by Lyndon Hardy
Beliac eyed Alodar coldly. "I think that to continue living would be reward enough for your impertinence," he said.
Alodar opened the outer door to the neophyte tower and felt the refreshing coolness of the evening air. Marching Fulmbar slowly to Beliac's quarters had taken a good hour. Releasing Duncan in his patron's custody and then arguing with the magician had consumed another, though for his own part, Alodar did not feel anxious to press his case. He had learned more than he had hoped from his exploit and saw no point in trying to pry out more.
After he was dismissed from Beliac's presence, Alodar had returned to his lodging and napped into nightfall to melt away the tensions of the afternoon. Now refreshed, he walked slowly along the esplanade. Beliac had bought only a little time with the stratagem, he mused, and sooner or later must own up to what was done to another magician of the Guild. He would be busy enough not to make good any threats for the immediate future. The problem rather was how to gain access to the contents of the library, knowing now what the security measures were.
As Alodar passed the house of the exotic, a sudden flicker of movement caught his eye; as he turned, he heard the crack of glass under a heavy tread. He paused for a second. Then a woman's high scream of terror filled the air. Instinctively, Alodar sprang for the entrance, his brown robe flowing behind.
With a sudden shove, he rocked the huge double doors back on their hinges. The long corridor which transversed the ground floor ran before him, and slowly stomping away from him down the passageway was a huge, green-scaled dragon.
A second scream echoed down the corridor, and Alodar saw, beyond the wyvern's shifting back, the golden curls of Cynthia the initiate. She stood transfixed at the hallway's end, back and palms outstretched against the unyielding wall, looking with terror at the beast which lumbered towards her.
"Hold your courage," Alodar shouted through a throat still sore from the potion and broke into a run after the two-legged dragon. He reached quickly down to his side for a sword that was not there. "Curse these robes," he muttered as he ran.
In an instant he was up to the giant tail that gently swished back and forth with each step. Having no other weapon, he stomped the heel of his boot down upon the rigid spine of scales. The wyvern did not react but continued his steady plodding gait. Alodar steadied himself against a wall and then leapt with both feet upon his target. This time the tail twitched spasmodically, knocking him to the ground into a scatter of broken glass.
Alodar quickly scrambled up and dusted his hands against his robe, ignoring the blood which began to ooze out of many small cuts. He hastily looked about and saw that all of the glass partitions into the various cages had been broken. Here and there, small creatures scurried in the wreckage.
In the opening to the left Alodar saw that two jagged daggers of glass still stood in a shattered frame. He lashed out quickly with his boot and snapped one at the base. Fingering it gingerly, he caught up with the advancing dragon and jabbed it with his makeshift weapon. The point skittered along the scales, but Alodar felt sudden pain in his hands as the edges caught and cut his flesh.
Grimacing, he tightened his grip, feeling blood pour out onto his palms and the hurt intensify in its sharpness. The beast was almost upon Cynthia, lowering its head and extending its forked tongue expectantly, when Alodar lunged again, this tune with the full force of his body behind the blow.
The tip caught between two scales and the shaft snapped a few inches from the point. Alodar fell forward upon the beast's back, frantically rolling to one side to avoid being impaled on his own point, and clattering to the floor. The wyvern yelped; distracted, it turned to see what annoyed him.
"To the side passage," Alodar shouted, righting himself and gritting his teeth as he placed his free hand against the wall, "Move, I say," he yelled again. In desperation, he flung the remains of the glass in Cynthia's direction.
The initiate instinctively moved to one side to dodge the missile, jarring herself out of her petrification. She quickly ran into one of the arms of the cross corridor, while Alodar scrambled backwards from the head that was turning to examine him. He ducked into one of the cages and looked from side to side for another weapon. To the left, he saw Cynthia peering in at him through another broken window. He was in one of the cages at the corner of the tee, with viewing from two directions.
As the dragon extended its head into the cage, Alodar hopped out to join the initiate, staining her robe deep crimson as he threw his arms about her.
