Master of the Five Magics

by Lyndon Hardy

  From what Grak had said, he need not worry about blundering into another group of nomads along the way. And by leaving Grengor and the rest behind, the chance of losing control of the group was lessened. He flexed his fingers, stretching the tendons in his arm. The sweetbalm-accelerated healing had continued, and the soreness was less than the day before. He broke into a slow jog to test his muscles further. For over an hour he bounded along in silence. The descent reversed into a gentle rise and he climbed upwards towards the next pass.

  When Alodar reached the saddlepoint and looked into the valley, his face broke into a smile. There on the other side, jutting up higher than the surrounding slopes, was the spire which had been such a persistent vision. He scanned the intervening terrain and then suddenly halted.

  As the queen’s party had climbed from the shore, the transition from woodlands to forest had been gradual, the short broadleafed trees slowly giving way to the evergreen conifers and firs. But here the change was abrupt and startling. The pines were stunted, some reaching only twenty feet above the ground. Green mixed with equal parts of brown and gray. No tree was without dead and naked branches. Bare and broken snags knifed into the sky. Under the sparse canopy of scraggly limbs, the ground was as sterile as the trail, dust and bare rock uncluttered with smaller plants or decaying mulch.

  On the far slope, the trees thinned as they approached the monolith, until only a few gnarled dwarfs sparsely dotted the mountainside. Across the entire canyon, the air hung with a deathly quiet. No birds sang, no insects buzzed, no rodents chattered around the trunks. The strangeness of the scene, now that he finally saw it, tinged his elation with an unsettling apprehension. Cautiously he resumed his tread, darting his eyes into the thin forest on either side of the trail.

  Another two hours passed, and Alodar reached the nadir of his traverse of the valley. He scrambled across boulders in a dry stream bed and noted that here and there an occasional low lying shrub broke the monotony of the uncovered ground. As he skirted a big rock directly in his path, he heard a sudden rustling in a nearby bush. Many small lizards had scampered away as he pounded along the trail in the preceding valley, but this noise was louder and hinted at something of much larger size.

  He felt a gentle prickling in his mind that reminded him of the sprite he had exorcised the day before. He drew his sword and stepped forward. Where the undergrowth was thickest he jabbed with his blade.

  “There is no need, there is no need.” A form roughly the size of a small pig leaped into the air. “I will provide for you delights undreamed and without the use of force. All you have to do is ask.”

  Alodar blinked and looked at the figure suddenly hovering before him. The smooth skin shimmered in an iridescent purple and, except for the face, was covered by a bristly stubble of black hairs. The eyes were owl-like, golden and seeming to glow from small lights within. A pointed nose twice the length of a man’s sat on top of a small puckered mouth. Unlike the sprite, no wings sprouted from the spindly back; thin, rubbery limbs curled tightly around the bulbous torso. The demon floated with no visible means of support.

  “Begone, whence you came,” Alodar said. “I dispatched your impish brother and have no need for you.”

  “Do not judge so rashly,” the devil said. “I am no mere sprite whose only powers are to distract and irritate with feeble rashes and common pranks.” The small mouth pulled into a deep smile that spread the rubbery face from ear to ear. “The sun is hot and there is no breeze. Would not a sip of water from melted snow provide a refreshment that the hot waterskin at your side could not equal?”

  Before Alodar could reply, the devil waved a slender hand and produced a flask filled with ice. “Here,” it said as it decanted a gurgling stream into a clear cup. “This is but a small token of what can be yours.”

  Alodar watched the water bubble in the cup. He ran his tongue across his suddenly dry lips. “Why do you submit so easily?” he asked. “I would think that you would contest my will even more strongly than the sprite.”

  “Submission, surrender, putting aside resistance? It is a detail that need not concern us now.” The demon shrugged and pushed the container forward. “Refresh your throat, and then we can progress to more intense desires.”

  Alodar frowned and knocked the cup aside with a flick of his blade. “The sagas speak of no gift from demonkind that does not ultimately bear a price,” he said.

  “A shrewd bargainer, I see,” the demon replied without breaking his smile. “Then perhaps the satisfaction of a more sophisticated urge will change your mind.”

