Master of the Five Magics

by Lyndon Hardy

  “Enough of the classroom recitation, Duncan.” The magician waved him to cease as Alodar leaned forward to hear the quieter and slower tones. “It takes far more than rote to win the robe of black, as you well know.”

  Alodar stretched on tiptoes to get his head above the wall and catch the words. Two full weeks had passed since his adventure in the hall of the initiates, but nothing had happened as a consequence.

  Still, another frontal assault might be suicidal without more data. Eavesdropping certainly was not the way of the sagas, but for the moment it was the only path open. Beliac and his acolyte had met in this grove often at this hour. The piece of eggshell placed in the grass behind them had the right shape to focus the sound, and the alchemical coating made the reflectivity nearly perfect. With the spellbinding of thaumaturgy, nearly all of what they said came his way, even though the grove was some fifty feet distant.

  The small stand of trees was between the library and the hall of the acolytes, and the maze of open study cubicles nearby was ideal cover. From his hiding place, Alodar squinted at the magician and tried to catch his facial expression as he spoke. His hair was jet black and combed in long, straight strokes back from his forehead. Deep-set eyes and a narrow nose seemed buried in a forest of heavy eyebrows, thick moustache, and long curly beard. The effect was intended to convey the dignity of age, but the smooth, wrinkle-less skin betrayed Beliac to be one of the youngest masters of the Guild.

  Duncan was younger still, perhaps five years older than Alodar, but with a hairline already receding to the top of his head. His eyes were close set, and his face carried a pained look, as if life were always treating him unfairly. His gray robe hung askew on his shoulders, dipping to one side and twisted into disarray.

  “But most gracious sage,” the acolyte continued, “I have studied the record of investiture of Valeron when he secured the silver ring for his own. There is no question of his that I cannot now answer. The apex of the library should not be denied me just because I have been an initiate only three years and an acolyte but two.”

  “The key ring to the apex is not lightly granted, Duncan,” Beliac said. “We must have sufficient judgment and wisdom to use properly the rituals and theorems that are enscrolled there. It would not do for one unseasoned to have access to such power. And why the rush? Look at the pace of the neophytes. Some linger on for decades before even attempting the examination for initiates. Indeed, some are content with the simpler tasks and never strive for what is beyond their immediate grasp. We have some two score acolytes in the Guild at present; yet only a dozen or so have the potential to be magicians. Only the best will don the robe of black, when we deem them truly ready.”

  “But I am ready, venerable sage,” Duncan said. “There is no new ritual that I could master were I to wait even a fortnight more. Time would only be a burden.”

  “Would it now, my acolyte? Then ponder the solution to the following proposition. A coven of ice demons appears from the black rocks in the valley below. They flash through the air to our very gates and, though the air shimmers and distorts as always, they slide through in a heartbeat. With convulsive power they begin to thunder our buildings down in mighty ruin. What defense do you propose?”

  “Most surely my sage, I would make ready our supply of djinn bottles and lamps and instruct all at the level of acolyte or greater to fashion more as quickly as they are able.”

  “A divergence of djinn bottles,” Beliac shouted. “I said ice demons. The like that confines an imp or figenella would not secure the devils of which I speak. Such an answer is insufficient. What else could you suggest?”

  Duncan was silent for a long moment before answering. “Nothing more is in my learning, sage, but then I assert that no answer need be given. You propose what cannot come to pass, as if to ask how to move the stone of infinite weight. Except for a stray gremlin here and there, demons of power spark through our world no more. Common flame is insufficient to bridge the gap so that they can appear of their own volition. Contact with the demon world is mediated by fire. Without something exotic burning, the barrier is too great for the powerful to overcome. Small wonder that I do not recall an answer to such a problem in the recital of those who have preceded me.”

  “You wriggle out of the proposition too easily, Duncan,” Beliac said. “I seek to see how you respond when the answer is not in the recitals you have so carefully memorized. But there is some truth in what you say. There are few wizards of note in Procolon, and the ones to the south act most reclusive of late, though it is the time of year they usually stage the battle for the kings. But this year they have announced no such display. Perhaps they are too engrossed in what happens in the west with two barons themselves possessed.”

  “Two? I have heard of Bandor and no other.”

  “Another peer to his north was somehow seized as well, or so say the lesser sorcerers. Kelric has not confirmed it, but I wonder if his power has not slipped to such an extent that he refuses even to try.”

  “But if there are indeed two, then the fair lady’s problem is solved,” Duncan said. “The demons will turn their puppets against one another in the same fashion as the wizards direct their slaves in the south. Either both will be destroyed or the devils will tire of their game and retire whence they came.”

  “Such has not yet happened,” Beliac replied. “The west of Procolon rises in coherent revolt as before, and with a unity of purpose they struggle against the queen who now besieges them. Indeed, Vendora has called throughout the kingdoms for a wizard brave enough to attempt an exorcism to come forward. Clearly she must defeat not only the discontents of the west but the devils which propel them as well.”

  “Among the acolytes, we hear much talk from the south that the several kingdoms view Vendora’s trouble as an opportunity,” Duncan said. “If they were also to act now in concert, there is little resource left that she can call to her aid.”

