Master of the five Magics m-1

by Lyndon Hardy

  Alodar caught Saxton's excitement and hurriedly adjusted the equipment. He fixed the small glass in a clamp and then stood by the first mirror, keeping the moon directly in line as it crested in the sky. In a few moments Saxton had disengaged the first container filled with the glowing ointment and replaced it with a second. He tossed the spent gas generator aside and thrust the tube from another while casting anxious glances at the shimmering brew.

  He finished the final glyph and almost instantly the clear solution thickened into the translucent cream. Saxton's eyes widened in wonder. He ran his hand over his head and then gently stroked the side of the flask.

  "Two in a row," he exclaimed. "The random factors align, Alodar, I can feel it." He cast the second gas generator aside. Holding the flask high, he dance around the rooftop in exultation. Alodar smiled and started to break the thaumaturgical connection.

  Saxton looked at the container he had set aside and then the two standing ready still filled with clear solution. He stopped his celebration, frowned at the knot of brightness where the last flask had been and stared back at the battered chest with small labeled drawers standing nearby.

  "Powdered skin of salamander, less than three brandels more," he muttered and then his face recovered its smile.

  "No, Alodar, leave the gear as it is," he said. "Run quickly instead into the city and get from Cedric the gold he offered as loan."

  "Back to Ambrosia," Alodar said puzzled. "But, Saxton, whatever for? I am as happy as you that the first two produced the ointment, for we can dearly use the time. In less than four hours the moon will set, and sunrise will be but little after. Let us perform the last step twice as you planned and proceed on to the Fumus Mountains."

  "But do you not see," Saxton ran on excitedly. "The random factors align. The transition was so dramatic, so emphatic. We are not dealing with chance. All of our trails will succeed tonight, I can feel it. We need not settle for two vials of the ointment when four are ours for the taking. If we double the supply of the skin of the salamander, there will be enough to perform the final step on all four. For a few brandels more we can secure what we need from the royal shop at the head of the Street. Go to Cedric's and maximize our good fortune."

  "But sunrise," Alodar protested. "There will not be time enough for it all."

  "We quest, do we not?" Saxton chortled, waving his index finger at Alodar's scowl. "And with the factors aligned, how can there be failure? I will complete the formula for the two flasks we have prepared while you are gone; when you return two more will be ready to process as well. Away. You may as well secure the powder as stand idly by while I exercise my craft."

  Alodar looked down into the silent street and then toward the heart of the city. "Very well," he said, "I will go. But if the moon gets close to the horizon and I have not returned, follow me with whatever you have of value. We will meet and save time in taking the road north to the mountains."

  "The random factors," Saxton said as if he did not hear. "They align and, by the laws, with a formula of great importance. Yes, hurry along, lad. Tonight, we can do no wrong."

  Cedric wrapped his cape tighter and cursed at the bite of the cool breeze. "Alchemy," he snorted. "Only for such a craft would one have cause to tramp about the streets in the middle of the night."

  "As I have explained, warmaster," Alodar said as he hurried to match the longer stride, "you need not accompany me to the dwelling of this seneschal. I can rouse him as I did you. Even if his irritation makes all ten brandels the price for the powdered skin, I will not begrudge it." He looked at the moon already uncomfortably low in the western sky. "Haste is far more important."

  "If I did not come," Cedric rasped, "dawn would find you pounding at his gate."

  Cedric stopped and turned off the street at the next open gateway. Buzzing voices and loud laughter from a dozen sources floated over the wall, and a caped figure staggered against Alodar and lurched into the night. He blinked at the torchlight when he entered the courtyard and stumbled past two more sprawling forms snoring in his way. The area was scattered with small clumps of richly dressed men nodding dutifully at each other's words and waving empty cups at the wine stewards wandering by. In a corner, a dark-haired girl tossed her veils to the rhythm of her small finger cymbals, but no one noticed.

  "You come late to lord Dartilac's festivity," a man in servant's livery said into Cedric's ear, "And it is not so light that I can recognize you as one of his peers from the court. I do not mean to offend, but have you brought the invitation affixed with his seal?"