  The air crackled and Alodar suddenly felt a gentle brush across the nape of his neck. He whirled about, sword still extended, and looked into the face of a dark-skinned dancing girl, silently gyrating to an unheard rhythm. Her dark eyes beckoned; with a playful snap, she flicked one of her scarves at Alodar’s blade. A long swath of cloth was looped around her neck, over her breasts, and tucked into the top of diaphanous pantaloons. The afternoon sun silhouetted her nimble legs. Her bare arms fluttered with the motions of the dance.

  “And this is no mortal sorcerer’s illusion that is in your mind’s eye,” the demon said over Alodar’s shoulder. “Step forward and discover that she is a delight to the touch as well.”

  The dancer gracefully advanced and flowed past Alodar’s guard. She reached up and ran her fingertips down his cheek and then pressed her body to him.

  “Just place your trust in my hands,” the devil continued. “Delegate your cares of this world to my attention. I will see that all is taken care of, and your petty concerns will trouble you no more.”

  The dancer clasped her hands behind Alodar’s neck. Rubbing herself against his chest, she stretched on her tiptoes and bent back her head. Alodar shook his head. With his free hand he reached behind his neck and gently pushed the girl away. “The lass will avail you no better than the water,” he said.

  The dancer suddenly vanished, and the demon streaked from behind to face Alodar again. “Then to the crux of the matter. Perhaps you would prefer pleasure undistorted by the infidelity of your feeble senses.”

  Before Alodar could speak, a gentle prickling moved in his mind and seemed to brush against a sensitive nodule buried deep in his consciousness. The pressure expanded with a burst of energy, and a sudden wave of pleasure radiated through his body: the drowsy comfort of falling asleep; the exhilaration of a last-second victory; the breaking of a three day fast; the softness of a woman’s body; the spice of the newly mastered craft. The delights mixed together in a jumble that made Alodar gasp. With tears in his eyes he slipped to his knees and let his sword fall from his grasp.

  He tried to focus on his peril. Before the thought could be half formed, a second pulse triggered the reaction and he pitched forward to the ground, drowned by the ecstasy that flowed over him. He rolled over onto his back and sprawled on the ground, breathing shallow gulps of air as the feeling slowly faded away.

  “It is yours for the asking, continual and everlasting,” the devil said as he floated over Alodar’s chest and peered down. “Merely surrender your will to mine and you will have strokes of bliss that come in an unending procession.”

  Alodar slowly rose to sitting and looked at the grotesque smile. “You will never, by your own devices, experience a pleasure so intense,” the demon said. “And if you do not agree, then what you have felt will be but a distant memory.”

  Alodar clamped his teeth and stared at the demon. “Begone,” he said weakly.

  “Such power in your words.” The devil laughed. “I think one more sample should seal the bargain.”

  Alodar tensed, trying to rally a defense against the next onslaught, but at the same time savoring the anticipation. How could anyone resist such an overpowering feeling? He banged his fist against the ground in frustration as he realized what his next answer would be. A pulse of dull pain ran down his arm from a wound not yet completely healed, and he blinked as an idea struck him.

  “But a moment
,” he said to the devil as he fumbled in his pack. “I think what I construct here will help me decide.” He withdrew a small forked branch from a fallen tree and then rapidly coiled a hair from his head around the stem. “You see, with imagination,” he said, holding the figure forward for inspection, “one can construe this as a simple model of a mortal man. And the most critical element is the piece of wire from a discarded pack clamp I bind to one of the arms, not unlike the fiber that carried sensory messages to the brain. Finally, for the energy, my body heat should be enough.”

  Without pause, Alodar raced into a spellbinding. Before the devil could react, the connection was complete. The demon flapped one of his hands on a rubbery wrist. “Enough stalling,” he ordered. “Drink again of my sweet nectar and tell me if you can then forsake it ever more.”

