Alodar drew a deep breath and plunged into the ritual. He poured a ring of fine powder around the box containing the sphere, lit it in a flash of smoke, and nodded with satisfaction as the globe began to spin. He clapped his hands together thrice, then slammed the lid of the box shut, wincing from the burn to his fingertips. 'Another knot next,' he growled and began weaving together four short pieces of colored twine.
The steps followed one another rapidly and Alodar lost track of the time in his concentration to perform each one with precision. He would have no chance to go back and try again if all was not done correctly. Finally he approached the end and beat out the syncopated rhythm that had been third in the standard ritual. He lifted the small flute to his lips and started the slow count to thirty that would signify completion.
Now with only one step remaining, Alodar's eyes darted to the glass, to see the last of the sand begin its fall to the lower chamber. He filled his lungs to blow before the final particles hit but checked himself with the knowledge that it would do no good. The blast of the pure note must come when it was needed, not before.
Sweat broke out on his forehead as he watched the trickle slow and a hole grow in the smooth surface and begin to widen to the edge of the glass. Five counts to go, and the sand continued its relentless fall.
Only a layer seemingly one gram thick coated the neck of the tube; then, with one coordinated wave, it rolled downward through the opening. Four counts remained?three?two. Alodar grimaced from the expected impact of the explosion to come. Then, as the final grains hit the mound beneath, he blew a piercing note that filled the small chamber with sound.
The echoes faded quickly, and Alodar's shoulders slumped with relief in the silence. The ritual was perfectly and precisely completed. The power had been released and transformed. It would now last forever. Alodar waited a minute more in the luxury of the quietness; then he thrust the orb into his pack and scrambled up onto the window ledge. Seeing the product of his labor must wait; escape from the warring factions of the Guild had to come first.
In an instant he was clambering down the wall and across the esplanade, dodging between the initiates and acolytes who stood gaping at the pyramid as it roared and shook from the battle inside. Shortly thereafter, beyond the bounds of the Guild, Alodar looked backward through the protective distortion in the morning sunlight. Even through the shimmering, he could see a huge towering plume of flame where the library had once stood.
On the trail northward beyond the village, Alodar turned from the path and paused to catch his breath. He squinted back the way he had come but saw no dustcloud of pursuit. He reached in his pack for the sphere, now quite cold, and brought it to eye level. The opaque darkness was gone; in its place gleamed a sparkling transparency. But unlike the one Duncan had taken, the center of this sphere held a single eye, lidded closed. It was tiny, like the shielding hand, delicately sculptured with fine detail. Small wrinkles wove across the lid and minute spike-like hairs curled in a precise line along the bottom edge.
Alodar blinked in surprise and quickly spun the sphere around, looking for one of the magical symbols he had expected to see. He shook the orb violently, as if to rearrange the contents, but the closed eye did not change.
Duncan had escaped with a hand of protection, and what king would not give a treasure to be safe from any mortal blow? At the very least, Alodar had expected a magical object of equal value. But all he had to show for outwitting the safeguards of the Guild was yet another mystery. He was no nearer his rightful heritage or his true place in life than the day before the gates of Iron Fist slammed shut. In bitter disappointment, he thrust the sphere back into his pack and scowled at the ground.
He rested for a few minutes in silence, and then sat erect and looked up the trail. It would return him to Ambrosia. But what did he have to show the queen to turn her head from the others? A mere bauble that could have been fashioned by a jeweler. The eye did not even provide an imitation of magic. Nothing of what he had read in the library told of magical eyes, either closed or staring full open. Such a logo would be more appropriate to charm of the sorcerer than the impersonal ritual of the magician.
Alodar blinked at what he had just thought. He stopped and withdrew the sphere a second time from his pack. He brought it to eye level and stared, frowning into its interior. Surprised at what impulse directed his actions, he sat unmoving, concentrating on the tiny eye. For several minutes nothing happened; then he felt the weak tendrils of strange shadows rising from the depths of his mind.
His eyes blurred out of focus, and a hazy image formed in his thoughts. As if stroked by a gentle feather, fleeting snatches of a distant scene were pushed into place, and he saw a barren landscape, dominated by a single thrusting crag. Stunted and gnarled shrubs fought a strong wind to retain their meager leaves, and the sun hung low in the sky. Alodar felt himself drawn inside the huge monolith, into a tomblike cavern carved from the solid rock. In the very center was a coffin sealed with a thick glass lid.
The landscape was the same as that in the vision when he passed through the curtain. He gasped as the shock of recognition dissolved the scene, like a stone thrown into a reflecting pond. He looked quickly about and saw only the empty trail and the hills which contained the magicians' Guild.
Alodar struggled for several minutes more, but the feeling did not return. He lowered the sphere to his side and focused on the horizon. 'Sorcery,' he mused, 'sorcery. Of the five arts it is the one concerned with expanding the limits of the mind to see in time and space. And what I just experienced can be related to nothing else.'
He savored the sensations of the sphere while they were still fresh and then sprang to his feet. The disappointment of only a few moments before washed away in a wave of new enthusiasm. Well, why not? With only a piece of parchment he had plunged into alchemy; with two hunks of rock, he had braved the magicians' Guild. Perhaps in sorcery and with the eye, he would finally find what he sought. The quest would go on.
PART FOUR
The Sorcerer
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Illusions of the Court
'HERE, take the bauble back,' Cedric rasped as he tossed the ruby in Alodar's direction. 'You cannot clear your conscience with a bribe, nor will I accept it in lieu of your toil. When we left Dartilac's more than a season ago, I instructed you to be here in my courtyard the morning after. Instead some thaumaturge appeared nearly a week later with the stone offered as an apology.'
'Periac,' Alodar said as he glanced around the familiar vine-covered walls of Cedric's field of instruction. Like a warrior being reviewed, he stood before the warmaster while Cedric paced back and forth. 'I must seek him out as well when we are finished. Does he still room at the inn where I saw him last?'
'I have not kept a record of your appointments.' Cedric frowned at the interruption. 'But for a fact, he is in Ambrosia no longer. Two days ago he saw me again, asking if I had news of you. Then he departed for the north. 'The milk has soured,' he said. 'The people in the capital have become panicked into hoarding their gold, rather than spending it on the likes of my craft.' Panicked indeed! The city is like a bubble of marsh gas, awaiting a spark. Vendora holds a royal ball tonight to foster the image of nonchalance. And her visit to Arcadia is broadcast to be only a formality of state, but everyone knows she sails tomorrow in desperate search for aid.'
'Tomorrow,' Alodar said. 'But why must she go at all? And what of her court? Does sorcerer Kelric follow her as well?'
'It is as she feared,' Cedric answered. 'The kingdoms to the south have ceased their bickering long enough to coalesce their armies into one. This morning they have crossed the border, so the sorcerers say; nothing stands between them and Ambrosia. And no mere ambassador can she send across the sea to plead her cause. King Elsinor remembers all too well how he personally had to beg on bended knee for aid in suppressing a rebellion of his own. He expects the fair lady and no one less to argue for the return of the favor. As for Kelric, I imagine he sails with the rest. The barge is big enough for half her household, although not as seaworthy as many a smaller craft.'
'Then I must seek him quickly,' Alodar said, 'before it is too late.'
Cedric stopped and looked up and down Alodar's rough clothing, wrinkled and duly after his journey from the south. 'With your appearance and unpolished manner, you will fare no better than I,' he said. 'It is time for a man
