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

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Possession by Design

ALODAR warmed his hands in front of the fire. The events of the past hour were slowly ebbing away. He closed his eyes, but the vision no longer came. He was free of the enchantment which had drawn him to the spire.

He shook his head and looked across the flame at Handar, who was complacently pulling the remains of the meal out of his beard with a small comb. "Why was I drawn here?" he asked at last. "For what purpose did you sleep in the tomb? How can demons of such great power cross unbidden into our world?"

"It all will be explained in good time and proper fashion," Handar said, raising his hand to stop the rush of questions. "But first I must know more of your journey. How is it that you and no other broke the seal that awakened me? And besides the demons here, how does our world fare elsewhere in interaction with them?"

Alodar frowned with impatience, then sighed when he saw Handar tilt up his chin and close his eyes to mere slits. "I am Alodar, suitor to the queen of Procolon," he said. "And I am here as a result of my quest for her hand." He paused and let his thoughts tumble back into order. "From the dungeons of Iron Fist, to the depths of the Fumus Mountains, to the inner sanctums of the Cycloid Guild, through the enchantment of the sorcerer's eye, I have striven to aid her cause better than any other."

"For a mere queen?" Handar asked.

"For the respect of all men, for a parade of triumph through the streets of Ambrosia, for the glory of the sagas, for a reason for existing." Alodar flushed as the feelings flooded back through him. He breathed deeply, savoring the taste of his goal. "But each step along the way led only to the next, the promise of some greater marvel to turn the eyes of the fair lady. Now armies from the south and west sweep into the heart of Procolon. If only I could find the means to swell the ranks of the nomads around her banner and defeat the demon-led hordes which oppose her!"

Alodar stopped and blinked. "Balthazar," he exclaimed. "With his might and the others you could muster, we could rid the warriors who oppose the queen of the fiendish influence which drives them. Or more easily convince Grak and the other chieftains to join in the fair lady's cause. My quest goes onward. It was right to divert our trek southwards so that I could visit this tower. A powerful wizard is just what the fair lady needs in the struggle for her kingdom."

Alodar halted again and looked at Handar through narrowed eyes. "But I must admit I view the prospect with mixed feelings," he said at last. "My efforts before have benefited others as much as they have aided me. Vendora would look to reward the wizard who did the deed rather than the messenger who brought him."

"Then do you wish to turn aside what aid I might offer," Handar asked, "and continue your petty struggle on your own?"

Alodar was silent for a moment more. He thought of the sprite with its boils and rashes, of the pleasures he was able to resist only with intense pain, of the raw power of Balthazar and the other djinns. Already he had seen and experienced too much of what demonkind could do. He nodded slowly with decision and looked Handar in the eye. "The demons must be exorcised from our world. No matter who gets the credit."

Handar returned Alodar's stare. He lightly touched his fingertips together in front of his chest. "It is well that you answered as you did," he said, "for any other would have meant that your quest was for naught."

Alodar raised his eyebrows with surprise but Handar continued. "It would be my doom if I summoned Balthazar to satisfy my every whim. Each time we contest, he learns more of my will, of my weaknesses and petty failings, my irritations, desires, and fears. If I persisted one time too many, it is he who would be the master and I the slave. It well may be that I must call upon him again before the struggle is finished, but it will be only when he is desperately needed and not before. Nor will I appear before this queen of yours juggling imps in my hands like some jester. I am a wizard and know better than to dissipate foolishly the power of my craft. You need not fear for the effect of my art on the heart of this lady. It was for a much graver reason that I was laid to rest."

Handar collapsed his palms together and brought his thumbs up to his chin. "You mention building an army," he said, "and using wizardry to aid in persuasion. I think that it would be a good enough first test. Listen well and I will instruct you on the workings of my craft."

"You offer to teach me how to deal with djinns such as Balthazar?" Alodar asked.

"One as mighty as he will come later," Handar said. "For the moment, summoning a sprite or two should suffice to build your confidence and probably impress this queen as well."

"But why?" Alodar asked. "You pile one mystery on top of another."

"Why?" Handar echoed, stiffening into an erect posture. "It is not for a wizard to answer why. He does as he chooses, as he wills things to be. I elect to tell you of my craft now. More will come when I judge you worthy to receive it."

Alodar shrugged and settled into a comfortable position. Handar waited several moments more in silence and then rose.

