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

PART TWO
The Alchemist
CHAPTER FIVE

Honeysuckle Street

A stream of muddy liquid spilled from the lip of the overhead vat and into the first crucible in the row. Alodar stepped back against the rough timber wall to avoid the spatter and forced open his eyes, tearing from the caustic haze. The man in front of him tugged on a chain that looped a ring in the bottom of the oaken container; with a low-pitched squeak, the vat rumbled forward along wooden rails. The workman shuffled alongside and then yanked the chain over his shoulder. The high bucket pivoted on pins near its rim and delivered a dose of its contents to the next crucible in line.

Alodar watched in silence as the workman proceeded down the row, chin on his chest and shoulders slumped, like an old horse pacing the same rut around a grindstone. He squinted past the worker, down the line of crucibles riding above small blue-white flames, and saw that they spanned the breadth of the building, some three hundred feet, wall to wall. To his right, six more rows with overhead tracks ran parallel to the first, each one fitted with hundreds of identical stations, lines of graduated beakers, and funnel-mouthed flasks, all filled with dancing liquids or incandescent powders.

Beyond these, the majority of the area was partitioned by a maze of tiny cubicles barely chest high. In the ones nearest, he could see caped figures hunched over cluttered workbenches of dirty glassware and leather bound books. On a raised platform jutting from the rear wall, he saw piles of dull white stone, applelike fruits, cattails and rushes, and other materials he could not identify. Beside each, a worker pounded and strained the substances into powder, pulp, or liquid, and thrust the products into the tracked vats stationed nearby. The thud of the hammers and groan of the presses bounced off the ceilings and walls, producing mushy echoes that masked all but the sharpest of sound.

Alodar followed the track around the entire periphery of the building, down the windowless rear wall, across the row of silos that formed the western facade, back along the front with its many doors, and finally overhead as it merged into a complex of switches which fed the seven rows of waiting containers. As the first worker reached the end, Alodar saw a second pull his vat onto the same track and begin to drop measured doses of a coarse gray powder into the simmering crucibles. One row over, a third lifted a beaker from its tripod and held it up to the light cascading from the high windows in the east. He shook his head and poured the milky contents into a trough running the length of the bench, then moved on to the next,

"That last one was clouded only the slightest," a voice behind Alodar suddenly yelled out as the inspection continued. "How can I show a profit if you dump every flask just because it isn't crystal clear?"

The man replaced an empty beaker on its tripod and looked in Alodar's direction. "I fear I am too liberal as it is, Basil," he called back. "With only the merest trace, the chance of skunkwater is most high. We are lucky you have not contaminated half of the work cubicles from what we have processed already this morning."

"I have given it only to the old ones," Basil shot back. "The way they dawdle, it would be a small loss in any event. Now see that the yield is greater; if the light shines through, however faint, then it is worth the risk. We must have one of three if any volume is to result when we are done."

Alodar turned to face the speaker and looked into large eyes, wide-set on a smooth round face. Heavy cheeks sagged on either side of a slash of a mouth; thick lips pulled down at the corners into a perpetual look of disapproval. Shoulder-length hair, held stiffly in place by an aromatic pomade, brushed against a flared silk collar of deep purple. The rest of the tunic shimmered golden-yellow, embroidered with intricate designs and hanging free on a stocky form. Alodar looked down to see stumpy calves dropping into fur-lined boots trimmed with silver.

"Are you the proprietor?" he asked. "I have come in from the street and wish to discuss a proposition to our mutual benefit."

Basil quickly ran his eyes up and down Alodar's roughly clothed form. "Another one with a formula, are you?" he said. "It seems a grimoire lay hidden under every rock in the countryside, just awaiting yesterday's dawn for discovery. Ever since the rumor of the royal shop tooling up for a new run hit the street, there has been no end of it. But no matter, I will watch your demonstration for the usual fees."

Basil turned back towards the cubicles and motioned for Alodar to follow. "What will you need?" he continued. "Anthanors and the rest go by the time, the ingredients by what is consumed."

