Master of the five Magics m-1

by Lyndon Hardy

  Grengor rubbed his chin. "The south or west; we do not know for certain the outcome of our fortunes either way," he mused.

  "You followed me onto the wargalley's deck and into the longboat in a raging sea."

  Grengor was silent for a moment. "And into the nomad's camp." He slapped his side at last. "Forgive my hesitation, master. If you command to the west, it is to the west we will go. Rest lightly while I pass the word. We will strike into the interior tomorrow."

  Grengor went off, and Alodar felt Aeriel's touch on his shoulder. "There is still time for rest," she suggested. "Come, make yourself comfortable."

  They settled to the ground and Alodar looked up into dark eyes that reflected the flickering glows of the campfires. "I still quest for the fair lady," he said. "I do not know what we will discover in the west, but I hope that somehow it will aid in my cause."

  "I understand that." Aeriel continued her gentle stroking, "Your charge into the camp redeemed your loss of face for the miscast sorcery. That is all in the past now. The queen's favor will shift to the one who can aid her best on the morrow."

  For a long while Alodar thought of his thirst for glory, the granite spire, Vendora, and the foggy memory of Aeriel's nursing in the days past. Finally he reached out and grasped her hand in his. "But were it not for the quest…"

  Aeriel smiled. "And I understand that as well," she said.

  The huge fire crackled in the first light of dawn, and Alodar huddled close for its warmth. He tentatively stretched one of his legs forward and felt the stiffness in his calf. Idly, he fingered a chip of agate he had found on the trail and then tossed it among the clippings of herbs, twigs, rocks, and other thaumaturgical and alchemical gear he had scavenged along the way. He slapped at one of the fleas that he had acquired from the nomadic tribesmen.

  "Despite its age, the sweetbalm has done its work well, Alodar," Aeriel said beside him. "Only twelve days of healing, and already you are nearly well."

  "Yes I think I am ready to try some of the trail on my own feet," Alodar responded, rubbing his shoulder with his free hand as she leaned against him. And I will need to be far more supple when we finally reach the spire."

  "It is well that you are so steadfast in your determination," she said. "You know full well that Duncan and the others accompany your marines against their will. They seek only the smallest opportunity to show you still bemused from Kelric's spell. Once even a hint of doubt creeps into your manner, they will try to exploit it to gain control."

  Alodar nodded and looked down the trail. They were higher now, and the valley walls closed together. Rather than scattered on a broad floor, their troop snaked back in almost single file, the row of campfires strung like fiery beads on an invisible string. The trees crowded in close, taking turns eclipsing the sun as it rose into the sky. Long shafts of light filtered through the needles, bathing the dusty air in a golden glow. Alodar heard Feston's deep voice and Vendora's laugh in reply. He chafed at his self-imposed exile from her presence but, after his failure with sorcery, thought it best to resolve the mystery of the wizard's tower before approaching her again. He looked back at Aeriel and saw her staring silently into the flame.

  After several minutes, Grengor walked into view from up the trail and playfully slapped his relief guard on the back as he passed. "By the spirits, a solemn lot," he cried as he approached Alodar and Aeriel. "Did not your training maids tell you, my lady, of the danger of staring with such intensity into the blaze?"

  "Yes, that they did, Grengor," Aeriel said, shaking her head and looking up to the marine as he approached. "Many a time they warned me that the fascination of the flame was only the will of some demon in the world beyond. Reaching out and trying to bewitch me, just as the sorcerer does with his eye. And many times as a small girl I tested such old tales, too."

  "You make much too light of it, my lady," Grengor said. "Your maids instructed you well. As the romances say, it is not only by the wizard's brazier that the realms are connected; innocent flame of whatever type might serve as the means also."

  "But the sagas say that only the simplest and least powerful can come through of their own will," Aeriel protested. "Demons of true power can bridge the gap only by the intercession of a wizard. Unless he deliberately seeks to make the contact and provides the exotic ingredients for the flame, then there can be no transferal."

  "Yes, my lady, it is probably as you say," Grengor replied as he moved across the campsite. "But I shun staring at the flame nonetheless."

