by Lyndon Hardy
Lectonil's cheeks flushed and his eyes glowered. "And so I show my favor only on those who side with respect and tradition," he said at last. "Respect, tradition and what is proper as well for the future of the Guild. How you would align in the matter I cannot tell from tests such as these. I must wait and observe your actions over a period of much longer time."
"But if I perform my tasks and do not get involved in such abstract affairs," Alodar persisted, "what then of my chance to learn the craft as well? Without such opportunity, my best course may be to seek admission with other magicians farther to the south."
"The border is troubled," Lectonil said. "You would have a difficult time in passing through."
"Nevertheless, it is an option to consider."
Lectonil scowled and looked down at the cards scattered about. "Oh very well," he said, with a wave of his arm. "My need for someone not encumbered with study is pressing. Work for a few months as I instruct and then if you prove worthy, I will elucidate some of the art as a suitable reward."
Alodar hesitated for a moment, trying to decide whether to speak of the two spheres he carried with him. Perhaps they would interest Lectonil enough so that he would cooperate to mutual benefit. Both Periac and Saxton had been quite open with instruction; if the magician saw an advantage, then he might also teach.
Alodar looked intently at Lectonil's uncompromising features and then to the shimmering curtain which hid the palace from view. He thought of the cryptic tests and how little he had learned from questioning the villagers in the valley below. Finally he frowned and moved his hand away from the pouch at his side.
"Is a few months two or three?" he asked at last.
"Oh, it may as well be two," Lectonil growled. "We will discuss it in more detail later. For the moment, follow me through the curtain. I will see that you are properly robed and lodgings assigned. If you make haste, you will be in time to witness a part of one of the major rituals, which emphasizes the importance of what I have said here." He stopped and gritted his teeth. "And were it not for Beliac, I would be there as well."
Alodar ran his hands down the sides of the long brown robe. How strange, he thought for the fifth time in as many minutes, that there are no pockets. The acolytes and magicians he could understand, but even the covering of the neophyte was as uncluttered as the rest.
He shouldered his way through a wide doorway with the rest of the crowd and searched the stands rising from either side for seats still empty in the rapidly filling stadium. He saw a row of brown in the midst of the motley colors of the onlookers and climbed to join it.
"A new man," a voice called out as he neared the group. "Welcome to the neophytes of the Cycloid Guild. I am Hypeton and these are your fellow strugglers for truth."
Introductions bounced around as Alodar found a place on the rough bench. He looked about the structure and reestablished his bearings. To his rear, the air oscillated in the curtain and he followed the shimmering overhead, squinting briefly into the disk of the moon. Rather than a perfect circle of light, it appeared like a large drop of silvery oil undulating on the surface of water and casting diffuse rays in all directions. His eyes tracked across the sky, in the direction behind other buildings of the Guild, he could see the protective veil again bend to earth. The large rectangular stadium floor was walled in on all four sides with many doors around the periphery, but only on the two longer ones did the seating rise into the air.
"You join us at a most propitious time, Alodar," Hypeton continued, pushing back the shock of brown hair which tumbled down his brow. "Did you note the closeness of the evening stars to the rim of the moon yesterday eve? They will certainly occult tonight, the six hundred and twenty-fifth day since the last total eclipse. It is the perfect time for a fifth striking and we are lucky to see one in our lifetimes."
Alodar started to question the meaning of Hypeton's statement but remained quiet as three trumpet blasts from below silenced the crowd in anticipation. From an opening low in the wall opposite, a slow procession began to make its way onto the stadium's floor. In the front, three heralds, long trumpets thrust ahead, marched in step with the drummer a dozen paces behind. Following them, twenty white-robed initiates pulled a large wheeled cage. As it came into view the crowd murmured with excitement.