Alodar matched the short man's stride and tightened his grip on the parchment scrap in the pocket of his new cape. The lack of his thaumaturgical gear made it feel strangely light, and he was continually glancing down at its brown plainness to see that his shoulders were still covered.

"Tell me more of these fees," he said as they reached the cubicles and began to wind their way into their midst. "I am from the outlands to the west and unfamiliar with the practices of alchemy in Ambrosia."

"From the west!" Basil said in mock surprise. "It makes the story so much more plausible. If the queen found her fortune in the fall of Iron Fist, why not a common craftsman as well? But to your question, I am a merchant and it is only fair that I receive just payment for use of what is mine. You wish to show me some alchemy. Very well, do so as your formula directs. But be prepared to render in double proportion for what is consumed in the process."

"Double proportion," Alodar said. "Why should there be any cost at all? I propose to share with you whatever my formula might bring. That will be your compensation, not a few pieces of copper for a single execution."

"Yes, double proportion," Basil said with a wave of his arm. "I manage a profit only because, like the rest, I perform my formulas on the largest of scales. A hundred times I boil the murky muds of mangrove swamps with the gray clays from the barbaric north, so that I may get fifty crucibles filled with syrup of extraction. And to those fifty I add the fleshy skin of the cactus, so the sweetness may be pulled away in seventeen, leaving clear liquid to be decanted here."

Alodar followed Basil's arm to the nearest workbench and saw a figure huddling under a cape studded with the inverted triangle logo of the alchemist. A bony hand reached out from the folds and carefully poured the liquid from a beaker into a funnel filled with what looked like coral-red flower petals. With a scratchy pen, the alchemist slowly copied strange glyphs from an open grimoire on a clean sheet of paper and then crumpled and cast it into a flame when he was done. For a moment the liquid seemed lost in the crevasses between the petals, but then a drop of light pink formed at the bottom of the funnel's stem and fell into a flask below. Several more drops followed the first, and then a small stream of color trickled free. Almost as quickly, a smell of stifling sweetness filled Alodar's lungs, and he coughed violently in surprise.

"It is always that way when it is fresh," Basil said. "Diluted and aged, you do not notice. But I am lucky at that. Out of seventeen, I expect maybe three flasks of honeysuckle oil. Three flasks out of a hundred for spices, perfumes, and as ingredient for a dozen formulas more. Can you not imagine the waste and expense if I tried the steps one at a time all the way through? No, the only way is to perform all the identical operations at once with a minimum of effort. A demonstration is the epitome of extravagance. Double the cost for disrupting the production line is only fair; be thankful triple is not the rate instead."

"But why a charge at all?" Alodar persisted. "As I have said, I am prepared to share in whatever gain might accrue."

"So say they all," Basil responded. "And after the formula fails four times running, what have I then? Only pleading for one more try for which the random factors will surely align. And if not, then for the next. No, I insist that the demonstration pay for itself."

"And if one does not have the payment," Alodar asked, "how then do you ever find new formulas of merit?"

Basil's eyes widened and his lips curved upwards into a toothy smile, "Why you agree as did the last two yesterday," he said, "the ones now pulping up on the platform to the right. All they had to offer was their labor, which I accepted. In six months they will have paid in full for their little fantasy and be able to leave free men. Is not that right, Eldan?" Basil turned and pounded the back of the alchemist watching the last of the pink liquid fall from the petals, now bleached white.

The craftsman slowly removed the funnel from the neck of the flask and dropped its contents into a bin at his side. Without saying a word he pivoted and held the flask out for Basil's inspection. As his cape fell away, Alodar saw wrists cuffed in iron and held rigidly apart by a two-foot length of dark black bar. The alchemist's eyes stared straight ahead, unblinking. The left side of his face was splotched a deep green, and the flesh of his nose hung limp like a deflated balloon on the plane of his cheeks.

"Now, Eldan here," Basil continued as he accepted the flask, "could have fared better. I offered him a regular wage. But he preferred to be independent, tinkering in his own shop down the street, taking risks beyond the call of prudence. There are others like him still out there, obtaining loans from me to purchase ingredients for wilder and more unproven schemes. And finally when they can borrow no more on their names, they offer their labor instead as payment.

