Master of the Five Magics

by Lyndon Hardy

  “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 fair lady.”

  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 in 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 arms 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

  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.

  “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 time 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 time 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 in 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 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 in 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 initiate?” 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.”

  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 in 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 t
ests 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 time 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?” he 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 his 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 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 strugglers for truth.”

  Introductions bounced around as Alodar found a place on the rough bench. He looked about the structure and reestablished his 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 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 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 when they are completed.”

  “But how fare you in 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?”