Master of the Five Magics

by Lyndon Hardy

  “Trifle not with a master magician, neophyte.” Lectonil glared at him. “Especially one with the gloves of thunder.”

  Alodar opened his mouth to speak; but before he could, Beliac’s voice rumbled forth from the stairway.

  “And to what purpose do you rouse me from my studies, Lectonil?” he asked. “The protocols must be observed, I insist. There is no basis for council meeting without the notice of two full days to bring all rituals in progress to a satisfactory halt. Your prattle about the danger to the remaining wyvern can surely wait a fortnight.”

  “It is for a far more serious matter than the safety of a dragon that we are here, Beliac,” Lectonil replied. “We convene tonight to judge the most serious charge of treason. Look, we have even caught your neophyte in the practice of ritual. Such disregard for the traditions cannot be condoned, regardless of the ends you think they serve.”

  Beliac looked across the room to where Alodar lay and then stared at the two spheres still sitting in the small box on the table. “I know not in what foul practice this neophyte engages,” he said, “but it is without my council or direction. I have had no discourse with him since he was in this chamber over a month ago. I say as you that he should be punished for his deeds. Bring forth the mirror of inversion and let us be done with it. His crime is none of mine.”

  “Ah, but it is, Beliac,” Lectonil persisted. “I would not have acted so precipitously this night had I not first solved the riddle of that last meeting when your follower was present. Bring in the other one and let us confront them,” he said turning to the doorway.

  Duncan was abruptly pushed into the chamber, a look of bewilderment on his face. Following him came another black-robed magician.

  “Fulmbar,” Beliac said in surprise as his peer entered.

  “Yes, Beliac,” the magician replied with hate dripping from his voice. “With the aid of Lectonil’s acolytes, I am free at last of your bondage of this past month. And I have told them all of your conduct the last time I sat in this chamber. It is true I would have voted against you that day, but in the past I supported you as the issue merited. And had you stood by the honor of the master, I might have followed your cause yet again. But your deeds with the neophyte have cleared my indecision and firmed my resolve. I anxiously await the council vote on the form of your de-elevation.”

  “But wait,” Beliac interrupted, with a shade of panic beginning to tinge his voice. “I acted in the desperation of the moment and no ritual magic was used in what I did. A minor transgression worthy of small censure at the most.”

  “Enough of the pleading, Beliac.” Lectonil waved the protest aside as the rest of the magicians began to file in. “The case against you is tight. Your neophyte was caught in mid-ritual, working your will. Tell us now what you had planned, else your punishment will be all the harder.”

  “But…” Beliac’s eyes rapidly searched the faces of his peers for signs of sympathy. “I know nothing of the dabbling in which this neophyte engages.”

  “Very well, then,” Lectonil said. “Perhaps the neophyte himself will not be so guarded. What do you say about your deed tonight?”

  “I work with the pair of spheres before you,” Alodar answered, as he slowly rose to his feet. “The one is smooth and the other circumscribed by one great circle.”

  The assembled magicians followed Alodar’s extended hand to the table. “Could they be spheres of protection?” one of them gasped. “Most rare and valuable objects indeed. The work of an eon before they were truly formed and ready.”

  “By the laws, Beliac, this is most undisciplined! The uninitiated should not traffic with such potencies. He might start one to activate before he knows what he is doing.”

  “As for example, by striking a triangle of discord,” Alodar said, holding out the small instrument he had used minutes before.

  Lectonil’s mouth dropped when he saw what was in Alodar’s hand. He reached out to touch the first sphere and then quickly withdrew with an involuntary yelp.

  “They have started,” he said, eyes suddenly wide. “Quickly man, how long have you been at this? We must know how much time remains.”

  Alodar frowned in puzzlement over the magician’s sudden concern. He reviewed the steps that remained and the significance of each.

  “But of course,” he said aloud at last. “The power within the spheres has already been disturbed from their mold. Either we run the spells to completion or they will explode of their own volition with cataclysmic force.”

