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PART ONE
The Thaumaiurge
CHAPTER ONE The Queen Besieged
ALODAR closed his mind to the pounding of the huge stones against the lower
walls of the keep. He ignored the growl of his stomach and tried to concentrate on
the spinning disk. Forty-one days of siege, he thought, and the last five on half
rations. Half rations for himself and the other craftsmen, while the men at arms
still received full shares.
"Faster, Morwin, faster until it buzzes like an angry hive," Alodar listened as the
apprentice pushed against the two-hand crank and the giant flywheel slowly
increased its speed. After several minutes, a faint tone from the serrated edge
mixed with the crash of rock and cry of pain below. Morwin stepped back from
the rough wooden frame which supported the rotating wheel and sat panting on
the smooth floor of the bartizan.
"Make the rest of your preparations, journeyman," the big man in mail next to
Alodar barked. "You two may rest if this air gondola proves its worth, but not
before."
Alodar disregarded the harsh tone. He squinted up at the sun midway between
the east and overhead. "They will have to look directly into the glare to see us," he
said evenly. "Your men can begin."
"They begin when I tell them," the sergeant said, pushing his thumb at his chest.
"You may have once been the son of Alodun, lord of the buttes, and had the right
to command, but now you are no more than the wheelwright. I owe you only what
I would give any tradesman."
Alodar spilled the air out of his nostrils in a long sigh. "My father struggled six
years for the justice due him and went to his grave alone and brokenhearted. The
anguish to carry on was too great a price to pay and I buried my feelings with
him. I am a journeyman at an honest craft and accept my lot. I desire no empty
formality that stirs up the dying embers of the past."
He stopped and stared into the big man's eyes. "And I ask no more than what you
should show any man who labors in our common defense, regardless of his
station." For a long moment their eyes remained locked, but finally the sergeant
shrugged and turned to the group of men crouching within the archway into the
keep. "To your positions, then," he ordered.
The men rose, and two edged out to the crenellations which framed a deep cut in
the hills to the west. The third, the smallest of the three, climbed into a waist-high
wicker basket which stood by the spinning disk.

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Alodar stepped to the woven box, withdrew a chisel from one of the pockets in his
cape, and hacked a fresh splinter from it. His cowl was thrown back over his
shoulders, revealing a narrow face topped with fine yellow-brown hair. His nose
and mouth were drawn with an economy of line, plain and straight, with nothing
to mark him as either handsome or uncomely. Only his eyes removed him from
the nondescript; they were bright and alive, darting like dragonflies, missing no
detail of what happened around him. His face held the smoothness of youth, now
marked only by two short furrows above his nose as he concentrated on the task
before him.
Standing scarcely taller than the basket's occupant, he stepped back from the box,
holding the scrap of wood at waist level, glanced again at the position of the sun,
and began the incantation.
He spoke with skill; the words came quickly but with the sharpness necessary for
success. His tone was even and the rhythm smooth. The two words of power
sounded with a lack of distinction. They fitted unnoticed into the stream of
improvised nonsense which surrounded them. In a moment he was done.
Alodar nodded a warning to the man-at-arms facing him and slowly began to
raise the splinter upward. Simultaneously the basket lurched and cleared the
stonework of the platform. The splinter rose with almost imperceptible slowness
but the gondola with its passenger climbed at a rapid rate.
The big man returned to Alodar's side. "Can you  not
go faster? They will spy him before he lines with the sun."
"No, sergeant," Alodar said, not turning to nod in reply but keeping his attention
on the sliver he held in his hand. "This splinter is about one part in a thousand of
the basket as a whole. For each palm I raise it, your man climbs another forty
rods. Were I to move faster, we might use too much of the wheel's spin just in
fighting the wind we would make with our haste. I do not yet wear the cape of a
master, but I understand enough of thaumaturgy to do what is proper for this
task."
The sergeant grunted and Alodar continued to raise the splinter upward. Several
minutes passed and the basket rose to become but a speck in the sky.
"High enough," one of the men shouted while sighting through his sextant.
Alodar glanced at the wheel. The crank now turned lazy circles about the axle
with no hint of the blurring speed it had possessed moments ago. The sergeant
followed his gaze and looked back at Alodar.

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"If there is but little wind," Alodar explained, "there is enough spin left to keep
the gondola properly positioned for some time. It takes far less energy to resist a
sideward thrust than to fight the earth for height."
While he spoke, Alodar began to step in the direction of the hills. The platform far
above moved in proportion. The two observers darted their instruments about,
sighting first the sun, then the basket, and finally the crags themselves. Alodar
made but two slow steps and part of another before one of the observers called
him to stop.
"A little more forward now. Hold it an instant. Now to the left a palm. Freeze it in
place," he directed as Alodar shifted the splinter back and forth.
Morwin jumped from his inactivity beside the slowly turning disk and ran
through the archway to the chamber beyond. He fetched a tripod with a small
clamp attached and returned to where Alodar stood with the splinter still at arm's
length. After a few moments of adjustment, the clamp was in position to secure
the scrap of wood firmly, and Alodar relinquished his grip. Massaging his now
numb arm, he moved quickly to the edge of the bartizan to see the results of his
effort.
He whisked a telescope out from his cape and sighted the basket. It now stood
fixed firmly in the sky, suspended
directly in front of one of the sheer cliffs that was their target.
"Luck be with him soon," the sergeant muttered as he watched with his own
glass. "If he does not find a ledge wide enough for the catapult within the hour,
we will strike no blow for ourselves this day. And tomorrow may be too late for
any scheme, sound or foolish, to prevent a breach."
Alodar turned from watching the rider scramble onto the face of the cliff and
looked at the plain below.
"They will be in the bailey within two days for certain," the sergeant continued.
"And even if help did appear, how could it get through all that?"
Alodar followed the sweep of the mailed arm, and the sick feeling returned to his
empty stomach.
The gray hills in the west stretched from horizon to horizon, stark and unbroken
except for the one deep and wide notch, like a missing tooth, directly facing him
about hah! a mile distant. The walls on the right rose tall and sheer, unbroken
monoliths, smooth and inaccessible. The slopes on the left were as steep but
cracked with fissures, chimneys, and ledges, and upon these clambered the man

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Alodar had transported there. Between the two faces, a train of wagons and carts,
piled with baggage and arrayed with no pattern, hid the floor of the pass from
view. Alodar could make out a motley collection of tents rising in its midst, and
from the pinnacles of each flew a blue and silver banner.
Much closer stood an orderly array of artillery, drawn out in a precise circle that
Alodar knew completely surrounded the stronghold. With drilled exactness, their
crews would load and fire in unison. The great bows of the ballista's hurled their
rock hard and flat against the battered outer walls, while the mangonels sent
theirs high and lofted to rain down on the foundation of the keep and the
surrounding courtyard. Lighter but more accurate trebuchets blasted at the spots
already weakened by the heavier siegecraft.
Nearer still, in more irregular array, many clusters of armed men crouched
behind full-length shields shining angrily in the morning sun. The groups farther
back used their protection, casually bobbing heads and torsos to see the battle's
progress. Those closer, within range of the de-
fenders' longbows, huddled in tight balls, exposing no arm or a leg as a target.
With each volley of the rockthrowers, the answering fire from the
manchicolations and loopholes in the castle's walls would cease, and the men in
the field would creep a little closer, their scaling ladders and belfries dragging
behind them. From high on the keep, Alodar could see that, long before the
clusters reached the outer wall, they would converge into a single continuous ring
of attackers.
"Yes, it would take a large force to break through to us," he finally agreed, "but
Iron Fist has never fallen to assault."
"It takes more than stone and iron to defend this mound," the sergeant said.
"Muscle pulls tight the bowstrings and swings the broadswords, and at last
muster we numbered fewer than two hundred fighting men. Two hundred for
over half a mile of wall."
He shook his head with lips pulled into a tight line of disapproval. "A mere two
hundred, because Vendora wanted to flaunt her might along the southern border.
Almost every garrison in Procolon stripped to nothing, so that those petty border
kingdoms think to stop their raids and return to bickering among themselves.
Hah, I wonder if those raids seem so important to her now? Fully provisioned, we
could withstand anything that Bandor could throw at us. As it is, only the great
height and thickness of these walls have saved her crown and pretty neck this
long."
"But her miscomputation was no worse than mine," Alodar said, spreading his

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palms outward. "How would anyone but a sorcerer surmise that one of her most
faithful vassals would suddenly lose his reason and plunge through that gap hi
the west, just when she was here? The gates clanged shut on noble and craftsman
alike who happened to be here, and none claim to have foreseen it."
"Yes, it is strange," the sergeant said. "The ferocity of the attack, the way he drives
his men on with no regard for their exhaustion. I have heard it whispered about
more than once at night that Bandor has lost not his reason but his will. Like a
mere craftsman, he has been possessed."
Alodar blinked with surprise, but before he could reply be was interrupted by one
of the observers.
"He has found a spot and is signaling for us to proceed."
"Sweetbalm, luck is with us today," the sergeant exclaimed, jumping his thoughts
back to the task at hand. "Start bringing up the beams and lashings."
Alodar stepped to the stand and released the splinter from the clamp. Holding it
at arm's length, be dropped his hand a fraction of an inch. The basket sank
correspondingly, and the wheel again started to spin. He retraced his steps, and it
shot across the sky to hover directly overhead. Finally, as he lowered the splinter,
it settled gently onto the floor of the bartizan. Again the giant crank was a blur as
the wheel spun, but it turned not nearly as fast as when Morwin had first
propelled it.
Alodar rapidly recited another incantation, virtually indistinguishable from the
first. When he was done, he flung the splinter high into the air with a dramatic
gesture while the basket remained unperturbed on the ground.
The men-at-arms wasted no time in loading two large notched beams into the
basket. Morwin against cranked up the wheel, and Alodar removed a fresh
splinter and spoke the incantation. Moving with more haste than before, he
brought the splinter directly to the clamp; the basket with its burden hurled from
the castle to the cliffs. The sergeant directed some small corrections until the
basket hovered directly below the ledge that the rider had found. Morwin moved
the clamp and secured the splinter in the new position.
After the gondola was unloaded, the entire process was repeated many times,
with each worker intent upon his tasks. Alodar broke the spell upon the return.
Morwin rewound the crank and the men-at-arms packed a new load of beams,
brands, or lashings. Another incantation and fixing of a splinter in the clamp and
another bundle would be delivered to the ledge in the distance. Several hours
later the men-at-arms were the passengers for the final two trips, and then the
job was done.
Weary from the concentration, Alodar looked to the west. "How long will it take

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them to assemble it?" he asked.
"At least six hours. They must take care to tune it to
exactly the same tension it had here. Every shot will count, and they can waste
none on range calibration," the sergeant responded, his voice now showing some
excitement. "With just a bit more luck, Bandor's entire siege train will be
smoldering ashes by nightfall."
They fell silent and waited, listening to time being marked off by the rhythmic
crash of rock and swish of arrows below. Near dusk, Alodar sprang up from his
vigil excitedly.
"Look, they are signaling that they are ready."
As he spoke, a flaming brand arched upwards from the ledge and down into the
valley, disappearing into the silhouettes of the tents formed by the setting
sunlight.
A minute passed with no discernable change in the campsite; but then as the
second shot was being launched, the central tent became alive with flame.
"A hit, a direct hit on Bandor's tent," the sergeant shouted, "Look at it take hold
of that dry canvas! It will spread to the others in no time at all. And look, here
comes the next missile right on the mark as well."
A second tent burst into flame, and then a third. Even from the distance, Alodar
could hear an alarm gong sound and the rising hubbub of voices.
"They are shifting targets now; good men." The sergeant banged his fist down on
the wall. "Let us see how those wagons can stand up to a little heat."
The incendiaries began falling more rapidly as the crew on the ledge gained
confidence in their engine, raking their fusillade back and forth across the pass,
starting fires at random in the densely packed train. Alodar could see . some of
the blazes start up and then quickly be snuffed out; but for every one
extinguished, two more sprouted elsewhere in the camp. In some places, the
isolated pinpoints of light had converged into large walls of leaping flame,
brilliant even against the setting sun.
Finally trumpets sounded from somewhere within the widening conflagration,
and the siegecraft directly between the camp and the castle ceased their firing.
Throwing arms and cranks were battened down, rocks tossed back upon supply
wagons, and the engines began to withdraw. A frantic mob of men burst from the
flame and confusion, like seeds from a flattened melon, and ran to meet them,

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alternately waving greater haste and pointing up into the
cliffs from which came the. rain of fire. Alodar heard the zing of arrows from the
castle walls increase intensity as the defenders, unchallenged for the first time in
days, vented their frustrations. Trie assault from the west ground
to a halt.
"The range is too great for them to be accurate enough," the sergeant crowed.
"They will never dislodge us from there. A few more hits will put the fire
completely out of control. Let us see what kind of siege Bandor can conduct,
demon driven or not, with no supplies and only this brushland to forage on."
Alodar watched intently as the mangonels were turned into a straight line,
halfway between their previous positions and the enemy camp. A hint of hope
soothed the rumble in his stomach as the first volley fell short of the ledge,
crashing into the face of the cliff far below. His eyes swept back and forth across
the panorama, up to the ledge, into the burning camp, and back to the engines
and the growing mass of men surrounding them.
"But wait a moment," he said suddenly. "I see the logo of similarity on that cape
down there. See, the tall one, next to the second mangonel. He is a master, just as
Periac is. I fear that my craft will play a still larger role in the affairs of the day."
As they watched, the master thaumaturge directed the three running up behind
him to dump the sacks they carried onto the ground. A pile of small stones
discharged from each. Two more men lugged into position a huge cauldron and
began filling it from a wagonload of jars that halted alongside.
"Lodestones," Alodar cried with sudden recognition. "Tracers. By the laws, let
there be no marksman good enough for this task among them."
A small group of archers formed a single file; as they passed the cowled figure, he
deftly chipped a fragment from each rock and gave it to one of the bowmen. After
each had received his charge, he bound it to the shaft of an arrow and let fly at the
catapult in the cliff above.
Alodar watched the ledge as the missiles hurled upwards. Most were wide of the
mark, splintering against hard rock and falling back to the floor of the pass.
Several minutes passed as volley after volley did no harm. But
finally one shot struck the frame of the catapult and held fast.

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"Quickly!" Alodar shouted. "Signal them to remove the shaft before he can
complete the incantation."
"But a single arrow does them no harm, journeyman. Let them use their time to
continue firing while it is still light," the sergeant said. "You remain with your
craft and I will manage mine."
"Get it removed or they will hurl nothing more today. See, they have the other
stone in the acid already,"
As he spoke, the master cracked one of the remaining untouched rocks in two and
dropped one half into the cauldron steaming atop a hastily constructed fire. The
brew frothed like storm-driven surf as three heavyset men slowly tipped the
contents of the huge crucible onto a pile of artillery stones stacked at their feet.
The crews from the siegecraft each retrieved one hot wet stone and loaded and
cocked their engines. The thaumaturge held his hands high overhead. In one was
the stone from which the chip now affixed to the catapult had been cleft; in the
other was the remains of the one consumed in the acid bath. Alodar held his
breath, knowing what was to come next. A mailed figure astride the horse
surveyed the ready engines and the waiting craftsman. He signaled the crews to
fire and the projectiles sprang from their beds in unison. An instant later, with
the missiles already rising high into the air, the thaumaturge brought the two
small stones swiftly together.
The flying rocks wrenched out of their natural trajectories; Hke sunlight focused
with a glass, they converged simultaneously on the ledge. The catapult exploded
in a mass of ragged timber, splinters, and dust. The bombarding rock shattered
into an avalanche of gravel against the cliff face and cascaded to the plain. The
hills rocked with the violence of the impact and the shock threw Alodar nearly to
his knees. Where once there had been form was now a shattered ruin of timber
and flesh.
The scene was quiet, attacker and defender alike shaken by the force of the blow.
Alodar looked back at the enemy camp and noticed only a few wisps of smoke
where the fire had raged but moments before. Of course, the perfect source, he
thought.
JO
As the last rays of the sun faded, the detachment of artillery slowly returned to
the besieging circle and both sides made ready for the cessation of action for the
day. As elsewhere, the stunned silence continued for several minutes more up on
the high keep. Finally the sergeant turned for the archway.
"In two days, for certain," he muttered..
"A waste of time, if you ask me, Alodar," Morwin said irritably as they stumbled

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along the passageway that evening. "How are we, in a single night, going to find
something that has eluded the occupants of this fortress for probably three
hundred years? And with a single torch yet? Why, I can barely make you out two
feet before me, let alone some secret mark along these clammy walls. And you
know Periac is probably pacing his quarters right now, wanting a full report on
what happened today with the air gondola. Let's be done with this, I say."
"Not just yet, Morwin," Alodar said. "I admit it seems hopeless, but what are we
to do? Just follow through our prescribed tasks until the inevitable happens?"
"Oh, by the taws, Alodar, I relish this entrapment as little as you. But I would
rather save my strength for something useful tomorrow, rather than burning off
my evening gruel sloshing through puddles in the dark, three full flights beneath
the ground."
"But look, Morwin, there must be something to aid us here. Some clue to help us
break the siege. Think about it. Why are these passages and chambers under the
walls even here? The whole castle is laid out with such an economy of design, not
a wasted stone anywhere. The perfect fortress, the men-at-arms say. The flanking
towers project out just the right amount to cover walls of optimum height.
Crenelations and loopholes are cut to maximize both protection and density of
fire. The central keep is pocked with bartizans of all sizes for observation of
missile launching. With all of that care, why honeycomb the thing with these
subterranean caverns unless they too somehow play in the defense?"
"Well then, for what do the records of the builders say all of this is to be used? We
use the chamber under the northeast tower on the first level as an area of
discipline.
Perhaps this place was intended to be a grand dungeon?"
"With this layout, hardly. There aren't any small cells, just long corridors
connecting large chambers, and no gates to impede one's access. And as to the
builders, would that we could ask them. The sagas say only that when the scions
of Procolon first pushed into these desolate western lands they found the Iron
Fist open and unoccupied. The portcullis was up and the oaken doors of the
gatehouse full ajar. Inside was nary a trace of man or beast or any sign that any
had ever been here. Just mute stone in a silent wasteland. Vendora's forefathers
used their luck well, granted. They garrisoned the place, and ever since it has
protected Procolon's western flank with its grip of iron against the likes of a
Bandor gone wild. But no one living knows more of this castle's secrets than even
you or ... Hold, I think we are under the Keep again."
Alodar thrust his torch forward, staring into the blackness ahead. He could see
the walls receding from him on both sides into the gloom but could discern no

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other detail of their surroundings. He began to move cautiously to the left, one
hand on moist stone, the other still advancing the torch in front.
"Look," he exclaimed, "a wall cresset, and with oil still in it." He touched his torch
to the small pool in the lip of the rock and it sprang to life. He and Morwin again
looked about them, now able to see to the opposite wall of the chamber.
"Cressets all around, Alodar," Morwin said. "At least here we will be able to see
what we are stumbling over."
Alodar quickly circled the chamber, lighting the wall flames as he did so. When he
was done, he moved towards the center to survey what the flickering light
revealed. The chamber was large and circular, though not as huge as the massive
keep which towered above it. The walls were smooth and damp, pieced with
precision from many small stones and pierced by four dark archways evenly
spaced around the periphery. The stone floor sloped downwards from all
directions; in the very center stood a pool of dark water fed by the drippings from
the walls. As he approached, Alodar thrust the handle of his torch into the still
surface.
"Why, there is a well here, Morwin," he exclaimed.
"See, the depth is much greater than the slope of the floor would indicate. I
wonder how deep it is?"
Suddenly a flicker of light in one of the passageways caught his eye. As he and
Morwin turned, they heard the clank of arms and the stomp of many feet echoing
down
towards them.
In a moment, several men-at-arms tromped into the chamber, torches held high
and swords drawn. "Halt, who's there?" the first called out belligerently as his
eyes adjusted to the increased light.
"Alodar, journeyman, and Morwin, apprentice, to master thaumaturge Periac, in
the service of fair queen Vendora," Alodar quickly responded as half a dozen
more poured into the room.
"Then you serve me hi most unusual ways, journeyman," a woman's voice
answered him in turn, soft and distinctive amid the growing din.
Alodar turned from the approaching men to the new speaker, and his eyes
widened in surprise.
"Caution, my fair lady," growled the tall, white-haired man who now entered and
stood beside her. "I remember this name, Alodar, and I doubt his interests would

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truly serve your crown."
Vendora the queen smiled at Alodar and then turned to her advisor, "And what
great threat does this journeyman harbor, lord Festil?" she asked. She brushed
back the tumble of her golden blond hair with deliberate casu-alness. Her blue
eyes, that mirrored the morning sea, sparkled above a small upturned nose and
lips of apple red. Her smile radiated the promise of delight, and Alodar felt his
pulse suddenly quicken. She wore men's clothing, leggings, tunic, and cape, but
they did not hide the thrust of her ample figure. With a dramatic sweep, she
thrust back the cape and stood arms akimbo, left fist above a small dagger,
awaiting Festil's reply.
"You were too young a princess to take notice, my fair lady," Festil said. "But
many were the council meetings in which your father pounded the table with
rage, the blood bloating the veins of his neck, his face flushed red. And all
because one headstrong vassal dared to stand fast to his opinions when
unanimity with royal persuasion was obviously what discretion demanded."
Festil stopped and then nointed his red-gloved fist at
Alodar. His lips downturned with displeasure, pulling tight age-blotched skin
across high-thrust cheeks on his narrow face. "No, my fair lady, this man's father
put his interests before those of the crown. In the end, he refused to yield one
time too often and received his just due. It was a matter of no lasting importance,
but your sire demonstrated that he was indeed king. His lands confiscated and
title revoked by royal decree, Alodun ended his days in common squalor, trying to
enlist others in his effort to regain what was no longer rightfully his. I judge his
son tracks you here seeking restitution, hoping the years would dim the
memories of your father's faithful advisors. But I served your sire well, as I serve
you now, and on his deathbed promised that I would ensure nothing be forgotten
in matters of state."
Veodora dropped her arms to her sides and laughed. Her voice floated lightly like
a wind-blown leaf, with no hint of the weight of the crown. "But if I were but a
young princess, lord Festil," she said, "then the journeyman here could have been
but a lad. How deep could such passion burn in a heart so young?"
She turned to Alodar, eyes widening, and he felt the royal demand for a reply. For
an instant he paused. Festil's words stung, and the memories boiled out of their
hiding places, fresh as when they were new. He had been young, yes. Too young
to aid, but old enough to feel the helplessness when he saw the faces of cruel
laughter and the sneers over shoulders of hastily turned backs. He remembered
the image of his father, eyes finally dim and spirit broken. Not a single vassal had
pledged to convince a stubborn monarch to return what he had so capriciously
taken away. The impulse to lash out with words of his own welled up within him,

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but he clenched his fist into a tight ball and swallowed painfully.
It was so futile a struggle then, he thought. Could it be any different now? Was
not the decision to cease resistance to the forces which overwhelmed him a good
one? Renounce the claim to be a noble of Procolon and follow instead wherever
fate might lead him. Ignore the feeling of incompleteness, of nagging
dissatisfaction with each niche in life that he might try. Travel on to the next and
the next, sampling and testing until he found the one that he could embrace with
relaxing acceptance.
He looked into Vendora's eyes and spoke slowly. "As I have said, my fair lady, I
am a journeyman thaumaturge. Not that my craft should matter. Since my
father's death, I have been many things, goatherd, woodcutter, tavern-hand. And
it is true that I seek, but my presence here is not by plan of supplication. Rather I
had hoped that these dungeons might finally yield something to aid us all."
"And what have you found?"
"Nothing, my lady, nothing yet," Alodar said turning his gaze from Vendora to
answer the smaller woman similarly clad standing at her side. She too had her
cowl thrown back revealing short auburn hair and eyes that danced darkly in the
firelight. If she were by herself, men would turn to look, but next to Vendora her
beauty would go unnoticed.
"Sweetbalm, of course nothing. Nothing as one with any sanity would expect,"
Festil exploded, brushing aside .Alodar's presence with a ware of his hand. "May I
state the case bluntly again, my fair lady? We will not extricate ourselves from
this siege by following the whims of lady Aeriel here, no matter how good her
intentions. This is a matter that can be settled only by arms, arms striking in
unison to achieve the same objective. You must choose, and choose now before it
is too late."
"My choice for life, merely to help us better fight a border skirmish. A weighty
choice indeed, lord Festil," Vendora responded.
"It may well be your life, my fair lady. We are too undermanned to defend the
walls properly. We must use every man and weapon we have with utmost
efficiency. Yet we squander our time and resources in as many ways as we have
lords within these walls. Andac launches a sally with no cover; Fendel crams all of
his archers into the southwest tower, leaving the whole southwall unprotected;
old Cranston detaches his men to the bidding of a mere craftsman with some mad
gondola scheme. And why is this chaos so? Because each man strives to outdo the
next in some feat of valor, some deed for the sagas, to make you swoon and
choose him for your champion. Your beauty inspires great desire. Vendora, as
perhaps no queen of Procolon did before, but thus far it has also created great

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turmoil in the realm as well."
Alodar  watched  as  Vendora  received  Festil's  words
with a slight smile, again brushing back her hair. She glanced about the room,
testing what was being said, her smile broadening as she caught the reaction of
each man in turn.
"My fair lady," Festil continued, pounding one fist down upon the other, "we need
your choice now, not after each brave man here has gone singly to his fate in a
vain attempt to impress you. Name the man and the petty bickering among our
young scions will cease. Name the man and all here will follow him as we are
sworn to do. Name the man so that we may fight as an army, rather than a horde
of errant lords, each intent upon his own private quest."
"And so, rather than many small uncoordinated thrusts," Aeriel cut in, "we will
unite and make one large one that will prove equally ineffective. You deprecate
the sagas, Festil, but in your heart you cling to them still. One last hurrah and
men of stout heart and unity of purpose rout the enemy against overwhelming
odds and secure the Iron Fist once again. A noble tale, but one that we cannot
make so. Our salvation, I think, lies outside the traditions of our forefathers."
"Had we the wisdom of our forefathers, we would not face the difficulties we have
here now," Festil boomed, his voice echoing off the walls. "Had our queen chosen
the hero of the realm last solstice, he would have the kingdom in good order by
now. The states to the south would not risk his displeasure, and all of the border
fortresses would be fully manned. Had we the champion now, he would have
persuaded her to remain where she belongs in the safety of the palaces of
Ambrosia. He certainly would have had the sense not to send her venturing unto
the very borders with only a small party of retainers, more for show than for
protection, no matter what the babbling of some court sorcerer. The mines in the
Fumus Mountains may indeed be surrendering the last of their wealth, and the
royal revenues thereby decreased. But to risk seeking alchemical formulas hidden
here, merely on the word of enfeebled Kelric, is the height of imprudence. Why,
Bandor merely had to wait until the portcullis clanged down and he nigh had
Procolon handed to him on a platter."
"Enough, Festil," Vendora interjected softly but with
authority. "I grow weary of the same long-winded discourse between you and
Aeriel whenever you get the opportunity. You have served my father well, and I
value your council now. But I wonder how hard you would press were not your
own son within these walls and vying with the rest for my favor. I will choose the
hero of the realm when it suits me personally and not just the circumstances.

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"And Aeriel, I weary also of this tramping about in the gloom. This chamber holds
for us no better clue than the ones above, I fear. A thick iron slab on the floor of
the topmost, a featureless pillar floor to ceiling in the second, and this pool of
water here, with nothing else to catch the eyes. Let this journeyman continue his
search and report to us anything unusual that he may find. We should now return
to our chambers and contemplate how we shall conduct ourselves tomorrow."
With these words, Vendora turned and marched back into the passageway. The
two men-at-arms nearest scrambled to pass in front and light the way ahead. The
rest dutifully filed out behind. In a moment, Alodar and Morwin were again
alone, surrounded only by the musty smell and echoes from the retreating party.
Morwin looked about the chamber, awaiting what they should do next, but
Alodar stood fixed, deep in thought.
"Whalt, speechless? A rare day for one so glib," Morwin finally said mockingly.
"What affects you thus?"
Alodar was silent for a few moments more, then replied. "Your remark betrays a
boy's heart still beating in that lanky frame of yours, Morwin."
"And what kind beats in yours, most august journeyman?"
"Oh, enough. Let us be off and do the queen's bidding."
CHAPTER Two Craftsman at War
THE next morning Alodar awoke with a stab of pain. He grabbed his side and
blinked up into the predawn light He heard the familiar noise of the courtyard:
treading feet, clinking mail, and the barking of orders as the castle sprang to life
to begin another day of defense. He squinted up at the figure standing at his side,
fully armed from steel-tipped boots nest to his now sore ribs to a head encased in
mail.
"Up and present yourself, journeyman. You serve me and my men today. Their
first barrage is but minutes away and I want you ready."
Alodar rose to sitting from the straw on the bailey floor, his head groggy from
lack of sleep, and his heart heavy from the lack of success hi his labors the night
before.
"Come on, man, make your preparations. Wake your apprentice and get up on the
high platform," the armed man persisted. "As soon as we ferret your master out
of the keep, we will place him there as well. I fear we will have need of much
healing today."

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Alodar stood up and looked the man in the face. The features were familiar and
the red surcoat confirmed his guess. "You are lord Feston, Festil's son," he said,
"mar-shall of the west wall."
"Yes, today I am that," Feston replied curtly, staring back from deep-set eyes. He
had his father's narrow face and high cheeks, but his brow jutted forward with
rough angles, giving him the appearance of a perpetual squint. Beneath shaggy
brows like woolly caterpillars, a large nose hooked down over a wide gash of a
mouth pulled into a grim line. "Now see to your task," he said as he turned and in
great haste sprinted off in the direction of the keep.
Nimbly jumping and sidestepping still sleeping forms, he rapidly covered the
distance, his mail a-jingle with his erratic motion.
Alodar finally cleared his head and turned to wake Morwin. Together they
dragged the two-wheeled cart, near which they had spent the night, to the base of
the stone steps near the western gatehouse. From the large trunks lashed to the
rough sideposts, they unpacked the crucibles, sacks of starch, slabs of wax, and
other paraphernalia they would need for the day. Swinging the heavy loads across
their backs, they slowly mounted the stairs to the high platforms jutting out from
the wall above. As their heads poked through the opening in the first level, Alodar
paused, deeply inhaling the aroma of a morning meal simmering above a small
firepit.
"On to the top, thaumaturge. There is no work for you here," one of the men
stirring the broth growled. Alodar shrugged his shoulders and resumed his
upward tread. He and Morwin climbed on past a second level, which, like the
first, supported archers who would fire through the narrow rows of loopholes
encircling the castle. Then, panting from their exertion, they arrived at last at the
top of the wall.
Alodar glanced down the line of merlons and crenels. They ran straight and true
to the southwest tower some three hundred feet away and then continued on at
right angles to the east for another six hundred. All along the length, knots of
men were making ready for the day, stringing bows, nocking arrows, and
watching the activities in the fields beyond. The tower to the southeast was the
smallest of the four that marked the corners of the fortress, but it also soared into
the sky, like a double-length lance, seemingly too tall for such a slender shaft.
From the corner, the wall swept back to the north, but Alodar's view of the east
gatehouse was obscured by the massive keep that sat in the center of the bailey.
Although already high off the courtyard floor, he had to crane his neck upwards
to see the bartizan from which he had launched the air gondola the day before.
Behind the huge stronghold, the wall continued on to complete the square

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between the two corner towers of the north and the western gatehouse next to
where Alodar stood. He looked into the bustle of activity among the ramshackle
of temporary
huts and timber buildings in the bailey below, and the near chaos contrasted
sharply with the cold symmetry of the gray stone.
"Make ready, here comes the first," rang in Alodar's ear as he hurriedly dropped
his load and knelt up against the protection of the wall. His heart began to race as
he heard the crack of the siegecraft's release. In an instant, the walls rang with
the sharp contact of stone on stone.
The archer next to him leaped from his crouch and drew his longbow. 'They start
early today," he said to no one. "They must be anxious to feel our sting." He
loosed three shafts before ducking again beside Alodar's gear to await the next
onslaught. The second crack was faint and distant. Although Alodar could see
rocks ricochet and splinter off the other walls, the stone he pressed against
remained quiet and firm, not reverberating from any direct hit. Seconds passed,
and the tenseness grew. Alodar held his breath, wondering why no volley came
from the west in synchronization with the rest. What could disrupt the precision
that had bombarded them so incessantly the many days before? Finally he could
stand it no longer and slowly extended himself to squint over the capstone.
"The belfries," he shouted. "The belfries are in motion towards the wall."
All along the west, the throwing engines were idle, but the men-at-arms hid
behind their shields no longer. They ran at full tilt, carrying their long scaling
ladders and pulling the tall leather-and-steel-covered belfries towards the
defenses. Three slender towers rocked and swayed like giant metronomes as they
joggled over the rough terrain, but they stayed upright and closed with alarming
swiftness.
As the word of the assault propagated down the line, the defenders sprang to
positions to fire at the now exposed targets rapidly approaching them. The archer
next to Alodar released one shaft and was drawing another when he suddenly
yelled and was thrown backwards, his bow hurling high into the air. Alodar
quickly reached out and grabbed his legs tightly as the heavily armed man nearly
tumbled over the platform down onto the bailey floor. The shaft of a blue-
feathered arrow quivered in his shoulder through split rings of mail. Alodar
glanced back through the crenel to see d^rs at the top of the belfries
thrown open and archers within answering the volleys from the castle, shaft for
shaft. Along the wall he heard additional screams as more missiles found their

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mark.
"Quickly, Morwin," be shouted. "Start filling the molds."
The next archer in the line, several crenels away, saw his stricken comrade and
slowly began to crawl to him, well aware of the swish of arrows that now sailed
with deadly regularity through the openings in the wall. When he arrived, he
pinned the wounded man firmly, and Morwin, with one mighty heave, yanked the
arrow free. The soldier cried with pain as he passed into unconsciousness, and
the ragged hole in his arm disgorged a flood of deep red blood and bits of flesh.
Alodar blotted a bit of the blood onto a piece of cloth and tossed it into the small
crucible he had ready, simmering nearby. He added some starch and said the
incantation quickly, with no elaborate subterfuge of words. In a few moments the
starch began to thicken into a gel and Alodar turned his attention to the wax, not
bothering to check that the bloodflow was stopping as well.
"Which one is the coolest, Morwin?" he asked as he looked over the apprentice's
growing collection of limbs, torsos, and heads that he dumped from small lead
molds. The apprentice pointed to his left and then resumed filling the empty
molds from the bubbling vat and lining the solidified forms in a row.
Alodar selected a waxen arm and twisted a deep gouge near the shoulder joint
with his thumb. Returning to the archer, he broke the connection of the spell and
then cut the mail and underjersey away from the wound. He stabbed the scraps of
cloth and ringlets into the soft wax of the model and began a second incantation.
When he was done, he held the limb over his small fire. Then working with steady
strokes he slowly filled the gouge, returning the wax to its original smooth shape.
To all external appearances the man now seemed well; the blood had stopped and
the wound was neatly closed. But from the furrowed and sweating brow Alodar
knew that the pain was still there. The soldier would recover much more quickly
than if unattended and with no risk of
infection, but it would be some time before he again drew a bow.
"Thaumaturge, over here and hurry." "On the second level, two men down."
"Quickly man, stop the bleeding."
Cries for Alodar's assistance rang out along the wall and from the platform
underneath. He bundled up what gear he could carry and scurried toward the
nearest call for help. He quickly patched up two men and moved oS to a third, too
intent upon his tasks to watch the progress of the approaching attack.
He attended three more on the second level in as many minutes and then climbed

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back up to Morwin for new supplies. As his head popped through the platform
floor, he heard several ragged hurrahs and the sound of sword on shield. Down
towards the flanking tower, be could see that two belfries had made contact with
the wall. The bJue-surcoated troops of Bandor poured from the openings onto
the walkway and into the press of defenders converging upon them.
Two separate m&es formed on the small confines of the narrow ledge. Alodar
squinted at the swirls of activity but could not guess the outcome, since neither
side could maneuver many men into striking position.
"By the laws, Alodar, look," Morwin shouted. Alodar ripped his gaze from the
fighting to the wall immediately behind him. A third belfry thudded against the
stone, and men began to jump out over the merlon onto the platform. Alodar
quickly looked beyond the men to the gatehouse and then back over his shoulder
to the south. No one else was near; all the men-at-arms along the wall had rushed
to defend against the first two onslaughts.
Six men bounded onto the walkway, with swords drawn, and began to move
towards Alodar and the ladder to the courtyard. Alodar looked wildly around the
paraphernalia for some weapon to aid him. He saw the still reclining form of the
first man he had tended. With a deep breath, he stooped and withdrew the
unused sword from its scabbard.
The cold steel felt surprisingly heavy and unbalanced, and he clasped his left
hand over his right around the thick hilt. He advanced one step and grimaced
with the effort of remembering the meager instruction he had re-
ceived as a boy. The advancing men seemed to pay him no heed and rapidly
closed upon the point of the blade he held before his chest.
As they met, the lead man raised his sword to strike, and Alodar jarred himself
into action, pushing his own blade up with arms extended. The blow landed near
the hilt and the edges grated along one another until the guards locked with a dull
clank. Alodar felt his elbows begin to bend from the downward pressure and
struggled to push them straight
He drew his thoughts away from the others immediately behind and looked into
the eyes staring back from a face ringed with mail. He saw the beginning of a
smile as his arms trembled and bowed even more. With a sudden wrench, he
twisted his sword free and danced aside as his opponent's blade flew past his
shoulder to strike the ledge with a numbing clang. Alodar slashed down on the
exposed arms and, though it did not break mail, the force of the blow pitched his
adversary forward, sprawled at his feet. Hastily he glanced back upward at the
other five who collapsed upon him.

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"Stand aside, journeyman," he heard suddenly over his shoulder. Before he could
react, he was knocked from his feet. In a blur he saw the red surcoat of Feston
streak by and several more heads bob up through the platform
opening.
Feston did not hesitate. Lunging low with the impetus of his initial charge, he
speared the first man he encountered with the point of his sword. He raised his
shield to ward off a blow from a second on the left and slammed his steel-capped
knee into the groin of a third on the right. Freeing his sword, he slashed savagely
down on the neck of the man as be stooped in reflex and then pirouetted to drive
his blade into the face of the next. The blue surcoats hesitated and Feston sensed
his advantage. Yelling loudly, he raised his sword overhead and, with swift right
and left slashes, tore through their ranks. The men just exiting the belfry saw
their comrades in front fall and hastily climbed back inside. The others on the
platform, sensing the desertion behind them, turned and ran for the protection of
the tower and shut the doors, Feston laughed a deep booming laugh as the
followers
ran up with opportunity to strike only at Alodar's foe still sprawled on the
walkway.
"Quickly, the rocker," Festil commanded as additional men rose to the top level,
carrying barbed iron spikes and long coils of rope. The men spread out into two
lines on either side of the belfry, uncoiling the rope as they went; while Feston
strutted, guarding the doors, each line was tied to a spike driven into the belfry's
frame. Then one group pulled the rope taut with a sudden jerk, rocking the tower
a little to the side. As it swayed back the other team pulled in synchronization and
added to the magnitude of the swing.
"And heave, and heave," Feston marked the cadence. With each thrust, the belfry
rocked with greater amplitude upon its base.
Alodar picked himself up from his dazed sprawl and glanced over the wall to the
ground below. "Of course, Morwin," he exclaimed. "The wheels move it forward
and back. We could but push the belfry from the walls with a direct thrust but not
topple it But from the side, it sits firmly on the ground and cannot compensate
for the motions we force upon it."
As he spoke, the top of the tower oscillated in wider and wider arcs. Finally it
tipped over in a huge swing and continued on, to crash upon the hard ground,
like the last tree logged from a forest. With a sharp wrenching growl, it splintered
into several parts, throwing men, steel, and dust high into the air.
The defenders down the wall gave a shout and increased the vigor of their thrusts.

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The knots of men started to grow smaller as the attackers now began to inch back
slowly under the intensified assault. A second shout went up as Alodar saw the
other belfries also begin to rock, pushed by beams thrust through the archery
loopholes one platform below. As with the first, each shove swayed the belfries
more and more from a stable footing. Bander's men gave back more ground to
the press, casting anxious glances over their shoulders.
In a moment, a trumpet sounded on the plain, and the disciplined circles of blue
and silver dissolved into masses of fleeing men. Swords, shields, and fallen
comrades were abandoned in the rush, as if they stung to the touch. From the
distance, Alodar saw the confusion as they raced for
the belfries, leaping from the wall into the open doors as the towers tore free and
began to pull away.
As the belfries withdrew, a third shout, the loudest of all, coursed along the wall.
"We are thin," Feston yelled waving his sword above his head in defiance, "but
not so thin that we cannot stand against a mere three belfries. Thus be the fate of
whomever tries the walls of Iron Fist."
As quickly as they had come, the surviving siegecraft rumbled back to the precise
line of mangonels and trebuchets. The scaling crews, who had never got a chance
to plant their ladders, scurried alongside, shields on their backs to protect against
the renewed rain of arrows from the wait All was quiet for a moment; but once
the formation was reestablished, the throwing engines resumed their
bombardment.
The missiles again filled the air, but Alodar felt the tension of the morning
dissolve away; the downward crash of rock seemed less potent a threat than
enemy towers at the very edge of the wall. He looked about him and reassembled
his gear. Ducking for cover during the volleys, he made his way methodically back
and forth along the three levels of the walkway, repairing injury from the abortive
thrust as he found it. Morale was high with the first success of the entire siege.
The sergeant's dire prediction of the day before was nowhere to be heard. The
men babbled away about the tower's great crash, and Feston's feat grew larger
with each retelling. As Alodar trudged along, the day fell into the routine of the
many that had proceeded it. The exchange of stone and arrow continued, but the
men laughed and sang, choosing to ignore that the ring grew still tighter, and that
on the morrow many more than three belfries would come.
Alodar worked his craft in reverie, wearily unmindful of the passage of time. With
the setting of the sun, he and Morwin returned their gear to the cart and fell into
line for their daily meal. His stomach growled, his muscles ached, and his
fatigued mind had had enough of siege. As the ladle was pouring its watery
contents into Alodar's bowl, he saw again the red surcoat bounding across fhe

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courtyard.
"Father, have you heard?" Feston boomed. "Hero of the day. Vendora herself
pinned the ribbon on my sleeve. Ah, would that every day might present such
opportunity.
Then there would be no doubt as to who is most worthy to be hero of the realm."
"Well done, my son," Festil replied, matching stride and pounding him firmly on
the back as his group merged with Feston's. "Surely you distinguish yourself
above all others here. If only the fair lady would choose now, there would be no
other choice but you."
"Yes, a virtual demon of swiftness," one of the accompanying retinue broke in,
"Seven men felled with but one mighty blade."
"Only seven?" Feston turned to stare at the praise-giver. "I distinctly remember
nine."
"Oh, nine surely," the man quickly amended. "Nine men down and the tide of the
attack turned. A tale for the sagas with no doubt."
The group marched for the northwest tower, cutting through the queue in which
Alodar stood. The line parted in deference and reformed as a throng, lining the
course of the men-at-arms. Alodar heard murmurs of admiration and girlish
giggles as they passed through with purposeful tread and clink of mail.
"But you know, father, the competition runs keen for Vendora's hand." Feston
laughed. "I was but the second man to challenge Bander's vassals on the high
wall. Some fool thaumaturge was there before me, somehow planning to stop the
rush with but a single blade. I suppose to be fair, I should have given him his
chance first."
"Yes, it would have served him right to take on such pretense as to be a man-at-
arms," Festil replied. "These people have their uses, but they should also know
the limits of proper behavior."
Alodar flung his half-filled bowl of swill to the ground, red flushing his cheeks,
too fatigued to let the irritation pass by. "The defense of Iron Fist rests as heavily
on our shoulders as it does upon you lofty lords," he blurted. "Without the
thaumaturge, carpenter, and smith, these walls would have fallen long ago. Fault
me not for picking up a sword when it was needed. It is far more than I have seen
you do when the rubble was cleared or the horses fed."
The crowd fell abruptly silent, and Feston turned to see who accosted him. "Well,

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well, if it is not the budding hero?" he said. "And what would you have done with
your great prowess at arras? Dispatched a dozen men to my nine or ten?"
"I claim no great skill at arms, my lord Feston," Alodar said slowly.
"Thaumaturgy is my trade and I am here only by chance. I follow an itinerant
master from settlement to outpost, earning what we can by applying our craft
where it is needed. Had not the siege doors slammed shut, we would be long gone
from this place and our paths never crossed. But we are here, all of us together,
lord and man alike. And each of us, mason, carpenter, smith, tanner, and
flockmaster, aids our common cause as best he can. I do not envy you your skill at
arms, only question your judgment that its value far exceeds what I have to offer,"
Feston advanced slowly back to stand directly in front of Alodar, eyes glaring
down from his extra six inches of height, "Do I hear your right, most bold
journeyman? Your trade of equal worth to a man-at arms? If so, then tell me
quickly now how much training have you received at the hands of warmaster
Cedric in his sparring yard in Ambrosia? How many lives has your blade cut
short? How many battles for Procolon have you won? How many great deeds in
the sagas relate to the smith or carpenter? How many times has your like been
hero of the day? Yes, perhaps even hero of the realm?"
Feston's supporters broke into laughter at his ridicule, and Alodar breathed
deeply to maintain what composure he had left. "No, my lord, the sagas are silent
indeed on what you speak," he said at last. "But mark you, suppose that lowly
Alodar be born to the table of mighty lord Festil, and Feston scion to doomed
Alodun. What then of my chance to be a hero, with blade paid for with gold, with
training in arms from the likes of this Cedric, with soft bed and groaning board
always provided for? And what then of yours, forced to survive as but you could,
grabbing at whatever trade gave you enough coin to feed your belly and keep out
the cold?"
Feston eyed Alodar's lean form, tilted his head back and drowned out even his
chorus with his booming laugh. "Sweetbalm, might the blackest demons aid the
house of Festil, were the likes of you born to be heir. Know you that I am marshall
of the west wall, hero of the day, and the mirrors know what else, because I
deserve it so
The blood of glory runs in my veins, and I will burn my name into as many pages
of legend as I am able. I and men like me will chart the destiny of Procolon with
as firm a grip of iron as this castle has upon the plain. And for that stewardship

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the men of this land sing grateful praise."
Before Alodar could reply, someone in the background shouted, "Hail Feston,
hero of the day and savior of Iron Fist." The crowd took up a rhythmic chant,
drowning out any chance of Alodar's being heard. Feston turned slowly around in
a small circle, arms folded across his chest, and attempted a stern smile to
acknowledge the accolade. Alodar looked at the throng as well and saw adoration
on every shouting face. He spotted the first archer he had attended raising his
good arm and yelling hoarsely, unmindful of who had saved his life. Even Morwin
could not resist the hypnotic tug of the rhythm and shouted with the rest.
After a minute, Feston raised his arms to stop the cheers, and the courtyard fell
silent, under his complete control. With even heavier sarcasm, he addressed
Alodar again. "And what makes you aspire to rise above your station so,
journeyman? Could it be that you hope by such a feat to turn the head of our fair
lady away from true men-at-arms and upon your own heroic profile?"
To his own surprise, Alodar's cheeks flushed involuntarily as he thought of the
beauty of the queen.
"Sweetbalm, my son," Festil's deep voice roared, "you have hit upon it. This
shamed varlet's son seeks no less than Vendora herself and truly to be hero of the
realm. You had best redouble your efforts tomorrow to stay in contention."
The crowd crowed with laughter hi unison with the guffaws of the retainers,
drowning out any of Alodar's sudden protestations. The noise echoed across the
courtyard and seemed to him louder than any of the din of battle. He looked
about for a sympathetic face; finding none, he lowered his eyes to wait until they
tired of the sport. Eventually the noise began to subside, and the charge, "Feston,
hero of the day," started again in its place. The men-at-arms resumed their pace
towards the tower, and the crowd fell in behind, cheering them on. Alodar looked
up and, seeing no eyes still upon him,
headed in the opposite direction across the courtyard, torn between the tugs of
haste and decorum.
In a moment, he was alone. Seething in his own thoughts, he paced along the wall
into the night. He struggled to submerge again the memories of hurt and
frustration, but this time they would not go. He ran his hands through the many
pockets of his cape, trying to concentrate on the contents he found there,
enumerating the ways in which they aided him in his trade.
Had he fooled himself all this while, pretending that it did not matter? Accepting
what deep inside he could not? Choosing to float and seek, when he should fight
the current, no matter how swift? Is that why, regardless of what he had tried, it

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always seemed the same, empty, incomplete? With an uneasiness that was
compelling, pushing him onward to yet another craft? If he was a lord's son,
could he truly rest content until he was what fate has chosen for him to be?
He stopped and filled his lungs as the anger did not cool but boiled higher within
him. By the laws, he was as much a man as Feston or any of his peers! If not by
deed then by birth, every respect shown Feston was his by right as well. Enough
of drifting; he would accept half rations as his lot no longer.
Alodar let his breath out slowly and threw his head back, eyes closed, trying with
reason to divert from the path his emotions were taking him. But how? How
could he grasp what had eluded his father's every effort and in the end crushed
his spirit from him? Whenever Alodar had dared to consider it in the past, the
answer had always been the same. First try reason, then plead, and finally beg as
they tossed him out of each manor hi which once he was welcome.
What would make the likes of a Feston meet him eye to eye, weigh courteously
what he would say, force from the noble's memory whatever had befallen Alodar's
house before? No, even better! Feston should meet him on bended knee in
recompense for what has happened and with the deference such as that shown to
the queen.
Alodar blinked his eyes open and jerked his head forward fully alert. The queen,
he thought, a beauty who would be the fair prize of a quest from the sagas. A
queen besieged, who had yet to select her hero of the
realm. A queen naturally gracious to whomever might rescue her from the peril in
which she was now ensnared. Title and estate restored would be the least of her
favors. And the hero of the realm. For him they would be forced to bend their
knees.
He looked up at the night sky, the tension suddenly gone, his lips curving into a
slight smile as he savored the image forming in his mind.
He envisioned himself rounding the corner to the main throughfare that led to
the palace gates. The roar of the crowd intensified and he patted his mount gently
on the neck to soothe already jangled nerves. From the second and third stories
which dotted the way, streamers and confetti rained down onto an already
clogged street, and many a lesser building seemed on the verge of collapse from
the humanity it carried.
Royal guardsmen paced slowly ahead trying to clear a way for the procession.
Young girls sighed as he passed, batting eyes or gesturing outrageously to catch
his attention.

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"Alodar, Alodar the hero, Alodar the savior of the fair lady, Alodar of Procolon,"
the crowds shouted over and over without tiring, each small group trying to
drown out the rest as he passed. And Alodar smiled and waved expansively. He
glanced over his shoulder at his groomsmen who followed and saw them riding
straight and tall, sharing in the fame that showered down on their leader and
touching them as well.
Far too quickly the concourse was traveled and Alodar and his guard dismounted
at the base of the wide gate that led to the house of the rulers of Procolon. The
crowd momentarily fell silent and trumpets sounded from within with the
voluntary of the queen. With regal slowness the gates parted and, five abreast, the
nobility marched down the steps to meet the one who had saved the queen.
White-haired lord Festil was first. With a dramatic flourish of his cape he fell to
one knee and bowed his head.
"Where you command, may you see fit to let me follow," he said. "Your deed will
forever shine in my heart and in those who come after me."
He stepped back into line and Feston swore his allegiance in turn. In quick
precision the barons of the
outlands, the lords of the fortress towns, and the lesser nobles as well knelt and
gave Alodar the accolade of the hero.
The trumpets blared again and Vendora appeared unaccompanied at the
gateway. With a long gown trailing behind she gracefully glided down the steps to
extend Alodar her hand. Alodar knelt before Vendora and kissed her offered hand
and she immediately bade him rise.
The fantasies raced on as Alodar continued his pacing, unmindful of the time.
Finally, as the moon rose against the gatehouse of the east, he broke out of his
reverie as he saw Morwin's lazy shuffle coming his way.
"Ah, there you are, Alodar. Thinking of another scheme to get the attention of the
lords on the morrow?"
Alodar wrinkled his brow and his eyes shot flame at the apprentice. "Listen,
Morwin, I strive to break this ring of siege as much as anyone, but by the laws, I
will no longer abide some popinjay taking more credit than is his due. I tell you
this, the battle is not yet over and we shall see who is most deserving of the chant
of the crowd and who the ridicule." He paused, recalling his newly found resolve.
"And yes, the hand of the fair lady."
Without waiting for a reply, he stomped off to seek sleep in what remained of the

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night.
CHAPTER THREE The Castle s Secret
THE next morning Alodar again was roused out of deep slumber, but this time
the figure bending above him was shrouded in black cape and hood.
"Master Periac?" Alodar squinted through sleep-filled eyes. "I had almost given
you up for lost in the underground chambers. We have not seen you for days."
"Yes, it is I," Periac said, pushing back his hood and
patting into place his ruffled black hair. His temples were bare; but, by judicious
positioning, he was able to cover the bald spot on the top of his head. His watery,
pale blue eyes straddled a nose too small for the blocky face, and his mouth was
hidden top and bottom by white flecked hair.
"I have been busy with contemplation, Alodar, busy with contemplation. A well
turned thought may save the fevered activities of many. In any event, I trust you
have conducted yourself to credit our craft in my absence. A good reputation goes
a long way towards unlocking the next door, as I have often instructed you. But
there is no time for lecture now. We must go at once for audience with the
queen."
Alodar immediately sat up, eyes wide awake. A chance for information, he
thought. Information for the plan that I must soon put into shape.
"But Morwin and I are assigned to aid Feston's men on the west wall, master," he
said with distaste, "and should prepare for the bombardment soon to begin."
"There is no time for that; it will wait. The queen summons and we will go. It is
an opportunity, and we must use it as best we can for advantage. A queen's
gratitude goes even further than reputation."
Alodar smiled and Periac's brows knit into a frown.
"Do not presume you know already the full value of what I instruct, Alodar," he
said. "You are quick to learn, yes, and have experienced more of the craft than
those who have spent twice the time as journeymen. The best that I have had, I
truly admit. But the practice of thau-maturgy and living with profit from it can
come only from patiently following what a master has to pass on to you."
"But have I not correctly performed whatever you have asked of me?" Alodar
asked, rising to his feet. "And then eagerly pressed for more?"

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"It is exactly that impatience of which I speak, Alodar," Periac said, stroking his
goatee. "One evening's discussion on the weaker similarities of form, the next day
a single trial with stream-rounded pebbles and a few acorns, and then you are
done with it. Why, when I studied, I spent more than a year on that one subject
alone. You seem less interested in learning thaumaturgy than in
just getting through it. But as I have often said, there is no great mystery revealed
at the end. You become a master by solid progress, not by superficial dabbling or
sudden revelation."
"I do not fault your methods, master," Alodar said. "The haste comes from
beyond the boundaries of the craft. Look, when you were a journeyman, how sure
were you to dedicate your life to the art?"
"Why, there was no question," Periac said. "My father and uncles were masters
before me. From their hands I learned my trade. No other calling did I consider."
"And had I come to manhood a nobleman and a nobleman's son, then I think I
would have felt the same," Alodar said. "Content with my lot, not questioning
what else could be. But instead, I have raced through thaumaturgy as I have the
rest, seeking the mystery that you say is not there, the feeling that this indeed is
what I really am."
Periac stared at Alodar for a moment in silence. "You have the makings of a
master in you, Alodar," be said. "But that feeling will come only when you are
truly worthy of it."
He paused again, and then suddenly drew his cape around him. "But enough of
this for now. The business of the moment is the audience with the queen."
Periac started for the keep in the center of the courtyard. As the barrage began,
Alodar ran to catch up with his mentor.
Once inside the keep, they spiraled several times around the staircase along the
inner wall before they arrived at the level of the queen. One of the two guards
with crossed halberds at the doorway checked a list with his free hand and
motioned them to enter.
Beyond the doorway, Alodar found himsetf in a large, quiet anteroom, with
smooth stone walls hung with tapestries that damped the battle's din. Low
benches and stools, covered with rich velvet and scattered about Uke a child's
cast of jackstones, cluttered the entire floor. Two more men guarded a small
archway draped with a thick curtain, and from time to time a page emerged and
called out a name to the group sitting or pacing about. In response, one of the
waiting men would spring up and fol-

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low the page when he just as quickly disappeared. No one ever returned;
presumably they all left after their conference by some other door. From time to
time, additional messengers burst into the room and proceeded unchecked
through the curtain, waving hastily scrawled notes on the progress of the fighting
down below.
Time passed, and Alodar saw Periac settle into a comfortable introspection,
staring off into space. He tried to imitate the master as best he could, but the
anticipation made the time crawl. The shadow from the window to the east
diminished to nothing, and the one from the west had grown nearly full length
when finally the page motioned them to come forth.
As the guard pulled back the curtain and Periac stooped to enter, Alodar
understood why he had been asked to attend. The inner room was tapestried like
the first, but almost devoid of furnishings. In its very center stood a long, oaken
table with seats for eight. Seven of the chairs were occupied by Vendora and her
advisors, and behind each stood an attendant arrayed in the colors of his master.
Periac took the seat at the foot of the table, and Alodar stood behind him,
gripping the chair back in imitation of the others.
He looked down the length of the table at Vendora and saw that she wore a sea-
blue dress deeply cut in front with a large aquamarine snuggled like a nesting egg
in the cleavage of her breast. Her hair coiled in elaborate wavelets, framed by a
sparkling tiara. In regal attire, she seemed impersonal and distant, less of a
woman and more like a trophy to be placed on the mantle at the end of an
adventure.
On her right sat lord Festil, arms folded across his chest and his back ramrod
straight. To her left, lady Aeriel rose to speak, and Alodar noticed she wore the
same clothing as when he had seen her before, tunic and leggings on a pleasing
slender form, dagger at the waist, but on her right side rather than the left. Her
hair was shoulder length and simply kept, and her cheeks were clear and fresh,
covered with freckles scattered about like a sunburst through a willow tree. She
glanced down at Periac and Alodar, and her dark eyes smiled encouragement as
she began.
"We have solicited and heard diverse suggestions today, my lords, from
commander to soldier alike, on how we might break the grip that tightens about
us," she said. "But we must leave no possibility unexamined, and I have
recommended to our fair lady that we hear also what the common craftsman has
to offer for our cause."

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"The hour grows late, my fair lady," interrupted Festil, "to waste our time in so
fruitless a manner. Exactly what is it that you would perform for true men-at-
arms, tradesman? How will your pox healing and wart removal gain us
deliverance when sword and shield will not?"
"My lord Festil," Periac responded in a voice cool with deliberation, "judge the
potency of my craft not merely by the practices you see about you. These
wastelands are but one corner of the world. Here by tradition, for want of a better
reason, thaumaturgy and the other arts play but a small part in warfare. But I
assure you that in realms elsewhere, my craft has a bigger role in deciding affairs
of state."
"Then how shall you dispose of our problem?" interjected the short and corpulent
man on Periac's left. "Will you rip the earth apart and have Bandor's forces
swallowed up whole? Or perhaps you can enchant each of our blades so that they
can cut through his mail like a knife through butter?"
"My good lords," Periac said in the same rolling tones of salesmanship that
Alodar had heard so many times before. "On one hand you belittle the scope of
my skills and on the other you allude to the fantasies of the romances. My craft is
neither trivial amusement nor total omnipotence. Like all things, its true worth
lies between. And if we are to use thaumaturgy for our great gain, then we must
all understand what its capabilities and limitations are. Understand them well,
else why would the fair lady call me here?"
Periac paused and Alodar saw each man settle back into his chair, resigning
himself to hearing the master out. "Thaumaturgy," Periac began, "is the most
clear and straightforward of the five arts in its execution. Unlike alchemy, magic,
and the rest, it requires no great erudition or dedication to effect its results. Here
in Procolon we regard thaumaturgy as we do masonry or smithing.
With it we forge large works of metal or stone from small models in our shops.
We increase the yields of whole fields while carefully tending only a part. We
purge the body of plague and mend it whole again. But the true potency of
thaumaturgy is limited only by the cleverness of the man who understands its
basic concepts, the principles of sympathy and contagion."
"Sweetbalm, we are gathered here to plan our military strategy, not listen to an
apprentice's first lecture," interrupted Festil.
"Let him speak, Festil," Aeriel cut him short. "Perhaps he is unaffected with the
blindness that a feat of arms will somehow yet save us."
"Two principles," Periac continued, stroking his goatee. "Sympathy and
contagion. The first simply stated is: like produces like. By manipulating objects

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in a simulation we can cause corresponding effects to occur on a different scale in
time and distance. My gondola soars in the air in response to the movement of a
small sliver."
"So then," challenged Festil again, "why not build a small model of Bandor's
camp and smash it with your fist and save us the wounds and sorrow of
tomorrow?"
"Because there is another important ingredient of any spell and that is a supply of
energy, a force or power to do the work. It does no good to smash a model, unless
I control the forces necessary to level the tents as well. Without a spinning
flywheel to draw upon, the gondola would not lift hi response to the rising
splinter. Without the heat of the fire in Bandor's camp, the missiles launched at
our catapult could not have been diverted to the mark. Practitioners of my craft
seek ways to channel energy, but alas, we cannot create it.
"Not only is energy needed but, in most cases, much more than common sense
might dictate. The coupling between the simulation and the actual is not perfect
and there are always some losses. The more closely the two resemble one
another, the better the connection and the less the energy waste. The best
coupling is provided by things which were indeed once part of a single whole. Or
as the principle of contagion states it- once together, always together. In
principle, we could use any object for control of the gondola, but a small piece of
it works
better than any foreign substance. And in like manner, a wound is most
effectively sealed if a drop of blood is mixed with the gelling starch, and a bit of
flesh with the molding wax.
"So, lord Festil, with the wave of my hand I cannot topple the belfries that will
thunder towards us, for it would take too much energy. Nor can I, say, render any
man invisible or pass through solid walls, for I cannot simulate these things. Nor
yet can I strike at an enemy far away without something of him to bind in the
spell. But I can apply my craft in the fair lady's service with as much imagination
as I am able."
"And if thaumarurgy is so straightforward then, master Periac," Festil continued,
his tone still hard and unconvinced, "what need have we of any of your services at
all? Why cannot one here at the table perform the craft for the queen as well?"
"There is that little matter of the spells which bind the simulation and energy
source together and then subsequently release them," Periac said. "To safeguard
the means of our livelihood, we must naturally protect their nature, passing them
on from master to journeyman but to no one outside of our craft.

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"And as I have already said," Periac persisted before Festil could stop him again,
"success is not merely a matter of rote application of the well proven. Rather it
depends upon the skill of the master to see through surface distractions to the
deeper similarities around him. To recognize subtle and time-worn connections
that form the true basis of our art."
"You state so well the limitations of your craft, master Periac," Festil persisted,
"that now I wonder if perhaps one of the other four might not serve us better in
our plight."
"They have their shortcomings as well," Periac said. "For example, the formulas
of alchemy have no guarantee of coming to the same result with each use. Only
one time in hundreds does one end with a solvent that can dissolve more than the
glass in which it was formed. The massive factories on Honeysuckle Street
produce mostly waste, repeating and repeating the same steps in order to
form some modest quantity of healing balm or sense-enhancing philtre."
"There is truth in what you speak," Aeriel said. "We are here because Kelric, the
court sorcerer, entranced himself to find what great wealth might lie
undiscovered in the kingdom. In his vision he saw Iron Fist and a formula of
alchemy of great merit, one with high yield and hence potential for large profit.
With it, the queen can hope to replace the wealth which used to come from the
royal mines, now thrust as deeply into the mountains as men can go.*"
"But what details did he see?" Alodar blurted. "What did he say of the
passageways and chambers underground?"
The fat man on Periac's left rose to protest the interruption, but Aeriel shot him a
hard glance that settled him back in his seat. Alodar looked about the table and
marveled at her control. Except for Festil, she clearly had the respect of the group
and all deferred to her lead.
"No detail could he see," she said, "and the only words that came from his trance
were that the Iron Fist must loosen its grip before the formula could be found. It
may be that the castle will have to fall because we have yet discovered no grimoire
in these mute walls."
"And as for sorcerers," Periac continued as if no interruption had occurred. "With
one at court you know well the difficulty of dealing with them. Reclusive and
obstinate their art must intrinsically pervert them from a decent relationship with
their fellowmen. Why else do they deliberately play upon our fears of
enchantment when we plead for some small illusion or prophecy?
"And magic is no better. The rituals performed in seclusion sometimes take

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several lifetimes. Except for such useless trinkets as the ceremonial dagger I see
on lady Aeriel's side, it would take many a castle's treasure to afford what
magicians have to offer. Their swords that never dull and mail that does not
break are far better, true, than the alchemical salves which rot away, but who
among you has ever seen the like?
"Finally, there is wizardry," Periac said, raising his hand and counting his fingers
into his palm one by one.
"Yes, what of that?" the fat man said. "The talk of
the bailey floor is that Bandor is possessed by a devil and pushes this attack for
no mortal cause."
"I cannot accept such groundless whisperings," Festil cut in. "Revolt against the
crown has happened before. But traffic with demons, like a baseborn craftsman?
No noble of Procolon would think of it."
"Judge not all of wizardry by the few poor examples we have seen among us,"
Periac replied. "The wizards we judge as wise know that their wills are of
insufficient strength to dominate any but the simplest of imps. They travel with
carnivals and the like, content with pushing their sprites through idle tricks as
one would a trained mouse. Their lot is far better, however, than that of the
foolish who have dared to struggle with true power and ended as the hoop-
jumper for the demon instead. It is fortunate that their cruel masters soon tire of
the bizarre acts they force upon them. The crumpled and abandoned shells
whimpering for bread are better off as beggars than when they were the
submissive slaves to powerful djinns.
"But it was not always thus," Periac said, sweeping his upraised index finger in
FestU's direction. "The sagas of our past tell of men of great will and courage who
struggled with the strongest demons and bent them to their bidding. The power
they could thereby command made them much respected throughout many
lands. No, my lord, you would not judge a wizard of long ago as a mere
craftsman."
Festil scowled, but Periac turned his attention to the queen and continued. "But
as to lord Bandor, I must say in truth that possession would be most unlikely. He
conducts the siege with coherence and precision, not with the mad acts of
contradiction that a fiend would force upon him."
"For a master of a single art," Vendora said, "you seem well versed in the rest as
well."
Periac smiled and tipped his head with a slight bow, "What I have said is the

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depth of my knowledge, my fair lady. Each craftsman guards with pride what is
his own and deals reluctantly with the others. For more, you must consult with
the proper practitioners. But, to the point, there are none of them here to-aid you,
only I, And
to escape Bandor's trap, I can  indeed  be of service."
Alodar tightened his grip on the chair and the lords about the table leaned
forward in anticipation. Periac saw the increased interest and paused to heighten
the effect.
"If Iron Fist is to fall, and I see no way that we can prevent it," he said at last,
"then we can save much bloodshed by raising the white flag."
"Never," thundered Festil pounding his fist on the table. "This stronghold has
never fallen and it shall not fall now. Or if indeed we cannot hold, we will defend
the walls to the last man for the honor of our fan- lady."
"I think, my lord," Periac said, "that our fab- lady's honor is better preserved by
subterfuge than by singing sword. If we surrender, you men-at-arms will become
captives, yes. But we lowly tradesmen might be allowed to go our way after
performing for our captors some of the same services we have done for you. The
queen can slip out with us and then return to Ambrosia unharmed."
"And do you not think that every cart that leaves this place will be searched from
axle to bighpost once the fair lady is found missing in the keep?" Festil said. "And
how could anyone miss her beauty, no matter what maid's dress you cast her in?
Her doom would be sealed on the spot, once such a scheme was exposed."
"Her beauty is renowned, yes," Periac said, rubbing his hands together with
deliberate slowness. "But with my craft we could alter that. A small simulation, a
wax head, and then in an instant it would be over. A bulbous nose, thrusting chin,
slanting brow, and pox on the cheeks. No one would choose to look at her. And
then once safely away, we can restore her countenance to what it was before."
"You mean to apply a disguise," Vendora said, "as if I were an actress playing the
part of an old crone?"
"I do not speak of makeup, my fair lady," Periac said. 'The face I would give you
would be as real as the one you have now. The sores would ooze real pus and no
putty or paint would stick to a searcher's hand. They could not detect it."
"Then how surely can you undo what you have done, master Periac?" Vendora
said with the softness missing from her voice.

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Periac rubbed his hands together more forcefully. "I am a skilled practitioner, my
fair lady. My eye is still good, my hand firm and my memory sharp. I doubt that
anyone would notice a significant difference when we were done."
All eyes turned to the queen to await her response. She touched her hand to her
cheek and then back to smooth her hah-. Alodar held his breath trying to imagine
the same gold dusted to dirty brown atop a pock-marked and misshapen face,
painful to see. He thought of his resolve of the night before and how strong it
might be if Periac's transformation were indeed so.
Suddenly, before the answer could form on Vendora's lips, another page burst
into the room, blood streaming from his nose and ears. "The south wall," he
gasped. "Scaling ladders, too many of them. We could not hold. Flee, my fan-
lady. Flee as best you can."
"Quickly, my fair lady, this way." Festil bolted from the table and motioned to the
rear exit from the chamber. 'The rest of you, to the bailey floor. Secure the keep
from the intruders."
The assemblage exploded for the doorways like pieces of shattered glass. The
advisors scrambled by Alodar, and he hesitated as he watched Festil usher
Vendora and Aeriel out the other way. In an instant he made his decision. As the
curtains swished shut, he rushed after the departing queen.
He sprang into the passageway beyond the conference room and saw the three
descending a long spiral staircase like the one he had climbed in the morning, but
narrower and with no windows to the outside. As they disappeared from view,
Alodar plunged down the stairs. Down and down he sped, just able to catch sight
of Vendora's flowing gown around the curve. He glanced over his shoulder and
saw Periac about the same distance behind, racing after.
More openings whizzed by on the inside, but the outside curve remained
featureless and unbroken. Only an occasional torch on the wall prevented total
darkness. Around and around the stairs wound, until Alodar completely lost his
sense of direction.
Finally the staircase ended and joined a level walkway
that continued to curve about the keep. Alodar increased his speed and closed on
those in the lead. He raced around nearly half the circumference and then saw a
flash of copper from the top of Aeriel's head as she disappeared into a square-cut
hole in the stone floor. He ran to the opening and peered inside, motioning Periac
to hurry and catch up. A second staircase spiraled into a room below, where Festil

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was busily straining at a large lever hinged on the wall, while Aeriel and Vendora
descended.
"Why, it's the first chamber," Alodar exclaimed. "The one with the iron slab on
the floor."
Festil looked up, unable to budge the giant lever from where he found it.
"Quickly, man," he said. "Help me here so that we can seal them out,"
Periac caught up with Alodar and together they descended into the room. All
three tugged at the lever, and slowly it began to move. Alodar glanced back up at
the opening through which they had come and saw a giant stone slab, held
against the ceiling on metal tracks, sliding in response. It rumbled across the
opening and thudded into place, sealing off the entrance from above.
Festil and Periac collapsed to the ground, holding their sides and panting from
the exertion. The two women leaned against the walls, chests heaving, unable to
speak. Alodar glanced about the chamber he had visited two nights before and
saw no change. A square-cut slab of iron, rusted red from the dampness, sat in
the center of a featureless floor. The circle of round walls had no structure except
for indentations for the lighting oil and the four archways that radiated to the
castle's corner towers. Only the lever which closed the exit to the keep seemed to
serve any purpose.
Alodar moved about the room, glancing into the long dark tunnels radiating from
it. Three were pitch black, giving no clue as to what lay beyond. But as he looked
into the fourth, he saw a procession of many torches and heard the jingle of mail.
Even in the distance, he could recognize Feston's bright surcoat reflecting the
torchlight.
Sonn Feston and the group he brought with him were hi the chamber and fanning
out to explore the entrances to the other passageways. "My fair lady," he said,
"thank
the amulets that you are safe and not in Bander's grasp. We may yet win praise
for the sagas on this day."
Vendora pushed herself from the wall and straightened to a free standing
position, brushing down the disarray of her gown and readjusting the
aquamarine to its proper position.
"How stand our forces now, lord Feston?" she gasped, still gulping air between
her words.
"Not well, my fair lady," Feston replied, "but not so badly that there is not hope

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still. The battle rages fiercely on the bailey above, and I think hi the end it will be
to no avail. But we have secured the lower levels under each tower, just as you
have done with the keep, and we find no sign of Bander's forces here to peril us.
The bulk of our defenders are left above, alas, to fend as best they can, and we
could not prevent some craftsmen coming down into these fortifications along
with men-at-arms. But we have secured most of the food and I think, judging
from these walls, lack not for water. It will be a long while before Bandor can
begin to hope of reaching us."
"With the queen so neatly bundled up," Aeriel interrupted, "why should he even
care? Do you propose no more than to await our fate just as we have done for the
last forty-three days? I am not trained in matters of war as you are, my lords," she
said, "but it seems to me that these chambers and passageways serve a better
purpose than to pass the tune. I think aloud and without deliberation, but do not
these walls and interconnectings at least give us an element of surprise? When
Bandor eventually takes full command of the castle above, he will find the five
entrances to us, and probably can do no more than station guards at all positions
to await what we would do next. He must split his forces into fifths, and we can
concentrate ours to strike at one—and at a time of our own choosing." '
"Necessity imparts sharpness to your thoughts, lady Aeriel," Festil said while
rising slowly to stand besides his son. "Quite surely I believe you have hit upon
the intent of the castle's original design. If the walls were to fall, the towers would
still have to be taken; then with underground communication, each could aid the
others so that all might stand. But on balance, my son's plan seems a
good one. We have not the towers, but only the chambers underneath them. In
addition, the blood of Bander's vassals now runs hot with victory and lust for rape
and plunder. Our salvation may be a surprise thrust, as you say, but I think it
wise to sit until our captor's zeal cools in the careless boredom of guard duty
before we try."
"Well enough, lord Festil," Vendora said softly. "We need time to assess our
situation. Lord Feston, continue to conduct yourself as you have. I appoint you
commander of whatever forces remain. See that order is established and the
entrances to these dungeons well guarded."
As she spoke, the queen looked around the high and windowless walls of the
chamber and reached behind her for a cloak that was not there.
"Here, my fair lady," Feston said dramatically, releasing the clasp of the cape of
the man who stood near and whirling it about her. She clutched it eagerly and
drew it tight while her eyes darted again about the room.
Alodar and the others caught her mood and somberly shifted about as the reality

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of their plight began to sink in. They were safe for now, true, but in the long run
what did that matter? A desperate attempt to break out was the best they could
devise. Their lives were at stake and no glimmer of hope could credibly present
itself.
No glimmer, unless indeed the castle possessed one more secret defense to aid
them. And if he could find it and thereby save the queen, ah, who would be the
hero then? Oppressed by their trap as were the others, but grimly determined, he
headed into one of the passageways to search again for some clue.
Alodar flicked back his cape and sat to rest on the rust-encrusted slab in the
center of the chamber. He glanced over to the wall where Vendora huddled in the
cape Feston had given her two days before. Her shoulders stooped and her hair
lay tangled and matted against her brow. She listened half attentively as Feston
squatted easily at her side, telling her small talk of the four guard detachments
under the towers.
Alodar sighed. Their band was so small and their fates so intertwined that the
formalities of rank had begun to give way. But he did not want to approach the
queen him-
T
self until he had some positive news of discovery to present to her. He dug his
gouge into the soft red rust beneath him for perhaps the tenth time and left
another shallow furrow beside the others. The fresh cut revealed nothing new,
only rust deeper still. Perhaps the whole slab was rotted through and would soon
turn to dust.
"Marking off the hours, journeyman?" a voice asked over his shoulder, and
Alodar turned to see Aeriel taking a place beside him. The dagger at her side
clanked against the slab and Alodar glanced down at the bare blade and stubby
hilt.
"Are you left-handed?" he asked as she followed his gaze downward.
"No." Aeriel laughed. "It is but my nature. The fair lady insists that I wear the
badge of office as do the others of her court, and so I must. And were the blade of
any value I would cany it properly; but it is only a useless symbol, so I display it
accordingly."
"A magic dagger and of no value," Alodar said, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.
"Costly enough in coin or barter," Aeriel said. "Enough so that a craftsman could
never hope to own one. Yet not so dear that the nobility would be likewise denied.

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It is the perfect token for one to declare that he is wealthy. But for its utility as a
weapon—here, judge for yourself."
Aeriel withdrew the dagger from the loop at her waist and passed the hilt to
Alodar. He wrapped his hand around it and immediately pursed his lips in
surprise.
An electric tingling pulsed through his fingers and shot up his arm. He felt
goosebumps pop out on his chest and back. For a moment his eyes watered and
his tongue felt dry.
"It is magic, there is no doubt," Aeriel said. "What else gives one such a feeling?
Though you do get somewhat used to it after a while."
Alodar nodded and tightened his grip on the hilt. His fingers and thumb slipped
smoothly into small indentations in the grip, and the pommel snuggled
comfortably against the base of his palm. The dagger felt like a natural extension
of his arm, as if custom tooled to fit his hand and no other.
He reached out with his index finger to test the point
which looked surprisingly blunt and frowned in puzzlement when he made
contact with the cold gray metal.
"Yes, that is why it is so absurd," Aeriel said. "And the edge of the blade is the
same. Impossibly dull and unyielding to any grinder's stone."
"Cannot the magicians give it an edge as well?" Alodar asked as he handed the
dagger back, releasing his grip reluctantly. "With a feel like that one almost would
be tempted to take on a swordsman."
"As I understand it, the ritual is set," Aeriel said. "Any change destroys the
symmetry of the whole. Either one accepts a perfect hilt with a blade of no value
or a dagger with no magical properties at all. And of course, if such a dirk as this
could cut, the magicians' price would preclude it from the baubles of the
nobility."
"You speak most strangely of your peers, my lady," Alodar said with the
beginnings of a smile.
"I did not reach the council of the queen by adhering to what convention would
expect of me, Alodar," she said. "Had I thought and acted as the rest of Vendora's
childhood friends, then now I would be no more than a lady-in-waiting,
concerned with pretty needlework, rather than affairs of state. Let the likes of a
Festil be guided by tradition, rather than what each situation uniquely demands.

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I will not be frightened by an idea, just because it has not been previously
recorded in the sagas.
"And as proof of that," she continued, returning Alodar's smile, "please call me
Aeriel. There is no need for ceremony for one who seems to work so diligently in
our cause. I could not but notice that you react to our situation hi a different way
than most everyone. Rather than moping about when free from a turn at guard,
you have been examining each mortar joint with that small glass of yours. Do you
still carry out the queen's commands of now so long ago?"
"Yes, I still look for a key," Alodar said. "But as yet I have found none. I am
beginning to think that there is nothing in the passageways to aid us. The answer
must lie in one of these three chambers under the keep. So I visit each in turn,
hoping for some inspiration."
"And which is next?"
"The second level, the one with the pillar."
"Good, let me go with you.*
Alodar blinked, but then quickly nodded his agreement. The two left unnoticed
out one of the passageways to the towers. They trudged aJong in silence for
awhile, and then Alodar decided to make the best of his opportunity.
"How fares the queen under our duress?" he said.
"Alas, she lets her fate weigh heavily on her shoulders. As you can see, she broods
too much to conduct herself as her station requires she should."
"But if somehow we are indeed rescued?"
"Ah, she would return to her former self in an instant, full of glory. And ample
gratitude for the man who saves her."
"Regardless of station?" asked Alodar.
"Yes, regardless." Aeriel laughed. "I see the queen interests all men in the same
way."
Suddenly, before he could continue, the ground shook with a long rolling wave;
the torch lights blew wildly and flickered dim. The narrow passageway roared
with the sound of crashing stone, and the shock, muted and stretched by the thick
walls, echoed for several moments.
Aeriel reached for Alodar's arm. In the quiet that followed, he muttered, "The
second one today. It only can mean that they are toppling the towers, one by one.

