Master of the Five Magics

by Lyndon Hardy

  The men in the camp spotted him almost immediately. Alodar heard an order barked from the water’s edge as two men rose to meet him. He closed half the distance and scanned those still seated, marking for sure the one who commanded them.

  “Drop your arms,” the two guardsmen growled in unison as he approached. Alodar took but two more steps and felt the last restraint hurl away. The lust for blood billowed up. With a frenzy, he drew his sword. Swinging it high overhead, he ran at the two with a chilling yell.

  The man on the right cleared his blade of the scabbard but did not have time to use it. Alodar’s sword swung down into his shoulder with a bone-breaking thud. As the man sank, clutching spasmodically with his free hand the wound, Alodar pulled his sword backwards and wrenched it free. The other nomad stood openmouthed, still not comprehending the folly of such a suicidal attack. Alodar thrust his dagger into the nomad’s stomach with his left hand in a swiping zigzag that spilled the man to the ground.

  The men behind all scrambled to their feet. The ones nearest instinctively drew their swords as Alodar thundered into their midst. They formed a shallow bowl around him, animal hide shields high and swords pointing out. Alodar looked beyond, down to the water’s edge, where he saw the chieftain now on one knee, peering in puzzlement at the commotion.

  Using sword and dagger together, Alodar lunged at the two immediately in front. As his blade skittered off their shields, he bolted around them. The man on his left slashed backwards, and Alodar felt the sharp edge of pain race through his left arm. He convulsively dropped his dagger and faltered for a step, his vision fogging from the blow. But the urge to run amok welled up even stronger and beat down the pain, hurling it away. With the arm dangling at his side spewing blood, he sprinted down the beach to his target.

  The chieftain rose to his feet, barking new orders to the men scattered along the way. Behind Alodar, the original group pounded after, now out of sword reach but sealing off all retreat. Glancing quickly to the side, Alodar saw a bowman nock an arrow and began to track his progress across the sand. One arrow sailed by in front, and then a second fell inches behind.

  He burst across the logs which defined the chieftain’s campfire and closed upon the three men who still stood between him and his goal. With a savage yell, he hacked low underneath the falling shield on his right and hit just above the ankle, sweeping the man from his feet. The two on the left both slashed downward on his unprotected side but missed as Alodar dipped and scrambled forward.

  The man nearest swung again, this time in a low horizontal arc. The point reached Alodar’s calf, and his leg buckled. The leader and the two aides closed about him, each eager to deliver a mortal blow.

  The pain coursed up through his leg and spine as Alodar struggled to stand and get past the chieftain’s guard. Three blades were raised against him, but he concentrated only on one, trying to find an opening before they fell.

  Suddenly beyond the periphery of the camp, a mighty yell arose and the marines and the rest of the royal party charged into view. The three swordsmen hesitated and turned to see the cause for the commotion. Alodar saw his chance. He swung his sword up into the air, reversing his grip, and plunged it daggerstyle at the face of the leader. The point caught the barbarian in the left eye and snapped his head backwards with the fury of the blow.

  The other two nomads spun back to see their leader fall and then dropped their jaws as they saw Alodar standing with both arms at his side, staring vacantly. One took a step forward, sword still high, but then hesitated to look back at the wall of men racing his way.

  Alodar felt the fury slowly subside and the pain from leg and arm return. As the delayed blow slashed down, his leg again buckled. The sword caught him in the flesh of the shoulder and deflected off and down into the sand. Without caring, he saw the nomads waver and then throw down their swords.

  The world without fell away and the crescendo of the pain rose higher. In desperation Alodar sought out the eye, the eye which had comforted him, which had provided for him, which gave him his reason for being and protected him from pain.

  But the presence was not there and the pain grew stronger, throbbing through limb and torso and beating on the fiber of his brain with ever-increasing strokes of lightning. Alodar groped for a touchstone, some reference point in the void to guide him to the eye, but none was there. Then, as he was on the edge of consciousness, a vision came of a granite crag, a bracelet embedded in its peak, and the sleeping form of a great wizard. As the pain finally overwhelmed him, Alodar clawed the air, reaching out to grasp at the strange force which beckoned him over the hills.

