Master of the Five Magics

by Lyndon Hardy

  “The sphere wards off demons as well as mortal blows,” Duncan reminded the queen.

  “Duncan, you are not the only suitor to whom I can turn for aid,” Vendora said. “In fact I have decided today to increase my options further.” She stopped and swept her arm across the circle. “Stand up, Grak, and receive the congratulations of your peers.”

  The nomad rose stiffly and placed his hands behind his back, glowering at the looks cast his way.

  “For what deed this time?” Aeriel asked. “Are not four suitors enough to play one against the other?”

  “I could justify it as a reward for assembling my barbarian army,” Vendora replied.

  “But that is favoritism even more blatant than at Iron Fist,” Aeriel said. “It is not because of his aid alone that we have gathered as many as we have.”

  “I could say for assembling my army,” Vendora repeated, “but I will not. It is because I want it so, and that is reason enough.”

  A rash of whispers shot around the circle but Vendora ignored them and continued. “You cannot fault the role of queen that I have played. My father taught me in fine detail how to balance the competing factions and to win independent power to my cause. But I am a woman as well as a queen. Not all of my choices will be made because they suit the purposes of the state.”

  “But your beauty is renowned throughout the kingdom, my fair lady,” Duncan protested. “We suitors pursue you as well as the dignity of the crown.”

  “Oh I know you would eye me even if I were a wench in a tavern.” Vendora smiled. “But without the glitter of the throne, how many gems or magic spheres would you offer my way? Grak pledged to Vendora the woman, and for that he would have the same reward if he alone came to my banner. After tomorrow it may no longer matter; you will not suffer for the one night he is your equal.”

  “Our fate cannot be as certain as all that,” Aeriel cried. “Surely fight or flight are not all that we can consider. Handar, I do not believe you slept only to warn us of what we would finally discover of our own accord. What else can we do besides stand firm and wave our swords until we are swept away?”

  “Yes, there is another hope,” Handar said as he rose slowly and stepped to the center of the circle near the fire. “Another chance, less direct but one that we must take as well.”

  He looked around the group and saw everyone waiting for him to continue. “Years ago when it was decided that one day what we see about us indeed could come to pass, the great wizards planned what must be our defense. Our hope would not lie in struggling with the mischievous imps, the devils of power, or even the great demons. No, we must strike instead at the capstone. We must subjugate the very prince who plots against us and bend him to our will to trouble us no more. Only with one such as he working for our good fortune rather than against it could we ensure that our peril was gone. Directed by his human master to turn his attention elsewhere, he would bring his minions home and look to other worlds to satisfy his lust for conquest. And even though the barriers subsequently might fall again, he would be bound to prevent any free transfer.”

  “But a demon prince, one more powerful than Balthazar,” Alodar protested. “Has any wizard ever tried to undertake such a task?”

  “No, such a conjuring has never been attempted,” Handar replied. “And for two compelling reasons. The first is the flame; the prince can be summoned only by the burning of a metal extracted and purified from many substances which are nearly its twin. From no common earth does it come. And as far as I know, only one quantity of sufficient size has been refined by the most painstaking alchemist’s art.”

  “Then where is it now?” Alodar asked. “Back in your spire?”

  “No.” Handar smiled. “Much nearer than that. Here, Alodar, let me see the sorcerer’s eye.”

  Alodar reached into his pouch and handed the wizard the nearly forgotten orb. His eyes widened with surprise as Handar suddenly snatched it away and hurled it to the ground. The sphere hit a rock with a crash and shattered into a myriad of tiny jagged pieces. The eye was gone and Handar stooped and picked up a single crystal of shining metal hidden in its interior.

  For a moment Alodar was silent, studying first the remains of the sphere he had struggled so hard to obtain and then the gleaming beauty Handar held between thumb and forefinger. “But if you knew that it was there all along, why wait until now to bring it forth? When I awakened you at the tower, why did you not summon the demon prince at once and be done with it?”