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Either our remaining defenders above give them difficulty or they seek to level
Iron Fist on some mad craze. It is well that they have not yet discovered any
entrances to these chambers."
Aeriel released her grip and breathed deeply. "Come, she said. "We were going to
the second level."
They reached the tower in a short while. Descending through a hole in the floor,
they climbed down to the next landing. Retracing their steps one level down, they
returned to a chamber under the keep. It was deserted and built similarly to the
ones above and below, except that instead of a slab or water pool, a massive stone
column ran from floor to ceiling.
"It certainly is not needed to support the vault," Alodar said. "The other two
chambers have the same span and the ceiling runs free from wall to wall. Yet
strength is somehow the essence of that column. Look at it, not a seam anywhere,
a monolith of granite. It could withstand
the blows of many a mangonel and give up not a single chip from the shock."
"If it does not support, is it indeed even secure?" Aeriel asked.
"Yes, the base penetrates below floor level. From the look of it, it also projects up
into the ceiling as well."
Alodar stepped back to survey the column but found himself instead watching
Aeriel as she inspected the stonework. Her eyes darted first to the ceiling, then to
the floor, and finally scanned the length slowly for any crack or seam. She looked
back at Alodar when she was done, and her eyes widened as she realized what his
focus of attention had been.
"Excuse my boldness, but you are most pleasing fair," Alodar said without
thinking.
"Oh enough, Alodar." Aeriel raised her hand as a slight color came to her cheeks.
"I have seen the effect of the queen on too many men not to know what truly
constitutes beauty. Let us concentrate on our search."
Alodar nodded and motioned to the archway, suddenly pleased with himself for
what he had said and the reaction it had caused. Without another word, they left
the chamber and returned to the flanking tower. As they began to climb down to
the bottommost level, the ground shook again like a blanket snapped taut on a
newly made bed, and the rumble echoed about them so that neither could speak.
As the reverberations died, a man-at-arms poked his head through the opening to
the level above.

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"Lady Aeriel, come quickly to the queen's bidding," he shouted down. "A strange
occurrence in the central chamber."
Alodar and Aeriel quickly reversed direction, following the man back to the
queen. Everyone of their small band was there, filling the room, and all heads
looked anxiously upwards towards the huge vault of the ceiling. Vendora was
where Alodar had seen her last, but now she stood propped against Feston,
leaning heavily on the arm he wrapped around her.
A sudden streak of motion caught Alodar's eye. He turned his head upward to see
several large drops of opaque liquid ooze out between two of the massive stones.
They fell and spattered against the rusty slab at the cham-
ber's center and added to the messy orange slurry of their predecessors.
He frowned in concentration. Nothing from thauma-rurgy certainly, he thought.
But what had Periac told him of the other arts? What would seep through what
no mason could chisel in a week?
"Solvent!" he yelled as the answer struck him. "And it looks high grade. Everyone
outl The ceiling is going to collapse. That is how the towers were toppled. They
are dissolving the mortar between the stones."
No one moved. All were transfixed by the slowly increasing tempo of the drip and
the widening pool on the chamber floor. Before Alodar could say more, the giant
keystone in the center of the vault began to slide slowly down and away from the
rock which surrounded it. It gathered speed; with a cascade of liquid on every
side, it fell away entirely, into their midst. With a resounding crash, it hit the slab
and sprayed liquid and splinters of rock in all directions. The crowd screamed
and sprang alive, bolting for the passageways, shouldering one another aside in
their haste.
Alodar and Aeriel moved to one side to let them pass, their eyes on the queen
across the chamber. Feston, with his grip still on Vendora's arm, spun her
towards the nearest exit and pushed her ahead. Periac recovered his balance from
a brushing blow and plunged after the queen. Festil immediately followed, almost
catching the thaumaturge's cape with his long running stride.
Alodar looked again at the ceiling. Through the new opening, Bandor's men were
lowering a rope ladder and several were making ready to descend. He glanced
over his shoulder into the passageway from which he had just entered and then
hesitated no longer. Grabbing Aeriel's hand, he raced across the room, avoiding
the many small pools of solvent which were now working on the seams in the
floor. As he passed the slab, his eyes was caught by its now shining brilliance. The

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bath had cleaned away the rust and a good portion of the iron as well.
He stopped suddenly and looked again. The shine was not from the iron alone.
"Look, Aeriel," he exclaimed. "In the center of the iron, a disk of copper! It is not
a solid iron slab, after all.
Beneath the rust is this circle of copper in a yoke of iron. A circle at each level.
The copper here, the column below, and a well at the bottom of it all."
Three circles of the same diameter! One above the other. In a flash the castle's
secret came to him. He looked again at the rope ladder. Two men were already
gently swinging on it. He grabbed Aeriel again and ran off after the others. He
had the answer. If there was only enough time to use it.
CHAPTER FOUR The Hero's Reward
THE passageway blurred by and Alodar glanced back over his shoulder. Bander's
men were already in the tunnel after him. He increased his speed; the drawn
swords shining in the torchlight gave his legs urgency even beyond what he had
felt two days before when the outer walls had fallen. He squeezed Aeriel's hand
tighter, and they rapidly closed on Vendora and the others up ahead.
They caught the queen just as they entered the small room under the corner
tower. The panicked flight momentarily stopped in a mass confusion of waving
arms and shouted directions.
"Up, up to the surface. It is our only chance," yelled Festil as he tumbled Periac
down from the stairs and started to climb.
"No, no father," Feston boomed louder still. "See the stonework. We must go
down." As he spoke, he yanked Vendora out of the way of dripping liquid that
began to ooze from the ceiling and pushed her through the opening in the floor.
Everyone clambered after. As Alodar brought up at
the rear, he saw the small group disappear into the passageway that led back
under the keep.
"We will make our stand around the pillar," Festil shouted back to the three
soldiers who now ran with him. They drew their swords as they raced, and Aeriel
instinctively started to follow.
Alodar grabbed her by the arm and held her back. "Our only chance lies below,"
he said. "Let us hope that Feston and the others can hold them off until the spell

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is
finished."
He plunged down to the bottom level, pulling Aeriel with him. The staircase
seemed to spiral for an eternity and his heartbeat almost drowned out the clank
of mail and shouts of the chase that now filtered down after them.
Finally at the bottom, he raced for the central chamber, scarcely noticing the
diminishing noise as the hunters chose to pursue the quarry one level above. In a
moment they reached their destination and saw the serene pool at the center.
Alodar looked rapidly about. They were
alone.
"Quickly, Aeriel," he said, "your ring. No, no the unadorned one. Gold is not the
best choice and we must at least make the shape as similar as we can."
Aeriel slipped one of the rings from her finger and, with a puzzled expression,
handed it to Alodar. Without pausing for explanation, he fumbled in a pouch at
his waist and withdrew a small collection of coins.
"At least the copper will be right," he said as he quickly tried matching the coins
one by one to the shape of the ring. "Ah, this one jams in properly. Now fill the
cup with the water from the well."
Aeriel took the cup he whisked from his cape and dipped it in the pool. "What
spell do you cast here, Alodar? I see that the coin in the ring is like the copper
disk in the iron collar we saw bared above. But their intent I still cannot fathom."
"The cool water of the well will shrink the metals slightly," he replied, "and
because they are different, the copper disk will slip free,"
"But what can we use for the energy source? There is naught here but stone and
water," Aeriel said, waving her arms about the empty chamber.
"You listened to master Periac well," Alodar said, "but no source is needed for this
spell. Rather, we need a sink to absorb the beat we extract from the hunks of
metal two levels above. And the water in the well will serve that purpose for us.
Now stand close to me, for in truth I know not all that will happen."
Alodar glanced quickly into the four passageways, but no figures fleeing or
pursuing showed in them, and he began the binding. When be was done, he
thrust the ring holding the coin into the numbing cold of the water and held it
motionless. Simultaneously the stillness of the pool was broken by the eruption of

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tiny bubbles all across its surface.
Alodar held the ring firmly, though his fingers began to ache with the cold. The
simmer of the pool changed into a boil, growing more vigorous by the second,
and the first wisps of steam crept upward into the already dripping air.
Alodar looked anxiously back and forth between the now scalding well and the
placid ring. Was it cold enough? Was there enough water in the well?
The feeling left his hand and the opaqueness of the steam engulfed them; so the
passageways were blotted from view and the oil lights in the wall became dim and
diffuse.
Finally as the fog closed in, the copper coin dropped clear of the ring and gently
fell to the bottom of the cup.
"Look to the ceiling," Alodar shouted as he tore his eyes from what he held.
Brushing aside the vapor, they could dimly see the round keystone at the center
of the vault tremble and begin to move. It slipped down a foot and then another,
increasing speed with each moment and heading unerringly for the well in the
chamber's floor.
"Why, it is not a stone at all," Aeriel exclaimed. "Look, it is getting longer and
longer like a giant column."
"The column from the second level," Alodar explained, "held in place by a copper
cap in the yoke of iron."
He could say no more before the granite cylinder fell into the concentric hole in
the floor, missing the edge all around by mere inches. With a sharp crack like a
giant bullwhip, it hit the water's surface and drove the liquid
downward. Aeriel stumbled to her knees from the intensity of the blow, and
Alodar fell awkwardly over her, both flailing and grabbing for their ears in pain.
Small geysers shot from the well around the edges of the column as it continued
its plunge, moving more slowly as it pushed the resistance before it. The din of
the contact echoed about, and Alodar felt dazed from the onslaught The
cacophony continued unabated for minutes; but through his cupped hands,
Alodar could hear another sound slowly increasing in intensity, the rumble of
stone
on stone.
He looked about for the source of the noise and, as the copper top of the column

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slid from view into the well, he spotted motion in the northeast passageway.
"The whole floor," he exclaimed, "the whole floor moves as one unit. No wonder
we could never spot a break in the stone. There isn't any."
"What has happened, Alodar?" Aeriel asked weakly, still on her knees from the
shock. "What did the column do hi the well?"
"It was a giant water ram, Aeriel. A giant ram that moved the whole passageway
floor upwards a good three feet. We are seeing what no one has witnessed since
Iron Fist was constructed hundreds of years ago. By the laws, let us hope we also
see our way out of this trap. Look at that gap," he continued excitedly as he
approached the raised floorway. "Stone a foot thick but still a slot beneath the
bottom and the level of the cobbling here in the
chamber."
As he got nearer, he lit a candle and thrust it into the newly made opening.
"Stairs," he exclaimed. Before Aeriel could protest, he huddled down and
disappeared from view.
The passage was narrow and confining, and Alodar had to stoop and bow in his
shoulders as he made his way downwards. He held the candle in front as far as he
could, but the darkness extended farther than the feeble light could reach. He
paused and tried to concentrate on whether to continue or return to the chamber
and announce his discovery. Each heartbeat relentlessly ticked away the time
they had left, and the fall of the cylinder would surely bring Bander's vassals on
the run.
Aeriel's scream made his decision for him. Alodar quickly spun about and
retraced the few steps he had made into the gloom. As he surfaced, Aeriel ran
toward him, pointing frantically down the passageway that lay atop the newly
discovered stairs. Alodar turned and squinted down the long length of stone
archway that led to the corner tower. His already rapid pulse quickened as he saw
in the distance the wave of torches and the glint of armor. At least six of Bandor's
men were on the bottom level, babbling wildly about the raised flooring and
pointing down at the newly discovered prey under the keep.
Alodar grabbed Aeriel by the hand and turned to descend again into the darkness.
He took a step and hesitated. "The queen," he said. "Where is the queen? It is no
good unless we can also save the fair lady."
He ran back to the center of the chamber and sighted down the two passageways
he could not see from the edge. The first was empty, but in the second he saw
rapid movement towards him. His heart leaped with his good fortune.

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"It is the queen, Aeriel," he shouted, motioning her towards him. "Feston is still
with her, and I can see Periac and Festil close behind."
He moved his head from side to side, trying to see behind the four fleeing figures.
He sucked in his breath. "More of Bandor's men hot on their trail," he cried.
He glanced back into the passageway with the raised floor. The men there had
begun to move towards the chamber, though not with the speed of those pursuing
Vendora and the others. Angry shouts and the rapid tread of feet sounded from
behind, and Alodar whirled about, his worst fears realized. Enemies converged on
them from all four corners.
Alodar felt his muscles tense and his breathing turn to shallow gasps. Run, run,
take the only chance that you have, his body said. But he steeled himself and held
his ground, eyeing each tunnel in turn, trying to estimate which group would
reach him first. Time lost all meaning while he waited; it seemed an eon later
when Feston and Vendora burst through with their pursuers hard at their heels.
"Where are the other men-at-arms?" Alodar scouted as
Periac and Festil followed the first two into the center of the room.
"They stood their ground nobly to defend the queen," Festil gasped, waving aside
Alodar's question as irrelevant to his own plight.
"Then follow me," Alodar commanded «and he led Aeriel into the passageway.
He did not pause to rekindle a candle, but caught the rhythm of the steps and
descended as rapidly as he could in the blackness, pulling Aeriel after him. He
could hear the voices of the other four following close behind.
They descended for more than a flight, and then Alodar stumbled as the ground
suddenly became level and the tunnel widened. The others tumbled over him. As
they flailed to disentangle, a dim light filtered down from
above.
"Down here," a voice shouted, and Alodar heard the cautious tread of steel on the
cold stone. His eyes began to adjust to the dimness, and he extended his hand
against the floor. Immediately he felt an indentation and, sweeping his arm to the
side, he discovered another. With an extended finger, he touched smooth and
straight edges on either side of the depressions but found they extended forward
farther than he could reach. Grooves, he thought, long narrow grooves cut into
the stone floor, He cautiously pressed forward and saw a shape gradually taking
form hi the dimness.
The light brightened with each clinking step, and Alodar recognized what was

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before him. "A wagon," he exclaimed. "Some sort of wagon with wheels that are
guided by the grooves cut into the floor."
He puzzled over the flat frame, unadorned except for the two central pillars that
supported giant two-handed cranks; but as the light grew brighter and the sounds
closer, he flung himself up onto the platform. In blind imitation the rest followed.
Feston was the last; as he leaped aboard with a surefooted bound, the tunnel
behind them blazed forth with light. Bandor's men packed into the narrow
confines three abreast, holding torches high and staring down at Alodar and the
others. The stairs sounded with rapid footfalls as more and more poured in after
them.
Pushed from behind, the first three charged with swords
drawn and bore down on the small party. Feston drew his own blade and stood in
a crouch at the platform's edge, awaiting then: rush. The three jostled for position
and the first momentarily lowered his guard. Festil lashed out with his boot and
caught the man on the chin, sending him sprawling.
The wagon lurched with the recoil, and Alodar saw the cranks turn lazy circles
about their axles. In a flash, he realized their intent. While Feston parried the
blows of the other two, he leaped up to the nearest post.
"Man the other one," he shouted as he cranked the handles before him. They
responded slowly to his effort; but with each inch that he pulled and pushed, he
felt the car begin to move underneath them. He saw the two men lunge at Feston
again, but the warrior deftly leaned back, and the blows cut air. One of the two
stumbled and fell, surprised by the motion that the retreating wagon gave to his
target.
Alodar felt the pumping ease as the car gained speed. Then, as Periac rose to join
him on the other pillar, they jumped away from their foes. An angry shout roared
from the pursuers and they lunged forward after the car, trampling over the two
who lay sprawled hi front of them.
Alodar readjusted his stance and pushed all the harder, beginning to feel the
wind made by their progress whistle over his back and around to tickle his face.
The vanguard of Bandor's men kept pace for awhile, but then he saw them start
to fall behind. The soldiers perceived the outcome of the race as well, and hurled
their torches towards him in rage. He ducked the first two as they sailed
harmlessly overhead and kicked the third from the platform, barely loosing the
rhythm of his methodical strokes.
With a sudden lurch, the car made a sharp curve and cut off the men-at-arms

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from view. They increased speed still more, and the voice of pursuit lessened as
they flew on. The only sound was the muffled scrape of the wheels against their
precisely chiseled guides.
Alodar cranked on. He had escaped and at the same tune saved the queen.
The small crew remained silent, oppressed by the pitch blackness that gave them
no hint as to their path or des-
tination. Alodar felt odd, facing backwards to the direction of motion, but
determinedly kept at his task. After many minutes, Periac sagged to the platform
floor, gasping for breath, his energy spent, and Alodar felt the crank-arm's
resistance stiffen. His arms ached and began to tremble from the effort, but he
gritted his teeth and continued. His thoughts soared with what he had done.
Beyond his wildest expectations, he had accomplished everything. He was alive
and well, free of the tragedy of Iron Fist, free to think again of the future, to mold
his own destiny. And that destiny now was far more exciting than what a
thaumaturge might dream of attaining even two months ago. He was not merely
Alodar the journeyman, but Alodar, savior of the queen.
After much more cranking, the resistance began to increase, and Alodar felt a
gradual tilting of the platform on which they rode. They were slowly rising, he
thought, but no more could he tell in the blackness. He pushed harder still
against the handles, but the slope increased faster and the speed slackened.
Slower and slower moved the cart in the darkness. The wind no longer whistled
about them, and each revolution of the arms was a fresh agony. Suddenly the
front of the platform clanged and latched against a metal abutment, sending
Alodar sprawling and filling the tunnel with noise. Simultaneously he felt fresh
air blow by bis face and looked forward to see a stone slab hinging up before them
and starlight beyond.
The party clambered forward through the opening and into the cool night air.
They walked on coarse grass and looked down a gentle slope into rolling
farmland. In the distance, a scattering of candlelight hinted at man-made
structures, and the air carried the odor of animals corraled close by. A gibbous
moon, high in the sky, cast faint shadows, but none could look at it without
squinting, so black had been the passageway.
"Why, we have covered a good fifteen miles," Festil exclaimed. "These are the
farms on the last ridge that bounds the wastelands to the west. We are indeed
well away from Bandor and his threat."
"Yes, and by what strange means were we conveyed here?" Feston wondered. "I
have not seen the likes of it

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in any battlecraft before. The builders of Iron Fist, whoever they were, provided
her extremely well."
"As well as you have provided the queen, Feston," Vendoca said, raising and
stretching her hands high overhead, deeply drinking the fresh air. "If only we had
what we set out for, our adventure would be complete. But for the moment, I
would settle for a comb for my hair. Aeriel, have you one about you?"
"No, my fair lady," Aeriel responded. "I do not. But mark you, did not Kelric say
that we would not find what we sought until Iron Fist lost its grip? That it did in
most emphatic fashion. Perhaps our search is indeed not yet over."
Alodar pondered AeriePs words, then returned to the opening in the slope and
squinted into the darkness at the car. He withdrew and relit the candle from his
cape and began a close inspection.
He did not have to look far. This time there was no subterfuge or deception.
There, in the flat platform between the two cranking pillars, was a small square of
metal, hinged at one side and with a finger grip on the other. Alodar bent down
and swung the door open, his light illuminating a tightly bound parchment, hard
and cracked with age.
"Look here," he shouted, running quickly back to the others. "You spoke of
alchemy formulas. Do they not record them in grimoires of about this size?"
All faces turned as he advanced, and Feston reached out and grabbed the bundle
from him. With a quick flourish, he ripped the cord and outer covering from the
package and began to thumb through the bound parchment within.
"Hold the candle closer," he commanded before Alodar could protest.
"Sweetbalm, is that what you seek, my fair lady? The ink is faint, but I can see the
beginnings still. Powders, ointments, philtres, elixirs, amulets, and fetishes.
Formulas of high yield, none less than eighty-five parts in a hundred."
"Eighty-five!" exclaimed Vendora. "Why Feston, you have done it all. A sweeping
rescue and a treasure besides. With a yield of eighty-five, we undercut the costs of
them all. The royal products will sweep the competition
from the field, and my coffers will be fed by a much-needed new source."
"You speak most glowingly, my fair lady," Feston said. "Can I interpret your
praise to mean that you at last see fit to choose the hero of the realm?"

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Vendora's smile stiffened and she drew herself erect. "Do not presume too much,
lord Feston. You have done me great service here these past few days, but not so
much that my senses depart me."
Feston's heavy brows furrowed, and Vendora laughed at his discomfort. "Do not
fret, my warrior. Know that I look upon you with much favor. I wish you to
journey with me to court, be known as a royal suitor, and stand by me as you have
done here. If in time I grow used to the roughness of your features, then perhaps
I will indeed honor you with my hand,"
"Wait a moment, my fair lady," Aeriel said. " Alodar, the journeyman
thaumaturge, did apply his mind and skills with marvelous imagination to our
cause. It is to him that we owe our good fortune."
Vendora frowned, paused, and then pulled her face into a smile as she turned to
Alodar. "Indeed I thank you all for my deliverance," she said. "Your steadfastness
in propelling the car was most dedicated."
"That was but a minor part of it," Aeriel persisted. "He fathomed the castle's
secret. He discovered the passageway out. Why he even found you the grimoire."
"May I remind the fair lady," Festil cut in, "that many of the more restless vassals
of your crown will interpret the fall of Iron Fist as a sign of weakness. Without the
house of the red surcoat standing at your side, you may be hard pressed to deal
with them, Bandor, and the border kingdoms to the south, all at the same time."
Vendora looked at Alodar and then back to Feston. Her eyes narrows in thought.
She stared at the sword at the warrior's side and then studied Alodar's cape-
draped
form.
"Oh well enough, Aeriel," she said at last. "I am sure that the thaumaturge did
exercise his art most exceedingly fine. He and his master may henceforth speak of
royal favor when they lure customers to their craft. But I cannot see how his acts
compare with the feats of lord
Feston or the comforts he gave me. What indeed can you profit by pressing his
suit upon me so?"
Aeriel opened her mouth to speak again, looking first at Vendora and then to
Alodar. She hesitated a moment, but finally snapped it shut. Vendora nodded
approval at her apparent acquiesence and returned her attention to the grimoire
that Feston now held before her.

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Alodar flung his candle aside and stepped forward, his eyes starting to smoulder,
but Aeriel placed her hand on his arm. He shot her a sidelong glance, then halted
when her fingers squeezed more tightly.
"My fair lady, there is no more business to conduct here," Festil said quickly as he
saw Alodar pause. "We must start immediately for Ambrosia. Each hour we save
will limit the time Bandor has to consolidate his victory. Let us descend this slope
and appropriate a quicker means of transport from the first farm we encounter."
Vendora looked up from the grimoire and into Alodar's eyes. "It is settled then,"
she said. "A royal endorsement for the thaumaturges and status as suitor for lord
Feston. Ample largess for deeds well done."
Alodar sucked in a deep breath and opened his mouth; but before he could speak,
Aeriel covered his lips. Vendora smiled and looked around the group, from Periac
standing silently near the car to Festil already ten yards down the slope. She
nodded her agreement to the old man's suggestion, placed her hand on Feston's
offered arm, and started to descend the incline. She paced ten slow steps and
then looked back over her shoulder at Aeriel.
"In a moment, my fail lady," Aeriel said as she cautiously lowered her hand from
Alodar's mouth while still maintaining her grip on his arm.
The two stood silently, not moving, watching the queen draw away from them.
Several minutes passed, and she and the two lords gradually shrank to dim
outlines, fading into their surroundings.
"By the laws!" Alodar exploded. "What feat must one accomplish to be held
worthy in this kingdom? Can she not grasp what I have done?"
Aeriel again raised her finger to his lips. "It will avail you no good, Alodar," she
said. "The queen is clever enough to know how her actions influence the safety of
the crown. And the circumstances here prevent her from giving her reward in a
just manner. So long as Festil and his son feel they have some claim, she can
bestow it on no other."
She turned and looked down the hillside. "But at least I know who is the true hero
of the day," she continued softly as she released his arm and then suddenly
clasped her hands behind his neck. Alodar's eyes widened hi surprise and he felt
her lips pressing his as she drew against
him.

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After a moment she dropped her arms and started to step back, but Alodar put
his hand behind her. She stopped when she felt the gentle pressure and smiled,
watching him intently.
"You indeed behave most unlike a lady-in-waiting," he said huskily after a long
pause. He drew another deep breath and the emotions churned within him like
the hot acid in the thaumaturge's cauldron. The exhilaration of freedom,
Vendora's beauty, the grim determination of his resolve, the anger of yet another
injustice, and now the warm presence of Aeriel hi his arms, all tumbled in
confusion, and he could not sort them out.
"And you are most unlike the tradition-bound noble or the meekly accepting
craftsman, Alodar," she said. "You have dared to seek as did no other and because
of it you have saved us all."
He smiled and pulled her towards him, and she again reached her arms to ring
his neck.
Yes, he had saved the queen, his thoughts raced. Had not Feston been along for
the final dash, then all would have followed. Title restored, respect of the peerage
and hero of the realm.
Suddenly he stopped his gentle tugging and frowned as the realization of what he
was doing hit him. The queen and hero of the realm—or Aeriel and whatever that
future might bring? She has judged him by what he had done, rather than by his
station. He could treat her in return with no less fairness.
But would not the surprising passion that boiled for the moment cool as
suddenly? He was driven to the queen by what had smouldered for years. How
could a chance encounter stand against it?
He looked at Aeriel, trying te clear bis confusion, and then lowered his head.
"What is it, Alodar?" Aeriel laughed, continuing to come forward.
"I am resolved, my lady," he said thickly after a moment. "I strive for no less than
does lord Feston."
Aeriel's lips curved hi the beginning of another smile, but then she looked deeply
into Alodar's eyes as he raised his gaze to meet hers. For several minutes they did
not speak. Finally she reached and pulled his arm from around her.
"I see," she said crisply. "Forgive me for thinking your aspirations to be so low."
"My lady," Alodar replied, "forgive me that your presence confuses me greatly.

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But I will not have peace until my birthright is restored. And that I see
accomplished only if I am hero of the realm. For that end did I labor and almost
succeed. And I cannot with honor accept your favor, so long as that is my quest."
Aeriel took one step back and studied Alodar at arm's length. "Had I not seen
what you have done," she said, "I would not credit the chance of such ambition."
She sighed and looked in the direction in which Vendora had disappeared. "But if
that is your goal, then may the random factors align in your favor." With a whirl
she suddenly turned and raced down the hillside without looking back.
Alodar stood dumbfounded, watching her go. It all had happened so quickly. He
had held excitement in bis arms and then deliberately pushed it away. But with
each passing second the lure of Aeriel's image lessened and the anger,
temporarily diverted, gathered strength.
Total success—and now, nothing! His deeds completely discounted in favor of a
strong arm and flashing sword. Great spells worthy of a master judged of lesser
worth than the formulas of alchemy. Despite what he had done, the warrior still
stood first in the minds of men; and apparently no thaumaturge could displace
him.
Alodar watched Aeriel fade from view like the others. When she was gone, he
stood motionless, continuing to look down the empty hillside. After several
minutes, Periac approached Alodar and threw his arm about him.
"Come, my journeyman," he said. "Never mind the twisted thoughts of the
nobility. You have done credit to your craft tonight, and we have been amply
rewarded. We can call ourselves thaumaturges to the queen; Vendora herself has
given us leave. No more mending pots or keeping the frost from winter fruit for a
single night's meal in the backward outlands. Let us also travel to Ambrosia and
ply out craft where the com is gold, not copper."
Alodar blinked as he remembered his master's presence, but then shook him off
and looked down at his feet. Not by thaumaturgy could he accomplish bis quest!
With his face pulled into a tight grimace, he kicked in frustration at the grimoire's
outer wrappings, lying where Feston had tossed them. They leaped high into the
air; catching a breeze, they began to float gently down to earth some ten feet
away. Alodar absently watched them settle while he tried to calm his thoughts,
and then suddenly focused his attention. A sparkle in the moonlight caught
his eye.
He ran to the parchment scraps as they touched the ground and hastily scavenged
them. "Look here, master Periac," he exclaimed. "More deception still. The
grimoire alone does not contain all of the formulas we have found tonight.

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Another is scrawled on the inside of the coverings. See it glow in the feeble light."
"Waste not your thoughts on such distractions," Periac said with a wave of one
hand while he began stroking his goatee with the other. "Find yourself a spot of
comfort and I will give you some instruction. We will pass the time constructively
until dawn to see if there are any survivors and Morwin among them. And then to
Ambrosia to better our fortune."
Alodar looked down at the scraps hi his hand and clinched his teeth. It was only
one formula against a whole book*s worth, but he had started with less two
months ago. His pulse calmed as he settled his mind to it.
"No, master," he said firmly. "I have had a brief taste of my destiny. I cannot rest
until I savor it full swallow. If it is with sword and formula that one wins the fair
lady, then on that road I will travel."
With a flourish, be loosened the tie at his neck and dropped his cape to his feet "I
am a thaumaturge no more."
Periac's mouth opened hi disbelief, but Alodar stood before him in silence, jaws
set and fists clenched until the knuckles showed white.
"To cast aside the tune you have spent with me is folly," Periac said at last. "And
to dabble with the likes of alchemy is greater folly still. Come, study with me so
that you learn enough of one art to become a master."
"My life now has purpose," Alodar replied with determination, "as it has never
had before. I thank you for the knowledge you have given me and hope my
service has been ample payment in return. And I will journey with you to
Ambrosia, yes, but then I follow this scrap wherever it leads me."
Periac looked at Alodar for a long moment, then raised his hands and dropped
them to his sides. "Very well, my insatiable one," he said. "Explore what
Honeysuckle Street has to offer."
He paused and then continued with deliberate slowness. "And when you decide
instead to be a true craftsman, seek out my door. For a while it may remain open
for you."
Alodar's eyes narrowed, but he did not speak. With a sigh he settled to the ground
to await the dawn.
PART TWO
The Alchemist

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V
CHAPTER FIVE Honeysuckle Street
A stream of muddy liquid spilled from the lip of the overhead vat and into the
first crucible in the row. Alodar stepped back against the rough timber wall to -
avoid the spatter and forced open his eyes, tearing from the eaustic haze. The
man in front of him tugged on a chain that looped a ring in the bottom of the
oaken container; with a low-pitched squeak, the vat rumbled forward along
wooden rails. The workman shuffled alongside and then yanked the chain over
his shoulder. The high bucket pivoted on phis near its rim and delivered a dose of
its contents to the next crucible in line.
Alodar watched in silence as the workman proceeded down the row, chin on his
chest and shoulders slumped, like an old horse pacing the same rut around a
grindstone. He squinted past the worker, down the line of crucibles riding above
small blue-white flames, and saw that they spanned the breadth of the building,
some three hundred feet, wall to wall. To his right, six more rows with overhead
tracks ran parallel to the first, each one fitted with hundreds of identical stations,
lines of graduated beakers, and funnel-mouthed flasks, all filled with dancing
liquids or incandescent powders.
Beyond these, the majority of the area was partitioned by a maze of tiny cubicles
barely chest high. In the ones nearest, he could see caped figures hunched over
cluttered workbenches of dirty glassware and leather bound books. On a raised
platform jutting from the rear wall, he saw piles of dull white stone, applelike
fruits, cattails and rushes, and other materials he could not identify. Beside each,
a worker pounded and strained the substances into powder, pulp, or liquid, and
thrust the products into the
tracked vats stationed nearby. The thud of the hammejs and groan of the presses
bounced off the ceilings and walls, producing mushy echoes that masked all but
the sharpest of sound.
Alodar followed the track around the entire periphery of the building, down the
windowless rear wall, across the row of silos that formed the western facade, back
along the front with its many doors, and finally overhead as it merged into a
complex of switches which fed the seven rows of waiting containers. As the first
worker reached the end, Alodar saw a second pull his vat onto the same track and
begin to drop measured doses of a coarse gray powder into the simmering
crucibles. One row over, a third lifted a beaker from its tripod and held it up to
the light cascading from the high windows in the east. He shook his head and

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poured the milky contents into a trough running the length of the bench, then
moved on to the next,
"That last one was clouded only the slightest," a voice behind Alodar suddenly
yelled out as the inspection continued. "How can I show a profit if you dump
every flask just because it isn't crystal clear?"
The man replaced an empty beaker on its tripod and looked hi Alodar's direction.
"I fear I am too liberal as It is, Basil," he called back. "With only the merest trace,
the chance of skunkwater is most high. We are lucky you have not contaminated
hah* of the work cubicles from what we have processed already this morning."
"I have given it only to the old ones," Basil shot back. "The way they dawdle, it
would be a small loss in any event. Now see that the yield is greater; if the light
shines through, however faint, then it is worth the risk. We must have one of
three if any volume is to result when we are done."
Alodar turned to face the speaker and looked into large eyes, wide-set on a
smooth round face. Heavy cheeks sagged on either side of a slash of a mouth;
thick lips pulled down at the corners into a perpetual look of disapproval.
Shoulder-length hair, held stiffly hi place by an aromatic pomade, brushed
against a flared silk collar of deep purple. The rest of the tunic shimmered
golden-yellow, embroidered with intricate designs and hanging free on a stocky
form. Alodar looked down to see stumpy calves dropping into fur-lined boots
trimmed with silver.
"Are you the proprietor?" he asked. "I have come in from the street and wish to
discuss a proposition to our mutual benefit."
Basil quickly ran his eyes up and down Alodar*s roughly clothed form. "Another
one with a formula, are you?" he said. "It seems a grimoire lay hidden under
every rock in the countryside, just awaiting yesterday's dawn for discovery. Ever
since the rumor of the royal shop tooling up for a new run hit the street, there has
been no end of it. But no matter, I will watch your demonstration for the usual
fees."
Basil turned back towards the cubicles and motioned for Alodar to follow. "What
will you need?" he continued. "Anthanors and the rest go by the tune, the
ingredients by what is consumed."
Alodar matched the short man's stride and tightened his grip on the parchment
scrap in the pocket of his new cape. The lack of his thaumaturgical gear made it
feel strangely light, and he was continually glancing down at its brown plainness
to see that his shoulders were still covered.

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"Tell me more of these fees," he said as they reached the cubicles and began to
wind their way into their midst. "I am from the outlands to the west and
unfamiliar with the practices of alchemy in Ambrosia."
"From the west!" Basil said in mock surprise. "It makes the story so much more
plausible. If the queen found her fortune in the fall of Iron Fist, why not a
common craftsman as well? But to your question, I am a merchant and it is only
fair that I receive just payment for use of what is mine. You wish to show me
some alchemy. Very well, do so as your formula directs. But be prepared to
render in double proportion for what is consumed in the process."
"Double proportion," Alodar said. "Why should there be any cost at all? I propose
to share with you whatever my formula might bring. That will be your
compensation, not a few pieces of copper for a single execution."
"Yes, double proportion," Basil said with a wave of his arm. "I manage a profit
only because, like the rest, I perform my formulas on the largest of scales. A
hundred times I boil the murky muds of mangrove swamps with the gray clays
from the barbaric north, so that I may get fifty crucibles filled with syrup of
extraction. And to those fifty I add the fleshy skin of the cactus, so the sweetness
may be pulled away in seventeen, leaving clear liquid to be decanted here."
Alodar followed Basil's arm to the nearest workbench and saw a figure huddling
under a cape studded with the inverted triangle logo of the alchemist A bony
hand reached out from the folds and carefully poured the liquid from a beaker
into a funnel filled with what looked like coral-red flower petals. With a scratchy
pen, the alchemist slowly copied strange glyphs from an open grimoire on a clean
sheet of paper and then crumpled and cast it into a flame when he was done. For
a moment the liquid seemed lost in the crevasses between the petals, but then a
drop of light pink formed at the bottom of the funnel's stem and fell into a flask
below. Several more drops followed the first, and then a small stream of color
trickled free. Almost as quickly, a smell of stifling sweetness filled Alo-dar's lungs,
and he coughed violently in surprise.
"It is always that way when it is fresh," Basil said. "Diluted and aged, you do not
notice. But I am lucky at that. Out of seventeen, I expect maybe three flasks of
honeysuckle oil. Three flasks out of a hundred for spices, perfumes, and as
ingredient for a dozen formulas more. Can you not imagine the waste and
expense if I tried the steps one at a time all the way through? No, the only way is
to perform all the identical operations at once with a minimum of effort. A
demonstration is the epitome of extravagance. Double the cost for disrupting the
production line is only fair; be thankful triple is not the rate instead."
"But why a charge at all?" Alodar persisted. "As I have said, I am prepared to

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share hi whatever gain might accrue."
"So say they all," Basil responded. "And after the formula fails four times
running, what have I then? Only pleading for one more try for which the random
factors will surely align. And if not, then for the next. No, I insist that the
demonstration pay for itself."
"And if one does not have the payment," Alodar asked, "how then do you ever
find new formulas of merit?"
Basil's eyes widened and his lips curved upwards into a toothy smile, "Why you
agree as did the last two yesterday," he said, "the ones now pulping up on the
platform to the right. All they had to offer was their labor, which I accepted. In six
months they will have paid in full for
their little fantasy and be able to leave free men. Is not that right, Eldan?" Basil
turned and pounded the back of the alchemist watching the last of the pink liquid
fall from the petals, now bleached white.
The craftsman slowly removed the funnel from the neck of the flask and dropped
its contents into a bin at his side. Without saying a word he pivoted and held the
flask out for Basil's inspection. As his cape fell away, Alodar saw wrists cuffed in
iron and held rigidly apart by a two-foot length of dark black bar. The alchemist's
eyes stared straight ahead, unblinking. The left side of his face was splotched a
deep green, and the flesh of his nose hung limp like a deflated balloon on the
plane of his cheeks.
"Now, Eldan here," Basil continued as he accepted the flask, "could have fared
better. I offered him a regular wage. But he preferred to be independent,
tinkering in his own shop down the street, taking risks beyond the call of
prudence. There are others like him still out there, obtaining loans from me to
purchase ingredients for wilder and more unproven schemes. And finally when
they can borrow no more on their names, they offer their labor instead as
payment.
"For Eldan," Basil said as he pounded the alchemist a second time, "it is ten years
served and only ten more to go. Of course, the splash of dye and the cartilage rot
are to be expected. And we have had to add a few restraints to ensure he keeps to
his work cubicle."
Basil passed his hand in front of Eldan's eyes and then snapped his fingers. A
long moment passed and then the alchemist jerked his head and blinked. "Finally
the honeysuckle does slow one down," Basil said. "In a year or so more he will be
good enough only to pull the vats around the circle."

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Basil paused and his smile was smug. "I own this factory outright, have part
interest in two more, and even mine one of the richest veins left hi the Fumus
Mountains. It is not bad progress for a humble apothecary who once carried
blocks of peat from the bogs for a few coppers. I used to jump to the alchemists'
beck and call; now they jump to mine."
Basil snapped his fingers again and Alodar waited for the delayed reaction.
"Well," Basil said, "let us see what you need and strike a bargain. There is no
point
in trying any of the others. The rates the length of the street are all the same."
"I have no gold," Alodar said.
"Then your labor," Basil replied. "Fear not that you may later reconsider. I have
the means to ensure that I receive payment in full."
Alodar gripped the formula tighter as he saw Eldan's face finally twitch. He
coughed again from the lingering smell of the oil of honeysuckle and wiped
another tear from his eye. He looked at the manacles on Eldan's wrists and a cold
chill ran down his spine.
"I will have to think about it," he said finally and turned for the door to the street.
Even outside, he could hear Basil's deep laugh echoing after.
The ah- suddenly crackled, and Alodar leaped up onto the counter as a glowing
blue globe bounced through the doorway. With a swiftness the eye could hardly
follow, it darted to and fro, careening off the walls, floor, and ceiling. It sped by
his face and, as he pulled back, he felt the hair rise from his head and stand on
end, tracking the passage.
"By the laws," a high voice sounded from the room beyond, "you would think not
an amulet in this place worked. What rotten luck. Nine batches in a row, and
every one of them producing ball lightning instead of the elixir. Well, this is the
last of the baneberry. It had better work, Saxton, old boy, or it's a diet of caraway
for quite a spell."
Alodar watched the dancing ball slowly shrink in size and activity, and then
finally expire among the dusty glassware of the alembic in the far corner. He
swung down on the other side of the counter, advanced to the doorway, and
peered into the workroom behind.
Light from the setting sun cascaded through highset windows down upon a
massive disarray. The wall on the left was shelved floor to ceiling, and all
available space was crammed with row upon row of bottles and vials of many

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shapes. Most were empty and uncorked, long cobwebs linking them together and
filling their interiors with ladders of dust. But here and there, neat little
collections sparkled with deeply colored liquids or glowing powders.
The wall on the right was also shelved, but stacked
with a tumble of small boxes. Alodar could see a label on each, but in a script that
he did not recognize. Most of the containers were of rough-hewn wood, but an
occasional one had sides of shiny steel, clasped shut with a strong lock and
chained to a nearby support. Crucibles, aludels, and curcubits competed for space
on the floor, leaving only a smalj winding path from where Alodar stood to a
workbench on the far wall. There, beneath a bookshelf sagging with almanacs and
grimoires, huddled a robed figure intent upon his task. The fiery heat of an
anthanor colored his plump cheeks red, and large beads of sweat formed upon
the folds of his neck. He stoked the furnace and pumped the bellows, oblivious to
Alodar's presence.
"Alchemist Saxton?" Alodar called to the man. "Are you alchemist Saxton, the one
with the powder of deep sleep?"
Saxton turned to look briefly at the interruption, waving his hand back towards
the doorway. "In the outer room, the second display case. It is ten coppers a vial;
leave it on the counter."
"No, no. I have come to see you about another matter," Alodar said. "I
understand from the street that you work independent of the factories and need a
novice to help you in your craft."
"Yes, that I do," Saxton answered without looking up from the anthanor. "One
with enough stomach to stand by his job once I have taught him. But leave me for
a moment, I have a formula to complete."
Alodar watched as the alchemist withdrew a crucible glowing red hot from the
furnace door and set it down to sizzle on the workbench.
"Well, no lightning this time," Saxton said, running one hand across his bald pate
and then wiping it against his robe. His smile split his round face like a wedge
removed from an orange, and his small, close-set eyes nearly disappeared into
the folds of his cheek.
"One more step," he said, "and we may yet line our purse this month." He
waddled down the workbench, withdrew one of the grimoires from the shelf
overhead, and rapidly thumbed to the desired page.
"Bloodroot," he mumbled and ambled around the clutter on the floor to face the

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wall of boxes. After staring for several moments, he reached on tiptoe and pulled
one container from its resting place. He extracted a large red
bulb and returned to the workbench^ placing it in the middle of a stack of clean
parchment.
"And now the activation," he said as he withdrew a quill from a nearby bottle and
deftly drew a complex symbol on the sheet beneath the root. As the ink dried, he
stared at the strange glyph and grunted satisfaction.
"About the novice," Alodar interjected.
Saxtoa's eyebrows jumped and he turned to look at his intruder. "Still here? Then
you are either brave or foolhardy. This last step could make the dancing ball look
like a toy, and it only has six chances in ten of going right."
"I wish to learn of alchemy," Alodar replied, "but do not care for the way a factory
offers to teach it. I have heard that there are risks and am willing to accept them."
"Very well, then, we will see the fiber of which you are made." Saxton shrugged,
returned to the bench, diced the bloodroot into a fine powder, and added it to the
crucible now already cool. He looked warily back at Alodar and threw the
inscribed parchment into the anthanor.
"All is ready for the final formula," he said as he began to write upon the next
page in the stack. His pen rapidly flicked out line after line of intricate symbols,
pausing only occasionally to dart back to the well for more ink. In an instant, the
page was covered, and Saxton set it aside to begin a second. He filled half of
another and then paused a moment with his pen poised high.
"The last symbol," he said as he glanced at the crucible. With a flourish, he added
a few more scratches to the paper. Alodar heard a sudden bubbling and turned to
watch a thick froth come over the top of the little stone dish and descend to add
its stain to the richly covered bench.
"By the signatures," Saxton exclaimed. "Chance is with us today. No explosion to
test you with. Instead, more than two whole gills of the finest nerve elixir north of
the isthmus."
Before Alodar could interrupt again, the alchemist scurried to the wall on the left
and removed a rack of small corked vials, covered with dust like the rest.
"Here, if you want to be a novice, make yourself useful. Dust them off and label
and fill them properly. And when you are done, place a sign on the door that we
have

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nerve elixir here, freshly brewed and only two gold brandels at that. The factories
may be able to undercut us on the sweetbalm, itching powders, and the like, but
they would never risk trying for nerve elixir."
The alchemist set the vials down, ran his hands across his smooth brow, and
began a small shuffling dance among the paraphernalia around the workbench.
He kicked up the dust with several energetic stomps and then suddenly stopped
and looked Alodar squarely in the face.
"You are too old to seek seriously the robe of a beginning novice," he said with a
frown. He pursed his lips and stood a moment in thought.
"And so, let us see this wonderful formula then." He smiled at last. "Though I
warn you, some deluded soul comes here with such a tale fortnightly, and I have
yet to see one worth the effort to look upon it"
"You do not speak of fees," Alodar said.
"No, no, that is not my way," Saxton answered. "If you have spent your good
money on a hastily scrawled piece of nonsense, I will tell you so."
Alodar hesitated a moment, then removed the old scraps from his cape and
handed the first across to Saxton's outstretched hand. "I come to you, alchemist
Saxton, because I have inquired carefully and the street gives you the reputation
of an honest man. Nevertheless, my first efforts at bargaining have filled my
thoughts with caution. Permit me to reveal only the first part of the formula for
my own protection."
"Oh, a powder for the street talk. Here, let me see it," Saxton said, ripping the
scrap from Alodar's grasp. "Know that I could have been as the rest. Only the safe
formulas, high yield potions of low potency. The long lines of pipes and valves
and the endless belts of the pretty bottles that the ladies like so much. But what
does that get you? A steady and frugal return and a chain to your workbench for
all of your days. Ah, I could have been that but I am not. A fetish for all such
bookwork. I have more daring and will stake my whole stock on the one chance
for a truly remarkable philtre. If it goes awry and burns me to a crisp, what of it?
If it produces only skinrot, I can start again. But my lad, oh ho, suppose I
succeed. What then of those who stand in their neat stalls, performing the same
step as each indentical vial comes down the
line? Why, with the right potion, one could be rich for life, selling drops here and
there for a baron's ransom when the need struck."

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Saxton stopped as the glyphs on Alodar's scrap finally penetrated his
consciousness. "Great amulets, my lad, where came you upon this?"
"From the fall of Iron Fist, alchemist, from the same trove that produced
Vendora's new grimoire. Can I assume that you are interested?*
"An elixir of boils on the royal shops." Saxton waved him off. "They push polluted
swill through their pipes no less than do the likes of Basil the apothecary. But
enough of that. The formula interests me indeed. What is your proposition?"
"What is yours?" Alodar replied warily.
Saxton ran his hand over his head. "Well, you could proceed as you originally
stated," he said. "I will accept you as a novice. In the course of tune, you will learn
enough to activate the formula with no assistance. The craft is broad and the
knowledge diverse, however. Much more than what is specifically needed would
be thrust your way, and you would have to wait patiently until you understood
the signatures of the final ingredient before attempting the mixing. I estimate
that in perhaps seven years you would know enough to try,"
"I seek not mastery of all of alchemy," Alodar said. "Just the meaning of these
scraps in my hand."
"Wait," Saxton said as he raised his open palm. "I have not finished with my
proposal. You could study as a novice and have all in seven years. Or we can work
together on this specific formula, sharing equally in the labor for perhaps six
months and then equally in the rewards as well."
"I put forth nothing but the formula and the effort for its preparation?" Alodar
asked.
"And I nothing but my knowledge and equal toil as well," Saxton replied,
"I sought no better arrangement when I saw Basil this morning," Alodar said,
breaking into a smile and showing Saxton the rest of bis scraps. "See then all. It is
with you I would rather strike a bargain."
"And in truth, we are not totally clear of the apothecary's grasp," Saxton said as
he quickly shuffled through
the pieces of parchment. "From time to time I have had to borrow from him when
my luck ran sour. Even now I owe him a sack of brandels a half year hence or my
services for a full twelve months thereafter. And as I scan the formula here I see
that the ingredients go quite beyond what one can expect to find in my little shop.

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Pennyroyal, gold thread, dried salamander, camphor, and sandalwood are the
stock in trade of any alchemist on the street. But the others, a dead man's candle,
root of shrieking mandrake, midnight dew collected under a moon eclipsed. Not
standard items and it will take much to procure them. Yes, we may have to deal
with Basil before we are finished, I fear."
"Is it a risk you are willing to take?" Alodar asked.
"It is your risk too," Saxton said. "You would take it, even if we did not have to
barter with him again. My present agreement binds any novices I may have as
well. If we fail to earn enough to make payment on time, then you also will pull
vats and carry beakers from mixing line to workbench cubicle. The juices that
stain your skin and the vapors that rot it away will surround you for a year. Even
for such a short tune you will not escape unscathed."
Alodar frowned and stood a moment hi silence. Eldan's image was still too fresh
and he shuddered at the thought. "What product does the formula produce?" he
asked. "For what magnitude of reward do I take the risk of this bondage?"
"Oh the rewards are great enough," Saxton said with a smile. "This formula is for
an ointment, no less than a caloric shield, allowing one to endure great
temperature that would otherwise be fatal."
Alodar's frown deepened. "I can fathom no use for that," he said. "I was hoping
for something more dramatic and powerful."
"It is powerful enough," Saxton said. "Powerful enough for the Fumus
Mountains."
"How can such an ointment aid in the mineshafts which everyone declares to be
delivering their last?"
"Those tunnels are not the working of man," Saxton replied, "but natural
fumaroles and fissures in ancient volcanoes which have smouldered since before
the first sagas. And in their walls we have found hundreds of per-
feet crystals of emerald, aquamarine, beryl and other fine gems. With a few chips
of the chisel, they fall free into the pouch, more like collecting wild mushrooms
than wrenching soft metals from their tightly clutching ores. And the deeper we
have gone, the larger have become the stones. Last year a topaz the size of a
robin's egg came from Basil's mine next to the queen's."
'Then they are hardly playing out," Alodar said. "Great treasures might be at
lower levels still."

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"But it is the heat," Saxton explained, "that is bringing collection to an end. Near
the surface, where the cool air mixes with the humid blast from below, one can
stay as he will, although with discomfort. At depths where gem quality stones
were first found, a miner worked his full day, if properly attired. But all such
levels have been discovered and searched many times over until there is no more
treasure. Now all that remains are mad dashes by the daring into passageways
which burn to the touch, to retrieve one stone and then hastily return.
"Why do you think I risk neck and limb to make elixir to calm one's nerves, to
keep cool-headed in time of peril? No less than three lords have announced that
they will venture beyond where any have dared and bring back jewels to fill the
treasure chests of the queen. Yes, ever since she returned from the west with that
rough Feston hi tow, Ambrosia has been seized with a fever for noble deeds to
attract her attention. Every lordling seems convinced that a brave quest that
returns much fortune will turn Vendora's head before she settles on the red
surcoat by default. And the jewels of the Fumus Mountains would top any feat in
bravery and reward by far. We will be amply paid for an ointment which makes
possible such a success.""
Alodar's frown turned to a broad grin, and he pounded the older man on the
shoulder. "I knew I was on the right track," he exclaimed. "Yes, yes, of course, the
jewels of the Fumus Mountains. But why settle for a stack of gold coin when the
greater reward is ours for the taking? Do not plan to sell the ointment when it is
finished but smooth it on my limbs instead. I will brave the heat and darkness
and bring back the jewels for us to share. Gems enough for you to dole out a few
at a time to keep you in expensive pleasure, and yet enough for me to over-
flow Vendora's royal coffers. With wealth from your alchemy and the lays of the
bards for what I will have done, how could any other have better chance for the
hand of the fair lady?"
Saxton blinked at Alodar's outburst and looked cautiously into his gleaming eyes.
"It is not certain," he said, "and risks are still present. The ingredients are so dear
that we can not afford great quantities. Only a modest chance will we have of
success; one cannot guarantee certainty in this craft. And even if we do succeed,
know that the ointment will reduce the heatflow to your body but not completely
stop it. There may be no gems worth the taking except at depths for which even
the protection is insufficient."
"You stated you are willing to risk all on one chance," Alodar said. "For my quest,
so am I."
"And finally if you do stagger to the surface laden with wealth," Saxton persisted,
"do you think that others will stand by and let you remove it? How well can you
wield your sword to protect the fruits of our labor?"

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"I received modest training as a small boy,** Alodar said. "But I am willing to
undertake more, if that is what is needed."
"Oh, by the laws, you have my interest and know it," Saxton said as he looked
again at the scraps hi his hand. "The parchment smells old, the script looks
ancient. If any formula is to make my fortune, then why not this? But the effort
will be a great one, and many hours must we toil before it is done. Even to get one
vial at the end, it looks as if we must start with no less than a thousand of the first
step; and as you see, I am ill-equipped to perform repetition with much
efficiency. But yes, I think you must become a warrior as well. I have a distant
cousin who instructs sons of the nobles somewhere across the expanse of
Ambrosia. Cedric is his name, and perhaps he would teach a novice alchemist as
well."
"I have heard of him," Alodar said. "His skill was praised in the bailey of Iron
Fist."
"Very well then," Saxton said, "we will proceed as follows. You spend your days
with the soldier's toys while I continue my usual routine with mine. After all we
must still earn the coin that keeps our minds alert and heart's blood pumping..
During the hours of darkness, we will
work to produce the caloric shield. Hopefully, by the time the ointment is ready,
you will have sufficient skill to protect whatever treasure is found as well."
Saxton stopped and looked out through the high windows. Tomorrow you can
seek out Cedric," he said, "But by the looks of the shadows we may as well begin
now the first evening's labor. Let me see, I said we must prepare to activate the
first step a thousand times. That would mean we need no less than twice that
number of spider eyes all neatly cut free and dipped hi honey. You begin with
them while I start to set up the rest."
"Spider eyes," Alodar groaned, "and two thousand. But that could take months all
by itself."
"Persistence," Saxton said, raising his index finger. "Persistence is the primary
attribute of the alchemist."
Alodar looked up at the sun high overhead and yawned. He had wielded the tiny
scalpel for the better  part of the night and getting proper directions had taken
most of the morning. But at last he was headed out of the winding alleys of the
craftsmen and into the heart of Ambrosia.
The street ahead widened, and well worn cobbles replaced the mud underfoot.

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Painted storefronts mixed with rough clapboard. In the distance Alodar saw inns,
taverns, and liveries rising above the smaller structures.
As he continued, the street crowded with beggars and merchants with pushcarts,
badgering the patrons who ventured forth for business before noon. Hawkers
standing on balconies added their voices to the melodious background clop of
horse-drawn coaches. The aroma of freshly baked meat pies on storefront shelves
blended with the smells of human exertion as he pushed his way through the
thickening swarm.
Alodar pressed on, and the shops gave way to private dwellings and finally to
expansive mansions, high-walled with gates closed to the street. He no longer
blended in with the traffic but stood out against the glint of mail and sheen of silk
that passed him by. Near the river which split the city, Alodar stopped and
banged a heavy knocker against a door of iron.
"I wish an audience with warmaster Cedric," he said to
the anonymous eyes which peered through a small slit in the door.
"Have you an appointment?" the voice behind the eyes asked. "Warmaster Cedric
is presently giving private drill and has two more pupils after noon today."
"I wish to engage him in like manner," Alodar said, "and am here to arrange
terms and times. Perhaps he can see me for but a moment.**
The impersonal voice exploded in a hearty laugh. "And I see by your attire that
you must be the scion of some lord in Vendora's court itself. By all means enter.
My master needs a diversion this morning and I think he will be most amused by
the value you place upon his craft"
The door swung open and Alodar saw two figures clashing long staves against one
another in the large courtyard. Vine-covered walls ran around the periphery,
meeting either side of a two-story structure at the far end. Large wooden racks of
precisely hung clubs, swords, and maces hid all but one small doorway, and the
windows above were crowded by cabinets of daggers, crossed halberts, and
double-headed axeblades secured to the wall. Circles and squares of dusty chalk
divided the hard clay ground into the pattern of an often-patched quilt, and in the
arena nearest the building the two men struggled. Alodar's irritation over the
servant's manner vanished as he advanced to meet them with a rapid stride.
"No, no, no," the taller of the two growled. "If he thrusts with both hands equally
extended, push your staff perpendicular to it. If you do not, he will slide around
your guard and drive home like this." With these words he dropped his left hand
from his stick and, swinging with his right, soundly thumped it against the

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ribcage of his opponent. The second man yelped with surprise and tripped to the
ground in a tangle of arms and legs.
"Enough for today, Dartilon," The victor dismissed the other with a flourish. He
smoothed back into place short, silvery hair and twirled the end of his waxed
moustache into sharpness. His eyes were an unblinking steel blue and his cheeks
axeblade flat about lips drawn into a firm thin line. The skin on his bare arms and
legs showed the crisscross of many scars and blotches of age but stretched tight
like a drumhead across his thickboned frame.
The fallen man scurried away into the house at the
courtyard's end, rubbing his side, and Alodar seized the opportunity to speak.
"Warmaster Cedric, have you room on your calendar for yet another? I cannot
pay as well as some, but I will be an attentive pupil and learn well what you may
teach."
"My fee is a gold brandel per lesson,*' Cedric rasped, "Does your eagerness
extend that far?"
"A gold brandel, no," Alodar said. "At least not at once. Not until I receive return
on my formula."
"Alchemy,** Cedric snorted. "Hardly a stable undertaking on which to depend. I
have a cousin, Saxton, who practices the craft in some little shed out on
Honeysuckle Street. He toils alone from sun to sun and all of his hard labor keeps
him no more than days away from beggary. I prefer to instruct one whose purse
always jingles, regardless of the luck of each morning's brew."
"It is from Saxton, in fact, that I come," Alodar said. "And surely you had rather
someone asking to learn than some lord's son sent because it is the fashion?"
"I take the rich men's gold because they thrust it upon me. If they wish me to ride
on past laurels instead of upon the horse of the commander, then it is only just
that I do so. Time with you only deprives me of coin for my purse. Be gone with
your ideals so we can both spend our time more profitably."
"I come on no idle whim, warmaster Cedric," Alodar persisted. "I am determined
to learn the craft of fighting and seek to leam it from him who teaches best."
"Determination, my scars." Cedric waved aside Alodar's words. "Determination
until you feel the first true stab of pain and realize that it is not some glorious
game for the sagas."
With these words, Cedric suddenly lashed out with his staff and knocked Alodar's
feet from under him. Alodar's eyes blazed, but he understood the intent and
choked down his cry of protest. He slowly rose, rubbing his shin. Through

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clenched teeth he said, "Such a blow I can stand, warmaster."
"Indeed so," mocked Cedric and he flicked out and tripped Alodar to the ground
once more. Alodar grimaced from the shock to flesh already growing sore, but
scrambled upright, reaching out wildly for the end of the stick which now
quivered tantalizingly in front of his face. As
he extended his arms, it whizzed through the air with lightning swiftness and
pounded his stomach with three quick thrusts. Alodar involuntarily doubled up,
grasping his hands to his middle, helpless to ward off a series of blows which now
rained down upon his unprotected head.
In an instant the barrage stopped, and he huddled, licking blood, ears ringing,
barely able to understand Ced-ric's words.
"What now of that determination, lad? Do you still want to be the mighty
warrior?"
Alodar struggled to his feet a third time, still clutching his stomach and squinting
to see through eyes beginning to puff shut. "If this is the way you instruct, let me
have the other staff and continue," he spat out. "By the laws, yes, I am
determined."
Cedric lowered his weapon and intently studied the figure Alodar cut before him.
"Yes, let us test it fairly," he said as he scooped up the second staff and tossed it in
Alodar's direction.
As Alodar reached for it, the master's stick sprang to life, whirling, thrusting and
pushing with lightning speed. Alodar, numbed as he was, could only imitate a
stance he had practiced as a boy and thrust his staff horizontally forward. Cedric
whipped his erect and cracked Alodar upon the top of the head and then each
shin, Alodar shifted his stick vertically to ward off the blows, and Cedric replied
with lunges to both sides, methodically hitting shoulders, arms, thighs, and
calves. In desperation, Alodar released his left hand and swung his staff in a slow
arc towards Cedric's dancing body. Cedric smiled and crackel Alodar's knuckles.
The stick dropped once more to the ground.
Now defenseless, the barrage increased hi intensity and Alodar huddled, hands
over his head in helplessness. As the shower of pain continued, Alodar curled up
smaller still, saying not a word but tightening his lips as each blow again hit his
swollen knuckles and the puffing welts forming on his back. Finally Cedric tired
of the sport and stopped the pummeling. "And the determination, now?'* he
taunted.
"As before," Alodar croaked, struggling to rise on quivering legs. "Let us go at it

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again."
Cedric dropped his staff and stood a long tune in si-
lence. At last he said, "You are either addlepated or burn with desire, my lad.
What indeed pushes you so?"
Alodar managed to pull himself erect and return the older man's stare. "I wish to
prove myself worthy," he said. "Lord Feston spoke highly of the value of your
teaching and his reputation at arms is great."
"Sweetbalm for reputations. More come from circumstances than from merit.
Ambrosia is babbling even now about how this Feston, one of my former
lordlings, bettered fifteen men on the walls of Iron Fist. Fifteen men surely all like
yourself. Yanked from some town or field, dressed in leather and told that they
were now warriors. Why, with any training at all, one could hack away among the
likes until his arm grew tired, with no threat upon his own person. But true skill
in arms is not measured by such petty reputation. It is by trial in which yours is
not the only sword that bites deep. And such skill is achieved at no little cost. Can
what you seek be worth the agony of this morning and the days to follow?"
"Yes," Alodar answered simply, holding fists tight against bis sides, determined
not to collapse until the interview was over.
"Valdo, tend his wounds with sweetbalm." Cedric turned suddenly and beckoned
to the servant still at the gate. "And fit him sparring gear for the morrow."
"Sparring gear?" Alodar asked. "For tomorrow?"
"Yes," Cedric said. "My pupils need practice against the lesser skilled order to
build confidence and polish their technique. They would never dream of testing
themselves against one another, and you can serve their needs admirably. And if
you watch while I instruct, you may learn enough to fend against them. Can your
determination take day after full day of that?"
"It can," Alodar said. "It will have to."
Cedric gave Alodar one last look. "A hero and a fool," he muttered and walked out
of the courtyard.
CHAPTER Six Lack of the Potionmakers
ALODAR pushed the cork into the last flask and sat down on the smalt stool
beside the workbench. He shook his head to clear the numbness and looked
through fatigued eyes at the two rows of transparent liquid that barely covered

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the bottoms of their containers. Only sixty-three, he thought, sixty-threee small
flasks to represent the results of over five months of labor.
Saxton placed a fleshy palm on Alodar's shoulder and rose on his tiptoes hi a back
arching stretch. "Well done, my lad," he yawned. "You have been an apt pupil and
we have accomplished much. Four steps completed and six more to try. If all the
rest go right half of the time, then we have about three chances hi four of
producing the ointment And with fewer repetitions to run at each stage, we will
progress all the more swiftly."
"From such speed we can well benefit," Alodar said. "The monotony of repetition
bothers me less than the time remaining before we must make good the loan
from. Basil."
"There is an additional matter for concern," Saxton said. "I have traded what
useful stock I could for ingredients to get this far but can continue in the same
manner no longer. The sixth step requires peat tar dug in darkness and Basil
virtually monopolizes the entire supply. Either we deal with him or attempt
instead to use a substitute."
"I would rather not give him further claim upon our futures when we have come
this far on our own," Alodar said.
"Nor would I," Saxton replied. "I have escaped the snare in which he has
entrapped others by bartering but
modestly and then only when I had no other choice."
He stopped and ran his hand over his head, his eyes frowning in thought. "And by
the laws," he said, "we may as well try. There is more danger if we substitute in a
formula this potent, but if we do not, we increase our risk as well. Let us look in
the almanac and see what signatures must be provided."
Saxton reached up on the shelf and pulled down one of a matched set of volumes
placed in a neat line amid his jumble of assorted grjmoires.
"Yes, peat tar, here it is," he said. " 'Thick, sticky black liquid with pungent odor.'
Well, the thickness and sticky-ness are well enough understood. Almost all of the
more complex formulas that have many diverse ingredients need some substance
to bind them together. The other properties are a little more ambiguous,
depending upon the final objective. For transfigurations, black provides the
animal's coat, for invisibility, the quenching of light, and so on. Ah, this is the
entry. For heat-shielding, black gives the dissipativeness of empty space. Let us
see, for the pungent odor there are likewise many interpretations but they all
seem to deal with repulsion. In our case, yes, here it is. For shielding ointments,

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the odor repels heat."
Saxton slammed the book shut and replaced it on the shelf. He closed his eyes,
folded his arms across bis chest and rocked back and forth on his heels.
"Sap from the maple tree," he said at last. "I have some here. And if somehow we
could use the powder of distaste with it, the signature should be close enough to
work."
"You have the powder as well," Alodar said. "I came across it while looking for
more of the syrup of narcissus."
"But as you said, we can ill afford the labor," Saxton replied. "The powder binds
but poorly with any other substance. It would float on the surface of the maple
sap like oil on water. We would have to force each gram into the liquid one at a
time and hold it there until it was soaked through and would stay. And for each of
our flasks we need hundreds of grains. Your task with the spider eyes was a small
effort by comparison."
"Does the soaking require an activation," Alodar said, "or merely the effort to
bring it about?"
"There would  be no  alchemy  in  the  preparation,"
Saxton said. "That would follow when we had the peat tar substitute ready for
use."
"Then I have the solution," Alodar said excitedly. "What you describe is but a
perfect application of thau-maturgy. We can hold one grain in a bead of sap and,
with a simple spellbinding, the others will follow."
Saxton wrinkled his nose and frowned. "I have no need for another craft," he said,
"and certainly not for another craftsman. Besides no thaumaturge would accept
an invitation to my shop even if I were to extend one."
"I can do what has to be done," Alodar said. "Let us pour out the sap and I will
show you."
Saxton looked at Alodar a long time, then shrugged his shoulders and pointed to
one of the shelves. Alodar slid off the stool and retrieved a glazed jug with a
stopper crusted with mold and hardened streams of sap running down the sides
like candlewax about a bottle. He decanted a generous amount into a large
shallow pan and, sucking on a glass tube, extracted a droplet to place in a vial
nearby. He found the powder of distaste and grabbed a pinch between thumb and
forefinger. Like a cook spicing a stew, he sprinked the dark black powder over the

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open dish. Then, with a pair of tongs, he extracted a final grain from the small
square tin.
He looked at the anthanor flame burning nearby and spoke the words he had not
used for the long months he had labored at his new craft. Then, with a sudden
motion, he plunged the tongs into the vial and turned to watch the surface of the
pan. The powder disappeared from view, sinking into the darkness of the sap and
leaving sluggish ripples in its wake.
Saxton crept closer, his squinting frown replaced by eyes wide with curiosity. He
looked at the uncluttered surface of the liquid in the pan and then to the tongs in
the vial. "The quarter part of an hour should be enough," he said quietly as he
studied the mixture.
Some time later, Alodar released the connection and pulled the empty forceps
from the small vial. The grains of powder remained where they were, floating in
suspension. "We are ready with the substitute peat tar," ha said with a smile.
Saxton grunted at Alodar's success and motioned him aside. He picked up the
first of the stoppered flasks
and carried it across the room to a ring above a small smoking flame. The soot
immediately began to blacken the bottom of the glassware and send wisps of
carbon up the sides. Saxton removed the cork and added to the clear solution
some of the impregnated sap, using a large bulbed pipette. Then as he watched
the liquid simmer, he began to copy a parchment scrap onto clean paper.
"By the signatures, why must the good formulas all be such a bother?" he
wondered. "Ten steps in this one, each with no more than an even chance of
proceeding correctly. Ten steps, by the laws. One thousand setups for the first, so
we get about five hundred successes. Five hundred successes so we can have step
two go right in about two hundred and fifty. Here we are at the fifth and must try
it no less than the full sixty-three times just so we have two chances of having the
final activation succeed. Were the stakes not so high, I would be tempted to make
one lot and be done with it Would that these formulas could be multiplied as are
those of a cook without a corresponding decrease in their potency,"
Before Alodar could reply, Saxton had completed all but the final symbol and
raised his pen-hand high. All was ready, and Alodar tensed as the quill descended
to the
paper.
The room suddenly exploded in light, and Alodar's eyes pulsed with pain. He
blinked once and then twice more. All was strangely dark except for a dull glow in

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the direction of the flask, which remained even when his lids were closed. Saxtoo
lurched against him, and both fell to the floor in a crash of splintering boxes and
the tinkle of broken glass.
"Hellfire," Saxton coughed. "We have to get out"
Alodar opened his mouth to reply but quickly shut it again, gagging on a thick,
stinging vapor which burned the linings of his throat. He raised one hand to
cover his nose and felt a trickle of fresh blood on his palm. He stood upright,
crunching glass, and flailed blindly with his free hand until he found Saxton's
arm. The doorway should be behind them. As he pulled the alchemist to his feet,
he began to grope towards the exit.
More glass clattered as they staggered together, stumbling against the gear
scattered about the floor. Alodar
banged his shins against a heavy iron bar across their path and fell to his knees.
He rose and limped forward, free hand in front reaching for a familar object. He
took three more steps and then stopped, feeling the blank wall that separated the
workroom from the front of the shop. He reached back, placed Saxton's hand on
his shoulder, and began inching to the doorway on the right. His lips started to
quiver behind his guarding hand and be fought to hold back the growing demand
for air.
Each cautious blind step seemed to be his last, but he pushed on for another until
be felt the jamb of the door. He could hold breath no longer and bolted into the
front room, ricocheting into the walkway beside the counter. Saxton scurried
behind, and together they crashed forward, ripping the latch from its guide, and
out into the street,
Alodar stumbled for the last time and sprawled on the sidewalk planking. He took
a tentative breath; although it was tainted with the smell from the workroom, it
filled bis lungs with ah-. He rolled over and looked at the sky. The dull glow was
still there, but fainter now, and the dim outline of the moon began to form beside
it. He turned to his side and deduced that the mass beside him must be Saxton,
painting rapidly, but alive as well.
"Cut short your stay at Cedric's tomorrow," the alchemist rasped. "We will
journey to the apothecary and barter for what we need. So Basil has all the supply
of peat tar. It is well worth whatever price."
Alodar ducked behind his shield and the padded club whizzed over his head.
Unarmed grappling, staves, broadsword and shield, and now the mace, he
thought. The months of monotonous execution of the first steps of the formula
bad given him time to observe Cedric well. Well enough that Alodar was

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beginning to be a true match for Dartilon and the others like him.
His opponent staggered as he halted the rush of bis missed blow, and Alodar
seized the opportunity to strike. He thrust his shield diagonally across his body,
blocking Dartilon's arm at the top of its backswing. Reaching out with his own
mace, he swung it in a wide arc, catching the young lord squarely on the back of
his unprotected
head. Dartilon sagged to the ground, momentarily dazed by the blow.
"Enough," he said weakly. "I am tired from the festivities at my father's manor
last night. Enough for today. When I am fully awake and fresh, we shall see who
can better handle the club."
Alodar said nothing as Dartilon rose and retired to the dressing quarters. His left
arm ached from holding the heavy shield through three successive combats, but
he did not mind the discomfort,
"Well enough, Alodar," Cedric's voice rasped behind him. "Rest a bit hi the shade
of the courtyard wall. You will find progress faster if you do not try to master it all
in a single day."
"I think I can make it worthwhile for another match," Alodar said as he turned
and saw Cedric heading for the shadow. "And I do not rest easy so long as there is
more to learn."
Cedric sat down on a small bench pushed against tbe vine-covered wall. "And
when you have learned all that I have to teach you, what then do you expect?"
"As I have said, warmaster," Alodar replied, "the respect which is my due."
Cedric pulled his lips into a tight line and slowly shook his head. "Come," he said,
"there is no one else to instruct for the next hour. But there is more that I can
teach you than the crash of the mace."
Alodar dropped the shield and joined Cedric on the bench. He looked the older
man hi the face and raised an eyebrow expectantly.
"I was lowly born," Cedric said, "and sought the glory of the sagas with my sword.
Long hours and numbing pain I endured perfecting my craft. Fatigue and aching
soreness were my only companions. I have seen few in my lifetime whose
dedication matched that of my youth."
Cedric stopped and his lips curved into a slight smile as he looked at Alodar
setting beside him. "But no matter for dedication and training," he said at last.

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"The border wars of Vendora's father provided many opportunities for me to
show my mettle, and by luck, skill, and reckless abandon I made my name known
throughout Procolon and the neighboring kingdoms. From warrior, sergeant,
captain, to commander I increased my glory fighting thirty years for the king, and
when I thought I had enough to compel the respect from any man, be he lord or
no, I came finally to the royal courts of Ambrosia."
Cedric threw back his head and closed his eyes. "I remember it well," he said. "A
courteous audience, a gold medallion, a flush of balls and parties, and then, when
the novelty of my presence faded, the postern gate. Retired with honor so the
proclamation said, but not so much that I could pound a lord on the back or join
him in a cup of wine. The craftsmen of the street might sing my praises, but so
long as I was not a part of the faction with the ear of the king, then it did not
matter.
"I became a bodyguard of a minor noble and observed from his retinue the
workings of the court. I saw the whispered conversations, the hints of special
knowledge, the alliances, the coercions, the allegiances that shifted with each
interpretation of the actions of the king. It took me some while to understand the
rules of the games at court, and once I learned I did not care to play. Better they
pay me soft gold for their son's instruction than I pay them for an occasional bow
or polite greeting.
"You speak of respect, and I tell you it is not for deeds but for influence. Have the
favor of the ruler or the conviction of others that you do, and respect will follow.
And no feat of arms, regardless how closely it resembles a tale from the sagas, will
have the value of a simple bribe to an appointment herald of some high placed
noble."
"It is not only by arms that I plan my assault," Alodar said. "I intend to use the
result of Saxton's alchemy as well."
Cedric pushed Alodar's words aside with a wave of his arm. "How can that serve
any better?" he said. "Practice at arms at least returns with increased skill the
investment of time you give to it. Random dabbling on the Street might yield
nothing at all."
"Of the five arts, alchemy is indeed unique in its uncertainty," Alodar admitted.
"Using exactly the same ingredients in the same formulas does not necessarily
produce identical results. The next to final step for nerve elixir, for example,
produces ball lightning instead four times out often."

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"Unpredictable outcomes that make useless such experimentation," Cedric
rasped.
"No, they are indeed related," Alodar replied. "With nerve elixir, we stabilize our
erratic impulses to fly and jerk uncontrollably in just the same way the crackling
forces of the ball lightning are aligned and held in check. And although the
chance outcome inhibits methodical investigation, the fundamental doctrine of
alchemy does give some indication on how to proceed." "And what is that?"
Cedric asked.
"The doctrine of signatures," Alodar said, warming to the task of displaying his
new-found knowledge. "Or as it is simply stated: 'the attributes without mirror
the powers within.' Beeswax is an obvious choice for use in a formula that
transmutes lead to gold. Its ability to polish helps to create the metallic sheen of
the final product. Vulture feathers play a role in the production of rugs of
levitation and so on."
"If it is so clear then," Cedric persisted, "why all of this talk of trade secrets, new
formulas, and profit margins?"
"It is true that if cost and time were not factors, an alchemist could devise a
formula to produce almost any product desired, a powder of immobilization, an
amulet of unbounded luck, or an ointment of true invisibility. Indeed the
alchemist's logo is a triangle impossibly balanced on a single point to show how
the laws which govern thau-maturgy are easily transcended. To work his craft, he
would consult his almanacs of the properties and brew together the right
combination of powers to achieve the effect. But, alas, nature works in perverse
ways. The more potent the product, the longer the progress must be, and the
smaller is the chance of a successful outcome. The experimentation of alchemy is
that of finding the shortcut, the formula with fewer steps, cheaper ingredients
and a higher chance of producing the result. A grimoire with formulas of high
yield is a treasure indeed."
"Then perhaps I do waste my time toiling with sword and shield," Cedric said. "I
would be better off on Honeysuckle Street tearing apart their shops and acquiring
these formulas for my own use."
"I think that a grimoire by itself would do you no great good, warmaster," Alodar
replied. "Knowledge of three
things is needed to activate a formula successfully, and the grimoire will contain
only two: the ingredients, and how to prepare and mix them. It will even describe
the complex string of symbols for each step of the formula to be copied fresh for
the reaction actually to take place. But what is missing are the additional symbols
which must be drawn to activate the ingredients to release their power into the

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brew. And the symbols of activation are closely guarded by the master alchemist.
Though I work closely with Saxton on a product of mutual benefit, he reveals to
me only a few of the signs which form the heritage of his craft."
"It would seem that the persuasion of pain might reveal what is missing," Cedric
said. "And then one could in a trice have what has taken years to find."
"For one formula, perhaps," Alodar said, "but the varying repertory of even a
modestly successful alchemist runs to thousands of formulas and activations."
"Yes, but as I have noticed," Cedric said, "nothing these brewers produce seems
to last for long."
"It is true," Alodar admitted, "that the virtue of the powders and elixirs does fade
quickly; and the more potent the effect, the sooner it is gone. Only true magic can
be permanent; magical armor is proof against all blows forever. But the toil of
magicians is not easily come by."
"Vendora could make good use of more than one such shirt of mail," Cedric said.
"Bandor still runs wild in the west and several of the neighboring barons have
joined him in his rebellion. It is no longer a simple matter of one recalcitrant
lord."
"I have not heard," Alodar said. "Between my efforts here and in Saxton's shop, I
have had time for little else. But how could Bandor attract any to his cause? It
was even rumored that his madness was no less than demon driven."
"According to Kelric, the court sorcerer, it is no rumor at all. In his trance of all
seeing, he finds no mind of man stoking the fires of revolt. Some of the nobility
still refuse to believe it of one of their own. But what in truth pushes Bandor and
how he persuades others is of little matter. The west acts in concert against the
queen and she must respojid. Even now the armies speed homeward from their
idle swordwaving in the south so that they can bite real flesh in true defense of
her crown."
"Then the sooner I am proficient, the sooner I can aid," Alodar said.
"And the alchemy?" Cedric asked. "Do you labor at night as hard as you do here
by day?"
"As bard," Alodar said, "although the effort by itself will not be sufficient. We
must travel this noon to Basil's mines in the Fumus Mountains to barter for more
ingredients for our craft."

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"Well, your -enthusiasm does arouse curiosity, Alodar," Cedric said. "Perhaps
enough that I will visit my cousin one of these days to see first hand what all this
fuss is about."
Alodar started to smile but Cedric cut him short. "Look, young Solidar arrives
early for his instruction. You wish not to waste your time with rest; then swing
your mace in challenge. I will wait here and then instruct him when he is
sufficiently limber."
"By the amulets, Rendrac, not so fast," Saxton said. "You know every turn in the
passageways and the torchlight is sufficient. But this heat addles my brain and I
must concentrate to keep from tripping over the rubble directly underfoot. I
cannot be looking ahead twenty feet to follow which side tunnel you duck into."
"You said you bad urgent business with Basil,'* Rendrac growled back, his deep
voice echoing off the tunnel walls. "He will not be out of the mine before nightfall
and so I lead you to him. But know that I am hired not merely to run errands for
whomever might ask. Be thankful that my own work takes me close by and accept
the pace with which I choose to reach him."
Alodar squinted at their guide and saw only a hulking silhouette against the
flickering torchlight. The form hunched over to avoid a descending ceiling,
burying his head between boulder-like shoulders that brushed the narrowing
walls on either side.
He followed Saxton through the constriction and then around a sharp corner into
a dazzle of light. He blinked his eyes and looked out a large jagged hole in the
smooth stone wall that admitted a flood of afternoon sun.
"A gas bubble popped through here," Rendrac grunted as Alodar moved to the
opening to look outside. "We connected through to the passageway we just
traversed because it was convenient."
Shielding his eyes with his hand, Alodar looked down the gentle slope of the
mountain, barren of plant life and strewn with dark basaltic rocks, streamlined
from their molten passage through the air and pockmarked from the gases which
bubbled from them as they cooled. Standing On tiptoe, he looked to tbe left and
saw in the distance the snakelike walls which wound their coils around the city of
Ambrosia. He exhaled the heavy sulphurous vapors of the interior and for the
first time noticed the detail of the tunnels in which he and Saxton had stumbled
for the better part of an hour.
Like the boulders outside, the walls were smooth and firm, melted and scoured
by the hot vapors that forced their way upward through not quite solid rock. He
stepped back and looked down the passageway from which they bad come and

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saw it heave and fall and then twist from sight, like a gigantic wormhole that
wandered randomly through loose-packed earth. He ran his hand along the
glassy wall and felt an occasional indentation that caught his fingertip or snagged
his palm,
"Matrix for the gemstones," Rendrac said. "Some of the first ones found. But all
such have been taken out ages ago." Rendrac waved his arm about the chamber
and then ran his hand down stubble-pocked cheeks. His hair was cropped short
and unkempt, sprouting from his head like coarse grass, woven by the wind.
Cruel, dark eyes capped square jaws that merged into the sinews of a stumpy
neck fully as wide as the head it supported. A thin, sweat-soaked tunic covered a
barrel-like chest above thighs as big around as a smaller man's waist.
Banging his sword against the stone wall as he turned, he motioned them forward
and started down the passageway on the otherside of the opening. Saxton took a
deep breath, coughed, and then pushed Alodar ahead, placing a hand on his
shoulder as he scrambled by. The tunnel dipped down a steep slope and the air
immediately turned oven hot. Alodar dug in his heels to control his descent and
felt his throat prickle from the irritants that he scooped in with each shallow
breath.
Downward they descended at a cruel pace, and Saxton's hand on Alodar's
shoulder became an aching wetness that gave fresh irritation with each step. His
tunic clung, and his eyes stung from the salt deposited by the steady trickle from
his sweating brow. He felt a weakness soak into his body, and his arms flopped
limply at his sides, far wearier than they had been after a full day in Cedric's
courtyard.
"Enough, we will see him another day," Saxton croaked at last, but Rendrac did
not reply. He continued on for another thirty feet and pointed to a dun opening to
his left. Alodar and Saxton stumbled forward and looked
inside.
"Rendrac," a voice called out of the side passageway. "It took you long enough to
arrive! No one will try any further. They claim that mips are popping through the
torch flames hi much greater numbers, and that the petty tricks destroy what
little concentration they have for their tasks. And not only the simple imps but
sprites as big as a fist, and through common flame at that. I explained that some
sulphur must have been burnt accidentally, but they would not listen. I think that
your logic may well succeed where mine does not."
"I was delayed by the two who came with me, Basil," Rendrac said as he ducked
into the passage. "I will take care of the others in but a moment. A few broken
limbs and a jarred brain or two, and they will know what they must do."