"For Eldan," Basil said as he pounded the alchemist a second time, "it is ten years served and only ten more to go. Of course, the splash of dye and the cartilage rot are to be expected. And we have had to add a few restraints to ensure he keeps to his work cubicle."

Basil passed his hand in front of Eldan's eyes and then snapped his fingers. A long moment passed and then the alchemist jerked his head and blinked. "Finally the honeysuckle does slow one down," Basil said. "In a year or so more he will be good enough only to pull the vats around the circle."

Basil paused and his smile was smug. "I own this factory outright, have part interest in two more, and even mine one of the richest veins left in the Fumus Mountains. It is not bad progress for a humble apothecary who once carried blocks of peat from the bogs for a few coppers. I used to jump to the alchemists' beck and call; now they jump to mine."

Basil snapped his fingers again and Alodar waited for the delayed reaction. "Well," Basil said, "let us see what you need and strike a bargain. There is no point in trying any of the others. The rates the length of the street are all the same."

"I have no gold," Alodar said.

"Then your labor," Basil replied. "Fear not that you may later reconsider. I have the means to ensure that I receive payment in full."

Alodar gripped the formula tighter as he saw Eldan's face finally twitch. He coughed again from the lingering smell of the oil of honeysuckle and wiped another tear from his eye. He looked at the manacles on Eldan's wrists and a cold chill ran down his spine.

"I will have to think about it," he said finally and turned for the door to the street. Even outside, he could hear Basil's deep laugh echoing after.

The air suddenly crackled, and Alodar leaped up onto the counter as a glowing blue globe bounced through the doorway. With a swiftness the eye could hardly follow, it darted to and fro, careening off the walls, floor, and ceiling. It sped by his face and, as he pulled back, he felt the hair rise from his head and stand on end, tracking the passage.

"By the laws," a high voice sounded from the room beyond, "you would think not an amulet in this place worked. What rotten luck. Nine batches in a row, and every one of them producing ball lightning instead of the elixir. Well, this is the last of the baneberry. It had better work, Saxton, old boy, or it's a diet of caraway for quite a spell."

Alodar watched the dancing ball slowly shrink in size and activity, and then finally expire among the dusty glassware of the alembic in the far corner. He swung down on the other side of the counter, advanced to the doorway, and peered into the workroom behind.

Light from the setting sun cascaded through highset windows down upon a massive disarray. The wall on the left was shelved floor to ceiling, and all available space was crammed with row upon row of bottles and vials of many shapes. Most were empty and uncorked, long cobwebs linking them together and filling their interiors with ladders of dust. But here and there, neat little collections sparkled with deeply colored liquids or glowing powders.

The wall on the right was also shelved, but stacked with a tumble of small boxes. Alodar could see a label on each, but in a script that he did not recognize. Most of the containers were of rough-hewn wood, but an occasional one had sides of shiny steel, clasped shut with a strong lock and chained to a nearby support. Crucibles, aludels, and curcubits competed for space on the floor, leaving only a small winding path from where Alodar stood to a workbench on the far wall. There, beneath a bookshelf sagging with almanacs and grimoires, huddled a robed figure intent upon his task. The fiery heat of an anthanor colored his plump cheeks red, and large beads of sweat formed upon the folds of his neck. He stoked the furnace and pumped the bellows, oblivious to Alodar's presence.

"Alchemist Saxton?" Alodar called to the man. "Are you alchemist Saxton, the one with the powder of deep sleep?"

Saxton turned to look briefly at the interruption, waving his hand back towards the doorway. "In the outer room, the second display case. It is ten coppers a vial; leave it on the counter."

"No, no. I have come to see you about another matter," Alodar said. "I understand from the street that you work independent of the factories and need a novice to help you in your craft."

"Yes, that I do," Saxton answered without looking up from the anthanor. "One with enough stomach to stand by his job once I have taught him. But leave me for a moment, I have a formula to complete."

Alodar watched as the alchemist withdrew a crucible glowing red hot from the furnace door and set it down to sizzle on the workbench.