"What you saw transpire in this clearing tonight was an exercise in one of the fundamental laws of wizardry," he said. "The law of ubiquity. Or stated in simple terms, 'fire permeates all.' It is by fire and fire alone that a bridge or gateway is formed between the demon world and ours. It is through fire that they come to us. The simple blaze of a fallen log is enough to furnish passage for the most feeble among them, such as tiny imps and will-o'-the-wisps. Their presence is harmless, even though an annoyance and surrounded by much folklore and baseless superstition. Any man with a whit of courage can bend them to his will and make them behave. The powerful demons require more exotic means of access. Fire of a natural kind will not do. Exotic plants, woods, and even rarer substances such as rock must burn to make the conditions right."

"Then what I surmised was true," Alodar said. "The less powerful opened the way for the greater djinns to pass through."

"Yes," Handar agreed. "But if it were as simple as that, then long ago this world would have been overrun with demonkind. There would not be wizards enough to wrestle with all that might appear. But in the scheme of things, although flame is necessary, it is not sufficient. Except for an irritating imp or two, none of the demons have free access, even though a path may be open. The flame makes a channel where there was none before, but all resistance is not overcome. The greater the demon's power, the greater in proportion is the barrier which impedes him. A sprite, devil or djinn of any strength must make contact with a human mind and be pulled across the friction that remains. Indeed, all of the so-called craft of wizardry is concerned with just one thing, the establishing of a link between the two worlds, of making the contact of minds that allows the demon to come forth. Once the connection has been made, the resistance vanishes and what happens next is governed by the second law, the law of dichotomy."

"But there were no wizards pulling the sprites and djinns through," Alodar objected. "Once the flame was established, they came of their own will."

"Of that I will speak later," Handar said. "But first the law of dichotomy, or simply stated, 'dominance or submission.' There is no middle ground. Once the demon has been called forth, then who controls whom is determined solely by a contest of wills. If the wizard is strong enough, he will dominate and the demon, at least for the particular conjuring, will be his to command. If the man falters and the demon wrests mastery from him, then he becomes the pawn of the other world, a warlock, a mere toy to strut and twist about as it suits their eerie amusement."

Handar suddenly raised his palms and stopped. "And that is all there is to the craft," he said.

"No words of power, formulas, rituals or chants handed down from master to pupil?" Alodar asked.

"Only which flames are appropriate for which demon," Handar replied. "And that is just so that the foolish do not attempt beyond what they are capable. But such knowledge is peripheral to mastery of the craft. The essence is the will to resist, to remain free, to preserve one's spirit. And this central core of wizardry cannot be taught, only experienced."

"But the power I saw your creature unleash," Alodar said. "With such as he to aid you, no kingdom could resist."

"It is as I have said," Handar replied. "The more powerful the demon, the stronger is his will and the greater risk there is of submission rather than domination. And there is somehow a flaw in those who seek skill in wizardry and perhaps in most men as well. A flaw that leads us to temptation almost without fail. As we practice our art and summon again and again the lesser demons which we can easily bend to our will, we grow tired of their supplications, their flattery, their bemoaning of the small tasks that are placed upon them. We reach out and try to bring forth a devil of more power, to test our strength against him and to measure our accomplishments against our peers who strive as well. And as the sagas show, one by one, the daring craftsmen of wizardry eventually attempt what is beyond their reach and pass from free men to be the tools of those whom they wished to control. To be a wizard is no casual undertaking, though the preparation for it is small. And to be a great one requires character as strong as any hero in the sagas, a will unbending to the temptations that demonkind will offer along the way."

"And you, Handar?" Alodar asked.

"If I were strong enough, if wizardry alone were great enough, then there would have been no need for my long sleep of waiting for someone to come."

Alodar trudged up the pass in silence, the stiffness of his wounds almost completely gone. Except for more detail on how to probe through the flame, Handar stubbornly chose to say no more about his background or any of the other puzzling questions. Most of the morning had passed while Alodar gave an account of his adventures starting with the siege of Iron Fist over a year ago. All along the trail back to the meadow, the wizard's only comments had been an occasional grunt or introspective smile.

Alodar looked down from the pass and saw that little had changed since his departure the day before. The goatskin huts of Grak's tribesmen still clustered near the base of the mountain. Further out in the grasses, the collection of nomads who were pledged to Vendora's banner huddled around a scattering of small fires, preparing a midday meal. Between the two camps, one isolated group stood apart from all the rest. Alodar squinted at a pole thrust into the ground there and saw a crude banner with the colors of the queen.

"They still parley," Alodar said over his shoulder as Handar climbed the last few paces to his side. Handar nodded wordlessly and started down the slope. In a quarter of an hour they walked into the small camp.

Alodar could tell as he looked into the dozen or so faces staring his way that conversation had stopped several minutes before their final approach. Grak, other chieftains, the suitors, Grengor, and Aeriel sat in an informal circle around a single fire. Alodar sought the face of the queen and shouted his greeting. "I bring powerful resources and fresh hope for the fair lady. The wizard Handar, and great are the demons at his command."

