Bring me someone from this realm who will be my disciple. Someone who will spread the word—my word—to the people.
Someone who will lead the people like sheep to my fold. It should be someone intelligent, ambitious, and … pliable.
Haplo, with his quiet smile, whistled for the dog.
Iridal had tamed dragons before in her girlhood, but only gentle creatures that would have almost done her bidding without enchantment. The dragon she faced now had always terrified her, perhaps as much because Sinistrad had ridden it as the dragon itself. She longed to be able to crawl into the corner of that safe, secure cell in which she had been hiding, but the prison was gone. The walls were beaten down, the door had swung open, the bars fallen from the windows. A chill wind tore at her; the light was blinding to eyes long accustomed to shadow.
The sin of not doing. Now it was too late for her, for the child. Death was their only freedom.
The dragon’s roarings thundered above her. Iridal watched impassively as the ceiling split wide open. Dust and rock cascaded down around her. A fiery red eye peered in at them, a lightninglike tongue flicked in desire. The woman did not move.
Too late. Too late.
Crouched behind his mother, his arm clasped tightly around the dog’s neck, Bane stared round-eyed. After his first cry of fear, he’d fallen silent, watching, waiting. The dragon couldn’t reach them yet. It couldn’t get its huge head into the small hole it had created, and was forced to rip more blocks from the castle walls. Driven by rage and a hunger for the blood it could smell, it was working rapidly.
The dog suddenly turned its head, looked back over its shoulder at the door, and whined.
Bane followed the dog’s gaze and saw Haplo standing in the doorway, beckoning to him. Beside Haplo was Limbeck, peering dimly through the dust and rubble, gazing benignly at a horror he could not see.
The child looked up at his mother. Iridal was staring fixedly at the dragon. Bane tugged at her skirt.
“Mother, we must leave. We can hide somewhere. They’ll help us!”
Iridal did not turn her head. Perhaps she had not heard him.
The dog whimpered and, gripping hold of Bane’s tunic in his teeth, attempted to tug the boy toward the door.
“Mother!” the boy cried.
“Go along, child,” said Iridal. “Hide somewhere. That’s a good idea.”
Bane grasped hold of her hand. “But … aren’t you coming, mother?”
“Mother? Don’t call me that. You’re not my child.” Iridal gazed at him with a strange and dreamlike calm. “When you were born, someone switched the babies. Go along, child.” She spoke to someone else’s son. “Run away and hide. I won’t let the dragon harm you.”
Bane stared at her. “Mother!” he cried out again, but she turned from him.
The boy grasped for the amulet around his neck. It was gone. He remembered: he had torn it off.
“Bring him!” Haplo shouted.
The dog got a grip on the boy’s shirt and pulled. Bane saw the dragon thrust a taloned claw through the hole it had created in the ceiling and make a grab for its prey. Stone walls crashed down. Dust rose, obliterating his mother from his sight.
The claw groped, feeling for the warm flesh it could smell. A red eye peered inside, searching for its prey. Iridal fell back, but there was nowhere to hide in the rubble-strewn, partially collapsed chamber. She was trapped in a small area beneath the hole in the ceiling. When the dust cleared and the creature could see, it would have her.
She tried desperately to concentrate on her magic. Closing her eyes to blot out the fearsome sight, she formed mental reins and tossed them over the dragon’s neck.
The infuriated creature roared and tossed its head. Jerking the reins out of her mental grasp, the dragon’s opposing magic came near overthrowing the woman’s reason. A claw slashed at Iridal’s arm, tearing her flesh.
The ceiling gave way. Shards of stone fell all around her, striking her, knocking her down. The dragon, screeching in triumph, swooped on her. Gasping, choking in the dust, she crouched on the floor, her face averted from death. before her. Stoop-shouldered, his bald head covered with marble dust, the fringes of gray hair sticking out ludicrously, he smiled reassuringly at her, then turned to face the dragon.
Slowly, solemnly, and gracefully, Alfred began to dance.
His voice raised in a thin, high-pitched chant to accompany himself. His hands, his feet, traced unseen sigla, his voice gave them names and power, his mind enhanced them, his body fed them.
