One Hundredth Magic

  “Except that the street magician asks for your coins directly,” said Alexander.

  The wizard grinned. “Exactly. So tell me, Huntsman, how goes your mission here? Have you and Counselor Thornwell made any progress?"

  “Not as much as I'd like,” admitted Alexander. He shook his head and glanced at Kandys, who was watching the two men intently. “The victims just don't seem to have anything in common."

  “And that commonality is vital to your ... well ... work?"

  “'Vital’ is a good way to describe it."

  “I see.” Pellorin was silent for a moment. “I imagine today's events won't make things any easier on you."

  “Yeah. I've been wondering if I'd be smart to head for the nearest gate,” said Alexander. “Home is sounding pretty good to me right now.” He paused for a moment, ready to end the conversation, then thought of another question. “Tell me, what kind of magician would it take to set that creature loose in the city?"

  “One far stronger than I. You saw how difficult it was to just defend myself from it. I could live another hundred years and never have the power to control a thing like that."

  Pellorin set his mug on the table and fussed with the wide sleeves of his robe for a moment, then adjusted his belt. He glanced about the tavern and finally turned his gaze back to Alexander.

  “There's something I should tell you,” he said. “I think you'll find it useful, but I'm not certain I should be sharing it outside the Emperor's court.” He looked at Kandys, who regarded him without blinking.

  “She knows how to keep a secret,” Alexander said.

  The wizard nodded. “The man you seek must be a magician, or have the aid of one. And he's no duffer—none of us have been able to glean anything useful in the carnage he's left."

  “You've tried?” Alexander already knew the answer from his conversations with Adriana but wanted to get the wizard's version unbiased.

  “Many times. Even in the general's quarters the killer left no arcane trace of himself. There was a heavy presence of magic around de Niron's body, but nothing that could be traced back to the originator. Usually when a spell of any real power is cast in the city, those of us who are attuned to such things will feel the forces gathering. Some of us can even identify the caster by the lingering traces of magic, much like you might recognize a lady from the unique perfume she wears.”

  Pellorin bowed awkwardly toward Kandys, who smiled in return. Alexander's heart jumped slightly and he forced himself to concentrate on the wizard's lecture. He might be fleeing this city at a moment's notice, he reminded himself. Starting a romantic interlude would be a poor idea.

  “I've assisted Nikkolynda on major conjurations at times. Once, though he'd left the room three hours earlier, I was able to feel his impression with a scrying stone. Don't look so amazed; it's a simple enough feat if you know how to do it. What truly is amazing, and frightening to boot, is that I stood in General de Niron's quarter not thirty minutes after his murder, and I couldn't feel the slightest shred of the magician. And believe me, Huntsman, there was no shortage of magic in that room. I've rarely felt the presence of such power, even when Nikkolynda was—well, no need to get into that. I've probably confused you enough already. Suffice to say, you should be quite prepared to break that chain if you come across our renegade magician."

  The wizard drained the last of his ale and climbed to his feet. He leaned on the back of his chair while testing his weight on his injured ankle, then straightened.

  “My thanks for the ale, Huntsman,” he said. “I hope it won't be the last time we drink together."

  “Pellorin,” said Alexander, “Addamantia doesn't have a magician capable of what happened today."

  The wizard smiled, but his eyes remained somber. “Neither does Hurst, my friend."

  * * * * *

  Soto watched as Kalnai and Teriya exited the inn, speaking briefly to one another before striding off in opposite directions. The exile let Kalnai disappear from sight before hurrying after Teriya. The streets were still wet with the aftermath of Nikkolynda's storm, but a few early evening stars were visible through the dissipating clouds. Soto's face wrinkled with distaste at the heavy feel of moisture in the air. He glided over the pavestones smoothly, avoiding the eyes of the few others on the street tonight. He was well aware of their suspicious looks; he knew the rumors of Addamantia's responsibility for the spider had spread like a grassfire before the wind. It didn't surprise him that the resultant xenophobia extended beyond distrust of Addamantians. Westerners weren't particularly comfortable with his kind at the best of times. In fact, only Fenric's intervention had kept the City Guard from escorting Mezzino's group outside the city walls.

