“Eldra, the Seventh. Teron, spellmaker of Korv!” the major domo’s voice boomed.
Everyone in the great hall rose and gave a soft, approving cheer. Teron felt like an animal on display as they marched up the aisle between the tables to the foot of the dais. Its occupant had risen and stood at the top of a short flight of steps. “Come, join me. I am Pandro.”
He was incredibly round, as wide as he was high,
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with a shining, bald pate and a round, beaming face. "Step lively; the meal cannot proceed until the joining is completed.”
Eldra took Teron by the hand as they climbed the stairs. “This is Teron, spellmaker of Korv. I present him to your authority, Pandro of Erul.”
“Eliff be thanked!” Pandro said. “At last. We have waited long, spellmaker.” He smiled, moving layers of fat from one chin level to another. “This was indeed a somber hall until news of your safe arrival reached us.” He lifted his short arms. “Let the wine flow!”
“I hear the wine of Erul is the finest on all Zarza,” Teron said.
“True. Are the glasses filled?” Servants scurried to fill the last empty glasses under Pandro’s critical eye. “There. Now is there any one who objects to the joining of Eldra, our Seventh, and Teron, spellmaker of Korv as ordained by the Song?”
The man in the green robe pointed a finger at Teron. His voice rolled out, silencing the hall, “I, Roosk, court wizard and spirit caller, demand proof that this man is the Teron we seek! The true spellmaker of the prophecy!”
“Quite right,” Pandro said. He smiled at Teron, “Proof should be offered, you know. Come, set his mind at rest and we can get on with the ceremony.
Teron stared at Roosk. He did not have to join with Eldra, after all. Not if he couldn’t offer satisfactory proof to this man. He turned to Pandro, “And if my proof doesn’t satisfy your wizard?”
“Oh it doesn’t have to satisfy him,” Pandro beamed, “it has to satisfy me. And if you can’t prove to my satisfaction that you are in truth Teron, spellmaker of Korv, then I would assume you were a Fennish spy. I do hope you are the man we have searched for. Our dungeons are particularly damp and our executioner underemployed.”
V
TERON TURNED BACK to the wizard. Roost’s gaze was unwavering. Why should his personal freedom suddenly seem so dear? Why should the experiences he had undergone since meeting the Old One in the wharfside cafe in Pirin suddenly seem of no account? He had begrudged his freedom earlier this evening, but he had yielded to his growing faith in whatever had brought him here. Now that faith seemed foolish, seemed . . . How cold and dark the wizard’s pupils were, as dark as —drig. “I do not seek to supplant you, Roosk,” he said quietly. “I am Teron, spellmaker of Korv, second son of ...”
Roosk’s harsh voice crackled with disdain. “A man may claim any name, any profession. Prove your powers to me and to my king and this company. Shall Erul wager its life on less than the true Teron?”
A few uncertain sounds of “No,” came from, the company.
“He always talks that way,” Pandro murmured to Teron. “Some people find him very impressive. But do give us the proof, my boy, and we can get on. A simple demonstration of your powers will be all that’s necessary. No lightnings or hurricane force winds, nothing elemental.”
Teron bowed. Raising a hand toward the nearest
hanging candelabra he said, “I fear the light is too bright for you, sire.” He moved his hand in the traditional quarter circle of necromancy. A full forth of the candles blinked out. He enjoyed the gasp of surprised pleasure from the entire audience.
“Ah,” he said, “but now it’s a bit dim.” He moved his hand again, but now a thin line of blue flame leapt from the tips of his fingers and flickered over every second candle, lighting it. Then the flames disappeared.
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Spontaneous applause burst out. Teron controlled the impulse to take his professional bow. Roosk snorted as the last hand clapped. “A charlatan’s trick!”
“I suggest,” Pandro said, and his voice was like steel, “you take less wine before your food, Roosk. Proper proof has been demanded and given. Neither insults nor accusations are in order. We are gathered to celebrate the joining of a Seventh and to make all well for the consummation.”
