the whole head oscillated from side to side in response to a snakelike rhythm which coursed up the long, sinewy neck. The wings stayed tucked close to the body in the confines of the cage, but Alodar could see many folds of thick, leathery membrane that contrasted sharply with the rough scaling of the rest of the body.
'Is that a wyvern?' Alodar exclaimed. 'Never in my travels to the west or even in Ambrosia itself have I seen the like.'
'A wyvern it is, Alodar, one of two that we have here,' Hypeton answered. 'Old Lectonil was able to hatch them some fifty years ago when the lesser moons of the blood star lined with ours.'
Alodar returned his attention to the procession as more and more marchers filed onto the broad floor. Seven golden-haired women, bare breasts bobbing in unison with each step, preceded a large brass gong hung from a man-high frame. Gray-robed acolytes carrying huge, two-handled, golden keys followed a second caged wyvern, this one blindfolded and sitting docile in its narrow cage. Finally, silence engulfed the crowd as the master magicians of the Guild, robed in deepest black with circular logos of silver, brought up the rear.
'Only four are needed for this ritual,' Hypeton explained, 'and, by the laws, you can imagine the fighting that must have gone on in the council chamber for which of the fourteen it would be. I see that Lectonil is missing and Beliac too. The masters must have been so polarized that they could only agree on the neutrals like Mentenon there. A solid searcher so they say, but no great flashes of intuition or daring to try new theorems. But look, they are nearly ready.'
Alodar watched as the first of the four black-robed men mounted on a tripod a small telescope handed to him by one of the initiates and began to sight the moon and its companion stars of the evening. He raised one arm and extended his index finger to command attention. Alodar stole a quick glance skyward. As the first of the two flitting stars passed behind the wobbling moon he saw the black-sleeved arm fall with a sudden flourish. Almost simultaneously, a second magician inverted an hourglass, and the seven women joined hands and began to sing a soft, harmonious chorus.
The sands ran for several minutes, and all stood transfixed on the stadium floor. When the last grain fell, the third magician started gesticulating wildly, conducting the other performers in their tasks in a complicated rhythm. The drums pounded in a seemingly random cadence, and candles sprang to life at what Alodar judged to be the cardinal points of the compass. The blindfold of the second wyvern was pulled aside, and the beast added a deep bass moaning to the high chorus as it saw its caged mate.
The gong rang once more, and the chorus stopped. The second magician produced another sand glass; when it emptied, the wyvern's eyes quickly were covered again. As its wailing stopped, acrobats exploded from the entrance tunnel and did a complex series of flips and tumbles that ended in the formation of a human pyramid three men high, in the center of the floor.
The fourth magician suddenly awakened from his inactivity and motioned to the stocky acolyte nearby who staggered forward with an anvil of gleaming gold. Alodar squinted to follow the detail as the magician removed a ring from his left hand and placed it on the flat metal head. A second acolyte handed him a hammer. As the gong sounded, a third and final time, he deftly tapped the small band of metal.
In the silence that now filled the stadium, Alodar heard a small grunt from the blow and then a babble as all the participants suddenly relaxed and began talking at once.
'Enough, it has proceeded well,' the magician commanded the assembly as he picked up the ring and thrust it back onto his hand. The entire group dropped their various props to their sides and, in an unplanned confusion, jockeyed back to exit the way they had come.
'Is that all?' Alodar asked, puzzled, as he and the others also began to exit from the stands. 'I do not understand the intent of the performance.'
'As I have said, Alodar, it was a rare event indeed,' Hypeton responded, 'A striking of the rough outer edge from a ring of transportal. Only one more striking to finish the inner and it will be complete.'
'Then why not spend a few more minutes and be done with it?' Alodar asked. 'Surely such a pageant is assembled at great expense.'