  PART FIVE

  The Wizard

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Improbable Imp

  “LOOK, Grengor, he stirs.” Alodar heard the words filter through the numbness that permeated his entire body. He opened his eyes slowly and saw Aeriel’s auburn curls cascading down about his face. He shifted the position of his head and felt her caress on his cheek. A dull throb pounded in his head.

  “Gently, Alodar,” she said softly. “My lap will serve as well as any cradle till you mend. There was some sweetbalm in the chieftain’s plunder but it was far from freshly brewed. It closed the wounds and stimulated the regrowth, but it still will be some time before you are whole.”

  Alodar frowned as dim memories stirred. A bouncing ride, thin acorn gruel forced between his lips, Aeriel’s soft words, sunlight and campfires swirled together in a blur. He looked out into the evening light and saw a dozen campfires scattered about the slopes of a wide-mouthed valley. The hills came together like cupped palms, and ferns and long-stemmed grasses clustered near the small stream that ran where they touched. On the slopes, the naked oaks were few, and stately pines soared over a hundred feet into the sky. Ponies whinnied in the distance, mixing their cries with the guttural accent of the northmen’s voices. In the group nearby, two tangle-haired women served the queen, while one of the marines passed a waterskin back to a chieftain.

  Alodar opened his mouth to speak, but Grengor cut him off. “Fear not, master. After your deed, not a man among us begrudges your weight. Your litter will be carried all the way back to the palace halls in Ambrosia if it need be. Each bearer remembers that, because of your wounds, he did not receive any.

  “And the barbarians regard you as some great hero from the sagas. We tell them that you sleep in peace, that if they do not heed your followers’ commands, once again they will face your terrible wrath. Why, in the eight days that you drifted in and out of your swoon, the first tribe’s terrified tale and Basil’s beads have swollen our forces many fold. We are nearly a hundred now, moving southward for the queen.”

  “It is not quite so simple, Grengor,” Aeriel said. “I have seen the petty quarrels and heard the whispered conversations among these hastily assembled allies. Basil’s gems and Feston’s promises for greater reward will not keep their attention forever. As the ranks swell, they will become much more difficult for the few of us to manage.”

  “I am as aware of the truth as you, my lady,” Grengor assured her. “Under the circumstances, our present course seems the best. A hundred men will make no difference in Procolon’s defense, but there is no time to build a large and disciplined army. We must move down the line of hills that parallels the coast as rapidly as we can, convincing whomever we find along the way to enlist in the cause of the fair lady. Each of us now directs six or seven of the nomads. With a bold front, perhaps we can command ten times that number. If we are lucky, we will cross the border with more than a thousand swords.”

  Alodar struggled to sit up. “Grengor,” he said, “the crag, the wizard’s tower to the west, where the snow dips to the hills. How many days for all of us on foot? We must go there.”

  “Be not alarmed, my lady,” Grengor told Aeriel. “It is but a delirium. A small phantasm from having undergone the charm of the sorcerer. As the body mends, so will the mind.”

  Alodar still felt sick and dizzy from his misca
st charm. The sweetbalm was no longer potent enough to blot out all of the pain. “Fetch Kelric, I say. He must interpret the vision. We cannot choose our course until it is settled.”

  “He alone of our troop has perished,” Grengor said. “Even with the aid of the eye, he gave up the little power that remained within him to quell your pain and guide your final thrust into the chieftain’s brain. Indeed, had he not so passed from us, you still would be only what he chose to make of you.”

  Grengor paused and looked off into the distance. “But in the end, I think he judged his choice to be the right one. As he sank away, the queen pronounced him a suitor for his deed in her behalf. His last expression was a smile rather than a scowl.”

  Alodar was silent for a moment as the news sank in. But the feeling of urgency grew and pushed his reflection aside. “There is more to the eye than just a sorcerer’s tool,” he said at last. “I saw and felt far beyond what Kelric impressed upon me.”