Burning acid dripped from the dragon’s flicking tongue. Momentarily startled, feeling the man’s magic and uncertain what it was, the creature drew back to consider the matter. But it had already been thwarted once. The lure of flesh and the memory of what it had endured at the hands of the detested wizard drove it on. Snapping jaws dived down, and Iridal shivered in terror, certain the man must be bitten in two.
“Run!” she screamed at him.
Alfred, looking up, saw his danger, but he merely smiled and nodded almost absentmindedly, his thoughts concentrating on his magic. His dance increased in tempo, the chanting grew a little louder—that was all.
The dragon hesitated. The snapping jaws did not close, but remained poised over their victim. The creature’s head swayed slightly, in time to the rhythm of the man’s voice. And suddenly the dragon’s eyes widened and began to stare about in wonder.
Alfred’s dance grew slower and slower, the chanting died away, and soon he came to a weary halt and stood gasping for breath, watching the dragon closely. The quicksilver didn’t seem to notice him. Its head, thrust through the gaping hole in the castle wall, gazed at something only it could see.
Turning to Iridal, Alfred knelt beside her. “He won’t harm you now. Are you hurt?”
“No.” Keeping a wary eye on the dragon, Iridal took hold of Alfred’s hand and held it fast. “What have you done to it?”
“The dragon thinks that it is back in its home, its ancient home—a world only it can remember. Right now it sees earth below and sky above, water in the center, and the sun’s fire giving life to all.”
“How long will the enchantment last? Forever?”
“Nothing lasts forever. A day, two days, a month, perhaps. It will blink, and all will be gone and it will see only the havoc that it wreaked. By that time, perhaps, its anger and pain will have subsided. Now, at least, it is at peace.”
Iridal gazed in awe at the dragon, whose giant head was swaying back and forth, as if it heard a soothing, lulling voice.
“You’ve imprisoned it in its mind,” she said.
“Yes,” Alfred agreed. “The strongest cage ever built.”
“And I am free,” she said in wonder. “And it isn’t too late. There is hope! Bane, my son! Bane!”
Iridal ran toward the door where she’d last seen him. The door was gone. The walls of her prison had collapsed, but the rubble blocked her path.
“Mother! I am your son! I—”
Bane tried to cry out again to her, but a sob welled up in his throat, shutting it off. He couldn’t see her; the falling stone blocked his view.
The dog, barking frantically, ran around him in circles, nipping at his heels, trying to herd him away. The dragon gave a dreadful shriek and, terrified, Bane turned and ran. Halfway to the door, he nearly fell over Sinistrad’s body.
“Father?” Bane whispered, reaching out a trembling hand. “Father, I’m sorry …”
The dead eyes stared at him, unseeing, uncaring.
Bane stumbled back and tripped, stumbling over Hugh—the assassin paid to kill him, who had died to give him life.
“I’m sorry!” The child wept. “I’m sorry! Don’t leave me alone! Please! Don’t leave me alone!”
Strong hands—with blue sigla tattooed on the backs—caught hold of Bane and lifted him up out of the wreckage. Carrying him to the doorway, Haplo set the stunned and shaken boy on his feet next to the Geg.
“Both of you, keep
near me,” the Patryn ordered.
He lifted his hands, crossed his arms. Fiery runes began to burn in the air, one appearing after another. Each touched, yet never overlapped. They formed a circle of flame that completely encompassed the three of them, blinded them with its brilliance, yet did not harm them.
“Here, dog.” Haplo whistled. The dog, grinning, leapt lightly through the fire and came to stand at his side. “We’re going home.”
EPILOGUE
“AND SO, LORD OF THE NEXUS, THAT’S THE LAST I SAW OF THE SARTAN. I know you’re disappointed, perhaps even angry, that I didn’t bring him back. But I knew Alfred would never allow me to take the boy or the Geg, and as he said himself, I could not risk fighting him. It seemed to me to be a splendid irony that he should be the one to cover my escape. Alfred will come to us of his own accord, my lord. He can’t help himself, now that he knows Death Gate swings open.
