Quite suddenly the little temple was not dark at all. It was a very small space, hardly big enough for the five of them, with bare white walls and a floor of drifted sand in which bits of rubbish could be seen, evidently dropped by other people who had been to consult the White Oracle. There were scraps of paper, a small shoe, buckles, straps, and plum stones. Something flashed, half buried in the sand by the toes of Regin’s boots. While everyone was turning to go out, he stooped and picked it deftly up and then paused in surprise with the rest of them, because the doorway was no longer narrow. It was now wide enough for all five of them to walk out side by side. They stepped forward into the heat again, blinking at empty miles of glaring desert.
“No one here,” said Querida.
“I suppose it’ll be the first person we see when we get back then,” Barnabas said.
Regin looked at what he had picked up. It was a strip of cloth. There were black letters printed on it that read: Be careful what you ask for; you may get it. He passed it silently to King Luther, who was nearest.
“Now it warns us!” said King Luther, and passed it to Umru.
“This is something I often tell my flock,” Umru said.
“Wizards know it, too,” Barnabas said. He took the cloth and passed it to Querida. “We’ve been warned, Querida. Do you still want to consult the Black Oracle as well?”
“Of course I do. And I am always very careful what I ask for,” Querida retorted. She led the way across the short distance to the black temple. The others looked at one another, shrugged, and followed.
The black building breathed out cold from its surface. Umru sighed with relief as he came under its walls, but his teeth were actually chattering slightly by the time it was his turn to squeeze through the narrow entrance. Inside, he moaned miserably, because it was as hot in there as the desert outside. He stood puffing and panting in deep darkness while, just as before, dazzles and blobs gathered in front of their eyes.
We wait for them to gather, Regin thought wisely. But this time, instead of gathering, the twirling dazzles retreated, swirling away to the sides and glowing more and more strongly. It took all the watchers a full minute to realize that the darkness left behind was now the shape of a huge nearly human figure.
“Oh, I see!” muttered Querida.
You do? said a great, hollow voice. It was deep as a coal mine. Then ask.
“Thank you,” said Querida, and just as before, she asked, “What do we do to abolish the Pilgrim Parties and get rid of Mr. Chesney for good?”
There was a long, long silence. The darkness remained absolutely still while the silence lasted and then abruptly quivered and broke up, with shoots of light rushing through it from either side. When it spoke again, the deep voice shook a little.
You must appoint as Wizard Guide to the last tour the second person you see on leaving here.
Then, as in the white temple, the space was small and empty and they were crowded together, standing among rubbish. It was slightly less hot.
“I swear that thing was laughing!” Barnabas said as they turned to go and found, as before, that the doorway was now wide enough to take all of them.
Something glittered in the sand by Regin’s boot. This time he did not pick it up. He put his toe under it and nudged it until he could see that it was a scrap of paper with one gold edge. Sure enough, it had written on it: Be careful what you ask for; you may get it. He decided not to mention it to the others.
“Well, the desert’s still empty,” said King Luther. “Oh!”
A man was just coming out of the temple of the White Oracle. He was a tall, fattish, mild-faced man, dressed in the kind of clothes farmers wore. He was edging sideways out of the narrow entrance with one arm up to shade his eyes, but they could all see his face quite clearly.
Barnabas said, “Oh, no!” and King Luther said, “I’ll be damned!” Umru shook his head. “Be careful what you ask for,” he sighed. Querida drew in a little hiss of breath.
“What’s the matter?” asked Regin. “Who is he? Who are they, I mean?” he added as someone else squeezed out of the white doorway behind the wide man. This person was a boy of about fourteen who looked rather like the man, except that he was skinny where the man was wide. As Regin asked, the man rounded on the boy.
“There,” he said. “You’re answered. Satisfied?”
“No, I am not!” said the boy. “I’ve never heard of this person. Who is he?”
“Goodness knows,” replied the man. “But he’s no one at the University, so it’s quite clear you’re not going to the University to learn your wizardry, anyway. I was right.”
The boy’s chin bunched angrily. “There’s no need to look so pleased. You always try to stop me doing what I want!”