  “As I have said,” Handar continued, “No such conjuring has ever been attempted. I am among the best of my craft, but Balthazar is the limit of what I can hope to master. For one such as the demon prince, no mortal wizard would have the strength to impress his domination upon him.”

  “Then what is this hope of which you speak?” Grengor asked. “If none can subdue this mighty demon, then we are left with nothing but to struggle with blade and shield.”

  “No wizard, I said,” Handar replied. “One armed only with the powers of my craft, no matter how skillful, would have no chance to succeed. Therefore we consulted with masters of the other arts, an event most unheard of. But thaumaturge, alchemist, magician, sorcerer—they all agreed that none of their arts singly applied could fare any better than mine. The one to confront the demon prince would need proficiencies far greater, far more encompassing than any of those in a single craft. He would need to be an archimage, the master of all the arts.”

  “But even if such a wonder existed,” Grengor persisted, “would even he be enough?”

  “I do not know,” Handar said. “But by logic, there is nothing more potent that a mortal could try. We know that knowledge of one of the arts is insufficient. But yet this one spark of hope is there. Even though each art would fail by itself, perhaps, if used together by someone versed in them all, the effect of the whole might be greater than the sum of the parts.”

  Handar stuffed the crystal into a pocket and then touched his fingertips together and rested his thumbs on his chest. “And so we, the great wizards, made our plan on this premise. We began by building Iron Fist, the fortress of the far west. Great effort was spent in raising its long, smooth walls. Much thought was given to the design of its passageways and mighty keep. Many demons were pressed into the labor of its construction. When the trigger was complete, we set them upon themselves until they all were destroyed.”

  “The trigger?” Feston interrupted. “I was at the fall of Iron Fist but saw nothing of what you speak.”

  “The trigger was the castle itself,” Handar said. “After we had finished the other tasks of our plan we went to sleep in the tower to the north. And so long as the interaction with demonkind was random, we would slumber on. Awakening—my awakening—was not to come until precipitated by the desires of the demon prince for our world. When the prince finally directed his attention to us, his first act would be to attack our tower. He could not penetrate our protective shield so he acted instead to ensure that no mortal would awaken us either.

  “And after the passage of time had sealed us away from other men with taboo and superstition, his interest then naturally focused on the structure for which we had lavished so much care, the mighty fortress built by the wizards he was unable to reach. He could not but think that some great secret of our craft lay somewhere hidden within its protective walls. And so, after isolating us in the north, he directed the sack of Iron Fist to learn what we must have hidden there. That attack started the sequence of events that resulted in my awakening and the culmination of our defense as well.”

  “None could fathom why Bandor chose to raze the castle rather than fortify it for his own.” Feston nodded his head. “But you speak of a man of great skill to lead the defense. Ask and you will hear of my prowess in that fall, how I saved the queen from a dire fate and became suitor for her hand.”

  “Ah, skill in arms. Most commendable,” Handar said. “But was it by that skill that you made your escape with the treasures that were hidden
there?”

  “Why no, it was not so,” Aeriel interjected before Feston could speak again. “It was Alodar who solved the riddle of the column and the well. It was he who found the passage that let us reach the cool air of the hills beyond.”

  “Most clever for you to solve the riddle, Alodar.” Handar smiled. “But then, cunning is the mark of the master thaumaturge.”

  He patted his fingertips together and then put his hands behind his back. Like a lecturer before a group of apprentices, he slowly circled the fire with his chin bent down to his chest. “But there was more buried in Iron Fist than just a means of escape. As we returned from my tower, Alodar told me that he carried away a scrap of paper with a single formula, most arcane. A formula that was used to probe the secrets of the Fumus Mountains.”

  “And not by the novice alone,” Basil interrupted. “My minion Rendrac pitted his great bulk against the heat of those furnaces. He brought forth a treasure the likes of which man has not hitherto seen. It was pledged to the queen to provide the means by which she might finance her struggles.” He drew his dagger and waved it about. “And for my great generosity I am her suitor as much as any nobleborn.”

