Master of the five Magics m-1

by Lyndon Hardy

  He stood with his fists at his hips and looked in turn at each of the chieftains at Alodar's sides. "This year the game in these hills is too scarce to feed us all," he growled. "The tribesmen of Grak are as hungry as any. Begone back to the lower slopes and we will have no quarrel."

  "We do not come to compete for food," Basil called over Alodar's shoulder. "Our direction is southward to acquire great treasure that will make concerns of the stomach a minor affair. We detour to the west only so that you have the opportunity to join and share in the good fortune to come."

  Grak frowned and looked back to the chieftains. "It is as the lowlander speaks," one said. "Already he has showered us with jewels beyond even what you would dream. And mighty fighters will swing their swords among us as well. This one hacked his way through twenty men without the slightest frown of pain."

  Grak looked down at Alodar and shook his head in puzzlement. "The words of a soft lowlander can be trusted only when a sword is at his throat," he said. "Besides this small one, with what other marvels do they widen your eyes?" He took a step forward and shouldered Alodar aside.

  Alodar whirled and reached for his sword, Feston stepped in front of Vendora and Duncan began fumbling for the pouch at his side. "Hold your arms," Vendora shouted as she saw the dark eyes stare down at her. "He comes only to look."

  Grak took another step forward and Vendora, stepping from behind Feston's protection, drew herself erect. The nomad reached out and tipped her chin up, studying her face as he would appraise the booty from a battle. Vendora did not move but returned his stare unblinking. Grak touched her hair and ran a few strands through his fingers. "Like the sun," he muttered.

  "Say the word, my fair lady," Feston growled. "I will make this barbarian pay for the indignity he shows your station."

  Grak continued stroking Vendora's hair. Alodar tensed, darting his eyes back to Grak's companions and deciding where to make his first thrust. It had been foolish to bring her along to the parley, he thought. It would have been far better to ignore her command, even though she was the queen.

  "He has no perception of my station," Vendora said at last, still looking Grak in the eye. She paused and then smiled. "And if you make it known, it will be to my displeasure."

  Grak's frown returned and he looked back to Feston and the others. "Whose woman is she?" he asked. "Perhaps there is some basis on which we can barter."

  "To the four of us collectively," Duncan blurted. "No single one does she call master."

  Vendora threw back her head and laughed. "I am sure that many of our ways seem strange to you, Grak, but it is for me to decide who is to be my chieftain."

  "In the north, a man takes what he wants," Grak said.

  Vendora's face hardened. "The men of Procolon would make the price dear. You outnumber us, it is true, but many a warrior would feel the sting of our blades before it was through." She glared into Grak's eyes and then softened her expression with a smile. "And the prize is not nearly as sweet as when it is freely given."

  Grak grunted and studied Vendora for a moment more. He turned and again faced the two chieftains. "And do you adopt other lowland ways as well?" he asked. "Is there none among you who leads the others?"

  "We go to the west, another half day's journey," Alodar said. "I lead the rest to the spire, and then we turn southwards."

  "Demontooth." Grak spat. "It is folly to venture in that direction. The trees are gnarled. There is no game. And the devils give no rest to any who strive there. My father kept us well away and his father before him. How can you lead when you command your tribe so?"

  "The barbarian speaks no less than the truth," Feston cut in. "It is time we abandon this trek to nowhere and proceed southwards while we still can."

  Alodar looked at Grak, then at the doubt forming on the two chieftains' faces. He frowned and tried to weigh the chances of getting them all to continue.

  "Here, chieftain," Basil broke the silence as he handed Grak a gem. "This is a mere token of what can be yours if you cooperate with what we wish to do. We seek little of your game. In a few days, we will be well away from these hills. At the very least, you can show us the courtesy to let us pass in peace. And if you join forces with ours, your rewards will be even greater."

  Grak looked down at the jewel thrust into his hand. He idly rolled it around his palm. He stared back at Vendora and his eyes narrowed. "Camp here for two nights while we talk," he said. "I give you my permission."

  "And the west?" Alodar persisted.

