Master of the Five Magics

by Lyndon Hardy

  “For my own part, I thank the random factors that no such decision has yet been made,” Alodar said. “Though obviously Vendora does not lack ardent and able suitors.”

  “Ardent yes, but able, only perhaps, Alodar. The man who fills the needs of the queen and the kingdom has yet to prove himself. And be forewarned in your own quest that more than chance affects the queen’s moods. She is strong willed and can be influenced only by subtle pressures.

  “Feston struts about the court in jingling mail, but then must show his empty pockets. Basil gives great strength to Vendora’s coffers, but must apologize when one of his band refuses to draw sword. And Duncan will find that he is called upon to do far more than merely throw his sphere about the queen.

  “And if you prove as incomplete as the rest, Alodar, repeated opportunities to lose face will present themselves to you as well. My task is to give Vendora the man who is the best for Procolon, and I work diversely at my craft.”

  “Then you have been my unknown ally all the while,” Alodar exclaimed. “While I toiled in the alchemist shop and the magician’s Guild, I despaired of returning in time. But through your machinations, I dare say none of them can show himself supreme.”

  “Take care at what I say, Alodar,” Aeriel replied. “Vendora makes the final decision still. Feston and the rest have already established their claim to be suitors. I strive to delay Vendora’s choice, not for you, but for the best, whoever that may be.”

  “And if the hero for Procolon does come forth and you are then free of your charge,” Alodar asked, “what sort of man then would you seek for yourself?”

  Aeriel laughed. “In truth, I have no answer.” She paused and then after a moment continued softly. “Suffice it to say that the man in my dream knows full well how to judge the relative worth of two women.”

  Aeriel slowly swept her hands back to rest on the chest behind her and looked deeply into Alodar’s eyes. Her face was framed with twin cascades of amber, falling upon shoulders that beckoned in the lamplight. Her eyes sparkled with the deepness of jet, and her lips, though turned in a small smile, were taut with resolution and challenge.

  Alodar took a step towards her, then another. She said nothing; her eyes held his and there was no change in her expression. He stopped and with slow deliberateness surveyed her body. He locked his eyes back on hers and advanced another step forward. Aeriel, still silent, flicked a curl from the cascade behind to fall over her shoulder.

  Alodar stopped and blinked, trying to understand the intensity of the feeling suddenly rushing over him. His loins tightened and the image of Vendora, this time only days old would not come. He saw only Aeriel, proud Aeriel, warm Aeriel, challenging him in his resolve.

  He struggled to hold on to his quest, but in a flood of emotion, it was swept away. “At the ball, I saw the object of my deepest desires,” he said simply, “and it was you.”

  He swept her into his arms, half expecting a haughty laugh at his weakness, but he did not care. He thrust his lips on hers and pulled her body to him, pressing the breath from her lungs.

  Aeriel did not resist, but clasped her bands behind him and grasped as savagely as did he. After a long moment he pulled his head back slightly, but Aeriel pursued and reattached her mouth to his. Some time later, how long Alodar could not tell, their crushing grips relaxed, and he led her to sit on the bunk behind them.

  “When I saw you again in the palace,” Aeriel said as she recovered her breath, “I remarked on the coincidence. That was because the vision that I saw in Kelric’s illusion was you.”

  “My thoughts are a jumble,” Alodar said, shaking his head. “For nearly a year I have pursued the queen. I turned away the favor you showed me at Iron Fist for the quest of her hand. But somehow, Aeriel, I have seen too much of the woman you are, and the strength to resist is now far harder to find.”

  Aeriel smiled at Alodar and then looked down to his side. She squeezed his hand and gently touched the pouch that held the sorcerer’s eye. “You have made my heart glad, Alodar,” she said, “although by my selfish actions I do not deserve it.”

  She was silent a moment and then trembled with a deep sigh. She squeezed her hand into a fist until the knuckles showed white and looked back into his eyes. “Why do you quest for the fair lady,” she asked, “if not for her beauty and power, like the rest?”

