Master of the Five Magics

by Lyndon Hardy

  Alodar rolled aside, missing a kick by the third attacker. Grabbing at an empty stirrup, he pulled himself to his feet. He glanced about quickly, just barely able to see over the rise and fall of the horses’ backs as they reared. Everyone was down in the confusion of the square.

  “Handar,” he called, “assist the fair lady.” He danced aside from his antagonists as they stumbled forward, pushed from behind by others trying to join the fray. He ducked beneath a horse’s neck and stepped over a body which lay sprawled in his way.

  Alodar shouldered past a knot of intertwined men, each trying to bring the others to the ground. He elbowed a man with an upraised rock on the left and drove a hard blow into the face of another. He vaulted up onto a horse’s back and then down on the other side, stumbling over a black-robed figure as he landed.

  “Handar!” he shouted as he struggled to turn the wizard over. “We need a devil to aid our cause. Suggest one I should seek.”

  The wizard’s eyes rolled in his head but then locked on Alodar’s face. “No, you must not,” he said thickly. “You must deal with the townsmen instead. In my sleeve—the small candles. Toss them skyward one at a time but do not look as you do so.”

  Alodar puzzled at the commands but did as he was instructed. He groped in Handar’s clothing and retrieved a flint and three small tapers, dimly glistening in the sunlight and strangely heavy to the touch. The first instantly ignited from a small spark. Alodar hurled it high in the air.

  He ducked his head and shut his eyes. Suddenly, even through closed lids, everything flashed painfully white. The random hubbub of the mob ceased, replaced by shrieks of surprise. Alodar felt the crowd give way around him. He lofted the second candle, this time burying his head in his arms. A yell more piercing than the first accompanied the flash, and Alodar could hear footfalls stumbling away from the periphery of the square. He threw the third candle. The retreat turned into a stampede. More rapidly than they had rushed forward, the townsmen trampled one another as they sped away, yelling about demons who tormented them still.

  “It is what we call sunfire,” Handar yelled over the screams of the departing mob. “We use it to summon certain fire sprites when simpler flames will not do. Your sight will return in a moment. Rest patiently and all will be well.”

  Alodar stood up slowly and soothed one of the horses. He saw Aeriel staggering to her feet. She bore a few scratches and some torn clothing but was apparently unhurt. Vendora and the rest were either sitting or struggling upwards. Except for the party of the queen, the square was deserted. Even Periac was not to be seen.

  “The townsmen were quite startled by the fireworks,” Handar said. “It probably will be some while before they gather sufficient courage to try us again.”

  “But what caused them to act so?” Duncan asked. “It is no less than treason against the queen.”

  “And Periac, a master thaumaturge,” Alodar wondered. “He would know better than to traffic with such great risks.”

  “No less is to be expected when demons freely walk the land,” Handar said. “When only will-o’-the-wisps could come of their own volition and wizards sought the rest, there was some measure of control. But with a sprite in every bush, the perils and temptations are too great. Either the common craftsman is possessed by his encounter or, if he achieves domination, he cannot resist using the power for his own petty ends. And if the concentration of demons is as strong as I now fear, then we have little enough time to prevent the complete disaster.” He stopped and looked into one of the alleyways. “With what Grengor has caught, we will get the confirmation.”

  Alodar turned in the direction Handar indicated and saw the marine dragging a screaming youth by the scruff of his neck back to the feet of the wizard.

  “I never doubted the identity of the fair lady,” the boy sobbed. “I never doubted it. Let me go to join my brothers. Let me go. I hurl no rocks into your midst.”

  “Control yourself so that you speak properly to a wizard,” Handar ordered. “We seek information about what has transpired in Bardina and the rest of Procolon.”

  As Grengor released his grip, the youth nodded and shifted to one knee to bow to the queen. “My fair lady,” he stammered. Aeriel nodded encouragement and the boy started again with a rush.

