The Labyrinth

by Kenneth McDonald

“Absolutely not. I will not wear those… clothes.”

  “Come on, man, it’s tradition!”

  Keric’s expression soured at Iskanderon’s reply. The taller man grasped a sleeve of the robe that Alis was holding up, and lifted the fabric to reveal the full intensity of the colored patterns woven into it. “Well, it is a bit… bright, but this is what the public expects of magic-users, it fits the conventional image in the mind of the plebs. And it helps the audience tell the competitors apart. You know that you can hardly see anything through the Viewing Pool unless you have one of the closer seats.”

  “It is ridiculous,” Keric said. “And impractical; why, I don’t imagine I could walk ten steps in that without tripping.”

  “Talith was a good deal taller than you,” Alis said. “We adjusted it as much as we could, given the limited time-frame.”

  “I’m just surprised that there isn’t a pointed hat to go with it,” Keric observed, dryly.

  “What, you forgot the hat?” Iskanderon said to Alis. At Keric’s scowl, he laughed and added, “Kidding! I am only kidding! Come on, all of the other competitors will be wearing similar finery. You don’t want the scrolls to look drab by comparison. Alis, talk to him, will you? I need to make sure we don’t miss our mark for the introductions. I saw the Paladin himself earlier, with all of the deans; it’s a full house for this year.” His grin grew wider, if anything, as he headed to the door of the small changing room, leaving Keric and Alis alone.

  “You know, he’s using you as much as he is me,” Keric said to her.

  “Kander is… well, he is what he is,” Alis said. She held the robe up against him, confirming the size. It would trail slightly on the floor, he saw. “It’s really not that bad,” she said.

  He looked at her suspiciously. “You keep holding it up that way… what’s on the back, that you aren’t showing me?”

  She maintained an innocent look for all of a second before she yielded and reversed the robe, revealing the design stitched into its back, a representation of a huge yellow parchment scroll, partially unrolled to reveal mystical-looking—but nonsensical, Keric saw—characters.

  Keric raised an eyebrow. The two shared another long look, and finally both laughed.

  When Iskanderon returned half a cycle later, Keric was dressed, and was just buckling the wide leather belt that fit over the robe. The oversized buckle was a mockery of the ones of real silver that actual mages wore, but it bore the sigil he hoped he would have the right to wear one day, an unrolled scroll that was far more tasteful in design than the garish decoration on the back of his robe. But maybe Iskanderon was right; once he was in the Labyrinth, no one would be able to see small details through the Viewing Pool.

  “Oh, good, you’re ready,” Iskanderon said. “Come on, the other competitors are already in the staging area,” he said. “It makes a good display to be the last to arrive, but if you’re late, the deans and their exalted guests won’t be happy.”

  Keric picked up his scroll case, and lifted the thin leather supporting strap over his shoulder. He started toward the exit, but Alis stopped him. “Wait, is that yours?”

  He looked back at the small leather wallet lying on the bench, and blushed. “Ah, right. My own scrolls.” There were only four in his own cache, a few useful minor spells that he’d had handy, and one more substantive healing spell that he’d found time to write in between his other preparations for the competition. He’d meant to add the contents of the wallet to the collection that Draef had provided, but in his hurry he’d forgotten. He started to open the case, but Iskanderon forestalled him. “No time for that, we’ve got to go now,” he said, taking Keric’s arm. The young mage tucked the wallet under his robe, into the deep pocket sewn into his vest.

  He was a bit nervous, but mostly he wanted to get this over with, so he could get back to the real work that mattered. He wasn’t ambitious in the way that Iskanderon was, craving approbation and maybe even power and influence. But the magic, that had won him early on, ever since his uncle had first worked spells in his presence. He’d been just a boy then, and he now knew that Hule Olwyhn’s talents had been barely those of an apprentice, but at the time the magic had seemed wondrous and fantastic, something from another world that brightened the quite mundane one that he lived in. His passion for the magic was what had brought him here, and learning more, doing more, expanding his knowledge and his talent, that was what drove him.