  In two days the prince would allow the banishment, and the Burning Men would only be allowed inside the city during the day. Two days—just enough time for Soto to sow some dissension amongst the clan, if he could corner a feyrhakin, and if that feyrhakin trusted the Westerners less than he would trust a Sandlander exile.

  Teriya was headed toward the southern gate. Soto guessed that he was going to perform a troop review or relay orders from Mezzino. He hurried his pace, wanting to catch the feyrhakin while he was still alone. Coming up from behind, he stepped heavily to make Teriya aware of his presence. Teriya turned and his eyes widened. His hand twitched reflexively toward his hip, but he didn't draw his oblatt scimitar. Soto kept his own arms loose at his sides. He gave a sharp nod as he approached the other Burning Man.

  “Good evening, brother,” said Soto. “I'm pleased to see that your fandyiha has allowed you to go armed. A sensible precaution in a city that seems to have such large insect problems.” He tipped his head toward Teriya's scimitar.

  “You seem well prepared for battle yourself.” Teriya's tone was guarded. Soto's thaumarekh perceptions took in the twitch of muscles at the corner of his umber eyes as well as the tautness of his lower arms. Teriya was obviously afraid of the exile but willing to fight if forced. Soto made sure his hands remained in the other Sandlander's sight, well away from his pouches and weapons. Teriya, however, seemed fixated on Soto's iron collar. Over his shoulder, Soto saw a small knot of soldiers watching them from a short distance.

  “Walk with me, brother,” said Soto. “I have information that your fandyiha will find interesting."

  They turned and continued toward the southern gate, Teriya drifting slightly away from Soto as they walked. “Why don't you tell the fandyiha yourself?”

  Soto smiled and tapped his collar. “I find that most of my brethren have an innate distrust for one such as myself. I'm fortunate to find a feyrhakin who'll listen to me, much less a fandyiha."

  The soldiers stared at the pair of Sandlanders as they walked past. Two of them leaned on long spears while the other four fingered their sword hilts or fidgeted with the buckles on their mail shirts. Soto gave them a wave and one of the men nodded back.

  “I suppose I can pass a message to the fandyiha, if you wish,” said Teriya.

  “I'll simply tell you what I know, and let you judge how best to use the knowledge. You're of Crag Vysthuk, are you not?"

  “Of course,” said Teriya, unconsciously brushing the brocaded clan sigils on his dark robe.

  “Then I assume you're in the Western Realm seeking your clan's grimoire?"

  Teriya whirled, drawing his scimitar in one smooth, lightning-fast motion. The warrior-mage, however, was already two steps away, hands raised defensively before him.

  “What do you know of our grimoire?” Teriya demanded.

  “I may know where it is.” Soto forced himself not to smile as Teriya leaped forward and grasped him by the front of his robe. He let himself be manhandled into a shadowed doorway. His calm expression never wavered as the oblatt tip of Teriya's scimitar hovered near his eye.

  “Where is our grimoire?"

  Soto didn't hesitate. “In the wizard's tower, feyrhakin."

  “The Prime Wizard? Nikkolynda?"

  He nodded.

/>   “Great Death!” said Teriya. “I knew that bastard had something to do with it.” He slammed his scimitar back into its sheath then blinked at Soto, as if noticing the exile's presence for the first time. He released Soto's robe and smoothed the front.

  “My apologies,” he said. “The theft of our grimoire is a very sensitive subject for the entire clan."

  “As it should be,” said Soto. He led the feyrhakin out of the doorway and back onto the street. A rickshaw clattered by, occupied by a drunken dwarf bawling garbled songs in his native language.

  “I've little love for those who sent me to this realm,” said Soto, “but neither will I sit idly by while men and dwarves steal the heart of a crag. I'm amazed your people haven't stormed the city by force."

  “Our fandyiha insists on caution. Admittedly, we haven't been certain of the grimoire's whereabouts, until know. How is it that you—?"