  "As I have said," Grak replied, "there are demons there." He waved his arm at the two chieftains. "And after I have spoken with them, they will not go either. It is only the trip south that we will discuss."

  "Then if it is to take two days," Alodar said, "there is time enough for me to make the journey alone. I will be safely returned before you are done."

  Vendora looked at Alodar in surprise but quickly pushed her puzzlement aside. She studied Grak and then his campfires. "The strength of your tribe would aid me greatly," she said, "and as Basil has stated, if you join forces with ours, your reward could be even greater."

  Grak stood in silence contemplating Vendora's words. "Perhaps our talk will touch on more than a trek south," he decided.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Demontooth Tower

  ALODAR glanced over his shoulder as he started down the other side of the pass. The meadow that held Grak's tribesmen disappeared from view. He looked ahead and visualized the contours of the trail. Rather than moving further upstream, it looked as if he must traverse two valleys to reach the spire. And even though foraging took the entire morning, he should reach the base of the tower by nightfall. He touched the small pack on his back and felt the reassuring lumps of his rations and the implements of his crafts.

  From what Grak had said, he need not worry about blundering into another group of nomads along the way. And by leaving Grengor and the rest behind, the chance of losing control of the group was lessened. He flexed his fingers, stretching the tendons in his arm. The sweetbalm-accelerated healing had continued, and the soreness was less than the day before. He broke into a slow jog to test his muscles further. For over an hour he bounded along in silence. The descent reversed into a gentle rise and he climbed upwards towards the next pass.

  When Alodar reached the saddlepoint and looked into the valley, his face broke into a smile. There on the other side, jutting up higher than the surrounding slopes, was the spire which had been such a persistent vision. He scanned the intervening terrain and then suddenly halted. As the queen's party had climbed from the shore, the transition from woodlands to forest had been gradual, the short broadleafed trees slowly giving way to the evergreen conifers and firs. But here the change was abrupt and startling. The pines were stunted, some reaching only twenty feet above the ground. Green mixed with equal parts of brown and gray. No tree was without dead and naked branches. Bare and broken snags knifed into the sky. Under the sparse canopy of scraggly limbs, the ground was as sterile as the trail, dust and bare rock uncluttered with smaller plants or decaying mulch.

  On the far slope, the trees thinned as they approached the monolith, until only a few gnarled dwarfs sparsely dotted the mountainside. Across the entire canyon, the air hung with a deathly quiet. No birds sang, no insects buzzed, no rodents chattered around the trunks. The strangeness of the scene, now that he finally saw it, tinged his elation with an unsettling apprehension. Cautiously he resumed his tread, darting his eyes into the thin forest on either side of the trail.

  Another two hours passed, and Alodar reached the nadir of his traverse of the valley. He scrambled across boulders in a dry stream bed and noted that here and there an occasional low lying shrub broke the monotony of the uncovered ground. As he skirted a big rock directly in his path, he heard a sudden rustling in a nearby bush. Many small lizards had scampered away as he pounded along the trail in the preceding valley, but this noise was louder and hinted at something of much larger size.

&nb
sp; He felt a gentle prickling in his mind that reminded him of the sprite he had exorcised the day before. He drew his sword and stepped forward. Where the undergrowth was thickest he jabbed with his blade.

  "There is no need, there is no need." A form roughly the size of a small pig leaped into the air. "I will provide for you delights undreamed and without the use of force. All you have to do is ask."

  Alodar blinked and looked at the figure suddenly hovering before him. The smooth skin shimmered in an iridescent purple and, except for the face, was covered by a bristly stubble of black hairs. The eyes were owl-like, golden and seeming to glow from small lights within. A pointed nose twice the length of a man's sat on top of a small puckered mouth. Unlike the sprite, no wings sprouted from the spindly back; thin, rubbery limbs curled tightly around the bulbous torso. The demon floated with no visible means of support.

  "Begone, whence you came," Alodar said. "I dispatched your impish brother and have no need for you."

  "Do not judge so rashly," the devil said. "I am no mere sprite whose only powers are to distract and irritate with feeble rashes and common pranks." The small mouth pulled into a deep smile that spread the rubbery face from ear to ear. "The sun is hot and there is no breeze. Would not a sip of water from melted snow provide a refreshment that the hot waterskin at your side could not equal?"