  “And what if it is so, master?” Grengor persisted. “The deed of the eye is done, and we must soon return to Procolon with whatever forces we can muster. Aeriel even replaced the thing in your pouch as you slept; no one else coveted it. Leave thoughts of sorcery here in the uplands. What can they possibly matter to you now?”

  Alodar leaned one hand back to steady himself and closed his eyes. The scene of the hills with the mountains behind sprang into his mind, almost as vivid as it had under enchantment. Mentally he soared over the terrain and unerringly sped to the one spot that had compelled him before. The giant spire was there and inside it was a tomb. A tomb to be opened. A wizard to be questioned. The answer to a riddle for which he could not even formulate the question.

  He thought of his quest for the queen; but beside this great yearning, it did not seem to matter. He wrinkled his brow in puzzlement and reached out to stroke Aeriel’s arm at his side. How could the spire connect with what he strove for? It must be an enchantment produced by the eye itself, independent of the wielder. Had he not looked, it would be no more than an idle thought to be consumed by the fires of his ambition. But the compulsion tugged and he knew he must respond.

  Alodar opened his eyes and thought through what he would say. Waving aside Aeriel’s restraining arm, he slowly rose to face the sergeant. He swayed for a moment and then drew in a deep breath and was steady.

  “I know that it will take time as well as sweetbalm to mend my body, Grengor,” he said in a slow, deliberate tone. “But my mind is clear, clear enough to know what we must do. If we continue directly south as we have, we will find only more of the smaller tribes in our path. But in my vision of far-seeing on the boat, I looked down on larger camps higher in the interior, larger tribes hunting where the game is more plentiful. It will take us longer to return to Procolon, but we must strike to the west so that we increase our chances of finding greater numbers.”

  “But, as lady Aeriel says,” Grengor objected, “it would also mean greater risk of losing control of whatever forces we now command.”

  “I cannot ignore what I have seen under the spell of the eye, Grengor,” Alodar said. “I must go west and seek out the answer. This beckoning I cannot explain, but the truth of it I do not doubt. If you will trust me as your leader, then I ask you to join me.”

  Grengor looked back at Alodar’s face. “The other suitors will not be convinced easily. And if we argue in front of the barbarians, the feeble hold we have on them may vanish.”

  “I will go alone if I must,” Alodar said, looking out over the campfires. “But if you marines and the nomads you command come, then the others will follow. We are the majority. As you say, the suitors will not risk a confrontation. They will reason that a few days detour is far better than proceeding southward with a small fraction of our party.”

  Grengor rubbed his chin. “The south or west; we do not know for certain the outcome of our fortunes either way,” he mused.

  “You followed me onto the wargalley’s deck and into the longboat in a raging sea.”

  Grengor was silent for a moment. “And into the nomad’s camp.” He slapped his side at last. “Forgive my hesitation, master. If you command to the west, it is to the west we will go. Rest lightly while I pass the word. We will strike into the interior tomorrow.”

  Grengor went off, and Alodar felt Aeriel’s touch on his shoulder. “There is still time for rest,” she suggested. “Come, make yourself comfortable.”

  They settled to the ground and Alodar looked up into dark eyes that reflected the flickering glows of the campfires. “I still quest for the fair lady,” he said. “I do not know what we will discover in the west, but I hope that somehow it will aid in my cause.”

  “I understand that.” Aeriel continued her gentle stroking. “Your charge into the camp redeemed your loss of face for the miscast sorcery. That is all in the past now. The queen’s favor will shift to the one who can aid her best on the morrow.”

  For a long while Alodar thought of his thirst for glory, the granite spire, Vendora, and the foggy memory of Aeriel’s nursing in the days past. Finally he reached out and grasped her hand in his. “But were it not for the quest…”

  Aeriel smiled. “And I understand that as well,” she said.

