by Lyndon Hardy
From across the room, Alodar shook his head at the news. Feston had profited from his deeds at Iron Fist. Basil from his alchemy; and now even his magic sphere had been used for benefit of another. Although Duncan left the Guild only shortly before Alodar he must have been able to gain immediate access to the queen with the power that now glittered in a small cage of spun gold hanging from his waist.
“Perhaps later,” Vendora continued, “Duncan will be so kind as to demonstrate for us the miraculous object he brings to the throne of Procolon. But for the moment, let us forget other depressing matters of state and revel instead in some entertainments.”
Vendora moved to a more central position and Feston, Duncan, and Basil jockeyed for position immediately behind. The rest of the crowd crushed together in back of the three suitors and fell silent in anticipation. After a long moment, a robed figure, stooped with age, ambled slowly through the doorway. Alodar’s brows rose as he saw the faded eye logos on the frayed robe, startlingly out of place in the finery about it.
Lectonil had been old but had carried his age with dignity, his back straight and his tread sure and firm. In contrast, the figure in front of Alodar shuffled uncertainly forward, dragging one leg behind as he advanced. His fingers were stiffly spread and curled like the talons of a bird, and rheumy eyes squinted from a face that sagged with loose and wrinkled flesh. The head was narrow and long, as if slightly flattened out of shape by a blacksmith’s vice. A few long and straggly hairs hung to the shoulders from above the ears, and a slight ridge ran the length of the completely bald crown.
“The logo is the mark of the sorcerer,” someone behind Alodar muttered. “What risk the queen takes to expose herself so.”
“It is only Kelric, the seer of the court,” a second voice answered. “He served Vendora’s father and long ago used up his ability to enchant, so they say. He has little more than illusions left, and I wager that is what he performs for us tonight.”
Kelric shuffled to the very center of the room and bowed stiffly to the queen. Without preamble, he began to sing a long, melodious song in an unfamiliar tongue. Alodar listened intently; with his trained ear, he tried to pick out words of power from the deception which surrounded them. The chant droned on, and he furrowed his brow in puzzlement as the melody caressed his ears. Far better than any thaumaturge, he thought. Every word seems to have substance and contain real meaning.
Each sound obeyed an intricate logic in following the one that preceded, and Alodar found himself almost dozing with the gentle rhythm that flowed through the room. He began to sense a pattern as verse followed verse in a repeat of what had been said just moments before. Then, as a third repetition coursed through his head, he felt an overwhelming compulsion to look the sorcerer in the eye. As he yielded, his eyes locked instantly on Kelric’s, now wild and glowing owl-like in a stare that seemed to bore into his innermost being.
The scene around the old man blurred for an instant and then snapped back into focus, but somehow not so sharply as before. Alodar felt himself idly wondering what was different. Before he could complete the thought, the sorcerer vanished in a column of green flame that rose from the floor and splashed against the ceiling.
Like a fountain, the flickering flames caressed the beams which spanned the room, then arched outwards and fell towards the floor. As each globule neared the ground, it exploded in a small blossom of flame that winked out of sight. Gradually the column changed color, progressing through the rainbow from green to yellow to orange to furnace red. Then, with a sudden rush, the base of the column rose from the floor, crashed against the ceiling, and sent a dazzling cascade of sparks down onto the onlookers. Alodar winced with the expectation of fiery contact, but the globules seemed to melt away as they touched with feathery lightness.
A small ripple of applause broke forth from those around the queen as every spark but the last died away. The surviving point of light grew as it fell, subtly transforming from a bright speck of flame to a tiny opalescent sphere. As it floated downward, it grew fist-sized, then as large as a barrel, and at last elongated to the shape of a giant egg. The shell touched the floor with a gentle tap, then cracked asunder. From the two ragged halves, a scaly reptilian form suddenly appeared, arching its neck and flicking its forked tongue in the direction of the queen.
