by Lyndon Hardy
"Lady Aeriel would know your worth," Alodar said. "I am sure she puts the true interests of the queen above the favor seeking."
"I have not dealt with her directly," Cedric replied. "But if she is a member of the court, then she will be no different."
"You speak with contempt of those who prejudge by pattern and rote," Alodar said. "I would not think you would so measure the lady. In any event, if the queen sails tomorrow, and Kelric with her, it is to Aeriel that I will appeal for a berth."
Cedric did not reply but again looked up and down Alodar's shabby clothing.
Alodar followed his gaze and then nodded, "I agree that I must know something of the ways of the court. It is why I am here. You taught me well at Dartilac's. With a little more instruction, I am sure I will pass through the palace hallways like the rest. And if you will not accept the ruby for payment, then all I can offer is the high opinion of the teacher which is generated by the deeds of the well-taught pupil."
Cedric's eyes narrowed and he studied Alodar for a long time in silence. "It is true that you do not seek the position of a commander," he said at last. "Perhaps this lady can get you placed in a lowly group such as Quantos' marines. Some position that is not significant enough to require commitment to either side."
Cedric resumed his pacing, twisting his moustache into sharpness and looking over Alodar's head to the walls beyond. "I had hoped to wait until you were fully trained," he muttered after a moment, "but the events force it to be now." He shrugged, slapped his hip with decision, and then motioned to the bench nearby. "Come, Alodar, there is a matter of much importance of which we must speak."
They sat down facing one another and Cedric placed his hand on Alodar's shoulder. "I admit to some truth in what they say. On cold mornings my knees are stiff and my eyes no longer follow the tip of the fastest blades. I am still very much the master, but I know that someday I must pass my heritage on to another."
Cedric stopped and gently rocked Alodar back and forth. "You will never become a great warrior," he said. "With more training you will grow into someone not to be dismissed lightly. But you are too small and slow to hack your way through a screaming hoard or stand toe to toe with a thick-muscled giant. No matter how hard you try, I do not see you someday beating your chest in triumph on the top of a pile of bloodied foes."
Alodar's lips parted but Cedric raised his other hand for silence. "But you have spirit. Despite the meager abilities at your command, you track your goals like a hero from the sagas. And it is that drive that attracted my attention to you; it is that dedication which commands my respect and motivates me to aid you as I can." Cedric paused and looked deeply into Alodar's eyes. "I see my own burning youth in your quest, Alodar. Even though my joints grow stiff, through your pursuit I live again.
"And so, if by the random factors I am to remain behind when the fair lady chances across the sea, then I choose to send my spirit with you rather than some other dewy-cheeked warrior, no matter how skillful." Cedric unstrapped his sword and placed it across Alodar's knees. "Take this," he commanded, "but remember when it is drawn, it must defend not one reputation but two."
Alodar blinked at Cedric's words and tentatively reached out to touch the hilt in his lap. He looked back into the warmaster's eyes, saw the intensity of the feelings, and then tightened his grip. "I will wear it in honor," he said softly.
Cedric was silent for a moment longer, then slapped Alodar on the arm and sprang up from the bench. "Enough of this chatter," he rasped in his usual manner. "There is little time and much to be done. I will tell you the etiquette of the court, and the ruby will provide what you must wear. Then, if your tongue is quick enough, you can try to convince this lady Aeriel to secure you an appointment with Quantos of the royal marines."
Alodar wriggled his toes in the soft fur that lined his new calfskin boots. He glanced down at his silken tunic and smiled at the subtle pattern of silver thread which ran through the cloth. Around him mingled the nobles of the court, and nothing marked his raiment from theirs. The tailor had been right, he thought, the small ruby was twice again enough to purchase a wardrobe equal to any here.
