correct guess. Some other clue must guide him. After a moment's thought, he withdrew a small, telescoping rule from the knapsack he had fashioned to hang under his pocketless robe. He carefully laid it at the foot of the first door and ran his fingertips along the stone floor. The masonry lay flat and true, like all of the construction at the Guild, with not a single crack or niche to disturb the gliding motion of his hand.
The area before the wooden door was the same; but in front of the third, a narrow gap at one end of the rule widened to a barely perceptible depression in the middle and then returned to true on the other side. This alcove was originally made with great craftsmanship, but since its construction it had served as the footpath for countless initiates. This was the one that he must take.
He straightened up, secured his rule, and pulled back the blue steel bolt.
Nothing happened immediately in response; to Alodar's gentle touch the thick slab swung gently inward on its hinges. Alodar blinked as he gazed down a small tunnelway into a well-lighted cross passage. He waited a moment to accustom his eyes and saw two white robes stroll leisurely by in the brightness beyond. A third shuffled by in the other direction, arms heavily laden with thick scrolls of cracking parchment.
There, not twenty feet in front of Alodar, unobscured by any visible impediment lay the goal of the night's venture. He smoothed down the spare neophyte's robe he had bleached with the aid of some of Saxton's teachings and slowly began to traverse the narrow passageway. He took a first step and then another, and the lightness grew correspondingly nearer. Suddenly another white robe poked his head into the tunnel and headed in Alodar's direction. Alodar turned sideways and averted his gaze. The newcomer paid him no heed but sped past and on outwards to the promenade.
Encouraged, Alodar resumed his cautious pacing of the distance to the hallway. He covered fifteen feet more and nothing happened. Then, just as the exit was within tantalizing reach, a brace of bells began ringing rapidly in the recesses of the ceiling. Metal grated loudly against stone, and he looked over his shoulder to see a heavy steel portcullis descend to block the entranceway behind him. He whipped back to look at the ceiling directly ahead and saw a second barrier begin to fall. Without thinking, he sprang forward, hurling himself low into the rapidly diminishing opening, arms out straight and stomach sucked tightly against his spine.
With a swoosh, he slid across the polished stone into the cross passageway, just as the steel shafts jostled his feet out of the way. Alodar stood up and confronted three initiates startled by the sudden appearance and the din of the bells. Alodar took advantage of their hesitation, spun about, and sprinted down the hallway.
'An intruder!' somebody shouted behind him. 'Stop the man! He has tripped the watcher in the west entrance.' A chorus of footfalls began to echo Alodar's own. As he sped past the openings to cubicles, more inquisitive heads poked out into the passage.
Alodar looked forward and saw the hallway turn to the left some twenty feet ahead. He increased his speed towards the corner, hoping to perform some evasive maneuver while he was momentarily out of sight. As he approached and prepared to dart to the left, the sound of more bells added to the din. Alodar wasted no time in speculation but flattened himself for a second slide.
Another portcullis banged down as he dove, this time catching his robe on its sharp spikes. With a savage effort, he wrenched himself free as his pursuers slammed into the ironwork and thrust their arms through at his retreating form.
Alodar took but three steps before a third set of bells added to the chorus of the others and he saw yet another barrier begin to fall some twenty feet ahead. He looked hurriedly to the left and right and saw that a single side door was his only remaining exit. He ran through the entrance into a small cubicle, furnished simply with a bed and writing desk, but marked by no windows or other openings.
Alodar reached into his knapsack and withdrew a small bag filled with powder. He looked around the room, stacked the chair upon the bedframe, and climbed up the wobbly structure. Outside he could hear the gateworks being raised and the pursuers yelling out his location to others who came to join in the hunt.
Swaying on the chairbottom, he stretched to full height and chiseled away at the mortar between the corner ceiling tiles. He crammed the bag into the small hole, inserted and lit a fuse, and jumped to the ground as three white-robed figures rushed into the room. Alodar quickly fell to the floor and ducked under the table. The initiates stooped to follow.
