by Lyndon Hardy
“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 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 air 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 all 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 in 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 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?” he 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.”
Lectonil’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 time 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 in 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 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 employing with increasing frequency.”
“It can avail me no worse,” Alodar 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 midnigh
t 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.
Further back and barely visible stood a cluster of small towers, each topped in unique fashion, some with crenelations 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 he 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 in 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, 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 symbology 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 tunnelway 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 in the other direction, arms heavily laden with thick scrolls of cracking parchment.
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 his 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 flattened 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 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 publicly in 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
“BUT 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 it hatches in the noonday sun. Next paint the claw of a roc—”