A buzz of conversation started around the group. Grak conferred with two of his nomads sitting nearby and the other suitors exchanged glances among themselves. "You return at a most propitious time, master," Grengor said. "Three of Grak's sub-chieftains have experienced enough of Basil's show of gems and Feston's words of plunder to want to join our cause. If you can aid in convincing the fourth, the one with the long unruly mane, then I am sure that chieftain will follow."

"We talk in terms of carats of ruby and ounces of soft gold," Basil said. "A tale from these highlands, even a wizard's, carries no weight compared to these. Return your hermit to wherever you found him and let his imps scavenge his existence as before."

Handar turned to face Basil. His eyes sparked and the muscles in his face hardened. His stare bored into the apothecary. Basil hesitated for a moment. Before he could speak again, Handar looked away and scanned the rest of the group.

"I am a true wizard," he announced slowly, "not some carnival attraction. A wizard from the time of the sagas, when even kings would walk behind. And I have heard of Bandor's possession, of the sprites deep within the fissures of the Fumus Mountains, and of the djinns who stunt the trees, kill the game, and make the winds howl around the spire to the east. It is not by chance that all of these events crowd together. No, they are deeply related. Shall I return to my hermitage, as you call it, or do you wish to hear instead of the doom which hovers over you like a block of granite suspended from a cotton thread?"

"If you speak of Demontooth, then we will hear your words," Grak said. "It is but a half day away, unlike all the battles of glory many weeks march to the south."

The nomads grunted their acquiescence and all of the others were silent. Handar's lips curved into a smile. "Perhaps not the pomp and circumstance to which I am accustomed," he said, "but until you know better it will suffice."

He paused, then continued. "Despite the decay which has apparently rotted my craft, you must all know at least a glimmer of how it works, of the flame that is necessary to form the pathway between the worlds, of the resistance which prevents the most powerful demons from appearing here of their own choice. But do you know as well that with each passage into our world, the resistance is slightly lowered? Less effort is required to bring the next demon of the same strength across. When one returns, the barrier increases by a like amount. If the contacts are sporadic in space and time, the situation remains relatively static and no great harm is done. But concerted effort to flood us with demonkind could cause the barriers to fall, so that more powerful djinns could reach out and touch our minds with simpler flames. And as more come forth, the hurdle becomes lower still."

Aeriel frowned. "But such a process is unstable," she said. "Eventually, demons of inconceivable might could vent their great power as they willed."

"The potential has been present from man's distant memories," Handar agreed, nodding his head, "But so long as demonkind viewed our intrusions and summons as a minor irritation from another world, then it did not matter. The mighty devils soon tire of?and destroy?the few foolish men who challenge them. But if for some reason, by logic that only their fiendish minds could follow, a demon prince came to covet our world and the hearts and minds that dwelled within it, then our peril would be great indeed. And if a prince did desire such a conquest, how would he proceed?"

Handar paused and noted with satisfaction the upturned faces and backs hunched forward, "We cannot know for sure, of course, but it is plausible he would act as follows. First he would wait until in the random course of human events the craft of wizardry sagged into a nadir of petty exhibitions and traveling entertainments. Without great wizards to interpret what was happening, his designs would proceed undiscovered and unchecked for far longer than otherwise possible. He would direct his minions to act towards a common goal, once they succeeded in dominating the fools who dared too much. Rather than strutting these warlocks as comic puppets to be used and then discarded, the djinns would force their actions to be like normal men. And then, as these slaves moved among us unsuspected, there would come a time when a group of them would be alone with a man with some military power, perhaps an outland baron with few guards to subdue. After a hearty meal in front of a roaring hearth to keep out the cold, they would seize him and hold his head toward the flame and force his eyelids open until they had another subjugation. Or perhaps in a dungeon without food or hope until the will to resist weakened. I do not know the details; they are unimportant."

"Bandor," Aeriel interjected. "From the beginning his possession was most puzzling."

"From what Alodar has explained, he was probably the first of the ones who did not dabble," Handar replied. "With his peerage, the demons had control of the beginnings of an army. Far more important, it meant that there was opportunity for trusting lieutenants, neighboring barons, and captured opponents to be tricked and forced into submissions as well. And with each look into the flame and transferal, the resistance weakened, so that more could come. More demons to direct the growing chaos of war, to conquer greater fiefdoms, to bring still more into bondage. Under the guise of a mortal struggle, the demon power would grow from baronies to kingdoms and eventually the whole world."

