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

PART SIX
The Archimage
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Master Times Five

"THAT should be enough curing," Alodar said as he dropped the formula-laden scrap to the ground. The potter grunted and slowed the spin of his wheel to a halt. Alodar peered into the large barrel. Guided by overhead torchlight, he scooped out the last of the small, dripping pumicestones. He felt the rubbery coating that had been flung against the inner walls of the barrel and nodded with satisfaction at its dryness.

Pressing all that goldenrod for the milky sap had taken time, and he had been forced to try four times for the desiccation to activate properly twice. But otherwise these crude potato barrels would not be watertight.

"Put it on the wagon with the other," he said, "and take them down to the stream to be filled. Grengor has a party building a dam and will sound alarm if anything stirs on the other crest."

The potter waved his understanding, and Alodar pushed the details from his mind. His thoughts raced forward to the next task to be performed in the little time remaining before dawn. After the council had broken up, he had talked with Handar for another hour about what to expect when he tried to conjure the demon prince. Each question had led to two more; when the wizard finally broke off, Alodar was no more sure of his course of action than when he began. But he could not tolerate the frustration of waiting and plunged into a whirlwind of activities, manipulating the things that he could understand, seeking ways to combine the virtues of the five arts, to scrape together the meager resources at hand into potent weapons for the battle. The bog illusion was prepared and the demon for the barrels must wait until the proper time. What next could be done with the bits of board and metal that remained in the camp?

"I did not expect to find you still about." Handar's voice cut through Alodar's reverie. "Let the thaumaturges and alchemists among the refugees handle these tasks. If anyone is to get his rest tonight, it should be you."

"I cannot stand idly by while others rush forward for our cause armed only with their swords," Alodar protested. "I have spent the evening formulating a means by which we can match the length of their line to ours." He waved at the departing potter. "And something to halt the ones that might break through."

"I also have been busy," the wizard said. "On the wings of djinns, I returned to the tower. I awoke two sleeping comrades from tombs like my own. Their power is not as great as mine but it will be used tomorrow. More than Balthazar will be wrenched from his study of other worlds to struggle against his brethren."

"These other places?" Alodar asked. "Several times you have mentioned them. What have they to do with us?"

"Though I have never seen one," Handar answered, "the demons speak of many worlds parallel to theirs, some in fact inhabited by men like ourselves. And on some of these the crafts by which men lifted themselves from savagery are different from those we use here. There the five arts have fallen into disrepute, their principles forgotten or distorted, their place taken by other skills similar in nature but guided by different laws. The truth of thaumaturgy remain only in a few imperfectly remembered spells; instead, a huge edifice of complex postulates has been erected to explain the nature of space and time. Impatient with the uncertain success of alchemy, they replaced it with another art. The beautiful symmetries of magic became a thing unto themselves, symbols to be manipulated and arrayed, their underlying significance lost. The skill of the sorcerer to enchant fell away, and the practitioners concentrated instead on small changes in character of those with whom they dealt. And whole populations cope with devils and imps by turning their backs on them and dismissing their existence as primitive superstition. Places such as these are not threatened by demonkind, or if so, care little for the consequences of the interaction. And perhaps this indifference is what draws the prince's attention to us. I do not know. I only can hope that you will find the means to turn it in another direction."

"There will be little time for another meal tomorrow," a second voice, brittle with strain, interrupted the conversation. Alodar turned to see Aeriel approach from up the slope. She thrust a still-steaming piece of fowl into his hand. Her face was tight, and she avoided his glance and lowered her head, Alodar frowned and gently placed his fingertip under her chin. He raised her face to his and saw tears sparkling in the corners of her eyes.

The wizard cleared his throat. "I will attend to the others of my craft," he mumbled and disappeared into the darkness.

"Do not grieve yet," Alodar said after a moment. "Handar and the others will aid our cause. And when the time comes I will also be ready."

Aeriel opened her mouth to speak but then stopped and sighed uncertainly. "My tears are not for what may happen at the worst," she told him softly. "If that is to be our fate, then we will share it. It is the possibility of victory on which I ponder. And I am troubled about how I truly feel about it."

"But if we win the battle, it will mean the war as well," Alodar assured her. "All demons gone, and the ones they control restored to their former dispositions."

"Yes, I understand the aftermath either way," Aeriel said. "Just as I knew how you would respond when Handar presented you with the decision. I admire you for that, Alodar, and wish you to find the same strength in me."

