"Master of the five Magics" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hardy Lyndon)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Unfettered Dragon

ALODAR pushed aside the twig and peered out at the acolyte standing at rigid attention in the hot sun. He reached down to the small wax figure at his side and deftly drew the lips apart in a ghoulish grin. Duncan's features responded in kind, although his cheeks trembled from the strain of trying to break the grip which held him.

Alodar looked down the path and saw Beliac's slow approach to the library's entrance, his chin deep on his chest and every step reluctant.

As the magician passed, Alodar removed the cork from the flask and grimaced at the foul odor which arose from it. With a sweeping motion, he tipped his head back and downed its contents, feeling a raw, rasping sting all the way down to his stomach. His throat would be monstrously sore for a week afterwards, he knew, but Saxton's craft was never particularly concerned about the aftereffects of its potent brews.

Beliac drew abreast of the immobile acolyte and Alodar pursed his lips to speak.

"Good riddance, pompous windbag," Duncan seemed to say. "I hope they see fit to take back the robe of black as well as denounce your ideas." The voice was high and sluggish, Alodar thought, but no one would doubt that Duncan had spoken. The elixir of ventriloquism worked well indeed.

Beliac stopped his pacing and looked up in disbelief. "Well move along," Alodar projected. "You may as well get it over with."

"See here, acolyte," Beliac replied. "The affairs of the chamber are no concern of yours, in spite of what you have surmised from our previous converse. And mark you well, regardless of what happens there, I will emerge with the unbroken circle on my robe still, more than a match for any acolyte in the Guild, no matter how lofty an opinion he holds of himself. None of your station dare address me thus."

"And in truth you are correct, O sage," Alodar said in his own voice as he stepped from his hiding place and out onto the walkway. "By a combination of the arts of thaumaturgy and alchemy, I made appear what was not so. Acolyte Duncan, of course, never of his own free will would make such statements."

"Then it is you, neophyte, who will feel the wrath of my punishment when I have time to deal with the matter," Beliac snapped in reply. "What is your name and station within the Guild?"

"My demonstration was for a most pointed purpose," Alodar persisted. "I believe that you have a need for the control of another's voice and posture within the very next hour. That I can offer to you."

Beliac's eyes brightened with comprehension. "Ah, what you say is true, most clever lad. Quickly now, inform me of the ritual by which this is done and I will reward you in due proportion."

"As I have said," Alodar replied. "It is not of magic, but the other arts. I must be present to perform, else it cannot become so."

"A neophyte in the apex. Unthinkable!" Beliac growled. "Give me the ritual or face my wrath on the spot."

"My presence or nothing," Alodar said coldly looking into the angered eyes of the magician. "Decide now or let the opportunity slip from your grasp."

Beliac was silent for a long moment and then flung his arm in hasty beckoning. "Very well, come along. We will deal with your lack of respect later."

Alodar returned quickly to the bush, ran his fingers over the waxen eyes and laid the doll out on the ground. He bounded back beside Beliac, not even bothering to check Duncan's apparently slumbering form nearby.

Beliac extended the ring on his left hand and aligned its intricate design of miniature planes and cubes into a mating indentation in the slab in front of them. A moment passed with Beliac's hand rigidly extended forward, but there was no motion in the slab.

"Oh by the postulates, calm yourself man," Beliac muttered to himself. "It will not do for one of Lectonil's lackeys to see me so agitated that I cannot work the outer door." He took a deep breath and then another and pressed his ring more firmly into the slot. The rock parted at a line that Alodar had not detected, and they stepped into a small alcove.

"Here, since you are uninitiated, you must wear a talisman to calm the watcher." Beliac shoved his ring into another slot to his left. A small drawer extended from the wall and Beliac withdrew an ornate chain of gold braid and placed it about Alodar's neck. He then used the ring a third time to part the door at the rear of the alcove, and they entered the library proper.

Alodar's eyes darted greedily about as they passed down the center aisle towards a stairwell in the very center of the large square. Unlike the subdivision into many small rooming cubicles of the hall of the initiates, no intervening construction blocked his view.