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"But remember what you are about," Basil warned. "They are of no use if they
cannot still swing the chisel and carry the pouch. The last two you persuaded
were able to crawl down the mountainside free men because I could no longer
profit from their effort."
"I will be careful," Rendrac growled as he moved past Basil. "So long as they do
what I say, then their pain will be but little."
Basil turned and frowned for a moment as Rendrac disappeared into the gloom,
but then shrugged his shoulders and continued forward.
"Why, Saxton," he said as he approached and saw the alchemist standing in the
torchlight. "What ever could compel you to seek me here? I thought you far too
lazy
for   such  exertion.   Are   you  so   anxious   to   repay  the brandels that you
cannot wait yet another day?"
"You judge me correctly," Saxton gasped. "It is not for your repayment that I
would endure such as this. But the brandels I do not have and the days remaining
before they are due are precious few; I must use them efficiently."
"An extension, then." Basil suddenly-- broke into a toothy smile. "Ah, Saxton, you
have made my afternoon. Each time in the past you have somehow come through
and settled your contract. Each time I have looked forward to the day I would
have your labor all the more. An extension, yes, I can arrange it. Say another
month against two years of service rather than one."
"It is not for an extension," Saxton continued weakly as he ran his hand over his
head. "By the laws, Basil, cannot we proceed upwards and talk as we go? If we do
not, then you will soon have to carry me instead."
Basil waved Saxton's words aside. "It is only your first tune and you are not used
to it," he said. "It is the lower levels which really test one's mettle. If you descend
deep enough, the tunnels run together; no one can say that they belong to me, the
queen, or some other, Yet we do not squabble over what is found there. It is just
reward for anyone who has the fortitude to brave the heat and return with a prize.
Of course, if they depart and return by way of the passageways which are clearly
mine, then I receive my fair share.
"But of your visit, tell me more. Despite the nonsense about the mips, I feel quite
generous today since my other endeavors go well. Look at my waist and what do
you see? Yes, it is no less than a magic dagger, the same that is strutted about the
royal court. The nobles are not the only ones with sufficient wealth to own such

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blades. I have no less than eleven more; an even dozen purchased from Lectonil,
the master magician of the Cycloid Guild. An even dozen free and clear. He was
anxious to sell and gave better terms the more I would take. The profit I will
make from resale of the rest will more than pay for the one I wear here. So tell me
of your desires and with a light heart I will listen."
"We need more ingredients," Alodar said, "and wish to barter for time and
terms."
"Most aggressive for a novice," Basil said. "Especially for one who is bound by the
agreement as well. But is this correct, Saxton?" He rubbed his hands together and
broadened his smile. "Do you need more, when I am yet to receive payment for
the first?"
"It is as Alodar says," Saxton replied. "We work his formula and need additional
ingredients. Dead-man's candle, midnight dew, peat tar and the rest. I have a list
of it
here."
Basil took the offered piece of parchment and then looked for the first time in
Alodar's direction. "You saw me in my factory hi Ambrosia some time ago," he
said. He glanced at the list and then furrowed bis brow in
thought.
"I find this hard to believe of you, Saxton," he said at last, "You have eluded me
the longest because you have been so careful with your agreements, I cannot see
one of your training swept up in the hopeless dreams which blow in from the
Street."
"Look at the list," Saxton persisted. "What I choose to blend is no concern of the
apothecary. State your terms and let us be done,"
Basil's frown deepened and he rubbed his chin. "You have not yet worked off your
existing debt," he said. "Yet, for the first time, you are willing to borrow even
more and for a formula not of your own making. Tell me what you are about,
Saxton, and then once I understand, perhaps the arrangement will be easier."
"Your terms," Saxton said, and Alodar felt the alchemist sag his other hand on his
shoulder as well.
"But these are not inexpensive ingredients," Basil said. "Why for the shrieking
mandrake alone, to root them out I must use trained dogs with wax plugging
their ears. And the peat tar is dug underneath light-tight sheds. The sparkle of a

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single star would destroy it all."
"Terms, your terms," Saxton said as he collapsed his full weight down upon
Alodar's support.
"Very well," Basil replied with a sudden edge to his voice. "Keep your petty
secrets, but remember well when you crawl back in less than a month's time that
it was not I who was inflexible on alternatives." He stopped and twisted his face
in thought. "Twenty years of service for
both you and the novice against three hundred brandels on our agreed upon
date," he said at last. "Is your formula so precious that you will risk terms such as
those?"
"Twenty years is not a fair price," Saxton said. "It should be five at the most and
we would agree to that most reluctantly."
"I care not to waste my time in bargaining. Twenty years is the only price," Basil
snapped back. "I have waited too long for this opportunity."
"Then perhaps, Alodar, we can reconsider," Saxton said. "It is not the first time I
have abandoned a formula before completion. You have taken to the craft well
and there will be more opportunity to make our fortune."
"Accepted," Alodar said, ignoring the alchemist's argument. "I would rather deal
with this apothecary no further, but if this is our only choice, then we will take it.
If we succeed with the formula, the cost for the peat tar and the rest will be
unimportant."
"You accept?" Basil said. "Twenty years and less than a month's time?"
For a moment there was silence and Alodar looked over his shoulder at the
alchemist. "Accepted," Saxton said weakly with a wave of his hand. "It is as the
novice states. If we succeed, then it will not matter.
"To the shed on the mountainside then," Basil said slowly as his frown of
puzzlement returned. "We will seal the agreement there and arrange the details
for the delivery of the ingredients to your shop."
Basil turned and headed upwards. Saxton shuffled by Alodar to follow. "Twenty
years," the alchemist muttered as he passed. "Would we fare even as well as
Eldan in such a time?"
"We quest, do we not?" Alodar replied. "The potential of such adversity spurs us
onwards to our goal."

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"Yes," Saxton said, "but the next step could fail all sixty-three tunes, regardless of
our motivation."
CHAPTER SEVEN The Random Factors Align
ALODAR dumped a bucket of oily water into the gutter and slumped to the
planked curbing. He kneaded the tired muscles in his neck and looked up into the
early evening sky. It seems bright enough now, he thought as he saw the disk of
the moon balanced like a platter above the roof-line across the street. He hoped
Saxton's decision to wait three days until it was full was the right one. Even
foregoing all time at Cedric's and spending two full weeks working the formula,
there was little time to spare.
Alodar stretched his arms over his head and frowned. It was well enough for
Saxton to propose a few days rest to uncoil his knotted muscles in some tavern,
but it had only given Alodar pause for the first time in months to consider deeply
the path he had chosen.
All of this effort for only four samples. Four small vials, filled with what looked
like motley collections of tiny colored beads. But when held to the eye, each
globule was a many-faceted crystal, able to withstand great stresses without
breaking, stresses from grinding forces or searing heat. Surely one tube would
produce the ointment for which they had struggled. Four chances to soften the
crystals into a thick gel; then for each that succeeded, one additional procedure to
make the ointment safe for contact with bare skin. With four vials, they could
expect the contents of two to transmute properly, and then one of them to be
rendered harmless as well.
Two steps but with only four samples remaining. Alodar pursed his lips and
shook his head. When they had six stages to go and sixty-three chances, Saxton's
caution in the mines had seemed hard to understand. But now the
outcomes could be enumerated on one's fingers and the boldness of their pledge
seemed a much greater folly.
Each result was random. If the last step failed on the first attempt, then there
would be one chance in two that all this work would have gone for nothing. Or if
none of the four vials liquified in the way they wished, then Basil's factory, not
wealth and glory, would be the final reality.
Alodar closed his eyes and tried to recall Vendora's beauty, to taste again his
anger at Feston's ridicule, to feel the prickly bitterness at Festil's blind rejection.

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But the images of half a year ago were blurred and fuzzy, the hunger and pain at
Iron Fist buried far beneath the numbness that rode on top of his thoughts.
Was it so important, he puzzled. Could he not Instead steal away in the night,
perhaps to the kingdoms to the south or even to Arcadia across the sea? Cedric
did not seem to value greatly the opinion of those who buzzed about the royal
court. Was such respect worth the risk be ran to gain it?
Alodar breathed deeply and then let the air out through his nostrils. No, there
was first the question of honor. Sax-ton was enmeshed in this as deeply as he,
and they must share the peril as well as the potential for great gain.
A sudden crash from the interior of the shop broke Alodar out of his reverie and
he sprang to his feet. For a moment there was silence, and then he heard the
crunch of glass grinding underfoot. He kicked the bucket out of his way and
dashed Into the storefront, looking for the sword and shield Cedric had lent him
for practice. As he stooped and thrust his hand through the enarmes, a massive
figure loomed in the workroom doorway.
"Rendrac!" Alodar shouted as the form came forward into the candlelight. "What
cause have you to be in the confines of Saxton's shop?"
"No bar did you have on the workroom rear door and Basil is most curious about
your formula," Rendrac said. "He will reward me well when I tell him something
of it." Alodar raised his swordpoint In front of his chest. "You will learn nothing
of it here tonight," he said slowly. "Be gone and return only if we need more
ingredients from your master."
Rendrac smiled and stepped forward, fingering the hilt of the sword at his side.
"And I leave when it suits my
own purpose,* he growled. "Not the whim of a mere novice."
Alodar took a deep breath and tightened the grip on
his blade. His heart began to race and his eyes widened as he looked up at the
giant coming towards him. He ran through his mind his sparring yard training
and set his jaw in a determined line. It must come to a true test sooner or later, he
thought, and defending the four vials was as worthy a cause as any.
Rendrac completed one slow step and stopped, eyeing the distance between
them. "Come forward, little man," he said. "Come forward and show your mettle."
Alodar looked at the angle of Rendrac's sword arm across bis body and tilted his
shield upward. The man would slash down rather than across, he thought, as he

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slowly slid his own blade toward the side.
"You learn nothing of alchemy while you stand frozen," he spat back into
Rendrac's smile. "To search the shop you must first win the right to do so."
"Very well," Rendrac growled. "If you are alive or dead, I will find out what I wish.
To me it does not matter."
Then, with the swiftness of a much smaller man, he drew his sword and dashed it
down towards Alodar's unprotected head. Alodar whipped his shield upwards
and received the blow with a numbing jar. A shock ran through his arm; his
elbow buckled from the contact. Involuntarily he stepped backwards, banging the
heel of his boot against the wall. He peeked over the top of bis shield and saw
Rendrac's sword arm again raised above him. He took a deep breath and stiffened
his body in anticipation for the next downward slash.
The blow rocked his shield and skittered away. Alodar staggered and huddled
lower to the ground. He thrust tentatively to the side, but quickly withdrew his
arm. His reach was too short. He would have to extend beyond cover even to
prick Rendrac's skin. He scowled and gritted his teeth as Rendrac's arm flew
upwards for the third time.
"When you have finished with him, prepare to take on another," a voice rang out
suddenly from the doorway to the street. Rendrac halted in midswing and
glanced in the direction of the challenger. He looked back quickly at
r
Alodar, then thrust the countertop candle towards the door with his free hand.
The flame flickered from the motion, then held steady and cast its light across the
entrance. Rendrac grunted in recognition and pointed his blade in challenge. "I
am no weaklimbed and untutored pupil, old man," he said. "You would fare no
better than the novice."
"You will not slip past my guard with words, Rendrac. I am willing to cross
swords with one of your petty reputation, if you are with one such as mine. Use
your sword or put it away. It is one or the other."
Rendrac flexed his fingers on his swordgrip and paused in thought. Alodar
frowned at his hesitation, and then turned and squinted across the countertop.
"Cedric!" he said. "Why are you here?"
"I have not seen you at practice for two weeks now," Cedric replied, "and, as I

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have said, your activities with my cousin have piqued my curiosity. It seems that I
arrive at a most fortunate time."
Alodar lowered his eyes and dropped his shield to his side. "You must think I am
no great credit to your teaching, warmaster," he said.
"A big man is not often bettered by a little one, no matter how talented the latter,"
Cedric said. "And you cannot expect six months' training to make up the
difference between you. Raising your sword against this Rendrac would have cost
you your life and proved nothing. But I am more of a match in size. Let him
decide if he wishes to measure which of us has the greater skill as well."
"As I have said," Rendrac growled, "you will find me more a match than your
fledgling pupils."
"That I judge to be true, Rendrac," Cedric replied slowly. "But then you will find
me more than you have yet encountered as well. In my lure I have fought a dozen
of your bulk and I suspect I will learn little from another. But the choice is yours.
Sheath your sword and walk out unscathed. Or come forward with it drawn and
afterwards we will remove your body."
They all stood silent for several minutes, but finally Rendrac scowled, thrust his
sword back into its scabbard, and stomped around the counter. Cedric stepped
into the shop and motioned to the doorway. Rendrac pulled in his cape and shot a
last glance back around the room.
His eyes danced to avoid Cedric's; when he looked in Alodar's direction, he saw
the beginning of a smile. His scowl tightened and he waved his fist threateningly.
"The next time, you may not have a protector," he growled.
Alodar opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when he beard loud voices
suddenly spilling in from the street.
"But do you not see, Saxton, that the risks you take are unnecessary. I have to
demand twenty years because, as I understand it now, no fair return will I get for
the brandels I have lavished already upon your venture. But as a partner I can do
much to ensure the success of all."
Two stout figures suddenly jostled to enter the doorway, and Alodar saw Saxton
guided through by Basil's silk-covered arm. Basil's cheeks flushed red from the
exertion of supporting the sagging weight at his side and Saxton's were redder
still from his visit to the tavern,
"Rendrac," Basil said as his eyes adjusted to the candlelight. "What are you doing
here?"

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"No less than what you attempt with a jug of wine," he snapped back.
Basil looked to Alodar, then Cedric, and finally frowned at Rendrac's words. "We
will speak of this later," he said at last.
"Why such attention?" Saxton cried gleefully as he sagged to the floor. "There has
not been such activity in my shop since twelve years ago when I thought I had
stumbled on to a philtre of longevity."
"Oh, be quiet, you fool," Basil said, "else I add the cost of the wine to what you
already owe. Come along, Rendrac. The night is wasted here, and we should be
off to attend other mattera."
"Poor Basil," Saxton chortled as he sat with his hands folded over his stomach. "It
is too much to bear, is it not? Someone else on the street is to make a profit from
the Fumus Mountains and you cannot let it be."
Basil stopped in the doorway and turned to look down on the alchemist. "What
about the Mountains?" he asked slowly. "What does your formula have to do with
the mines?"
"You may as well know," Saxton laughed. "There is nothing else to purchase. We
will be done in three days time and then it will not matter. Yes, Basil, it is the
Fumus Mountains and the jewels of the lower depths. We
shall get them, Alodar and I, while sweat stains your fine garments as you watch
us pass by."
"A new tunnel," Basil said as he bent down beside Saxton and grabbed the folds
of his soiled robe. "Some sort of acid that will eat through to the bidden
passageway that runs high and cool."
"No, far better," Saxton giggled as he tried to brush Basil's hands aside. "A caloric
shield that will make the depths accessible for exploration. I wager that you will
be repaid with a topaz far larger than a robin's egg."
"Then the partnership," Basil said excitedly. "It is as I have promised. Forget the
debt for the ingredients. Share with me the plunder from the bowels of the
volcano and I will release you from the agreement to which you are bound."
"The wine loosens my tongue," Saxton said, "but some sense I still retain. It is
Alodar and I who have shared this formula in good faith. It is only right that we
reap all of the reward from it as well.**

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"A novice of a few months," Basil said. "How important could such a loyalty be? I
have worked the Street for years and in truth am a member of your craft as much
as one whose robe bears the inverted triangle. What cause can you have to deny
me so?"
Saxton slowly shook his head. Then with surprising strength, he wrenched Basil's
hands free from his robe. "I remember too well the stare of Eldan and the others,"
he said, suddenly sober. "Too many fine craftsmen have I seen you sweep into
your factories and too many poor useless hulks have I seen you push into the
alley on the other side. No Basil, I will not share with you the fruits of my labor."
Basil stared for a moment into Saxton's unflinching eyes and then slowly rose. He
smoothed his tunic and adjusted .the magic dagger at his side.
"Very well," he said at last. "If you choose to play by the letter of our contract,
then so will I. You have assured your repayment by gold or by the future labor of
your back and brain. But that assurance is good only so long as you possess sound
faculties upon the date they are due. If I judge that you endeavor beyond the
usual risks of the craft and jeopardize the value I may receive, then I can
rightfully ask for a guarantee of sounder value. And
adventure into the Fumus Mountains does qualify certainly as an undertaking of
high peril. Your labor is no longer sufficient bond, Saxton. What can you offer in
its placeT'
"Why nothing else, as you well know," Saxton said, rising uncertainly to his feet.
"And I have never heard of such a condition binding an alchemist so."
"The clause is there," Basil snapped. "Before, I have not had cause to use it. But if
you have no assurance for your loan, then by right I can call it due immediately."
He stopped and twisted his face into a forced smile. "You are wrong when you
think you have five days more, alchemist," he said. "It is in fact less than one.
Have three hundred brandels in my hand by the next dawn or prepare to be
measured instead for the restraints of the factory. I think I will put you next to
Eldan's stall, so that each day you can watch and know full well what you will
become."
"Your investment is well protected, Basil." Cedric broke his silence and reached
into his cape. "Here is a pouch with ten brandels. In two days time I will arrange
to have the rest. Take it as token and follow your hireling out into the street I
shah" be the guarantee that the obligation is met."
Basil turned and looked up into Cedric's stern face. His smile vanished. For a
moment he was silent as he studied the unblinking eyes and felt the gold in his

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hand. "You have a reputation as a warrior, Cedric," he said at last, "not as a
merchant. I can not be sure that your promise is any better than the rest." With a
flourish, he tossed back the pouch. "I need not accept this," he said. "Dawn is
within my rights, and even the queen herself would have to agree to it."
Cedric took a step forward, but Saxton moved between him and the apothecary.
The alchemist glanced out of the shop into the moonlit sky. "Your offer is well
appreciated, cousin," he said. "But Basil's twisting of words does no more than to
force us to hasten our work. The moon is not quite full, but enough so that
probably it will little matter. Be gone, Basil. If it is by the first rays of the sun that
we must stuff your purse, then so it will be. Return to your factory and await
there your disappointment."
"Yes I will go," Basil snarled, "but to the first rays of
dawn, and then no longer. Mark you, Saxton, even six hundred brandels a minute
late would not be enough. You pay in the dark or cough on honeysuckle for a full
score of years to follow."
The apothecary turned abruptly and stomped out of the shop with Rendrac close
on his heel. Saxton steadied himself against the door frame as he watched them
disappear down the street. Finally he ran his hand over his head and looked back
into the ulterior.
"And good night to you, Cedric," be said. "Alodar and I will not need your help
further and we have much we must do."
Cedric grunted and stepped to the doorway. As he left, he turned and looked back
into the store. "Next time, hold your shieldhand yet higher," he said, "and prepare
to thrust under rather than around the side."
Alodar started to reply, but Saxton waved his arm towards the workroom, "Find
me the pills which will clear my head," he said. "The next eight hours will decide
it all."
Alodar looked up at the moon well into the sky, and then down to the square
opening at his feet. Saxton's bald head popped through, and he extended his hand
to help the alchemist up the last few rungs. Saxton stopped his climb and waved
away the aid.
"In a moment, Alodar," he panted. "It may be easy enough for you to climb to the
roof of the shop a dozen times, but for one of my dignity, it is a different matter."
"The moon is almost to its zenith," Alodar said. "If we do not begin soon, there
will be no time for the mountains before the sun follows it into the sky."
"As I already have taught," Saxton replied, "the purity of the ingredients

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materially affects the chance of success. The more the moon rises, the less the air
pollutes the pa-sage of its cool light. We must make haste, but not so much that
what chances we have are thereby compromised."
He stopped and looked upward. "But a few degrees more should be satisfactory,"
he said. "Make ready the lens and the filter."
Alodar turned back to the apparatus at bis feet and lifted the large lens from its
case. He placed it in the semi-
circular base for the support stand and snapped the confining ring shut. He
sighted through the thick glass at the two closely set panes placed some two feet
behind and rotated the optical axis into line. Stepping over the gear they had
hurriedly brought up from the workroom, he found the bulbous flask and pulled
the cork. The odor of banebeny tickled his nose, and he carefully decanted the
deep blue liquid into the narrow space between the two vertical sheets of glass.
Alodar walked back behind the lens and dragged the huge mirror into place. He
sighted into the sky where the moon would be ia the next few minutes and tilted
the reflector to catch the light and bounce it horizontally, A parallel beam, he
thought, converged by the lens, filtered by the banebeny and finally focused on
the flask at the end of the line. How much more complex than the simple spells of
thaumaturgy.
He pushed the gear into final adjustment and stood back to watch Saxton finish
his preparations. "I am ready," he said as the alchemist pulled a long flexible hose
from an earthen jar and inserted it into the mouth of the flask.
"As am I," Saxton replied. "When the moon's light strikes the mirror squarely, I
will invert the jar and the limestone will fall into the oil of vitriol. The gas from
the reaction, the blue moonlight and the granules we have placed in solution will
interact and if we are lucky form the ointment."
Alodar nodded and stooped to sight the moon through a small hole in the back of
the mirror. The bright edge crept into view and then the whole disk dazzled his
eye with brightness.
"It aligns perfectly now," he shouted suddenly as he turned to watch the light
streak through the apparatus and hit the flask with a dull blue glow.
Saxton inverted the jar and the first cautious bubbles burbled to the surface of the
solution. The alchemist snatched a pad of parchment, activated the ingredients
and scratched out the formula. As the final glyph formed. Alodar caught his
breath, awaiting the reaction. He looked at the flask, hoping to see the clear liquid
instantly haze into a tracslucent gel.

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Several minutes passed but nothing happened. Saxton
rocked nervously back and forth on his heels and ran his hand over his head.
Alodar squinted at the glassware trying to see some change in the solution, a
slowing of the bubbles' rush to the surface indicating a transformation.
"Have you placed the flask at the precise focus?" Saxton asked. "With the moon
not full we need all of the intensity we can muster."
"It is the lens, Saxton," Alodar replied. "With such a size you cannot expect it to
bend the rays that strike the edge with the same precision as those near the axis. I
have placed the flask so that the circle of confusion is smallest. Any better is
beyond the grinder's art."
"Then it is the brew which is bad," Saxton said. "Toss it aside and we will try
another. Three chances will be as good as four since I have only enough
salamander skin left for the two success we expect. The rest I already have used in
barter."
He looked at the solution bubbling as if no formula had been activated. "Yes, let
us dispose of it," he said. "Who can say what perversion of the desired result will
occur if we let it interact any longer. Or if nothing is to happen, then it will surely
spoil."
Alodar stared down the line from the mirror which first caught the moonlight to
the flask which finally received its filtered rays. He passed his hand hi front of the
solution and saw the pale blue spot on his palm the size of a brandel. He frowned
and thought of his training as a journeyman.
"Yes, that will work," he exclaimed as the idea struck him. "Saxton, do not yet
disturb the brew. There is more that can be done. Quickly now, help me find the
small glass we used to aid in removing the eyes of the spiders."
Alodar ran to the ladder and descended into the workroom below. He began
rummaging through the tools of the trade, tossing the gear aside like an excited
dog digging after a small rodent.
Saxton shuffled to the opening and peered inside. "Not more thaumaturgy," he
said. "Remember what happened the last time you mixed the two crafts together."
"Here it is," Alodar said, ignoring the command. "Now with another small mirror
and a sample from the flask, it will be done." He quickly scooped up an armful of
stands and clamps, and staggered back up the ladder to the bub-

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bling flask. Pinching the gas tube with his fingers he decanted some of the fluid
into a vial and then fastened it to the stand he positioned nearby. He ran back to
the first mirror, adjusted it slightly and then inserted the edge of the second into
the path of the light. A slender beam separated from the rest and darted across
the rooftop to engulf the vial in brilliance.
"We risk enough, Alodar," Saxton said. "Let us try the next batch instead and take
our chances within the confines of the art."
"But a moment," Alodar said. "I do not mix the crafts so much as use them in
complement to one another. You nefcd intensity and by no skill of alchemy can
you make lenses perform better than the grinder has designed them. But the key
is the light, not the glass which bends it."
Alodar did not wait for a reply bat performed his spellbinding and then thrust the
hand lens into the second beam's path. He slid it rapidly back and forth and
brought the rays into a precise focus on the vial.
"The small glass converges with far more perfection," he explained, "and by
thaumatugy we can force the larger to do so as well. Look now to the flask and
observe how we fare."
"A sparkling brilliance," Saxton gasped, and Alodar turned to see the large tube of
light converge into a tight point deep in the center of the solution.
Several moments passed hi silence, then suddenly the liquid wavered before their
eyes. The next bubble out of the tube dimmed from view and the one just leaving
the surface left a small crater in its wake.
"It gels," Saxton shouted. "My lad, we have ointment on the first try. Yes, of
course, we must have sufficient intensity or the ingredients will not interact. But
no matter how you did it, let us set up for the second while the luck still points
our way."
Alodar caught Saxton's excitement and hurriedly adjusted the equipment. He
fixed the small glass in a clamp and then stood by the first mirror, keeping the
moon directly in line as it crested in the sky. In a few moments Saxton had
disengaged the first container rilled with the glowing ointment and replaced it
with a second. He tossed the spent gas generator aside and thrust the tube from
another while casting anxious glances at the shimmering brew.
He finished the final glyph and almost instantly the clear solution thickened into

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the transluscent cream. Saxton's eyes widened in wonder. He ran his hand over
his head and then gently stroked the side of the flask.
"Two in a row," he exclaimed. "The random factors align, Alodar, I can feel it." He
cast the second gas generator aside. Holding the flask high, he dance around the
rooftop in exultation. Alodar smiled and started to break the thaumaturgical
connection.
Saxton looked at the container he had set aside and then the two standing ready
still filled with clear solution. He stopped his celebration, frowned at the knot of
brightness where the last flask had been and stared back at the battered chest
with small labeled drawers standing nearby.
"Powdered skin of salamander, less than three brandels more," he muttered and
then his face recovered its smile.
"No, Alodar, leave the gear as it is," he said. "Run quickly instead into the city and
get from Cedric the gold he offered as loan,"
"Back to Ambrosia," Alodar said puzzled. "But, Sax-ton, whatever for? I am as
happy as you that the first two produced the ointment, for we can dearly use the
time. In less than four hours the moon will set, and sunrise will be but little after.
Let us perform the last step twice as you planned and proceed on to the Fumus
Mountains."
"But do you not see," Saxton ran on excitedly. "The random factors align. The
transition was so dramatic, so emphatic. We are not dealing with chance. All of
our trails will succeed tonight, I can feel it. We need not settle for two vials of the
ointment when four are ours for the taking. If we double the supply of the skin of
the salamander, there will be enough to perform the final step on all four. For a
few brandels more we can secure what we need from the royal shop at the head of
the Street. Go to Cedric's and maximize our good fortune."
"But sunrise," Alodar protested. "There will not be tune enough for it all."
"We quest, do we not?" Saxton chortled, waving his index finger at Alodar's
scowl. "And with the factors
aligned, how can there be failure? I will complete the formula for the two flasks
we have prepared while you are gone; when you return two more will be ready to
process as well. Away. You may as well secure the powder as stand idly by while I
exercise my craft."
Alodar looked down into the silent street and then toward the heart of the city.
"Very well," he said, "I will go. But if the moon gets close to the horizon and I

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have not returned, follow me with whatever you have of value. We will meet and
save time in taking the road north to the mountains."
"The random factors," Saxton said as if he did not hear. "They align and, by the
laws, with a formula of great importance. Yes, hurry along, lad. Tonight, we can
do no wrong."
Cedric wrapped his cape tighter and cursed at the bite of the cool breeze.
"Alchemy," he snorted. "Only for such a craft would one have cause to tramp
about the streets in the middle of the night."
"As I have explained, warmaster," Alodar said as he hurried to match the longer
stride, "you need not accompany me to the dwelling of this seneschal. I can rouse
him as I did you. Even if his irritation makes all ten brandels the price for the
powdered skin, I will not begrudge it." He looked at the moon already
uncomfortably low in the western sky. "Haste is far more important."
"If I did not come," Cedric rasped, "dawn would find you pounding at his gate."
Cedric stopped and turned off the street at the next open gateway. Buzzing voices
and loud laughter from a dozen sources floated over the wall, and a caped figure
staggered against Alodar and lurched into the night. He blinked at the torchlight
when he entered the courtyard and stumbled past two more sprawling forms
snoring in his way. The area was scattered with small clumps of richly dressed
men nodding dutifully at each other's words and waving empty cups at the wine
stewards wandering by. In a corner, a dark-haired girl tossed her veils to the
rhythm of her small finger cymbals, but no one noticed.
"You come late to lord Dartilac's festivity," a man in servant's livery said into
Cedric's ear, "And it is not so
light that I can recognize you as one of his peers from
the court. I do not mean to offend, but have you brought the invitation affixed
with his seal?"
"This is my invitation," Cedric said. He slowly tumbled the ten brandels from
their small pouch. "I must speak with his lordship on a matter which I am sure he
will find to his interest. Can you not arrange for such a moment?"
The servant scurried to retrieve the coins and stood up with his face in a smile.
He beckoned them to follow and started to weave his way across the courtyard.
Against the wall to w,hich they headed, Alodar saw a blond-headed man of
middle age holding a goblet in one hand and poking the chest of his listener with
the other. The lines of the face twisted in frustration and the blank expression on

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the recipient of the argument forced each jab to be harder than the last. As Alodar
and Cedric approached, the servant coughed and the conversation abruptly
halted.
"Lord Dartilac," Cedric said without waiting. "I am the one who teaches your son,
Dartilon, the use of arms."
Dartilac set his glass on a bench nearby and frowned. "I pay you well and on
time," he said. "I see no reason to call upon me here and at such a time."
"What you say is most proper," Cedric said, "but, as you know, I instruct the sons
of many of the lords and learn much that might not otherwise be common
knowledge. Lord Cartilon, for example. His son I taught this very day."
Dartilac picked up his glass and took a cautious sip. "And what news do you have
about the house of Cartilon?" he asked slowly.
"As you know," Cedric said, "the queen is most appreciative of the loan of your
seneschal to aid in the activations of her formulas from Iron Fist. And Cartilon
has in the past always aligned his house with yours, careful to say to all how you
aid the flow of coin so necessary hi these times of increased peril."
"And now," Dartilac repeated, "what news do you bring?"
Cedric smiled back into the lord's knitting brows. "Nothing other than what your
own speculations might give you," he said. "But first a small boon, my lord, as a
token of the good faith in which we deal. Your seal on a
writ against the royal stores for powder of salamander skin, a few drams, no
more. I am sure your steward would honor it, since he knows who ultimately
decides his welfare and keep."
"Salamander skin," Dartilac said. "Do you jest? What you know is of little value if
such is the price you place on it."
"I need it before dawn and that makes it more dear," Cedric replied. "With your
seal I can obtain it from your man as I could no other way."
Dartilac rubbed his chin while he studied Cedric's unblinking face. After a
moment he grunted and snapped his fingers overhead. The servant reappeared
and dipped bis head in a small bow. "My seal on a writ to the royal factory of
alchemy," Dartilac said, "to be drawn immediately but to a maximum of three
brandels and no more."
The servant frowned questioningly but Dartilac waved him away. "And now what

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of Cartilon?" he said.
"The army returns from the south," Cedric said. "What will be Vendora's first
concern, to pay them their due or to see that they are properly led?"
"Leadership, of course," Dartilac said. "It is true that her vassals have already
provided their yearly aid to the crown to which they are shown and further
provision must come from her own purse. But with a strong man at the head,
they will rally to her needs and point to the west; their pay can come later."
"And between the lords who aid with ready coin and those who assist with sword,
for whom would she show more favor?"
"But both are needed as she knows full well," Dartilac said. "Leadership may be
her first concern but she would not turn her thoughts from those who support the
crown in so generous a manner."
"In a situation such as this," Cedric repeated, "who would she favor?"
"Arms," Dartilac growled. "Under the present conditions she would tend to
arms." His frown deepened and he stopped in thought.
"But surely Cartilon would not shift into Feston's camp without much reflection
and consultation," he said at last. "He has been steadfast in our course to resist
the influence
of the rough outlanders. Old Festil may have been a favorite of Vendora's father,
but Cartilon sees as well as any that Feston dangles on a string. Why even now
my staunch friend labors to influence lady Aeriel to add her voice to ours. And he
is here tonight somewhere across the yard, partaking of my hospitality as do
others of the same persuasion."
"Thought and consideration," Cedric said. *'I would judge that all of the intimates
of the court spend a good part of their time in such profitable fashion. To be a
member of a faction swinging into ascendency is a temptation. And even if one
were himself steadfast, it would behoove him to reassess critically the loyalties of
every man that he thought stood behind him."
"But Cartilon," Dartilac said.
"I instructed his son this very day," Cedric said.
Dartilac grabbed his chin and gazed past Alodar's shoulder. "It is a matter to look
into," the lord muttered behind his hand.

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Cedric stood silent, and Alodar saw the pensiveness grow on Dartilac's face.
While he pondered, the servant returned and thrust a folded parchment in
Cedric's direction. The warmaster nodded and motioned Alodar to accept it.
"Value given and just value received," Cedric said. Without waiting for a reply, he
turned and started for the exit.
"You train many of the scions, did you say?" Dartilac shouted after him. "Perhaps
there is more in your future than a few drams of salamander."
Cedric continued to the gate and nodded once over his shoulder. He ducked
through the opening and Alodar followed. In the street, the warrior walked hi
silence, his lips pulled into a grim line.
"I see that your way is far more effective than my pounding," Alodar said. "It is
fortunate that you learned something of Cartilon's leanings in time to be of such
advantage."
"Think over carefully what I said," Cedric replied. "Cartilon's son said no more
than that Dartilac was having yet another festivity." He stopped and grabbed
Alodar by the shoulders. "I learned the rules but did not choose to play," he
rasped. "And I do not care to begin even
now. Finish this foolishness with Saxton and be done with alchemy. I expect you
back in my sparring yard on the morrow."
Alodar started to speak, but stopped when he saw the bottom edge of the moon's
disk shorn away by the line of Dartilac's roof. He tore free of Cedric's grasp and
spun around to look to the east, squinting Into the lights of the city and trying to
detect the glow that preceded dawn.
"I shall repay you with honor, warmaster," he said at last. "But for now, my quest
comes before all else." He grabbed the writ firmly and plunged down the road.
Sprinting around a corner, he raced back to Honeysuckle Street.
CHAPTER EIGHT Moltenrock Treasure
ALODAR panted up to Saxton's storefront too out of breath to shout his return.
He entered and swung around the counter and into the workroom. As he dashed
through the doorway, he stubbed his toe on a plank jutting in the way and his
eyes widened in surprise. The shelves and cabinets lay tumbled to the floor in a
vast clutter. Alodar stepped cautiously through the rubble, knee high hi
splintered wood and broken glass. The air stank of a mixture of odors from
ruptured containers and he could not see a familiar sight in the confusion.

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He walked slowly forward, scanning the floor, each step accompanied by the pop
and crack of additional small destruction. The large cabinet from the south wall
blocked his path. As he surveyed a way around, he saw a single pudgy hand thrust
from underneath its heavy oaken boards.
Alodar quickly stooped and heaved the box off the
fallen alchemist, who lay face down in the tangle on the floor.
"Saxton," he shouted as he rolled the brown-robed figure over. "What happened?
What happened here? Are you whole or hurt?"
Saxton stirred slightly and opened his eyes to the noise. He frowned and focused
with difficulty, small trickles of blood oozing from his mouth and the many small
cuts on his face.
"Alodar," he stumbled out softly. "Alodar, by the laws, it worked. It worked not
once but twice. As I said, the random factors aligned and both of the flasks
produced safe ointment. The chance of an alchemist's lifetime and I had it
succeed twice."
"But what happened here, Saxton?" Alodar persisted.
"Rendrac," Saxton said, and then he began to cough uncontrollably, throwing up
great quantities of clotted blood. Alodar looked quickly about and spied a pottery
jug still unbroken on a high shelf. He fetched it and, cradling the alchemist's
head, gave him a small drink of water.
"Yes, Alodar," Saxton continued after a moment. "The luck of a lifetime is often
balanced in this perverse world. The factors aligned, but Rendrac could not give
us the slightest chance of success thereafter. While you journeyed to Cedric's, he
returned here just as the contents of the second flask transmuted into a form safe
to the touch. I thrust them into the clutter as be entered, but this body was not
meant to withstand the warrior's pain. He pum-meled me as well as the shop, and
finally I had to tell him where they were."
"You did as well as you were able, Saxton," Alodar said as he looked about the
room. Anger began to boil. "I will pursue and give Rendrac his due. We shall
recover the ointment yet and your treasure as well."
"It is too late for that, my lad," Saxton said, beginning to breathe with difficulty.
"I have studied the inner organs of animals enough to guess what has happened
to me. I am not to partake of any of the jewels of the mountains."
He stopped, and a deep sigh rattled through his lungs. "But then neither will Basil

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have his way," he continued. "Two successes with a caloric shield! It is enough for
any alchemist."
"Sweetbalm, or perhaps thaumaturgy," Alodar said. "We have quested, Saxton,
you and I. Do not faster when the goal is in sight."
"All the balms were destroyed in the mess." Saxton waved one arm in a feeble arc
over his head. "Think no more of me. Flee instead while you can. Basil will receive
enough from Rendrac's trip into the heart of the mountains to care little for the
service of a novice."
"Rendrac braves the heat?" Alodar asked.
MYes, he anointed himself with the full contents of one flask as I looked on
helplessly," Saxton replied. "When he was done, he resembled less a man than a
silver demon, the coaling did shine so. And the second batch he crushed
underfoot and rubbed its precious salve into the muck he already had made. The
other two flasks on the roof were destroyed as well, I fear, when he tossed all the
gear to the earth in his rage to find the ointment."
Saxton resumed his coughing. As Alodar offered him another sip of water, he
waved it aside. He hacked on for several moments more and then, in one giant
convulsion, arched his back with a final gasp. He fell limp into Alodar's arms,
staring at the ceiling with unblinking eyes and saying no more.
For a moment Alodar held him in silence and then lowered him gently to the
door. He stood up and ran his eyes aimlessly around the clutter. He remembered
Saxton as he had first seen him preparing the nerve elixir, struggling with his
craft but free of the doom which finally claimed him.
It was the formula, the quest that had turned him from what he had done so well.
Had Alodar not come to his door, he would be tinkering here still, not breathing
his last trying to defend a treasure he probably did not know how to spend.
Alodar slowly let out his breath and looked out the window into the night. "But by
the laws, it is done," he said. "There is nothing in my knowledge of the crafts to
bring him back."
He pulled the small packet of salamander skin out of a pocket and tossed it into
the clutter. And now that the alchemist has finished, what of the novice? What
Saxton had said was true enough. If Alodar disappeared now, Basil would see
little profit in tracking him down. And so

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little time remained before dawn that the chance of finding gemstones to redeem
his future was impossibly small.
Alodar wiggled his head and tried to shake out the fatigue. But if he were honor
bound to aid Saxton in life, then the vengeance was his as well, he thought. No
matter that safety lay in the opposite direction from the mountains. He must
track Rendrac there, regardless of the consequences. And the fair lady—a treasure
for her he must have as well.
He gave Saxton one final pat and rose with his jaw set in a determined line. "Rest
easy, alchemist," he said. "Rest easy for I will continue on." He paused and then
pulled his face into a bittersweet smile. "We quest, do we not?"
He shook his head to clear the feelings and, for the third tune, surveyed the
wreckage scattered about. As he scanned from wall to wall, the torchlight
reflected into his eyes from the shards of glass and plates of metal on the floor.
Then he caught a glimmer subtly different from the rest, silvery and opalescent,
from a small bead in the midst of the litter.
"The ointment, surely," Alodar said hah* aloud. "Perhaps Saxton's second flask
will serve its purpose as well as the first." He stooped and extended his gloved
index finger into the small drop. It parted sluggishly and formed a pool around
his fingertip, dense like mercury but aflBni-tive h'ke water.
Alodar put forward his other hand and gently stroked the drop up the side of his
finger. The ointment followed, leaving a thin layer of shimmering silver.
Heartened, he quickly worked the rest of the salve onto his hand, kneading it
around to fill all the cracks and crevices of the glove. When he was done, his
entire hand was covered; when rotated in the torchlight, it gave off a soft silvery
glow.
Alodar looked around the floor, carefully righting equipment and pushing aside
the rubble as he went. He found a second small bead and then another; with each
he repeated the same slow process of transferring it to his body. In an hour, both
his arms were covered; in another two, his legs and the front of his torso. He
rummaged through the wreckage, found a sliver of a mirror, and then carefully
covered his back with a small stick and the drop-
lets he found nearby. As he discovered more and more of the ointment, the search
for the rest took longer. The moon touched the horizon as he finished his face and
eyes. One part of his mind cried for haste, to strike out after Rendrac before his
headstart became too great, before all the time was wasted in preparation. But
the balance argued caution, and he continued his methodical search and
application. He had begun to despair of finding yet more salve when he
discovered a bead in the corner, evidently arched high over the intervening floor

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by Rendrac's shattering stomp.
He deftly scooped up the globule and rolled it around his palm, hesitating as he
watched it skitter about. Saxton had said nothing about the internal effects, but
what he must do was a logical necessity. Shrugging his shoulders, he popped the
droplet into his mouth and began to swish it around. His tongue glazed and his
lungs acquired that tickly feeling he had bad as a sick child. He exhaled forcefully
and felt his nasal passages coat up as well.
He held his hands before his eyes, turning them from side to side, watching for
telltale signs of spots with no protection. The stuff was spread tab thin, he
suspected. How could such a meager layer protect him from the heat of the
mountain?
He stepped into the rubble and flipped open a small strongbox. Reaching inside,
he scooped up the handful of coins that remained. Four coppers—all that was left
of Saxton's wealth. Barely enough for the rental of a horse to take him to the
Fumus Mountains.
Alodar raced his mount into the midst of the torchlights and jumped from the
saddle. The horse stomped forward into the circle of miners taking their morning
meal. On his left, Alodar recognized the circular hole where the gas bubble had
burst through the mountainside. At his feet were picks, torches, iron strapped
chests, and piles of small leather pouches, mixed with the pockmarked rock
littering the gently sloping hillside. Straight ahead, rising from a silken mattress
spread over the rough ground, was Basil the apothecary. Alodar glanced at the
pale glow forming in the east and quickly drew his sword.
"You come a trifle early to pay your debt, novice," Basil said as he recognized the
intruder. "And in so theat-
rical a manner. I am a reasonable man and would have allowed you the hour
remaining,"
"Rendrac—where is he?" Alodar snapped. "He has an obligation to pay to Saxton
as well."
"The alchemist is no longer bound," Basil said. "I do not fault a man if he changes
his mind, so long as his last decision is the correct one. And having Rendrac
coated in the caloric shield is payment enough for what Saxton owed. I do not
mind assuming whatever risk resides in the depths of the mountain. Full share is
far better than a part."
He stopped and shredded a piece of parchment into the air. "See, the contract is
concluded," he said.

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"If the ointment was satisfaction enough," Alodar spat, "then why did you direct
Rendrac to take his life as well?"
Basil knitted his brow. "Saxton's life," he said, puzzled. "I know not of what you
speak. I would not order Rendrac to such an extreme measure, for what could it
profit me to do so? Saxton dead is of no value whatsoever. Alive he either repays
in goods or with labor. No, I may covet the products of his craft but I have no use
for his life.'"
Alodar stared into Basil's eyes and hesitated. It might be true, he thought. Basil's
control over Rendrac did not seem absolute. He tightened the grip on his sword
and looked quickly around the group of miners slowly creeping back to form a
circle around the two. He glanced into the opening into the mountainside and
made up his mind.
"Then where is Rendrac?" he asked. "It is he that I will deal with first."
Basil looked to either side and signaled for his men to converge even closer. "He
is already into the mountain," he said, "but that should be no concern of yours.
Saxton was freed of his contract, but unless you have the brandels then you are
still bound to my will. Put down your sword and submit. I will even let you stay
and see with us what Rendrac brings from the depths below."
Alodar cast quick glances to either side and took one step backward. "It is not
quite dawn. Until then I am still a free man."
"An exercise in futility," Basil said as he motioned his men forward. "If you do not
have payment now, how can you hope to within the hour?"
"I will discuss it with Rendrac." Alodar suddenly turned and scrambled up the lip
of the opening. He tumbled over into the passageway and spun around with his
sword still pointing forward. Two miners appeared over the edge and then
hesitated as Alodar flicked his blade back and forth in challenge.
"Oh, let him go." Basil laughed. "He will return soon enough, begging for water.
Or if not, Rendrac will spot the body on his way out and we will dispose of it
later."
Alodar did not bother to reply, but turned and headed into the bowels of the
mountain. He followed what seemed to be the same tunnel he had traversed
before, torchlit and sharply sloping downwards. He raced past the side passage in
which he had bartered with Basil, and the line of torches led him onward for
three hundred paces more. He ripped the last source of light from the wall and
dipped through a small opening into the blackness that extended beyond.

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The path tumbled and pitched as he slowly progressed, occasionally opening up
to impressive heights and then narrowing down to slits to be traversed on hands
and knees. But each step led him generally downward; and with each, Alodar felt
the increasing discomfort of stillness and heat.
Suddenly the pathway opened wide into a larger tunnel that sloped even more
forcefully into the mountain's interior. Alodar looked up at the roof, fully three
times his height and could see bright spots of light from cracks that led to the
surface. He held his torch to the floor, illuminating the smooth and hardened
rock that had confined an ancient upward thrust of heat-laden gas.
Alodar looked down the direction of the tunnel's path and saw a dull glow in the
receding blackness. He thrust his torch forward and picked up a small dot of light
far ahead. He watched for a second to make sure it moved, then ran to follow, his
footfalls echoing loudly down the passageway.
Apparently alerted by the noise, the bearer of the light stopped and waited for
Alodar to get closer. The dot resolved into a torch, its light reflected from the
gleaming ointment of Rendrac the warrior.
"Sweetbalm. you are indeed a nuisance." Rendrac's voice resounded through the
cavern. "But, I see, a dim-
witted one at that. If you come no more protected than that dull sheen indicates, I
need worry about you only a few steps further."
"The ointment protects me as well as it does you," Alodar shot back. "I feel only a
little discomfort and could survive with even less if I had to."
Rendrac responded with a booming laugh. "Oh could you now, novice? How well
do you think you are protected now? Try your spittle on the rock before you
answer."
Alodar wrinkled his brow, but complied. To his surprise, his saliva hissed and
foamed and in an instant was gone.
"Yes," Rendrac continued, "the meager ointment you have protects you well
enough now. But if you have any sense, you would turn back to save your flesh
from baking."
Rendrac whipped his free hand about with a flourish and then placed it firmly
against the wall. A blur of fine mist spewed from the contact in much the same
way as the spittle had from the rock. "The ointment also evaporates hi response
to the heat," Rendrac continued. "I am wel! anointed and presently feel not even

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your discomfort. I shall be able to descend much farther into the depths of the
mountain, but that thin coating of yours will be gone in a trice."
Rendrac laughed again and turned to continue his downward march with an easy
stride, small tendrils of vapor rising from where his boots touched the hot rock-
bed.
Alodar breathed deeply in defiance and then immediately regretted the act,
coughing back the harsh volcanic gases into the humid air. He pressed forward
after Rendrac, dimly aware of pinpoints of heat in his boots where the nails
joined the beels to the soles.
Downward they went, following the tunnel's gentle turns, shining torches high to
illuminate the smooth and featureless walls. Alodar stepped rapidly, trying to
keep up with Rendrac's easy gait. Concentrating on closing the gap, he struggled
to shut out the growing discomfort and feeling that his strength and
clearheadedness were ebbing away.
They trudged on in silence for many minutes, Alodar
some ten yards behind and unable to draw closer. The walls echoed the
methodical rhythm of their step as they placed feet firmly against the downward
slope of the tunnel. The cavern of smooth and unweathered rock loomed high and
wide about them, majestic in its size. Like the intestine of some giant monster, it
undulated forward into the very center of the mountain.
As they continued, Alodar suddenly caught another gleam of light reflected back
from his torch.
Before he could act Rendrac cried out in recognition. "The first one! By the
staves, it alone makes the whole journey worthwhile," he said. He stopped,
reached on tiptoe to the tunnel's high wall, and deftly wrested a gem from the
matrix which held it
"A topaz of at least thirty carats," Rendrac exclaimed as he dropped it into a
silvery pouch hung at his side and resumed his pace. Almost immediately, he
shouted again, "More sparkles. Just look at them! Sapphires, emerald's,
aquamarines, bulging from the walls like the warts on the face of a crone. I doubt
if a pickaxe is even needed for them." In a hastened effort, he began wrenching
the jewels from the bedrock, excitedly advancing further into the depths for still
bigger stones that blinked back his torchlight.
Alodar exerted himself to plunge after, now that Rendrac was slowed with his
gathering, but his limbs responded sluggishly to his will. Small pains began to
shoot through his lips; when he held them apart, the interior of his mouth ached
for them to be shut again. Eyes darting about, he spied a small stone that Rendrac
had missed and hastily reached out to snare it. With a start, he dropped it to the

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cavern floor, fingers stinging from the hasty contact. He spread his hands as he
had done before he left Ambrosia. The opalescent shine was still there, but now
barely noticeable against the fabric background that it covered.
Alodar turned to pursue Rendrac with plodding steps, each one an effort that
barely kept pace with his adversary's slower meander back and forth across the
tunnel's breadth. He saw Rendrac stop, pant, and catch himself as he almost
wiped his brow. Alodar's own eyes watered and ached, and each breath brought
fresh pain when he inhaled.
They rounded a sharp corner, and Alodar noticed that he could see farther ahead
than the sphere of light provided by his torch. In the distance, a bright red glow
filled the cavern floor, and the reflections bounced back and forth off the walls.
Beneath the sharp echo of Rendrac's boots, he heard what sounded like a creamy
ointment bubbling in a cauldron.
Rendrac looked at the soft background lighting, back to Alodar's torch, and then
extinguished his own. He tied shut the third small pouch crammed to overflowing
at his waist. With a grin, he snapped open a large sack that hung to the floor.
Picking the jewels from the walls and dropping them inside, he continued
onward.
They drew nearer the glowing redness until it filled the tunnel with Its light
Alodar extinguished his own torch and let it hang at his side, no longer needing it
to show his way. With a dull realization, he saw that the glow came from a pond
of molten rock lapping the floor some hundred yards ahead. The liquid nearest
them was placid, but farther on Alodar squinted into a violent frothing of reds
and yellows that shot brilliant sprays to the very top of the cavern, melting rock
where it struck and tumbling giant stones into its midst. Further back, the tunnel
roof glowed amber as it blended into the level of the lava. They could advance no
further.
"The biggest prizes yet," Rendrac called out, panting down to the very lip of the
lake of lava. There in a crystalized border around the pool, like the icing on a
cake, massive gems sparkled hi the glow. The smaller stones were the size of
cherries and the largest as big as a man's fist. Rendrac lowered his pouch to the
ground with its mouth gaping open and shoveled the jewels inside. Like a garden
keeper removing autumn leaves, he methodically moved around the edge of the
lake, raking in the treasure.
He finished stuffing his sack and bound it shut as Alodar came closer, wobbling
on each step, his eyes glazed into an unblinking stare. Rendrac opened a second
bag; holding it low to the ground, he tried batting the larger gems into the folds
with his gloved fingers. His eyes raced over the jewels strewn about, disdaining
those which were less than a baron's ransom. He looked out over the pool,

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stopped his collection, and hesitated.
"It will be enough," he said. "I need not test the ointment that far." Returning to
the first sack, he wrapped the drawstrings around his wrist and then slowly
pulled it over his shoulder. He staggered slightly as the heavy weight thumped
against his back, grasped the second bag firmly, and started to return in Alodar's
direction.
This would be his chance, Alodar thought dumbly. With painful slowness he
forced his hand down to the scabbard at his side and winced as he tightened his
grip on the hilt
Rendrac saw the motion and laughed. Without a word, he stopped, slowly
balancing his weight on one foot and then kicking out with the other at Alodar's
stomach. Alodar saw the boot rising but his reactions were too dulled to respond.
With his sword only six inches from the scabbard, he felt the blow strike home.
As he crashed to the tunnel floor, Rendrac swept by, leaving him to regain his
breath and scramble to his feet alone.
Alodar sloughed aside the effects of the kick, but his palms and the soles of his
feet felt burned, and the rest of his body ached with protest from the heat. He
tried to lick the roof of his mouth with his tongue, but it lay flaccid and no
moisture would come. He should have been disappointed that Rendrac was gone,
but the heat dulled his will to care. He looked dimly forward to where the large
jewels had been and saw no more. Only the smaller gems that the warrior had left
lay scattered about the edge of the undulating pool of lava.
Like an enchanted harvester, he stiffly lumbered forward and dropped a dozen
small stones into the pouch at his side. He looked uncomprehendingly at the
wealth at his feet, back up the passageway, and then across the sea of molten
rock.
As he scanned the bright red liquid, he saw what Rendrac had chosen not to
investigate, a small dark speck bobbing in the fiery waves. He squinted his eyes
against the light to see what it was.
*'A chest," he gasped. "Much smaller than the largest of the jewels, but a chest
nonetheless." He hesitated as he watched the small box bob on the slowly rolling
surface, trying to remember why he was there.
He looked again at the chest It might be the means
for his freedom—and the treasure for the fair lady. The quests were still
intertwined.

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He hesitated for another moment, trying to anticipate the shock of contact, but
his thoughts fused together in a sludge. He shrugged his shoulders and took a
first step towards the very edge of the pool and then another.
The pain coursed through his palms and he felt the burning sensation creep down
the nape of his neck and onto his back. He tried to shut his mind to the protests
of his body and plod on to the edge. He concentrated only on raising one foot and
extending it in front of the other. His supporting leg trembled with each step. His
gait became a simple shuffle, each pace bringing him only inches closer to his
goal. Finally he stood by the edge of the pool, feeling the angry waves of heat rise
and bake his chest and thighs. He hesitated and then reached down into the lava
to retrieve the small container from where it floated.
His hand screamed anew, not only skin but muscle and bone feeling the energy
penetrate deep. Waves of heat pulsated up his arm and into his body. His flesh
seemed to sear and his vital fluids boil as the feeling ripped through him. Alodar
somehow ignored the pain and, clasping the small box as firmly as he could, he
rose to stand erect.
The pain throbbed for several minutes more, and then was replaced by a deep
numbness that ran the length of his arm. There was nothing left to stay for, he
thought finally, and he turned and started to climb the tunnel to safety.
With great effort, he placed one foot up the incline and then followed with the
other. Far more slowly than he bad descended, he struggled upward. His
consciousness slid nearly away as visions of Iron Fist, Saxton's shop, Cedric's
courtyard, Aeriel and the angry red walls hallucinated before him. To the small
amount of reason that remained, it seemed that retreating from the heat should
bring relief, but nothing seemed to change.
On and on he staggered, focusing only on the floor, not knowing if each step
would be his last, and dimly not even caring. One weaving stride followed another
up the passageway, and Alodar could not think clearly enough to recognize any of
the natural features he had passed on the
way down. After a countless number of steps, he began to realize that his torch
was again of use and the fiery lava no longer lighted his way.
Some time later the pain lessened as he climbed, but he could not take heart, so
weary were his limbs and lungs from the punishment they had received. His
breath was forced, and every muscle throbbed from its abuse. Eventually the
slope became less steep, but Alodar did not notice as he continued to plod
onward. He saw the light flickering along the wall and he followed the guide-
posts upward. Finally he looked forward and blinked at a large patch of rosy blue
directly ahead, beckoning to him with whiffs of fresh air.

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Alodar threw one leg over the Up of the opening and pulled himself out of the
tunnel. Sliding down the outside of the slope, he tumbled into an exhausted heap
hi the midst of Basil's camp.
He looked slowly about and saw Basil on his knees in front of two large chests
with then* lids thrown open. The apothecary brought his hands upwards, filled
with gems, and then let the jewels spill through his fingers. About ten paces
behind, Rendrac stood, holding a large pole horizontally across his chest and
pushing back the excited miners straining for a glimpse of the treasure.
"You return," Basil said looking up from his play. "By the laws, you return." He
looked quickly about the camp and then to the horizon. He turned back to Alodar
with a smile. "Yes, you return," he said, "just in time to begin your lifetime of
service.**
Alodar sighed wearily and looked up into the first rays reaching over the horizon.
"My contract is not yet completed," he said as he set the small chest aside and
fumbled into the pouch at his waist He grabbed a few of the small stones and
flung them across the ground. "With these gems, you are more than paid in full."
He looked down at the chest and reached into the bag again. "And a fee for the
rest since it is by your tunnels I obtained the treasure that is totally mine."
Basil looked at the small jewels scattered at his feet and then down at Alodar"s
side. "Well said, novice," he replied. "You as well as your master Saxton have a
spirit I would love to break. But I am not a man for grudges. Give me that
interesting item you extracted from the
depths and you leave a free man, with whatever remains in your pouch, as well."
"You have already been paid," Alodar said. "You have no just claim to anything
more."
Basil looked quickly about the camp. "Perhaps I do not," he admitted, "but then
Rendrac is not so principled as I. His impulses cannot always be controlled,
although when he apologizes to me with small gifts such as these, all is forgiven,"
He again ran his hands through the chests and motioned Rendrac forward with a
wave. "Take the small chest," he ordered. "The treasure from the depths. I want it
all."
"Well enough," Rendrac growled, stepping forward. "Let us see what this novice
can do without a protector standing at his side." With a frown of irritation, he
wiggled both arms stiffly in a shimmer of opalescence in the rays of the rising
sun. He grimaced and reached up to pull at his cheek, frowning with the effort.

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Alodar struggled to his feet and tried to force his senses alert. He looked at the
giant striding forward and he sighed with his fatigue. "Cedric says that you will
not win unless you think that you can," he muttered, but other thoughts brushed
his concentration aside. For months he had received less than a good night's
sleep, and in the past day none at all. Whatever energy he had left seemed boiled
away in the depths of the mountain. His arms and legs were no more than dead
limbs on a burat-out tree, hollowed to the core. And Rendrac had pummeled him
in-- to the corner of Saxton's shop with ease when he was fresh and alert. What
chance had he now? But it was for vengeance he had come, and it must be seen
through to the end.
Alodar drew his sword and tensed, ready as he could be. He breathed the sweet
air deeply, trying to force life back into his tired limbs as Rendrac unsheathed his
blade and slowly swung his arm back for the initial blow.
Alodar dully watched the tip of the sword as it cut through the air in the
backward swing and then reversed direction to begin its journey forward. He
turned to the side and presented his own sword as guard, wincing in anticipation
of the shock of contact. He blinked once, but the blow did not come.
In disbelief, Alodar looked to Rendrac's face and then
back to the weapon still in midswing. As Alodar watched, it slowed to a crawl and
then stopped motionless.
Almost simultaneously, the big man uttered a weak yelp, and his free hand slowly
rose with a spasm of effort from his waist to a mouth held rigidly open under eyes
filled with fear. For a second, nothing happened and then, like a silver statue,
Rendrac toppled to the ground with a
loud clang.
Alodar moved to the prostrate form, its limbs still in the rigid position they had
held when erect. He reached out and touched the hand that held the blade and
felt a deep coldness, rock-hard and smooth, Alodar struck down with his own
sword, pommel first, onto an outstretched rigid arm. The now inert form rang
from the contact.
"The ointment," Alodar murmured. "It was meant to be used sparingly and burnt
off. Rendrac was too greedy and applied too much. And now it has degraded with
age and entrapped him."
Basil's jaw dropped in stunned disbelief, but he recovered and turned to the
miners cautiously pressing closer behind. "After him," the apothecary shouted.
"His blade can touch but one or two, and we will have his treasure to add to our

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own as well."
The miners hesitated, and Alodar saw his opportunity. With his last burst of
energy, he sprinted forward and tipped over the chests at Basil's feet, sending a
cascade of brilliant jewels rolling down the hillside.
The advancing miners paused, then spun around in pursuit of the treasure as it
tumbled by. In a moment, they were racing pell-mell after the speeding stones as
they fell. Basil hesitated a moment more, eyeing first Alodar and then the gems
cascading away.
"Stop, you wretches!" he yelled at last. "Unhand what is rightly the property of
Basil the apothecary." The men paid him no heed and raced onward, stooping
and picking up the gems as they went.
"Stop, I say!" Basil called out as he pursued, pulling the magic dagger from his
belt and waving it high hi the air. With a vicious swing, he whacked at the neck of
the slowest moving henchman as he stooped, and kicked out at another as he
halted to consider which path .downward to follow.
In an instant Alodar was alone, with only dim shouts
and an occasional cry to break the stillness. He sat wearily down at last to collect
his thoughts and decide what to do next.
The sounds grew fainter, and he decided that Basil and the others would not soon
return to bother him. He looked about and retrieved from the hillside the small
chest he had found and gently cradled it in his hands.
The deeper he went, the bigger had been the gemstones; and this was the deepest
of all. Jewels for a royal diadem had been strewn about the cavern floor. What
greater treasure must be resting within the confines of this small box? Visions of
perfectly cut diamonds bigger than oranges danced in his mind. With a wrench of
his knife, he popped open the lid.
He peered inside, and his heart sank in disappointment. Instead of breathtaking
jewels, he saw instead two black spheres of volcanic basalt Six months of effort,
back-breaking labor and great risk to his life from the hazards of the formula, the
snares of Basil's factories, and finally the furnaces in the center of the mountain;
and what did he have to show for it? A few jewels in his pouch and two machined
hunks of common rock.
He had pictured himself questing for the fan- lady like a hero from the sagas. His
deed of daring was to win great treasure and sweep him in front of all others that
sought her hand!

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He sighed and set the chest to the ground. With his chin slumped he sat inert and
unmoving and let the sun climb silently into the sky.
The inn room door creaked open to Alodar's knock, and he looked into the face of
Periac, the master thauma-turge.
"Alodar, you have returned," Periac exclaimed. "Come in, come in. You are just in
time for an evening's instruction. We will continue from where we left off on the
bills that bordered Iron Fist."
Alodar looked wearily around the small bare room and headed for the stool in the
corner. "A meal and a night's rest first, master, for which I will fairly pay," he
said. "And it is not for knowledge of thaumaturgy that I seek you out."
As Alodar slumped down, Periac reached out to brush
the dust off the table with a sweep of his arm. "But I fare quite well in the city," he
said. "There is much pot mending and cistern excavation to be done and word of
an honest craftsman soon gets around. I can well use a journeyman and you
would find your stomach far better filled than when we worked the outlands. I
doubt your start with alchemy has fared as well."
Alodar reached for the pouch at his side and placed it on the table. "I have
learned a few of the simpler activations and formulas," he replied. "Saxton was
most trusting with his craft when we had a rare idle moment together. It is true
that I still know more of thaumaturgy. But as for the fruits of my effort, what do
you think of these?"
With a flourish, ha tipped the sack. A sapphire, a tour-maiine, and two rubies
clattered onto the table.
Periac's eyes widened and he stroked his goatee in thought. "In truth," he said at
last, "you have always impressed me as a clever lad. Perhaps your skill does better
reside with another craft."
Alodar waved his hand over the table. "It may well be impressive," he said, "but
not enough to turn the head of the fair lady. Here, take one ruby. It is yours for
the favors I ask of you. Seek out the shop of the alchemist and use the second to
see that he has a decent burial. The sapphire I would have you carry to Cedric the
warmaster, hi compensation for my not continuing instruction at his hand."
He glanced down at the table and put the tourmaline back into the pouch. "The
last I will save," he said, "for I suppose tomorrow I must eat as well. But the true
reason for why I am here, master, is because of your knowledge of other than the
craft of which you are master." Without wailing for reply, Alodar reached again to
his waist and brought forth the small chest. He flipped back the lid and held it

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forward for Periac's inspection, his eyebrows rising in expectation.
"They are magic," the thaumaturge said without hesitation. "Magic spheres of
fine construction."
"Magic," Alodar echoed, squinting at the container. Gingerly he grasped one of
the spheres with his gloved hand and found that he could not extract it, so
smooth was its surface polish. He removed his glove and tried again with his bare
hand. An electric tingling suddenly
pulsed through his fingers, and immediately he was reminded of the feeling when
he handled Aeriel's dagger. Exerting all the force he could muster to prevent it
from slipping away, he slowly pried out one of the orbs and turned it quickly over
to gaze at it in his palm.
It was black, totally black, the deepest black Alodar had ever seen. In an
indescribable way, it sang of perfection, a sphere of such precision that no mere
lathesman could ever hope to duplicate it. His hand vibrated from holding the
orb, and somehow he was acutely aware that it contained great power.
Alodar returned the sphere to its resting place and examined its companion in the
same way. It was identical to the first, except that a thin line neatly circumscribed
it, dividing it into two perfectly equal hemispheres.
Alodar had never seen such handicraft in his life, but there could be no doubt,
"Magic," he mumbled as his spirits returned. "Magic spheres somehow placed in
a pool of molten lava.
"But what more of them can you tell?" he continued. "Of what use can they be?
Surely they have more utility than ornamentation."
"They are incompletely formed," Periac said. "The ritual that has created them is
not yet complete. And when it is finished, I cannot fathom what will be their
virtue, but to their possessor they will convey great power indeed."
"Power," Alodar muttered and then paused in thought. "At Iron Fist I applied my
wits and was bested by skill in arms," he said at last. "In Ambrosia, I learned
those skills, but in the end Rendrac's brute force carried back the treasure for the
queen. It is raw power I must have to win the day; wits and training are not yet
enough.
"Power," he repeated, lightly juggling the small chest in his hand. "My quest
leaves me little choice but what I have here. Yes, there can be no other way about
it, Either I am defeated or strike to unlock the secret of the spheres and hope it
gives me what I will need to win the fau: lady."

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He popped out of his introspection and looked into Periac's face. "But how can I
learn of magic?" he said. "Basil the apothecary did mention dealing with a
Lectonil
to the south. Perhaps hi his guild I will find what I must
know."
"He would be as good as any," Periac said. "But from him or any other magician
you would learn little. Judge not the manner of instruction of the other crafts
from what you know of the nature of thaumaturgy." He glanced at the gems still
on the table and stroked his goatee. "And perhaps of alchemy as well. Magicians
are a secretive lot, far removed from the dealings of nobles and common men
alike. They pass on their rituals only to the initiates and acolytes who pledge
lifetimes to their secluded service."
He shook his head and spread his anna wide. "You
have experienced the workings of two crafts, Alodar," he said. "Is it not enough?
If alchemy is not to your liking, then return to my instruction. To delve now into
magic will only compound your folly."
Alodar snapped shut the chest and returned it to his pocket. "Perhaps you are
right, master," he said, "and someday I might indeed return to your teachings."
He paused and his eyes widened. "But power!" he said. "It is worth giving the
random factors another chance to align. Yes, by all means, master, let me profit
one more day from your instruction. But tomorrow I will travel south to ferret out
the spheres' meaning. Ferret out their meaning in a palace of magicians."
PART THREE
The Magician
a
CHAPTER NINE The Palace of the Cycloid Guild
ALODAR gently lowered the card onto the others and held his breath. The flimsy
structure did not collapse and he reached for the next one in the deck. A child's
pastime, he muttered to himself. What possible bearing could it have on
determining his merit He frowned at the tower already three tiers high and tried
to decide the best place to start the next level.

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"Enough, there is no need to proceed further," a harsh voice sounded from across
the table.
Alodar blinked out of his concentration and looked up just in tune to see a robed
arm sweep across and tumble the construction away. "But I had not reached my
limit," he said. "Even as a boy, I was able to form a fourth story before it crashed
to the ground."
"There was more to the directions than just building a house of cards," the man
facing him said. "After three blacks in a row, then a red must follow. And at no
tune can your elbow touch the table unless you place your free hand to your
forehead as well."
"I ignored the details in the depth of my concentration," Alodar replied. "Though
in truth, master Lectonil, I do not see how they can matter."
"They are important because they illustrate my point," Lectonil said, stabbing his
index finger down against the deck. His hair was white and covered his head like
a fuzzy bush growing on top of a rocky mound. Deep-set wrinkles furrowed his
broad face with age and his eyes always frowned, regardless of what he said. He
wore a black robe covered with a pattern of many tiny silver rings, the logo of the
magician.
"What you were attempting was not magic, but a ritual
nonetheless,"' he continued. "And it is by ritual that all magical objects are
made." His frown deepened and he examined Alodar's expression critically as he
spoke. "These rituals must be performed with utmost precision. Utmost precision
or else they will fail. One hasty step or sloppy motion and all the labor that went
before is instantly undone. A ring already priceless can become no more than the
one in the nose of a bull."
"I was most careful as I proceeded," Alodar said.
"Yes, to construct a house of cards, each one must be precisely placed," Lectonil
said pulling his lips into a grim smile. "But you must satisfy the boundary
conditions as well."
Alodar did not reply, but glanced around the small bare hut and then quickly
through the single window to the landscape beyond. The terrain sloped uphill,
much steeper than the Fumus Mountains. Except for one well-worn path, the
rough ground was untouched by the mark of man. The summer green of hearty
shrubs stood out brightly in the midday sun, but farther back vague shadows
shimmered and faded like reflections hi an agitated pond. Except for this single
shack, the entire palace was hidden behind that curtain. Periac was right about
the secrecy of the magicians. A hard hour's climb from the village in the valley

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below, admission to the grounds only when accompanied by someone who knew
the way through the shimmering veil, and acceptance on a permanent basis that
depended upon satisfying arcane criteria hidden by these tests.
Alodar looked again at the dancing images, some soaring high like runs of rope
dangling in the air. Others hugged the ground like giant slugs. The larger
structures must be buildings, he thought, and the smaller blobs people moving
between. He squinted and tried to discern some detail, but nothing resolved in
the blur.
"Precision is the essence of magic," Lectonil continued, waving his arm towards
the window. "Even for the most menial of tasks, one must have sufficient control.
But you have fared well hi the preliminary tests of the others. And my exercise
with the cards shows your hand to be steady and your mind quick enough,
despite the error at the end." He studied Alodar and his eyes narrowed. "Quick
enough to execute properly a long and complex list of instructions,
once you have learned to follow exactly the direction of a master magician."
*"Do you mean that I am admitted as an intitiate?" Alodar asked.
Lectonil raised his hand palm forward. "Our roster of initiates is complete," he
said, "and until one advances to an acolyte, the Guild is reluctant to accept more.
I offer you now the position of a neophyte only."
"If I have aptitude, as your examination has indicated." Alodar asked, "then
cannot I somehow profit from your instruction nonetheless?"
"My day is quite full with research and direction as it is," Lectonil said. "I have no
time to waste on one not of my persuasion."
Alodar wrinkled his brow in puzzlement but Lectonil continued. "Of that I make
no secret," he said. "Beliac opposes me openly in the council. He proposes new
lines of investigation, new experimentation with rituals as yet untried. They
might hold the glitter of excitement for the younger masters and some of the
acolytes but they present much peril as well. We have prospered over the
centuries with objects of great tradition and modest embellishments carefully
researched. What need do we have for radical dissipation of our resources on
tinkering that may produce no return at all? Had Beliac shown the proper respect
when he received his black robe, I might have nurtured him along. But
immediately he attacked my ways; no heed did he pay to my station. With each
passing year his boldness grew as he subverted more to his cause. Such is not a
proper way for a master to act. He should have pride in his Guild, of which I am
the senior member."

