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

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Power of the Eye

ALODAR steadied himself with a hand on the ship's rail as the deck rolled beneath his feet. The events of the past two days crowded together in a jumble. Along with the marines, sailors, clerks, heralds, and other functionaries of the court, he had been rumbled onto the giant flagship of state that now beat east in the middle of a royal fleet. The details of bunkspace, battlestation, and the protocols of life aboard ship had occupied all of his time, but soon enough he hoped to see the sorcerer and learn the secrets of the eye.

"An ill-tempered decision to be sure," muttered the leather-faced man on Alodar's left, as they leaned against the rail of the poop deck and squinted into the grayness which surrounded them. "A full complement of officers, rowers and marines stood at the ready for the queen's command. But before we embarked, the courtiers descended upon us, adding two to every one on board. And to what effect. Those silk-armed dandies will be of little value if indeed we do stumble across some privateer in this fog. And the galley and bunks are so crowded that we must take turns on deck in this miserable wetness, while others eat and sleep below."

Alodar grunted a reply as he idly ran his hand along the rail and looked up into the rigging. Yesterday the cold east wind had howled, but today, on both of the masts, the lateen sails were furled tightly against their yards, useless in the whisper of wind that barely stirred the fog. Over the side, he watched the lazy rhythm of the oars that maintained their headway. Unlike the sleek wargalleys with their multiple rows of synchronized sweeps, the broad-beamed barge depended primarily on the wind for its motive force. The meager complement of twenty oars to a side was used only in calms such as this or to aid in coming quickly about.

Looking forward, Alodar could barely see the gently heaving forecastle. The bowsprit, some three hundred feet away, was completely hidden by the mist. The main deck ran a full fifty feet beam to beam but was broken into many small areas by the masts, stays, capstans, chests, and hatches which led below. On the poop itself were stowed two longboats for use in shallow water, and a small deckhouse that sheltered the wheel stood near the ladders that descended to midship. All along the superstructure, nothing broke the silence of the calm sea except for the slow creaking groan that coursed down the great ship as each wave rolled under its hull.

"So you are a page to the lady Aeriel," the man continued. "Though I hear that you are also well watched by lord Basil of the bottomless purse."

"Yes, Quantos, that I am." Alodar laughed. "He and his followers at court do not wish me well. Nor, for that matter, does lord Feston?or Duncan, the practitioner in magic. But so long as the queen maintains the ban on confrontation between the factions, I think nothing will come of their desires."

"So I understand," Quantos said. "The court cleaves itself asunder. The lot of them have no courage to stand on their own merit but seek instead to ingratiate themselves with one of the suitors. Depending on who seems to have the upper hand in the struggle for the fair lady's favor, they shift allegiances like the tide, ripping first Feston's colors from their sleeves and then Basil's. Why even Duncan has a following, though he has been here less than a week. And look what distortion it brings to our order on deck. Feston's supporters are to man the starboard watch, Basil's the port; Duncan's cluster about the queen below deck. The rest of us spend our idle hours up here out of the way on the poop. Let us hope that the queen gives no new sign of favor. It will take a good day to reassign the stations once again."

"Why do you not speculate with the rest?" Alodar asked.

"I serve the queen, man," Quantos said with a thump of his bow to the deck. "I served her father in many a sea battle before. My men and I are marines for the crown of Procolon. We earn our pay by keenly sighted arrow and sharply swung blade, not by the foppish exchange of wit in the palace."

Several voices about Alodar grunted agreement but suddenly, before more could be said, a high whistle pierced the fog. Alodar turned to listen and heard a heavy splash off the starboard bow. He strained to catch the direction from which the noise came and heard the whine of two more projectiles hurling by.

"Catapults," he shouted as the memory from Iron Fist raced back. "Catapults. We are under attack!"

As he spoke, he saw, breaking through the mist, the flash of banked oars moving in unison and a low-riding hull gliding across the waves.

