by Lyndon Hardy
For a moment Melizar was silent. With twitching spasms, he ran a hand over his cube. Impulsively he knelt, but then immediately stood again when there was no buzz of imps. He looked at his men-at-arms closing the distance to the crest and laughed.
"Yes, equal," he said, "equal for the moment. Soon the balance of manipulants will be three to none."
Jemidon did not reply. He turned back to look at the puzzled masters. "Vinegar and oil of vitrol, whatever you can find. Do not bother about the alchemy. Toss everything you can."
The masters hesitated and frowned. Jemidon ran into their midst and pointed to two flasks at random. One of the alchemists nodded. He mixed the contents and then hurled the containers at the men-at-arms. The first shattered harmlessly off an upraised shield, but the second hit the ground and brewed a minute longer before exploding into knifelets of glass. Two men yelled in surprise and tumbled to their knees with dozens of tiny cuts oozing bfood.
The alchemists waved for the magician to join them. With inspired abandon, they concocted the remaining ingredients of the tent. Some became simple missiles that clattered off blade and mail; others, deadly grenades that cut into flesh. A bottle of oil, splattered against the middle of the advancing men, with a flaming torch thrown after, sent an explosion of fire along the line. One by one, the remaining soldiers went down, until only two were left.
Jemidon looped behind the masters. He tightened his grip on the changer. The outcome had to be exactly right for his plan to succeed. He looked among the tumbled crates for some more of the ingredients that had produced the smokiest reaction. Just as the warriors rushed upon the masters, he threw the chemicals into their midst.
One alchemist went down from the slash of a blade, but the other circled behind and felled the man-at-arms with a blow to the head. The smoke billowed from the mixing brew, dimming what anyone could see. Jemidon rushed into the opaqueness and aimed a swift kick where the soldier's groin should be. He heard a gasp of pain and then a dull thud as another of the alchemist's blows struck home.
Jemidon backed out of the smolder and saw the masters staggering after. He grabbed one by the collar of his robe and banged his head into the forehead of the other. Like sleeping Skyskirr, they slumped to the ground.
Jemidon took another step backward and held his breath, waiting for the reaction to run its course and the fumes to clear. When they had dissipated enough for him to see Melizar down the slope, he stepped slowly forward, shoulders slumped and with a dragging step.
For a moment, the metamagician did not react. He stood frozen, looking at Jemidon up the length of the slope. Then the pilot threw back his head and his laugh rang across the hillside, the loudest that Jemidon had ever heard.
"You did give me pause," the metamagician shouted. "A closer contest than I would have thought. But in the end, the result is the same. Your manipulants fail and you have no more resources, while I still have three in this universe and three more guiding the storms in the 'hedron beyond. It will take some time to probe and find where you have spun the laws, but you are powerless to stop my search. Eventually I will restore things to the way they were. You may as well come forward now and hand me your key as token of surrender. All you can do is wait and watch the enveloping of your fate."
Jemidon continued his cautious motion forward. He scanned down the hillside at the remains of the battle still in progress, but saw that Melizar took no notice. The metamagician had not moved. He waited with arms crossed, chuckling with his soft laughter.
Slowly Jemidon walked down the slope, moving with the gait of a man going to the gallows. With each step, he tightened his grip on the changer, holding it close to his chest, not wanting to give Melizar any reason to do other than stand and wait.
"Finally you caused a significant perturbation," Melizar said when Jemidon halted about ten feet away. "But it is a perturbation nonetheless. It still ends according to my plan."
"And perhaps according to mine as well," Jemidon said softly. "You are the keystone about which all else hangs. If you are felled, I can free the other pilots from the cubes that have now stopped contracting. Together, we can navigate to laws that will aid both our causes, coerce your manipulants to our bidding, reestablish the portal, and rescue Ponzar and the others on his lithon. And with no demons to oppose him, the archmage can summon enough devils of his own to escape from the battlefield. Without a leader, the passion of the rebels will dissipate into brawls for plunder. There will be no message across the sea to fan other rebellions. It will take some time, but order can be restored."
"You speak like a villain from one of your sagas," Melizar said, "telling all of his plan before he is thwarted. But as I have noted, there is a difference between your design and mine, I am the one who has succeeded, the one who has brought his to full fruition. I still possess manipulants. I still have a basis of power, where you have none."
"There is more to my plan," Jemidon said. "It hinges on differences just as you speak. Differences indeed between you and me. Differences besides your greater experience, your well-thought-out plot, your strength that gives you the title of first pilot.
