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

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Random Factors Align

ALODAR dumped a bucket of oily water into the gutter and slumped to the planked curbing. He kneaded the tired muscles in his neck and looked up into the early evening sky. It seems bright enough now, he thought as he saw the disk of the moon balanced like a platter above the roof-line across the street. He hoped Saxton's decision to wait three days until it was full was the right one. Even foregoing all time at Cedric's and spending two full weeks working the formula, there was little time to spare.

Alodar stretched his arms over his head and frowned. It was well enough for Saxton to propose a few days rest to uncoil his knotted muscles in some tavern, but it had only given Alodar pause for the first time in months to consider deeply the path he had chosen.

All of this effort for only four samples. Four small vials, filled with what looked like motley collections of tiny colored beads. But when held to the eye, each globule was a many-faceted crystal, able to withstand great stresses without breaking, stresses from grinding forces or searing heat. Surely one tube would produce the ointment for which they had struggled. Four chances to soften the crystals into a thick gel; then for each that succeeded, one additional procedure to make the ointment safe for contact with bare skin. With four vials, they could expect the contents of two to transmute properly, and then one of them to be rendered harmless as well.

Two steps but with only four samples remaining. Alodar pursed his lips and shook his head. When they had six stages to go and sixty-three chances, Saxton's caution in the mines had seemed hard to understand. But now the outcomes could be enumerated on one's fingers and the boldness of their pledge seemed a much greater folly.

Each result was random. If the last step failed on the first attempt, then there would be one chance in two that all this work would have gone for nothing. Or if none of the four vials liquified in the way they wished, then Basil's factory, not wealth and glory, would be the final reality.

Alodar closed his eyes and tried to recall Vendora's beauty, to taste again his anger at Feston's ridicule, to feel the prickly bitterness at Festil's blind rejection. But the images of half a year ago were blurred and fuzzy, the hunger and pain at Iron Fist buried far beneath the numbness that rode on top of his thoughts.

Was it so important, he puzzled. Could he not instead steal away in the night, perhaps to the kingdoms to the south or even to Arcadia across the sea? Cedric did not seem to value greatly the opinion of those who buzzed about the royal court. Was such respect worth the risk be ran to gain it?

Alodar breathed deeply and then let the air out through his nostrils. No, there was first the question of honor. Saxton was enmeshed in this as deeply as he, and they must share the peril as well as the potential for great gain.

A sudden crash from the interior of the shop broke Alodar out of his reverie and he sprang to his feet. For a moment there was silence, and then he heard the crunch of glass grinding underfoot. He kicked the bucket out of his way and dashed into the storefront, looking for the sword and shield Cedric had lent him for practice. As he stooped and thrust his hand through the enarmes, a massive figure loomed in the workroom doorway.

"Rendrac!" Alodar shouted as the form came forward into the candlelight. "What cause have you to be in the confines of Saxton's shop?"

"No bar did you have on the workroom rear door and Basil is most curious about your formula," Rendrac said. "He will reward me well when I tell him something of it."

Alodar raised his swordpoint In front of his chest. "You will learn nothing of it here tonight," he said slowly. "Be gone and return only if we need more ingredients from your master."

Rendrac smiled and stepped forward, fingering the hilt of the sword at his side. "And I leave when it suits my own purpose," he growled. "Not the whim of a mere novice."

Alodar took a deep breath and tightened the grip on his blade. His heart began to race and his eyes widened as he looked up at the giant coming towards him. He ran through his mind his sparring yard training and set his jaw in a determined line. It must come to a true test sooner or later, he thought, and defending the four vials was as worthy a cause as any.

Rendrac completed one slow step and stopped, eyeing the distance between them. "Come forward, little man," he said. "Come forward and show your mettle."

Alodar looked at the angle of Rendrac's sword arm across his body and tilted his shield upward. The man would slash down rather than across, he thought, as he slowly slid his own blade toward the side.

"You learn nothing of alchemy while you stand frozen," he spat back into Rendrac's smile. "To search the shop you must first win the right to do so."

"Very well," Rendrac growled. "If you are alive or dead, I will find out what I wish. To me it does not matter."

