next season.' He stopped and looked at the ruins. 'We must. There is no other way.'
Jemidon nodded slowly, digesting Farnel's words. Perhaps the master was right. How the charms stopped working probably did not matter. They could regain their potency again just as abruptly. And he would be ready with a full arsenal of glamours-enough to hold his own with Erid and advance quickly to the robe of the master. It was why he had come to Morgana. His plan would be successful at last, despite the twists along the way. He would become a master, with no fumbling failures like his first time in the well.
He thought of his first time in the well. He recalled the growing panic as the words slithered away from his grasp, the choking throat that would not respond, and the looks of the masters when he trudged back up the stairs. Jemidon shuddered at the memory and then felt an icy wave of doubt wash over his body.
That was before the night of the storm, he realized, before the final presentations to the prince, before the law stopped working, and before his tongue became so glib. Suppose the law were restored? What then would his abilities be? Would the practice be enough, would the phrases remain firm? Could he spout the Wall of Impedance as quickly as he had in Farnel's hut?
And would the powers really return unbidden? If Drandor's rituals were involved, was there not forethought behind what had happened-forethought coupled with some mechanism that shifted the very fabric of existence, as Farnel had said, throughout the world and encompassing the stars beyond? What a puzzle it was! Yes, a puzzle far grander than any he had worked before. Jemidon licked his lips as he stretched his mind, savoring how he would proceed to find out more, to reach for the insight that hinted at the first exciting clue. But how could he devote any thought at all to such a mystery while he studied in drudgery under Farnel, perhaps to no avail? Indeed, what was the surest way to the robe of the master? Instinctively Jemidon grasped the coin around his neck to steady his racing thoughts.
'And if the laws do not ever come back of their own volition?' Jemidon broke out of his reverie. 'Suppose it takes a positive action to restore things as they were before?'
'What you speak of cannot come to pass,' Farnel said. 'It is only a matter of time.'
'If our livelihood is taken away, by whatever means, and then someone through his own efforts restores it,' the sorcerer beside Farnel replied, 'then at the very least he would receive the master's robe without question- regardless of his station or his ability to cast a single charm.'
The sorcerer looked back at the smoldering embers. 'Yes, if by the slightest chance what you say were so, no honor would be too great.'
Jemidon's eyebrows lifted. Another path to the robe! And one far more to his liking. It would not depend on innate reasonance with sorcery that he might or might not have, but just the solution to a puzzle, a complex one perhaps, but in principle no different from the ones he had solved so many times before.
'And Delia as well,' he said aloud in a rush. 'The goals are intertwined.' His thoughts were still in a tumble, but deep inside, he knew what he must do-track Drandor to unravel his mysteries. At the same time he could also free Delia from the trader's grip. Yes, somehow, he knew he could. And the second time, her gratitude might be worth more than a kiss. Or better yet, he could turn his back and walk away when it was done so that she would know he was made of finer clay. He paused as he remembered their last time together. How did he really feel about her anyhow? But then he brushed the thought aside. That could be decided later, after he had accomplished his new plan.
'Yes, I must go to the harbor,' he said excitedly. 'I must book passage and sail for Pluton with the next tide.'
'But wait,' Farnel said. 'Do you not understand? I offer you instruction, freely given so that you may become a master.'
Jemidon bolted into a run and headed down the path ofcrushed stone. He gripped the brandel tightly to prevent it from swinging and called back over his shoulder, 'My destiny lies elsewhere. I can feel it. When I return, it will be with sorcery restored.'
'But how?' Farnel yelled.
'I must find Drandor on Pluton and learn what he knows. Examine the contents of his tent. Listen to the imp when he babbles about the lattice and his master, Melizar. Yes, the lattice, Melizar, and the Postulate of Invariance.'
PART TWO
The Postulate of Invariance
CHAPTER SIX
The Whispers of Memory
JEMIDON paused before he entered the courtyard gate and looked back to Pluton's harbor. The passage from Morgana had been uneventful and the contrast between the two islands more or less what he had expected. The population of Morgana was small, barely enough for a viable community to support two dozen masters and cater to the lords when they came once a year. Pluton, on the other hand, was an active trading and financial center, a stopping point for the traffic between mainland Arcadia and Procolon across the sea, and the nexus for the interisland traders that flitted up and down the archipelago.
The harbor was crowded; several ships lay at anchor in mid-bay, awaiting their turn for a berth. The piers jutted into the dirty water with regular-spaced precision from two arms of land that gently curved into an enclosing circle. A small opening led to the unprotected sea outside the bay. Through the gap, one could follow the shipping lanes to the heartland of Arcadia, which lay beyond the horizon.
A narrow road that ringed the shoreline was a tumult of wagons, dust, and shouting drivers. Small boats pulled by oars and even a few biremes slid over the glassy water, dashing between the waiting ships, moving people and messages too important to delay onto the crowded shore.
Two smaller islands poked above the bay's surface, one covered with trees except where it had been cleared for an elegant estate, and the other rocky and bare, pockmarked with the dark entrances to deep caves that came to the water's edge.
All around the ring of shore, the land sloped abruptly upward to a circle of hills. Jemidon's eyes followed the landscape as it rose. Rough-planked shacks stood adjacent to the wagon road. In the tier behind, single-storey mud-brick boxes painted white crowded together. Above them, the larger structures of brick and iron marked the exchanges and countinghouses that distinguished Pluton from all the other islands in the chain. On the topmost slopes leading to the hillcrests were the manor houses of the wealthy-polished stone, fine-grained woods, and patches of cultivated greens towering over all the rest.
But his search would not take him to the hilltops, at least not initially, Jemidon thought. The advice of all the other passengers was to seek out a divulgent when he first came ashore. Information was a commodity on Pluton like everything else, and he could find out whatever he wanted if he could afford the price.
Jemidon patted his now much lighter purse and frowned. If not, he would have to hope that he could find an old acquaintance who would be disposed to offer him aid.
Augusta! How would she have remembered him? One of the merchants on shipboard had mentioned the name in connection with something called the vault in the grotto. Could she be the same? Unbidden, the whispers of memories flooded back…
'But I can wait no longer, Jemidon. Please try to understand,' he heard the voice from the past say.
'We have forsworn all others, Augusta.' Jemidon remembered his reply. His heart had been pounding and his palms sweaty, but he had tried to show an outward calm. 'You do not care for this Rosimar's rough manner. I can see it in your eyes.'
'But he is already an acolyte, Jemidon. The guild on Pluton has offered to teach him the mastery of magic there. And he has asked me tp go with him. Pluton, Jemidon, Pluton! Center of the islands and focus for trade. Why, in a single day there will be more excitement than this outland has in a year.'
'And is that so important?' Jemidon asked softly. 'When I am with you, the rest does not matter.'