"Your whole existence has been one of metamagic," Jemidon continued, "one of living each day with the three metalaws, steeped with the reality of the Postulate of Invariance, the Axiom of Least Contradiction, and the Verity of Exclusion. But for me, it was different. I did not know of their existence. I struggled instead to master the manipulations, to work the crafts for myself, to mold my destiny with my own hands, rather than command the use of others."
"This prattle is of no consequence. Give me the key."
"I fully intend to," Jemidon said. "But first think of the meaning of the difference. To you, a metamagician without his manipulants is powerless. There is nothing he can do. You would let one approach within a few feet, confident that he must meekly wait until your base of power returns."
Jemidon lifted the changer in his hand. "But for me, the possibilities are not the same. You are without any crafts to command. For the next few moments, there are no rebels close enough to come to your aid. Think of it, Melizar. Our duel has just begun."
For a long moment, there was silence. Melizar eyed Jemidon's changer and then glanced over his shoulder. He took a cautious step backward. But Jemidon did not hesitate. With one swift motion, he flung the heavy mass of metal at the pilot, crashing it against the Skyskirr's skull with a bone-cracking snap. He watched the pilot crumple to the ground and grunted with satisfaction. As simply as that, it was over.
"And as a group, the other metamagicians were able to force a decoupling, using Melizar's cube," Jemidon said, "even though it was not as familiar as their own keys." Automatically, he touched his coinchanger, now restored through the efforts of the magicians and metalsmiths.
He looked around the assembled court and saw a mixture of expressions. The old king sat stone-faced, and the other nobles, clustered behind the makeshift throne, registered neither gratitude nor relief. Prince Wilmad's empty seat on the monarch's right was draped in black. The newer barons on the other side of the barn squirmed uncomfortably in their fine silks and linens, Canthor more than most. Jemilor, his equally new seneschal, had to keep reminding him not to slouch. Augusta smiled as Jemidon spoke, and even Farnel's stern visage was without some of its customary tightness.
Jemidon squeezed Delia's hand where she lay on the cot at his side. He smiled as she grasped his arm closer to her cheek. Her rescue had barely been in time, but the vapors which had spilled through the portal had lessened in density around Ponzar's lithon. The sweet air which drifted back in exchange was of benefit as well. With all the Skyskirr helping to rediscover wizardry and reopen the passage, they had been able to scoop her and the others away from the vapors before it was too late.
"And it is well they took the first pilot to the 'hedron before the opening was closed a second time," the archmage interrupted before Jemidon could continue. "For our universe, one metamagician is quite enough."
"If Melizar was so easily defeated, why did we waste precious arms and place our very presence in peril?" the old king rumbled. "This Jemidon struck him down unassisted, aided by neither sword nor master."
"With Melizar in control of the laws, there was no way you could reach him by the arts," Jemidon said. "And the rebel army kept away the men-at-arms. Indeed, when I rushed upon him in Trocolar's dungeon and he thought me a thief, he instinctively commanded the guards to effect my seizure. In the tent, after the battle of Plowblade Pass, he directed torporsand my way as he would to any errant manipulant. But when he saw me as another metamagician, one who worked his will through the direction of others, it did not cross his mind that I could carry any threat without attendants. He let me approach unhindered, calling no one to give him aid."
"Perhaps it is best we end all the threats while we are about it." The king looked at Jemidon through rheumy eyes. "We have seen ample evidence of what havoc can be wreaked by one with powers such as Melizar's." He turned his head stiffly in Alodar's direction. "And I think, archmage, that you will agree. Prudence dictates putting this one immediately to the sword."
Several of the nobles grunted agreement. Jemidon scowled, but Alodar waved the comment away.
"And then who will protect us from the next?" the archmage asked. "What if another comes from some other universe by stealth and attempts to move the laws away from where they have been restored? Who do you suggest to detect the unlocking, to struggle to keep the anchoring where it is?"
The old king frowned. He stroked his chin and stared at the archmage.
"I propose to add him to my retinue," Alodar continued. "His major task will be to keep the laws securely bound. If he does nothing else, it will be bargain enough." He paused and returned the king's stare. "Let me worry about what is best for those with talent in the arts. You will be busy enough rebuilding a kingdom from what is left."
"Selection of the new barons from those who fought against him was a wise first step," Canthor said. "Men who have sweated in the cages will much less likely subject others to them."
