Magic in Ithkar

by Andre Norton

  “My Dulcesans, ignore that offal. ’Jason,’ indeed, clown more like. Imagine, my precious, trying to deceive our perceptions. Why, someone of your sensitivities should never be troubled by such as that!” Compo’s tones slid across the woman; her eyes rose to his face in that adoring, self-indulgent look Jerome knew only too well.

  Sadmust could do little as Jerome’s head strained to watch the departing pair. He struggled unsuccessfully to free the golden beard and was startled when he heard a new sound begin to issue from Jerome’s soiled lips. Quickly he moved to try to free what sounded like a swallowed tongue but realized that it was distorted laughter that rose from the wretched bundle in his arms. Jerome was managing a twisted smile, and Sadmust followed his eyes to the couple, Compo comforting, she leaning into the curve of his body. He looked quickly enough to see that Jerome’s sacrilegious and ignorant spell-making had been potent in spite of his disbelief.

  Compo was in love.

  Dragon’s Horn

  J. W. Schutz

  Tonya of Clan Sarg tossed a damp strand of her butter-colored hair off her forehead and carefully snapped the whip an inch above the right ear of the ox.

  “Come, Lightning,” she said, “I know you can do better than that.”

  Lightning, the ox, acknowledged her voice, if not the whip, by rolling an eye in her direction, but if he increased his pace, it was imperceptibly.

  Beside her on the driver’s seat of the great lumbering wagon, Tonya’s betrothed, Driss, chuckled. “Lightning’s not impressed,” he said.

  “He’d better be,” Tonya replied. “If we don’t hurry a bit, we’ll not be at the fairgrounds in time to claim Father’s good big place for the stage and the audience.”

  “Tonya, you worry too much. We’ll pay off your debt and get free of Lord Caum, really we will, even if I have to win a purse at the quarterstaff bouts.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the kind! Do you think I want to marry a man with his nose smashed flat and no teeth in his head? I’d rather be Caum’s slave. Besides, I need you for the voice of Prince.”

  “Is that all you need me for?”

  “Of course not, silly!” Tonya leaned over and kissed him. “Speaking of voices, though, we still haven’t found anyone— that we can afford, at least—to speak for King, Village Girl, and Dragon. Dragon is the most important.”

  “I could do Village Girl.” The voice of a child came from inside the wagon and was followed by the appearance of his head at the curtain behind the driver’s seat.

  “Yes, perhaps you could, Vallo,” Tonya said. “When you aren’t doing Little Dog. That still leaves us King and Dragon.”

  “Your brother’s becoming ambitious,” Driss said. “He’ll be wanting to do Lord next.”

  “Not until his voice changes,” Tonya replied.

  “I’m hungry,” Vallo said plaintively.

  “We’ll eat when we come to the ford,” Tonya said.

  “Which we’re coming to now,” Driss said. “I can see a crowd on the road ahead waiting to cross. There must have been some rain upstream.”

  The crowd thickened rapidly as Tonya’s doll-wagon approached the ford. Rain-softened ground churned up by many wagons quickly became clinging brown mud, and Lightning began to complain.

  “Looks like Vallb’s not the only hungry one,” Driss observed. “We’ll need some fodder for the beast. I’ll see what I can find if you two will fix us all a bit of lunch in the back of the wagon.”

  As Driss trotted off into the crowd Tonya eased the wagon into the end of the line, put Vallo on the driver’s seat with instructions to keep the ox moving as the line shortened,” and prepared a lunch of bread, cheese, sliced apples, and buttermilk. This done, she installed herself on the tailgate, swinging her slim legs, to wait for Driss.

  She had been there but a moment when a sturdy-looking peasant in a valet’s vest approached and made a clumsy courtly bow.

  “The day’s greetings, my lady,” he said in a singularly deep voice.

  “And to you greetings,” Tonya replied. “Although ’my lady’ is too high a title for me. What is your business?”

  “Alas, I have none at the moment. I am thinking that you and the child may need a strong helping hand at the ford and perhaps a man’s protection on the road to Ithkar. For a copper or two and a bit of that bread and cheese I offer my service.”