The crowd involuntarily gasped as the monster grew in stature, belching fire as it stretched skyward. Alodar stepped backward and reached for Cedric’s sword at his side. The wyvern at the guild had been monstrous, but it did not compare with the giant he saw now uncoiling before his eyes. With scales gleaming in the candlelight, it darted its tongue menacingly out across the room, seeming to reach directly for Alodar over the heads of those who stood in between.
Out of the corner of his eye, Alodar saw others flinch as he did and then, when the giant mouth opened and billowed out a ball of flame, the room erupted with screams of alarm.
Alodar threw his arm over his face to ward off the fiery breath and drew his blade chest high to slash at the dancing ribbon of tongue. But the heat and sting did not come, only the soft feathery caress that had accompanied the fireworks before. Looking to the center of the room, he saw the dragon now start to shrink in size, imploding to a small replica of its former self, hardly a foot high. Then, without pause, it began to whirl about, rapidly blurring its features into a shining green disk.
Alodar stared at the vision and he saw soft colors begin to form and undulate about on its surface. The rotation slowed and the hues changed from golds to pinks and reds as they randomly flowed and ebbed in shining patterns. Suddenly the motion stopped, and Alodar blinked at the metamorphosis. The dragon was gone; before him stood a stunning replica of the face of Vendora the queen.
“The starting point,” he heard Kelric say. “But for each of you, an image of your own. Look at the beauty of the fair lady and it will transform into the object of your deepest desire.”
Alodar felt his lips curve into a smile. Kelric was clever, he thought dimly. For most of the men present, the illusion would not change at all. He concentrated on the golden curls framing the finely chiseled face and tried to taste the feeling of success with his quest. But as he watched, the illusion subtly began to change. The hair shortened and mellowed from gold to amber. The eyes darkened and danced to life. In an instant Alodar saw, not the face of the queen, but a vision of lady Aeriel.
In surprise, Alodar blinked a second time and the image diffused away. The room again was in sharp focus, and Kelric stood huddled in the center as he had before.
A spatter of applause broke out once more from the crowd. “Well done, Kelric,” Vendora exclaimed. “Your illusions as always show great creativity and finesse.”
The sorcerer bowed with a sad smile; with a fumbling hand, he grasped at the small bag that Basil tossed to him as he straightened. With head down, he turned and shuffled out the way he had come, the gathering making more room for his passage than had been done for the queen.
Alodar rubbed the side of his face and then shook his head. How real the sorcerer’s illusions had been! There was none of the blurriness of a dream, or the known hallucination of a drug, but an experience accepted by all the senses. No wonder the glance of the sorcerer was shunned. The step from illusion to enchantment seemed to be a small one and, once entrapped, one would have no hint that his will was the slave to another.
The musicians struck up a tune, and the lords and ladies maneuvered for position to dance with the queen or her suitors. Alodar hardly noticed the proceedings and shouldered his way past the crowd as it filled the center of the room. As he went through the tall double doors, he saw Kelric’s stooped form rounding a corner and he raced after.
“Master Kelric,” he called, “a moment for consultation, if you will.”
Kelric turned and frowned in irritation. “Were you one of the ladies with the low cut gowns, I might have time to listen. But for a lord’s son, you have not enough gold to pay me for whatever you want.”
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“It is not for illusion or far-seeing,” Alodar said as he drew abreast. “I seek edification and instruction and I think I have an object that will interest you greatly.” He reached into the pouch at his side and withdrew the transparent sphere.
Kelric’s eyebrows raised momentarily when he saw the orb, but he quickly pulled his face back into a harsh and unyielding expression. “It may well be a legendary sorcerer’s eye,” he said. “And if I were still in my youth, the power it represents would interest me greatly. But my vital force is nearly gone; I can feel how shallow is the reservoir that remains. And I value what days I have left far more than the thrill of thousands marching in sway to my enchantment. No, it is only minor illusion and prophecy of short range in which I will indulge, and then only after the greatest of persuasion. Take this thing and seek out one of the younger fools who choose to practice this accursed craft, one who does not yet understand the price he pays.”
