Master of the Five Magics

by Lyndon Hardy

Alodar reached for intense feelings to counteract the thrust. He thought of Aeriel’s blistered face and torn hair. He remembered Periac’s mindless stare in Bardina’s town square. He saw Quantos fall on the deck of the royal barge, the warriors on the walls of Iron Fist, and all the others who resisted the demonic forces which swept from the west and south.

  The inrushing walls slowed their acceleration but still continued collapsing. His thoughts merged together and distorted into incomprehensible babbles. In desperation he recalled the events of his own quest, the humiliation with which it started, the pain, fatigue and frustrations he had borne along the way. He tasted again the decision to shoulder the burden that Handar gave him, the trap for his relationship with Aeriel no matter what the outcome. All of these feelings squeezed out of the recesses of his mind and flowed into the determination with which he strained. Mentally he gritted his teeth. With a wrench, he tightened his grip about Elezar. As his horizon of consciousness closed in, he willed his knees up onto the demon’s chest and gouged them into Elezar’s stomach.

  One by one, the efforts added to his defenses. And with each thought, each memory purged from its hiding place, the onslaught slowed. But onward it came, shredding memories, flattening the essence of his being. Alodar felt parts of himself distort and then fade away. But as he shrank, he tenaciously locked onto one thought and held it precisely. He pictured his vice-like grip and the breaking of Elezar’s body.

  As the last hint of consciousness flickered, Alodar screamed his defiance, willing all his muscles to aid in a back-cracking snap. Like an arrow shot skyward, reaching the zenith of its trajectory, the inrushing forces decelerated against the dense kernel they labored to crack. At the very limit of Alodar’s existence they coasted to a halt.

  For a long time, nothing more happened. Compressed to near madness but holding to his one thought, Alodar resisted the weight which would crush him and strained his arms towards his chest.

  Finally, after how long he could not tell, he felt a slight lessening of pressure. Then, with a sudden rush, the blackness ballooned to its original size. As quickly as it had vanished, his personality inflated to its former shape and size. He waited for another attack, but the limit of his bubble was quiet and still. He hesitated a while longer and then decided to act. Cautiously he opened a pinprick in the blanket, a tiny tunnel by which a whisper could reach him from the outside. For a moment there was silence. Then, in perfect clarity, a thought seeped through his screen.

  “Please master, unhand me so that I may serve you,” Elezar begged. “My body is broken and it will need repair.”

  Alodar struggled up on one arm, but Handar gently pushed him back down on the pallet. “Rest,” the wizard said. “It all proceeds as you have commanded it. The lesser demons are being tracked by the greater and dispatched back whence they came. Your servant will ensure that they do not threaten us in like fashion again. And those subjugated, men and wizards alike are being restored to their former state. There is much confusion throughout the land, but I and the other freed wizards are spreading the word about what has happened. And the fair lady and the rest have survived it all, with no more than minor scratches and wounds.”

  Alodar nodded in understanding and slipped back into his painful and exhausted slumber.

  “You recovered far faster from your wounds after Kelric’s enchantment,” Grengor said irritably as they slowly bumped along. “A month’s lingering in the north while Vendora and the rest marched in triumph back into Ambrosia! You should know by now not to trust what she and the other suitors might do in your absence.”

  Alodar did not immediately reply, deep in his own thoughts. Like waves lashed by a storm, they crashed against the rocks of his innermost self. He looked at Handar, now freed from Balthazar’s dominance, and across at Aeriel riding a pony at his side. She dropped her eyes and did not return his glance. He touched the proclamation which had come at last, fingering the thick seal and lines of signatures from the grateful subjects far and wide. He thought of his satisfaction in solving the riddles of Iron Fist and the Cycloid Guild, the self-esteem from having braved the Fumus Mountains and the sorcerer’s eye, the pride in having Cedric’s respect. He puzzled over how empty the glory seemed now that it was won.

  “The summons explicitly stated that I was to travel when I felt ready,” Alodar said. “And we broke camp as soon as the wizard’s council was concluded. I am sure the fair lady had enough to keep her occupied in my absence.”

  “Without the persuasive presence of the archimage, I doubt if our agreement could have been forged in a year, let alone a month,” Handar told Grengor. “Alodar properly saw his duty to serve his craft before the whim of a queen.”

  The wizard nodded and continued. “And the accordance was a good one. Elezar has agreed only to halt voluntary and coordinated transfer between the worlds. He cannot stop a summons by humankind, even if he wished to. As long as we possess the knowledge and means to reach through flame across the gulf which separates us, even without the ambitions of a prince, there will always be risk and potential for great peril.