“Yes, my lord, you are correct. He has another incentive—his search for the child. Alfred knows I took the boy. I heard, before I left Drevlin, that the Sartan and the boy’s mother, Iridal, had joined together to look for her son.
“As for the boy, I think you’ll be pleased with Bane, my lord. There is potential in him. Naturally, he was shaken by what happened in the castle at the last—the death of his father, the horror of the dragon. It’s made him thoughtful, so if you find him quiet and subdued, be patient with him. He is an intelligent boy and will soon learn to honor you, lord, as we all do.
“And now, to finish my story. When I left the castle, I took the boy and the Geg with me to the elven ship. Here we discovered that the elf captain and his crew were being held prisoners by the mysteriarchs. I made a deal with Bothar’el. In return for his freedom, he would take us back to Drevlin. Once there, he would hand over his ship to me.
“Bothar’el had little choice but to agree. He either accepted my terms or met death at the hands of the wizards—the mysteriarchs are powerful and desperate to escape their dying realm. I was, of course, forced to use my magic to free us. We could not have fought them successfully otherwise. But I was able to work my magic without the elves seeing me, they didn’t notice the runes. In fact, they now believe that I’m one of the mysteriarchs myself. I didn’t disillusion them.
“The assassin was correct in his estimation of the elves, my lord. You will find that they are people of honor, as are the humans in their own curious way. As he had agreed, Bothar’el flew us to the Low Realm. The Geg, Limbeck, was greeted by his people as a hero. He is high froman of Drevlin now. His first act was to launch an attack against an elven ship attempting to dock and take on water. In this, he was helped by Captain Bothar’el and his crew. A combined force of elves and dwarves attacked the ship and, singing that strange song I told you about, they managed to convert all the elves on it. Bothar’el told me before he left that he intended to take the ship to this Prince Reesh’ahn, leader of the rebellion. He hopes to form an alliance between the rebel elves and the dwarves against the Tribus Empire. It is rumored that King Stephen of the Uylandia Cluster will join them.
“Whatever the outcome, world war rages in Arianus, my lord. The way is prepared for your coming. When you choose to enter the Realm of Sky, the war-weary people will look upon you as a savior.
“As for Limbeck, he—as I predicted—has become a powerful leader. Because of him, the dwarves have rediscovered their dignity, their courage, their fighting spirit. He’s ruthless, determined, not afraid of anything. His dreamy-eyed idealism broke with those spectacles of his, and he sees more clearly now than ever before. He has, I’m afraid, lost a girlfriend. But then, Jarre spent time alone with the Sartan. Who can say what strange notions he put into her head?
“As you can imagine, my lord, it took me some time to prepare the elven ship for its journey into Death Gate. I transported it and Bane down to the Steps of Terrel Fen, near where my own ship had crashed, so that I could work undisturbed. It was while I was performing the necessary modifications—using the Kicksey-winsey to assist me—that I heard about the Sartan and the boy’s mother and their search. They had traveled as far as Drevlin. Fortunately, I was ready to leave.
“I sent the boy into a deep slumber, and made my way back through Death Gate. This time, I knew the perils I faced and was prepared for them. The ship sustained only minor damage, and I can have it repaired and refitted in time for the next journey. That is, my lord, if I have earned the right to be sent on another such mission?
“Thank you, my lord. Your praise is my greatest reward. And now I propose a salute. This is bua wine, a gift from Captain Bothar’el. I think you will find its taste extremely interesting, and it seemed to me fitting that we should drink to the success of our next mission in what we might call the blood of Arianus.
“To Death Gate, my lord, and our next destination—the Realm of Fire.”
MAGIC IN THE
SUNDERED REALMS
EXCERPT FROM A
SARTAN’S MUSINGS
MAGIC IS A THUNDER HEARD IN EACH OF THE SUNDERED REALMS, ITS power reverberates through the foundations of all Existence. It echoes the lightning of creation itself. In its voice is heard the promise of life and death. It is a power to be coveted and feared.