Alodar stared into the cage to see a green-scaled beast, winged and resting on powerful thighs, a long forked tongue whipping idly between rows of large, serrated teeth. Saucerlike eyes sat unblinking atop the flat snout, and the whole head oscillated from side to side in response to a snakelike rhythm which coursed up the long, sinewy neck. The wings stayed tucked close to the body in the confines of the cage, but Alodar could see many folds of thick, leathery membrane that contrasted sharply with the rough scaling of the rest of the body.
"Is that a wyvern?" Alodar exclaimed. "Never in my travels to the west or even in Ambrosia itself have I seen the like."
"A wyvern it is, Alodar, one of two that we have here," Hypeton answered. "Old Lectonil was able to hatch them some fifty years ago when the lesser moons of the blood star lined with ours."
Alodar returned his attention to the procession as more and more marchers filed onto the broad floor. Seven golden-haired women, bare breasts bobbing in unison with each step, preceded a large brass gong hung from a man-high frame. Gray-robed acolytes carrying huge, two-handled, golden keys followed a second caged wyvern, this one blindfolded and sitting docile in its narrow cage. Finally, silence engulfed the crowd as the master magicians of the Guild, robed in deepest black with circular logos of silver, brought up the rear.
"Only four are needed for this ritual," Hypeton explained, "and, by the laws, you can imagine the fighting that must have gone on in the council chamber for which of the fourteen it would be. I see that Lectonil is missing and Beliac too. The masters must have been so polarized that they could only agree on the neutrals like Mentenon there. A solid searcher so they say, but no great flashes of intuition or daring to try new theorems. But look, they are nearly ready."
Alodar watched as the first of the four black-robed men mounted on a tripod a small telescope handed to him by one of the initiates and began to sight the moon and its companion stars of the evening. He raised one arm and extended his index finger to command attention. Alodar stole a quick glance skyward. As the first of the two flitting stars passed behind the wobbling moon he saw the black-sleeved arm fall with a sudden flourish. Almost simultaneously, a second magician inverted an hourglass, and the seven women joined hands and began to sing a soft, harmonious chorus.
The sands ran for several minutes, and all stood transfixed on the stadium floor. When the last grain fell, the third magician started gesticulating wildly, conducting the other performers in their tasks in a complicated rhythm. The drums pounded in a seemingly random cadence, and candles sprang to life at what Alodar judged to be the cardinal points of the compass. The blindfold of the second wyvern was pulled aside, and the beast added a deep bass moaning to the high chorus as it saw its caged mate.
The gong rang once more, and the chorus stopped. The second magician produced another sand glass; when it emptied, the wyvern's eyes quickly were covered again. As its wailing stopped, acrobats exploded from the entrance tunnel and did a complex series of flips and tumbles that ended in the formation of a human pyramid three men high, in the center of the floor.
The fourth magician suddenly awakened from his inactivity and motioned to the stocky acolyte nearby who staggered forward with an anvil of gleaming gold. Alodar squinted to follow the detail as the magician removed a ring from his left hand and placed it on the flat metal head. A second acolyte handed him a hammer. As the gong sounded, a third and final time, he deftly tapped the small band of metal.
In the silence that now filled the stadium, Alodar heard a small grunt from the blow and then a babble as all the participants suddenly relaxed and began talking at once.
"Enough, it has proceeded well," the magician commanded the assembly as he picke
d up the ring and thrust it back onto his hand. The entire group dropped their various props to their sides and, in an unplanned confusion, jockeyed back to exit the way they had come.
"Is that all?" Alodar asked, puzzled, as he and the others also began to exit from the stands. "I do not understand the intent of the performance."
"As I have said, Alodar, it was a rare event indeed," Hypeton responded, "A striking of the rough outer edge from a ring of transportal. Only one more striking to finish the inner and it will be complete."
"Then why not spend a few more minutes and be done with it?" Alodar asked. "Surely such a pageant is assembled at great expense."
"Yes, would that it were true, Alodar," Hypeton said. "But the strikings can be accomplished only when the rituals of magic make it so. The next and last cannot be done for yet thirty years. As you say, the expense is enormous. Each man on the stadium floor received much rigorous training to perfect the part he had to play so that the ritual could proceed correctly. That training, that dedication to the goal, is such that only a guild of magicians could attempt it. No small wonder that rings of transportal and their like fetch the entire treasuries of kingdoms when they are completed."
