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

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Demontooth Tower

ALODAR glanced over his shoulder as he started down the other side of the pass. The meadow that held Grak's tribesmen disappeared from view. He looked ahead and visualized the contours of the trail. Rather than moving further upstream, it looked as if he must traverse two valleys to reach the spire. And even though foraging took the entire morning, he should reach the base of the tower by nightfall. He touched the small pack on his back and felt the reassuring lumps of his rations and the implements of his crafts.

From what Grak had said, he need not worry about blundering into another group of nomads along the way. And by leaving Grengor and the rest behind, the chance of losing control of the group was lessened. He flexed his fingers, stretching the tendons in his arm. The sweetbalm-accelerated healing had continued, and the soreness was less than the day before. He broke into a slow jog to test his muscles further. For over an hour he bounded along in silence. The descent reversed into a gentle rise and he climbed upwards towards the next pass.

When Alodar reached the saddlepoint and looked into the valley, his face broke into a smile. There on the other side, jutting up higher than the surrounding slopes, was the spire which had been such a persistent vision. He scanned the intervening terrain and then suddenly halted. As the queen's party had climbed from the shore, the transition from woodlands to forest had been gradual, the short broadleafed trees slowly giving way to the evergreen conifers and firs. But here the change was abrupt and startling. The pines were stunted, some reaching only twenty feet above the ground. Green mixed with equal parts of brown and gray. No tree was without dead and naked branches. Bare and broken snags knifed into the sky. Under the sparse canopy of scraggly limbs, the ground was as sterile as the trail, dust and bare rock uncluttered with smaller plants or decaying mulch.

On the far slope, the trees thinned as they approached the monolith, until only a few gnarled dwarfs sparsely dotted the mountainside. Across the entire canyon, the air hung with a deathly quiet. No birds sang, no insects buzzed, no rodents chattered around the trunks. The strangeness of the scene, now that he finally saw it, tinged his elation with an unsettling apprehension. Cautiously he resumed his tread, darting his eyes into the thin forest on either side of the trail.

Another two hours passed, and Alodar reached the nadir of his traverse of the valley. He scrambled across boulders in a dry stream bed and noted that here and there an occasional low lying shrub broke the monotony of the uncovered ground. As he skirted a big rock directly in his path, he heard a sudden rustling in a nearby bush. Many small lizards had scampered away as he pounded along the trail in the preceding valley, but this noise was louder and hinted at something of much larger size.

He felt a gentle prickling in his mind that reminded him of the sprite he had exorcised the day before. He drew his sword and stepped forward. Where the undergrowth was thickest he jabbed with his blade.

"There is no need, there is no need." A form roughly the size of a small pig leaped into the air. "I will provide for you delights undreamed and without the use of force. All you have to do is ask."

Alodar blinked and looked at the figure suddenly hovering before him. The smooth skin shimmered in an iridescent purple and, except for the face, was covered by a bristly stubble of black hairs. The eyes were owl-like, golden and seeming to glow from small lights within. A pointed nose twice the length of a man's sat on top of a small puckered mouth. Unlike the sprite, no wings sprouted from the spindly back; thin, rubbery limbs curled tightly around the bulbous torso. The demon floated with no visible means of support.

"Begone, whence you came," Alodar said. "I dispatched your impish brother and have no need for you."

"Do not judge so rashly," the devil said. "I am no mere sprite whose only powers are to distract and irritate with feeble rashes and common pranks." The small mouth pulled into a deep smile that spread the rubbery face from ear to ear. "The sun is hot and there is no breeze. Would not a sip of water from melted snow provide a refreshment that the hot waterskin at your side could not equal?"

Before Alodar could reply, the devil waved a slender hand and produced a flask filled with ice. "Here," it said as it decanted a gurgling stream into a clear cup. "This is but a small token of what can be yours."

Alodar watched the water bubble in the cup. He ran his tongue across his suddenly dry lips. "Why do you submit so easily?" he asked. "I would think that you would contest my will even more strongly than the sprite."

"Submission, surrender, putting aside resistance? It is a detail that need not concern us now." The demon shrugged and pushed the container forward. "Refresh your throat, and then we can progress to more intense desires."