Teron didn’t care how long Roosk quibbled. The promised joining loomed over him as a blackness only less than that of the drig. Even suspecting that part of his increasing dread of the ceremony arose from the perverse will of the envious wizard, he could not bring himself to look forward to it.
“I say this man cannot cast a true spell,” Roosk hissed, his head darting forward in imitation of the serpents embroidered on his robe.
“If you expect me to turn you into the rear half of a sahr, I must decline. Not even my father, Spellman of Korv, could improve upon the job nature has already done for you.” As the words left his lips his dread of the coming ceremony lessened.
The burst of laughter his words provoked decreased the dread still further. Roosk swept the room with an angry gaze and his hand went to the knife in his belt.
“Enough!” Pandro cried.
“Let him east his knife,” Teron said. “Any spellmaker would return it to him out of courtesy. Throw away, spirit caller.”
Roosk hesitated, “And be condemned for your death. I throw better than most.”
“If your knife drinks my blood you’ll automatically be absolved, for then I would be the charlatan you called me. But I say I shall return your knife before it caresses my skin—as a spellmaker should. It’s a fair test.” He glanced toward Pandro.“Sire?”
“So be it.” The jolly king could not conceal his reluctance.
A7
Teron looked at Eldra. She met his eyes and smiled.
But Roosk did not throw tie knife quivering in his fingers. Teron laughed. “Call up a spirit to do the work for you if you haven’t nerve enough yourself.”
It was not the flight of the knife from the wizard’s fingers that startled Teron, but the cry of hatred that spoke into Teron’s mind alone. It slowed the hand that brought the spellstaff from its holder, and the wizard’s knife was less than a yard from him before it hung in the air and fell to the table.
Teron had used the least power he dared to stop the flight of the knife; even so the blade was too hot to handle. He had to use an unwieldy throw with his hands on the grip to spin the knife back to Roosk. Its tip went into the table beside the wizard’s wine goblet. The handle shook and then was quiet. Teron was pleased with his accuracy and encouraged by the murmurs of awe and appreciation from the audience.
“Perhaps there has been enough entertainment,” he said to Pandro. “I was told a feast awaited.”
Roosk stopped staring at the knife and put his hand to its grip. The heat startled his fingers. He .glowered at the room in general, yanked the knife free, thrust it into his belt and strode from the hall. Teron needed no mentaler's ability to know the strength of Roosk’s hatred.
“So you have one enemy within Erul,” Pandro said. “But that was to be expected.” He raised his voice. “Be there any other present who wishes to state an objection to the joining.”
A recurrence of hope rose in Teron’s mind. But no one spoke. He stifled a sigh. Pandro said, “Then let the first ceremony take place.”
Not knowing what to expect, Teron waited, feeling like a fool. Pandro drew1 an ornate ceremonial knife from his girdle. He took a strand of Teron’s hair in his other hand and severed it cleanly with a flick of the knife blade. He laid the lock of hair on a salver of glowing green stone. Then he did the same with a strand of Eldra’s hair. The knife was resheathed and
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Pandro bent over the salver, his hands dividing each lock of hair into two groups of hairs. He placed one group of Eldra’s with one group of Teron’s. Then his pudgy little hands worked with prodigious speed and grace. In a few minutes h
e had fashioned two rings of the intertwined hairs. One he handed to Teron, the other to Eldra.
“These are the symbols that seal the actual joining. May you wear them soon.”
He sat down and called, “Let all eat and eat well.” Teron watched Eldra tuck her ring away. He imitated her and then they sat, one on either side of Pandro, and ate as servants brought food and wine.
After the edge was off his hunger, Pandro leaned toward Teron. “Do not undervalue Roosk. He can be a powerful adversary.”
“I undervalue no man goaded by envy,” Teron said. “And few others. I only wish he had remained so that I might have talked with him.”