  Several of the magicians broke their ranks behind Beliac and began to jostle one another for position in the doorway.

  Lectonil retreated a step in hesitation and then called after the fleeing members of the guild.

  “Wait,” he said shakily. “We must stay and resolve what to do. We cannot abandon the spheres. Their release will damage our chambers beyond repair and perhaps our heritage below as well. The ritual must be worked to completion.”

  “Then stay and work it yourself,” the magician closest to the door yelled out. “It is you who burns most with the fire to confront Beliac with his deeds.”

  Lectonil backed another step from the table, but then stopped.

  “Hold your positions,” he commanded with more composure. “We can handle the situation with but little danger to ourselves. Bring forward the acolyte. He should know enough to complete what must be done.”

  Two of Lectonil’s followers thrust Duncan forward to face the master.

  Lectonil’s face parted in a cruel smile. “So you wish the status of the magician, do you, Duncan?” he asked. “Then you can show your proficiency to us by completing the ritual of Cantor on these spheres. Surely you have memorized what is to be done.”

  Duncan’s eyes darted to Beliac and back to Lectonil. “I have studied it, master,” he said. “But the events of this evening jumble my thoughts. I recall it not. I have had no time to prepare. Please, we know not how much time is left; let us flee.”

  “Then for you it will be the mirror,” Lectonil cut him short. “Unless you search your memory and are successful in the recall.”

  “But I cannot,” Duncan protested falling to his knees in frantic supplication.

  “Each minute you waste is one less to complete what is to be done,” Lectonil said harshly. “Be about it, man, or you doom yourself surely.”

  Duncan eyed the pack leaning next to where Alodar stood. With trembling hands, he opened the top flap and began to extract the necessary equipment.

  “And the time?” Lectonil addressed Alodar again. “How long ago did you start?”

  Alodar drew his tongue across a mouth suddenly dry as the impact of the situation sank in. “A full five minutes,” he said. “At least that much before the wailing stopped me from going further.”

  “Quickly, the glasses.” Lectonil gestured and one of the magicians opened a drawer in the table. “That leaves twenty remaining.” He watched as a sandclock of the appropriate size was set beside Duncan.

  “Now we proceed with caution as follows,” Lectonil said. “Repair to our chambers until the crisis is past. Guard Beliac until the issue here is resolved. I will remain on the stairwell, watching these two as they proceed. If all goes well, you can rejoin me here. If I judge that insufficient time remains, I will incapacitate them with the gloves of thunder and retreat out of harm’s way before the explosion tears the apex asunder. In either case, we will deal with Beliac’s treason then.”

  The magicians mumbled their acquiescence and began to file out of the chamber. Alodar’s eyes jumped from Lectonil to Beliac and back, hoping to see an opportunity. Beliac also watched the magicians file out. Suddenly, when four were already on the stair, he bolted forward and shouldered his way in front of those remaining.

  “Magicians loyal to the new ways, follow me,” he shouted. “We are outnumbered, but they will feel our sting before we are done.”

  Lectonil turned to the startled black robes who remained. “After them,” he shouted
. “Subdue them and repair to the chambers as planned.”

  The magicians pounded down the stairs after the ones who fled. Lectonil looked at Duncan and Alodar and then backed down the stairs until he stood only waist high in the room. As he took his place, a blue flash reflected upwards through the opening, followed by a rolling boom and an anguished scream. In an instant, the walls rocked and vibrated with an answering spasm of subsonic rhythm.

  “A gem of blue blindness and the oscillator of life,” Lectonil muttered. “It seems that both sides armed themselves well for our confrontation. But no matter, acolyte, tend to your duty.”

  Another flash burst upwards. Duncan jarred loose from his panic and began to work the magic with the gear from Alodar’s pack. With eyes half closed, he rattled off the next steps of the ritual and executed them quickly. The triangle sang again, three beehive hitches were woven together, feet stomped in a complicated rhythm. Alodar watched fascinated as the acolyte, immersed in his recall, jerked his hands faster with each step, blurring them together in his haste.