Alodar frowned and knocked the cup aside with a flick of his blade. "The sagas speak of no gift from demonkind that does not ultimately bear a price," he said.

"A shrewd bargainer, I see," the demon replied without breaking his smile. "Then perhaps the satisfaction of a more sophisticated urge will change your mind."

The air crackled and Alodar suddenly felt a gentle brush across the nape of his neck. He whirled about, sword still extended, and looked into the face of a dark-skinned dancing girl, silently gyrating to an unheard rhythm. Her dark eyes beckoned; with a playful snap, she flicked one of her scarves at Alodar's blade. A long swath of cloth was looped around her neck, over her breasts, and tucked into the top of diaphanous pantaloons. The afternoon sun silhouetted her nimble legs. Her bare arms fluttered with the motions of the dance.

"And this is no mortal sorcerer's illusion that is in your mind's eye," the demon said over Alodar's shoulder. "Step forward and discover that she is a delight to the touch as well."

The dancer gracefully advanced and flowed past Alodar's guard. She reached up and ran her fingertips down his cheek and then pressed her body to him.

"Just place your trust in my hands," the devil continued. "Delegate your cares of this world to my attention. I will see that all is taken care of, and your petty concerns will trouble you no more."

The dancer clasped her hands behind Alodar's neck. Rubbing herself against his chest, she stretched on her tiptoes and bent back her head. Alodar shook his head. With his free hand he reached behind his neck and gently pushed the girl away. "The lass will avail you no better than the water," he said.

The dancer suddenly vanished, and the demon streaked from behind to face Alodar again. "Then to the crux of the matter. Perhaps you would prefer pleasure undistorted by the infidelity of your feeble senses."

Before Alodar could speak, a gentle prickling moved in his mind and seemed to brush against a sensitive nodule buried deep in his consciousness. The pressure expanded with a burst of energy, and a sudden wave of pleasure radiated through his body: the drowsy comfort of falling asleep; the exhilaration of a last-second victory; the breaking of a three day fast; the softness of a woman's body; the spice of the newly mastered craft. The delights mixed together in a jumble that made Alodar gasp. With tears in his eyes he slipped to his knees and let his sword fall from his grasp.

He tried to focus on his peril. Before the thought could be half formed, a second pulse triggered the reaction and he pitched forward to the ground, drowned by the ecstasy that flowed over him. He rolled over onto his back and sprawled on the ground, breathing shallow gulps of air as the feeling slowly faded away.

"It is yours for the asking, continual and everlasting," the devil said as he floated over Alodar's chest and peered down. "Merely surrender your will to mine and you will have strokes of bliss that come in an unending procession.

Alodar slowly rose to sitting and looked at the grotesque smile. "You will never, by your own devices, experience a pleasure so intense," the demon said. "And if you do not agree, then what you have felt will be but a distant memory."

Alodar clamped his teeth and stared at the demon. "Begone," he said weakly.

"Such power in your words." The devil laughed. "I think one more sample should seal the bargain."

Alodar tensed, trying to rally a defense against the next onslaught, but at the same time savoring the anticipation. How could anyone resist such an overpowering feeling? He banged his fist against the ground in frustration as he realized what his next answer would be. A pulse of dull pain ran down his arm from a wound not yet completely healed, and he blinked as an idea struck him.

"But a moment," he said to the devil as he fumbled in his pack. "I think what I construct here will help me decide." He withdrew a small forked branch from a fallen tree and then rapidly coiled a hair from his head around the stem. "You see, with imagination," he said, holding the figure forward for inspection, "one can construe this as a simple model of a mortal man. And the most critical element is the piece of wire from a discarded pack clamp I bind to one of the arms, not unlike the fiber that carried sensory messages to the brain. Finally, for the energy, my body heat should be enough."