"But how fare you in the meanwhile?" Alodar persisted. "How can even a guild survive to make such wonders?"
"A question that cuts close to our very own keep, Alodar." Hypeton laughed. "Though I only repeat the rumors that circulate among the neophytes, the Cycloid Guild is in the most part living off gold from the sale of magic armor some three hundred years ago. But to this legacy is added the smaller sums that come from easily made lesser items and the admission charges to the town dwellers to see the rituals. And the Guild lives in fashion to make it a self-contained community, independent of the principalities that rise and fall about it. Why, you are here today because you will serve a function of that community, so that itinerant laborers or city-dwelling craftsmen need not be consulted."
"Then, since I serve a goal common to all," Alodar said, "might I easily approach one of the magicians to consult on a small conundrum that has drawn me here?"
"By the laws, no," Hypeton said. "A magician hardly speaks with civility to his peers, barely tolerates the intrusions of acolytes into his thought, and instructs initiates only because he must. A neophyte addresses a black robe only because he has been spoken to. If you desire such company, study the rudimentary texts they give to each of us and try for the initiate's robe yourself. If you are truly skillful with the equations and postulates, you may have a black robe of your own in thirty years and can then riddle your conundrum as you see fit."
"But Lectonil himself said he would give me instruction in two months time in partial payment for my tasks," Alodar said.
"So the masters say to all prospective neophytes they interview in the shack outside the curtain that surrounds us." Hypeton laughed. "There is much mundane work to be done in the Guild, and they dangle a promise if they must. Why, I have been here three years and know no more of the construction of rituals than the day I arrived. But the food and bed are fair enough exchange for the work that I do. And if I eventually tire of it and leave, then they will find another."
"Is there no other way, then, that one can satisfy even the smallest curiosity about magic?" Alodar asked.
"By the angles, no, Alodar," Hypeton said. "And take me seriously now, for I jest no more. The secrets of this Guild, like any other, are closely guarded and much ill fortune befalls him who tries to discover them in other than the prescribed way. I remember well the printer two years ago who somehow whisked away to his chamber a box of organization so that he would no longer have to sort his type by hand after each day's press. A harmless enough ambition and an item easily enough made by the scores. Alas, when they ran the ritual of presence, the box glowed red hot and shook the air with a mournful wail for all to hear. They took him from the neophyte towers and, before the central library, showed him his reflection in a mirror of inversion as we all watched. A most gruesome sight, Alodar, his heart still pumping and entrails hanging out for all to see, surrounding the features and skin trapped inside."
"The ritual of presence?" Alodar said.
"Yes. Lectonil and his followers want to perform it once a fortnight to keep the Guild secure. Beliac argues it wastes our time and resources, and yearly is sufficient, if at all. But between the poles of both, it is yet often enough. You will feel it when it is run; hair stands on end and skin pimples with cold. Warning enough to leave magic to the Guild and concentrate only on the tasks they have given you."
Alodar's thoughts raced. The magic spheres were too valuable to entrust to some hiding place outside of the grounds of the Guild. They represented all that he had of importance in his quest for the fair lady. But to leave them in his new quarters to await the next ritual of presence was greater folly still. He must find out their intent and be away quickly, no matter how Interesting the knowledge he might gain here proved to be.
"I will regard master Lectonil as a man of his word," he said at last, "and follow explicitly what he says for a full two months. But at the end of that time, he will be reminded of his end of the bargain."
"Then do not judge him too sharply by his reply," Hypeton said. "You will find the others are no better."
The sky dimmed in sunset and Alodar started down the ladder. The torches were already lit, but he could do no more work by the feeble light. He reached the bottom and looked along the broad expanse of the building. Still clutching the brush, he ran the back of his hand across his brow. Some four hundred feet of wall, and after three days it was still only half painted. And this on top of digging a quarter mile of trench and cleaning more than three score dirty pens.