  Alodar rose stiffly from his sprawled position and tentatively stretched to his tiptoes. "Pause a few minutes while you can, Grengor," he said, "but we should break camp and begin the climb. I hope to be well up the mountainside and perhaps even at the base of the spire before nightfall."

  Grengor grunted as he slumped down for a moment's rest at the edge of the fire. One of the other marines rose and sent the word down the line. One by one, the fires were snuffed out. Soon the valley walls echoed with the sounds of breaking camp and loading the ponies. In half an hour, the long string was ready to march, and they started up the trail.

  The early going was easy, up a modest incline with little rock and debris to impede their progress. As the sun began to arch up to its zenith, the slope steepened and the smoothness underfoot gave way to bare rock, tumbled and cracked by the snow melts of spring.

  Alodar panted near the lead, his lips pulled into a slight grimace as he tried his weight on his healing leg. With such a large party, the pace was slow enough; but he was tiring rapidly and wished that a good place to halt would soon appear.

  "A moment, Alodar," Aeriel gasped. "I am beginning to feel the effects of the height. Should we not pause, even if we do not prepare a meal?"

  "I petition with the lady," Grengor said as he struggled to join them. "I have an itch between my shoulders that has tormented me since we broke camp this morning."

  Alodar smiled at Grengor's efforts to reach a spot high up in the center of his back. "Hold still for a moment," he said. "I will give you aid while Aeriel catches her breath."

  Grengor turned his back, and Alodar briskly began to rake the area with his hand.

  "Aieeee!" Grengor shouted and danced away. "Desist, master. Your scratch turns the itch into pain. I prefer the more gentle touch of the lady." He knelt down before Aeriel, and she cautiously laid her hand on his back.

  "Why, there is something caught underneath your tunic, Grengor," she exclaimed. "I can feel the lump of it quite plainly against my palm."

  Alodar stepped forward and ran his hand down the neck of the garment. After a few exploratory jabs, he withdrew a small, round, and barbed object. "It is an ivoryroot burr," he said. "I would not think that such a plant could grow so far north. No wonder you had discomfort this morning. Those spines would drive even the concentrating sorcerer to distraction."

  Grengor rose to his feet, flexed his shoulders and grinned. "Many a wound have I borne in silence," he said. "It seems this ivoryroot is more than a match for a marine."

  He attempted to step forward to take the lead as the rest of the party began to bunch up behind. But with a flailing stagger, he pitched onto the rocky slope, breaking his fall only at the last instant. He turned and struggled to regain his feet as a marine and two barbarians nearby began to bellow with laughter at his plight. Alodar looked down, puzzled at his usually sure-footed sergeant, and saw the reason for his fall.

  "Grengor," he said, "your bootlaces are tied together!"

  Grengor scowled first at Alodar and then at Aeriel. "Such frivolity does little for discipline on the march. I am surprised that one of you two would act so out of character."

  "But, Grengor," Aerial protested, "in no way would I do such to you. Perhaps your laces entangled themselves when you stopped to have the burr removed."

  "Unlikely that a double bucket knot could be made accidentally." Grengor retied his boots and turned to resume the climb. "Enough. I know better than to confront your denials. Just do not
be surprised if I give your campfire a wider berth in the future."

  Aeriel turned to Alodar and they exchanged questioning glances. Alodar shrugged and resumed the climb. Grengor worked out his heat as he attacked the ever-steepening mountain. Soon the entire party was again strung out in a long, thin line, clambering over the fallen rock and gasping for air.

  They traveled for barely a quarter hour more when the monotony of heel on stone was broken by an angry shout back down the line.

  "By the shields, I will have no more of this badgering." The voice carried up to where Alodar circled a large boulder in the way. "Draw your sword now, knave, and let us settle it."

  Alodar quickly limped back down the line, shouldering marines and nomads aside. He reached the commotion just as blades clanked for the first time. "To your station," he commanded the marine. "Attend to your chieftain," he shouted at the nomad. The two men stopped and momentarily stepped backwards. "Enough," Alodar concluded as he halted between them. "You both know that the gain of all depends on each of us working together, not against each other. Now what brings on such folly?"