Then, with the swiftness of a much smaller man, he drew his sword and dashed it down towards Alodar's unprotected head. Alodar whipped his shield upwards and received the blow with a numbing jar. A shock ran through his arm; his elbow buckled from the contact. Involuntarily he stepped backwards, banging the heel of his boot against the wall. He peeked over the top of his shield and saw Rendrac's sword arm again raised above him. He took a deep breath and stiffened his body in anticipation for the next downward slash.

The blow rocked his shield and skittered away. Alodar staggered and huddled lower to the ground. He thrust tentatively to the side, but quickly withdrew his arm. His reach was too short. He would have to extend beyond cover even to prick Rendrac's skin. He scowled and gritted his teeth as Rendrac's arm flew upwards for the third time.

"When you have finished with him, prepare to take on another," a voice rang out suddenly from the doorway to the street. Rendrac halted in midswing and glanced in the direction of the challenger. He looked back quickly at Alodar, then thrust the countertop candle towards the door with his free hand.

The flame flickered from the motion, then held steady and cast its light across the entrance. Rendrac grunted in recognition and pointed his blade in challenge. "I am no weaklimbed and untutored pupil, old man," he said. "You would fare no better than the novice."

"You will not slip past my guard with words, Rendrac. I am willing to cross swords with one of your petty reputation, if you are with one such as mine. Use your sword or put it away. It is one or the other."

Rendrac flexed his fingers on his swordgrip and paused in thought. Alodar frowned at his hesitation, and then turned and squinted across the countertop.

"Cedric!" he said. "Why are you here?"

"I have not seen you at practice for two weeks now," Cedric replied, "and, as I have said, your activities with my cousin have piqued my curiosity. It seems that I arrive at a most fortunate time."

Alodar lowered his eyes and dropped his shield to his side. "You must think I am no great credit to your teaching, warmaster," he said.

"A big man is not often bettered by a little one, no matter how talented the latter," Cedric said. "And you cannot expect six months' training to make up the difference between you. Raising your sword against this Rendrac would have cost you your life and proved nothing. But I am more of a match in size. Let him decide if he wishes to measure which of us has the greater skill as well."

"As I have said," Rendrac growled, "you will find me more a match than your fledgling pupils."

"That I judge to be true, Rendrac," Cedric replied slowly. "But then you will find me more than you have yet encountered as well. In my life I have fought a dozen of your bulk and I suspect I will learn little from another. But the choice is yours. Sheath your sword and walk out unscathed. Or come forward with it drawn and afterwards we will remove your body."

They all stood silent for several minutes, but finally Rendrac scowled, thrust his sword back into its scabbard, and stomped around the counter. Cedric stepped into the shop and motioned to the doorway. Rendrac pulled in his cape and shot a last glance back around the room. His eyes danced to avoid Cedric's; when he looked in Alodar's direction, he saw the beginning of a smile. His scowl tightened and he waved his fist threateningly. "The next time, you may not have a protector," he growled.

Alodar opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when he heard loud voices suddenly spilling in from the street.

"But do you not see, Saxton, that the risks you take are unnecessary. I have to demand twenty years because, as I understand it now, no fair return will I get for the brandels I have lavished already upon your venture. But as a partner I can do much to ensure the success of all."

Two stout figures suddenly jostled to enter the doorway, and Alodar saw Saxton guided through by Basil's silk-covered arm. Basil's cheeks flushed red from the exertion of supporting the sagging weight at his side and Saxton's were redder still from his visit to the tavern,

"Rendrac," Basil said as his eyes adjusted to the candlelight. "What are you doing here?"

"No less than what you attempt with a jug of wine," he snapped back.

Basil looked to Alodar, then Cedric, and finally frowned at Rendrac's words. "We will speak of this later," he said at last.

"Why such attention?" Saxton cried gleefully as he sagged to the floor. "There has not been such activity in my shop since twelve years ago when I thought I had stumbled on to a philtre of longevity."

"Oh, be quiet, you fool," Basil said, "else I add the cost of the wine to what you already owe. Come along, Rendrac. The night is wasted here, and we should be off to attend other matters."