  “I've worked as a mercenary since coming to this horrible marsh. Guarding trade caravans, driving off scrymgers, that sort of thing. I've had some contact with, well, the more unsavory aspects of western society."

  “I find nearly all aspects of western society unsavory.” Both Sandlanders laughed. Dusk was nearly gone, and a crier appeared at the next intersection. The man held a long pole with a lighted wick at the end. He touched it to the slow-burning candle in the streetlamp, then used a hook on the opposite side of the pole to close the lamp's window.

  “A few months ago, I was contracted to escort a caravan into the desert. I was quite eager for the job—though I may not return freely, as part of a foreign trade caravan my presence would have been acceptable. Granted, I'd be restricted to the outer level of the crag, and the caravan wasn't going to my own home; but to feel the rock around me and walk the sand again, it would—never mind. The point is, I would have taken this assignment without pay. But the day before the caravan left I was told my services weren't needed after all.

  “The trade master gave no explanation for the decision. He simply sent a messenger with a small remuneration and a note. I was infuriated, obviously, but helpless to change his mind. The caravan left, and I sought other work. Then I learned that on the day I'd been released three other guards had been hired. I thought this strange and began asking questions. According to my friends in the underbelly of this disgusting city, I'd been dismissed because of my origin. It seemed that the trade mission was a sham to cover the theft of a clan relic, and the trade master was afraid that I, being of the sand, would work against him."

  “Would you have?” asked Teriya.

  Soto stopped and stood defiantly, hands on his hips. “If I'd known they were out to steal a clan's grimoire I would've left their bodies for the sandflies."

  Teriya stopped with him. The southern gate was in sight, illuminated by numerous torches. Even from this distance they could see the abnormally large number of guards. Fury still shone in Teriya's eyes, but the feyrhakin had harnessed his outward display and appeared nothing more than thoughtful. “My clan thanks you,” he said. “We will retrieve our grimoire, and I expect my fandyiha will thank you himself.” Hesitating for just a second, Teriya stepped forward and offered his hand.

  Soto clasped hands with the other Sandlander and felt clearly the mixture of fear, gratitude and hatred. He wondered briefly whether Teriya would broach the subject with Mezzino or attempt to retrieve the grimoire on his own. No matter, as long as the fabrication caused dissension between the Burning Men and the westerners.

  “Good fortune to you, brother,” said Soto.

  “Good fortune to you,” said Teriya, and turned toward the gate.

  * * * * *

  The sky through Nikkolynda's window was filled with stars but the moon hid behind the last of the clouds. The stone table at the center of the room had been cleared off; one of Adam's first tasks was to learn the proper place on the shelves for all of Nikkolynda's devices and supplies. The frog sat on its perch, tongue flicking out occasionally as if it were tasting the weariness that had filled the air as Nikkolynda staggered back to his quarters some six hours earlier.

  Adam sat quietly in a chair next to the worktable. He'd awoken nearly an hour ago and found a note from Nikkolynda indicating the Prime Wizard's wish that he stay close at hand. Thus, though his stomach growled, he remained in the workroom and memorized the arrangement of the shelf contents. He didn't stir when the door to the inner room opened and Nikkolynda appeared, rubbing his eyes with both hands.

  “Good evening, Adam.” Nikkolynda took at seat in the empty chair across from the boy.

  “Good evening, sir. Are you well?"

  “Well enough. Just tired now. Have you heard of today's events?"

  “Yes, sir. I listened to a few of your wizards describe the fight, and I heard people talking in the servants’ galley. They say the spider was sent from Addamantia, sir, and that His Righteousness will have to send the army south."

  “Complete crap,” said Nikkolynda. “Addamantia doesn't want war with us any more than we should want war with them. Then again, since Prince Fenric is so intent on provoking—never mind. I want to talk with you about your future, Adam."

  For the first time that Nikkolynda could remember, the boy's expression betrayed a trace of fear. The corners of his mouth turned down slightly and he blinked a number of times. “I like working for you, sir,” he said. “I'll get better, I—"

  Nikkolynda burst into laughter, great bursts of amusement that bounced around the workroom and startled the frog. The fat little creature jumped up and down on its perch, rattling the gold chain. The Prime Wizard finally noticed the confused look on Adam's face and brought himself under control.

