by Allan Cole
"So you say," Mortacious murmured. "But there is a bloody trail behind you that might indicate otherwise."
"If they had let us pass," Janos said, "they would have lived."
The barbed remark hooked amusement, rather than anger. Mortacious smiled. "Exactly, dear Greycloak. Ignorance can be fatal." He topped our glasses. "When I learned of your approach, I was seized with curiosity. I had to meet the men who so ardently sought the Far Kingdoms."
Except for the conversation between Janos and Mortacious, the room was silent. His men made listless motions of eating and drinking; they did not talk with one another, or look this way and that. Down the long table our own friends whispered amongst themselves and shifted restlessly. But I saw they'd had the good sense to help themselves to some joints of meat and bread and were devouring them as if it were their last meal, a thought not far from my own mind as I looked at my still empty platter.
Mortacious caught my look and fussed. "Forgive me, dear sirs, for forgetting your needs. Come, let me assist you in finding a tasty morsel or two."
He carved a thick slab of steaming meat for me, another for Janos, and put them on our plates with much ceremony. A most delicious odor arose to greet my senses and beg me to sup. I cut a long slice and lifted it eagerly to my lips. I paused, confused, as I heard Mortacious give a malicious snigger. Suddenly, the tempting strip became a hissing, wriggling viper; venom dripped from its fangs, searing the table.
"Why. Amalric Antero, you are a greedy beggar," Janos said, voice light as a young boy's. "You're always snatching up the best cut. Here - allow me at least one bite!" He plucked the snake away with a flourish. "A little undercooked, perhaps," he said. His other hand, fingers arched in a spell-making curve, brushed by the viper's jutting fangs. The snake became a strip of innocent meat again. He popped it into his mouth and washed it down with a glass of wine. "Quite tasty," he said, and cupped a hand in front of his mouth to hide a polite belch.
Mortacious's face turned grim. He plucked at the neck scarf, irritated at Janos's skillful display. But my friend wasn't done. "Why, what manner of dish is that before you, Lord Mortacious?" he cried in mock surprise. He snapped his fingers at the heavy gold plate before our host. Mortacious reared back as the plate became a great golden scorpion, its tail hard-arched; sting glistening with venom as deadly as that viper's.
"Come here, my pretty," Janos cooed and the scorpion sped across the table at a frightening speed and ran up his sleeve. It whipped its sting in anger as he gave it a pat, then became a small, squeaky mouse with soft white fur and a tender pink nose. Janos set it down, saying: "Can't make up its mind, poor thing."
Mortacious hissed and pointed a long, bony finger at the mouse. It gave a sharp squeak and burst into flame; in a moment the mouse had been turned to golden ash. The wizard swept up the ash, then let it sprinkle back down on the table. The particles swirled and then formed back into a plate. I saw its edge, perfect before, was chipped, but Mortacious was so proud of this final turnabout he didn't notice. The wizard adjusted the scarf and displayed a wide grin; his teeth made twin groves of yellow gnarled trees. He clearly believed he'd bested Janos.
Janos dipped his head, allowing the victory; but as he made that motion of humility, he slipped his hand into his pocket, and quickly out again. "I fear I have no appropriate return," he said with a sheepish smile.
Lord Mortacious reared back and laughed. His breath washed over me; it smelled of the foul smoke outside. "We have had games enough, my friends. Now let us eat and drink our fill. For this promises to be a most enjoyable visit." He clapped his hands together; in delight, I supposed, for the mood among his men shifted abruptly. They began to move about, chatting with one another in idle table gossip. I noticed, however, that when they ate it was only a nibble, as if they had supped before our arrival. Here and there I noted features and limbs marred by wounds such as I'd witnessed on the street. Mortacious eyed me, lifted a hunk of bread from his plate and broke off a small bit. The crumbs tumbled across his robe. He dipped the bread into his wine and slipped it into his mouth. I was suddenly ravenous, and fell upon my food like a direwolf. But what was appetizing to the eye was tasteless to the tongue; the meat was dry and even washed down with wine it remained a hard lump in my belly.
Mortacious gave me a knowing smile, as if he held a malicious secret. "I hope you did not find my jest rude, Lord Antero," he said. He waved at his men. "They make such dull company, I could not resist poking fun at an intelligent man. Your look of astonishment was a rare delight."