  "This is my invitation," Cedric said. He slowly tumbled the ten brandels from their small pouch. "I must speak with his lordship on a matter which I am sure he will find to his interest. Can you not arrange for such a moment?"

  The servant scurried to retrieve the coins and stood up with his face in a smile. He beckoned them to follow and started to weave his way across the courtyard. Against the wall to which they headed, Alodar saw a blond-headed man of middle age holding a goblet in one hand and poking the chest of his listener with the other. The lines of the face twisted in frustration and the blank expression on the recipient of the argument forced each jab to be harder than the last. As Alodar and Cedric approached, the servant coughed and the conversation abruptly halted.

  "Lord Dartilac," Cedric said without waiting. "I am the one who teaches your son, Dartilon, the use of arms."

  Dartilac set his glass on a bench nearby and frowned. "I pay you well and on time," he said. "I see no reason to call upon me here and at such a time."

  "What you say is most proper," Cedric said, "but, as you know, I instruct the sons of many of the lords and learn much that might not otherwise be common knowledge. Lord Cartilon, for example. His son I taught this very day."

  Dartilac picked up his glass and took a cautious sip. "And what news do you have about the house of Cartilon?" he asked slowly.

  "As you know," Cedric said, "the queen is most appreciative of the loan of your seneschal to aid in the activations of her formulas from Iron Fist. And Cartilon has in the past always aligned his house with yours, careful to say to all how you aid the flow of coin so necessary in these times of increased peril."

  "And now," Dartilac repeated, "what news do you bring?"

  Cedric smiled back into the lord's knitting brows. "Nothing other than what your own speculations might give you," he said. "But first a small boon, my lord, as a token of the good faith in which we deal. Your seal on a writ against the royal stores for powder of salamander skin, a few drams, no more. I am sure your steward would honor it, since he knows who ultimately decides his welfare and keep."

  "Salamander skin," Dartilac said. "Do you jest? What you know is of little value if such is the price you place on it."

  "I need it before dawn and that makes it more dear," Cedric replied. "With your seal I can obtain it from your man as I could no other way."

  Dartilac rubbed his chin while he studied Cedric's unblinking face. After a moment he grunted and snapped his fingers overhead. The servant reappeared and dipped his head in a small bow. "My seal on a writ to the royal factory of alchemy," Dartilac said, "to be drawn immediately but to a maximum of three brandels and no more."

  The servant frowned questioningly but Dartilac waved him away. "And now what of Cartilon?" he said.

  "The army returns from the south," Cedric said. "What will be Vendora's first concern, to pay them their due or to see that they are properly led?"

  "Leadership, of course," Dartilac said. "It is true that her vassals have already provided their yearly aid to the crown to which they are shown and further provision must come from her own purse. But with a strong man at the head, they will rally to her needs and point to the west; their pay can come later."

  "And between the lords who aid with ready coin and those who assist with sword, for whom would she show more favor?"

  "But both are needed as she knows full well," Dartilac said. "Leadership may be her first concern but she would
not turn her thoughts from those who support the crown in so generous a manner."

  "In a situation such as this," Cedric repeated, "who would she favor?"

  "Arms," Dartilac growled. "Under the present conditions she would tend to arms." His frown deepened and he stopped in thought.

  "But surely Cartilon would not shift into Feston's camp without much reflection and consultation," he said at last. "He has been steadfast in our course to resist the influence of the rough outlanders. Old Festil may have been a favorite of Vendora's father, but Cartilon sees as well as any that Feston dangles on a string. Why even now my staunch friend labors to influence lady Aeriel to add her voice to ours. And he is here tonight somewhere across the yard, partaking of my hospitality as do others of the same persuasion."

  "Thought and consideration," Cedric said. "I would judge that all of the intimates of the court spend a good part of their time in such profitable fashion. To be a member of a faction swinging into ascendency is a temptation. And even if one were himself steadfast, it would behoove him to reassess critically the loyalties of every man that he thought stood behind him."

  "But Cartilon," Dartilac said.

  "I instructed his son this very day," Cedric said.

  Dartilac grabbed his chin and gazed past Alodar's shoulder. "It is a matter to look into," the lord muttered behind his hand.

