Master of the Five Magics

by Lyndon Hardy

  “An item of some interest, I surmise,” the djinn said with the hint of some unplaceable accent. “It is well that I have chosen here and now to walk again among you mortals.”

  Alodar held his breath and said nothing as he watched the djinn approach. With lazy contempt, the demon held out a calloused palm and beckon with his knobby fingers. “The pouch, if you will,” he said. “You fear already what my power can do to you. Do not chance my wrath in addition.”

  Alodar stared back at the distorted face. The blazing eyes bored into him, but he suppressed the impulse to flinch. He felt the prickly presence in his head, this time radiating a numbing terror rather than annoyance or pleasure. “The pouch,” the demon repeated. “It is so much easier if you do not resist.”

  Alodar hesitated, then nodded and offered the bag temptingly. Then, as the piercing eyes flicked down to watch the transfer, he thrust out with the dagger and slashed at the demon’s outstretched palm.

  Thick greenish ichor oozed from the slit, and the demon leapt quickly backward with an unearthly howl of pain. “You dare to trifle so with one of my kind,” he raged as he pressed his good hand about the wrist and attempted to staunch the flow. “Thus do I deal with such puny beings as you.” He gestured with his injured hand and another blast of air slammed into Alodar’s kneeling form.

  The blow sent Alodar sprawling backwards and he tried to flatten out for the one to follow. But the current of wind curled under him and lifted him from the ground. In a frantic swirl of arms and legs, he tried to regain his balance, but the gust propelled him higher.

  “I can smash you against the rock,” the djinn yelled above the howl of the wind. “You will be no more than shattered bone and jellied flesh. Submit your will to mine. Even your wildest fears are but a small hint of what I can do.”

  The gust abruptly stopped and Alodar crashed to the ground. Groggily he climbed to his feet, trying to grasp what he must do. He was no match physically for the djinn. He could not stand his ground as he had done with the others. If he resisted, he would be bludgeoned into submission.

  The last flurries of the blast fluttered around his legs, dying away almost to the stillness he had felt against the tower.

  He stopped before he was fully erect and tried to remember the feeling next to the rock wall. The breeze was not merely less, he pondered. The air was still, perfectly still, as if controlled through the workings of magic. He sucked in his breath with sudden hope. And if it were magic, then even the demon blasts might be turned aside.

  Alodar pushed aside speculation on the djinn’s reaction if he were wrong and quickly whirled towards the tower. The wind increased and the dust danced about his feet, but with one quick lunge he pounded against the cold stone. He saw the demon’s face contort with rage, and the campground exploded in a fury. Sword, the pack, logs, leaves, and branches swirled into a cyclone of dust and then hurled in Alodar’s direction with a shriek of groaning air.

  Alodar flung his arms in front of his face and hunched in anticipation. He heard a sharp crack; then what sounded like a giant bell reverberated in the night. He put down his hands and saw a pile of debris massed a few inches from his feet and the glow of the fire still dimly visible in a cloud of swirling dirt and dust. The djinn stepped forward, eyes blazing hate and talons extended. He ran his claws down the invisible barrier between them. Alodar winced from the grating screech.

  “You cannot stay there forever,” the djinn growled. “The hunger and thirst will only add to your fear. When you are ready to submit on bended knee, you will plead for my mercy and hope for a gentle touch.”

  Before Alodar could reply, the demon turned his back and walked through the settling dust to the fire, now quiescently flickering low to the ground. Two other demons, colored and featured like the first, stood clear of the blaze, awaiting his return. They exchanged deep and guttural sounds for an instant, then stopped. Each turned his back on the other and radiated outwards from the fire, stopping and surveying the ground. Alodar watched with his back and arms pressed firmly against the spire, not daring to venture from the safety of the shield.

  After several minutes, the first returned and tossed a load of pebbles and small stones into the blaze. Just as before, when fed by the sprites, the flames roared upward, this time a deep purple that blended into the blackness of the sky. The second demon reappeared, holding two head-sized blocks, and tossed them after the small rocks. The third waddled back soon after, hands cupped around a boulder easily as big around as the demon was tall. With a grunt, he added it to the blaze and stepped back to watch the flames dart out from under it.