  “It is for my heritage,” Alodar replied. “I desire to recover my rightful peerage of the realm and the respect that goes with it. As consort to the fair lady, none could deny them to me.” He stopped and thought of his dream of the hero’s welcome in Ambrosia. “And for the touch of glory that goes with it as well,” he said quietly.

  “And I have pledged to serve the crown,” Aeriel said. “To see that the best man stands at Vendora’s side.” She paused and lowered her head. “Continue with your quest, Alodar. The fair lady needs you far more than I.”

  “I have not quested in blind steadfastness,” Alodar protested. “Along the way I have faltered and puzzled at the path I choose. And nothing has given me such pause as you, Aeriel. Can I truly throw my heart into pursuing a goal if you are not part of that success?”

  “We are both tired, Alodar.” Aeriel shook her head gently. “You from the battle and I from the work that must go on. The fatigue weakens our judgment and makes us easier prey to our desires. I apologize for tempting you so. In the morning we will be refreshed and have reaffirmed our resolve to do what we must do.”

  Alodar frowned at her words, his head reeling from the emotions that swung back and forth as if at the end of a snapping whip. He tried to remember the forces that drove him on, and in the corner of his mind he finally saw a vision of Vendora, the queen. “Perhaps you are right,” he said, “but I do not think a single night will unscramble my thoughts. I thunder after an abstract goal, Aeriel, but have no idea what I will do after it is achieved.”

  “It is a conundrum,” Aeriel agreed. “But for now, Procolon is in peril, and you must learn how to use the sorcerer’s eye.”

  Alodar nodded his head slowly and started to speak again, but suddenly two soft knocks echoed from the cabin door. “The queen’s council assembles to plot the course for the morrow, my lady,” a voice said from without. “Your presence is requested at once.”

  Aeriel’s expression melted into one of annoyance and Alodar let out his breath as the tension oozed away. The mood was broken and Aeriel spoke as if nothing had happened as she waved him to the door. “I must prepare. Good luck, Alodar, good luck in your quest.”

  “My lady,” he mumbled thickly and left with eyes averted.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Sorcerer’s Revenge

  ALODAR steadied himself against the roll of the deck as he walked slowly towards the small hole in the corner of Kelric’s cabin. Two weeks had given him sea legs. Holding his head and eyes steady, he concentrated on the two tiny sparkles of light which stared back at him. A bare three feet away, he lowered himself to his knees and began to undulate his hands in the outline of a pie-shaped wedge. A tiny nose poked out of the hole; long whiskers jutted hesitantly into the room.

  Alodar rapidly ran through the glamour, his face contorting into a grimace as he labored to stutter past the last few words. As he finished, the rat extended its head from the hole and then its entire body. Torn between instinctive fear and unbelievable good fortune, the rodent moved slowly across the intervening space towards Alodar’s hands.

  As the rat advanced, Alodar felt the reaction, an uncomfortable tug that pulled from his toes and fingers up through his body and then spilled out into the air above his head. Like a nail against slate or bone against jagged bone, the feeling coursed through him, too much to ignore, yet somehow too undefined to merit the aversion it produced.

  He shook his head in annoyance. The rat suddenly halted in midstride and looked nervously back to its hiding place. Alodar frowned with renewed concentration and slowly started the enchantment. He stared at the rat as he spoke, trying to
bore past the gleaming eyes into the small mind behind. He completed the first recital and the rodent did not move; during the second it resumed its cautious tread forward.

  Alodar began the third. Although his mouth seemed filled with cotton, and nausea bubbled up from his stomach, his pulse quickened when the barrier suddenly gave way. In a rush, he felt himself drawn into the small confusion of the rat’s mind, tasted its hunger and felt the sharp edge of its fear. For a moment he paused, marveling at what he had done, but the growing discomfort forced him to continue his task. He frowned deeply and then carefully separated the pulsing emotions from his own. Like a potter at his wheel, he massaged the simple thoughts and reshaped them, rounded the corners of the apprehension to a smooth pebble and tickled the stomach to growl all the more.