“But what of instruction?” Alodar asked. “Your name has become a legend throughout the kingdom. Surely you wish to pass on your mastery to another.”
Kelric tipped back his head and laughed. “They ascribe to the sorcerer the most evil of motives,” he said. “But even in my most vile moods, I would not think of inflicting my fate onto another.” He leveled his head and looked with a penetrating stare into Alodar’s eyes. “Now be off and irritate me no longer, or perhaps, after all, I will make the effort for more than a simple illusion.”
Alodar remembered the images still fresh in his mind and almost instinctively turned his head and raised his arm across his face. Kelric laughed a second time, turned, and continued his slow shuffle down the passageway.
After a moment, Alodar lowered his head and replaced the sphere in its pouch. He smoothed down the front of his tunic and exhaled deeply. So that was the great Kelric, the master sorcerer of all of Procolon. He shook his head and began to pace slowly down the hallway, hands clasped behind his back. And now what course? Should he seek a sorcerer of less renown? Perhaps someone away from the court, one whose limits had not yet been tested.
Alodar looked down at his side. Such a search would take him away from the fair lady. And he had pledged to seek Aeriel’s aid in unsheathing Cedric’s sword for the queen’s cause. Yes, Aeriel! For both the marines and dealing with Kelric, lady Aeriel would provide the aid.
Alodar slapped the hilt at his side and increased his pace. And there was still time enough to arrange an appointment before the end of the ball.
The guardsman coughed softly as he ushered Alodar into the small, plain chamber, and Aeriel’s face brightened with recognition. “Why, what a coincidence! It is Alodar the thaumaturge. And I see by your garb that you ply your craft to much greater profit than when we last met.”
Alodar looked intently at Aeriel as she rose to greet him. She clutched an old shawl around her bare shoulders, not seeming to care how out of place it looked, draped over the richness of her ballgown. Her lips curved in a broad smile, but he could see the fatigue that pulled at her eyes as well. Behind her on a simple table, between two teetering piles of parchment, was scattered an array of seals, colored candles, inkstands, and quills.
“My fortune does not extend from journeyman training, my lady,” Alodar answered, “but it does provide the means by which I may consult with you for sage advice.”
“Advice?” Aeriel asked. “You seemed quite sure of yourself in Iron Fist. Why now would you need my council?”
“The ways of the court are not so straightforward,” Alodar said, “especially when they concern the opinions of the queen.”
Aeriel stopped and visibly stiffened. “The opinions of the queen,” she repeated slowly. “By that do you mean you still quest for the fair lady?”
Alodar saw her change in mood and darted his eyes to the side. He paused a moment, then looked back into her eyes. “So I have done since we parted,” he said with difficulty, “although oftentimes my thoughts have…” He trailed off and took another breath. “Yes, I still seek for the hand of the fair lady, and your parting words led me to believe that you would not look with disfavor upon such a goal, if it were in the interest of the queen.”
Aeriel was silent for a moment and then returned to her seat behind the table. “I encourage any endeavor that truly assists the crown,” she said. “And such aid is now sorely needed.” She rubbed her eyes and waved her hand at the documents on the table. “Writs for the armory, rum allocations for the crew, promotions and certifications of skill, they all must be decided before we sail. And despite the seriousness of the hour, no one else will take the responsibility, so much do they fear offending one of the suitors by their choice. Many beseech my favor in intercession with the queen, Alodar, but I have little time for such petty intrigues, especially now.”
“But it is an audience with Kelric that I seek,” Alodar said. “I will gain the favor of the fair lady on merit, not because of some arrangement with the nobles of the land.”
“And why then do you desire audience with the sorcerer?” Aeriel asked. “He traffics in the frivolities of the court no more than I.”