  From his vantage point, Alodar saw another shape begin to form in the fire, another head, many times human size with outlines that suggested a grotesque countenance. Alodar’s eyes widened as he grasped what was happening. The imps had somehow made it possible for the three djinns to span the worlds and, powerful in mortal terms though they might be, they were bridging the gap for yet more potent demons to come.

  He spun about and sprang for the first handhold above his head. He pulled one leg up to a resting place and then the other. He felt sudden pain in his arms but he shoved it aside. Without waiting, he reached for a new grip and scrambled up the face of the rock. The purchases were few and treacherous, but he did not care. Seconds seemed vital now. He could hope to succeed only if he took every risk.

  Up he scrambled, not looking to see how far he had come or to judge the remaining distance. Like the enchanted fighting machine he once had been, he ignored the protests of unhealed muscles and bursting lungs. Hand over hand, in a hypnotic reverie, he drove himself toward the summit. The column narrowed and the rock on which he pressed offered fewer grips, but he did not notice. With a rush, he clambered onto the upshoot which bent to the final pinnacle.

  The thickness of rock narrowed to thrice a man’s breadth, and Alodar stopped and ran his hands over the stony surface. In an instant he found what he sought, the tarnished bracelet set in the stone. He pulled it. With astounding ease, a great slab parted from the monolith, swung out horizontally, and revealed stairs leading down into the tower. Alodar glanced back down the dizzying distance to the ground and caught one glimpse of a huge demon taking final form. With a last catch of breath, he plunged into the passageway.

  The way was dark, and the entrance slab cut off all light from the fire below. With one hand on a wall and the other in front, Alodar spiraled down the stairs as fast as he could without stumbling. Around one circle he went, and then another. His sense of direction became lost, but he continued onwards. Suddenly he hit a level floor and staggered. The stairs had ended, and he was in a room.

  Alodar fumbled at his waist for flint and steel and started a small match to glow in the darkness. The tiny flame burned dimly, but he saw what he knew was there. A stone sarcophagus carved from solid granite lay at the far end of a vault. On the wall behind hung an embrace of oil like those in the dungeon of Iron Fist. Alodar moved forward, shielding his match with a cupped hand. He tossed the last sputtering embers of his splinter into the pool, and the room burst into light.

  Staring down at the stone coffin, Alodar saw a thick sheet of glass shielding the occupant from the musty air that hung in the chamber. He placed his feet against the wall and began pushing the slab from its resting place. At first, the heavy covering did not move but then, as he strained and knotted the muscles of his back and arms, it slid an inch across the stone with a grating rumble. Alodar breathed deeply and pressed the smooth edge into his palms. The glass slipped further, opening a gap between it and the stone rectangle it covered. A strange, sweet smell rose from the coffin to fill his nostrils, but he ignored it and shoved again. The slab jerked and then gathered momentum. With a final thrust, he propelled it across the opposite side and down onto the stone floor in a loud shatter of broken glass.

  “Water,” a voice, soft and dry, whispered up at him. “On the wall as you came in—a door to a second room.”

  Alodar raced arou
nd to the other side of the vault and spied a small bracelet, like the one on the outside of the tower. He pulled it open and saw another chamber the same size as the first, but filled with braziers, kindling, piles of dried plants, capped cylinders, liquids, and small, tightly bound chests. Just like Saxton’s shop, he thought, as he spotted a flask tightly sealed with a metal cap. He struck off the neck against the wall and hurried back to the wizard, who was sitting up in his stone bed and stretching arms and fingers with a chorus of pops and cracks.

  The wizard tilted his head backwards. Alodar poured the water down into the eager mouth, spilling some onto a robe of deepest jet, set with the logo of the flame. Although the musty vault suggested a sleep of centuries, the features were those of middle age. Short ringlets of light brown hair covered his head and cascaded over his ears to merge with a well trimmed goatee. Brown eyes flanked a high thin nose, delicately enscribed with tiny blue veins. The face was gaunt and pale, the hands smooth and uncalloused. The wizard was a man of vault and contemplation rather than sun and physical labor.