"Well, no lightning this time," Saxton said, running one hand across his bald pate and then wiping it against his robe. His smile split his round face like a wedge removed from an orange, and his small, close-set eyes nearly disappeared into the folds of his cheek.

"One more step," he said, "and we may yet line our purse this month." He waddled down the workbench, withdrew one of the grimoires from the shelf overhead, and rapidly thumbed to the desired page.

"Bloodroot," he mumbled and ambled around the clutter on the floor to face the wall of boxes. After staring for several moments, he reached on tiptoe and pulled one container from its resting place. He extracted a large red bulb and returned to the workbench, placing it in the middle of a stack of clean parchment.

"And now the activation," he said as he withdrew a quill from a nearby bottle and deftly drew a complex symbol on the sheet beneath the root. As the ink dried, he stared at the strange glyph and grunted satisfaction.

"About the novice," Alodar interjected.

Saxton's eyebrows jumped and he turned to look at his intruder. "Still here? Then you are either brave or foolhardy. This last step could make the dancing ball look like a toy, and it only has six chances in ten of going right."

"I wish to learn of alchemy," Alodar replied, "but do not care for the way a factory offers to teach it. I have heard that there are risks and am willing to accept them."

"Very well, then, we will see the fiber of which you are made." Saxton shrugged, returned to the bench, diced the bloodroot into a fine powder, and added it to the crucible now already cool. He looked warily back at Alodar and threw the inscribed parchment into the anthanor.

"All is ready for the final formula," he said as he began to write upon the next page in the stack. His pen rapidly flicked out line after line of intricate symbols, pausing only occasionally to dart back to the well for more ink. In an instant, the page was covered, and Saxton set it aside to begin a second. He filled half of another and then paused a moment with his pen poised high.

"The last symbol," he said as he glanced at the crucible. With a flourish, he added a few more scratches to the paper. Alodar heard a sudden bubbling and turned to watch a thick froth come over the top of the little stone dish and descend to add its stain to the richly covered bench.

"By the signatures," Saxton exclaimed. "Chance is with us today. No explosion to test you with. Instead, more than two whole gills of the finest nerve elixir north of the isthmus."

Before Alodar could interrupt again, the alchemist scurried to the wall on the left and removed a rack of small corked vials, covered with dust like the rest.

"Here, if you want to be a novice, make yourself useful. Dust them off and label and fill them properly. And when you are done, place a sign on the door that we have nerve elixir here, freshly brewed and only two gold brandels at that. The factories may be able to undercut us on the sweetbalm, itching powders, and the like, but they would never risk trying for nerve elixir."

The alchemist set the vials down, ran his hands across his smooth brow, and began a small shuffling dance among the paraphernalia around the workbench. He kicked up the dust with several energetic stomps and then suddenly stopped and looked Alodar squarely in the face.

"You are too old to seek seriously the robe of a beginning novice," he said with a frown. He pursed his lips and stood a moment in thought.

"And so, let us see this wonderful formula then." He smiled at last. "Though I warn you, some deluded soul comes here with such a tale fortnightly, and I have yet to see one worth the effort to look upon it"

"You do not speak of fees," Alodar said.

"No, no, that is not my way," Saxton answered. "If you have spent your good money on a hastily scrawled piece of nonsense, I will tell you so."

Alodar hesitated a moment, then removed the old scraps from his cape and handed the first across to Saxton's outstretched hand. "I come to you, alchemist Saxton, because I have inquired carefully and the street gives you the reputation of an honest man. Nevertheless, my first efforts at bargaining have filled my thoughts with caution. Permit me to reveal only the first part of the formula for my own protection."

"Oh, a powder for the street talk. Here, let me see it," Saxton said, ripping the scrap from Alodar's grasp. "Know that I could have been as the rest. Only the safe formulas, high yield potions of low potency. The long lines of pipes and valves and the endless belts of the pretty bottles that the ladies like so much. But what does that get you? A steady and frugal return and a chain to your workbench for all of your days. Ah, I could have been that but I am not. A fetish for all such bookwork. I have more daring and will stake my whole stock on the one chance for a truly remarkable philtre. If it goes awry and burns me to a crisp, what of it? If it produces only skinrot, I can start again. But my lad, oh ho, suppose I succeed. What then of those who stand in their neat stalls, performing the same step as each identical vial comes down the line? Why, with the right potion, one could be rich for life, selling drops here and there for a baron's ransom when the need struck."