"A wargalley," Quantos added to the cry, "by the markings, from the south. Somehow it slipped past the rest of the fleet in the fog. And it is on collision course at the beam. Below decks quickly, Grengor! Sound the alarm."

One of the marines left Quantos' side and quickly ran down the ladder to the main deck and then into the hatchway to the levels below. Alodar watched in fascination as the sleek vessel cut the water with graceful ease, a small wave bubbling outwards from a two-pronged ram just beneath the waterline. Unlike their own giant, the trireme had some two hundred rowers crammed into a freeboard of no more than five feet. A hundred feet long but only fifteen across, it seemed like a dagger, rapidly closing to pierce the balloon that was the royal barge.

Another shot from the wargalley whistled through the air and then another. A third found the range and, with a splintering of wood, a heavy stone rattled across the decking between the masts and then: stays. As the two ships closed, the hatchways of the barge suddenly discharged a volley of men, scrambling upwards to prepare for the attack. Two more missiles crashed down into their midst, and cries of pain mingled with the curses of confusion as the various contingents shouldered past one another to their stations on the deck.

Finally a deep voice boomed out above the rest. "Archers fire to starboard," Feston bellowed as he hurried up from below and saw the trireme approaching. "Rake their decks before they close. Oarsmen to port, back your oars; oarsmen to starboard, stroke at ram speed."

Two more stones plunged from the sky, striking the forecastle as Quantos' men nocked their shafts and fired. "Archers to your mark," Feston shouted in anger as arrows flew only from the stern. "Strafe their decks, I say."

He looked rapidly about as his men struggled to form at the starboard rail, and then vaulted across to the other side.

"Sweetbalm, Basil," he shouted in a rage as the next volley crashed into them. "You know that I have no bowmen in my contingent. Yet I am the commander still. Have your vassals arch their fire over our heads and aid in our defense.'

"Your men have the fortune to be the closest to the engagement," Basil answered over the growing din. "Use them as you see fit. We will aid in repulsing boarders when the moment is the most propitious."

Alodar saw Feston clench his fist in frustration and then leap back across the deck. In mid-stride, he grabbed for the main mast as the ship lurched from its smooth forward motion. The portside oars were stroking backwards and the huge ship began to lumber about, swinging out of the oncoming vessel's way. Alodar's eyes darted between the rapidly closing trireme, its ram kicking up foam, and the changing geometry of the gap as the royal barge slowly spun.

He heard the hum of arrows and ducked instinctively behind his shield, as did Quantos at his side.

"It is too late," the marine said as the flight of arrows from across the waves struck the deck and bulwarks around them. "We turn too slowly to avoid the ram. Brace yourself for the blow."

With a shocking jolt, the ships collided, and the air was filled with the shrieking protest of ripping wood and metal.

"A sound hit," Quantos shouted as he sprang from the bulwark. "And guided no doubt by a sorcerer's vision far keener than Kelric's. Lively, lads. We must grapple on before they reverse oars and strike again."

Alodar saw the trireme's oars come to a stop and then reverse in synchronism so that their pull backed the smaller ship away from the hole it had made. Following the examples around him, he picked up one of the coils of rope at his feet and flung the attached iron hook across and down to the wargalley's deck. He glanced forward and saw Feston's men doing the same amidship. The enemy crew abandoned the catapult and hacked away at the grapple lines as they came and stuck.

The compact sleekness of the trireme left little room for other than the rowers, however, and the hooks were being cast faster than they could be cut away. Two launched from the poop lodged firmly, high on the sternboard, out of the deckhand's immediate reach. In an instant, Quantos and his men had the lines firmly secured to anchor capstans near the stern of the barge. With a precision that was the product of years of drill, the crew bent to the crossarms and began to crank the two ships closer together.

"The angle of contact becomes too shallow for them to ram again," Quantos shouted as he watched the slack being taken up. "If our port side rows vigorously enough, we can get the ships alongside and then have a chance."