  Alodar felt the touch of the devil’s presence. As the rapture spread through his head, he grabbed a sharp rock and pressed it savagely against the wire. A numbing shock exploded in his arm and he screamed with pain. A ripping sting ran up into his head, mingling with the feeling of pleasure before it could completely form. The diluted ecstasy soaked through his body, but the raw intensity was not so great as before. Gasping for breath, Alodar rose to his feet, dangling, his limp arm at his side. “Begone, I command you,” he whispered hoarsely.

  Rows of wrinkles undulated across the devil’s forehead. “A strong resistance,” he said, “but surely you cannot withstand one more.”

  As the next pulse came, Alodar planted his foot over the simulacrum and ground his heel against the wire. His knees buckled and his vision blurred. He felt as if a red hot saw were slicing his flesh and reopening the wound. The bubble of pleasure grew for an instant but then burst into nothingness. The searing hurt swept it away in a torrent of agony. All feelings were blanked. Alodar struggled to remain conscious in the maelstrom of pain. He gulped for air and tried to focus on the purple demon hovering before him.

  The devil backed away a few feet, and then his face sagged into a comic frown. “What is your wish, master?” he asked. “Do you desire a woman of a different type, or perhaps to tempt an enemy into the bliss from which he cannot escape?”

  Alodar broke the thaumaturgical connection and the pain disappeared. “I command you to depart this world,” he panted. “I have no use for your powers until I understand how to use them well.” He stopped and regained his breath. “And I care not to have the temptation of your presence to distract me as I struggle to my goal. Back to the world of demons from which you came.”

  “But it has taken centuries for me to bridge the gap, master. And my duty is to ensure that no one passes. My punishment will not be light if I return with a tale of failure. If you have no need, them let me wrestle with another for his will.”

  “Depart,” Alodar said.

  The sad expression twisted into a scowl. “Very well, master, since it is your command. But know that when I return, I will tell others. You proceed to a far greater doom than what I so generously offered.”

  Alodar retrieved his sword and waved it in irritation. The purple skin of the devil suddenly glowed into incandescence and then disappeared from view. The air popped as it rushed to fill the void where he had been.

  Alodar slowly sheathed his blade and scanned the valley floor. He listened for another rustling but heard instead only the oppressive silence. His arm throbbed, and the thought of immediately plunging ahead was suddenly distasteful. He struggled to recapture the feeling of bliss but the last hint decayed away. With a shudder, he sagged to the ground for a short rest.

  Alodar pulled his cloak about him. All along the final upgrade to the base of the tower, the breeze had intensified. Now as he topped the last rise, he squinted to keep the swirling dust out of his eyes. The mountains further west hid the descending sun. The heat of the day was gone, but dustdevils danced along the trail.

  A level clearing surrounded the base of the spire, three times as wide as the monolith itself. Around the perimeter, stunted bushes and gnarled trees huddled close to the ground, their branches twisted sideways and leaves tattered and torn. The tower flung itself into the sky, steep, sharp and angular, defying the elements to pull it down. It was cold and unyielding, one huge rock without fissure, a subtle pink flecked with shiny black, totally unlike the surrounding hills which crumbled under his heels.

  Alodar ran his hand over the surface. It was a plane extending twenty feet in either direction, straight and flat as if cut by a giant knife. He moved to the side where a second plane intersected the first. They met in a shallow angle and the boundary, sharp as a crystal’s, soared into the sky. Like an irregular polyhedron thrust into the ground, all angles, lines, and planes, the spire stood in jarring contrast to its surroundings.

  A dike of firm granite, Alodar thought, gradually exposed as the softer rock about it weathered away. He looked up the sheer wall towards the apex, trying to see the tarnished ring of his vision in the failing light. But the peak retreated into the soft shadows. All he could discern were a few possible handholds, barely fingertip wide, strung along the rock. He felt the urge to fling down his pack and race up the side. But it would be safer to wait till morning, when there was enough light to climb safely.

  Alodar stepped back a pace, and the wind snapped at his cloak. Puzzled, he approached the tower again and the air fell quiet. He turned his back to the spire and extended his hand outward into the clearing. The breeze rippled through his fingers as if he had thrust them out of the window of a rapidly moving coach. Some sort of barrier kept out the gusts, he mused. He twisted sideways and knelt to the ground. Unfortunately, it was too narrow to make a shelter for his campfire.