Theorists tell us that magic draws its power from the original creation of the Omni verse. In the beginning, Elihn, God in One, stretched out his hand amid the Chaos. The motion of his hand ordered chaos into infinite possibilities of creation. This motion was the first Order out of Chaos. It is called the Wave Prime or more often simply the Prime.
Elihn saw in the Prime the creation of the ethereal and the physical, and the seeing of it made it so. In the creation of the spiritual and the physical, the Prime split into two sets of waves, each infinite in their possibilities. The two waves curved away from each other and back again. The waves crossed and where they crossed was created time and space. Thus was Reality woven from the forces of all possibilities.
With delight and wonder, Elihn looked again upon both waves. In the ethereal he saw the creation of Air and Fire; in the physical he saw Water and Stone … and the seeing of it made it so. Again, in its creation, the waves of ethereal and physical possibilities each split into four new waves, each with infinite possibilities of new creation. Elihn again wove these new possibilities together. In the intersection of the waves was born Life, Death, Power and Mind.
The longer Elihn looked upon the weave of Reality, the more possibilities split into being. Stars, world, life—in short, all creation—was thus woven from infinite possibilities. So it was in the beginning and so it continues today.
Reality is simply the manifestation of intersecting waves of possibility. It is a vast and almost incomprehensible weave of solid physics in the midst of a myriad of infinite potentials. Science, technology and biology all use the woven rope of reality.
Magic, on the other hand, functions by reweaving the fabric of reality. A wizard begins by concentrating on the wave of probabilities rather than on reality itself. Through his learning and his powers, he looks out upon the myriad waves of infinite possibilities to find that part of the wave where his desired reality would be true. Then the wizard creates a harmonic wave of possibility to bend the existing wave so that what was once only possible becomes part of what is true. In this way the magician weaves his desire into existence.
For example, a wizard stands on a field of battle against a great knight. The spell caster, wearing only his robes is at the mercy of the armored and more powerful knight. This is reality and, if left alone, the knight will most likely slay the wizard without much resistance. However, the wizard knows from his study where the possibility (desired effect) of a protective shield exists on one of the countless waves of possibility. The wizard sets up a harmonic wave of possibility through his motions, thoughts, words, signs and other aides. This magic alters the possibility wave so that what was once the possibility of a magical shield is woven into reality. The new reality includes the desired effect and so the m
agical shield now guards the wizard.
Although, to the outside observer, the protective field seems to spring up around the wizard from nothing, it would be more accurate to say that the possibility of such a field has been called into reality from the infinite possibilities of the Omni wave.
To use magic, one must be able to find and weave the appropriate portion of the Omni wave in some small degree. This is far from omnipotence or omniscience, even among those who see a vast section of the Wave. Being able to function in the discipline of magic does not explain why magic exists or its origins. It does not lead one to the reason for being. Just as knowing a rock will fall when dropped does not tell us why gravity exists or what intelligence brought such order out of chaos, so it is, too, with magic.
Only the Sartan and the Patryns understood magic to the fullest degree. Having seen magic from the center of the Omni wave, we mastered the art in the most elemental and powerful form. No others have seen as much of the Omni wave as we have.
The fundamental relationships of magic are seen in this drawing. The closer to the center the magic is, the greater its power. Rune magic, the most elemental and centered of all magics, is thus the most powerful and commands the most far reaching effects.
Each great level of understanding is designated as a House.
Each of these houses can be thought of in terms of how much of the Omniwave the user of that level of magic perceives. The more central the house, the more of the Wave Prime they can perceive and use.
The greatest force of all is the magic of House Rune, which combines the waves of Life, Power, Mind and Death into a comprehension of the central weave of reality and a clear picture of the infinite possibilities of the Omniwave. Those who have mastered rune magic are said to have reached the Ninth Mastery or the Final Mastery. The knowledge and potency of the Rune Disciplines are all tied directly to the rune siglas which are used in the casting of such spells. With the Sundering of Time, however, only we (the Sartan) and the Patryns (if they still exist) have knowledge of rune magics.
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