Without pause, Alodar raced into a spellbinding. Before the devil could react, the connection was complete. The demon flapped one of his hands on a rubbery wrist. "Enough stalling," he ordered. "Drink again of my sweet nectar and tell me if you can then forsake it ever more." Alodar felt the touch of the devil's presence. As the rapture spread through his head, he grabbed a sharp rock and pressed it savagely against the wire. A numbing shock exploded in his arm and he screamed with pain. A ripping sting ran up into his head, mingling with the feeling of pleasure before it could completely form. The diluted ecstasy soaked through his body, but the raw intensity was not so great as before. Gasping for breath, Alodar rose to his feet, dangling, his limp arm at his side. "Begone, I command you," he whispered hoarsely.

Rows of wrinkles undulated across the devil's forehead. "A strong resistance," he said, "but surely you cannot withstand one more."

As the next pulse came, Alodar planted his foot over the simulacrum and ground his heel against the wire. His knees buckled and his vision blurred. He felt as if a red hot saw were slicing his flesh and reopening the wound. The bubble of pleasure grew for an instant but then burst into nothingness. The searing hurt swept it away in a torrent of agony. All feelings were blanked. Alodar struggled to remain conscious in the maelstrom of pain. He gulped for air and tried to focus on the purple demon hovering before him.

The devil backed away a few feet, and then his face sagged into a comic frown. "What is your wish, master?" he asked. "Do you desire a woman of a different type, or perhaps to tempt an enemy into the bliss from which he cannot escape?"

Alodar broke the thaumaturgical connection and the pain disappeared. "I command you to depart this world," he panted. "I have no use for your powers until I understand how to use them well." He stopped and regained his breath. "And I care not to have the temptation of your presence to distract me as I struggle to my goal. Back to the world of demons from which you came."

"But it has taken centuries for me to bridge the gap, master. And my duty is to ensure that no one passes. My punishment will not be light if I return with a tale of failure. If you have no need, them let me wrestle with another for his will."

"Depart," Alodar said.

The sad expression twisted into a scowl. "Very well, master, since it is your command. But know that when I return, I will tell others. You proceed to a far greater doom than what I so generously offered."

Alodar retrieved his sword and waved it in irritation. The purple skin of the devil suddenly glowed into incandescence and then disappeared from view. The air popped as it rushed to fill the void where he had been.

Alodar slowly sheathed his blade and scanned the valley floor. He listened for another rustling but heard instead only the oppressive silence. His arm throbbed, and the thought of immediately plunging ahead was suddenly distasteful. He struggled to recapture the feeling of bliss but the last hint decayed away. With a shudder, he sagged to the ground for a short rest.

Alodar pulled his cloak about him. All along the final upgrade to the base of the tower, the breeze had intensified. Now as he topped the last rise, he squinted to keep the swirling dust out of his eyes. The mountains further west hid the descending sun. The heat of the day was gone, but dustdevils danced along the trail.

A level clearing surrounded the base of the spire, three times as wide as the monolith itself. Around the perimeter, stunted bushes and gnarled trees huddled close to the ground, their branches twisted sideways and leaves tattered and torn. The tower flung itself into the sky, steep, sharp and angular, defying the elements to pull it down. It was cold and unyielding, one huge rock without fissure, a subtle pink flecked with shiny black, totally unlike the surrounding hills which crumbled under his heels.

Alodar ran his hand over the surface. It was a plane extending twenty feet in either direction, straight and flat as if cut by a giant knife. He moved to the side where a second plane intersected the first. They met in a shallow angle and the boundary, sharp as a crystal's, soared into the sky. Like an irregular polyhedron thrust into the ground, all angles, lines, and planes, the spire stood in jarring contrast to its surroundings.

A dike of firm granite, Alodar thought, gradually exposed as the softer rock about it weathered away. He looked up the sheer wall towards the apex, trying to see the tarnished ring of his vision in the failing light. But the peak retreated into the soft shadows. All he could discern were a few possible handholds, barely fingertip wide, strung along the rock. He felt the urge to fling down his pack and race up the side. But it would be safer to wait till morning, when there was enough light to climb safely.

Alodar stepped back a pace, and the wind snapped at his cloak. Puzzled, he approached the tower again and the air fell quiet. He turned his back to the spire and extended his hand outward into the clearing. The breeze rippled through his fingers as if he had thrust them out of the window of a rapidly moving coach. Some sort of barrier kept out the gusts, he mused. He twisted sideways and knelt to the ground. Unfortunately, it was too narrow to make a shelter for his campfire.