  “A man’s protection I have,” Tonya said, nodding in the direction of the approaching Driss, who bore a huge armload of dry hay. “Yet if you need work, I may employ you if two coppers a day and food would suit you. How are you called?”

  “Borg, ma’am. But two coppers is somewhat little.”

  “Little is what I have—in great quantities. You may pick up a bit more in tips, however, if you come with us.”

  “Tips?”

  “Yes, tips. This is a doll show, as the paintings on the wagons show. I may use you to show the patrons to their seats. Let me hear you growl.”

  “Growl, ma’am?”

  “Quite. Growl.”

  With a puzzled look Borg gave a deep and quite convincing growl. Driss, who was standing by, exchanged a look with Tonya.

  “Fine for a bear,” Driss said. “You’re a dragon, however.”

  “I am?” Borg’s look of stupid astonishment was so comic that none of the three travelers could restrain their laughter. Vallo insisted that Borg growl again, which he did with a good will.

  Driss and Tonya explained what they would require Borg to do and tested him with a few simple lines and cues which he picked up quickly enough.

  “You’ll do, I think,” Tonya said at last. “Two coppers, then, meals, and a place to sleep under the wagon. Done?”

  “Done!” Borg agreed.

  Tonya served out slabs of bread and cheese, buttermilk and dried apple slices as the wagon moved slowly to the head of the line. When they had finished she showed Borg a couple of the dolls; exquisite things, two hand’s-spread high, carved from a soft white and flexible wood grown on the banks of mountain streams and painted and dressed with such microscopic detail that from a little distance they appeared to live. She also brought out Dragon, whose voice Borg was to be.

  “Fierce-looking beastie, ain’t he?” Borg said.

  Dragon was indeed a fine, fierce beastie. He was over three and a half feet long, covered with silvery scales that had once belonged to a large ocean fish, and had a sharp ridge like the teeth of a saw down the length of his back. When a certain string was pulled, he could open his mouth and snap his jaws with a loud crack, displaying a long red flannel tongue which would flicker like a flame. Being heavier than the other dolls, his head and most of his body was hollow. Near the end of his nose was affixed a long horn of white boar’s tusk ivory.

  “I understand that your dolls are made to act a play,” Borg said, “but how are they moved? Except for Dragon, as you call him, I can see no strings.”

  Vallo laughed scornfully. “Strings are for puppets. Our dolls move like real people. They are moved by spells!”

  “Spells? Did you say spells?” An old man with a white beard down to his belt hobbled forth from the small crowd that had gathered to gawk at the dolls. He leaned heavily on a gnarled staff and was dressed in a somewhat battered peaked hat and a black robe embroidered with lines of strange symbols. The hem of the garment swept the ground and was slightly tattered and streaked with mud at the bottom. “I, madam, am Omz, the magician. I specialize in spells. It is my hobby. If you would be kind enough to give me space in your wagon as far as the Ithkar Fair, I could certify your spells at the gate. Otherwise they might not let you in, you know.”

  “No problem there,” Tonya said. “My father has taken these dolls to the fair before and the spells are known to be harmless. You may ride in the wagon, however, at least to the gate, for I see you are lame.”

  “Lame? A small matter, young woman, a slight inconvenience. I have an excellent spell to cure it when I can find the time.”

  �
�And when the weather turns dry,” Borg, the valet, observed.

  “That, too,” Omz replied. “Dry weather is, of course, one of the conditions. As for your kind offer, young lass (or is it wife?), I accept with great pleasure.”

  “It’s lass. And will you accept a bit of bread and cheese?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Eat them quickly, then, old man. We’re at the ford and things must be stowed,” Driss said.

  “Omz, sir. Omz. Never address a magician as ‘old man.’ ”

  “Sorry. Omz, of course. Get up on the driver’s seat with me now. One of your spells may help Lightning if he should stumble.”

  Lightning showed little signs of stumbling as he started into the water. As the wagon approached the middle of the stream, however, things became more difficult and the force of the rain-swollen water began to move them sideways and to give the wagon a downstream tilt.