The entire floor was covered with neat rows of desks and study benches, most occupied by figures robed in white and gray. From all four of the gently sloping walls, shelf after shelf of books, scrolls, and manuscripts cantilevered out into the study area. Alodar gazed up the spiral of the stairs to where they finally disappeared in a small ceiling area crowded by the four wall planes that converged to it. At regular distances along the flight upwards, catwalks radiated outwards from the wall and ran unsupported from below to join the spiral. At each level a second walkway circumscribed the interior and gave access to still more shelves of magical knowledge.

Alodar smiled with satisfaction. This was where he must search for an explanation of the power of the spheres.

They reached the stairwell, Beliac pressed his hand to the base of the banister, and they began to climb. Alodar's brown robe caught the attention of many who studied below, but Beliac's one of black silenced any questions. The long ascent was uneventful; no clanging bells or slamming barricades added to the sound of their tread.

"I would think the library to be more highly guarded than the hall of the initiates," Alodar said as they climbed. "Yet it would seem a knife in your ribs in exchange for your ring would imperil all the secrets here."

"The magic in my ring encompasses more than just the parting of the slab, neophyte," Beliac replied with a slight wheeze. "That ring was formed as part of the same ritual that exchanged my gray robe for black. Off my hand it is powerless, worth only the few brandels of silver of which it is made. It works for me and me alone, as do the thirteen carried by the other magicians of the Guild."

"Then that same knife might prompt you to use the ring to gain my entrance, just as you have done of your own free will. The result would be the same."

"As I said, neophyte, a ring most magical," Beliac continued. "It is attuned to me and to me alone, but in a state of mind of reasonable tranquillity. If I am stressed, it will not work and fear for my life would render it useless. You saw how I had to calm my slight anger to effect our passage. No, there is no way into the library save by the will of a master magician. But enough of my craft. At the moment, I am more concerned with yours.

"When we enter I shall greet first the one you are to control. Let him be until we are to vote on the elevation of Duncan to the black robe, and then have him vote yes. Can you indeed effect this?"

"If within the next hour, before my powers for voice casting subside, yes," Alodar answered. "And I will need in addition something from his body. A hair perhaps will be the easiest to secure."

"Hmmm, yes," Beliac said, touching his fingers to his lips. "That I can arrange. Be ready for it when the opportunity arises. But, hold, we are at the portal to the apex."

Beliac stopped and placed his ring against the ceiling and an opening formed as it had on the ground level. Following the magician's lead, Alodar rose the last few steps and entered the top of the pyramid.

Unlike the giant room below, the apex was windowed, but the openings did little to alleviate the cramped feeling of the four walls sloping to a point overhead. A large, U-shaped table filled the room. Wedged between it and the wall behind sat the other thirteen magicians of the Guild.

"What illogic is this?" Lectonil's voice boomed against the walls. "Beliac does try all patience to bring a neophyte into the council chamber." He looked at Alodar and his eyes widened in recognition. "And one such as this will fill your ears with lies when we discuss what transpired in the hall of initiates. Take him out before his words taint our reason."

Beliac waved his speaker to silence and moved to the wall not blocked by the table. He turned to the left and squeezed behind the seated magicians, motioning Alodar to follow.

"Well, what explanation do you have for this?" Lectonil persisted. "I have monitored the work of this man before. He has no need to be concerned with things magical." He looked Alodar in the eye. "And I seriously doubt that his motivations are for the good of the secrets of the Guild."

Beliac ignored the challenge, and turned instead to the magician next to the empty seat. "Why, Fulmbar," he said, "you look in fine spirits for this council. Does it perhaps foreshadow that you have reconsidered your change in stand? No, do not answer now. Save your surprise for the vote. I first must deal with master Lectonil, as vocal as ever."

Beliac took the empty seat and glared across the table to his adversary on the other side of the room. "I brought the neophyte to induce just such an outcry as you have made, Lectonil. It betokens the illogical panic in your thought, the fear of losing some prerogatives of your station by the slightest liberalization of our rules and conduct. His presence here is in no way connected with what happened in the hall of initiates."

Lectonil frowned at Beliac's words but then rapidly recovered. "We are all well aware of the way you twist the most innocent statements to your own purposes," he said. "A neophyte should be denied access to the apex, not because of illogical fear but firm deduction of what the consequences might be. Now if you have done with your theatrics, send the man back to his duties and let us consider the business at hand."

"He remains for the purpose that I have called him here," Beliac said. "I will not be badgered by your stern words."