  “I have heard of Rendrac’s fate,” Handar continued. “With ointment applied thickly, he braved the mountains, only to die a suffocating death in the end. And with no ointment, the treasure could not be reached. Only by pushing onward against great pain could one hope to return with both orbs of magic and his life. But then, perseverance is the touchstone of the master alchemist.”

  “It may have been wizardry which placed the spheres in the mountains,” Duncan said. “But it was my magic which completed the sphere of protection, proof against man and demon alike. What greater gift could one give a queen in exchange for marriage vows.”

  “Yes, magic and wizardry mixed,” Handar admitted. “A source of heat, lasting forever, to keep the lava bubbling in its basin of solid rock. And the two incomplete spheres placed by a fire demon in the bowels of the mountain. Two spheres, not one, and subtly different. When completed by tradition the results are the same. With a different ritual performed with precision, however, one becomes instead a sorcerer’s eye.” Handar shrugged. “But then, precision is the essence of the master magician. It was the eye that led Alodar to me and completed the chain for which Iron Fist was the trigger.”

  “Kelric showed great bravery in unlocking its power,” Grengor said. “Even though he died with the badge of a suitor, he knew that he willed his own death by attempting to use it.”

  “Great courage indeed.” Handar nodded. “But which was greater? Who among you submitted to look into the eye when it opened? It is one thing to resign yourself to death but quite another to accept an uncertain fate which may be even worse. But then, bravery is the heart of the master sorcerer. And through it all, who ran the entire gauntlet of tests, refusing to succumb to the events which threatened to dominate him?”

  Handar stopped and turned to face Alodar. “But then, strength of will is the quintessence of the master wizard. Yes, our plan encompassed more than the mechanism for our awakening. They included as well the means by which we would find and test the one who possessed the inherent capabilities to master all the arts. The lid of my coffin was not pushed aside by a random messenger. It was done by the one whom we sought.”

  Alodar blinked. For a moment, he was speechless. “I have faced these trials as you say,” he said at last. “But I do not know of what you speak. I sought only the hand of the queen.”

  “Yes, my lad,” Handar replied. “Most certainly you moved forward from endeavor to endeavor with some other goal in mind. But the first quest is but the shadow of the second. It is for more than a single kingdom that you are here. All else is the pettiness of dull history and not the fabric of the sages.”

  “But I could have faltered along the way,” Alodar protested. “Had I not acted correctly at each step, what then of your plan to save us?”

  “To defeat the demon prince, the need is for the archimage,” Handar said. “No less will do. Not one who claims to know all the crafts, not one who is willing to learn them. But one who possesses the attributes that make a great master of them all. We had to take the risk that someone capable of being the complete master would be present at Iron Fist when it fell.”

  “But in no craft am I master, let alone five,” Alodar protested. “I studied thaumaturgy for a few years, alchemy for half of one more. With each art my knowledge and experience is less than the one before. I have controlled a few simple imps and exorcised one or two more. Yet I would fear Balthazar or the tower demons, let alone their master.”

  “It is not their power on which you should dwell,” Handar said. “That is as they would wish. It is their will that must be your focus, independent of how they manipulate the natural elements at their disposal. Such is the way with Balthazar and with the prince as well.”

  The wizard paused and then continued slowly. “I understand some of what you feel, but events have proceeded all too quickly. I could wish to see you develop more fully in my craft, to build the confidence needed before you were distracted by the task for which you were groomed. But tomorrow precludes such an option. And master in the arts or not, we have no other candidate. You are the best that mortal men at this junction can offer.”

  Alodar looked around the circle, his mouth suddenly dry. He saw all eyes staring his way awaiting his decision. He felt a touch on his arm and turned his head to see Aeriel at his side. Numb with the weight of what was asked of him, he looked at Vendora and thought of how hard he had struggled for the prize of possessing her. He ran his tongue across his lips and visualized his dream of the triumphant march of the hero. He brushed his hand by his side and then suddenly looked across at Cedric.

  The warmaster returned his stare, cool and steady. “I said to wear the sword so that it did honor to us both,” Cedric said. “I have no cause to wish it back.”