He heard footfalls on the cobblestone steps and then the gentle swish of a robe against the grass. He dropped the brush into the bucket and turned just as Lectonil approached from behind.
"You make good progress, neophyte," the magician said. "In a few more days the south facade will be done. In another week perhaps the north as well. I am pleased by the even thickness you have applied with precision."
"Pleased enough to begin the instruction?" Alodar asked. "You said that for certain this night you would be unencumbered."
Lectonil stopped and frowned. "Another session with an acolyte," he said with a wave of his hand. "It was scheduled late this afternoon. Perhaps when the south wall is done, or better yet, when the north is completed as well."
Alodar wiped his hands with an oily rag and dropped it to the ground. "How can I be sure that in another two weeks time the answer will not be the same?" he asked slowly. "I took you at your word when I entered the Guild, master, and did not question when you put me off for one excuse or another. But the delays have persisted for thirty days more. For three months now I have served in good faith, mucking the stables, digging trenches in the hard clay, and patching the walls with paint. It is time enough that you make good what you have promised. I give you the benefit of the doubt no longer."
Lectonil's eyes narrowed and his voice tinged with hardness. "You speak at great odds with your station, neophyte," he said. "And I will instruct you when it is a convenience to me, not when you happen to beckon."
"It is knowledge of a specialized type that I seek," Alodar said. "The demands on your time would not be great."
"No matter if it were but the number of beats in a dance of divergence," Lectonil said. "I would reveal it only when you deserved to know, be it in another two months or perhaps even two years hence. There is no cause to treat you differently from any other. You receive a fine bed and ample meals for your efforts. I doubt you would be rewarded as well for the same labor in the town at the foot of the mountain."
"It is not for bread and board that I sought out the Guild," Alodar said. "It was the lure of magic that made me come. I explained quite clearly my aspirations when you interviewed me in the hut a quarter year ago. And as clearly, you did agree to aid in its achievement."
"I understand full well
your desires," Lectonil snapped, "but the frustrations you feel when they are not instantly fulfilled are your own struggle. They are not the concern of a master magician."
"Then what of your word?" Alodar asked. "One receives in kind what he deals out to others. If you do not honor the rights of a neophyte then how can you expect him to deal fairly with yours. It is a temptation of many, I would imagine, to seek by stealth what you will not give freely."
"Do not speak of a magician's word to a mere neophyte," Lectonil said, his eyes suddenly flaming. "Such a concept has no meaning. And do not threaten what you cannot deliver. It will avail you no better than the pestering you are employing with increasing frequency."
"It can avail me no worse," Alodar growled back.
Lectonil started to reply, but then paused for a moment in thought. His brows furrowed, and he pulled his face into a grim smile. "Yes, if it will stop your irritations, it is worth it," he said at last. "And the example would be most instructive to the others. If it is by stealth that you propose to learn the secrets of the Guild, then by all means I give you my leave. Whatever you can discover by your own devices is yours for the taking. Not a single fact will I begrudge; no retribution will be exacted. But be prepared to accept as well the consequences of your actions when you tamper with the safeguards that have protected those secrets for so long and so well. Mark you, you will fare far better with a paintbrush and awaiting instruction when it is my pleasure."
Before Alodar could reply, the magician stomped back onto the walkway and disappeared into the night. Alodar waited motionless until he could hear footfalls no longer and then he exhaled slowly.
He smoothed the covercloth over his gear and then stood up abruptly. Lectonil had given him leave, permission to find out on his own whatever he could. He looked across the courtyard to the hall of the initiates and, in a flash, made up his mind.
Alodar spent the evening hours in hasty preparation. Near midnight he returned to the courtyard. The night air blew cool and clear as he walked the spacious grounds that were deserted by the workers of the day. His heels sounded sharply on the cobbled walk that ran in a long, gentle arc out from the hall of administration past the towering library and then to the gates of the magicians' private quarters.