  Iskanderon was briefing him on details of past years’ competitions, but finally Keric interrupted him. “Don’t worry, I’ve read the manuals by Dratek and Joranther on the Labyrinth, and I reviewed the commentaries on the last fifty runnings that are in the main archives,” he said.

  “Come on, you haven’t had time to—”

  “You chose him because he’s good,” Alis said. She grabbed Iskanderon’s arm as they came to an arched doorway. “We’ll need to hurry if we’re going to claim the seats that Draef was supposed to save for us.” Her eyes gleamed as she looked at Keric. “You’ll do great,” she said, with that soft smile that had so entranced him back during their first year.

  Then they were gone, Iskanderon flashing him a “V” salute as they left through the side door. Keric turned back to the arch and took a steadying breath before stepping through.

  His three rivals looked up as he entered the small waiting room. He knew them by name and by reputation, and had been in a class or two with some of them, but this was their first true meeting.

  “Well, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” Ashandra Hael said. She was the antithesis of Alis, tall and curvy, with lustrous black hair tied into a smart bun. She wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense, but there was nevertheless something striking about her, maybe in the way she pursed her full lips, or the permanent twinkle of amusement visible in her eyes. She was dressed in an impressive ensemble that was more like a dress than a traditional robe, layers of dark cloth in shades of blue and violet that approached black. She wore a wrap over her shoulders, and Keric didn’t need to see her back to know that it would be fashioned into the shape of a shield. A similar design was visible on the silver buckle at her waist. She carried no obvious foci that he could see, but he knew that the amulets used in her chosen field of magic would be hidden somewhere on her person.

  “Ease off, Hael,” Trave Sarhus said. He was the oldest among them, nearly thirty, and he carried himself with a calm confidence that seemed to be genuine, as far as Keric could discern. His robe was infused with some sort of stiff laminate that shone brightly even in the relatively dim interior light; it would probably blaze like fire in the sunlight outdoors. His buckle was crafted into the shape of a multifaceted gemstone, and he certainly would have an assortment of spelled stones in the pouches that dangled from his belt. Keric had learned in his research that Trave had participated in three Labyrinth competitions; he had won outright two years ago, and had done well in each of the others. He’d won his certificate seven years ago, but his reputation was of patience and methodical progress rather than procrastination, and it was widely accepted that he would pass his review board and become a full mage by the end of the current session.

  The last member of the group came forward and offered his hand to Keric. “Marthek Jarol,” he said in introduction, with a wide and open smile.

  Keric took the hand and shook it. Marthek’s grip was strong, but then it would be, given what he was. The steel mage was dressed in the style of an ancient knight, a look that seemed in no way an affectation on him. Marthek was tall and strong, broad-shouldered, with a mane of golden hair that gave him the look of a legendary hero who’d just stepped out of a book or down from a tapestry. He had a faint scar that ran from his left ear almost to his chin, but somehow that only managed to accentuate his rugged good looks. He wore a golden breastplate imprinted with an engraving of crossed swords, the same symbol that was visible on his belt buckle, and a long cloak
of matching cloth that looked almost like a tent was draped over his shoulders. The weapon at his hip was a tallsword rather than the short, practical weapon used by the Border Wardens, and Keric didn’t need to touch it to know that it was spelled.

  Keric’s eyes were drawn to the door in the far wall as the sound of a flourish of trumpets became audible from outside. He couldn’t see through the windows that flanked the door, as thick curtains covered them, but Marthek nearly jumped as he turned toward the door. “They’re starting! It’s starting!” Keric swallowed and rubbed smooth the front of his robe, and even Trave straightened, lifting his chin and adjusting his pouches.

  “You’re like a litter of puppies,” Ashandra said, as she walked past them to the door. “Well, gentlemen?”