Alodar blinked and tried to understand the meaning of her words. "Admiration is too tame a description for what I feel for you, Aeriel. And the support you have given the queen is second to no other."

"But do you not see?" Aeriel cried. "If you finish the second quest, you succeed in the first also. You will have saved Procolon, you alone, and no one can deny it. Vendora can have no other choice but to select you above all the others. Craftsman and peer alike will demand it. There will be no more need to play one against the other for momentary gain. And so, either way, I will be the loser. What follows defeat I do not wish upon anyone, and yet, if we win, the result for me will be no different."

Alodar sucked in his breath. Part of his mind wanted to pull away and deny Aeriel's logic, the logic he knew had also deeply troubled his own thoughts. He looked into her tear-filled eyes, and his throat grew tight. "Your boldness exceeds even my own," he whispered.

Aeriel paused and then continued more slowly. "On the royal barge I stated that my goal was to serve the queen, to see that she finally selected the mate that would make her kingdom secure. And so I have done, acting unselfishly to advance your banner because you seemed the most worthy. But through it all, my own feelings became harder and harder to push aside."

Aeriel again ducked her head. "In the mountains to the north you expressed what your feelings would be if you did not quest for the queen. And so long as the pursuit continued and did not reach for its climax, it was enough. But the events have compressed too quickly. They transcend the struggle for a single kingdom. Now there can no uncertainty about Procolon's future if you pass one final test. And so, even though everyone else makes their individual sacrifices to aid our common cause, mine I cannot give freely. Here am I, a lady of the royal court, proud of my record of putting state before self. One who looked with disdain at those who maneuvered to protect their own petty interests. But when I face my own test, when I am called upon to part with something that truly matters, I find that I fall short of my image of myself. I hesitate; I falter. Other feelings are there and I cannot deny them. If one were to ask if I truly prefer a victory tomorrow, a victory that allows you finally to choose Vendora over all others…"

Alodar's thoughts exploded. Perhaps it was the fatigue, the uncertainty of what lay ahead, the pressure of keeping so many thoughts hidden, Aeriel's presence, the openness with which she revealed herself to him. But regardless of the reasons he could suppress his feelings for her no longer. With all the rest, like a sprite's dustdevil, they whirled in his mind.

It was her companionship he had enjoyed in all the wanderings to the north. If ever there was a fair lady worthy of the quest of any of the heroes of the sagas, he thought, it was Aeriel and no other. But the pursuit of Vendora, the battle, the confrontation with a prince of demons, they all crowded in and tumbled together. He could not sort his feelings out and speak with decision. But after tonight, he might never see her again, he thought dimly above the confusion. They could not part until he told her something of what he felt.

He drew his free arm around her and pulled her to him, "I know the fair lady for what she is," he said softly, "it was not for her that I quested so much as for what she represented. And I understand as well the conflict that brings your tears. It can be no less stormy than my own. Many times in my quest, I thought of you and what in the end success would mean. And each time, like a timid magician, I would not complete the ritual and drive my thoughts to their conclusion. Instead I bound them up and stuffed them away, selfishly taking all the warmth and comfort of your attention and deferring to later what the consequences might be."

He paused and squeezed her tightly. "The sands have been cast, and the events of tomorrow will thunder to their resolution, regardless of our longings. But no matter what happens, Aeriel, I want you to know this. You are not the only one who will lose from either outcome."

Aeriel sobbed once and then smiled through her tears. Hungrily her lips sought his. Alodar stopped his mental struggle and let his thoughts slide away in the heat of their passion. Time passed, but he did not care. Finally they stood apart, looking deeply into each other's eyes.

After a moment Alodar glanced away and then with a smile held up the piece of chicken that was still tightly clutched in his hand. Aeriel laughed, and the mood suddenly was broken. The ventilated emotions evaporated away into the gloom. Aeriel licked her lips and then accepted the offered bite. Without saying more, they took turns shredding away pieces of meat from the bone.

"I am glad you came with the meal," Alodar said when they were done.

"And I," Aeriel replied as she pulled the wishbone apart from the rest. "A superstition that plays no part in your crafts, I know. But certainly a wish for good fortune could do us no harm."

Alodar nodded, and they snapped the bone. "I will carry the favor into battle," he said as they carefully put the pieces away into their pockets. He looked to the east and again drew her gently to him. In silence they stood together, waiting for the first rays of dawn.