Alodar looked down towards the bow and saw the closing gap. The men aboard the trireme abandoned their attempt to cut free and, except for a few archers still harassing the queen's men in the stern, most of them converged on the beam opposite Feston's forces.

The ropes flew faster as Feston's followers sensed success in their endeavor. Then, as the last few feet closed and the two vessels hit with a dull thud, Alodar saw at least a dozen grappling hooks strike out and pull the bond fast.

"Forward and at them," Feston called above the yell of success and he sprang up on the rails with his sword flying. He leaped without hesitation to the lower deck alongside. With a mighty slash, he hacked at the first man who opposed him, tumbling him back onto the galley's deck. Feston's momentum carried him forward into the middle of the other vessel and his men on either side began to follow. But Alodar saw the reluctance increase up and down the line on either side of Feston until no man moved in the bow and near the stern. Across on the port, Basil and his men stood silent, awaiting the outcome.

The fighters on the trireme converged on the small party that had boarded, attacking at the flank and pushing to cut off the bulge of Feston's line at the rail.

"We must storm the poop and aid from behind," Quantos shouted. "Come, my lads, drop your bows and draw your blades. Across the guardrail we go."

Quantos drew his sword; with his banner in the other hand, he placed his foot up on the rail to wave his men on. His troops prepared to follow. But just as the first of them drew up to the rail, a fresh shower of arrows hailed into their midst. Two men fell to their knees, screaming in pain, feathers fluttering from shoulder and arm. Quantos let out a weak croak and then tumbled in a heap, a single shaft transfixing his throat, its bloody point sticking out the back of his neck.

Alodar looked across the decks and saw one of Feston's men fall and then another. The trireme fighters pressed their attack vigorously at those who had boarded. Alodar hesitated a second longer, clutching Cedric's sword. Then, with a full intake of breath, he stepped to Quantos' slumping form and grabbed his banner. Standing over the fallen marine, he waved it aloft. "For the queen!" he shouted. "For revenge and victory! Attack!"

Another round of arrows came and two splintered off Alodar's shield. With a fierce yell, he sprang over the bulwark and fell into the midst of the archers who faced them. He dropped the banner, drew his sword and hacked at the head of the one who stood dumbfounded nearby. "For Quantos," he yelled.

Then, in a massive wave, the marines responded. They swarmed over the gap and began swinging at the archers, who retreated towards middeck.

The men pressing Feston turned and glanced at the commotion, hesitating in their own attack. Alodar waved his sword overhead and led the marines onto their rear. The others on the royal barge saw the men of the trireme drop back in confusion, trying to protect their suddenly exposed flank. Now sensing victory, Feston's full contingent stormed over the rails. Basil gave the command and his men also followed. The oars of the trireme stopped and the rowers began to pour onto the deck from two hatches to aid their beleaguered comrades.

The deck of the wargalley became a mad swirl of sword and shield, without pattern, as the two forces engaged. Alodar jabbed point first at the man on his right, while hastily raising his shield to the left to ward off an axe swinging down from a seeming giant. The blow numbed his arm, but he instinctively stepped forward to pass beyond the thrust of his foes as his own followers closed to engage them. The man on his left screamed and fell, spouting blood from neck and arm, as Quantos' marines pressed on the attack. The trained fighters drew together and formed a line about Alodar. With him as the center, they began slashing forward to midship.

Alodar's mind slid into the intensity of concentration that Cedric had taught him, fear blotted out, eyes alert for an opening or a surprise thrust, and arm darting out to give pain. He swung his sword in a swift horizontal arc and felt the sharp blade bite into flesh as his adversary raised both arms high to crash downward an instant too late. With a cry already hoarse, he egged on the men who lagged on the left and closed up the right when the roll of the ship or blow of the foeman created a hole in their line. He moved his troop steadily forward, mindless of stinging cuts and slashes. Almost in a daze, he called halt when he recognized that only armbands with Feston's red plume faced them. The wargalley was theirs and Alodar had had a taste of battle.