Alodar walked back into the quickening breeze. He chopped a few limbs from one of the larger trees and built a small square ring of shelter on the ground. In the middle, he piled smaller branches, twigs, and dried grasses and struck his flint hopefully. To his surprise, the spark caught and held. In a few moments he had a small fire that somehow defied the wind,

Alodar ate slowly. When the sky turned black, he spread his cloak and curled around the fire. A gibbous moon rose over the crestline in the east and cast long, cold shadows on his simple camp. For several hours, he shivered with the cold and his anticipation of what the morning would bring. He knew he needed the sleep but it would not come.

Restlessly he sat up on one elbow and stared at the last flickers of his fire. Only a few wisps of flame lapped up from the glowing embers. He watched one of the flamelets suddenly die with a final puff of smoke. The kindling which had fed it slowly turned from a brilliant yellow to a dull red. Idly he turned to another spark and saw it dance along a log, lighting first one end and then another. A second glow appeared by the first; they skittered to and fro in unison.

Alodar sat up and squinted at the campfire as a third dancing ball joined the others. Cautiously, he reached for his scabbard. As he touched it, a tiny laugh cut through the silence of the night.

Alodar sprang to his feet and danced backwards, drawing his sword. The three dots jumped into the air; two flew high and the third arched over, diving for his head. He swung and missed. Peals of shrill laughter rang through the air.

He thought to knock apart the pile of wood. Before he could act, it suddenly blossomed in yellow flame. Open-mouthed, he watched as the few charred sticks sent tendrils of gold into the sky, far higher and more intense than the fire he had set at dusk. The heat burned painfully at his face. Throwing his forearm up, he retreated towards the spire.

The three sprites converged over the fire, hovered for an instant, and then dropped what looked to Alodar like the branches from one of the scrubby plants which grew nearby. The foliage fell and instantly disappeared from sight, totally consumed. The yellow turned deep emerald and then starlight blue. The heat pushed outward like Duncan's expanding sphere, and Alodar took a step irresistibly backwards.

The flickering flames took on structure. From a rounded outline grew two small, earlike flaps, long-lobed and filled with coarse hair. Over a low, slanting brow, deep-sunk eyes darted back and forth behind pockmarked lids. A high and crooked nose sat above a long, thin mouth that turned down in a malevolent sneer. The head rose with the flame; as it did, a body filled in underneath, hunchbacked and spindly, naked and tufted with hair on a scaly skin that flaked off into the fire.

"By the laws, a djinn," Alodar cried aloud. He looked up to see the imps assemble and drop more foliage into the blaze. The demon, already formed, stepped from the fire and another head began to form in his place.

The fire had to be quenched quickly, before more could pass through the gate! Wincing from the heat, Alodar lunged forward, stabbing at the demon that stood in his way.

The djinn's eyes flared open at Alodar's advance. A deep rumble spilled out from his lips. He waved his taloned hand, sideways, and a sudden blast of air caught Alodar in the chest. Unlike the wind of evening which had gusted and pushed, the blow pounded like a hammer. Alodar gasped for breath as his lungs emptied from the shock. He staggered forward one step. A second blow hit, spinning him backwards and knocking him to the ground. As he fell, the flame behind the djinn danced skywards, coalescing into a second demon.

Alodar rose to one knee. The djinn formed a pulse of air that caught him on the chin and made him reach for the ground for balance. Alodar looked up into the eyes of the figure towering over him. Its penetrating stare reminded him too much of the eye that Kelric had awakened in the sorcerer's sphere. He felt a trickle of fear race down his spine. Instinctively, he grabbed the pouch at his side and felt the smoothness of the orb.

The demon's thick brows shot upwards into his wrinkled forehead as he saw the motion. He walked forward and extended his hand. Alodar drew his sword, but a furnace blast skittered it away. Still clutching the sphere in his left hand, he reached for his dagger with the other. The demon opened his mouth to speak and Alodar wrinkled his nose at the sudden foul stench of decay.