Alodar's heart pounded to the beat of the drums. He looked quickly at the half circle of the sun and then at the warriors already on the march towards them. Under the brightening sky the final contingents of the queen moved into position. Because of Grengor's dam, the meandering stream had swollen into a long, shallow lake. On the side nearest, Alodar saw the glint of sunlight from Cedric's militia. Shoulder to shoulder, they stood behind a row of long pikes thrust into the soft shoreline. Five rows deep, the warriors marked a contour of the valley, a spiny serpent of steel, a thousand feet long, silent and waiting.

Grak and his kinsmen spread out on both sides to extend the defense farther. Much less densely packed, the nomads formed narrow strings of leather, each man refusing to hide behind another. Tucked just behind the last in line on the left, a small cavalry, led by Feston, pawed the ground. Of the twenty horses, only a dozen wore mail, another five were mere ponies. Their nervous snorts fogged the cold morning air. Directly behind Cedric and in front of the knoll on which Alodar stood, a score of archers finished stringing their bows and slowly testing the tensions. A little to their left, Handar paced with two other black-robed wizards.

Alodar looked hastily about to ensure that all his preparations were ready. His marines stood on guard around a small semicircle pulled bare of grass and shrubbery. A cauldron of wax bubbled at the center. A supply of molds crudely pounded from pots and plates lay near the thaumaturge standing nearby. Two of the refugees, too old to swing a sword, but understanding well the futility of further flight, beat a pile of willowbark into powder for the next batch of sweetbalm.

Near Alodar's feet, a row of bottles, apparently empty but all tightly corked, stood in a row. The one on the left dangled above a fire in a pit, and the next was piled on all sides with glowing coals. Down the line, the intensity of the applied heat declined until the bottle on the farthest right bobbed in a bucket of water from the icy stream. At the end was a glove with the wrist tied around the snout of a bellows and the tips of the thumb and little finger neatly clipped off. Farther away stood the wagon with the two barrels of water. Seven hobbled horses, the worst of Vendora's scavenged lot, munched on the grass nearby.

Alodar looked to the crest behind and saw all the rest gathered in small clumps to watch the outcome. The sun reflected brightly off Vendora's gown. At her side he could see Duncan squeezing the pouch that contained his sphere. Basil kept looking over his shoulder as if he hoped to find a refuge he had missed before. At the last moment, Alodar had sent Aeriel away to join them; as he watched, she reluctantly faded into the throng.

Alodar turned back to face in the direction of the drums. The cadence was slow and booming. Each throb seemed to intensify with hypnotic incessancy. On every beat, the troops of the rebellion took another synchronized step down the incline. The slow march was deliberate, Alodar knew. The final yell and haphazard rush would come only after Vendora's defenders had been given ample time to contemplate the might arrayed against them.

They marched in rectangles three men deep and thirty wide, each one marked by a long banner hanging limply from a lance that poked skyward. Only narrow gaps separated groups one from another. But when Alodar looked to the left and right, he saw the air shimmer and the approaching men seem to fade from view. Except for a narrow portion of the line about the same length as that of the royal forces, no more of the huge army that had reached the crest the night before was visible.

"Even though we are outnumbered," Grengor said at Alodar's side, "if they do not choose to use their superior forces to envelop us, we still have a chance. The center will hold, and the savagery of Grak's kinsmen will be more than a match for minds that are demon-doped."

"They all move against us," Alodar replied. "You see but part of the illusion that I am casting in order to nullify some of the advantage. Last night Cedric and Grak agreed that it would be folly to stretch our line to match their length. Densely clustered, we would stand no chance against a sweep of the flanks. They said that they needed to defend a pass rather than a plain. So with the arts, I have attempted to form one."

Grengor wrinkled his brow and Alodar continued. "They came too late yesterday to get a clear view of the land between us. If we can convince them that deep bogs lie on either side, they will compress into the middle and trip over themselves as they try to jockey forward. The imp Gladril carried water-filled jugs into the sky. He periodically dumped them as he rose, thereby replacing their contents with the vapors of the various layers. Upon return to earth, each jug was then subjected to fire and cold as you see at my feet, and the sky above now bends the rays of light as I choose. The warriors coming down the hill do not see the empty plain to our right and left but a far wetter marsh we skirted in the north."

"But shimmering air alone will not bend them from their instructed course," Grengor objected.

"And so the camphor was used to make the solvent, imperfect as it was," Alodar said. "Delivered by the sprites into the path of the march, it has eaten at the grasses and rock for long enough that more than one bog-hole will result. For the rest, though you cannot hear them, no less than a dozen sirens caress their ears as they approach. And this time their song is not a meaningless wail but the word of sorcery as I have instructed them to say. Visions of cattails, rushes, sedge, and milkweed will mix with the flickering air. By themselves, each part of the effect would be insufficient, but together they will do what they must."