"Poor Basil," Saxton chortled as he sat with his hands folded over his stomach. "It is too much to bear, is it not? Someone else on the street is to make a profit from the Fumus Mountains and you cannot let it be."

Basil stopped in the doorway and turned to look down on the alchemist. "What about the Mountains?" he asked slowly. "What does your formula have to do with the mines?"

"You may as well know," Saxton laughed. "There is nothing else to purchase. We will be done in three days time and then it will not matter. Yes, Basil, it is the Fumus Mountains and the jewels of the lower depths. We shall get them, Alodar and I, while sweat stains your fine garments as you watch us pass by."

"A new tunnel," Basil said as he bent down beside Saxton and grabbed the folds of his soiled robe. "Some sort of acid that will eat through to the bidden passageway that runs high and cool."

"No, far better," Saxton giggled as he tried to brush Basil's hands aside. "A caloric shield that will make the depths accessible for exploration. I wager that you will be repaid with a topaz far larger than a robin's egg."

"Then the partnership," Basil said excitedly. "It is as I have promised. Forget the debt for the ingredients. Share with me the plunder from the bowels of the volcano and I will release you from the agreement to which you are bound."

"The wine loosens my tongue," Saxton said, "but some sense I still retain. It is Alodar and I who have shared this formula in good faith. It is only right that we reap all of the reward from it as well."

"A novice of a few months," Basil said. "How important could such a loyalty be? I have worked the Street for years and in truth am a member of your craft as much as one whose robe bears the inverted triangle. What cause can you have to deny me so?"

Saxton slowly shook his head. Then with surprising strength, he wrenched Basil's hands free from his robe. "I remember too well the stare of Eldan and the others," he said, suddenly sober. "Too many fine craftsmen have I seen you sweep into your factories and too many poor useless hulks have I seen you push into the alley on the other side. No Basil, I will not share with you the fruits of my labor."

Basil stared for a moment into Saxton's unflinching eyes and then slowly rose. He smoothed his tunic and adjusted the magic dagger at his side.

"Very well," he said at last. "If you choose to play by the letter of our contract, then so will I. You have assured your repayment by gold or by the future labor of your back and brain. But that assurance is good only so long as you possess sound faculties upon the date they are due. If I judge that you endeavor beyond the usual risks of the craft and jeopardize the value I may receive, then I can rightfully ask for a guarantee of sounder value. And adventure into the Fumus Mountains does qualify certainly as an undertaking of high peril. Your labor is no longer sufficient bond, Saxton. What can you offer in its place?"

"Why nothing else, as you well know," Saxton said, rising uncertainly to his feet. "And I have never heard of such a condition binding an alchemist so."

"The clause is there," Basil snapped. "Before, I have not had cause to use it. But if you have no assurance for your loan, then by right I can call it due immediately."

He stopped and twisted his face into a forced smile. "You are wrong when you think you have five days more, alchemist," he said. "It is in fact less than one. Have three hundred brandels in my hand by the next dawn or prepare to be measured instead for the restraints of the factory. I think I will put you next to Eldan's stall, so that each day you can watch and know full well what you will become."

"Your investment is well protected, Basil." Cedric broke his silence and reached into his cape. "Here is a pouch with ten brandels. In two days time I will arrange to have the rest. Take it as token and follow your hireling out into the street. I shall be the guarantee that the obligation is met."

Basil turned and looked up into Cedric's stern face. His smile vanished. For a moment he was silent as he studied the unblinking eyes and felt the gold in his hand. "You have a reputation as a warrior, Cedric," he said at last, "not as a merchant. I can not be sure that your promise is any better than the rest." With a flourish, he tossed back the pouch. "I need not accept this," he said. "Dawn is within my rights, and even the queen herself would have to agree to it."

Cedric took a step forward, but Saxton moved between him and the apothecary. The alchemist glanced out of the shop into the moonlit sky. "Your offer is well appreciated, cousin," he said. "But Basil's twisting of words does no more than to force us to hasten our work. The moon is not quite full, but enough so that probably it will little matter. Be gone, Basil. If it is by the first rays of the sun that we must stuff your purse, then so it will be. Return to your factory and await there your disappointment."