  “To submit to periodic examination by one’s peers is a difficult step for men of my craft to take, but it gives us a chance to detect something amiss before it gets out of hand. It was Alodar’s persistence and vivid retelling of how vast were Elezar’s powers compared to our own that finally convinced us to establish the testing procedures. And with my awakened comrades and the most powerful who practice today in agreement, the lesser will follow. After these ceremonies in Ambrosia, whatever they may be, I will cross the isthmus to the south and carry the word further.”

  Grengor did not reply, and the four turned their horses from the muddy side street onto the cobblestoned avenue. Mentally Alodar pictured the screaming crowds, swirling streamers, and slow procession to the palace gates. He tried to recapture the exhilarating taste of so long ago: the vision of the royal guardsmen clearing the way; the brave lads darting from the side to touch the horse that bore him; the young girls batting their eyes as he passed; the chant that echoed from the walls in a deafening crescendo. Alodar the hero, Alodar the savior of the fair lady, Alodar of Procolon!

  Alodar licked his lips and frowned at the dryness in his mouth. The image was as vivid as before, but the excitement which should accompany it was gone. As they approached the main boulevard, he reached across his saddle and squeezed Aeriel’s hand.

  They turned the corner, and the empty street rang with the clop of their horses’ hooves. Alodar reined to a halt and looked about with puzzlement. He scanned the line of rooftops to the palace in the distance. Both skylines were deserted, as silent as the walkways underneath. Ambrosia was as unmoving as the quiet and open sea.

  For several minutes, the three halted in silence. Then they heard the sound of horses other than their own, and Alodar saw four riders coming their way.

  “Lord Festil, Feston, Basil, Duncan,” Grengor exclaimed as the riders drew near. “Where is anyone else? Did not Melab’s message of our coming reach the queen? Is not the reception and wedding ceremony prepared?”

  “A wedding ceremony there was, indeed,” Festil announced as he stopped before them. “But it was for that unclean nomad from the north. She rushed it through as soon as she felt she could. Only after it was done did Vendora send the summons demanded by her subjects. For three days now the entire city has wined on the palace grounds in celebration.”

  “Then my summons is for an empty honor and no more,” Alodar said. He turned to Aeriel and smiled. “I am no longer honor bound. Grak is destined to be the victorious suitor, after all.”

  “You do well to cover your anger,” Festil replied. “With low cunning, she conspired to satisfy a personal whim at the expense of the state. And the barbarian! Already his outland ways offend many who have upheld Procolon’s proud tradition.”

  “Land for his kinsmen as reward for their defense of the fair lady,” Feston growled. “Land held for centuries by the oldest of our noble houses
and ripped away less than an hour after the crown of consort was on his head.”

  “Talk of new taxes,” Basil muttered, “and hints of confiscation of my jewels as a national treasure. Every merchant on the street laments about how an outsider tramples on the delicate balance of factions which has supported the queen. And that stiff-necked Cedric has been made grand marshall of arms.”

  “He demands magic swords and shields in exchange for the right of the guilds to keep their gates sealed,” Duncan cut in. “And room in the royal chambers for the objects, but not for those who would wield them. None of the magicians will stand for it long. With the right one to lead us, the barbarian soon will be deposed.”

  “Yes, the orbholder speaks truthfully,” Festil agreed as he dismounted. Feston and the others followed. As Alodar watched, they knelt and placed their swords at his feet.

  “There is doubt and suspicion still,” Festil said. “Vendora’s grip on the throne is little better than before. The demons have left us all untrusting. Only one stands out from the rest. Only one has the unblemished standard and reputation around which all can rally. Take up the banner, Alodar, and the peerage will follow.”

  “And the merchants also,” Basil continued. “With my fortune and the promise of a return to the way things were, none on the streets will dare oppose you.”

  “The weapons of the guilds which Grak craves so,” Duncan said. “They will be for our warriors instead. Lead us forth, Alodar. Take the last small step to finish what you have started.”

  “There is no other,” Feston concluded. “With you at the lead, the rebellion will be short and swift. Even with Cedric and Grak to defend her, it can hardly last more than another year. And when we are done, you will be king and not consort. You can do with Vendora what you will.”

  Alodar sighed at the news. Wearily he looked down at the figures kneeling before him. He saw part of his dream, if not the whole. And with one more effort, the rest could be his. One more struggle. The humiliation of his father erased, the cheers of all lords and craftsmen, and bows and flattery any time he wanted them. He paused and glanced to the side. He could even choose Aeriel as his queen.

  Alodar slowly exhaled and shook his head. What would he have when he was done? With the homage of a Festil, would there also be the offered sword of a Cedric? With a chest of Basil’s jewels to bribe away resistance, would there also be the pride of a struggle hard fought and won? With Duncan’s sphere to shield from assassins, what would he see in Aeriel’s eyes?

  The pomp of tradition, the intrigues of state, the fear of the shadow behind the next column—was it for these that he had cast aside the cape of the thaumaturge?