"An item of some interest, I surmise," the djinn said with the hint of some unplaceable accent. "It is well that I have chosen here and now to walk again among you mortals."

Alodar held his breath and said nothing as he watched the djinn approach. With lazy contempt, the demon held out a calloused palm and beckon with his knobby fingers. "The pouch, if you will," he said. "You fear already what my power can do to you. Do not chance my wrath in addition."

Alodar stared back at the distorted face. The blazing eyes bored into him, but he suppressed the impulse to flinch. He felt the prickly presence in his head, this time radiating a numbing terror rather than annoyance or pleasure. "The pouch," the demon repeated. "It is so much easier if you do not resist."

Alodar hesitated, then nodded and offered the bag temptingly. Then, as the piercing eyes flicked down to watch the transfer, he thrust out with the dagger and slashed at the demon's outstretched palm.

Thick greenish ichor oozed from the slit, and the demon leapt quickly backward with an unearthly howl of pain. "You dare to trifle so with one of my kind," he raged as he pressed his good hand about the wrist and attempted to staunch the flow. "Thus do I deal with such puny beings as you." He gestured with his injured hand and another blast of air slammed into Alodar's kneeling form.

The blow sent Alodar sprawling backwards and he tried to flatten out for the one to follow. But the current of wind curled under him and lifted him from the ground. In a frantic swirl of arms and legs, he tried to regain his balance, but the gust propelled him higher.

"I can smash you against the rock," the djinn yelled above the howl of the wind. "You will be no more than shattered bone and jellied flesh. Submit your will to mine. Even your wildest fears are but a small hint of what I can do."

The gust abruptly stopped and Alodar crashed to the ground. Groggily he climbed to his feet, trying to grasp what he must do. He was no match physically for the djinn. He could not stand his ground as he had done with the others. If he resisted, he would be bludgeoned into submission.

The last flurries of the blast fluttered around his legs, dying away almost to the stillness he had felt against the tower.

He stopped before he was fully erect and tried to remember the feeling next to the rock wall. The breeze was not merely less, he pondered. The air was still, perfectly still, as if controlled through the workings of magic. He sucked in his breath with sudden hope. And if it were magic, then even the demon blasts might be turned aside.

Alodar pushed aside speculation on the djinn's reaction if he were wrong and quickly whirled towards the tower. The wind increased and the dust danced about his feet, but with one quick lunge he pounded against the cold stone. He saw the demon's face contort with rage, and the campground exploded in a fury. Sword, the pack, logs, leaves, and branches swirled into a cyclone of dust and then hurled in Alodar's direction with a shriek of groaning air.

Alodar flung his arms in front of his face and hunched in anticipation. He heard a sharp crack; then what sounded like a giant bell reverberated in the night. He put down his hands and saw a pile of debris massed a few inches from his feet and the glow of the fire still dimly visible in a cloud of swirling dirt and dust. The djinn stepped forward, eyes blazing hate and talons extended. He ran his claws down the invisible barrier between them. Alodar winced from the grating screech.

"You cannot stay there forever," the djinn growled. "The hunger and thirst will only add to your fear. When you are ready to submit on bended knee, you will plead for my mercy and hope for a gentle touch."

Before Alodar could reply, the demon turned his back and walked through the settling dust to the fire, now quiescently flickering low to the ground. Two other demons, colored and featured like the first, stood clear of the blaze, awaiting his return. They exchanged deep and guttural sounds for an instant, then stopped. Each turned his back on the other and radiated outwards from the fire, stopping and surveying the ground. Alodar watched with his back and arms pressed firmly against the spire, not daring to venture from the safety of the shield.

After several minutes, the first returned and tossed a load of pebbles and small stones into the blaze. Just as before, when fed by the sprites, the flames roared upward, this time a deep purple that blended into the blackness of the sky. The second demon reappeared, holding two head-sized blocks, and tossed them after the small rocks. The third waddled back soon after, hands cupped around a boulder easily as big around as the demon was tall. With a grunt, he added it to the blaze and stepped back to watch the flames dart out from under it.