"Yes I will go," Basil snarled, "but to the first rays of dawn, and then no longer. Mark you, Saxton, even six hundred brandels a minute late would not be enough. You pay in the dark or cough on honeysuckle for a full score of years to follow."

The apothecary turned abruptly and stomped out of the shop with Rendrac close on his heel. Saxton steadied himself against the door frame as he watched them disappear down the street. Finally he ran his hand over his head and looked back into the ulterior.

"And good night to you, Cedric," he said. "Alodar and I will not need your help further and we have much we must do."

Cedric grunted and stepped to the doorway. As he left, he turned and looked back into the store. "Next time, hold your shieldhand yet higher," he said, "and prepare to thrust under rather than around the side."

Alodar started to reply, but Saxton waved his arm towards the workroom, "Find me the pills which will clear my head," he said. "The next eight hours will decide it all."

Alodar looked up at the moon well into the sky, and then down to the square opening at his feet. Saxton's bald head popped through, and he extended his hand to help the alchemist up the last few rungs. Saxton stopped his climb and waved away the aid.

"In a moment, Alodar," he panted. "It may be easy enough for you to climb to the roof of the shop a dozen times, but for one of my dignity, it is a different matter."

"The moon is almost to its zenith," Alodar said. "If we do not begin soon, there will be no time for the mountains before the sun follows it into the sky."

"As I already have taught," Saxton replied, "the purity of the ingredients materially affects the chance of success. The more the moon rises, the less the air pollutes the passage of its cool light. We must make haste, but not so much that what chances we have are thereby compromised."

He stopped and looked upward. "But a few degrees more should be satisfactory," he said. "Make ready the lens and the filter."

Alodar turned back to the apparatus at his feet and lifted the large lens from its case. He placed it in the semicircular base for the support stand and snapped the confining ring shut. He sighted through the thick glass at the two closely set panes placed some two feet behind and rotated the optical axis into line. Stepping over the gear they had hurriedly brought up from the workroom, he found the bulbous flask and pulled the cork. The odor of baneberry tickled his nose, and he carefully decanted the deep blue liquid into the narrow space between the two vertical sheets of glass.

Alodar walked back behind the lens and dragged the huge mirror into place. He sighted into the sky where the moon would be in the next few minutes and tilted the reflector to catch the light and bounce it horizontally. A parallel beam, he thought, converged by the lens, filtered by the baneberry and finally focused on the flask at the end of the line. How much more complex than the simple spells of thaumaturgy.

He pushed the gear into final adjustment and stood back to watch Saxton finish his preparations. "I am ready," he said as the alchemist pulled a long flexible hose from an earthen jar and inserted it into the mouth of the flask.

"As am I," Saxton replied. "When the moon's light strikes the mirror squarely, I will invert the jar and the limestone will fall into the oil of vitriol. The gas from the reaction, the blue moonlight and the granules we have placed in solution will interact and if we are lucky form the ointment."

Alodar nodded and stooped to sight the moon through a small hole in the back of the mirror. The bright edge crept into view and then the whole disk dazzled his eye with brightness.

"It aligns perfectly now," he shouted suddenly as he turned to watch the light streak through the apparatus and hit the flask with a dull blue glow.

Saxton inverted the jar and the first cautious bubbles burbled to the surface of the solution. The alchemist snatched a pad of parchment, activated the ingredients and scratched out the formula. As the final glyph formed. Alodar caught his breath, awaiting the reaction. He looked at the flask, hoping to see the clear liquid instantly haze into a tracslucent gel.

Several minutes passed but nothing happened. Saxton rocked nervously back and forth on his heels and ran his hand over his head. Alodar squinted at the glassware trying to see some change in the solution, a slowing of the bubbles' rush to the surface indicating a transformation.

"Have you placed the flask at the precise focus?" Saxton asked. "With the moon not full we need all of the intensity we can muster."

"It is the lens, Saxton," Alodar replied. "With such a size you cannot expect it to bend the rays that strike the edge with the same precision as those near the axis. I have placed the flask so that the circle of confusion is smallest. Any better is beyond the grinder's art."