Alodar looked around the large room and saw everyone crowded into the periphery. The center was clear, and the sheen on the parquet floor reflected brightly the light of the chandeliers overhead. Decorative columns with flowery capitals and fluted shafts were spaced with precision along all four walls; between them, frescos and tapestries blazed with heroic deeds from the sagas. On the far wall next to ceiling-high double doors, a small ensemble of musicians tuned their instruments, adding to the low drone of conversation. The mood was somber; the room resonated with the gentle hum of smoke-sedated bees, rather than the vigor of a swarming hive that one would expect at a royal ball.
Alodar scanned the assemblage for familiar faces from Iron Fist or Cedric's sparring yard and, here and there, he thought he recognized some lordling. The entire titled class within a day's ride of Ambrosia must be here, he thought. It was no wonder that the bribe to the footman to gain entrance had cost as much as the clothes on his back.
The buzzing around him rose slightly, and Alodar looked to the doors that connected the ballroom to the hallway beyond. Without fanfare, a tall, black-headed man entered the room with a military stride, and Alodar recognized him instantly.
"Look, it is lord Feston," someone to Alodar's right stage-whispered to her companion. "He can hardly control the agitation that disfigures his already uncomely face."
"Well enough that he is so discomforted," a second voice responded. "Perhaps he will then acknowledge the existence of other ladies besides the queen."
Alodar shut out the conversation and concentrated on Feston as the man moved about the room, acknowledging the greetings thrown his way. A year ago, Alodar would have been cowed. But today he noticed the way Feston moved his right hand to rest on the hilt of his sword, how he exposed his thigh when he gestured upward and away. His left foot was forward; he would swing from the side, rather than overhead. A contest between them tomorrow might have the same end but it certainly would not be decided by a single thrust.
Feston had not completed a half circuit of the room when a footman dressed as richly as anyone present skipped into the crowd, blowing a light tune on a flute. Behind him, with a dazzling beauty on each arm, came the massive bulk of Basil the apothecary. A gasp rose from the assemblage as he triumphantly advanced through the doorway, covered from head to toe in what appeared to be a robe of woven gold.
"My good company," he boomed across the hall. "What pleasure it gives me to see all of you so splendidly arrayed for the entertainment of our queen." As he spoke, he idly flicked his fingers in a rhythmic pattern, causing a random clicking sound to emanate from his palm. A small stone dropped from his grip in a glittering flash, and the ladies scrambled to retrieve it. In an instant, one held it aloft.
"Keep it, my dear," Basil said. "It is but a small sapphire. Have it set in a ring."
As he spoke, Alodar saw a flash of red hair as several more of the court crowded into the room.
"My lady Aeriel," Basil said, whirling about. "I see another fine setting for one of these stones." With a sudden flick of the wrist, he tossed a second gem in Aeriel's direction and it fell in a smooth arc down the front of her dress. Her cheeks momentarily flushed and the crowd tittered at her discomfort.
Alodar looked at Aeriel and his pulse quickened. He could not help a small smile of pleasant anticipation as he thought how his quest gave him reason to seek her company again.
Heralds at the door blew two staccato blasts and Alodar jogged his attention back to the entrance. With unrushed dignity, Vendora entered the room in a gown of deepest red. He looked at her cold beauty and exhaled slowly. Vendora took two small steps into the corridor of people that opened for her and then stopped and looked back through the doorway. With a laugh, she motioned forward with her hand, and another figure entered the ballroom. The murmuring increased as Vendora spoke gaily to
the assemblage, and Alodar's jaw dropped in disbelief.
"Lord Feston, apothecary Basil, and my distinguished company," Vendora said lightly. "As you well know, I have had much difficulty in choosing a consort between my two suitors. Can you imagine the difficulty in my decision, now that I have not two but three." She laughed again and waved an elaborate flourish. "I present to you," she said, "the distinguished magician of the Cycloid Guild, Duncan, the all-protecting."
From across the room, Alodar shook his head at the news. Feston had profited from his deeds at Iron Fist. Basil from his alchemy; and now even his magic sphere had been used for benefit of another. Although Duncan left the Guild only shortly before Alodar he must have been able to gain immediate access to the queen with the power that now glittered in a small cage of spun gold hanging from his waist.