From his vantage point, Alodar saw another shape begin to form in the fire, another head, many times human size with outlines that suggested a grotesque countenance. Alodar's eyes widened as he grasped what was happening. The imps had somehow made it possible for the three djinns to span the worlds and, powerful in mortal terms though they might be, they were bridging the gap for yet more potent demons to come.

He spun about and sprang for the first handhold above his head. He pulled one leg up to a resting place and then the other. He felt sudden pain in his arms but he shoved it aside. Without waiting, he reached for a new grip and scrambled up the face of the rock. The purchases were few and treacherous, but he did not care. Seconds seemed vital now. He could hope to succeed only if he took every risk.

Up he scrambled, not looking to see how far he had come or to judge the remaining distance. Like the enchanted fighting machine he once had been, he ignored the protests of unhealed muscles and bursting lungs. Hand over hand, in a hypnotic reverie, he drove himself toward the summit. The column narrowed and the rock on which he pressed offered fewer grips, but he did not notice. With a rush, he clambered onto the upshoot which bent to the final pinnacle.

The thickness of rock narrowed to thrice a man's breadth, and Alodar stopped and ran his hands over the stony surface. In an instant he found what he sought, the tarnished bracelet set in the stone. He pulled it. With astounding ease, a great slab parted from the monolith, swung out horizontally, and revealed stairs leading down into the tower. Alodar glanced back down the dizzying distance to the ground and caught one glimpse of a huge demon taking final form. With a last catch of breath, he plunged into the passageway.

The way was dark, and the entrance slab cut off all light from the fire below. With one hand on a wall and the other in front, Alodar spiraled down the stairs as fast as he could without stumbling. Around one circle he went, and then another. His sense of direction became lost, but he continued onwards. Suddenly he hit a level floor and staggered. The stairs had ended, and he was in a room.

Alodar fumbled at his waist for flint and steel and started a small match to glow in the darkness. The tiny flame burned dimly, but he saw what he knew was there. A stone sarcophagus carved from solid granite lay at the far end of a vault. On the wall behind hung an embrace of oil like those in the dungeon of Iron Fist. Alodar moved forward, shielding his match with a cupped hand. He tossed the last sputtering embers of his splinter into the pool, and the room burst into light.

Staring down at the stone coffin, Alodar saw a thick sheet of glass shielding the occupant from the musty air that hung in the chamber. He placed his feet against the wall and began pushing the slab from its resting place. At first, the heavy covering did not move but then, as he strained and knotted the muscles of his back and arms, it slid an inch across the stone with a grating rumble. Alodar breathed deeply and pressed the smooth edge into his palms. The glass slipped further, opening a gap between it and the stone rectangle it covered. A strange, sweet smell rose from the coffin to fill his nostrils, but he ignored it and shoved again. The slab jerked and then gathered momentum. With a final thrust, he propelled it across the opposite side and down onto the stone floor in a loud shatter of broken glass.

"Water," a voice, soft and dry, whispered up at him. "On the wall as you came in?a door to a second room."

Alodar raced around to the other side of the vault and spied a small bracelet, like the one on the outside of the tower. He pulled it open and saw another chamber the same size as the first, but filled with braziers, kindling, piles of dried plants, capped cylinders, liquids, and small, tightly bound chests. Just like Saxton's shop, he thought, as he spotted a flask tightly sealed with a metal cap. He struck off the neck against the wall and hurried back to the wizard, who was sitting up in his stone bed and stretching arms and fingers with a chorus of pops and cracks.

The wizard tilted his head backwards. Alodar poured the water down into the eager mouth, spilling some onto a robe of deepest jet, set with the logo of the flame. Although the musty vault suggested a sleep of centuries, the features were those of middle age. Short ringlets of light brown hair covered his head and cascaded over his ears to merge with a well trimmed goatee. Brown eyes flanked a high thin nose, delicately enscribed with tiny blue veins. The face was gaunt and pale, the hands smooth and uncalloused. The wizard was a man of vault and contemplation rather than sun and physical labor.