"Then it is the brew which is bad," Saxton said. "Toss it aside and we will try another. Three chances will be as good as four since I have only enough salamander skin left for the two success we expect. The rest I already have used in barter."

He looked at the solution bubbling as if no formula had been activated. "Yes, let us dispose of it," he said. "Who can say what perversion of the desired result will occur if we let it interact any longer. Or if nothing is to happen, then it will surely spoil."

Alodar stared down the line from the mirror which first caught the moonlight to the flask which finally received its filtered rays. He passed his hand in front of the solution and saw the pale blue spot on his palm the size of a brandel. He frowned and thought of his training as a journeyman.

"Yes, that will work," he exclaimed as the idea struck him. "Saxton, do not yet disturb the brew. There is more that can be done. Quickly now, help me find the small glass we used to aid in removing the eyes of the spiders."

Alodar ran to the ladder and descended into the workroom below. He began rummaging through the tools of the trade, tossing the gear aside like an excited dog digging after a small rodent.

Saxton shuffled to the opening and peered inside. "Not more thaumaturgy," he said. "Remember what happened the last time you mixed the two crafts together."

"Here it is," Alodar said, ignoring the command. "Now with another small mirror and a sample from the flask, it will be done." He quickly scooped up an armful of stands and clamps, and staggered back up the ladder to the bubbling flask. Pinching the gas tube with his fingers he decanted some of the fluid into a vial and then fastened it to the stand he positioned nearby. He ran back to the first mirror, adjusted it slightly and then inserted the edge of the second into the path of the light. A slender beam separated from the rest and darted across the rooftop to engulf the vial in brilliance.

"We risk enough, Alodar," Saxton said. "Let us try the next batch instead and take our chances within the confines of the art."

"But a moment," Alodar said. "I do not mix the crafts so much as use them in complement to one another. You need intensity and by no skill of alchemy can you make lenses perform better than the grinder has designed them. But the key is the light, not the glass which bends it."

Alodar did not wait for a reply bat performed his spellbinding and then thrust the hand lens into the second beam's path. He slid it rapidly back and forth and brought the rays into a precise focus on the vial.

"The small glass converges with far more perfection," he explained, "and by thaumatugy we can force the larger to do so as well. Look now to the flask and observe how we fare."

"A sparkling brilliance," Saxton gasped, and Alodar turned to see the large tube of light converge into a tight point deep in the center of the solution.

Several moments passed in silence, then suddenly the liquid wavered before their eyes. The next bubble out of the tube dimmed from view and the one just leaving the surface left a small crater in its wake.

"It gels," Saxton shouted. "My lad, we have ointment on the first try. Yes, of course, we must have sufficient intensity or the ingredients will not interact. But no matter how you did it, let us set up for the second while the luck still points our way."

Alodar caught Saxton's excitement and hurriedly adjusted the equipment. He fixed the small glass in a clamp and then stood by the first mirror, keeping the moon directly in line as it crested in the sky. In a few moments Saxton had disengaged the first container filled with the glowing ointment and replaced it with a second. He tossed the spent gas generator aside and thrust the tube from another while casting anxious glances at the shimmering brew.

He finished the final glyph and almost instantly the clear solution thickened into the translucent cream. Saxton's eyes widened in wonder. He ran his hand over his head and then gently stroked the side of the flask.

"Two in a row," he exclaimed. "The random factors align, Alodar, I can feel it." He cast the second gas generator aside. Holding the flask high, he dance around the rooftop in exultation. Alodar smiled and started to break the thaumaturgical connection.

Saxton looked at the container he had set aside and then the two standing ready still filled with clear solution. He stopped his celebration, frowned at the knot of brightness where the last flask had been and stared back at the battered chest with small labeled drawers standing nearby.

"Powdered skin of salamander, less than three brandels more," he muttered and then his face recovered its smile.

"No, Alodar, leave the gear as it is," he said. "Run quickly instead into the city and get from Cedric the gold he offered as loan."

"Back to Ambrosia," Alodar said puzzled. "But, Saxton, whatever for? I am as happy as you that the first two produced the ointment, for we can dearly use the time. In less than four hours the moon will set, and sunrise will be but little after. Let us perform the last step twice as you planned and proceed on to the Fumus Mountains."