"But how do you know?" Duncan protested. "It is a pretty theory and nothing more."

"Yes," Feston joined in. "Except for the talk of the sorcerers, we would not even suspect that the revolt in the west is more than the well-understood actions of ambitious men."

"A rebellion that swelled from a single barony to ally the entire west?" Handar replied. "And one that fights with such ferocity that you cannot put it down? Kingdoms to the south who have squabbled among themselves for centuries suddenly uniting and thrusting at Procolon together? A resistance so weak that not only sprites but djinns of true power appear unsummoned about the base of the spire? These events are not random chance. We are faced with possession by design. There is more than the fate of the ruling class of Procolon at stake."

"But if what you say is true," Aeriel asked, rising to her feet, "what can we possibly do against such power?"

Handar patted his fingertips together. "We can at least hope to defeat them in battle. Not all of the men are demon-possessed, only the leaders. If we can crush the forces which march against Procolon and either slay or free the ones possessed, the resistance will return to its former values. Then it will be only imps with which we will have to deal. Once on our guard, we may be able to resist until the prince behind the attack loses interest and turns his attention to other worlds."

"But that is no less than what we already strive for," Basil cried. "We hope to convince enough of these rough barbarians to the fair lady's cause so that we can crush the insurrection, as you say. Procolon's regular army battles Bandor in the west. With enough additional swords, we will also halt the thrust from the south. Demon plot or none, our course of action is the same."

"If you could imagine the fate which will be ours if we fail," Handar said, "then you would not be so glib about what it is for which we will fight. Now they control only a few, but in the end it would be each and every one of us a slave. And for what perverted delights we would be the pawns, I cannot say. To shear off our own fingers and toes one by one, to labor for years to pound our towers and walls into fine sand, to float for eternities with no sight, touch or sound, to hack loved ones into pulp. The horrors they press upon the poor warlocks when they are bored can be only a small glimmer of what would be."

Handar halted and a heavy silence fell on them all. Alodar saw Grengor and Duncan squirm as they imagined their own private hells. Aeriel bit her lip in pensive thought. Vendora stared at the slowly heaving chest of Grak the barbarian.

Grak broke the silence as he rose. "It is well enough for you lowlanders to be so clear as to what you must do. But for my tribesmen, we have heard first a day of soft promises and now words of fear. We have had the devils among us for ages and they have given us no bother, so long as we stay clear."

"The demons will seek you out," Handar promised. "They will concentrate first on the lowlands where there are more to possess, true. But eventually there will be no place in these mountains in which you can hide."

Grak stared down at Handar for a long time in silence. "You claim to be a great wizard," he said at last. "Show me some of your craft so that I may verify the truth of what you say."

Handar returned Grak's stare with his chin extended. "I have said I am a wizard," he replied, "and that is sufficient. As to the power of my craft, Alodar can demonstrate enough to make you tremble."

Grak's nostrils flared. "I have seen imps enough in my time not to fear their irritations. Work your spell, and we will see if I judge it to be great wizardry."

Alodar looked quickly at the scowling face of the barbarian. Handar's manner had given Grak an insult that could not be put aside easily. And it would be uncertain that this first effort in conjuring would be startling enough to impress the proud nomad. Another tack was called for if he was to be convinced. Alodar looked at the sub-chief scratching his head to Grak's left. Without thinking, he reached down and rubbed the latest flea bite on his leg; then his eyes brightened with an idea.

"There are more products from the labor of wizardry than just fear," Alodar said. "Rest easy while I provide something that should benefit your tribe far more."

Alodar knelt to the ground and rummaged through his pack. He withdrew a few clusters of pine needles and the roots from a painted daisy. He placed them in rough stone bowl by the fire. From the carcass of a freshly killed hare he dripped the fats and juices until the plants were covered. Into a wicker basket he scooped some ashes from the smouldering fire.

"All of this is unnecessary," Handar objected. "For a simple imp, you need only common flame."

"I am ready now," Alodar said. "The rest is for what will come after." He looked once more at Grak, breathed deeply, and turned his attention to the fire. As Handar had instructed, he let his eyes decouple and drift out of focus.

The yellow and gold blurred together. Wide-eyed, Alodar felt the fascination of the dancing flame tendrils, the lure to probe the mysteries that lay beyond. He clinched his fists and willed his presence forward, past the incandescent sheen, into the very heart of the blaze.

Alodar stared and his sense of time melted away. Unlike the effort of sorcery he felt no discomfort, no pain and gagging nausea to overcome. He envisioned the pathway as a great pipe connecting one world with the other, a vertical shaft with a tough, translucent membrane stretched across its throat, preventing transfer. He concentrated on building his will, making it stronger, constructing a huge weight, pressing against the barrier to break the resistance and allow passage. The membrane twisted, sagged and stretched out of shape so that it finally ripped and failed.

