by Lyndon Hardy
Now there was only the eye and the eye was everything. The blackness was complete; he could not see. The silence was complete; he could not hear. He was composed of nothingness; he could not feel. But the eye was there. The eye would provide; the eye would guide him. What was proper for him to see, he would be shown. What was proper to hear, he would hear. What was proper for him to feel, he would feel.
Gradually and gently, he began to perceive. At first it was only a whisper and, because there was nothing else, he dwelt upon it; the murmur grew into a hiss of surf on sand. As it did, the darkness lifted; the sun shone behind him, lighting a gentle sea, broken only by a single mast standing above the tide. The sea ran upon a beach, a beach that stretched off in the distance to the south and butted against hard granite hills to the north.
He felt the wind course about him, heard the call of gulls above the beach. The scene before him shimmered for an instant. Then, where there had been no one, a tired old man was sitting in the sand. Without asking, Alodar knew the man was Kelric the sorcerer. He heard a cough behind. Without turning, he knew of the marines and the men of the court of Procolon.
He watched the sorcerer without feeling. And as he waited, he felt himself take form, felt the layers build upon the seed that sprang into being as he watched. He was Alodar, Alodar the journeyman thaumaturge, the alchemist's apprentice, and the neophyte magician. Feeling coursed through his limbs. He was Alodar the fighter and he felt a restlessness welling up in him, to take form and guide him to action. He felt a desire to strike, to bring forth blood, to hack until be could hack no more. And it felt right. He was Alodar and this was his purpose for being.
He rose to his feet, eyes still on the sorcerer who somehow held his attention. Behind the huddled form he saw a woman, looking away, walking slowly along the beach. She was beautiful, cheeks aglow, crimson hair flowing behind as the waves rolled up to touch her bare feet.
In a flash he was Alodar the suitor as well as the fighter. As he looked at the woman, something began to matter greatly. It bubbled up beside the desire to fight and it grew angular and sharp and sawed at his mind for attention. But the lust for blood flamed higher, and the edges of the other desire shrank beside it. The sharpness rounded and it subsided. She was only Aeriel, a lady of the court. He was Alodar the journeyman thaumaturge, the alchemist's apprentice, the neophyte magician?but most of all, Alodar the warrior.
The feeling exploded within him and he drew his sword with a mighty flourish and a piercing scream. Without waiting for the others, he turned and raced out of the camp, across the sand, and to the fight, to the blood that beckoned him from the hills to the north.
Like a machine of the thaumaturges, Alodar stomped forward with an even cadence up and over the low dunes, across the gullies that emptied to the sea, striding evenly, breathing evenly, not pausing to check his direction or how far he had gone.
He was aware of the others scurrying behind, trying to keep pace. Once, after an hour, two of the marines raced by carrying the sorcerer between them on a makeshift stretcher. The old man raised himself shakily on one arm as they came alongside and looked Alodar deeply in the eyes. Alodar paid him no heed. After a moment, Kelric signaled that all was well. His bearers dropped back to join the throng behind.
The sun sank towards the west, casting the men's shadows before them as they finally climbed through a cut in the hills. At the narrow pass, Alodar felt a sudden compulsion to pause. He waited for the rest to draw up beside him and look down to a cove beyond.
They saw a narrow finger of the sea crook inland in the midst of a scattering of small campfires. Around each, two or three men sprawled in relaxation, talking, picking fleas from each other, and gnawing on the remains of the evening meal. Nearest the inlet, one roared with laughter, holding high a silver cup and wiping the back of his hand on a woolly vest. On the peninsula of land between the bay and the sea, women and children clustered about low-slung tents and hobbled ponies.
"It is as the captive painted it," Grengor said. "If we hurry we can take them as they eat."
"Then let us group at the outcropping over there," another man replied. "With master Alodar rushing out, and a bit of luck, he will have the chieftan down just as we show ourselves and charge."