“Ahr
“Yes, I was wondering how Davok of Fenn and his crew knew exactly when to expect the Seventh and me.” Pandro frowned. “You accuse Roosk of treachery?” “Not at all,” Teron said. “But with his ability to call spirits, I’d hoped he might ask one for the answer.” Pandro’s anger remained. “Straight words are better than twisted ones,” he said. “If you have any proof . . .” “I made no accusation,” Teron said. “I only say that the thoughts of Roosk are hostile.”
“True,” Eldra said, speaking for the first time. “Roosk was filled with hatred tonight. He radiated it at all of us.”
Pandro’s anger drained away. “I cannot take such a statement lightly from either of you.” He drew in a deep breath. “It is true that Roosk has changed since the Old One came and made his prophecy.”
He said no more but returned to eating. When the food was cleared away and the wine glasses given their
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last filling, he rose abruptly and disappeared through hangings at the rear of the dais.
Teron leaned toward Eldra. “Is that all there is to a joining?”
“Oh no. This is merely the first step. There is much more.” She smiled at him. "But I’m sure all wall go well.”
Pandro returned, bearing a chalice carved from a single gleaming crystal. The chalice contained wine red as rubies, with a bouquet that was perfection.
Pandro stood at his place. The others all rose. Pandro intoned, “Now let their hands join.”
Eldra inclined her head and rose to stand beside Pandro. Teron followed her example, hoping it was the right thing to do. She placed her right hand on the stem of the chalice. He did likewise. Their fingers entwined. Pandro released his grip and stepped back. “Drink as one!”
As the broad brim of the chalice rose to their mouths, Teron felt Eldra’s cheek brush his. A wave of delight mixed with elation, with hope and joy, swept over him as they drank the heady wine together.
From the tables below came the rising chant:
“So they will be joined as their hands to the cup.
As they drink as one so will they be.”
“As Vacor and the first Eldra, may they be!” Pandro intoned.
The cup was empty. They lowered it to the table together. Pandro beamed and separated their hands gently. “Let the festivities begin.”
People sitting at the center of each long table pulled back their chairs. Segments of the table were shoved together to make a stage in the center of the hall. A troupe of acrobats dashed down the long stairway, sprang to the tabletops - and began their performance.
“You are wed,” Pandro said happily. “May you soon
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be joined.” He waved his hand. “Go now with the blessing of all here.”
And the hatred of pne absent, Teron said to himself as he thought of Roosk.
Hand in hand, Eldra and Teron stepped through the curtains behind the dais. Pandro’s last words came softly to them, “And may your joining make all Zarza safe."
Servants were waiting to lead them down a long corridor to a softly lit suite of rooms, fragrant with flowers banked about the walls. The servants smiled and withdrew. Through the open door of the reception room Teron could see the enormous bed which occupied the flower-banked bedroom.
He looked at it and then at Eldra. She smiled at him. He cleared his throat. “I don’t . . . Well, I don’t feel— ah—wed.”
“Of course not. The ceremony is a re-creation of that simple ceremony between Vacor and the first Eldra. You are not yet of our faith so you do not understand its entire meaning. Such a ceremony is held for a Seventh alone. The final step is the joining itself.” She paused and added, “And if that is so destined, it will come in its proper season.” Her hand touched his cheek. “Then we can roll up the net.”
“Thenet?”
She touched the scrollwork on the headboard. From the canopy a semiopaque net dropped down, dividing the bed in two.
“Can’t I lift the net as easily as you lower it?” Teron asked dryly, wondering why he felt disappointment—and even some resentment—at her lack of interest in him. Not more than an hour before he had felt coerced into a union against his will.
“The only control is on my side of the bed,” she said. “The Seventh always decides when and if the joining shall take place. Remember the Song. It was so ordered by Vacor himself.”
“How does the Seventh decide,” Teron demanded.