  “Enough, enough,” Alodar heard him sputter at last. “You have awakened none less than Handar, the great wizard. That I stretch and stir again is of itself a tale for the sagas.”

  Handar paused and stared at Alodar. “Stand closer to the light so that I can look at you better,” he commanded. “But a lad, I see. Who of the others would have thought it?”

  “Demons,” Alodar cut him off. “Many of them below. I came for help. How you can aid I do not know, but it seemed what I must do.”

  “They would be the thickest here, of course,” Handar said. “But the shield will keep the imps away, no matter how many.”

  “Not only sprites,” Alodar persisted, “but djinns of power as well. And they work to bring forth even greater ones of their own volition. It was only by the smallest of margins that they did not prevent me from reaching you safely.”

  Handar studied Alodar intently for a moment and then shook his head. “In numbers already,” he said. “Then we have cut the margin exceedingly fine.” He swung one leg over the coffin wall. “Quickly, the brazier of gold and the skin of oil beside it. There is wizard’s work to be done.”

  Alodar hastened back to the storeroom and dragged forth the requested equipment. He set a tripod midway in the room and filled the brazier that swung beneath its apex with oil from a skin hard and brittle with age.

  “And now the chalk and the woods,” Handar said. “Then we can begin.”

  Alodar fetched the gear from the storeroom. When he returned, a small fire was flickering from the now-steady pan. The wizard was standing ready with no signs of stiffness or sleep. He reached into the chalk box and rapidly sorted through the pieces; a small cloud of colored dust rose from his haste. At last he withdrew one piece and turned his attention to the bundle of wood.

  Handar deftly untied the knot, sending the small sticks swirling across the floor. “Let me see,” he muttered, holding up the rods one by one and occasionally rubbing or smelling their smooth surfaces. “Ah, ironwood and myrtle. The very ones for him I seek.”

  Handar turned quickly and cast the ingredients into the blaze. “Come forth, Balthazar, I command you. Awake from your idle reverie and sloth. Your master decrees after these many years a new task for his bonded servant and slave.”

  Alodar looked from the flame that arched between them and then into the eyes of the man he had awakened. He saw the brow wrinkled in concentration and eyes fixed unswerving on the fire. Bony arms extended forward, beckoning to the flame.

  “What is happening?” Alodar asked.

  “Silence,” Handar ordered. “We have no time to trifle with idle curiosity. I must stretch to my limits and call up the most powerful that I dare. Do not distract me to our peril.”

  As Alodar returned to silence, he saw the beginnings of an outline in the center of the blaze. An orange head, eyes and ears blended with the flames, rose above a massive trunk of huge scales and thighs the girth of barrels. Up into the room it towered, cloven hooves and tail dancing in the small fire from which it sprang. Alodar looked up at the head, which now touched the top of the chamber, and shuddered. The ears were large, covering the sides of the elongated head and ending in sharp points that soared above a bald crown. The eyes were small glistening beads of black, deep sunk beneath a jutting forehead that formed a permanent frown. With each breath, tiny nostrils flared from a small bump of a nose. A mouth shaped like an inverted U cut deeply into the chin.

  “So Handar, you again choose to settle your fate in rash manner after all of these mortal years. It is well that you have not practiced your art in so long a time. It will make the submission all the quicker.”

  “Silence, Balthazar, silence,” the wizard shot back. “I have had the will of two of your kind since I toddled from my father’s knee. The passage of time does not weaken my steadfastness but gives me all the more experience and confidence to handle your feeble puffs of will. If you do not believe it, look into me and see what you find there.”

  The demon sneered from bristly jowl to jowl. His luminescent eyes bore down on the wizard. For several minutes there was silence. Neither moved. Alodar saw beads of sweat break out on Handar’s forehead. He saw the demon’s tail begin to twitch slowly, first to the left, then to the right. Finally a spasm ran up the entire length to the large plates which covered his back.