  Alodar unstuck the last word from his throat and the rat did not bolt away. With trusting eyes it sat placidly on the planking and curled its tail about its legs. The uneasy tug at Alodar’s innards continued for a minute more but then began to fade. He sighed with relief, knowing that he had succeeded and the worst was over. He marched the rat, stiff-legged like a child’s doll, towards the illusion of the cheese at his feet. When the twitching nose was within inches, he released control of the limbs and let the rodent pounce on the imagined feast of its own will. The rat showed no concern for Alodar’s presence; with a vicious bite, it snapped its jaws on empty air. Alodar felt the upwelling of simple anticipation in the rodent’s brain and carefully stimulated the tongue and stomach to make each gulp a savory delight. In a moment the phantom morsel was completely devoured, and the rat again curled its tail in contentment. Alodar watched for a second and then suddenly took away the cloak that sheltered the fear. The rodent started and quickly scampered back into its hole.

  “You must maintain eye contact at all times, Alodar,” Kelric said over his shoulder. “Had you not laced yesterday’s bait with that sedative, the rat would have broken away when you faltered. And the discomfort you felt was nothing compared to what it would have been if the charm was not completed.”

  “I will gradually reduce the dose,” Alodar said. “In a few days more, I will be able to enchant a rat as well as one who does not have the benefit of alchemy. And by working up gradually, I think I progress far faster than otherwise.” He bent down and picked up the crumb of cheese he had dropped nearby. “It is the same with the illusions. By starting with a real sample, I can make them more realistic with far less effort. The drain of the vital force made me hesitate, but without the aid of thaumaturgy I would have been unable to get both the glamour and the enchantment finished together.”

  “Oh, you are progressing well enough without such aids,” Kelric growled. “Your mind is quick and there is no reason not to proceed as I did in my youth.”

  “It is my training as a thaumaturge that provides the edge,” Alodar said. “Without some measure of cunning, one cannot aspire to be a master.”

  “Yet sorcery is not learned by wit alone,” Kelric warned. “It takes dedication as well.” He paused and scratched his side. “Although I must admit, I find no fault with you there. You have labored hard and indeed are further along than I thought possible in such a time.”

  “The perseverance comes from alchemy,” Alodar replied.

  “And the precision with which you speak the charms?” Kelric continued in mild annoyance. “Do you have a craft for that as well?”

  “Magic.” Alodar laughed. “The rituals would not complete if not correctly performed.”

  Kelric shook his head and stroked his chin in thought. “The crafts have always been so separated,” he muttered. “Perhaps there is some profit in intercourse between them.”

  “Regardless of that, my concentration is now totally on sorcery,” Alodar said. “What next must I learn of the fundamental charms before I advance to ones more potent?”

  “You have yet to show mastery of the simple illusions for dumb beasts without the fancy shortcuts,” Kelric said. “And believe me, those must be second nature to you before you can profitably continue. You should rest and try again with the rodent tomorrow.”

  Alodar frowned and started to protest the delay but a last rumble of his stomach changed his mind. “You are right. I can tolerate no more, at least for today. I will go topside to clear my head.”

  Kelric nodded in agreement. “And I shall attend the queen in your absence,” he called after Alodar. “Perhaps some lady of the court will lower her guard and let me look her in the eye.”

  Alodar slowly climbed the companionway to the main deck, pushing his thoughts of Kelric and sorcery aside. He pressed on the hatch and frowned as he had to shove with his shoulder to pry it open. With a forceful crash, it slammed shut as he let go. He reached for a line nearby to steady himself in the gusts that lashed the deck.

  The motion of the barge as it plowed through the waves was even more apparent than it was below. High walls of spray rained over the bow. Ever so often the line between water and air seemed high above the tightly wrapped spars that tilted madly with the wind.

  Alodar bowed his head and stomped purposefully to the rail amidship to join a solitary figure that was peering out over the churning sea.

  “A bit rough today,” Alodar greeted Grengor as he reached his side.