  “Perhaps only Arcadia across the sea or even the barbaric tribes to the north, if they could be convinced to fight,” Beliac agreed. “All else is pressed into the struggle to the west. But such mundane happenings should not concern us. Our safeguards are good, despite what Lectonil will say. Which prince rules the valley and the townsmen does not matter. But enough of affairs outside our walls. Come now, what do you say to the problem?”

  “I see I give you no direct satisfaction, O sage,” Duncan replied. “But let me press on to another perhaps more practical reason to consider my petition now. The council stands sorely divided between those who support your august views and those who fawn behind Lectonil’s robe. It is no secret among the acolytes how many issues of great import are laid aside to another day with seven votes yes and seven more nay. A fifteenth magician would bring great changes in the state of affairs in short time.”

  Beliac paused for a moment and then spoke with care. “And what would your persuasions be, were you indeed to get the privilege of the black, acolyte Duncan? Where do you stand on the issues that so dearly concern the council these days?”

  “Why most assuredly with you, inspiring sage,” Duncan answered. “I like not the constraints to which Lectonil wishes us bound. Many times have I heard you argue the need for expanding the number of acolytes, diversifying their skills, experimenting with new rituals and the rest. And on such a course I would see the Guild steered as well.”

  “Yet the manner in which you approach the craft is more like that of Lectonil than mine,” Beliac said. “He would much favor one who found comfort in memorizing what has gone before, rather than daring what is new. Why have you not approached him instead with your proposition?”

  Duncan bit his lip and lowered his eyes. “Please do not take offense, my sage,” he said, “but in truth I did approach him with the same offer. ‘I need no help from outside the council,’ he snapped. ‘A change of one vote and it will be over.’”

  The acolyte paused, but when Beliac did not immediately reply, he rushed on. “But my method of learni
ng is a superficiality. I am at ease with your leanings as well as any other. When I have the robe of black, such things will little matter.”

  “I see you have studied more than just the magician’s craft, Duncan,” Beliac said. “And I am much concerned about the issues of which you speak. The occurrence two weeks ago will be pivotal in the next council meeting. Lectonil will make sure of it. He will demand the ritual of presence be performed immediately. And since I am opposed to such waste on principle, I will resist him this time as well. But he will paint a dark picture of the threat to the Guild, the danger of so many uninitiated roaming at freedom within the palace grounds. Though he knows full well how safely we are protected, it will cause one or two of the more neutral to pause and consider it.”

  Beliac stopped and touched his fingers to his lips. “He has kept to his chambers since the incident,” he muttered. “I would not doubt that somehow he put a neophyte up to the whole thing.”

  He was silent for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed. “Long ago, I visited his quarters. Topmost in the towers and the largest besides. Thick woven rugs, the newest sheets, and the freshest fruits in his bowl. And why should he have the lightest load of instruction and be the one to call our council to order? I am more the magician and it is only the accident of birth that he is older. If there is to be order in the Guild, then the trappings of senior master should belong to me. But enough of such discourse. I will ponder what you have said. It is not a decision given easily in a single evening.”

  “As you wish, my sage,” Duncan said with sudden hope in his voice. “I ask only that you consider my petition with care.”

  Alodar watched the two men depart, Duncan skipping rapidly toward the hall of acolytes and Beliac, chin on chest, pacing slowly past to the magicians’ quarters beyond.

  Alodar looked down from the third story window onto the swatch of grass in front of the hall of administration. He smiled as he detected the bits of eggshell scattered about in the turf. On the carpet spread in the middle of his array Lectonil sat with his back erect, facing another magician in the same formal pose. Behind each, arms akimbo, stood four acolytes in a row. Looping around to enclose them all was a complete circle of initiates of both Guilds. To the side, objects of their craft peeked from a disarray of crates.

  “Then it is concluded, Trodicar,” Lectonil said. “The gong of shattering resonance and the well-tempered djinn bottles for the boots of varied prints and the amulet of blinding light. But the everlasting candles we will save for another time.”

  “Oh, very well,” Lectonil’s counterpart replied, starting to rise. “By what means are the rituals to be exchanged?”

  “By the usual method of the wax-sealed book, two copies, freshly illuminated.”

  “When we dealt with Beliac, he gave us three,” Trodicar said. “Two for the masters’ immediate use and another for the library.”

  “No wonder his research drains our treasury so,” Lectonil growled. “Half of his gold must be consumed by extravagance. But I assumed you would request no less and am prepared to deal as generously as he. Mark you, an additional copy to replace one lost to the hazards of the trail will not be forthcoming.”

  “It is fair enough.” Trodicar nodded and the conference suddenly broke into an informal activity of exchange and packing. In a few minutes, the group split into two and moved in opposite directions. Lectonil and his followers passed from Alodar’s view into the hall entrance below. Shortly thereafter, Trodicar’s retinue strung out into a single line that wove across the sward and then through the curtain of distortion. The last initiate passed into the dimness, pulling at the donkey with their provisions. High on the backpack Alodar saw the corners of the recently bartered books protruding through the topmost flap.