  “And so, Balthazar,” Handar said, “say again who is master and who is the slave.”

  “I am at your bidding and service,” the demon mumbled.

  “I cannot discern your usually wonderful diction, Balthazar,” Handar continued. “Speak louder for my companion here.”

  “I am at your bidding and service,” Balthazar boomed. “What task will you give me so that I may have it done?”

  “Know then, Balthazar,” Handar said, with a tinge of smugness in his voice, “that below this very pinnacle several of your kindred have forced their way into the mortal world without being called here by one of my craft. Plunge downward and dispatch them to whence they came. Rend them limb from limb and distribute the essence of their being to the farthest corners of their natural realm, so that eons may pass before they coalesce again.”

  Balthazar glanced groundward and stared through the rock. “But they are indeed of my closest kindred,” he said. “Spawned from the same clutch in which I was laid. I see they only frolic about, and about them are none of your kind to be harmed. Such action does not deserve unjust wrath from one with your mighty will, master.”

  “As I have said, Balthazar,” Handar commanded, “dispatch your obligation and whine no more about it.”

  The tail twitched twice more above the tripod. Then suddenly the demon was gone. The chamber was still, with only the small flicker of flame and a hint of a foul odor to mark his presence.

  “Up to the entrance,” Handar said. “We can see how well Balthazar strives after such a long rest.”

  Alodar sprang for the spiral passageway, and the wizard marched after at a more stately pace. In a moment Alodar reached the slab, which was still cantilevered from the steep sides of the pinnacle. Racing out onto it, he looked below.

  The campfire flamed in a rainbow of colors. The original three sprites had grown to a swarm of lights that dove and climbed among perhaps a dozen of the smaller djinns. In the center of all towered a giant, from the distance seemingly as tall as Balthazar, hands on bony hips and head tipped back in a fiendish yell as the smaller devils danced about him.

  Suddenly lightning flashed. Deafening thunder cracked through the air. As Handar reached Alodar’s side, a small cloudlet formed over the blaze. A second flash struck the earth in the midst of the demons. As they scrambled away, a staccato burst of rain fell and doused the fire. In a ball of orange flame, Balthazar appeared in the middle of the smouldering rocks and branches. Without warning, he snatched up two of the small demons, one in each hand, and dashed their heads together in a spray of greenish pulp. With seeming nonchalanc
e, he tore limb from lifeless limb and scattered them airwards to vanish in puffs of smoke and flame.

  The demon confronting Balthazar roared in challenge and waved his arms in warning. A giant globule of ice suddenly appeared between his hands; with a snap of his long arms he hurled it at his opponent. Balthazar dropped the remains of his smaller brothers, turned, and caught the missile against his scaled shoulder. It burst into a thousand tiny shards and dashed to the ground, hissing into steam when it touched the still glowing embers. Before the other demon could attack again, Balthazar stomped the ground. A fissure opened at his feet. It raced across the clearing from one fighter to the other. From a small crack, it grew wider till it spanned a full six feet and caused even the pinnacle to rock as the shockwaves spread from the disturbance.

  Balthazar’s opponent danced to one side and then the other as the jagged crack approached, but it sped unerringly to him. With a guttural yell, he fell into the abyss that opened under his feet. Balthazar stomped the ground again; the earth closed as rapidly as it had split asunder. No trace was left of the demon, except for a few bubbles of green which oozed upwards from the crack that marked the fissure’s path.

  The smaller demons and imps that had watched the battle suddenly began to scatter, but Balthazar pursued each with relentless precision. He dispatched the sprites with a clap of his hands. In a few moments it was over and Balthazar streaked skywards to stand before Handar on the slab.

  “It is done, Balthazar,” Handar said. “Transport us gently below and then return whence you came.”

  In a rush, Alodar felt himself scooped up in a pillow of air and hurled down to the campground with breathtaking speed. Just when he thought that the demon planned some revenge upon his master, they came to a gut-wrenching halt and stood on the firm ground.