Alodar leaned against the railing, still clutching Quantos' banner, as he watched the transfer of prisoners from the trireme to the barge. He glanced about the deck to see that the thaumaturgical wax he had used on the more serious wounds was safely stored away. The larger vessel now rode quite low in the water and even listed slightly to the side. A steady procession of divers dropped over the rail, each one adding another nail to fix a makeshift patch over the ragged hole ripped by the wargalley. The fog had lifted with the beginning of a gentle breeze, but it would be many hours more before the repair was tight, the water bailed from the bilge, and the barge again underway.

One by one, the followers of Feston and Basil emerged from the trireme's hold, carrying back what meager plunder there was aboard. Then amidst a general murmur from both decks, a knot of closely linked figures emerged, all save one with arms across their faces, nearly stumbling as they groped forward to the gangplank.

"The sorcerer from the trireme," Alodar heard Grengor say at his side. "Only an enchanted vision could have guided that ship undetected in the fog through the surrounding fleet and so unerringly into the barge's side. Had we not more than twice the normal crew, they well might have ripped us from stem to stern before we could have grappled her. The kingdoms to the south sorely press the fair lady on land and nearly cut off her aid as well."'

In the middle of the block of men that stumbled forward, Alodar saw a mane of unruly hair shake free, and then a face contorted with rage, surrounding deep-set and burning eyes. Almost instinctively, Alodar flung his hand in the way of the glare, menacing even at a distance.

"A sorcerer who has been thwarted makes a most dangerous captive," he said. "The guard we place around him better be both careful and complete. But his presence reminds me of why I am here. I must go below and seek out the sorcerer of the queen."

"And your instruction during your absence, master?" Grengor asked. "Are we to remain on station here in the stern, transfer to the trireme as part of the queen's crew when it takes station with the rest of the fleet, or can we go below, since the watch bells have long since sounded?"

Alodar turned in puzzlement to face the sergeant. He saw a round face set on a stocky form, wide-set green eyes, large and trusting, and a plain mouth between jaws of crushing strength. "Why do you ask me, Grengor? Why not ask the one who commands in Quantos' place?"

"I beg your pardon, sir," Grengor said. "Our band is small, now not even a dozen, but we have fought together for many years under Quantos' banner. In our grief, I?we all feel that none of us has the wit to lead the others. But rather than disperse to follow the banner of one of the lords, we would rather answer to you, wherever you may lead us. Indeed you are no Quantos, but you showed much spirit in what happened today. We have decided among ourselves that this is as he would have had it."

Alodar's jaw dropped in surprise, but before he could answer, a page wearing the same colors as he bounded up the ladder to the deck.

"Attend to our lady," the newcomer said. "She is accompanied by the sorcerer Kelric in her cabin at this moment."

"On station until I return," Alodar said hastily. He turned and followed the other page down the ladder, his mind aswirl with what the sergeant had said.

"Alodar, you are safe," Aeriel cried as he entered her cabin a few minutes later. "I heard that Quantos was felled and members of his troop as well. I did not know if you were among them."

"There are losses enough for which to grieve," Alodar said, "and we are lucky to be still afloat." He looked at Kelric, slumped on a small stool in the corner. "The power of sorcery was great indeed."

Kelric tipped back his head and laughed. "Sorcery!" he cackled. "The power of sorcery. It reads so easy in the sagas. Pressed on land from the west and south, and on the sea, as well. And when all seems blackest, a simple charm saves them all so they may live in contentment thereafter."

Alodar looked around the plain cabin and saw it was no larger than his own. Aeriel sat on the bunk, dressed in men's breeches and tunic. To her left, on a small chest, was a pile of documents and the quills and seals. There were no other chairs and Alodar stood facing the two, leaning against the wall.

"But a single charm might activate the eye, and then it will be as the sagas say," he replied.

