presence. Alodar waited a full minute and then another. Nothing stirred and only his own breathing broke the absolute quiet. Cautiously he lit a small candle and looked about in the flickering light. The room was as he had seen it before, cramped and unfurnished except for the U-shaped table that crowded about its periphery.
Alodar slowly moved to the portal in the floor that led to the library proper, expecting at each step to trigger the watchbells. He grasped the latch and pulled the door open, staring into the blackness below.
The candlelight showed the first rungs of the staircase that spiraled downwards to the floor, but Alodar did not place his foot on the first tempting step. The magicians let the lower orders into the library and then left them unattended. Something kept them from using the stairway. Indeed, Beliac had pressed his ring against the banister before they had started their climb.
Uncoiling the rope from his pack, he secured it to one of the legs of the massive table and let the other end fly downward into the darkness. He grasped the rope awkwardly, not trusting to remove the golden disk from his palm. Slowly, he let himself down hand over hand in the midst of the spiral, gradually loosing his sense of height in the blackness. Methodically, he descended a foot at a time, unmindful of how far he had traveled and how far yet to go.
His reverie was suddenly broken by the sharp contact of solid stone beneath his feet. He released his grasp of the rope and stood upright in exultation. He had gained the library floor.
Alodar relit the candle and let his eyes grow accustomed to its meager light. All about the four walls books, scrolls, and manuscripts were neatly stacked, beckoning with the secrets of the magicians. He quickly scanned the vast arrays of knowledge and saw in the north corner scrolls tossed in a disarray uncharacteristic of the order of the rest. He walked over to the pile and lifted the first one from the heap.
'Helices and spirals, tier four; Heptagons, tier three; Hexagonal symmetries and tiles, tier fourteen,' he read aloud softly. 'The index, precisely what I need.'
He shuffled through the coiled manuscripts until he found the one that alluded to his metal spheres. 'Tier seven,' he mumbled and counted off the cases from where he stood. Several minutes later, after carefully scrutinizing titles in the dimness, he found what he sought and wrenched the book from its place on the shelf.
Cracking it in the middle, he held the exposed pages to the light and mouthed what he read.
'The two spheres of Dandelin are tangent to the ellipse at points one and two respectively and touch the cone along parallel circles. If we join the point of presence to the points of tangency and also the line connecting with the vertex, these lines will all lie entirely on the surface of the cone.'
Alodar snapped the book shut, set it back in the rack, and exhaled a deep sigh. The secret of the spheres would not be a single night's work, he reasoned sadly. Time would have to be spent with some fundamentals before be could even begin to understand what he needed to know. The general education that took an initiate through acolyte to magician would not be necessary; he could focus on only those things necessary. Still, the walls of the library would have to be scaled many times before he was through with his task.
Moving with considerably less haste back to the index tier, Alodar began to search for the first reference text of the beginning initiate.
'And Cynthia disappeared without a trace as well,' Hypeton babbled on. 'She has been missing nearly a month, yet both sides avow no knowledge of her, but accuse instead the other of misdeed. The tension virtually pulls the Guild asunder.'
Alodar nodded sleepily in reply and pulled closed his entrance curtain as the other neophyte departed. He worked with dedicated effort by day so no attention would be drawn to him, but even more diligently at night as he delved into the secret of the spheres. The ascent was by now a mere routine and most of the evening could be spent in study. Still, the intensity with which be concentrated and the strain of anticipated discovery took their toll as surely as the labors of the day. At least tonight would be the last, Alodar thought slowly, his weariness suppressing even the excitement of the occasion. He knew enough now about this one facet of magic to start the ritual that would release the power of the spheres. He shouldered his pack and looked about the cubicle. The paraphernalia a for the evening and everything that he would need for a hasty journey were packed and ready. If all went well, the sun would find him free of the Guild and on the road north back to Ambrosia.
He crossed the courtyard quickly and soon was at the base of the library, grasping for his first handhold with a grip made familiar from much practice. In scarcely ten minutes he was at the top and through the curtains into the deserted council chamber.
Alodar lit his small candle as before, but this time did not move to the doorway in the center of the floor. Instead he carefully spread a silken scarf along the surface of the table and removed from his pack the small box which contained his treasure. He opened the lid and felt immediately the aura of power that coursed up from his fingertips to permeate his entire body.
He removed the scraps of parchment that contained his notes from the previous evenings of study. Everything he needed should be here; but if not, he could descend to the floor below and consult with the texts.
He scanned the notes twice quickly and then began the ritual. Placing copper rings on each of his fingers, he grasped a small incense coffer with his left hand and immersed it in the flame of his candle with his right. The perfume began to well upwards into the small confines of the room; in a minute, it was almost overpowering with its sweetness.
Alodar stood immobile as the smell penetrated his nostrils and filled his lungs. Concentrating not to cough, he counted heartbeats to one hundred thirty-seven and then struck a small triangle hung from a tiny frame with the copper ring on his index finger. The chime sounded shrilly and, rather than dying away, rang in resonance with the structure of the ritual as it began to take shape.
Alodar listened only half attentively as he pondered the step to perform next. But as he thought, he gradually grew aware of a slight tingling that crept along the base of his scalp. His skin prickled as if scraped by a dull razor and a slight twitch tugged at his left eye. At first it was only an annoyance to be shut out of his concentration, but the feeling grew in intensity and began to move over his head and down his neck to the rest of his body. He shuddered involuntarily and felt a chill in his arms and lees. The triangle still hummed, but rather than diminishing as it should, the tone deepened and grew in power. The heavy table began to hum, and echoes bounced back and forth off the sloping walls. Alodar raised his hands to his ears as the sound suddenly increased to deafening proportions and the small band of metal grew red hot from the force with which it vibrated through the air.
Something was obviously wrong. Alodar thought slowly, his mind dimmed by the fury of the noise. Some other ritual was being enacted and interfering with his magic here.
Before he could think more, the doorway in the floor suddenly flew open, bathing the chamber with light from the library below.
Lectonil leaped up into the council room, and two other magicians panted after. 'As I suspected,' he said, 'Beliac's deceit with the Guild is most complete. Despite his protests, he traffics our secrets even to the neophytes who would support him.
'Bring them forward,' he motioned to the black-robed followers. 'Let Beliac bite on the fact that it is the ritual of presence that has led us to the last of his crew of traitors.'
The shrieking stopped and Alodar felt his thoughts clear in a rush. He immediately dropped the triangle to the floor with a clatter and reached to scoop up his spheres.
'Hold, neophyte, it is enough,' Lectonil commanded and clapped his gloved hands together. A bolt of jagged yellow jumped from his palms and shot towards Alodar with a blinding flash. Before Alodar could respond, he felt his arms thrift apart and backwards and his whole body suddenly lifted and slammed into the wall. As a sharp explosive report echoed around the small chamber, his breath rushed out and his vision clouded from the force of the blow.
'Trifle not with a master magician, neophyte.' Lectonil glared at him. 'Especially one with the gloves of thunder.'
Alodar opened his mouth to speak; but before he could, Beliac's voice rumbled forth from the stairway.
'And to what purpose do you rouse me from my studies, Lectonil?' he asked. 'The protocols must be observed, I insist. There is no basis for council meeting without the notice of two full days to bring all rituals in progress to a satisfactory halt. Your prattle about the danger to the remaining wyvern can surely wait a fortnight.'
'It is for a far more serious matter than the safety of a dragon that we are here, Beliac,' Lectonil replied. 'We convene tonight to judge the most serious charge of treason. Look, we have even caught your neophyte in the practice of ritual. Such disregard for the traditions cannot be condoned, regardless of the ends you think they serve.'