And the two of them stood in the sand and shouted at one another.
“Who are they?” Regin asked again.
“I don’t know the boy,” Querida said, “but I know the man all right. His name is Derk. And he did once qualify at the University as a wizard. There is no doubt Mr. Chesney would accept him as Dark Lord.”
“The boy’s his son,” Barnabas said. “His name’s Blade. Querida, I don’t want to do this. Derk is a nice man and a friend of mine. He’s actually very gifted—”
“There are two opinions about that,” Querida snapped. “Has the boy any talent?”
“Bags of it,” Barnabas said miserably. “Takes after his mother.”
“Oh—Mara, I remember,” Querida said. “I must talk to Mara. That’s settled then. We have our Dark Lord and our Wizard Guide according to both the Oracles.”
“We could always pretend we hadn’t seen them and choose the next two people we see,” King Luther suggested.
“The gods forfend!” Umru gasped, mopping his face with his undercope.
Querida shot King Luther her snakiest look and marched over to the two outside the white temple. As she reached them, Derk was leaning forward to bawl into his son’s face, with a wholly reasonable air, as if he were simply discussing something quietly, “I tell you, the University’s not a place to learn anything these days. They haven’t had a new idea for thirty years. All they do is crawl to Mr. Chesney.”
Querida could easily pretend not to hear this, because Blade was at the same time screaming, “I don’t want to hear! It’s just excuses to stop me doing what I want! You let Shona go to Bardic College, so why don’t you let me learn magic?”
“ER, HEM!” said Querida, loudly enlarged by magic.
Derk and Blade both whirled around. “Tyrant!” Blade screamed in her face, and then bowed over, consumed with embarrassment.
Derk surveyed the tiny, glistening lady in the robes of high chancellor. His eyes traveled on to the tall, glum, sweaty figure of King Luther and the huge shape of Umru and the blisters of sweat popping out on his vast, red-blotched cheeks. He nodded to them and smiled at Barnabas, whose curls were wet and whose face was even redder than Umru’s. Finally he looked at the young man in the rear, who was a stranger to him and only pretending not to be hot. “Oh, hello,” he said. “What are you all doing here? Is there some reason you aren’t using a refrigeration spell?”
“No, I forgot, bother it!” said Querida. “I like the heat.”
Derk nudged Blade. Blade recovered from his embarrassment enough to make a slight gesture. Incredible, blessed coolness spread over the four men.
“Bags of talent indeed,” Regin murmured.
“Thank you, young man,” Umru said gratefully.
Blade was clearly intending to demonstrate that it was not usual for him to scream into people’s faces. He bowed. “You’re welcome, Your Reverence,” he said with great politeness. “And—excuse me—do any of you know a wizard called Deucalion?” He looked round them anxiously as they all shrugged and shook their heads. “Magic user then?” he asked, with his voice dropping hopelessly.
“Never heard of anyone of that name, Blade,” said Barnabas. “Why?”
“He’s the one the W
hite Oracle says is going to train me as a wizard,” Blade explained. “Dad’s never heard of him either.” He sighed.
Querida swept this aside. “We, as it happens, have consulted the Oracles also,” she said. “They have named you, Wizard Derk, as this year’s Dark Lord and you, young Blade, as Wizard Guide to the last tour.”
“Now listen—” said Derk.
“No arguing with the Oracles, Derk,” Barnabas said quietly.
“But—” said Blade.
“Nor you, young man,” said Querida. “Both of you are going to be very busy for the next six months.”
At this Derk stirred himself, powerfully but a little uncertainly, and stood over Querida. “I don’t think you can do this,” he said.
“Oh, yes, I can,” she said. “Go home and make ready. Tomorrow, at midday sharp, Mr. Chesney and all the Wizard Guides and I will be arriving at your house to brief you on this year’s plans.” When Derk still stood there, she gazed up at him like a cobra ready to strike and added, “In case you are planning to be away from home tomorrow, I must point out you are in a very poor position, Wizard Derk. You have not paid your wizard’s dues to the University for fifteen years. This gives me the right to exact penalties.”