  As Duncan worked, the chamber rocked and rumbled with the attacks and parries that flew about the library below. Lectonil steadied himself in the stairwell and occasionally glanced down the spiral, frowning at the uncertainty of the outcome.

  “And that is one,” Duncan said explosively. As he spoke, he held out the uninscribed sphere triumphantly in his hand. The sphere was no longer opaque rock, but danced in a rainbow of refracted light that radiated through its interior. In the very center, Alodar saw a tiny and perfect human hand suspended.

  “The shielding hand,” Lectonil said, mounting again into the chamber. “Here, let me have it while you finish the other.”

  As Alodar saw Lectonil stretch his right hand forward, he sprang from the chamber wall and over the table into the magician’s open arms. The force carried both to the floor. As they fell, Alodar grappled for the old man’s hands to force them apart.

  “Quickly, Duncan, quickly,” he gasped. “Help me subdue him while I pin his arms. Then you can finish the other and we will be away before they return.”

  The floor rolled with another crash. Duncan hesitated and took one step around the periphery of the table, then paused. His face froze in renewed terror as he caught sight of the sand which yet remained to fall.

  “Help me!” Alodar yelled. “There is no time to waste.”

  Duncan put his hand on the tabletop, but his eyes remained fixed on the falling sand. With a shudder, he suddenly turned and climbed up onto the windowsill from which Alodar had originally entered the room. In an instant he was gone, completed sphere in his pocket, climbing hand over hand down the face of the pyramid.

  As Duncan fled, Alodar summoned new strength; with a powerful whirl, he spun Lectonil around striking his head with a crack against the floor. The magician remained silent, and Alodar scrambled to his feet.

  He shielded his eyes from another flash and steadied himself from the rumble that followed. Almost half of the sand was gone.

  There was still time to run. But if he did his entire quest would have been for nothing. He was no match for Duncan in rattling off the ritual by rote, but somehow he had to perform it on the second sphere.

  He climbed back over the table and relit the incense; the ritual was begun. Alodar rang the triangle and this time it quieted at the proper time. Fumbling with his sketchy notes, he slowly began to lay out the twine on the table, covering and looping the strings in a way that would form a knot like a beehive. With the last tuck in place, he pulled the ends tight. The coils shrank into a lopsided triangle.

  Steeling himself against the impulses that tried to make his hands shake, he undid the mess and again methodically went through the steps that formed the knot. He pulled the ends and the loops slid shut with beautiful symmetry. Encouraged, he began another and quickly laid a second by the first.

  “The three knots define the plane in which the bees move to pollinate,” he muttered to distract himself from his pounding heart as he began the third. “Three knots to form the plane to cleave the sphere.” He stopped and hesitated. “Such a step makes sense for the first sphere, but what of the second with the fine line already dividing it in two?” Alodar frowned and concentrated on the lore which he had studied the past month. With the line already breaking the symmetry, the three points were redundant; they would lie in the plane already formed. He could proceed as before and the result would still be the immovable hand.

  Alodar stopped completely and glanced up at the glass. If he continued, there was probably still enough time to complete the ritual as Duncan had done. A shielding hand in a sphere of protection was a king’s ransom indeed. But the second sphere was different and somehow the ritual should be different as well. Perhaps a power far greater would be his if he acted with decision. But his notes would not help. He would have to get the reference from the library floor.

  Alodar gauged the sand remaining and jumped over the table a third time. The floor shook and another scream exploded up from the doorway. Four minutes, he thought. If he could be back in four minutes, then he would still have a chance.

  He grabbed the balustrades with both hands and bounded downward, six steps at a time. He closed his eyes to slits to block out the bursts of light and ignored the bells which immediately began to chime. Against the brightness, he could just barely see the black robes dancing to and fro among the benches to dodge and launch their magical blows.