"By the laws!" Lectonil's face grew red with rage. "Your statement summarizes the entire basis of your thinking. Loose and careless with no respect for your seniors. Do you not know that this Guild was founded and flourished on rigor? Rigor in postulate and proof, not a wave of the hand, an approximate result, a truncated expression. If we follow such thinking, we follow it to our doom, Beliac, and so long as I can balance the diagonals of a square, I shall fight with pride to have such thought purged from, the consideration of our council."

"The times have changed, old man," Beliac responded unruffled by the heat of Lectonil's words. "Such rigidity might have worked in centuries past when kingdoms were large and their treasures vast. We could afford to invest all our efforts in monumental magic, knowing that there would be some buyer for the goods when we had finished. But look at our transactions recently. We labored hard to produce ink of purity in lots greater than a gill. But what has happened? The liquid lies unused in some storeroom. No alchemist comes forward with sufficient gold to claim it. We spend a goodly share of our endowment yearly just to supply your two precious wyverns with the meats that keep their scales tight and well fitting. And to what purpose? So that we may in thirty years have a ring of transportal. What monarch can possibly afford what it has taken us to produce it? And yes, more to the point, look at our annual outlays. Will the Guild even be here in thirty years to complete the ritual?"

"It is your sloppy ways and little dabblings that squander our endowment," Lectonil said. "And with them you somehow hope to change the course of centuries. But have you not the depth of thought to see that it cannot be? The Maxim of Persistence still guides, Beliac. As you have apparently forgotten, simply stated, it says 'perfection is eternal.' Perfection, Beliac, perfection. Not some convenient approximation. If we do not use the proper steps and follow them exactly, we will become nothing more than expensive alchemists with gold rings that turn to tin if you rub them but once. The everlasting quality of our work will be but myth for the sagas."

"I am as well versed in the fundamental laws as you, Lectonil," Beliac replied. "In fact, judging from the relative number of monographs the two of us have circulated in the last year, I would say I am more in tune with the true meaning of our law than you. At your zenith you may have discovered some interesting rituals, but I fear you are now far past your prime in productivity and in judgment."

"If I may interject a few words, most august masters," one of the other magicians interrupted. "Master Lectonil, I fear you disparage young Beliac here greatly. He does not compose the ritual elements into magic squares, it is true, but his constructions in three dimensions are made with equal rigor and have produced new objects and lines of research undreamed of just ten years ago."

"Undreamed of and unwanted," Lectonil snapped. "Of what use are twelve elements that seem to fit together into a dodecahedron whole if the result is only a ring that ties one's bootstraps?"

"Now you are most unfair." Beliac shouted for the first time. "That ritual was merely the first example. I dare say that the first square produced results no more inspiring. The field is young but in time we will have objects that are totally outside the reach of such well traveled avenues as square construction, be they trimagic, panmagic or symmetric."

"Masters, if you please," another rumbled. "Our ears tire of such discourse. We are here at master Lectonil's calling to decide on the petition to elevate acolyte Duncan to the status of master magician, and we need not hide behind philosophical rhetoric. We can all count. If the majority backs master Beliac's petition, then future councils no longer will be evenly divided. If we vote the proposition down, it indicates clearly that master Beliac no longer can muster sufficient strength to cause deadlock. In either case, the work of the Guild will proceed."

"The first issue before us, master Zinted," Lectonil said, "is the presence of the neophyte. He must be removed and then Beliac must be censured for jeopardizing the secrets of the Guild."

"By the traces, Lectonil," Beliac said, "we have said nothing to compromise our heritage and methods. Look I prove it to you."

Beliac turned to Alodar and continued his explanation, "As you may have gathered from our discourse, the making of a magical object is a matter of performing a ritual, a ritual that is perfect in some well defined sense. Possible ritual elements, the ringing of a bell, drawing of a bow and so on all have different ritualistic attributes and numerical values. In our research, we strive to arrange and order these elements in such a way that a perfect sequence is obtained. Such sequences produce objects indeed most magical.

"One such mechanism of arrangement and a successful one, I freely admit, is to order the elements in a square in such a way that certain of the numerical values of their attributes sum in the same way whether considered horizontally, vertically or diagonally. Once these conditions are satisfied, one performs the ritual, taking the elements in sequence row by row.

"Now I have told you much more than you could deduce from what we have said and I will add one thing more. Pluck a hair from master Fulmbar's crown. There, you have performed the first step in a ritual of no mean potency. How do you proceed now?"