“I sent you a griffin’s egg,” Derk said.
“It was addled,” said Querida. “As I am sure you knew.”
“And I couldn’t send you anything else,” Derk went on seriously. “All the products of my wizardry are alive. It would be criminal to shut them up in the University dues vault. You’d want to kill them and embalm them first. Besides, my wife has paid dues enough for two of us.”
“Mara’s miniature universes are quite irrelevant to Mr. Chesney,” Querida stated. “Be warned, Wizard Derk. Either you present yourself at Derkholm to Mr. Chesney and the rest of us tomorrow, or you have every magic user in this world looking for you to make you be Dark Lord. Do I make myself clear?”
Blade pulled his father’s arm. “Better go, Dad.”
“And you, young man,” said Querida. “You’re to be there, too.”
Blade succeeded in pulling his father around sideways, but Derk still looked down at Querida across his own shoulder. “No one should have this kind of power,” he said.
“To whom do you refer, Wizard?” she asked, still in her cobra stance.
“Chesney, of course,” Derk said rather hastily.
Here Blade pulled harder, and the two of them disappeared in a stinging cloud of blown sand.
“Phew!” said Barnabas. “Poor old Derk!”
“Let us go home more slowly,” said Querida. “I feel a little tired.”
The return journey was more like a lingering walk, in which they trod now on a patch of hot sand, now on wiry dead grass, now on rocks or moss. Regin put himself beside Querida as they went. “Who is this Wizard Derk?” he asked.
Querida sighed. “A shambles of a man. The world’s worst wizard, to my mind.”
“Oh, come now, Querida,” said Barnabas. “He’s excellent at what he does—just a little unconventional, you know. When we were students together, I always thought he was twice as bright as me.”
Querida shuddered. “Unconventional is a kind word for it. I was senior instructor then. Of all the things he did wrong, my worst memories are of being dragged up in the middle of the night to deal with that vast blue demon that Derk had called up and couldn’t put down. You remember?”
Barnabas nodded and bit his lip in order not to laugh. “Nobody knew its name, so none of the usual exorcisms worked. It took the entire staff of the University to get rid of it in the end. All through the night. Derk was never much good at conventional wizardry, I admit. But you use him a lot, don’t you, Reverend?”
Umru smiled sweetly, his fat, comfortable, cool self again. “I pay for Wizard Derk’s services almost every time my temple has a tour party through. No one but Wizard Derk can make a convincing human corpse out of a dead donkey.” Regin stared. Umru smiled ever more sweetly. “Or a sheep,” he said. “We are always chosen as an evil priesthood, and the Pilgrims expect us to have a vilely tortured sacrifice to display. Wizard Derk saves us the necessity of using people.”
“Oh,” said Regin. He turned to where King Luther was trudging grimly in the rear. “And you, Your Majesty? You know this wizard, too?”
“We use him for hangings and heads on spikes occasionally,” King Luther said. “But I hire him most often for the feast when the damn Pilgrims have gone. He has performing animals. Pigs mostly.”
“Pigs?” said Regin.
“Yes, pigs,” said King Luther. “They fly.”
“Oh,” Regin said again. As he said it, they arrived back on the flagstone in the council room again. Regin’s teeth chattered; Barnabas was shivering; Umru was juddering all over. Querida was unaffected. So was King Luther, whose northern kingdom was never warm.
“What is the matter?” Umru cried out. People turned from reading the heaps of letters on the table to stare at him. He held his hands out piteously. “Look. Blue!”
“Oh. Um,” said Barnabas. “It’s young Blade’s fault, I’m afraid. Boys of that age never know their own strength. I’ll do what I can, but it may take an hour or so.”
TWO
DERKHOLM WAS IN AN UPROAR. Blade’s sister Shona was by the stables, saddling two of the horses so that Derk could take her to Bardic College as soon as he got home from the Oracle, when Elda came galloping up with her wings spread, rowing herself along for extra speed, screaming that Derk was going to be Dark Lord. Elda was squawking with excitement, according to Don, who had been galloping after Elda to try to calm things down, and Shona either did not understand her or did not believe her straightaway. When she did, Shona instantly unsaddled the horses and turned them back into the paddock.