  “It was barely a month ago that all this began. Kellic’s daughter had a spat with another lass down the road and woke the next morning with her comely face covered with pox blisters that would not heal. The cows in the herds nearest the east went dry and the hens would lay no longer. The peddlers who trudged from Bardina to Graymill and back would disappear for weeks. When they returned, they had eyes of madmen and tongues that none could understand. And then in this very square, one of the merchant wives ripped the shawl from another to expose a little imp riding near the base of the neck and working his mischief on whomever he passed.

  “‘You witch!’ the first exclaimed. ‘So this is how my Hentor’s eye is made to wander. Well it is only just that you are dealt with in kind.’ And the next morning the second was struck dumb within the confines of her own well-guarded house. It did not take long for the curse to be full upon us after that. The smallest slight was dealt with in most cruel fashion; revenge answered revenge as more and more trafficked with demonkind.

  “And those who did not lash out, those in fear of what was happening around them, they became unreasoning avengers seeing evil wherever they looked. On the slightest pretext, many were trapped and slain, some protesting their innocence to the end. All commerce stopped and we became no more than roving bands, suspicious of one another and always tempted to use demonpower to protect us from each other. And we have no news from the south. No one ventures anymore from Bardina and no one dares step foot within the city walls.

  “My mother, even she…” The boy shuddered and then shut his eyes. His voice trailed off and he said no more.

  “It will be the same in every town and hamlet of the kingdom,” Handar told the queen. “Part of the citizenry possessed, part temporarily dominating sprites until their wills falter as well, and the rest guided only by suspicion and terror. As more and more are coerced in the battles with Bandor, far wider does the influence of demonkind spread throughout the land.”

  The wizard shook his head. “It is even worse than I feared, although our first efforts must be the same. First to the south to defeat the forces of the petty kingdoms and exorcise those demons that we can. And then to the west to add to the forces trying to route Bandor from his strongholds. But from what I have seen and can infer, even ten times our number may not be enough.”

  Alodar released the cinch and removed the saddle from the horse’s back. He looked into Aeriel’s eyes and read the same weary resignation. For the last two days the meaning of Bardina had slowly sunk in and weighed them down.

  At the very least, they had all looked forward to a rest from the trail, a return to familiar and comfortable surroundings, decent food after a month of rabbit meat.

  But Handar had said that all of the towns would be the same. Wherever there was a concentration of mankind, the demons would also be. The queen’s party had to continue as before, foraging from the countryside, taking all livestock from each farm they chanced upon, trying to ignore the sullen faces, driving like exiles rather than the royal party of a queen in her own realm.

  And behind the loss of comforts, the depressing isolation, the hostility of the plundered subjects, the bickering of the free-spirited nomads, was the true meaning of what they had seen. A quarter of the population was demon-possessed; the rest had turned into snarling mobs. Periac, a master thaumaturge, rotted away in some hidden hole, undiscovered despite Alodar’s careful search. And with each day, more demons poured across the bridge between the two worlds.

  A sudden commotion behind Alodar spun him around and he looked up the slope. They were encamping on a gentle rise, with the nomads scattered into rough groups of fifty. The ridgeline to the south cut off their view. Now over the crest appear
ed two of the marines, whipping their flagging ponies.

  They raced across the inclines, splattering foam from their mounts. With a swirl of dust, they savagely reined to halt in the middle of the camp and called for the queen.

  Alodar crowded around with the rest and heard the gasping report. “Banners of Procolon, no more than an hour’s march away. But hotly pursued by a far larger force. They are in retreat and sundown will find them in our midst.”

  Alodar ran to the ridge and looked across the broad valley on the other side. The land dipped to the bed of a small, meandering stream and then rose to a crestline slightly higher than the one on which he stood. Long-stemmed grass rippled in a gentle breeze. Here and there domes of bare rock poked through the cover. An occasional glint of sunlight reflected off the stream as it sluggishly trickled to the east.

  The opposing ridgeline was silent and bare. Except for the stubble of grass nothing moved. Alodar sank to the ground as Vendora and her followers arrived and clustered about. Her crude banner was thrust into the soft earth and fluttered in the quickening afternoon breeze.