"It is not so easy," Kelric said. "The charm for what you have is most complex. You cannot learn it unless you are proficient and, more importantly, are confident in many a charm of lesser power. Without the basis to build upon, a sorcerer's eye will be forever useless to you.'"

"But why is that?" Alodar asked. "Certainly in thaumaturgy, alchemy, and even magic, each spell is entire unto itself. Even if learned by rote, it has no bearing on the others."

"The difference, lad," Kelric said, "is that each of those arts manipulates the physical objects and forces about us. Sorcery deals instead with a matter much more elusive, our minds. You cannot see or touch the medium with which you work. And the subtle and intricate will be totally missed, unless you become familiar with the rough outlines first."

"The words are different, but the message is the same as with the other crafts." Alodar sighed. He shook his head and looked back at Kelric. "No matter, regardless of the effort, I am ready."

"Well then, let us start at the beginning," Kelric said. "There are five types of charms in sorcery. A charm of prophecy or far-seeing is a cantrip; a charm of illusion is a glamour; a charm of fate is a curse; dominance of one's will by the sorcerer is enchantment; and transfer of consciousness from one animate object to another is ensorcellment. To take effect, charms are recited three times or, as the Rule of Three states, 'thrice spoken, once fulfilled.' "

"I noted at the royal ball that you cast your glamour in that repetitious way. Each word seemed to follow the next in a pattern but somehow with a logic that I could not follow."

"Yes, the chanting of the charm is all. Great skill and practice are necessary to say all of the words with the proper rhythm and intonation for success. The slightest falter produces hallucinations and head pains that can last for weeks. In my own practice, I have misspun a charm but twice and the memories still give me a shudder. Not only are even the most simple charms difficult, but they must be mastered before a more complex one can be attempted. As one proceeds towards completion, each word somehow becomes more difficult to slide off the tongue, harder to remember. Indeed, the more complex and powerful spells create back pressures that cannot be comprehended by one who has not tried his mettle on hurdles more easily surmounted. And the greater the charm, the greater is the sickness and agony for failure. It takes a stout heart to attempt such castings, knowing the difficulty and the consequences of error. If anything is the mark of the sorcerer, it is possession of enormous bravery."

"Then why not carry a grimoire as does the alchemist?" Alodar asked. "Or have a library, like the magician guilds. Reading from a correct text to reduce the risks would seem easy enough."

"Because," Kelric responded, "no written language or special symbology yet evolved can convey the precise nuances of tone which are essential for a successful charm. They are passed by word of mouth from unwilling teacher to foolish pupil, from generation to generation. It is the only way that the lore of sorcery is preserved. And far better it would be if the craft sank into decay, as has the practice of wizardry."

Alodar frowned. "Why do you always deprecate your craft, master Kelric?"

"Why? You ask why?" Kelric snorted. "Is it not obvious? Oh, I was like you once, young and eager, lured by the promise of power, the respect of all with whom I dealt, the ability to control and mold the thoughts of others to my will."

Kelric paused and closed his eyes for a moment, pulling the memories to the surface of his thoughts. "And I succeeded," he said, again looking Alodar in the eye. "I learned quickly and discovered many new charms known to no others. I acquired the fame of masters many years my senior. But at the same time I lost what every sorcerer looses and can never regain… Today's battle is over. When you leave you will share a slap on the back and a few tall stories with your comrades in arms. You will relax in each other's presence, feeling warm in the glow of friendship and trust. But it would not be so if you were a sorcerer. What man then would talk with you over a cup of rum, or bet the bill on who is first to pinch the barmaid? And what woman would come willingly into your arms and look trustingly into your eyes as you murmured sweet nothings? You would be shunned by all and dealt with only by necessity. Only by spilling some of your vital forces would you see an occasional glimpse of soft thigh and at that you would judge yourself lucky. It takes bravery to be a sorcerer, I have said, and far more than what is required to cast the charms."