  “Yes, that it is, master Alodar,” Grengor replied drawing his hood closer about the wide face and stubble of beard that protruded from it. “Everyone below is packed together like fortune cards but no one complains. Not even the ones who must guard the sorcerer from the south. The discomfort is far less, they judge, than enduring the wet and cold up here.”

  Alodar nodded and looked out over the rail across the water. “I cannot see any of the fleet in these waves and spray,” he said.

  “Long ago, each has furled sail and shipped oars to ride out the storm. We will be leagues apart when it blows over.”

  “And no nearer Arcadia either I wager,” Alodar said. “This wind from the south blows us farther from king Elsinor with each minute.”

  “Perhaps so, master,” Grengor said, “but the same wind batters any enemy wargalleys out here as well.”

  Alodar grunted in reply and then both men lapsed into silence, drawing their cloaks about them and exposing little save their eyes to the lash of wind and wave. As they watched, the broad bow nosed down under the wall of water which broke over it, and spray bounded across the deck to strike Alodar in the face. He and Grengor retreated aft as the bow sluggishly rose and the wave rolled underneath.

  The ship plunged over the back of the wave and met the overtopping crest of the next one low in the water, shuddering as the shower pounded the deck. This time both Grengor and Alodar were pelted where they stood. The ship began to right itself with agonizing slowness, barely coming up to level as the wave slid past.

  Alodar turned to Grengor with a question in his eye. By his small experience, the barge at first had seemed a city afloat, but the tremble and groan as the ship steadied for the next pitch upward put in perspective how small they were in the fury of the storm. He arched his eyebrows in surprise as Grengor returned his glance. He expected to see the condescending smile of the experienced sailor, but saw instead a set jaw and eyes alive with concern.

  The next wave hit the barge and a cascade of water skittered the length of the deck, spiraling past their boots and drenching their cloaks to their knees. Again the water tumbled off in giant falls to the side, but Alodar held his breath as he waited for the bowsprit finally to break through to clean air.

  He looked all about the deck, expecting to see that only he, Grengor and the helmsman were insane enough to be about. He saw instead a head emerging from a hatchway near the forecastle. In a moment, another figure was on deck and Alodar wrinkled his brow in puzzlement. The wind and water howled as before, but no cloak protected the newcomer and his pole axe of shining steel. With a somewhat halting step, he lumbered past, not even acknowledging the small nod that Alodar threw his way.

  “One of Feston
’s men, no doubt,” Grengor said. “Too disdainful to return even the slightest courtesy to someone not of his faction.”

  “It is of no importance, Grengor,” Alodar said as he stared at the figure retreating past them and climbing the ladder to the poop deck. “Such slights might have angered me greatly a year ago, but now I give them no thought.”

  Alodar watched the man finally reach the level of the poop deck and then point himself in the direction of the deckhouse. He took one slow step and then another. Just like the gait of the rat on which he had demonstrated the charm, Alodar thought. So totally entrapped that every motion had to be directed by the enchanter.

  “Grengor,” Alodar cried, suddenly breaking out of his slow reverie. “What duty did you say that Feston’s men performed today?”

  “Why, let me see.” Grengor said. “The oarsmen yesterday and again on the morrow. It must be the sorcerer then that they watch today.”

  “Then follow me quickly,” Alodar yelled, springing across the deck and then immediately stumbling as the roll of the ship caught him in midstride. “To the helmsman! I fear he needs our aid.”

  Alodar and Grengor raced to the ladder as the figure ahead of them entered the small enclosure on the deck above. With a strong pull on the railing, Alodar jumped up onto the deck, just in time to see the axehead plunge into the unprotected chest of the helmsman. A feeble cry of surprise and pain was swept away by the wind. The assailant flailed his blade again at the bloody form as it fell.

  Alodar and Grengor burst into the house with swords drawn. With near simultaneous thrusts, they jabbed their blades forward and felt the parting of flesh and jarring contact with bone, Alodar drew his sword out with a wrench and stepped back in anticipation of a swinging axeblade in reply. The figure paid them no attention. With a face undistorted by apprehension or pain, he swung his next blow at the wheel, oblivious of the blood gushing from the two fresh wounds in his sides.