Alodar smiled as he saw a block of men emerge from the haze and move behind the line that marched without deflection down the center. Another group appeared and then another. "If I had had a magic sound box for the croak of the frog and buzz of the fly I could have used it as well. But no matter, it seems to be working with what I have already done. We still have to face them all, but at least not at the same time."

Suddenly the drums stopped. With a yell, Bandor's warriors flashed their swords and raced down the remaining portion of the hill. Screaming unearthly warcries, they dashed into the water, tromping up a fine spray with their passage. Some lost their balance and fell, but the ones behind ran over them, eyes gleaming. The precisely formed rectangles pulled apart into ragged lines and then disintegrated entirely. In twos and threes, they staggered to dry land and flung themselves at Vendora's defense.

Alodar caught his breath with the first clang of sword on shield. He saw a nomad nimbly sidestep an awkward thrust and then slash downward on the exposed neck and shoulder that tumbled after. More warriors reached the line. With a shout of their own, Cedric's center and Grak's barbarians met the attack. The noise of contact popped and groaned all along the line into the morning air. Alodar saw the mailed militia momentarily fall backwards from the shock but then stand firm and cut down the first who reached them. The nomads whirled their swords in great swinging arcs and leaped forward to meet their foes knee deep in the water. The attackers fell like wheat before a scythe.

Before the nomads advanced farther, hastily barked commands pulled them back into a more disciplined line. With taunting swords, they awaited the next rush, which came with far more caution. Bandor's troops reconsolidated into a wall, and the first row waded across to meet the defenders. More blocks squeezed in behind but hesitated at the far side of the lake, unwilling to stand in the cold water behind those who fought in front. Farther up the hill, other groups ducked behind their shields as they came within range of the hail of arrows. Alodar quickly surveyed the entire line. For the moment they had held the first charge.

Alodar let his breath out and then snapped his attention back to his own duties. "Quickly, Grengor," he ordered. "Untether the horses that pull the wagon and get two men alongside the barrels. I will tell you in a moment where we will best need them."

"Our proper place is down on the line with the rest, master," Grengor shot back. "I do not like this meaningless guard duty. The wounded who can walk will find this place well enough and the thaumaturge and alchemists can tend to the mending as well as you."

"We cannot hold this position, forever," Alodar said. "We must be ready for the breakthroughs wherever they may come. Do as I say. Your utility will be far greater." Alodar did not wait for a reply but swung his eyes to the small fire under the bottle on the left. In an instant, he willed his presence through the flame. A sparkle of light, no bigger than a firefly, danced before him.

"You make a great error, master," a tiny voice whined. "Even the most immature imp has powers which are great compared to mine. Why, since my hatching, only the wizard Maxwell on another world has even bothered with my summoning."

"Into the glove," Alodar ordered. "There is no time for wordy quibble." He picked up the bellows and ran to the wagon. As he climbed aboard, the spark of light followed and disappeared into the interior of the contraption in his hand.

"To what position?" Grengor asked, slapping the reins against the horses' backs. "I would think that the nomads on the east will most need whatever help we can offer."

"Cedric says that stopping the first penetration, no matter where it occurs, is most important," Alodar replied. "No one can aggressively hold a line if he feels his backside threatened. And if the enemy is halted once, they will be less bold a second time. Now silence, I must concentrate on where it will be."

Alodar looked back at the line. The battle surged forward and back. In the center, as men fell on either side, those behind moved up to fill in the gap. Cedric's forces buckled and bowed, alternately retreating among the pikes or pushing the attackers back into the lake. The struggles of the barbarians gradually diffused into an unstructured melee, each nomad fighting alone, whipping his sword in all directions in vengeance for his fallen comrades. With each passing minute, they thinned and weakened, but the confusion they caused on the other side was as great as their own, and no advantage immediately could be taken.

For an instant Alodar grimaced with distaste at what he would feel next, but then plunged into the charm. The prophecy would be for this place and only for moments away; it should not be a severe undertaking. He spoke the words quickly, too intent on what he must do to notice greatly the discomfort. In a moment it was done. With unblinking eyes, he scanned the future of the tumult.

The swirl of fighting blurred and then jerked back into focus. The turbulence looked the same on the left In the center, Cedric held firm, although his line was far more shallow. Alodar slewed past the center but then halted and looked again. There on the boundary, between Cedric's mail and Grak's barbarians on the right, the line suddenly ruptured and a mass of yelling warriors streamed through.