Saxton stopped as the glyphs on Alodar's scrap finally penetrated his consciousness. "Great amulets, my lad, where came you upon this?"

"From the fall of Iron Fist, alchemist, from the same trove that produced Vendora's new grimoire. Can I assume that you are interested?"

"An elixir of boils on the royal shops." Saxton waved him off. "They push polluted swill through their pipes no less than do the likes of Basil the apothecary. But enough of that. The formula interests me indeed. What is your proposition?"

"What is yours?" Alodar replied warily.

Saxton ran his hand over his head. "Well, you could proceed as you originally stated," he said. "I will accept you as a novice. In the course of time, you will learn enough to activate the formula with no assistance. The craft is broad and the knowledge diverse, however. Much more than what is specifically needed would be thrust your way, and you would have to wait patiently until you understood the signatures of the final ingredient before attempting the mixing. I estimate that in perhaps seven years you would know enough to try."

"I seek not mastery of all of alchemy," Alodar said. "Just the meaning of these scraps in my hand."

"Wait," Saxton said as he raised his open palm. "I have not finished with my proposal. You could study as a novice and have all in seven years. Or we can work together on this specific formula, sharing equally in the labor for perhaps six months and then equally in the rewards as well."

"I put forth nothing but the formula and the effort for its preparation?" Alodar asked.

"And I nothing but my knowledge and equal toil as well," Saxton replied,

"I sought no better arrangement when I saw Basil this morning," Alodar said, breaking into a smile and showing Saxton the rest of his scraps. "See then all. It is with you I would rather strike a bargain."

"And in truth, we are not totally clear of the apothecary's grasp," Saxton said as he quickly shuffled through the pieces of parchment. "From time to time I have had to borrow from him when my luck ran sour. Even now I owe him a sack of brandels a half year hence or my services for a full twelve months thereafter. And as I scan the formula here I see that the ingredients go quite beyond what one can expect to find in my little shop. Pennyroyal, gold thread, dried salamander, camphor, and sandalwood are the stock in trade of any alchemist on the street. But the others, a dead man's candle, root of shrieking mandrake, midnight dew collected under a moon eclipsed. Not standard items and it will take much to procure them. Yes, we may have to deal with Basil before we are finished, I fear."

"Is it a risk you are willing to take?" Alodar asked.

"It is your risk too," Saxton said. "You would take it, even if we did not have to barter with him again. My present agreement binds any novices I may have as well. If we fail to earn enough to make payment on time, then you also will pull vats and carry beakers from mixing line to workbench cubicle. The juices that stain your skin and the vapors that rot it away will surround you for a year. Even for such a short time you will not escape unscathed."

Alodar frowned and stood a moment in silence. Eldan's image was still too fresh and he shuddered at the thought. "What product does the formula produce?" he asked. "For what magnitude of reward do I take the risk of this bondage?"

"Oh the rewards are great enough," Saxton said with a smile. "This formula is for an ointment, no less than a caloric shield, allowing one to endure great temperature that would otherwise be fatal."

Alodar's frown deepened. "I can fathom no use for that," he said. "I was hoping for something more dramatic and powerful."

"It is powerful enough," Saxton said. "Powerful enough for the Fumus Mountains."

"How can such an ointment aid in the mineshafts which everyone declares to be delivering their last?"

"Those tunnels are not the working of man," Saxton replied, "but natural fumaroles and fissures in ancient volcanoes which have smouldered since before the first sagas. And in their walls we have found hundreds of perfect crystals of emerald, aquamarine, beryl and other fine gems. With a few chips of the chisel, they fall free into the pouch, more like collecting wild mushrooms than wrenching soft metals from their tightly clutching ores. And the deeper we have gone, the larger have become the stones. Last year a topaz the size of a robin's egg came from Basil's mine next to the queen's."

"Then they are hardly playing out," Alodar said. "Great treasures might be at lower levels still."