“When I feel you truly believe—and love.” She moved
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away from him. “Tomorrow you’ll be told all you need to know.”
“Well, I suppose having Pandro, yourself and the company lately assembled in the Great Hall accept me as Teron, spellmaker of Korv, should be enough for one day ...”
“Yes, it was easier than it might have been,” she agreed. “But Roosk didn’t object just to maintain tradition ...”
“He never doubted I was the spellmaker,” Teron said, “or the man mentioned in the Old One's prophecy. He’d have preferred an impostor and would have allowed one to go unchallenged.”
“Are you saying Roosk opposes our joining, that he— that he does not want to save Erul?” Her eyes questioned him openly, fearfully.
“I only know I’ve never felt such hatred from one man in my life,” Teron told her. “It touched my mind.”
VI
A SERVANT, so SILENT and discreet that Eldra’s sleep was undisturbed behind her portion of the net, woke Teron with a summons from Pandro shortly after dawn. The servant waited while Teron dressed and then led the way to Pandro’s elegant suite. The rotund, little king was standing by the window gazing out over the city, and he beckoned Teron to his side.
“Look at its beauty,” he said, “Erul, the crown jewel of all Zarza.”
Obediently, Teron looked out at the city clustered in its rich valley. The tumble of pastel buildings, well hedged about by pleasantly irregular parks and gardens, gave way to the rich grainfields of the valley. These ended in an irregular fringe of grazing sand, lapping the sides of the forested foothills like waves. And above all rose the silvery spires of the Comb of Heaven.
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“So beautiful it baffles the most artful tongue," Teron said with easy tact, “but I doubt you summoned me to your side to view your capital.”
“Ah,” Pandro turned to him, and his small merry eyes were searching. “Then why have I summoned you?”
How long did the king and the Seventh intend to force him into guessing games. Teron sighed and answered, “Hopefully to give me information I must have to do what the Old One asked of me.”
“I daresay ‘ask’ is a mild word,” Pandro commented. “Still you’re right.” He took a deep breath. “We have waited with great impatience to receive the man Rocan named in his prophecy.”
“And I have heard much of this prophecy,” Teron said, more bluntly than he’d intended. “Although I’ve been told I am a central figure in it, no one has bothered to tell me what it is. How long am I to be kept in ignorance—or am I still viewed as an impostor?”
“Not by the Seventh or myself,” Pandro assured him, answering only the last part of his challenge.
“But by—say Roosk?”
Pandro ga
ve him a shrewd glance. “Roosk must view you as an impostor.”
“Which served to convince you that I was Teron, spellmaker of Korv, he who Rocan spoke of in his prophecy, and not a manifestation of Udrig.” Teron spoke with a confidence he felt but did not understand.
“Yes, though I wish it were not so,” Pandro sighed. “Roosk has been a fine court wizard and is truly gifted as a spirit caller, but after Korox, now wizard and spirit caller of Fenn, passed through Erul there is no doubt that Roosk changed. I do not trust him.”
He waved a pudgy hand. “That aside, let us turn to why I summoned you.” He smiled gently. "And yet, before I speak that which you would hear, I must know much more about you. Tell me about your life and more especially of the events which brought you here.” Pandro led his guest away from the window and seated Teron
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across from him on a comfortable chair. The little king lay back on a divan and listened with attention.
Teron sketched his early life: the intense, scholarly training given to a full Spellman’s second son; the privilege of choosing his own way when he came of age. “I chose the life of a wandering entertainer,” he told his listener, and added something he had never mentioned to anyone but himself, “and I don’t know why. It would have suited my education better to have been a teacher. Yet the choice has satisfied something inside me that I don’t understand.” He went on to speak lightly of his talents, then with respect of the spellstaff, his inheritance. He brushed over the hardships of his life, over the many times he’d survived by his wits alone, aided, perhaps, by luck. Then he spoke of the message he’d received from Rocan which eventually had brought him here.
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