  Eventually a small cluster on horseback came into sight, followed by precisely formed, squares of men on foot. As they splashed across the stream, additional groups appeared, more ragged than the first—partially filled squares, wavering oblongs and chaotic clusters that seemed to stagger and lurch rather than hold to a definite direction. Finally in the rear, craftsmen whipped horses pulling overloaded wagons, and men with backs piled high with family possessions tugged at the gowns of women staggering under the load of small children. Isolated individuals zigzagged back and forth in a daze. In a ragged wave they tumbled down the slope, straining to keep up with the warriors in front.

  As the last stragglers forded the stream, the horsemen trotted up to where Alodar stood. With an arm dangling at his side, the leader slowly dismounted and threw back his casque. The face was gaunt and deeply lined, and the eyes glistened with pain, but Alodar recognized the bristly moustache and bulky frame.

  “Cedric!” he cried, “Cedric, what luck to see you here and in service to the fair lady!”

  The warmaster nodded back to Alodar and stiffly approached the queen. He grabbed the offered banner from the man behind and placed it at her feet.

  “The volunteers of Ambrosia,” he announced. “And a few units of the army of the west as well.”

  Alodar looked at the men who formed a line a respectable pace behind. His eyes widened as he saw white-haired men and spindly youths far younger than he was. Another two thousand—but they looked ready to drop.

  “Your fame is still remembered, warmaster,” Vendora said. “And no doubt it aided you well in recruiting a militia to my cause.” She paused and looked at the haggard faces staring back. “But why a forced march northwards? You could have aided in the siege or waited in Ambrosia until we arrived for our offensive to the south.”

  “There is no longer a siege to conduct in the west,” Cedric answered. “Bandor burst through the lines which tried to hold him.”

  “Impossible!” Feston shouted above the sudden chorus of voices. “Bandor and his allies were in a vice-like grip. He was to be crushed for his impudent rebellion—not our efforts against him abandoned.”

  “Abandoned they were not,” Cedric replied. “But with each day, Bandor grew stronger, sending forth more sallies, wrecking the engines of war, capturing more of the disheartened besiegers. Whole companies of men, nobles and warriors alike, changed their allegiances, joining the force which seemed to burst out of the west with demonic power. The three squares which marched with me are all that are left. Even those I had to persuade back into formation as they fled in panic before the very gates of Ambrosia.”

  “And the kingdoms to the south?” Basil asked. “How deeply have they penetrated into our heartland? How many leagues between them and the royal palace?”

  “The armies have linked,” Cedric answered. “Bandor and the others pursue us together.”

  “But if you are so far north,” Duncan asked, “what of the defense of Ambrosia?”

  “There is no Ambrosia to defend,” Cedric said wearily. “Procolon has fallen, my fair lady. Your forces and mine are all that remain.” He stopped and looked at the setting sun. “They are at our heels and we no longer have the strength to run. Tomorrow there will be a final battle and it will be here.”

  With a wave of his good arm, Cedric pointed back across the valley. As if on a paymaster’s cue, a line of men appeared on the other crest, their energetic step in ominous unison. The vanguard halted on the ridgeline and spread out into the distance on either side. As Alodar and the others watched, more and more climbed to join them, filling in the gaps and piling up behind. In the quickening darkness, they merged into a solid wall, shoulder to shoulder and many rows deep.

  In the very center of the line, huge stones were dropped from a wagon and shaped into a ring. A small fire sprang to life, and a dim, blue-green flame twinkled in the twilight. Drums began to sound, leading an unearthly chant. The warriors jabbed their swords into the sky. Mindlessly they gestured and roared, flaunting their freshness at the end of the day.

  Alodar looked up and down the line as it stretched before him, uniformly thick and extending farther than he cared to imagine. He looked back over the royal forces and tried to visualize them strung out thinly to meet the next day’s charge.