The cabin was silent for a minute and Alodar looked at Aeriel, then darted his eyes away. "My quest is for the hand of the queen," he said. "The embrace does not matter."

He nodded slowly and touched the pouch with the sphere at his side. "Let us return to the matter of instruction," he said. "If sorcery is taught by oral means only, how then do new charms ever come about? It would seem that the number would gradually diminish away as masters met untimely ends before they could pass on their heritage."

"New charms are always in the making," Kelric replied. "The trances you see me slip into to aid my concentration in matters of prophecy are not only a crutch for an old man. No indeed, the trance is primarily the means by which the master frees his mind of the encumbrances of this existence. With it he opens up his inner self and seeks out the states where the cadences of charms roll like thunder and the words flash in strokes of lightning before the eyes. Upon return to the here and now, often the mind is exploding with the power of a new charm hitherto unknown to man."

"Then why not effect such a state often," Aeriel asked, "and bring back great powers that can only accumulate with time?"

"Alas, my lady," Kelric replied, "it is as I have often said. Each charm enacted, even the trance of seeking, subtracts something of vital presence from the sorcerer who uses it. Each of us is born with a fixed supply of whatever is his for life; once we have used it all, we perish. And the leeching of inner power depends on the strength of the charm. I restrict myself now only to illusions for the court or simple prophecies of short range and even for those I need the aid of sand, fire, or cards. I dare not try to enchant a single person, no matter how shallow his mind, for fear of consuming all that remains."

"Then why do you not have more interest in the eye?" Alodar interrupted. "You said that it can amplify the powers that a sorcerer naturally possesses."

"No, my pulse does not quicken as I think of the sphere," Kelric said. "I am so small a shadow of my prime that I dare not use such a device. It means nothing to me, though in the hands of a young man, a fool with no thought of the morrow, such an eye indeed increases the charm of enchantment a thousand fold.

"You see, despite the fear in which sorcerers are held, despite the way arms are flung over eyes when we approach, enchantment is not easily achieved. Remember that the charm must be recited thrice and eye-to-eye contact must be maintained throughout the third recital. It is not easily accomplished if the intended victim is on guard. And the more insidious enchantments are the hardest of all to effect. The complete extinction of consciousness is the easiest by far. You become the automaton of the sorcerer and think your own thoughts no more.

"But the more subtle enchantments in which some or most of your own free will and thoughts remain are very difficult. The charms are long, the restive forces great, and the drain on the vitality greater still. Yet, how sublime is that charm that gives you the heart of a lady and changes nothing else! She feels she acts of her own free will but the grip of enchantment binds her to you. It is this power which makes the sorcerer so feared.

"And such is the strength of the eye that it can give the master the potency the sagas ascribe to him. Gaze on it but an instant and you are undone. From the crushing of all free thought to the gentlest suggestion, it will be as the sorcerer wills it. And more besides; when the lid is open, the eye reaches out and compels, drawing you to look, tempting you, forcing you, conjuring you for just one little glance and then you are trapped forever.

"But enough for now," Kelric concluded. "It depresses me to think of it further. Tomorrow, if you still are steadfast in your foolishness, we will start with the cantrip for the tossed die."

"I will be at your cabin door," Alodar said. "Your words have not dissuaded me."

Kelric scowled and then looked at Aeriel. "And now my lady, what are your plans for the next hour?"

"I must readjust some of the berth assignments," Aeriel replied, waving to the littered chesttop, "and then confer with the cooks to reaffirm that we are well enough provisioned."

"Then I suppose the chance of your changing into something less practical while I am here is slight?" He leered.

"Oh, begone, Kelric," Aeriel said, "and try your persuasive manner on one of the other women of the court."

"As my lady wishes." With shoulders stooped the sorcerer shuffled out of the room.

Aeriel and Alodar remained in silence pondering Kelric's words for several minutes longer. Then she arose and turned up the wick of the single lamp hung on the cabin wall.