"Why I have no idea," Alodar responded as he drew his hand into the folds of his robe and planted the hair into a second wax doll he had strapped to his waist. "You have told me some principles but with no instruction on the values of the elements or how to assemble them, I cannot proceed."

"As is obvious to any with clear wit in this room; he knows less than what one could pick up through idle gossip in the neophyte's tower. I further submit that our decision on Duncan will be common knowledge in the esplanade within the hour in any case. No secret has been revealed by what transpires here, so let us proceed. Besides, master Lectonil, do you wish me time to change further the minds of our assemblage here or do you prefer to have our collective decision recorded so the Guild may proceed?"

"You are ready for the vote on Duncan now, and did not bring this neophyte because of my stand on the ritual of presence?" Lectonil asked.

"As I said, the neophyte is here merely to illustrate my position," Beliac replied. "It is to be Duncan first, and if there is no deadlock, then the rest will naturally follow."

Lectonil twisted his face further but at last waved his arm to begin and said no more. The magician on his left stood and formally stated the resolution before them. At its conclusion, he cast his negative vote and sat down. The counting began to move around the table. Alodar quickly muttered the incantation while the eyes and ears of the assemblage were on each speaker. He broke the small vial of caustic soda from his underbelt into the oil of vitriol and felt the heat begin to rise in his hand. He looked about, but cramped and shielded by Beliac's chair, no one paid him any heed.

Beliac rose and voted, and Alodar began to manipulate the little waxen image. Fulmbar seemed unsteady and awkward as he stood, but the strangeness was lost in the murmur of disbelief that followed his vote.

"What manner of substitution is this?" Lectonil shouted out above the rest. "You have wavered from time to time surely, Fulmbar, but you assured me not an hour ago that your vote was switched to be mine. It is for that reason alone that I called for the extraordinary session."

"I have indicated my choice and say no more," Alodar projected through Fulmbar as he made the magician slump back down onto his chair. The magician in the seat immediately adjacent sprang up and cast his affirmative vote, apparently to insure that Fulmbar would have no change of heart. In a moment the vote was finished, once again a seven to seven tie.

"Well, well," Beliac chuckled. "It appears, master Lectonil, that we are back to more individual sessions of persuasion. I suggest that you not call the council to session unless you are more sure that a productive decision will result. Until then, it seems our time will be better spent on research, instruction, and meetings at the usual hours. I wish, however, that you remain a moment, master Fulmbar, so that I may thank you for your enlightened change of heart."

With no further words, the magicians rose and filed to the exit in the center of the room. Lectonil left last, glaring at his opponent and frowning at the placid figure of Fulmbar at his side.

"And now, neophyte," Beliac said, "we must secure master Fulmbar away out of the reaches of Lectonil until I can devise a means of persuading yet another vote."

"And once we have done that," Alodar said, "then might we discuss the matter of the reward for the service I have provided you?"

Beliac eyed Alodar coldly. "I think that to continue living would be reward enough for your impertinence," he said.

Alodar opened the outer door to the neophyte tower and felt the refreshing coolness of the evening air. Marching Fulmbar slowly to Beliac's quarters had taken a good hour. Releasing Duncan in his patron's custody and then arguing with the magician had consumed another, though for his own part, Alodar did not feel anxious to press his case. He had learned more than he had hoped from his exploit and saw no point in trying to pry out more.

After he was dismissed from Beliac's presence, Alodar had returned to his lodging and napped into nightfall to melt away the tensions of the afternoon. Now refreshed, he walked slowly along the esplanade. Beliac had bought only a little time with the stratagem, he mused, and sooner or later must own up to what was done to another magician of the Guild. He would be busy enough not to make good any threats for the immediate future. The problem rather was how to gain access to the contents of the library, knowing now what the security measures were.

As Alodar passed the house of the exotic, a sudden flicker of movement caught his eye; as he turned, he heard the crack of glass under a heavy tread. He paused for a second. Then a woman's high scream of terror filled the air. Instinctively, Alodar sprang for the entrance, his brown robe flowing behind.

With a sudden shove, he rocked the huge double doors back on their hinges. The long corridor which transversed the ground floor ran before him, and slowly stomping away from him down the passageway was a huge, green-scaled dragon.