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He spat. "Beliac! How can he be so blind to what I have accomplished, the
reputation I have established through years of carefully planned research? I
would not doubt he is demon possessed, so destructive is the direction hi which
he tries to convince us to go. Yes, demon possessed. If it can happen to some
uncultured outland baron, then why not a learned master magician as well?"
Lectonil's cheeks flushed and his eyes glowered. "And so I show my favor only on
those who side with respect and tradition," he said at last. "Respect, tradition and
what is proper as well for the future of the Guild. How
you would align in the matter I cannot tell from tests such as these. I must wait
and observe your actions over a period of much longer time."
"But if I perform my tasks and do not get involved in such abstract affairs,"
Alodar persisted, "what then of my chance to learn the craft as well? Without
such opportunity, my best course may be to seek admission with other magicians
farther to the south."
"The border is troubled," Lectonil said. "You would have a difficult tune in
passing through." "Nevertheless, it is an option to consider," Lectonil scowled
and looked down at the cards scattered about. "Oh very well," he said, with a
wave of his arm. "My need for someone not encumbered with study is pressing.
Work for a few months as I instruct and then if you prove worthy, I will elucidate
some of the art as a suitable reward."
Alodar hesitated for a moment, trying to decide whether to speak of the two
spheres he carried with him. Perhaps they would interest Lectonil enough so that
he would cooperate to mutual benefit. Both Periac and Saxton had been quite
open with instruction; if the magician saw an advantage, then he might also
teach.
Alodar looked intently at Lectonil's uncompromising features and then to the
shimmering curtain which hid the palace from view. He thought of the cryptic
tests and how little he had learned from questioning the villagers in the valley
below. Finally he frowned and moved his hand away from the pouch at his side.
"Is a few months two or three?" be asked at last, "Oh, it may as well be two,"
Lectonil growled. "We will discuss it in more detail later. For the moment, follow
me through the curtain. I will see that you are properly robed and lodgings
assigned. If you make haste, you will be in time to witness a part of one of the
major rituals, which emphasizes the importance of what I have said here." He
stopped and gritted hts teeth. "And were it not for Beliac, I would be there as
well."
Alodar ran his hands down the sides of the long brown robe. How strange, he
thought for the fifth time in as many minutes, that there are no pockets. The

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acolytes
and magicians he could understand, but even the covering of the neophyte was as
uncluttered as the rest.
He shouldered his way through a wide doorway with the rest of the crowd and
searched the stands rising from either side for seats still empty in the rapidly
filling stadium. He saw a row of brown in the midst of the motley colors of the
onlookers and climbed to join it.
"A new man," a voice called out as he neared the group. "Welcome to the
neophytes of the Cycloid Guild. I am Hypeton and these are your fellow stragglers
for truth."
Introductions bounced around as Alodar found a place on the rough bench. He
looked about the structure and reestablished bis bearings. To his rear, the air
oscillated in the curtain and he followed the shimmering overhead, squinting
briefly into the disk of the moon. Rather than a perfect circle of light, it appeared
like a large drop of silvery oil undulating on the surface of water and casting
diffuse rays in all directions. His eyes tracked across the sky, in the direction
behind other buildings of the Guild, he could see the protective veil again bend to
earth. The large rectangular stadium floor was walled in on all four sides with
many doors around the periphery, but only on the two longer ones did the seating
rise into the air.
"You join us at a most propitious time, Alodar," Hypeton continued, pushing back
the shock of brown hair which tumbled down his brow. "Did you note the
closeness of the evening stars to the rim of the moon yesterday eve? They will
certainly occult tonight, the six hundred and twenty-fifth day since the last total
eclipse. It is the perfect time for a fifth striking and we are lucky to see one in our
lifetimes."
Alodar started to question the meaning of Hypeton's statement but remained
quiet as three trumpet blasts from below silenced the crowd in anticipation. From
an opening low in the wall opposite, a slow procession began to make its way
onto the stadium's floor. In the front, three heralds, long trumpets thrust ahead,
marched in step with the drummer a dozen paces behind. Following them, twenty
white-robed initiates pulled a large wheeled cage. As it came into view the crowd
murmured with excitement.
Alodar stared into the cage to see a green-scaled beast, winged and resting on
powerful thighs, a long forked

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tongue whipping idly between rows of large, serrated teeth. Saucerlike eyes sat
unblinking atop the flat snout, and the whole head oscillated from side to side in
response to a snakelike rhythm which coursed up the long, sinewy neck. The
wings stayed tucked close to the body in the confines of the cage, but Alodar
could see many folds of thick, leathery membrane that contrasted sharply with
the rough scaling of the rest of the body.
"Is that a wyvern?" Alodar exclaimed. "Never in my travels to the west or even in
Ambrosia itself have I seen
the like."
"A wyvern it is, Alodar, one of two that we have here," Hypeton answered. "Old
Lectonil was able to hatch them some fifty years ago when the lesser moons of the
blood star lined with ours."
Alodar returned his attention to the procession as more and more marchers filed
onto the broad floor. Seven golden-haired women, bare breasts bobbing in unison
with each step, preceded a large brass gong hung from a man-high frame. Gray-
robed acolytes carrying huge, two-handled, golden keys followed a second caged
wyvern, this one blindfolded and sitting docile in its narrow cage. Finally, silence
engulfed the crowd as the master magicians of the Guild, robed in deepest black
with circular logos of silver, brought up the rear.
"Only four are needed for this ritual," Hypeton explained, "and, by the laws, you
can imagine the fighting that must have gone on in the council chamber for which
of the fourteen it would be. I see that Lectonil is missing and Beliac too. The
masters must have been so polarized that they could only agree on the neutrals
like Mentenon there. A solid searcher so they say, but no great flashes of intuition
or daring to try new theorems. But look, they are nearly ready."
Alodar watched as the first of the four black-robed men mounted on a tripod a
small telescope handed to him by one of the initiates and began to sight the moon
and its companion stars of the evening. He raised one arm and extended his
index finger to command attention. Alodar stole a quick glance skyward. As the
first of the two flitting stars passed behind the wobbling moon he saw the black-
sleeved arm fall with a sudden flourish. Almost simultaneously, a second
magician inverted an
hourglass, and the seven women joined hands and began to sing a soft,
harmonious chorus.
The sands ran for several minutes, and all stood transfixed on the stadium floor.
When the last grain fell, the third magician started gesticulating wildly,
conducting the other performers in their tasks in a complicated rhythm. The

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drums pounded in a seemingly random cadence, and candles sprang to life at
what Alodar judged to be the cardinal points of the compass. The blindfold of the
second wyvern was pulled aside, and the beast added a deep bass moaning to the
high chorus as it saw its caged mate.
The gong rang once more, and the chorus stopped. The second magician
produced another sand glass; when it emptied, the wyvern's eyes quickly were
covered again. As its wailing stopped, acrobats exploded from the entrance tunnel
and did a complex series of flips and tumbles that ended in the formation of a
human pyramid three men high, in the center of the floor.
The fourth magician suddenly awakened from his inactivity and motioned to the
stocky acolyte nearby who staggered forward with an anvil of gleaming gold.
Alodar squinted to follow the detail as the magician removed a ring from his left
hand and placed it on the flat metal head. A second acolyte handed him a
hammer. As the gong sounded, a third and final time, he deftly tapped the small
band of metal.
In the silence that now filled the stadium, Alodar heard a small grunt from the
blow and then a babble as all the participants suddenly relaxed and began talking
at once.
"Enough, it has proceeded well," the magician commanded the assembly as he
picked up the ring and thrust it back onto his hand. The entire group dropped
their various props to their sides and, in an unplanned confusion, jockeyed back
to exit the way they had come.
"Is that all?" Alodar asked, puzzled, as he and the others also began to exit from
the stands. "I do not understand the intent of the performance."
"As I have said, Alodar, it was a rare event indeed," Hypeton responded, "A
striking of the rough outer edge from a ring of transportal. Only one more
striking to finish the inner and it will be complete."
"Then why not spend a few more minutes and be done
with it?" Alodar asked. "Surely such a pageant is assembled at great expense."
"Yes, would that it were true, Alodar," Hypeton said. "But the strikings can be
accomplished only when the rituals of magic make it so. The next and last cannot
be done for yet thirty years. As you say, the expense is enormous. Each man on
the stadium floor received much rigorous training to perfect the part he had to
play so that the ritual could proceed correctly. That training, that dedication to
the goal, is such that only a guild of magicians could attempt it. No small wonder
that rings of transportal and their like fetch the entire treasuries of kingdoms

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when they are completed.**
"But how fare you hi the meanwhile?" Alodar persisted. "How can even a guild
survive to make such wonders?"
"A question that cuts close to our very own keep, Alodar." Hypeton laughed.
"Though I only repeat the rumors that circulate among the neophytes, the Cycloid
Guild is in the most part living off gold from the sale of magic armor some three
hundred years ago. But to this legacy is added the smaller sums that come from
easily made lesser items and the admission charges to the town dwellers to see
the rituals. And the Guild lives in fashion to make it a self-contained community,
independent of the principalities that rise and fall about it. Why, you are here
today because you will serve a function of that community, so that itinerant
laborers or city-dwelling craftsmen need not be consulted."
"Then, since I serve a goal common to all," Alodar said, "might I easily approach
one of the magicians to consult on a small conundrum that has drawn me here?"
"By the laws, no," Hypeton said. "A magician hardly speaks with civility to his
peers, barely tolerates the intrusions of acolytes into his thought, and instructs
initiates only because he must. A neophyte addresses a black robe only because
he has been spoken to. If you desire such company, study the rudimentary texts
they give to each of us and try for the initiate's robe yourself. If you are truly
skillful with the equations and postulates, you may have a black robe of your own
in thirty years and can then riddle your conundrum as you see fit"
"But Lectonil himself said he would give me instruction
in two months time in partial payment for my tasks," Alodar said.
"So the masters say to all prospective neophytes they interview in the shack
outside the curtain that surrounds us." Hypeton laughed. "There is much
mundane work to be done in the Guild, and they dangle a promise if they must.
Why, I have been here three years and know no more of the construction of
rituals than the day I arrived. But the food and bed are fair enough exchange for
the work that I do. And if I eventually tire of it and leave, then they will find
another."
"Is there no other way, then, that one can satisfy even the smallest curiosity about
magic?" Alodar asked.
"By the angles, no, Alodar," Hypeton said. "And take me seriously now, for I jest
no more. The secrets of this Guild, like any other, are closely guarded and much
ill fortune befalls him who tries to discover them in other than the prescribed
way. I remember well the printer two years ago who somehow whisked away to

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his chamber a box of organization so that he would no longer have to sort his type
by hand after each day's press. A harmless enough ambition and an item easily
enough made by the scores. Alas, when they ran the ritual of presence, the box
glowed red hot and shook the ah- with a mournful wail for all to hear. They took
him from the neophyte towers and, before the central library, showed him his
reflection in a mirror of inversion as we all watched. A most gruesome sight,
Alodar. his heart still pumping and entrails hanging out for al! to see,
surrounding the features and skin trapped inside."
"The ritual of presence?" Alodar said.
"Yes. Lectonil and his followers want to perform it once a fortnight to keep the
Guild secure. Beliac argues it wastes our time and resources, and yearly is
sufficient, if at all. But between the poles of both, it is yet often enough. You will
feel it when it is run; hair stands on end and skin pimples with cold. Warning
enough to leave magic to the Guild and concentrate only on the tasks they have
given you."
Alodar's thoughts raced. The magic spheres were too valuable to entrust to some
hiding place outside of the
grounds of the Guild. They represented all that he had of importance hi his quest
for the fair lady. But to leave them in his new quarters to await the next ritual of
presence was greater folly still. He must find out their intent and be away quickly,
no matter how Interesting the knowledge he might gain here proved to be.
"I will regard master Lectonil as a man of his word," he said at last, "and follow
explicitly what he says for a full two months. But at the end of that time, he will
be reminded of his end of the bargain."
"Then do not judge him too sharply by his reply," Hypeton said. "You will find the
others are no better."
The sky dimmed in sunset and Alodar started down the ladder. The torches were
already lit, but- he could do no more work by the feeble light. He reached the
bottom and looked along the broad expanse of the building. Still clutching the
brush, he ran the back of his hand across his brow. Some four hundred feet of
wall, and after three days it was still only half painted. And this on top of digging
a quarter mile of trench and cleaning more than three score dirty pens.
He heard footfalls on the cobblestone steps and then the gentle swish of a robe
against the grass. He dropped the brush into the bucket and turned' just as
Lectonil approached from behind.
"You make good progress, neophyte," the magician said. "In a few more days the

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south facade will be done. In another week perhaps the north as well. I am
pleased by the even thickness you have applied with precision,"
"Pleased enough to begin the instruction?" Alodar asked. "You said that for
certain this night you would be unencumbered."
Lectonil stopped and frowned. "Another session with an acolyte," he said with a
wave of his hand. "It was scheduled late this afternoon. Perhaps when the south
wall is done, or better yet, when the north is completed as. well."
Alodar wiped his hands with an oily rag' and dropped it to the ground. "How can
I be sure that in another two weeks time the answer will not be the same?" be
asked slowly. "I took you at your word when I entered the Guild, master, and did
not question when you put me off
for one excuse or another. But the delays have persisted for thirty days more. For
three months now I have served in good faith, mucking the stables, digging
trenches in the hard clay, and patching the walls with paint. It is time enough that
you make good what you have promised. I give you the benefit of the doubt no
longer."
LectonU's eyes narrowed and his voice tinged with hardness. "You speak at great
odds with your station, neophyte," he said. "And I will instruct you when it is a
convenience to me, not when you happen to beckon."
"It is knowledge of a specialized type that I seek," Alodar said. 'The demands on
your tune would not be great."
"No matter if it were but the number of beats in a dance of divergence," Lectonil
said. "I would reveal it only when you deserved to know, be it in another two
months or perhaps even two years hence. There is no cause to treat you
differently from any other. You receive a fine bed and ample meals for your
efforts. I doubt you would be rewarded as well for the same labor in the town at
the foot of the mountain."
"It is not for bread and board that I sought out the Guild," Alodar said. "It was the
lure of magic that made me come. I explained quite clearly my aspirations when
you interviewed me in the hut a quarter year ago. And as clearly, you did agree to
aid hi its achievement."
"I understand full well your desires," Lectonil snapped, "but the frustrations you
feel when they are not instantly fulfilled are your own struggle. They are not the
concern of a master magician."
"Then what of your word?" Alodar asked. "One receives in kind what he deals out

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to others. If you do not honor the rights of a neophyte then how can you expect
him to deal fairly with yours. It is a temptation of many, I would imagine, to seek
by stealth what you will not give freely."
"Do not speak of a magician's word to a mere neophyte," Lectonil said, his eyes
suddenly flaming. "Such a concept has no meaning. And do not threaten what
you cannot deliver. It will avail you no better than the pestering you are
emoloying with increasing frequency."
"It can avail me no worse " Modar growled back.
Lectonil started to reply, but then paused for a moment in thought. His brows
furrowed, and he pulled his face into a grim smile. "Yes, if it will stop your
irritations, it is worth it," he said at last. "And the example would be most
instructive to the others. If it is by stealth that you propose to learn the secrets of
the Guild, then by all means I give you my leave. Whatever you can discover by
your own devices is yours for the taking. Not a single fact will I begrudge; no
retribution will be exacted. But be prepared to accept as well the consequences of
your actions when you tamper with the safeguards that have protected those
secrets for so long and so well. Mark you, you will fare far better with a
paintbrush and awaiting instruction when it is my pleasure."
Before Alodar could reply, the magician stomped back onto the walkway and
disappeared into the night. Alodar waited motionless until he could hear footfalls
no longer and then he exhaled slowly.
He smoothed the covercloth over his gear and then stood up abruptly. Lectonil
had given him leave, permission to find out on his own whatever he could. He
looked across the courtyard to the hall of the initiates and, in a flash, made up his
mind.
Alodar spent the evening hours in hasty preparation. Near midnight he returned
to the courtyard. The night air blew cool and clear as he walked the spacious
grounds that were deserted by the workers of the day. His heels sounded sharply
on the cobbled walk that ran in a long, gentle arc out from the hall of
administration past the towering library and then to the gates of the magicians'
private quarters.
Smaller pathways diverged gracefully from the main thoroughfare and led to
other structures along the way. Except for the stadium, none was so grand in size
as the hall of magicians, but each was worthy of any of Procolon's lords. Off to the
left was the house of the wyverns and other exotic animals, a low stack of jutting
terraces made as much of glass as of stone, and displaying for all the animate
treasures within.

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Further back and barely visble stood a cluster of small towers, each topped in
unique fashion, some with crenela-tions and some with gently curving bands of
silvery metal
meeting at the apex. The space allotted each neophyte was small but still a finer
appointment than any Alodar had known before.
To the immediate right was the square block of the initiates, white and
windowless, but covered on all four walls with the deep gashes of immense
calligraphy. Out of sight behind, lay the quarters of the acolytes, in back of them
the cubicles of instruction, and beyond that the stadium of major rituals.
To the left stood the library, a tall slender pyramid covered with a mosaic of fiery
red jewels, glowing of their own inner light. Four windows, tiny as viewed from
the ground, covered each side near the apex; but for them, the walls were as
unbroken as those of the hall of the initiates.
He looked back along the way be had come. The hall of administration covered
fully half his view; unlike the beauty of the rest, it was a jumble of towers, blocks,
and ramps. Brick butted against marble, graceful columns supported rough hewn
beams, tiered archways of metal looked like scaffolding for new construction. The
collage showed the haphazard growth of centuries as the Guild expanded and
needed more space to provide for the increasing demands for self-sufficiency.
Alodar had explored only a small fraction of the passageways inside but he had
found a kitchen, a tannery, a carpenter's shop, a soap works, a small bath, and
three testing rooms hi which one demonstrated his qualifications for
advancement in the Guild.
Alodar resumed his deliberate tread on the cobbled arc. These grounds could
swallow -the likes of Iron Fist a full ten times over, yet no solid wall ran along the
periphery to protect what was within. Who would be foolish enough to brave the
magical traps and delusions that served in their stead? Who indeed, he thought
grimly, as he stood finally before the sealed doors of the hall of the initiates.
The vast grounds were empty and silent as Alodar stood before the portal. He
took one breath and firmly pressed the small disk which glowed dully at his left,
just as he had seen the initiates do during the day. Soundlessly, the smooth slab
before him parted and revealed an alcove not much better lit than the starry sky.
Cautiously, he entered and the door slid shut behind him. Alodar turned as the
air rustled with the closure but he saw no second disk to indicate his way back out
He faced forward and advanced two small steps. Either side of the alcove was
featureless, but the walls radiated away from him so that, some ten feet distant,

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he faced not one but four more doors.
A simple expedient, Alodar thought Only one of the doors leads any farther. The
other three probably are trapped and three out of four would-be intruders are
disposed of without the use of magic.
Alodar approached the one on the far left, hinged and handled with gilt and
covered with velvet, tufted with small stones of jet. He listened intently but could
hear nothing and advanced to the second.
The next, unlike the first, was made of rough hewn beams, splintery to touch and
with fixtures of crudely beaten iron. Alodar placed his ear gingerly against the
surface. After a moment of deep concentration, he heard distant voices from the
other side.
The third door was of stone, but with a giant blue steel bolt that held it firmly into
the frame that contained it.
The last door gleamed of glass, smooth and cold to the. touch and dimly reflecting
Alodar's figure as he squinted through it. Deep black lay beyond, shadow on
shadow, with no form.
He stepped back and pondered his choice. He did not know enough of the ritual
and syrabology to make the correct guess. Some other clue must guide him. After
a moment's thought, he withdrew a small, telescoping rule from the knapsack he
had fashioned to hang under his pocketless robe. He carefully laid it at the foot of
the first door and ran his fingertips along the stone floor. The masonry lay flat
and true, like all of the construction at the Guild, with not a single crack or niche
to disturb the gliding motion of his hand.
The area before the wooden door was the same; but in front of the third, a narrow
gap at one end of the rule widened to a barely perceptible depression in the
middle and then returned to true on the other side. This alcove was originally
made with great craftsmanship, but since its construction it had served as the
footpath for countless initiates. This was the one that he must take.
He straightened up, secured his rule, and pulled back the blue steel bolt.
Nothing happened immediately in response; to Alodar's gentle touch the thick
slab swung gently inward on its hinges. Alodar blinked as he gazed down a small
tunnel-way into a well-lighted cross passage. He waited a moment to accustom
his eyes and saw two white robes stroll leisurely by in the brightness beyond. A
third shuffled by hi the other direction, arms heavily laden with thick scrolls of
cracking parchment.

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There, not twenty feet in front of Alodar, unobscured by any visible impediment
lay the goal of the night's venture. He smoothed down the spare neophyte's robe
he had bleached with the aid of some of Saxton's teachings and slowly began to
traverse the narrow passageway. He took a first step and then another, and the
lightness grew correspondingly nearer. Suddenly another white robe poked his
head into the tunnel and headed in Alodar's direction. Alodar turned sideways
and averted his gaze. The newcomer paid him no heed but sped past and on
outwards to the promenade.
Encouraged, Alodar resumed his cautious pacing of the distance to the hallway.
He covered fifteen feet more and nothing happened. Then, just as the exit was
within tantalizing reach, a brace of bells began ringing rapidly in the recesses of
the ceiling. Metal grated loudly against stone, and he looked over his shoulder to
see a heavy steel portcullis descend to block the entranceway behind him. He
whipped back to look at the ceiling directly ahead and saw a second barrier begin
to fall. Without thinking, he sprang forward, hurling himself low into the rapidly
diminishing opening, arms out straight and stomach sucked tightly against his
spine.
With a swoosh, he slid across the polished stone into the cross passageway, just
as the steel shafts jostled his feet out of the way. Alodar stood up and confronted
three initiates startled by the sudden appearance and the din of the bells. Alodar
took advantage of their hesitation, spun about, and sprinted down the hallway.
"An intruder!" somebody shouted behind him. "Stop the man! He has tripped the
watcher in the west entrance." A chorus of footfalls began to echo Alodar's own.
As he sped past the openings to cubicles, more inquisitive heads poked out into
the passage.
Alodar looked forward and saw the hallway turn to the left some twenty feet
ahead. He increased bis speed towards the corner, hoping to perform some
evasive maneuver while he was momentarily out of sight. As he approached and
prepared to dart to the left, the sound of more bells added to the din. Alodar
wasted no time in speculation but attened himself for a second slide.
Another portcullis banged down as he dove, this time catching his robe on its
sharp spikes. With a savage effort, he wrenched himself free as his pursuers
slammed into the ironwork and thrust their arms through at his retreating form.
Alodar took but three steps before a third set of bells added to the chorus of the
others and he saw yet another barrier begin to fall some twenty feet ahead. He
looked hurriedly to the left and right and saw that a single side door was his only
remaining exit. He ran through the entrance into a small cubicle, furnished
simply with a bed and writing desk, but marked by no windows or other

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openings.
Alodar reached into his knapsack and withdrew a small bag filled with powder.
He looked around the room, stacked the chair upon the bedframe, and climbed
up the wobbly structure. Outside he could hear the gateworks being raised and
the pursuers yelling out his location to others who came to join in the hunt.
Swaying on the chairbottom, he stretched to full height and chiseled away at the
mortar between the corner ceiling tiles. He crammed the bag into the small hole,
inserted and lit a fuse, and jumped to the ground as three white-robed figures
rushed into the room. Alodar quickly fell to the floor and ducked under the table.
The initiates stooped to follow.
"The game is over," one cried as he pulled on one of Alodar's legs. "What great
sport. The masters have not had someone to punish publidy hi some time. I do
hope they choose an entertaining ritual."
The ceiling exploded and Alodar's assailants were hurled to the ground in a
tumble of tiles, mortar, and stone. Alodar scrambled out and back up onto the
bed.
He saw blue sky above; the overlying stone had fallen with the tile. Without
pausing, he leaped upwards, arms outstretched, and caught the edge of a block
which still remained. Before those below could recover, he pulled himself up and
onto the roof.
He ran rapidly to the edge and leaped off to the ground. No one yet was coming to
investigate the explosion, nor had an initiate popped out of the hall in pursuit.
Alodar waited long enough to regain his sense of direction and then sped back
towards the neophytes' quarters.
Just read a few scrolls to find out about magic spheres and be on my way, he
thought as he ran. Perhaps something more passive, such as waiting for Lectonil,
was not such a bad choice after all.
CHAPTER TEN Barter and the Beauty
"Bur with all due respect, sage Beliac," the acolyte said, "let not the length of my
tenure here color your decision. I have the proficiencies of a man many years my
senior. Indeed I can produce a wand of ebony in but a fortnight, one of jet in two.
I know by memory the rituals for fourteen talismans. I have mastered not only
central, diagonal and symmetric but adjacent orthogonal magic squares as well.
Listen and I will tell you of the method for producing a helmet of a thousand
blows. First swing a pendulum with a bob of solid gold over the egg of a turtle as

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it hatches in the noonday sun. Next paint the claw of a roc—"
"Enough of the classroom recitation, Duncan." The magician waved him to cease
as Alodar leaned forward to hear the quieter and slower tones. "It takes far more
than rote to win the robe of black, as you well know."
Alodar stretched on tiptoes to get his head above the wall and catch the words.
Two full weeks had passed since his adventure in the hall of the initiates, but
nothing had happened as a consequence.
Still, another frontal assault might be suicidal without more data. Eavesdropping
certainly was not the way of the sagas, but for the moment it was the only path
open. Beliac and his acolyte had met in this grove often at this hour. The piece of
eggshell placed in the grass behind them had the right shape to focus the sound,
and the alchemical coating made the reflectivity nearly perfect. With the
spellbinding of thaumaturgy, nearly all of what they said came his way, even
though the grove was some fifty
feet distant.
The small stand of trees was between the library and the hall of the acolytes, and
the maze of open study cubicles nearby was ideal cover. From his hiding place,
Alodar squinted at the magician and tried to catch his facial expression as he
spoke. His hair was jet black and combed in long, straight strokes back from his
forehead. Deep-set eyes and a narrow nose seemed buried hi a forest of heavy
eyebrows, thick moustache, and long curly beard. The effect was intended to
convey the dignity of age, but the smooth, wrinkle-less skin betrayed Beliac to be
one of the youngest masters of the Guild.
Duncan was younger still, perhaps five years older than Alodar, but with a
hairline already receding to the top of his head. His eyes were close set, and his
face carried a pained look, as if life were always treating him unfairly. His gray
robe hung askew on his shoulders, dipping to one side and twisted into disarray.
"But most gracious sage," the acolyte continued, "I have studied the record of
investiture of Valeron when he secured the silver ring for his own. There is no
question of his tbat I cannot now answer. The apex of the library should not be
denied me just because I have been an initiate only three years and an acolyte but
two."
"The key ring to the apex is not lightly granted, Dun-can," Beliac said. "We must
have sufficient judgment and wisdom to use properly the rituals and theorems
that are euscrolled there. It would not do for one unseasoned to have access to
such power. And why the rush? Look at the pace of the neophytes. Some linger on
for decades be-

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fore even attempting the examination for initiates. Indeed, some are content with
the simpler tasks and never strive for what is beyond their immediate grasp. We
have some two score acolytes in the Guild at present; yet only a dozen or so have
the potential to be magicians. Only the best will don the robe of black, when we
deem them truly ready."
"But I am ready, venerable sage," Duncan said. "There is no new ritual that t
could master were I to wait even a fortnight more. Time would only be a burden."
"Would it now, my acolyte? Then ponder the solution to the following
proposition. A coven of ice demons appears from the black rocks in the valley
below. They flash through the air to our very gates and, though the air shimmers
and distorts as always, they slide through hi a heartbeat. With convulsive power
they begin to thunder our buildings down in mighty ruin. What defense do you
propose?"
"Most surely my sage, I would make ready our supply of djinn bottles and lamps
and instruct all at the level of acolyte or greater to fashion more as quickly as they
are able."
"A divergence of djinn bottles," Beliac shouted. "I said ice demons. The like that
confines an imp or figenella would not secure the devils of which I speak. Such an
dn-swer is insufficient. What else could you suggest?"
Duncan was silent for a long moment before answering. "Nothing more is in my
learning, sage, but then I assert that no answer need be given. You propose what
cannot come to pass, as if to ask how to move the stone of infinite weight. Except
for a stray gremlin here and there, demons of power spark through our world no
more. Common Same is insufficient to bridge the gap so that they can appear of
their own volition. Contact with the demon world is mediated by fire. Without
something exotic burning, the barrier is too great for the powerful to overcome.
Small wonder that I do not recall an answer to such a problem in the recital of
those who have preceded me."
"You wriggle out of the proposition too easily, Duncau," Beliac said. "I seek to see
how you respond when the answer is not in the recitals you have so carefully
memorized. But there is some truth in what you say. There are few wizards of
note in Procolon, and the ones to the south
act most reclusive of late, though it is the time of year they usually stage the battle
for the kings. But this year they have announced no such display. Perhaps they
are too engrossed tn what happens in the west with two barons themselves

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possessed."
"Two? I have heard of Bandor and no other." "Another peer to his north was
somehow seized as well, or so say the lesser sorcerers. Kelric has not confirmed it,
but I wonder if bis power has not slipped to such an extent that he refuses even to
try."
"But if there are indeed two, then the fair lady's problem is solved," Duncan said.
"The demons will turn their puppets against one another in the same fashion as
the wizards direct their slaves in the south. Either both will be destroyed or the
devils will tire of their game and retire whence they came."
"Such has not yet happened," Beliac replied. "The west of Procolon rises in
coherent revolt as before, and with a unity of purpose they struggle against the
queen who now besieges them. Indeed, Vendora has called throughout the
kingdoms for a wizard brave enough to attempt an exorcism to come forward.
Clearly she must defeat not only the discontents of the west but the devils which
propel them as well."
"Among the acolytes, we hear much talk from the south that the several kingdoms
view Vendora's trouble as an opportunity," Duncan said. "If they were also to act
now in concert, there is little resource left that she can call to
her aid."
"Perhaps only Arcadia across the sea or even the barbaric tribes to the north, if
they could be convinced to fight," Beliac agreed. "All else is pressed into the
struggle to the west. But such mundane happenings should not concern us. Our
safeguards are good, despite what Lectonil will say. Which prince rules the valley
and the townsmen does not matter. But enough of affairs outside our walls. Come
now, what do you say to the problem?"
"I see I give you no direct satisfaction, O sage," Dun-can replied. "But let me press
on to another perhaps more practical reason to consider my petition now. The
council stands sorely divided between those who support your august views and
those who fawn behind LectomTs robe. It is no secret among the acolytes how
many issues of great
import are laid aside to another day with seven votes yes and seven more nay. A
fifteenth magician would bring great changes in the state of affairs in short time."
Beliac paused for a moment and then spoke with care. "And what would your
persuasions be, were you indeed to get the privilege of the black, acolyte Duncan?
Where do you stand on the issues that so dearly concern the council these days?"

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"Why most assuredly with you, inspiring sage," Duncan answered. "I like not the
constraints to which Lectonil wishes us bound. Many times have I heard you
argue the need for expanding the number of acolytes, diversifying their skills,
experimenting with new rituals and the rest. And on such a course I would see
the Guild steered as well."
"Yet the manner in which you approach the craft is more like that of Lectonil than
mine," Beliac said. "He would much favor one who found comfort in memorizing
what has gone before, rather than daring what is new. Why have you not
approached him instead with your proposition?"
Duncan bit his lip and lowered his eyes. "Please do not take offense, my sage," he
said, "but in truth I did approach him with the Same offer. 'I need no help from
outside the council,' he snapped. 'A change of one vote and it will be over.' "
The acolyte paused, but when Beliac did not immediately reply, he rushed on.
"But my method of learning is a superficiality. I am at ease with your leanings as
well as any other. When I have the robe of black, such things will little matter."
"I see you have studied more than just the magician's craft, Duncan," Beliac said.
"And I am much conerned about the issues of which you speak. The occurrence
two weeks ago will be pivotal in the next council meeting. Lectionil will make sure
of it. He will demand the ritual of presence be performed immediately. And since
I am opposed to such waste on principle, I will resist him this time as well. But he
will paint a dark picture of the threat to the Guild, the danger of so many
uninitiated roaming at freedom within the palace grounds. Though he knows full
well how safely we are protected, it will cause one or two of the more neutral to
pause and consider it."
Beliac stopped and touched his fingers to his lips. "He has kept to his chambers
since the incident," he muttered. "I would not doubt that somehow he put a
neophyte up to the whole thing."
He was silent for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed. "Long ago, I visited his
quarters. Topmost in the towers and the largest besides. Thick woven rugs, the
newest sheets, and the freshest fruits in his bowl. And why should he have the
tightest load of instruction and be the one to call our council to order? I am more
the magician and it is only the accident of birth that he is older. If there is to be
order in the Guild, then the trappings of senior master should belong to me. But
enough of such discourse. I will ponder what you have said. It is not a decision
given easily in a single evening."
"As you wish, my sage," Duncan said with sudden hope in his voice. "I ask only
that you consider my petition with care."

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Alodar watched the two men depart, Duncan skipping rapidly toward the hall of
acolytes and Beliac, chin on chest, pacing slowly past to the magicians' quarters
beyond.
Alodar looked down from the third story window onto the swatch of grass in front
of the hall of administration. He smiled as he detected the bits of eggshell
scattered about in the turf. On the carpet spread in the middle of his array
Lectonil sat with his back erect, facing another magician in the same formal pose.
Behind each, arms akimbo, stood four acolytes in a row. Looping around to
enclose them all was a complete circle of initiates of both Guilds. To the side,
objects of their craft peeked from a disarray of crates.
"Then it is concluded, Trodicar," Lectonil said. "The gong of shattering resonance
and the well-tempered djinn bottles for the boots of varied prints and the amulet
of blinding light. But the everlasting candles we will save for another time."
"Oh, very well," Lectonil's counterpart replied, starting to rise. "By what means
are the rituals to be exchanged?"
"By the usual method of the wax-sealed book, two copies, freshly illuminated."
"When  we  dealt   with   Beliac,   he   gave  us   three,"
Trodicar said. "Two for the masters' immediate use and another for the library."
"No wonder his research drains our treasury so," Lectonil growled. "Half of his
gold must be consumed by extravagance. But I assumed you would request no
less and am prepared to deal as generously as he. Mark you, an additional copy to
replace one lost to the hazards of the trail will not be forthcoming."
"It is fair enough." Trodicar nodded and the conference suddenly broke into an
informal activity of exchange and packing. In a few minutes, the group split into
two and moved in opposite directions. Lectonil and his followers passed from
Alodar's view into the hall entrance below. Shortly thereafter, Trodicar's retinue
strung out into a single line that wove across the sward and then through the
curtain of distortion. The last initiate passed into the dimness, pulling at the
donkey with their provisions. High on the backpack Alodar saw the corners of the
recently bartered books protruding through the topmost flap.
His eyes widened with excitement. Books of magic moving away from the
protective devices of the Guildl
He looked out to the shimmering view. It was well that he had taken every excuse
to visit the town. He had been guided through the curtain enough times that he
should be able to make the transit alone.

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Alodar waited a few minutes more until everyone was out of sight and then
quickly sprinted down the stairs. He raced outside the hall, across the swatch of
grass, and into the haze. Rocks, shrubs, and the pathway ahead distorted in
dizzying shapes that flickered from one glance to the next. Trunks waved back
and forth, leaves expanded to giant size and contracted to pinheads, while rocks
oscillated like soft gelatins. In a dozen steps, he was completely surrounded by
the distortions, unable to tell by sight from whence he had come or the direction
of the true pathway ahead. He glanced behind to see the towers of the hall of
administration seemingly sway in the breeze, soaring to the sky and then
drooping like a waxen model left jn the hot sun.
Closing his eyes and concentrating, Alodar paced off a
dozen more steps and then turned abruptly to his right.
After several minutes of dead reckoning, aided only by
minimal   clues   from  the  texture   underfoot,   his   boot
sounded against a large flat stone. The edge of the chasm, if the talk among the
neophytes was accurate, was a deep cut wrapping around the Guild within the
interior of the curtain. With his eyes still closed, he gingerly pushed one foot
forward and felt the narrow beam which must span the gap. Arms outstretched
for balance, he stepped off the six steps and felt with relief the firm contact with
the stone on the other side.
He opened his eyes and saw the diffuse light grow dimmer still, as if the sun had
suddenly sunk towards the horizon. The scrubby chaparral shriveled away to
isolated clumps of gnarled and bare branches, and a single needle-like spire
wavered above a rolling landscape, Alodar blinked, trying to remember if he had
seen such a scene when he was guided before, but the image shimmered away.
He stepped forward six steps and then turned to his left. After a score more
paces, he spun back to the right and continued down the slope. Twigs and small
branches pulled at his robe, but when he peeked in the direction of the tugs, the
grotesque shapes only added to the confusion. He stumbled over the small stones
which littered the way and finally banged his toes against the sharp point of a flat
rock directly in his path.
He mentally ran through the sequence from the beginning to make sure of the
correct path and then started down the branch to the left. After several more
minutes of concentration he broke through to the still air of the outside world.
Alodar sighed with relief at his accomplishment but had no time to stop and

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savor it. He ran to the edge of the trail and looked over the side. The pathway
switched back several times below him. On the second bend he saw the
guildsmen pulling their beasts of burden. Downhill, the trail cut back in a wide
arc that nearly circumscribed the hill before reversing direction.
Without waiting further, Alodar lifted a fist-sized rock and hurled it down at the
donkey lumbering along. The first shot missed the target and the trail completely.
The second was a lucky hit directly on the animal's haunch, The donkey reared
upright, wrenching the rein from his handler. Another hit on the lower neck was
enough to
terrify the beast into bolting down the trail with the magician and his acolytes
racing behind.
Alodar quickly turned and began to scramble through the bush to the other side
of the hill. His feet slipped on small rubble. Several times he had to grasp at a
nearby shrub to keep his balance. Pulling and tugging his way, he pursued a
rough arc through the chaparral while the magicians zigzagged on the looping
path below. Several minutes passed in a frenzy of exertion, and then Alodar
stopped and looked down the slope. If he hurried now, be could meet the beast on
the long switchback and have a chance at the books before the pursuers could
come around.
He took a deep breath and charged down the hillside, hitting the rough ground on
a dead run. He leaped over the small barriers that lay in his way and zigged and
zagged down the incline. His legs seemed to acquire a will of their own, hurling
one foot in front of the other and dragging his upper body behind. He caromed
forward with only enough control to twist and dodge the larger shrubs and rocks
that swept by in a blur. Struggling for balance, he flailed his arms wildly in the
air, more than once almost carried away by the avalanche of small stones he
started with his pounding tread.
In a final burst of speed, he jarred onto the pathway, feet skittering across the
ground towards the edge of the cliff. As he ran forward, the donkey rounded the
curve and galloped directly ahead down the trail. Alodar slowed and stepped to
one side, reaching out to grasp the pack lashings as the beast ran by.
Stabbing pain shot through his arms as he was stretched by the contact, but he
gripped the harness firmly and was swept from his feet and dragged along.
Trusting his grip to his left hand, he released his right and fumbled for the books
peeking out of the top of the pack. With a savage motion, he wrenched one free
and tumbled to the ground, rolling off the trail and cascading down the edge of
the cliff.
Brush and rock slowed his descent, whacking at his limbs and ribs as he spun. In

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a dizzying moment, he lay still at the bottom of a little ravine, groggy and with
blood trickling from a baP«red nose, but still clutching the magic book of the
Oaild. Up en the trail he heard the
excited cries of the initiates as they ran past, calling for the animal to stop.
Alodar lay still, not so much to ensure that the magicians were gone as to let his
body rest from the beating it
had taken.
A long tune later as dusk began to fall, he slowly sat up, wincing from the
soreness in his back and legs. With a hand trembling from the effort, he
cautiously broke the seal on the small clasp which bound the book shut. He
breathed deeply and cracked the volume open to the middle.
The pages fell flat with a sudden puff of black smoke. As Alodar fanned the haze
aside, he saw that the parchment contained not writings on magic but blankness
from top to bottom. He quickly cut to another page and the opening was
accompanied by the same explosion and absence of content. He spent the next
hour trying to part the leaves in various ways, slowly, from the top, with eyes
closed, behind bis back, but always with the same result. When he was done the
book was empty, ready and fresh for the first word to be written in it
Alodar tossed the useless volume aside in disgust and began to climb slowly back
up the chffside. "Safeguarded still," he muttered. "I have yet to find the way."
"This way, Alodar," Hypeton called as he wove his way through the clutter of low
benches and tables hi the dark and musty room. Alodar followed, barely able to
keep sight of the swirling brown of the robe in front as he avoided the
outstretched arms and legs in his way.
He saw their target at last, a small round table in the far corner, already occupied
by two figures huddled over the light of a single feeble candle.
"Ah, my night vision deceives me not,** Hypeton said with satisfaction as he sat
down. "The best bench hi the house, I wager."
Alodar sat down in the one spot remaining and squinted into the gloom at the
two others, white-robed but hooded as he.
"But we are much too formal," Hypeton continued, throwing back his cowl and
reaching up to do the same to the figure at his left. The hood fell in a cascade of
golden curls shining brightly in the light of the candle. "And yes,

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I was right, it is you, Cynthia, and your companion must be Camphonel, is it
not?"
"Enough of your light manner, Hypeton," the bare headed girl responded in a
throaty voice. "It is barely tolerable back at the Guild. I care not to have it pursue
me when we take leave to visit the village."
"Ah, Cynthia, as gruff as always," Hypeton said. "How is it that your heart does
not mirror the perfection of your skin? It would be most wondrous if it were so."
"Which new one do you bring with you tonight, Hypeton?" Cynthia asked,
ignoring the question. "Did the last one finally tire of the same parade of taverns
and houses, week after week?"
"I am Alodar, the neophyte," Alodar said. "Are you also of the Cycloid Guild?"
"Indeed I am," Cynthia answered. "Perhaps you have already seen me in the
course of your sojourn there."
Alodar squinted at the face across the table with eyes not yet accustomed to the
darkness. The chin was square with a harsh line that contrasted sharply with the
softness of the cascading curls. The nose and lips were a trifle too large for the
thin, oblong face but the eyes were alive, returning with confidence Alodar's
measured look. Men who did not know her would judge her plain, he thought, but
those who did would feel a strong allure. Recognition sprang to him as he traced
down the outline of her figure now hidden by the robe.
"Indeed, the ritual of the ring," Cynthia said simply. "But I see that the folds of
your cloak hide something interesting as well. Here, let me see your hands."
She extended her arms across the table and Alodar placed his hands in hers.
"Your hands are scarred," she said. "What manner of labor do you perform for the
Guild?"
"The same as always given to the newest of the neophytes," Alodar answered.
"The marks are there because I have practiced at arms."
"Not only practiced, I see," Cynthia said, running her hands along Alodar's
forearm, fingertips gently rippling over the token from some of Cedric's
instruction. She looked deeply into Alodar's eyes.
"You must tell me sometime of the adventures that gave you these," she said. "A
tale of arms would be a

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most welcome change from those of magic, which is our
steady diet."
Alodar opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, enjoying the pleasure of her
contact. He tried to picture Vendora and compare her beauty, but the image was
faded as if seen through the magician's curtain. He struggled to remember her as
she looked in the dungeon of Iron Fist when they first met or later hi the keep just
as the walls finally fell. The queen was a stunning beauty, but how exactly her face
was different from Cynthia's he could not tell. He sighed at the blankness and
almost instinctively began to withdraw his arm.
Cynthia turned her hand over and playfully stroked the back against his. To his
surprise, he felt a small nodule of hardness in the middle of the smooth skin.
"It appears the work of the initiate is also not only of the mind," he said.
"That is the mark of all who advance beyond the level of the neophyte," Cynthia
replied. "When they stoked the branding iron with the small disk into the furnace
on the day of my initiation ritual, I fainted dead away. When I awoke, my hand
was bandaged and I was cloaked in the robe of white, free to roam the hall of the
initiates. Several weeks later, only the little circle of scar tissue remained."
"And what true significance does it have?" Alodar asked.
"Who can ten?" Cynthia said. "So much of the initiation ritual is merely tradition
from years gone by. I have no call to be reminded of it in my instruction since."
Before the conversation could continue, the murmuring of the crowd began to
rise hi anticipation and Alodar turned to view the small stage at the other end of
the room. The curtain behind parted and a minstrel walked forward. He
strummed a chord on his strings and waited for silence before beginning.
"The lava ran hot, fierce and glowing. The fumes alone scurried the lesser men
back, But to the queen he had pledged the gems So into the tunnels stomped
mighty Rendrac.
"Knee deep hi liquid fire he struggled To the very heart of the smoking mountain;
In a sparkling pool of rich treasure
He stuffed his pack from the cascading fountain."

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Alodar blinked in amazement as the ballad droned on. It was all there in
traditional saga form. The brave hero setting out alone against overwhelming
odds. By his mighty prowess he secured a treasure for his queen but, alas,
perished in the deed. A hundred years from now more verses and embellishments
would be added so that the true event could not be fathomed by the wisest from
the telling.
The crowd showed its approval at the conclusion and then buzzed with the gossip
the ballad had evoked.
"They say that his mentor truly reaps the benefits of his great labor." Camphonel
spoke for the first time. "He rode into Ambrosia in magnificent style, tossing
small gems like pebbles into the crowd. To the queen he presented a necklace of
huge stones, with an emerald nearly fist size for the pendant. Vendora postponed
her betrothal to some other outland lordling, and now Basil is jn her company
everywhere. But she craftily does not choose him over the other. Instead, she
delights in their daily struggle for her favor."
Not one suitor but two! Alodar looked down at his brown robe and sighed softly.
He shook his head and focused his attention on the conversation still bouncing
around him.
"A lack of definition on the politics to the north!" Hypeton swore. "Their ways
degenerate further with each passing year. Thanks be to the permutations that
keep the Guild out of such pettiness."
"Your ear is as sensitive as your tongue, Hypeton," Cynthia said. "The Guild deals
with struggles of power as much as any principality. Why the entire esplanade is
talking of nothing else. The next council meeting is an extraordinary one called by
Lectonil. It will be the real test between his faction and that of Beliac."
"And how do you see the outcome?" Alodar asked.
"The talk is mainly fueled by rumor, with no substance one way or the other,"
Cynthia replied, "but I think that Beliac feels the pressure of time to be against
his ideas. He seeks to get votes by other means than those of cold
logic. Else why would he beseech me to show certain favors to one of the less
committed masters? Why, I wager that if a means of persuasion were presented
to him, he might even traffic a neophyte."
"Of course," Alodar said. He quickly slid from the bench and headed through the
night back to the tower of the neophytes.
CHAPTER ELEVEN The Unfettered Dragon

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ALODAR pushed aside the twig and peered out at the acolyte standing at rigid
attention in the hot sun. He reached down to the small wax figure at his side and
deftly drew the lips apart in a ghoulish grin. Duncan's features responded in kind,
although his cheeks trembled from the strain of trying to break the grip which
held him.
Alodar looked down the path and saw Beliac's slow approach to the library's
entrance, his chin deep on his chest and every step reluctant.
As the magician passed, Alodar removed the cork from the flask and grimaced at
the foul odor which arose from it. With a sweeping motion, he tipped his head
back and downed its contents, feeling a raw, rasping sting all the way down to his
stomach. His throat would be monstrously sore for a week afterwards, he knew,
but Saxton's craft was never particularly concerned about the aftereffects of its
potent brews.
Beliac drew abreast of the immobile acolyte and Alodar pursed his lips to speak.
"Good riddance, pompous windbag," Duncan seemed to say. "I hope they see fit
to take back the robe of black as well as denounce your ideas." The voice was high
and sluggish, Alodar thought, but no one would doubt that
Duncan had spoken. The elixir of ventriloquism worked well indeed.
Beliac stopped his pacing and looked up in disbelief. "Well move along," Alodar
projected. "You may as well get it over with."
"See here, acolyte," Beliac replied. "The affairs of the chamber are no concern of
yours, in spite of what you have surmised from our previous converse. And mark
you well, regardless of what happens there, I will emerge with the unbroken circle
on my robe still, more than a match for any acolyte in the Guild, no matter how
lofty an opinion he holds of himself. None of your station dare address me thus."
"And hi truth you are correct, O sage," Alodar said in his own voice as he stepped
from his hiding place and out onto the walkway. "By a combination of the arts of
thau-maturgy and alchemy, I made appear what was not so. Acolyte Duncan, of
course, never of his own free will would make such statements."
"Then it is you, neophyte, who will feel the wrath of my punishment when I have
time to deal with the matter," Beliac snapped in reply. "What is your name and
station within the Guild?"
"My demonstration was for a most pointed purpose," Alodar persisted. "I believe
that you have a need for the control of another's voice and posture within the very

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next hour. That I can offer to you."
Beliac's eyes brightened with comprehension. "Ah, what you say is true, most
clever lad. Quickly now, inform me of the ritual by which this is done and I will
reward you in due proportion."
"As I have said," Alodar replied. "It is not of magic, but the other arts. I must be
present to perform, else it cannot become so."
"A neophyte in the apex. Unthinkable!" Beliac growled. "Give me the ritual or face
my wrath on the spot."
"My presence or nothing," Alodar said coldly looking into the angered eyes of the
magician. "Decide now or let the opportunity slip from your grasp."
Beliac was silent for a long moment and then flung his arm in hasty beckoning.
"Very well, come along. We will deal with your lack of respect later."
Alodar returned quickly to the bush, ran his fingers
over the waxen eyes and laid the doll out on the ground. He bounded back beside
Beliac, not even bothering to check Duncan's apparently slumbering form nearby.
Beliac extended the ring on his left hand and aligned its intricate design of
miniature planes and cubes into a mating indentation in the slab in front of them.
A moment passed with Beliac's hand rigidly extended forward, but there was no
motion in the slab.
"Oh by the postulates, calm yourself man," Beliac muttered to himself. "It will not
do for one of Lectonil's lackeys to see me so agitated that I cannot work the outer
door." He took a deep breath and then another and pressed his ring more firmly
into the slot. The rock parted at a line that Alodar had not detected, and they
stepped into a small alcove.
"Here, since you are uninitiated, you must wear a talisman to calm the watcher."
Beliac shoved his ring into another slot to his left. A small drawer extended from
the wall and Beliac withdrew an ornate chain of gold braid and placed it about
Alodar's neck. He then used the ring a third time to part the door at the rear of
the alcove, and they entered the library proper.
Alodar's eyes darted greedily about as they passed down the center aisle towards
a stairwell in the very center of the large square. Unlike the subdivision into many
small rooming cubicles of the hall of the initiates, no intervening construction
blocked his view.

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The entire floor was covered with neat rows of desks and study benches, most
occupied by figures robed in white and gray. From all four of the gently sloping
walls, shelf after shelf of books, scrolls, and manuscripts canti-levered out into
the study area. Alodar gazed up the spiral of the stairs to where they finally
disappeared in a small ceiling area crowded by the four wall planes that
converged to it. At regular distances along the flight upwards, catwalks radiated
outwards from the wall and ran unsupported from below to join the spiral. At
each level a second walkway circumscribed the interior and gave access to still
more shelves of magical knowledge.
Alodar smiied with satisfaction. This was where he must search for an
explanation of the power of the spheres.
They reached the stairwell, Beliac pressed his hand to the base of the banister,
and they began to climb. Alodar's
brown robe caught the attention of many who studied below, but Beliac's one of
black silenced any questions. The long ascent was uneventful; no clanging bells or
slamming barricades added to the sound of their tread.
"I would think the library to be more highly guarded than the hall of the
initiates," Alodar said as they climbed. "Yet it would seem a knife in your ribs in
exchange for your ring would imperil all the secrets here."
"The magic in my ring encompasses more than just the parting of the slab,
neophyte," Beliac replied with a slight wheeze. "That ring was formed as part of
the same ritual that exchanged my gray robe for black. Off my hand it is
powerless, worth only the few brandels of silver of which it is made. It works for
me and me alone, as do the thirteen carried by the other magicians of the Guild."
"Then that same knife might prompt you to use the ring to gain my entrance, just
as you have done of your own free will. The result would be the same."
"As I said, neophyte, a ring most magical," Beliac continued. "It is attuned to me
and to me alone, but in a state of mind of reasonable tranquility. If I am stressed,
it will not work and fear for my life would render it useless. You saw how I had to
calm my slight anger to effect our passage. No, there is no way into the library
save by the will of a master magician. But enough of my craft. At the moment, I
am more concerned with yours.
"When we enter I shall greet first the one you are to control. Let him be until we
are to vote on the elevation of Duncan to the black robe, and then have him vote
yes. Can you indeed effect this?"
"If within the next hour, before my powers for voice casting subside, yes," Alodar

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answered. "And I will need in addition something from his body. A hair perhaps
will be the easiest to secure."
"Hmmm, yes," Beliac said, touching his fingers to his lips. "That I can arrange. Be
ready for it when the opportunity arises. But, hold, we are at the portal to the
apex."
Beliac stopped and placed his ring against the ceiling and an opening formed as it
had on the ground level. Following the magician's lead, Alodar rose the last few
steps and entered the top of the pyramid.
Unlike the giant room below, the apex was windowed,
but the openings did little to alleviate the cramped feel-ine of the four walls
sloping to a point overhead. A large, U-shaped table filled the room. Wedged
between it and the wall behind sat the other thirteen magicians of the
Guild.
"What illogic is this?" Lectonil's voice boomed against the walls. "Beliac does try
all patience to bring a neophyte into the council chamber." He looked at Alodar
and his eyes widened in recognition. "And one such as this will fill your ears with
lies when we discuss what transpired in the hall of initiates. Take him out before
his words taint our reason."
Beliac waved his speaker to silence and moved to the wall not blocked by the
table. He turned to the left and squeezed behind the seated magicians, motioning
Alodar
to follow.
"Well, what explanation do you have for this?" Leoontil persisted. "I have
monitored the work of this man before. He has no need to be concerned with
things magical." He looked Alodar in the eye. "And I seriously doubt that his
motivations are for the good of the secrets of the Guild."
Beliac ignored the challenge, and turned instead to the magician next to the
empty seat. "Why, Fulmbar," he said, "you look in fine spirits for this council.
Does it perhaps foreshadow that you have reconsidered your change in stand?
No, do not answer now. Save your surprise for the vote. I first must deal with
master Lectonil, as vocal as ever."
Beliac took the empty seat and glared across the table to his adversary on the
other side of the room. "I brought the neophyte to induce just such an outcry as
you have made, Lectonil. It betokens the illogical panic in your thought, the fear

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of losing some prerogatives of your station by the slightest liberalization of our
rules and conduct. His presence here is in no way connected with what happened
in the hall of initiates."
Lectonil frowned at Beliac's words but then rapidly recovered. "We are all well
aware of the way you twist the most innocent statements to your own purposes,"
he said. "A neophyte should be denied access to the apex, not because of illogical
fear but firm deduction of what the consequences might be. Now if you have done
with
your theatrics, send the man back to his duties and let us consider the business at
hand."
"He remains for the purpose that I have called him here," Beliac said. "I will not
be badgered by your stern words."
"By the laws!" LectonH's face grew red with rage. "Your statement summarizes
the entire basis of your thinking. Loose and careless with no respect for your
seniors. Do you not know that this Guild was founded and flourished on rigor?
Rigor in postulate and proof, not a wave of the hand, an approximate result, a
truncated expression. If we follow such thinking, we follow it to our doom, Beliac,
and so long as I can balance the diagonals of a square, I shall fight with pride to
have such thought purged from, the consideration of our council."
"The times have changed, old man," Beliac responded unruffled by the heat of
Lectonil's words. "Such rigidity might have worked in centuries past when
kingdoms were large and their treasures vast. We could afford to invest all our
efforts in monumental magic, knowing that there would be some buyer for the
goods when we had finished. But look at our transactions recently. We labored
hard to produce ink of purity in lots greater than a gill. But what has happened?
The liquid lies unused in some storeroom. No alchemist comes forward with
sufficient gold to claim it. We spend a goodly share of our endowment yearly just
to supply your two precious wyverns with the meats that keep their scales tight
and well fitting. And to what purpose? So that we may in thirty years have a ring
of transportal. What monarch can possibly afford what it has taken us to produce
it? And yes, more to the point, look at our annual outlays. Will the Guild even be
here in thirty years to complete the ritual?"
"It is your sloppy ways and little dabblings that squander our endowment,"
Lectonil said. "And with them you somehow hope to change the course of
centuries. But have you not the depth of thought to see that it cannot be? The
Maxim of Persistence still guides, Beliac. As you have apparently forgotten,
simply stated, it says 'perfection is eternal.' Perfection, Beliac, perfection. Not
some convenient approximation. If we do not use the proper steps and follow
them exactly, we will become nothing more than expensive alchemists with gold

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rings
h t turn to tin if you rub them but once. The everlasting quality of our work will
be but myth for the sagas." 'I am as well versed in the fundamental laws as you,
Lectonil," Beliac replied. "In fact, judging from the relative number of
monographs the two of us have circulated in tkfi I* vear' * would saY I am more
in tune with the true meaning of our law than you. At your zenith you may have
discovered some interesting rituals, but I fear you are now far past your prime in
productivity and in judgment."
"If I may interject a few words, most august masters," one of the other magicians
interrupted. "Master Lectonil, I fear you disparage young Beliac here greatly. He
does not compose the ritual elements into magic squares, it is true, but his
constructions in three dimensions are made with equal rigor and have produced
new objects and lines of research undreamed of just ten years ago."
"Undreamed of and unwanted," Lectonil snapped. "Of what use are twelve
elements that seem to fit together into a dodecahedron whole if the result is only
a ring that ties one's bootstraps?"
"Now you are most unfair." Beliac shouted for the first time. "That ritual was
merely the first example. I dare say that the first square produced results no more
inspiring. The field is young but in time we will have objects that are totally
outside the reach of such well traveled avenues as square construction, be they
trimagic, panmagic or symmetric."
"Masters, if you please," another rumbled. "Our ears tire of such discourse. We
are here at master Lectonil's calling to decide on the petition to elevate acolyte
Dun-can to the status of master magician, and we need not hide behind
philosophical rhetoric. We can all count. If the majority backs master Beliac's
petition, then future councils no longer will be evenly divided. If we vote the
proposition down, it indicates clearly that master Beliac no longer can muster
sufficient strength to cause deadlock. In either case, the work of the Guild will
proceed."
"The first issue before us, master Zinted," Lectonil said, "is the presence of the
neophyte. He must be removed and then Beliac must be censured for
jeopardizing the secrets of the Guild."
"By the traces, Lectonil," Beliac said, "we have said
nothing to compromise our heritage and methods. Look I prove it to you."
Beliac turned to Alodar and continued his explanation, "As you may have
gathered from our discourse, the making of a magical object is a matter of

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performing a ritual, a ritual that is perfect in some well defined sense. Possible
ritual elements, the ringing of a bell, drawing of a bow and so on all have different
Ritualistic attributes and numerical values. In our research, we strive to arrange
and order these elements in such a way that a perfect sequence is obtained. Such
sequences produce objects indeed most magical.
"One such mechanism of arrangement and a successful one, I freely admit, is to
order the elements in a square in such a way that certain of the numerical values
of their attributes sum in the same way whether considered horizontally,
vertically or diagonally. Once these conditions are satisfied, one performs the
ritual, taking the elements in sequence row by row.
"Now I have told you much more than you could deduce from what we have said
and I will add one thing more. Pluck a hair from master Fulmbar's crown. There,
you have performed the first step hi a ritual of no mean potency. How do you
proceed now?"
"Why I have no idea," Alodar responded as he drew his hand into the folds of his
robe and planted the hair into a second wax doll he had strapped to his waist.
"You have told me some principles but with no instruction on the values of the
elements or how to assemble them, I cannot proceed."
"As is obvious to any with clear wit in. this room; he knows less than what one
could pick up through idle gossip in the neophyte's tower. I further submit that
our decision on Duncan will be common knowledge in the esplanade within the
hour in any case. No secret has been revealed by what transpires here, so let us
proceed. Besides, master Lectonil, do you wish me time to change further the
minds of our assemblage here or do you prefer to have our collective decision
recorded so the Guild may proceed?"
"You are ready for the vote on Duncan now, and did not bring this neophyte
because of my stand on the ritual of presence?" Lectonil asked.
"As I said, the neophyte is here merely to illustrate my position," Beliac replied.
"It is to be Duncan first, and if there is no deadlock, then the rest will naturally
follow."
Lectonil twisted his face further but at last waved his arm to begin and said no
more. The magician on his left stood and formally stated the resolution before
them. At its conclusion, he cast his negative vote and sat down. The counting
began to move around the table. Alodar quickly muttered the incantation while
the eyes and ears of the assemblage were on each speaker. He broke the small vial
of caustic soda from his underbelt into the oil of vitriol and felt the heat begin to
rise in his hand. He looked about, but cramped and shielded by Beliac's chair, no

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one paid him any heed.
Beliac rose and voted, and Alodar began to manipulate the little waxen image.
Fulmbar seemed unsteady and awkward as he stood, but the strangeness was lost
in the murmur of disbelief that followed his vote.
"What manner of substitution is this?" Lectonil shouted out above the rest. "You
have wavered from time to time surely, Fulmbar, but you assured me not an hour
ago that your vote was switched to be mine. It is for that reason alone that I called
for the extraordinary session."
"I have indicated my choice and say no more," Alodar projected through Fulmbar
as he made the magician slump back down onto his chair. The magician in the
seat immediately adjacent sprang up and cast his affirmative vote, apparently to
insure that Fulmbar would have no change of heart. In a moment the vote was
finished, once again a seven to seven tie.
"Well, well," Beliac chuckled. "It appears, master Lectonil, that we are back to
more individual sessions of persuasion. I suggest that you not call the council to
session unless you are more sure that a productive decision will result. Until then,
it seems our time will be better spent on research, instruction, and meetings at
the usual hours. I wish, however, that you remain a moment, master Fulmbar, so
that I may thank you for your enlightened change of heart."
With no further words, the magicians rose and filed to the exit in the center of the
room. Lectonil left last, glar-
ing at his opponent and frowning at the placid figure of Fulmbar at his side.
"And now, neophyte," Beliac said, "we must secure master Fulmbar away out of
the reaches of Lectouil until I can devise a means of persuading yet another vote."
"And once we have done that," Alodar said, "then might we discuss the matter of
the reward for the service I have provided you?"
Betiac eyed Alodar coldly. "I think that to continue living would be reward
enough for your impertinence," he said.
Alodar opened the outer door to the neophyte tower and felt the refreshing
coolness of the evening air. Marching Fulmbar slowly to Beliac's quarters had
taken a good hour. Releasing Duncan in his patron's custody and then arguing
with the magician had consumed another, though for his own part, Alodar did
not feel anxious to press his case. He had learned more than he had hoped from
his exploit and saw no point in trying to pry out more.

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After he was dismissed from Beliac's presence, Alodar had returned to his lodging
and napped into nightfall to melt away the tensions of the afternoon. Now
refreshed, he walked slowly along the esplanade. Beliac had bought only a little
time with the stratagem, he mused, and sooner or later must own up to what was
done to another magician of the Guild. He would be busy enough not to make
good any threats for the immediate future. The problem rather was how to gain
access to the contents of the library, knowing now what the security measures
were.
As Alodar passed the house of the exotic, a sudden flicker of movement caught
his eye; as he turned, he heard the crack of glass under a heavy tread. He paused
for a second. Then a woman's high scream of terror filled the air. Instinctively,
Alodar sprang for the entrance, his brown robe flowing behind.
With a sudden shove, he rocked the huge double doors back on their hinges. The
long corridor which transversed the ground floor ran before him, and slowly
stomping away from him down the passageway was a huge, green-scaled dragon.
A second scream echoed down the corridor, and Alodar saw, beyond the wyvern's
shifting back, the golden curls of Cynthia the initiate. She stood transfixed at the
hall-way's end, back and palms outstretched against the unyielding wall, looking
with terror at the beast which lumbered towards her.
"Hold your courage," Alodar shouted through a throat still sore from the potion
and broke into a run after the two-legged dragon. He reached quickly down to his
side for a sword that was not there. "Curse these robes," he muttered as he ran.
In an instant he was up to the giant tail that gently swished back and forth with
each step. Having no other weapon, he stomped the heel of his boot down upon
the rigid spine of scales. The wyvern did not react but continued his steady
plodding gait. Alodar steadied himself against a wall and then leapt with both feet
upon his target. This tune the tail twitched spasmodically, knocking him to the
ground into a scatter of broken glass.
Alodar quickly scrambled up and dusted his hands against his robe, ignoring the
blood which began to ooze out of many small cuts. He hastily looked about and
saw that all of the glass partitions into the various cages had been broken. Here
and there, small creatures scurried in the wreckage.
In the opening to the left Alodar saw that two jagged daggers of glass still stood in
a shattered frame. He lashed out quickly with his boot and snapped one at the
base. Fingering it gingerly, he caught up with the advancing dragon and jabbed it
with his makeshift weapon. The point skittered along the scales, but Alodar felt
sudden pain in his hands as the edges caught and cut his flesh.

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Grimacing, he tightened his grip, feeding blood pour out onto his palms and the
hurt intensify in its sharpness. The beast was almost upon Cynthia, lowering its
head and extending its forked tongue expectantly, when Alodar lunged again, this
tune with the full force of his body behind the blow.
The tip caught between two scales and the shaft snapped a few inches from the
point. Alodar fell forward upon the beast's back, frantically rolling to one side to
avoid being impaled on his own point, and clattering to
the floor. The wyvera yelped; distracted, it turned to see what annoyed him.
"To the side passage," Alodar shouted, righting himself and gritting his teeth as
he placed his free hand against the wall, "Move, I say," he yelled again. In
desperation, he flung the remains of the glass in Cvnthia's direction.
The initiate instinctively moved to one side to dodge the missile, jarring herself
out of her petrification. She quickly ran into one of the arms of the cross corridor,
while Alodar scrambled backwards from the head that was turning to examine
him. He ducked into one of the cages and looked from side to side for another
weapon. To the left, he saw Cynthia peering in at him through another broken
window. He was in one of the cages at the corner of the tee, with viewing from
two directions.
As the dragon extended its head into the cage, Alodar hopped out to join the
initiate, staining her robe deep crimson as he threw his arms about her.
"This way," he yelled as he pushed against Cynthia's stiffening form. "We have to
get some distance so we can search for a weapon."
The two began to run down the passageway, and the wyvern withdrew his head
from the empty cage and turned around the corner. It saw its quarry sprinting
away and ruffled its wings in annoyance, scarping the walls which confined it. It
hooted after them and quickened its pace in pursuit.
Alodar felt the air grow warm as the call of the dragon echoed down the
passageway. He turned a puzzled glance to Cynthia, who gasped out as they ran,
"It is getting angry and firing up. We will not have a tradesman's chance if it gets
within three strides."
Alodar turned to see how close the wyvern pursued and was surprised at the way
the deliberate lumber had been replaced by a fast rocking pace.
"It is gaining on us," he shouted to Cynthia, pushing her from behind with his
bloody hand until she nearly stumbled. "Look there, a staircase to the second
level. Perhaps it does not know how to climb them."

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Alodar spun Cynthia to the side, grabbing her arm to begin pulling her up the
stairs. As they disappeared ground the corner, the passageway flashed to the
bright-
of day as a cloud of flame rolled past, furnace-hot.
They reached a landing hah* a flight up as the dragon
eared a{ the foot below. It snaked its head halfway
the well, the raspy and pimpled tongue flicking out a
foot more beyond. It roared in anger as it caught sight of
its prey disappearing.  As the echo trailed off,  another
fireball coursed up the stairs.
The shock of the heat flashed memories of the Fumus Mountains through
Alodar's mind, and Cynthia shrieked from the blistering bath. The sphere of
flame crashed against the landing wall and burst into smaller globes, which
ricocheted towards them.
"Your robe, pull in your robe," Alodar shouted as the balls of fire danced by. One
caught Cynthia's hem. Almost instantly, the garment burst in a new shower of
incandescence.
Alodar looked over the railing and saw the wyvern slip and stumble as it tried to
place one of its broad feet on the narrow risers. It unfurled its wings and banged
against the walls; with one powerful downstroke, it levitated a few feet off the
ground and onto the third step.
Alodar turned back to Cynthia, who stood on the floor above, frantically beating
her hands against the ends of the robe which encircled her hi flames. He bounded
up and knocked her to the ground, sending her rolling down a hallway more
spacious than the ones below. The flames sputtered for a moment; but as soon as
she stopped, they sprang to life again. He ran to her. Ignoring the throbbing in
his hands, he grabbed her disintegrating hem. With a mighty spasm, he yanked
his arms apart, splitting the robe from bottom to top, and flung it away from
them.
The wyvern careened to the first landing and Alodar pulled Cynthia to her feet, as
naked as the day of the stadium ritual. As they resumed their flight, Alodar
caught sight of a familiar glowing disk in the wall on the left.

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"What is that?" he shouted, pointing as they ran.
"The initiate viewing room," Cynthia responded as she saw the small circle.
Alodar thought back to his previous encounter with such a disk. In a flash, their
method of escape struck him. The timing would have to be perfect, but they had
no
other choice. "Then into it," he directed. "Let us find our safety there."
Cynthia responded to the command and firmly pushed the small button. The
door smoothly parted and the two ran into a small anteroom that appeared to
open onto a spacious balcony. Alodar took three rapid steps into the middle of the
chamber. He stopped and faced the door through which they had entered.
"Let us go to the balcony and beyond." Cynthia tugged at his arm in a wave of
fresh panic. 'The wyvern will catch up with us in a moment."
As she spoke, the dragon glided up to the door and furled its wings, hitting the
floor with a dull thud. Alodar grabbed Cynthia by the hand; with a whipping
motion, he propelled her stumbling through the door to the balcony. He looked
back into the hallway at the approaching beast. He waited an instant longer and
then ran after Cynthia, but took only two more steps before a brace of bells began
sounding in alarm.
In an instant, iron bars crashed to the floor ahead, cutting off his escape, and he
turned to face the beast. The only other exit was blocked by the bulk of the
wyvern, folding up its wings and stooping to enter. But as it extended its neck
into the room, long tongue flicking expectantly, the second barrier began to fall
into place from the jamb of the deor. The heavy iron bars hit the floor with, a
thud and the lowermost crossbrace caught the dragon directly behind the head,
driving it to the ground.
The wyvern let out a cry of anger and a large belch of fire that sent Alodar
springing to the wall. With a frantic tug, the beast tried withdrawing its head out
into the passageway, but the expanse of skull behind the large, opalescent eyes
cracked against the stout iron bar.
Alodar scrambled to his feet and cautiously felt his way around the periphery of
the room towards the dragon. The wyvern eyed his motion in anger and, between
spasmodic struggles against its trap, sent volleys of fire into the chamber to
consume its adversary.
In a moment Alodar was at the wall which held the exterior doorway and out of

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the angle of fire from the wyvern. He quickly dismantled a rod from which a
small decorative t^oestrv hung and advanced nn *he beast from the side. His
hands pained him enormously and he felt
giddy from the loss of blood, but he performed his task with determination.
Alodar leaned wearily against the wall with the bloody, brain-spattered bar
hanging limply in his hand. How many blows it had taken he could not recall, but
only a pulp of bone and flesh remained of the wyvern's head, and the great body
lay silent, to flame no more.
The portcullis that led to the balcony raised back into place, and Cynthia
cautiously came into the room.
Alodar motioned her to him. "It is all over," he said. "All that remains is to repair
our wounds and forget what has happened." He reached down, grabbed the small
tapestry, and flung it about her shoulders. "Come to my cubicle," he said. "I have
a small amount of sweetbalm that will help those burns of yours."
Cynthia nodded her assent and the two found their way out of the building
without looking back.
In an hour, Alodar was arching his back and smiling with contentment. The
sweetbalm had anesthetized his pain, and the wine from the larder blurred the
recent memories and the horror of what might have been. Cynthia lounged easily
in the chair beside him, sipping from her glass and staring deeply at Alodar over
the rim.
"Why do you think such vandalism occurred?" he said.
"For certain, I cannot tell," she responded. "I know however that the initiates
loyal to Beliac were abuzz with activity. I suspect they feared that if Lectonil could
almost change Fulmbar's vote, he might succeed with others. They struck to
discredit him as best they could on such short notice. The maintenance of the
wyverns has been a source of contention between the groups for many years. One
running loose and slaughtering a few unlucky passers-by certainly would harm
Lectonil's position."
Cynthia shuddered and drew the folds of one of Alodar's brown robes tighter
about her.
"A most complete speculation," he said. "What points you to it?"
"I was not in the house by chance, but by direction of one of Beliac's acolytes. I
had ignored his advances some years back and thought no more of the matter,

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but apparently he did not see it the same. Had you not come
along when you did, I fear that double purpose would have been served by the
mayhem."
"Then do you think to embrace Lectonil's position and seek protection from him?
It seems to me that the entire Guild soon will be divided into the two camps."
"And doing increased violence to one another," Cynthia said. "A year ago they
were content with finding flaws in the other's conjectures and theorems, but I
think that day will not return. As for Lectonil, what he could offer is most limited.
Few of the acolytes and initiates harken to his standard. Even the likes of Duncan
casts his fortune elsewhere. For myself, I intend to leave the Guild on the morrow
and wait in the village until it is settled. There is none here to whom I am
attached. None that could protect me well. None that I can in truth call a man."
Cynthia lowered her glass and extended her hand to rub against Alodar's as she
had done in the tavern. "None save one." She smiled and moved towards him.
Alodar set down his wine and looked up as she stood before him. With a shrug,
she dropped his robe from her shoulders and beckoned him to rise to meet her.
Instinctively he rose, pulse quickening. Again he tried to focus on Vendora,
compare her beauty and position to Cynthia's and find her the winner. But
Vendora was miles and months away. He sighed and all images vanished from his
mind.
Alodar woke when the first rays of dawn filtered through the blinds into the
room. Cynthia breathed hi a deep slumber beside him, still in the euphoria of the
sweetbalm. Idly, he fingered her curls which lay on the pillow beside his head.
What course now? Cynthia was enough woman for any man, beautiful and full-
figured, intelligent, and a self-confident initiate in the magical arts. He had saved
her life, and the little skill in arms he possessed stood to her hi exciting contrast
to the scholarly attitudes of her peers. He could seek out Periac, resume his trade
in thauma-turgy, or better yet combine it with alchemy and provide services most
unique. And would such a life be so bad? Could the secret of the spheres really
mean more than that?
Alodar sighed and shook his head. No, he would soon tire of thaumaturgy, and
with alchemy it would only take longer. At least his quest offered a definite goal
and excitement. Alodar the hero, Alodar the savior of the fair
lady!

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His mind again of single purpose, Alodar quietly began to pace the room. His visit
to the library with Beliac had shown him how he could enter. The problem that
remained was that of moving freely inside without triggering the watchbells.
He puzzled over the ease with which the initiates and their superiors passed
through the protected hallways, while he was instantly recognized as an outsider.
They made no special motions, nor did they touch marked panels in the wall. In
fact, Cynthia without a stitch was easily hurled past a barrier while he was
trapped behind.
If it was nothing of action or what one carried, what indeed set the magic user as
different from the rest of the workers of the Guild? Alodar stopped and pondered
a few moments more. Only one thing marked the initiates, be realized in a flash of
excitement—the small scar on the back of the wrist. Alodar walked to the bedside
and grasped Cynthia's hand. He gingerly fingered the pad of flesh that indicated
her station. The tissue was thick and told him nothing, but he knew what he must
do.
He woke her gently and explained his request. She gave her consent. "If our paths
are not to intertwine," she said, "then it is my parting gift for the brave warrior."
She looked deeply at Alodar and smiled. "Perhaps in the village below I can find
another."
A small dab of sweetbalm at the nostrils returned her to slumber, and Alodar
grasped her hand firmly hi his left while he opened his small knife with his right.
Carefully, he began to cut around the base of the scar. Although tiny rivulets of
blood obscured his vision, he heard the satisfying scrape of metal on metal.
He continued to cut for a full half circle; then with a pan- of tweezers, he pulled
the secret from its hiding plact. Alodar wiped the object clean and stared at a
small, unadorned disk of gold. The ritual of the branding was merely a ruse so
that the initiates might not even know how they moved past the barriers so easily.
The
thin disk looked innocuous enough, but it would be his safe passage on the floor
of the library.
He dabbed sweetbalm onto the small wound he had made and saw it instantly
close. If Cynthia went directly to the village as she planned, then the loss of the
disk might go undetected until Alodar was long removed from the Guild and back
on the road to Ambrosia. He let her arm fall and then hastily finished the rest of
the preparations for his entry.
CHAPTER TWELVE The Improvised Ritual

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ALODAR stretched to tiptoe in the darkness and groped with both hands against
the sloping library walls. His right brushed against one of the decorative nodules
that randomly dotted the sides. He put his foot onto the projection at knee level
and pulled himself up. He was off and climbing.
With his left hand, he reached out for another purchase and lifted himself three
feet more. His feet wobbled against the narrow projections, and his hands felt
slippery from the effort to scale the steep incline. Upwards he struggled, ten feet
and then another ten, switching back and forth laterally across the face of the
slope as he climbed.
After thirty feet, he stopped and cautiously adjusted the straps that held the pack
to his back. The next handhold was only a foot above his head but far to his left,
outside of comfortable reach. Alodar extended his hand, rocking all of his weight
onto his left foot and stretching as far as he dared, but a good nine niches
separated him from the grip. He looked back down to the esplanade and felt the
first twinge of the instinctive reaction to his height.
He frowned tightly and shut his view of the hard cob-
blestones out of his mind. Moving his right hand close to bis body for additional
thrust, he sprang upwards and outwards towards the grip.
The momentum of his jump carried him past the target, and his hand closed on
empty air. As he began to slide downwards, he lashed out again, catching the
nodule as it seemed to rush upwards into his hand. He felt the tug of his body
loosen his fingers, not yet set in their tenuous grip, and he reached about with his
feet frantically for the perch they had just left. His right foot felt resistance and he
thrust savagely against it to stop the downward motion.
In an instant, Alodar's hand grip was secure, but he was diagonally stretched
across the face of the pyramid, holding on with opposite arm and leg fully
extended. Slowly he worked his right arm upwards until he could clasp his hands
together. Then, abandoning his foothold and pulling so that his arms trembled,
he raised his head until the nodule he gripped was at eye level. Carefully, be
extended his leg outwards to the left and then smiled with satisfaction when he
felt another gemstone beneath his heel.
Other nodules were randomly scattered nearby; in a few minutes, Alodar was
resting for a second time, but some ten feet higher than before. Only thirty feet
remained until the top, and the grips seemed closer spaced than below.
Exercising increased caution as he moved higher, he gained the level of the apex
in another half hour.

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Alodar peered in through the square opening and saw the back of a heavy
tapestry blocking out the wind and starlight. He reached into bis pack and
withdrew the small disk of metal that he had received from Cynthia and clasped it
firmly in his left hand. No grillwork or shutters barred his entrance. Pushing his
arm in front, he squirmed through the window and thrust the curtain aside.
He dropped to the floor silently and stood frozen for a moment more. No bells
sounded in alarm at his presence. Alodar waited a full minute and then another.
Nothing stirred and only his own breathing broke the absolute quiet. Cautiously
he lit a small candle and looked about in the flickering light. The room was as he
had seen it be-
fore, cramped and unfurnished except for the U-shaped table that crowded about
its periphery.
Alodar slowly moved to the portal in the floor that led to the library proper,
expecting at each step to trigger the watchbells. He grasped the latch and pulled
the door open, staring into the blackness below.
The candlelight showed the first rungs of the staircase that spiraled downwards
to the floor, but Alodar did not place his foot on the first tempting step. The
magicians let the lower orders into the library and then left them unattended.
Something kept them from using the stairway. Indeed, Beliac had pressed his
ring against the banister before they had started their climb.
Uncoiling the rope from his pack, he secured it to one of the legs of the massive
table and let the other end fly downward into the darkness. He grasped the rope
awkwardly, not trusting to remove the golden disk from his palm. Slowly, he let
himself down hand over hand in the midst of the spiral, gradually loosing his
sense of height in the blackness. Methodically, he descended a foot at a time,
unmindful of how far he had traveled and how far yet to go.
His reverie was suddenly broken by the sharp contact of solid stone beneath his
feet. He released his grasp of the rope and stood upright in exultation. He had
gained the library floor.
Alodar relit the candle and let his eyes grow accustomed to its meager light All
about the four walls books, scrolls, and manuscripts were neatly stacked,
beckoning with the secrets of the magicians. He quickly scanned the vast arrays
of knowledge and saw hi the north corner scrolls tossed hi a disarray
uncharacteristic of the order of the rest. He walked over to the pile and lifted the
first one from the heap.
"Helices and spirals, tier four; Heptagons, tier three; Hexagonal symmetries and
tiles, tier fourteen," he read aloud softly. "The index, precisely what I need."

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He shuffled through the coiled manuscripts until he found the one that alluded to
his metal spheres. "Tier seven," he mumbled and counted off the cases from
where he stood. Several minutes later, after carefully scrutinizing titles in the
dimness, he found what he sought and wrenched the book from its place on the
shelf.
Cracking it in the middle, he held the exposed pages to the light and mouthed
what he read.
"The two spheres of Dandelin are tangent to the ellipse at points one and two
respectively and touch the cone along parallel circles. If we join the point of
presence to the points of tangency and also the line connecting with the vertex,
these lines will all lie entirely on the surface of the cone."
Alodar snapped the book shut, set it back in the rack, and exhaled a deep sigh.
The secret of the spheres would not be a single night's work, he reasoned sadly.
Time would have to be spent with some fundamentals before be could even begin
to understand what he needed to know. The general education that took an
initiate through acolyte to magician would not be necessary; he could focus on
only those things necessary. Still, the walls of the library would have to be scaled
many times before he was through with bis task.
Moving with considerably less haste back to the index tier, Alodar began to
search for the first reference text of the beginning initiate.
"And Cynthia disappeared without a trace as well," Hypeton babbled on. "She has
been missing nearly a month, yet both sides avow no knowledge of her, but
accuse instead the other of misdeed. The tension virtually pulls the Guild
asunder."
Alodar nodded sleepily in reply and pulled closed his entrance curtain as the
other aeophyte departed. He worked with dedicated effort by day so no attention
would be drawn to him, but even more diligently at night as he delved into the
secret of the spheres. The ascent was by now a mere routine and most of the
evening could be spent in study. Still, the intensity with which be concentrated
and the strain of anticipated discovery took their toll as surely as the labors of the
day. At least tonight would be the last, Alodar thought slowly, his weariness
suppressing even the excitement of the occasion. He knew enough now about this
one facet of magic to start the ritual that would release the power of the spheres.
He shouldered his pack and looked about the cubicle. The parapherniali a for the
evening and everything that he would need for a hasty journey were packed and
ready.

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If all went well, the sun would find him free of the Guild and on the road north
back to Ambrosia.
He crossed the courtyard quickly and soon was at the base of the library, grasping
for his first handhold with a grip made familiar from much practice. In scarcely
ten minutes he was at the top and through the curtains into the deserted council
chamber.
Alodar lit his small candle as before, but this tune did not move to the doorway in
the center of the floor. Instead he carefully spread a silken scarf along the surface
of the table and removed from his pack the small box which contained his
treasure. He opened the lid and felt immediately the aura of power that coursed
up from his fingertips to permeate his entire body.
He removed the scraps of parchment that contained his notes from the previous
evenings of study. Everything he needed should be here; but if not, he could
descend to the floor below and consult with the texts.
He scanned the notes twice quickly and then began the ritual. Placing copper
rings on each of his fingers, he grasped a small incense coffer with his left hand
and immersed it in the flame of his candle with his right. The perfume began to
well upwards into the small confines of the room; in a minute, it was almost
overpowering with Us sweetness.
Alodar stood immobile as the smell penetrated his nostrils and filled his lungs.
Concentrating not to cough, he counted heartbeats to one hundred thirty-seven
and then struck a small triangle hung from a tiny frame with the copper ring on
his index finger. The chime sounded shrilly and, rather than dying away, rang in
resonance with the structure of the ritual as it began to take shape.
Alodar listened only half attentively as he pondered the step to perform next. But
as he thought, he gradually grew aware of a slight tingling that crept along the
base of his scalp. His skin prickled as If scraped by a dull razor and a slight twitch
tugged at his left eye. At first it was only an annoyance to be shut out of his
concentration, but the feeling grew in intensity and began to move over his head
and down his neck to the rest of his body. He shuddered involuntarily and felt a
chill in his arms and lees. The triangle still hummed, but rather than diminishing
as it should, the tone deepened and grew in
power. The heavy table began to hum, and echoes bounced back and forth off the
sloping walls. Alodar raised his hands to his ears as the sound suddenly in-,
creased to deafening proportions and the small band of metal grew red hot from
the force with which it vibrated through the air.

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Something was obviously wrong. Alodar thought slowly, bis mind dimmed by the
fury of the noise. Some other ritual was being enacted and interfering with his
magic
here.
Before he could think more, the doorway in the floor suddenly flew open, bathing
the chamber with light from
the library below.
Lectonil leaped up into the council room, and two other magicians panted after.
"As I suspected," he said, "Beliac's deceit with the Guild is most complete. Despite
his protests, he traffics our secrets even to the neophytes who would support him.
"Bring them forward," he motioned to the black-robed followers. "Let Beliac bite
on the fact that it is the ritual of presence that has led us to the last of his crew of
traitors."
The shrieking stopped and Alodar felt his thoughts clear in a rush. He
immediately dropped the triangle to the floor with a clatter and reached to scoop
up his
spheres.
"Hold, neophyte, it is enough," Lectonil commanded and clapped his gloved
hands together. A bolt of jagged yellow jumped from his palms and shot towards
Alodar with a blinding flash. Before Alodar could respond, he felt his arms thrift
apart and backwards and his whole body suddenly lifted and slammed into the
wall. As a sharp explosive report echoed around the small chamber, his breath
rushed out and his vision clouded from the force of the blow.
"Trifle not with a master magician, neophyte." Lectonil glared at him. "Especially
one with the gloves of thunder."
Alodar opened his mouth to speak; but before he could, Beliac's voice rumbled
forth from the stairway.
"And to what purpose do you rouse me from my studies, Lectonil?" he asked.
"The protocols must be observed, I insist. There is no basis for council meeting
without the
notice of two full days to bring all rituals in progress to a satisfactory halt. Your
prattle about the danger to the remaining wyvern can surely wait a fortnight."