"Then how could I take offense?" I replied. "To give innocent amusement to such a gracious host is small repayment for your generosity."
"You are not discomforted in the presence of a wizard?" he asked. He plucked at the scarf and I saw a brief glimpse of what appeared to be an ugly wound.
"Not at all," I said, wondering if it was a wound, what was its cause? "It will make a remarkable tale someday when I relate my adventures to my grandchildren."
Mortacious's mouth stretched into a humorless smile. "If you live to tell it," he said.
"Oh, I fully expect to," I replied. I saw Janos give a slight nod at my correct response. "The gods have been with us thus far in our quest. Although when your men confronted us, I admit I had some doubt." I raised my glass to him. "But once again, instead of trial, the gods permitted me to enter your august company."
Mortacious laughed. "Oh, yes, yes, yes," he hissed in supreme pleasure. "The ways of the gods are a marvel to all, but a blessing to few." He returned my toast, and we both drank. Then he leaned forward, his face assuming a look of great interest. "But do you not fear their wrath, traveling in the company of a man whom some charge has gained his sorcerous skills through blasphemy?"
If he meant to surprise me, he succeeded; if he meant to confound me, he failed. "Why should it, my Lord? Was not this undertaking blessed by the Evocators of Orissa - including that aged and holy sage, Gamelan, himself?" Mortacious grimaced and tugged at his scarf, and I could see it was his comfort as well as weakness, betraying emotion he intended to keep hidden.
He turned to Janos, who was busy chewing on his own tasteless repast. "Your friend brings more than red-headed luck to your venture. He brings cool wisdom as well."
"That is what sealed our friendship long ago," Janos said. "More so, even, than his kindly nature and amiable manners."
Mortacious shook his head in mock awe. "A most remarkable partnership for a most remarkable venture. I pray for your sake that it keeps. For when such a friendship sours, it makes a bitter drink." Janos made no reply, but only smiled and sipped his wine. "I have been wondering," Mortacious said, "why you have yet to ask what I know of your goal? You seek the answer to a mystery, but you make no inquiries of the lord whose realm lies closest to the Far Kingdoms."
Janos made his most charming grin; it peeped like a thief from the black thicket of his beard. "I would have, my Lord Mortacious... if I thought you would answer."
Mortacious laughed, this time with genuine amusement. "You guessed correctly," he replied. "Few questions are answered with kindness by those who dwell in the Disputed Lands."
Janos shrugged. "It required no crystal gazing, good sir. There were signs of conflict all along the way. And we witnessed a great battle just before your men came upon us. If I lived in a land with as many enemies as you must suffer, I would suspect any questioner as well." Janos made bold, hooked the wine decanter, and poured all around. "There is one question, however, that begs an answer, and can cause no harm if I ask it. And that is: why have you called us into your company?"
Mortacious smoothed the scarf. "It is as I said: to satisfy my curiosity."
"And when that has been accomplished?" Janos pressed.
The wizard eyed him, slowly stroking his black scarf as if it were his lover's flesh. The hand was death white against the scarf; fingers, long blind worms. Finally, he answered: "Then you shall pass from my kingdom in safety... and with my blessing. But before that hour is upon us, I
have questions of my own."
"Ask away, sir," Janos said. "I am but a simple soldier with no secrets but the sweet words I've hoarded to please a maiden's ear."
"If that were so," Mortacious said, "you would not be at my table. And you might have met a different fate at my men's hands." Janos shrugged - point conceded. "I have heard, my good Greycloak," Mortacious continued, "that you were born to wizardry, but have no formal training. Nor were you permitted another sorcerer's company. Yet my informants say you are as skilled as any in the land - and that skill was won solely by hard force of your reasoning powers."
"You were informed correctly," Janos said. "Although my skills may have been overrated. I possess enough to protect myself and my friends... and to amuse an amiable dinner companion."
Mortacious brushed this away, impatient with further byplay. "It is your methods that interest me, sir. Others learn by dull rote - you, by testing theory."
"I have had little choice," Janos replied. "No one would give me scrolls to memorize, much less allow entrance to a school for Evocators."
"I have heard of no other mortal man who has accomplished this," Mortacious said.
"That is a fact I could not know," Janos returned. "As you said, no wizard has ever taken me into his confidence."
"Then I shall be the first," Mortacious said. "I have theories of my own. Perhaps they complement yours."