  Before Alodar could reply, the devil waved a slender hand and produced a flask filled with ice. "Here," it said as it decanted a gurgling stream into a clear cup. "This is but a small token of what can be yours."

  Alodar watched the water bubble in the cup. He ran his tongue across his suddenly dry lips. "Why do you submit so easily?" he asked. "I would think that you would contest my will even more strongly than the sprite."

  "Submission, surrender, putting aside resistance? It is a detail that need not concern us now." The demon shrugged and pushed the container forward. "Refresh your throat, and then we can progress to more intense desires."

  Alodar frowned and knocked the cup aside with a flick of his blade. "The sagas speak of no gift from demonkind that does not ultimately bear a price," he said.

  "A shrewd bargainer, I see," the demon replied without breaking his smile. "Then perhaps the satisfaction of a more sophisticated urge will change your mind."

  The air crackled and Alodar suddenly felt a gentle brush across the nape of his neck. He whirled about, sword still extended, and looked into the face of a dark-skinned dancing girl, silently gyrating to an unheard rhythm. Her dark eyes beckoned; with a playful snap, she flicked one of her scarves at Alodar's blade. A long swath of cloth was looped around her neck, over her breasts, and tucked into the top of diaphanous pantaloons. The afternoon sun silhouetted her nimble legs. Her bare arms fluttered with the motions of the dance.

  "And this is no mortal sorcerer's illusion that is in your mind's eye," the demon said over Alodar's shoulder. "Step forward and discover that she is a delight to the touch as well."

  The dancer gracefully advanced and flowed past Alodar's guard. She reached up and ran her fingertips down his cheek and then pressed her body to him.

  "Just place your trust in my hands," the devil continued. "Delegate your cares of this world to my attention. I will see that all is taken care of, and your petty concerns will trouble you no more."

  The dancer clasped her hands behind Alodar's neck. Rubbing herself against his chest, she stretched on her tiptoes and bent back her head. Alodar shook his head. With his free hand he reached behind his neck and gently pushed the girl away. "The lass will avail you no better than the water," he said.

  The dancer suddenly vanished, and the demon streaked from behind to face Alodar again. "Then to the crux of the matter. Perhaps you would prefer pleasure undistorted by the infidelity of your feeble senses."

  Before Alodar could speak, a gentle prickling moved in his mind and seemed to brush against a sensitive nodule buried deep in his consciousness. The pressure expanded with a burst of energy, and a sudden wave of pleasure radiated through his body: the drowsy comfort of falling asleep; the exhilaration of a last-second victory; the breaking of a three day fast; the softness of a woman's body; the spice of the newly mastered craft. The delights mixed together in a jumble that made Alodar gasp. With tears in his eyes he slipped to his knees and let his sword fall from his grasp.

  He tried to focus on his peril. Before the thought could be half formed, a second pulse triggered the reaction and he pitched forward to the ground, drowned by the ecstasy that flowed over him. He rolled over onto his back and sprawled on the ground, breathing shallow gulps of air as the feeling slowly faded away.

  "It is yours for the asking, continual and everlasting," the devil said as he floated over Alodar's chest and peered down. "Merely surrender your will to mine and you will have strokes of bliss that come in an unending procession.

  Alodar slowly rose to sitting and looked at the grotesque smile. "You will never, by your own devices, experience a pleasure so intense," the demon said. "And if you do not agree, then what you have felt will be but a distant memory."

  Alodar clamped his teeth and stared at the demon. "Begone," he said weakly.

  "Such power in your words." The devil laughed. "I think one more sample should seal the bargain."

  Alodar tensed, trying to rally a defense against the next onslaught, but at the same time savoring the anticipation. How could anyone resist such an overpowering feeling? He banged his fist against the ground in frustration as he realized what his next answer would be. A pulse of dull pain ran down his arm from a wound not yet completely healed, and he blinked as an idea struck him.