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"It is for a far more serious matter than the safety of a dragon that we are here,
Beliac," Lectonil replied. "We convene tonight to judge the most serious charge of
treason. Look, we have even caught your neophyte in the practice of ritual. Such
disregard for the traditions cannot be condoned, regardless of the ends you think
they serve." Beliac looked across the room to where Alodar lay and then stared at
the two spheres still sitting hi the small box on the table. "I know not hi what foul
practice this neophyte engages," he said, "but it is without my council or
direction. I have had no discourse with him since he was in this chamber over a
month ago. I say as you that he should be punished for his deeds. Bring forth the
mirror of inversion and let us be done with it His crime is none of mine."
"Ah, but it is, Beliac," Lectonil persisted. "I would not have acted so precipitously
this night had I not first solved the riddle of that last meeting when your follower
was present. Bring in the other one and let us confront them," he said turning to
the doorway.
Duncan was abruptly pushed into the chamber, a look of bewilderment on his
face. Following him came another black-robed magician.
"Fulmbar," Beliac said in surprise as his peer entered. "Yes, Beliac," the magician
replied with hate dripping from his voice. "With the aid of Lectonil's acolytes, I
am free at last of your bondage of this past month. And I have told them all of
your conduct the last time I sat in this chamber. It is true I would have voted
against you that day, but in the past I supported you as the issue merited. And
had you stood by the honor of the master, I might have followed your cause yet
again. But your deeds with the neophyte have cleared my indecision and firmed
my resolve. I anxiously await the council vote on the form of your de-elevation."
"But wait," Beliac interrupted, with a shade of panic beginning to tinge his voice.
"I acted in the desperation of the moment and no ritual magic was used in what I
did. A minor transgression worthy of small censure at the most."
"Enough of the pleading, Beliac." Lectonil waved the protest aside as the rest of
the magicians began to file in. "The case against you is tight. Your neophyte was
caught in mid-ritual, working your will. Tell us now what you had planned, else
your punishment will be all the harder."
"But . . ." Beliac's eyes rapidly searched the faces of his peers for signs of
sympathy. "I know nothing of the dabbling in which this neophyte engages."
"Very well, then," Lectonil said. "Perhaps the neophyte himself will not be so
guarded. What do you say about your deed tonight?"
"I work with the pair of spheres before you," Alodar answered, as he slowly rose

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to his feet. "The one is smooth and the other circumscribed by one great circle."
The assembled magicians followed Alodar's extended hand to the table. "Could
they be spheres of protection?" one of them gasped. "Most rare and valuable
objects indeed. The work of an eon before they were truly formed and ready."
"By the laws, Beliac, this is most undisciplined! The uninitiated should not traffic
with such potencies. He might start one to activate before he knows what he is
doing."
"As for example, by striking a triangle of discord," Alodar said, holding out the
small instrument he had used minutes before.
Lectonil's mouth dropped when he saw what was in Alodar's hand. He reached
out to touch the first sphere and then quickly withdrew with an involuntary yelp.
"They have started," he said, eyes suddenly wide. "Quickly man, how long have
you been at this? We must know how much time remains."
Alodar frowned in puzzlement over the magician's sudden concern. He reviewed
the steps that remained and the significance of each.
"But of course," he said aloud at last. "The power within the spheres has already
been disturbed from their mold. Either we run the spells to completion or they
will explode of their own volition with cataclysmic force."
Several of the magicians broke their ranks behind Beliac and began to jostle one
another for position in the doorway.
Lectonil retreated a step in hesitation and then called after the fleeing members
of the guild.
"Wait," he said shakily. "We must stay and resolve what to do. We cannot
abandon the spheres. Their release will damage our chambers beyond repair and
perhaps our heritage below as well. The ritual must be worked to completion."
"Then stay and work it yourself," the magician closest to the door yelled out. "It is
you who burns most with the fire to confront Beliac with his deeds."
Lectonil backed another step from the table, but then stopped.
"Hold your positions," he commanded with more composure. "We can handle the
situation with but little danger to ourselves. Bring forward the acolyte. He should
know enough to complete what must be done."

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Two of Lectonil's followers thrust Duncan forward to face the master.
Lectonil's face parted In a cruel smile. "So you wish the status of the magician, do
you, Duncan?" he asked. "Then you can show your proficiency to us by
completing the ritual of Cantor on these spheres. Surely you have memorized
what is to be done."
Duncan's eyes darted to Beliac and back to Lectonil. "I have studied it, master,"
he said. "But the events of this evening jumble my thoughts. I recall it not. I have
had no time to prepare. Please, we know not how much time is left; let us flee."
"Then for you it will be the mirror," Lectonil cut him short. "Unless you search
your memory and are successful in the recall."
"But I cannot," Duncan protested falling to his knees in frantic supplication.
"Each minute you waste is one less to complete what is to be done," Lectonil said
harshly. "Be about it, man, or you doom yourself surely."
Duncan eyed the pack leaning next to where Alodar stood. With trembling hands,
he opened the top flap and began to extract the necessary equipment.
"And the time?" Lectonil addressed Alodar again. "How long ago did you start?"
Alodar drew his tongue across a mouth suddenly dry as the impact of the
situation sank in. "A full five minutes,"
he said. "At least that much before the wailing stopped me from going further."
"Quickly, the glasses." Lectonil gestured and one of the magicians opened a
drawer in the table. 'That leaves twenty remaining." He watched as a sandclock of
the appropriate size was set beside Duncan.
"Now we proceed with caution as follows," Lectonil said "Repair to our chambers
until the crisis is past. Guard Beliac until the issue here is resolved. I will remain
on the stairwell, watching these two as they proceed. If all goes well, you can
rejoin me here. If I judge that insufficient time remains, I will incapacitate them
with the gloves of thunder and retreat out of harm's way before the explosion
tears the apex asunder. In either case, we will deal with Beliac's treason then."
The magicians mumbled their acquiescence and began to file out of the chamber.
Alodar's eyes jumped from Lectonil to Beliac and back, hoping to see an
opportunity. Beliac also watched the magicians file out. Suddenly, when four
were already on the stair, he bolted forward and shouldered his way in front of
those remaining.

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"Magicians loyal to the new ways, follow me," he shouted. "We are outnumbered,
but they will feel our sting before we are done."
Lectonil turned to the startled black robes who remained. "After them," he
shouted. "Subdue them and repair to the chambers as planned."
The magicians pounded down the stairs after the ones who fled. Lectonil looked
at Duncan and Alodar and then backed down the stairs until he stood only waist
high in the room. As he took his place, a blue flash reflected upwards through the
opening, followed by a rolling boom and an anguished scream. In an instant, the
walls rocked and vibrated with an answering spasm of subsonic rhythm.
"A gem of blue blindness and the oscillator of life," Lectonil muttered. "It seems
that both sides armed themselves well for our confrontation. But no matter,
acolyte, tend to your duty."
Another flash burst upwards. Duncan jarred loose from his panic and began to
work the magic with the gear from Alodar's pack. With eyes half closed, he rattled
off the next steps of the ritual and executed them quickly. The
triangle SBng again, three beehive hitches were woven together, feet stomped in a
complicated rhythm. Alodar watched fascinated as the acolyte, immersed in his
recall, jerked his hands faster with each step, blurring them together in his haste.
As Duncan worked, the chamber rocked and rumbled with the attacks and parries
that flew about the library below. Lectonil steadied himself in the stairwell and
occasionally glanced down the spiral, frowning at the uncertainty of the outcome.
"And that is one," Duncan said explosively. As he spoke, he held out the
uninscribed sphere triumphantly in his hand. The sphere was no longer opaque
rock, but danced in a rainbow of refracted light that radiated through its interior.
In the very center, Alodar saw a tiny and perfect human hand suspended.
"The shielding hand," Lectonil said, mounting again into the chamber. "Here, let
me have it while you finish the other."
As Alodar saw Lectonil stretch his right hand forward, he sprang from the
chamber wall and over the table into the magician's open arms. The force carried
both to the floor. As they fell, Alodar grappled for the old man's hands to force
them apart.
"Quickly, Duncan, quickly," he gasped. "Help me subdue him while I pin his
arms. Then you can finish the other and we will be away before they return."

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The floor rolled with another crash. Duncan hesitated and took one step around
the periphery of the table, then paused. His face froze in renewed terror as he
caught sight of the sand which yet remained to fall.
"Help me!" Alodar yelled. "There is no time to waste."
Duncan put his hand on the tabletop, but his eyes remained fixed on the falling
sand. With a shudder, he suddenly turned and climbed up onto the windowsill
from which Alodar had originally entered the room. In an instant he was gone,
completed sphere in his pocket, climbing hand over hand down the face of the
pyramid.
As Duncan fled, Alodar summoned new strength; with a powerful whirl, he spun
Lectonil around striking bis head with a crack against the floor. The magician
remained silent, and Alodar scrambled to his feet.
He shielded bis eyes from another flash and steadied
himself from the rumble that followed. Almost half of the sand was gone.
There was still time to run. But if he did his entire quest would have been for
nothing. He was no match for Duncan in rattling off the ritual by rote, but
somehow he had to perform it on the second sphere.
He climbed back over the table and relit the incense; the ritual was begun. Alodar
rang the triangle and this time it quieted at the proper time. Fumbling with his
sketchy notes, he slowly began to lay out the twine on the table, covering and
looping the strings hi a way that would form a knot like a beehive. With the last
tuck in place, he pulled the ends tight. The coils shrank into a lopsided triangle.
Steeling himself against the impulses that tried to make his hands shake, he
undid the mess and again methodically went through the steps that formed the
knot. He pulled the ends and the loops slid shut with beautiful symmetry.
Encouraged, he began another and quickly laid a second by the first.
"The three knots define the plane in which the bees move to pollinate," he
muttered to distract himself from his pounding heart as he began the third.
"Three knots to form the plane to cleave the sphere." He stopped and hesitated.
"Such a step makes sense for the first sphere, but what of the second with the fine
line already dividing it in two?" Alodar frowned and concentrated on the lore
which he had studied the past month. With the line already breaking the
symmetry, the three points were redundant; they would lie in the plane already
formed. He could proceed as before and the result would still be the immovable
hand.

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Alodar stopped completely and glanced up at the glass. If he continued, there was
probably still enough time to complete the ritual as Duncan had done. A shielding
hand hi a sphere of protection was a king's ransom indeed. But the second sphere
was different and somehow the ritual should be different as well. Perhaps a
power far greater would be bis if he acted with decision. But his notes would not
help. He would have to get the reference from the library floor.
Alodar gauged the sand remaining and jumped over the table ft third time. The
floor shook and another scream
exploded up from the doorway. Four minutes, he thought. If he could be back in
four minutes, then he would still have a chance.
He grabbed the balustrades with both hands and bounded downward, six steps at
a tune. He closed his eyes to slits to block out the bursts of light and ignored the
bells which immediately began to chime. Against the brightness, he could just
barely see the black robes dancing to and fro among the benches to dodge and
launch their magical blows.
In one corner he saw gloves like Lectonil's clap together and a yellow bolt arch
out to shatter soundlessly against some invisible barrier in the way. Beyond the
transparent wall, two magicians huddled, rapidly working their craft. Elsewhere
the black forms grappled arm to arm, ladders of energy streaking outward from
the ring of one to strike the gemstone of another, fining the air with a sharp
pungency from the discharge.
Alodar reached the floor without a challenge and quickly ran for the tier that
contained the reference he needed.
"The neophyte," someone yelled behind him. He dove forward and rolled as the
yellow flash lashed out over his head and hit the tier in front, ripping scrolls apart
and sending small scraps fluttering to the floor. Alodar crawled to his left and
overturned a table as a second bolt followed the first, crashing into the protesting
beams he flung in the way. A moment passed and no third shaft came. Inching up
on his knees, he saw his attackers facing another direction and warding off the
thrust of a dagger which seemed to dart through the air of its own volition.
Alodar scrambled back to the tier and with both arms spread the jumble of
manuscripts. His hand closed on a familiar form; and with a feeling of sudden
triumph, he grasped the other handle of the scroll he sought.
He bounded to his feet and ran back to the staircase, ducking and dodging the
blasts of magic power that came his way. He thrust the scroll into his belt and
started up the incline, both hands pulling him forward. He circled around a third
of the distance, not pausing to look back but thinking only of the sand that

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remained in the glass. Suddenly he tripped and lurched forward, shins banging
against the steps ahead. He wriggled hia feet frantically,
but they remained steadfast to the step on which he had just landed.
"The all-holding glue of Deckadin," he heard above him and looked up to see
Fulmbar slowly descending in his direction. "It is well I decided to take a vantage
point up here," the magician said, "although I did not suspect to have my trap
sprung so quickly."
The room rocked with another rumble and the stairs groaned in protest. Alodar's
legs wrenched violently with the wave of power but he remained firmly rooted
still.
"The sphere!" he yelled. "Release me so that I can finish the ritual, or we are all
lost."
"I am a master magician, neophyte," Fulmbar snapped back. "I will not be guiled
by a trick so transparent. Lectonil has the matter well in hand, else I would see
him bolt down these stairs to signal us to safety. You will bold your position until
I summon aid."
Before Alodar could speak again, Fulmbar's eyes suddenly widened and he threw
his hands upwards. Alodar instinctively ducked and felt cold metal fly by and
brush over his back. He looked forward to see Fulmbar suddenly enmeshed in a
net of fine silver wire that clung to him tightly and pulled him down.
'The net of the perfect catch," Fulmbar shrieked as he tore at the mesh, while it
propelled him stumbling down the stairwell. The magician lurched against Alodar
and dug a hand into his arm as he stumbled past. Alodar was twisted around by
the grip, and then pulled backward onto the hard steps as his feet remained
firmly locked into place. Fulmbar continued down the stairs and Alodar felt nails
cut deep as the grip slipped up his arm. Using his free hand, Alodar tore at the
fingers which held him, grasping at a beaded bracelet around the magician's
wrist. With a final scream, Fulmbar relinquished his hold and fell with a rush,
bounding headfirst on each step as he went. The bracelet snapped hi Alodar's
fingers; simultaneously his boots popped free.
Another bolt of yellow sizzled up after Alodar as he rose to climb, but he paid it
no heed. The building shook with the biggest explosion yet, and he saw a gaping
hole torn in the north wall, creating a shower of brick and gleaming red stones.
His lungs heaving, Alodar reached the apex and closed
and locked the heavy door in the floor. He looked quickly at the remaining sphere

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which now glowed red hot with a line of fiery yellow around it
He unrolled the scroll and began to scan rapidly down the contents. The entire
ritual fitted into a fifth-order magic square, and the tying of knots occupied the
center cell. Replacing the three knots by two changed the value from five to
nineteen and the square no longer balanced its sums.
Alodar hurried over the bulk of the text which dealt with the shielding hand and
its variations. Near the end of the roll he found what he wanted, a footnote on
transforming the squares so that they became panmagic, summing the same on
all diagonals as well as by row and column. Quickly he worked the equations to
produce the four non-equivalent variations. The third was the one he sought; the
first two elements were the same as the ritual he had started, but the rest were
permuted and the central value was nineteen.
Alodar drew a deep breath and plunged into the ritual. He poured a ring of fine
powder around the box containing the sphere, lit it in a flash of smoke, and
nodded with satisfaction as the globe began to spin. He clapped his hands
together thrice, then slammed the lid of the box shut, wincing from the burn to
his fingertips. "Another knot next," he growled and began weaving together four
short pieces of colored twine.
The steps followed one another rapidly and Alodar lost track of the time in his
concentration to perform each one with precision. He would have no chance to go
back and try again if all was not done correctly. Finally he approached the end
and beat out the syncopated rhythm that had been third in the standard ritual.
He lifted the small flute to his lips and started the slow count to thirty that would
signify completion.
Now with only one step remaining, Alodar's eyes darted to the glass, to see the
last of the sand begin its fall to the lower chamber. He filled bis lungs to blow
before the final particles hit but checked himself with the knowledge that it would
do no good. The blast of the pure note must come when it was needed, not before.
Sweat broke out on his forehead as he watched the trickle slow and a hole grow in
the smooth surface and
begin to widen to the edge of the glass. Five counts to go, and the sand continued
its relentless fall.
Only a layer seemingly one gram thick coated the nec.k of the tube; then, with
one coordinated wave, it rolled downward through the opening. Four counts
remained— three—two. Alodar grimaced from the expected impact of the
explosion to come. Then, as the final grains hit the mound beneath, he blew a
piercing note that filled the small chamber with sound.

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The echoes faded quickly, and Alodar's shoulders slumped with relief in the
silence. The ritual was perfectly and precisely completed. The power had been
released and transformed. It would now last forever. Alodar waited a minute
more in the luxury of the quietness; then he thrust the orb into his pack and
scrambled up onto the windowledge. Seeing the product of his labor must wait;
escape from the warring factions of the Guild had to come first.
In an instant he was clambering down the wall and across the esplanade, dodging
between the initiates and acolytes who stood gaping at the pyramid as it roared
and shook from the battle inside. Shortly thereafter, beyond the bounds of the
Guild, Alodar looked backward through the protective distortion hi the morning
sunlight. Even through the shimmering, he could see a huge towering plume of
flame where the library had once stood.
On the trail northward beyond the village, Alodar turned from the path and
paused to catch his breath. He squinted back the way he had come but saw no
dustcloud of pursuit. He reached in his pack for the sphere, now quite cold, and
brought it to eye level. The opaque darkness was gone; in its place gleamed a
sparkling transparency. But unlike the one Duncan had taken, the center of this
sphere held a single eye, lidded closed. It was tiny, like the shielding hand,
delicately sculptured with fine detail. Small wrinkles wove across the lid and
minute spike-like hairs curled in a precise line along the bottom edge.
Alodar blinked in surprise and quickly spun the sphere around, looking for one of
the magical symbols he had expected to see. He shook the orb violently, as if to
rearrange the contents, but the closed eye did not change.
Duncan had escaped with a hand of protection, and
what king would not give a treasure to be safe from any mortal blow? At the very
least, Alodar had expected a magical object of equal value. But all he had to show
for outwitting the safeguards of the Guild was yet another mystery. He was no
nearer his rightful heritage or his true place in life than the day before the gates of
Iron Fist slammed shut In bitter disappointment, he thrust the sphere back into
his pack and scowled at the ground.
He rested for a few minutes hi silence, and then sat erect and looked up the trail.
It would return him to Ambrosia. But what did he have to show the queen to turn
her head from the others? A mere bauble that could have been fashioned by a
jeweler. The eye did not even provide an imitation of magic. Nothing of what he
had read in the library told of magical eyes, either closed or staring full open.
Such a logo would be more appropriate to charm of the sorcerer than the
impersonal ritual of the magician.

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Alodar blinked at what he had just thought. He stopped and withdrew the sphere
a second time from his pack. He brought it to eye level and stared, frowning into
its interior. Surprised at what impulse directed his actions, he sat unmoving,
concentrating on the tiny eye. For several minutes nothing happened; then he felt
the weak tendrils of strange shadows rising from the depths of his mind.
His eyes blurred out of focus, and a hazy image formed in his thoughts. As if
stroked by a gentle feather, fleeting snatches of a distant scene were pushed into
place, and he saw a barren landscape, dominated by a single thrusting crag.
Stunted and gnarled shrubs fought a strong wind to retain their meager leaves,
and the sun hung low in the sky. Alodar felt himself drawn inside the huge
monolith, into a tomblike cavern carved from the solid rock. In the very center
was a coffin sealed with a thick glass lid.
The landscape was the same as that in the vision when he passed through the
curtain. He gasped as the shock of recognition dissolved the scene, like a stone
thrown into a reflecting pond. He looked quickly about and saw only the empty
trail and the hills which contained the magicians' Guild.
Alodar struggled for several minutes more, but the feeling did not return. He
lowered the sphere to his side and
focused on the horizon. "Sorcery," he mused, "sorcery. Of the five arts it is the one
concerned with expanding the limits of the mind to see in time and space. And
what I just experienced can be related to nothing else."
He savored the sensations of the sphere while they were still fresh and then
sprang to his feet. The disappointment of only a few moments before washed
away jn a wave of new enthusiasm. Well, why not? With only a piece of
parchment he bad plunged into alchemy; with two hunks of rock, he had braved
the magicians' Guild. Perhaps in sorcery and with the eye, he would finally find
what he sought. The quest would go on.
PART FOUR
The Sorcerer
CHAPTER THIRTEEN Illusions of the Court
"HERE, take the bauble back," Cedric rasped as he tossed the ruby in Alodar's
direction. "You cannot clear your conscience with a bribe, nor will I accept it in
lieu of your toil. When we left Dartilac's more than a season ago, I instructed you
to be here in my courtyard the morning after. Instead some thaumaturge

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appeared nearly a week later with the stone offered as an apology."
"Periac," Alodar said as he glanced around the familiar vine-covered walls of
Cedric's field of instruction. Like a warrior being reviewed, he stood before the
war-master while Cedric paced back and forth. "I must seek him out as well when
we are finished. Does he still room at the inn where I saw him last?"
"I have not kept a record of your appointments." Cedric frowned at the
interruption. "But for a fact, he is in Ambrosia no longer. Two days ago he saw me
again, asking if I had news of you. Then he departed for the north. 'The milk has
soured, he said. The people in the capital have become panicked into hoarding
their gold, rather than spending it on the likes of my craft.* Panicked indeed! The
city is like a bubble of marsh gas, awaiting a spark. Vendora holds a royal ball
tonight to foster the image of nonchalance. And her visit to Arcadia is broadcast
to be only a formality of state, but everyone knows she sails tomorrow in
desperate search for aid."
"Tomorrow," Alodar said. "But why must she go at all? And what of her court?
Does sorcerer Kelric follow her as well?"
"It is as she feared," Cedric answered. "The kingdoms to the south have ceased
their bickering long enough to coalesce their armies into one. This morning they
have
crossed the border, so the sorcerers say; nothing stands between them arid
Ambrosia, And no mere ambassador can she send across the sea to plead her
cause. King Elsinor remembers all too well how he personally had to beg on
bended knee for aid in suppressing a rebellion of his own. He expects the fair lady
and no one less to argue for the return of the favor. As for Kelric, I imagine he
sails with the rest. The barge is big enough for half her household, although not
as seaworthy as many a smaller craft."
"Then I must seek him quickly," Alodar said, "before it is too late."
Cedric stopped and looked up and down Alodar's rough clothing, wrinkled and
duly after his journey from the south. "With your appearance and unpolished
manner, you will fare no better than I," he said. "It is time for a man to be
measured by what he can do, but they cling still to the trappings of blind
tradition."
Alodar opened his mouth to reply but Cedric cut him short. "Too old," he spat
"They said I was too old for command. Why even now, I am worth three of their
young sons, wet-eared boys who have been no more than nicked by cold steel."
He crashed his fist into an open palm. "It was not my age, but that I still refuse to
play by their rules. What difference does it make if it is Feston or Basil that I
would follow, so long as my sword swings swift and true? But since I would not
declare, neither side will have me. And so one less arm is raised in Procolon's

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cause."
"Lady Aeriel would know your worth," Alodar said. "I am sure she puts the true
interests of the queen above the favor seeking."
"I have not dealt with her directly," Cedric replied. "But if she is a member of the
court, then she will be no different.
"You speak with contempt of those who prejudge by pattern and rote," Alodar
said. "I would not think you would so measure the lady. In any event, if the queen
sails tomorrow, and Kelric with her, it is to Aeriel that I will appeal for a berth."
Cedric did not reply but again looked up and down Alodar's shabby clothing.
Alodar followed bis gaze and then nodded, "I agree
that I must know something of the ways of the court. It is why I am here. You
taught me well at Dartilac's. With a little more instruction, I am sure I will pass
through the palace hallways like the rest And if you will not accept the ruby for
payment, then all I can offer is the high opinion of the teacher which is generated
by the deeds of the well-taught pupil."
Cedric's eyes narrowed and he studied Alodar for a long time in silence. "It is true
that you do not seek the position of a commander," he said at last. "Perhaps this
lady can get you placed in a lowly group such as Quantos' marines. Some position
that is not significant enough to require commitment to either side."
Cedric resumed his pacing, twisting his moustache into sharpness and looking
over Alodar's head to the walls beyond. "I had hoped to wait until you were fully
trained," he muttered after a moment, "but the events force it to be now." He
shrugged, slapped his hip with decision, and then motioned to the bench nearby.
"Come, Alodar, there is a matter of much importance of which we must speak."
They sat down facing one another and Cedric placed his hand on Alodar's
shoulder. "I admit to some truth in what they say. On cold mornings my knees
are stiff and my eyes no longer follow the tip of the fastest blades. I am still very
much the master, but I know that someday I must pass my heritage on to
another."
Cedric stopped and gently rocked Alodar back and forth. "You will never become
a great warrior," he said. "With more training you will grow into someone not to
be dismissed lightly. But you are too small and slow to hack your way through a
screaming hoard or stand toe to toe with a thick-muscled giant. No matter how
hard you try, I do not see you someday beating your chest in triumph on the top
of a pile of bloodied foes."
Alodar's lips parted but Cedric raised his other hand for silence. "But you have

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spirit. Despite the meager abilities at your command, you track your goals like a
hero from the sagas. And it is that drive that attracted my attention to you; it is
that dedication which commands my respect and motivates me to aid you as I
can." Cedric paused and looked deeply into Alodar's eyes. "I see my
own burning youth in your quest* Alodar. Even though my joints grow stiff,
through your pursuit I live again.
"And so, if by the random factors I am to remain behind when the fair lady
chances across the sea, then I choose to send my spirit with you rather than some
other dewy-cheeked warrior, no matter how skillful." Cedric unstrapped his
sword and placed it across Alodar's knees. 'Take this," he commanded, "but
remember when it is drawn, it must defend not one reputation but two."
Alodar blinked at Cedric's words and tentatively reached out to touch the hilt in
his lap. He looked back into the warmaster's eyes, saw the intensity of the
feelings, and then tightened his grip. "I will wear it hi honor," he
said softly.
Cedric was silent for a moment longer, then slapped Alodar on the arm and
sprang up from the bench. "Enough of this chatter," he rasped in his usual
manner. "There is little time and much to be done. I will tell you the etiquette of
the court, and the ruby will provide what you must wear. Then, if your tongue is
quick enough, you can try to convince this lady Aeriel to secure you an
appointment with Quantos of the royal marines."
Alodar wriggled his toes in the soft fur that lined his new calfskin boots. He
glanced down at his silken tunic and smiled at the subtle pattern of silver thread
which ran through the cloth. Around him mingled the nobles of the court, and
nothing marked his raiment from theirs. The tailor had been right, he thought,
the small ruby was twice again enough to purchase a wardrobe equal to any here.
Alodar looked around the large room and saw everyone crowded into the
periphery. The center was clear, and the sheen on the parquet floor reflected
brightly the light of the chandeliers overhead. Decorative columns with flowery
capitals and fluted shafts were spaced with precision along all four walls; between
them, frescos and tapestries blazed with heroic deeds from the sagas. On the far
wall next to ceiling-high double doors* a small ensemble of musicians tuned their
instruments, adding to the low drone of conversation. The mood was somber; the
room resonated with the gentle hum of smoke-sedated
bees, rather than the vigor of a swarming hive that one would expect at a royal

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ball.
Alodar scanned the assemblage for familiar faces from Iron Fist or Cedric's
sparring yard and, here and there, he thought he recognized some lordling. The
entire titled class within a day's ride of Ambrosia must be here, he thought. It was
no wonder that the bribe to the footman to gain entrance had cost as much as the
clothes on his back.
The buzzing around him rose slightly, and Alodar looked to the doors that
connected the ballroom to the hallway beyond. Without fanfare, a tall, black-
headed man entered the room with a military stride, and Alodar recognized him
instantly.
"Look, it is lord Feston," someone to Alodar's right stage-whispered to her
companion. "He can hardly control the agitation that disfigures his already
uncomely face."
"Well enough that he is so discomforted," a second voice responded. "Perhaps he
will then acknowledge the existence of other ladies besides the queen."
Alodar shut out the conversation and concentrated on Feston as the man moved
about the room, acknowledging the greetings thrown his way. A year ago, Alodar
would have been cowed. But today he noticed the way Feston moved his right
hand to rest on the hilt of his sword, how he exposed his thigh when he gestured
upward and away. His left foot was forward; he would swing from the side, rather
than overhead. A contest between them tomorrow might have the same end but it
certainly would not be decided by a single thrust.
Feston had not completed a half circuit of the room when a footman dressed as
richly as anyone present skipped into the crowd, blowing a light tune on a flute.
Behind him, with a dazzling beauty on .each arm, came the massive bulk of Basil
the apothecary. A gasp rose from the assemblage as he triumphantly advanced
through the doorway, covered from head to toe in what appeared to be a robe of
woven gold.
"My good company," he boomed across the hall. "What pleasure it gives me to see
all of you so splendidly arrayed for the entertainment of our queen." As he spoke,
he idly flicked his fingers in a rhythmic pattern, causing a random clicking sound
to emanate from his palm. A
small stone dropped from his grip in a glittering flash, and the ladies scrambled
to retrieve it. In an instant, one held it aloft.
"Keep it, my dear," Basil said. "It is but a small sapphire. Have it set in a ring."

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As he spoke, Alodar saw a flash of red hair as several more of the court crowded
into the room.
"My lady Aeriel," Basil said, whirling about. "I see another fine setting for one of
these stones." With a sudden flick of the wrist, he tossed a second gem in Aeriel's
direction and it fell in a smooth arc down the front of her dress. Her cheeks
momentarily flushed and the crowd tittered at her discomfort.
Alodar looked at Aeriel and his pulse quickened. He could not help a small smile
of pleasant anticipation as he thought how his quest gave him reason to seek her
company again.
Heralds at the door blew two stacatto blasts and Alodar jogged his attention back
to the entrance. With unrushed dignity, Vendora entered the room in a gown of
deepest red. He looked at her cold beauty and exhaled slowly. Vendora took two
small steps into the corridor of people that opened for her and then stopped and
looked back through the doorway. With a laugh, she motioned forward with her
hand, and another figure entered the ballroom. The murmuring increased as
Vendora spoke gaily to the assemblage, and Alodar's jaw dropped in disbelief.
"Lord Feston, apothecary Basil, and my distinguished company," Vendora said
lightly. "As you well know, I have had much difficulty in choosing a consort
between my two suitors. Can you imagine the difficulty in my decision, now that I
have not two but three." She laughed again and waved an elaborate flourish. "I
present to you," she said, "the distinguished magician of the Cycloid Guild,
Duncan, the all-protecting."
From across the room, Alodar shook his head at the news. Feston had profited
from his deeds at Iron Fist. Basil from his alchemy; and now even his magic
sphere had been used for benefit of another. Although Duncan left the Guild only
shortly before Alodar he must have been able to gain immediate access to the
queen with the power that now glittered in a small cage of spun gold hanging
from his waist.
"Perhaps later," Vendora continued, "Duncan will be so kind as to demonstrate
for us the miraculous object he brings to the throne of Procolon. But for the
moment, let us forget other depressing matters of state and revel instead in some
entertainments."
Vendora moved to a more central position and Feston, Duncan, and Basil
jockeyed for position immediately behind. The rest of the crowd crushed together
hi back of the three suitors and fell silent in anticipation. After a long moment, a
robed figure, stooped with age, ambled slowly through the doorway. Alodar's
brows rose as he saw the faded eye logos on the frayed robe, startlingly out of
place in the finery about it.

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Lectonil had been old but had carried his age with dignity, his back straight and
his tread sure and firm. In contrast, the figure in front of Alodar shuffled
uncertainly forward, dragging one leg behind as he advanced. His fingers were
stiffly spread and curled like the talons of a bird, and rheumy eyes squinted from
a face that sagged with loose and wrinkled flesh. The head was narrow and long,
as if slightly flattened out of shape by a blacksmith's vice. A few long and straggly
hairs hung to the shoulders from above the ears, and a slight ridge ran the length
of the completely bald crown.
"The logo is the mark of the sorcerer," someone behind Alodar muttered. "What
risk the queen takes to expose herself so."
"It is only Kelric, the seer of the court," a second voice answered. "He served
Vendora's father and long ago u'ed up his ability to enchant, so they say. He has
little more than illusions left, and I wager that is what he performs for us
tonight."
Kelric shuffled to the very center of the room and bowed stiffly to the queen.
Without preamble, he began to sing a long, melodious song in an unfamiliar
tongue. Alodar listened intently; with his trained ear, he tried to pick out words of
power from the deception which surrounded them. The chant droned on, and he
furrowed his brow in puzzlement as the melody caressed his ears. Far better than
any thaumaturge, he thought. Every word seems to have substance and contain
real meaning.
Each sound obeyed an intricate logic in following the one that preceded, and
Alodar found himself almost doz-
ing with the gentle rhythm that flowed through the room. He began to sense a
pattern as verse followed verse in a repeat of what had been said just moments
before. Then, as a third repetition coursed through his head, he felt an
overwhelming compulsion to look the sorcerer in the eye. As he yielded, his eyes
locked instantly on Kelric's, now wild and glowing owl-like in a stare that seemed
to bore into his innermost being.
The scene around the old man blurred for an instant and then snapped back into
focus, but somehow not so sharply as before. Alodar felt himself idly wondering
what was different. Before he could complete the thought, the sorcerer vanished
in a column of green flame that rose from the floor and splashed against the
ceiling.
Like a fountain, the flickering flames caressed the beams which spanned the
room, then arched outwards and fell towards the floor. As each globule neared
the ground, it exploded in a small blossom of flame that winked out of sight

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Gradually the column changed color, progressing through the rainbow from
green to yellow to orange to furnace red. Then, with a sudden rush, the base of
the column rose from the floor, crashed against the ceiling, and sent a dazzling
cascade of sparks down onto the onlookers. Alodar winced with the expectation
of fiery contact, but the globules seemed to melt away as they touched with
feathery lightness.
A small ripple of applause broke forth from those around the queen as every
spark but the last died away. The surviving point of light grew as it fell, subtly
transforming from a bright speck of flame to a tiny opalescent sphere. As it
floated downward, it grew fist-sized, then as large as a barrel, and at last
enlongated to the shape of a giant egg. The shell touched the floor with a gentle
tap, then cracked asunder. From the two ragged halves, a scaly reptilian form
suddenly appeared, arching its neck and flicking its forked tongue hi the direction
of the queen.
The crowd involuntarily gasped as the monster grew in stature, belching fire as it
stretched skyward. Alodar stepped backward and reached for Cedric's sword at
his side. The wyvern at the guild had been monstrous, but it did not compare with
the giant he saw now uncoiling before his eyes. With scales gleaming in the
candlelight, it
darted its tongue menacingly out across the room, seeming to reach directly for
Alodar over the heads of those who stood in between.
Out of the corner of his eye, Alodar saw others flinch as he did and then, when the
giant mouth opened and billowed out a ball of flame, the room erupted with
screams of alarm.
Alodar threw his arm over his face to ward off the fiery breath and drew his blade
chest high to slash at the dancing ribbon of tongue. But the heat and sting did not
come, only the soft feathery caress that had accompanied the fireworks before.
Looking to the center of the room, he saw the dragon now start to shrink in size,
imploding to a small replica of its former self, hardly a foot high. Then, without
pause, it began to whirl about, rapidly blurring its features into a shining green
disk.
Alodar stared at the vision and he saw soft colors begin to form and undulate
about on its surface. The rotation slowed and the hues changed from golds to
pinks and reds as they randomly flowed and ebbed in shining patterns. Suddenly
the motion stopped, and Alodar blinked at the metamorphosis. The dragon was
gone; before him stood a stunning replica of the face of Vendora the queen.
"The starting point," he heard Kelric say. "But for each of you, an image of your
own. Look at the beauty of the fair lady and it will transform into the object of

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your deepest desire."
Alodar felt his lips curve into a smile. Kelric was clever, he thought dimly. For
most of the men present, the illusion would not change at all. He concentrated on
the golden curls framing the finely chiseled face and tried to taste the feeling of
success with his quest. But as he watched, the illusion subtly began to change.
The hair shortened and mellowed from gold to amber. The eyes darkened and
danced to life. In an instant Alodar saw, not the face of the queen, but a vision of
lady Aeriel.
In surprise, Alodar blinked a second time and the image diffused away. The room
again was in sharp focus, and Kelric stood huddled in the center as he had before.
A spatter of applause broke out once more from the crowd. "Well done, Kelric,"
Vendora exclaimed. "Your illusions as always show great creativity and finesse."
The sprcerer bowed with a sad smile; with a fumbling
hand, he grasped at the small bag that Basil tossed to him as he straightened.
With head down, he turned and shuffled out the way he had come, the gathering
making more room for his passage than had been done for the queen.
Alodar rubbed the side of his face and then shook hia head. How real the
sorcerer's illusions had beenl There was none of the blurriness of a dream, or the
known hallucination of a drug, but an experience accepted by all the senses. No
wonder the glance of the sorcerer was shunned. The step from illusion to
enchantment seemed to be a small one and, once entrapped, one would have no
hint that his will was the slave to another.
The musicians struck up a tune, and the lords and ladies maneuvered for position
to dance with the queen or her suitors. Alodar hardly noticed the proceedings and
shouldered his way past the crowd as it filled the center of the room. As he went
through the tall double doors, he saw Kelric's stooped form Founding a corner
and he raced after.
"Master Kelric," he called, "a moment for consultation, it you will."
Kelric turned and frowned in irritation. "Were you one of the ladles with the low
cut gowns, I might have time to listen. But for a lord's son, you have not enough
gold to pay me for whatever you want."
"It is not for illusion or far-seeing," Alodar said as he drew abreast. "I seek
edification and instruction and I think I have an object that will interest you
greatly." He reached into the pouch at his side and withdrew the transparent
sphere.

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Kelric's eyebrows raised momentarily when he saw the orb, but he quickly pulled
his face back into a harsh and unyielding expression. "It may well be a legendary
sorcerer's eye," he said. "And if I were still in my youth, the power it represents
would interest me greatly. But my vital force is nearly gone; I can feel how
shallow is the reservoir that remains. And I value what days I have left far more
than the thrill of thousands marching in Sway to my enchantment. No, it is only
minor illusion and prophecy of short range in which I will indulge, and then only
after the greatest of persuasion. Take this thing and seek out one of the younger
fools who choose to practice this
accursed craft, one who does not yet understand the price he pays."
"But what of instruction?" Alodar asked. "Your name has become a legend
throughout the kingdom. Surely yon wish to pass on your mastery to another."
Kelric tipped back his head and laughed. "They ascribe to the sorcerer the most
evil of motives," he said. "But even in my most vile moods, I would not think of
inflicting my fate onto another." He leveled his head and looked with a
penetrating stare into Alodar's eyes. "Now be off and irritate me no longer, or
perhaps, after all, I will make the effort for more than a simple illusion,"
Alodar remembered the images still fresh in his mind and almost instinctively
turned his head and raised his arm across his face. Kelric laughed a second time,
turned, and continued his slow shuffle down the passageway.
After a moment, Alodar lowered his head and replaced the sphere in its pouch.
He smoothed down the front of his tunic and exhaled deeply. So that was the
great Kelric, the master sorcerer of all of Procolon. He shook his head and began
to pace slowly down the hallway, hands clasped behind his back. And now what
course? Should he seek a sorcerer of less renown? Perhaps someone away from
the court, one whose limits bad not yet been tested.
Alodar looked down at his side. Such a search would take him away from the fair
lady. And he had pledged to seek Aeriel's aid in unsheathing Cedric's sword for
the queen's cause. Yes, Aeriell For both the marines and dealing with Kelric, lady
Aeriel would provide the aid.
Alodar slapped the hilt at his side and increased his pace. And there was still time
enough to arrange an appointment before the end of the ball.
The guardsman coughed softly as he ushered Alodar into the small, plain
chamber, and Aeriel's face brightened with recognition. "Why, what a
coincidence! It is Alodar the thaumaturge. And I see by your garb that you ply
your craft to much greater profit than when we last met."

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Alodar looked intently at Aeriel as she rose to greet him. She clutched an old
shawl around her bare shoulders, not seeming to care how out of place it looked,
draped over the richness of her ballgown. Her lips curved in a broad smile, but he
could see the fatigue that pulled at
her eyes as well. Behind her on a simple table, between two teetering piles of
parchment, was scattered an array of seals, colored candles, inkstands, and quills.
"My fortune does not extend from journeyman training, my lady," Alodar
answered, "but it does provide the means by which I may consult with you for
sage advice." "Advice?" Aeriel asked. "You seemed quite sure of yourself in Iron
Fist, Why now would you need my council?"
"The ways of the court are not so straightforward," Alodar said, "especially when
they concern the opinions of the queen."
Aeriel stopped and visibly stiffened. "The opinions of the queen," she repeated
slowly. "By that do you mean you still quest for the fair lady?"
Alodar saw her change in mood and darted his eyes to the side. He paused a
moment, then looked back into her eyes. "So I have done since we parted," he
said with difficulty, "although oftentimes my thoughts have . . ." He trailed off
and took another breath. "Yes, I still seek for the hand of the fair lady, and your
parting words led me to believe that you would not look with disfavor upon such
a goal, if it were in the interest of the queen."
Aeriel was silent for a moment and then returned to her seat behind the table. "I
encourage any endeavor that truly assists the crown," she said. "And such aid is
now sorely needed." She rubbed her eyes and waved her hand at the documents
on the table. "Writs for the armory, rum allocations for the crew, promotions and
certifications of skill, they all must be decided before we sail. And despite the
seriousness of the hour, no one else will take the responsibility, so much do they
fear offending one of the suitors by their choice. Many beseech my favor in
intercession with the queen, Alodar, but I have little time for such petty intrigues,
especially now."
"But it is an audience with Kelric that I seek," Alodar said. "I will gain the favor of
the fair lady on merit, not because of some arrangement with the nobles of the
land."
"And why then do you desire audience with the sorcerer?" Aeriel asked. "He
traffics in the frivolities of the court no more than I."
"Because I bring to the fair lady a gift that surely is the

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equal to those offered by the others," Alodar said as he removed the orb from its
pouch and held it forward. "I need only such meager instruction as is necessary to
activate it properly and I am ready to pledge wholehearted service to the queen.
Kelric mentioned the enchanting of thousands. Surely such an ability will be of
great value when she has to face the armies of the south."
Aeriel touched the sphere, and her lips pursed in surprise at its coldness. She
studied the delicate sculpture of the eye and then looked at Alodar in silence,
frowning in thought. After a moment, she reached out tentatively for his arm but
then quickly shook her head and withdrew her hand before he could respond.
"Your boldness is no less than I have judged, Alodar." She sighed. "And in the
calm light of reason, I see you as worthy a suitor as the others. I have pledged my
service to the queen. If you do likewise, then I must aid you as I can. Come, follow
me to Kelric's quarters. I can persuade him better than most."
Without waiting for a reply, Aeriel quickly swept through the room and out into
the hallway. Alodar followed her through the maze of passageways in the huge
palace. Unlike the buildings at the Cycloid Guild, the royal residence was a one-
story sprawl, a jumble of wings and annexes added over the centuries as the
power of Procolon grew.
Aeriel whirled past guard stations without explanation; after several minutes of
bewildering turns, she ducked into the low and open entryway of a softly lit
chamber.
He looked about in the dimness, straining to distinguish form from shadow. In a
feeble flicker in the center of the room, between two giant columns of
smouldering incense, he saw Kelric sitting crosslegged, clad only in a simple loin
cloth, with his chin slumped forward on his bony chest. A brazier hung on a
tripod, its meager flame providing the only light. Against the far wall, a lady of
the court, her hair hanging long in imitation of the queen's, stood tensely erect,
watching the scene.
Alodar started to speak, but Aeriel put her finger to her lips as Kelric opened his
eyes wide in a glazed stare and sluggishly extended clinched fists. He opened his
left hand over a disk suspended above the brazier, dropping a fine sand onto its
shiny surface. With his other hand, he
struck the shallow bowl sharply, setting up a complex set of vibrations as it
swung. Kelric stared at the dance of sand in silence, eyes unblinking and
seemingly oblivious to his surroundings.

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"I see the camp," he said in a voice as thin as a distant wind. "The fire burns low
and the sentry slumps at his post. The one for which you care is not asleep. With
his head propped by his elbow on the ground he talks softly to the one who rests
next to him."
"What does he say, does he speak of me?" the lady asked. "Is my favor still bound
on his arm?"
Kelric's other hand opened and a second load of sand hit the disk. He clanged it
again just as the first vibrations began to subside. "My ears hear the voices," he
said, "although they are soft and faint." Kelric closed his eyes and was silent for a
full minute, swaying bis body back and forth with the rhythm of the gently
swinging disk.
"It is not only Bander and the other leaders, I tell you," a voice, deep and
youthful, broke frim Kelric's lips as he rocked. "Each commander leads his own
troops as if he were possessed as well. They will not ask for quarter so long as one
of them remains standing. This siege will far outlast the season."
"Yes, and there are so many mips darting about," a second voice came from the
sorcerer. "The talk of the camp has it that the barrier between the worlds has
been weakened, and stronger demons can pass through without being called. Do
not look even into our simple campfire, I say. Who knows what lurks behind the
flame to grab your will as well?"
"But what of me?" the lady interrupted. "What are his thoughts of me?"
Kelric opened his mouth to speak but then fell silent. Gradually the sand stopped
its jumping, and his eyelids slowly opened. "It has faded, Umbriel," he said
groggily. "Any more would be greater than fair trade for what you have offered."
With a trembling hand, Kelric reached for a cup at his side and drained its
contents. He shook bis head violently from side to side and arched his back.
Finally, he struck his face Tvith a series of sharp slaps and grimaced at the shock.
"And so a little more is gone," he muttered as he hesitantly got to his feet.
Umbriel saw his slow motions and started towards the
doorway. The sorcerer quickly sprang to life and jumped in the way. "And a
payment promptly rendered reflects so nicely on the debtor," .he said with a
toothless smile. "Come forward, my dear, and linger as long as you like."
Umbriel sighed and shut her eyes. She took a single step and then hesitated. She
pursed her lips and extended them forward briefly, brushing the sorcerer's cheek.
"That is a kiss one would give to a brother," Kelric grumbled. "Remember, in a

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fortnight you will wish to see again how fares your heartthrob on the battlefield.
And before I perform, you must have a clear account for what you have learned
tonight."
"But I found out nothing of what I wanted," Umbriel said. "I heard but a snatch,of
conversation and then you were done."
"You know that he is safe," Kelric replied. "That alone is worth the price."
Umbriel sighed a second tune and took another step forward. Kelric reached out
and swept her into his bony arms. He thrust his lips on hers. With surprising
strength, he resisted her attempts to push away his chest. After a moment, he
released his grip, and she staggered backwards, face flushed and panting deeply.
"That is more to my liking," he cackled. "And perhaps hi time you will learn to
enjoy it as well."
"Never," Umbriel choked. "I was weak with worry because I have not heard. For
no other reason would I seek your service or agree to what you demand for it."
"Never is a long time," Kelric said. "And you will come again, I know it." His eyes
widened and he stared at the woman. "And perhaps the next time you will not
find me so repugnant,"
Umbriel shuddered and then bolted for the door. She raced between Aeriel and
Alodar and was in the hallway before Kelric's raspy laugh echoed after.
"It is unkind to treat her so, Kelric," Aeriel said. "She has done you no harm."
"Nor has she shown any favor," the sorcerer snapped back. "We had a fair
agreement, and she was obligated to hold to her end of it." He waved his arm in
irritation. "She is like the rest, choosing to ignore me until the need is great, and
then expecting my gracious acceptance of a mind-numbing task for a mere
pittance of fee. If she does
not show me a little tenderness, then our relation will be governed instead by
fear."
Aeriel pulled her lips into a tight line. 'The queen is judged by the court she
keeps," she said. "There may come a daY when shortcomings of your craft
outweigh the advantages you provide to the crown."
Kelric laughed again. "You are in fine spirits tonight, Aeriel," he said. He ran his
hand across his bare chest and leered at her figure. "But I am most happy that
you choose to see me at this hour. It must mean only that you have come to
surrender your virtue for the sake of my person only, not for some service that I

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would provide in
trade."
"I come as always on the affairs of the fair lady," Aeriel said. "If you instruct
Alodar here in the manner of your craft, then the safety of the queen will be
greatly augmented."
Kelric turned to look at Alodar and wrinkled bis brow jn recognition. "I have
dismissed him already, and the matter is closed. Come now, let me see at least
some of what lies underneath that silken gown."
"Your talk is far worse than your deed, Kelric," Aeriel said. "My request has royal
authority behind it; you cannot dismiss the matter so lightly."
'Then perhaps an illusion for just the three of us? The young man here would be
as interested as I hi how you might look unclothed."
"You have no basis on which to paint such an image," Aeriel said coldly. "It would
not bother me if you did try."
Kelric stomped his foot in frustration and looked around the room for a robe to
cover his bony frame. "Oh very well, Aeriel. This meeting will be for business, the
same as always, but one of these times I will loose my control and then who can
say what might happen?" He opened his eyes wide and stared at Aeriel as he had
done at Umbriel, but Aeriel did not turn away.
Kelric sighed in final defeat and turned to some chairs stacked in the corner of
the small chamber. As he arranged them for sitting, he continued the
conversation over his shoulder. "It is a sorcerer's eye, Aeriel," be said. "Most rare
and powerful, I do admit. I have heard of it only from others who long ago used
the last of their vital forces in our craft. And they had heard from older ones
still. None of us have bad the opportunity to see if what is reputed of it can
actually be true."
He finished positioning the chairs to his satisfaction and motioned for Aeriel and
Alodar to join him in the small circle. "Great enchantments, it is said, come from
the holder of the eye. Nearly instantaneous and subtle, like the ones talked of hi
the sagas. But enchantments I risk no more, my lady. Even a single one would
more than deplete what remains of my life force."
"You are far craftier than you lead us to believe," Aeriel said. "You bemoan the
loss of your powers and that you must carefully husband wbat meager resources
remain. Yet for a single embrace, you search all the way to the west for a lovesick

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maiden."
"It is true, nonetheless," Kelric protested. "And the few kisses and squeezes I
receive for what remains are far more valuable than whatever pile of jewels the
queen could heap upon me."
"You would not have to use the eye," Alodar interrupted. "I am willing to take
whatever risk is involved. I want from you only the instruction that will make it
possible for me to do so."
"But then, Vendora sails tomorrow across the sea," Kelric said. "There is too little
time remaining for me to explain something as potent as this. Any execution
must be built upon a firm foundation of well-learned fundamentals,"
"With lady AerieFs help, I can come as well," Alodar suggested. "You can teach
me during the voyage."
"Then there is the matter of payment," Kelric said, his face brightening as he
looked at Aeriel. "What do you offer me in exchange, my lady?"
"You know the peril which now threatens the queen," Aeriel replied. "And I know
as well that, beneath the threats and leers, there is the man who still has loyalty to
the crown. Loyalty for providing bun with bed, food, and protection, regardless of
the howls of the ones he had outraged by his actions. It is not a question of
payment, Keltic, but one of duty."
Kelric sighed and lowered his head to his chest. For a long moment the room was
silent. "Very well," he said at last. "We will begin instruction when we are out to
sea and the routine of the voyage has been estabished."
Aeriel rose and kissed Kelric gently on the forehead. "And your secret is still safe
with me." She laughed. "It would spoil your image if anyone knew that a
sorcerer's heart was not constructed entirely of stone." She turned to Alodar and
extended her hand. "Come," she said, "tell me if it is to Feston or Basil you would
rather belong, and I will see that the arrangments are made."
Alodar stood and grasped her hand in his. "To neither. I want no more than to be
a member of Quantos' marines."
Aeriel's smile broadened. "Quantos, of course, she said as she looked Alodar in
the eye. "It is the right choice for one who is truly worthy."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN The Power of the Eye
ALODAR steadied himself with a hand on the ship's rail as the deck rolled

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beneath his feet. The events of the past two days crowded together in a jumble.
Along with the marines, sailors, clerks, heralds, and other functionaries of the
court, he had been rumbled onto the giant flagship of state that now beat east in
the middle of a royal fleet. The details of bunkspace, battlestation, and the
protocols of life aboard ship had occupied all of his time, but soon enough he
hoped to see the sorcerer and learn the secrets of the eye.
"An ill-tempered decision to be sure," muttered the leather-faced man on
Alodar's left, as they leaned against the rail of the poop deck and squinted into
the grayness which surrounded them. "A full complement of officers, rowers and
marines stood at the ready for the queen's command. But before we embarked,
the courtiers descended upon us, adding two to every one on board. And to what
effect. Those silk-armed dandies will be of little
value if indeed we do stumble across some privateer in this fog. And the galley
and bunks are so crowded that we must take turns on deck hi this miserable
wetness, while others eat and sleep below."
Alodar grunted a reply as he idly ran his hand along the rail and looked up into
the rigging. Yesterday the cold east wind had bowled, but today, on both of the
masts, the lateen sails were furled tightly against their yards, useless in the
whisper of wind that barely stirred the fog. Over the side, he watched the lazy
rhythm of the oars that maintained their headway. Unlike the sleek wargalleys
with their multiple rows of synchronized sweeps, the broad-beamed barge
depended primarily on the wind for its motive force. The meager complement of
twenty oars to a side was used only in calms such as this or to aid in coming
quickly about.
Looking forward, Alodar could barely see the gently heaving forecastle. The
bowsprit, some three hundred feet away, was completely hidden by the mist. The
main deck ran a full fifty feet beam to beam but was broken into many small
areas by the masts, stays, capstans, chests, and hatches which led below. On the
poop itself were stowed two longboats for use in shallow water, and a small
deckhouse that sheltered the wheel stood near the ladders that descended to
midship. All along the superstructure, nothing broke the silence of the calm sea
except for the slow creaking groan that coursed down the great ship as each wave
rolled under its hull.
"So you are a page to the lady Aeriel," the man continued. "Though I hear that
you are also well watched by lord Basil of the bottomless purse."
"Yes, Quantos, that I am." Alodar laughed. "He and his followers at court do not
wish me well. Nor, for that matter, does lord Feston—or Duncan, the practitioner
in magic. But so long as the queen maintains the ban on confrontation between
the factions, I think nothing will come of their desires.'

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"So I understand," Quantos said. "The court cleaves itself asunder. The lot of
them have no courage to stand on their own merit but seek instead to ingratiate
themselves with one of the suitors. Depending on who seems to have the upper
hand in the struggle for the fair lady's favor, they shift allegiances like the tide,
ripping first
Feston's colors from their sleeves and then Basil's. Why even Duncan has a
following, though be has been here less than a week. And look what distortion it
brings to our order on deck. Feston's supporters are to man the starboard watch,
Basil's the port; Duncan's cluster about the queen below deck. The rest of us
spend our idle hours up here out of the way on the poop. Let us hope that the
queen gives no new sign of favor. It will take a good day to reassign the stations
once again."
"Why do you not speculate with the rest?" Alodar
asked.
"I serve the queen, man," Quantos said with a thump of his bow to the deck. "I
served her father in many a sea battle before. My men and I are marines for the
crown of Procolon. We earn our pay by keenly sighted arrow and sharply swung
blade, not by the foppish exchange of wit in the palace."
Several voices about Alodar grunted agreement but suddenly, before more could
be said, a high whistle pierced the fog. Alodar turned to listen and heard a heavy
splash off the starboard bow. He strained to catch the direction from which the
noise came and heard the whine of two more projectiles hurling by.
"Catapults," he shouted as the memory from Iron Fist raced back. "Catapults. We
are under attack!"
As he spoke, he saw, breaking through the mist, the flash of banked oars moving
in unison and a low-riding hull gliding across the waves.
"A wargalley," Quantos added to the cry, "by the markings, from the south.
Somehow it slipped past the rest of the fleet in the fog. And it is on collision
course at the beam. Below decks quickly, Grengorl Sound the alarm."
One of the marines left Quantos* side and quickly ran down the ladder to the
main deck and then into the hatchway to the levels below. Alodar watched in
fascination as the sleek vessel cut the water with graceful ease, a small wave
bubbling outwards from a two-pronged ram just beneath the waterline. Unlike
their own giant, the trireme had some two hundred rowers crammed into a
freeboard of no more than five feet. A hundred feet long but only fifteen across, it
seemed like a

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dagger, rapidly closing to pierce the balloon that was the royal barge.
Another shot from the wargalley whistled through the air and then another. A
third found the range and, with a splintering of wood, a heavy stone rattled across
the decking between the masts and then: stays. As the two ships closed, the
hatchways of the barge suddenly discharged a volley of men, scrambling upwards
to prepare for the attack. Two more missiles crashed down into their midst, and
cries of pain mingled with the curses of confusion as the various contingents
shouldered past one another to their stations on the deck.
Finally a deep voice boomed out above the rest. "Archers fire to starboard,"
Feston bellowed as he hurried up from below and saw the trireme approaching.
"Rake their decks before they close. Oarsmen to port, back your oars; oarsmen to
starboard, stroke at ram speed."
Two more stones plunged from the sky, striking the forecastle as Quantos' men
nocked their shafts and fired. "Archers to your mark," Feston shouted in anger as
arrows flew only from the stern. "Strafe their decks, I say."
He looked rapidly about as his men struggled to form at the starboard rail, and
then vaulted across to the other side.
"Sweetbalm, Basil," he shouted in a rage as the next volley crashed into them.
"You know that I have no bowmen in my contingent. Yet I am the commander
still. Have your vassals arch their fire over our heads and aid in our defense.'
"Your men have the fortune to be the closest to the engagement," Basil answered
over the growing din. "Use them as you see fit. We will aid in repulsing boarders
when the moment is the most propitious."
Alodar saw Feston clench his fist in frustration and then leap back across the
deck. In mid-stride, he grabbed for the main mast as the ship lurched from its
smooth forward motion. The portside oars were stroking backwards and the huge
ship began to lumber about, swinging out of the oncoming vessel's way. Alodar's
eyes darted between the rapidly closing trireme, its ram kicking up foam, and the
changing geometry of the gap as the royal barge slowly spun.
He heard the hum of arrows and ducked instinctively behind his shield, as did
Quantos at his side.
"It is too late," the marine said as the flight of arrows from across the waves
struck the deck and bulwarks around them. "We turn too slowly to avoid the ram.
Brace yourself for the blow."

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With a shocking jolt, the ships collided, and the air was filled with the shrieking
protest of ripping wood and
metal.
"A sound hit," Quantos shouted as he sprang from the bulwark. "And guided no
doubt by a sorcerer's vision far keener than Kelric's. Lively, lads. We must
grapple on before they reverse oars and strike again."
Alodar saw the trireme's oars come to a stop and then reverse in synchronism so
that their pull backed the smaller ship away from the hole it had made. Following
the examples around him, he picked up one of the coils of rope at his feet and
flung the attached iron hook across and down to the wargaUey's deck. He glanced
forward and saw Feston's men doing the same amidship. The enemy crew
abandoned the catapult and hacked away at the grapnel lines as they came and
stuck.
The compact sleekness of the trireme left little room for other than tbe rowers,
however, and the hooks were being cast faster than they could be cut away. Two
launched from the poop lodged firmly, high on the stern-board, out of the
deckhand's immediate reach. In an instant, Quantos and his men had the lines
firmly secured to anchor capstans near the stern of the barge. With a precision
that was the product of years of drill, the crew bent to the crossarms and began to
crank the two ships closer together.
"The angle of contact becomes too shallow for them to ram again," Quantos
shouted as he watched the slack being taken up. "If our port side rows vigorously
enough, we can get the ships alongside and then have a chance."
Alodar looked down towards the bow and saw the closing gap. The men aboard
the trireme abandoned their attempt to cut free and, except for a few archers still
harassing the queen's men in the stern, most of them converged on the beam
opposite Feston's forces.
The ropes flew faster as Feston's followers sensed success in their endeavor.
Then, as the last few feet closed
and the two vessels hit with a dull thud, Alodar saw at least a dozen grappling
hooks strike out and pull the bond fast.
"Forward and at them," Feston called above the yell of success and he sprang up
on the rails with his sword flying. He leaped without hesitation to the lower deck
alongside. With a mighty slash, he hacked at the first man who opposed him,
tumbling him back onto the galley's deck. Feston's momentum carried him
forward into the middle of the other vessel and his men on either side began to
follow. But Alodar saw the reluctance increase up and down the line on either

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side of Feston until no man moved in the bow and near the stern. Across on the
port, Basil and his men stood silent, awaiting the outcome.
The fighters on the trireme converged on the small party that had boarded,
attacking at the flank and pushing to cut off the bulge of Feston's line at the rail.
"We must storm the poop and aid from behind," Quantos shouted. "Come, my
lads, drop your bows and draw your blades. Across the guardrail we go."
Quantos drew his sword; with his banner in the other hand, he placed his foot up
on the rail to wave his men on. His troops prepared to follow. But just as the first
of them drew up to the rail, a fresh shower of arrows hailed into their midst. Two
men fell to their knees, screaming in pain, feathers fluttering from shoulder and
arm. Quantos let out a weak croak and then tumbled in a heap, a single shaft
transfixing his throat, its bloody point sticking out the back of his neck.
Alodar looked across the decks and saw one of Feston's men fall and then
another. The trireme fighters pressed their attack vigorously at those who had
boarded. Alodar hesitated a second longer, clutching Cedric's sword. Then, with a
full intake of breath, he stepped to Quantos' slumping form and grabbed his
banner. Standing over the fallen marine, he waved it aloft. "For the queen!" he
shouted. "For revenge and victory! Attack!"
Another round of arrows came and two splintered off Alodar's shield. With a
fierce yell, he sprang over the bulwark and fell into the midst of the archers who
faced them. He dropped the banner, drew his sword and hacked at the head of
the one who stood dumbfounded nearby. "For Quantos," he yelled.
Then, in a massive wave, the marines responded. They swarmed over the gap and
began swinging at the archers, who retreated towards middeck.
The men pressing Feston turned and glanced at the commotion, hesitating in
their own attack. Alodar waved his sword overhead and led the marines onto
their rear. The others on the royal barge saw the men of the trireme drop back in
confusion, trying to protect their suddenly exposed flank. Now sensing victory,
Feston's full contingent stormed over the rails. Basil gave the command and bis
men also followed. The oars of the trireme stopped and the rowers began to pour
onto the deck from two hatches to aid their beleaguered comrades.
The deck of the wargalley became a mad swirl of sword and shield, without
pattern, as the two forces engaged. Alodar jabbed point first at the man on his
right, while hastily raising his shield to the left to ward off an axe swinging down
from a seeming giant. The blow numbed his arm, but he instinctively stepped

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forward to pass beyond the thrust of his foes as his own followers closed to
engage them. The man on his left screamed and fell, spouting blood from neck
and arm, as Quantos' marines pressed on the attack. The trained fighters drew
together and formed a line about Alodar. With him as the center, they began
slashing forward to midship.
Alodar's mind slid into the intensity of concentration that Cedric had taught him,
fear blotted out, eyes alert for an opening or a surprise thrust, and arm darting
out to give pain. He swung his sword in a swift horizontal arc and felt the sharp
blade bite into flesh as his adversary raised both arms high to crash downward an
instant too late. With a cry already hoarse, he egged on the men who lagged on
the left and closed up the right when the roll of the ship or blow of the foeman
created a hole in their line. He moved his troop steadily forward, mindless of
stinging cuts and slashes. Almost in a daze, he called halt when he recognized
that only armbands with Feston's red plume faced them. The wargalley was theirs
and Alodar had had a taste of battle.
Alodar leaned against the railing, still clutching Quantos' banner, as he watched
the transfer of prisoners from the trireme to the barge. He glanced about the deck
to see that the thaumatorgical wax he had used on the more serious wounds was
safely stored away. The larger vessel now rode quite low in the water and even
listed slightly to the side. A steady procession of divers dropped over the rail,
each one adding another nail to fix a makeshift patch over the ragged hole ripped
by the wargalley. The fog had lifted with the beginning of a gentle breeze, but it
would be many hours more before the repair was tight, the water bailed from the
bilge, and the barge again underway.
One by one, the followers of Feston and Basil emerged from the trireme's hold,
carrying back what meager plunder there was aboard. Then amidst a general
murmur from both decks, a knot of closely linked figures emerged, all save one
with arms across their faces, nearly stumbling as they groped forward to the
gangplank.
"The sorcerer from the trireme," Alodar heard Grengor say at his side. "Only an
enchanted vision could have guided that ship undetected hi the fog through the
surrounding fleet and so unerringly into the barge's side. Had we not more than
twice the normal crew, they well might have ripped us from stem to stern before
we could have grappled her. The kingdoms to the south sorely press the fair lady
on land and nearly cut off her aid as well."'
In the middle of the block of men that stumbled forward, Alodar saw a mane of
unruly hair shake free, and then a face contorted with rage, surrounding deep-set
and burning eyes. Almost instinctively, Alodar flung his hand in the way of the
glare, menacing even at a distance.

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*'A sorcerer who has been thwarted makes a most dangerous captive," he said.
"The guard we place around him better be both careful and complete. But his
presence reminds me of why I am here. I must go below and seek out the sorcerer
of the queen."
"And your instruction during your absence, master?" Grengor asked. "Are we to
remain on station here in" the stern, transfer to the trireme as part of the queen's
crew when it takes station with the rest of the fleet, or can we go below, since the
watch bells have long since sounded?"
Alodar turned in puzzlement to face the sergeant. He saw a round face set on a
stocky form, wide-set green eyes, large and trusting, and a plain mouth between
jaws
of crushing strength. "Why do you ask me, Grengor? Why not ask the one who
commands in Quantos' place?"
"I beg your pardon, sir," Grengor said. "Our band is small, now not even a dozen,
but we have fought together for many years under Quantos' banner. In our grief,
I— we all feel that none of us has the wit to lead the others. But rather than
disperse to follow the banner of one of the lords, we would rather answer to you,
wherever you may lead us. Indeed you are no Quantos, but you showed much
spirit in what happened today. We have decided among ourselves that this is as
he would have had it."
Alodar's jaw dropped in surprise, but before he could answer, a page wearing the
same colors as he bounded up the ladder to the deck.
"Attend to our lady," the newcomer said. "She is accompanied by the sorcerer
Kelric in her cabin at this moment."
"On station until I return," Alodar said hastily. He turned and followed the other
page down the ladder, his mind aswirl with what the sergeant had said.
"Alodar, you are safe," Aeriel cried as he entered her cabin a few minutes later. "I
heard that Quantos was felled and members of his troop as well. I did not know if
you were among them."
"There are losses enough for which to grieve," Alodar said, "and we are lucky to
be still afloat." He looked at Kelric, slumped on a small stool hi the corner. "The
power of sorcery was great indeed."
Kelric tipped back his head and laughed. "Sorcery!" he cackled. "The power of
sorcery. It reads so easy in the sagas. Pressed on land from the west and south,
and on the sea, as well. And when all seems blackest, a simple charm saves them
all so they may live in contentment thereafter."

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Alodar looked around the plain cabin and saw it was no larger than his own.
Aeriel sat on the bunk, dressed in men's breeches and tunic. To her left, on a
small chest, was a pile of documents and the quills and seals. There were no other
chairs and Alodar stood facing the two, leaning against the wall.
"But a single charm might activate the eye, and then it will be as the sagas say,"
he replied.
"It is not so easy," Kelric said. "The charm for what
you have is most complex. You cannot learn it unless you are proficient and, more
importantly, are confident in many a charm of lesser power. Without the basis to
build upon, a sorcerer's eye will be forever useless to you.'"
"But why is that?" Alodar asked. "Certainly in thau-maturgy, alchemy, and even
magic, each speU is entire unto itself. Even if learned by rote, it has no bearing on
the others."
"The difference, lad," Kelric said, "is that each of those arts manipulates the
physical objects and forces about us. Sorcery deals instead with a matter much
more elusive, our minds. You cannot see or touch the medium with which you
work. And the subtle and intricate will be totally missed, unless you become
familiar with the rough outlines first."
"The words are different, but the message is the same as with the other crafts."
Alodar sighed. He shook his head and looked back at Kelric. "No matter,
regardless of the effort, I am ready."
"Well then, let us start at the beginning," Kelric said. "There are five types of
charms in sorcery. A charm of prophecy or far-seeing is a cantrip; a charm of
illusion is a glamour; a charm of fate is a curse; dominance of one's will by the
sorcerer is enchantment; and transfer of consciousness from one animate object
to another is ensor-cellment. To take effect, charms are recited three times or, as
the Rule of Three states, 'thrice spoken, once fulfilled.' "
"I noted at the royal ball that you cast your glamour in that repetitious way. Each
word seemed to follow the next in a pattern but somehow with a logic that I could
not follow."
"Yes, the chanting of the charm is all. Great skill and practice are necessary to say
all of the words with the proper rhythm and intonation for success. The slightest
falter produces hallucinations and head pains that can last for weeks. In my own
practice, I have misspun a charm but twice and the memories still give me a
shudder. Not only are even the most simple charms difficult, but they must be

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mastered before a more complex one can be attempted. As one proceeds towards
completion, each word somehow becomes more difficult to slide off the tongue,
harder to remember. Indeed, the more complex and pow-
r spells create back pressures that cannot be compre-hnded by one who has not
tried his mettle on hurdles
ore easily surmounted. And the greater the charm, the Heater is the sickness and
agony for failure. It takes a stout heart to attempt such castings, knowing the
difficulty and the consequences of error. If anything is the mark of the sorcerer, it
is possession of enormous bravery."
"Then why not carry a grimoire as does the alchemist?" Alodar asked. "Or have a
library, like the magician guilds. Reading from a correct text to reduce the risks
would seem easy enough."
"Because," Kelric responded, "no written language or special symbology yet
evolved can convey the precise nuances of tone which are essential for a
successful charm. They are passed by word of mouth from unwilling teacher to
foolish pupil, from generation to generation. It is the only way that the lore of
sorcery is preserved. And far better it would be if the craft sank into decay, as has
the practice of wizardry."
Alodar frowned. "Why do you always deprecate your craft, master Kelric?"
"Why? You ask why?" Kelric snorted. "Is it not obvious? Oh, I was like you once,
young and eager, lured by the promise of power, the respect of all with whom I
dealt, the ability to control and mold the thoughts of others to my will."
Kelric paused and closed his eyes for a moment, pulling the memories to the
surface of his thoughts. "And I succeeded," he said, again looking Alodar in the
eye. "I learned quickly and discovered many new charms known to no others. I
acquired the fame of masters many years my senior. But at the same time I lost
what every sorcerer looses and can never regain . . . Today's battle is over. When
you leave you will share a slap on the back and a few tall stories with your
comrades in arms. You will relax in each other's presence, feeling wann in the
glow of friendship and trust. But it would not be so if you were a sorcerer. What
man then would talk with you over a cup of rum, or bet the bill on who is first to
pinch the barmaid? And what woman would come willingly into your arms and
look trustingly into your eyes as you murmured sweet nothings? You would be
shunned by all and dealt with only by necessity. Only by spilling some of your
vital forces would you see an occasional glimpse of soft thigh and at that you
would judge yourself lucky. It takes bravery to be a sorcerer, I have said, and far
more than what is required to cast the charms."

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The cabin was silent for a minute and Alodar looked at Aeriel, then darted his
eyes away. "My quest is for the hand of the queen," he said. "The embrace does
not matter."
He nodded slowly and touched the pouch with the sphere at his side. "Let us
return to the matter of instruction," he said. "If sorcery is taught by oral means
only, how then do new charms ever come about? It would seem that the number
would gradually diminish away as masters met untimely ends before they could
pass on their heritage."
"New charms are always in the making," Kelric replied. "The trances you see me
slip into to aid my concentration in matters of prophecy are not only a crutch for
an old man. No indeed, the trance is primarily the means by which the master
frees his mind of the encumbrances of this existence. With it he opens up his
inner self and seeks out the states where the cadences of charms roll like thunder
and the words flash in strokes of lightning before the eyes. Upon return to the
here and now, often the mind is exploding with the power of a new charm
hitherto unknown to man."
"Then why not effect such a state often," Aeriel asked, "and bring back great
powers that can only accumulate with time?"
"Alas, my lady," Kelric replied, "it is as I have often said. Each charm enacted,
even the trance of seeking, subtracts something of vital presence from the
sorcerer who uses it. Each of us is born with a fixed supply of whatever is his for
life; once we have used it all, we perish. And the leeching of inner power depends
on the strength of the charm. I restrict myself now only to illusions for the court
or simple prophecies of short range and even for those I need the aid of sand, fire,
or cards. I dare not try to enchant a single person, no matter how shallow his
mind, for fear of consuming all that remains."
"Then why do you not have more interest in the eye?" Alodar interrupted. "You
said that it can amplify the powers that a sorcerer naturally possesses."
"No, my pulse does not quicken as I think of the sphere," Kelric said. "I am so
small a shadow of my prime that I dare not use such a device. It means nothing to
me, though in the hands of a young man, a fool with no thought of the morrow,
such an eye indeed increases the charm of enchantment a thousand fold.
"You see, despite the fear in which sorcerers are held, despite the way arms are
flung over eyes when we approach, enchantment is not easily achieved.
Remember that the charm must be recited thrice and eye-to-eye contact must be
maintained throughout the third recital. It is not easily accomplished if the
intended victim is on guard. And the more insidious enchantments are the

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hardest of all to effect. The complete extinction of consciousness is the easiest by
far. You become the automaton of the sorcerer and think your own thoughts no
more,
"But the more subtle enchantments in which some or most of your own free will
and thoughts remain are very difficult. The charms are long, the restive forces
great, and the drain on the vitality greater still. Yet, how sublime is that charm
that gives you the heart of a lady and changes nothing else I She feels she acts of
her own free will but the grip of enchantment binds her to you. It is this power
which makes the sorcerer so feared.
"And such is the strength of the eye that it can give the master the potency the
sagas ascribe to him. Gaze on it but an instant and you are undone. From the
crushing of all free thought to the gentlest suggestion, it will be as the sorcerer
wills it. And more besides; when the lid is open, the eye reaches out and compels,
drawing you to look, tempting you, forcing you, conjuring you for just one little
glance and then you are trapped forever.
"But enough for now," Kelric concluded. "It depresses me to think of it further.
Tomorrow, if you still are steadfast in your foolishness, we will start with the
cantrip for the tossed die."
"I will be at your cabin door," Alodar said. "Your words have not dissuaded me."
Kelric scowled and then looked at Aeriel. "And now my lady, what are your plans
for the next hour?"
"I must readjust some of the berth assignments," Aeriel replied, waving to the
littered chesttop, "and then con-
fer with the cooks to reaffirm that we are well enough provisioned."
"Then I suppose the chance of your changing into something less practical while I
am here is slight?" He leered.
"Oh, begone, Kelric," Aeriel said, "and try your persuasive manner on one of the
other women of the court."
"As my lady wishes." With shoulders stooped the sorcerer shuffled out of the
room.
Aeriel and Alodar remained in silence pondering Kelric's words for several
minutes longer. Then she arose and turned up the wick of the single lamp hung
on the cabin wall.

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"You show great trust in me, Aeriel," Alodar said, "and I pledge to show it is well
placed. When I can control the eye, I will use it most certainly to benefit the
queen."
Aeriel turned to look back at Alodar with a small smile. "You have demonstrated
your worth already, Alodar. Else I would not have striven to aid you when you
petitioned in Ambrosia. I ask only that you serve her with your head as well as
your heart. The latter is too frail an organ to use in affairs of state."
"My motives are indeed from the heart," Alodar admitted, "although not in the
way that you might think. But what of you? What draws you to such service of the
queen?"
"It is apparent, is it not," Aeriel replied, "that Vendora never can be truly certain
of counsel given her by any man? She has great need for someone to see through
the emotion to the truth that lies underneath."
"Then what is your reward for the service that you provide to the crown?' Alodar
asked.
Aeriel rubbed her eyes and looked at the pile of documents. "There are times
indeed when I wonder why I travel the path I do. But my father served Vendora's
as minister of most grave counsel. Alas, I was an only child. But I have tried to aid
the crown of Procolon in the tradition of my family nonetheless. As for the drones
who buzz about Vendora, enough of them seek her favor first through me that I
have few idle hours in Ambrosia. For-
tunately I am keen enough to see through their interests, so that I have not been
greatly disappointed. And those who are not so dull, those who indeed might..."
Aeriel broke off and lowered her head with a touch of color in her cheeks.
"I tell too much," she said. "The petitioners who beset the fair 'at*y concern me
not at all. I am no longer Vendora's companion in whispered schoolgirl
romances. She is now the queen and I her counselor. Such petty concerns are
from long ago."
"Shall you then spend the rest of your days in Vendora's shadow, passing into
spinsterhood as the reward for your dedication?"
"I said, Alodar, that I have not been disappointed in my dealings with the men of
the court, nor have I been a recluse. As for the course of my life, it will depend
upon the man the fair lady settles upon as her consort. If he is strong enough to
rule Procolon through her, then perhaps I will no longer be needed and can then
seek my own destiny."
"For my own part, I thank the random factors that no such decision has yet been

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made," Alodar said. "Though obviously Vendora does not lack ardent and able
suitors."
"Ardent yes, but able, only perhaps, Alodar. The man who fills the needs of the
queen and the kingdom has yet to prove himself. And be forewarned in your own
quest that more than chance affects the queen's moods. She is strong willed and
can be influenced only by subtle
pressures.
"Feston struts about the court in jingling mail, but then must show his empty
pockets. Basil gives great strength to Vendora's coffers, but must apologize when
one of bis band refuses to draw sword. And Duncan will find that he is called
upon to do far more than merely throw his sphere about the queen,
"And if you prove as incomplete as the rest, Alodar, repeated opportunities to lose
face will present themselves to you as well. My task is to give Vendora the man
who is the best for Procolon, and I work diversely at my craft"
"Then you have been my unknown ally all the while," Alodar exclaimed. "While I
toiled in the alchemist shop
and the magician's Guild, I despaired of returning in time. But through your
machinations, I dare say none of them can show himself supreme."
"Take care at what I say, Alodar," Aeriel replied. "Vendora makes the final
decision stflL Feston and the rest have already established their claim to be
suitors. I strive to delay Vendora's choice, not for you, but for the best, whoever
that may be."
"And if the hero for Procolon does come forth and you are then free of your
charge," Alodar asked, "what sort of man then would you seek for yourself?"
Aeriel laughed. "In truth, I have no answer." She paused and then after a moment
continued softly. "Suffice it to say that the man in my dream knows full well how
to judge the relative worth of two women."
Aeriel slowly swept her hands back to rest on the chest behind her and looked
deeply into Alodar's eyes. Her face was framed with twin cascades of amber,
falling upon shoulders that beckoned in the lamplight. Her eyes sparkled with the
deepness of jet, and her lips, though turned in a small smile, were taut with
resolution and challenge.
Alodar took a step towards her, then another. She said nothing; her eyes held his
and there was no change hi her expression. He stopped and with slow
deliberateness surveyed her body. He locked his eyes back on hers and advanced
another step forward. Aeriel, still silent, flicked a curl from the cascade behind to

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fall over her shoulder.
Alodar stopped and blinked, trying to understand the intensity of the feeling
suddenly rushing over him. His loins tightened and the image of Vendora, this
time only days old would not come. He saw only Aeriel, proud Aeriel, warm
Aeriel, challenging him In his resolve.
He struggled to hold on to his quest, but in a flood of emotion, it was swept away.
"At the ball, I saw the object of my deepest desires," he said simply, "and it was
you."
He swept her into his arms, half expecting a haughty laugh at his weakness, but
he did not care. He thrust his lips on hers and pulled her body to him, pressing
the breath from her lungs.
Aeriel did not resist, but clasped her bands behind him
and grasped as savagely as did he. After a long moment be pulled his head back
slightly, but Aeriel pursued and reattacbed her mouth to his. Some time later,
how long Alodar could not tell, their crushing grips relaxed, and he led her to sit
on the bunk behind them.
"When I saw you again in the palace," Aeriel said as she recovered her breath, "I
remarked on the coincidence. That waa because the vision that I saw in Kelric's
illusion was you."
"My thoughts are a jumble," Alodar said, shaking his head. "For nearly a year I
have pursued the queen. I turned away the favor yow showed me at Iron Fist for
the quest of her hand. But somehow, Aeriel, I have seen too much of the woman
you are, and the strength to resist is now far harder to find."
Aeriel smiled at Alodar and then looked down to his side. She squeezed his hand
and gently touched the poucb that held the sorcerer's eye. "You have made my
heart glad, Alodar," she said, "although by my selfish actions I do not deserve it."
She was silent a moment and then trembled with a deep sigh. She squeezed her
hand into a fist until the knuckles showed white and looked back into his eyes.
"Why do you quest for the fair lady," she asked, "if not for her beauty and power,
like the rest?"
"It is for my heritage," Alodar replied. "I desire to recover my rightful peerage of
the realm and the respect that goes with it. As consort to the fair lady, none could
deny them to me." He stopped and thought of his dream of the hero's welcome in
Ambrosia. "And for the touch of glory that goes with it as well," he said quietly.