A second scream echoed down the corridor, and Alodar saw, beyond the wyvern's shifting back, the golden curls of Cynthia the initiate. She stood transfixed at the hallway's end, back and palms outstretched against the unyielding wall, looking with terror at the beast which lumbered towards her.

"Hold your courage," Alodar shouted through a throat still sore from the potion and broke into a run after the two-legged dragon. He reached quickly down to his side for a sword that was not there. "Curse these robes," he muttered as he ran.

In an instant he was up to the giant tail that gently swished back and forth with each step. Having no other weapon, he stomped the heel of his boot down upon the rigid spine of scales. The wyvern did not react but continued his steady plodding gait. Alodar steadied himself against a wall and then leapt with both feet upon his target. This time the tail twitched spasmodically, knocking him to the ground into a scatter of broken glass.

Alodar quickly scrambled up and dusted his hands against his robe, ignoring the blood which began to ooze out of many small cuts. He hastily looked about and saw that all of the glass partitions into the various cages had been broken. Here and there, small creatures scurried in the wreckage.

In the opening to the left Alodar saw that two jagged daggers of glass still stood in a shattered frame. He lashed out quickly with his boot and snapped one at the base. Fingering it gingerly, he caught up with the advancing dragon and jabbed it with his makeshift weapon. The point skittered along the scales, but Alodar felt sudden pain in his hands as the edges caught and cut his flesh.

Grimacing, he tightened his grip, feeling blood pour out onto his palms and the hurt intensify in its sharpness. The beast was almost upon Cynthia, lowering its head and extending its forked tongue expectantly, when Alodar lunged again, this tune with the full force of his body behind the blow.

The tip caught between two scales and the shaft snapped a few inches from the point. Alodar fell forward upon the beast's back, frantically rolling to one side to avoid being impaled on his own point, and clattering to the floor. The wyvern yelped; distracted, it turned to see what annoyed him.

"To the side passage," Alodar shouted, righting himself and gritting his teeth as he placed his free hand against the wall, "Move, I say," he yelled again. In desperation, he flung the remains of the glass in Cynthia's direction.

The initiate instinctively moved to one side to dodge the missile, jarring herself out of her petrification. She quickly ran into one of the arms of the cross corridor, while Alodar scrambled backwards from the head that was turning to examine him. He ducked into one of the cages and looked from side to side for another weapon. To the left, he saw Cynthia peering in at him through another broken window. He was in one of the cages at the corner of the tee, with viewing from two directions.

As the dragon extended its head into the cage, Alodar hopped out to join the initiate, staining her robe deep crimson as he threw his arms about her.

"This way," he yelled as he pushed against Cynthia's stiffening form. "We have to get some distance so we can search for a weapon."

The two began to run down the passageway, and the wyvern withdrew his head from the empty cage and turned around the corner. It saw its quarry sprinting away and ruffled its wings in annoyance, scarping the walls which confined it. It hooted after them and quickened its pace in pursuit.

Alodar felt the air grow warm as the call of the dragon echoed down the passageway. He turned a puzzled glance to Cynthia, who gasped out as they ran, "It is getting angry and firing up. We will not have a tradesman's chance if it gets within three strides."

Alodar turned to see how close the wyvern pursued and was surprised at the way the deliberate lumber had been replaced by a fast rocking pace.

"It is gaining on us," he shouted to Cynthia, pushing her from behind with his bloody hand until she nearly stumbled. "Look there, a staircase to the second level. Perhaps it does not know how to climb them."

Alodar spun Cynthia to the side, grabbing her arm to begin pulling her up the stairs. As they disappeared ground the corner, the passageway flashed to the brightness of day as a cloud of flame rolled past, furnace-hot.

They reached a landing half a flight up as the dragon appeared at the foot below. It snaked its head halfway up the well, the raspy and pimpled tongue flicking out a foot more beyond. It roared in anger as it caught sight of its prey disappearing. As the echo trailed off, another fireball coursed up the stairs.

The shock of the heat flashed memories of the Fumus Mountains through Alodar's mind, and Cynthia shrieked from the blistering bath. The sphere of flame crashed against the landing wall and burst into smaller globes, which ricocheted towards them.

"Your robe, pull in your robe," Alodar shouted as the balls of fire danced by. One caught Cynthia's hem. Almost instantly, the garment burst in a new shower of incandescence.