'The game is over,' one cried as he pulled on one of Alodar's legs. 'What great sport. The masters have not had someone to punish publicly in some time. I do hope they choose an entertaining ritual.'
The ceiling exploded and Alodar's assailants were hurled to the ground in a tumble of tiles, mortar, and stone. Alodar scrambled out and back up onto the bed. He saw blue sky above; the overlying stone had fallen with the tile. Without pausing, he leaped upwards, arms outstretched, and caught the edge of a block which still remained. Before those below could recover, he pulled himself up and onto the roof.
He ran rapidly to the edge and leaped off to the ground. No one yet was coming to investigate the explosion, nor had an initiate popped out of the hall in pursuit. Alodar waited long enough to regain his sense of direction and then sped back towards the neophytes' quarters.
Just read a few scrolls to find out about magic spheres and be on my way, he thought as he ran. Perhaps something more passive, such as waiting for Lectonil, was not such a bad choice after all.
CHAPTER TEN
Barter and the Beauty
'BUT with all due respect, sage Beliac,' the acolyte said, 'let not the length of my tenure here color your decision. I have the proficiencies of a man many years my senior. Indeed I can produce a wand of ebony in but a fortnight, one of jet in two. I know by memory the rituals for fourteen talismans. I have mastered not only central, diagonal and symmetric but adjacent orthogonal magic squares as well. Listen and I will tell you of the method for producing a helmet of a thousand blows. First swing a pendulum with a bob of solid gold over the egg of a turtle as it hatches in the noonday sun. Next paint the claw of a roc?'
'Enough of the classroom recitation, Duncan.' The magician waved him to cease as Alodar leaned forward to hear the quieter and slower tones. 'It takes far more than rote to win the robe of black, as you well know.'
Alodar stretched on tiptoes to get his head above the wall and catch the words. Two full weeks had passed since his adventure in the hall of the initiates, but nothing had happened as a consequence.
Still, another frontal assault might be suicidal without more data. Eavesdropping certainly was not the way of the sagas, but for the moment it was the only path open. Beliac and his acolyte had met in this grove often at this hour. The piece of eggshell placed in the grass behind them had the right shape to focus the sound, and the alchemical coating made the reflectivity nearly perfect. With the spellbinding of thaumaturgy, nearly all of what they said came his way, even though the grove was some fifty feet distant.
The small stand of trees was between the library and the hall of the acolytes, and the maze of open study cubicles nearby was ideal cover. From his hiding place, Alodar squinted at the magician and tried to catch his facial expression as he spoke. His hair was jet black and combed in long, straight strokes back from his forehead. Deep-set eyes and a narrow nose seemed buried in a forest of heavy eyebrows, thick moustache, and long curly beard. The effect was intended to convey the dignity of age, but the smooth, wrinkle-less skin betrayed Beliac to be one of the youngest masters of the Guild.
Duncan was younger still, perhaps five years older than Alodar, but with a hairline already receding to the top of his head. His eyes were close set, and his face carried a pained look, as if life were always treating him unfairly. His gray robe hung askew on his shoulders, dipping to one side and twisted into disarray.
'But most gracious sage,' the acolyte continued, 'I have studied the record of investiture of Valeron when he secured the silver ring for his own. There is no question of his that I cannot now answer. The apex of the library should not be denied me just because I have been an initiate only three years and an acolyte but two.'
'The key ring to the apex is not lightly granted, Duncan,' Beliac said. 'We must have sufficient judgment and wisdom to use properly the rituals and theorems that are enscrolled there. It would not do for one unseasoned to have access to such power. And why the rush? Look at the pace of the neophytes. Some linger on for decades before even attempting the examination for initiates. Indeed, some are content with the simpler tasks and never strive for what is beyond their immediate grasp. We have some two score acolytes in the Guild at present; yet only a dozen or so have the potential to be magicians. Only the best will don the robe of black, when we deem them