  Alodar walked back into the quickening breeze. He chopped a few limbs from one of the larger trees and built a small square ring of shelter on the ground. In the middle, he piled smaller branches, twigs, and dried grasses and struck his flint hopefully. To his surprise, the spark caught and held. In a few moments he had a small fire that somehow defied the wind.

  Alodar ate slowly. When the sky turned black, he spread his cloak and curled around the fire. A gibbous moon rose over the crestline in the east and cast long, cold shadows on his simple camp. For several hours, he shivered with the cold and his anticipation of what the morning would bring. He knew he needed the sleep but it would not come.

  Restlessly he sat up on one elbow and stared at the last flickers of his fire. Only a few wisps of flame lapped up from the glowing embers. He watched one of the flamelets suddenly die with a final puff of smoke. The kindling which had fed it slowly turned from a brilliant yellow to a dull red. Idly he turned to another spark and saw it dance along a log, lighting first one end and then another. A second glow appeared by the first; they skittered to and fro in unison.

  Alodar sat up and squinted at the campfire as a third dancing ball joined the others. Cautiously, he reached for his scabbard. As he touched it, a tiny laugh cut through the silence of the night.

  Alodar sprang to his feet and danced backwards, drawing his sword. The three dots jumped into the air; two flew high and the third arched over, diving for his head. He swung and missed. Peals of shrill laughter rang through the air.

  He thought to knock apart the pile of wood. Before he could act, it suddenly blossomed in yellow flame. Openmouthed, he watched as the few charred sticks sent tendrils of gold into the sky, far higher and more intense than the fire he had set at dusk. The heat burned painfully at his face. Throwing his forearm up, he retreated towards the spire.

  The three sprites converged over the fire, hovered for an instant, and then dropped what looked to Alodar like the branches from one of the scrubby plants which grew nearby. The foliage fell and instantly disappeared from sight, totally consumed. The yellow turned deep emerald and then starlight blue. The heat pushed outward like Duncan’s expanding sphere, and Alodar took a step irresistibly backwards.

  The flickering flames took on structure. From a rounded outline grew two small, earlike flaps, long-lobed an
d filled with coarse hair. Over a low, slanting brow, deep-sunk eyes darted back and forth behind pockmarked lids. A high and crooked nose sat above a long, thin mouth that turned down in a malevolent sneer. The head rose with the flame; as it did, a body filled in underneath, hunchbacked and spindly, naked and tufted with hair on a scaly skin that flaked off into the fire.

  “By the laws, a djinn,” Alodar cried aloud. He looked up to see the imps assemble and drop more foliage into the blaze. The demon, already formed, stepped from the fire and another head began to form in his place.

  The fire had to be quenched quickly, before more could pass through the gate! Wincing from the heat, Alodar lunged forward, stabbing at the demon that stood in his way.

  The djinn’s eyes flared open at Alodar’s advance. A deep rumble spilled out from his lips. He waved his taloned hand, sideways, and a sudden blast of air caught Alodar in the chest. Unlike the wind of evening which had gusted and pushed, the blow pounded like a hammer. Alodar gasped for breath as his lungs emptied from the shock. He staggered forward one step. A second blow hit, spinning him backwards and knocking him to the ground. As he fell, the flame behind the djinn danced skywards, coalescing into a second demon.

  Alodar rose to one knee. The djinn formed a pulse of air that caught him on the chin and made him reach for the ground for balance. Alodar looked up into the eyes of the figure towering over him. Its penetrating stare reminded him too much of the eye that Kelric had awakened in the sorcerer’s sphere. He felt a trickle of fear race down his spine. Instinctively, he grabbed the pouch at his side and felt the smoothness of the orb.

  The demon’s thick brows shot upwards into his wrinkled forehead as he saw the motion. He walked forward and extended his hand. Alodar drew his sword, but a furnace blast skittered it away. Still clutching the sphere in his left hand, he reached for his dagger with the other. The demon opened his mouth to speak and Alodar wrinkled his nose at the sudden foul stench of decay.