According to Don, Shona then struck a fine pose (it was something Shona had been doing ever since she was enrolled as a trainee bard, and it annoyed Don particularly and Kit almost as much) and declared, “I’ll put off going to college for as long as Dad needs me. We have to show family solidarity over this.”
Shona, despite the pose, was highly excited by the news. As she raced back to the house carrying her saddlebags and violin case, with Don and Elda bounding ahead, all the animals caught it, even the Friendly Cows, and the rest of the day was loud with honks, squawks, moos, and the galloping of variously shaped feet.
Otherwise, Blade thought sourly, there was not much family solidarity around. When Shona burst in, flushed and looking violently pretty, their parents were having a row. Derk was roaring, “There must be a way to get out of it! I refuse to touch Chesney’s money!” Though he was not much given to wizardly displays, Derk was feeling so strongly that he was venting magefire in all directions. One of the hall carpets was in flames.
“Dad!” Shona cried out. “You’ll set the house on fire!”
Neither of their parents attended, though Mara shot Shona an angry look. Mara was enclosed in the steel blue light of a wizard’s shields, and she seemed quite as excited as Shona. “Stop being a fool, Derk!” she was shouting. “If the Oracle says you’re to be Dark Lord, then there’s nothing you can do!”
Magefire fizzed on Mara’s shields as Derk howled back, “Sod the Oracle! I’m not going to stand for it! And you should be helping me find a way out of it, not standing there backing the whole rotten system up!”
“I’m doing no such thing!” Mara screamed. “I’m merely trying to tell you it’s inevitable. You’d know that, too, if you weren’t in such a tantrum!”
Blade was trying to stamp the flames out of the rugs when big griffin Callette lumbered calmly through the front door carrying the rainwater butt, and upended it over the carpet. The hall hissed and steamed and smelled horrible.
Shona hastily snatched her luggage out of the water. “Dad,” she said, “be reasonable. We’ll all help you. We’ll get you through it somehow. Think of it. You’ve got five griffins, two wizards, and a bard, who are all going to look after you while y
ou do it. I bet none of the other Dark Lords has ever had help like you’ve got.”
You had to hand it to Shona, Blade thought. She was far better at getting on with Dad than he was. Within minutes Derk was calm enough simply to go striding about the house with his face all puzzled and drooping, saying over and over, “There has to be a way out of it!” while Shona followed him, coaxing. Elda did her bit by following Derk, too, looking sweet and golden and cuddly.
Blade managed to talk to his mother at last.
He found her sitting at the kitchen table, pale but relieved-seeming, while Lydda made supper. Lydda was the only one of the griffins who really liked cooked food. And she not only liked it, she was passionate about it. She was always inventing new dishes. Blade found it very hard to understand. In Lydda’s place, he would have felt like Cinderella, but it was clear Lydda felt nothing of the kind. She said, turning her yellow beak and one large bright eye toward Blade, “Do you have to come and get under my feet in here?”
Mara looked up at Blade’s face. “Yes,” she said. “He does.”
Lydda’s tail lashed, but she said nothing. The golden feathers of her wings and crest were loud with No comment.
“What did the Oracle say?” Mara asked Blade.
“Your teacher will be Deucalion,” Blade quoted glumly. He saw his mother’s fine, fair eyebrows draw together. “Don’t tell me. You haven’t heard of him either.”
“No-o,” Mara said. “The name rings a bell somewhere, but I certainly don’t remember any wizard of that name. It must be some other magic user. Be patient. He—or she—will turn up, Blade. The White Oracle is always right.”
Blade sighed.
“And what else?” asked his mother.
“Why doesn’t Dad understand?” Blade burst out. “He let Shona go to Bardic College. Why is he so set against me going to the University? I’ve told him and told him that I need to get there and get some training now in the junior section if I’m going to be properly grounded, and all he says is that he’ll teach me himself. And he can’t, Mum! You can’t. The things I can do are all quite different from yours or Dad’s. So why?”
Dark Lord of Derkholm Page 2