  He and the others were silent with shock as they watched the scene fade into the night. The line of men dissolved into the darkness, but dancing lights marked where they stood. An occasional beat of luminescent wings fluttered in their midst, and soft but spine-tingling laughter wafted across the valley.

  Alodar recalled his longing for battle before entering Bardina and felt it dash to splinters against the hard strength of what he had seen. He followed the flittering of imp glow and smiled ruefully at his hopes, of tipping the balance with the control of a single demon.

  He shuddered as the final reality hit him. Tomorrow, outnumbered, by how many he could not tell, they must defeat those demon-driven, screaming hordes, or it would all be over. There would be no fair lady, no Procolon, no Ambrosia. All would be swept away and replaced by horrors that even Handar had difficulty describing.

  Vendora stood speechless, her face a tight mask and her fists clenched at her sides. Grak placed a hand on her shoulder. “So this is the battle for which we will receive our great rewards,” he growled. “It is more likely that our women will see few of us again.”

  Vendora blinked and her eyes widened as she looked up at the nomad.

  “No, I will not abandon you,” Grak promised. “It is not for the pretty rocks or shields of shiny steel that I have pledged my sword to your aid. We will see tomorrow through, no matter what the consequences.”

  “And after a meal for my weary men, we will plan,” Cedric said. “They will attack at dawn and we must be deployed as best we can.”

  Handar looked at Alodar in the darkness, his eyes glowing. He sighed. “I wish that there had been more time. We might have had a better chance.”

  Alodar raised his eyebrows as Aeriel approached and she laughed self-consciously. “Vendora has decreed that our council tonight be held as a proper court,” she said. “So after a hurried meal I did what I could to clean my tunic and wash my hair.” She whirled for his inspection and patted a hand to her hip. “Yes, even the magic dagger. Somehow Basil managed to carry two with him throughout the entire trek. He presented one to the queen, and she insisted that I display mine.”

  Alodar nodded and accompanied her to the fire pit where the advisors were assembling. The moon was nearly gone, and the yellow flames silhouetted the closest figures in harsh shadows. He looked around the group and saw Cedric resting comfortably, the lines of pain in his face softened into creases of fatigue. The vat of sweetbalm Alodar had brewed with ingredients scavenged from the refugees was not the best; but there was enough so that each of the warmaster’s men received some share. He saw Cedric nod his hea
d slowly as he listened to Grak explaining the numbers and weapons of his men. While he talked the nomad pulled uncomfortably at a silken shirt embroidered with metallic threads that sparkled in the firelight. Clearly more than willowbark had been requisitioned from the fleeing subjects of the queen.

  “The fair lady,” Grengor announced, rising to his feet and pointing to the periphery of illumination. Out of the shadows Vendora slowly approached, walking in synchronization to a silent promenade. She wore a gown of gold, and her hair was pushed high, held in place by jeweled combs. She smiled as she slowly sat in a chair roughly constructed from a wagon’s planking. She motioned the assemblage to rest as well.

  “The hours till dawn are few enough,” Feston muttered. “I hope, my fair lady, that you do not intend to start with the ritual proclamations.”

  “I am still the queen of Procolon, if only for one more night,” Vendora said. “All shall be conducted with the proper decorum.”

  Feston frowned but said no more. For a moment a heavy silence hung on them all. “There is very little to discuss,” Cedric said at last. “We are too few to have many options. My men with mail will take the center and Grak and his nomads will form on either side. The horses we have must guard both flanks and try to prevent an envelopment.”

  “And while you hold them at bay, there may be time to slip away,” Basil suggested. “We should be able to bribe enough silence for a safe hiding place.”

  “With my sphere, the number accompanying need not be large,” Duncan added. “Consider carefully, my fair lady, the choices you have left.”

  “We are pledged to fight for this woman, one and all,” Grak growled. “To slink away is to cast aside one’s honor.”

  “Do not be swayed, my fair lady, by the folly of the sagas,” Basil said. “The fate of most of those assembled here may be determined, it is true. But for one with personal resources, the result need not be so clear.”