"But it is the heat," Saxton explained, "that is bringing collection to an end. Near the surface, where the cool air mixes with the humid blast from below, one can stay as he will, although with discomfort. At depths where gem quality stones were first found, a miner worked his full day, if properly attired. But all such levels have been discovered and searched many times over until there is no more treasure. Now all that remains are mad dashes by the daring into passageways which burn to the touch, to retrieve one stone and then hastily return.

"Why do you think I risk neck and limb to make elixir to calm one's nerves, to keep cool-headed in time of peril? No less than three lords have announced that they will venture beyond where any have dared and bring back jewels to fill the treasure chests of the queen. Yes, ever since she returned from the west with that rough Feston in tow, Ambrosia has been seized with a fever for noble deeds to attract her attention. Every lordling seems convinced that a brave quest that returns much fortune will turn Vendora's head before she settles on the red surcoat by default. And the jewels of the Fumus Mountains would top any feat in bravery and reward by far. We will be amply paid for an ointment which makes possible such a success."

Alodar's frown turned to a broad grin, and he pounded the older man on the shoulder. "I knew I was on the right track," he exclaimed. "Yes, yes, of course, the jewels of the Fumus Mountains. But why settle for a stack of gold coin when the greater reward is ours for the taking? Do not plan to sell the ointment when it is finished but smooth it on my limbs instead. I will brave the heat and darkness and bring back the jewels for us to share. Gems enough for you to dole out a few at a time to keep you in expensive pleasure, and yet enough for me to overflow Vendora's royal coffers. With wealth from your alchemy and the lays of the bards for what I will have done, how could any other have better chance for the hand of the fair lady?"

Saxton blinked at Alodar's outburst and looked cautiously into his gleaming eyes. "It is not certain," he said, "and risks are still present. The ingredients are so dear that we can not afford great quantities. Only a modest chance will we have of success; one cannot guarantee certainty in this craft. And even if we do succeed, know that the ointment will reduce the heatflow to your body but not completely stop it. There may be no gems worth the taking except at depths for which even the protection is insufficient."

"You stated you are willing to risk all on one chance," Alodar said. "For my quest, so am I."

"And finally if you do stagger to the surface laden with wealth," Saxton persisted, "do you think that others will stand by and let you remove it? How well can you wield your sword to protect the fruits of our labor?"

"I received modest training as a small boy," Alodar said. "But I am willing to undertake more, if that is what is needed."

"Oh, by the laws, you have my interest and know it," Saxton said as he looked again at the scraps in his hand. "The parchment smells old, the script looks ancient. If any formula is to make my fortune, then why not this? But the effort will be a great one, and many hours must we toil before it is done. Even to get one vial at the end, it looks as if we must start with no less than a thousand of the first step; and as you see, I am ill-equipped to perform repetition with much efficiency. But yes, I think you must become a warrior as well. I have a distant cousin who instructs sons of the nobles somewhere across the expanse of Ambrosia. Cedric is his name, and perhaps he would teach a novice alchemist as well."

"I have heard of him," Alodar said. "His skill was praised in the bailey of Iron Fist."

"Very well then," Saxton said, "we will proceed as follows. You spend your days with the soldier's toys while I continue my usual routine with mine. After all we must still earn the coin that keeps our minds alert and heart's blood pumping.. During the hours of darkness, we will work to produce the caloric shield. Hopefully, by the time the ointment is ready, you will have sufficient skill to protect whatever treasure is found as well."

Saxton stopped and looked out through the high windows. "Tomorrow you can seek out Cedric," he said, "But by the looks of the shadows we may as well begin now the first evening's labor. Let me see, I said we must prepare to activate the first step a thousand times. That would mean we need no less than twice that number of spider eyes all neatly cut free and dipped in honey. You begin with them while I start to set up the rest."

"Spider eyes," Alodar groaned, "and two thousand. But that could take months all by itself."

"Persistence," Saxton said, raising his index finger. "Persistence is the primary attribute of the alchemist."

Alodar looked up at the sun high overhead and yawned. He had wielded the tiny scalpel for the better part of the night and getting proper directions had taken most of the morning. But at last he was headed out of the winding alleys of the craftsmen and into the heart of Ambrosia.