"This way," he yelled as he pushed against Cynthia's stiffening form. "We have to get some distance so we can search for a weapon."
The two began to run down the passageway, and the wyvern withdrew his head from the empty cage and turned around the corner. It saw its quarry sprinting away and ruffled its wings in annoyance, scarping the walls which confined it. It hooted after them and quickened its pace in pursuit.
Alodar felt the air grow warm as the call of the dragon echoed down the passageway. He turned a puzzled glance to Cynthia, who gasped out as they ran, "It is getting angry and firing up. We will not have a tradesman's chance if it gets within three strides."
Alodar turned to see how close the wyvern pursued and was surprised at the way the deliberate lumber had been replaced by a fast rocking pace.
"It is gaining on us," he shouted to Cynthia, pushing her from behind with his bloody hand until she nearly stumbled. "Look there, a staircase to the second level. Perhaps it does not know how to climb them."
Alodar spun Cynthia to the side, grabbing her arm to begin pulling her up the stairs. As they disappeared ground the corner, the passageway flashed to the brightness of day as a cloud of flame rolled past, furnace-hot.
They reached a landing half a flight up as the dragon appeared at the foot below. It snaked its head halfway up the well, the raspy and pimpled tongue flicking out a foot more beyond. It roared in anger as it caught sight of its prey disappearing. As the echo trailed off, another fireball coursed up the stairs.
The shock of the heat flashed memories of the Fumus Mountains through Alodar's mind, and Cynthia shrieked from the blistering bath. The sphere of flame crashed against the landing wall and burst into smaller globes, which ricocheted towards them.
"Your robe, pull in your robe," Alodar shouted as the balls of fire danced by. One caught Cynthia's hem. Almost instantly, the garment burst in a new shower of incandescence.
Alodar looked over the railing and saw the wyvern slip and stumble as it tried to place one of its broad feet on the narrow risers. It unfurled its wings and banged against the walls; with one powerful downstroke, it levitated a few feet off the ground and onto the third step.
Alodar turned back to Cynthia, who stood on the floor above, frantically beating her hands against the ends of the robe which encircled her in flames. He bounded up and knocked her to the ground, sending her rolling down a hallway more spacious than the ones below. The flames sputtered for a moment; but as soon as she stopped, they sprang to life again. He ran to her. Ignoring the throbbing in his hands, he grabbed her disintegrating hem. With a mighty spasm, he yanked his arms apart, splitting the robe from bottom to top, and flung it away from them.
The wyvern careened to the first landing and Alodar pulled Cynthia to her feet, as naked as the day of the stadium ritual. As they resumed their flight, Alodar caught sight of a familiar glowing disk in the wall on the left.
"What is that?" he shouted, pointing as they ran.
"The initiate viewing room," Cynthia responded as she saw the small circle.
Alodar thought back to his previous encounter with such a disk. In a flash, their method of escape struck him. The timing would have to be perfect, but they had no other choice. "Then into it," he directed. "Let us find our safety there."
Cynthia responded to the command and firmly pushed the small button. The door smoothly parted and the two ran into a small anteroom that appeared to open onto a spacious balcony. Alodar took three rapid steps into the middle o
f the chamber. He stopped and faced the door through which they had entered.
"Let us go to the balcony and beyond." Cynthia tugged at his arm in a wave of fresh panic. 'The wyvern will catch up with us in a moment."
As she spoke, the dragon glided up to the door and furled its wings, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Alodar grabbed Cynthia by the hand; with a whipping motion, he propelled her stumbling through the door to the balcony. He looked back into the hallway at the approaching beast. He waited an instant longer and then ran after Cynthia, but took only two more steps before a brace of bells began sounding in alarm.
In an instant, iron bars crashed to the floor ahead, cutting off his escape, and he turned to face the beast. The only other exit was blocked by the bulk of the wyvern, folding up its wings and stooping to enter. But as it extended its neck into the room, long tongue flicking expectantly, the second barrier began to fall into place from the jamb of the door. The heavy iron bars hit the floor with a thud and the lowermost crossbrace caught the dragon directly behind the head, driving it to the ground.