  His eyes widened with excitement. Books of magic moving away from the protective devices of the Guild!

  He looked out to the shimmering view. It was well that he had taken every excuse to visit the town. He had been guided through the curtain enough times that he should be able to make the transit alone.

  Alodar waited a few minutes more until everyone was out of sight and then quickly sprinted down the stairs. He raced outside the hall, across the swatch of grass, and into the haze. Rocks, shrubs, and the pathway ahead distorted in dizzying shapes that flickered from one glance to the next. Trunks waved back and forth, leaves expanded to giant size and contracted to pinheads, while rocks oscillated like soft gelatins. In a dozen steps, he was completely surrounded by the distortions, unable to tell by sight from whence he had come or the direction of the true pathway ahead. He glanced behind to see the towers of the hall of administration seemingly sway in the breeze, soaring to the sky and then drooping like a waxen model left in the hot sun.

  Closing his eyes and concentrating, Alodar paced off a dozen more steps and then turned abruptly to his right. After several minutes of dead reckoning, aided only by minimal clues from the texture underfoot, his boot sounded against a large flat stone. The edge of the chasm, if the talk among the neophytes was accurate, was a deep cut wrapping around the Guild within the interior of the curtain. With his eyes still closed, he gingerly pushed one foot forward and felt the narrow beam which must span the gap. Arms outstretched for balance, he stepped off the six steps and felt with relief the firm contact with the stone on the other side.

  He opened his eyes and saw the diffuse light grow dimmer still, as if the sun had suddenly sunk towards the horizon. The scrubby chaparral shriveled away to isolated clumps of gnarled and bare branches, and a single needle-like spire wavered above a rolling landscape, Alodar blinked, trying to remember if he had seen such a scene when he was guided before, but the image shimmered away.

  He stepped forward six steps and then turned to his left. After a score more paces, he spun back to the right and continued down the slope. Twigs and small branches pulled at his robe, but when he peeked in the direction of the tugs, the grotesque shapes only added to the confusion. He stumbled over the small stones which littered the way and finally banged his toes against the sharp point of a flat rock directly in his path.

  He mentally ran through the sequence from the beginning to make sure of the correct path and then started down the branch to the left. After several more minutes of concentration he broke through to the still air of the outside world.

  Alodar sighed with relief at his accomplishment but had no time to stop and savor it. He ran to the edge of the trail and looked over the side. The pathway switched back several times below him. On the second bend he saw the guildsmen pulling their beasts of burden. Downhill, the trail cut back in a wide arc that nearly circumscribed the hill before reversing direction.

  Without waiting further, Alodar lifted a fist-sized rock and hurled it down at the donkey lumbering along. The first shot missed the target and the trail completely. The second was a lucky hit directly on the animal’s haunch. The donkey reared upright, wrenching the rein from his handler. Another hit on the lower neck was enough to terrify the beast into bolting down the trail with the magician and his acolytes racing behind.

  Alodar quickly turned and began to scramble through the bush to the other side of the hill. His feet slipped on small rubble. Several times he had to grasp at a nearby shrub to keep his balance. Pulling and tugging his way, he pursued a rough arc through the chaparral while the magicians zigzagged on the looping path below. Several minutes passed in a frenzy of exertion, and then Alodar stopped and looked down the slope. If he hurried now, he could meet the beast on the long switchback and have a chance at the books before the pursuers could come around.

  He took a deep breath and charged down the hillside, hitting the rough ground on a dead run. He leaped over the small barriers that lay in his way and zigged and zagged down the incline. His legs seemed to acquire a will of their own, hurling one foot in front of the other and dragging his upper body behind. He caromed forward with only enough control to twist and dodge the larger shrubs and rocks that swept by in a blur. Strugglin
g for balance, he flailed his arms wildly in the air, more than once almost carried away by the avalanche of small stones he started with his pounding tread.

  In a final burst of speed, he jarred onto the pathway, feet skittering across the ground towards the edge of the cliff. As he ran forward, the donkey rounded the curve and galloped directly ahead down the trail. Alodar slowed and stepped to one side, reaching out to grasp the pack lashings as the beast ran by.

  Stabbing pain shot through his arms as he was stretched by the contact, but he gripped the harness firmly and was swept from his feet and dragged along. Trusting his grip to his left hand, he released his right and fumbled for the books peeking out of the top of the pack. With a savage motion, he wrenched one free and tumbled to the ground, rolling off the trail and cascading down the edge of the cliff.

  Brush and rock slowed his descent, whacking at his limbs and ribs as he spun. In a dizzying moment, he lay still at the bottom of a little ravine, groggy and with blood trickling from a battered nose, but still clutching the magic book of the Guild. Up on the trail he heard the excited cries of the initiates as they ran past, calling for the animal to stop.

  Alodar lay still, not so much to ensure that the magicians were gone as to let his body rest from the beating it had taken.

  A long time later as dusk began to fall, he slowly sat up, wincing from the soreness in his back and legs. With a hand trembling from the effort, he cautiously broke the seal on the small clasp which bound the book shut. He breathed deeply and cracked the volume open to the middle.