competition, and you will instruct me in sorcery in return.' He matched Farnel's angry stare, looking him deeply in the eye. For a long moment, no one moved. Finally the sorcerer turned his glance away, flinging out his arms in disgust.
'And we will accomplish nothing by blind thrashing,' Jemidon said. 'If we cannot depend upon our charms working, then we must conceive a production that does not use them. We have no choice but to work with what we have.'
'A production with no glamours? Impossible!' Farnel snorted.
Jemidon did not reply. His spirits had lifted. He was back in the center of things, part of the solution rather than a hapless bystander, watching others try to unravel problems he had created. If they were to win the competition and save themselves from Drandor or Gerilac, if Farnel were to gain his measure of respect at last, it would be because Jemidon found the key to the puzzle, the means to the end, the plan for their salvation. He was in his element, working with what he enjoyed the best.
Already he had had one flash of insight. Surely another would come soon as well. Slowly he scanned the room, looking for some clue to the way out of their plight. He saw the pikes and long swords stacked in the comer, Delia sitting on the stool in the middle of the room, and, behind her, the walls covered with the outline of their original design. 'You said my writing reminded you of a ship,' he said to break the tension.
'Over there.' Delia pointed. 'The one on the left.'
'So it does,' Jemidon agreed. 'But it is quite out of place with the effect we are trying to achieve.'
'And an accidental sketch is hardly of sufficient quality for a presentation designed for a high prince,' Farnel muttered.
'Although this time it will be for the masters only,' Jemidon said. 'And they also will know by heart the words that will be-' He stopped suddenly and studied the rough pen strokes that hinted at a galleon on the high seas. Then he smiled. The way to proceed was floating gently in his mind.
'Seascapes, castles, interiors of a palace.' He whirled toward Farnel. 'Other settings. Can we quickly assemble such properties as well?'
'I have a few stored at the hall from previous years.' Farnel shrugged. 'And so do my peers. We trade them back and forth as we have need.'
'Then let us go and select the best.' Jemidon waved at the outline on the walls. 'We have until morning to find a substitute for them all.'
'But there is no time for me to learn a whole new set of charms,' Delia protested. 'And they might fail just as surely as the few that I know.'
'Practice only what Farnel has taught you,' Jemidon said. 'You need worry about no more. Your performance tomorrow still must be flawless. Indeed, it remains our hope for winning the prize and keeping our freedom.'
CHAPTER FIVE
The Purging Flame
JEMIDON flung open the door to Farnel's hut. Even though he had not stopped to rest since he had instructed Delia to get some sleep, everything was still not quite ready. He looked anxiously at the brightening sky and hurried through the debris that littered the floor between him and the sorcerer's bed. Gently he shook Delia awake.
'It took longer than we thought,' he said. 'Some of the other sorcerers did not take kindly to Farnel's requests in the middle of the night. He is at the hall trying to put into order what we have already collected.'
Delia rose to sitting and stretched. 'The list I made for master Farnel before you left,' she said after a long yawn. 'Did you use it to ensure that a scene was found for each charmlet?'
'Farnel worried about the details.' Jemidon shrugged. 'For my part, the basic concept was enough.'
'Without a plan and attention as things progress, the most brilliant insight produces nothing.' Delia shook her head. 'My fear of Drandor was overwhelming, yet I did not attempt to flee until I had decided exactly what I would take and knew when he would be preoccupied.'
'But despite that, if I had not been on the cliff, you would not have the chance you do now,' Jemidon said.
'If not you, then I would have found some other.'
Jemidon frowned. Delia laughed as his face clouded over. She stood and smiled. 'Indeed you were the one. And please do not think that I am ungrateful.'
With a fluid motion, she suddenly clasped her arms around his neck and pulled his lips to hers. Jemidon blinked in surprise, but then felt his pulse quicken. He stepped forward and drew her close. For a long moment they embraced. Jemidon's thoughts of sorcery faded away. Bodies pressed together, he pushed her toward the bed.
Delia teetered for half a step and then suddenly stiffened. 'No,' she whispered, 'that is not what I meant.'
Jemidon stroked his hand down her back, pressing her tighter. He thrust his legs against hers, forcing her another step backward.
'No!' She wrenched her face away and pushed down on his entwining arm. 'I have given you all I meant to offer.'
Jemidon stopped. He backed away as she smoothed the front of her gown. He looked at the hard lines that had replaced her smile and shook his head. 'With the bracelet of iron, surely there have been many,' he said. 'And after your invitation, what was I to think?'
Delia opened her mouth to speak and then snapped it shut. Jemidon saw the anger that flared out of her eyes and twitched the muscles in her cheeks.
'Gambling in the token markets was a choice I made freely,' Delia sputtered at last. 'And I admit that I knew what the consequences could be.' She waved her arm with the bracelet in Jemidon's face. 'But despite this, I am still more than a toy to be pawed by an owner and then passed to another when he grows tired. That is my past, not what I will be.'
'I have no legal claim over you,' Jemidon cut in quickly.
'Nor am I some doxy from the sagas who swoons to do every bidding of her rescuer in boundless gratitude,' Delia rushed on, 'I am free-willed as much as you. I asked for your help. You gave it without qualification. And I have thanked you. My obligation goes no further.'
'A weakness of the moment,' Jemidon said thickly, turning away his eyes. He felt foolish that he had misjudged her intent and relied too strongly on some ill-defined feeling that now he could not quite describe. And what would she think of him? Probably as a bumbling tyro from the wheatlands, who thought with his loins rather than his head, or an apprentice puffed with vanity, so sure of his attractiveness that he did not bother to ask.
Jemidon frowned at the direction of his thoughts. And if she did, why was it so important? If Farad's production won the competition, she would be free to go her own way. After that, could it any longer matter?
For a long moment, there was a heavy silence. 'Perhaps if I did not indeed wear the bracelet,' Delia said at last, 'then the feelings that mold me might be different. But the ring of iron is the reality; I cannot deny all the rest that has happened because of it. I feel a bonding to you, Jemidon, but not like that.' Her cheeks colored slightly. 'At least not now, not yet.'
'We still have business together.' Jemidon looked back after a moment, trying to speak as if nothing had happened. 'For now, our fates are intertwined. And we must rush. Gerilac has already started. Drandor is ready to be second. And the other masters have made it quite clear: if we are not prepared in time, our chance will be forfeited.'
'Then let us be off,' Delia said. 'A meal can come later.'
Jemidon started to say more, but hesitated. The moment had passed. There was too much yet to be done. Without speaking, he turned for the door. In a short while, they were on the path of crushed white stones, walking swiftly to the presentation hall.
Rose-tinted clouds hung low over the hilltops in the center of the island, while the sky above the harbor was just beginning to show its blue. Canthor's banners hung limply from his keep, and beyond it, the details of the hall were muted in shadow. The faint groan of rigging in the harbor mixed with the crunch of their rapid footsteps on the rock, but otherwise the air hung heavy with the morning silence.