"Enough, enough," Alodar heard him sputter at last. "You have awakened none less than Handar, the great wizard. That I stretch and stir again is of itself a tale for the sagas."

Handar paused and stared at Alodar. "Stand closer to the light so that I can look at you better," he commanded. "But a lad, I see. Who of the others would have thought it?"

"Demons," Alodar cut him off. "Many of them below. I came for help. How you can aid I do not know, but it seemed what I must do."

"They would be the thickest here, of course," Handar said. "But the shield will keep the imps away, no matter how many."

"Not only sprites," Alodar persisted, "but djinns of power as well. And they work to bring forth even greater ones of their own volition. It was only by the smallest of margins that they did not prevent me from reaching you safely."

Handar studied Alodar intently for a moment and then shook his head. "In numbers already," he said. "Then we have cut the margin exceedingly fine." He swung one leg over the coffin wall. "Quickly, the brazier of gold and the skin of oil beside it. There is wizard's work to be done."

Alodar hastened back to the storeroom and dragged forth the requested equipment. He set a tripod midway in the room and filled the brazier that swung beneath its apex with oil from a skin hard and brittle with age.

"And now the chalk and the woods," Handar said. "Then we can begin."

Alodar fetched the gear from the storeroom. When he returned, a small fire was flickering from the now-steady pan. The wizard was standing ready with no signs of stiffness or sleep. He reached into the chalk box and rapidly sorted through the pieces; a small cloud of colored dust rose from his haste. At last he withdrew one piece and turned his attention to the bundle of wood.

Handar deftly untied the knot, sending the small sticks swirling across the floor. "Let me see," he muttered, holding up the rods one by one and occasionally rubbing or smelling their smooth surfaces. "Ah, ironwood and myrtle. The very ones for him I seek."

Handar turned quickly and cast the ingredients into the blaze. "Come forth, Balthazar, I command you. Awake from your idle reverie and sloth. Your master decrees after these many years a new task for his bonded servant and slave."

Alodar looked from the flame that arched between them and then into the eyes of the man he had awakened. He saw the brow wrinkled in concentration and eyes fixed unswerving on the fire. Bony arms extended forward, beckoning to the flame.

"What is happening?" Alodar asked.

"Silence," Handar ordered. "We have no time to trifle with idle curiosity. I must stretch to my limits and call up the most powerful that I dare. Do not distract me to our peril."

As Alodar returned to silence, he saw the beginnings of an outline in the center of the blaze. An orange head, eyes and ears blended with the flames, rose above a massive trunk of huge scales and thighs the girth of barrels. Up into the room it towered, cloven hooves and tail dancing in the small fire from which it sprang. Alodar looked up at the head, which now touched the top of the chamber, and shuddered. The ears were large, covering the sides of the elongated head and ending in sharp points that soared above a bald crown. The eyes were small glistening beads of black, deep sunk beneath a jutting forehead that formed a permanent frown. With each breath, tiny nostrils flared from a small bump of a nose. A mouth shaped like an inverted U cut deeply into the chin.

"So Handar, you again choose to settle your fate in rash manner after all of these mortal years. It is well that you have not practiced your art in so long a time. It will make the submission all the quicker."

"Silence, Balthazar, silence," the wizard shot back, "I have had the will of two of your kind since I toddled from my father's knee. The passage of time does not weaken my steadfastness but gives me all the more experience and confidence to handle your feeble puffs of will. If you do not believe it, look into me and see what you find there."

The demon sneered from bristly jowl to jowl. His luminescent eyes bore down on the wizard. For several minutes there was silence. Neither moved. Alodar saw beads of sweat break out on Handar's forehead. He saw the demon's tail begin to twitch slowly, first to the left, then to the right. Finally a spasm ran up the entire length to the large plates which covered his back.

"And so, Balthazar," Handar said, "say again who is master and who is the slave."

"I am at your bidding and service," the demon mumbled.

"I cannot discern your usually wonderful diction, Balthazar," Handar continued. "Speak louder for my companion here."

"I am at your bidding and service," Balthazar boomed. "What task will you give me so that I may have it done?"