  “I'm sorry,” he said, “but that was priceless. The perfect joke to lighten a foul day. Adam, you've seen more of my craft than even some of my wizards. I've never had an assistant as trustworthy as you.” The frog chirruped loudly and Nikkolynda waved a hand at it. “Yes, yes, except for you. Adam, you definitely have a place here as a wizard's assistant. My question is, do you have it within you to become a wizard yourself?"

  “Me?” Adam said. “Doing magic?"

  “Yes, that's generally a requirement of the Emperor's wizards."

  “How—?"

  “You'll spend some of your time in formal training with the other apprentices. Most of that will be taught by others, though I take a hand occasionally. You'll spend the rest of your time continuing to work for me. Once you've grasped the fundamentals, your work as an assistant will be just as educational as training with Pellorin, Sheldon and Amaut. You'll learn even more of my secrets, but you've proven worthy of them already."

  Adam considered for a moment. “Sir, will I be able to do it?"

  Nikkolynda set his elbows on his knees and cradled his chin in his hands as he stared at the boy. He tapped his fingertips against his cheeks. “A very wise question. I believe the answer is yes, though I can't be certain. The ability to channel the forces of magic is borne in the blood of every creature—the question is the extent to which your ability can be developed. You'll need to realize that there are uncounted dangers in the serious pursuit of magic and some chance that you'll prove unable to perform at all. I doubt that that's the case, however. Failure will more likely mean insanity or some kind of indescribable death."

  Adam grinned. “It's strange, sir. I get confused when you're joking, and I find you funniest when you're most serious."

  “Welcome to the arcane, Adam. That kind of paradox is typical of a wizard's life."

  “When can I start, sir?"

  “Your first lessons with Sheldon and his apprentices will start tomorrow morning. Your first lesson with me will be immediate. How old am I?"

  If the question surprised Adam, he didn't show it. “You look to be seventy or more years,” he said. “But sometimes I see you walk like a young man."

  Nikkolynda grimaced slightly at the observation. He straightened in his chair and reached for the white triangle dangling from his neck. He lifted the amulet
over his head and Adam's eyes widened as the Prime Wizard began to change. The ends of his gray beard curled up, then the whiskers fell out altogether. They vanished before hitting the floor. At the same time, Nikkolynda's legs and torso seemed to stretch in both directions, until he was nearly a foot taller than before. Golden hair fell to his shoulders, and his skin pulled itself taut. The new, younger Nikkolynda handed the amulet to Adam.

  Adam studied the charm for a moment, then looked at Nikkolynda's younger face. “Why do you pretend to be old?"

  “I don't pretend—I am old. I've seen fifty-five summers,” said the wizard. “A very costly magic keeps my body in the physical condition of a twenty-year-old. To other men, however, I appear as an ancient. You see, Adam, when one swears service to an Emperor, he exposes himself to dangers other than the arcane. Court intrigue, Imperial politics—these distasteful things become a part of our everyday life. Any soldier will tell you that not revealing your entire arsenal is part of a good strategy. Thus, to the outside world, I masquerade as an old man on the brink of infirmity. You and I are the only ones who know the truth in this regard."

  The frog croaked again and Nikkolynda rolled his eyes. “Yes, and you."

  “I don't know if I'll ever be good at court politics,” said Adam. He looked again at the glittering emeralds in the amulet he held.

  “You're already quite adept at the first lesson, which is to keep your mouth shut as much as possible. The rest will come with time. Always remember, Adam, people fear the things they don't understand. How do you think people would react to finding that I don't age with the rest of the world? It's unnatural, and people hate the unnatural. That's why even a wizard loyal to the Emperor would hide his true face from the world. That's also why our work remains so secret. The sortium helps protect the city; but the making of it, which you'll learn, requires human blood. Commoners never understand the concept of hurting one to protect many.” He gestured toward the amulet. “It'll work for anyone who dons it. You may try it at your leisure."