"You show great trust in me, Aeriel," Alodar said, "and I pledge to show it is well placed. When I can control the eye, I will use it most certainly to benefit the queen."

Aeriel turned to look back at Alodar with a small smile. "You have demonstrated your worth already, Alodar. Else I would not have striven to aid you when you petitioned in Ambrosia. I ask only that you serve her with your head as well as your heart. The latter is too frail an organ to use in affairs of state."

"My motives are indeed from the heart," Alodar admitted, "although not in the way that you might think. But what of you? What draws you to such service of the queen?"

"It is apparent, is it not," Aeriel replied, "that Vendora never can be truly certain of counsel given her by any man? She has great need for someone to see through the emotion to the truth that lies underneath."

"Then what is your reward for the service that you provide to the crown?" Alodar asked.

Aeriel rubbed her eyes and looked at the pile of documents. "There are times indeed when I wonder why I travel the path I do. But my father served Vendora's as minister of most grave counsel. Alas, I was an only child. But I have tried to aid the crown of Procolon in the tradition of my family nonetheless. As for the drones who buzz about Vendora, enough of them seek her favor first through me that I have few idle hours in Ambrosia. Fortunately I am keen enough to see through their interests, so that I have not been greatly disappointed. And those who are not so dull, those who indeed might…"

Aeriel broke off and lowered her head with a touch of color in her cheeks.

"I tell too much," she said. "The petitioners who beset the fair lady concern me not at all. I am no longer Vendora's companion in whispered schoolgirl romances. She is now the queen and I her counselor. Such petty concerns are from long ago."

"Shall you then spend the rest of your days in Vendora's shadow, passing into spinsterhood as the reward for your dedication?"

"I said, Alodar, that I have not been disappointed in my dealings with the men of the court, nor have I been a recluse. As for the course of my life, it will depend upon the man the fair lady settles upon as her consort. If he is strong enough to rule Procolon through her, then perhaps I will no longer be needed and can then seek my own destiny."

"For my own part, I thank the random factors that no such decision has yet been made," Alodar said. "Though obviously Vendora does not lack ardent and able suitors."

"Ardent yes, but able, only perhaps, Alodar. The man who fills the needs of the queen and the kingdom has yet to prove himself. And be forewarned in your own quest that more than chance affects the queen's moods. She is strong willed and can be influenced only by subtle pressures.

"Feston struts about the court in jingling mail, but then must show his empty pockets. Basil gives great strength to Vendora's coffers, but must apologize when one of his band refuses to draw sword. And Duncan will find that he is called upon to do far more than merely throw his sphere about the queen

"And if you prove as incomplete as the rest, Alodar, repeated opportunities to lose face will present themselves to you as well. My task is to give Vendora the man who is the best for Procolon, and I work diversely at my craft."

"Then you have been my unknown ally all the while," Alodar exclaimed. "While I toiled in the alchemist shop and the magician's Guild, I despaired of returning in time. But through your machinations, I dare say none of them can show himself supreme."

"Take care at what I say, Alodar," Aeriel replied. "Vendora makes the final decision still. Feston and the rest have already established their claim to be suitors. I strive to delay Vendora's choice, not for you, but for the best, whoever that may be."

"And if the hero for Procolon does come forth and you are then free of your charge," Alodar asked, "what sort of man then would you seek for yourself?"

Aeriel laughed. "In truth, I have no answer." She paused and then after a moment continued softly. "Suffice it to say that the man in my dream knows full well how to judge the relative worth of two women."

Aeriel slowly swept her hands back to rest on the chest behind her and looked deeply into Alodar's eyes. Her face was framed with twin cascades of amber, falling upon shoulders that beckoned in the lamplight. Her eyes sparkled with the deepness of jet, and her lips, though turned in a small smile, were taut with resolution and challenge.