"But do you not see," Saxton ran on excitedly. "The random factors align. The transition was so dramatic, so emphatic. We are not dealing with chance. All of our trails will succeed tonight, I can feel it. We need not settle for two vials of the ointment when four are ours for the taking. If we double the supply of the skin of the salamander, there will be enough to perform the final step on all four. For a few brandels more we can secure what we need from the royal shop at the head of the Street. Go to Cedric's and maximize our good fortune."

"But sunrise," Alodar protested. "There will not be time enough for it all."

"We quest, do we not?" Saxton chortled, waving his index finger at Alodar's scowl. "And with the factors aligned, how can there be failure? I will complete the formula for the two flasks we have prepared while you are gone; when you return two more will be ready to process as well. Away. You may as well secure the powder as stand idly by while I exercise my craft."

Alodar looked down into the silent street and then toward the heart of the city. "Very well," he said, "I will go. But if the moon gets close to the horizon and I have not returned, follow me with whatever you have of value. We will meet and save time in taking the road north to the mountains."

"The random factors," Saxton said as if he did not hear. "They align and, by the laws, with a formula of great importance. Yes, hurry along, lad. Tonight, we can do no wrong."

Cedric wrapped his cape tighter and cursed at the bite of the cool breeze. "Alchemy," he snorted. "Only for such a craft would one have cause to tramp about the streets in the middle of the night."

"As I have explained, warmaster," Alodar said as he hurried to match the longer stride, "you need not accompany me to the dwelling of this seneschal. I can rouse him as I did you. Even if his irritation makes all ten brandels the price for the powdered skin, I will not begrudge it." He looked at the moon already uncomfortably low in the western sky. "Haste is far more important."

"If I did not come," Cedric rasped, "dawn would find you pounding at his gate."

Cedric stopped and turned off the street at the next open gateway. Buzzing voices and loud laughter from a dozen sources floated over the wall, and a caped figure staggered against Alodar and lurched into the night. He blinked at the torchlight when he entered the courtyard and stumbled past two more sprawling forms snoring in his way. The area was scattered with small clumps of richly dressed men nodding dutifully at each other's words and waving empty cups at the wine stewards wandering by. In a corner, a dark-haired girl tossed her veils to the rhythm of her small finger cymbals, but no one noticed.

"You come late to lord Dartilac's festivity," a man in servant's livery said into Cedric's ear, "And it is not so light that I can recognize you as one of his peers from the court. I do not mean to offend, but have you brought the invitation affixed with his seal?"

"This is my invitation," Cedric said. He slowly tumbled the ten brandels from their small pouch. "I must speak with his lordship on a matter which I am sure he will find to his interest. Can you not arrange for such a moment?"

The servant scurried to retrieve the coins and stood up with his face in a smile. He beckoned them to follow and started to weave his way across the courtyard. Against the wall to which they headed, Alodar saw a blond-headed man of middle age holding a goblet in one hand and poking the chest of his listener with the other. The lines of the face twisted in frustration and the blank expression on the recipient of the argument forced each jab to be harder than the last. As Alodar and Cedric approached, the servant coughed and the conversation abruptly halted.

"Lord Dartilac," Cedric said without waiting. "I am the one who teaches your son, Dartilon, the use of arms."

Dartilac set his glass on a bench nearby and frowned. "I pay you well and on time," he said. "I see no reason to call upon me here and at such a time."

"What you say is most proper," Cedric said, "but, as you know, I instruct the sons of many of the lords and learn much that might not otherwise be common knowledge. Lord Cartilon, for example. His son I taught this very day."

Dartilac picked up his glass and took a cautious sip. "And what news do you have about the house of Cartilon?" he asked slowly.

"As you know," Cedric said, "the queen is most appreciative of the loan of your seneschal to aid in the activations of her formulas from Iron Fist. And Cartilon has in the past always aligned his house with yours, careful to say to all how you aid the flow of coin so necessary in these times of increased peril."

"And now," Dartilac repeated, "what news do you bring?"