"And the vaultholders of Pluton are willing to make the loans that lubricate the reestablishment of order," Augusta said. "It is in peace that we prosper, not the anarchy of war."
"The masters of Morgana need the tranquility of their thoughts," Farnel added. "Without inner peace, no glamours of greatness can be cast. The possibility of losing our crafts again is not one we wish to consider."
The king turned his eyes back to Jemidon. "I am told that Melizar had a taste for exploration," he said. "If this one has the same talents, how would he be any different? Why should he be content with waiting to hold the laws firm against some future attack when he could send everything drifting instead?"
Jemidon cut off Alodar's reply. "I can speak in my own defense," he said. "No one here knows the drives of the metamagician more than I."
He paused and ran his tongue over his lips, frowning as he tried to put his feelings into words. "For me, the pursuit of the metalaws was like untangling the interlocking rings or removing the beads from a knotted rope."
"And now-" He waved his hands palms upward. Now it is solved. The mystery, the enticement, the allure, all are gone. Moving through the lattice only means boring repetition. The desires that pushed Melizar are not mine.
"And perhaps I have learned something more important than even the metalaws." Jemidon paused and looked at Alodar. "Raw talent alone does not guarantee success. My skills were puny besides those of Melizar, and yet I emerged the victor because of how I used them. For all of my quest, the lesson has been the same. Even without the Verity of Exclusion, I see now that it is doubtful that I would have won the robe with the effort I was willing to extend. I wanted it given because of superficial understanding, or a single dazzling insight, rather than in exchange for hard work and attention to detail."
"Then what is your desire?" the king asked. "How many brandels a year to bribe you from decoupling the laws?"
"My basic need has been satisfied," Jemidon smiled. "For all of my life, I have labored under the burden of trying to fit myself into the image that others would have of me. But the burden came entirely from within. The guilt, the quest for power and respect, tugged at me only because I let them." Jemidon took a deep breath. "They tug no longer. I am free. I quested for what I cannot have, but I gained that for which even the archmage cannot quest."
"Before the battle, I spoke of mastery of yourself," Alodar said. "And even in that, you have proved your mettle."
"Finally you came to your senses and planned before you acted," Delia joined in. "In the end, that made all the difference."
"I grant you, Delia, that there is merit in the way you approach problems." Jemidon's smile broadened. "But even in that, I am my own man. Yes, before I acted, I reasoned what it would take to open the cube and the manner in which Melizar finally must be confronted. But what if I had been properly cautious and calculating about all the risks and alternatives before I took the chance? If I had questioned whether the cube would roll though the demon arch onto Ponzar's lithon or merely to empty air? If I had debated whether the random fling of the laws would indeed send them where Melizar was unfamiliar and powerless? If I had needed to know for sure that the three remaining masters would exactly counterbalance a dozen men-at-arms, so that only Melizar and I would be left? Had I pondered all of that, I would still be calculating the outcome while pouring from the cube as a bloody ooze.
"I am what I am, Delia, strengths and flaws. I need apologize to no one for them. Others may mock me or throw gold brandels as they choose. I am satisfied with myself, and the rest does not matter."
"It is a wonder what saving the universe will do for one's self-esteem," Alodar said wryly. "But I do not plan to let you stay idle while you walk the garden paths of my retreat. You have the insight to construct the general from the particular. Even though you cannot work any of the crafts, I expect you to aid the masters in formulating extensions of their powers. You are unique among all the practitioners of the arts, Jemidon. As such, you of course become a master, entitled to the black robe. And even though you profess no longer to have a desire for fame, I suspect that it will come, nevertheless."
"And it was not one universe but two," Delia said. "The Skyskirr are as grateful as I am for Jemidon's gifts."
Gifts. The word resonated in Jemidon's mind. He remembered what Delia had done on the lithon. Without her, despite all his bold words, no success would have been possible. And she had done it not for the benefit of two universes, but for him alone. In the end, saving her had meant more than the robe.
Jemidon turned from Delia and looked at Augusta, just to make sure. Yes, even in that he had selected the right alternative. The vaultholder of Phuton would not lack for suitors, and there was only one with whom he wanted to share his destiny.
"And I expect you to teach Delia in those crafts as well," Jemidon said to the archmage. "She has shown talent in more than one and, close to me, her skills will prosper." He looked back down at Delia. "Perhaps I presume too much, but our pasts have been too intertwined for our futures to be far apart."
Delia rubbed the pale band of skin on her wrist where the braclet had been. "You show some promise." She nodded. "I think I will keep you around."
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