  "But a moment," he said to the devil as he fumbled in his pack. "I think what I construct here will help me decide." He withdrew a small forked branch from a fallen tree and then rapidly coiled a hair from his head around the stem. "You see, with imagination," he said, holding the figure forward for inspection, "one can construe this as a simple model of a mortal man. And the most critical element is the piece of wire from a discarded pack clamp I bind to one of the arms, not unlike the fiber that carried sensory messages to the brain. Finally, for the energy, my body heat should be enough."

  Without pause, Alodar raced into a spellbinding. Before the devil could react, the connection was complete. The demon flapped one of his hands on a rubbery wrist. "Enough stalling," he ordered. "Drink again of my sweet nectar and tell me if you can then forsake it ever more." Alodar felt the touch of the devil's presence. As the rapture spread through his head, he grabbed a sharp rock and pressed it savagely against the wire. A numbing shock exploded in his arm and he screamed with pain. A ripping sting ran up into his head, mingling with the feeling of pleasure before it could completely form. The diluted ecstasy soaked through his body, but the raw intensity was not so great as before. Gasping for breath, Alodar rose to his feet, dangling, his limp arm at his side. "Begone, I command you," he whispered hoarsely.

  Rows of wrinkles undulated across the devil's forehead. "A strong resistance," he said, "but surely you cannot withstand one more."

  As the next pulse came, Alodar planted his foot over the simulacrum and ground his heel against the wire. His knees buckled and his vision blurred. He felt as if a red hot saw were slicing his flesh and reopening the wound. The bubble of pleasure grew for an instant but then burst into nothingness. The searing hurt swept it away in a torrent of agony. All feelings were blanked. Alodar struggled to remain conscious in the maelstrom of pain. He gulped for air and tried to focus on the purple demon hovering before him.

  The devil backed away a few feet, and then his face sagged into a comic frown. "What is your wish, master?" he asked. "Do you desire a woman of a different type, or perhaps to tempt an enemy into the bliss from which he cannot escape?"

  Alodar broke the thaumaturgical connection and the pain disappeared. "I command you to depart this world," he panted. "I have no use for your powers until I understand how to use them well." He stopped and regained his breath. "And I care not to have
the temptation of your presence to distract me as I struggle to my goal. Back to the world of demons from which you came."

  "But it has taken centuries for me to bridge the gap, master. And my duty is to ensure that no one passes. My punishment will not be light if I return with a tale of failure. If you have no need, them let me wrestle with another for his will."

  "Depart," Alodar said.

  The sad expression twisted into a scowl. "Very well, master, since it is your command. But know that when I return, I will tell others. You proceed to a far greater doom than what I so generously offered."

  Alodar retrieved his sword and waved it in irritation. The purple skin of the devil suddenly glowed into incandescence and then disappeared from view. The air popped as it rushed to fill the void where he had been.

  Alodar slowly sheathed his blade and scanned the valley floor. He listened for another rustling but heard instead only the oppressive silence. His arm throbbed, and the thought of immediately plunging ahead was suddenly distasteful. He struggled to recapture the feeling of bliss but the last hint decayed away. With a shudder, he sagged to the ground for a short rest.

  Alodar pulled his cloak about him. All along the final upgrade to the base of the tower, the breeze had intensified. Now as he topped the last rise, he squinted to keep the swirling dust out of his eyes. The mountains further west hid the descending sun. The heat of the day was gone, but dustdevils danced along the trail.

  A level clearing surrounded the base of the spire, three times as wide as the monolith itself. Around the perimeter, stunted bushes and gnarled trees huddled close to the ground, their branches twisted sideways and leaves tattered and torn. The tower flung itself into the sky, steep, sharp and angular, defying the elements to pull it down. It was cold and unyielding, one huge rock without fissure, a subtle pink flecked with shiny black, totally unlike the surrounding hills which crumbled under his heels.

  Alodar ran his hand over the surface. It was a plane extending twenty feet in either direction, straight and flat as if cut by a giant knife. He moved to the side where a second plane intersected the first. They met in a shallow angle and the boundary, sharp as a crystal's, soared into the sky. Like an irregular polyhedron thrust into the ground, all angles, lines, and planes, the spire stood in jarring contrast to its surroundings.