The yellow and gold blurred together. Wide-eyed, Alodar felt the fascination of the dancing flame tendrils, the lure to probe the mysteries that lay beyond. He clinched his fists and willed his presence forward, past the incandescent sheen, into the very heart of the blaze.
Alodar stared and his sense of time melted away. Unlike the effort of sorcery he felt no discomfort, no pain and gagging nausea to overcome. He envisioned the pathway as a great pipe connecting one world with the other, a vertical shaft with a tough, translucent membrane stretched across its throat, preventing transfer. He concentrated on building his will, making it stronger, constructing a huge weight, pressing against the barrier to break the resistance and allow passage. The membrane twisted, sagged and stretched out of shape so that it finally ripped and failed.
He concentrated upon wishing the tattered remains of the barrier away. For a moment, nothing happened; then his mind exploded with the feeling of a dozen gentle pricklings. In a rush, he sensed a dozen more. Boiling balls of consciousness whirled in confusion, each one subtly distinctive, diving at his thoughts and snatching them away. 'Gladril,' he thundered aloud, as the identity of one sprang to mind. 'I have work for you, sprite of the water. Until I am done, your will is mine.'
The presence of the other imps immediately winked away. Alodar felt only one skittering around in his head. His conversations with Handar and the experience with the sprite on the trail gave him confidence, and he projected resolve as hard as steel. 'Come forth, Gladril,' he said. 'I command you to my bidding.'
Instantly the air above the fire fissured with a sharp crack. In a tiny cloud of steamy vapor, Alodar saw thick, horny wings and the ends of spindly and hairy legs. He heard gasps and grunts of surprise in those about him but he ignored the distraction.
'You have chosen an imp of no mean power,' a voice squeaked from the mist. 'Either submit or let me return. You interact further at your peril.'
'Silence,' Alodar ordered. 'There is no time for you to exercise your feeble desires. I feel the pulsing of your will and know I can crush it to nothingness in an instant.' He grabbed the wicker basket and held it above the stone bowl. 'Quickly now, hot water to leach the ashes.'
Without further protest, the cloud zoomed to hover above Alodar's outstretched hand. With a brief flash of light and a tiny pop of thunder, steamy rain fell into the basket and then trickled through to the bowl below.
'Enough,' Alodar said after a few moments. 'Now to the bowl and boil the brew together. Use your wings to beat the ingredients into a fine emulsion.'
'But the mess will stick to my hairs. I will be a mortal year in cleaning it all off.'
'To the deed,' Alodar growled.
Like a dense fog the imp settled into the bowl. Almost instantly, the container filled to the brim with an oily water. Bubbles formed around the edges, and then a violent frothing churned in the middle. Above the bubbling, Alodar heard the high pitched buzz of the sprite's wings as the imp stirred the mixture together.
'And now cool the broth and dump it on the sub-chieftain's head,' Alodar said as he pointed to the one with the shaggy mane. 'And when you are done, rinse it clean with clear cold water.'
'A task more to my liking.' The imp laughed as he shook himself free of the lather. Grasping the bowl with all four limbs he chuckled as he bore it into the air and poured the contents on the barbarian's head.
'Now the rinse,' Alodar said, 'and then I command you to be gone.'
A second rainfall washed the lather free. Without another word, the imp popped from view.
'A petty trick,' the subchieftain growled. 'Is this what you call the great power of wizardry?'
'As I said,' Alodar replied, 'the value of the craft lies not only in fear. With the aid of the sprite, I brewed a lotion of alchemy. You head should be free of fleas for at least a fortnight.'
The nomad started and then cautiously raised a hand to his head. He ran his fingers through his hair. 'There is no more itch,' he said slowly.
Vendora rose and walked to Grak's side. 'It has a nice scent,' she said. 'There are others among you who could benefit from it as well.'
'Sweetbalm, my lady, there is no time to worry about the control of vermin,' Feston grumbled. 'We must get on with the task of assembling an army for the south.'
Vendora turned to the warrior, frowning in irritation. 'Yes, yes, I know, Feston. And through it all I unfailingly must continue to play the part of the queen.' She looked at Grak, standing silently with his face an unreadable mask, and then turned to Alodar. 'And so you prove your worth once again. No doubt, with these imps we can scout ahead to see what other tribes lie in our path. And produce more gifts of enticement. With your help we may then cross the border with perhaps even two thousand fighters.'
'It is as the fair lady says,' Alodar replied. At Iron Fist and the shore of the sea, his spirits had soared when she gave him her attention, but this time her manner made him uneasy. He studied her beauty, still dazzlingly apparent through unkempt hair and soiled gown. He glanced at Aeriel and then back to the queen. Yet the logic of what she said was firm enough.
'Then the only issue remaining is the decision of Grak the chieftain,' Vendora continued, turning her attention away. She ran the back of her hand down the nomad's arm. 'We have tarried a day and offered you much. Do not the rewards of journeying with us outweigh the risks?'
Grak glanced back at his subordinate. He stooped down and rubbed some of the soap between his fingers. He stood again and faced the queen. 'And you journey to the cities of the south with these halfmen of yours?'
'I do.'
Grak held the soap to his nose, then cast it aside with a grunt. He looked deeply into her eyes. 'And also with the tribesmen of Grak,' he said at last.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Second Quest ALODAR nudged his mount forward in a slow walk down the dusty street. Aeriel and Handar followed on either side. Grak reined a huge gelding with his right hand and guided Vendora's pony with his left. Grengor and the other suitors brought up the rear.
'I hope that Bardina is large enough to house a decent bath or two,' Aeriel said. 'The fair lady is not the only one who has become rather testy from such a long journey.'
Grengor rubbed at the dirt caked to his stubble of beard. 'Yes, to that I fully agree. The barbarian horde may prefer to camp outside the wall, but my back has had enough of sleeping on the hard ground.'
'We can stay but a short while,' Grak said, looking uncomfortably at the building fronts which pressed in from either side. 'The farmlands around will not long provide meat for nearly two thousand mouths, and my people have little taste for your grains.'
Vendora ran a hand down the length of her gown. 'There is time enough for a change of clothes and to have my tresses properly done,' she decided. 'After all, if a proud chieftain finally agrees to soap himself, it is a fair return.'
'And now that we are back across the border into your realm,' Basil said, 'we will learn as well how fare our forces to the south.'
'More important than that,' Handar added, 'we will see firsthand how low the barrier between the worlds has become. Even if we are far from the battles where possession is forced, there will be changes that we cannot help but notice. It is like a rock dropped onto a tightly stretched blanket. The maximum depression is where it falls, but the effect is felt even at the edges.'
Alodar did not join in the conversation. In silence, he mulled over the events of the past weeks. The recruiting had gone according to his expectations. With a cloud of speedy imps, they had found all the tribes within a reasonable distance of their southward trek. Between Basil's gems, Feston's promise of steel weapons from the slain, Grak's endorsements, and his own healing salves, all had been won to the cause. Along with the tale of the enchanted warrior, the nomads now whispered of his great wizardry, of how imps had blown the mosquitoes and gnats away, fused broken stoneware together, and pressed streambed mud into hard slate.
Alodar watched the activity of the street as they moved along, and the contrast with his mental image jogged him out of his reverie. The low buildings on either side crowded close, leaving passage barely a coach wide. Though it was midday, few of the townspeople journeyed outdoors and those marked their passage with sullen