  Keric was overwhelmed by the bright sunlight and the roar of noise from the crowd as he stepped through the door onto the open sward of the Quadrangle. The temporary wooden bleachers that had been erected for the event were crowded full of people, and every window in the facing buildings was occupied, sometimes by three, four, or more people, some sitting on the sills facing outward. Keric thought them foolish—they weren’t even nearly close enough to be able to see through the Viewing Pool—but he figured that the festivities of the event alone were probably excuse enough for most students to avoid work for one day. He saw Iskanderon, Alis, and Draef on the edge of one of the bleachers, and returned their wave. He followed his fellow competitors through the crowd to the space enclosed by the bleachers, where a small wooden platform had been set up. He recognized the deans of the four schools of magic; Dean Zharis seemed to incline his head when his eyes met Keric’s, but it might have been his imagination. All four loomed over the fifth person on the dais, who stood almost a head shorter than even the diminutive Dean Kalas of the gem mages, but the crowd quieted when he stepped forward. Keric had never met Seris, but as he stood before the gathered multitude and addressed them, he thought he could understand how the famous Council mage had gotten his nickname. Despite being short, squat, and utterly bald, there was a certain power to Sacreth’s most notable steel mage, and the name Paladin seemed to suit him utterly.

  “Mages, competitors, students, guests,” the steel mage said, his voice booming through the Quadrangle, augmented by a minor spell. “On behalf of the Mage Council and the faculty of the University, I welcome you to this year’s running of the Labyrinth.”

  There was an outpouring of applause and eager shouts, and Keric was surprised to recognize a number of faculty members among those on the bleachers adding their approbation. It seemed that no one was immune to the frenzy inspired by the Labyrinth competition.

  He was so caught up in observing the crowd, he missed the next words from Paladin; he jumped slightly as his fellow competitors started forward, and hurried into place next to them facing the podium.

  “The Labyrinth is a test not only of your magic, but of your wits, your skills, and your strength of will,” Paladin said. For a moment his eyes met Keric’s, and the young mage felt a slight surge of power, almost as though his aura was being delved. He blinked in surprise, and the moment passed.

  “Competitors, take your places.”

  Again Keric was in the rear as he followed the others to the left, where the Labyrinth waited.

  He’d walked by the fountain dozens of times. The water in the pool was still now, and the topper had been removed from the stone spigot in its center, leaving a cup-shaped cradle almost an arm’s span across. Resting in that cradle was the Labyrinth, a crystalline sphere that radiated a dim glow that was visible even in the bright sunlight.

  Keric walked around the base of the pool until he came to his assigned position. Wooden planks had been laid on the edge of the pool at the four cardinal positions, each facing one of the four main buildings that fronted the Quadrangle. The planks formed simple bridges to the center of the fountain, to the jut of stone that supported the Labyrinth.

  For what seemed like a long time, Keric could only stare at it. Here was magic, raw, potent, and old, very old. He understood the basic theory of how it worked, and had read carefully the long passages in Joranther’s definitive study of the Labyrinth, but it was something else entirely to stand there looking at it, and to know that in a few moments, he would touch that magic personally. No one had ever died from it as far as he knew, and injuries were rare within the Labyrinth, but he knew that all magic, even the most benign spells, always affected those who used it, and he wondered just what legacy this day would have for him.

  He was so absorbed that he started in surprise as his rivals stepped up onto their bridges, and he hastily emulated them, nearly stumbling as the edge of his robe got caught under his foot. That would really be a memorable start, he thought, the mental image of his overdressed self launching face-first into the Viewing Pool causing his face to go crimson. But he recovered, and by the second step he’d caught up to the others, who approached the central sphere one step at a time. He thought that it began to glow brighter as they drew nearer, but again it might have been an illusion; he could certainly feel its power now, but it wasn’t doing anything overt, just sitting there, waiting.

  They paused directly in front of the sphere, close enough to touch it. Keric felt a tingle as the preparatory spells were completed. Paladin’s magic was quick and effective; there was no flash of light or tinkle of disembodied chimes, just a sudden wrenching that was gone as quickly as it arrived. He looked down and saw that the surface of the pool no longer showed the reflected image of himself and the others on their makeshift bridges, but rather a vaulted chamber with floor and walls of gleaming white stone, lit by bright lamps that shone in diamond-shaped niches in the walls. In just a few moments, it would show himself and his fellow competitors as well.

  “Good luck to you, mages,” came Paladin’s voice. Keric could no longer see him or the others; the sphere had brightened now, and it seemed to grow in front of him, filling his vision.

  He closed his eyes, reached out, and entered the Labyrinth.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 3