Alodar heard grunts of agreement, and the desire to rest quickly passed. The bloodthirst rose again, and he jerked at the hilt of his sword. He struck out in the lead down the hillside, scrambling over the rocks and just barely remaining behind cover. The urgency boiled higher, and his nostrils flared in anticipation. The rest followed behind as he descended the irregular trail.
Halfway down, his view suddenly blurred. As he lurched around a large boulder, he did not see the cove, but more of the hills leading to higher mountains in the distance. In the very center, a monolith of cold granite soared into the sky. Alodar stopped and blinked in confusion. He was Alodar the bloodspiller, with a purpose soon to be fulfilled. There was no room in his existence for anything but his mission.
But the spire compelled, and he felt himself drawn forward. He seemed to skim over the rough ground. Like a tiny leaf blown by the wind, he hurled to the tower. At its base, his compulsion grew, and he launched himself up the side. Hand over hand, as rapidly as he seemed able, he climbed into the sky, drawing nearer to whatever called him. In an instant he neared the peak and stopped to stare at what was before his eyes. The stone was smooth, with no more grips to pull him higher; but directly in front, protruding from the rock, was the tarnished surface of an ancient bracelet.
As Alodar reached forward to pull it from the wall, the vision wavered and blurred. He felt the presence of the eye expand in his mind, growing, consuming, absorbing into blackness the sights about him. The scene flashed away and he looked down into a cove populated by a small tribe of barbarians. He blinked again, but the image remained firm.
He resumed his hurried descent, untroubled by what he had seen and intent only on what he was meant to do. Down the hillside the party went, until at last they stood poised at the outcropping, barely fifty yards from the small camp at the water's edge. With perfect calmness, Alodar marched out from the hiding place and headed straight for the barbarians, his hand on the hilt of his sword and his gaze steady.
The men in the camp spotted him almost immediately. Alodar heard an order barked from the water's edge as two men rose to meet him. He closed half the distance and scanned those still seated, marking for sure the one who commanded them.
"Drop your arms," the two guardsmen growled in unison as he approached. Alodar took but two more steps and felt the last restraint hurl away. The lust for blood billowed up. With a frenzy, he drew his sword. Swinging it high overhead, he ran at the two with a chilling yell.
The man on the right cleared his blade of the scabbard but did not have time to use it. Alodar's sword swung down into his shoulder with a bone-breaking thud. As the man sank, clutching spasmodically with his free hand the wound, Alodar pulled his sword backwards and wrenched it free. The other nomad stood openmouthed, still not comprehending the folly of such a suicidal attack. Alodar thrust his dagger into the nomad's stomach with his left hand in a swiping zigzag that spilled the man to the ground.
The men behind all scrambled to their feet. The ones nearest instinctively drew their swords as Alodar thundered into their midst. They formed a shallow bowl around him, animal hide shields high and swords pointing out. Alodar looked beyond, down to the water's edge, where he saw the chieftain now on one knee, peering in puzzlement at the commotion.
Using sword and dagger together, Alodar lunged at the two immediately in front. As his blade skittered off their shields, he bolted around them. The man on his left slashed backwards, and Alodar felt the sharp edge of pain race through his left arm. He convulsively dropped his dagger and faltered for a step, his vision fogging from the blow. But the urge to run amok welled up even stronger and beat down the pain, hurling it away. With the arm dangling at his side spewing blood, he sprinted down the beach to hi
s target.
The chieftain rose to his feet, barking new orders to the men scattered along the way. Behind Alodar, the original group pounded after, now out of sword reach but sealing off all retreat. Glancing quickly to the side, Alodar saw a bowman nock an arrow and began to track his progress across the sand. One arrow sailed by in front, and then a second fell inches behind.
He burst across the logs which defined the chieftain's campfire and closed upon the three men who still stood between him and his goal. With a savage yell, he hacked low underneath the falling shield on his right and hit just above the ankle, sweeping the man from his feet. The two on the left both slashed downward on his unprotected side but missed as Alodar dipped and scrambled forward.
The man nearest swung again, this time in a low horizontal arc. The point reached Alodar's calf, and his leg buckled. The leader and the two aides closed about him, each eager to deliver a mortal blow.