  Driss shouted encouragement to the ox; Tonya, Vallo, and Borg threw their weight to the upstream side; and Omz, the magician, began to chant a spell in a high womanish voice and to wave his staff in cabalistic passes. The spell, if that was what it was, had no appreciable effect other than to make it difficult for Driss to handle the lines to the ox’s horns. Finally Driss jumped down, tied a rope to the wagon-bed, and called Borg to help him pull. With the two men and the ox doing their utmost, the wagon was at last safely on the other side.

  The wagon had been so deeply in the water during the crossing that some of the supplies had gotten wet. Fortunately the water had not reached the dolls or the food supplies which Tonya had stowed away in a tightly closed box. Among the items that were sodden was Dragon, who lived (during transportation) on the lowest shelf inside the wagon.

  His ivory horn had come unglued and some of his scales had fallen off. Tonya examined the damage and, although she was mildly annoyed, set about immediately to making repairs, regluing the horn and the scales and setting Dragon and the other damp items on the tailgate to dry.

  “Now if only it wouldn’t rain,” she said. “Better yet, if we could persuade the sun to come out. I don’t suppose you could do anything about that, Omz?”

  “On the contrary, dear lady,” Omz replied. “It happens that I have a most excellent spell to prevent rain.”

  “Learned from a brother magician in the southern desert region, no doubt,” Borg said.

  Tonya frowned. “Don’t be unkind, Borg,” she said. “Go ahead, Omz, if you will. Even if your spell isn’t strong enough, I’m sure it will do no harm.”

  After a momentary hesitation Omz picked up the hem of his robe, pulled a bit of the cloth around from the rear, and examined it thoughtfully for a long moment. Vallo, who was watching him with round eyes, could not resist a question.

  “What are you doing now, Omz?” he said. “Is that a part of the spell, pulling your clothes about like that?”

  “In a way, it is, young sir. Come closer and I’ll tell you a secret.”

  Vallo approached and Omz leaned down and whispered in his ear.

  “I may not look it, young Vallo,” he whispered, “but I am over four hundred years old and I know so many spells that I sometimes forget some of the lesser ones. So I had them embroidered on my robe where I can read them to refresh my memory. You see?”

  “Oh.”

  Omz’s whisper had been perfectly audible to Driss and Tonya, who were only two paces away. They grinned at each other but said nothing. Omz, after a few moments more of studying the robe, pointed his staff dramatically at the spot in the sky where the sun was dimly visible and began to recite curious words in a high sweet voice. Nothing immediate happened, of course, and Omz glanced upward doubtfully a few times, then lowered his staff and climbed painfully onto the driver’s seat of the wagon.

  After a long moment of embarrassed silence Tonya spoke to the old man.

  “Not even the best of spells works every time, Omz,” she said kindly. “You have a beautiful voice, though. It occurs to me that you might be able to help us with the doll show for certain bits of dialogue. Of course I can’t offer to pay such a salary as a magician might command. Would the same terms as I have offered Borg suit you? You might find the work amusing, you know.”

  “True,” Omz said, looking slightly more cheerful. “I would have to take off some mornings, however, to discuss certain magic matters with some of my colleagues at the fair.”

  “Quite all right. We work mostly in the afternoons and evenings in any case. Are we agreed, then?”

  “Of course, dear lady.”

  As they were speaking, Lightning the ox was plodding steadily onward and the sky had begun to clear. At Omz’s last words the sun broke through bright and warm and cast a shaft of light directly upon the tailgate of the wagon. Omz broke into what could only be described as a grin, showing all of his several teeth.

  “Takes a little time sometimes,” he said with a fruity chuckle.

  Omz’s “spell” lasted the rest of the afternoon, during which time the road became more and more crowded with fairgoers. Jugglers, dancers, animal trainers, merchants of wares strange and wonderful, and sellers of sweetmeats pressed in from every side. Vallo took it all in with mounting excitement, begging Tonya every half mile or so for a copper to buy honey cakes or hot fried tarts.