The wyvern let out a cry of anger and a large belch of fire that sent Alodar springing to the wall. With a frantic tug, the beast tried withdrawing its head out into the passageway, but the expanse of skull behind the large, opalescent eyes cracked against the stout iron bar.
Alodar scrambled to his feet and cautiously felt his way around the periphery of the room towards the dragon. The wyvern eyed his motion in anger and, between spasmodic struggles against its trap, sent volleys of fire into the chamber to consume its adversary.
In a moment Alodar was at the wall which held the exterior doorway and out of the angle of fire from the wyvern. He quickly dismantled a rod from which a small decorative tapestry hung and advanced on the beast from the side. His hands pained him enormously and he felt giddy from the loss of blood, but he performed his task with determination.
Alodar leaned wearily against the wall with the bloody, brain-spattered bar hanging limply in his hand. How many blows it had taken he could not recall, but only a pulp of bone and flesh remained of the wyvern's head, and the great body lay silent, to flame no more.
The portcullis that led to the balcony raised back into place, and Cynthia cautiously came into the room.
Alodar motioned her to him. "It is all over," he said. "All that remains is to repair our wounds and forget what has happened." He reached down, grabbed the small tapestry, and flung it about her shoulders. "Come to my cubicle," he said. "I have a small amount of sweetbalm that will help those burns of yours."
Cynthia nodded her assent and the two found their way out of the building without looking back.
In an hour, Alodar was arching his back and smiling with contentment. The sweetbalm had anesthetized his pain, and the wine from the larder blurred the recent memories and the horror of what might have been. Cynthia lounged easily in the chair beside him, sipping from her glass and staring deeply at Alodar over the rim.
"Why do you think such vandalism occurred?" he said.
"For certain, I cannot tell," she responded. "I know however that the initiates loyal to Beliac were abuzz with activity. I suspect they feared that if Lectonil could almost change Fulmbar's vote, he might succeed with others. They struck to discredit him as best they could on such short notice. The maintenance of the wyverns has been a source of contention between the groups for many years. One running loose and slaughtering a few unlucky passersby certainly would harm Lectonil's position."
Cynthia shuddered and drew the folds of one of Alodar's brown robes tighter about her.
"A most complete speculation," he said. "What points you to it?"
"I was not in the house by chance, but by direction of one of Beliac's acolytes. I had ignored his advances some years back and thought no more of the matter, but apparently he did not see it the same. Had you not come along when you did, I fear that double purpose would have been served by the mayhem."
"Then do you think to embrace Lectonil's position and seek protection from him? It seems to me that the entire Guild soon will be divided into the two camps."
"And doing increased violence to one another," Cynthia said. "A year ago they were content with finding flaws in the other's conjectures and theorems, but I think that day will not return. As for Lectonil, what he could offer is most limited. Few of the acolytes and initiates harken to his standard. Even the likes of Duncan casts his fortune elsewhere. For myself, I intend to leave the Guild on the morrow and wait in the village until it is settled. There is none here to whom I am attached. None that could protect me well. None that I can in truth call a man."
Cynthia lowered her glass and extended her hand to rub against Alodar's as she had done in the tavern. "None save one." She smiled and moved towards him. Alodar set down his wine and looked up as she stood before him. With a shrug, she dropped his robe from her shoulders and beckoned him to rise to meet her.
Instinctively he rose, pulse quickening. Again he tried to focus on Vendora, compare her beauty and position to Cynthia's and find her the winner. But Vendora was miles and months away. He sighed and all images vanished from his mind.
Alodar woke when the first rays of dawn filtered through the blinds into the room. Cynthia breathed in a deep slumber beside him, still in the euphoria of the sweetbalm. Idly, he fingered her curls which lay on the pillow beside his head.