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"And I have pledged to serve the crown," Aeriel said. "To see that the best man
stands at Vendora's side." She paused and lowered her head. "Continue with your
quest, Alodar. The fan- lady needs you far more than I."
"I have not quested in blind steadfastness," Alodar protested. "Along the way I
have faltered and puzzled at the path I choose. And nothing has given me such
pause as you, Aeriel. Can I truly throw my heart into pursuing a goal if you are
not part of that success?"
"We are both tired, Alodar." Aeriel shook her head gently. "You from the battle
and I from the work that
must go on. The fatigue weakens our judgment and makes us easier prey to our
desires. I apologize for tempting you so. In the morning we will be refreshed and
have reaffirmed our resolve to do what we must do."
Alodar frowned at her words, his head reeling from the emotions that swung back
and forth as if at the end of a snapping whip. He tried to remember the forces
that drove him on, and in the corner of his mind he finally saw a vision of
Vendora, the queen. "Perhaps you are right," he said, "but I do not think a single
night will unscramble my thoughts. I thunder after an abstract goal, Aeriel, but
have no idea what I will do after it is achieved."
"It is a conundrum," Aeriel agreed. "But for now, Procolon is in peril, and you
must learn how to use the sorcerer's eye."
Alodar nodded his head slowly and started to speak again, but suddenly two soft
knocks echoed from the cabin door. "The queen's council assembles to plot the
course for the morrow, my lady," a voice said from without. "Your presence is
requested at once."
Aenel's expression melted into one of annoyance and Alodar let out his breath as
the tension oozed away. The mood was broken and Aeriel spoke as if nothing had
happened as she waved him to the door. "I must prepare. Good luck, Alodar, good
luck in your quest."
"My lady," he mumbled thickly and left with eyes averted.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN The Sorcerer's Revenge
ALODAR steadied himself against the roll of the deck as he walked slowly
towards the small hole in the corner of Kelric's cabin. Two weeks had given him
sea legs. Holding his head and eyes steady, he concentrated on the two tiny
sparkles of light which stared back at him. A bare three feet away, he lowered
himself to his knees and began to undulate his hands in the outline of a pie-

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shaped wedge. A tiny nose poked out of the hole; long whiskers jutted hesitantly
into the room.
Alodar rapidly ran through the glamour, his face contorting into a grimace as he
labored to stutter past the last few words. As he finished, the rat extended its
head from the hole and then its entire body. Torn between instinctive fear and
unbelievable good fortune, the rodent moved slowly across the intervening space
towards Alodar's hands.
As the rat advanced, Alodar felt the reaction, an uncomfortable tug that pulled
from his toes and fingers up through his body and then spilled out into the air
above his head. Like a nail against slate or bone against jagged bone, the feeling
coursed through him, too much to ignore, yet somehow too undefined to merit
the aversion it produced.
He shook his head in annoyance. The rat suddenly halted in rnidstride and
looked nervously back to its hiding place. Alodar frowned with renewed
concentration and slowly started the enchantment. He stared at the rat as he
spoke, trying to bore past the gleaming eyes into the small mind behind. He
completed the first recital and the rodent did not move; during the second it
resumed its cautious tread forward.
Alodar began the third. Although his mouth seemed filled with cotton, and
nausea bubbled up from his stomach, his pulse quickened when the barrier
suddenly gave way. In a rush, he felt himself drawn into the small confusion of
the rat's mind, tasted its hunger and felt the sharp edge of its fear. For a moment
he paused, marveling at what he had done, but the growing discomfort forced
him to continue his task. He frowned deeply and then carefully separated the
pulsing emotions from his own. Like a potter at his wheel, he massaged the
simple thoughts and reshaped them, rounded the corners of the apprehension to
a smooth pebble and tickled the stomach to growl all the more.
Alodar unstuck the last word from his throat and the rat did not bolt away. With
trusting eyes it sat placidly on the planking and curled its tail about its legs. The
uneasy tug at Alodar's innards continued for a minute more but then began to
fade. He sighed with relief, knowing that he had succeeded and the worst was
over. He marched the rat, stiff-legged like a child's doll, towards the illusion of
the cheese at his feet. When the twitching nose was within inches, he released
control of the limbs and let the rodent pounce on the imagined feast of its own
will. The rat showed no concern for Alodar's presence; with a vicious bite, it
snapped its jaws on empty ah-. Alodar felt the upwelling of simple anticipation in
the rodent's brain and carefully stimulated the tongue and stomach to make each
gulp a savory delight. In a moment the phantom morsel was completely
devoured, and the rat again curled its tail in contentment. Alodar watched for a
second and then suddenly took away the cfoak that sheltered the fear. The rodent

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started and quickly scampered back into its hole.
"You must maintain eye contact at all times, Alodar," Kelric said over his
shoulder. "Had you not laced yesterday's bait with that sedative, the rat would
have broken away when you faltered. And the discomfort you felt was nothing
compared to what it would have been if the charm was not completed."
"I will gradually reduce the dose," Alodar said. "In a
few days more, I will be able to enchant a rat as well as
one who does not have the benefit of alchemy. And by
working up gradually, I think I progress far faster than
otherwise." He bent down and picked up the crumb of cheese he had dropped
nearby. "It is the same with the illusions. By starting with a real sample, I can
make them more realistic with far less effort. The drain of the vital force made me
hesitate, but without the aid of thaumaturgy I would have been unable to get both
the glamour and the enchantment finished together."
"Oh, you are progressing well enough without such aids," Kelric growled. "Your
mind is quick and there is no reason not to proceed as I did in my youth."
"It is my training as a thaumaturge that provides the edge," Alodar said. "Without
some measure of cunning, one cannot aspire to be a master."
"Yet sorcery is not learned by wit alone," Kelric warned. "It takes dedication as
welL" He paused and scratched his side. "Although I must admit, I find no fault
with you there. You have labored hard and indeed are further along than I
thought possible in such a time."
"The perseverance cornea from alchemy," Alodar replied.
"And the precision with which you speak the charms?" Kelric continued in mild
annoyance. "Do you have a craft for that as well?"
"Magic." Alodar laughed. "The rituals would not complete if not correctly
performed."
Kelric shook his head and stroked his chin in thought. "The crafts have always
been so separated," he muttered. "Perhaps there is some profit in intercourse
between them."
"Regardless of that, my concentration is now totally on sorcery," Alodar said.

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"What next must I learn of the fundamental charms before I advance to ones
more potent?"
"You have yet to show mastery of the simple illusions for dumb beasts without
the fancy shortcuts," Kelric said. "And believe me, those must be second nature to
you before you can profitably continue. You should rest and try again with the
rodent tomorrow."
Alodar frowned and started to protest the delay but a last rumble of his stomach
changed his mind. "You are right. I can tolerate no more, at least for today. I will
go topside to clear my head."
Kelric nodded in agreement. "And I shall attend the queen in your absence," he
called after Alodar. "Perhaps some lady of the court will lower her guard and let
me look her in the eye."
Alodar slowly climbed the companionway to the main deck, pushing his thoughts
of Kelric and sorcery aside. He pressed on the hatch and frowned as he had to
shove with his shoulder to pry it open. With a forceful crash, it slammed shut as
he let go. He reached for a line nearby to steady himself in the gusts that lashed
the deck.
The motion of the barge as it plowed through the waves was even more apparent
than it was below. High walls of spray rained over the bow. Ever so often the line
between water and air seemed high above the tightly wrapped spars that tilted
madly with the wind.
Alodar bowed his head and stomped purposefully to the rail amfdship to join a
soliatary figure that was peering out over the churning sea.
"A bit rough today," Alodar greeted Grengor as he reached his side.
"Yes, that it is, master Alodar," Grengor replied drawing his hood closer about the
wide face and stubble of beard that protruded from it. "Everyone below is packed
together like fortune cards but no one complains. Not even the ones who must
guard the sorcerer from the south. The discomfort is far less, they judge, than
enduring the wet and cold up here." .
Alodar nodded and looked out over the rail across the water. "I cannot see any of
the fleet in these waves and spray," he said.
"Long ago, each has furled sail and shipped oars to ride out the storm. We will be
leagues apart when it blows over."
"And no nearer Arcadia either I wager," Alodar said. "This wind from the south

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blows us farther from king Elsinor with each minute."
"Perhaps so, master," Grengor said, "but the same wind batters any enemy
wargalleys out here as well."
Alodar grunted in reply and then both men lapsed into silence, drawing their
cloaks about them and exposing little save their eyes to the lash of wind and
wave. As they watched, the broad bow nosed down under the wall of water which
broke over it, and spray bounded across the
deck to strike Alodar in the face. He and Grengor retreated aft as the bow
sluggishly rose and the wave rolled underneath.
The ship plunged over the back of the wave and met the overtopping crest of the
next one low hi the water, shuddering as the shower pounded the deck. This time
both Grengor and Alodar were pelted where they stood. The ship began to right
itself with agonizing slowness, barely coming up to level as the wave slid past.
Alodar turned to Grengor with a question in his eye. By his small experience, the
barge at first had seemed a city afloat, but the tremble and groan as the ship
steadied for the next pitch upward put in perspective how small they were in the
fury of the storm. He arched his eyebrows in surprise as Grengor returned his
glance. He expected to see the condescending smile of the experienced sailor, but
saw instead a set jaw and eyes alive with concern.
The next wave hit the barge and a cascade of water skittered the length of the
deck, spiraling past their boots and drenching their cloaks to their knees. Again
the water tumbled off in giant falls to the side, but Alodar held his breath as he
waited for the bowsprit finally to break through to clean air.
He looked all about the deck, expecting to see that only he, Grengor and the
helmsman were insane enough to be about. He saw instead a head emerging from
a hatchway near the forecastle. In a moment, another figure was on deck and
Alodar wrinkled his brow in puzzlement. The wind and water howled as before,
but no cloak protected the newcomer and his pole axe of shining steel. With a
somewhat halting step, he lumbered past, not even acknowledging the small nod
that Alodar threw his way.
"One of Feston's men, no doubt," Grengor said. "Too disdainful to return even the
slightest courtesy to someone not of his faction."
"It is of no importance, Grengor," Alodar said as he stared at the figure retreating
past them and climbing the ladder to the poop deck. "Such slights might have
angered me greatly a year ago, but now I give them no thought."

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Alodar watched the man finally reach the level of the poop deck and then point
himself hi the direction of the deckhouse. He took one slow step and then
another. Just
like the gait of the rat on which he had demonstrated the charm, Alodar thought.
So totally entrapped that every motion had to be directed by the enchanter.
"Grengor," Alodar cried, suddenly breaking out of his slow reverie. "What duty
did you say that Feston's men performed today?"
"Why, let me see." Grengor said. "The oarsmen yesterday and again on the
morrow. It must be the sorcerer then that they watch today."
"Then follow me quickly," Alodar yelled, springing across the deck and then
immediately stumbling as the roll of the ship caught him in midstride. "To the
helmsman! I fear he needs our aid."
Alodar and Grengor raced to the ladder as the figure ahead of them entered the
small enclosure on the deck above. With a strong pull on the railing, Alodar
jumped up onto the deck, just in time to see the axehead plunge into the
unprotected chest of the helmsman. A feeble cry of surprise and pain was swept
away by the wind. The assailant flailed his blade again at the bloody form as it
fell.
Alodar and Grengor burst into the house with swords drawn. With near
simultaneous thrusts, they jabbed their blades forward and felt the parting of
flesh and jarring contact with bone, Alodar drew his sword out with a wrench and
stepped back in anticipation of a swinging axe-blade in reply. The figure paid
them no attention. With a face undistorted by apprehension or pain, he swung his
next blow at the wheel, oblivious of the blood gushing from the two fresh wounds
in his sides.
The wheel exploded from its post in a shower of splinters and careened across the
deck. Grengor thrust out again, his sword biting deeply into an arm as it swung
past, but the guardsman took no notice. Alodar watched in amazement as the axe
rose high overhead and crashed it down on the post, splitting it asunder.
"Enchantment, master Alodar," Grengor called out. "Somehow the sorcerer from
the south has made him a slave. I can dispatch him in a few strokes more, but I
fear his damage is done. Get quickly below and alarm the rowers to bend their
oars. Without the helm, we cannot long stay pointed into the wind. And the patch
that was
placed over the hole ripped by the wargalley may not last long if we are wallowing
in the troughs."

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Alodar grasped what Grengor was saying. Without another word, he ran from the
deckhouse to the ladder leading to midship. Another wave toppled over the bow
and raced down the deck. As the water coursed by, he felt a slight lurch and then
saw the runoff at his feet reverse direction and head for the port side. With a
backstraining pull, he flung the hatch cover aside and bolted downward to the
first deck. He ran for midship where the passageway opened wide on either side
to the benches of the rowers. As he sprinted along, he could feel a noticeable tilt
to port as the ship responded to each wave.
Up ahead, before he reached the benches, he heard the sound of a disturbance
and saw several heads pop from cabins along the way. He pulled himself up as he
passed the last cabin, ready to shout the alarm. But the sound died in his throat
as he saw the reason for the commotion. Two more guards with Feston's arm
bands were hacking at the oars along the benches, ignoring the blows raining
down to stop them.
Another wave rolled under the ship, and Alodar grabbed for support as the deck
tipped dizzily to the side. Through a port, he saw the choppy horizon shoot past
skyward and then slowly return as the barge almost righted itself.
Reversing direction, he sprinted the length of the ship. On a dead run, he
barrelled by the two guardsmen who stood with halberds at parade over a single
entrance that led to cabins far aft. The men hesitated at Alodar's approach, not
immediately dropping their weapons to block the way.
Alodar thundered past their indecision, yelling over his shoulder about an
oversight as he passed. One turned to follow, then shrugged his shoulders and
resumed his stance. Racing down the narrow passageway, Alodar pushed aside a
curtain and exploded into a great cabin at the very stern of the ship. Only a few
supporting posts interfered with a volume open from beam to beam, windowed
on three sides with huge sheets of isinglass painted opaque by the bounding
spray.
Vendora shrieked at Alodar's sudden entrance. Aeriel rose to her feet, eyes wide
in surprise at the intrusion, Kelric sat numbly crosslegged before the two and re-
sponded not at all. "A full moon of pardons, my fair lady," Alodar gasped, "but I
fear the ship is in great danger. We must sound a general alarm before it is too
late."
"Wfiat is the peril, Alodar?" Aeriel asked as she picked up her cloak. "What
besides the storm presents risk for the royal barge?"
"I am not a man of the sea," Alodar replied, "but we have lost our steerage and
with the weakened hull we may founder."

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"Then there is no time," Aeriel decided. "We must board the other vessels, those
that can."
"The longboats are far smaller than the barge," Alodar said. "They could be easily
swamped in the high waves. Our safety would be greater if we could get the great
ship about."
"Then which is it?" Aeriel said. "If the hull does not hold, there may be little time
to change our minds."
Alodar quickly thought of the enchanted guardsmen and the struggle amidst the
oars. "If I were to decide, my choice would be for the longboats despite their
meager size. But by no means can we provide for everyone aboard."
"Then we shall begin with the queen," Aeriel said waving her hand to the door.
Alodar nodded, grasped Vendora by the waist and began to push her down the
corridor. Aeriel tugged Kelric to his feet and spun him to follow. The two guards
turned questioning. glances to the queen as she came to their station, but she
waved them to silence as she passed.
The ship lurched violently as they reached the com-panionway to the main deck.
Cabin doors along the corridor burst open in surprise. Vendora cried out as she
reached for the railing and tumbled from her footing instead.
"What happens with the fan- lady?" Feston shouted as he peered out of his
doorway in the direction of the queen. Receiving no answer, he reached back
inside his cabin and buckled on his sword to follow.
"Lord Feston races after the queen," a voice shouted from another of the open
doorways. In an instant Basil and Duncan also scrambled forth.
Alodar pulled Vendora to her feet. As the ship righted, he pushed her up the
ladder banging shins and ankles
in his haste. They climbed but four rungs when the barge rolled again, this time
heeling far over. Alodar grasped the rails with both hands and held Vendora
against his chest as she fell backwards. Behind him he could hear Aeriel's frantic
struggle with Kelric as their feet slid from under them and they grasped wildly for
balance. Alodar gathered up his strength and, with one thrust, shoved the queen
to the hatchway. Holding her firmly with one arm, he shouldered the hatch aside
with the other and stepped into the fury of the quickening storm.
Grengor and the others of his band were there at the opening, extending arms to
aid. He shoved Vendora forward and turned to pull Aeriel and Kelric up onto the

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

deck. The wind now came at his side, stinging his cheek with the spray. The barge
was wallowing in the troughs.
"The longboats," Alodar shouted. "We must get the fair lady safely over the side."
He led Vendora across the heaving deck and the party streamed after. They
climbed the ladders to the stern and ran to where the two boats were battened
besides the wreckage of the deckhouse. Quickly, the canvas covering was ripped
away. Alodar thrust Vendora and then Aeriel into one of the hulls as the barge
lunged dizzily when another wave rolled underneath. Feston and the others
exploded from the hatchway as Alodar's men cranked at the hoists and swung the
boat over the side.
With great leaping strides, Feston bounded across the deck and up the ladder. He
plunged into the marines, shouldering several aside, and jumped aboard next to
the queen. "Followers of lord Feston," he bellowed above the wind, "assemble
unto me and aid the fair lady."
The men scrambling on deck looked about hesitantly for a moment; then they
shouted with alarm as they saw the activity at the stern. The boat began to lower,
and they sloshed through the water, climbed up the ladders to the poop, and ran
to the rail. A knot of men collected against the bulwark and, pushed from behind,
Basil and Duncan tumbled aboard into the midst of Alodar's small crew. The
barge listed heavily and several more sprang to the rail and jumped into the
descending boat.
"Too many," Alodar shouted. "We will sink as surely as the barge. Cast off, cast off
before more hurl aboard." Grengor and another of his men began to pay out rope
more quickly and the sloop plunged away from the rolling deck.
"Followers of my banner," Feston shouted, "seize the second boat and after us."
"To my banner," Basil yelled as loud. "Prevent the others from taking what we
must have, and then after
me."
Alodar looked up to the deck as his own boat hit the waves. He could see the
beginnings of a mle as the factions fought with drawn swords for possession of
the other longboat. In the press of battle no one could focus his attention on the
blocks, and the boat remained immobile on the deck. Alodar turned back to his
own plight and quickly counted the men aboard. Of his own eight, he saw that all
had made it safely. Vendora, Aeriel, Kelric, Feston, Basil and Duncan were
accompanied by a tangle of six more men. Whose supporters they were, he could
not tell.

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"Man the oars," he commanded. "Get us clear of the barge before some wave
dashes us back into her side. You there, make room for the queen. My fan- lady, if
you and lady Aeriel can move forward, you will find that the small shelter will
protect two from the strength of this gale."
"I command the forces of the queen," Feston growled as he wriggled himself erect
in the pile of men amidship. But before he coul* say more, a wave broke over
them ending a deluge of water into the midst.
"The rest of you to the bailing," Alodar continued and several of the men about
Feston began to look for buckets hi the hatchway aft. Feston glowered at Alodar
for a moment, and then a second wave washed over the rails. The men about him
filled and dumped buskets furiously. When Basil thrust one into Feston's hands,
he bent and started bailing with the rest.
Alodar turned to look back towards the barge and saw that the thrust of the wind
had opened a wide gulf between them. The huge ship was crosswind. As she
rolled, the leeward rail almost touched the waves.
"Grengor and you, Melab, in the rear," he shouted. "Let us assemble the mast and
try to erect it now. If we are lucky and the wind slackens, we will be ready to hoist
sail."
Alodar glanced about the boat. Except for Kelric still 1 'ne in a jumble, his face
barely above water, every ^ was usefully employed. He shut out all thoughts of
the precariousness of their position and bent his mind to the task of raising the
mast.
Weary with cold and fatigue, Alodar steadied one leg on top of the small shelter
and held the glass from the meager stores to his eye. The wind was dying beneath
a placid moon, and the sea was growing calm. All about the boat, men slumped in
the disarray of sleep. Alodar leaned against the mast, now holding aloft a sail
unfurled to catch the breeze that remained from the storm. How soothing it
would feel to collapse among the tangle of limbs at his feet and let consciousness
slide away as it had from the rest. But he dared not relinquish the grip. So long as
be stayed awake, threatening, cajoling, and pushing himself harder than any, the
random collection of men who had jumped from the barge would act enough in
consort to save their lives.
Twice again Festoa had balked at the continual bailing, but Alodar had stared
him down. One of his marines and Duncan's retainers squabbled over what
constituted a fair share of the load, and he had pushed between them before their
inattention let the boom run free and rake across the rear deck with a vicious
sweep.

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They somehow had bailed enough to keep afloat, mended the sail at least thrice,
and tumbled in rough water throughout. To relax now and let chance determine
which of Feston's, Basil's or Duncan's followers awoke first might throw away all
they had struggled for in the past four days.
With only half-open eyes, Alodar slowly scanned the sea. The clouds were all but
swept away, but the sliver of moon did not provide enough light to see to the
horizon. They must find land soon, and drifting about aimlessly the few hours till
dawn was a waste they could ill afford.
Alodar grimaced and collapsed the glass. He stepped down into the jumble of
sleeping forms and gingerly picked his way to where Kelric was curled up in the
stern. The sorcerer shivered in his sleep. His breath gurgled and wheezed as it
struggled in and out of his lungs. His flesh
was pale and hung limply on his scrawny frame. The exposure had been hard for
all of them, but on the old man it had taken the greatest toll.
Alodar bent down and gently shook him awake. In the quietness of the night,
Alodar explained what had to be done and then listened attentively as Kelric
provided the detailed instructions. In an hour, he had memorized the cantrip and
returned to the shelter amidship.
Alodar climbed wearily to the roof, made himself as comfortable as possible, and
began the charm. Had he been fully alert, he would have spoken the words with
great care, fighting the increasing resistance a measured step at a tune. But both
his mind and body were dulled, He rattled oS the three repetitions like a
schoolboy reciting his pledge to the queen. In an instant it was finished. He
blinked in surprise at how mild was the internal reaction.
Alodar slowly scanned a full circle from where he sat and then closed his eyes
against the scene. An image of what he had just seen sprang into sharp focus as if
lighted by the noonday sun. He willed his thoughts forward and, like a great-
winged bird, he seemed to spring from the boat. Soaring low over the water, his
mind raced ahead of the bow, straining for the horizon and sight of ship or land.
The miles sped by, but the scene remained an unbroken circle of water as far as
he could see.
Gradually the rush of his thoughts began to slow; though he strained all the
harder, the waves dissolved into an indistinct haze, and the sky dimmed. His pace
slowed to a crawl and then, at the moment he seemed to stop, the scene blacked
out from view. Instinctively Alodar realized he had reached the limits of his vision
and brought his thoughts back to his inert body sitting on the shelter roof.
With his eyes still closed, he turned his head and sought

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

to port, again sailing over the waves far faster than any
ship could take him. He breathed deeply as he finally
slowed, hoping to see a landfall of Arcadia before the
scene faded away. But when the blackness came, the
ocean looked as unchanging as it had from the bow, and
Alodar returned a second time to begin the search anew.
He turned to starboard and saw over the horizon in a
heartbeat. Before he even noticed any slowing, he saw a
..     Of low bills pushing down to a sandy beach. Land, he dimly thought in his
trance, land to the west and not
far away.
He willed his thoughts to return so that he could break the spell and head for
shore; but to his surprise, the rush in his mind continued onward. Up into the
hills his sight took him, past smouldering campfires and huddles of sleeping
figures. On and on his thoughts raced, to higher and rougher ground. The
mountains were cleft and folded, fissured and cracked with jumbles of boulders
strewn about. Alodar's attention wandered over the scene but then focused upon
a slender spur of rock that soared before him. A monolith of cold granite, it stood
like a giant spike thrust into the contours of the hills and seemed to challenge
even the peaks beyond for height.
Alodar recognized the spire as the one he had seen when he tried to use the
sorcerer's eye. As before, he felt himself drawn inside into a tomblike room. In
the very center stood a stone coffin with a thick glass lid, and Alodar's thoughts
rushed forward to peer inside. He saw a man of middle age, eyes peacefully
closed, and mouth curled up in a haughty smile. The hands were folded across
the chest over a robe sprinkled with many small, stylized logos of flame.
Alodar tried to look about the room, but the scene suddenly went black. He felt
himself slowly pitching forward from the roof of the boat's shelter. He quickly
blinked his eyes open and grabbed at the mast._to steady himself. A moment of
vertigo washed over him and then a hot fever that turned his limbs to rubber.
Alodar clutched at the mast to gain support and gradually the feelings subsided,
leaving him weak and lethargic.

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Slowly Alodar climbed down into the hull and picked his way aft. For a moment,
he puzzled at his vision but then pushed it aside, too weary to expend the effort
when there were more important things to be done. The coast was not that far
away; perhaps by late morning, they could be safely ashore.
Alodar nodded his head with decision, loosened the
boom and cut hard on the tiller to aim the small craft
landward. The wind hit the sail at a flatter angle. With
gathering momentum, the boat began moving towards the
shore. Alodar leaned against the after railing, holding the craft on course and
staring into the darkness.
The hours passed, and gradually the sky brightened, until the boundary between
sea and air could be discerned hi all directions. Alodar watched the west. Finally a
second hazy line appeared above the first. As the boat approached, it resolved
into individual low hills that began to loom higher and higher on the horizon.
Eventually the sound of breaking surf mingled with the whistling of the wind.
Alodar saw a row of whitecaps racing up towards a
sandy beach.
With more seamanship and alertness, he might be able to bring the boat smartly
about and drop sail and anchor. But such detail was beyond what little energy
remained. Holding his course, the craft sped directly onwards and, with a sudden
lurch, ran aground.
The sleeping men scrambled awake with surprise. "You there," Alodar shouted,
"to the shelter and rouse the queen. And you on the left, give aid to the sorcerer.
He is too weak even to walk on his own."
The men sluggishly complied and, one by one, dropped overboard to bead for
shore. Water began to bubble in through the hull. The longboat sagged gently to
one side as she slowly filled. Duncan arose from a position in the bow. With
shaking legs, he staggered to the queen.
"At last,  my chance to protect the fair lady," he croaked through lips cracked
from the salt air. He withdrew his sphere from the small bag at his waist After
several moments, Alodar could see a shimmering bubble of translucence which
engulfed Duncan and Vendors. His two followers rolled the bubble up on the
bulwark and tossed it into the waves, tumbling Duncan and Vendora together in a
confusion of cloak and gown. Obviously, from its motions, the bubble could not

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be used in any rough sea. Alodar watched as the attendants jumped in after and
began pushing the two landward, untouched by the chilling water. He saw Aerial
come back to join him, as the last two, they jumped overboard and waded to
shore. Watersoaked and fatigued as they were, simple foraging and lighting a fire
took the resf of the day. Only Alodar's curt commands and steadfastness kept
tempers in line and limbs moving until it was done. As darkness fell, the small
band huddled in close about the flame,
king at last dryness, warmth, and rest from their ordeal.
"Now that the emergency is over," Feston said, rub-hinfi his hands together and
then touching the hilt of his sword, "we can, I feel, revert to our original chain of
command. And my first direction is that we should abandon this beach and
quickly search out a cave in the hills, so that the night can be spent in some sort
of shelter."
"There is no strength left for that, Feston," Alodar said. "We have already
endured the elements for four full nights. Another will tax us less dearly than a
search without light over the rough ground."
"I have given a directive," Feston growled. With a savage gesture, he withdrew six
niches of blade from his scabbard. A sudden rumble of disapproval checked his
action, and Feston looked quickly about at the men who circled the fire. "You
there, by your insigna, you are royal marines. Follow the orders of your
commander," he said.
"We serve the person of the fair lady," Grengor said quietly in reply. "Until she
gives us direction otherwise, we will follow the command of master Alodar. You
bail as well as any man among us, lord Feston, but it is lady Aeriel's page who has
seen us safely through the storm."
"And that is the truth, Vendora," Aeriel cut in. "Just as at Iron Fist, the
thaumaturge has proven his worth to the crown of Procolon. Let the deed and not
the station be your guide, my fair lady."
"I am not so dim of sight or slow of mind as you sometimes make me, Aeriel,"
Vendora said, pulling erect and drawing her robe about her. She looked slowly
about the ring of Alodar's marines, each grim-faced and with a hand on sword
hilt. "I observed with care the events of the past days. Indeed, the man has acted
well in behalf of the crown. But tell me, Alodar, how did you know, when none
else did, that the barge would founder?"
"In truth, my fair lady," Alodar said, "I do not know that it did. The helm may
have been repaired or the patches held. The barge still may be plying the seas,
having ridden out the storm as well as we. Yet, to determine with certainty the
seaworthiness of the vessel could well have been fatal. I made the decision that I
felt I had to."

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"And then, instead of possible comfort in my stateroom on board, where has your
decision brought your liege?" Vendora said.
"To the uplands north of Bardina—north of the boundaries of Procolon itself—my
fair lady," Grengor cut in. "I campaigned here in your father's time and recognize
the black oak which creeps down from the hillside."
"My fair lady," Basil said, "perhaps this makeshift alchemist has served you well
these past days, but we are by no means safe from major peril. Our voyage was
for aid to stop the forces that threaten to overrun the kingdom. In the west we
fight no less than demons, and our army makes no headway in dislodging the grip
of their crazed servants from the land. And from the south march even more, to
stab at the heart of Procolon."
He paused and looked about the landscape. "We cannot chance another voyage
across a sorcerer-watched sea in such a little craft. And little time remains to
return to Ambrosia for one more seaworthy. Our one hope now lies in recruiting
to our cause the barbaric nomads who aimlessly roam these lands. And only by
statesmanship and bribery can we bend their primitive passions to our will.
Fortunately for you, my fair lady, watersoaked though this tunic is, it still safely
protects many a jewel of great value. Appoint me leader, and I will see you safely
home in triumph."
"If the danger is as black as you paint it," Duncan said, before Vendora could
reply, "then a handful of jewels will be no guarantee against the treachery of these
simple-minded ones. Permit me to be always at your side, my fair lady, and with
my sphere and command of the others about me, no matter what happens, your
safety can be assured."
"Enough, enough!" Vendora cried, with a hint of irritation in her voice. "We must
deal first with the matter of Alodar's recompense for services duly rendered. I
doubt that any of you would act with such decision, faced with the question of
abandoning ship. Indeed you did not. Such boldness must not be stifled, but
rather it should be encouraged. Tell me Alodar, what boon do you wish from your
queen?"
Alodar breathed deeply and then replied with a rush. "You speak of boldness, my
fair lady, and it encourages me to speak of my driving quest."
With a sweep of his hands, he turned and addressed
the entire assemblage as well as the queen. "You all know

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t lord Feston accompanied the fair lady from the con-fi es of &e siege at Iron Fist,
and for his effort he was made no less than suitor for her hand in marriage. Then
Basil the apothecary, armed with the treasures secured at real peril from the
Fumus Mountains, earned like status for his aid to the power of the throne of
Procolon. And finally, Duncan of the Cycloid Guild offered the fair lady protection
most magical; and for this, he too is suitor for her hand. My fair lady, though my
deed may in your mind not compare with these, my desire is yet no less. I too
seek your most royal favor and your hand."
Vendora threw back her head in a peal of laughter. "Ah Alodar," she said at last.
"You do lighten the weariness that hangs so heavily upon me. But stay, your
words are well chosen, and by logic's laws you have saved and prospered the life
of the queen as well as any. Stand forward by the fire so that I can note you
better."
Alodar slowly rose and approached the queen, his heart pounding with the little
energy that remained in him. He felt every impulse to glance away as she stared,
but he held his gaze level, looking back at her squarely.
"You are comely looking enough," Vendora said, as she turned to face the others.
"My good company, may I present Alodar, suitor for the hand of the queen of
Procolon."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN Alodar Enchanted
ALODAR stretched his legs and smiled. The weariness of their journey still hung
over him, and the meager morning meal did little for his hunger, but he was
content. He flexed his fingers in the coarse sand just inches away from Vendora's
arm. He looked about the camp. Only Grengor and a few of
his marines remained. The rest were away, scouting the surrounding hills for
signs of the nomads. Down the beach, Aeriel stood alone, staring out to sea.
Behind a nearby dune, Kelric had yet to stir from his slumber.
Alodar shot a sideways glance at Vendora while she idly scraped a bit of beach tar
from her gown. He had come this far from the most humble beginnings, spurred
on only by hopes and dreams. To rank finally above them all must be within his
grasp, if becoming a suitor ever was. It was only a matter of seizing the
opportunity.
Alodar looked to the north and saw the line of hills slowly converge upon the sea.
The beach narrowed to a slender ribbon and then terminated abruptly against a
rocky point that cut off the view. Back to the west, a sprinkle of vegetation dotted
the slopes, chokecherry and spicebush still green beneath the bare branches of

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oaks and dogwoods thai yielded to pines and cedars as the elevation climbed. At
the limit of vision, a hint of snowy whiteness mingled with the hazy purples of the
great mountains that thrust into the interior.
Alodar lazily scanned the panorama a second time. As he looked to the lower
hills, he caught sight of one of the scouting parties that had left at dawn. He
squinted into the morning light, trying to resolve some detail, and decided finally
that the specks slowly bobbing his way must be Basil and his retainers. As they
drew closer and confirmed his guess, he sat upright and then pointed at the
approaching figures.
"Look, Grengor," he said. "Basil does not return empty handed. He left with two
followers but there seem to be four men marching back to camp."
"And by the looks of the last," Grengor replied, "he journeys as a captive rather
than a friend. It is not an auspicious beginning, if we are to convert all of these
wild northmen to our cause."
Everyone turned to watch Basil's progress; several minutes later he puffed into
the camp. "My fair lady," he  said, as he rushed to the queen, "already I prove the
great worth of my wealth to your crown. Behold, I bring forth your first new
subject from the wastelands."
Basil paused to catch his breath, and Alodar looked at the captive. His hair was
matted in snarls; even though no breeze was blowing, Alodar caught the pungent
odor of
his body. His chest and legs were bare. The muscles trembled in his arms as he
strained against the cords which bound his hands together behind his back. He
looked around the circle of armed men, and his expression stiffened into a mask
of defiance when he returned Basil's
stare.
"The barbarian's mouth dropped when I showed him a few samples of my gems,"
Basil continued. "Great treasures were back in his camp and a fair trade for a few
of the jewels could surely be made, he claimed. And while he fingered them, it
was simple enough for my followers to overpower him from behind and drag him
here."
Basil stopped and looked at the dying embers of the fire. "And I think that there is
sufficient means in camp to make him tell us the rest of what we must know." His
eyes widened and he licked his lips as he pushed a coal aside with his boot
"Where the rest of his group is hiding and how many they may be. It can be found
in a few hours, if you fcnow how."

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"But the gift of one of your pretty stones would have been simple enough,"
Grengor interrupted. "And far less trouble than torturing one who probably
would have dealt in good faith. I do not care for how you have acted in behalf of
the fair lady, apothecary, and even less for what you propose to do."
Basil turned and faced the marine. "The temporary success of your master has
weakened your judgment, sergeant," he said. "As you apparently have forgotten,
Procolon is in grave danger of being overrun. We do not have time to barter for
days with each scattered tribe that we meet. We must convince them in haste to
harken to our banner, using whatever tools prove most expedient. And the fair
lady will reward the suitor who provides the army to save her crown, not the one
who labors over some petty distinction for what is just." He stopped and looked
back at the prisoner. "Besides, he is as likely to be a treacherous brigand as a
simple wanderer. There is no other way in which we may proceed."
"What about enchantment?" Alodar said suddenly. "He could hold nothing back
if under the charm of a sorcerer. If his tribe proves friendly, then he can be freed."
"Kelric would attempt no such feat when fully in health and in the comfort of
Ambrosia." Basil waved the words
aside. "He certainly will not try such an adventure now."
"I was not thipking of Kelric," Alodar replied coldly. "I have studied enough that I
am willing to give the charm a try."
"An idle bluff," Basil shot back. "The fair lady will not be fooled by such blatant
attempts to win further favor."
"It is not a bluff," Alodar said. "I have been succets-ful with far-seeing. There is
no reason why I cannot enchant as well."
Before Basil could reply, Vendora rose and extended her palm for silence. She
looked at Alodar and smoothed a loose curl in place. "Kelric never wavered in
expounding the difficulties of his craft," she said. "And even in his prime, his
enchantments numbered less than a dozen. Can you really perform as you
claim?"
Alodar looked back into Vendora's eyes. "I have never attempted it before, my
fan- lady," he said, "but my studies thus far have increased my confidence so that
I feel there is a reasonable chance of success. If you would prefer touching the
nomad's mind, rather than tearing his body, then I shall attempt it."
Vendora's eyes narrowed, and then she looked back at Basil. "If Alodar indeed

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can effect such enchantment, then it is a skill which I can employ well in my
service," she said. "I thank you, Basil, for your efforts in my behalf, but I judge it
is in my best interest if you turn the prisoner over to the aspiring sorcerer."
Basil's scowl deepened, and he stood silently for a long moment. Finally, with a
wave of disgust, he spun and tromped off to the other side of the firepit. His
followers pushed the barbarian forward, and the nomad pitched to his knees at
Alodar's feet.
"Get Melab," Alodar said to Grengor, "and prepare to hold the prisoner steady. I
will consult with Kelric and learn what I must know."
Alodar ran up the beach to the low ridge where Kelric slept. He touched the
sorcerer's arm and gently rocked him back and forth. The flesh felt hot; as the
eyes slowly opened, Alodar touched the bare forehead and frowned.
"Ah, my sugar plum," Kelric's voice wheezed.  "Are you so impatient for more that
you disturb my sleep?"
"It is only your student," Alodar said. "And I interrupt your rest on service to the
queen."
Kelric started to reply but gagged instead and then coughed spasmodically for
several minutes. He shook awake and widened his eyes as he recognized Alodar
hovering over him. "Not more sorcery,*' he whispered at last. "You push too hard,
Alodar, and will end in no better condition than I."
"I wish that Basil carried with him the substance of his trade, rather than the
tokens of his wealth," Alodar said, ignoring the sorcerer's words. "With the
proper ingredients, I could brew an alchemical potion to cool the fever and purge
your sickness. But neither my thauma-turgy or Dunoan's magic sphere can offer
any aid."
Kelric shrugged and rattled out a deep sigh. "It is far less discomforting than if I
attempted one charm too many," he said, "and the visions that swim before my
eyes are as good as any I have had when in a trance. Let it be, Alodar. Even
though a sorcerer can see the workings of fate, he cannot alter them."
Alodar looked back over his shoulder to the firepit. Grengor and Melab struggled
to hold the captive in a sitting position, and Vendora stood with her hands on her
hips, looking Alodar's way.
"I was successful with the cantrip last night," Alodar said. "Even the third
repetition came without much difficulty. The queen now has need for an
enchantment, and I feel I am ready to attempt it."
"No, Alodar," Kelric said weakly. "Do not be misled just because one charm seems

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to progress well. You were probably fatigued and your senses dull. If you tried the
very same cantrip fully alert, you might find it beyond your power to complete it."
Kelric raised one shaky hand and motioned Alodar closer to his head. "And the
enchantment of a mind as complex as a man's is too large a step," he continued
softly. "I studied for two years before my mentor judged me proficient enough to
try it. If you have seen afar for the first time less than a day ago, then you must
rest instead, before pursuing anything more."
"But it is for the queen," Alodar said, "and the favor that I hope to find in her eyes
because of it."
"Ah, the fair lady." Kelric choked out a laugh. "Even
I have not dared dream so high." His chest heaved wTth effort for several
moments more, and then he slowly sh»ok his head. "In my youth, it was always
just one charm more," he said. "Just one more and my power would be great
enough that men would bow their heads with respect and my choice of the ladies
would be a pleasant confusion." He shook his head a second time. "You state that
you do this for the queen, Alodar, but in the end I doubt that she will behave
differently than any other."
He stopped and looked Alodar in the eye and saw the resolution. "But I recognize
the fierceness that cannot be denied," he sighed at last. "And there will be little
more that I will teach you. If you must know of enchantments, then listen to my
words well."
Kelric whispered the charm, and Alodar concentrated intently to remember the
strange pattern of words. It was only a third the length of the cantrip for far-
seeing. After a short while, he returned to Vendora and the others. He looked
about and raised his brows in surprise as they all stepped back and flung their
arms over their eyes. He coiled into a crosslegged position and directed Grengor
and Melab to set the captive before him. While the two marines held the nomad's
head steady and pressed his eyelids open, Alodar began the charm.
The first recital went smoothly enough; but from the first word of the second
repetition, Alodar felt the beginning of the resistance. Hee spoke half a dozen
words correctly, then almost gagged as he attempted the next. He tried to force
his tongue flat in the bottom of his mouth, but spasms of nausea forced his lips
closed each time he pursed them into a circle. He braced himself, concentrated on
the next three in succession and finally forced them out.
He licked his spray-chapped lips, and beads of perspiration broke out on his
forehead. The rest of the charm faded away. Almost in panic, he mentally grabbed
at the chain of words as they seemed to disappear down a hole in his memory. He

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focused on the next and brought it back into sharpness. By holding his breath, he
kept his stomach calm. With excruciating slowness, he finished the second
recital.
Alodar felt dizzy, A chilling numbness ran up and down
his legs. His tired body protested the abuse. The thought that the strain would
only increase began to weigh heavily on his mind. He broke the starting word of
the final repetition into syllables and concentrated on uttering the first correctly.
But each time he opened his mouth, his lips trembled and he fought to force back
the rumbles of his stomach. He gasped like a man choking and beat his fist into
the sand to pop the sound free, but it would not come. For several minutes he
struggled, his arms twitching and his eyes stinging with salty tears. A dull pain
started to throb in the base of his neck and pulse upwards between his ears as the
realization that he might not finish began to form.
In desperation Alodar flailed about and untied the pouch with the sphere from
his side. He grasped the coldness and held it at eye level, hoping somehow to tap
its reputed powers to aid in finishing the charm. He stared at the closed eye, but
his thoughts crackled with tenseness. The strange feeling that poured over him
outside of the Cycloid Guild would not come.
With a final effort he twisted his lips into the correct form and squeezed his sides.
A raspy growl dribbled from his mouth and then his head seemed to explode in a
flash of light, as if he had been struck by a well-aimed mace. A searing pain raced
through his body. With a feeling of his skin being stripped away, he slid from
consciousness.
"The queen explicitly left him in our custody," a voice shouted angrily.
"Then you did not discharge your duty with much competence," a second
answered. "Well, we have what we need to know, and one barbarian life more or
less does not matter.'"
Alodar blinked his eyes open and then quickly squeezed them shut again. He
moved his head slowly to the side and felt a sudden throbbing that continued
unabated for several minutes. He wrapped his arms about his stomach, but the
pressure did not help, and he kept his lips firmly pressed together, trying to force
back the queasiness. Kelric had been right; he had pushed too far and misspun
the enchantment.
Alodar felt a gentle touch on his brow and cracked one

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lid open to see Aeriel bending over him. "You have been in a swoon for over a
day," she said. "And during the night, Basil carried out the rest of his plan."
Alodar propped himself up on one elbow, grimacing at the pounding the motion
started in his head. "Then what did the apothecary learn?" he asked weakly. "I
think my sorcery will not be the means by which we deal with the
nomads."
"Their camp is to the north, beyond the rocky point," Aeriel said. "Their group is
a small one; their men number no more than ours. They plunder as much as they
hunt. On the morrow they wUl move southwards, looking for shipwrecked booty
from the storm. We must either retreat before them or make the conditions of
confrontation our own choosing. From the way the captive related their history, a
civilized parlay is out of the question."
"Are they the only ones with whom we can deal?" Alodar asked.
"No, there are others scattered throughout the north. The larger tribes are in the
hills to the west, seeking the game that winter drives down from the higher peaks.
But _ enough of that. Let the other suitors carry forth the queen's banner for
awhile. From the looks of your face, you need more rest I can fetch you a meal, as
well."
Alodar slowly shook his head. "Had I succeeded, there would have been no
denying my primacy," he groaned. "As it is, now I must strive all the harder not to
loose
more ground."
"Keltic warned that it takes more than a week for a misspinning to fade," Aeriel
replied. "Are you truly ready to contest again after a single day?"
Alodar tried to push himself to a sitting position, but his arm trembled with the
effort, and he collapsed back to the ground. "Perhaps just a little while longer to
gather my strength," he said.
"And the meal?" Aeriel asked.
Alodar clutched his stomach. "Food I can still do without." He looked into her
face filled with concern. "But your presence would be a comfort indeed."
Aeriel smiled, sat down beside Alodar, and placed her hand lightly on his
shoulder. Alodar managed to smile back and then turned his attention to the loud
voices around the firepiL

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"Sweetbalm on their prowess!" Feston said, pounding a fist into an open palm.
"We still outnumber them by one or two. If we strike at dusk, surprise will cany
the day. And it is only force that these barbarians respect. They will submit to us
no other way."
"You speak with the imprecision of a neophyte," Dun-can shot back. "Suppose we
were to take their camp. What would we have when we were done? Half of our
men slain and half of theirs. Our numbers would be no greater than what we have
now. And We would have traded ten stout hearts for an equal number who will
serve only with a sharp blade at their backs. Let us retreat south, I say, as best we
can. Even if they catch up, my sphere will protect the queen from harm."
"A fight in their camp would not be as bad as all that,'* Basil said, "if we could fell
the chieftain with one of the first blows. According to our captive, his hold on the
group is slight. He bullied them to rob anyone who ventured this way, regardless
of the profit in it. Why, their treasure he bragged of was no more than some
alchemist's rotting samples they had plundered a week ago. You look with scorn
at what I have done with a barbarian. But apparently that was nothing compared
to what this chieftain delights in whenever a civilized man falls into his clutches.
If we can kill the leader, then the rest just might lay down their arms and follow
the victors."
"Such a blow will not be swung easily," Grengor said quietly. "These nomads are a
suspicious lot. They would insist we drop our arms before entering camp. And if
we rushed them, the leader would be in the center. We would have to hack
through them all to approach him." He stopped and rubbed his chin. "It would
take a berserker to slash through the defense—a berserker or perhaps someone
like Feston's guard whom we saw on the royal barge. His own safety concerned
him not. Indeed, he took more than one mortal wound without even flinching."
"More sorcery," Duncan sneered. "That plan is no better than any other." He
looked at Kelric, propped up against a rock a little distance away, his arms
sagging limply at his sides, and then over to Alodar, barely man-
aging to hold his head off the ground. "One nearly dead and the other unable to
complete an enchantment. I say that the key to our dilemma somehow involves
the use of my sphere and that we should not act until we discover it"
"Then what is your proposal, Duncan?" Vendors asked. "If we cannot gain by
arms or guile, how does your magic assemble the army that I need?"
Duncan looked back at the queen and then dipped his head in silence. For a long
moment, Grengor and the suitors stood shuffling their feet in the sand, saying
nothing. Finally Vendora turned to two other marines standing further back.

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"Bring me Kelric," she said.
The two men fetched the sorcerer. With a hand under each arm, they brought
him to stand before the queen. Vendora looked at the sagging form and spoke
softly. "Master Kelric," she said, "I am sorry that your loyalty to the court has
brought you such distress. But with the conditions being as they are, can one final
enchantment make any difference?"
"You are so tactful with your words, my fair lady," Kelric wheezed without
bothering to raise his head from his chest. "Since my hours seem numbered and
no one cares how many remain, why not one final gesture for the glory of
Procolon, you say." He nodded his head back and forth. "There are not enough
jewels in Basil's coffers to make me want to attempt it."
A flicker of irritation crossed Vendora's face, and then she pressed her lips in
thought. After a long moment, she reached forward and touched Kelric's arm.
Frowning with the effort, she bent over and brushed her mouth against his cheek.
"I am not so removed from the gossip of the palace that I do not know for what
reasons you ply your craft," she said. "We have ignored your plight since we
landed, one and all, it is true. But if you perform this labor in my cause, then your
nurse and comforter shall be none other than the queen of Procolon."
Kelric raised his head and looked at Vendora through hah* open eyes. "And if
that comfort requires a caress or two or perhaps even a lack of haste to resmooth
a gown blown above the knee by the wind?" he said.
"We shall see later what it entails. Perform for me what I require and you will be
appropriately rewarded."
"You are no different from the lowest chambermaid," Kelric said. "Full of vague
promises that must be wrenched out of you, once the deed is done."
Vendora drew erect and placed her hands on her hips. "There are two important
differences, sorcerer. First, I am none less than the queen. And second, even if I
were not . . " She left the sentence unfinished and curved her lips into a slight
smile.
Kelric's eyes widened as he drank in Vendora's beauty. "But, my fair lady," he
said, "in refusing an enchantment before, my words have been true. With full
health I would fail; now even if I desired it as nothing else, the result would be the
same."
Alodar frowned in concentration as he sensed the opportunity. The suitor that
resolved the course of action would gain, relative to the others. Despite how he
felt, he must enter the discussion. He ignored the weakness and pushed himself

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up.
He looked to his side and saw the top of the sphere poking out of the sand from
where he had dropped it. He scooped it up and slowly climbed to bis feet, panting
rapidly. For a moment he gently swayed back and forth, waiting for the throbbing
to quiet and the flashes of light to clear from his eyes.
"But with the sorcerer's eye, would not the effort for enchantment of only one be
greatly reduced?" he called out. "And with a willing subject, even less required."
All eyes turned to Alodar as he weaved across the beach and finally thrust the eye
into Kelric's hand. "Use it," he said. "It will be some time before I will be of full
service to the fan- lady."
Kelric looked down at the translucent orb, up to Alodar, and then back to the
queen. He ran his eyes over her a second time and then scratched his side. For a
long moment, he was silent. "Oh, it just might work," he conceded at last. "Yes,
with the help of the eye. I learned the charm in my youth and thought I never
would have cause to use it. And for the attention of the fair lady against expiring
alone, I may as well try."
'Then there remains only the matter of the subject," Vendora said, looking quickly
around the circle. "Who among you will seize the opportunity for greater glory?"
Heads dropped as she scanned the group. As if she
were a sorceress herself, the circle of men avoided her eyes. A minute passed and
no one moved,
"Men of great bravery and pledged to the fair lady!" Keltic laughed. "And not one
as brave as an old man with insufficient strength to draw a sword,"
"My life for the crown of Procolon I have always sworn," Grengor responded
quietly. "I do so still. But that life I have pledged to give in honor in battle, not
smothered and stolen away by the foulness of sorcery." "But it seems the only
way," Alodar said. "Without the enchantment, we will not bend this first small
band to our side."
"Then let it be you, suitor and savior of the queen," Duncan sneered. "You have
the righteous air of the pure hero of the saga. If you are indeed true to your ideals,
then it is you who should do the deed."
Vendora turned to Alodar and her lips curved into a small smile. "It seems your
boasts with sorcery far exceeded your craft, Alodar," she said. "How soon then
will it be before you can swing a blade and carry an equal load with the rest?"

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Alodar licked his lips and held himself steady as he returned the gaze of the
queen. He heard Aeriel rush to his side but nodded before she could speak. "It is
as Kelric states, my fair lady," he replied, "a question of bravery. When you weigh
the virtues of your suitors, remember who spoke when all the others remained
silent."
The first recitation had been long. Alodar sagged with weakness as he sat in front
of Kelric, who still held the small sphere at eye level. He looked from the
motionless old sorcerer, mumbling before bom, to the ocean beyond. In the low
afternoon sun, he could see the sail of the longboat still fluttering above high tide.
He looked to the south, over the unending beach that finally blurred out in the
distance. He studied the hills to the north that curved to the surf, cutting off his
view.
Then with a sudden shock, Alodar felt his gaze wrenched in the direction of the
sphere. Instinct took over; he tried to draw his head away or raise an arm, but his
muscles would not respond. With great effort, he squinted his eyes to thin slits,
resolved to catch only a glimpse of what Kelric held in his hand and then dart
But he could only blink once, then stare directly
into the globe.
A single eye, now fully open, glowed back at him, its -j golden yellow and dilated
with power. Around the white perfectly spaced black lashes stood tensely erect,
and tiny crackles of blue flame darted from one hair to the next. The eye floated
free in the confines of the sphere, circled with but a hint of the palest flesh. In
fascination, Alodar examined the orb which confronted him, feeling that he must
let no part go unstudied or neglected. Even from the distance, he could somehow
tell that the lashes curved inward in the same precise arcs; not a single vein
marked the perfect whiteness in which the pupil swam.
With a last shudder, he stared straight at the pupil and felt a sudden dizziness as
the world about him swept away. The sea, the hills, the men who stood with faces
guarded, one by one they dimmed and were gone. Alodar lashed his mind out in
blackness. He groped for the fabric of his existence but felt it dissolve. The other
suitors, the craftmasters, Vendora, Aeriel—visions of them warped before him
and slid away into the blackness. And Alodar, Alodar the suitor, the neophyte
magician, the alchemist's apprentice, the journeyman thaumaturge, the one who
quested for the fair lady—like the layers of an onion, his self-images were peeled
off and crumbled away. Shell after shell faded into oblivion. As the innermost
core was bared and dissolved with the rest, Alodar screamed in anguish and then
was quiet.

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Now there was only the eye and the eye was everything. The blackness was
complete; he could not see. The silence was complete; he could not hear. He was
composed of nothingness; he could not feel. But the eye was there. The eye would
provide; the eye would guide him. What was proper for him to see, he would be
shown. .What was proper to hear, he would hear. What was proper for him to
feel, he would feel.
Gradually and gently, he began to perceive. At first it was only a whisper and,
because there was nothing else, he dwelt upon it; the murmur grew into a hiss of
surf on sand. As it did, the darkness lifted; the sun shone behind Wm, lighting a
gentle sea, broken only by a single mast standing above the tide. The sea ran
upon a beach, a
beach that stretched off in the distance to the south and butted against hard
granite hills to the north.
He felt the wind course about him, heard the call of gulls above the beach. The
scene before him shimmered for an instant. Then, where there had been no one, a
tired old man was sitting in the sand. Without asking, Alolar knew the man was
Kelric the sorcerer. He heard a cough behind. Without turning, he knew of the
marines and the men of the court of Procolon.
He watched the sorcerer without feeling. And as he waited, he felt himself take
form, felt the layers build upon the seed that sprang into being as he watched. He
was Alodar, Alodar the journeyman thaumaturge, the alchemist's apprentice, and
the neophyte magician. Feeling coursed through his limbs. He was Alodar the
fighter and he felt a restlessness welling up in him, to take form and guide him to
action. He felt a desire to strike, to bring forth blood, to hack until be could hack
no more. And it felt right. He was Alodar and this was his purpose for being.
He rose to his feet, eyes still on the sorcerer who somehow held his attention.
Behind the huddled form he saw a woman, looking away, walking slowly along
the beach. She was beautiful, cheeks aglow, crimson hair flowing behind as the
waves rolled up to touch her bare feet.
In a flash he was Alodar the suitor as well as the fighter. As he looked at the
woman, something began to matter greatly. It bubbled up beside the desire to
fight and it grew angular and sharp and sawed at his mind for attention. But the
lust for blood flamed higher, and the edges of the other desire shrank beside it.
The sharpness rounded and it subsided. She was only Aeriel, a lady of the court.
He was Alodar the journeyman thaumaturge, the alchemist's apprentice, the
neophyte magician—but most of all, Alodar the warrior.
The feeling exploded within him and he drew his sword with a mighty flourish
and a piercing scream. Without waiting for the others, he turned and raced out of

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the camp, across the sand, and to the fight, to the blood that beckoned him from
the hills to the north.
Like a machine of the thaumaturges, Alodar stomped forward with an even
cadence up and over the low dunes,
across the gullies that emptied to the sea, striding evenly, breathing evenly, not
pausing to check his direction or how far he had gone.
He was aware of the others scurrying behind, trying to keep pace. Once, after an
hour, two of the marines raced bv carrying the sorcerer between them on a
makeshift stretcher. The old man raised himself shakily on one arm as they came
alongside and looked Alodar deeply in the eyes. Alodar paid him no heed. After a
moment, Kelric signaled that all was well. His bearers dropped back to join the
throng behind.
The sun sank towards the west, casting the men's shadows before them as they
finally climbed through a cut in the hills. At the narrow pass, Alodar felt a sudden
compulsion to pause. He waited for the rest to draw up beside him and look down
to a cove beyond.
They saw a narrow finger of the sea crook inland in the midst of a scattering of
small campfires. Around each, two or three men sprawled in relaxation, talking,
picking fleas from each other, and gnawing on the remains of the evening meal.
Nearest the inlet, one roared with laughter, holding high a silver cup and wiping
the back of his hand on a woolly vest. On the peninsula of land between the bay
and the sea, women and children clustered about low-slung tents and hobbled
ponies.
"It is as the captive painted it," Grengor said. "If we hurry we can take them as
they eat."
"Then let us group at the outcropping over there/' another man replied. "With
master Alodar rushing out, and a bit of luck, he will have the chieftan down just
as we show ourselves and charge."
Alodar heard grunts of agreement, and the desire to rest quickly passed. The
bloodthirst rose again, and he jerked at the hilt of his sword. He struck out in the
lead down the hillside, scrambling over the rocks and just barely remaining
behind cover. The urgency boiled higher, and his nostrils flared in anticipation.
The rest followed behind as he descended the irregular trail.
Halfway down, his view suddenly blurred. As he lurched around a large boulder,
he did not see the cove, but more of the hills leading to higher mountains in the
distance. In the very center, a monolith of cold granite

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soared into the sky. Alodar stopped and blinked in confusion. He was Alodar the
bloodspUler, with a purpose soon to be fulfilled. There was no room in his
existence for anything but his mission.
But the spire compelled, and he felt himself drawn forward. He seemed to skim
over the rough ground. Like a tiny leaf blown by the wind, he hurled to the tower.
At its base, his compulsion grew, and he launched himself up the side. Hand over
hand, as rapidly as he seemed able, he climbed into the sky, drawing nearer to
whatever called him. In an instant he neared the peak and stopped to stare at
what was before his eyes. The stone was smooth, with no more grips to pull him
higher; but directly in front, protruding from the rock, was the tarnished surface
of an ancient bracelet.
As Alodar reached forward to pull it from the wall, the vision wavered and
blurred. He felt the presence of the eye expand in his mind, growing, consuming,
absorb- : ing into blackness the sights about him. The scene flashed away and he
looked down into a cove populated by a small tribe of barbarians. He blinked
again, but the image remained firm.
He resumed his hurried descent, untroubled by what he had seen and intent only
on what he was meant to do.  Down the hillside the party went, until at last they
stood poised at the outcropping, barely fifty yards from the small camp at the
water's edge. With perfect calmness, Alodar marched out from the hiding place
and headed straight for the barbarians, his hand on the hilt of his sword and his
gaze steady.
The men hi the camp spotted him almost immediately. Alodar heard an order
barked from the water's edge as two men rose to meet him. He closed half the
distance and scanned those still seated, marking for sure the one who
commanded them.
"Drop your arms," the two guardsmen growled in unison as he approached.
Alodar took but two more steps and felt the last restraint hurl away. The lust for
blood billowed up. With a frenzy, he drew his sword. Swinging it high overhead,
he ran at the two with a chilling yell.
The man on the right cleared his blade of the scabbard but did not have time to
use it. Alodar's sword swung down into his shoulder with a bone-breaking thud.
As
the man sank, clutching spasmodically with his free hand
the wound, Alodar pulled his sword backwards and

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wrenched it free. The other nomad stood openmouthed,
till not comprehending the folly of such a suicidal attack.
Alodar thrust his dagger into the nomad's stomach with
his left hand in a swiping zigzag that spilled the man to
the ground.
The men behind all scrambled to their feet. The ones nearest instinctively drew
their swords as Alodar thundered into their midst. They formed a shallow bowl
around him, animal hide shields high and swords pointing out. Alodar looked
beyond, down to the water's edge, where he saw the chieftain now on one knee,
peering in puzzlement at the commotion.
Using sword and dagger together, Alodar lunged at the two immediately in front.
As his blade skittered off their shields, he bolted around them. The man on his
left slashed backwards, and Alodar felt the sharp edge of pain race through his
left arm. He convulsively dropped his dagger and faltered for a step, his vision
fogging from the blow. But the urge to run amok welled up even stronger and
beat down the pain, hurling it away. With the arm dangling at his side spewing
blood, he sprinted down the beach to bis target.
The chieftain rose to his feet, barking new orders to the men scattered along the
way. Behind Alodar, the original group pounded after, now out of sword reach
but sealing off all retreat. Glancing quickly to the side, Alodar saw a bowman
nock an arrow and began to track his progress across the sand. One arrow sailed
by in front, and then a second fell niches behind.
He burst across the logs which defined the chieftan's campfire and closed upon
the three men who still stood between him and his goal. With a savage yell, he
hacked low underneath the falling shield on his right and hit just above the ankle,
sweeping the man from his feet. The two on the left both slashed downward on
bis unprotected side but missed as Alodar dipped and scrambled forward.
The man nearest swung again, this time in a low horizontal arc. The point
reached Alodar's calf, and his leg buckled. The leader and the two aides closed
about him, each eager to deliver a mortal blow.
The pain coursed up through his leg and spine as Alodar struggled to stand and
get past the chieftain's guard. Three blades were raised against him, but he
concentrated only on one, trying to find an opening before they fell.
Suddenly beyond the periphery of the camp, a mighty yell arose and the marines

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and the rest of the royal party charged into view. The three swordsmen hesitated
and turned to see the cause for the commotion. Alodar saw his chance. He swung
his sword up into the air, reversing his grip, and plunged it daggerstyle at the face
of the leader. The point caught the barbarian in the left eye and snapped his head
backwards with the fury of the blow.
The other two nomads spun back to see their leader fall and then dropped their
jaws as they saw Alodar standing with both arms at bis side, staring vacantly. One
took a step forward, sword still high, but then hesitated to look back at the wall of
men racing his way.
Alodar felt the fury slowly subside and the pain from leg and arm return. As the
delayed blow slashed down, his leg again buckled. The sword caught him in the
flesh of the shoulder and deflected off and down into the sand. Without caring, he
saw the nomads waver and then throw down their swords.
The world without fell away and the crescendo of the pain rose higher. In
desperation Alodar sought out the eye, the eye which had comforted him, which
had provided for him, which gave him his reason for being and protected him
from pain.
But the presence was not there and the pain grew stronger, throbbing through
limb and torso and beating on the fiber of his brain with ever-increasing strokes
of lightning. Alodar groped for a touchstone, some reference point in the void to
guide him to the eye, but none was there. Then, as he was on the edge of
consciousness, a vision came of a granite crag, a bracelet embedded in its peak,
and the sleeping form of a great wizard. As the pain finally overwhelmed him,
Alodar clawed the air, reaching out to grasp at the strange force which beckoned
him over the hills.
PART FIVE
The Wizard
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN The Improbable Imp
"LOOK, Grengor, he stirs." Alodar heard the words filter through the numbness
that permeated his entire body. He opened his eyes slowly and saw Aeriel's
auburn curls cascading down about his face. He shifted the position of his head
and felt her caress on his cheek. A dull throb pounded in his head.
"Gently, Alodar," she said softly. "My lap will serve as well as any cradle till you
mend. There was some sweetbalm in the chieftain's plunder but it was far from
freshly brewed. It closed the wounds and stimulated the regrowth, but it still will
be some time before you are whole." ^

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Alodar frowned as dim memories stirred. A bouncing ride, thin acorn gruel
forced between his lips, Aeriel's soft words, sunlight and campfires swirled
together in a blur. He looked out into the evening light and saw a dozen campfires
scattered about the slopes of a wide-mouthed valley. The hills came together like
cupped palms, and ferns and long-stemmed grasses clustered near the small
stream that ran where they touched. On the slopes, the naked oaks were few, and
stately pines soared over a hundred feet into the sky. Ponies whinnied in the
distance, mixing their cries with the guttural accent of the north-men's voices. In
the group nearby, two tangle-haired women served the queen, while one of the
marines passed a waterskin back to a chieftain.
Alodar opened his mouth to speak, but Grengor cut him
off. "Fear not, master. After your deed, not a man among
us begrudges your weight. Your litter will be carried all
the way back to the palace halls in Ambrosia if it need
Each bearer remembers that, because of your wounds, he did not receive any.
"And the barbarians regard you as some great hero from the sagas. We tell them
that you sleep in peace, that ., .hgy do not heed your followers* commands, once
again they Vfill face your terrible wrath. Why, in the eight davs that you drifted in
and out of your swoon, the first tribe's terrified tale and Basil's beads have
swollen our forces many fold. We are nearly a hundred now, moving southward
for the queen."
"It is not quite so simple, Grengor," Aeriel said. "I have seen the petty quarrels
and heard the whispered conversations among these hastily assembled allies.
Basil's gems and Feston's promises for greater reward will not keep their
attention forever. As the ranks swell, they will become much more difficult for the
few of us to manage."
"I am as aware of the truth as you, my lady," Grengor assured her. "Under the
circumstances, OUT present course seems the best. A hundred men will make no
difference in Procolon's defense, but there is no time to build a large and
disciplined army. We must move down the line of hills that parallels the coast as
rapidly as we can, convincing whomever we find along the way to enlist in the
cause of the fair lady. Each of us now directs six or seven of the nomads. With a
bold front, perhaps we can command ten times that number. If we are lucky, we
will cross the border with more than a thousand swords."
Alodar struggled to sit up. "Grengor," he said, "the crag, the wizard's tower to the

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west, where the snow dips to the hills. How many days for all of us on foot? We
must go there."
"Be not alarmed, my lady," Grengor told Aeriel. "It is but a delirium. A small
phantasm from having under-gone the charm of the sorcerer. As the body mends,
so will the mind."
Alodar still felt sick and dizzy from his miscast charm. The sweetbalm was no
longer potent enough to blot out all of the pain. "Fetch Kelric, I say. He must
interpret the vision. We cannot choose our course until it is settled."
"He alone of our troop has perished," Grengor said. "Even with the aid of the eye,
he gave up the little power that remained within him to quell your pain and guide
your final thrust into the cheiftain's brain. Indeed,
had he not so passed from us, you still would be only what he chose to make of
you."
Grengor paused and looked off into the distance. "But in the end, I think he
judged his choice to be the right one. As he sank away, the queen pronounced
him a suitor for his deed in her behalf. His last expression was a smile rather than
a scowl."
Alodar was silent for a moment as the news sank in, But the feeling of urgency
grew and pushed his reflection aside. "There is more to the eye than just a
sorcerer's tool," he said at last. "I saw and felt far beyond what Kelric impressed
upon me."
"And what if it is so, master?" Grengor persisted. "The deed of the eye is done,
and we must soon return to Proco-lon with whatever forces we can muster. Aeriel
even replaced the thing in your pouch as you slept; no one else coveted it. Leave
thoughts of sorcery here hi the uplands. What can they possibly matter to you
now?"
Alodar leaned one hand back to steady himself and closed his eyes. The scene of
the hills with the mountains behind sprang into his mind, almost as vivid as it
had under enchantment. Mentally he soared over the terrain and unerringly sped
to the one spot that had compelled him before. The giant spire was there and
inside it was a tomb. A tomb to be opened. A wizard to be questioned. The answer
to a riddle for which he could not even formulate the question.
He thought of his quest for the queen; but beside this great yearning, it did not
seem to matter. He wrinkled his brow in puzzlement and reached out to stroke
Aeriel's arm at his side. How could the spire connect with what he strove for? It
must be an enchantment produced by the eye itself, independent of the wielder.

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Had he not looked, it would be no more than an idle thought to be consumed by
the fires of his ambition. But the compulsion tugged and he knew he must
respond.
Alodar opened his eyes and thought through what he would say. Waving aside
Aeriel's restraining arm, he slowly rose to face the sergeant. He swayed for a
moment and then drew in a deep breath and was steady.
"I know that it will take time as well as sweetbalm to mend my body, Grengor," he
said in a slow, deliberate tone. "But my mind is clear, clear enough to know what
we must do. If we continue directly south as we have, we will find only more of
the smaller tribes in our path. But in my vision of far-seeing on the boat, I looked
down on larger camps higher in the interior, larger tribes hunting where the
game is more plentiful. It will take us longer to return to Procolon, but we must
strike to the west so that we increase our chances of finding greater numbers."
"But, as lady Aeriel says," Grengor objected, "it would also mean greater risk of
losing control of whatever forces we now command."
"I cannot ignore what I have seen under the spell of the eye, Grengor," Alodar
said. "I must go west and seek out the answer. This beckoning I cannot explain,
but the truth of it I do not doubt. If you will trust me as your leader, then I ask
you to join me."
Grengor looked back at Alodar's face. "The other suitors will not be convinced
easily. And if we argue in front of the barbarians, the feeble hold we have on them
may vanish."
"I will go alone if I must," Alodar said, looking out over the campfires. "But if you
marines and the nomads you command come, then the others will follow. We are
the majority. As you say, the suitors will not risk a confrontation. They will reason
that a few days detour is far better than proceeding southward with a small
fraction of our party."
Grengor rubbed his chin. "The south or west; we do not know for certain the
outcome of our fortunes either way," he mused.
"You followed me onto the wargalley's deck and into the longboat in a raging
sea,"
Grengor was silent for a moment. "And into the nomad's camp." He slapped his
side at last. "Forgive my hesitation, master. If you command to the west, it is to
the west we will go. Rest lightly while I pass the word. We will strike into the
ulterior tomorrow."

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Grengor went off, and Alodar felt Aeriel's touch on his shoulder. "There is still
time for rest," she suggested. "Come, make yourself comfortable."
They settled to the ground and Alodar looked up into dark eyes that reflected the
flickering glows of the camp-fires. "I still quest for the fair lady," he said. "I do not
know what we will discover in the west, but I hope that somehow it will aid hi my
cause."
"I understand that." Aeriel continued her gentle stroking, "Your charge into the
camp redeemed your loss of face for the miscast sorcery. That is all in the past
now. The queen's favor will shift to the one who can aid her best on the morrow."
For a long while Alodar thought of his thirst for glory, the granite spire, Vendora,
and the foggy memory of Aeriel's nursing in the days past. Finally he reached out
and grasped her hand in his. "But were it not for the quest..."
Aeriel smiled. "And I understand that as well," she said.
The huge fire crackled hi the first light of dawn, and Alodar huddled close for its
warmth. He tentatively stretched one of his legs forward and felt the stiffness hi
his calf. Idly, he fingered a chip of agate he had found on the trail and then tossed
it among the clippings of herbs, twigs, rocks, and other thaumaturgical and
alchemical gear he had scavenged along the way. He slapped at one of the fleas
that he had acquired from the nomadic tribesmen.
"Despite its age, the sweetbalm has done its work well, Alodar," Aeriel said beside
him. "Only twelve days of healing, and already you are nearly well."
"Yes I think I am ready to try some of the trail on my own feet," Alodar
responded, rubbing his shoulder with his free hand as she leaned against him.
And I will need to be far more supple when we finally reach the spire."
"It is well that you are so steadfast in your determination," she said. "You know
full well that Duncan and the others accompany your marines against their will.
They seek only the smallest opportunity to show you still bemused from Kelric's
spell. Once even a hint of doubt creeps into your manner, they will try to exploit it
to gain control."
Alodar nodded and looked down the trail. They were higher now, and the valley
walls closed together. Rather than scattered on a broad floor, their troop snaked
back in almost single file, the row of campfires strung like fiery beads on an
invisible string. The trees crowded in close,

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taking turns eclipsing the sun as it rose into the sky. Long shafts of light filtered
through the needles, bathing the dusty air in a golden glow. Alodar heard Feston's
deep voice and Vendora's laugh in reply. He chafed at his self-imposed exile from
her presence but, after his failure with sorcery, thought it best to resolve the
mystery of the wizard's tower before approaching her again. He looked back at
Aeriel and saw her staring silently into the flame.
After several minutes, Grengor walked into view from up the trail and playfully
slapped his relief guard on the back as he passed. "By the spirits, a solemn lot," he
cried as he approached Alodar and Aeriel. "Did not your training maids tell you,
my lady, of the danger of staring with such intensity into the blaze?"
"Yes, that they did, Grengor," Aeriel said, shaking her head and looking up to the
marine as he approached. "Many a tune they warned me that the fascination of
the flame was only the will of some demon in the world beyond. Reaching out and
trying to bewitch me, just as the sorcerer does with his eye. And many times as a
small girl I tested such old tales, too."
"You make much too light of it, my lady,** Grengor said. "Your maids instructed
you well. As the romances say, it is not only by the wizard's brazier that the
realms are connected; innocent flame of whatever type might serve as the means
also."
"But the sagas say that only the simplest and least powerful can come through of
their own will," Aeriel protested. "Demons of true power can bridge the gap only
by the intercession of a wizard. Unless he deliberately seeks to make the contact
and provides the exotic ingredients for the flame, then there can be no
transferral."
"Yes, my lady, it is probably as you say," Grengor replied as he moved across the
campsite. "But I shun staring at the flame nonetheless."
Alodar rose stiffly from his sprawled position and tentatively stretched to his
tiptoes. "Pause a few minutes while you can, Grengor," he said, "but we should
break camp and begin the climb. I hope to be well up the mountainside and
perhaps even at the base of the spire before nightfall."
Grengor grunted as he slumped down for a moment's rest at the edge of the fire.
One of the other marines rose
and sent the word down the line. One by one, the fires were snuffed out. Soon the
valley walls echoed with the sounds of breaking camp and loading the ponies. In
half an hour, the long string was ready to march, and they started up the trail.

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The early going was easy, up a modest incline with little rock and debris to
impede their progress. As the sun began to arch up to its zenith, the slope
steepened and the smoothness underfoot gave way to bare rock, tumbled and
cracked by the snow melts of spring.
Alodar panted near the lead, his lips pulled into a slight grimace as he tried his
weight on his healing leg. With such a large party, the pace was slow enough; but
he was tiring rapidly and wished that a good place to halt would soon appear.
"A moment, Alodar," Aeriel gasped. "I am beginning to feel the effects of the
height. Should we not pause, even if we do not prepare a meal?"
"I petition with the lady," Grengor said as he struggled to join them. "I have an
itch between my shoulders that has tormented me since we broke camp this
morning."
Alodar smiled at Grengor's efforts to reach a spot high up in the center of his
back. "Mold still for a moment," he said. "I will give you aid while Aeriel catches
her breath."
Grengor turned his back, and Alodar briskly began to rake the area with his hand.
"Aieeee!" Grengor shouted and danced away. "Desist, master. Your scratch turns
the itch into pain. I prefer the more gentle touch of the lady." He knelt down
before Aeriel, and she cautiously laid her hand on his back.
"Why, there is something caught underneath your tunic, Grengor," she
exclaimed. "I can feel the lump of it quite plainly against my palm."
Alodar stepped forward and ran his hand down the neck of the garment. After a
few exploratory jabs, he .withdrew a small, round, and barbed object. "It is an
ivoryroot burr," he said. "I would not think that such a plant could grow so far
north. No wonder you had discomfort this morning. Those spines would drive
even the concentrating sorcerer to distraction."
Grengor  rose  to  his  feet,  flexed  his   shoulders   and grinned. "Many a wound
haye I borne in silence," he
.,  »It seems this ivoryroot is more than a match for
 He attempted to step forward to take the lead as the est of the party began to
bunch up behind. But with a flailing stagger, he pitched onto the rocky slope,
breaking his fall only at the last instant. He turned and struggled to regain his
feet as a marine and two barbarians nearby began to bellow with laughter at his
plight. Alodar looked down, puzzled at his usually sure-footed sergeant, and saw
the reason for his fall.

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"Grengor," be said, "your bootlaces are tied togetherl"
Grengor scowled first at Alodar and then at Aeriel.
"Such frivolity does little for discipline on the march. I
am surprised that one of you two would act so out of
character."
"But, Grengor," Aerial protested, "in no way would I do such to you. Perhaps your
laces entangled themselves when you stopped to have the burr removed."
"Unlikely that a double bucket knot could be made accidentally." Greogor retied
his boots and turned to resume the climb. "Enough. I know better than to
confront your denials. Just do not be surprised if I give your campfire a wider
berth in the future."
Aeriel turned to Alodar and they exchanged questioning glances. Alodar shrugged
and resumed the climb. Grengor worked out his heat as he attacked the ever-
steepening mountain. Soon the entire party was again strung out in a long, thin
line, clambering over the fallen rock and gasping for air.
They traveled for barely a quarter hour more when the monotony of heel on stone
was broken by an angry shout back down the line.
"By the shields, I will have no more of this badgering." The voice carried up to
where Alodar circled a large boulder in the way. "Draw your sword now, knave,
and let us settle it."
Alodar quickly limped back down the line, shouldering marines and nomads
aside. He reached the commotion just as blades clanked for the first time. 'To
your station," he commanded the marine. "Attend to your chieftain," he shouted
at the nomad. The two men stopped and momentarily stepped backwards.
"Enough," Alodar concluded as he halted between them. "You both
know that the gain of all depends on each of us working together, not against
each other. Now what brings on such folly?"
"He drew on me, for what cause I do not know, master," the marine said. "I
unsheathed my own blade only to defend myself from his attack."
"Away with your smooth words," the other shot back, "Look at my bead and
shoulders. Do you think that I sweat so much in this dry air to drench me so? Ha,
now look at this one's goatskin. Empty with not a drop left for its intended
purpose.

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Alodar looked back to the marine. His goatskin was flapping empty against his
side. "Perhaps a leak, master," he mumbled. "And I swear I did not come near
this man until he whirled about and accosted me."
Alodar eyed the evidence, trying to formulate a reprimand that would deter the
rest of his troop from such conduct while not hampering their fighting spirit. As
the marine's glance dropped to the ground under Alodar's penetrating stare, a
startled cry from the head of the line shot down the mountainside.
"And now it is lady Aeriel," Alodar growled in irritation. He sighed and began to
limp back up the trail. "I shall attend to your punishment later."
He passed two nomads, huddled beside the rough path, and saw them pull their
garments about them in a sudden gust of wind. A fine mist billowed down the
trail. Before Alodar could react, he was surrounded in dimness. He frowned and
tried to brush the fog away with his hands as he continued upwards. He felt a
tingling on his exposed skin as when he accidentally had spilled one of Saxton's
acids. His eyes began to sting, and only with difficulty was he able to force them
open.
He heard Aeriel call again, this time quite near. Through squinted eyelids, he
could barely see her, a little distance ahead, huddled behind Grengor's bulk.
Alodar joined them and Aeriel slipped from behind Grengor to his arms.
"It came up in an instant," she said. "From totally clear to this biting fog."
Alodar squinted out into the swirling mist, searching for an answer. Off to his
right, he caught the dance of a feeble light. As he focused his attention, he heard a
tiny
malicious laugh. Aeriel and Grengor turned in the direc-.     of the noise, and at
that instant the breeze stopped.
The obscuring cloud dissolved and the light grew brighter, making smali random
motions in the air.
"Master," Grengor shouted. "By the flames, somehow a bottle has been broken
nearby."
Alodar started to answer, but the air totally cleared. A tiny bumanoid figure
stared back at him out of the diffuse brightness. Scarcely a hand high, with long
double-jointed limbs covered with coarse bristly hair, the creature hovered on
long, transparent, veined wings that protruded from a misshapen knob in the
center of its back. The small head sat oddly out of place before horny shoulder

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blades and shone with burning eyes above a gross caricature of human nose and
mouth.
"Perhaps a broken bottle," Alodar said at last. "Or perhaps, Grengor, you indeed
were prudent to avoid gazing at the flame these many years. We have an imp
among us, no doubt about it."
Alodar looked into the glowing eyes. He felt a sudden pressure on his shoulders
and a weakness in his knees. "Kneel and submit. Submit to your master." A thin,
reedy voice floated through his mind. "Resistance is futile when you are so tired."
Alodar shook his head. "It speaks," he said aloud. "Like a sorcerer, it seeks my
free will." He looked back at the small devil hovering inches in front of his face
and tried to concentrate, as he had learned under Kelric's instruction.
"Lay down your defenses," the voice continued. "I wiH pester unceasingly until
you do."
Alodar felt a prickly itching on his chest and back. The teeth in his lower jaw
began to ache. He sensed the imp's presence in his mind, a hard and spiny ball
that pulsed its message of supremacy. Like the ivoryroot burr, the sphere stabbed
into his consciousness, each expansion blotting more of his free thought and
increasing the distraction.
"You cannot conquer my will," the sprite doned on, "Therefore it must be yours
that will falter."
Alodar's thoughts blurred in confusion. The itching spread to his limbs and the
pain in his mouth sharpened.
He felt the impulse to do as the sprite said, to be done with the aggravatioa. But a
deeper sense of preservation halted the reaction. He filled his lungs and focused
on the throbbing irritation. To shy away from the confrontation would lead only
to defeat. Mentally he formed a shell around the sphere and concentrated on
expunging it from his mind. "Away, detestable irritation," he ordered. "Back
whence you came and bother us no more."
The pulsing stopped for a moment, but then resumed with increasing frequency.
"Submit, manthing. The itches, boils, and stings at my command will make your
existence a torture. An infestation of a thousand fleas is nothing in
comparison."
"Begone," Alodar yelled as he strained to crush the ball into nothingness. "Begone
before I change my mind and choose instead to keep you hi a bottle." He clinched

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his fists and increased the mental pressure.
The itching continued, and Alodar felt as if he were plunged in a vat of ravenous
beetles. He squeezed his eyes shut. Imagining a great vice, he turned the shaft
and closed the plates against the creature. For a second, nothing happened; but
then, for the second time, the throbbing paused. Alodar detected a slight
relaxation in the feelings which bedeviled him and pressed all the harder. The
oscillations began again, but beat irregularly for only a few strokes more. With a
gasp, he slammed the vice closed and felt the imp's presence pop from his mind.
Without warning, the dancing brightness suddenly exploded in front of Alodar's
nose. With a loud bang, the imp disappeared from view. Alodar blinked twice in
surprise and then rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe the afterimages away. He looked
quickly up and down the trail. All was quiet with no hint of a breeze.
"An exorcism as good as any in the sagas," Grengor said. "Have you managed
somehow, master, to study the craft of the wizard as well?"
Alodar slowly shook his head. "My reaction was instinctive. Probably what any
man would do if likewise confronted." He stopped and ran his hand over bis
cheek. "Perhaps my sorcery helped somewhat, although the sensations were
remarkedly different. The imp did not have the irresistible tug of an enchanter. If
I surrendered, it
would have been because I gave my will to him, net because he took it. And for
my own part, the sickness and reaction were not there. I just willed him away
until he accepted the command."
"But a sprite nonetheless," Aeriel marveled. "Unheard of this far north. It was
remarkable enough when some spontaneously appeared in the Fumus
Mountains. But here there is no source of exotic flame to help them through. I do
not like it, Alodar. Throughout our history, demons have shown little concern for
the doings of mankind. But now in the cold north, the interior of smouldering
mountains, and the rebelling west, they are everywhere—and in not one case
because of the intercession of a wizard."
Alodar nodded and frowned in thought. He closed his eyes; instantly the vision of
the spire sprang into view. "The wizard in the tomb," he said. "He will have the
answer."
Alodar wearily climbed the rise and limped to look over the edge. Even his arms
throbbed from the bounces of the trail. Quieting the nomads after the appearance
of the imp had taken the better part of the day. Even without further incident
their pace seemed to slow. Now at dusk, they would camp still a half day's march
from his goal.