  Cedric stood silent, and Alodar saw the pensiveness grow on Dartilac's face. While he pondered, the servant returned and thrust a folded parchment in Cedric's direction. The warmaster nodded and motioned Alodar to accept it.

  "Value given and just value received," Cedric said. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and started for the exit.

  "You train many of the scions, did you say?" Dartilac shouted after him. "Perhaps there is more in your future than a few drams of salamander."

  Cedric continued to the gate and nodded once over his shoulder. He ducked through the opening and Alodar followed. In the street, the warrior walked in silence, his lips pulled into a grim line.

  "I see that your way is far more effective than my pounding," Alodar said. "It is fortunate that you learned something of Cartilon's leanings in time to be of such advantage."

  "Think over carefully what I said," Cedric replied. "Cartilon's son said no more than that Dartilac was having yet another festivity." He stopped and grabbed Alodar by the shoulders. "I learned the rules but did not choose to play," he rasped. "And I do not care to begin even now. Finish this foolishness with Saxton and be done with alchemy. I expect you back in my sparring yard on the morrow."

  Alodar started to speak, but stopped when he saw the bottom edge of the moon's disk shorn away by the line of Dartilac's roof. He tore free of Cedric's grasp and spun around to look to the east, squinting Into the lights of the city and trying to detect the glow that preceded dawn.

  "I shall repay you with honor, warmaster," he said at last. "But for now, my quest comes before all else." He grabbed the writ firmly and plunged down the road. Sprinting around a corner, he raced back to Honeysuckle Street.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Moltenrock Treasure

  ALODAR panted up to Saxton's storefront too out of breath to shout his return. He entered and swung around the counter and into the workroom. As he dashed through the doorway, he stubbed his toe on a plank jutting in the way and his eyes widened in surprise. The shelves and cabinets lay tumbled to the floor in a vast clutter. Alodar stepped cautiously through the rubble, knee high in splintered wood and broken glass. The air stank of a mixture of odors from ruptured containers and he could not see a familiar sight in the confusion.

  He walked slowly forward, scanning the floor, each step accompanied by the pop and crack of additional small destruction. The large cabinet from the south wall blocked his path. As he surveyed a way around, he saw a single pudgy hand thrust from underneath its heavy oaken boards.

  Alodar quickly stooped and heaved the box off the fallen alchemist, who lay face down in the tangle on the floor.

  "Saxton," he shouted as he rolled the brown-robed figure over. "What happened? What happened here? Are you whole or hurt?"

  Saxton stirred slightly and opened his eyes to the noise. He frowned and focused with difficulty, small trickles of blood oozing from his mouth and the many small cuts on his face.

  "Alodar," he stumbled out softly. "Alodar, by the laws, it worked. It worked not once but twice. As I said, the random factors aligned and both of the flasks produced safe ointment. The chance of an alchemist's lifetime and I had it succeed twice."

  "But what happened here, Saxton?" Alodar persisted.

  "Rendrac," Saxton said, and then he began to cough uncontrollably, throwing up great quantities of clotted blood. Alodar looked quickly about and spied a pottery jug still unbroken on a high shelf. He fetched it and, cradling the alchemist's head, gave him a small drink of water.

  "Yes, Alodar," Saxton continued after a moment. "The luck of a lifetime is often balanced in this perverse world. The factors aligned, but Rendrac could not give us the slightest chance of success thereafter. While you journeyed to Cedric's, he returned here just as the contents of the second flask transmuted into a form safe to the touch. I thrust them into the clutter as be entered, but this body was not meant to withstand the warrior's pain. He pummeled me as well as the shop, and finally I had to tell him where they were."

  "You did as well as you were able, Saxton," Alodar said as he looked about the room. Anger began to boil. "I will pursue and give Rendrac his due. We shall recover the ointment yet and your treasure as well."

  "It is too late for that, my lad," Saxton said, beginning to breathe with difficulty. "I have studied the inner organs of animals enough to guess what has happened to me. I am not to partake of any of the jewels of the mountains."

  He stopped, and a deep sigh rattled through his lungs. "But then neither will Basil have his way," he continued. "Two successes with a caloric shield! It is enough for any alchemist."

