bhaal set in motion the things that would send the heart from the one who carried it to the one who would wield it. All he needed to do was take a man, already driven mad by the close throbbing of the heart, and make him irrevocably insane
.
    The throbbing grew louder and deeper
.

is Highness, High King Reginald Carrathal, sovereign of Callidyrr and monarch of all the lands of the Ffolk, had a most annoying problem. To wit, a large pimple gleamed insolently from his cheek, resisting the king’s most arduous attempts to remove it.
    Pouting, His Majesty turned from the mirror, his long curls flouncing, and marched across the bedchamber. The plush carpeting sank underfoot, thwarting his attempts to stomp noisily.
    He stepped around a huge canopied bed, stalking alongside a wall that was hung in a fortune of silk curtains. In annoyance, he realized that he now stood before an even larger mirror—the one that hung above his dressing table.
    “Blast it all!” he cried, picking up a small vial of rare Calishite cologne. He hurtled the container at the mirror, smashing both, before turning to stalk across the room again.
    “Is there a problem, Your Majesty?” The smooth voice came from the wizard.
    “How dare you enter my chamber without knocking?” the king huffed, squinting angrily at Cyndre.
    “I was about to knock when I heard a disturbance. Fearing for His Majesty’s safety, I hastened to your side.…”
    The wizard’s voice, as always, soothed and comforted the king. He felt his annoyance vanish as Cyndre stepped forward. The mage’s dark robe was open, revealing a soft cotton gown embroidered with gold.His hood lay back upon his shoulders, and his blond, curly hair framed a cherubic smile in a wide, almost childlike face. His hand reached forward to pat the royal shoulder.
    “Well?” the king said. “What did you want to see me about?”
    “I fear, Your Highness, that I bring grave news. It is with reluctance that—”
    “Tell me, you fiend! Do not play games with bad