  “You’ll spend all of our profits before we even reach the gates,” Tonya told him, giving him a handful of walnuts. “Here, take these and open them carefully. With five little tufts of wool glued in the right places on the edges of half a shell you can make toy turtles. You might even sell a couple for enough to buy something sweet for that ever-empty tummy of yours.”

  This enterprise, although financially unsuccessful, kept him busy until they arrived at the gates to the fair. At the gates they fell into line to wait for the customary inspection and the issuance of their fair permits. The shadows were beginning to lengthen when they reached the head of the line. The fair-ward questioned Driss as to the nature of their show, and when he learned that Tonya was their proprietor and that the manipulation of the dolls required spells, he called the wizard-of-the-gate from his silken tent to complete the inspection.

  The wizard-of-the-gate was an imposing old gentleman in somber but rich robes who recognized Tonya and greeted her by name.

  “Where’s your old rogue of a father, my dear? Too drunk to come himself this year?”

  “Father died last winter,” Tonya said.

  “Forgive me,” the wizard said. “He was in good health when I saw him last. An essentially good man, he was, if inclined too much to gamble.”

  “He went out in a blizzard to feed Lightning, our ox, and was lost between the barn and the house. We found him frozen in the courtyard in the morning.”

  “Sad, sad. Still, not too painful a way to die, I’m told. Your doll show is much the same as last year’s, I take it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No new spells?”

  “One or two.”

  “Show them to me.”

  Tonya took a beautifully crafted little chest of blood-red wood from under the seat of the wagon and opened it with a whispered word. Nested inside, each in a tiny tube labeled with the name of a doll, were rolled scrolls of thin parchment no larger than a thumbnail. On each of them was penned in blue ink a few cabalistic signs and a word or two. Tonya selected one of the dolls, inserted one of the rolled scrolls in a tiny cavity under the doll’s hair, and spoke behind her hand.

  “My profound respects, my lord wizard,” she said.

  The doll gestured with her tiny hands, her face appeared to smile, and when the speech ended she made a deep, graceful curtsy.

  The wizard-of-the-gate smiled and bowed solemnly in return. “Is this one of the new ones?” he said.

  “Yes, sir. Father had the spell improved so that she moves her lips when I speak for her. It usually can’t be seen from the audience, I’m afraid.” She removed the scroll from the doll’s head and handed it to the wizard, who examined it and shot a g
lance at Omz.

  “Not one of yours, I’m certain.”

  “No, Lofty One,” Omz replied with his eyes cast down.

  The wizard-of-the-gate examined a few of the other scrolls, pulled the string that made Dragon snap his jaws, allowed a bright spark to travel from his finger to the tip of Dragon’s horn, and waved them on.

  It was full dark when they were at last installed at Tonya’s father’s customary place, and they were obliged to set up their equipment by the light of fish-oil flares. In this they were not alone. The entire fairground glittered with a thousand such lights.

  Driss lowered one side of the wagon and rested it upon trestles to make a small stage. The interior of the wagon was hidden by a painted curtain which made the backdrop. Stakes were set out which later would support a canvas fence to contain the morrow’s audience. While this was going on, Tonya placed the doll, Snow Princess, on the stage and began telling passersby, “The Enchanted Doll Show begins tomorrow at noon. One copper for children, three for their parents, and four for those grown-ups whose hearts are still young.” In response to these words Snow Princess waved and threw kisses to the children and curtsied politely to their mothers. At the end of each such invitation, Dragon popped out from behind the curtain and rumbled in Borg’s deepest possible voice, “At noon, remember. Don’t be late!” and snapped his jaws.

  When it grew late and bystanders were few, Tonya and Vallo retired behind the curtain inside the wagon. Driss fed Lightning, then rolled in a blanket under the wagon. Omz was given the space between the driver’s seat and the dashboard and gratefully accepted one of Tonya’s blankets. Borg was given a blanket but did not make immediate use of it. He disappeared and returned later to take his place beside Driss, smelling suspiciously like the inside of a wine barrel. Several times during the night pairs of fair-wards passed and repassed, swinging their long, bronze-shod quarterstaves.