  "Sweetbalm, or perhaps thaumaturgy," Alodar said. "We have quested, Saxton, you and I. Do not falter when the goal is in sight."

  "All the balms were destroyed in the mess." Saxton waved one arm in a feeble arc over his head. "Think no more of me. Flee instead while you can. Basil will receive enough from Rendrac's trip into the heart of the mountains to care little for the service of a novice."

  "Rendrac braves the heat?" Alodar asked.

  "Yes, he anointed himself with the full contents of one flask as I looked on helplessly," Saxton replied. "When he was done, he resembled less a man than a silver demon, the coating did shine so. And the second batch he crushed underfoot and rubbed its precious salve into the muck he already had made. The other two flasks on the roof were destroyed as well, I fear, when he tossed all the gear to the earth in his rage to find the ointment."

  Saxton resumed his coughing. As Alodar offered him another sip of water, he waved it aside. He hacked on for several moments more and then, in one giant convulsion, arched his back with a final gasp. He fell limp into Alodar's arms, staring at the ceiling with unblinking eyes and saying no more.

  For a moment Alodar held him in silence and then lowered him gently to the door. He stood up and ran his eyes aimlessly around the clutter. He remembered Saxton as he had first seen him preparing the nerve elixir, struggling with his craft but free of the doom which finally claimed him.

  It was the formula, the quest that had turned him from what he had done so well. Had Alodar not come to his door, he would be tinkering here still, not breathing his last trying to defend a treasure he probably did not know how to spend.

  Alodar slowly let out his breath and looked out the window into the night. "But by the laws, it is done," he said. "There is nothing in my knowledge of the crafts to bring him back."

  He pulled the small packet of salamander skin out of a pocket and tossed it into the clutter. And now that the alchemist has finished, what of the novice? What Saxton had said was true enough. If Alodar disappeared now, Basil
would see little profit in tracking him down. And so little time remained before dawn that the chance of finding gemstones to redeem his future was impossibly small.

  Alodar wiggled his head and tried to shake out the fatigue. But if he were honor bound to aid Saxton in life, then the vengeance was his as well, he thought. No matter that safety lay in the opposite direction from the mountains. He must track Rendrac there, regardless of the consequences. And the fair lady-a treasure for her he must have as well.

  He gave Saxton one final pat and rose with his jaw set in a determined line. "Rest easy, alchemist," he said. "Rest easy for I will continue on." He paused and then pulled his face into a bittersweet smile. "We quest, do we not?"

  He shook his head to clear the feelings and, for the third tune, surveyed the wreckage scattered about. As he scanned from wall to wall, the torchlight reflected into his eyes from the shards of glass and plates of metal on the floor. Then he caught a glimmer subtly different from the rest, silvery and opalescent, from a small bead in the midst of the litter.

  "The ointment, surely," Alodar said half aloud. "Perhaps Saxton's second flask will serve its purpose as well as the first." He stooped and extended his gloved index finger into the small drop. It parted sluggishly and formed a pool around his fingertip, dense like mercury but affinitive like water.

  Alodar put forward his other hand and gently stroked the drop up the side of his finger. The ointment followed, leaving a thin layer of shimmering silver. Heartened, he quickly worked the rest of the salve onto his hand, kneading it around to fill all the cracks and crevices of the glove. When he was done, his entire hand was covered; when rotated in the torchlight, it gave off a soft silvery glow.

  Alodar looked around the floor, carefully righting equipment and pushing aside the rubble as he went. He found a second small bead and then another; with each he repeated the same slow process of transferring it to his body. In an hour, both his arms were covered; in another two, his legs and the front of his torso. He rummaged through the wreckage, found a sliver of a mirror, and then carefully covered his back with a small stick and the droplets he found nearby. As he discovered more and more of the ointment, the search for the rest took longer. The moon touched the horizon as he finished his face and eyes. One part of his mind cried for haste, to strike out after Rendrac before his headstart became too great, before all the time was wasted in preparation. But the balance argued caution, and he continued his methodical search and application. He had begun to despair of finding yet more salve when he discovered a bead in the corner, evidently arched high over the intervening floor by Rendrac's shattering stomp.