Alodar blinked back to the present. "To the west," he shouted, "and use the whip!" A wave of nausea rose from his stomach as the wagon lurched forward, but he paid no attention. Steadying himself with one hand, he reached for a deep-bowled ladle bouncing on the wagonbed.

"Use the barrel in the rear first," he said to Melab, who rocked along at his side. "Insert the hose and prepare the plunger so we will be ready when we arrive."

The marine put the round wooden lid with the wide rubber flange into the mouth of the barrel and inserted one end of a hose into a small hole near the center. He pressed tentatively on the surface and a spray of water shot from the other end of the hose.

"One more burst so I can fill the ladle," Alodar said, bending forward to catch the last of the stream. When the spoon was full, he flung the hose aside and cradled the sloshing bowl. They raced past the archers nocking the last of their arrows and the wizards observing without apparent emotion. He looked back to the line and yelled for Grengor to stop. The last oscillations of the wagon had barely faded away when, just as he had envisioned, four men fell side by side in near unison, and the attackers surged through.

"Wet them all," Alodar yelled. Melab quickly bent his back to the barrel cover, and another marine with the hose arched a geyser into the leading edge of the warriors rushing their way. Alodar looked quickly at the distance to be covered and then at the apparatus he still held in his hand. While the marines washed the spray back and forth over the fighters as they charged, he carefully set the ladle of water on the wagonbed. Then, inserting the thumb of the glove into the bowl, he bound the metal wheelrims as a heat sink and began to pump the bellows.

Alodar saw the glove expand into a balloon and felt the jet of air escaping from the fingerhole of his crude tee-junction strike his cheek. He cocked his head to the side to intercept the rush from the other airstream, burbling up through the water in the ladle. He looked up at the warriors thundering towards them, swords held high and eyes wide with blood lust. "Only the coldest to the thumbhole," he yelled. "I do not care how warm the other side becomes."

"As you wish, master," the voice inside the glove squeaked, and the bubbling stream turned icy cold. Alodar looked at the marines and saw the strain on their faces as they watched the approach. The fastest of the intruders sprinted forward and, with a yell of glee, locked his eyes on where Alodar's unprotected form huddled on the wagon.

Alodar's legs strained to bolt away, but he held himself firm and pumped all the harder. He cringed in anticipation of the downward swinging blow but, as he did, felt a sudden resistance to his inward squeeze.

Alodar glanced up and ducked to the side as the warrior pitched forward into the wagon, his arm locked and his face in a puzzled stare. He looked back at the others who followed and saw them fall to the ground one by one, mimicking the grotesque statues of the children's game. He examined the glove and found the finger frozen solid in the small block of ice that had formed in the ladle.

"A simple matter of thaumaturgy," he explained to Melab as he rose. "And a demon who could separate the hot air from the cold in order to freeze the small quantity that once was a part of a larger whole." He looked for a final time at what he had done. "The circles of mail are just the right size to hold the water until it freezes into a solid coat. I witnessed the effect once before, although it was with a caloric ointment rather than common ice."

The squad of archers came rushing up, and Alodar turned away, not caring to watch how they ensured that the downed warriors would bother them no more. He breathed deeply and tried to prepare himself to recast the prophetic enchantment. But before he could act, a sudden shout from the west caught his attention. At the very limit of Alodar's illusion, a troop of horsemen forded the stream and turned towards the battle. With a trumpeteer's charge, they kicked their mounts into a run and bore down on the flank. As Alodar watched, Feston wheeled his cavalry to meet the attack.

For the better part of a minute, the horsemen raced over the tall grass. Feston surged to the front and, with his sword over his head, waved on the stragglers. The troops rushed together with the sharp report of steel on steel. Great jets of mud and uprooted grass exploded skyward from the impact. The cries of men and horses in pain replaced the dull rumble of the charge. The thin lines broke and dissolved into small swirls of energy, ringing sword on shield and riders tumbling to the ground.

"They circled around the illusion on the far side," Alodar said. "And if on one flank, then why not the other?" He whirled to the east and saw four horsemen crossing the stream downstream of Grengor's dam. Alodar looked back. Feston's troop was fully engaged, the archers busy with their grueling task, and the line of warriors still pressed from the south. He thought of the impact of even four swords cutting into their thinly held flank. "They will move too fast for this to work again," he shouted to Grengor as he flung the bellows aside. "Enough of the fancy craftwork. Back to our post and the few horses that we have. There is no one else to stop them."