"Perhaps later," Vendora continued, "Duncan will be so kind as to demonstrate for us the miraculous object he brings to the throne of Procolon. But for the moment, let us forget other depressing matters of state and revel instead in some entertainments."
Vendora moved to a more central position and Feston, Duncan, and Basil jockeyed for position immediately behind. The rest of the crowd crushed together in back of the three suitors and fell silent in anticipation. After a long moment, a robed figure, stooped with age, ambled slowly through the doorway. Alodar's brows rose as he saw the faded eye logos on the frayed robe, startlingly out of place in the finery about it.
Lectonil had been old but had carried his age with dignity, his back straight and his tread sure and firm. In contrast, the figure in front of Alodar shuffled uncertainly forward, dragging one leg behind as he advanced. His fingers were stiffly spread and curled like the talons of a bird, and rheumy eyes squinted from a face that sagged with loose and wrinkled flesh. The head was narrow and long, as if slightly flattened out of shape by a blacksmith's vice. A few long and straggly hairs hung to the shoulders from above the ears, and a slight ridge ran the length of the completely bald crown.
"The logo is the mark of the sorcerer," someone behind Alodar muttered. "What risk the queen takes to expose herself so."
"It is only Kelric, the seer of the court," a second voice answered. "He served Vendora's father and long ago used up his ability to enchant, so they say. He has little more than illusions left, and I wager that is what he performs for us tonight."
Kelric shuffled to the very center of the room and bowed stiffly to the queen. Without preamble, he began to sing a long, melodious song in an unfamiliar tongue. Alodar listened intently; with his trained ear, he tried to pick out words of power from the deception which surrounded them. The chant droned on, and he furrowed his brow in puzzlement as the melody caressed his ears. Far better than any thaumaturge, he thought. Every word seems to have substance and contain real meaning.
Each sound obeyed an intricate logic in following the one that preceded, and Alodar found himself almost dozing with the gentle rhythm that flowed through the room. He began to sense a pattern as verse followed verse in a repeat of what had been said just moments before. Then, as a third repetition coursed through his head, he felt an overwhelming compulsion to look the sorcerer in the eye. As he yielded, his eyes locked instantly on Kelric's, now wild and glowing owl-like in a stare that seemed to bore into his innermost being.
The scene around the old man blurred for an instant and then snapped back into focus, but somehow not so sharply as before. Alodar felt himself idly wondering what was different. Before he could complete the thought, the sorcerer vanished in a column of green flame that rose from the floor and splashed against the ceiling.
Like a fountain, the flickering flames caressed the beams which spanned the room, then arched outwards and fell towards the floor. As each globule neared the ground, it exploded in a small blossom of flame that winked out of sight. Gradually the column changed color, progressing through the rainbow from green to yellow to orange to furnace red. Then, with a sudden rush, the base of the column rose from the floor, crashed against the ceiling, and sent a dazzling cascade of sparks down onto the onlookers. Alodar winced with the expectation of fiery contact, but the globules seemed to melt away as they touched with feathery lightness.
A small ripple of applause broke forth from those around the queen as every spark but the last died away. The surviving point of light grew as it fell, subtly transforming from a bright speck of flame to a tiny opalescent sphere. As it floated downward, it grew fist-sized, then as large as a barrel, and at last elongated to the shape of a giant egg. The shell touched the floor with a gentle tap, then cracked asunder. From the two ragged halves, a scaly reptilian form suddenly appeared, arching its neck and flicking its forked tongue in the direction of the queen.
The crowd involuntarily gasped as the monster grew in stature, belching fire as it stretched skyward. Alodar stepped backward and reached for Cedric's sword at his side. The wyvern at the guild had been monstrous, but it did not compare with the giant he saw now uncoiling before his eyes. With scales gleaming in the candlelight, it darted its tongue menacingly out across the room, seeming to reach directly for Alodar over the heads of those who stood in between.
Out of the corner of his eye, Alodar saw others flinch as he did and then, when the giant mouth opened and billowed out a ball of flame, the room erupted with screams of alarm.