The street ahead widened, and well worn cobbles replaced the mud underfoot. Painted storefronts mixed with rough clapboard. In the distance Alodar saw inns, taverns, and liveries rising above the smaller structures.

As he continued, the street crowded with beggars and merchants with pushcarts, badgering the patrons who ventured forth for business before noon. Hawkers standing on balconies added their voices to the melodious background clop of horse-drawn coaches. The aroma of freshly baked meat pies on storefront shelves blended with the smells of human exertion as he pushed his way through the thickening swarm.

Alodar pressed on, and the shops gave way to private dwellings and finally to expansive mansions, high-walled with gates closed to the street. He no longer blended in with the traffic but stood out against the glint of mail and sheen of silk that passed him by. Near the river which split the city, Alodar stopped and banged a heavy knocker against a door of iron.

"I wish an audience with warmaster Cedric," he said to the anonymous eyes which peered through a small slit in the door.

"Have you an appointment?" the voice behind the eyes asked. "Warmaster Cedric is presently giving private drill and has two more pupils after noon today."

"I wish to engage him in like manner," Alodar said, "and am here to arrange terms and times. Perhaps he can see me for but a moment."

The impersonal voice exploded in a hearty laugh. "And I see by your attire that you must be the scion of some lord in Vendora's court itself. By all means enter. My master needs a diversion this morning and I think he will be most amused by the value you place upon his craft."

The door swung open and Alodar saw two figures clashing long staves against one another in the large courtyard. Vine-covered walls ran around the periphery, meeting either side of a two-story structure at the far end. Large wooden racks of precisely hung clubs, swords, and maces hid all but one small doorway, and the windows above were crowded by cabinets of daggers, crossed halberts, and double-headed axeblades secured to the wall. Circles and squares of dusty chalk divided the hard clay ground into the pattern of an often-patched quilt, and in the arena nearest the building the two men struggled. Alodar's irritation over the servant's manner vanished as he advanced to meet them with a rapid stride.

"No, no, no," the taller of the two growled. "If he thrusts with both hands equally extended, push your staff perpendicular to it. If you do not, he will slide around your guard and drive home like this." With these words he dropped his left hand from his stick and, swinging with his right, soundly thumped it against the ribcage of his opponent. The second man yelped with surprise and tripped to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs.

"Enough for today, Dartilon," The victor dismissed the other with a flourish. He smoothed back into place short, silvery hair and twirled the end of his waxed moustache into sharpness. His eyes were an unblinking steel blue and his cheeks axeblade flat about lips drawn into a firm thin line. The skin on his bare arms and legs showed the crisscross of many scars and blotches of age but stretched tight like a drumhead across his thickboned frame.

The fallen man scurried away into the house at the courtyard's end, rubbing his side, and Alodar seized the opportunity to speak. "Warmaster Cedric, have you room on your calendar for yet another? I cannot pay as well as some, but I will be an attentive pupil and learn well what you may teach."

"My fee is a gold brandel per lesson," Cedric rasped, "Does your eagerness extend that far?"

"A gold brandel, no," Alodar said. "At least not at once. Not until I receive return on my formula."

"Alchemy," Cedric snorted. "Hardly a stable undertaking on which to depend. I have a cousin, Saxton, who practices the craft in some little shed out on Honeysuckle Street. He toils alone from sun to sun and all of his hard labor keeps him no more than days away from beggary. I prefer to instruct one whose purse always jingles, regardless of the luck of each morning's brew."

"It is from Saxton, in fact, that I come," Alodar said. "And surely you had rather someone asking to learn than some lord's son sent because it is the fashion?"

"I take the rich men's gold because they thrust it upon me. If they wish me to ride on past laurels instead of upon the horse of the commander, then it is only just that I do so. Time with you only deprives me of coin for my purse. Be gone with your ideals so we can both spend our time more profitably."

"I come on no idle whim, warmaster Cedric," Alodar persisted. "I am determined to learn the craft of fighting and seek to learn it from him who teaches best."