The wagon turned a slow circle and then bounced back to the clearing. Alodar sprang from the bed and ran for one of the horses. He scooped up and sheathed his sword and then jumped into the saddle. Wrenching around the reins, he kneed his mount into a gallop. The remaining marines abandoned their guard duty and followed.

Bandor's horsemen saw his troop coming and veered from bearing down on the nomads to meet the charge. Both men and horses were heavily draped in mail. The morning sun flashed angry reflections from the polished surfaces of helms capped with billowy blue plumes. A long standard decorated with Bandor's arms fluttered from a staff on the lead horseman's saddle, Although the heavily muscled mounts raced rapidly forward, the men sat stiffly erect as if walking in a procession.

As they approached, each of the four reached to his side and spun a spiny balled mace into the air. Alodar drew his sword in response. Closing for the collision, he tried to recall Cedric's instructions on how best to deal with the whirling weapon. He frowned as he studied their orbits above the warrior's heads. They rotated so slowly that he could see the dodecahedral symmetry of the spikes.

He blinked and pulled back on the reins. "Magic weapons!" he shouted. "Maces of crystal resonance. I read of them in the library of the Guild. It is no wonder they come with only four. Our metal will do us no good." He slowed to a trot, but two of his followers sped past and converged on the leader from both sides.

The marines swung their swords high simultaneously, aiming at the warrior's exposed side and his hand stiffly holding the reins. With a sudden jerk, the mace wrenched out of its flat trajectory and smashed into the blades, one after the other. Sparks flew at the contact and metal shrieked in protest as the surfaces grated together. One sword snapped at the hilt and sprang skyward. The other broke nearer the middle, sending both halves spinning to the ground. Before either man could recover, the mace dipped lower on its second revolution, crashing into one marine's jaw and hitting the other in the chest. With what sounded like the bursting of a bag of coins, the ringlets of mail tinkled to the ground.

"Stop the swing. It is the only way," Alodar shouted. "Hanging limply, they have no power; but so long as they whirl we have no weapon to stand against them." He looked quickly about as the rest of the marines sped forward to engage the others. He saw one immediately knocked to the ground and heard again the shriek of breaking metal.

The leader did not turn to continue his attack on the marines as they rode past. He sighted on Alodar and kneed his horse forward. The banner on the mast at the rear of his saddle snapped stiffly with the increased speed. Alodar's eyes flicked to the standard, and he saw what he must try. Gathering his resolution, he grabbed his reins with his teeth. Sheathing his sword, he loosened a small shield hung from his saddle and held it stiffly with both hands. Biting down on the leather, he hunched behind his protection and aimed for the slowly revolving ball.

At the last instant before they collided, Alodar tilted the top of his shield backwards and ducked even lower underneath its layers of hide and steel. With a jolt that shocked his arms numb, the ball hit the flat surface, crumbling metal and ricocheting up and over his sheltered form. His horse stumbled, dropping one knee to the ground and then the other. Alodar pushed from his stirrups as he fell, tossing the pieces of shield skyward.

With one arm he reached across the warrior's waist, pivoting himself up behind on the horse's back. He ducked beneath the mace as it swung overhead. With his other hand, he ripped the banner from its mast. He flung the tangle of cloth upwards into the path of the ball just as it came around a second time.

The sharp spikes ripped the fabric, but Alodar tugged and crashed the weapon down to his side. The horseman pulled on the chain, but before he could wrench it free, Alodar's two marines circled back alongside and grabbed his arms. Alodar linked his hands around the helm. With a back-straining tug, he rolled off the horse. One marine pulled with the thrust and the second pushed from the other side. The warrior tipped and then slid from the saddle.

Alodar scrambled free and spun about in time to see one of Bandor's men lean low and dip his mace as he raced by. Alodar dived for the ground, feeling the weapon whistle past his ear. He looked up to see another of his marines charge from the left, his surcoat outstretched in imitation of what he had just seen. The second mace snagged as the two men collided. They tumbled to the ground in a heap with the rest.

Alodar got to his feet and saw the last two of his troop staying just beyond the range of Bandor's remaining warriors, tauntingly holding forth scraps of cloth rather than gleaming swords. Alodar exhaled slowly, bracing himself to return to the wagon and prepare for the next breakthrough.