"Know then, Balthazar," Handar said, with a tinge of smugness in his voice, "that below this very pinnacle several of your kindred have forced their way into the mortal world without being called here by one of my craft. Plunge downward and dispatch them to whence they came. Rend them limb from limb and distribute the essence of their being to the farthest corners of their natural realm, so that eons may pass before they coalesce again."

Balthazar glanced groundward and stared through the rock. "But they are indeed of my closest kindred," he said. "Spawned from the same clutch in which I was laid. I see they only frolic about, and about them are none of your kind to be harmed. Such action does not deserve unjust wrath from one with your mighty will, master."

"As I have said, Balthazar," Handar commanded, "dispatch your obligation and whine no more about it."

The tail twitched twice more above the tripod. Then suddenly the demon was gone. The chamber was still, with only the small flicker of flame and a hint of a foul odor to mark his presence.

"Up to the entrance," Handar said. "We can see how well Balthazar strives after such a long rest."

Alodar sprang for the spiral passageway, and the wizard marched after at a more stately pace. In a moment Alodar reached the slab, which was still cantilevered from the steep sides of the pinnacle. Racing out onto it, he looked below.

The campfire flamed in a rainbow of colors. The original three sprites had grown to a swarm of lights that dove and climbed among perhaps a dozen of the smaller djinns. In the center of all towered a giant, from the distance seemingly as tall as Balthazar, hands on bony hips and head tipped back in a fiendish yell as the smaller devils danced about him.

Suddenly lightning flashed. Deafening thunder cracked through the air. As Handar reached Alodar's side, a small cloudlet formed over the blaze. A second flash struck the earth in the midst of the demons. As they scrambled away, a staccato burst of rain fell and doused the fire. In a ball of orange flame, Balthazar appeared in the middle of the smouldering rocks and branches. Without warning, he snatched up two of the small demons, one in each hand, and dashed their heads together in a spray of greenish pulp. With seeming nonchalance, he tore limb from lifeless limb and scattered them airwards to vanish in puffs of smoke and flame.

The demon confronting Balthazar roared in challenge and waved his arms in warning. A giant globule of ice suddenly appeared between his hands; with a snap of his long arms he hurled it at his opponent. Balthazar dropped the remains of his smaller brothers, turned, and caught the missile against his scaled shoulder. It burst into a thousand tiny shards and dashed to the ground, hissing into steam when it touched the still glowing embers. Before the other demon could attack again, Balthazar stomped the ground. A fissure opened at his feet. It raced across the clearing from one fighter to the other. From a small crack, it grew wider till it spanned a full six feet and caused even the pinnacle to rock as the shockwaves spread from the disturbance.

Balthazar's opponent danced to one side and then the other as the jagged crack approached, but it sped unerringly to him. With a guttural yell, he fell into the abyss that opened under his feet. Balthazar stomped the ground again; the earth closed as rapidly as it had split asunder. No trace was left of the demon, except for a few bubbles of green which oozed upwards from the crack that marked the fissure's path.

The smaller demons and imps that had watched the battle suddenly began to scatter, but Balthazar pursued each with relentless precision. He dispatched the sprites with a clap of his hands. In a few moments it was over and Balthazar streaked skywards to stand before Handar on the slab.

"It is done, Balthazar," Handar said. "Transport us gently below and then return whence you came."

In a rush, Alodar felt himself scooped up in a pillow of air and hurled down to the campground with breathtaking speed. Just when he thought that the demon planned some revenge upon his master, they came to a gut-wrenching halt and stood on the firm ground.

"Use the embers," Handar said. "It is enough to give you passageway back." Balthazar said not another word but moved to the glowing remains of the drenched fire and wrapped his tail about him. He stepped upon one of the coals, still red-yellow, and vanished from sight.

Alodar looked at Handar with a stunned expression on his face. The events he had just witnessed were so far removed from anything he had experienced that it was hard to believe they had happened. The raw power of Balthazar pushed his own strivings into insignificance. He felt like a small child, bewildered by the complex world of adults manipulating their surroundings in a way he could never hope to master.

"It is cold," Handar said, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "And I am hungry. Repair your camp, and then we will talk."