The pain coursed up through his leg and spine as Alodar struggled to stand and get past the chieftain's guard. Three blades were raised against him, but he concentrated only on one, trying to find an opening before they fell.
Suddenly beyond the periphery of the camp, a mighty yell arose and the marines and the rest of the royal party charged into view. The three swordsmen hesitated and turned to see the cause for the commotion. Alodar saw his chance. He swung his sword up into the air, reversing his grip, and plunged it daggerstyle at the face of the leader. The point caught the barbarian in the left eye and snapped his head backwards with the fury of the blow.
The other two nomads spun back to see their leader fall and then dropped their jaws as they saw Alodar standing with both arms at his side, staring vacantly. One took a step forward, sword still high, but then hesitated to look back at the wall of men racing his way.
Alodar felt the fury slowly subside and the pain from leg and arm return. As the delayed blow slashed down, his leg again buckled. The sword caught him in the flesh of the shoulder and deflected off and down into the sand. Without caring, he saw the nomads waver and then throw down their swords.
The world without fell away and the crescendo of the pain rose higher. In desperation Alodar sought out the eye, the eye which had comforted him, which had provided for him, which gave him his reason for being and protected him from pain.
But the presence was not there and the pain grew stronger, throbbing through limb and torso and beating on the fiber of his brain with ever-increasing strokes of lightning. Alodar groped for a touchstone, some reference point in the void to guide him to the eye, but none was there. Then, as he was on the edge of consciousness, a vision came of a granite crag, a bracelet embedded in its peak, and the sleeping form of a great wizard. As the pain finally overwhelmed him, Alodar clawed the air, reaching out to grasp at the strange force which beckoned him over the hills.
PART FIVE
The Wizard
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Improbable Imp
"LOOK, Grengor, he stirs." Alodar heard the words filter through the numbness that permeated his entire body. He opened his eyes slowly and saw Aeriel's auburn curls cascading down about his face. He shifted the position of his head and felt her caress on his cheek. A dull throb pounded in his head.
"Gently, Alodar," she said softly. "My lap will serve as well as any cradle till you mend. There was some sweetbalm in the chieftain's plunder but it was far from freshly brewed. It closed the wounds and stimulated the regrowth, but it still will be some time before you are whole."
Alodar frowned as dim memories stirred. A bouncing ride, thin acorn gruel forced between his lips, Aeriel's soft words, sunlight and campfires swirled together in a blur. He looked out into the evening light and saw a dozen campfires scattered about the slopes of a wide-mouthed valley. The hills came together like cupped palms, and ferns and long-stemmed grasses clustered near the small stream that ran where they touched. On the slopes, the naked oaks were few, and stately pines soared over a hundred feet into the sky. Ponies whinnied in the distance, mixing their cries with the guttural accent of the north-men's voices. In the group nearby, two tangle-haired women served the queen, while one of the marines passed a waterskin back to a chieftain.
Alodar opened his mouth to speak, but Grengor cut him off. "Fear not, master. After your deed, not a man among us begrudges your weight. Your litter will be carried all the way back to the palace halls in Ambrosia if it need be. Each bearer remembers that, because of your wounds, he did not receive any.
"And the barbarians regard you as some great hero from the sagas. We tell them that you sleep in peace, that if they do not heed your followers' commands, once again they will face your terrible wrath. Why, in the eight days that you drifted in and out of your swoon, the first tribe's terrified tale and Basil's beads have swollen our forces many fold. We are nearly a hundred now, moving southward for the queen."
"It is not quite so simple, Grengor," Aeriel said. "I have seen the petty quarrels and heard the whispered conversations among these hastily assembled allies. Basil's gems and Feston's promises for greater reward will not keep their attention forever. As the ranks swell, they will become much more difficult for the few of us to manage."