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Alodar topped the crest and his eyes widened. A high meadow, like a giant
platter, rested between peaks which circled on three sides. At the far edge,
butting against one of the slopes, was another barbarian camp. He quickly
counted the fires and knew that they had found one of the larger tribes. A show of
force might not work this time. His force was outnumbered two to one.
Grengor and some of the others clambered to his side. "A display of peaceful
intentions and quickly, too!" the marine said as he scanned the scene. "We must
give them no excuse to draw their blades."
As the rest of their troop poured over the ridge, a small advance party rapidly was
formed. Alodar, Grengor, the rest of the suitors, Vendora, and two of their
chieftain allies broke apart from the rest and began marching across the
intervening ground to the other camp. The
carcasses of two hares swung from an extended lance as an offering of friendship.
A group of similar size left the larger encampment; midway between the two, they
met under the darkening sky. Alodar stood at the head of his party, flanked by the
two chieftains, and surveyed the men who faced them. Five were simply dressed
hi loincloths and carried swords and hide-covered shields. Two otheres wore
vests of matted wool, and leather belts circled then* waists. The man in the center
towered above the rest, as tall as Rendrac had been, but trim and lean, with skin
pulled tight over rippling muscles. His hah- was jet black, framing deep-set,
smouldering eyes over a jaw clamped with determination. His lips were thin
lines, ready to challenge or yell a warning; only with difficulty could one imagine
them turned upwards in a smile. His vest was lined with leather, and iron
bracelets hid each of his massive wrists.
He stood with his fists at his hips and looked hi turn at each of the chieftains at
Alodar's sides. "This year the game hi these hills is too scarce to feed us all," he
growled. "The tribesmen of Grak are as hungry as any. Begone back to the lower
slopes and we will have no quarrel."
"We do not come to compete for food," Basil called over Alodar's shoulder. "Our
direction is southward to acquire great treasure that will make concerns of the
stomach a minor affair. We detour to the west only so that you have the
opportunity to join and share in the good fortune to come."
Grak frowned and looked hack to the chieftans. "It is as the lowlander speaks,"
one said. "Already he has showered us with jewels beyond even what you would
dream. And mighty fighters will swing their swords among us as well. This one
hacked his way through twenty men without the slightest frown of pain."

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Grak looked down at Alodar and shook his head in puzzlement. "The words of a
soft lowlander can be trusted only when a sword is at his throat," he said.
"Besides this small one, with what other marvels do they widen your eyes?" He
took a step forward and shouldered Alodar aside.
Alodar whirled and reached for his sword, Feston stepped in front of Vendora
and Duncan began fumbling
for the pouch at his side. "Hold your arms," Vendora shouted as she saw the dark
eyes stare down at her. "He comes only to look."
Grak took another step forward and Vendora, stepping from behind Feston's
protection, drew herself erect. The nomad reached out and tipped her chin up,
studying her face as he would appraise the booty from a battle. Vendora did not
move but returned his stare unblinking. Grak touched her hair and ran a few
strands through his fingers. "Like the sun," he muttered.
"Say the word, my fan- lady," Feston growled. "I will make this barbarian pay for
the indignity he shows your station."
Grak continued stroking Vendora's hair. Alodar tensed, darting his eyes back to
Grak's companions and deciding where to make his first thrust. It had been
foolish to bring her along to the parley, he thought. It would have been far better
to ignore her command, even though she was the queen.
"He has no perception of my station," Vendora said at last, still looking Grak in
the eye. She paused and then smiled. "And if you make it known, it will be to my
displeasure."
Grak's frown returned and he looked back to Feston and the others. "Whose
woman is she?" he asked. "Perhaps there is some basis on which we can barter."
"To the four of us collectively," Duncan blurted. "No single one does she call
master."
Vendora threw back her head and laughed. "I am sure that many of our ways
seem strange to you, Grak, but it is for me to decide who is to be my chieftain."
"In the north, a man takes what he wants," Grak said.
Vendora's face hardened. "The men of Procolon would make the price dear. You
outnumber us, it is true, but many a warrior would feel the sting of our blades
before it was through." She glared into Grak's eyes and then softened her
expression with a smile. "And the prize is not nearly as sweet as when it is freely
given."

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Grak grunted and studied Vendora for a mpment more. He turned and again
faced the two chieftans. "And do you adopt other lowland ways as well?" he
asked. "Is there none among you who leads the others?"
"We go to the west, another half day's journey," Alodar
said. "I lead the rest to the spire, and then we turn southwards."
"Demontooth." Grak spat. "It is folly to venture in that direction. The trees are
gnarled. There is no game. And the devils give no rest to any who strive there. My
father kept us well away and his father before him. How can you lead when you
command your tribe so?"
"The barbarian speaks no less than the truth," Feston cut in. "It is time we
abasdon this trek to nowhere and proceed southwards while we still can."
Alodar looked at Grak, then at the doubt forming on the two chieftains' faces. He
frowned and tried to weigh the chances of getting them all to continue.
"Here, chieftain," Basil broke the silence as he handed Grak a gem. "This is a
mere token of what can be yours if you cooperate with what we wish to do. We
seek little of your game. In a few days, we will be well away from these hills. At
the very least, you can show us the courtesy to let us pass in peace. And if you join
forces with ours, your rewards will be even greater."
Grak looked down at the jewel thrust into his hand. He idly rolled it around his
palm. He stared back at Vendora and his eyes narrowed. "Camp here for two
nights while we talk," he said. "I give you my permission."
"And the west?" Alodar persisted.
"As I have said," Grak replied, "there are demons there." He waved his arm at the
two chieftains. "And after I have spoken with them, they will not go either. It is
only the trip south that we will discuss."
"Then if it is to take two days," Alodar said, "there is time enough for me to make
the journey alone. I will be safely returned before you are done."
Vendora looked at Alodar in surprise but quickly pushed her puzzlement aside.
She studied Grak and then his campfires. "The strength of your tribe would aid
me greatly," she said, "and as Basil has stated, if you join forces with ours, your
reward could be even greater."
Grak stood in silence contemplating Vendora's words. "Perhaps our talk will

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touch on more than a trek south," he decided.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Demontooth Tower
ALODAR glanced over his shoulder as he started down the other side of the pass.
The meadow that held Grak's tribesmen disappeared from view. He looked ahead
and visualized the contours of the trail. Rather than moving further upstream, it
looked as if he must traverse two valleys to reach the spire. And even though
foraging took the entire morning, he should reach the base of the tower by
nightfall. He touched the small pack on his back and felt the reassuring lumps of
his rations and the implements of his crafts.
From what Grak had said, he need not worry about blundering into another
group of nomads along the way. And by leaving Grengor and the rest behind, the
chance of losing control of the group was lessened. He flexed his fingers,
stretching the tendons in his arm. The sweetbalm-accelerated healing had
continued, and the soreness was less than the day before. He broke into a slow
jog to test his muscles further. For over an hour he bounded along in silence. The
descent reversed into a gentle rise and he climbed upwards towards the next
pass.
When Alodar reached the saddlepoint and looked into the valley, his face broke
into a smile. There on the other side, jutting up higher than the surrounding
slopes, was the spire which had been such a persistent vision. He scanned the
intervening terrain and then suddenly halted. As the queen's party had climbed
from the shore, the transition from woodlands to forest had been gradual, the
short broadleafed trees slowly giving way to the evergreen conifers and firs. But
here the change was abrupt and startling. The pines were stunted, some reaching
only twenty feet above the ground. Green mixed with equal
parts of brown and gray. No tree was without dead and naked branches. Bare and
broken snags knifed into the sky. Under the sparse canopy of scraggly iimbs, the
ground was as sterile as the trail, dust and bare rock uncluttered with smaller
plants or decaying mulch.
On the far slope, the trees thinned as they approached the monolith, until only a
few gnarted dwarfs sparsely dotted the mountainside. Across the entire canyon,
the air hung with a deathly quiet. No birds sang, no insects buzzed, no rodents
chattered around the trunks. The strangeness of the scene, now that he finally
saw it, tinged his elation with an unsettling apprehension. Cautiously he resumed
his tread, darting bis eyes into the thin forest on either side of the trail.
Another two hours passed, and Alodar reached the nadir of his traverse of the
valley. He scrambled across boulders in a dry stream bed and noted that here and
there an occasional low lying shrub broke the monotony of the uncovered ground.

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As he skirted a big rock directly in his path, he heard a sudden rustling in a
nearby bush. Many small lizards had scampered away as he pounded along the
trail in the preceding valley, but this noise was louder and hinted at something of
much larger size.
He felt a gentle prickling in his mind that reminded him of the sprite he had
exorcised the day before. He drew his sword and stepped forward. Where the
undergrowth was thickest he jabbed with his blade.
"There is no need, there is no need." A form roughly the size of a small pig leaped
into the air. "I will provide for you delights undreamed and without the use of
force. All you have to do is ask."
Alodar blinked and looked at the figure suddenly hovering before him. The
smooth skin shimmered in an ir-ridescent purple and, except for the face, was
covered by a bristly stubble of black hairs. The eyes were owl-like, golden and
seeming to glow from small lights within. A pointed nose twice the length of a
man's sat on top of a small puckered mouth. Unlike the sprite, no wings sprouted
from the spindly back; thin, rubbery limbs curled tightly around the bulbous
torso. The demon floated with no visible means of support.
"Begone, whence you came," Alodar said. "I dispatched your impish brother and
have no need for you."
"Do not judge so rashly," the devil said. "I am no mere sprite whose only powers
are to distract and irritate with feeble rashes and common pranks." The small
mouth pulled into a deep smile that spread the rubbery face from ear to ear. "The
sun is hot and there is no breeze. Would not a sip of water from melted snow
provide a refreshment that the hot waterskin at your side could not equal?"
Before Alodar could reply, the devil waved a slender hand and produced a flask
filled with ice. "Here," it said as it decanted a gurgling stream into a clear cup.
"This is but a small token of what can be yours."
Alodar watched the water bubble in the cup. He ran his tongue across his
suddenly dry lips. "Why do you submit so easily?" he asked. "I would think that
you would contest my will even more strongly than the sprite."
"Submission, surrender, putting aside resistance? It is a detail that need not
concern us now." The demon shrugged and pushed the container forward.
"Refresh your throat, and then we can progress to more intense desires."
Alodar frowned and knocked the cup aside with a flick of his blade. "The sagas
speak of no gift from demonkind that does not ultimately bear a price," he said.
"A shrewd bargainer, I see," the demon replied without breaking his smile. "Then
perhaps the satisfaction of a more sophisticated urge will change your mind."

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The air crackled and Alodar suddenly felt a gentle brush across the nape of his
neck. He whirled about, sword still extended, and looked into the face of a dark-
skinned dancing girl, silently gyrating to an unheard rhythm. Her dark eyes
beckoned; with a playful snap, she flicked one of her scarves at Alodar's blade. A
long swath of cloth was looped around her neck, over her breasts, and tucked into
the top of diaphanous pantaloons. The afternoon sun silhouetted her nimble legs.
Her bare arms fluttered with the motions of the dance.
"And this is no mortal sorcerer's illusion that is hi your mind's eye," the demon
said over Alodar's shoulder. "Step forward and discover that she is a delight to the
touch as well."
The dancer gracefully advanced and flowed past Alo-
dar's guard. She reached up and ran her fingertips down his cheek and then
pressed her body to him.
"Just place your trust in my hands," the devil continued. "Delegate your cares of
this world to my attention. I will see that all is taken care of, and your petty
concerns will trouble you no more."
The dancer clasped her hands behind Alodar's neck. Rubbing herself against his
chest, she stretched on her tiptoes and bent back her head. Alodar shook his
head. With his free hand he reached behind his neck and gently pushed the girl
away. "The lass will avail you no better than the water," he said.
The dancer suddenly vanished, and the demon streaked from behind to face
Alodar again. "Then to the crux of the matter. Perhaps you would prefer pleasure
undis-torted by the infidelity of your feeble senses."
Before Alodar could speak, a gentle prickling moved in his mind and seemed to
brush against a sensitive nodule buried deep in his consciousness. The pressure
expanded with a burst of energy, and a sudden wave of pleasure radiated through
his body: the drowsy comfort of falling asleep; the exhilaration of a last-second
victory; the breaking of a three day fast; the softness of a woman's body; the spice
of the newly mastered craft. The delights mixed together in a jumble that made
Alodar gasp. With tears in his eyes he slipped to his knees and let his sword fall
from his grasp.
He tried to focus on his peril. Before the thought could be half formed, a second
pulse triggered the reaction and he pitched forward to the ground, drowned by
the ecstasy that flowed over him. He rolled over onto his back and sprawled on
the ground, breathing shallow gulps of air as the feeling slowly faded away.
"It is yours for the asking, continual and everlasting," the devil said as he floated
over Alodar's chest and peered down. "Merely surrender your will to mine and

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you will have strokes of bliss that come in an unending procession.
Alodar slowly rose to sitting and looked at the grotesque smile. "You will never,
by your own devices, experience a pleasure so intense," the demon said. "And if
you do not agree, then what you have felt will be but a distant memory."
Alodar clamped his teeth and stared at the demon. "Begone," he said weakly.
"Such power in your words." The devil laughed. "I think one more sample should
seal the bargain."
Alodar tensed, trying to rally a defense against the next onslaught, but at the
same time savoring the anticipation. How could anyone resist such an
overpowering feeling? He banged his fist against the ground in frustration as he
realized what his next answer would be. A pulse of dull pain ran down his arm
from a wound not yet completely healed, and he blinked as an idea struck him.
"But a moment," he said to the devil as he fumbled hi his pack. "I think what I
construct here will help me decide." He withdrew a small forked branch from a
fallen tree and then rapidly coiled a hair from his head around the stem. "You see,
with imagination," he said, holding the figure forward for inspection, "one can
construe this as a simple model of a mortal man. And the most critical element is
the piece of wire from a discarded pack clamp I bind to one of the arms, not
unlike the fiber that carried sensory messages to the brain. Finally, for the energy,
my body heat should be enough."
Without pause, Alodar raced into a spellbinding. Before the devil could react, the
connection was complete. The demon flapped one of his hands on a rubbery
wrist. "Enough stalling," he ordered. "Drink again of my sweet nectar and tell me
if you can then forsake it ever more." Alodar felt the touch of the devil's presence.
As the rapture spread through his head, he grabbed a sharp rock and pressed it
savagely against the wire. A numbing shock exploded in his arm and he screamed
with pain. A ripping sting ran up into his head, mingling with the feeling of
pleasure before it could completely form. The diluted ecstasy soaked through his
body, but the raw intensity was not so great as before. Gasping for breath, Alodar
rose to his feet, dangling, his limp arm at his side. "Begone, I command you," he
whispered hoarsely.
Rows of wrinkles undulated across the devil's forehead. "A strong resistance," he
said, "but surely you cannot withstand one more."
As the next pulse came, Alodar planted his foot over the simulacrum and ground
his heel against the wire. His

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knees buckled and his vision blurred. He felt as if a rec hot saw were sKcing his
flesh and reopening the wound. The bubble of pleasure grew for an instant but
then burst into nothingness. The searing hurt swept it away in a torrent of agony.
All feelings were blanked. Alodar struggled to remain conscious in the maelstrom
of pain. He gulped for air and tried to focus on the purple demon hovering before
him.
The devil backed away a few feet, and then his face sagged into a comic frown.
"What is your wish, master?" he asked. "Do you desire a woman of a different
type, or perhaps to tempt an enemy into the bliss from which he cannot escape?"
Alodar broke the thaumaturgical connection and the pain disappeared. "I
command you to depart this world," he panted. "I have no use for your powers
until I understand how to use them well." He stopped and regained his breath.
"And I care not to have the temptation of your presence to distract me as I
struggle to my goal. Back to the world of demons from which you came."
"But it has taken centuries for me to bridge the gap, master. And my duty is to
ensure that no one passes. My punishment will not be light if I return with a tale
of failure. If you have no need, them let me wrestle with another for his will."
"Depart," Alodar said.
The sad expression twisted into a scowl. "Very well, master, since it is your
command. But know that when I return, I will tell others. You proceed to a far
greater doom than what I so generously offered."
Alodar retrieved his sword and waved it in irritation. The purple skin of the devil
suddenly glowed into incandescence and then disappeared from view. The air
popped as it rushed to fill the void where he had been.
Alodar slowly sheathed his blade and scanned the valley floor. He listened for
another rustling but heard instead only the oppressive silence. His arm throbbed,
and the thought of immediately plunging ahead was suddenly distasteful. He
struggled to recapture the feeling of bliss but the last hint decayed away. With a
shudder, he sagged to the ground for a short rest.
Alodar pulied his cloak about him. All along the final
upgrade to the base of the tower, the breeze had intensified. Now as he topped
the last rise, he squinted to keep the swirling dust out of his eyes. The mountains
further west hid the descending sun. The heat of the day was gone, but dustdevils
danced along the trail.
A level clearing surrounded the base of the spire, three times as wide as the
monolith itself. Around the perimeter, stunted bushes and gnarled trees huddled

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close to the ground, their branches twisted sideways and leaves tattered and torn.
The tower flung itself into the sky, steep, sharp and angular, defying the elements
to pull it down. It was cold and unyielding, one huge rock without fissure, a subtle
pink flecked with shiny black, totally unlike the surrounding hills which crumbled
under his heels.
Alodar ran his hand over the surface. It was a plane extending twenty feet in
either direction, straight and flat as if cut by a giant knife. He moved to the side
where a second plane intersected the first. They met in a shallow angle and the
boundary, sharp as a crystal's, soared into the sky. Like an irregular polyhedron
thrust into the ground, all angles, lines, and planes, the spire stood in jarring
contrast to its surroundings.
A dike of firm granite, Alodar thought, gradually exposed as the softer rock about
it weathered away. He looked up the sheer wall towards the apex, trying to see
the tarnished ring of his vision in the failing light. But the peak retreated into the
soft shadows. All he could discern were a few possible handholds, barely fingertip
wide, strung along the rock. He felt the urge to fling down his pack and race up
the side. But it would be safer to wait till morning, when there was enough light
to climb safely.
Alodar stepped back a pace, and the wind snapped at his cloak. Puzzled, he
approached the tower again and the air fell quiet. He turned his back to the spire
and extended his hand outward into the clearing. The breeze rippled through his
fingers as if he had thrust them out of the window of a rapidly moving coach.
Some sort of barrier kept out the gusts, be mused. He twisted sideways and knelt
to the ground. Unfortunately, it was too narrow to make a shelter for his
campfire.
Alodar walked back into the quickening breeze. He chopped a few limbs from one
of the larger trees and built a small square ring of shelter on the ground. In the
middle,
he piled smaller branches, twigs, and dried grasses and struck his flint hopefully.
To his surprise, the spark caught and held. In a few moments he had a small fire
that somehow defied the wind,
Alodar ate slowly. When the sky turned black, he spread his cloak and curled
around the fire. A gibbous moon rose over the crestline in the east and cast long,
cold shadows on his simple camp. For several hours, he shivered with the cold
and his anticipation of what the morning would bring. He knew he needed the
sleep but it would not come.
Restlessly he sat up on one elbow and stared at the last flickers of his fire. Only a
few wisps of flame lapped up from the glowing embers. He watched one of the

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flamelets suddenly die with a final puff of smoke. The kindling which had fed it
slowly turned from a brilliant yellow to a dull red. Idly he turned to another spark
and saw it dance along a log, lighting first one end and then another. A second
glow appeared by the first; they skittered to and fro in unison.
Alodar sat up and squinted at the campfire as a third dancing ball joined the
others. Cautiously, he reached for his scabbard. As he touched it, a tiny laugh cut
through the silence of the night.
Alodar sprang to his feet and danced backwards, drawing his sword. The three
dots jumped into the air; two flew high and the third arched over, diving for his
head. He swung and missed. Peals of shrill laughter rang through the air.
He thought to knock apart the pile of wood. Before he could act, it suddenly
blossomed in yellow flame. Open-mouthed, he watched as the few charred sticks
sent tendrils of gold into the sky, far higher and more intense than the fire he had
set at dusk. The heat burned painfully at his face. Throwing his forearm up, he
retreated towards the spire.
The three sprites converged over the fire, hovered for an instant, and then
dropped what looked to Alodar like the branches from one of the scrubby plants
which grew nearby. The foliage fell and instantly disappeared from sight, totally
consumed. The yellow turned deep emerald and then starlight blue. The heat
pushed outward like Duncan's expanding sphere, and Alodar took a step
irresistibly backwards.
The flickering flames took on structure. From a rounded outline grew two small,
earlike flaps, long-lobed and filled with coarse hair. Over a low, slanting brow,
deep-sunk eyes darted back and forth behind pockmarked lids. A high and
crooked nose sat above  long, thin mouth that turned down in a malevolent sneer.
The head rose with the flame; as it did, a body filled in underneath, hunchbacked
and spindly, naked and tufted with hair on a scaly skin that flaked off into the
fire.
"By the laws, a djinn," Alodar cried aloud. He looked up to see the imps assemble
and drop more foliage into the blaze. The demon, already formed, stepped from
the fire and another head began to form in his place.
The fire had to be quenched quickly, before more could pass through the gatel
Wincing from the heat, Alodar lunged forward, stabbing at the demon that stood
in his way.
The djinn's eyes flared open at Alodar's advance. A deep rumble spilled out from
his lips. He waved his tal-oned hand, sideways, and a sudden blast of ah- caught
Alodar in the chest. Unlike the wind of evening which had gusted and pushed, the

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blow pounded like a hammer. Alodar gasped for breath as his lungs emptied from
the shock. He staggered forward one step. A second blow hit, spinning him
backwards and knocking him to the ground. As he fell, the flame behind the djinn
danced skywards, coalescing into a second demon.
Alodar rose to one knee. The djinn formed a pulse of ah- that caught him on the
chin and made him reach for the ground for balance. Alodar looked up into the
eyes of the figure towering over him. Its penetrating stare reminded him too
much of the eye that Kelric had awakened in the sorcerer's sphere. He felt a
trickle of fear race down his spine. Instinctively, he grabbed the pouch at his side
and felt the smoothness of the orb.
The demon's thick brows shot upwards into his wrinkled forehead as he saw the
motion. He walked forward and extended his hand. Alodar drew his sword, but a
furnace blast skittered it away. Still clutching the sphere in his left hand, he
reached for his dagger with the other. The demon opened his mouth to speak and
Alodar wrinkled his nose at the sudden foul stench of decay.
"An item of some interest, I surmise," the djinn said
with the hint of some unplaceable accent. 'It is well that I have chosen here and
now to walk again among you mortals."
Alodar held his breath and said nothing as he watched the djinn approach. With
lazy contempt, the demon held out a calloused palm and beckon with his knobby
fingers. "The pouch, if you will," he said. "You fear already what my power can do
to you. Do not chance my wrath in addition."
Alodar stared back at the distorted face. The blazing eyes bored into him, but he
suppressed the impulse to flinch. He felt the prickly presence in his head, this
time radiating a numbing terror rather than annoyance or pleasure. "The pouch,"
the demon repeated. "It is so much easier if you do not resist."
Alodar hesitated, then nodded and offered the bag temptingly. Then, as the
piercing eyes flicked down to watch the transfer, he thrust out with the dagger
and slashed at the demon's outstretched palm.
Thick greenish ichor oozed from the slit, and the demon leapt quickly backward
with an unearthly howl of pain. "You dare to trifle so with one of my kind," he
raged as he pressed his good hand about the wrist and attempted to staunch the
flow. "Thus do I deal with such puny beings as you." He gestured with his injured
hand and another blast of ah* slammed into Alodar's kneeling form.
The blow sent Alodar sprawling backwards and he tried to flatten out for the one
to follow. But the current of wind curled under him and lifted him from the

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ground. In a frantic swirl of arms and legs, he tried to regain his balance, but the
gust propelled him higher.
"I can smash you against the rock," the djinn yelled above the howl of the wind.
"You will be no more than shattered bone and jellied flesh. Submit your will to
mine. Even your wildest fears are but a small hint of what I can do."
The gust abruptly stopped and Alodar crashed to the ground. Groggily he climbed
to his feet, trying to grasp what he must do. He was no match physically for the
djinn. He could not stand his ground as he had done with the others. If he
resisted, he would be bludgeoned into submission.
The last flurries of the blast fluttered around his legs,
dying away almost to the stillness he had felt against the
tower.
He stopped before he was fully erect and tried to remember the feeling next to the
rock wall. The breeze was not merely less, he pondered. The air was still, perfectly
still, as if controlled through the workings of magic. He sucked in his breath with
sudden hope. And if it were magic, then even the demon blasts might be turned
aside.
Alodar pushed aside speculation on the djinn's reaction if he were wrong and
quickly whirled towards the tower. The wind increased and the dust danced
about his feet, but with one quick lunge he pounded against the cold stone. He
saw the demon's face contort with rage, and the campground exploded in a fury.
Sword, the pack, logs, leaves, and branches swirled into a cyclone of dust and
then hurled in Alodar's direction with a shriek of groaning air.
Alodar flung his arms in front of his face and hunched in anticipation. He heard a
sharp crack; then what sounded like a giant bell reverberated in the night. He put
down his hands and saw a pile of debris massed a few inches from his feet and the
glow of the fire still dimly visible in a cloud of swirling dirt and dust. The djinn
stepped forward, eyes blazing hate and talons extended. He ran his claws down
the invisible barrier between them. Alodar winced from the grating screech.
"You cannot stay there forever," the djinn growled. "The hunger and thirst will
only add to your fear. When you are ready to submit on bended knee, you will
plead for my mercy and hope for a gentle touch."
Before Alodar could reply, the demon turned his back and walked through the
settling dust to the fire, now quiescently flickering low to the ground. Two other
demons, colored and featured like the first, stood clear of the blaze, awaiting his

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return. They exchanged deep and guttural sounds for an instant, then stopped.
Each turned his back on the other and radiated outwards from the fire, stopping
and surveying the ground. Alodar watched with his back and arms pressed firmly
against the spire, not daring to venture from the safety of the shield.
After several minutes, the first returned and tossed a load of pebbles and small
stones into the blaze. Just as before, when fed by the sprites, the flames roared
up-
ward, this time a deep purple that blended into the blackness of the sky. The
second demon reappeared, holding two head-sized blocks, and tossed them after
the small rocks. The third waddled back soon after, hands cupped around a
boulder easily as big around as the demon was tall. With a grunt, he added it to
the blaze and stepped back to watch the flames dart out from under it.
From his vantage point, Alodar saw another shape begin to form in the fire,
another head, many times human size with outlines that suggested a grotesque
countenance. Alodar's eyes widened as he grasped what was happening. The imps
had somehow made it possible for the three djinns to span the worlds and,
powerfuJ in mortal terms though they might be, they were bridging the gap for
yet more potent demons to come.
He spun about and sprang for the first handhold above his head. He pulled one
leg up to a resting place and then the other. He felt sudden pain in his arms but
he shoved it aside. Without waiting, he reached for a new grip and scrambled up
the face of the rock. The purchases were few and treacherous, but he did not care.
Seconds seemed vital now. He could hope to succeed only if he took every risk.
Up be scrambled, not looking to see how far he had come or to judge the
remaining distance. Like the enchanted fighting machine he once had been, he
ignored the protests of uohealed muscles and bursting lungs. Hand over hand, in
a hypnotic reverie, he drove himself toward the summit. The column narrowed
and the rock on which he pressed offered fewer grips, but he did not notice. With
a rush, he clambered onto the upshoot which bent to the final pinnacle.
The thickness of rock narrowed to thrice a man's breadth, and Alodar stopped
and ran his hands over the stony surface. In an instant he found what he sought,
the tarnished bracelet set in the stone. He pulled it. With astounding ease, a great
slab parted from the monolith, swung out horizontally, and revealed stairs
leading down into the tower. Alodar glanced back down the dizzying distance to
the ground and caught one glimpse of a huge demon taking final form. With a last
catch of breath, he plunged into the passageway.
The way was dark, and the entrance slab cut off all

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light from the fire below. With one hand on a wall and the other in front, Alodar
spiraled down the stairs as fast as he could without stumbling. Around one circle
he went, and then another. His sense of direction became lost, but he continued
onwards. Suddenly he hit a level floor and staggered. The stairs had ended, and
he was in a room.
Alodar fumbled at his waist for flint and steel and started a small match to glow
in the darkness. The tiny flame burned dimly, but he saw what he knew was
there. A stone sarcophagus carved from solid granite lay at the far end of a vault.
On the wall behind hung an embrace of oil like those in the dungeon of Iron Fist.
Alodar moved forward, shielding his match with a cupped hand. He tossed the
last sputtering embers of his splinter into the pool, and the room burst into light.
Staring down at the stone coffin, Alodar saw a thick sheet of glass shielding the
occupant from the musty air that hung in the chamber. He placed his feet against
the wall and began pushing the slab from its resting place. At first, the heavy
covering did not move but then, as he strained and knotted the muscles of his
back and arms, it slid an inch across the stone with a grating rumble. Alodar
breathed deeply and pressed the smooth edge into his palms. The glass slipped
further, opening a gap between it and the stone rectangle it covered. A strange,
sweet smell rose from the coffin to fill his nostrils, but he ignored it and shoved
again. The slab jerked and then gathered momentum. With a final thrust, he
propelled it across the opposite side and down onto the stone floor in a loud
shatter of broken glass,
"Water," a voice, soft and dry, whispered up at him. "On the wall as you came in—
a door to a second room."
Alodar raced around to the other side of the vault and spied a small bracelet, like
the one on the outside of the tower. He pulled it open and saw another chamber
the same size as the first, but filled with braziers, kindling, piles of dried plants,
capped cylinders, liquids, and small, tightly bound chests. Just like Saxton's shop,
he thought, as he spotted a flask tightly sealed with a metal cap. He struck off the
neck against the wall and hurried back to the wizard, who was sitting up in his
stone bed and
stretching arms and fingers with a chorus of pops and cracks.
The wizard tilted his head backwards. Alodar poured the water down into the
eager mouth, spilling some onto a robe of deepest jet, set with the logo of the
flame. Although the musty vault suggested a sleep of centuries, the features were
those of middle age. Short ringlets of light brown hair covered his head and
cascaded over his ears to merge with a well trimmed goatee. Brown eyes flanked a
high thin nose, delicately enscribed with tiny blue veins. Toe face was gaunt and
pale, the hands smooth and uncalloused. The wizard was a man of vault and

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contemplation rather than sun and physical labor. "Enough, enough," Alodar
heard him sputter at last. "You have awakened none less than Handar, the great
wizard. That I stretch and stir again is of itself a tale for the sagas."
Handar paused and stared at Alodar. "Stand closer to the light so that I can look
at you better," he commanded. "But a lad, I see. Who of the others would have
thought it?"
"Demons," Alodar cut him off. "Many of them below. I came for help. How you
can aid I do not know, but it seemed what I must do."
"They would be the thickest here, of course," Handar said. "But the shield will
keep the imps away, no matter how many."
"Not only sprites," Alodar persisted, "but djinns of power as well. And they work
to bring forth even greater ones of their own volition. It was only by the smallest
of margins that they did not prevent me from reaching you safely."
Handar studied Alodar intently for a moment and then shook his head. "In
numbers already," he said. "Then we have cut the margin exceedingly fine." He
swung one leg over the coffin wall. "Quickly, the brazier of gold and the skin of oil
beside it. There is wizard's work to be done."
Alodar hastened back to the storeroom and dragged forth the requested
equipment. He set a tripod midway in the room and filled the brazier that swung
beneath its apex with oil from a skin hard and brittle with age.
"And BOW the chalk and the woods," Handar said. "Then we can begin."
Alodar fetched the gear from the storeroom. When he returned, a small fire was
flickering from the now-steady nan. The wizard was standing ready with no signs
of stiffness or sleep. He reached into the chalk box and rapidly sorted through the
pieces; a small cloud of colored dust rose from his haste. At last he withdrew one
piece and turned his attention to the bundle of wood.
Handar deftly untied the knot, sending the small sticks swirling across the floor.
"Let me see," he muttered, holding up the rods one by one and occasionally
rubbing or smelling their smooth surfaces. "Ah, ironwood and myrtle. The very
ones for him I seek."
Handar turned quickly and cast the ingredients into the blaze. "Come forth,
Balthazar, I command you. Awake from your idle reverie and sloth. Your master
decrees after these many years a new task for his bonded servant and slave."
Alodar looked  from  the  flame that  arched  between them and then into the eyes

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of the man he had awakened. He saw the brow wrinkled in concentration and
eyes fixed unswerving on  the  fire.  Bony  arms extended  forward, beckoning to
the flame. "What is happening?" Alodar asked. "Silence," Handar ordered. "We
have no time to trifle with idle curiosity. I must stretch to my limits and call up
the most powerful that I dare. Do not distract me to our peril."
As Alodar returned to silence, he saw the beginnings of an outline in the center of
the blaze. An orange head, eyes and ears blended with the flames, rose above a
massive trunk of huge scales and thighs the girth of barrels. Up into the room it
towered, cloven hooves and tail dancing in the small fire from which it sprang.
Alodar looked up at the head, which now touched the top of the chamber, and
shuddered. The ears were large, covering the sides of the elongated head and
ending in sharp points that soared above a bald crown. The eyes were small
glistening beads of black, deep sunk beneath a jutting forehead that formed a
permanent frown. With each breath, tiny nostrils flared from a small bump of a
nose.
A mouth shaped like an inverted U cut deeply into the
chin.
"So Handar, you again choose to settle your fate in rash manner after all of these
mortal years. It is well that you have not practiced your art in so long a time. It
will make the submission all the quicker."
"Silence, Balthazar, silence," the wizard shot back, "I have had the will of two of
your kind since I toddled from my father's knee. The passage of time does not
weaken my steadfastness but gives me all the more experience and confidence to
handle your feeble puffs of will. If you do not believe it, look into me and see what
you find there."
The demon sneered from bristly jowl to jowl. His luminescent eyes bore down on
the wizard. For several minutes there was silence. Neither moved. Alodar saw
beads of sweat break out on Handar's forehead. He saw the demon's tail begin to
twitch slowly, first to the left, then to the right. Finally a spasm ran up the entire
length to the large plates which covered his back.
"And so, Balthazar," Handar said, "say again who is master and who is the slave."
"I am at your bidding and service," the demon mumbled.
"I cannot discern your usually wonderful diction, Balthazar," Handar continued.
"Speak louder for my companion here."
"I am at your bidding and service," Balthazar boomed. "What task will you give
me so that I may have it done?"

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"Know then, Balthazar," Handar said, with a tinge of smugness in his voice, "that
below this very pinnacle several of your kindred have forced their way into the
mortal world without being called here by one of my craft. Plunge downward and
dispatch them to whence they came. Rend them limb from limb and distribute
the essence of their being to the farthest corners of their natural realm, so that
eons may pass before they coalesce again."
Balthazar glanced groundward and stared through the rock. "But they are indeed
of my closest kindred,'* he said. "Spawned from the same clutch in which I was
laid. I see they only frolic about, and about them are none of your kind to be
harmed. Such action does not deserve
unjust wrath from one with your mighty will, master." "As I have said, Balthazar,"
Handar commanded, "dispatch your obligation and whine no more about it."
The tail twitched twice more above the tripod. Then suddenly the demon was
gone. The chamber was still, with only the small flicker of flame and a hint of a
foul odor to mark his presence.
"Up to the entrance," Handar said. "We can see how Well Balthazar strives after
such a long rest."
Alodar sprang for the spiral passageway, and the wizard marched after at a more
stately pace. In a moment Alodar reached the slab, which was still cantilevered
from the steep sides of the pinnacle. Racing out onto it, he looked below.
The campfire flamed in a rainbow of colors. The original three sprites had grown
to a swarm of lights that dove and climbed among perhaps a dozen of the smaller
djinns. In the center of all towered a giant, from the distance seemingly as tall as
Balthazar, hands on bony hips and head tipped back in a fiendish yell as the
smaller devils danced about him.
Suddenly lightning flashed. Deafening thunder cracked through the air. As
Handar reached Alodar's side, a small cloudlet formed over the blaze. A second
flash struck the earth hi the midst of the demons. As they scrambled away, a
staccato burst of ram fell and doused the fire. In a ball of orange flame, Balthazar
appeared in the middle of the smouldering rocks and branches. Without warning,
he snatched up two of the small demons, one in each hand, and dashed their
heads together in a spray of greenish pulp. With seeming nonchalance, he tore
limb from lifeless limb and scattered them airwards to vanish in puffs of smoke
and flame.
The demon confronting Balthazar roared in challenge and waved his arms in
warning. A giant globule of ice suddenly appeared between his hands; with a snap
of his long arms he hurled it at his opponent. Balthazar dropped the remains of

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his smaller brothers, turned, and caught the missile against his scaled shoulder.
It burst into a thousand tiny shards and dashed to the ground, hissing into steam
when it touched the still glowing embers. Before the other demon could attack
again, Balthazar stomped the ground. A fissure opened at his feet. It raced
across the clearing from one fighter to the other. From a small crack, it grew
wider till it spanned a full six feet and caused even the pinnacle to rock as the
shockwaves spread from the disturbance.
Balthazar's opponent danced to one side and then the other as the jagged crack
approached, but it sped unerringly to him. With a guttural yell, he fell into the
abyss that opened under his feet. Balthazar stomped the ground again; the earth
closed as rapidly as it had split asunder. No trace was left of the demon, except
for a few bubbles of green which oozed upwards from the crack that marked the
fissure's path.
The smaller demons and imps that had watched the battle suddenly began to
scatter, but Balthazar pursued each with relentless precision. He dispatched the
sprites with a clap of bis hands. In a few moments it was over and Balthazar
streaked skywards to stand before Handar on the slab.
"It is done, Balthazar," Handar said. "Transport us gently below and then return
whence you came."
In a rush, Alodar felt himself scooped up in a pillow of air and hurled down to the
campground with breathtaking speed. Just when he thought that the demon
planned some revenge upon his master, they came to a gut-wrenching halt and
stood on the firm ground.
"Use the embers," Handar said. "It is enough to give you passageway back."
Balthazar said not another word but moved to the glowing remains of the
drenched fire and wrapped his tail about him. He stepped upon one of the coals,
still red-yellow, and vanished from sight.
Alodar looked at Handar with a stunned expression on his face. The events he
had just witnessed were so far removed from anything he had experienced that it
was hard to believe they had happened. The raw power of Balthazar pushed his
own strivings into insignificance. He felt like a small child, bewildered by the
complex world of adults manipulating their surroundings in a way he could never
hope to master.
"It is cold," Haudar said, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "And I
am hungry. Repair your camp, and then we will talk."
CHAPTER NINETEEN Possession by Design

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ALODAR warmed his hands in front of the fire. The events of the past hour were
slowly ebbing away. He closed his eyes, but the vision no longer came. He was
free of the enchantment which had drawn him to the spire.
He shook his head and looked across the flame at Handar, who was complacently
pulling the remains of the meal out of his beard with a small comb. "Why was I
drawn here?" he asked at last. "For what purpose did you sleep hi the tomb? How
can demons of such great power cross unbidden into our world?"
"It all will be explained in good time and proper fashion," Handar said, raising his
hand to stop the rush of questions. "But first I must know more of your journey.
How is it that you and no other broke the seal that awakened me? And besides
the demons here, how does our world fare elsewhere in interaction with them?"
Alodar frowned with impatience, then sighed when he saw Handar tilt up his chin
and close his eyes to mere slits. "I am Alodar, suitor to the queen of Procolon," he
said. "And I am here as a result of my quest for her hand." He paused and let his
thoughts tumble back into order. "From the dungeons of Iron Fist, to the depths
of the Fumus Mountains, to the inner sanctums of the Cycloid Guild, through the
enchantment of the sorcerer's eye, I have striven to aid her cause better than any
other."
"For a mere queen?" Handar asked.
"For the respect of all men, for a parade of triumph through the streets of
Ambrosia, for the glory of the sagas, for a reason for existing." Alodar flushed as
the feelings flooded back through him. He breathed deeply, savoring the taste of
his goal. "But each step along the way led only to the next, the promise of some
greater marvel to turn the eyes of the fair lady. Now armies from the south
and west sweep into the heart of Procolon. If only I could find the means to swell
the ranks of the nomads around her banner and defeat the demon-led hordes
which oppose her!"
Alodar stopped and blinked. "Balthazar," be exclaimed. "With his might and the
others you could muster, we could rid the warriors who oppose the queen of the
fiendish influence which drives them. Or more easily convince Grak and the other
chieftains to join in the fair lady's cause. My quest goes onward. It was right to
divert our trek southwards so that I could visit this tower. A powerful wizard is
just what the fair lady needs in the struggle for her kingdom."
Alodar halted again and looked at Handar through narrowed eyes. "But I must
admit I view the prospect with mixed feelings," he said at last. "My efforts before
have benefited others as much as they have aided me. Vendora would look to

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reward the wizard who did the deed rather than the messenger who brought
him."
"Then do you wish to turn aside what aid I might offer," Handar asked, "and
continue your petty struggle on your own?"
Alodar was silent for a moment more. He thought of the sprite with its boils and
rashes, of the pleasures he was able to resist only with intense pain, of the raw
power of Balthazar and the other djinns. Already he had seen and experienced
too much of what demonkind could do. He nodded slowly with decision and
looked Handar in the eye. "The demons must be exorcised from our world. No
matter who gets the credit."
Handar returned Alodar's stare. He lightly touched his fingertips together in front
of his chest. "It is well that you answered as you did," he said, "for any other
would have meant that your quest was for naught."
Alodar raised his eyebrows with surprise but Handar continued. "It would be my
doom if I summoned Balthazar to satisfy my every whim. Each time we contest,
he learns more of my will, of my weaknesses and petty failings, my irritations,
desires, and fears. If I persisted one time too many, it is he who would be the
master and I the slave. It well may be that I must call upon him again before the
struggle is finished, but it will be only when he is desperately needed and not
before.
jsfor will I appear before this queen of yours juggling imps in my hands like some
jester. I am a wizard and know better than to dissipate foolishly the power of my
craft You need not fear for the effect of my art on the heart of this lady. It was for
a much graver reason that I was laid to rest."
Handar collapsed his palms together and brought his thumbs up to his chin. "You
mention building an army," he said, "and using wizardry to aid in persuasion. I
think that it would be a good enough first test. Listen well and I will instruct you
on the workings of my craft."
"You offer to teach me how to deal with djinns such as Balthazar?" Alodar asked.
"One as mighty as he will come later," Handar said. "For the moment,
summoning a sprite or two should suffice to build your confidence and probably
impress this queen as well."
"But why?" Alodar asked. "You pile one mystery on top of another."
"Why?" Handar echoed, stiffening into an erect posture. "It is not for a wizard to
answer why. He does as he chooses, as he wills things to be. I elect to tell you of

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my craft now. More will come when I judge you worthy to receive it."
Alodar shrugged and settled into a comfortable position. Handar waited several
moments more in silence and then rose.
"What you saw transpire in this clearing tonight was an exercise in one of the
fundamental laws of wizardry," he said. "The law of ubiquity. Or stated in simple
terms, 'fire permeates all.* It is by fire and fire alone that a bridge or gateway is
formed between the demon world and ours. It is through fire that they come to
us. The simple blaze of a fallen log is enough to furnish passage for the most
feeble among them, such as tiny imps and will-o'-the-wisps. Their presence is
harmless, even though an annoyance and surrounded by much folklore and
baseless superstition. Any man with a whit of courage can bend them to his will
and make them behave. The powerful demons require more exotic means of
access. Fire of a natural kind will not do. Exotic plants, woods, and even rarer
substances such as rock must burn to make the conditions right."
"Then what I surmised was true," Alodar said. "The less powerful opened the way
for the greater djinns to pass through."
"Yes," Handar agreed. "But if it were as simple as that, then long ago this world
would have been overrun with demonkind. There would not be wizards enough to
wrestle with all that might appear. But hi the scheme of things, although flame is
necessary, it is not sufficient. Except for an irritating imp or two, none of the
demons have free access, even though a path may be open. The flame makes a
channel where there was none before, but all resistance is not overcome. The
greater the demon's power, the greater in proportion is the barrier which impedes
him. A sprite, devil or djinn of any strength must make contact with a human
mind and be pulled across the friction that remains. Indeed, all of the so-called
craft of wizardry is concerned with just one thing, the establishing of a link
between the two worlds, of making the contact of minds that allows the demon to
come forth. Once the connection has been made, the resistance vanishes and
what happens next is governed by the second law, the law of dichotomy."
"But there were no wizards pulling the sprites and djinns through," Alodar
objected. "Once the flame was established, they came of their own will."
"Of that I will speak later," Handar said. "But first the law of dichotomy, or
simply stated, 'dominance or submission.' There is no middle ground. Once the
demon has been called forth, then who controls whom is determined solely by a
contest of wills. If the wizard is strong -enough, he will dominate and the demon,
at least for the particular conjuring, will be his to command. If the man falters
and the demon wrests mastery from him, then he becomes the pawn of the other
world, a warlock, a mere toy to strut and twist about as it suits their eerie
amusement."

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Handar suddenly raised his palms and stopped. "And that is all there is to the
craft," he said.
"No words of power, formulas, rituals or chants handed down from master to
pupil?" Alodar asked.
"Only which flames are appropriate for which demon," Handar replied. "And that
is just so that the foolish do not attempt beyond what they are capable. But such
knowledge is peripheral to mastery of the craft. The essence is the will to resist, to
remain free, to preserve one's spirit. And this central core of wizardry cannot be
taught, only experienced."
"But the power I saw your creature unleash," Alodar said. "With such as he to aid
you, no kingdom could resist."
"It is as I have said," Handar replied. "The more powerful the demon, the
stronger is his will and the greater risk there is of submission rather than
domination. And there is somehow a flaw in those who seek skill in wizardry and
perhaps in most men as well. A flaw that leads us to temptation almost without
fail. As we practice our art and summon again and again the lesser demons which
we can easily bend to our will, we grow tired of their supplications, their flattery,
their bemoaning of the small tasks that are placed upon them. We reach out and
try to bring forth a devil of more power, to test our strength against him and to
measure our accomplishments against our peers who strive as well. And as the
sagas show, one by one, the daring craftsmen of wizardry eventually attempt
what is beyond their reach and pass from free men to be the tools of those whom
they wished to control. To be a wizard is no casual undertaking, though the
preparation for it is small. And to be a great one requires character as strong as
any hero in the sagas, a will unbending to the temptations that demonkind will
offer along the way."
"And you, Handar?" Alodar asked.
"If I were strong enough, if wizardry alone were great enough, then there would
have been no need for my long sleep of waiting for someone to come."
Alodar trudged up the pass in silence, the stiffness of his wounds almost
completely gone. Except for more detail on how to probe through the flame,
Handar stubbornly chose to say no more about his background or any of the
other puzzling questions. Most of the morning had passed while Alodar gave an
account of his adventures starting with the siege of Iron Fist over a year ago. All
along the trail hack to the meadow, the wizard's only comments had been an
occasional grunt or introspective smile.

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Alodar looked down from the pass and saw that little
had changed since his departure the day before. The goatskin huts of Grak's
tribesmen still clustered near the base of the mountain. Further out in the
grasses, the collection of nomads who were pledged to Vendora's banner huddled
around a scattering of small fires, preparing a midday meal. Between the two
camps, one isolated group stood apart from all the rest. Alodar squinted at a pole
thrust into the ground there and saw a crude banner with the colors of the queen.
"They still parley," Alodar said over his shoulder as Handar climbed the last few
paces to his side. Handar nodded wordlessly and started down the slope. In a
quarter of an hour they walked into the small camp.
Alodar could tell as he looked into the dozen or so faces staring his way that
conversation had stopped several minutes before their final approach. Grak,
other chieftains, the suitors, Grengor, and Aeriel sat in an informal circle around
a single fire. Alodar sought the face of the queen and shouted his greeting. "I
bring powerful resources and fresh hope for the fair lady. The wizard Handar,
and great are the demons at his command."
A buzz of conversation started around the group. Grak conferred with two of his
nomads sitting nearby and the other suitors exchanged glances among
themselves. "You return at a most propitious time, master," Grengor said. "Three
of Grak's subchieftains have experienced enough of Basil's show of gems and
Feston's words of plunder to want to join our cause. If you can aid in convincing
the fourth, the one with the long unruly mane, then I am sure that chieftain will
follow."
"We talk in terms of carats of ruby and ounces of soft gold," Basil said. "A tale
from these highlands, even a wizard's, carries no weight compared to these.
Return your hermit to wherever you found him and let his imps scavenge his
existence as before."
Handar turned to face Basil. His eyes sparked and the muscles in his face
hardened. His stare bored into the apothecary. Basil hesitated for a moment.
Before he could speak again, Handar looked away and scanned the rest of the
group.
"I am a true wizard," he announced slowly, "not some carnival attraction. A
wizard from the time of the sagas, when even kings would walk behind. And I
have heard
of Bandar's possession, of the sprites deep within the fissures of the Fumus
Mountains, and of the djinns who stunt the trees, kill the game, and make the

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winds howl around the spire to the east. It is not by chance that all of these events
crowd together. No, they are deeply related. Shall I return to my hermitage, as
you call it, or do you wish to hear instead of the doom which hovers over you like
a block of granite suspended from a cotton thread?"
"If you speak of Demontooth, then we will hear your words," Grak said. "It is but
a half day away, unlike all the battles of glory many weeks march to the south."
The nomads grunted their acquiescence and all of the others were silent.
Handar's lips curved into a smile. "Perhaps not the pomp and circumstance to
which I am accustomed," he said, "but until you know better it will suffice."
He paused, then continued. "Despite the decay which has apparently rotted my
craft, you must all know at least a glimmer of how it works, of the flame that is
necessary to form the pathway between the worlds, of the resistance which
prevents the most powerful demons from appearing here of their own choice. But
do you know as well that with each passage into our world, the resistance is
slightly lowered? Less effort is required to bring the next demon of the same
strength across. When one returns, the barrier increases by a like amount. If the
contacts are sporadic in space and time, the situation remains relatively static
and no great harm is done. But concerted effort to flood us with demonkind could
cause the barriers to fall, so that more powerful djinns could reach out and touch
our minds with simpler flames. And as more come forth, the hurdle becomes
lower still."
Aeriel frowned. "But such a process is unstable," she said. "Eventually, demons of
inconceivable might could vent their great power as they willed."
"The potential has been present from man's distant memories," Handar agreed,
nodding his head, "But so long as demonkind viewed our intrusions and
summons as a minor irritation from another world, then it did not matter. The
mighty devils soon tire of—and destroy— the few foolish men who challenge
them. But if for some reason, by logic that only their fiendish minds could fol-
low, a demon prince came to covet our world and !"]- hearts and minds that
dwelled within it, then our peril would be great indeed. And if a prince did desire
such a conquest, how would he proceed?"
Handar paused and noted with satisfaction the upturned faces and backs
hunched forward, "We cannot know for sure, of course, but it is plausible he
would act as follows. First he would wait until in the random course of human
events the craft of wizardry sagged into a nadir of petty exhibitions and traveling
entertainments. Without great wizards to interpret what was happening, his
designs would proceed undiscovered and unchecked for far longer than otherwise
possible. He would direct his minions to act towards a common goal, once they

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succeeded in dominating the fools who dared too much. Rather than strutting
these warlocks as comic puppets to be used and then discarded, the djinns would
force their actions to be like normal men. And then, as these slaves moved among
us unsuspected, there would come a time when a group of them would be alone
with a man with some military power, perhaps an outland baron with few guards
to subdue. After a hearty meal in front of a roaring hearth to keep out the cold,
they would seize him and hold his head toward the flame and force his eyelids
open until they had another subjugation. Or perhaps in a dungeon without food
or hope until the will to resist weakened. I do not know the details; they are
unimportant."
"Bandor," Aeriel interjected. "From the beginning his possession was most
puzzling."
"From what Alodar has explained, he was probably the first of the ones who did
not dabble," Handar replied. "With his peerage, the demons had control of the
beginnings of an army. Far more important, it meant that there was opportunity
for trusting lieutenants, neighboring barons, and captured opponents to be
tricked and forced into submissions as well. And with each look into the flame
and transferral, the resistance weakened, so that more could come. More demons
to direct the growing chaos of war, to conquer greater fiefdoms, to bring still
more into bondage. Under the guise of a mortal struggle, the demon power would
grow from baronies to kingdoms and eventually the whole world."
"But how do you know?" Duncan protested. "It is a pretty theory and nothing
more."
"Yes," Feston joined in. "Except for the talk of the sorcerers, we would not even
suspect that the revolt in the west is more than the well-understood actions of
ambitious
men."
"A rebellion that swelled from a single barony to ally
the entire west?" Handar replied. "And one that fights with such ferocity that you
cannot put it down? Kingdoms to the south who have squabbled among
themselves for centuries suddenly uniting and thrusting at Procolon together? A
resistance so weak that not only sprites but djinns of true power appear
unsummoned about the base of the spire? These events are not random chance.
We are faced with possession by design. There is more than the fate of the ruling
class of Procolon at stake."
"But if what you say is true," Aeriel asked, rising to her feet, "what can we
possibly do against such power?"

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Handar patted his fingertips together. "We can at least hope to defeat them in
battle. Not all of the men are demon-possessed, only the leaders. If we can crush
the forces which march against Procolon and either slay or free the ones
possessed, the resistance will return to its former values. Then it will be only imps
with which we will have to deal. Once on our guard, we may be able to resist until
the prince behind the attack loses interest and turns his attention to other
worlds."
"But that is no less than what we already strive for," Basil cried. "We hope to
convince enough of these rough barbarians to the fair lady's cause so that we can
crush the insurrection, as you say. Procolon's regular army battles Bandor in the
west. With enough additional swords, we will also halt the thrust from the south.
Demon plot or none, our course of action is the same."
"If you could imagine the fate which will be ours if we fail," Handar said, "then
you would not be so glib about what it is for which we will fight. Now they control
only a few, but in the end it would be each and every one of us a sJave. And for
what perverted delights we would be the pawns, I cannot say. To shear off our
own fingers and toes one by one, to labor for years to pound our towers and walls
into fine sand, to float for eternities with no
sight, touch or sound, to hack loved ones into pulp. The horrors they press upon
the poor warlocks when they are bored can be only a small glimmer of what
would be."
Handar halted and a heavy silence fell on them all. Alodar saw Grengor and
Duncan squirm as they imagined their own private hells. Aerie! bit her lip in
pensive thought. Vendora stared at the slowly heaving chest of Grak the
barbarian.
Grak broke the silence as he rose. "It is well enough for you lowlanders to be so
clear as to what you must do. But for my tribesmen, we have heard first a day of
soft promises and now words of fear. We have had the devils among us for ages
and they have given us no bother, so long as we stay clear."
"The demons will seek you out," Handar promised. "They will concentrate first on
the lowlands where there are more to possess, true. But eventually there will be
no place in these mountains in which you can hide."
Grak stared down at Handar for a long time in silence. "You claim to be a great
wizard," he said at last. "Show me some of your craft so that I may verify the truth
of what you say."
Handar returned Grak's stare with his chin extended. "I have said I am a wizard,"
he replied, "and that is sufficient. As to the power of my craft, Alodar can
demonstrate enough to make you tremble."

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Grak's nostrils flared. "I have seen imps enough in my time not to fear their
irritations. Work your spell, and we will see if I judge it to be great wizardry."
Alodar looked quickly at the scowling face of the barbarian. Handar's manner had
given Grak an insult that could not be put aside easily. And it would be uncertain
that this first effort in conjuring would be startling enough to impress the proud
nomad. Another tack was called for if he was to be convinced. Alodar looked at
the sub-chief scratching his head to Grak's left. Without thinking, he reached
down and rubbed the latest flea bite on his leg; then his eyes brightened with an
idea.
"There are more products from the labor of wizardry than just fear," Alodar said.
"Rest easy while I provide something that should benefit your tribe far more."
Alodar knelt to the ground and rummaged through his pack. He withdrew a few
clusters of pine needles
and the roots from a painted daisy. He placed them in
rough stone bowl by the fire. From the carcass of a freshly killed hare he dripped
the fats and juices until the plants were covered. Into a wicker basket he scooped
some ashes from the smouldering fire.
"All of this is unnecessary," Handar objected. "For a simple imp, you need only
common flame."
"I am ready now," Alodar said. "The rest is for what will come after." He looked
once more at Grak, breathed deeply, and turned his attention to the fire. As
Handar had instructed, he let his eyes decouple and drift out of focus.
The yellow and gold blurred together. Wide-eyed, Alodar felt the fascination of
the dancing flame tendrils, the lure to probe the mysteries that lay beyond. He
clinched his fists and willed his presence forward, past the incandescent sheen,
into the very heart of the blaze.
Alodar stared and his sense of time melted away. Unlike the effort of sorcery he
felt no discomfort, no pain and gagging nausea to overcome. He envisioned the
pathway as a great pipe connecting one world with the other, a vertical shaft with
a tough, translucent membrane stretched across its throat, preventing transfer.
He concentrated on building his will, making it stronger, constructing a huge
weight, pressing against the barrier to break the resistance and allow passage.
The membrane twisted, sagged and stretched out of shape so that it finally ripped
and failed.
He concentrated upon wishing the tattered remains of the barrier away. For a
moment, nothing happened; then his mind exploded with the feeling of a dozen

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gentle pricklings. In a rush, he sensed a dozen more. Boiling balls of
consciousness whirled in confusion, each one subtly distinctive, diving at his
thoughts and snatching them away. "Gladril," he thundered aloud, as the identity
of one sprang to mind. "I have work for you, sprite of the water. Until I am done,
your will is mine."
The presence of the other imps immediately winked away. Alodar felt only one
skittering around in his head. His conversations with Handar and the experience
with the sprite on the trail gave him confidence, and he projected resolve as hard
as steel. "Come forth, Gladril," he said. "I command you to my bidding."
Instantly the air above the fire fissured with a sharp
crack. In a tiny cloud of steamy vapor, Alodar saw thick, horny wings and the
ends of spindly and hairy legs. He heard gasps and grunts of surprise in those
about him but he ignored the distraction.
"You have chosen an imp of no mean power," a voice squeaked from the mist.
"Either submit or let me return. You interact further at your peril."
"Silence," Alodar ordered. "There is no time for you to exercise your feeble
desires. I fell the pulsing of your will and know I can crush it to nothingness in an
instant." He grabbed the wicker basket and held it above the stone bowl. "Quickly
now, hot water to leach the ashes."
Without further protest, the cloud zoomed to hover above Alodar's outstretched
hand. With a brief flash of light and a tiny pop of thunder, steamy rain fell into
the basket and then trickled through to the bowl below.
"Enough," Alodar said after a few moments. "Now to the bowl and boil the brew
together. Use your wings to beat the ingredients into a fine emulsion."
"But the mess will stick to my hairs. I will be a mortal year in cleaning it all off."
"To the deed," Alodar growled.
Like a dense fog the imp settled into the bowl. Almost instantly, the container
filled to the brim with an oily water. Bubbles formed around the edges, and then
a violent frothing churned in the middle. Above the bubbling, Alodar heard the
high pitched buzz of the sprite's wings as the imp stirred the mixture together.
"And now cool the broth and dump it on the sub-chieftain's head," Alodar said as
he pointed to the one with the shaggy mane. "And when you are done, rinse it
clean with clear cold water."

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"A task more to my liking." The imp laughed as he shook himself free of the
lather. Grasping the bowl with all four limbs he chuckled as he bore it into the air
and poured the contents on the barbarian's head.
"Now the rinse," Alodar said, "and then I command you to be gone."
A second rainfall washed the lather free. Without another word, the imp popped
from view.
"A petty trick," the subchieftain growled. "Is this what you call the great power of
wizardry?"
"As I said," Alodar replied, "the value of the craft lies
not only in fear. With the aid of the sprite, I brewed a lo-tioo of alchemy. You
head should be free of fleas for at least a fortnight."
The nomad started and then cautiously raised a hand to bis head. He ran his
fingers through his hair. "There is no more itch," he said slowly.
Vendora rose and walked to Grak's side. "It has a nice scent," she said. "There are
others among you who could benefit from it as well."
"Sweetbalm, my lady, there is no time to worry about the control of vermin,"
Feston grumbled. "We must get on with the task of assembling an army for the
south."
Vendora turned to the warrior, frowning in irritation. "Yes, yes, I know, Feston.
And through it all I unfailingly must continue to play the part of the queen." She
looked at Grak, standing silently with his face an unreadable mask, and then
turned to Alodar. "And so you prove your worth once again. No doubt, with these
imps we can scout ahead to see what other tribes He in our path. And produce
more gifts of enticement. With your help we may then cross the border with
perhaps even two thousand fighters."
"It is as the fair lady says," Alodar replied. At Iron Fist and the shore of the sea,
his spirits had soared when she gave him her attention, but this time her manner
made him uneasy. He studied her beauty, still dazzlingly apparent through
unkempt hair and soiled gown. He glanced at Aeriel and then back to the queen.
Yet the logic of what she said was firm enough.
"Then the only issue remaining is the decision of Grak the chieftain," Vendora
continued, turning her attention away. She ran the back of her hand down the
nomad's arm. "We have tarried a day and offered you much. Do not the rewards
of journeying with us outweigh the risks?"

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Grak glanced back at his subordinate. He stooped down and rubbed some of the
soap between his fingers. He stood again and faced the queen. "And you journey
to the cities of the south with these halfmen of yours?"
"I do."
Grak held the soap to his nose, then cast it aside with a grunt. He looked deeply
into her eyes. "And also with the tribesmen of Grak," he said at last.
CHAPTER TWENTY The Second Quest
ALODAR nudged his mount forward in a slow walk down the dusty street. Aeriel
and Handar followed on either side- Grak reined a huge gelding with his right
hand and guided Vendora's pony with his left. Grengor and the other suitors
brought up the rear.
*'I hope that Bardina is large enough to house a decent bath or two," Aeriel said.
"The fair lady is not the only one who has become rather testy from such a long
journey."
Grengor rubbed at the dirt caked to his stubble of beard. "Yes, to that I fully
agree. The barbarian horde may prefer to camp outside the wall, but my back has
had enough of sleeping on the hard ground."
"We can stay but a short while," Grak said, looking uncomfortably at the building
fronts which pressed in from either side. "The farmlands around will not long
provide meat for nearly two thousand mouths, and rm people have little taste for
your grains."
Vendora ran a hand down the length of her gown. 'There is time enough for a
change of clothes and to have my tresses properly done," she decided. "After all, if
a proud chieftain finally agrees to soap himself, it is a fair return."
"And now that we are back across the border into your realm,'' Basil said, "we will
learn as well how fare our forces to the south."
"More important than that," Handar added, "we will see firsthand how low the
barrier between the worlds has become. Even if we are far from the battles where
possession is forced, there will be changes that we cannot help but notice. It is
like a rock dropped onto a tightly
stretched blanket. The maximum depression is where it falls, but the effect is felt

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even at the edges."
Alodar did not join in the conversation. In silence, he mulled over the events of
the past weeks. The recruiting had gone according to his expectations. With a
cloud of speedy imps, they had found all the tribes within a reasonable distance
of their southward trek. Between Basil's gems, Feston's promise of steel weapons
from the slain, Grak's endorsements, and his own healing salves, all had been
won to the cause. Along with the tale of the enchanted warrior, the nomads now
whispered of his great wizardry, of how imps had blown the mosquitoes and
gnats away, fused broken stoneware together, and pressed streambed mud into
hard slate.
Alodar watched the activity of the street as they moved along, and the contrast
with his mental image jogged him out of bis reverie. The low buildings on either
side crowded close, leaving passage barely a coach wide. Though it was midday,
few of the townspeople journeyed outdoors and those marked their passage with
sullen jowls and squinting eyes.
Vendora's troops reined up in the town square, scarcely
wider than the road on which they had come. It was deserted. Alodar cupped his
hands to his mouth to shout out their arrival. "Attend onto the fair lady. The
queen of Procolon honors Bardina. Attend her and receive her regal presence."
His words echoed off the walls. For a long moment, no one stirred. Then
gradually, in twos and threes, the townspeople began to appear in the doorways
of the buildings and narrow alleys between. They shuffled into the square in
silence, forming a thin line that surrounded the royal party. Alodar looked rapidly
about at the faces which confronted him. In some were apprehension and even a
hint of fear, hi others hate glowered out of piercing eyes. In none was the
excitement that should accompany a visit of the queen.
The square filled, pressing in on them. "The fair lady," someone cried out. "She
has come to deliver us at last."
"It cannot be she," another yelled. "This handful of men matters for little. It is
more like another witch sent to torment us further."
"My fair lady, set free my daughter. Possessed she is
Dot." An old woman in coarse tatters pressed against Duncan with arms
outstretched to the queen. The magician pushed her back and the crowd
responded with a buzz of anger.
"They are demons. Deal with them now before they can infest our townfolk

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further." More shouts hurled upward and the agitation grew. Three figures in an
alleyway struggled with a fourth. With a final shove, they pushed him to fall
through the crowd to the horses' feet.
"Another of your kind," a gruff voice called out as the group joined the rear of the
throng. "Take him when you depart. Bardina is his home no more."
The man staggered to his feet and absently ran one hand down the side of a
tattered cloak, caked with mud and decay. He squinted through swollen eyes past
a tangle of long black hair that streaked across a nearly bald crown. Bits of moldy
food clotted a mangy beard. Slack jowls hung from what once must have been a
full and fleshy face.
Vendora leaned forward in her saddle, instinctively smoothing her own hair into
place. "And what manner of visitation is this?" she asked in annoyance. "An
official delegation to apologize for the treatment thus far accorded my presence?
Speak ruffian, what message have you for us?"
The man did not heed the queen but stood with hands stiffly at his sides and eyes
staring straight ahead. "Sandacar," he mumbled at last. "Sandacar, my master
Sandacar, will provide for me."
"Periac!" Alodar exclaimed in sudden recognition. Handar dismounted, walked
forward, and gently placed his palm under Periac's chin, looking him deeply in
the eyes. "His will, his being, his essence, they are gone," he said. "This empty
hulk is animate only when his demon master abides among us."
Vendora watched as Periac spasmodically thrust a hand to his face and pulled
free a tangle of mud and hair. The queen shuddered and turned in her saddle.
"Tell them to take him away. Such display is most unfit for my presence."'
The rumbling increased. Feston stood in his stirrups, arms outstretched and
motioned for silence. "You speak most rashly," he shouted. "Know that it is the
fair lady,
indeed. Only her forgiving spirit stands between you and the swift vengeance of
our swords. Do her the proper honor or suffer the just consequences."
More shouts of anger hurled from the crowd. In a confusion of arms, they jostled
one another for room in the crowded square. One man stumbled and fell. The
others quickly trampled over him, raising clenched fists.
"Honor to the fair lady," Feston blasted again as he tried to keep his balance while
his mount banged against its skitterish comrades. Before he could say more, a
rock whizzed overhead and the tumult increased.

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Alodar looked again at the swaying thaumaturge. He scanned the crowd that was
slowly creeping closer to Aeriel and the queen. He grimaced and made his
decision.
"Enough of this mob, Grengor. We will have to attend to Periac later. Let us move
to safer ground," he commanded as he started his horse forward.
Suddenly the townsmen exploded in hatred. Two more rocks hurled by and then
a third crashed painfully into Alodar's shoulder. With a piercing shout, the mob
converged, pushing the ones in front under the horses' hooves and scrambling
upon their backs to pull the riders down.
Arms from all sides reached up to grab at Alodar's reins. He heard Vendora
scream behind him and turned to see Basil's horse rear and toss him to the
ground. Grak pulled his sword and slashed at two who leaped upwards. Duncan
jostled about on his saddle as he tried to activate his sphere. Grengor and Feston
kneed their mounts forward into the crowd, making room to draw and defend
themselves.
Alodar turned his horse to the side, out of the clutches of the men on the left;
immediately three from the right surged forward to attack with bare hands. The
tallest sprang upwards and grabbed Alodar about the waist. As he grappled to
disengage, he felt his leg pulled free from the stirrup and painfully wrenched by
another. With a crash, he fell to the street, barely ducking his head to avoid the
nervous stomp of Aeriel's riderless horse.
Two of Alodar's assailants fell on top, pinning him to the pavement. A third raked
his nails across Alodar's cheek. Alodar arched his back, freeing his left arm, and
drove an elbow sharply into the groin of the one astride
his chest. The man rolled off and Alodar brought his knees suddenly upward,
lifting the second from the ground. As the townsman fought for balance on one
leg, Alodar kicked savagely and propelled him into the forest of horse legs
tromping whatever was underfoot,
Alodar rolled aside, missing a kick by the third attacker. Grabbing at an empty
stirrup, he pulled himself to his feet. He glanced about quickly, just barely able to
see over the rise and fall of the horses' backs as they reared. Everyone was down
in the confusion of the square.
"Handar," he called, "assist the fair lady." He danced aside from his antagonists
as they stumbled forward, pushed from behind by others trying to join the fray.
He ducked beneath a horse's neck and stepped over a body which lay sprawled in
his way.

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Alodar shouldered past a knot of intertwined men, each trying to bring the others
to the ground. He elbowed a man with an upraised rock on the left and drove a
hard blow into the face of another. He vaulted up onto a horse's back and then
down on the other side, stumbling over a black-robed figure as he landed.
"Handar!'' he shouted as he struggled to turn the wizard over. "We need a devil to
aid our cause. Suggest one I should seek."
The wizard's eyes rolled in his head but then locked on Alodar's face. "No, you
must not," he said thickly. "You must deal with the townsmen instead. In my
sleeve —the small candles. Toss them skyward one at a time but do not look as
you do so."
Alodar puzzled at the commands but did as he was instructed. He groped in
Handar's clothing and retrieved a flint and three small tapers, dimly glistening in
the sunlight and strangely heavy to the touch. The first instantly ignited from a
small spark. Alodar hurled it high in the air.
He ducked his head and shut his eyes. Suddenly, even through closed lids,
everything flashed painfully white. The random hubbub of the mob ceased,
replaced by shrieks of surprise. Alodar felt the crowd give way around him. He
lofted the second candle, this time burying his bend in his arms. A yell more
piercing than the first accompanied the flash, and Alodar could hear footfalls
stumbling away from the periphery of the square. He threw the third candle. The
retreat turned into a stampede. More rapidly than they had rushed forward, the
townsmen trampled one another as they sped away, yelling about demons who
tormented them stilL
"It is what we call sunfire," Handar yelled over the screams of the departing mob.
"We use it to summon certain fire sprites when simpler flames will not do. Your
sight will return in a moment. Rest patiently and all will be well."
Alodar stood up slowly and soothed one of the horses. He saw Aeriel staggering to
her feet. She bore a few scratches and some torn clothing but was apparently
unhurt. Vendora and the rest were either sitting or struggling upwards. Except
for the party of the queen, the square was deserted. Even Periac was not to be
seen.
"The townsmen were quite startled by the fireworks," Handar said. "It probably
will be some while before they gather sufficient courage to try us again."
"But what caused them to act so?" Duncan asked. "It is no less than treason
against the queen."

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"And Periac, a master thaumaturge," Alodar wondered. "He would know better
than to traffic with such great risks."
"No less is to be expected when demons freely walk the land," Handar said.
"When only will-o'-the-wisps could come of their own volition and wizards
sought the rest, there was some measure of control. But with a sprite in every
bush, the perils and temptations are too great. Either the common craftsman is
possessed by his encounter or, if he achieves domination, he cannot resist using
the power for his own petty ends. And if the concentration of demons is as strong
as I now fear, then we have little enough time to prevent the complete disaster."
He stopped and looked into one of the alleyways. "With what Grengor has caught,
we will get the confirmation."
Alodar turned in the direction Handar indicated and saw the marine dragging a
screaming youth by the scruff of his neck back to the feet of the wizard.
"I never doubted the identity of the fair lady," the boy sobbed. "I never doubted it.
Let me go to join my brothers. Let me go. I hurl no rocks into your midst."
"Control yourself so that you speak properly to a wizard," Handar ordered. "We
seek information about what has transpired in Bardina and the rest of Procolon."
As Grengor released his grip, the youth nodded and shifted to one knee to bow to
the queen. "My fair lady," he stammered. Aeriel nodded encouragement and the
boy started again with a rush.
"It was barely a month ago that all this began. Keltic's daughter had a spat with
another lass down the road and woke the next morning with her comely face
covered with pox blisters that would not heal. The cows in the herds nearest the
east went dry and the hens would lay no longer. The peddlers who trudged from
Bardina to Gray-mill and back would disappear for weeks. When they returned,
they had eyes of madmen and tongues that none could understand. And then in
this very square, one of the merchant wives ripped the shawl from another to
expose a little imp riding near the base of the neck and working his mischief on
whomever he passed.
" 'You witch!' the first exclaimed. 'So this is how my Hentor's eye is made to
wander. Well it is only just that you are dealt with in kind.' And the next morning
the second was struck dumb within the confines of her own well-guarded house.
It did not take long for the curse to be full upon us after that. The smallest slight
was dealt with in most cruel fashion; revenge answered revenge as more and
more trafficked with demonkind.
"And those who did not lash out, those in fear of what was happening around

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them, they became unreasoning avengers seeing evi! wherever they looked. On
the slightest pretext, many were trapped and slain, some protesting their
innocence to the end. All commerce stopped and we became no more than roving
bands, suspicious of one another and always tempted to use demonpower to
protect us from each other. And we have no news from the south. No one
ventures anymore from Bardina and no one dares step foot within the city walls.
"My mother, even she . . ." The boy shuddered and then shut his eyes. His voice
trailed off and be said no more.
"It will be the same in every town and hamlet of the kingdom," Handar told the
queen. "Part of the citizenry possessed, part temporarily dominating sprites until
their
wills falter as well, and the rest guided only by suspicion and terror. As more and
more are coerced in the battles with Bandor, far wider does the influence of
demonkind spread throughout the land."
The wizard shook his head. "It is even worse than I feared, although our first
efforts must be the same. First to the south to defeat the forces of the petty
kingdoms and exorcise those demons that we can. And then to the west to add to
the forces trying to route Bandor from his strongholds. But from what I have seen
and can infer, even ten times our number may not be enough."
Alodar released the cinch and removed the saddle from the horse's back. He
looked into Aeriel's eyes and read the same weary resignation. For the last two
days the meaning of Bardina had slowly sunk in and weighed them down.
At the very least, they had all looked forward to a rest from the trail, a return to
familiar and comfortable surroundings, decent food after a month of rabbit meat.
But Handar had said that all of the towns would be the same. Wherever there was
a concentration of mankind, the demons would also be. The queen's party had to
continue as before, foraging from the countryside, taking all livestock from each
farm they chanced upon, trying to ignore the sullen faces, driving like exiles
rather than the royal party of a queen in her own realm.
And behind the loss of comforts, the depressing isolation, the hostility of the
plundered subjects, the bickering of the free-spirited nomads, was the true
meaning of what they had seen. A quarter of the population was demon-
possessed; the rest had turned into snarling mobs. Periac, a master thaumaturge,
rotted away in some hidden hole, undiscovered despite Alodar's careful search.
And with each day, more demons poured across the bridge between the two
worlds.

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A sudden commotion behind Alodar spun him around and he looked up the
slope. They were encamping on a gentle rise, with the nomads scattered into
rough groups of fifty. The ridgeline to the south cut off their view. Now over the
crest appeared two of the marines, whipping their flagging ponies.
They raced across the inclines, splattering foam from their mounts. With a swirl
of dust, they savagely reined to halt in the middle of the camp and called for the
queen.
Alodar crowded around with, the rest and heard the gasping report, "Banners of
Procolon, no more than an hour's march away. But hotly pursued by a far larger
force. They are in retreat and sundown will find them in our midst."
Alodar ran to the ridge and looked across the broad valley on the other side. The
land dipped to the bed of a small, meandering stream and then rose to a crestline
slightly higher than the one on which he stood. Long-stemmed grass rippled in a
gentle breeze. Here and theie domes of bare rock poked through the cover. An
occasional glint of sunlight reflected off the stream as it sluggishly trickled to the
east.
The opposing ridgeline was silent and bare. Except for the stubble of grass
nothing moved. Alodar sank to the ground as Vendora and her followers arrived
and clustered about. Her crude banner was thrust into the soft earth and fluttered
in the quickening afternoon breeze.
Eventually a small cluster on horseback came into sight, followed by precisely
formed, squares of men on foot. As they splashed across the stream, additional
groups appeared, more ragged than the first—partially filled squares, wavering
oblongs and chaotic clusters that seemed to stagger and lurch rather than hold to
a definite direction. Finally in the rear, craftsmen whipped horses pulling
overloaded wagons, and men with backs piled high with family possessions
tugged at the gowns of women staggering under the load of small children.
Isolated individuals zigzagged back and forth in a daze. In a ragged wave they
tumbled down the slope, straining to keep up with the warriors in front.
As the last stragglers forded the stream, the horsemen trotted up to where Alodar
stood. With an arm dangling at his side, the leader slowly dismounted and threw
back his casque. The face was gaunt and deeply lined, and the eyes glistened with
pain, but Alodar recognized the bristly moustache and bulky frame.
"Cedric!" he cried, "Cedric, what luck to see you here and in service to the fair
lady!"
The warmaster nodded back to Alodar and stiffly ap-

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oroached the queen. He grabbed (he offered banner from the man behind and
placed it at her feet.
"The volunteers of Ambrosia," he announced. "And a few units of the army of the
west as well."
Alodar looked at the men who formed a line a respectable pace behind. His eyes
widened as he saw white-haired men and spindly youths far younger than he was.
Another two thousand—but they looked ready to drop.
"Your fame is still remembered, warmaster," Vendora said. "And no doubt it
aided you well in recruiting a militia to my cause." She paused and looked at the
haggard faces staring back. "But why a forced march northwards? You could have
aided in the siege or waited in Ambrosia until we arrived for our offensive to the
south."
"There is no longer a siege to conduct in the west,** Cedric answered. "Bandor
burst through the lines which tried to hold him."
"Impossible!" Feston shouted above the sudden chorus of voices. "Bandor and his
allies were in a vice-like grip. He was to be crushed for his impudent rebellion—
not our efforts against him abandoned."
"Abandoned they were not," Cedric replied. "But with each day, Bandor grew
stronger, sending forth more sallies, wrecking the engines of war, capturing more
of the disheartened besiegers. Whole companies of men, nobles and warriors
alike, changed their allegiances, joining the force which seemed to burst out of
the west with demonic power. The three squares which marched with me are all
that are left. Even those I had to persuade back into formation as they fled in
panic before the very gates of Ambrosia."
"And the kingdoms to the south?" Basil asked. "How deeply have they penetrated
into our heartland? How many leagues between them and the royal palace?"
"The armies have linked," Cedric answered. "Bandor and the others pursue us
together."
"But if you are so far north," Duncan asked, "what of the defense of Ambrosia?"
"There is no Ambrosia to defend," Cedric said wearily. "Procolon has fallen, my
fair lady. Your forces and mine are all that remain." He stopped and looked at the
setting sun. "They are at our heels and we no longer have
the strength to run. Tomorrow there will be a final battle and it will be here."