"Determination, my scars." Cedric waved aside Alodar's words. "Determination until you feel the first true stab of pain and realize that it is not some glorious game for the sagas."

With these words, Cedric suddenly lashed out with his staff and knocked Alodar's feet from under him. Alodar's eyes blazed, but he understood the intent and choked down his cry of protest. He slowly rose, rubbing his shin. Through clenched teeth he said, "Such a blow I can stand, warmaster."

"Indeed so," mocked Cedric and he flicked out and tripped Alodar to the ground once more. Alodar grimaced from the shock to flesh already growing sore, but scrambled upright, reaching out wildly for the end of the stick which now quivered tantalizingly in front of his face. As he extended his arms, it whizzed through the air with lightning swiftness and pounded his stomach with three quick thrusts. Alodar involuntarily doubled up, grasping his hands to his middle, helpless to ward off a series of blows which now rained down upon his unprotected head.

In an instant the barrage stopped, and he huddled, licking blood, ears ringing, barely able to understand Cedric's words.

"What now of that determination, lad? Do you still want to be the mighty warrior?"

Alodar struggled to his feet a third time, still clutching his stomach and squinting to see through eyes beginning to puff shut. "If this is the way you instruct, let me have the other staff and continue," he spat out. "By the laws, yes, I am determined."

Cedric lowered his weapon and intently studied the figure Alodar cut before him. "Yes, let us test it fairly," he said as he scooped up the second staff and tossed it in Alodar's direction.

As Alodar reached for it, the master's stick sprang to life, whirling, thrusting and pushing with lightning speed. Alodar, numbed as he was, could only imitate a stance he had practiced as a boy and thrust his staff horizontally forward. Cedric whipped his erect and cracked Alodar upon the top of the head and then each shin, Alodar shifted his stick vertically to ward off the blows, and Cedric replied with lunges to both sides, methodically hitting shoulders, arms, thighs, and calves. In desperation, Alodar released his left hand and swung his staff in a slow arc towards Cedric's dancing body. Cedric smiled and cracked Alodar's knuckles. The stick dropped once more to the ground.

Now defenseless, the barrage increased in intensity and Alodar huddled, hands over his head in helplessness. As the shower of pain continued, Alodar curled up smaller still, saying not a word but tightening his lips as each blow again hit his swollen knuckles and the puffing welts forming on his back. Finally Cedric tired of the sport and stopped the pummeling. "And the determination, now?" he taunted.

"As before," Alodar croaked, struggling to rise on quivering legs. "Let us go at it again."

Cedric dropped his staff and stood a long time in silence. At last he said, "You are either addlepated or burn with desire, my lad. What indeed pushes you so?"

Alodar managed to pull himself erect and return the older man's stare. "I wish to prove myself worthy," he said. "Lord Feston spoke highly of the value of your teaching and his reputation at arms is great."

"Sweetbalm for reputations. More come from circumstances than from merit. Ambrosia is babbling even now about how this Feston, one of my former lordlings, bettered fifteen men on the walls of Iron Fist. Fifteen men surely all like yourself. Yanked from some town or field, dressed in leather and told that they were now warriors. Why, with any training at all, one could hack away among the likes until his arm grew tired, with no threat upon his own person. But true skill in arms is not measured by such petty reputation. It is by trial in which yours is not the only sword that bites deep. And such skill is achieved at no little cost. Can what you seek be worth the agony of this morning and the days to follow?"

"Yes," Alodar answered simply, holding fists tight against his sides, determined not to collapse until the interview was over.

"Valdo, tend his wounds with sweetbalm." Cedric turned suddenly and beckoned to the servant still at the gate. "And fit him sparring gear for the morrow."

"Sparring gear?" Alodar asked. "For tomorrow?"

"Yes," Cedric said. "My pupils need practice against the lesser skilled order to build confidence and polish their technique. They would never dream of testing themselves against one another, and you can serve their needs admirably. And if you watch while I instruct, you may learn enough to fend against them. Can your determination take day after full day of that?"

"It can," Alodar said. "It will have to."

Cedric gave Alodar one last look. "A hero and a fool," he muttered and walked out of the courtyard.