Alodar looked over the railing and saw the wyvern slip and stumble as it tried to place one of its broad feet on the narrow risers. It unfurled its wings and banged against the walls; with one powerful downstroke, it levitated a few feet off the ground and onto the third step.

Alodar turned back to Cynthia, who stood on the floor above, frantically beating her hands against the ends of the robe which encircled her in flames. He bounded up and knocked her to the ground, sending her rolling down a hallway more spacious than the ones below. The flames sputtered for a moment; but as soon as she stopped, they sprang to life again. He ran to her. Ignoring the throbbing in his hands, he grabbed her disintegrating hem. With a mighty spasm, he yanked his arms apart, splitting the robe from bottom to top, and flung it away from them.

The wyvern careened to the first landing and Alodar pulled Cynthia to her feet, as naked as the day of the stadium ritual. As they resumed their flight, Alodar caught sight of a familiar glowing disk in the wall on the left.

"What is that?" he shouted, pointing as they ran.

"The initiate viewing room," Cynthia responded as she saw the small circle.

Alodar thought back to his previous encounter with such a disk. In a flash, their method of escape struck him. The timing would have to be perfect, but they had no other choice. "Then into it," he directed. "Let us find our safety there."

Cynthia responded to the command and firmly pushed the small button. The door smoothly parted and the two ran into a small anteroom that appeared to open onto a spacious balcony. Alodar took three rapid steps into the middle of the chamber. He stopped and faced the door through which they had entered.

"Let us go to the balcony and beyond." Cynthia tugged at his arm in a wave of fresh panic. 'The wyvern will catch up with us in a moment."

As she spoke, the dragon glided up to the door and furled its wings, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Alodar grabbed Cynthia by the hand; with a whipping motion, he propelled her stumbling through the door to the balcony. He looked back into the hallway at the approaching beast. He waited an instant longer and then ran after Cynthia, but took only two more steps before a brace of bells began sounding in alarm.

In an instant, iron bars crashed to the floor ahead, cutting off his escape, and he turned to face the beast. The only other exit was blocked by the bulk of the wyvern, folding up its wings and stooping to enter. But as it extended its neck into the room, long tongue flicking expectantly, the second barrier began to fall into place from the jamb of the door. The heavy iron bars hit the floor with a thud and the lowermost crossbrace caught the dragon directly behind the head, driving it to the ground.

The wyvern let out a cry of anger and a large belch of fire that sent Alodar springing to the wall. With a frantic tug, the beast tried withdrawing its head out into the passageway, but the expanse of skull behind the large, opalescent eyes cracked against the stout iron bar.

Alodar scrambled to his feet and cautiously felt his way around the periphery of the room towards the dragon. The wyvern eyed his motion in anger and, between spasmodic struggles against its trap, sent volleys of fire into the chamber to consume its adversary.

In a moment Alodar was at the wall which held the exterior doorway and out of the angle of fire from the wyvern. He quickly dismantled a rod from which a small decorative tapestry hung and advanced on the beast from the side. His hands pained him enormously and he felt giddy from the loss of blood, but he performed his task with determination.

Alodar leaned wearily against the wall with the bloody, brain-spattered bar hanging limply in his hand. How many blows it had taken he could not recall, but only a pulp of bone and flesh remained of the wyvern's head, and the great body lay silent, to flame no more.

The portcullis that led to the balcony raised back into place, and Cynthia cautiously came into the room.

Alodar motioned her to him. "It is all over," he said. "All that remains is to repair our wounds and forget what has happened." He reached down, grabbed the small tapestry, and flung it about her shoulders. "Come to my cubicle," he said. "I have a small amount of sweetbalm that will help those burns of yours."

Cynthia nodded her assent and the two found their way out of the building without looking back.

In an hour, Alodar was arching his back and smiling with contentment. The sweetbalm had anesthetized his pain, and the wine from the larder blurred the recent memories and the horror of what might have been. Cynthia lounged easily in the chair beside him, sipping from her glass and staring deeply at Alodar over the rim.

"Why do you think such vandalism occurred?" he said.

"For certain, I cannot tell," she responded. "I know however that the initiates loyal to Beliac were abuzz with activity. I suspect they feared that if Lectonil could almost change Fulmbar's vote, he might succeed with others. They struck to discredit him as best they could on such short notice. The maintenance of the wyverns has been a source of contention between the groups for many years. One running loose and slaughtering a few unlucky passersby certainly would harm Lectonil's position."