Before he could act, he heard the beginning of a high-pitched buzz above the clash of battle. The men still remaining on horseback obscured his view, but there was no mistaking the direction from which it came. Along the line, the fighting momentarily stopped. Even Bandor's men looked over their shoulders for the source of the noise. Then suddenly the sound grew into an ear-ringing crescendo. From the south, a streak of black darkened the sky and descended onto the battlefield.

The plunging shaft broke against the line of Cedric's mail. Like a wave against a shallow shore, it rolled down its length to the last combatants at either end. With cries of pain and alarm, the rearmost line bolted from their formation, madly flailing arms and beating at mailed chests and backs. Despite his losses, Cedric had stood three deep against his foes; but now he thinned to two, and in some places a single defender opposed the wall massed against him.

"Imps, a swarm of imps," Grengor exclaimed as he rode closer, dragging one of Bandor's ensnared followers along the ground. "They are stinging through the ringlets of mail. No man can swing a decent blow with such distraction from a dozen directions at once."

Alodar grabbed his glass to see if the flanks escaped the enraged buzzing which hovered over the center. But his attention was pulled upwards as he saw a spray of fiery arcs bending down out of the sky towards Grak's nomads. Oil-soaked rags attached to long-vaned arrows descended in formation and followed precise trajectories to land in the barbarians' rear. As each hit the ground, it exploded in a shower of flame that flashed in a display of eye-paining brilliance. Alodar shielded his face from the bursts. As he blinked his eyes back into focus, he saw that where each arrow had struck stood a small, scaly, grotesque form, a miniature of the demons which had confronted him at the foot of Handar's tower.

Without delay, the lobster-red devils opened their mouths into wide ovals; from each belched forth balls of fire that energized the air into incandescence as they passed. The first hit two of Grak's men squarely on their leather-covered backs. With screams of surprise and showers of glowing embers, they immediately crumpled to the ground and were still. Bandor's men rushed forward into the gap.

Alodar swung his glass back to where he had last seen the wizards. He saw Handar coming his way, pulling the long hems of his robe high from the ground. To the east, another wizard hastily extended the telescoped legs of a portable tripod he had swung from his back. With practiced precision, he lit a fire in the wildly swinging brazier. A demonic form appeared, hovering in the air overhead. The wizard gestured once, and the djinn leaped skyward, deforming like a scarf of sheerest silk and creating a howling wind with his passage.

The wind buffeted at the fireballs as they sped on their deadly trajectories, and small wisps of flame tore away from the glowing spheres. Then whole balls blew out, leaving dark, carbon black cores bare and cool. With a dull thump, they struck leather backs and fell harmlessly to the ground.

The wizard remaining in the center completed his conjuring, and Alodar saw more of the fire devils spring into existence. These bellowed globules of flame like the ones their cousins lofted from the Crestline to the south but they rode on the air with the slow beat of thick pockmarked wings. Great, gaping holes tore through the swarm of imps, leaving small amorphous smears of crackling ooze, slowly sinking to the ground. The flight from the line halted, but the defenders wavered, still fearful of the attacks which came from the rear and uncertain of the aid which had come to help them.

Suddenly a series of flashes and explosions erupted from the stone firepit on the southern crest. Sparkles of light soared skyward, and from each sprang a djinn to join in the fray. A form like a salamander, purple skin glistening with wetness, soared above the rest, his body-length tail slowly uncoiling to reveal rows of stiletto-sharp stingers attached at either side. In immediate answer, three smaller djinns streaked from the north, gliding with undulating membranes stretched between outflung arms and legs. From small knobs on their heads, bolts of lightning cracked through the air, converging on the purple one with a web of forked energy. But before the accompanying thunder could reach the ground, the salamander flicked his tail forward, drawing the strike onto his stingers and cascading the energy down to the tip of his tail, which began to glow with an expanding ball of crackling blueness.

More unearthly forms sped across the valley, and each was met by a demon conjured by the wizards on the northern slopes. Streaks of energy pulsed through the air, and Alodar was forced to turn his eyes away from the intense flashes. Up and down the ragged battleline, strokes of pink and orange and bolts of deep magenta ripped through the sky. While men below stood dumbfounded, a second battle formed above, fire, wind, and water hurling with awesome force between the foes. Moving too fast for the eye to follow, the demons darted past one another, blasting forth their weapons, dodging behind defenses that men could not comprehend and drowning all the shouts below with their raspy cries.