“Because I bring to the fair lady a gift that surely is the equal to those offered by the others,” Alodar said as he removed the orb from its pouch and held it forward. “I need only such meager instruction as is necessary to activate it properly and I am ready to pledge wholehearted service to the queen. Kelric mentioned the enchanting of thousands. Surely such an ability will be of great value when she has to face the armies of the south.”
Aeriel touched the sphere, and her lips pursed in surprise at its coldness. She studied the delicate sculpture of the eye and then looked at Alodar in silence, frowning in thought. After a moment, she reached out tentatively for his arm but then quickly shook her head and withdrew her hand before he could respond.
“Your boldness is no less than I have judged, Alodar.” She sighed. “And in the calm light of reason, I see you as worthy a suitor as the others. I have pledged my service to the queen. If you do likewise, then I must aid you as I can. Come, follow me to Kelric’s quarters. I can persuade him better than most.”
Without waiting for a reply, Aeriel quickly swept through the room and out into the hallway. Alodar followed her through the maze of passageways in the huge palace. Unlike the buildings at the Cycloid Guild, the royal residence was a one-story sprawl, a jumble of wings and annexes added over the centuries as the power of Procolon grew.
Aeriel whirled past guard stations without explanation; after several minutes of bewildering turns, she ducked into the low and open entryway of a softly lit chamber.
He looked about in the dimness, straining to distinguish form from shadow. In a feeble flicker in the center of the room, between two giant columns of smouldering incense, he saw Kelric sitting cross-legged, clad only in a simple loincloth, with his chin slumped forward on his bony chest. A brazier hung on a tripod, its meager flame providing the only light. Against the far wall, a lady of the court, her hair hanging long in imitation of the queen’s, stood tensely erect, watching the scene.
Alodar started to speak, but Aeriel put her finger to her lips as Kelric opened his eyes wide in a glazed stare and sluggishly extended clinched fists. He opened his left hand over a disk suspended above the brazier, dropping a fine sand onto its shiny surface. With his other hand, he struck the shallow bowl sharply, setting up a complex set of vibrations as it swung. Kelric stared at the dance of sand in silence, eyes unblinking and seemingly oblivious to his surroundings.
“I see the camp,” he said in a voice as thin as a distant wind. “The fire burns low and the sentry slumps at his post. The one for which you care is not asleep. With his head propped by his elbow on the ground he talks softly to the one who rests next to him.”
“What does he say, does he speak of me?” the lady asked. “Is my favor still bound on his arm?”
Kelric’s other hand opened and a second load of sand hit the disk. He clanged it again just as the first vi
brations began to subside. “My ears hear the voices,” he said, “although they are soft and faint.” Kelric closed his eyes and was silent for a full minute, swaying his body back and forth with the rhythm of the gently swinging disk.
“It is not only Bandor and the other leaders, I tell you,” a voice, deep and youthful, broke from Kelric’s lips as he rocked. “Each commander leads his own troops as if he were possessed as well. They will not ask for quarter so long as one of them remains standing. This siege will far outlast the season.”
“Yes, and there are so many imps darting about,” a second voice came from the sorcerer. “The talk of the camp has it that the barrier between the worlds has been weakened, and stronger demons can pass through without being called. Do not look even into our simple campfire, I say. Who knows what lurks behind the flame to grab your will as well?”
“But what of me?” the lady interrupted. “What are his thoughts of me?”
Kelric opened his mouth to speak but then fell silent. Gradually the sand stopped its jumping, and his eyelids slowly opened. “It has faded, Umbriel,” he said groggily. “Any more would be greater than fair trade for what you have offered.” With a trembling hand, Kelric reached for a cup at his side and drained its contents. He shook his head violently from side to side and arched his back. Finally, he struck his face with a series of sharp slaps and grimaced at the shock. “And so a little more is gone,” he muttered as he hesitantly got to his feet.
Umbriel saw his slow motions and started towards the doorway. The sorcerer quickly sprang to life and jumped in the way. “And a payment promptly rendered reflects so nicely on the debtor,” he said with a toothless smile. “Come forward, my dear, and linger as long as you like.”