Alodar threw his arm over his face to ward off the fiery breath and drew his blade chest high to slash at the dancing ribbon of tongue. But the heat and sting did not come, only the soft feathery caress that had accompanied the fireworks before. Looking to the center of the room, he saw the dragon now start to shrink in size, imploding to a small replica of its former self, hardly a foot high. Then, without pause, it began to whirl about, rapidly blurring its features into a shining green disk.
Alodar stared at the vision and he saw soft colors begin to form and undulate about on its surface. The rotation slowed and the hues changed from golds to pinks and reds as they randomly flowed and ebbed in shining patterns. Suddenly the motion stopped, and Alodar blinked at the metamorphosis. The dragon was gone; before him stood a stunning replica of the face of Vendora the queen.
"The starting point," he heard Kelric say. "But for each of you, an image of your own. Look at the beauty of the fair lady and it will transform into the object of your deepest desire."
Alodar felt his lips curve into a smile. Kelric was clever, he thought dimly. For most of the men present, the illusion would not change at all. He concentrated on the golden curls framing the finely chiseled face and tried to taste the feeling of success with his quest. But as he watched, the illusion subtly began to change. The hair shortened and mellowed from gold to amber. The eyes darkened and danced to life. In an instant Alodar saw, not the face of the queen, but a vision of lady Aeriel.
In surprise, Alodar blinked a second time and the image diffused away. The room again was in sharp focus, and Kelric stood huddled in the center as he had before. A spatter of applause broke out once more from the crowd. "Well done, Kelric," Vendora exclaimed. "Your illusions as always show great creativity and finesse."
The sorcerer bowed with a sad smile; with a fumbling hand, he grasped at the small bag that Basil tossed to him as he straightened. With head down, he turned and shuffled out the way he had come, the gathering making more room for his passage than had been done for the queen.
Alodar rubbed the side of his face and then shook his head. How real the sorcerer's illusions had been! There was none of the blurriness of a dream, or the known hallucination of a drug, but an experience accepted by all the senses. No wonder the glance of the sorcerer was shunned. The step from illusion to enchantment seemed to be a small one and, once entrapped, one would have no hint that his will was the slave to another.
The musicians struck up a tune, and the lords and ladies maneuvered for position to dance with the queen or her suitors. Alodar hardly noticed the proceedings and shouldered his way past the crowd as it filled the center of the room. As he went throug
h the tall double doors, he saw Kelric's stooped form rounding a corner and he raced after.
"Master Kelric," he called, "a moment for consultation, it you will."
Kelric turned and frowned in irritation. "Were you one of the ladles with the low cut gowns, I might have time to listen. But for a lord's son, you have not enough gold to pay me for whatever you want."
"It is not for illusion or far-seeing," Alodar said as he drew abreast. "I seek edification and instruction and I think I have an object that will interest you greatly." He reached into the pouch at his side and withdrew the transparent sphere.
Kelric's eyebrows raised momentarily when he saw the orb, but he quickly pulled his face back into a harsh and unyielding expression. "It may well be a legendary sorcerer's eye," he said. "And if I were still in my youth, the power it represents would interest me greatly. But my vital force is nearly gone; I can feel how shallow is the reservoir that remains. And I value what days I have left far more than the thrill of thousands marching in sway to my enchantment. No, it is only minor illusion and prophecy of short range in which I will indulge, and then only after the greatest of persuasion. Take this thing and seek out one of the younger fools who choose to practice this accursed craft, one who does not yet understand the price he pays."
"But what of instruction?" Alodar asked. "Your name has become a legend throughout the kingdom. Surely you wish to pass on your mastery to another."
Kelric tipped back his head and laughed. "They ascribe to the sorcerer the most evil of motives," he said. "But even in my most vile moods, I would not think of inflicting my fate onto another." He leveled his head and looked with a penetrating stare into Alodar's eyes. "Now be off and irritate me no longer, or perhaps, after all, I will make the effort for more than a simple illusion."