'Yes, would that it were true, Alodar,' Hypeton said. 'But the strikings can be accomplished only when the rituals of magic make it so. The next and last cannot be done for yet thirty years. As you say, the expense is enormous. Each man on the stadium floor received much rigorous training to perfect the part he had to play so that the ritual could proceed correctly. That training, that dedication to the goal, is such that only a guild of magicians could attempt it. No small wonder that rings of transportal and their like fetch the entire treasuries of kingdoms when they are completed.'
'But how fare you in the meanwhile?' Alodar persisted. 'How can even a guild survive to make such wonders?'
'A question that cuts close to our very own keep, Alodar.' Hypeton laughed. 'Though I only repeat the rumors that circulate among the neophytes, the Cycloid Guild is in the most part living off gold from the sale of magic armor some three hundred years ago. But to this legacy is added the smaller sums that come from easily made lesser items and the admission charges to the town dwellers to see the rituals. And the Guild lives in fashion to make it a self-contained community, independent of the principalities that rise and fall about it. Why, you are here today because you will serve a function of that community, so that itinerant laborers or city-dwelling craftsmen need not be consulted.'
'Then, since I serve a goal common to all,' Alodar said, 'might I easily approach one of the magicians to consult on a small conundrum that has drawn me here?'
'By the laws, no,' Hypeton said. 'A magician hardly speaks with civility to his peers, barely tolerates the intrusions of acolytes into his thought, and instructs initiates only because he must. A neophyte addresses a black robe only because he has been spoken to. If you desire such company, study the rudimentary texts they give to each of us and try for the initiate's robe yourself. If you are truly skillful with the equations and postulates, you may have a black robe of your own in thirty years and can then riddle your conundrum as you see fit.'
'But Lectonil himself said he would give me instruction in two months time in partial payment for my tasks,' Alodar said.
'So the masters say to all prospective neophytes they interview in the shack outside the curtain that surrounds us.' Hypeton laughed. 'There is much mundane work to be done in the Guild, and they dangle a promise if they must. Why, I have been here three years and know no more of the construction of rituals than the day I arrived. But the food and bed are fair enough exchange for the work that I do. And if I eventually tire of it and leave, then they will find another.'
'Is there no other way, then, that one can satisfy even the smallest curiosity about magic?' Alodar asked.
'By the angles, no, Alodar,' Hypeton said. 'And take me seriously now, for I jest no more. The secrets of this Guild, like any other, are closely guarded and much ill fortune befalls him who tries to discover them in other than the prescribed way. I remember well the printer two years ago who somehow whisked away to his chamber a box of organization so that he would no longer have to sort his type by hand after each day's press. A harmless enough ambition and an item easily enough made by the scores. Alas, when they ran the ritual of presence, the box glowed red hot and shook the air with a mournful wail for all to hear. They took him from the neophyte towers and, before the central library, showed him his reflection in a mirror of inversion as we all watched. A most gruesome sight, Alodar, his heart still pumping and entrails hanging out for all to see, surrounding the features and skin trapped inside.'
'The ritual of presence?' Alodar said.
'Yes. Lectonil and his followers want to perform it once a fortnight to keep the Guild secure. Beliac argues it wastes our time and resources, and yearly is sufficient, if at all. But between the poles of both, it is yet often enough. You will feel it when it is run; hair stands on end and skin pimples with cold. Warning enough to leave magic to the Guild and concentrate only on the tasks they have given you.'
Alodar's thoughts raced. The magic spheres were too valuable to entrust to some hiding place outside of the grounds of the Guild. They represented all that he had of importance in his quest for the fair lady. But to leave them in his new quarters to await the next ritual of presence was greater folly still. He must find out their intent and be away quickly, no matter how Interesting the knowledge he might gain here proved to be.
'I will regard master Lectonil as a man of his word,' he said at last, 'and follow explicitly what he says for a full two months. But at the end of that time, he will be reminded of his end of the bargain.'
'Then do not judge him too sharply by his reply,' Hypeton said. 'You will find the others are no better.'
The sky dimmed in sunset and Alodar started down the ladder. The torches were already lit, but he could do