"I am as aware of the truth as you, my lady," Grengor assured her. "Under the circumstances, our present course seems the best. A hundred men will make no difference in Procolon's defense, but there is no time to build a large and disciplined army. We must move down the line of hills that parallels the coast as rapidly as we can, convincing whomever we find along the way to enlist in the cause of the fair lady. Each of us now directs six or seven of the nomads. With a bold front, perhaps we can command ten times that number. If we are lucky, we will cross the border with more than a thousand swords."
Alodar struggled to sit up. "Grengor," he said, "the crag, the wizard's tower to the west, where the snow dips to the hills. How many days for all of us on foot? We must go there."
"Be not alarmed, my lady," Grengor told Aeriel. "It is but a delirium. A small phantasm from having undergone the charm of the sorcerer. As the body mends, so will the mind."
Alodar still felt sick and dizzy from his miscast charm. The sweetbalm was no longer potent enough to blot out all of the pain. "Fetch Kelric, I say. He must interpret the vision. We cannot choose our course until it is settled."
"He alone of our troop has perished," Grengor said. "Even with the aid of the eye, he gave up the little power that remained within him to quell your pain and guide your final thrust into the chieftain's brain. Indeed, had he not so passed from us, you still would be only what he chose to make of you."
Grengor paused and looked off into the distance. "But in the end, I think he judged his choice to be the right one. As he sank away, the queen pronounced him a suitor for his deed in her behalf. His last expression was a smile rather than a scowl."
Alodar was silent for a moment as the news sank in, But the feeling of urgency grew and pushed his reflection aside. "There is more to the eye than just a sorcerer's tool," he said at last. "I saw and felt far beyond what Kelric impressed upon me."
"And what if it is so, master?" Grengor persisted. "The deed of the eye is done, and we must soon return to Procolon with whatever forces we can muster. Aeriel even replaced the thing in your pouch as you slept; no one else coveted it. Leave thoughts of sorcery here in the uplands. What can they possibly matter to you now?"
Alodar leaned one hand back to steady himself and closed his eyes. The scene of the hills with the mountains behind sprang into his mind, almost as vivid as it had under enchantment. Mentally he soared over the terrain and unerringly sped to the one spot that had compelled him before. The giant spire was there and inside it was a tomb. A tomb to be opened. A wizard to be questioned. The answer to a riddle for which he could not even formulate the question.
He thought of his quest for the queen; but beside this great yearning, it did not seem to matter. He wrinkled his brow in puzzlement and reached out to stroke Aeriel's arm at his side.
How could the spire connect with what he strove for? It must be an enchantment produced by the eye itself, independent of the wielder. Had he not looked, it would be no more than an idle thought to be consumed by the fires of his ambition. But the compulsion tugged and he knew he must respond.
Alodar opened his eyes and thought through what he would say. Waving aside Aeriel's restraining arm, he slowly rose to face the sergeant. He swayed for a moment and then drew in a deep breath and was steady.
"I know that it will take time as well as sweetbalm to mend my body, Grengor," he said in a slow, deliberate tone. "But my mind is clear, clear enough to know what we must do. If we continue directly south as we have, we will find only more of the smaller tribes in our path. But in my vision of far-seeing on the boat, I looked down on larger camps higher in the interior, larger tribes hunting where the game is more plentiful. It will take us longer to return to Procolon, but we must strike to the west so that we increase our chances of finding greater numbers."
"But, as lady Aeriel says," Grengor objected, "it would also mean greater risk of losing control of whatever forces we now command."
"I cannot ignore what I have seen under the spell of the eye, Grengor," Alodar said. "I must go west and seek out the answer. This beckoning I cannot explain, but the truth of it I do not doubt. If you will trust me as your leader, then I ask you to join me."
Grengor looked back at Alodar's face. "The other suitors will not be convinced easily. And if we argue in front of the barbarians, the feeble hold we have on them may vanish."
"I will go alone if I must," Alodar said, looking out over the campfires. "But if you marines and the nomads you command come, then the others will follow. We are the majority. As you say, the suitors will not risk a confrontation. They will reason that a few days detour is far better than proceeding southward with a small fraction of our party."