Minutes passed as the battle raged and Alodar saw a second swarm of imps swoop down to replace the first roasted out of the sky. More volleys of fire devils zoomed overhead and began to project their balls of flame. Alodar looked to the two wizards, surrounded by concentric rings of exotic flames, gesticulating wildly, and trying to direct all the demons under then" control. He searched for Handar and saw him only some ten yards away, raising his hands upwards before the beginnings of an outline in the center of a high-leaping flame. Alodar ran forward to the wizard as the orange head and massive form slowly took form. The cloven hooves and tail flickered into existence as he reached Handar's side.

"So, Handar, the battle goes not quite so well as you had hoped," Balthazar's voice rasped out at them. "For no long stretch of time did your meager forces hold at bay Bandor and his minions. Too soon did you call forth those lesser devils over which you have some sway. It is time, is it not, to let down your waning resistance and let me assume control of what is rightfully mine."

"Silence." Handar ordered. "Such speculation is not for your slothful meditation, so long as you are mine. There is work to be done. Rise and dispatch those who oppose us."

"Can you truly force me yet another time?" Balthazar shot back, his deep set eyes boiling down on the wizard standing before him.

Handar did not reply. With lips set firmly and fists clenched, he returned the demon's stare with an unflinching one of his own. As in the tower, Alodar saw the veins in Handar's forehead bulge with the effort.

"Go and do my bidding," Handar gasped in a dry wheeze at last, shaking with effort as he spoke. "The line here on the west. Rid them of the devils which bombard their backs with fire."

"I go to slay a few," Balthazar growled. "But if there is more to be done, then I will return, and you must reinstruct me."

With a rush of air, Balthazar streaked away, soaring high over the battlefield and then plummeting to earth with hands outstretched as he darted into the fire devils, smashing them out of existence with sharp claps of power. "Handar, what is the matter?" Alodar asked as the demon departed. "It is not as it was in the tower."

The wizard sank slowly to the ground and pressed one fist to his sagging head. "So many, there are so many," he moaned. "Who of the council would have thought that they would come across with so many? It is not only Balthazar on whom I must concentrate but the minor djinns as well."

Before Alodar could speak again, Balthazar screamed across the slope to hover above them. "I rid you of four," he said. "Do you wish to try to direct me to another task?"

Handar climbed to his feet and stared again at the demon above him. With glowering menace, Balthazar hunched his huge scaly shoulders and looked back at his master.

Minutes passed and Handar trembled from the exertion to impress his will as he had done before. Suddenly he brought both clenched fists to his forehead and screamed in pain. "I cannot hold," he yelled. "He is too strong and I cannot hold."

Balthazar rasped a stomach-curdling laugh. "On your knees and salute your master," the demon cried. "It has taken many a summoning, but the final victory is mine."

Alodar looked rapidly about. The defending demons were fewer in number and huddled as shields around the two wizards on the ground. Like great hawks, the djinns from the south dove and blasted those that remained from the sky. Additional clouds of imps appeared from the south, and no devils rose to challenge them. More fireballs slammed into the rear of the nomads, leaving gaps too wide for a single blade to guard. The salient on the west expanded, and the line of barbarians tumbled backwards, letting them pass. Cedric's forces sagged in the center. More and more left the line to slap away at the darting imps. For a moment, Cedric's booming commands held the formation, but then columns of Bandor's men blasted through in two places. To the east, more fire devils flew through the sky, and the smell of burning flesh and leather drifted along the line. At the far end of the other flank, Alodar saw some of the horsemen thunder past Feston's few remaining defenders and swerve to the north, heading for the clumps of onlookers on the crest.

In ones and twos, men began to fling down their weapons and run from those who chased them. Then, like a dam crumbling from an overwhelming flood, Cedric's line collapsed from end to end, and a solid wall of Bandor's forces charged forth, waving their swords and shouting victory. Here and there, isolated clumps of men stood their ground, flicking swords outwards at the warriors who swelled to surround them on all sides. But, except for them, the entire defense dissolved in confusion.

Alodar stood rooted in position, watching the cavalry charge up the hill. He took one last look at the havoc as Bandor's army hacked its way forward. His marines still struggled with Bandor's horsemen on the ground. He looked across the other crest and saw it clear of men and the huge stone firepit silent and dimly glowing. He touched the pocket containing the wire he had beaten from the rare metal. He knew that he could forestall his task no longer.

"I shall use the portal the prince has erected to send his minions to us," he said aloud. "Perhaps the gesture will symbolize more strength than we have."

Alodar shook his head and sprinted to the west, hoping to duck into the shimmering air before any of Bandor's men turned to cut him down.