What course now? Cynthia was enough woman for any man, beautiful and full-figured, intelligent, and a self-confident initiate in the magical arts. He had saved her life, and the little skill in arms he possessed stood to her in exciting contrast to the scholarly attitudes of her peers. He could seek out Periac, resume his trade in thaumaturgy, or better yet combine it with alchemy and provide services most unique. And would such a life be so bad? Could the secret of the spheres really mean more than that?
Alodar sighed and shook his head. No, he would soon tire of thaumaturgy, and with alchemy it would only take longer. At least his quest offered a definite goal and excitement. Alodar the hero, Alodar the savior of the fair lady!
His mind again of single purpose, Alodar quietly began to pace the room. His visit to the library with Beliac had shown him how he could enter. The problem that remained was that of moving freely inside without triggering the watchbells.
He puzzled over the ease with which the initiates and their superiors passed through the protected hallways, while he was instantly recognized as an outsider. They made no special motions, nor did they touch marked panels in the wall. In fact, Cynthia without a stitch was easily hurled past a barrier while he was trapped behind.
If it was nothing of action or what one carried, what indeed set the magic user as different from the rest of the workers of the Guild? Alodar stopped and pondered a few moments more. Only one thing marked the initiates, be realized in a flash of excitement-the small scar on the back of the wrist. Alodar walked to the bedside and grasped Cynthia's hand. He gingerly fingered the pad of flesh that indicated her station. The tissue was thick and told him nothing, but he knew what he must do.
He woke her gently and explained his request. She gave her consent. "If our paths are not to intertwine," she said, "then it is my parting gift for the brave warrior." She looked deeply at Alodar and smiled. "Perhaps in the village below I can find another."
A small dab of sweetbalm at the nostrils returned her to slumber, and Alodar grasped her hand firmly in his left while he opened his small knife with his right. Carefully, he began to cut around the base of the scar. Although tiny rivulets of blood obscured his vision, he heard the satisfying scrape of metal on metal.
He continued to cut for a full half circle; then with a pair of tweezers, he pulled the secret from its hiding place. Alodar wiped the object clean and stared at a small, unadorned disk of gold. The ritual of the branding was merely a ruse so that the initiates might not even know how they moved past the barriers so easily. The thin disk looked innocuous enough, but it would be his safe passage on the floor of the librar
y.
He dabbed sweetbalm onto the small wound he had made and saw it instantly close. If Cynthia went directly to the village as she planned, then the loss of the disk might go undetected until Alodar was long removed from the Guild and back on the road to Ambrosia. He let her arm fall and then hastily finished the rest of the preparations for his entry.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Improvised Ritual
ALODAR stretched to tiptoe in the darkness and groped with both hands against the sloping library walls. His right brushed against one of the decorative nodules that randomly dotted the sides. He put his foot onto the projection at knee level and pulled himself up. He was off and climbing.
With his left hand, he reached out for another purchase and lifted himself three feet more. His feet wobbled against the narrow projections, and his hands felt slippery from the effort to scale the steep incline. Upwards he struggled, ten feet and then another ten, switching back and forth laterally across the face of the slope as he climbed.
After thirty feet, he stopped and cautiously adjusted the straps that held the pack to his back. The next handhold was only a foot above his head but far to his left, outside of comfortable reach. Alodar extended his hand, rocking all of his weight onto his left foot and stretching as far as he dared, but a good nine inches separated him from the grip. He looked back down to the esplanade and felt the first twinge of the instinctive reaction to his height.
He frowned tightly and shut his view of the hard cobblestones out of his mind. Moving his right hand close to his body for additional thrust, he sprang upwards and outwards towards the grip.
The momentum of his jump carried him past the target, and his hand closed on empty air. As he began to slide downwards, he lashed out again, catching the nodule as it seemed to rush upwards into his hand. He felt the tug of his body loosen his fingers, not yet set in their tenuous grip, and he reached about with his feet frantically for the perch they had just left. His right foot felt resistance and he thrust savagely against it to stop the downward motion.