  "He drew on me, for what cause I do not know, master," the marine said. "I unsheathed my own blade only to defend myself from his attack."

  "Away with your smooth words," the other shot back, "Look at my head and shoulders. Do you think that I sweat so much in this dry air to drench me so? Ha, now look at this one's goatskin. Empty with not a drop left for its intended purpose.

  Alodar looked back to the marine. His goatskin was flapping empty against his side. "Perhaps a leak, master," he mumbled. "And I swear I did not come near this man until he whirled about and accosted me."

  Alodar eyed the evidence, trying to formulate a reprimand that would deter the rest of his troop from such conduct while not hampering their fighting spirit. As the marine's glance dropped to the ground under Alodar's penetrating stare, a startled cry from the head of the line shot down the mountainside.

  "And now it is lady Aeriel," Alodar growled in irritation. He sighed and began to limp back up the trail. "I shall attend to your punishment later."

  He passed two nomads, huddled beside the rough path, and saw them pull their garments about them in a sudden gust of wind. A fine mist billowed down the trail. Before Alodar could react, he was surrounded in dimness. He frowned and tried to brush the fog away with his hands as he continued upwards. He felt a tingling on his exposed skin as when he accidentally had spilled one of Saxton's acids. His eyes began to sting, and only with difficulty was he able to force them open.

  He heard Aeriel call again, this time quite near. Through squinted eyelids, he could barely see her, a little distance ahead, huddled behind Grengor's bulk. Alodar joined them and Aeriel slipped from behind Grengor to his arms.

  "It came up in an instant," she said. "From totally clear to this biting fog."

  Alodar squinted out into the swirling mist, searching for an answer. Off to his right, he caught the dance of a feeble light. As he focused his attention, he heard a tiny malicious laugh. Aeriel and Grengor turned in the direction of the noise, and at that instant the breeze stopped.

  The obscuring cloud dissolved and the light grew brighter, making small random motions in the air.

  "Master," Grengor shouted. "By the flames, somehow a bottle has been broken nearby."

  Alodar started to answer, but the air totally cleared. A tiny humanoid figure stared back at him out of the diffuse brightness. Scarcely a hand high, with long double-jointed limbs covered with coarse bristly hair, the creature hovered on long, transparent, veined wings that protruded from a misshapen knob in the center of its back. The small head sat oddly out of place before horny shoulder blades and shone with burning eyes above a gross caricature of human nose and mouth.

  "Perhaps a broken bottle," Alodar said at last. "Or perhaps, Grengor, you indeed were prudent to avoid gazing at the flame these many years. We have an imp among us, no doubt about it."

  Alodar looked into the glowing eyes. He felt a sudden pressure on his shoulders and a weakness in his knees. "Kneel and submit. Submit to your master." A thin, reedy voice floated through his mind. "Resistance is futile when you are so tired."

  Alodar shook his head. "It speaks," he said aloud. "Like a sorcerer, it seeks my free will." He looked back at the small devil hovering inches in front of his face and tried to concentrate, as he had learned under Kelric's instruction.

  "Lay down your defenses," the voice continued. "I will pester unceasingly until you do."

  Alodar felt a prickly itching on his chest and back. The teeth in his lower jaw began to ache. He sensed the imp's presence in his mind, a hard and spiny ball that pulsed its message of supremacy. Like the ivoryroot burr, the sphere stabbed into his consciousness, each expansion blotting more of his free thought and increasing the distraction.

  "You cannot conquer my will," the sprite droned on, "Therefore it must be yours that will falter."

  Alodar's thoughts blurred in confusion. The itching spread to his limbs and the pain in his mouth sharpened. He felt the impulse to do as the sprite said, to be done with the aggravation. But a deeper sense of preservation halted the reaction. He filled his lungs and focused on the throbbing irritation. To shy away from the confrontation would lead only to defeat. Mentally he formed a shell around the sphere and concentrated on expunging it from his mind. "Away, detestable irritation," he ordered. "Back whence you came and bother us no more."