"I am honored, Lord Mortacious," Janos said. He sat back, waiting. His smile was easy, but I saw the wary gleam in my friend's eye.
"Do you think sorcery has some holy purpose?" Mortacious asked. "A purpose understood only by the gods who give wizardry life? Answer honestly, now. I will not take offense."
"I do not think it holy," Janos said. "I believe magick is as natural as the wind. As common a force as the fire you light when that wind blows cold. And as for the gods - Bah. They do not exist... except in our minds."
Mortacious frowned. He gave his scarf a hard tug; and once again I glimpsed the wound. "Then why is it when we pray to them, and make sacrifice, those prayers are sometimes answered?"
"Their image helps us focus," Janos replied. "The sacrifice only sharpens that focus. The same with chanted spells. There is no feat of magick I have set my mind to that cannot be accomplished by thought alone. I do not need a god to make a plate a scorpion, or your chanted nonsense to lure it back to its natural state."
Mortacious eyed Janos thoughtfully. "It would be interesting, indeed, to be a wizard such as yourself. No one taught you rules, so you questioned, then made your own. You smash through things that would make others hesitate... or turn back. All because you have no fear of gods and penalties; you see no task so difficult that it cannot be accomplished by force of will. Ah, yes, Janos Greycloak. I understand why you alone have come so far."
Janos laughed. "It is a lovely speech, sir, but I detect you heartily disagree."
Mortacious stirred, enjoying himself. "Yes. Yes, I do. I wish it were otherwise, for you do present a pretty view. I admit you have great talent, but it is not so great as you think. As any true sorcerer can attest: there are real limits; real fears. I know my Master, and He knows me. We made a bargain, which I keep, and he has granted me powers greater than even a man such as you could dream."
"I assume you make reference to the practice of black sorcery," Janos said. "And you are a servant of one of the gods whose name it is forbidden to speak."
"Does that offend you?" Mortacious asked. He stroked the scarf, features pleasant.
"Not at all," Janos said. "Black or white, it makes no difference in my philosophy. If there are no gods, no holy purpose, what does it matter?"
"Yes. I can see how it wouldn't," Mortacious said. "Marvelous. Simply marvelous. I like how your ideas, no matter how wrongheaded, lead down such a rosy path... where we both still meet."
"My own view of the black arts," Janos said, "is they must be practiced with caution. Our beliefs in such things as good and evil have become so deep grained that they present great resistance. I have a theory that when so called black magick is performed, this resistance causes gradual harm to the practitioner himself. Over time, the sorcerer is weakened, scarred. Possibly even transformed to something not to his liking. Do you find this the case, sir? Are you the same man now as the one who went in that door?"
"Oh, I am better than ever, if anything," Mortacious chuckled. But the chuckle was forced, uneasy.
"Perhaps you take precautions?" Janos asked. "I have thought of a few of my own... if I should ever attempt such things."
Mortacious gripped the scarf, but feigned lightness. "There are none needed," he answered.
"How enlightening," Janos murmured. His manner was pleasant, but I could see he thought our host a fool who had made a bad bargain. "You said I should speak freely, Lord Mortacious," Janos finally said. "that I would give no offense. Yet, I hesitate to ask the question now uppermost in my mind."
"Have no fear," the wizard said. "Say what you will."
"Your kingdom of Gomalalee lies in a realm of constant warfare. We have seen the wounds your people have suffered. So, I wonder: if your god is so great, so knowing, why has he not given you power over your enemies?"
Mortacious roared laughter. It made a ghastly sound; as if the winds of humor were blowing through that deep cavern where the Dark Seeker dwells. "Oh, but He has, my dear man... He has." The neck scarf had come loose and I saw clear the wound it hid from view. It was a putrid, unhealed gash circling his throat. He did not notice my gaze, and returned the black scarf to its place. His face was mocking. "What is the greatest power you can imagine, my little wizard?" he asked. "Tell me quick and tell me true."
Janos replied with no hesitation: "To know all things. To be able to lift my eyes from Nature's stitching and see its grand design. I would give all I have - which, in the end, is only my life - if I could have but a single glimpse; one clear understanding."
"Then you are a fool," Mortacious said. "For the sum of all things is too large to know. The stitches too numerous for even the gods to count."
Janos made his eyes widen, and stroked his beard as if he were in the presence of a great, knowing master. "Then what is the answer, my Lord? Tell me, please, where my error lies?"