  Alodar glanced at Aeriel standing quietly beside him, only dimly aware of the pain her grip sent through his arm. He looked back at the wizard and read the truth of all that Handar had said.

  “Is it so certain that I alone have walked this path for you?” Alodar asked.

  Handar nodded silently.

  Alodar filled his lungs with a rush of air. “It is not for this that I have quested,” he said. “But I have offered my life once already and that was merely for a queen. How can I sacrifice less for what you ask?”

  “It is as I knew you would say.” Handar tossed Alodar the crystal of metal.

  “But when and how should I use it?” Alodar asked. “Now, just before the attack, during the battle, or only if all seems irretrievably lost?”

  Handar slowly shook his head. “That is for the archimage to decide,” he said softly.

  PART SIX

  The Archimage

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Master Times Five

  “THAT should be enough curing,” Alodar said as he dropped the formula-laden scrap to the ground. The potter grunted and slowed the spin of his wheel to a halt. Alodar peered into the large barrel. Guided by overhead torchlight, he scooped out the last of the small, dripping pumicestones. He felt the rubbery coating that had been flung against the inner walls of the barrel and nodded with satisfaction at its dryness.

  Pressing all that goldenrod for the milky sap had taken time, and he had been forced to try four times for the desiccation to activate properly twice. But otherwise these crude potato barrels would not be watertight.

  “Put it on the wagon with the other,” he said, “and take them down to the stream to be filled. Grengor has a party building a dam and will sound alarm if anything stirs on the other crest.”

  The potter waved his understanding, and Alodar pushed the details from his mind. His thoughts raced forward to the next task to be performed in the little time remaining before dawn. After the council had broken up, he had talked with Handar for another hour about what to expect when he tried to conj
ure the demon prince. Each question had led to two more; when the wizard finally broke off, Alodar was no more sure of his course of action than when he began. But he could not tolerate the frustration of waiting and plunged into a whirlwind of activities, manipulating the things that he could understand, seeking ways to combine the virtues of the five arts, to scrape together the meager resources at hand into potent weapons for the battle. The bog illusion was prepared and the demon for the barrels must wait until the proper time. What next could be done with the bits of board and metal that remained in the camp?

  “I did not expect to find you still about.” Handar’s voice cut through Alodar’s reverie. “Let the thaumaturges and alchemists among the refugees handle these tasks. If anyone is to get his rest tonight, it should be you.”

  “I cannot stand idly by while others rush forward for our cause armed only with their swords,” Alodar protested. “I have spent the evening formulating a means by which we can match the length of their line to ours.” He waved at the departing potter. “And something to halt the ones that might break through.”

  “I also have been busy,” the wizard said. “On the wings of djinns, I returned to the tower. I awoke two sleeping comrades from tombs like my own. Their power is not as great as mine but it will be used tomorrow. More than Balthazar will be wrenched from his study of other worlds to struggle against his brethren.”

  “These other places?” Alodar asked. “Several times you have mentioned them. What have they to do with us?”

  “Though I have never seen one,” Handar answered, “the demons speak of many worlds parallel to theirs, some in fact inhabited by men like ourselves. And on some of these the crafts by which men lifted themselves from savagery are different from those we use here. There the five arts have fallen into disrepute, their principles forgotten or distorted, their place taken by other skills similar in nature but guided by different laws. The truth of thaumaturgy remain only in a few imperfectly remembered spells; instead, a huge edifice of complex postulates has been erected to explain the nature of space and time. Impatient with the uncertain success of alchemy, they replaced it with another art. The beautiful symmetries of magic became a thing unto themselves, symbols to be manipulated and arrayed, their underlying significance lost. The skill of the sorcerer to enchant fell away, and the practitioners concentrated instead on small changes in character of those with whom they dealt. And whole populations cope with devils and imps by turning their backs on them and dismissing their existence as primitive superstition. Places such as these are not threatened by demonkind, or if so, care little for the consequences of the interaction. And perhaps this indifference is what draws the prince’s attention to us. I do not know. I only can hope that you will find the means to turn it in another direction.”