  Alodar ran over the reasons for his quest but found they had melted away. Instead he tasted the excitement of the rising air carried, the smell of freshly ground duckweed, the beauty of a six-fold symmetry, the mystery of an out-reaching tendril of the mind, the wonder of what lay beyond the flame. He stared at the men awaiting his answer.

  No, by the laws, it was not for this that he was meant, his thoughts thundered suddenly with determination. The quests were done; they were completed. There was no remaining adventure that now cried for a finish.

  “Vendora’s decision frees me of any further service,” he shouted aloud. “I need pursue her no further. What concerns the lord and craftsman is no longer an affair of mine.” He turned to Aeriel and spoke with rising excitement. “The consort has been chosen and your obligation is done,” he said. “Aeriel, Aeriel, we have not lost the final battle after all. The way is clear for us to plot our future together. There are no more gauntlets to be run.”

  Aeriel started to smile back but then caught herself in mid-expression. Her brow wrinkled and she stiffened in the saddle. “It is well enough for you to exercise a second option, once the first is denied you. But despite how I may feel, the man who possesses my spirit will be the one who chooses me freely over all others, no matter how exalted they may be.”

  Alodar raised his eyebrows in surprise and then for a long moment was silent. He glanced at the kneeling men and back to Aeriel. “I pursued the queen to find the glory and honor it would bring,” he said slowly. “And Handar stated that the first trek was but the shadow of another. But through it all, I was on a third quest as well, Aeriel, the one that all of us take, the quest to find oneself.”

  Alodar stopped and looked at each of those who faced him. “The man that I have found is not the one that you seek,” he told them at last.

  He turned to Grengor with a sad smile and gave him a salute. “Neither am I a warrior. You and the other marines have served me well, Grengor, but a far better future will be yours if you seek our Cedric, the grand marshall and place your trust under a proper master.”

  He turned to the wizard. “Continue your journey southward, Handar. Your task is far more important than any pomp and circumstance here.”

  Alodar looked back at Aeriel. “Through the random factors of fate, I am the makings of an archimage, the master of all five of the arts. Who knows what will happen when I am as proficient as Handar and the others intended me to be? And the answer to that riddle is my destiny.

  “I still have the option, Aeriel. I believe what Festil and the others say. One more campaign and it would finally be over. But I choose to turn away from the queen, step aside from all the paths that I could follow to pursue what she represents. I elect to seek instead teachers of the arts. I will study with them all until I can rightfully call myself master. The beginning will be thaumaturgy under Periac in the north as quickly as I can find him.” He stopped and breathed deeply. “And more than anything else, Aeriel, my choice is to have you at my side.”

  Aeriel’s face softened but her eyes kept a hint of fire. “I have been a counselor of state, a molder of a kingdom’s destiny,” she said. “I do not intend to replace it with stoking dinner fires and beating clean the laundry.”

  “Come with me,” Alodar said softly, “and we will journey on your quests as well as mine.”

  Aeriel finally smiled. She headed her horse around the way they had come. Alodar nodded and turned his mount to follow. Without looking back, they galloped away into the pages of the sagas.

  About the Author

  LYN HARDY became interested in fantasy while wandering through the fringes of fandom as an undergraduate at Caltech. In addition to reading and writing, he has sporadic bursts of enthusiasm for collecting stamps, comics, astronaut patches and playing cards. He currently lives with his wife and two daughters in Torrance, California.

  QUEST OF THE FAIR LADY

  Alodar was a mere apprentice thaumaturge, learning the least of the five arts of magic. As such, he had no right to aspire to the hand of the fair lady, Queen Vendora, not even when he saved her during the demon-inspired siege of her frontier castle. But aspire he did.

  His quest forced him from one exacting branch of magic to another, with the rewards he earned always going to others. Finally, only the branch of wizardry remained—the great, almost lost art of controlling demons.

  It was then he learned of the ancient plot behind his rise—and faced the greatest danger any man could dare!

  TK proofed. Yeah, you know the ritual, I really am tired of scanners that put out txt files. But once again I am working on a series that is mostly txt files, I just do not hate it enough to abuse my collection of PBs to scan them. And so, I have completed this proofing and added frontpage blurb, copyright info, Title, Contents, and pages of the five arts. At the end I have left the ‘about the author,’ and added the text from the back of the PB. I did not do a whole lot of size changes to the file font, figured I or another would do that later when someone added the map and the symbols of craft images. Will work on book two after a day off. Oh yeah, Lyndon take this book and re-read it, I have made typo corrections and such. Put the damn thing up on something like fictionwise, I have seen a few of my proof jobs up there, and Enjoy. Jan 2003

  TK redone. Yeah, it’s been about 7 years for t
his book. Converted to html, added the pics, moved contents and linked them. And re-read the whole thing. I know someone did a v2.1 rtf version, but, I couldn’t seem to grab it. So, fixed many minor errors with the v2.0 rtf I had. May 2010