"Why it is as simple as common bread," the wizard said, his eyes aglow with self importance. "The greatest power a mortal can command... is the power over another man's soul."
"I do not understand," Janos said. "Tell me more, pray, to further my education."
But the wizard grew wary, fearing he had said too much. He shook his head, as if wearying of the buzz of little children. He smoothed the scarf, picked up his cup and drained it. He set the cup down firmly. "I think not," he said at last.
He brushed crumbs from his robe and came to his feet. "I hope you gentlemen have supped well. Now, if you will forgive my rudeness... I shall ask you to retire. I pray you find your quarters pleasant, and you sleep an untroubled sleep."
Before he could go, I made bold to say: "Thank you, Lord Mortacious, for your hospitality. I would not want us to overstay it. With your kind permission, we shall depart tomorrow - with deep regret."
The wizard fixed me with those fierce, desert bird eyes. I did not flinch, but kept a mild look upon my face. "We shall see," he finally said, then swept out. As soon as he was gone Janos scooped up the crumbs the wizard had discarded, and put them in his pocket. He gave me a wink just as the man who had led us to Mortacious appeared. "Come with me, if you please, sirs," he said.
He put all twenty of us in a spacious chamber; it was windowless and its walls were barren stone. There were cots set up, with soft coverlets that seemed odd amid such barracks-like starkness. There was a large water vessel in the corner, with a dipper hanging from the mouth, and in another corner there was hole for wastes. As Mortacious's man swung shut the heavy door, Janos signaled us to remain silent. We heard a strong bolt shoot into place; so much for the fiction that we were only guests. Janos crept to the door and ran
his hands lightly over the surface. Whatever he learned from the examination pleased him, for he nodded in satisfaction. He turned back to us and made signs there was a listening spell in place. More hand signals sent the men to their cots to feign sleep, and brought Sergeant Maeen and myself to his side.
"It is as I feared," he whispered. "There is no locking spell on the door. Only the mechanical bar."
"Why is that troublesome, sir?" Maeen asked.
I puzzled with him, for if escape was necessary, or even possible, then the scanty security was in our favor. Then I felt a sudden awful weariness, and yearned for the sweet comfort of those soft coverlets. Sergeant Maeen gave an elaborate yawn; and as the uncontrollable urge to ape his actions came upon me, I heard more yawns all over the chamber as our men were similarly affected.
Janos gave Maeen a hard push to jolt him awake. "Fetch some water," he hissed, "and quickly."
As the sergeant stumbled to do his bidding, Janos knelt. I squatted beside him, fighting off sleep. There was no question what had happened: Mortacious had cast a sleeping spell on our food. Janos took the crumbs - the wizard's leavings - from his pocket and spread them on the floor. He leaned close and breathed over them: once, twice, three times. When Maeen returned with the dipper Janos sprinkled water over the crumbs and made a paste.
I saw him struggle with a yawn of his own, as he kneaded the paste into twenty bread pellets. Once more his hand dipped into his pocket, and when it appeared again I saw his fingers coated with the golden ash from the wizard's plate. He whispered a chant as he sprinkled the ash over the dough pellets, and in dumb amazement I watched the pellets swiftly rise; in a moment they had the appearance and size of small biscuits. Hazy fear enveloped me as Sergeant Maeen sagged down and I felt sleep's dark veil descending.
"Eat," Janos hissed, shoving the biscuit at me. I took it, irritated at being ordered to do anything other than sleep. I bit off a small portion as he demanded and it seemed so delicious after that awful meal I had to have more. My mind sharpened with the pleasure of the taste, banishing sleep. Janos raced about, forcing a biscuit into every man's gullet. Soon all were awake and Janos was back by my side. Once more he held a finger to his lips, but this time it was not directed at the sergeant and myself. With that same finger he drew a circle about our heads. He repeated the gesture and I saw the air begin to shimmer. "Silence," Janos whispered. The shimmer became a swirl. "Silence," he said louder still and the shimmer became a pale light. Then he bellowed: "SILENCE." But though the shout hammered my ears, it became a dead thing at the barrier of pale light. No echo resounded from the walls, nor aroused the men, although they watched with anxious interest. Amalric’s much for Lord Mortacious and his silly spells," Janos said in normal tones. "Now, we can plot escape in comfort."