Cedric smiled back into the lord's knitting brows. "Nothing other than what your own speculations might give you," he said. "But first a small boon, my lord, as a token of the good faith in which we deal. Your seal on a writ against the royal stores for powder of salamander skin, a few drams, no more. I am sure your steward would honor it, since he knows who ultimately decides his welfare and keep."

"Salamander skin," Dartilac said. "Do you jest? What you know is of little value if such is the price you place on it."

"I need it before dawn and that makes it more dear," Cedric replied. "With your seal I can obtain it from your man as I could no other way."

Dartilac rubbed his chin while he studied Cedric's unblinking face. After a moment he grunted and snapped his fingers overhead. The servant reappeared and dipped his head in a small bow. "My seal on a writ to the royal factory of alchemy," Dartilac said, "to be drawn immediately but to a maximum of three brandels and no more."

The servant frowned questioningly but Dartilac waved him away. "And now what of Cartilon?" he said.

"The army returns from the south," Cedric said. "What will be Vendora's first concern, to pay them their due or to see that they are properly led?"

"Leadership, of course," Dartilac said. "It is true that her vassals have already provided their yearly aid to the crown to which they are shown and further provision must come from her own purse. But with a strong man at the head, they will rally to her needs and point to the west; their pay can come later."

"And between the lords who aid with ready coin and those who assist with sword, for whom would she show more favor?"

"But both are needed as she knows full well," Dartilac said. "Leadership may be her first concern but she would not turn her thoughts from those who support the crown in so generous a manner."

"In a situation such as this," Cedric repeated, "who would she favor?"

"Arms," Dartilac growled. "Under the present conditions she would tend to arms." His frown deepened and he stopped in thought.

"But surely Cartilon would not shift into Feston's camp without much reflection and consultation," he said at last. "He has been steadfast in our course to resist the influence of the rough outlanders. Old Festil may have been a favorite of Vendora's father, but Cartilon sees as well as any that Feston dangles on a string. Why even now my staunch friend labors to influence lady Aeriel to add her voice to ours. And he is here tonight somewhere across the yard, partaking of my hospitality as do others of the same persuasion."

"Thought and consideration," Cedric said. "I would judge that all of the intimates of the court spend a good part of their time in such profitable fashion. To be a member of a faction swinging into ascendency is a temptation. And even if one were himself steadfast, it would behoove him to reassess critically the loyalties of every man that he thought stood behind him."

"But Cartilon," Dartilac said.

"I instructed his son this very day," Cedric said.

Dartilac grabbed his chin and gazed past Alodar's shoulder. "It is a matter to look into," the lord muttered behind his hand.

Cedric stood silent, and Alodar saw the pensiveness grow on Dartilac's face. While he pondered, the servant returned and thrust a folded parchment in Cedric's direction. The warmaster nodded and motioned Alodar to accept it.

"Value given and just value received," Cedric said. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and started for the exit.

"You train many of the scions, did you say?" Dartilac shouted after him. "Perhaps there is more in your future than a few drams of salamander."

Cedric continued to the gate and nodded once over his shoulder. He ducked through the opening and Alodar followed. In the street, the warrior walked in silence, his lips pulled into a grim line.

"I see that your way is far more effective than my pounding," Alodar said. "It is fortunate that you learned something of Cartilon's leanings in time to be of such advantage."

"Think over carefully what I said," Cedric replied. "Cartilon's son said no more than that Dartilac was having yet another festivity." He stopped and grabbed Alodar by the shoulders. "I learned the rules but did not choose to play," he rasped. "And I do not care to begin even now. Finish this foolishness with Saxton and be done with alchemy. I expect you back in my sparring yard on the morrow."

Alodar started to speak, but stopped when he saw the bottom edge of the moon's disk shorn away by the line of Dartilac's roof. He tore free of Cedric's grasp and spun around to look to the east, squinting Into the lights of the city and trying to detect the glow that preceded dawn.

"I shall repay you with honor, warmaster," he said at last. "But for now, my quest comes before all else." He grabbed the writ firmly and plunged down the road. Sprinting around a corner, he raced back to Honeysuckle Street.