Cynthia shuddered and drew the folds of one of Alodar's brown robes tighter about her.

"A most complete speculation," he said. "What points you to it?"

"I was not in the house by chance, but by direction of one of Beliac's acolytes. I had ignored his advances some years back and thought no more of the matter, but apparently he did not see it the same. Had you not come along when you did, I fear that double purpose would have been served by the mayhem."

"Then do you think to embrace Lectonil's position and seek protection from him? It seems to me that the entire Guild soon will be divided into the two camps."

"And doing increased violence to one another," Cynthia said. "A year ago they were content with finding flaws in the other's conjectures and theorems, but I think that day will not return. As for Lectonil, what he could offer is most limited. Few of the acolytes and initiates harken to his standard. Even the likes of Duncan casts his fortune elsewhere. For myself, I intend to leave the Guild on the morrow and wait in the village until it is settled. There is none here to whom I am attached. None that could protect me well. None that I can in truth call a man."

Cynthia lowered her glass and extended her hand to rub against Alodar's as she had done in the tavern. "None save one." She smiled and moved towards him. Alodar set down his wine and looked up as she stood before him. With a shrug, she dropped his robe from her shoulders and beckoned him to rise to meet her.

Instinctively he rose, pulse quickening. Again he tried to focus on Vendora, compare her beauty and position to Cynthia's and find her the winner. But Vendora was miles and months away. He sighed and all images vanished from his mind.

Alodar woke when the first rays of dawn filtered through the blinds into the room. Cynthia breathed in a deep slumber beside him, still in the euphoria of the sweetbalm. Idly, he fingered her curls which lay on the pillow beside his head.

What course now? Cynthia was enough woman for any man, beautiful and full-figured, intelligent, and a self-confident initiate in the magical arts. He had saved her life, and the little skill in arms he possessed stood to her in exciting contrast to the scholarly attitudes of her peers. He could seek out Periac, resume his trade in thaumaturgy, or better yet combine it with alchemy and provide services most unique. And would such a life be so bad? Could the secret of the spheres really mean more than that?

Alodar sighed and shook his head. No, he would soon tire of thaumaturgy, and with alchemy it would only take longer. At least his quest offered a definite goal and excitement. Alodar the hero, Alodar the savior of the fair lady!

His mind again of single purpose, Alodar quietly began to pace the room. His visit to the library with Beliac had shown him how he could enter. The problem that remained was that of moving freely inside without triggering the watchbells.

He puzzled over the ease with which the initiates and their superiors passed through the protected hallways, while he was instantly recognized as an outsider. They made no special motions, nor did they touch marked panels in the wall. In fact, Cynthia without a stitch was easily hurled past a barrier while he was trapped behind.

If it was nothing of action or what one carried, what indeed set the magic user as different from the rest of the workers of the Guild? Alodar stopped and pondered a few moments more. Only one thing marked the initiates, be realized in a flash of excitement-the small scar on the back of the wrist. Alodar walked to the bedside and grasped Cynthia's hand. He gingerly fingered the pad of flesh that indicated her station. The tissue was thick and told him nothing, but he knew what he must do.

He woke her gently and explained his request. She gave her consent. "If our paths are not to intertwine," she said, "then it is my parting gift for the brave warrior." She looked deeply at Alodar and smiled. "Perhaps in the village below I can find another."

A small dab of sweetbalm at the nostrils returned her to slumber, and Alodar grasped her hand firmly in his left while he opened his small knife with his right. Carefully, he began to cut around the base of the scar. Although tiny rivulets of blood obscured his vision, he heard the satisfying scrape of metal on metal.

He continued to cut for a full half circle; then with a pair of tweezers, he pulled the secret from its hiding place. Alodar wiped the object clean and stared at a small, unadorned disk of gold. The ritual of the branding was merely a ruse so that the initiates might not even know how they moved past the barriers so easily. The thin disk looked innocuous enough, but it would be his safe passage on the floor of the library.

He dabbed sweetbalm onto the small wound he had made and saw it instantly close. If Cynthia went directly to the village as she planned, then the loss of the disk might go undetected until Alodar was long removed from the Guild and back on the road to Ambrosia. He let her arm fall and then hastily finished the rest of the preparations for his entry.