  The huge fire crackled in the first light of dawn, and Alodar huddled close for its warmth. He tentatively stretched one of his legs forward and felt the stiffness in his calf. Idly, he fingered a chip of agate he had found on the trail and then tossed it among the clippings of herbs, twigs, rocks, and other thaumaturgical and alchemical gear he had scavenged along the way. He slapped at one of the fleas that he had acquired from the nomadic tribesmen.

  “Despite its age, the sweetbalm has done its work well, Alodar,” Aeriel said beside him. “Only twelve days of healing, and already you are nearly well.”

  “Yes I think I am ready to try some of the trail on my own feet,” Alodar responded, rubbing his shoulder with his free hand as she leaned against him. “And I will need to be far more supple when we finally reach the spire.”

  “It is well that you are so steadfast in your determination,” she said. “You know full well that Duncan and the others accompany your marines against their will. They seek only the smallest opportunity to show you still bemused from Kelric’s spell. Once even a hint of doubt creeps into your manner, they will try to exploit it to gain control.”

  Alodar nodded and looked down the trail. They were higher now, and the valley walls closed together. Rather than scattered on a broad floor, their troop snaked back in almost single file, the row of campfires strung like fiery beads on an invisible string. The trees crowded in close, taking turns eclipsing the sun as it rose into the sky. Long shafts of light filtered through the needles, bathing the dusty air in a golden glow. Alodar heard Feston’s deep voice and Vendora’s laugh in reply. He chafed at his self-imposed exile from her presence but, after his failure with sorcery, thought it best to resolve the mystery of the wizard’s tower before approaching her again. He looked back at Aeriel and saw her staring silently into the flame.

  After several minutes, Grengor walked into view from up the trail and playfully slapped his relief guard on the back as he passed. “By the spirits, a solemn lot,” he cried as he approached Alodar and Aeriel. “Did not your training maids tell you, my lady, of the danger of staring with such intensity into the blaze?”

  “Yes, that they did, Grengor,” Aeriel said, shaking her head and looking up to the marine as he approached. “Many a time they warned me that the fascination of the flame was only the will of some demon in the world beyond. Reaching out and trying to bewitch me, just as the sorcerer does with his eye. And many times as a small girl I tested such old tales, too.”

  “You make much too light of it, my lady,” Grengor said. “Your maids instructed you well. As the romances say, it is not only by the wizard’s brazier that the realms are connected; innocent flame of whatever type might serve as the means also.”

  “But the sagas say that only the simplest and
least powerful can come through of their own will,” Aeriel protested. “Demons of true power can bridge the gap only by the intercession of a wizard. Unless he deliberately seeks to make the contact and provides the exotic ingredients for the flame, then there can be no transferal.”

  “Yes, my lady, it is probably as you say,” Grengor replied as he moved across the campsite. “But I shun staring at the flame nonetheless.”

  Alodar rose stiffly from his sprawled position and tentatively stretched to his tiptoes. “Pause a few minutes while you can, Grengor,” he said, “but we should break camp and begin the climb. I hope to be well up the mountainside and perhaps even at the base of the spire before nightfall.”

  Grengor grunted as he slumped down for a moment’s rest at the edge of the fire. One of the other marines rose and sent the word down the line. One by one, the fires were snuffed out. Soon the valley walls echoed with the sounds of breaking camp and loading the ponies. In half an hour, the long string was ready to march, and they started up the trail.

  The early going was easy, up a modest incline with little rock and debris to impede their progress. As the sun began to arch up to its zenith, the slope steepened and the smoothness underfoot gave way to bare rock, tumbled and cracked by the snow melts of spring.

  Alodar panted near the lead, his lips pulled into a slight grimace as he tried his weight on his healing leg. With such a large party, the pace was slow enough; but he was tiring rapidly and wished that a good place to halt would soon appear.

  “A moment, Alodar,” Aeriel gasped. “I am beginning to feel the effects of the height. Should we not pause, even if we do not prepare a meal?”

  “I petition with the lady,” Grengor said as he struggled to join them. “I have an itch between my shoulders that has tormented me since we broke camp this morning.”