of my estate. You have given me nothing, Melizar, and expect a largesse in return.' Trocolar licked his lips as if he were savoring the taste of his words. 'Nimrod, escort him away,' he said. 'I hold no writ of indebtedness, but this cold one would be well advised to make Pluton no longer a port of call.'
'Another lackey's task,' Nimrod mumbled. 'Will sweeping the dungeon floor be next?'
'It is the fee that binds you to the island, is it not?' Melizar pushed a slender hand palm outward from his cloak as Nimrod hesitated. The dance of imps above Melizar's head quickened. Their glow of light throbbed from dull red to energetic yellow. 'Do you hold the concept of honor the same as your new master?'
'My troop has fulfilled its contract faithfully for over four decades,' Nimrod said, 'through the tenure of more than a dozen councils. And we expect ample bonuses with our recompense for the year just past, as we have been rewarded many times before.'
'For the year past.' Jemidon heard Melizar's voice quicken slightly. 'Fees rendered after the service is done, rather than before! What perverse logic you use to conduct your affairs! Had I but known, I would not have even bothered with this Trocolar. Name your price for the year to come, warrior, and it shall be yours.'
'There is the matter of custom and tradition,' Nimrod said. 'We have been treated well.' He paused to turn a scowl at Trocolar. 'Heretofore the leader of the council has been able to judge between private interest and public need.'
'Nimrod, to your duty,' Trocolar commanded. 'Use the sword you pulled from the rock, if you must. It is the cold one's own folly if he does not move aside when you thrust.'
'Then is it the sword that gives you such presumption, trader?' Melizar asked. 'Without it, how would you regard the bargain then?'
'Indeed, with the sword and the scentstones, I need little more.' Trocolar laughed. 'I have enough to handle easily a simple peddler with a few tricks such as yours.'
'Swords and scentstones.' Melizar's own voice lowered until Jemidon could barely hear. 'You compare them with the resources of a pilot?' He whirled and motioned to Holgon, who was still standing near the cavern wall. 'Forward, magician. Perform the ritual as you have been instructed.'
'But that was before the sword was captured and Trocolar's election completed. He is my master, and now I do not see the need.'
'The ritual,' Melizar repeated. 'Think. Where should your allegiances truly be? With a petty island trader without honor or with one who can show you secrets that none of your kind has ever dreamed?'
Holgon looked at Trocolar and then to Meuzar. He stepped backward until he touched the rough wall. He glanced at the wooden box at his feet and shrugged. Stooping down, he dragged the crate to the middle of the floor.
'I will allow no more of your strange games,' Trocolar said. 'And as for you, Holgon, remember that you are still in my debt.'
'If you have so much power, then why do you fear the simplest of your children's toys?' Melizar asked. 'Show him, Holgon. The scentstones are one and the sword is the second. From the container, you must bring three.'
Holgon grunted and produced a smaller box from the first. With a flourish he removed the lid.
'Dominoes!' Nimrod snorted. 'Agame with which my men sometimes wager their rations.'
'Here the use is even simpler,' Melizar said. 'A quaint practice of no utility, but somehow of amusement to your smaller minds. The next is a simple rat trap-and after that, the bladder of a pig.'
While Melizar spoke, Holgon quickly stood the dominoes in a row, one after the next. He cocked the trap so it was triggered when the last domino fell, then bound a pin to the metal loop that was flipped shut by the spring.
'Finally the bladder,' Melizar directed. 'Inflate it quickly and place it so that it will intercept the sharp point as it flies upward.'
'Enough, enough!' Trocolar said. 'Scoop up this refuse and be away.'
'In a moment, it will be done,' Melizar said in his soft voice. It projected no strain and only a hint of the need for speed. He drew into a tight ball and huddled to the floor. 'The nexus can be no stronger,' he said, 'and the contradiction is easy enough to make.'
Jemidon struggled erect to see better what was happening, but his vision suddenly swam when he moved his head. A wave of disorientation swept over him as he collapsed weakly back to the floor, He closed his eyes to steady himself, but the feeling cut deep, down to his core. It was more than a loss of physical balance; his whole being was adrift. The sensation was like what he had felt when Holgon performed his ritual with the dove, but with much greater intensity. Trivial facts, flashes of memory, subtle concepts, intuitive insights, and all his thoughts mixed in a jumble. There was no framework to sort one from the next. Childhood delights blended with logical deductions. Intense passions blurred slender shafts of subtle reason. Simple hunger engulfed algorithms that solved complex puzzles. In a swirling sea of abstractions, he floated away from a sharp focus.
'Rest, Jemidon. Do not give them cause.' A gentle touch ran across his forehead.
Looking up through glazed eyes, Jemidon saw Augusta kneeling beside him.
'I am sorry for the blow,' she said, 'but I did not know what else to do. Surely if you resisted further, you would have been slain.'
'But the election,' Jemidon managed to say. 'Without an explanation, it is all over. Trocolar has won. Our fate has only been postponed while his attention is elsewhere.'
'I said I am sorry,' Augusta repeated. 'But forgive me the one last weakness in wanting to have someone at my side when the trader finally forces his way.'
'And thus it is done.' Melizar's voice cut through the ringing in Jemidon's ears. 'The domino, Holgon. With the softest touch you can manage.'
Through the haze, Jemidon saw Melizar return to standing. He watched the magician strike the first wooden block in line. One after another, the rest tumbled in order across the rough floor. The last hit the trigger on the trap, flipping it into the air and hurling the pin into the inflated bladder, which exploded with a loud pop.
'And now you will be gone,' Trocolar said when the action had stopped.
'Two more simple demonstrations,' Melizar insisted, waving off the man-at-arms who moved forward to grab his shoulder. He huddled a second time for a brief moment and then rose again with majestic slowness. 'Two more and then I will depart.'
Jemidon breathed deeply. He had to regain control. With determination, he held himself perfectly still and concentrated on Holgon's apparatus. Item by item, he willed that he should see. For a long moment, nothing happened; but then, gradually, the swirl started to subside. Dominoes became distinct in the blur, then the sprung trap. Finally the entire cavern returned to focus. The pain in his calf sorted itself from the rest as the disorientation ebbed away. His thoughts resumed their order and wispy phantoms disappeared.
'Holgon, clap your hands in the rhythm of the Adagio for Perpetual Lights, but as softly as you can muster.' Melizar's voice cut through Jemidon's concentration.
Holgon's face registered confusion, but the magician began to push his palms together, so that Jemidon could just barely recognize the familiar cadence of a neophyte's training. On the final stroke, the ground rumbled. A spout of water coursed up the hole that led to the vault. A great spray of cold and slimy wetness struck the fow ceiling and showered down on those nearby. The ground trembled slightly, and Jemidon thought he heard the grinding of great masses of rock.
'The vault! It's flooded! The weak walls have given way!' one of the men-at-arms shouted as he peered down the hole to see what had happened.
'And now the Stomp of the Forging Presses.' Melizar did not pause. 'And then a taste of other forms of power.'
Holgon complied. Beginning with his third step, the ground shook, this time not in slight trembles, but in great jerks that tumbled Trocolar and those around him to the floor. The basin of water below the landing began to slosh. With creaks and groans, the moored boats crashed into one another.
'Stop them, Nimrod!' the trader shouted. 'Stop them before they collapse this cavern as well!'
'The Maxim of Perturbations.' Melizar's voice competed with the shriek of tearing rock. 'With it my minions can shake the earth or skim carpets across the ground. And beyond that, there are other maxims as well. Those of perspective, of penetration, persuasion, and pomp. You speak of power, insignificant mite, but know not one hundredth of all it entails.'