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With a wave of his good arm, Cedric pointed back across the valley. As if on a
paymaster's cue, a line of men appeared on the other crest, their energetic step in
ominous unison. The vanguard halted on the ridgeline and spread out into the
distance on either side. As Alodar and the others watched, more and more
climbed to join them, filling in the gaps and piling up behind. In the quickening
darkness, they merged into a solid wall, shoulder to shoulder and many rows
deep.
In the very center of the line, huge stones were dropped from a wagon and
shaped into a ring. A small fire sprang to life, and a dim, blue-green flame
twinkled in the twilight. Drums began to sound, leading an unearthly chant. The
warriors jabbed their swords into the sky. Mindlessly they gestured and roared,
flaunting their freshness at the end of the day.
Alodar looked up and down the line as it stretched before him, uniformly thick
and extending farther than he cared to imagine. He looked back over the royal
forces and tried to visualize them strung out thinly to meet the next day's charge.
He and the others were silent with shock as they watched the scene fade into the
night. The line of men dissolved into the darkness, but dancing lights marked
where they stood. An occasional beat of luminescent wings fluttered in their
midst, and soft but spinetingling laughter wafted across the valley.
Alodar recalled his longing for battle before entering Bardina and felt it dash to
splinters against the hard strength of what he had seen. He followed the flittering
of imp glow and smiled ruefully at his hopes, of tipping the balance with the
control of a single demon.
He shuddered as the final reality hit him. Tomorrow, outnumbered, by how many
he could not tell, they must defeat those demon-driven, screaming hordes, or it
would all be over. There would be no fab: lady, no Procolon, no Ambrosia. All
would be swept away and replace by horrors that even Handar had difficulty
describing.
Vendora stood speechless, her face a tight mask and her fists clenched at her
sides. Grak placed a hand on her
shoulder. "So this is the battle for which we will receive our great rewards," he
growled. "It is more likely that our will see few of us again."
om Vendora blinked and her eyes widened as she looked up
at the nomad.
"No, I will not abandon you," Grak promised. "It is not for the pretty rocks or

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shields of shiny steel that I have pledged my sword to your aid. We will see
tomorrow through, no matter what the consequences."
"And after a meal for my weary men, we will plan," Cedric said. "They will attack
at dawn and we must be deployed as best we can."
Handar looked at Alodar in the darkness, his eyes glowing. He sighed. "I wish
that there had been more time. We might have had a better chance."
Alodar raised his eyebrows as Aeriel approached and she laughed self-
consciously. "Vendora has decreed that our council tonight be held as a proper
court," she said "So after a hurried meal I did what I could to clean my tunic and
wash my hair." She whirled for his inspection and patted a hand to her hip. "Yes,
even the magic dagger. Somehow Basil managed to carry two with him
throughout the entire trek. He presented one to the queen, and she insisted that I
display mine."
Alodar nodded and accompanied her to the fire pit where the advisors were
assembling. The moon was nearly gone, and the yellow flames silhouetted the
closest figures in harsh shadows. He looked around the group and saw Cedric
resting comfortably, the lines of pain in his face softened into creases of fatigue.
The vat of sweetbalm Alodar had brewed with ingredients scavenged from the
refugees was not the best; but there was enough so that each of the warmaster's
men received some share He saw Cedric nod his head slowly as he listened to
Grak explaining the numbers and weapons of his men While he talked the nomad
pulled uncomfortably at a silken shirt embroidered with metallic threads that
sparkled in the firelight. Clearly more than willowbark had been requis-tioned
from the fleeing subjects of the queen.
"The fair lady," Grengor announced, rising to his feet and pointing to the
periphery of illumination. Out of the
shadows Vendora slowly approached, walking in synchro-nization to a silent
promenade. She wore a gown of gold, and her hair was pushed high, held in place
by jeweled combs. She smiled as she slowly sat in a chair roughly constructed
from a wagon's planking. She motioned the assemblage to rest as well.
"The hours till dawn are few enough," Feston muttered. "I hope, my fair lady, that
you do not intend to start with the ritual proclamations."
"I am still the queen of Procolon, if only for one more night," Vendora said. "AH
shall be conducted with the proper decorum."
Feston frowned but said no more. For a moment a heavy silence hung on them
all. "There is very little to discuss," Cedric said at last. "We are too few to have
many options. My men with mail will take the center and Grak and his nomads
will form on either side. The horses we have must guard both flanks and try to

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prevent an envelopment."
"And while you hold them at bay, there may be time to slip away," Basil
suggested. "We should be able to bribe enough silence for a safe hiding place."
"With my sphere, the number accompanying need not be large," Duncan added.
"Consider carefully, my fair lady, the choices you have left."
"We are pledged to fight for this woman, one and all," Grak growled. "To slink
away is to cast aside one's honor."
"Do not be swayed, my fair lady, by the folly of the sagas," Basil said. "The fate of
most of those assembled here may be determined, it is true. But for one with
persona! resources, the result need not be so clear."
"The sphere wards off demons as well as mortal blows," Duncan reminded the
queen.
"Duncan, you are not the only suitor to whom I can turn for aid," Vendora said.
"In fact I have decided today to increase my options further." She stopped and
swept her arm across the circle. "Stand up, Grak, and receive the congratulations
of your peers."
The nomad rose stiffly and placed his hands behind his hack, glowering at the
looks cast his way.
"For what deed this time?" Aeriel asked. "Are not four suitors enough to play one
against the other?"
"I could justify it as a reward for assembling my barbarian army," Vendora
replied.
"But that is favoritism even more blatant than at Iron Fist," Aeriel said. "It is not
because of his aid alone that we have gathered as many as we have."
"I could say for assembling my army," Vendora repeated, "but I will not. It is
because I want it so, and that is reason enough."
A rash of whispers shot around the circle but Vendora ignored them and
continued. "You cannot fault the role of queen that I have played. My father
taught me in fine detail how to balance the competing factions and to win
independent power to my cause. But I am a woman as well as a queen. Not all of
my choices will be made because they suit the purposes of the state."
"But your beauty is renowned throughout the kingdom, my fair lady," Duncan
protested. "We suitors pursue you as well as the dignity of the crown."

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"Oh I know you would eye me even if I were a wench in a tavern." Vendora
smiled. "But without the glitter of the throne, how many gems or magic spheres
would you offer my way? Grak pledged to Vendora the woman, and for that he
would have the same reward if he alone came to my banner. After tomorrow it
may no longer matter; you will not suffer for the one night he is your equal."
"Our fate cannot be as certain as all that," Aeriel cried. "Surely fight or flight are
not all that we can consider. Handar, I do not believe you slept only to warn us of
what we would finally discover of our own accord. What else can we do besides
stand firm and wave our swords until we are swept away?"
"Yes, there is another hope," Handar said as he rose slowly and stepped to the
center of the circle near the fire. "Another chance, less direct but one that we
must take as well."
He looked around the group and saw everyone waiting for him to continue.
"Years ago when it was decided that one day what we see about us indeed could
come to pass, the great wizards planned what must be our defense. Our hope
would not lie in struggling with the mischievous imps, the devils of power, or
even the great demons. No,
we must strike instead at the capstone. We must subjugate the very prince who
plots against us and bend him to our will to trouble us no more. Only with one
such as he working for our good fortune rather than against it could we ensure
that our peril was gone. Directed by his human master to turn his attention
elsewhere, he would bring his minions home and look to other worlds to satisfy
his lust for conquest. And even though the barriers subsequently might fall again,
he would be bound to prevent any free transfer."
"But a demon prince, one more powerful than Balthazar," Alodar protested. "Has
any wizard ever tried to undertake such a task?"
"No, such a conjuring has never been attempted," Handar replied. "And for two
compelling reasons. The first is the flame; the prince can be summoned only by
the burning of a metal extracted and purified from many substances which are
nearly its twin. From no common earth does it come. And as far as I know, only
one quantity of sufficient size has been refined by the most painstaking
alchemist's art."
"Then where is it now?" Alodar asked. "Back in your spire?"
"No." Handar smiled. "Much nearer than that. Here, Alodar, let me see the
sorcerer's eye,"
Alodar reached into his pouch and handed the wizard the nearly forgotten orb.
His eyes widened with surprise as Handar suddenly snatched it away and hurled
it to the ground. The sphere hit a rock with a crash and shattered into a myriad of

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tiny jagged pieces. The eye was gone and Handar stooped and picked up a single
crystal of shining metal hidden in its interior.
For a moment Alodar was silent, studying first the remains of the sphere he had
struggled so hard to obtain and then the gleaming beauty Handar held between
thumb and forefinger. "But if you knew that it was there all along, why wait until
now to bring it forth? When I awakened you at the tower, why did you not
summon the demon prince at once and be done with it?"
"As I have said," Handar continued, "No such conjuring has ever been attempted.
I am among the best of my craft, but Balthazar is the limit of what I can hope to
master. For one such as the demon prince, no mortal wizard would have the
strength to impress his domination
upon
him."
'Then what is this hope of which you speak?" Grengor asked. "If none can subdue
this mighty demon, then we are left with nothing but to struggle with blade and
shield."
"No wizard, I said," Handar replied. "One armed only with the powers of my
craft, no matter how skillful, would have no chance to succeed. Therefore we
consulted with masters of the other arts, an event most unheard of. But
thaumaturge, alchemist, magician, sorcerer—they all agreed that none of their
arts singly applied could fare any better than mine. The one to confront the
demon prince would need proficiencies far greater, far more encompassing than
any of those in a single craft. He would need to be an archimage, the master of all
the arts."
"But even if such a wonder existed," Grengor persisted, "would even he be
enough?"
"I do not know," Handar said. "But by logic, there is nothing more potent that a
mortal could try. We know that knowledge of one of the arts is insufficient. But
yet this one spark of hope is there. Even though each art would fail by itself,
perhaps, if used together by someone versed hi them all, the effect of the whole
might be greater than the sum of the parts."
Handar stuffed the crystal into a pocket and then touched his fingertips together
and rested his thumbs on his chest. "And so we, the great wizards, made our plan
on this premise. We began by building Iron Fist, the fortress of the far west. Great
effort was spent in raising its long, smooth walls. Much thought was given to the

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design of its passageways and mighty keep. Many demons were pressed into the
labor of its construction. When the trigger was complete, we set them upon
themselves until they all were destroyed."
"The trigger?" Feston interrupted. "I was at the fall of Iron Fist but saw nothing of
what you speak."
"The trigger was the castle itself," Handar said. "After we had finished the other
tasks of our plan we went to sleep in the tower to the north. And so long as the
interaction with demonkind was random, we would slumber on. Awakening—my
awakening—was not to come until
precipitated by the desires of the demon prince for our world. When the prince
finally directed his attention to us, his first act would be to attack our tower. He
could not penetrate our protective shield so he acted instead to ensure that no
mortal would awaken us either.
"And after the passage of time had sealed us away from other men with taboo and
superstition, his interest then naturally focused on the structure for which we had
lavished so much care, the mighty fortress built by the wizards he was unable to
reach. He could not but think that some great secret of our craft lay somewhere
hidden within its protective walls. And so, after isolating us hi the north, he
directed the sack of Iron Fist to learn what we must have hidden there. That
attack started the sequence of events that resulted in my awakening and the
culmination of our defense as well."
"None could fathom why Bandor chose to raze the castle rather than fortify it for
his own." Feston nodded his head. "But you speak of a man of great skill to lead
the defense. Ask and you will hear of my prowess hi that fall, how I saved the
queen from a dire fate and became suitor for her hand."
"Ah, skill in arms. Most commendable," Handar said. "But was it by that skill that
you made your escape with the treasures that were hidden there?"
"Why no, it was not so," Aeriel interjected before Feston could speak again. "It
was Alodar who solved the riddle of the column and the well. It was he who found
the passage that let us reach the cool air of the hills "beyond."
"Most clever for you to solve the riddle, Alodar." Handar smiled. "But then,
cunning is the mark of the master thaumaturge."
He patted his fingertips together and then put his hands behind his back. Like a
lecturer before a group of apprentices, he slowly circled the fire with his chin bent
down to his chest. "But there was more buried in Iron Fist than just a means of
escape. As we returned from my tower, Alodar told me that he carried away a

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scrap of paper with a single formula, most arcane. A formula that was used to
probe the secrets of the Fumus Mountains."
"And not by the novice alone," Basil interrupted. "My minion Rendrac pitted his
great bulk against the heat of
those furnaces. He brought forth a treasure the likes of which man has not
hitherto seen. It was pledged to the queen to provide the means by which she
might finance her struggles." He drew his dagger and waved it about. "And for my
great generosity I am her suitor as much as any nobleborn."
"I have heard of Rendrac's fate," Handar continued. "With ointment applied
thickly, he braved the mountains, only to die a suffocating death in the end. And
with no ointment, the treasure could not be reached. Only by pushing onward
against great pain could one hope to return with both orbs of magic and his life.
But then, perseverance is the touchstone of the master alchemist."
"It may have been wizardry which placed the spheres in the mountains," Duncan
said. "But it was my magic which completed the sphere of protection, proof
against man and demon alike. What greater gift could one give a queen in
exchange for marriage vows."
"Yes, magic and wizardry mixed," Handar admitted. "A source of heat, lasting
forever, to keep the lava bubbling in its basin of solid rock. And the two
incomplete spheres placed by a fire demon hi the bowels of the mountain. Two
spheres, not one, and subtly different. When completed by tradition the results
are the same. With a different ritual performed with precision, however, one
becomes instead a sorcerer's eye." Handar shrugged. "But then, precision is the
essence of the master magician. It was the eye that led Alodar to me and
completed the chain for which Iron Fist was the trigger."
"Kelric showed great bravery in unlocking its power," Grengor said. "Even though
he died with the badge of a suitor, he knew that he willed his own death by
attempting to use it"
"Great courage indeed." Handar nodded. "But which was greater? Who among
you submitted to look into the eye when it opened? It is one thing to resign
yourself to death but quite another to accept an uncertain fate which may be even
worse. But then, bravery is the heart of the master sorcerer. And through it all,
who ran the entire gauntlet of tests, refusing to succumb to the events which
threatened to dominate him?"
Handar stopped and turned to face Alodar. "But then, strength of will is the
quintessence of the master wizard.
Yes, our plan encompassed more than the mechanism fo our awakening. They
included as well the means by which we would find and test the one who

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possessed the inherent capabilities to master all the arts. The lid of my coffin was
not pushed aside by a random messenger. It was done by the one whom we
sought."
Alodar blinked. For a moment, he was speechless. "I have faced these trials as you
say," he said at last. "But I do not know of what you speak. I sought only the hand
of the queen."
"Yes, my lad," Handar replied. "Most certainly you moved forward from endeavor
to endeavor with some other goal in mind. But the first quest is but the shadow of
the second. It is for more than a single kingdom that you are here. All else is the
pettiness of dull history and not the fabric of the sages."
"But I could have faltered along the way," Alodar protested. "Had I not acted
correctly at each step, what then of your plan to save us?"
"To defeat the demon prince, the need is for the archi-mage," Handar said. "No
less will do. Not one who claims to know all the crafts, not one who is willing to
learn them. But one who possesses the attributes that make a great master of
them all. We had to take the risk that someone capable of being the complete
master would be present at Iron Fist when it fell,"
"But in no craft am I master, let alone five," Alodar protested. "I studied
thaumaturgy for a few years, alchemy for half of one more. With each art my
knowledge and experience is less than the one before. I have controlled a few
simple imps and exorcised one or two more. Yet I would fear Balthazar or the
tower demons, let alone their master."
"It is not their power on which you should dwell," Handar said. "That is as they
would wish. It is their will that must be your focus, independent of how they
manipulate the natural elements at their disposal. Such is the way with Balthazar
and with the prince as well."
The wizard paused and then continued slowly. "I understand some of what you
feel, but events have proceeded all too quickly. I could wish to see you develop
more fully in my craft, to build the confidence needed before you were distracted
by the task for which you
were groomed. But tomorrow precludes such an option. And master in the arts or
not, we have no other candidate. You are the best that mortal men at this junction
can offer."
Alodar looked around the circle, his mouth suddenly dry. He saw all eyes staring
his way awaiting his decision. He felt a touch on his arm and turned his head to
see Aeriel at his side. Numb with the weight of what was asked of him, he looked

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at Vendora and thought of how hard he had struggled for the prize of possessing
her. He ran his tongue across his lips and visualized his dream of the triumphant
march of the hero. He brushed his hand by his side and then suddenly looked
across at Cedric.
The warmaster returned his stare, cool and steady, "I said to wear the sword so
that it did honor to us both," Cedric said. *'I have no cause to wish it back."
Alodar glanced at Aeriel standing quietly beside him, only dimly aware of the
pain her grip sent through his arm. He looked back at the wizard and read the
truth of all that Handar had said.
"Is it so certain that I alone have walked this path for you?" Alodar asked.
Handar nodded silently.
Alodar filled his lungs with a rush of air. "It is not for this that I have quested," he
said. "But I have offered my life once already and that was merely for a queen.
How can I sacrifice less for what you ask?"
"It is as I knew you would say." Handar tossed Alodar the crystal of metal.
"But when and how should I use it?" Alodar asked. "Now, just before the attack,
during the battle, or only if all seems irretrievably lost?"
Handar slowly shook his head. "That is for the archi-mage to decide," he said
softly.
PART SIX
The Archimage
CO
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Master Times Five
"THAT should be enough curing," Alodar said as he dropped the formula-laden
scrap to the ground. The potter grunted and slowed the spin of his wheel to a halt.
Alodar peered into the large barrel. Guided by overhead torchlight, he scooped
out the last of the small, dripping pumicestones. He felt the rubbery coating that
had been flung against the inner walls of the barrel and nodded with satisfaction
at its dryness.
Pressing all that goldenrod for the milky sap had taken time, and he had been
forced to try four times for the desiccation to activate properly twice. But

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otherwise these crude potato barrels would not be watertight.
"Put it on the wagon with the other," he said, "and take them down to the stream
to be filled. Grengor has a party building a dam and will sound alarm if anything
stirs on the other crest."
The potter waved his understanding, and Alodar pushed the details from his
mind. His thoughts raced forward to the next task to be performed in the little
time remaining before dawn. After the council had broken up, he had talked with
Handar for another hour about what to expect when he tried to conjure the
demon prince. Each question had led to two more; when the wizard finally broke
off, Alodar was no more sure of his course of action than when he began. But he
could not tolerate the frustration of waiting and plunged into a whirlwind of
activities, manipulating the things that he could understand, seeking ways to
combine the virtues of the five arts, to scrape together the meager resources at
hand into potent weapons for the battle. The bog illusion was prepared and the
demon for the barrels must wait until
the proper time. What next could be done with the bits of board and metal that
remained in the camp?
"I did not expect to find you still about." Handar's voice cut through Alodar's
reverie. "Let the thaumaturges and alchemists among the refugees handle these
tasks. If anyone is to get his rest tonight, it should be you."
"I cannot stand idly by while others rush forward for our cause armed only with
their swords," Alodar protested. "I have spent the evening formulating a means
by which we can match the length of their line to ours." He waved at the
departing potter. "And something to halt the ones that might break through."
"I also have been busy," the wizard said. "On the wings of djinns, I returned to the
tower. I awoke two sleeping comrades from tombs like my own. Their power is
not as great as mine but it will be used tomorrow. More than Balthazar will be
wrenched from his study of other worlds to struggle against his brethren."
"These other places?" Alodar asked. "Several times you have mentioned them.
What have they to do with us?"
"Though I have never seen one," Handar answered, "the demons speak of many
worlds parallel to theirs, some in fact inhabited by men like ourselves. And on
some of these the crafts by which men lifted themselves from savagery are
different from those we use here. There the five arts have fallen into disrepute,
their principles forgotten or distorted, their place taken by other skills similar in
nature but guided by different laws. The truth of thaumaturgy remain only in a
few imperfectly remembered spells; instead, a huge edifice of complex postulates

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has been erected to explain the nature of space and time. Impatient with the
uncertain success of alchemy, they replaced it with another art. The beautiful
symmetries of magic became a thing unto themselves, symbols to be manipulated
and arrayed, their underlying significance lost. The skill of the sorcerer to
enchant fell away, and the practitioners concentrated instead on small changes in
character of those with whom they dealt. And whole populations cope with devils
and imps by turning their backs on them and dismissing their existence as
primitive superstition. Places such as these are not threatened by demonkind, or
if so, care little for the consequences of the interaction. And perhaps this
indifference is what
draws the prince's attention to us. I do not know. I only can hope that you will
find the means to turn it in another direction."
"There will be little time for another meal tomorrow," a second voice, brittle with
strain, interrupted the conversation. Alodar turned to see Aeriel approach from
up the slope. She thrust a still-steaming piece of fowl into his hand. Her face was
tight, and she avoided his glance and lowered her head, Alodar frowned and
gently placed his fingertip under her chin. He raised her face to his and saw tears
sparkling hi the corners of her eyes.
The wizard cleared his throat. "I will attend to the others of my craft," he
mumbled and disappeared into the darkness.
"Do not grieve yet," Alodar said after a moment. "Handar and the others will aid
our cause. And when the time comes I will also be ready."
Aeriel opened her mouth to speak but then stopped and sighed uncertainly. "My
tears are not for what may happen at the worst," she told him softly. "If that is to
be our fate, then we will share it. It is the possibility of victory on which I ponder.
And I am troubled about how I truly feel about it."
"But if we win the battle, it will mean the war as well," Alodar assured her. "All
demons gone, and the ones they control restored to their former dispositions."
"Yes, I understand the aftermath either way," Aeriel said. "Just as I knew how you
would respond when Handar presented you with the decision. I admire you for
that, Alodar, and wish you to find the same strength in me."
Alodar blinked and tried to understand the meaning of her words. "Admiration is
too tame a description for what I feel for you, Aeriel. And the support you have
given the queen is second to no other."
"But do you not see?" Aeriel cried. "If you finish the second quest, you succeed in
the first also. You will have saved Procolon, you alone, and no one can deny it

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Ven-dora can have no other choice but to select you above all the others.
Craftsman and peer alike will demand it. There will be no more need to play one
against the other for momentary gain. And so, either way, I will be the loser.
What follows defeat I do not wish upon anyone, and yet, if we win, the result for
me will be no different"
Alodar sucked in his breath. Part of his mind wanted to pull away and deny
Aeriel's logic, the logic he knew had also deeply troubled his own thoughts. He
looked into her tear-filled eyes, and his throat grew tight. "Your boldness exceeds
even my own," he whispered.
Aeriel paused and then continued more slowly. "On the royal barge I stated that
my goal was to serve the queen, to see that she finally selected the mate that
would make her kingdom secure. And so I have done, acting unselfishly to
advance your banner because you seemed the most worthy. But through it all, my
own feelings became harder and harder to push aside."
Aeriel again ducked her head. "In the mountains to the north you expressed what
your feelings would be if you did not quest for the queen. And so long as the
pursuit continued and did not reach for its climax, it was enough. But the events
have compressed too quickly. They transcend the struggle for a single kingdom.
Now there can no uncertainty about Procolon's future if you pass one final test.
And so, even though everyone else makes their individual sacrifices to aid our
common cause, mine I cannot give freely. Here am I, a lady of the royal court,
proud of my record of putting state before self. One who looked with disdain at
those who maneuvered to protect their own petty interests. But when I face my
own test, when I am called upon to part with something that truly matters, I find
that I fall short of my image of myself. I hesitate; I falter. Other feelings are there
and I cannot deny them. If one were to ask if I truly prefer a victory tomorrow, a
victory that allows you finally to choose Vendora over all others ..."
Alodar's thoughts exploded. Perhaps it was the fatigue, the uncertainty of what
lay ahead, the pressure of keeping so many thoughts hidden, Aeriel's presence,
the openness with which she revealed herself to him. But regardless of the
reasons he could suppress his feelings for her no longer. With all the rest, like a
sprite's dustdevil, they whirled in his mind.
It was her companionship he had enjoyed in all the wanderings to the north. If
ever there was a fair lady worthy of the quest of any of the heroes of the sagas, he
thought, it was Aeriel and no other. But the pursuit of Vendora, the battle, the
confrontation with a prince of
demons, they all crowded in and tumbled together. He could not sort his feelings

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out and speak with decision. But after tonight, he might never see her again, he
thought dimly above the confusion. They could not part until he told her
something of what he felt.
He drew his free arm around her and pulled her to him, "I know the fair lady for
what she is," he said softly, "it was not for her that I quested so much as for what
she represented. And I understand as well the conflict that brings your tears. It
can be no less stormy than my own. Many times in my quest, I thought of you and
what in the end success would mean. And each time, like a timid magician, I
would not complete the ritual and drive my thoughts to their conclusion. Instead
I bound them up and stuffed them away, selfishly taking all the warmth and
comfort of your attention and deferring to later what the consequences might be,"
He paused and squeezed her tightly. "The sands have been cast, and the events of
tomorrow will thunder to their resolution, regardless of our longings. But no
matter what happens, Aeriel, I want you to know this. You are not the only one
who will lose from either outcome."
Aeriel sobbed once and then smiled through her tears. Hungrily her lips sought
his. Alodar stopped his mental struggle and let his thoughts slide away in the heat
of their passion. Time passed, but he did not care. Finally they stood apart,
looking deeply into each other's eyes.
After a moment Alodar glanced away and then with a smile held up the piece of
chicken that was still tightly clutched in his hand. Aeriel laughed, and the mood
suddenly was broken. The ventilated emotions evaporated away into the gloom.
Aeriel licked her lips and then accepted the offered bite. Without saying more,
they took turns shredding away pieces of meat from the bone.
"I am glad you came with the meal," Alodar said when they were done.
"And I," Aeriel replied as she pulled the wishbone apart from the rest. "A
superstition that plays no part in your crafts, I know. But certainly a wish for
good fortune could do us no harm."
Alodar nodded, and they snapped the bone. "I will carry the favor into battle," he
said as they carefully put the pieces away into their pockets. He looked to the east
and again drew her gently to him. In silence they stood together, waiting for the
first rays of dawn.
Alodar's heart pounded to the beat of the drums. He looked quickly at the half
circle of the sun and then at the warriors already on the march towards them.
Under the brightening sky the final contingents of the queen moved into position.
Because of Grengor's dam, the meandering stream had swollen into a long,

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shallow lake. On the side nearest, Alodar saw the glint of sunlight from Cedric's
militia. Shoulder to shoulder, they stood behind a row of long pikes thrust into
the soft shoreline. Five rows deep, the warriors marked a contour of the valley, a
spiny serpent of steel, a thousand feet long, silent and waiting.
Grak and his kinsmen spread out on both sides to extend the defense farther.
Much less densely packed, the nomads formed narrow strings of leather, each
man refusing to hide behind another. Tucked just behind the last in line on the
left, a small cavalry, led by Feston, pawed the ground. Of the twenty horses, only
a dozen wore mail, another five were mere ponies. Their nervous snorts fogged
the cold morning ah-. Directly behind Cedric and in front of the knoll on which
Alodar stood, a score of archers finished stringing their bows and slowly testing
the tensions. A little to their left, Handar paced with two other black-robed
wizards.
Alodar looked hastily about to ensure that all his preparations were ready. His
marines stood on guard around a small semicircle pulled bare of grass and
shrubbery. A cauldron of wax bubbled at the center. A supply of molds crudely
pounded from pots and plates lay near the thaumaturge standing nearby. Two of
the refugees, too old to swing a sword, but understanding well the futility of
further flight, beat a pile of willowbark into powder for the next batch of
sweetbalm.
Near Alodar's feet, a row of bottles, apparently empty but all tightly corked, stood
in a row. The one on the left dangled above a fire in a pit, and the next was piled
on all sides with glowing coals. Down the line, the intensity of the applied heat
declined until the bottle on the farthest right bobbed hi a bucket of water from
the icy stream. At the end was a glove with the wrist tied around the snout of a
bellows and the tips of the thumb and little finger neatly
clipped off. Farther away stood the wagon with the two barrels of water. Seven
hobbled horses, the worst of Vendora's scavenged lot, munched on the grass
nearby.
Alodar looked to the crest behind and saw all the rest gathered in small clumps to
watch the outcome. The sun reflected brightly off Vendora's gown. At her side he
could see Duncan squeezing the pouch that contained his sphere. Basil kept
looking over his shoulder as if he hoped to find a refuge he had missed before. At
the last moment, Alodar had sent Aeriel away to join them; as he watched, she
reluctantly faded into the throng.
Alodar turned back to face in the direction of the drums. The cadence was slow
and booming. Each throb seemed to intensify with hypnotic incessancy. On every
beat, the troops of the rebellion took another synchronized step down the incline.
The slow march was deliberate, Alodar knew. The final yell and haphazard rush

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would come only after Vendora's defenders bad been given ample time to
contemplate the might arrayed against them.
They marched in rectangles three men deep and thirty wide, each one marked by
a long banner hanging limply from a lance that poked skyward. Only narrow gaps
separated groups one from another. But when Alodar looked to the left and right,
he saw the air shimmer and the approaching men seem to fade from view. Except
for a narrow portion of the line about the same length as that of the royal forces,
no more of the huge army that had reached the crest the night before was visible.
"Even though we are outnumbered," Grengor said at Alodar's side, "if they do not
choose to use their superior forces to envelop us, we still have a chance. The
center will hold, and the savagery of Grak's kinsmen will be more than a match
for minds that are demon-doped."
"They all move against us," Alodar replied. "You see but part of the illusion that I
am casting in order to nullify some of the advantage. Last night Cedric and Grak
agreed that it would be folly to stretch our line to match their length. Densely
clustered, we would stand no chance against a sweep of the flanks. They said that
they needed to defend a pass rather than a plain. So with the arts, I have
attempted to form one."
Grengor   wrinkled  his   brow   and   Alodar   continued.
"They came too late yesterday to get a clear view of the land between us. If we can
convince them that deep bogs lie on either side, they will compress into the
middle and trip over themselves as they try to jockey forward. The imp Gladril
carried water-filled jugs into the sky. He periodically dumped them as he rose,
thereby replacing their contents with the vapors of the various layers. Upon
return to earth, each jug was then subjected to fire and cold as you see at my feet,
and the sky above now bends the rays of light as I choose. The warriors coming
down the hill do not see the empty plain to our right and left but a far wetter
marsh we skirted in the north."
"But shimmering ah- alone will not bend them from their instructed course,"
Grengor objected.
"And so the camphor was used to make the solvent, imperfect as it was," Alodar
said. "Delivered by the sprites into the path of the march, it has eaten at the
grasses and rock for long enough that more than one bog-hole will result. For the
rest, though you cannot hear them, no less than a dozen sirens caress their ears
as they approach. And this time theh' song is not a meaningless wail but the word
of sorcery as I have instructed them to say. Visions of cattails, rushes, sedge, and
milkweed will mix with the flickering air. By themselves, each part of the effect
would be insufficient, but together they will do what they must."

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Alodar smiled as he saw a block of men emerge from the haze and move behind
the line that marched without deflection down the center. Another group
appeared and then another. "If I had had a magic sound box for the croak of the
frog and buzz of the fly I could have used it as well. But no matter, it seems to be
working with what I have already done. We still have to face them all, but at least
not at the same time."
Suddenly the drums stopped. With a yell, Bandor's warriors flashed their swords
and raced down the remaining portion of the hill. Screaming unearthly warcries,
they dashed into the water, tromping up a fine spray with their passage. Some
lost their balance and fell, but the ones behind ran over them, eyes gleaming. The
precisely formed rectangles pulled apart into ragged lines and then disintegrated
entirely. In twos and threes, they staggered to dry land and flung themselves at
Vendora's defense.
Alodar caught his breath with the first clang of sword on shield. He saw a nomad
nimbly sidestep an awkward thrust and then slash downward on the exposed
neck and shoulder that tumbled after. More warriors reached the line. With a
shout of their own, Cedric's center and Grak's barbarians met the attack. The
noise of contact popped and groaned all along the line into the morning air.
Alodar saw the mailed militia momentarily fall backwards from the shock but
then stand firm and cut down the first who reached them. The nomads whirled
their swords in great swinging arcs and leaped forward to meet their foes knee
deep in the water. The attackers fell like wheat before a scythe.
Before the nomads advanced farther, hastily barked commands pulled them back
into a more disciplined line. With taunting swords, they awaited the next rush,
which came with far more caution. Bandor's troops reconsoli-dated into a wall,
and the first row waded across to meet the defenders. More blocks squeezed in
behind but hesitated at the far side of the lake, unwilling to stand in the cold
water behind those who fought in front. Farther up the hill, other groups ducked
behind their shields as they came within range of the hail of arrows. Alodar
quickly surveyed the entire line. For the moment they had held the first charge.
Alodar let his breath out and then snapped his attention back to his own duties.
"Quickly, Grengor," he ordered. "Untether the horses that pull the wagon and get
two men alongside the barrels. I will tell you in a moment where we will best need
them."
"Our proper place is down on the line with the rest, master," Grengor shot back.
"I do not like this meaningless guard duty, The wounded who can walk will find
this place well enough and the thaumaturge and alchemists can tend to the
mending as well as you."

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"We cannot hold this position, forever," Alodar said. "We must be ready for the
breakthroughs wherever they may come. Do as I say. Your utility will be far
greater." Alodar did not wait for a reply but swung his eyes to the small fire under
the bottle on the left. In an instant, he willed his presence through the flame. A
sparkle of light, no bigger than a firefly, danced before him.
"You make a great error, master," a tiny voice whined.
"Even the most immature imp has powers which are great compared to mine.
Why, since my hatching, only the wizard Maxwell on another world has even
bothered with my summoning."
"Into the glove," Alodar ordered. "There is no time for wordy quibble." He picked
up the bellows and ran to the wagon. As he climbed aboard, the spark of light
followed and disappeared into the interior of the contraption in his hand.
"To what position?" Grengor asked, slapping the reins against the horses' backs.
"I would think that the nomads on the east will most need whatever help we can
offer."
"Cedric says that stopping the first penetration, no matter where it occurs, is
most important," Alodar replied. "No one can aggressively hold a line if he feels
his backside threatened. And if the enemy is halted once, they will be less bold a
second time. Now silence, I must concentrate on where it will be."
Alodar looked back at the line. The battle surged forward and back. In the center,
as men fell on either side, those behind moved up to fill in the gap. Cedric's forces
buckled and bowed, alternately retreating among the pikes or pushing the
attackers back into the lake. The struggles of the barbarians gradually diffused
into an unstructured melee, each nomad fighting alone, whipping his sword in all
directions in vengeance for his fallen comrades. With each passing minute, they
thinned and weakened, but the confusion they caused on the other side was as
great as their own, and no advantage immediately could be taken.
For an instant Alodar grimaced with distaste at what he would feel next, but then
plunged into the charm. The prophecy would be for this place and only for
moments away; it should not be a severe undertaking. He spoke the words
quickly, too intent on what he must do to notice greatly the discomfort. In a
moment it was done. With unblinking eyes, he scanned the future of the tumult.
The swirl of fighting blurred and then jerked back into focus. The turbulence
looked the same on the left In the center, Cedric held firm, although his line was
far more shallow. Alodar slewed past the center but then halted and looked again.
There on the boundary, between Cedric's mail and Grak's barbarians on the right,
the line sud-

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denly ruptured and a mass of yelling warriors streamed through.
Alodar blinked back to the present. "To the west," he shouted, "and use the
whip!" A wave of nausea rose from his stomach as the wagon lurched forward,
but he paid no attention. Steadying himself with one hand, he reached for a deep-
bowled ladle bouncing on the wagonbed.
"Use the barrel in the rear first," he said to Melab, who rocked along at bis side.
"Insert the hose and prepare the plunger so we will be ready when we arrive,"
The marine put the round wooden lid with the wide rubber flange into the mouth
of the barrel and inserted one end of a hose into a small hole near the center. He
pressed tentatively on the surface and a spray of water shot from the other end of
the hose.
"One more burst so I can fill the ladle," Alodar said, bending forward to catch the
last of the stream. When the spoon was full, he flung the hose aside and cradled
the sloshing bowl. They raced past the archers nocking the last of their arrows
and the wizards observing without apparent emotion. He looked back to the line
and yelled for Grengor to stop. The last oscillations of the wagon had barely faded
away when, just as he had envisioned, four men fell side by side in near unison,
and the attackers surged through.
"Wet them all," Alodar yelled. Melab quickly bent his back to the barrel cover,
and another marine with the hose arched a geyser into the leading edge of the
warriors rushing their way. Alodar looked quickly at the distance to be covered
and then at the apparatus he still held in his hand. While the marines washed the
spray back and forth over the fighters as they charged, he carefully set the ladle of
water on the wagonbed. Then, inserting the thumb of the glove into the bowl, he
bound the metal wheelrims as a heat sink and began to pump the bellows.
Alodar saw the glove expand into a balloon and felt the jet of air escaping from
the fingerhole of his crude tee-junction strike his cheek. He cocked his head to
the side to intercept the rush from the other airstream, burbling up through the
water in the ladle. He looked up at the warriors thundering towards them, swords
held high and eyes wide with blood lust. "Only the coldest to the
thumbhole," he yelled. "I do not care how warm the other side becomes."
"As you wish, master," the voice inside the glove squeaked, and the bubbling
stream turned icy cold. Alodar looked at the marines and saw the strain on their
faces as they watched the approach. The fastest of the intruders sprinted forward
and, with a yell of glee, locked his eyes on where Alodar's unprotected form
huddled on the wagon.
Alodar's legs strained to bolt away, but he held himself firm and pumped all the

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harder. He cringed in anticipation of the downward swinging blow but, as he did,
felt a sudden resistance to his inward squeeze.
Alodar glanced up and ducked to the side as the warrior pitched forward into the
wagon, his arm locked and his face in a puzzled stare. He looked back at the
others who followed and saw them fall to the ground one by one, mimicking the
grotesque statues of the children's game. He examined the glove and found the
finger frozen solid in the small block of ice that had formed in the ladle.
"A simple matter of thaumaturgy," he explained to Melab as he rose. "And a
demon who could separate the hot air from the cold in order to freeze the small
quantity that once was a part of a larger whole." He looked for a final time at what
he had done. "The circles of mail are just the right size to hold the water until it
freezes into a solid coat. I witnessed the effect once before, although it was with a
caloric ointment rather than common ice."
The squad of archers came rushing up, and Alodar turned away, not caring to
watch how they ensured that the downed warriors would bother them no more.
He breathed deeply and tried to prepare himself to recast the prophetic
enchantment. But before he could act, a sudden shout from the west caught his
attention. At the very limit of Alodar's illusion, a troop of horsemen forded the
stream and turned towards the battle. With a trumpeteer's charge, they kicked
their mounts into a run and bore down on the flank. As Alodar watched, Feston
wheeled his cavalry to meet the attack.
For the better part of a minute, the horsemen raced
over the tall grass. Feston surged to the front and, with
his sword over his head, waved on the stragglers. The
troops rushed together with the sharp report of steel on
steel. Great jets of mud and uprooted grass exploded sky-ward from the impact.
The cries of men and horses in pain replaced the dull rumble of the charge. The
thin lines broke and dissolved into small swirls of energy, ringing sword on shield
and riders tumbling to the ground.
"They circled around the illusion on the far side," Alodar said. "And if on one
flank, then why not the other?" He whirled to the east and saw four horsemen
crossing the stream downstream of Grengor's dam. Alodar looked back. Feston's
troop was fully engaged, the archers busy with their grueling task, and the line of
warriors still pressed from the south. He thought of the impact of even four
swords cutting into their thinly held flank. "They will move too fast for this to
work again," he shouted to Grengor as he flung the bellows aside. "Enough of the

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fancy craftwork. Back to our post and the few horses that we have. There is no
one else to stop them."
The wagon turned a slow circle and then bounced back to the clearing. Alodar
sprang from the bed and ran for one of the horses. He scooped up and sheathed
his sword and then jumped into the saddle. Wrenching around the reins, he
kneed his mount into a gallop. The remaining marines abandoned their guard
duty and followed.
Bandor's horsemen saw his troop coming and veered from bearing down on the
nomads to meet the charge. Both men and horses were heavily draped in mail.
The morning sun flashed angry reflections from the polished surfaces of helms
caped with billowy blue plumes. A long standard decorated with Bandor's arms
fluttered from a staff on the lead horseman's saddle, Although the heavily
muscled mounts raced rapidly forward, the men sat stiffly erect as if walking hi a
procession.
As they approached, each of the four reached to his side and spun a spiny balled
mace into the air. Alodar drew his sword in response. Closing for the collision, he
tried to recall Cedric's instructions on how best to deal with the whirling weapon.
He frowned as he studied their orbits above the warrior's heads. They rotated so
slowly that he could see the dodecahedral symmetry of the spikes.
He  blinked   and   pulled   back   on   the  reins.   "Magic
weapons!" he  shouted.   "Maces  of crystal  resonance.   I
read of them in the library of the Guild. It is no wonder
they come with only four. Our metal will do us no good."
He slowed to a trot, but two of his followers sped past and converged on the
leader from both sides.
The marines swung their swords high simultaneously, aiming at the warrior's
exposed side and his hand stiffly holding the reins. With a sudden jerk, the mace
wrenched out of its fiat trajectory and smashed into the blades, one after the
other. Sparks flew at the contact and metal shrieked in protest as the surfaces
grated together. One sword snapped at the hilt and sprang skyward. The other
broke nearer the middle, sending both halves spinning to the ground. Before
either man could recover, the mace dipped lower on its second revolution,
crashing into one marine's jaw and hitting the other in the chest. With what
sounded like the bursting of a bag of coins, the ringlets of mail tinkled to the
ground.

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"Stop the swing. It is the only way," Alodar shouted. "Hanging limply, they have
no power; but so long as they whirl we have no weapon to stand against them."
He looked quickly about as the rest of the marines sped forward to engage the
others. He saw one immediately knocked to the ground and heard again the
shriek of breaking metal.
The leader did not turn to continue his attack on the marines as they rode past.
He sighted on Alodar and kneed his horse forward. The banner on the mast at the
rear of his saddle snapped stiffly with the increased speed. Alodar's eyes flicked to
the standard, and he saw what he must try. Gathering his resolution, he grabbed
his reins with his teeth. Sheathing his sword, he loosened a small shield hung
from his saddle and held it stiffly with both hands. Biting down on the leather, he
hunched behind his protection and aimed for the slowly revolving ball.
At the last instant before they collided, Alodar tilted the top of his shield
backwards and ducked even lower underneath its layers of hide and steel. With a
jolt that shocked his arms numb, the ball hit the flat surface, crumbling metal and
ricocheting up and over his sheltered form. His horse stumbled, dropping one
knee to the ground and then the other. Alodar pushed from his stirrups as he fell,
tossing the pieces of shield skyward.
With one arm he reached across the warrior's waist, pivoting   himself  up
behind   on   the   horse's   back.   He ducked beneath the mace as it swung
overhead. With his
other hand, he ripped the banner from its mast. He flung the tangle of cloth
upwards into the path of the ball just as it came around a second time.
The sharp spikes ripped the fabric, but Alodar tugged and crashed the weapon
down to his side. The horseman pulled on the chain, but before he could wrench
it free, Alodar's two marines circled back alongside and grabbed his arms. Alodar
linked his hands around the helm. With a back-straining tug, he rolled off the
horse. One marine pulled with the thrust and the second pushed from the other
side. The warrior tipped and then slid from the saddle.
Alodar scrambled free and spun about in time to see one of Bander's men lean
low and dip his mace as he raced by. Alodar dived for the ground, feeling the
weapon whistle past his ear. He looked up to see another of his marines charge
from the left, his surcoat outstretched in imitation of what he had just seen. The
second mace snagged as the two men collided. They tumbled to the ground in a
heap with the rest.
Alodar got to his feet and saw the last two of his troop staying just beyond the
range of Bander's remaining warriors, tauntingly holding forth scraps of cloth
rather than gleaming swords. Alodar exhaled slowly, bracing himself to return to
the wagon and prepare for the next breakthrough.

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Before he could act, he heard the beginning of a high-pitched buzz above the
clash of battle. The men still remaining on horseback obscured his view, but there
was no mistaking the direction from which it came. Along the line, the fighting
momentarily stopped. Even Bander's men looked over their shoulders for the
source of the noise. Then suddenly the sound grew into an ear-ringing crescendo.
From the south, a streak of black darkened the sky and descended onto the
battlefield.
The plunging shaft broke against the line of Cedric's mail. Like a wave against a
shallow shore, it rolled down its length to the last combatants at either end. With
cries of pain and alarm, the rearmost line bolted from their formation, madly
flailing arms and beating at mailed chests and backs. Despite his losses, Cedric
had stood three deep against his foes; but now he thinned to two, and in some
places a single defender opposed ths wall massed against
him-
"Imps, a swarm of imps," Grengor exclaimed as he rode closer, dragging one of
Bander's ensnared followers along the ground. "They are stinging through the
ringlets of mail. No man can swing a decent blow with such distraction from a
dozen directions at once."
Alodar grabbed his glass to see if the flanks escaped the enraged buzzing which
hovered over the center. But his attention was pulled upwards as he saw a spray
of fiery arcs bending down out of the sky towards Grak's nomads. Oil-soaked rags
attached to long-vaned arrows descended in formation and followed precise
trajectories to land in the barbarians' rear. As each hit the ground, it exploded in
a shower of flame that flashed in a display of eye-paining brilliance. Alodar
shielded his face from the bursts. As he blinked his eyes back into focus, he saw
that where each arrow had struck stood a small, scaly, grotesque form, a
miniature of the demons which had confronted him at the foot of Handar's tower.
Without delay, the lobster-red devils opened their mouths into wide ovals; from
each belched forth balls of fire that energized the air into incandescence as they
passed. The first hit two of Grak's men squarely on their leather-covered backs.
With screams of surprise and showers of glowing embers, they immediately
crumpled to the ground and were still. Bander's men rushed forward into the gap.
Alodar swung his glass back to where he had last seen the wizards. He saw
Handar coming his way, pulling the long hems of his robe high from the ground.
To the east, another wizard hastily extended the telescoped legs of a portable
tripod he had swung from his back. With practiced precision, he lit a fire in the
wildly swinging brazier. A demonic form appeared, hovering in the air overhead.
The wizard gestured once, and the djinn leaped skyward, deforming like a scarf of

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sheerest silk and creating a howling wind with his passage.
The wind buffeted at the fireballs as they sped on their deadly trajectories, and
small wisps of flame tore away from the glowing spheres. Then whole balls blew
out, leaving dark, carbon black cores bare and cool. With a
dull thump, they struck leather backs and fell harmlessly to the ground.
The wizard remaining in the center completed his conjuring, and Alodar saw
more of the fire devils spring into existence. These bellowed globules of flame like
the ones their cousins lofted from the Crestline to the south but they rode on the
air with the slow beat of thick pockmarked wings. Great, gaping holes tore
through the swarm of imps, leaving small amorphous smears of crackling ooze,
slowly sinking to the ground. The flight from the line halted, but the defenders
wavered, still fearful of the attacks which came from the rear and uncertain of the
aid which had come to help them.
Suddenly a series of flashes and explosions erupted from the stone firepit on the
southern crest. Sparkles of light soared skyward, and from each sprang a djinn to
join in the fray. A form like a salamander, purple skin glistening with wetness,
soared above the rest, his body-length tail slowly uncoiling to reveal rows of
stiletto-sharp stingers attached at either side. In immediate answer, three smaller
djinns streaked from the north, gliding with undulating membranes stretched
between outflung arms and legs. From small knobs on their heads, bolts of
lightning cracked through the air, converging on the purple one with a web of
forked energy. But before the accompanying thunder could reach the ground, the
salamander flicked his tail forward, drawing the strike onto his stingers and
cascading the energy down to the tip of his tail, which began to glow with an
expanding ball of crackling blueness.
More unearthly forms sped across the valley, and each was met by a demon
conjured by the wizards on the northern slopes. Streaks of energy pulsed through
the air, and Alodar was forced to turn his eyes away from the intense flashes. Up
and down the ragged battleline, strokes of pink and orange and bolts of deep
magenta ripped through the sky. While men below stood dumbfounded, a second
battle formed above, fire, wind, and water hurling with awesome force between
the foes. Moving too fast for the eye to follow, the demons darted past one
another, blasting forth their weapons, dodging behind defenses that men could
not comprehend and drowning all the shouts below with then: raspy cries.
Minutes passed as the battle raged and Alodar saw a second swarm of imps
swoop down to replace the first roasted out of the sky. More volleys of fire devils
zoomed overhead and began to project their balls of flame. Alodar looked to the

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two wizards, surrounded by concentric rings of exotic flames, gesticulating wildly,
and trying to direct all the demons under then" control. He searched for Handar
and saw him only some ten yards away, raising his hands upwards before the
beginnings of an outline in the center of a high-leaping flame. Alodar ran forward
to the wizard as the orange head and massive form slowly took form. The cloven
hooves and tail flickered into existence as he reached Handar's side.
"So, Handar, the battle goes not quite so well as you had hoped," Balthazar's voice
rasped out at them. "For no long stretch of time did your meager forces hold at
bay Bandor and his minions. Too soon did you call forth those lesser devils over
which you have some sway. It is time, is tt not, to let down your waning resistance
and let me assume control of what is rightfully mine."
"Silence." Handar ordered. "Such speculation is not for your slothful meditation,
so long as you are mine. There is work to be done. Rise and dispatch those who
oppose us." "Can you truly force me yet another time?" Balthazar shot back, his
deep set eyes boiling down on the wizard standing before him.
Handar .did not reply. With lips set firmly and fists clenched, he returned the
demon's stare with an unflinching one of his own. As in the tower, Alodar saw the
veins in Handar's forehead bulge with the effort.
"Go and do my bidding," Handar gasped in a dry wheeze at last, shaking with
effort as he spoke. "The line here on the west. Rid them of the devils which
bombard their backs with fire."
"I go to slay a few," Balthazar growled. "But if there is more to be done, then I will
return, and you must rein-struct me."
With a rush of air, Balthazar streaked away, soaring high over the battlefield and
then plummeting to earth with hands outstretched as he darted into the fire
devils, smashing them out of existence with sharp claps of power. "Handar, what
is the matter?" Alodar asked as the demon departed. "It is not as it was in the
tower."
The wizard sank slowly to the ground and pressed one fist to his sagging head.
"So many, there are so many," he moaned. "Who of the council would have
thought that they would come across with so many? It is not only Balthazar on
whom I must concentrate but the minor djinns as well."
Before Alodar could speak again, Balthazar screamed across the slope to hover
above them. "I rid you of four," he said. "Do you wish to try to direct me to
another task?"
Handar climbed to his feet and stared again at the demon above him. With

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glowering menace, Balthazar hunched his huge scaly shoulders and looked back
at his master.
Minutes passed and Handar trembled from the exertion to impress his will as he
had done before. Suddenly he brought both clenched fists to his forehead and
screamed in pain. "I cannot hold," he yelled. "He is too strong and I cannot hold."
Balthazar rasped a stomach-curdling laugh. "On your knees and salute your
master," the demon cried. "It has taken many a summoning, but the final victory
is mine."
Alodar looked rapidly about. The defending demons were fewer in number and
huddled as shields around the two wizards on the ground. Like great hawks, the
djinns from the south dove and blasted those that remained from the sky.
Additional clouds of imps appeared from the south, and no devils rose to
challenge them. More fireballs slammed into the rear of the nomads, leaving gaps
too wide for a single blade to guard. The salient on the west expanded, and the
line of barbarians tumbled backwards, letting them pass. Cedric's forces sagged
in the center. More and more left the line to slap away at the darting imps. For a
moment, Cedric's booming commands held the formation, but then columns of
Bandor's men blasted through in two places. To the east, more fire devils flew
through the sky, and the smell of burning flesh and leather drifted along the line.
At the far end of the other flank, Alodar saw some of the horsemen thunder past
Feston's few remaining defenders and swerve to the north, heading for the
clumps of onlookers on the crest.
In ones and twos, men began to fling down their weapons and run from those
who chased them. Then, like a dam crumbling from an overwhelming flood,
Cedric's line
collapsed from end to end, and a solid wall of Bandor's forces charged forth,
waving their swords and shouting victory. Here and there, isolated clumps of
men stood their ground, flicking swords outwards at the warriors who swelled to
surround them on all sides. But, except for them, the entire defense dissolved in
confusion.
Alodar stood rooted in position, watching the cavalry charge up the hill. He took
one last look at the havoc as Bandor's army hacked its way forward. His marines
still struggled with Bandor's horsemen on the ground. He looked across the other
crest and saw it clear of men and the huge stone firepit silent and dimly glowing.
He touched the pocket containing the wire he had beaten from the rare metal. He
knew that he could forestall bis task no longer.
"I shall use the portal the prince has erected to send his minions to us," he said
aloud. "Perhaps the gesture will symbolize more strength than we have."

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Alodar shook his head and sprinted to the west, hoping to duck into the
shimmering air before any of Bandor's men turned to cut him down.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO The Final Battle
ALODAR panted up to the deserted firepit. Screams echoed across the valley, but
he turned his back so that he could concentrate. He lit a fire and thrust the end of
the exotic wire into the heat. Impatiently he waited for ignition.
Several minutes passed but, although the coil grew painfully hot, the silvery-gray
luster did not change. "I expected as much," Alodar muttered to himself. "Despite
his great prowess, Handar never worked with any substance that required more
than an open flame. He did not
consider that kindling the gateway to a demon prince would take a bit more
effort."
He dropped the wire and quickly pushed some of the larger bricks, still warm to
the touch, into the form of a crude anthanor. He stuffed kindling in its base,
started a second blaze, and blew air through the chamber with a piece of hose
until the stones glowed cherry red. Cautiously he inserted the end of the coil.
Almost instantly, it ignited. Squinting at the intense spot of flame as it raced
around the loops, he willed his adversary to come forth.
For an instant, nothing happened. Then the ground shook in a great spasm that
crashed together the stones of the pit. The wind howled, and the sky grew
suddenly dark. The air above his head exploded in a shower of imp light, and
hundreds of shrieking voices bombarded his ears with sound. More devils burst
forth with sizes and shapes that spanned the descriptions of the sagas. Spitting
fire, roaring the wind, throwing sheets of hail and ice, and quaking the ground
they shredded the elements.
Finaly, with a flash of blinding light and a clap of thunder, a last figure stepped
forth from the fire. Then all was quiet. Alodar stared with surprise. The form
confronting him was not a stooped djinn or a towering hulk such as Balthazar.
Barely his own height and with straw-pale hair pulled back over a smooth brow
flecked with gold, the demon prince glowered through eyes half closed under long
curving lashes. His face was thin and delicate with an upturned nose, thin lips,
and ears barely pointed. Rather than the coarse and hairy nakedness of his
kindred, he wore a flowing gown of deepest sea green which covered all his
slender body except for the tips of his fingers. A prince of demonkind, Alodar
thought, but without a close look he would pass for the ruler of some exotic and
far-away realm of men.

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"So you seek a prince of my kind," a voice tinkled from slightly parted lips. "Your
folly only makes possible a little sooner what would be my pleasure in a short
time to come." He waved one draped arm across the valley. "The end of the battle
is but minutes away, and soon an entire mortal kingdom will be mine. With the
name of Elezar on every being's lips, enough of my minions will come forth that
the resistance to passage will vanish. Any of my kind Chen will journey freely
between the realms."
Alodar braced himself as he tried to hold in focus the plan he had constructed the
night before. He felt his face tighten into a grim mask, hiding the small kernel of
self-doubt he harbored inside.
"Submit," he commanded with a throat suddenly dry. "Submit to him who
ordered you forth."
Elezar threw back his head in a human gesture and his laugh jingled skyward.
"Such impertinence and bluster! You mortals think that because the browbeating
of a hapless imp or simple devil is successful, you are more than a match for any
of our realm. Look at me. How closely do I resemble the lesser ones over which I
hold sway? The ratio of their power to mine is no greater than that of a toad to
yours."
'The relative strengths of our wills cannot be decided by words alone," Alodar
said, "no matter how glibly spoken." He paused and then continued with a rush.
"I have been chosen as the one to bring you to submission. Show me the reason
that this is not so."
Elezar's finely pencilled brows raised slightly. "The question is not who is the
stronger. Only the means by which I will demonstrate it to you." He studied
Alodar for a moment in silence. "No doubt you have met the mild annoyances of
the lesser sprites. Tell me, if you can, how what they do compares to this?"
Three of Elezar's long fingers undulated in a complex gesture. Suddenly Alodar
felt an itching rash break out on his back and spread over his limbs. Involuntarily
he raked one hand across his thigh and reached frantically between his shoulder
blades with the other. Down the small of his back he gouged, along both legs and
across his chest. Wherever he touched, the itch seemed to increase with
maddening intensity, driving his uncontrolled flailing into a frenzy.
For over two minutes, he spun about on the ground in a tight ball, kicking up
dust. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the feeling slipped away.
"Or perhaps you have dealt with demons of fear," Elezar continued.
Alodar felt a paralyzing chill race down his spine. His chest muscles cramped and

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he gasped for breath. He looked up wide-eyed at Elezar and threw his hands
across his face. Thoughts of searing thirst, smashed bone, and
ragged lungs ripped from his chest flashed through his mind. Nothing mattered
but escape. His intent, his reason for being there, his plan to cope, all vanished
with a brain-numb ing jolt. He tried to rise on wobbly legs, but the trembling
muscles would not respond.
"And the strong emotions manipulated by my lesser minions are not the only
ones for which I am your master." Elezar shrugged. "I can crumble you as well
with ones more subtle, with gut-burning rushes of anxiety, the muscle-knotting
barriers of frustration, the will-sapping blanket of despair."
Alodar tried to stop the swirl of his thoughts and bring them back under his
control. Unlike the projections of the other imps and devils, the brutal force of
Elezar's onslaught had raced through his mind undiminished by any feeble
resistence he could offer. Like a scrap of paper in a storm, his will was blown
about with no volition of its own. There was no way he or any other wizard could
tope to stand for more than an instant against a prince of demons. It was foolish
even to try. Alodar felt his spirits sag. With a trembling lip he choked out a sob.
It was a problem without solution, a task that could not be done. Alodar's head
throbbed with the impossibility and the muscles of his neck strained in painful
contractions. His left cheek began to twitch and his hand shook uncontrollably.
Alodar's stomach churned and his thoughts cut through his mind like a spray of
stinging acid. Submission seemed a minor price to pay if it would end the
uncertainty and give him even a moment of peace. Alodar lifted his eyes upwards
and opened his mouth to speak.
The demon cut him off. "Even with those, it is hatch-ling's play. I choose to use
instead the means that will give me the most satisfaction." He gestured a final
time and Alodar felt the intense feelings evaporate away.
"You have tasted my might," Elezar continued, "and now know well what easily
can be your lot if I choose
to inflict it."
He stopped and parted his thin lips in a twisted smile. "I want your submission as
a gift, freely given. Under no duress, with your thoughts completely your own.
You mortals pride yourself on your logic, on how you can sort through the facts
and conditions to the conclusion that
is inescapable. In the end you will be mine, if you choose to resist or not. Is it not

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better to minimize the discomfort if the final result is the same? I will give you a
few moments. I want your decision based on the cold light of your clearest
reason. Contemplate it in the pavilion I erect for you here. In the meantime I will
amuse myself with reports of the battle."
A momentary burst of light dazzled Alodar's eyes. When he could see again he
found himself in a domelike cage. Iridescent struts crisscrossed and joined in a
complex web that rose from the ground on all sides and met in a point over his
head. He looked for Elezar and found him standing some five feet away,
conversing in rasping tones with two hovering devils.
Alodar slumped to the ground. For a moment he sat in stunned silence. The
validity of the demon's logic was overwhelming. There was no way for a wizard to
struggle against him. Despite his slight form, Elezar could not be resisted.
Alodar blinked and sat upright. He pulled into focus dim outlines splattered
about in his mind. He breathed deeply to steady himself and remembered the
sketchy plan that the demon had so viciously dashed away.
Alodar grabbed at the two bars nearest and felt them yield to his touch, stretching
like rubber away from his body. He changed his grip and forced the bars apart;
but as he did, two adjacent ones contracted closer together. He could not enlarge
the opening. He rose to a crouch and felt the pressure of the webbing on his back.
Straining with his legs, he forced himself to a standing position, but no spar
ripped or parted.
He withdrew a small knife from one of his pockets and vigorously sawed at the
strut nearest. His eyes widened with surprise as the blade grated across a surface
suddenly hard and unyielding. Even though it retained a soft and maleable
texture under his hand, the line of contact with his knife seemed like the
strongest steel.
Alodar turned slowly to examine the intricately woven net, frowning as he caught
hints of a subtle symmetry. He pushed again with his knife and met inflexible
resistance. When he extended a finger, the bar bowed gently to his touch. With
his shou'der and head, he forced a deep bulge that crept back into place when he
released
the pressure. He turned the knifeblade on its side. Surprisingly, the flat edge
caused the greatest indentation of all. Somehow the blunter the object, the more
effect it had. But what could be flatter than a plane of steel?
Suddenly, like the ingredients of a complicated formula, all of the elements of
what he must do coalesced together. He would have only one try, he thought
excitedly, but nothing else offered even a glimmer of hope. He glanced at Elezar,
still occupied with the demons. His pulse quickened as one of the hovering devils
darted away. Hastily he patted at the many pockets of his tunic, throwing out

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vials, matches, string, a mirror, pebbles, twigs, scissors, and the other contents as
he searched for what he needed.
Finally he found the piece of Aeriel's wishbone and formed the binding.
Goosebumps raced along his arms and legs as he felt his body heat provide the
energy for the connection. Slowly he removed the bone from his pocket and
placed it on the ground. He looked across the valley at the swirling confusion on
the slopes and Bander's waving banners already on the opposite crestline. For a
moment, he thought of Aerie! racing away from warriors in hot pursuit, or
already thrust to the ground, hut he pushed the possibility aside. He grabbed the
bone like a knife and, with bold slashes, drew a summoning message in the soft
ground. Across the valley, the other part of the bone would also be scratching the
earth, copying his motions stroke for stroke. Twice he looked over his shoulder at
Elezar's back and increased the speed with which he inscribed the words that
explained what she must bring.
When he was done, Alodar studied the webbing carefully one final time. He found
the junction he wanted and settled on his knees before it, trying to burn the
position of the vertex into his mind. He closed his eyes and practiced hitting the
exact spot with no clues to aid him. Over and over, with methodical repetition, he
conditioned himself to perform the precise stroke. With each fleeting moment,
the chance of finishing his preparations before having to face Elezar's awesome
power diminished, but there was no other course to try.
Finally he heard  a  commotion  down  the  slope  and turned his head to see
Aeriel struggling up the hill, batting
away a small swarm of imps. Her clothing was torn and her face and arms
swollen with many angry welts. She hobbled barefoot over the rough ground, the
remnant of a boot top still tied about one leg and the last drops of bog solvent
dripping into smoking rivulets on her skin.
Gasping for breath, Aeriel struggled upwards to the far edge of the firepit. One
small devil flew from Elezar and yanked at her hair. She stumbled with
exhaustion and fell. The prince turned to watch as she shakily propped herself on
one arm. With a final effort, she tossed her dagger into Alodar's cage, collapsing a
second time.
"A common blade will avail you nothing." Elezar said, drawing his attention back
to Alodar. "The sharper the edge, the greater will be the resistance of my pavilion
to it. And even if you were to break free, your legs could not propel you away so
fast that my power could not follow. Now tell me of your decision. Am I not your
master, the master of your will freely given? Or must I take it in exchange for pain
and suffering?"

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Alodar grabbed the dagger and it instantly molded itself into the contours of his
hand. He ran his finger along the blade edge and felt the magically perfect
flatness. Elezar raised his eyebrows expectantly, but Alodar ignored the question.
Making sure he was back in position he began the charm.
"Answer me not with gibberish," Elezar snapped. "And do not trifle with my
patience."
Alodar raced on through the three recitals, pushing aside the nausea and not
contemplating the consequences. With a rush, he completed the last word and
looked at himself in the small mirror at his side.
Instantly the world vanished. He was in total darkness and without sound. The
sickness in his stomach, the residual aches from Elezar's bombardment, even the
tactile sensation of kneeling on the ground, all were gone. As when Kelric had
enchanted him with the eye, he was totally cut off from any stimulation from the
outside.
Mentally Alodar sighed with relief. He had not been sure he could complete
another enchantment, but the resistance was far less with himself rather than
someone else as the subject. Apparently he still had his consciousness, even
though he knew nothing of what went on around him.
He jerked his attention back to his task and visualized
raising his hand to cut at the cage with the magic dagger. He felt nothing and had
no way of knowing if he had hit the vertex at the precise spot but he had to
assume that he
did.
Next he imagined himself jumping upwards and crashing into Blezar. Mentally he
wrapped his arms around the demon as they fell. Straining muscles that he could
not feel, he crushed his arms towards bis chest. At Handar's tower, even a demon
had felt physical pain when cut. Now to see if a demon prince could also feel it.
With unwavering persistence, Alodar focused on a picture of Elezar encased in
his arms, with spindly ribs cracking one
by one.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then Alodar felt a sudden stabbing thrust into
bis bubble of blackness. Somehow, in a way he could not describe, his barrier
thinned and retreated before a probing pressure. A portion of his wall paled from
black to gray, and the beginnings of pain

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trickled inwards.
Alodar concentrated on controlling his senses. He increased the intensity with
which he blocked them out. Pushing against the indentation, he halted the rush
and forced it backwards. With a shove, he slammed it into the smooth wall of
nothingness which surrounded him.
Another thrust followed and then another. Like an inverted sea urchin, the spines
poked inward from all directions. Alodar felt the seed of doubt, the kernel of fear,
the germ of indecision take root in his mind. For a moment, he faltered. Then he
focused on the first and repelled it away. One by one, he expelled them all and
reinforced the thickness of his protection.
Finally Alodar felt a uniform pressure on all sides. There was no hint of pain or
distress, but instead a subtle discomfort, as if he were surrounded in a growing
crowd. He braced himself against the squeeze and exerted his will to keep Elezar's
influence away. But the pressure increased. With a shudder, his barrier
constricted closer to his innermost being.
Alodar felt his pride pushed on top of his curiosity, his anger mingled with his
need to succeed. His drives tumbled among his doubts and fears. The wrinkles of
his personality collided as they were pressed by the uniform smoothness. He
strained to expand the bubble, but the
pressure waxed greater. The sphere contracted with a jerk, once and then twice
again. The forces gathered momentum, hurling inward, imploding him towards a
featureless smooth mind and then non-existence.
Alodar reached for intense feelings to counteract the thrust. He thought of
Aeriel's blistered face and torn hair. He remembered Periac's mindless stare in
Bardina's town square. He saw Quantos fall on the deck of the royal barge, the
warriors on the walls of Iron Fist, and all the others who resisted the demonic
forces which swept from the west and south.
The inrushing walls slowed their acceleration but still continued collapsing. His
thoughts merged together and distorted into incomprehensible babbles. In
desperation he recalled the events of his own quest, the humiliation with which it
started, the pain, fatigue and frustrations he had borne along the way. He tasted
again the decision to shoulder the burden that Handar gave him, the trap for his
relationship with Aeriel no matter what the outcome. All of these feelings
squeezed out of the recesses of his mind and flowed into the determination with
which he strained. Mentally he gritted his teeth. With a wrench, he tightened his
grip about Elezar. As his horizon of consciousness closed in, he willed his knees
up onto the demon's chest and gouged them into Elezar's stomach.
One by one, the efforts added to bis defenses. And with each thought, each
memory purged from its hiding place, the onslaught slowed. But onward it came,

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shredding memories, flattening the essence of his being. Alodar felt parts of
himself distort and then fade away. But as he shrank, he tenaciously locked onto
one thought and held it precisely. He pictured his vice-like grip and the break-nig
of Elezar's body.
As the last hint of consciousness flickered, Alodar screamed his defiance, willing
all his muscles to aid in a back-cracking snap. Like an arrow shot skyward,
reaching the zenith of its trajectory, the inrushing forces decelerated against the
dense kernel they labored to crack. At the very limit of Alodar's existence they
coasted to a halt.
For a long tune, nothing more happened. Compressed to near madness but
holding to his one thought, Alodar resisted the weight which would crush him
and strained his arms towards his chest.
T
Finally, after how long he could not tell, he felt a slight lessening of pressure.
Then, with a sudden rush, the blackness ballooned to its original size. As quickly
as it had vanished, his personality inflated to its former shape and size. He waited
for another attack, but the limit of his bubble was quiet and still. He hesitated a
while longer and then decided to act. Cautiously he opened a pinprick in the
blanket, a tiny tunnel by which a whisper could reach him from the outside. For a
moment there was silence. Then, in perfect clarity, a thought seeped through his
screen.
"Please master, unhand me so that I may serve you," Elezar begged. "My body is
broken and it will need repair."
Alodar struggled up on one arm, but Handar gently pushed him back down on
the pallet. "Rest," the wizard said. "It all proceeds as you have commanded it. The
lesser demons are being tracked by the greater and dispatched back whence they
came. Your servant will ensure that they do not threaten us in like fashion again.
And those subjugated, men and wizards alike are being restored to their former
state. There is much confusion throughout the land, but I and the other freed
wizards are spreading the word about what has happened. And the fair lady and
the rest have survived it all, with no more than minor scratches and wounds."
Alodar nodded in understanding and slipped back into his painful and exhausted
slumber.
"You recovered far faster from your wounds after Kelric's enchantment," Grengor
said irritably as they slowly bumped along. "A month's lingering in the north
while Vendora and the rest marched in triumph back into Ambrosia! You should
know by now not to trust what she and the other suitors might do in your

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absence."
Alodar did not immediately reply, deep in his own thoughts. Like waves lashed by
a storm, they crashed against the rocks of his innermost self. He looked at
Handar, now freed from Balthazar's dominance, and across at Aeriel riding a
pony at his side. She dropped her eyes and did not return his glance. He touched
the proclamation which had come at last, fingering the thick seal and lines of
signatures from the grateful subjects far
and wide. He thought of his satisfaction in solving the riddles of Iron Fist and the
Cycloid Guild, the self-esteem from having braved the Fumus Mountains and the
sorcerer's eye, the pride in having Cedric's respect. He puz-zeled over how empty
the glory seemed now that it was won.
"The summons explicitly stated that I was to travel when I felt ready," Alodar
said. "And we broke camp as soon as the wizard's council was concluded. I am
sure the fair lady had enough to keep her occupied hi my absence."
"Without the persuasive presence of the archimage, I doubt if our agreement
could have been forged hi a year, let alone a month," Handar told Grengor.
"Alodar properly saw his duty to serve his craft before the whim of a queen."
The wizard nodded and continued. "And the accordance was a good one. Elezar
has agreed only to halt voluntary and coordinated transfer between the worlds.
He cannot stop a summons by humankind, even if he wished to. As long as we
possess the knowledge and means to reach through flame across the gulf which
separates us, even without the ambitions of a prince, there will always be risk and
potential for great peril.
"To submit to periodic examination by one's peers is a difficult step for men of my
craft to take, but it gives us a chance to detect something amiss before it gets out
of hand. It was Alodar's persistence and vivid retelling of how vast were Elezar's
powers compared to our own that finally convinced us to establish the testing
procedures. And with my awakened comrades and the most powerful who
practice today in agreement, the lesser will follow. After these ceremonies in
Ambrosia, whatever they may be, I will cross the isthmus to the south and carry
the word further."
Grengor did not reply, and the four turned their horses from the muddy side
street onto the cobblestoned avenue. Mentally Alodar pictured the screaming
crowds, swirling streamers, and slow procession to the palace gates. He tried to
recapture the exhilarating taste of so long ago: the vision of the royal guardsmen
clearing the way; the brave lads darting from the side to touch the horse that bore
him; the young girls batting their eyes as he passed; the

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chant that echoed from the walls in a deafening crescendo. Alodar the hero,
Alodar the savior of the fair lady, Alodar of Procolon!
Alodar licked his lips and frowned at the dryness in his mouth. The image was as
vivid as before, but the excitement which should accompany it was gone. As they
approached the main boulevard, he reached across bis saddle and squeezed
AeriePs hand.
They turned the corner, and the empty street rang with the clop of their horses'
hooves. Alodar reined to a halt and looked about with puzzlement. He scanned
the line of rooftops to the palace in the distance. Both skylines were deserted, as
silent as the walkways underneath. Ambrosia was as unmoving as the quiet and
open sea.
For several minutes, the three halted in silence. Then they heard the sound of
horses other than their own, and Alodar saw four riders coming their way.
"Lord Festil, Feston, Basil, Duncan," Grengor exclaimed as the riders drew near.
"Where is anyone else? Did not Melab's message of our coming reach the queen?
Is not the reception and wedding ceremony prepared?"
"A wedding ceremony there was, indeed," Festil announced as he stopped before
them. "But it was for that unclean nomad from the north. She rushed it through
as soon as she felt she could. Only after it was done did Vendora send the
summons demanded by her subjects. For three days now the entire city has
wined on the palace grounds in celebration."
"Then my summons is for an empty honor and no more," Alodar said. He turned
to Aeriel and smiled. "I am no longer honor bound. Grak is destined to be the
victorious suitor, after all."
"You do well to cover your anger," Festil replied. "With low cunning, she
conspired to satisfy a personal whim at the expense of the state. And the
barbarian! Already his outland ways ofiend many who have upheld Procolon's
proud tradition."
"Land for his kinsmen as reward for their defense of the fair lady," Feston
growled. "Land held for centuries by the oldest of our noble houses and ripped
away less than an hour after the crown of consort was on his head."
"Talk of new taxes," Basil muttered, "and hints of confiscation of my jewels as a
national treasure. Every
merchant on the street laments about how an outsider tramples on the delicate
balance of factions which has supported the queen. And that stiff-necked Cedric

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has been made grand marshall of arms."
"He demands magic swords and shields in exchange for the right of the guilds to
keep their gates sealed," Duncan cut in. "And room in the royal chambers for the
objects, but not for those who would wield them. None of the magicians will
stand for it long. With the right one to lead us, the barbarian soon will be
deposed."
"Yes, the orbholder speaks truthfully," Festil agreed as he dismounted. Feston
and the others followed. As Alodar watched, they knelt and placed their swords at
his feet.
"There is doubt and suspicion still," Festil said. "Vendora's grip on the throne is
little better than before. The demons have left us all untrusting. Only one stands
out from the rest. Only one has the unblemished standard and reputation around
which all can rally. Take up the banner, Alodar, and the peerage will follow."
"And the merchants also," Basil continued. "With my fortune and the promise of
a return to the way things were, none on the streets will dare oppose you."
"The weapons of the guilds which Grak craves so," Duncan said. 'They will be for
our warriors instead. Lead us forth, Alodar. Take the last small step to finish what
you have started."
"There is no other," Feston concluded. "With you at the lead, the rebellion will be
short and swift. Even with Cedric and Grak to defend her, it can hardly last more
than another year. And when we are done, you will be king and not consort. You
can do with Vendora what you will."
Alodar sighed at the news. Wearily he looked down at the figures kneeling before
him. He saw part of his dream, if not the whole. And with one more effort, the
rest could be his. One more struggle. The humiliation of his father erased, the
cheers of all lords and craftsmen, and bows and flattery any time he wanted
them. He paused and glanced to the side. He could even choose Aeriel as his
queen.
Alodar slowly exhaled and shook his head. What would he have when he was
done? With the homage of a Festil,
would there also be the offered sword of a Cedric? With a chest of Basil's jewels to
bribe away resistance, would there also be the pride of a struggle hard fought and
won? With Duncan's sphere to shield from assassins, what would he see in
Aeriel's eyes?
The pomp of tradition, the intrigues of state, the fear of the shadow behind the

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next column—was it for these that he had cast aside the cape of the thaumaturge?
Alodar ran over the reasons for his quest but found they had melted away.
Instead he tasted the excitement of the rising air car, the smell of freshly ground
duckweed, the beauty of a six-fold symmetry, the mystery of an out-reaching
tendril of the mind, the wonder of what lay beyond the flame. He stared at the
men awaiting his answer.
No, by the laws, it was not for this that he was meant, bis thoughts thundered
suddenly with determination. The quests were done; they were completed. There
was no remaining adventure that now cried for a finish.
"Vendora's decision frees me of any further service," he shouted aloud. "I need
pursue her no further. What concerns the lord and craftsman is no longer an
affair of mine." He turned to Aeriel and spoke with rising excitement, "The
consort has been chosen and your obligation is done," he said. "Aeriel, Aeriel, we
have not lost the final battle after all. The way is clear for us to plot our future
together. There are no more gauntlets to be run."
Aeriel started to smile back but then caught herself in mid-expression. Her brow
wrinkled and she stiffened hi the saddle. "It is well enough for you to exercise a
second option, once the first is denied you. But despite how I may feel, the man
who possesses my spirit will be the one who chooses me freely over all others, no
matter how exalted they may be."
Alodar raised his eyebrows in surprise and then for a long moment was silent. He
glanced at the kneeling men and back to Aeriel. "I pursued the queen to find the
glory and honor it would bring," he said slowly. "And Handar stated that the first
trek was but the shadow of another. But through it all, I was on a third quest as
well, Aeriel, the one that all of us take, the quest to find oneself."
Alodar stopped and looked at each of thore who faced him. "The man that I have
found is not the one that you seek," he told them at last.
He turned to Grengor with a sad smile and gave him a salute. "Neither am I a
warrior. You and the other marines have served me well, Grengor, but a far better
future will be yours if you seek our Cedric, the grand marshal! and place your
trust under a proper master."
He turned to the wizard. "Continue your journey southward, Handar. Your task is
far more important than any pomp and circumstance here."
Alodar looked back at Aeriel. "Through the random factors of fate, I am the
makings of an archimage, the master of all five of the arts. Who knows what will
happen when I am as proficient as Handar and the others intended me to be?

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And the answer to that riddle is my destiny.
"I still have the option, Aeriel. I believe what Festil and the others say. One more
campaign and it would finally be over. But I choose to turn away from the queen,
step aside from all the paths that I could follow to pursue what she represents. I
elect to seek instead teachers of the arts. I will study with them all until I can
rightfully call myself master. The beginning will be thaumaturgy under Periac in
the north as quickly as I can find him." He stopped and breathed deeply. "And
more than anything else, Aeriel, my choice is to have you at my side."
Aeriel's face softened but her eyes kept a hint of fire. "I have been a counselor of
state, a molder of a kingdom's destiny," she said. "I do not intend to replace it
with stoking dinner fires and beating clean the laundry."
"Come with me," Alodar said softly, "and we will journey on your quests as well as
mine."
Aeriel finally smiled. She headed her horse around the way they had come.
Alodar nodded and turned his mount to follow. Without looking back, they
galloped away into the pages of the sagas.
About the Author
LYN HARDY became interested in fantasy while wandering through the fringes
of fandom as an undergraduate at Callech. In addition to reading and writing, he
has sporadic bursts of enthusiasm for collecting stamps, comics, astronaut
patches and playing cards. He currently lives with his wife and two daughters in
Torrance, California.