  In one corner he saw gloves like Lectonil’s clap together and a yellow bolt arch out to shatter soundlessly against some invisible barrier in the way. Beyond the transparent wall, two magicians huddled, rapidly working their craft. Elsewhere the black forms grappled arm to arm, ladders of energy streaking outward from the ring of one to strike the gemstone of another, fining the air with a sharp pungency from the discharge.

  Alodar reached the floor without a challenge and quickly ran for the tier that contained the reference he needed.

  “The neophyte,” someone yelled behind him. He dove forward and rolled as the yellow flash lashed out over his head and hit the tier in front, ripping scrolls apart and sending small scraps fluttering to the floor. Alodar crawled to his left and overturned a table as a second bolt followed the first, crashing into the protesting beams he flung in the way. A moment passed and no third shaft came. Inching up on his knees, he saw his attackers facing another direction and warding off the thrust of a dagger which seemed to dart through the air of its own volition.

  Alodar scrambled back to the tier and with both arms spread the jumble of manuscripts. His hand closed on a familiar form; and with a feeling of sudden triumph, he grasped the other handle of the scroll he sought.

  He bounded to his feet and ran back to the staircase, ducking and dodging the blasts of magic power that came his way. He thrust the scroll into his belt and started up the incline, both hands pulling him forward. He circled around a third of the distance, not pausing to look back but thinking only of the sand that remained in the glass. Suddenly he tripped and lurched forward, shins banging against the steps ahead. He wriggled his feet frantically, but they remained steadfast to the step on which he had just landed.

  “The all-holding glue of Deckadin,” he heard above him and looked up to see Fulmbar slowly descending in his direction. “It is well I decided to take a vantage point up here,” the magician said, “although I did not suspect to have my trap sprung so quickly.”

  The room rocked with another rumble and the stairs groaned in protest. Alodar’s legs wrenched violently with the wave of power but he remained firmly rooted still.

  “The sphere!” he yelled. “Release me so that I can finish the ritual, or we are all lost.”

  “I am a master magician, neophyte,” Fulmbar snapped back. “I will not be guiled by a trick so transparent. Lectonil has the matter well in hand, else I would see him bolt down these stairs to signal us to safety. You will hold your position until I summon aid.”

  Before Alodar could speak a
gain, Fulmbar’s eyes suddenly widened and he threw his hands upwards. Alodar instinctively ducked and felt cold metal fly by and brush over his back. He looked forward to see Fulmbar suddenly enmeshed in a net of fine silver wire that clung to him tightly and pulled him down.

  “The net of the perfect catch,” Fulmbar shrieked as he tore at the mesh, while it propelled him stumbling down the stairwell. The magician lurched against Alodar and dug a hand into his arm as he stumbled past. Alodar was twisted around by the grip, and then pulled backward onto the hard steps as his feet remained firmly locked into place. Fulmbar continued down the stairs and Alodar felt nails cut deep as the grip slipped up his arm. Using his free hand, Alodar tore at the fingers which held him, grasping at a beaded bracelet around the magician’s wrist. With a final scream, Fulmbar relinquished his hold and fell with a rush, bounding headfirst on each step as he went. The bracelet snapped in Alodar’s fingers; simultaneously his boots popped free.

  Another bolt of yellow sizzled up after Alodar as he rose to climb, but he paid it no heed. The building shook with the biggest explosion yet, and he saw a gaping hole torn in the north wall, creating a shower of brick and gleaming red stones.

  His lungs heaving, Alodar reached the apex and closed and locked the heavy door in the floor. He looked quickly at the remaining sphere which now glowed red hot with a line of fiery yellow around it.

  He unrolled the scroll and began to scan rapidly down the contents. The entire ritual fitted into a fifth-order magic square, and the tying of knots occupied the center cell. Replacing the three knots by two changed the value from five to nineteen and the square no longer balanced its sums.