  The pulsing stopped for a moment, but then resumed with increasing frequency. "Submit, manthing. The itches, boils, and stings at my command will make your existence a torture. An infestation of a thousand fleas is nothing in comparison."

  "Begone," Alodar yelled as he strained to crush the ball into nothingness. "Begone before I change my mind and choose instead to keep you in a bottle." He clinched his fists and increased the mental pressure.

  The itching continued, and Alodar felt as if he were plunged in a vat of ravenous beetles. He squeezed his eyes shut. Imagining a great vice, he turned the shaft and closed the plates against the creature. For a second, nothing happened; but then, for the second time, the throbbing paused. Alodar detected a slight relaxation in the feelings which bedeviled him and pressed all the harder. The oscillations began again, but beat irregularly for only a few strokes more. With a gasp, he slammed the vice closed and felt the imp's presence pop from his mind.

  Without warning, the dancing brightness suddenly exploded in front of Alodar's nose. With a loud bang, the imp disappeared from view. Alodar blinked twice in surprise and then rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe the afterimages away. He looked quickly up and down the trail. All was quiet with no hint of a breeze.

  "An exorcism as good as any in the sagas," Grengor said. "Have you managed somehow, master, to study the craft of the wizard as well?"

  Alodar slowly shook his head. "My reaction was instinctive. Probably what any man would do if likewise confronted." He stopped and ran his hand over his cheek. "Perhaps my sorcery helped somewhat, although the sensations were remarkedly different. The imp did not have the irresistible tug of an enchanter. If I surrendered, it would have been because I gave my will to him, not because he took it. And for my own part, the sickness and reaction were not there. I just willed him away until he accepted the command."

  "But a sprite nonetheless," Aeriel marveled. "Unheard of this far north. It was remarkable enough when some spontaneously appeared in the Fumus Mountains. But here there is no source of exotic flame to help them through. I do not like it, Alodar. Throughout our history, demons have shown little concern for the doings of mankind. But now in the cold north, the interior of smouldering mountains, and the rebelling west, they are everywhere?and in not one case because of the intercession of a wizard."

  Alodar nodded and frowned in thought. He closed his eyes; instantly the vision of the spire sprang into view. "The wizard in the tomb," he said. "He will have the answer."

  Alodar wearily climbed the rise and limped to look over the edge
. Even his arms throbbed from the bounces of the trail. Quieting the nomads after the appearance of the imp had taken the better part of the day. Even without further incident their pace seemed to slow. Now at dusk, they would camp still a half day's march from his goal.

  Alodar topped the crest and his eyes widened. A high meadow, like a giant platter, rested between peaks which circled on three sides. At the far edge, butting against one of the slopes, was another barbarian camp. He quickly counted the fires and knew that they had found one of the larger tribes. A show of force might not work this time. His force was outnumbered two to one.

  Grengor and some of the others clambered to his side. "A display of peaceful intentions and quickly, too!" the marine said as he scanned the scene. "We must give them no excuse to draw their blades."

  As the rest of their troop poured over the ridge, a small advance party rapidly was formed. Alodar, Grengor, the rest of the suitors, Vendora, and two of their chieftain allies broke apart from the rest and began marching across the intervening ground to the other camp. The carcasses of two hares swung from an extended lance as an offering of friendship.

  A group of similar size left the larger encampment; midway between the two, they met under the darkening sky. Alodar stood at the head of his party, flanked by the two chieftains, and surveyed the men who faced them. Five were simply dressed in loincloths and carried swords and hide-covered shields. Two others wore vests of matted wool, and leather belts circled their waists. The man in the center towered above the rest, as tall as Rendrac had been, but trim and lean, with skin pulled tight over rippling muscles. His hair was jet black, framing deep-set, smouldering eyes over a jaw clamped with determination. His lips were thin lines, ready to challenge or yell a warning; only with difficulty could one imagine them turned upwards in a smile. His vest was lined with leather, and iron bracelets hid each of his massive wrists.