He concentrated upon wishing the tattered remains of the barrier away. For a moment, nothing happened; then his mind exploded with the feeling of a dozen gentle pricklings. In a rush, he sensed a dozen more. Boiling balls of consciousness whirled in confusion, each one subtly distinctive, diving at his thoughts and snatching them away. "Gladril," he thundered aloud, as the identity of one sprang to mind. "I have work for you, sprite of the water. Until I am done, your will is mine."

The presence of the other imps immediately winked away. Alodar felt only one skittering around in his head. His conversations with Handar and the experience with the sprite on the trail gave him confidence, and he projected resolve as hard as steel. "Come forth, Gladril," he said. "I command you to my bidding."

Instantly the air above the fire fissured with a sharp crack. In a tiny cloud of steamy vapor, Alodar saw thick, horny wings and the ends of spindly and hairy legs. He heard gasps and grunts of surprise in those about him but he ignored the distraction.

"You have chosen an imp of no mean power," a voice squeaked from the mist. "Either submit or let me return. You interact further at your peril."

"Silence," Alodar ordered. "There is no time for you to exercise your feeble desires. I feel the pulsing of your will and know I can crush it to nothingness in an instant." He grabbed the wicker basket and held it above the stone bowl. "Quickly now, hot water to leach the ashes."

Without further protest, the cloud zoomed to hover above Alodar's outstretched hand. With a brief flash of light and a tiny pop of thunder, steamy rain fell into the basket and then trickled through to the bowl below.

"Enough," Alodar said after a few moments. "Now to the bowl and boil the brew together. Use your wings to beat the ingredients into a fine emulsion."

"But the mess will stick to my hairs. I will be a mortal year in cleaning it all off."

"To the deed," Alodar growled.

Like a dense fog the imp settled into the bowl. Almost instantly, the container filled to the brim with an oily water. Bubbles formed around the edges, and then a violent frothing churned in the middle. Above the bubbling, Alodar heard the high pitched buzz of the sprite's wings as the imp stirred the mixture together.

"And now cool the broth and dump it on the sub-chieftain's head," Alodar said as he pointed to the one with the shaggy mane. "And when you are done, rinse it clean with clear cold water."

"A task more to my liking." The imp laughed as he shook himself free of the lather. Grasping the bowl with all four limbs he chuckled as he bore it into the air and poured the contents on the barbarian's head.

"Now the rinse," Alodar said, "and then I command you to be gone."

A second rainfall washed the lather free. Without another word, the imp popped from view.

"A petty trick," the subchieftain growled. "Is this what you call the great power of wizardry?"

"As I said," Alodar replied, "the value of the craft lies not only in fear. With the aid of the sprite, I brewed a lotion of alchemy. You head should be free of fleas for at least a fortnight."

The nomad started and then cautiously raised a hand to his head. He ran his fingers through his hair. "There is no more itch," he said slowly.

Vendora rose and walked to Grak's side. "It has a nice scent," she said. "There are others among you who could benefit from it as well."

"Sweetbalm, my lady, there is no time to worry about the control of vermin," Feston grumbled. "We must get on with the task of assembling an army for the south."

Vendora turned to the warrior, frowning in irritation. "Yes, yes, I know, Feston. And through it all I unfailingly must continue to play the part of the queen." She looked at Grak, standing silently with his face an unreadable mask, and then turned to Alodar. "And so you prove your worth once again. No doubt, with these imps we can scout ahead to see what other tribes lie in our path. And produce more gifts of enticement. With your help we may then cross the border with perhaps even two thousand fighters."

"It is as the fair lady says," Alodar replied. At Iron Fist and the shore of the sea, his spirits had soared when she gave him her attention, but this time her manner made him uneasy. He studied her beauty, still dazzlingly apparent through unkempt hair and soiled gown. He glanced at Aeriel and then back to the queen. Yet the logic of what she said was firm enough.

"Then the only issue remaining is the decision of Grak the chieftain," Vendora continued, turning her attention away. She ran the back of her hand down the nomad's arm. "We have tarried a day and offered you much. Do not the rewards of journeying with us outweigh the risks?"

Grak glanced back at his subordinate. He stooped down and rubbed some of the soap between his fingers. He stood again and faced the queen. "And you journey to the cities of the south with these halfmen of yours?"

"I do."

Grak held the soap to his nose, then cast it aside with a grunt. He looked deeply into her eyes. "And also with the tribesmen of Grak," he said at last.