Alodar took a step towards her, then another. She said nothing; her eyes held his and there was no change in her expression. He stopped and with slow deliberateness surveyed her body. He locked his eyes back on hers and advanced another step forward. Aeriel, still silent, flicked a curl from the cascade behind to fall over her shoulder.

Alodar stopped and blinked, trying to understand the intensity of the feeling suddenly rushing over him. His loins tightened and the image of Vendora, this time only days old would not come. He saw only Aeriel, proud Aeriel, warm Aeriel, challenging him in his resolve.

He struggled to hold on to his quest, but in a flood of emotion, it was swept away. "At the ball, I saw the object of my deepest desires," he said simply, "and it was you."

He swept her into his arms, half expecting a haughty laugh at his weakness, but he did not care. He thrust his lips on hers and pulled her body to him, pressing the breath from her lungs.

Aeriel did not resist, but clasped her bands behind him and grasped as savagely as did he. After a long moment be pulled his head back slightly, but Aeriel pursued and reattached her mouth to his. Some time later, how long Alodar could not tell, their crushing grips relaxed, and he led her to sit on the bunk behind them.

"When I saw you again in the palace," Aeriel said as she recovered her breath, "I remarked on the coincidence. That was because the vision that I saw in Kelric's illusion was you."

"My thoughts are a jumble," Alodar said, shaking his head. "For nearly a year I have pursued the queen. I turned away the favor you showed me at Iron Fist for the quest of her hand. But somehow, Aeriel, I have seen too much of the woman you are, and the strength to resist is now far harder to find."

Aeriel smiled at Alodar and then looked down to his side. She squeezed his hand and gently touched the pouch that held the sorcerer's eye. "You have made my heart glad, Alodar," she said, "although by my selfish actions I do not deserve it."

She was silent a moment and then trembled with a deep sigh. She squeezed her hand into a fist until the knuckles showed white and looked back into his eyes. "Why do you quest for the fair lady," she asked, "if not for her beauty and power, like the rest?"

"It is for my heritage," Alodar replied. "I desire to recover my rightful peerage of the realm and the respect that goes with it. As consort to the fair lady, none could deny them to me." He stopped and thought of his dream of the hero's welcome in Ambrosia. "And for the touch of glory that goes with it as well," he said quietly.

"And I have pledged to serve the crown," Aeriel said. "To see that the best man stands at Vendora's side." She paused and lowered her head. "Continue with your quest, Alodar. The fair lady needs you far more than I."

"I have not quested in blind steadfastness," Alodar protested. "Along the way I have faltered and puzzled at the path I choose. And nothing has given me such pause as you, Aeriel. Can I truly throw my heart into pursuing a goal if you are not part of that success?"

"We are both tired, Alodar." Aeriel shook her head gently. "You from the battle and I from the work that must go on. The fatigue weakens our judgment and makes us easier prey to our desires. I apologize for tempting you so. In the morning we will be refreshed and have reaffirmed our resolve to do what we must do."

Alodar frowned at her words, his head reeling from the emotions that swung back and forth as if at the end of a snapping whip. He tried to remember the forces that drove him on, and in the corner of his mind he finally saw a vision of Vendora, the queen. "Perhaps you are right," he said, "but I do not think a single night will unscramble my thoughts. I thunder after an abstract goal, Aeriel, but have no idea what I will do after it is achieved."

"It is a conundrum," Aeriel agreed. "But for now, Procolon is in peril, and you must learn how to use the sorcerer's eye."

Alodar nodded his head slowly and started to speak again, but suddenly two soft knocks echoed from the cabin door. "The queen's council assembles to plot the course for the morrow, my lady," a voice said from without. "Your presence is requested at once."

Aeriel's expression melted into one of annoyance and Alodar let out his breath as the tension oozed away. The mood was broken and Aeriel spoke as if nothing had happened as she waved him to the door. "I must prepare. Good luck, Alodar, good luck in your quest."

"My lady," he mumbled thickly and left with eyes averted.